Murder in the Milk Case (16 page)

“I think we should pack up the picnic dinner, put it in the refrigerator here for Shirl and Kevin, and go out. That little French place you love. Just you and me. Alone.”

“The one with candlelight and servers in tuxes?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yep.”

“And we can hold hands under the table and stare into each other’s eyes over the table?” I was getting excited.

He grinned and nodded.

“Then we can share a dessert and you can feed me from your fork?” I could barely contain myself.

“If that’s what you want.”

I thought the idea was brilliant.

Chapter Sixteen

On Saturday morning, the house was quiet. My spur-of-the-moment date with Max the night before had been as romantic as I’d hoped, more than making up for the days I felt so guilty and bereft. He knew how to sweep me off my feet, and he’d done it with abandon, leaving me feeling breathless. The only rough moment had been when he informed me he was going to hire a PI to help solve the question of Russ. I was mildly offended that he didn’t think I was capable of discovering the truth, but more than that, I was afraid where the truth might lead.

However, I was so happy to have our relationship back on an even keel I let the topic go. Today, Tommy was out with friends. Max took the other kids to the mall and then to lunch at Bo’s before the playoff game. I had suggested the outing and stayed home in an effort to give the children time alone with him. I hoped Karen would come around and realize that she was as important to him as I was. Perhaps doing this on a regular basis would alleviate possible future problems with our younger kids.

They would be heading to the game immediately after lunch. I was going to eat with Abbie and then join my family at the ball field.

I made lasagna for Sunday. Then, while I waited to leave, I settled in the family room, holding my steno pad. Several things besides Stefanie’s visit to Max spurred me on to think about my mystery. Knowing I was in danger, for one, and in turn, so were my children. But now I had the additional challenge of beating a PI to an answer, if I could.

I flipped the pad open and added the fact that Peggy Nichols had been dragged to the sheriff’s office for questioning. Then I reviewed the notes I’d already written down.

Stefanie. Why did she want in Jim Bob’s storage unit? I bit my lip, and a thought occurred to me. If Jim Bob was blackmailing everyone, maybe he held something over Stefanie’s head, too. Why else would she stay with him? I jotted down: Was Jim Bob blackmailing Stefanie? What’s in the unit that she wants so bad?

I looked at my next note. Frank—embezzling; Jim Bob—blackmailing? Why was Frank so hostile? I scribbled: Frank is weird and creepy. Makes me scared.

Now, what about Daryl? I’d already written, Daryl sleeping with Stefanie? What else did I know about him? I tapped the pen against my head. Then I wrote: Did his brother take the road sign? I also added: smashed thumb and stitches, although I couldn’t figure out how that fit in.

Then there was Lee Ann. I knew she was upset about Norm. But how could that have led to her killing Jim Bob? Besides, she was a woman. Jim Bob might have been middle-aged, but he was still a man and wouldn’t have lain down and let her stab him. That had to have taken strength.

And that led me to the question I’d forgotten about. Why wasn’t there blood all over the milk case? Unless Jim Bob had been stabbed somewhere else and moved. That was possible, given he was on the cart.

As I wrote that down, the phone rang. I took my notebook to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the wall.

“Hello?”

“Trish? This is Bill—Dr. Starling.”

“Hi, Bill.”

“Tried to reach the cell phone number you gave me, but no one answered.”

I stuffed my notebook into the kitchen junk drawer to hide it and grabbed my purse to see if I’d lost my phone again.

“What can I do for you?” I asked as I dumped the contents on the kitchen table. I couldn’t imagine why he’d call me at home on a Saturday.

Bill cleared his throat. “Well, last minute I decided to do an additional test. I was in the office for an emergency this morning and noticed the results. If you made that appointment with the specialist, you can cancel it.”

“Why?” I still couldn’t find my phone and headed for the garage to look in the SUV.

“Remember when you were pregnant with Sammie? How coffee made you sick? I took the liberty of doing a pregnancy test just to eliminate that possibility. I’m glad I did. You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

I stopped midstep, feeling as though I’d been hit in the stomach. All my thoughts crashed and jumbled into a useless wad of incoherence.

“Trish? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” I managed to say. How could I be pregnant?

“You should make an appointment with an obstetrician as soon as possible, given your background. You’ll be able to get help with the nausea if it’s still a problem. And then you’ll find out how far along you are.”

“Bill, I can’t be pregnant. You know that. All the doctors said I couldn’t conceive again. Besides, I’m thirty-two.”

“Still a perfect age to have a baby. And you did have Sammie despite the odds. Sometimes miracles happen. You really need to stay out of trouble now. You’ve got a baby to think about.”

“I’ve had coffee to drink and two painkillers.” Like that was my biggest concern.

“Not to worry. Just stop. Call me if I can do anything else for you.” He hung up.

I held the receiver in my hand. Pregnant? Worry overran a tiny quiver of happiness. Max and I had tried for two years to have another baby after Sammie, but the doctors said it was highly unlikely unless we sought very expensive procedures. Neither of us felt right about that and agreed that four children were enough. I knew Max didn’t really want any more kids at his age. I still did but had to agree that four were plenty. How many times recently had he insinuated that he was glad they were all getting older? Last night at the restaurant, he’d mentioned how happy he was that we were going to have more time together because the kids were growing up. How would I tell him this news? Especially on top of everything else.

