2 Multiple Exposures (8 page)

Chapter Eight

I sat at my desk scrolling through the list Lissa had sent me. There were indeed over three thousand names. The letters swam before my eyes as I wondered how in the world we would narrow this list down. After running a finger down the screen twice across two sheets, I came across only two names that I thought I recognized. The ladies were from Edna’s group, or at least I think they were. Lissa had been kind enough to include ages of the patients, making me feel again that she should be a detective.

Of course, she had added no other information, not even their addresses. I supposed she assumed Spencer would be able to obtain that data on his own. Edna, from what I had seen so far wasn’t on the list, but I hadn’t gone through all of the sheets. I believed her when she told me she would never allow Dr. Bloomberg to be her doctor. She seemed genuinely disgusted by him.

Realizing there wasn’t much I could do with the list at this time, I printed it off and set it aside. A call to Spencer might shed more light on the situation.

Spencer came on the line sounding harassed and irritable. I was not surprised, nor was I to be deterred. “Have you learned anything about the doctor?”

“Not anything conclusive yet, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Why doesn’t it look good?”
I
was prepared to harass him if I needed to.

Spencer seemed to realize this and sighed. “The ME suspects it was poison, but do not spread that around, Makayla. We don’t know for sure yet.”

“I won’t say anything.” I know you’re thinking I had my fingers crossed behind me at this point, but I didn’t. When Spencer specifically asked me to be quiet, I did. He didn’t always ask me to. Take that as you will. “So you’re definitely ruling it a homicide?”

“It’s not confirmed.” He sounded distracted, as if his mind were elsewhere. “We found a bunch of photos on his home computer and on the pen. Most were of women ranging from the ages of mid-twenties to early forties. Quite a few, hundreds.”

I gasped, shaking from head to toe. The news was expected but too ghastly to fathom. The impact to these young women and their families couldn’t be gauged. I struggled to gather my thoughts. “You’re going to interview them?”

“It’s my job. As it stands, I’m pretty sure someone killed Zachariah Bloomberg, someone who probably knew about his perversion. We’re working to narrow down the list, but we have to check them all.”

I mentally compared Lissa’s list with what Spencer had told me. If there were hundreds of pictures, maybe we could go by the photos first. Hundreds was a darn sight better than thousands. Maybe Lissa’s wouldn’t be necessary at all.

“Let me help you, Spencer.”

“No, Makayla. I told you earlier. We have Pete back.”

“I resent the implication that I’m not needed, Spencer. First of all, this is a very delicate case. You have a lot of interviews to go through by your own admission, and you only have one woman on your staff. Is
she
helping with the interviews? How many of the women do you think will talk to you, being a man?”

Spencer was silent.

“This is delicate, Spencer. You must know that.”

“I know,” he groused. “Fine, but only if I’m with you.”

“Do recall what happened earlier with Lissa and Hardy Joe.”

He grumbled, and I thought I might have pushed him too far. “I’ll think about it, Makayla. Don’t do anything!”

I winced at his bark. Seemed like the grumpiness had escalated for the time being.

* * * *

Having to await Spencer’s decision chafed, and I have already said my patience can be short. I determined to convince him face-to-face. After all, Lissa believed in my magic abilities to do so. In good faith, I would take a copy of the patient list I had received and graciously reveal its existence in my possession to Spencer. Mine was no doubt a duplicate of his, but it was the principal of the matter.

I left my apartment once again with a determined step and drove first to the grocery store. Spencer had informed me he would be very busy over the next few hours. I took that to mean he didn’t have time to listen to all the reasons I could list as to why he should let me help him. No matter, he would be getting the help anyway, and that started with food. I had learned right away without being lovers that he neglected to eat when he was wrapped up in a case.

I ended up taking longer than I intended in the store because I couldn’t decide between burgers and lasagna. The sides were important. One called for salad, the other French fries and bread. Yes, were talking healthy choices here.

Spencer only knew how to make spaghetti, and although his recipe was delicious, having been taught to him by his uncle who worked as a chef in an Italian restaurant, he couldn’t subsist off of the same meal day in and day out. So feeling generous, I was going to put something together in readiness for when he came home. My knowledge of cooking was limited also, but much better than his.

At last, after wasting too much time, I made my selections and left the store to head over to his house. Spencer lived in a small house in a modest neighborhood. I liked his place and could see a young family starting out there. No, I didn’t see
our
young family starting there—not
every
time I visited anyway.

I was still of a mind that I wasn’t looking for a real relationship, and I knew for sure Spencer wasn’t. He had unresolved issues with his ex, and I respected that.

Despite our odd circumstances in seeing each other, I did have a key to his house. When I pulled into the driveway, I wondered at the car parked ahead of me, but was too distracted to think much of it. I hefted the bags on my hips and unlocked the door.

I made it halfway across the living room when a sound alerted me that someone was inside Spencer’s house. I froze, scared to move forward, terrified to run. A burglar who was bold enough to break into the sheriff’s house? Surely, they weren’t a citizen of Briney Creek. Then I recalled the car. No criminal would park out front for all the neighbors to see, would they?

A rustle of material and steps in the hall made me swallow. The bags slid from my fingers to land with a thud on the carpeted floor. My eyes widened until they hurt when a very blonde, very curvy and voluptuous woman sashayed into the room. At sight of me, she made a small peep like a sweet little kitten. A petite hand with rings on several fingers touched a long, swanlike neck. Her face, pale and smooth-skinned as if the sun wouldn’t dare cause it to blemish, registered surprise, nervousness, and then superiority.

