Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder Page 7

  Afraid to let any of it out of my sight, I picked up the money and the sheath and carried them into my bedroom while I dressed. Then I carried them into the living room and put them on the floor while I shrugged on my coat and hat. Before I stepped out the door, I stuffed the baggies in my purse.

  When I got in the car and turned the ignition key, I realized I had nowhere to go at two thirty in the morning. I backed out anyway and started driving up and down the quiet streets, hoping for inspiration and envying everyone else who lay sleeping at peace in their warm beds.

  If I left the money in my apartment, Ray might come back with a search warrant. If I left it in my office, the same was true. If I took it to the house we once shared and hid it there, he’d probably sniff it out like a dog to a bone. If I gave it to Isabelle or Cory for safekeeping, I might be making them an accessory to an as-yet-unknown crime.

  I came to a T in the road. I turned right and passed my bank. Depositing the money in my personal or business accounts would be suicide. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a safe deposit box, and opening one now when all the eyes of the town seemed upon me wasn’t prudent. Ray could get a search warrant for that, too. Too bad Wachobe didn’t merit a bus or train station with storage lockers. The nearest ones were thirty minutes away. I couldn’t take the chance. With my luck, I’d be pulled over for erratic driving.

  At the next T, I turned left onto Main Street, which was still and silent, past closing hour at the bars and too early for deliveries. About the right time to leave a body in a Ferrari, I supposed.

  Alone on the roads, I felt more nervous and exposed than when surrounded by strangers. My gaze flickered from the windshield to the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the road and sidewalks again. I could smell my perspiration, but felt chilled inside and out. Tears warmed the corners of my eyes. I pulled to the side of the road as my vision blurred. I had nowhere to go and no place to hide this money.

  While I swiped at my tears, I realized I’d stopped in front of the park near the town Christmas tree—where Ray had stood me up on Sunday. More tears threatened.

  The tree glowed in the night like a fiery beacon and lit up the whole park. Sparkles of light glistened on the fake packages under the tree and the surrounding snow. The longer I looked at it, the more blinding it became.

  Then the lights went out. I could barely make out the outline of the tree against the moonlit lake.

  Power failure? But the street lamps were still lit. Then I remembered.

  For two entire meetings, the merchants association had discussed the benefits of leaving the lights on twenty-four hours a day versus doing our part to conserve energy and shutting them off at three a.m. We opted to conserve.

  A hiding place popped into my head. The tree. It sat on crates covered by a red tarpaulin and surrounded by fake packages in gold and silver, red and green, all of it wired down to prevent it from taking flight into the lake with a big gust of wind. As in prior years, the display would remain here until a week after New Year’s Day. It just might work.

  I checked the street. Still vacant. I checked the sidewalks. Vacant, too.

  I started the Porsche and crept down the street, checking constantly for signs of life. I turned into the drive for my shop and parked in the shadows behind the building, easing myself out of the car with my purse in hand.

  I slinked down the narrow alley that ran behind the shops facing Main Street. I could hear the lake lapping against the shoreline but as much as I strained, I heard nothing else.

  I reached the end of the alley and stood at the edge of the park. I scanned it and the road and saw no sign of movement. I listened and still heard only the sound of the waves. Main Street was devoid of cars.

  Now thankful that the rest of the town slept, I tiptoed through the shadows and scrambled up the stairs of the gazebo. I dropped to my knees at the base of the Christmas display. The fake presents were solid boxes made of some sort of plastic. They didn’t budge when I tried to lift them.

  I slid closer, squeezed my hand between the presents, and stuck my hand under the tree skirt. I felt the wooden crate the tree stand rested on, looking for a gap. When I found one big enough, I took the baggie of money out of my purse and slid it through the hole.

  Something tiny and fast and mouse-like ran out from under the tree skirt and across the park. I stifled a scream. No way would I stick my hand in again. Dropping the skirt into place once again, I took one last look at the park and the road and headed to my car on winged feet.

