Anonymously Yours (13 page)

“You’re right,” Justin agreed. “It doesn’t make sense. But then nothing about this case makes any sense.”

My head was beginning to throb. I didn’t know if it was from the heat or the confusing events that had happened over the past few days. I closed my eyes, trying to ward off the impending headache, when I heard Uncle Bob’s Volkswagen sputter into the parking lot.

I opened my eyes. “At least he’s punctual.”

“What did you say?”

“Uh, nothing,” I answered quickly. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. I didn’t want anyone to know that my uncle might not be the successful investigator I had led them to believe. Not even Justin. Although with Heather’s snide comment this morning, I had to wonder if it was such a well-kept secret after all. Maybe I was the only one who had been shielded from that information. Hopefully Uncle Bob was just having a streak of bad luck. But maybe, with our help, once we solved the Angelica Belmont mystery, his career along with his ego might get a huge boost.

Uncle Bob pulled into a parking space a few cars down from Justin’s car.

I reached for my door handle. “Let’s go meet him,” I said. “He won’t recognize me in your car.”

Uncle Bob was just getting out when we approached. “Uncle Bob,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Justin Banks.” Of course, Justin had already met my parents since we’d been together all through school, but I couldn’t recall him ever meeting my uncle.

Justin extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he responded, completing the handshake. He glanced my way. “I didn’t realize the two of you were back together.”

Justin reached for my hand. “We’re working on it,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.

I smiled at Justin, then directed my attention back to my uncle. “Uncle Bob, were you able to check with Angelica Belmont’s employer today?”

His eyebrows raised, his gaze bounced from Justin to me, as if for reassurance before answering. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“You did?” His answer surprised me, but I was glad he followed through. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Leaning against the car, he pulled out a small black-flip top notebook from his shirt pocket and began reading. “Angelica Belmont was recently engaged to marry a Michael Black. They planned to marry within the month and move to Florida. Angelica had already given her notice to her boss.”

Justin and I shared a questioning glance. “Did they have any idea who might have killed her?” I asked.

“Not specifically,” he answered. “But according to one of her co-workers, she was upset over a business deal her fiancé was involved in. And apparently the police have even questioned this Michael Black.”

He flipped the notebook closed, while Justin and I stood speechless. Everything seemed to point to Michael Black. Everything except for a motive, that is. What possible reason could he have for killing his fiancée?

Justin finally broke the silence. “Is Michael Black the only suspect the police have?”

Uncle Bob seemed surprised by the question. “Oh, he’s not a suspect,” he told us. “Seems he had an airtight alibi. He was out of town the day she was killed.”

Justin and I exchanged puzzled glances. If Michael Black wasn’t a suspect, then who killed her? And why?

“I assume the police have already verified his whereabouts,” I said.

Of course they would have, I realized. Besides, the police weren’t aware that she had been in Michael Black’s house. That important piece of information was known only to Justin and me.

And the killer.

Uncle Bob shrugged and narrowed his eyes. “Why would he kill his fiancée?”

That seemed to be the big question, I thought. We were obviously missing something important. But what?

Several unanswered questions nagged at my brain. My head continued to throb from the pressure. If Mr. Black was out of town, then whose red Toyota was parked by the back door that morning? And why was someone who drove the same make of car trying to run me down? Someone was obviously trying to cover their tracks. But who?

I massaged my temple again, fighting the urge to confide the whole truth to Uncle Bob. I wanted to tell him about the day I found Angelica’s body in Michael Black’s house. I wanted him to know about Michael Black’s first wife also dying from cyanide poisoning. Maybe he gained something from her death. Maybe he received a huge insurance settlement when she died. But what could he have gained from his fiancée’s death? And even, if by some chance, he did gain financially from Angelica’s death, wouldn’t two cyanide poisonings implicate him in his first wife’s death too?

Justin looked at me, his eyes questioning. He was ready to clear the air with Uncle Bob. That much was obvious. But I wasn’t quite ready. Justin still thought my uncle was a world class investigator, but I now knew better.

