Murder in the Milk Case (10 page)

It’s the wind, I told myself. But it continued, sounding like dog nails on the front door. Our front door is massive. One of those solid doors with heavy duty windows at the top. It also has a really nice doorknob. Brass. And it was jiggling.

Chapter Eleven

“I’m calling the police right now, so you’d better back off,” I yelled as I jerked on the lights to the hall and the porch. Praying under my breath, I backed down the hallway, hands on the wall, feeling my way to the kitchen. After almost falling over the doorjamb, I turned and fumbled for the light switch and turned it on. Then I snatched the cordless phone from its bed on the wall and dialed 9-1-1.

Even while dispatch answered, I crept back up the hallway. I had to protect my children from whoever was trying to break in. But the doorknob had stopped moving.

After I explained what was going on, the dispatcher cautioned me not to open the door. Like I’m that stupid.

I assured her I was staying put, then I got a beep telling me I had another call. I ignored it and sat on the bottom step, watching the doorknob. Still no movement.

She kept me on the phone until squad cars with flashing lights filled my driveway and deputies were at the door.

I flung it open. Detective Eric Scott stood there, face scruffy with beard growth, dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt. He would have looked almost human except for the gun on his waist and his eyes, which were squinting at me.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said automatically.

“What?” He rubbed his face then shook his head. “I know that. We need to come in and check things out. Are you okay?”

Mad, scared, heart still pounding, but. . . “Yes.” I stepped back to give him room.

The detective came in, followed by Corporal Fletcher and a younger deputy.

“We’ll check things out, Sarge,” the corporal said.

“Good.” Detective Scott nodded.

“My kids are asleep,” I said.

“Not all of them.” Corporal Fletcher motioned behind me.

I turned. Tommy, clad only in jeans, was tromping down the stairs, followed by Karen in a bathrobe.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Tommy asked.

“Someone tried to break in,” I said. “Are Charlie and Sammie still in bed?”

Karen nodded.

Detective Scott glanced at the corporal. “Fletcher, after you two check things out in here, I want you outside to supervise, okay?”

“Yes sir.” Corporal Fletcher turned and walked off the porch.

“Is there somewhere we can sit?” the detective asked.

I nodded and led the way to the kitchen where I slumped into a chair, placing the phone on the table. I felt Tommy’s presence at my back. Karen was leaning against the counter, twirling her hair in her fingers.

I rubbed my eyes and explained everything.

When I was done, Detective Scott took a deep breath. “Are you aware that someone tried to break into the offices of Four Oaks Self-Storage tonight?”

“What?” Tommy barked behind me. “Mom, we gotta call Dad.”

“In a minute, Tommy.” I didn’t want to talk to Max until I’d totally calmed down. I wondered if the beep I’d ignored had been the alarm company trying to call me about the attempt at the storage offices.

“Did they get in?” Tommy asked, sounding very much like his father.

“No,” the detective said.

About that time, I heard Charlie’s voice. “Mom! Where are you?” He stormed into the kitchen, face squished up with fear. “What’s going on around here? There are cops upstairs and cop cars outside.”

“Someone tried to break in the house, but it’s okay.” I attempted to sound reassuring, feeling anything but. Things weren’t okay. My fear was dissipating, leaving behind only anger. I needed to talk to the detective. I turned to the children. “Would you three mind giving me a few minutes alone with Detective Scott? Karen, go check on Sammie. Charlie, if she wakes up, don’t you dare scare her with this. I mean it.”

Karen nodded and left the room.

Charlie bounced next to me. “Mom, can I—”

“Charlie,” I snapped. “Just go away, okay?”

He ran from the room. I had a feeling he was going outside to watch the activity. I didn’t try to stop him.

Tommy didn’t move. I turned and looked up at him. His jaw was set. “Mom, I’d really like to stay. Dad sort of left me in charge.”

I didn’t want any of the kids in there in case Detective Scott said something about Russ. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I think perhaps the other kids could use your strength right now.”

“I think I should stay,” he said, crossing his arms.

I met his gaze and shook my head. We had a silent battle of wills, a stare down of sorts. He finally looked away. Then he put his shoulders back and gave the detective a steely glance. “All right. But if you need me for anything, call.”

Detective Scott watched him leave. “Tommy really watches out for you.”

“Just what I need—another keeper,” I grumbled as I waved at a chair. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He did.

“Would you like coffee, Detective?”

“Yes, please,” he said. “Black.”

I busied myself fixing it, my anger growing by the second. When the liquid started to drip into the carafe, I whirled around. I guess the anger showed on my face or in my gaze because his eyes widened.

With as much dignity as I could muster, given that I was wearing fuzzy pink bunny slippers with crossed eyes and Max’s sweatshirt, which hung to my knees, I decided to tell the detective what I thought. “It was Stefanie Jenkins.”

“What?” He fastened his sharp gaze on my face. “Did you see her?”

“Well, no.”

“Why do you think that?”

I crossed my arms. “Because she wants to get into Jim Bob’s storage unit and will use any method possible, including offering to do anything for Max. We’re both adults, and I’m sure you understand what that means. She tries to act nice, but I don’t believe her. Do you think a little locked door is going to keep her from trying to steal a key? Not to mention, she was probably hoping Max would be here alone or something.”

A slight grin danced on Detective Scott’s lips. I wasn’t amused. I filled a mug with black coffee and clunked it down in front of him. Then I got some for me and sat at the table.