  I carefully drove home, feeling pleased with myself.

  The feeling died the moment I saw Ray’s car sitting in the driveway. He sat on the front porch in my wicker rocking chair, and an aura of unhappiness hung over him. That was fine, because I sure wasn’t happy to see him again so soon, especially since I still had the knife sheath in my purse.

  I parked behind his car and took up a position at the base of the front steps. “You’re up early.” It was only a quarter to six now.

  His face was a thundercloud. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  He rubbed the full day’s growth of whiskers on his chin. “I wanted to talk to you about us. But now, I’d rather talk about what the hell you’re doing wandering the streets at this time of the morning dressed like a second-story man.”

  I looked down at myself. My black jeans, black turtleneck, black coat, and black knit hat told the tale. I hadn’t even realized that I’d dressed for sneaking around in the shadows. Could I have no secrets from this man? “I couldn’t sleep either. I went for a drive.”

  Ray rose to his feet. “Can I make some coffee?”

  I should have seen that one coming. He planned to ask about the bills again. “Sure.” I unlocked the door and tried not to race him across the floor to the kitchen. While I stopped to take my coat off and throw it over the kitchen chair, Ray continued straight to the coffee can and opened it.

  “Where’s the money, Jolene?”

  “It’s not there?” I peered into the can, feigning surprise. “Maybe Erica was here again.” I felt guilty smearing her character when it wasn’t true, but it had been true often enough in the past.

  Ray set the can on the counter without a sound. “You’re lying, Jolene. What did you do with the money?”

  Not only is the man a great detective, he knows me too well. Too bad I wasn’t blessed with a face that could bluff. Once again, I would need a distraction. “Ray, you can’t keep coming over here and insulting me. I won’t stand for it.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  He turned to study me from head to toe. “Then you’d better improve your behavior.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I spoke to the chair of the zoning board. He said Tim talked to you about relocating your store and you flew off the handle. He said Tim found your reaction so disturbing that he recommended backing off on asking you to relocate.”

  Tim didn’t tell me that. He had left me with the impression that he would vote against me to move my shop off Main Street. Perfect. Now even I was convinced that I had a motive for killing him.

  I swallowed. “I told you. We discussed the merits of their recommendation. I was pointing, Tim was pointing, and I bumped him. We did not argue. Tim was only feeling me out on the issue, not forcing it. I did not threaten or kill Tim Lapham.”

  Ray locked gazes with me. “Did Tim give you any money at any time?”

  That took me by surprise. “No. Why? Is there money missing?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Jolene, I have an open murder case and an open robbery case, both of which seem to tie to you. I need answers, honest answers. And I need them now.”

  “I can’t help you, Ray.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” He folded his arms across his chest in a parody of me.

  I raised my chin and refused to break eye contact first.

  He lowered his arms and leaned down until I could feel his breath on my f
ace. This time it smelled like coffee. Clearly, he’d already had some. I tried not to blink, but his sheer proximity made it impossible.

  He pronounced his words slowly. “Do I not drop everything and come when you call for help with your sister? Do I not care for your family home? Do I not trap mice for you?”

  I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but I feared I wouldn’t like it. “You do, Ray.”

  “So why won’t you help me do my job?”

  “I am. I’m going to make the list of my customers this morning. Right away.” I backed up a few steps. “I’ll go now.”

  He straightened to his full intimidating height. He didn’t scare me. “But you won’t tell me the truth about what happened to the money?”

  I remained silent. My good angel and my bad angel started a knock-down, drag-out fight inside my head that they didn’t have time to finish before Ray spoke again.

  “Okay, Jolene. Let me tell you how things are going to go from now on. You’re not going to call me anymore if you need help. You’re not going to expect me to help you. I’m going to move out of your house, and I’m going to do my job, even if it means your sister or you end up in serious trouble, including jail time. Do you understand me, Jolene?”

  “Yes.” My response was barely a whisper.

