Moss Hysteria (22 page)

“Provide us with indisputable proof of where you were between seven and eight that Friday night,” Marco said.

She sat down on the edge of the chair and folded her hands beseechingly. “Look, you have to listen to me. If you go see my friend you'll absolutely destroy Sa . . .” She caught herself before she finished the name, and changed it to “her.”

“All she has to do is swear you were there that night,” I said.

“That's the problem. She
can't
swear to it.” Mitzi picked at her thumbnail again. “She wasn't there.”

“Were you alone in her house?” Marco asked.

“Not exactly,” she muttered, moving to another fingernail.

The dawn broke. I glanced at Marco and saw by his expression that he got it, too. “Were you there with her husband?” I asked.

Mitzi gave us a pitiful glance. “You won't tell anyone, will you? I've broken it off—I swear I have.”

“We'll need to verify your alibi with your friend's husband,” Marco said.

She began to pace again and finally said, “Then let me arrange it. I'll have him come down to the bar. Promise you won't do anything before I set it up, okay? Please?” She was almost on her knees before us.

I'd never expected to see Mitzi Kole grovel. Could it be that she was actually concerned about hurting her lover's wife?

“It has to be this evening,” Marco said as we rose. “If he doesn't show up, we'll be at your door tomorrow whether your husband is home or not.”

She threw her arms around him and then around me. “Thank you! Oh, thank you both! I swear he'll be there and then you'll have your proof.”

•   •   •

As we walked up the sidewalk past Theda's house, I spotted our energetic neighbor digging a sickly looking rosebush out of the mulch around her front porch. When she saw us she put down her shovel and came over to talk.

“I hear you're hot on someone's trail,” she said, removing her gardening gloves. “Deloris Reynolds told me you borrowed their surveillance recording.”

Word certainly got around fast at Brandywine.

“We have to investigate every avenue,” Marco said. “I see you replaced your garden shovel.”

“I needed something a bit larger anyway.” She pointed toward our house. “Look who's waiting for you.”

Seedy was in the front window yipping soundlessly and wagging her tail.

“She needs to go out,” Marco said. “I'll take care of it.”

As he strode away, I asked Theda, “How did it go at the police station the other day?”

“Smoothly, but only because of my wonderful attorney, whom I can't thank you enough for recommending. After I'd explained my theory about the cat collar to Detective Wells, she began asking the same questions I'd answered twice before, so Dave, bless his heart, called a halt to the interview. He told her not to bother us unless she had something new to discuss.”

Almost as though she found the situation droll, Theda added with a wry smile, “That young gal is just bristling with frustration because she can't find any hard evidence against me.”

I smiled back, although I wasn't sure what she found so amusing. I hadn't seen anything to smile about when the detectives were pursuing me as their prime suspect.

•   •   •

“You're quiet, Sunshine,” Marco said as we walked Seedy out to the park. “What's on your mind?”

I'd been mulling over how much Theda's offhand attitude concerned me, but I didn't want Marco to know that. “Just what we learned from Mitzi today.”

“What did we learn?”

“That she's a poor actress, for one thing. Did you really believe her sudden recall of seeing a man crouched in the reeds? And that she conveniently forgot to tell the police? I think she just wanted to take the heat off herself by pointing a finger at Rye. She knows he wears a gray hooded jacket.”

Seedy was tugging on her leash, wanting to romp with one of her canine buddies, so Marco crouched down to unsnap the lead from her collar. For a moment he just watched her play, then said, “So you don't believe it's possible Mitzi saw the killer? It was certainly the right time and location for it.”

“Certainly it's possible, but given all the police attention, is it logical that she would just now remember it?”

“Not at all. But if her boyfriend can verify her alibi, then there's a high probability that Mitzi is telling the truth. So until we know otherwise, we need to take her claim seriously. And we have to consider that this hooded figure could be a woman.”

“It would've had to be a fairly large woman. Mitzi said the person was bulky.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew exactly what Marco would say next, and he didn't prove me wrong. “Theda fits that description.”

“I just don't believe Theda would kill someone over moss in her yard.”

“Unless moss wasn't her only issue with Dirk.”

I could tell by the tone of his voice that he had more information. “What aren't you telling me, Salvare?”

