Foal Play: A Mystery (18 page)

“Why would he?” Bill snapped. “Thanks to you and Myrtle, everyone thinks Myrtle was the one that died in that fire.”

Colleen’s face flushed red. What Bill didn’t say was that thanks to her and Myrtle his career might be over. She was mortified. She had made him an accomplice in their deception and, in doing so, had put his job in jeopardy. Once the coroner identified the body, the jig would be up, Myrtle would be in danger, Bill’s career would be over, and so would their friendship … unless she could figure out who was behind the recent crimes before the medical examiner’s report came back and the feds discovered too much. Now, more than ever, she needed to uncover who was responsible for Corolla’s unusual crime spree and she needed to do it fast.

Colleen and Bill stood in the hall alone, an awkward tension between them.

“I guess I should be getting to the station,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bill said.

“You heading out?”

“In a few minutes. Gotta talk to people at Joe’s about the missing fisherman. You go on.”

“I’ll keep you posted if I find anything out.”

“Good” was his terse response.

Colleen paused a moment, then walked away. So that’s the way it was going to be between them. Professional colleagues and nothing more. She had only herself to blame. She had violated a trust. It wouldn’t matter that they had been friends for years. Working around Bill had taught her that he carefully weighed who earned his trust and who didn’t. Once his trust had been given and broken it would be a long time before he gave it again, if he gave it again.

Colleen punched the door open and exited the building. She put on her sunglasses and stifled the urge to scream. She had to keep it together. What would the fellas at the station think if they saw their chief crying? She was the one they came to with family and relationship issues, not the other way around.

She slipped into her vehicle, thankful that earlier she had called Nellie to drive Myrtle and Sparky home from Miss Kennedy’s house. Right now she needed to be alone. She started the engine and blasted the air-conditioning. She flipped down the visor mirror, dabbed tears from the inner corners of her eyes, and checked her face. Her nose was a little red but otherwise she looked fine. She closed the visor, threw the SUV into gear, and left the lot.

As she drove to the firehouse, she retrieved her cell phone and dialed home. She wanted to make sure Myrtle had made it back safely and that her cover hadn’t been blown by spending too much time with Nellie. Ideally, Nellie would have dropped Myrtle and Sparky off and been on her way. But Colleen knew that that was too much to hope for. The two ladies were most likely sipping coffee and sharing stories in Colleen’s kitchen.

The phone rang once, twice, three times and then the answering machine picked up. Colleen disconnected and dialed again. She had instructed Myrtle that she would call, hang up, and call again if she wanted to speak with her. It was the signal they agreed to before Colleen and Bill left to talk to Special Agent Garcia. The phone rang again, once, twice, and then Myrtle answered.

“Hello,” Myrtle said in her Mitch voice.

“Nellie still there?”

“How are you, Colleen?” Myrtle said, trying to play their call off as a mundane conversation.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Nell and I are getting on just fine. Aren’t we, Nell?”

Colleen heard Nellie answer in the affirmative in the background.

“You mind if I go into the other room and talk to my niece?” she heard Myrtle ask Nellie.

Colleen’s eyebrows furrowed. Something was up. She pulled onto the shoulder. She didn’t want to be driving in case it was bad news.

“You there?” Myrtle asked in her own voice after a pause.

“What’s up?” Colleen asked, concerned.

“I’ve been waiting for your call. Did everything go okay with the DEA?”

“I’m not sure I’d use that word to describe how things went.”

“Then you’re not going to like what I’ve got to tell you,” Myrtle said in a hushed tone.

Colleen had a disguised former teacher at her house, a dead body washed up on the beach, a burned body at the medical examiner’s office, a missing little girl, heroin buried in the dunes, a mysterious man with a gun, and a dead art teacher. What more could Myrtle add to the list?

“Things happened so fast at Miss Kennedy’s house I didn’t have time to tell you.”

“What is it?” Colleen asked with an edge. She was starting to panic and Myrtle drawing things out wasn’t helping.

“While you and Sheriff Dorman were with poor Miss Kennedy I was looking out her front window. I saw a car in front of her house, just sitting there with the engine running.”

“What kind of car?”

“I don’t know. Four-door. New, I guess. It was sort of a gray or silver color.”