I didn’t hear a word Uncle Bob said during the drive back to his house. I was too busy counting every red Toyota we passed along the way. I saw at least three, all different shades of red.

At Uncle Bob’s request, Justin followed behind us. Uncle Bob suggested that we would all benefit by getting out of the heat, and going to his house for sandwiches and soda where we could all talk freely. Fifteen minutes later, he tossed his tattered briefcase onto the couch. His expression hard, he turned to Justin and me, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

“Okay, you two,” he said. “Either let me know what’s really going on or this little game is over.”

Apparently my uncle wasn’t quite as naïve as I’d imagined. Even though I had begun to question how much we really needed his help, I also knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t let me out of his sight if he thought I was in danger. But from what I had seen so far, Uncle Bob’s assistance could prove to be more of a hindrance than help.

Justin glanced my way, his eyebrows raised. “Well?” he said. “Are you ready to tell him the truth?”

I blew out a long breath of air, then slumped onto the couch. Justin sat down beside me and put his hand on mine. Together we poured out the whole complicated story. We told him how I discovered Angelica’s body when I tried to return the wallet Mr. Black had left behind. We explained about the missing red Toyota when we returned to the house later that afternoon. We also told him about the subsequent near miss with the Toyota that evening at the lake.

Uncle Bob paced the floor in shocked silence, scratching his balding head. His jaw muscles twitched while his hands clenched and unclenched at his side with each step. Moments later, he finally lowered himself to the couch beside me, apparently taking his time to consider his words before he finally spoke.

I’d never seen this side of my uncle. His usual calm resolve had suddenly morphed into one of anger. “Why didn’t you go to the police with this?” he said. His voice was now calm, his breathing calculated.

I hadn’t expected a lecture. I knew he’d be upset that I hadn’t confided in him, but I had my reasons. Somehow I needed to make him understand my complicated position in this situation.

I sprang to my feet, ready to defend my actions. “How could I? I had already phoned them once to tell them that someone needed help at that house. When they got there and didn’t find anything, they assumed someone had phoned in a prank.” I threw my arms in the air. “The whole neighborhood thought someone had placed a crank call. What was I supposed to do?”

I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but suddenly the absurdity of it all reached my boiling point.

Justin came to stand beside me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We even considered the possibility that someone might have been playing a practical joke,” he said. “At least until Denise saw Angelica’s picture in the paper the next morning. That’s when we knew something was horribly wrong.”

I took several deep breaths, trying to return my pulse rate to normal. I was beginning to wonder if Justin was going to come to my defense in the matter, so I was thankful when he finally found the courage to speak up.

Uncle Bob sank against the cushion of the sofa and leaned his head back. With both hands, he finger-combed imaginary hair and heaved a heavy sigh. His eyes closed, he finally leaned forward with his head in his hands. When he finally looked up, his face was tired and drawn. “Then you should have come to me and told me the truth,” he said softly. “Not some stupid story about how you wanted to pretend to solve a random murder.”

I stood my ground. I didn’t blame him for being upset, but I knew I’d done the right thing by keeping things to myself. It was the only thing I could do under the circumstances. “We were afraid you would want to bring the police in on it,” I told him. “And that’s the last thing I want right now.”

He slapped the arm of the sofa. “That’s exactly what I would have done,” he said, his voice rising. “You could be in a lot of danger. The police need to know about this!”

I was pretty sure Uncle Bob was more hurt than mad. He probably felt as if his only niece didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. In a way, he was right. But he’d hurt me too. He hadn’t kept his promise to hire me as his associate. But as mad as I was about that at the time, I still couldn’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes now. I decided to tell him the whole story.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” I suggested. “I’ll get out some lunch meat and bread.” I glanced his way quickly, then turned toward the kitchen. “Because there’s more you should know.”

In the refrigerator, I found some non-expired lunch meat, some mustard, and a loaf of bread, then set it on the table. Uncle Bob opened a two-liter of soda, while Justin filled three tall glasses with ice.