“Lisa Wells told me something in full confidence, and I'll share it, but you can't say a word to Theda.”

“You know I won't.”

At that moment Seedy came hobbling over, ready to go home. Running on three legs took more energy than four, so she tired more quickly than other dogs. So it wasn't until we were on our way home that Marco said, “Theda is alleging that Dirk drowned a cat she was fostering shortly after he started working at Brandywine. That was the theory she presented to Lisa of how the cat collar came to be in the pond.”

It wasn't the story she'd told me, but all I said was, “That's awful.”

“According to Theda, the cat took an instant disliking to Dirk, hissing whenever he came around. At one point she saw him kick the cat and reported it to Thorne, which got back to Dirk. There was strong animosity between her and Dirk after that.”

“Poor Theda, to lose a cat in such a horrible fashion. She loves her cats.”

“Yes, Abby. She does.” Marco said nothing more, but he had me doubting my gut again, because Theda's motive had just gotten a whole lot stronger. The unfortunate result was that my reason for investigating had changed. Now I just wanted to make sure we didn't have a murderer in the neighborhood.

To get my mind off Theda, I asked, “Are we going to reinterview Rye?”

“I'd like to talk to Mitzi's boyfriend first.”

“Are you sure you'll be able to trust anything he says? I'm sure she'll coach him.”

“Yes, she probably will, so we'll have to play up his being a good citizen to help us catch a killer.”

“You know who I feel sorry for? The man's wife. She probably believes Mitzi is a good friend. But Mitzi will cheat on anyone, including her girlfriends.”

As we stepped into our house, with Seedy hobbling ahead of us, I asked, “Did you ever connect with Jane Singletary about Dirk's photos?”

“She never called back. It's early yet, so let's take a drive over to see her. And after that, we can canvass Rye's neighbors to see if we can find an alibi witness.”

T
he dark clouds arrived after all, bringing with them a heavy rain just as we reached Jane Singletary's neighborhood. Because we were in my yellow car, we had to park around the corner from Jane's house so we could catch her by surprise, which meant Marco and I had to share the small yellow travel umbrella I kept under the seat.

“I can't get the umbrella any lower, Abby. It's hitting the top of my head now.”

“Half of me is getting drenched.”

He put the handle in my hand. “Take it. I'll be fine.”

Didn't have to tell me twice. I tilted it down to keep the driving rain off my face, while Marco pulled the collar of his jacket up, huddling into it like a turtle.

“If we had an inconspicuous car, like, say, a gray Prius,” I said, “we could park close.”

Marco didn't reply, but I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. He rang Jane's doorbell, and I heard one of her sons call, “I'll get it, Mom.”

Her youngest son swung the front door open just as Jane came up behind him, smiling. She saw us and immediately scowled. “Go back to the kitchen,” she told her son, then said to us through the screen door, “What do you want?” She sounded impatient.

“We're following up on the photos you were going to look for,” Marco said.

“Oh.” She unlocked the screen door and opened it. “I forgot about that. I did find some. Come in while I'll get them.”

Moments later Jane came back with a manila envelope. “I could find only a few that he took at Brandywine. The quality isn't great, but it's the best I could do.”

“Thanks,” I said, tucking the envelope into my purse.

“Rye told us you found his wrench in your husband's truck,” Marco said. “He was glad to get it back.”

Jane lifted one shoulder carelessly. “I guess it's the least I could do since my husband apparently stole it from him.”

“I'm amazed the police didn't keep it for evidence,” Marco said.

“All I know is that it was lying in the truck bed when I went to clean it out.”

Marco's phone beeped, so he said, “Excuse me,” and stepped away.

“If you know anyone who needs a brand-new truck,” Jane said to me, “I just put the Tundra up for sale.”

“Are you selling your other vehicle, too?” I asked.

“Not my CR-V, but I'm sure I'll sell the Prius. I don't need it.”

Number one, she didn't have a black Ford. Number two, was the universe answering my prayer? “We had a Prius,” I told her, as Marco rejoined us. “It was a great car.” To Marco I said, “Jane is selling her third car, a Prius.”

Marco didn't comment.

“I've never even driven it,” Jane said. “Dirk bought it a few months ago, but I prefer my Honda.”

“How much are you asking for it?” I asked, ignoring Marco's disgruntled glance.

