You Don't Know Jack Page 20

  "You sure she's expecting us?" Ida brayed.

  "Positive."

  "Maybe she had to run to the store, dear..."

  I knocked harder. Ida slipped past me and twisted the knob. "Look, it's open!"

  Like fish flushed downstream we stumbled into the tidy mud room. Inside, the music was louder, hurting my ears. The scent of fresh coffee and bleach shared the air.

  "We should leave." Madam Zee stood like an old fashioned TV antenna, arms in the rabbit ears position, jewelry hushed. "Now."

  "No!" I caught her wrist, stopping her retreat, setting off a jangle of bracelets.

  "I have to see her." My life depended on it, my hopes and dreams of becoming a published writer and having a career in my chosen field depended on it. "We're staying. You can wait in the car, if you want."

  She considered that. "I'll stay. For a while. But only to protect you all from the malice lurking in this house."

  I rolled my eyes. I did not believe in ghosts.

  "Not even me?" Lars asked.

  I ignored him. "Teri? Are you here?" I called out loud. The music drowned my voice and any response. I stepped into the kitchen, spied the source of the ear splitting music, a radio on the counter, and shut it off. The silence boomed. My once eager trio were now reluctant, their eyes wide, their steps faltering, obviously influenced by Madam Zee's portents.

  "Teri?" I crept through the galley kitchen with the unease of a midnight visit to a cemetery on a moonless, starless night. But I was more concerned about interrupting a business call than about something evil hiding in the shadows.

  "Coffee pot's still hot!" Ida stage-whispered. "She was here just a while ago!"

  "Or... the coffeepot is set on a timer," I suggested trying to taking the edge off their anxiety as we reached the small sitting room.

  "Oh, my, this view." Sophie had obviously looked beyond the unkempt lawn and falling down deck to the expansive water scenes.

  Ida, however, had eyes only for the honey-do projects. "This gal needs a handyman and a gardener!"

  "You'll be sitting in here," I pointed to the love seat and easy chairs, as I glanced toward the office, hoping she wouldn't hear us and think: home invaders.

  Assuming they'd followed my instructions, I turned my back and strode through the archway into the huge office. "Hello? Teri? Are you here?"

  "Holy Kapoly!" Ida said. As loud as her voice was, she had moved on cat feet, cane and all, to stand at my elbow.

  I jumped.

  Madam Zee leaned close to me, the tinkle of her jewelry eerie. "You feel it too, don't you?"

  Our gazes met.

  She nodded. "The evil. Death in the house. Death all around us."

  "Stop it. Please."

  Ida rambled on, "Three different printers? Two computers and two laptops? Does she teach a computer class? 'Cause I need some lessons!"

  "Oh, my, there are books and manuscripts everywhere, Jack B. It's a reader's fantasy." Sophie moved toward the bookshelves and massive work table like a zombie with tunnel vision.

  "Don't touch anything," I cautioned, my anxiety arcing again.

  Madam Zee held back, frozen in that rabbit ears pose. "Death, I feel it all around this room."

  My mouth dried. Hopefully the death she felt was not my demise or my manuscript's demise. "Please, ladies, go make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room. Read, knit, work the Tarots. Have a cup of coffee."

  Personally, I was so shot full of caffeine I swear it was crawling out of my pores. "Teri, are you here?"

  "I'll check the garage for her car," Madam Zee volunteered.

  "Want us to check the bedroom? The bathroom?" Ida asked.

  "No!" Madam Zee barked and this time we all jumped. "Stay here."

  For a moment we stood frozen in place. I waited for Lars to warn me. Nothing. Why did I always expect him to show up when needed and never when he did? Sophie laughed a nervous laugh breaking the tension. This was silly. I was not going to give into Madam Zee's spooky vibes. I reminded Ida and Sophie not to touch anything, and I headed down the hall to confront three closed doors. I tapped, then opened a door on a small, unoccupied guest room. The second bedroom was much larger and obviously Teri's. The third door had to be the bathroom. I knocked, then slowly opened the door.

  First impression: cold, gray, and sterile. The walls were as depressing as the outside of the house, the vinyl floors a white and gray crisscross pattern, the counters also vinyl, also gray. No Teri.