I sat next to Justin, across from Uncle Bob, watching his throat muscles twitch with anxiety.

“We did some checking around on our own,” I began, squirting mustard onto a piece of bread. “Justin found out that Michael Black’s wife also died from cyanide poisoning ten years ago.”

Uncle Bob stopped in mid bite. “That’s gotta be more than coincidental.”

“That’s what we thought,” Justin said. “That’s why we were so certain that Mr. Black was the murderer. Apparently, thirty years ago, people were being poisoned by over-the-counter medication laced with cyanide. And it’s been a popular method of murder since then. We figured it was easy for him to murder his first wife with the cyanide since five other people died from contaminated bottles of aspirin ten years ago.”

“We figured he tried to do the same thing to Angelica,” I said, “then panicked when I walked in. So he dumped her body in the river to throw suspicion off himself.”

I took a bite of my sandwich before continuing. “But then we couldn’t figure out why he would want to kill the woman he was planning to marry,” I added. “Especially with cyanide, since that would implicate him in his wife’s death also.”

“We were so sure at first that Michael Black was the murderer,” Justin said. “But then things just didn’t add up, and now it seems like we’re back to square one.”

Uncle Bob washed down a bite of his sandwich with a drink of soda. “You’re right, Justin,” he said. “Something is not adding up. And this is not a game.”

He turned to me, his gaze defiant. “Denise,” he said. “I don’t want you to go into the diner again until we have this thing straightened out.”

I didn’t like that idea and I told him so. “But Uncle Bob,” I protested. “I’ll be around people there. No one would be stupid enough to try something in a crowd.” Some crowd, I thought. That would be a first for the diner.

He seemed to consider my plea, while he chewed another bite of his sandwich. “Okay,” he finally agreed. “We’ll do it another way. I’ll drive you to work and pick you up each day.”

I started to object, but he put up a hand. “I don’t think you should be alone until this guy is caught.”

I didn’t like that idea either. “If you keep driving me to work, it will look suspicious,” I complained. “Nobody knows I’m staying with you. But if you keep driving me to and from work, someone is going to figure it out.”

“Then I’ll pick you up,” Justin decided. He put his sandwich down and glanced at Uncle Bob for approval. “Is that okay?” he asked. “Unless she’s at the diner, she won’t be out of my sight for one minute.”

But I had another concern. “What about your car?” I asked him. “Whoever is doing this knows your car because he’s already tried to kill me once.”

Justin put his hand on mine. “It shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, warmth sparkling in his blue eyes. “We’ll only be going to and from work.” He glanced at Uncle Bob for reassurance. “And we’ll be in contact with your uncle the whole time.” He held up his cell phone. “I’ve still got mine even if you don’t.”

Uncle Bob pursed his lips, then nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. He turned to me. “Are we all in agreement then? Denise, you don’t risk being alone for any reason. Understood?”

I realized they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Understood.”

As I lay in bed that night, in the musty spare bedroom, I weighed all the questions over in my mind. We were missing something. I knew it. The pieces of this puzzle didn’t fit together.

Lacing my fingers behind my head, I stared at the ceiling and thought back to the day I discovered the wallet beneath the table. Michael Black ordered pie and coffee, but he never touched it. And he had already left the diner when I returned to his table.

Then it suddenly hit me like a car out of control. If Mr. Black didn’t have his wallet when he left the diner, how did he pay for his meal? He would have needed that wallet when he left.

I bolted upright. Could this be the missing piece of the puzzle?

I continued my recollection of that horrible day. I remembered the red Toyota in the driveway at the back of the house and the blue station wagon in front. The back door was unlocked, making my entry a bit too convenient? I wondered. I was drawn into the living room by the flickering light of the television. That’s when I saw the woman I now knew as Angelica Belmont sitting with her eyes closed in a chair facing the television. Then she slid from the chair onto the floor. I was about to call the police, when I heard a noise from upstairs. Thinking I had walked in on a murder, I ran out as fast as I could.