“I haven't figure that out yet. Are you interested?”

“We might be. What color is it?”

“Navy. I can let you know when I have a price.”

•   •   •

The rain had subsided when we left, leaving a strong fishy smell in the air. “I think we can eliminate Jane,” I said. “She doesn't own a black Ford.”

“I caught that.”

“Are you really not interested in her Prius?”

“Really not interested.”

“Aren't you even a little curious to find out what she's asking for it?”

“We'll get a new car, Abby, don't worry.”

“Sorry for asking.”

He took my hand. “I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just a little distracted. I've been trying to reach my mom all day, and she hasn't returned my calls or texts. She's not answering Rafe's calls, either.”

“Is that who called?”

“Yes. He's concerned now, too.”

“Maybe she's out shopping and left her phone at home.”

Marco merely grunted. As he unlocked the Corvette, I tried not to think about any other possibility, such as that something bad had happened at Alfie's lake cottage, but of course now my brain seized upon it and refused to let go. “I'll try texting her. She might be simply avoiding both of you.”

I dug for my phone but Jane's envelope of photos was in my way, so I stuck it between the seats. Then I took out my phone and sent a text message to Francesca.

Ten minutes later we'd reached Rye's street and still had no response from Francesca.

“Something's wrong,” Marco said, pulling up to the curb. “I'm going to call my guy on the ground in Michigan to see if he's learned anything new.”

Marco dialed his buddy's number and waited while it rang, but the call went to voice mail. He left a detailed message and then turned the car around and headed home. “Let's leave this for another day. I'm too distracted.”

Seedy was waiting for us at the door, so I took her outside while Marco paced through the house again, trying to reach his colleague. When I returned, Marco had put his phone on the kitchen island with its speaker turned on so I could hear. Because of a bad connection, he was leaning in, trying to make out what his friend was saying.

“Stuart keeps cutting out,” Marco said quietly. “The big storm we had is now moving across lower Michigan.”

A burst of static made us both jump. Then we heard, “You still there, Mar—” And then there was another long interruption before we heard, “. . . not going to believe . . . found out . . . Donnerson is . . .”

For a long moment all we could hear was crackling, and then Stuart called out, “Did you get that?”

“No. Repeat it, please,” Marco said.

“. . . said Donnerson is . . . serial kil . . .”

“What?” Marco shouted. “Stuart, repeat that!”

More static filled the air. Marco turned to me. “Did he say
serial killer
? Is that what you heard?”

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Had I let Francesca drive away with a killer? Was my nightmare coming true? “We must have heard wrong, Marco. The connection was terrible.”
Please, God, let that be it.

“Stuart!” Marco shook his phone in frustration. “Damn it, Abby, what if that's exactly what he said? Stuart, come in, please!”

After more crackling, the line went dead.

Marco began to scroll through his phone contacts. “I'll call Gina. Mom might have told her where she was going today.”

That would put his sister in a panic. “Don't do that. I know where your mom is.”

Ignoring Marco's stunned look, I ran to the bedroom, grabbed the silver bag, and hurried back. I removed the envelope, but before I could get it open Marco snatched it and ripped the top off, pulling out the memo inside. “This is a Michigan address.”

“It's Alfie's cottage. Your mom made me swear not to tell you unless it was a dire emergency.”

“I'd say this qualifies.” He grabbed the car keys. “I'm going up there.”

“Wait, Marco! I want to go. Let me take Seedy over to Theda's.”

I grabbed Seedy's leash, scooped her up, and ran through the garage, across our yards, and pounded on Theda's door. When she opened it, I said, “Would you watch Seedy? We have an emergency with Marco's mom and—”

She opened her door and took the dog. “Don't waste time explaining. Go!”

“Thank you!” I called, just as Marco backed out the 'Vette.

I jumped in and we took off.

“Let's try to think this through rationally,” I said, my fingers tucked under my armpits in a futile attempt to keep my hands from shaking. “If Alfie is a serial killer, wouldn't all his wives be dead? Wouldn't Stuart have phoned the local police to tell them what he discovered?”

“Maybe he did phone them, Abby. I'm still going up there.”

I fell silent but my mind continued to race.
Please let Francesca be okay,
I prayed.