  “You can fax me the list at the station.” Ray turned on his heel and strode into the living room with me jogging at his heels, knowing I had lost something very important today.

  As he whipped open the front door, I said, “Do you hate me, Ray?”

  He paused for a moment in the doorway but didn’t turn to face me.

  “The opposite of love is not hate, Jolene. The opposite of love is indifference.”

  As his car disappeared from my sight, I still hadn’t figured out for sure what he was trying to tell me.

  I unlocked the door to Asdale Auto Imports around eight a.m., turned off the alarm, and took a quick tour of the showroom to ensure I didn’t have any new, unexpected arrivals—and I wasn’t thinking cars. I found nothing to cause me or anyone else more grief.

  As I headed toward the door to the shop, I saw a gray Camry pull up next to the curb in front of the shop. Cory hopped out with a newspaper tucked in his armpit and leaned inside the car to say something to the driver, the man from last night’s Dickens cast. Apparently, Cory had more fun last night than I did.

  I approached the showroom window and, after watching the car pull away from the curb, knocked on it. Cory jumped six inches into the air and spun around to gape at me. I waggled my fingers and he gave me a sheepish grin in response before coming inside.

  “You guys hit it off last night, eh?”

  Cory flashed his pearly whites. “Yes, we did. We’re seeing each other again tonight.”

  “So this might have long-term relationship potential?”

  “I hope so. He lives about an hour away, not too far to see each other regularly.”

  I hoped it would work out for Cory. A “happy-ever-after” ending would be nice for someone. Ray and I certainly hadn’t managed to achieve it.

  I headed toward my office. “I have to make a list of all of our customers for Ray. Can you look it over when I’m done to make sure I didn’t miss any maintenance-only customers?”

  “Sure, Jo.”

  As I logged into my computer, I heard Cory call my name. “Can you come here a minute?”

  I found him standing in the doorway to the garage. “What is it?”

  He moved to the side so I could see. Or rather not see. The DeLorean, owned by Mr. Oliver of Oliver and Associates, Attorneys at Law, no longer sat in the garage. My mouth dropped open as I turned to look at Cory.

  “I’ll call nine-one-one.” He turned on his heel and headed for the showroom phone.

  I walked the perimeter of the garage, staring at the oil spots on the cement floor and wondering what to say to Mr. Oliver. He loved his car. He’d entrusted it to us, and we’d lost it. Once again, my shop had been visited in the middle of the night by someone who knew my alarm code. I gave myself a mental slap in the head for not changing it immediately after the first invasion. Apparently I was destined to repeat my mistakes.

  Cory and I sat in my office to wait for the police. I crossed my fingers Ray would come, leaving me some reason to hope he still cared for me, but this time Deputy Sheriff Steven “Gumby” Fellows arrived on the scene. Gumby was the one man I knew who was taller than Ray and twice as slick. He was the first man to ask me out after Ray and I split. I declined him then, and I cringed now as he stooped to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Jolene, you’re as gorgeous as ever.”

  I waved him off. “I lost a car, Gumby. Can you find my car?”

  He pulled out his notepad. “Give me the details.”

  I pulled up Mr. Oliver’s file on the computer and read his address and registration number to Gumby, who duly noted them. Then he followed Cory into the garage to take a look at the crime scene. When they reappeared five minutes later, Gumby shook his head. “I called for a fingerprint technician. Same guy who was here Saturday. He’s coming, but he thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  Secretly, I agreed. “How hard can it be to find a DeLorean on the road?”

  Gumby scratched his chest. “Well, if a pro took it, next to impossible. They drive it inside the back of a semi, and it’s in New York City or even California in a couple hours, being loaded onto a freighter.”

  Now I was definitely back to thinking Wachobe had been invaded by out-of-towners, thieving, murdering professionals. “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  “Sorry, Jolene, but the truth is, it’s probably long gone.”