Colleen’s heart skipped a beat. She broke into a cold sweat. A charcoal-colored sedan had been parked near the house where Myrtle and the girl had been hidden.

“Would you say the car was charcoal in color?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

“I guess. Yeah, I guess I’d say it was dark gray.”

“Myrtle, tell me you saw the driver.”

“The car drove away before I could,” Myrtle said, slipping back into her Uncle Mitch voice.

Colleen heard Nellie in the background asking if everything was okay. Myrtle would have to get off the phone or arouse Nellie’s suspicion. “Thanks for the information,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

“Good talking to you,” Myrtle said and then the connection went dead.

Colleen sighed. Myrtle would have to be on her own for a while longer. She hoped her acting skills were as good as she said they were. She wasn’t sure how Nellie would take the deception if she discovered that Mitch was really Myrtle. Bill certainly hadn’t liked it.

Colleen merged into traffic. She was running out of time. Sooner or later Myrtle would be found out, and once that happened her former teacher would be in danger again. And she didn’t even want to dwell on what might have happened to Ashley and her family. Her gut told her they were okay, safely tucked away somewhere, but she had also thought the art teacher was safe at her own home. She decided to take a detour before going to the station. She needed to find the charcoal-colored sedan and its driver. She had a feeling both were still on the island and that was the reason why the coroner was suddenly getting a lot of business. Colleen went north, back to where she had first spotted the sedan near the partially constructed beach house. She didn’t think it likely the car would be there, but it was the only place she knew to look.

As she sped up Route 12, Colleen wondered how the killer had known the girl was at Miss Kennedy’s house. The obvious answer was that he had followed them. If that were true, then he must have known where the girl and Myrtle had been hidden. But she and Myrtle had thoroughly checked the property before stashing the girl there. They hadn’t seen anyone near the house and the empty sedan had been parked at least fifty yards away. She was certain the site had been deserted. Still, something nagged at her.

She strained her memory, trying to recall every detail of the events at the beach house. Was there a shadow she had missed lurking in a corner? The smell of someone’s cologne or sweat? Colleen’s seat squeaked underneath her as she bounced over a pothole. Suddenly, her mind clicked. The squeaking and groaning floorboards! How could she have been so stupid? She had blamed the wind for its cause but someone must have been moving around above them inside the house and overheard everything they had said! No wonder Miss Kennedy’s killer knew where to find the girl. From the elevated vantage point he probably had a view not only of Bill’s vehicle driving away but the DEA agents digging up the heroin.

Colleen felt like an idiot. She had forgotten to look up. She recalled being on a high school field trip to Washington, D.C., and one of the teachers telling the group to “turn their eyes to the heavens.” He had said that thousands of people walked by the buildings every day and never noticed the brilliant work artisans had done on the façades. Much of the day had been spent discovering carved gargoyles and eagles and other creatures hovering above them. From then on, she was aware of the underbelly of bird’s nests, the way snow fell from directly above, and the frequency of shooting stars. She had made it a habit to observe what was above her … except today.

Colleen drew near the beach house. She could already see that the sedan wasn’t there, but she stopped at the house anyway. She examined the partially finished second floor. From there the killer most certainly could have seen and heard everything.

As she studied the house, something in the sky caught her eye. She removed her sunglasses, wound down her window, and squinted into the sun. A light breeze carried smoke over the tops of the houses and out to sea. Colleen sniffed the air and frowned. Pinky was up to his old tricks.

“You know Pinky,”
Colleen said to Jimmy Bartlett over her cell phone as she drove toward the Island Sands development. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jimmy said in a stern tone. “You call if it’s more than Mr. Salvatore’s debris that’s on fire.”

Colleen grinned. One thing she could count on was Jimmy turning into a big brother when she had to visit Pinky. It didn’t matter that she was Jimmy’s boss. “If Sheriff Dorman comes looking for me, let him know where I am,” she said and hung up.