It was the longest and worst hour-and-a-half ride of my life. I couldn't begin to imagine what Marco was feeling inside. I hoped he wasn't thinking it was all my fault, because I sure was.

•   •   •

“This can't be the right place,” Marco said. “The GPS must be wrong.”

We were sitting in front of two massive wrought iron gates that separated us from an enormous three-story pink brick house with a lake behind it. Could this mansion possibly belong to Alfie or had he purposely given Francesca a bad address so we couldn't find her?

“There's a big
D
on the gate, Marco.
D
for
Donnerson
.”

“I see it. His name came up when I did a search on this address, too. I just don't believe it.” He pulled the Corvette off to one side and got out of the car. “In any case, I'm not leaving here until I know whether my mom is inside.”

We followed the wrought iron fence around a huge expanse of lawn to the back, where a lower stone fence enclosed a spacious white brick patio that held a seating area, fire pit, hot tub, and a magnificent infinity pool that went right up to the lake. Marco helped me up onto the flat stone top and then we jumped down into the courtyard. From there we crept up to the expanse of windows along the back of the house.

Staying low to the ground, Marco peeked in the first window, cupping his hands around his eyes, then moved on down the line until he came to a set of French doors, where he again cupped his eyes to stare inside. “No sign of anyone.”

Trying both handles, he found the doors unlocked, so he opened one side and stepped in. He paused to listen then motioned for me to follow. I slipped through the open door and glanced around in awe. I was standing in a massive family room that had white marble floors covered with luxurious Oriental carpets and two separate living areas separated by a dual-sided stone fireplace.

“I think you were right, Marco. This can't be Alfie's house. We're breaking and entering an innocent person's home. We'd better leave before we get into big trouble.”

He picked up a black patent leather handbag lying on a table. “Recognize this?”

It was Francesca's. The blood drained out of my head so rapidly I had to lean against a wall.

Marco held his index finger to his lips, warning me to be quiet, then moved soundlessly across the vast room heading toward a wide doorway. I followed behind, glancing over my shoulder at the door we'd left open, my internal radar on full alert.

When we reached the doorway, he peered around it then motioned for me to take a look. I moved to his side and saw a kitchen so enormous, a cooking show could have been produced there. He pointed to an object on the white countertop, and my stomach roiled. There, lying next to a gigantic stainless steel sink, was a bloody butcher knife.

I heard a person whistling in the distance and we both stepped back.

“Get ready to dial nine-one-one and stay out of sight,” he whispered. And then he was down, moving toward the kitchen island as stealthily as a panther.

I stood on the other side of the doorway, unable to see what was happening, my heart beating so hard I thought it would break ribs. What if this
was
Alfie's house? What if he
had
been lying to Marco and Francesca this whole time? What if even now Marco's mom lay dead somewhere? How would I ever live with myself?

The whistling person was closer now, and then I heard the slap of bare feet on the marble floor. My fingers were trembling so hard against the phone's touch pad I feared I wouldn't be able to press the right buttons.

A refrigerator door opened on the other side of the wall. I closed my eyes and held my breath, afraid I'd give myself away. For a moment there was complete silence. Then I heard a surprised grunt and scuffling, and then Alfie Donnerson cried out, “Let me go! Help! Someone, help!”

A huge wave of relief washed over me. Marco had him.

I hurried into the kitchen to see Marco with one arm around Alfie's neck, the other pinning Alfie's arm behind his back, causing the unfortunate man's satin maroon lounging robe to come loose at the waist. I dropped my gaze to his hairy legs and bare feet, afraid to look up.

“Tell me where my mother is,” Marco ground out.

“Ow! You're hurting me,” Alfie gasped, tugging at Marco's arm. “Let me go. Abby, make him let me go! I can explain.”

“Right. Abby, phone the police.”

“Wait!” Alfie called. “Don't do that. You'll regret it.”

Marco loosened his hold on Alfie's neck, but pulled the man's arm higher up his back. “Where is she?”

“
Ow!
Son, you've got to let me talk.”

“I'm not your son,” Marco said through gritted teeth. “Tell me what you did to my mother or I promise this won't end well.”

Alfie stunned me by letting out a bark of laughter then immediately winced when Marco tightened his hold. “You find this funny, Alfred?”