A Dead End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

“Did you get in touch with him?”

Paul bit his lip. “I think maybe he had something to do with it.”

Behind her, Charlotte gasped and Paul’s cheeks colored in response.

“Carl ain’t a bad guy. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was an accident.”

“Would you mind if I called Detective Moretti now to come and speak with you?” Kit asked gently. “If you’re ready. It just looks bad that you took off.” Like Peregrine.

His gaze flickered to Francie and Charlotte. “I think so, but I don’t want to mess up your day with your friends.”

“Don’t mind us,” Francie said. “Do what you need to do.”

“Paul, this is Francie and Charlotte. They’re friends from school.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’d offer to shake your hands but” — He held up his dirty palms — “you’d probably prefer not to.”

“She’s such a beautiful horse,” Charlotte said. “Can I pet her?”

“She’d love it,” Paul told her. “Go on.”

As Charlotte eagerly moved toward the horse, her shoulder brushed the stable wall, causing a pitchfork to fall forward. The metal prongs scraped Francie’s arm before clattering to the stable floor.

“Ow,” Francie cried, gripping her bicep tightly. Kit could see the blood streaming down her friend’s arm and dripping onto the floor.

“Omigod, Francie,” Charlotte gasped, rushing to Francie’s side. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

“I know,” Francie said weakly. If anyone was accustomed to Charlotte’s accidents, it was her best friend.

“Can I take a look?” Paul asked. He waited for Francie to nod her approval before gently removing her fingers.

Francie squeezed her eyes closed as Paul appraised the wound.

“Okay, this ain’t exactly a tourniquet situation but we could do with applying direct pressure. Since I don’t have a sterile cloth handy…” Without another word, he whipped off his T-shirt and wrapped it once around Francie’s arm, pressing firmly to stymie the blood flow.

Kit’s mouth dropped open. “Holy cow,” she breathed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Charlotte added.

“As much as I wish you were, I know you ain’t referencing my First Aid skills,” Paul said.

They weren’t. They were staring at Paul’s bare chest and, sadly, not because of his impressive pecs. It was concave, like someone had pushed a battering ram into his sternum and he lived to tell the tale.

“Paul, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to know,” Kit asked, anxiety twisting her insides. “What happened to you?”

To his credit, Paul continued to apply pressure to Francie’s wound, not covering himself like he probably wanted to.

“It’s a Krasensky curse,” he explained. “Runs in the family. We hide it pretty well under clothes, though. That’s why you never see me or Carl hanging out in our swim trunks.” He grinned in an effort to hide his discomfort.

“That’s a genetic condition?” Kit queried, She’d abandoned the trying-not-to-stare position. This was too important.

“Mama said it’s called pectoral excavatum. An inward defect of the sternum.” He said it slowly as if he’d memorized the description of his condition. “You can get surgery to correct it, but it’s too expensive.”

“And both you and Carl have this condition?” Kit asked.

“So did my grandaddy. Didn’t keep him from attracting the ladies.”

Kit pulled out her phone and began to tap the screen.

“What’s wrong? Do I need an ambulance?” Francie asked.

“No,” Kit said. “We need the police. I know who the murderer is.”

By the time Romeo arrived at Greyabbey, everyone was gathered in the garden room with glasses of lemonade, except Heloise who’d added a little extra kick to hers.

Kit greeted him at the door with Huntley hot on her heels. Huntley preferred to be in the thick of things when the opportunity presented itself.

“So this is Greyabbey,” Romeo said, leaning casually against the doorjamb. “I can see why you were so anxious to get back to your house. This place is a dump.”

“This dump has been featured in Architectural Digest.” Heloise appeared in the entry hall, flanked by Hermès and Valentino. Kit thought they’d look like hellhounds protecting the devil if they weren’t so darn cute.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wilder,” Romeo said, lowering his head.

“Mrs. Winthrop Wilder,” she corrected him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and Kit stifled a laugh. Finally someone else was facing her mother’s wrath. Kit decided that she should invite Romeo over more often.

“What’s the emergency?” Romeo asked, straightening his suit jacket in an effort to appear professional.

“There’s someone here we’d like you to meet,” Kit said, gesturing for him to follow.

They returned to the garden room and Romeo took notice of each person in the room, as well as the multiple bird cages.