Colleen thumped the steering wheel. Damn. Why did she leave that message for Bill with Jimmy? If Bill wanted to share information about the missing fisherman he would simply call her. Did she really think Bill was more likely to stop by the station than pick up the phone? Of course not. If she was being completely honest with herself she knew leaving the message with Jimmy almost guaranteed Jimmy would call Bill and tell him about her trip to see Pinky. And when Bill heard about the visit, maybe, just maybe, he’d worry about her a little. Leaving the message was a feeble attempt to get Bill’s attention. Pathetic, she thought.

Colleen rounded the final bend that led into Island Sands. She wound through the estate community and found the source of the smoke. Pinky’s workers must have seen her vehicle approaching because they were already busy hosing down the burning debris. Colleen swung her vehicle in a wide circle around them. None of the workers made eye contact with her. She slowed to watch the last flames fizzle out, then continued to Pinky’s trailer. Today would not be a good day for Antonio Salvatore.

When she arrived at Pinky’s glorified double-wide trailer with its Vegas-style faux New York–skyline façade, the sight of Little Bobby’s motorcycle in the parking lot made her forget her mental preparations for Pinky’s tongue lashing. What was Little Bobby doing here? She parked in the shade behind a thicket of carefully landscaped trees and shrubs and exited her vehicle. The door to Pinky’s trailer opened. She quietly closed her SUV door and ducked behind the vegetation.

“When you get the title changed let me know and I’ll draw up the papers,” Pinky said, descending the steps with Little Bobby.

“The sooner we can get this done the better,” Little Bobby said.

Colleen heard movement in the trees behind her and froze. Was it the man with the gun? Had Pinky laid a trap for her by starting the fire? Did he have someone waiting to attack her? She heard the familiar sounds of snorting and chewing. She peeked over her shoulder, saw a horse grazing nearby, and sighed with relief.

“Thanks for coming by, Mr. Crepe,” Pinky said, capturing her attention.

Little Bobby mounted his motorcycle, donned his helmet, revved the engine, and raced from the property. When he was gone, Pinky climbed the stairs and retreated inside the trailer.

Colleen was so stunned by the interaction between Pinky and Little Bobby that she almost forgot the reason for her visit. Suddenly, her goal had changed from shutting Pinky down for burning debris to finding out what deal he had conned Little Bobby into accepting. A different goal meant she’d have to employ different tactics. She’d still fine Pinky for the debris—that, he would expect—but she couldn’t give him too much trouble if she was going to get information from him. She took a deep breath and cut across the steamy parking lot. This was going to require all the charm she could muster.

Colleen climbed the trailer steps and was about to knock when the door opened wide. “Chief McCabe, how lovely to see you,” Pinky greeted her.

He stepped aside and motioned for her to go in. Frank Sinatra sang “I Get a Kick Out of You” softly over the speakers. She eyed Pinky in her peripheral vision as she entered. Had he known she was out in the parking lot all along? She’d have to stay on her toes. Despite his apparent interest in her, Pinky wasn’t easily manipulated.

“May I get you some champagne?” he asked, crossing to a small bar.

“What’s the celebration?”

“You don’t need to celebrate to have champagne,” he said with a smile, and extracted a chilled bottle from an ice bucket that had been standing at the ready on the kitchen counter.

Colleen surveyed the interior of Pinky’s trailer. It never ceased to amaze her how clean and contemporary it was, like something out of a high-end interior design magazine. When she had visited friends who lived in the trailer park, the insides of their double-wide homes never looked like this.

Pinky poured two glasses of champagne. Colleen had no intention of drinking hers but she accepted the champagne and played along. Maybe she could get Pinky a little tipsy.

“So what brings you to my neck of the island?” he asked.

She resisted the urge to take a sip. The glass felt cool in her hand and the bubbles looked refreshingly tempting. “It’s about the debris,” she said.

“It’s always about the debris,” Pinky said, tasted his drink, and let out a satisfied sigh. “You haven’t tried your champagne. I don’t break out the good stuff for just anyone, Chief McCabe.”

Colleen reluctantly took a sip. She knew if she didn’t she’d never find out what Pinky and Little Bobby had been discussing and the visit would end like all visits with Pinky—her handing him a fine and him clinging to her hand a little too long as he shook it to say good-bye. “Delicious,” she said. The champagne really was delicious. If Colleen didn’t have to work and it was Bill instead of Pinky, she definitely could have been persuaded into indulging in a glass or two.