Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (66 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Detective Bower was in his late thirties or early forties, tall and lean with dark hair and eyes. Latin eyes that bored into Piper’s and demanded her attention. In the past hour, she had told the detective what she knew about Vera Wade, her relationship to Sybil Squire, and her suspicions. The coroner was still in the bedroom examining the body. From what Piper gathered by their comments and the way no one appeared concerned about preserving the crime scene, both men had pretty much ruled out foul play. With the exception of the body being found on the floor, there was no sign of a forced entry, or a struggle, or any apparent trauma—blood, bruises, ligature marks on the deceased—components that cops looked for to determine the probability of a homicide.

“And you think this couple killed Ms. Wade?” the detective asked.

They sat at the kitchen table with its matching rooster and chicken theme. She lined up the salt and peppershakers. “It’s a strong possibility they murdered her. She marches into what she considers to be a potentially dangerous situation and ends up—” Piper jabbed a finger toward the bedroom, “
dead
.”

“Potentially dangerous,” he said as if pondering the meaning. “And she was a threat to them—how?”

“I told you. She wanted to remove her friend, Sybil Squire, from the clutches of her caregivers, two people who don’t seem to be giving their patient the best of care.”

“I thought Ms. Wade was the ex-housekeeper?”

“Yes, that and more. Vera and Sybil were long-time friends. If anyone could have persuaded Sybil to fire the caregivers, it would have been Vera. That’s why she went there last night, to offer her assistance, and suddenly she’s dead. She still had a key to the mansion. She might have let herself in and …”

“And what?”

“And they ambushed and killed her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. The woman is a nurse. She has medical training. She could have shot her up with some lethal drug. One that’s … well, virtually undetectable.”

“There, at the Squire residence? Are you suggesting they killed her and then brought her back here?”

She nodded. “Why not? They kill her and bring her body home so that it looks like she died of natural causes in her own bedroom. If that’s what happened, then their plan seems to be working, now doesn’t it?”

He rubbed his temple then made notes in a notebook cupped in his palm. “If you think they’re ruthless murderers, why aren’t you afraid of them?”

“I am now. We’ve already had a couple run-ins.”

“Such as?”

Piper told him some of what had transpired since she moved in, repeating what she’d told Dr. Lowdell only days ago. “They know I’m on to them. So I have reason to be concerned. Especially now, if they’re responsible for Vera’s death.”

“Well, don’t worry, we won’t let on that you pointed a finger in their direction.”

She felt more apprehensive than ever. “You
are
going to check them out, aren’t you, to see if they have criminal records? Talk to Mrs. Squire—
privately
?”

“Yeah, we’ll look into it. I assure you, Ms. Lundberg, if there’s any indication of foul play, we will check them out thoroughly.”

If
? Her apprehension became compounded by exasperation. Why didn’t they just seal the area until they could do a proper autopsy? Then there would be little chance of contaminating what could be a potential crime scene. She told the detective as much.

“You’re in the crime field, are you, Mrs. Lundberg?” he asked.

“No. But I read. I watch TV.”

“Did you play a detective on TV?”

“Very funny.”

He leaned back in his chair. “These days everybody’s an expert.”

Piper heard voices in the hallway, wheels rolling on hardwood. An attendant pushed the gurney that carried the shrouded remains of Vera Wade. The coroner came through ahead of the gurney.

“Looks pretty routine to me,” he said to the detective after glancing at her. “She was under a physician’s care for her heart. Nitro.” He shook a prescription bottle. “But we’ll open her up just to be sure.”

She sat back in the chair, relief flooding through her. Finally someone was going to do something.

“The deceased has been dead for at least twelve hours, maybe as long as sixteen. Rigor is pretty much complete.”

“You last saw her alive at what time, Mrs. Lundberg?” Detective Bower asked.

“At eight p.m. But it wasn’t until around midnight when I noticed her car was gone.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“When I fell asleep around ten it was there. It was gone at twelve.”

“So she was still alive at ten.”