  If I lived here, this room would make me want to do my business and depart as quickly as possible.

  Speaking of which... the venti breve caramel macchiato was kicking in. Twenty ounces of coffee will do that to you. I unzipped, sat. My gaze bounced over the surroundings. The tub was hidden by a shower curtain, a striped gray affair. Black vinyl framed photos of NW beaches hung on the wall opposite the toilet. The floor, unlike my own bathroom tile, gleamed, not one dust bunny in sight.

  So clean, I could probably eat off it.

  Except for that tiny spot near the tub. I watched as the bright red stain grew. And grew. I finished my business, zipping up as I stood, gaze riveted to the strange splotch.

  From somewhere deep inside the house, screams erupted, footsteps clattered. Gunshots exploded. I startled so hard I stumbled against the bathtub, grabbed air for a handhold, caught a fistful of shower curtain. Felt myself falling.

  Shower rods clanked. The curtain pulled free and Teri Steele spilled onto my feet. Blood burbled from a gaping neck wound into which someone had stuck a black carnation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Death in the house. Death all around us. Madam Zee's words wouldn't stop rolling through my mind like mice on a wheel, little claws clicking with every rotation.

  The police interrogation room reeked of overexcited seniors and macho authority. Seven of us crammed the small green space. Ida, Sophie, Madam Zee and I crowded around a wooden table with a curmudgeon cop whose name I'd missed.

  Officer Deadpan insisted on taking our statements en masse.

  Stone was being allowed to stand-in because of the black carnation connection to his ongoing case. He pressed his spine to the wall, a ruggedly handsome sentinel keeping watch over his on-again, off-again lover and her elderly partners in crime solving.

  His face was stormy, his heated gaze glued to me as though I might evaporate, as though he couldn't believe I was still alive. As though he wanted to gobble me up. Or chew me out. Or handcuff me to his belt.

  I was okay with any of those ideas.

  In total contrast, his brother Duke occupied the wall space beside him, exuding the confidence and authority of a protector shark — who could cook, in the kitchen or the courtroom. I'd called him. He was the only lawyer I knew personally, and I was pretty sure the Golden Oldies and I were in need of legal representation.

  "The tea leaves don't lie." Madam Zee snapped her fingers, setting off a melodic jangle that assured she had everyone's attention. Let no man rend asunder a mystic and her audience. Her nostrils flared, her eyebrows arched, and her gaze flicked over the six of us. "The leaves foretold my need to safeguard my soul sisters this day."

  Oy vey. Did she think this was a séance? Sweat beaded my upper lip. The hot water we were in was my fault. I should never have involved these women in my investigation. We were lucky to be alive.

  Teri Steele not so lucky. Her murder wasn't my fault, though, was it?

  "Unless somethin's changed since I died," Lars said inside my head, "findin' a murder victim is not a crime. Only things you're guilty of, darlin', are bad taste in men and clothes. For example, what the hell are you wearin' now?"

  Undercover chic? I don't need my life critiqued, thank you.

  "Stop stressin'. The cops are just pissed that you didn't stay home and let them keep trippin' over their dumb ass theories. Maddox, no surprise there, was completely off base with that serial killer rationale."

  I'm in no mood for your mind games, Lars. Even though you were s
tabbed and Teri shot, were you both killed by the same person?

  "How should I know?"

  Then tell me who killed you.

  "You mean you don't know yet?"

  Had he just groaned?

  Before I could respond, Ida cut me off, "I swear, Officer, no Perry Mason defense attorney'll trick me into changing my testimony in court! I'm a rock solid eye-witness! Madam Zee winged the killer sure as I'm standing here!"

  "Uh, you're sitting, ma'am." Officer Deadpan said, proving he couldn't think outside the box, which could only bode ill for me and my Golden entourage. "According to my notes this shooting took place in the garage. Is that right?"

  Ida glanced at Duke, lips puckered as though she had a mouthful of grapefruit. "Maybe I shouldn't a said that about Madam Zee?"

  "It's okay, Ida," he assured her with a heart shattering grin.

  She all but swooned, gnarled hand clasping frail chest. "It was the mud room!"

  "You saw the shooting with your own eyes, ma'am?"

  "Ummm...!" Ida hesitated. "Technically, I was in the office when the gunfire started, but I saw the killer escape! Does that count?"