I glanced at the clock. I was due over at Abbie’s. The way things were planned, I could avoid telling Max until after the game. If he saw me beforehand, he’d know something was up. Even though he’d come to terms with things recently, I didn’t want to add to his burden, especially right before a game. He might be upset, play horribly, lose, and I’d feel doubly guilty. Besides, I needed some time to sort this out.

My cell phone was nowhere to be found. As I dressed to go out, I tried to recall where I’d put it. The last time I’d used it was to call Tommy and tell him I was going to see Max. It had been in my purse then, and. . .it must have fallen out in Max’s office.

I called Four Oaks Self-Storage and asked Kevin to look for it. As I suspected, it lay under one of Max’s chairs. I asked Kevin to put it on Max’s desk and said I’d be there to get it in a couple of hours.

Abbie met me at her door with a hug. “Come on into the kitchen. I’m finishing our lunch.” I followed her and sat at the breakfast bar. She went back to the counter where she was working. “You going to the game after we eat?”

I nodded. “First I have to go get my phone from the self-storage. It fell out of my purse in Max’s office.”

She glanced over her shoulder at me and laughed. “You and your phone. You should attach it to your purse with rope. Hey, you want coffee? I can make some.”

“I can’t. It makes me sick when I’m pregnant.”

“What?” She turned around, bread in one hand, knife in another. “How far along?”

“I don’t know. Bill told me an hour ago.”

“Wow.” She grinned. “Well, given the past and the fact that all the doctors said this wasn’t likely to happen, I guess it’s a miracle.”

That was what Bill had said. Would Max see it the same way?

“I guess you’re right.” I rubbed my fingers over the beige countertop.

“You haven’t told Max yet, I take it?” she asked.

“No. I don’t want to tell him until after the game.” I paused. “Truthfully, I don’t want to tell him at all. Lately he’s been talking a lot about how glad he is that the kids are getting older.”

She smiled. “I think he’ll be happy.”

“I don’t know.” I shifted on my stool.

“Let’s eat in the living room,” she said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”

She handed me two plates to carry. I hopped off the stool and ambled into the living room to wait for her, relaxing in her eclectic taste. Framed modern art accented the red wall above the sofa. The rest of the walls were off- white. Her desk was in an alcove on one side of the room. Shelves, where she kept all her reference books, covered the three walls. I’d never really taken an in-depth interest in her research before, but now, as I looked over the bindings, I realized I’d been stupid. Given that many of the books were about cops and forensics, Abbie could probably answer my question about Jim Bob’s lack of blood.

Distracted from my immediate concern over the pregnancy, I put the plates on the glass coffee table and went over to the shelves. I pulled out a book entitled
Crime Scene Investigation
and riffled through the pages.

Ice tinkled behind me as Abbie walked into the room. “What are you looking at, hon?”

I turned with the book in my hand. “Jim Bob was stabbed, but there wasn’t any blood splattered anywhere. Why? Besides the fact that maybe he’d been moved?”

Abbie put the glasses on the coffee table. She then came over to where I stood. “Two reasons as far as I know.” She took the book from me, flipped through the pages, and pointed. “One is that he was on his back and was stabbed in the liver. That would result in internal bleeding.”

I glanced at the page. That was possible, given Jim Bob’s position and where the knife had been located. I looked up at her. “What’s the other reason?”

“He was already dead when he was stabbed.”

When I arrived at Four Oaks Self-Storage, the door was unlocked, but Kevin wasn’t at the front desk. His car was in the parking lot, along with another that I didn’t recognize. I wondered if he’d gone out to show someone a unit.

I ran into Max’s office, but my phone wasn’t on the desk. I heard a step behind me.

“Kevin?” I asked, looking under some papers. “Where is my phone?”

No one answered. I turned around to see the muzzle of a gun in my face. My breath caught in my throat like a choke hold.

“Lose this?” Stefanie Jenkins asked, grinning widely and holding my phone in her hand.

After I started breathing again, I realized my phone wasn’t the only thing that had been lost. She no longer had an accent. And for once, she’d dressed like a normal person in blue jeans and a cotton shirt that covered everything.

“It’s so convenient that you’re here,” she said.

“Where is Kevin?” I hoped maybe he’d been out of the building when she arrived and he’d come in and rescue me.

“He’s, shall we say, indisposed in the back room closet.” She smiled slowly. “It’s amazing what most men will do when a pretty girl offers them favors. He was so easily overcome.”

She tossed my phone on the floor and pressed the gun into my stomach, making me wince. Then she pulled two keys from her pocket and dangled them from perfectly manicured fingers. “I’m quite convincing. Kevin confessed to me that the unit was double locked. He also gave me the code to get into the building. I don’t need you, but you’re coming with me anyway.”

“What happened to your accent?” I asked.

“I’m not from the South at all.” She jabbed the gun harder. “Come on.”

I really had no choice, seeing as how she had a weapon pointed at me. Then I remembered the alarm button and sidled toward Max’s desk.

“You must really think I’m a moron, Trish. Touch that alarm, and your guts are going to be splattered all over this office.”

I did what she asked. Guts all over the place proved too vivid a description to ignore.