“So how could she have been in two places at once?” He lifted his coffee to his lips, watching me over the rim of the cup.

“How should I know? But I’m sure if she could offer favors to Max, she’s capable of offering the same thing to someone else to help her.” I leaned forward. “What’s in that unit that she wants so bad?”

Detective Scott watched me.

“You know, she married him for his money. That’s the only thing that makes sense because he wasn’t exactly the studly kind of guy that a looker like Stefanie would be attracted to. Everyone says he was ugly. Of course, ugly is as ugly does, as my mother would say. Steffie probably killed him.” I paused, took a sip of coffee and put the cup down. “Then there’s Frank. Maybe Jim Bob knew about the embezzling and threatened Frank. He’s a creep. I didn’t know that before he cornered me at the school, but now I do. I guess if he could embezzle and be creepy then murder wouldn’t be out of the question.” I frowned at the detective. “I have trouble imagining the Dweeb guilty of murder.”

Detective Scott set his mug down hard. “The Dweeb?”

“Daryl. He’s been the Dweeb since kindergarten.” I tapped a finger on my mug. “I heard he was having an affair with Stefanie. That surprised me because I know his wife.”

“Sarge!” Corporal Nick “Santa Cop” Fletcher burst into the kitchen. “We got signs of attempted entry in a number of places, including windows. Looks like whoever it was tried to use a credit card to open the front door.”

I took a huge swig of coffee, nearly half the cup, and suddenly had a brilliant thought. “Hey, I know how it happened.”

Both men stared at me.

“Well, Stefanie did one, and Daryl did the other. He’s so used to his wife pushing him around that he could be talked into anything.”

Silence filled the room as both men stared at me. Detective Scott nodded slowly and took another sip of coffee. Then he put his cup down. “You think you’ll be okay now?”

I realized he’d been tolerating my blabbering until he was sure I was okay. He wasn’t taking me seriously at all. “No, I’m not okay, Detective Scott. All these people have a motive for the murder, just like me. Even my mother. She delivered a free box of doughnuts to Jim Bob every week. The world as I knew it no longer exists. Shopper’s Super Saver is not safe. I can’t drink milk. I’m sick to my stomach. I don’t know the people I thought I did. And Max is in Chicago without me.” I blinked back sudden tears.

“You oughta call him, Mrs. C.,” Corporal Fletcher said. “I’d want my wife to call me.”

“He’s in Chicago,” I repeated. My stomach gurgled.

“We know.” Detective Scott pushed the phone toward me. “Please call him.”

I frowned and swiped at my nose with the sweatshirt sleeve. “How did you know where he is?”

“He asked me to make sure you were okay while he was gone.” The detective sighed. “After he threatened to get you a lawyer if I interviewed you again. Have you told him about Russ?”

“No,” I murmured as my stomach clenched.

“You need to tell him.” Detective Scott rubbed his forehead, then he picked up the phone and held it out to me. “Call him now and tell him you’re okay.”

“I will, but first. . .” I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

When I’d informed Max of the latest mishap, he’d let loose a spate of words that weren’t clear through the receiver. He’d catch an early morning flight home, probably through a friend of his father’s or something.

I’m not sure I’d ever heard him quite so upset.

I tried to sleep after everyone left but lay awake, stiff and furious that someone dared try to break into my house. Then I went to work despite total exhaustion but got little done. I couldn’t focus on anything except my mystery and Max. After falling asleep at my desk with my chin in my hand and waking up with a palm wet from drool, I went home to wait for him. I’d promised Detective Scott I would tell Max about Russ today. That made me edgy. To distract myself, I retrieved my steno pad and pen and then sat cross-legged on the couch in the family room. I turned to the page I’d started reading last night.

Motivations. Though anyone at the store could have been guilty, I only knew three for sure, although Stefanie could have been behind her husband’s murder.

Frank was embezzling. Jim Bob blackmailed people. He could have been blackmailing Frank, and Frank got tired of it.

I made a note. Frank—embezzling; Jim Bob—blackmailing? If the rumors were true about Daryl and he was sleeping with Stefanie, he had motivation. I wrote, Daryl sleeping with Stefanie? Blackmail? Did she have him do it? Then I thought about the storage unit. What does she want so badly?

What about Lee Ann? I paused and chewed the pen. Maybe she had a boyfriend, and that’s what made Norm leave. Jim Bob found out and blackmailed her. I jotted down, Lee Ann? Boyfriend? Blackmail?

The roar of a car engine and subsequent screeching brakes distracted me from my list. Max was home. Based on his earlier reaction, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The kitchen door opened and slammed.

“Trish?”

“I’m in the family room.” I shoved the notebook under a pillow on the couch and stood.

He rushed into the room and grabbed me up in his arms, mumbling a stream of incoherent words. Wrinkles etched his forehead and the skin around his mouth. He looked as scruffy as Detective Scott had the night before.

I buried my head in his chest, smelling the scent of airplanes and hotel in his shirt.

“The kids in school?” he murmured into my hair.

“Yep.”

“Are they okay?”

“Yes. Tommy’s mad that someone tried to break in while he was in charge. Sammie didn’t even wake up during the whole thing, so she’s only heard a modified version of what happened. Charlie spent a couple of hours regaling the deputies with his theories about which fugitives from justice on
Mysterious Disappearances
tried to hack their way into our house. And Karen wasn’t speaking when she left, so everything’s the same with her.”

He let go of me and stepped back.

I brushed his scratchy cheek with my finger. “Would you like some lunch?”