  "We're not keeping score, ma'am." Officer Deadpan glanced at Madam Zee. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

  "It was never my intention to actually fire my weapon." Madam Zee struck another pose, chin high, eyelids half-mast. "This, this person leapt from behind that washing machine, threatening me with that weapon. She fired and my Lady Smith spit back a lethal rejoinder."

  I shivered at the vivid picture she painted, at how close she'd come to her own meeting with the grim reaper. Surely even this dim-bulb cop could see it was self-defense. I glanced at Duke hoping to catch some reassurance, but he wore his best poker face.

  Not to be left out, Sophie chimed in a bit breathlessly, "After the killer escaped we spotted blood on the walkway, and then we heard a car start up down the lane."

  "I didn't hear a car!" Ida scowled at Sophie as if she'd just stolen her thunder. "There wasn't a car!"

  Officer Deadpan stopped writing, glanced from one old woman to another, then to me. "Did you or didn't you hear a car?"

  I shrugged. I'd been in the bathroom with Teri Steele, trying to keep her alive. But was this guy so clueless he didn't realize that Ida speaking three volumes higher than anyone else might mean she had a hearing impairment? I reined in my testiness. "Ida, remember when you said earlier that your hearing isn't that great?"

  "Well, I heard the gun shots!" Ida huffed. "But no car!"

  "Zee and I heard it, dear," Sophie patted her friend's hand looking like Mrs. Santa trying to soothe the ruffled feathers of a Christmas goose.

  "Did anyone get a good look at the perp?" Officer Deadpan asked.

  "I watch all the Law and Order shows!" Ida brightened. "'Perp' is police lingo for 'killer'!"

  "That's right, ma'am." Office Deadpan showed his first emotion: exasperation. His voice tightened. "Can anyone give me a description of the... perp?"

  "Sure," the Golden gang answered in unison.

  The officer waited, pencil poised. "Ethnicity?"

  "Ethni-what?" Ida said.

  "Black? White? Asian? Latino? Middle Eastern?"

  "Oh." Madam Zee gave a toss of her head, her earrings clanking. "White."

  "Height?"

  She considered. "Um, I don't know, but if I have to guess, I'd say a couple inches taller than me. Would you agree, Sophie?"

  "I would."

  "Me, too!" Ida said.

  Had they all seen the killer? I leaned forward, wanting to override this stupid cop with better questions.

  "Weight?"

  Madam Zee cleared her throat. "Again, just a guess, but ah, about one thirty-five."

  "Sounds right." Sophie bobbed her snowy head.

  "Yep!" Ida banged the table.

  "Eye color?" the police officer glanced from one to the other.

  "Wouldn't you rather have her name?" Ida asked, silencing the room.

  For the first time Officer Deadpan seemed to come awake. "You know who the perp is?"

  "Well, yes," the three women said.

  "Why didn't you tell me that right away?"

  "You didn't ask us that," Sophie said.

  "Who is it?" This time Deadpan and I spoke together.

  "That gal who owns The Peppered Page and the other one too!" Ida smacked the table again.

  "Patricia Pepper?" I gasped, shock rocking me — about the tenth jolt I'd had today. I wasn't sure my heart could take many more.

  Officer Deadpan leapt to his feet and ran out the door shouting to other officers. Duke stopped long enough to say he'd be back as soon as he cleared it for us to leave. Stone walked out pinning me with a don't-go-anywhere-look. My brain screamed you-don't-own-me, but my body responded with save-me-from-this-celibacy-crap. In other words: It was all I could do not to leap up, dash into his arms and beg him to ravish me, then and there.

  Had I totally lost my mind?

  No, that honor went to Peppermint Patty.

  "Now you know why I needed a restrainin' order against that dangerous bitch," Lars said.

  I supposed I wasn't really that surprised, I realized, recalling the day she'd threatened me.

  Beyond the interrogation room, chaos ensued.

  Inside the interrogation room, I fumed. "Why didn't one of you tell me the killer was Peppermint Patty hours ago? And don't say because I didn't ask you."

  "Well, dear, we were rather busy — what with trying to keep that poor Ms. Steele alive for the EMTs."

  Ida said, "Then the cops arrived!"