“Hello ladies,” Romeo said, nodding in Francie and Charlotte’s direction. He gaze shifted to Paul, who was now sporting a loose black T-shirt thanks to Huntley.

“I’m Paul Krasensky,” Paul said.

Romeo shot Kit a quizzical look. “Is this where you’ve been holed up? With all the rooms in this place, it’s no surprise we couldn’t find you.”

“I take in stray animals,” Heloise said, “not people.”

“Heaven forbid,” Kit whispered.

“What’s with the crowd?” Romeo asked. “Unlike you, I don’t usually perform for the public.”

“Paul has something to show you,” Kit said.

Paul began to remove his top. Romeo opened his mouth to object until he saw Paul’s concave chest.

“Meatballs and gravy,” Romeo whispered. “It’s Carl.”

Kit lightly touched his arm. “I think it is.”

“What’s going on?” Heloise demanded. “Are we supposed to be a captivated audience? If so, you need a better hook.”

“The body from my house isn’t Ernie Ludwig,” Kit announced.

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked. “Who else could it be?”

Kit’s expression softened. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Paul, but I think the body in my house belongs to your brother. I think Carl is dead.”

Paul nodded solemnly, as though it was the news he’d been expecting. “I loved him a ton, but Carl was always getting himself into trouble. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

“Peregrine had hired Carl to rough up Ernie in the hope of getting him to fix up his house or leave town,” Kit explained to a few confused faces.

“But Ernie was already planning to skip town in his motor home because of his mounting debts,” Romeo interjected. “Carl must’ve stumbled upon him at the wrong time.”

“Like in the middle of his exit strategy,” Kit said. “An exit strategy I think he’d already planned after a visit from Chief Riley, also at Peregrine’s request.”

“So isn’t that what Peregrine wanted?” Francie asked. “Why would Ernie need to kill Carl if he was leaving town?”

Romeo looked thoughtful. “Hopefully Ernie can tell us himself…when we find him.”

“So Ernie killed Carl and buried him underneath the floorboards?” Charlotte asked, aghast.

“Then he put down that ugly carpet to cover it up before he left,” Kit explained. “That’s why there was one room with brand new carpet that didn’t match the walls. He didn’t care what it looked like. He just needed to hide the evidence for as long as possible.”

“Why didn’t it smell?” Charlotte asked and then shot a pained look in Paul’s direction.

“It probably did at one point,” Romeo said, “but the house was closed up for a long time before the foreclosure process began.”

“What a horrible man,” Francie said with a shiver.

“So is he the one who broke into your neighbor’s house?” Charlotte asked.

“I think so,” Kit said. “Which means he’s probably still lurking nearby.”

“Why would he do that?” Huntley asked. “Shouldn’t he be hiding in a Third World country by now with an umbrella drink and an assumed identity?”

“That may have been his original plan,” Kit said, “until Thora spotted him in Naples, Florida. She’d convinced herself that she’d imagined him.”

“And that was easy to believe, knowing Thora Breckenridge,” Huntley added.

“But Ernie saw Thora, too,” Charlotte said. Her hand flew to cover her mouth when the realization hit her. “He wants to kill her to keep her quiet.”

“We need to get officers stationed near the house,” Romeo said. “He knows Thora saw him and, thanks to the Westdale Gazette, he knows that we’ve found the body.”

“He’s probably been monitoring the website for news ever since I bought the house,” Kit explained. “He always knew there was a chance the body would be discovered and now that it has, Thora is a liability.”

“Thora spotting him wasn’t a problem before?” Francie asked. “Why now?”

“Because everyone thought he’d fled town anyway,” Kit explained. “The fact that he was alive would’ve been no big deal to everyone except for the debt collectors.”

“Once the body was found, though, he had a problem,” Romeo said. “Initially, he figured that if the body was ever found, the police would assume it was his, but Thora threw a monkey wrench into that plan.”

“So where is he now?” Heloise asked.

“He’s in hiding, obviously,” Kit said. “He can’t risk anyone else recognizing him. He’s probably staying in a nearby town until he can risk another try at offing Thora.”

“He won’t wait long,” Romeo said. “Each day brings the risk that Thora will tell someone.” Romeo stared at Kit. “How good of an actress are you?”