“Unless, of course, she didn’t drive herself home.”

The detective turned to the doctor. “Doc, any indication the body was moved postmortem?”

“Lividity doesn’t seem to have been compromised. But we’ll know more at the post exam.”

“They could’ve drugged her, drove her home, and killed her here.”

The two men exchanged looks.

“Like I said, I’ll know more when I do the post. No point speculating about it now.” The coroner followed the gurney and attendant out the door to the waiting van.

Detective Bower tapped his notebook. “Sybil Squire was big in the fifties. I remember her. She played a gun moll in that gangster movie back when those kinds of movies were really hot. What was the name of that film?”

“
Shady Lady
.”

He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, maybe.”

Trust me
, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Mrs. Lundberg, if you’re so concerned about this actress’s welfare, why don’t you call Social Services again?”

“And say what? Mrs. Squire won’t admit that she’s being mistreated or that she’s in any danger whatsoever.”

“Then I’d say let it be. You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that, Detective. I’m sure you’ve been involved in more than your share of domestic abuse cases. The battered spouse refusing to press charges.”

“Laws have changed. Now we can arrest the abuser without the victim’s say-so. But we have to be relatively certain a crime has been committed. Eyewitnesses, obvious signs of physical abuse, and so on. But in the end it’s up to the abused party to make a clean break.”

“What if there are no eye witnesses? What if she has no choice but to pretend to be okay? Detective Bower, you don’t live next door to her. You don’t see what I see. She’s deteriorated considerably since I first laid eyes on her. I think she wants help, she’s just scared.” Piper sat forward. “Look, I am not one of those nosy, meddlesome neighbors. In fact, I pretty much keep to myself and try to mind my own business. Only this is different. There’s something going on over there. I just can’t ignore it, now can I?”

He stood, touched her elbow to bring her to her feet. “You go on home. We’ll take it from here. We appreciate your involvement. If you hadn’t found Mrs. Wade, she might’ve lain in there unnoticed for a long time. Do you know if she had family we can notify?”

Piper shook her head. “Sybil Squire was a close friend—she’d know.”

He blinked, then scratched out something in his notebook. “I’ll pay her a visit.”

The detective gave Piper his card, then walked her to the back door. He stayed behind to lock up the house. The killer dog next door jumped at the chain link fence when she stepped out of the kitchen door, making Piper jump. As she passed the VW, she looked inside, remembering the umbrella she’d lent her and wondering if it might be in the car. She didn’t see the umbrella, but something else caught her eye. Barely visible under the seat on the passenger’s side was a lime green strap. Vera carried a lime green purse. She looked back at the house. The detective was nowhere to be seen. The last patrol car had just pulled away and the coroner’s van was backing out onto the street. She opened the car door and pulled on the strap, hauling the purse out from under the seat. It flopped open. She rummaged through it, looking for the two things Vera had bragged about. The two things that had given her the courage to stick her neck out, and may have cost her her life. The house key and the metal canister of pepper spray. Both were gone.

“What’ve you got there?” Detective Bower said, coming up behind her. The dog barked louder.

Piper’s hands shook, but she managed to respond in a normal voice. “Her purse. It’s here in the car. Why leave it in the car? Women don’t do that.”

“Hmm.” He lifted it out by the strap. “Thank you. I’ll just put this inside the house for now.”

Piper nodded toward the barking dog. “You might want to ask the neighbors if they saw or heard anything. That dog would’ve woke up the whole neighborhood.”

“I’m on it.”

She turned away then turned back. “Last night I lent Vera my umbrella. She took it with her to the Squire house and—”

He cut her off. “If I come across it I’ll let you know. Mrs. Lundberg, LAPD doesn’t need any amateur sleuths. Go home. Please.”

She climbed into her car and sat, staring straight ahead, wondering how someone could be so alive one day and gone the next. Had Vera died because she got in the way? She was sure the nurse and her sidekick were responsible—directly or indirectly. They wouldn’t get away with it. Not if she could help it.