I was struck speechless when she raised her chin and looked down her nose at me. “Are you Spencer’s maid? Because if you’re not, you shouldn’t be here. If you
are
the maid, then he must pay you enough to be here on time. I’m hungry, and there’s nothing to eat in this house. So, are you the maid?”

With the last mention of the word
maid
, I think I had developed a tick. She looked at me doubtfully, so perhaps I had. You can’t blame me for feeling highly offended. The beauty queen hadn’t insulted me just once, but she kept doing it over and over in that sweet but condescending voice.
Maid, maid, maid.
I wanted to correct her and say no I’m his love kitten, but it just sounded ridiculous in my own head. Especially because she fit the bill way more than I could ever hope to. Then a horrible thought occurred to me—sweet but condescending.

“You’re his…” I swallowed again and tried to settle down. “You’re Penelope Norwood?”

Her expression brightened. “Yes. Well, I’m using my maiden name now, but that’s me, and you are?”

I didn’t answer. I
couldn’t
answer. I left the bags right where they were and stormed out of the house. I jumped into my car and rather than drive straight to the station, I headed to Zekey’s, my replacement restaurant as I waited for Peony to reopen. I ordered the donuts to go and drove around to the side lot where fewer cars had been parked. There I sat miserable and pitiful, eating the treats in small bites while I tried not to replay in my head the scene I had just experienced. I failed. Worse, it irritated me that I didn’t say much to this woman other than asking her name. I didn’t stand up for myself and make clear I was not the hired help. Instead, I had run off, and now I was eating my emotions.
Bad Makayla. You know better than this!

My phone dinged. I hesitated to pull it from my purse, but curiosity won out. Spencer.
“Where are you?”

I lectured myself to ignore him for now until my emotions were under control. My fingers didn’t listen to the speech. They moved of their own accord to type,
“Out.”

Clever, Makayla.
Please read that with appropriate sarcasm.

Now, I know I was already moving into that dreaded area women go to when they think the man in their life is cheating with his ex, which is far worse than any other type of cheating, it seems. We like to pretend we are so very mature to never stoop to games or to being petty. No, all the negative actions and words that are beneath us are reserved for the use of the men.

There are women out there in the world who do live up to this standard. I will raise my hand in a court of law and swear from the bottom of my heart that I will try to be that kind of woman.
Try.
That’s all I have for you.

So, I typed,
“Out!”
Yes, I went back and added the exclamation point for emphasis so he would understand without me elaborating just how mad I was to go to his house and come across his ex-wife. Of course, I had no indication yet that Spencer knew I knew. However,
he
knew she was there. He must have let her in.

“Please come to my office.”

I bit my lip and stared at the words, trying to interpret them. Maybe I waited too long to answer.

“Please,”
he wrote again.

Now there was no doubt in my mind that he knew. Why didn’t he call? Because he figured I wouldn’t answer?
Would
I answer? I couldn’t be sure, so he couldn’t. I didn’t want to do this with Spencer and had never thought we would be here. Sighing, I started my car. Nothing to do now but to face it, talk it over, and see where we stood afterward. I reminded myself that after I left New York, I was making life my own. I wouldn’t hide. I wouldn’t back down. No outside forces were allowed to mess with my formula.

That decided, I pulled into the police station’s lot and temporarily lost my nerve. One of the officers helped me find it again when he stepped out of the station, noticed me, waved, and oh so politely opened my door for me. Oh, the friendliness found in the south. This would not have happened in New York.

“Thanks, Jeff.” I forced a smile. “How are you today?”

“Can’t complain, Makayla. Good to see you.”

“How are the kids and Nathalie?” Nathalie was his wife.

“They’re good. It was really good of you to do our passport photos, Makayla. Nathalie hasn’t stopped talking about the trip, and the kids can’t wait until it’s time to go.”

“I bet they can’t,” I said with a smile, this time genuine. “And it was no big deal. Those shots could be done at the drugstore.”

“Yeah and look like mug shots,” he quipped. We both laughed.

“Well, I appreciate your business, and by all means spread the word. I’m not too important to do passport photos.”

“I’ve already been telling all of my friends about you. Folks around here could tell right away, you were meant to be one of us.”

His words went a long way to soothing my hurt feelings, and I squeezed his arm. “Aw, thanks, Jeff. That means a lot to me. It truly does.”

He blushed and nodded. “Well, duty calls. I’ll see you later, Makayla.”

“Sure,” I called after him and headed toward the entrance. The closer I drew to what I hoped wouldn’t descend into a confrontation, the more my nerves jangled into a pile of knots.

I opened the door. Pete was there and smiled but seemed hesitant to speak to me. I put it down to my own facial expression and tried to school my features better. I doubted Spencer had shared the fact that I had walked into his house to find his ex-wife and no word from him.

A knock at his door, and he shouted for me to enter. I hesitated long enough to draw in a breath and let it out, then a few more times. At last, I opened the door and walked through. Spencer stood behind his desk as soon as he saw me and rounded it before I closed the door.

“First,” he announced as he approached me and I moved away from the door, “I didn’t know Penelope was coming to town.” His tone remained even, not the least bit angry or annoyed. The grumpiness from before had all but disappeared. “I also didn’t know she knew where I live.”

My eyes widened. Now that was a tall order for me to believe. I had no thoughts, no reaction. I just stood there mute as Spencer waited for my response. At that point, I couldn’t have schooled my expression if I wanted to. So I didn’t know what he was seeing, whether he believed I accepted his explanation or not. I needed time to evaluate my own feelings in the matter, but here we were. I did not relish a dramatic romance scene between the two of us.