  I picked up the phone and dialed with a feeling of dread. Mr. Oliver was armed and dangerous, like any lawyer with a temper. He could sue me and I’d lose everything. My business, my family home, my car, my meager savings, my reputation, my life. Well, maybe not my life exactly. I’d still be alive, adrift on the lake without a paddle. Nevertheless, I’d be in better shape than poor Tim Lapham. I needed to suck it up and take it like, well, a man.

  Mr. Oliver expected the unexpected. That’s why he was a good lawyer. But that temper. I could hear it sizzling in every word he spat out, including his final parting shot “Miss Asdale, I hope you’re insured.”

  I riffled through my files with a sick feeling. Nope, I wasn’t insured. My bill was due last Friday and it still sat unpaid in my drawer. Maybe I had a thirty-day grace period, but it was definitely too late to get the payment postmarked prior to the theft, even if I had the money to pay the bill.

  Which I didn’t.

  My fingers inched toward the phone again, itching to call Ray. He was a better detective than Gumby. He could find my car. He’d sniff it out like a bloodhound. Of course, right now he was busy tracking a murderer and my sister, the robber.

  Besides, he wasn’t mine to call on anymore, especially after his statement this morning. He’d made it very clear that I was on my own.

  I liked to think I could handle it.

  Wachobe had stopped looking like a picture postcard town to me and more like a total den of depravity, infiltrated by a killer and a car thief I preferred to think of as one or more unidentified out-of-towners gone wild. All I could do was put a stop to my slow spiral into personal and business hell, starting with the simple things first.

  I dug through the files in my desk and located the manual for the alarm system, never opened before this day. I thumbed through it to the page about changing alarm codes, then to the page about customized numbers for each user. I read both pages once. Twice. A third time. I whimpered. Although I’d been around mechanics my whole life, I understood mechanical things only in theory, not practice.

  Cory had sat through Gumby’s questions and was headed out the door when I grabbed him by the arm and shoved the manual into his hands. “We’re changing the alarm code as soon as you tell me how to do it.”

  He held the manual in front of his face b
efore peeking over it at mine. That twinkle in his eye rekindled my fury with my own ineptitude. But minutes later, we had each entered a new individual code in the system.

  I locked the front door behind Cory and watched as his navy BMW eased into traffic and disappeared.

  My cell phone rang and for one wild moment, I hoped it would be Ray.

  It was Brennan Rowe. My heart beat accelerated. I’d forgotten all about his car, a sure sign I’d lost my mind yet again, a concern not to be taken lightly.

  “Miss Asdale, any word yet?”

  “No, sir, but I’m on it.” I snapped my phone shut and raced into my office to bring up the auction house’s website on screen. Relieved to find the bidding still unscheduled, I began the arduous task of rebuilding my appointment calendar in order to create the customer list Ray had requested.

  Three hours later I had compiled a decent list. Frankly, I was wondering why I didn’t sell more cars and make more money. I certainly talked to enough people in a year, although many were maintenance-only customers.

  Then I realized I never should have let Cory leave the shop, because I needed him to look the list over before I gave it to Ray. I dialed his home and cell phone numbers but got only his voicemail in response. I left him messages.

  Once I resigned myself to not hearing from Cory anytime soon, I drove to the bank, where I drained my personal account down to two hundred and fifty dollars. With the payment in hand for my insurance bill, I drove to the tiny white Cape Cod on Edwards Street that housed my insurance agent’s office. I was surprised to find Becky’s AWOL friend Sally Winslow sitting behind the desk, her black hair shiny as piano keys. Blatant misuse of Miss Clairol.

  After we greeted one another and exchanged pleasantries about today’s weather, I got right down to business. “Here’s my insurance premium payment. It’s four days late.”

  “No problem.” Sally took the money and the statement from my hand. “You have a grace period.”

  “Great. Is Bernie in?” I glanced around the office at the gray walls and maroon furniture as though expecting to find him hiding behind the potted ficus in the corner of the room.