Kit’s eyes widened, understanding. “Most actresses avoid playing older women, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

As Kit pulled the short white wig over her pinned up hair, she channeled the Big Bad Wolf dressing up as the grandmother. She disliked casting Ernie in the innocent role of Little Red Riding Hood, but she needed to bring her snarl to the scene. She couldn’t do that if she channeled the sweet grandmother.

Thora was staying with Phyllis for the second night in a row. She left during daylight so that there was little chance Ernie would see the bait and switch in action. If he was coming back, no doubt he’d wait until nighttime to strike. Kit hoped tonight was the night. She wanted to get this over with.

Kit’s FaceTime app alerted her to an incoming call. “Yes, ladies?”

Thora and Phyllis squeezed their faces into the tiny image on her screen. “We want to see how realistic you look,” Thora said. “Your makeup was a little questionable last night. Ooh, nice hair. I think I like it better than mine.”

Kit touched the wig. “Thanks.”

“Any sign of that bald turd?” Phyllis asked, her usual blunt manner on display.

“Patience, Phyllis,” Kit said. “He may not show tonight either.”

“But he will show eventually, won’t he?” Thora asked and Kit heard the anxiety in her small voice.

“Romeo thinks so,” Kit replied. “Time isn’t on his side. The sooner he keeps you from talking, the better.”

“Oh, well if Romeo thinks so,” Phyllis said, exaggerating the detective’s name. Thora followed up her friend’s statement with kissing noises.

“Maybe I’ll just help Ernie find you,” Kit threatened and Thora’s puckering ceased.

“I haven’t seen any police outside,” Phyllis remarked. “Are you sure they’re here?”

“You’re not supposed to be peering out the window,” Kit said. “You’re supposed to be acting normal.”

“That is normal,” Phyllis argued. “How do you think I know what goes on around here?”

“Okay Golden Girls, I’m going now.” She didn’t wait for their protests. She tucked the phone into her back pocket and wandered upstairs to look out the bedroom window. Why didn’t Phyllis see any police? Romeo said they’d be there again, just like the night before.

She stood behind the curtain and peered outside. The streetlights were bright and plenty of windows across the street showed signs of life. She’d hate to see Phyllis’s electric bill next month. Every light in the house seemed ablaze. Under the circumstances, she doubted that Ernie would come straight down Thornhill Road. More likely he’d return to the back of the house where the yard was bordered by tall trees. Maybe that was where the police were hiding — behind the trees. If it was Harley, though, he was probably up a tree with no idea how to get down. He reminded Kit of a toddler.

Kit debated calling Jordan out of boredom. That was how she’d handled boredom on set when she wasn’t in a scene. Of course, Jordan was usually able to join her. Now they were separated by multiple time zones. She missed her friends. She missed her life.

Sighing, she plopped down on the edge of Thora’s bed. A romance novel sat on the bedside table. Thora read romance books? She knew Huntley was a fan of the genre, but she wouldn’t have pegged Thora for one. Kit picked up the book and examined the bare-chested man on the cover. Not too shabby. He reminded her of a guy from her gym in L.A.

A noise downstairs grabbed her attention and she set down the book. It wasn’t as loud as glass shattering, more of a hard clunk.

She climbed under the covers and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She wanted to look like easy prey so he’d drop his guard. Then the police could swoop in and do their thing.

Creak. Creak. Kit stiffened. Thora should really have those floorboards fixed.

She heard the soft footsteps coming down the hallway. Almost time for her big scene. She kept still and focused on her breathing, just like she did in the episode when Ellie Gold was kidnapped by a serial killer and tossed into the trunk of a car. When the trunk opened later, the serial killer had to think that Ellie was still unconscious. She’d accidentally hit the actor in the face with the gas can in the first take. He’d needed makeup to cover the bruise so they could shoot the scene again. As much as she wanted to laugh at the memory, she was too frightened.

Her bottom began to vibrate and she realized in horror that her phone was in her back pocket. Why hadn’t she turned off the phone? As muffled as the sound was, there was no way Ernie didn’t hear it.

Sure enough, the footsteps halted. Kit continued to play Sleeping Beauty and prayed that the vibrations would stop. In the dim light, Ernie would only be able to see the top of her white head. She tried to picture him in the doorway without opening her eyes. She hoped he hadn’t decided to bring a gun. Romeo had thought it was unlikely and she trusted his judgment.