Major Crimes (16 page)

Chapter 21

Chelsey

My list of suspects was down to Pamela, Brittany, Lake, Cynthia, and Martha. I wasn’t sure where to start. I put my car in gear and drove back to the shore from Garfield. With half the day already wasted, I dug through my purse and found the papers with the information on the women.

Martha worked as a secretary at an engineering firm. I plugged her address into my GPS. I thought I could scope out the place and hoped that Martha would leave for lunch. An hour later, the GPS told me my destination was on the right.

Parking toward the back of the lot where Martha wouldn’t notice me, I reviewed Freddy’s notes. There was a picture of Martha, so I’d know her if I saw her. Her home address and her work information were the only other items on the paper. Freddy was a minimalist. Never gave me more information than he thought I needed to know.

My stomach growled. I had forgotten to eat breakfast.
C’mon Martha. Go to lunch so I can get something for myself to eat.
It was as if she read my mind, because she exited the building.

I started my car and put it in gear in order to follow her. Martha left the parking lot and drove to a strip mall four miles away. I stayed several car lengths behind, not that she was looking for a tail, but one could never be sure.

Martha parked, unloaded her laundry, and dropped it off at the dry cleaners. I wondered if I could get DNA by stealing a shirt of hers or something. I wasn’t sure there’d be DNA on it though, unless she was a drooler.
Was she a drooler?
Nah, she didn’t look like a drooler. Or was she?

Martha’s frizzy dark hair bounced as she walked. She didn’t go back to her car, though. She went into the pizza place next door.
Bingo!
I turned off the car and went inside the pizza place too.

Martha stood at the counter and ordered two veggie slices and a water. I ordered a slice of buffalo chicken pizza with a diet soda. I knew it was a lot of calories, but I was famished. We both paid and waited next to each other while our slices heated up.

I thought about striking up a conversation with her, and I remembered Freddy told me not to engage. But, the urge was worse than a moose to a muffin. I bit my bottom lip trying not to say hello.

Our slices were ready. Martha took hers and sat at a booth near the door. I picked up my slice and soda and sat a couple of booths behind her. I hoped to grab her cup out of the garbage when she left. I looked at the enormous garbage can by the door. I glanced around at all the patrons. Grabbing a cup out of the trash may not have been my best idea. It would’ve been easily contaminated. I sighed. How was I going to get her cup?

I watched as Martha lifted the cup toward her mouth and drank from her straw. She grabbed the cup with her right hand. Did that mean she was right-handed? If it did, it would mean she wasn’t the murderer.

I scarfed down my slice, got up from my seat, and walked over to Martha’s table. I sat down.

“Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help but notice your brooch. Is that cameo a blue agate?”

Martha chewed her food and swallowed. “Yes, it is blue agate.”

“It is simply gorgeous. My mother would love something like that. Her birthday is coming up. Where did you find it?”

Martha instinctively touched the brooch with her right hand. “Oh, I bought this one at a store in St. Martin.” She whispered, “Duty free shopping.”

I nodded in agreement. “I love St. Martin. I got a beautiful watermelon topaz ring from there—cheap.”

“Oh, a girl after my own heart. I also got these sapphire earrings from St. Martin. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

“They are! I love them.” I wondered how I could grab a napkin from her without looking like a total weirdo. I looked at my watch. “Oh my, it’s nearly one. Are you going back to work as well?”

“Oh yes, I have to head out.”

“I’m so sorry to have taken up your lunch break.”

“Not a problem at all. It was nice to meet you…” Martha held out her hand.

“Chelsey.” I shook her extended hand.

“Martha.”

“Nice to meet you too. Let me take this for you.” I grabbed her plate containing her dirty napkins and walked to the garbage. She followed me. When it was apparent Martha wasn’t leaving until I disposed of the trash, I place the dish and napkins on top of the garbage can and dug through my purse for my phone. Pretending to answer, I waved adieu to Martha. She left with her cup in her hand.

I rummaged through my purse again for a baggie. I grabbed a gallon-sized one and dumped the paper plate and all of its contents in the bag together, marking it “Martha” before I left. Those actions garnered a strange stare from some of the diners and a busboy. I didn’t care. I got what I came for and in my mind, I had confirmation Martha wasn’t the killer—she was right-handed.

I turned on my heels and scurried away before someone asked me what I was doing. Back in my car, I started the engine and pondered my next move. I took out Freddy’s notes and looked up Cynthia Sterling. Looking at her photo, I realized that Martha, Drew’s sister, Lake, and Cynthia all had the same look about them. Big brown eyes, medium frame, and brown hair. Archie was certainly attracted to similar looking women.

A figure appeared at my passenger window, then jumped into my car. I panicked. I thought it was a carjacker. When he removed his hood, I saw it was Bryce.

I punched him in the arm. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy? The cops searched my house this morning looking for you. You’re going to cause both of our butts to be handed to us on a silver platter. Why didn’t you stay at Frank’s house like you were told?”

“Now there’s my queen of clichés. I love it when you talk so condescendingly.”

“Bryce, c’mon, I’m serious. We’re close to cracking this case wide open. You need to be more careful than this. You’re going to get both of us in deep trouble.”

“I missed you.”

I eyed him up and down. “Doubtful.”

“I truly did.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed Bryce. It hadn’t been that long since I saw him. Certain there was enough chaos at Frank’s house to entertain him, I thought he wanted me around out of necessity, if anything.

“I came to help with DNA collection.”

“How did you find me?”