  "And well," Madam Zee said, her eerie eyes leveled at me. "You were there, you know, Jack B."

  I did know. Too well. If I never saw another dead body, or the inside of another police station, the rest of my life, I'd be very grateful. Of course first, I'd have to quit dating lawyers, sleeping with cops, and tripping over dead bodies.

  "Why are you frowning, Jack B? Is something worrying you?" Ida was owl-eyeing me.

  "I was just wondering of all the people Peppermint Patty could have gone after," — say me — "why did she kill Teri Steele?"

  "You mean other than that she's a crazy maniac nut-job?" Lars asked.

  I ignored him. He should have told me she was a dangerous nut-job, who was stalking him, before Apollo was arrested. Before he was stabbed.

  Sophie dragged a large manila envelope from her knitting bag. What didn't she have in that thing? "We think Patty was after this, dear."

  She plopped the envelope onto the table, and Madam Zee cast something akin to an evil-eye on it. "She dropped it when I shot at her."

  "What is it?" I asked, gingerly reaching for the flap. Knowing Patty it could contain a bomb.

  "It's got your name on it!" Ida said.

  "My manuscript? What would Patricia Pepper want with my manuscript?" I extracted a stack of papers held together with a huge rubber band, and my eyes widened as a frisson of excitement went through me.

  "Is it your book, dear?" Sophie leaned closer.

  "No." Damn. Teri Steele had lied to me. "The author of this tome was none other than the elusive Ruth Lester."

  As they digested that, I couldn't help wishing we'd arrived at the house half an hour sooner. We might have prevented what happened to Teri. And maybe, just maybe, I might have been able to worm the truth out of Teri, or at least get Ruth Lester's real name. Though I suspected I knew that now.

  While I was wishing, I wished this was my manuscript. I supposed it was now part of the crime scene, evidence in the latest murder case. Damn. My career was back to square one. I had to talk Stone into getting that manuscript to me. ASAP. If I could just see the editing Teri had done on it so far maybe it would start me in the right direction.

  "Is it a good story, Jack B?" Ida asked, scooting her chair up to mine, reading over my shoulder.

  "I'm not sure." I started skimming the pages, speed reading, getting the gist of the story. A chill started in my blood and sp
read to my bones. It was the same story as Lars' synopsis only with a telling twist.

  "Hey, she stole my story," Lars said.

  I rolled my eyes. "As though that wouldn't serve you right. But it's not exactly like your unfinished manuscript, is it?"

  "Is so."

  Not. For one thing, this has an ending.

  "Humph."

  "What is it, Jack B?" Ida broke into my argument with Lars.

  I stretched, feeling the weight of this long day. "I thought this was a rip off of Lars' unfinished manuscript—"

  "Deja Vu." Madam Zee clapped her hands. "An eye for an eye."

  "Yes, except... there's a difference between Lars' story and this one."

  "This one's first person... is that it, dear?" Sophie had moved to my other shoulder. "My Hermie hated first person."

  "The difference is that the narrator of this story is the Black Boutonniere Killer."

  "Holy Kapole."

  "Yes. Lars didn't call the killer that in his manuscript."

  "Does that mean something, dear?" Sophie seemed not to have Ida's mental sharpness when it came to connecting dots.

  "It does. Either Ruth Lester had inside information on the BBK from a police source or she invented the serial murderer herself."

  "Why would she do that?" Ida was frowning so hard it made my face hurt.

  "If I'm right, she was out to exact a deadly vengeance on Lars."

  "By killing him," Madam Zee said with the certainty of the all-knowing.

  "Worse."

  "Worse?" Lars moaned. "What could be worse than dead?"

  I poked the manuscript. "She intended to murder his lover, hiding the murder among a couple of others so that Lars would appear innocent."

  "Then laying a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead the police right back to Lars!" Ida beamed, still sharper than a skewer.

  "How come Lars ended up dead and not Bruce?" All three asked at once.

  "Yeah," Lars said. "How come I ended up dead and not Bruce?"

  I wanted to scream out loud at Lars that he ought to know, but I stopped myself as I realized I'd have to explain to my elderly companions that I was talking to a ghost inside my head. I reeled in my frustration. They'd had enough crazy for one day.