She looked up to see the detective staring at her through the front window of the house, his head tipped to the side as though trying to figure out what she was up to. There was something about the man that told her they’d possibly butt heads. If he did his job, everything would be fine and dandy.
If
he did his job.

#

That night when Piper climbed into bed, she considered the possibilities. Perhaps Vera had left on her own volition, was followed home and killed there. Or, before she could talk to Sybil, she was overtaken and killed at the mansion. However, if they’d moved the body, it would’ve shown up through lividity—the blood settling in the lowest area of the body. Or she could have been rendered unconscious, driven home and killed in her own bedroom. Either way, it had been a surprise attack. What little she knew of Vera Wade, her spunky nature, her loyalty to her mistress, told her she wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.

She awoke to what sounded like footsteps on the deck, stopping at the glass door. Her heart raced. She rolled off the Murphy bed in the pitch-black room and kneeled on the floor, her eyes darting to the windows and the door. She crawled to the door, to the light switch on the wall and flicked on the porch light. There was no sound of footsteps running away. Had she dreamed hearing the steps? She separated the vertical slats and peered out onto the deck. No one stood at her door. Feeling braver now, she hurried from window to window and peered out. The deck was empty.

She left the porch light burning. Knowing sleep would be impossible, she dragged the club chair across the room to the corner windows, the ones facing the Squire house. There she spent the rest of the long, long night.

By morning, despite the fog clinging to the basin, the mere presence of daylight lifted her spirits. Vera’s death scene suppositions began to break down bit by bit, a Swiss cheese scenario filled with holes. After she finished her second cup of coffee, she called Lee. She had to tell someone or she’d burst.

“Okay, that’s settles it, I’m coming over,” Lee said. “Just have to clear my calendar.”

“And do what? Have a nail biting contest? Look, I’ll be fine. I think my imagination got the best of me. I even thought I heard someone on the deck last night.” She opened the door and stepped out onto the deck.

“Then meet me for lunch,” Lee said. “One-thirty at The Grill.”

“I don’t know. I’ll try.” At the threshold of the door, a large snail lay crushed on the wooden planks. The snails had overtaken the flowers in the planter box attached to the railing, so she was used to seeing them on the deck. “Gotta go, bye.” The dead snail had not been there when she went to bed last night. She squatted down. Leading away from the snail, every few feet, was a circle of slime. Whoever had stepped on it had squished it good, carrying the slime on the bottom of his or her shoe. The trail led to the edge of the staircase and down several steps.

#

Piper pulled out the short stack of mail from the mailbox. The Squire’s mailbox stood only a few feet from the Vogt’s, separated by the property wall. Since moving in, she’d never run into any occupants of the mansion at the mailboxes. So when she heard footsteps on the pavement she retreated behind the wall. Her skin tightened at the base of her neck. If she were a cat, the hairs would be standing on end.

Mr. Moto bypassed the mailbox, walked to the edge of the street and bent over, inspecting something on the pavement. A wad of something pink. Gum? Vera’s gum? With a dry raspy cough, he picked it up and pocketed it. Piper edged closer. A twig snapped under her foot. Moto jerked around. She stood frozen in place staring back into his face. His eyes behind the round glasses were inflamed and bloodshot. The skin red.

As calmly as possible, Piper turned and walked slowly up the driveway, sorting through the mail. She wasn’t going to let him see she was scared. When she reached the safety of the guesthouse, she hurried inside, locked the door, and dropped down on the couch. She buried her face in her hands. Behind her closed lids, she saw his raw, bloodshot eyes. Eyes that looked ravaged by a strong chemical. What chemical? Chlorine from the pool? Not strong enough to do that kind of damage. Pepper spray. Had Vera managed to get off a shot? If so, where was the canister? If the police searched for and found the canister at the Squire house, it would prove that Vera had been there and that Mr. Moto had taken a hefty dose of it in the face. That would certainly suggest foul play. Her mind reeled.