“You’re looking at one of the best detectives in the county. It wasn’t hard to find you.”

“If you’re such a great detective, how come you haven’t solved this case yet?”

Bryce’s look hardened. My words had stung. I changed the subject. “Freddy told you to stay put. I can’t be seen with you. What if someone recognizes you?”

“Chelsey, I have tons of experience collecting DNA from suspects. Are you going to trust me?”

“No.” I folded my arms.

“And how much experience do you have at this?”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I grabbed the bags of evidence I had placed on the floor behind the passenger’s seat and held them up for Bryce. “One. Two.”

Bryce laughed at me. “And who are they from?”

“Drew and Martha.”

“Drew isn’t a suspect.”

“I didn’t believe that until this morning.”

“When are you going to trust those of us with more experience than you? Freddy retired from his PD after…how many decades of working there?”

“Too many.”

“Exactly. He’s seen things, his instincts are good, he’s experienced. You, my dear, are not.”

I didn’t know what else to say or do, so I stuck my tongue out at him.

“So mature.”

“Get out of my car and let me do my job.”

“Your wish is my command.” Bryce left the car.

I wondered where he was headed. I didn’t mean to push him out, but it was for his own good. And for my own good. For all I knew, the police tailed me and saw Bryce in my car. I wondered if I should call the number on the card I was given earlier to report seeing Bryce to the officer in charge of the case. I might’ve been be able to throw them off the trail. Tell them Bryce was on his way to Mexico. It could’ve led them on a wild goose chase. But I thought better of lying to the cops. No reason to perjure myself.

I put my car in gear and drove to my next location. Cynthia Sterling’s home. No one was there.
Well that was a waste of my time!
I looked at my list again. Lake was next.
Who names their kid “Lake” anyway?

Lake worked at the local frozen yogurt place. Just what I was in the mood for after lunch—something sweet. I drove the three blocks to the Coral Beach Yogurt Shop and I parallel parked out front.

A bell jingled as I entered the door. A plump brunette behind the counter said, “Welcome to the Coral Beach Yogurt Shop. We have twenty-seven flavors. Have you been here before?”

I knew the woman was Lake. Either she was much younger than Archie or she had found the world’s best wrinkle cream because she didn’t look a day older than thirty-five. She had gained weight since the picture was taken, but her facial features were the same, making it easy for me to recognize her.

“I haven’t been here before.”

“Well then welcome! I’m Lake. I own this franchise. Let me show you how this works. Here is a tasting spoon.”

Lake handed me a tasting spoon suitable for a smurf. I wasn’t sure how much I would taste much with a flea size portion. “Thanks.”

“What you do is take a cup and you can fill it up with any flavor or multiple flavors of yogurt and then there are toppings over there.” Lake pointed to the toppings and handed me a paper soup bowl, which must’ve been what she considered a
cup
.

I nodded. I wondered if a woman who worked at a yogurt shop could be a killer. Frozen yogurt and murder didn’t seem to go hand-in-hand. Except in one of those cozy mystery novels.

“When you’re done, bring your cup to the counter and put it on the scale. We charge you by the weight of your cup. Feel free to taste all of the yogurt flavors. My personal favorite is caramel pretzel fudge brownie.”

I carried my cup to the yogurt dispensers.

“Just pull the lever forward to make the machine work. Oh, and don’t put the spoon directly into the yogurt coming from the machine. Put a little yogurt in your cup first, then taste it.”

I walked up and down the machines reading the twenty-seven flavors of yogurt. I settled on vanilla—which was symbolic of my love life. Plain and boring. I pulled the lever as directed and put a drop in my cup. I tasted it with my miniature spoon and was instantly grateful the spoon was so tiny. It was the worst vanilla frozen yogurt I ever tasted, which gave me an idea.

“Excuse me, Lake? This vanilla tastes funny.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t think it’s about liking it or not, I think something’s wrong with it.”

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“Here, taste it. Let me know if this is right.”

Lake grabbed a cup and a spoon. She moseyed over to the vanilla dispenser and put some in her cup. Using her right hand, she tasted it. I wondered if a left-handed person would’ve put the spoon in their left hand. If I could’ve gotten her DNA, left-handed, or right-handed, it wouldn’t have mattered much.

“Tastes fine to me.”

“Really?” It really did
not
taste fine.

“Why don’t you try something else? Like the carrot pomegranate acai? Or the lemon pecan sriachi?”

I frowned.

“We have plain chocolate too.”

“I’ll try that.” I dispensed the chocolate from the machine and watched as Lake put the spoon and container into the trash before walking back to the cash register.

I reached into my purse and grabbed a plastic bag. Pulling it inside out, I reached into the garbage can and pulled out her trash.
That was easy!

“What the hell are you doing?” A raging bull was galloping toward me. “Why are you taking the cup and spoon I used?” Lake was not pleased.

I held up my hand, which stopped her in her tracks.
Huh! I need to try this move more often.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I need to stop you there.”

“I demand to know what you’re doing!”

“I’m with the health department. I’m taking this specimen to the lab to test it. Do you know you could be in serious trouble if you’re not serving food up to standard?” I had no idea what I was talking about or what health inspectors looked for in the food, but it was worth a shot.

“Then why aren’t you taking your own cup for a specimen?”

I glanced down at my cup. She had a point. “This one’s filled with chocolate.”

“Why did you put chocolate in that one instead of just taking it when you had vanilla in it? Why didn’t you tell me you were an inspector? Where is your ID? Where is the inspector I normally deal with? Who are you? What is your name? I’m going to report you!”