Bite the Moon (21 page)

He knew she was about to find the memento he left for her. He wished she would scream when she did. But he knew she would not.

He consoled his disappointment with the knowledge of her fear. He knew it rippled through her body like a striking snake. Ripping at her gut. Pounding in her heart. Stealing her breath.

He knew she was afraid. And her fear made him smile.

I didn’t get to sleep until daylight. I slept until my telephone rang midday. I pick up the receiver without thinking.

“
Is this Molly Mullet?”

“
Yes, it is.”

“
This is Bart Seidell. I am an attorney representing Trenton Wolfe. I am calling to warn you that your harassing phone calls to my client will no longer be tolerated. And you must stop stalking him immediately. One more incident and we will file charges.”

“
I have not made harassing telephone calls.”

“
Twenty-two calls in a week is harassment in my book, Miss Mullet.”

He did have a point. “But I am not stalking him.”

“
The note you left when trespassing on his property indicates otherwise, Ms. Mullet.”

“
Trespassing?”

“
Yes, Ms. Mullet. I advise you to cease and desist at once.”

“
Just what is your client hiding, Mr. Seidell? Is he trying to cover up the role he played in the death of Rodney Faver?”

“
I will not dignify that with a response. You have been warned. Stay away from my client. I am filing a restraining order request this afternoon.”

“
A restraining order?”

“
Goodbye, Miss Mullet.”

Clunk.

He insulted me, threatened me and hung up on me. I felt my anger rising, but stomped it down. I was exhausted, and fuming is not conducive to sleep. I drifted off with visions of Trenton Wolfe in handcuffs dancing in my head.

A couple of hours later, my doorbell rang. I peered out my bedroom window but could not see enough of the person on the porch to do me any good. Then I looked out on the street—a florist truck.

I sprinted to the front door and took delivery of a beautiful bouquet—swollen yellow rosebuds pregnant with promise, cheery white daisies with egg yolk centers and a whole bunch of other beautiful flowers whose names eluded me.

I pulled out the little white envelope and opened the card. “Since you would not let me feed your body, allow me to feed your soul. Stan.”

My, my, my, Mr. Crockett. One lunch, a couple of phone calls and already you’re sending flowers. I could get used to this. I picked up the phone to express my gratitude. When he answered, I did so—profusely.

“
So what is my super-sleuth up to now?”

My super-sleuth. He said “my” and in that voice of his. I tried to keep the melting of my heart out of the tone of my voice. “I’ve been trying to find Fingers Waller.”

“
Fingers? Should call him ‘Fists’ the way he knocked around his girlfriend. Aside from his keyboard playing, I have no use for the man. And I told him so on more than one occasion. I wanted Trent to dump him. He wasn’t so great that we couldn’t find a replacement, maybe one with more talent. But Trent thought it could jinx us—throw us off track.

“
And I think Trent believed Fingers when he said his girlfriend was a lying druggie. But I’d seen her black eyes and the fingertip bruises on her arms. So what if she was into drugs? That didn’t make her Fingers’ personal punching bag.”

“
Do you know where I could find him?”

“
Did you go to his girlfriend’s place? Last I heard he was living with her.”

“
Yes and no. He hasn’t been there for a couple of weeks.”

“
Really? Well, I haven’t seen him since our gig at Solms Halle.”

“
So, you’re saying he’s a violent man?”

“
Maybe. Maybe not. He was violent with the women in his life. But I can’t say I ever saw him raise a hand or pick a fight with anyone else.”

“
But you would think he was capable of it, wouldn’t you?”

“
Maybe. Maybe not. Why don’t you forget about Fingers and just relax at home and enjoy the flowers? Or better yet, let me take you to dinner tonight.”

“
When all this is over, Stan, I’ll be glad to take you up on that offer. Right now, I need to keep focused on this job.”

“
You know what they say Molly, all work, no play . . .”

“
I’ll keep that in mind, Stan.” Mercy, that man was a serious temptation. Who knew where this might lead?

I went outside and pulled the mail out of my mailbox. An electric bill, a gas bill and a letter. I ripped open the flap of the letter with my thumb as I walked back in the house.

I read the first few words, “Trenton Wolfe is responsible for the death of his sister,” and stopped dead in my tracks. The letter continued, “You ought to look into this amazing coincidence. His sister, Megan, was asphyxiated when Trenton was just seven years old in their fancy old house in the Park Cities of Dallas. He was the only other person in the house at the time. He was institutionalized for a while. And the police turned a blind eye.

“
Rodney Faver’s murder sounds like a natural progression to me.”

The letter was unsigned and undated. There was no return address. The letter was typed. The envelope typed. Or printed. And now my fingerprints were all over it. Crap.

I called the office of Bart Seidell. “Mr. Seidell, please.”

“
May I ask who is calling?”

“
This is Molly Mullet.”

“
I am terribly sorry, Ms. Mullet, but your calls are not welcome in this office. Mr. Seidell specifically told me not to forward any call from you. Good day.”

She hung up. Good freakin’ grief. Another Ms. Arbuthnot. Did lawyers clone these women in a secret factory somewhere?

I redialed. “Don’t hang up on me this time, ma’am. Just tell Bart Seidell that Molly Mullet received a letter today and she now knows at least one of the secrets his client is hiding.”

“
I will not, Ms. Mullet. Mr. Seidell is not interested in any communication from you.”

“
Fine. I’ll give him until tomorrow at noon to change his mind. Then, I’m contacting every media source I can find.”

This time, I hung up. Man, that felt good for a change.

My doorbell rang early the next morning. Unlike the previous morning, I’d already been fortified with two cups of coffee and was ready to greet the day. I peered through the curtain on my door. Out on my porch was an absolutely gorgeous specimen of a man. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, mustache—you’d think I ordered him from my fantasy catalogue. When he realized I was staring at him through the window in the door, he flashed his badge. Damn. Another cop.

I opened the door. “Yes, sir. May I help you?”

“
Sergeant Barrientos, ma’am, with the Austin Police Department. Could I please come in and speak with you for a moment?”

How could I say no? I led him to the sofa and offered him coffee, tea, but stopped short of me. How could I even think that? I am one sick woman.

“
Ms. Mullet, I understand you were up in Austin earlier this week looking for Jesse Kriewaldt.”

“
Yes, I was.”

“
Have you been up to Austin since?”

“
No. Have you found Jesse?”

“
Yes. Well, no. Actually, Leslie found him.”

“
Leslie?”

“
You know, Leslie.”

“
No. Can’t say that I do.”

“
Oh, that’s right. You don’t live in Austin. If you did, you would. Can’t miss her—him—a regular feature of downtown life.”

“
Wait a minute. Do you mean Leslie, everybody’s favorite transvestite?”

He grinned. “The one and only.”

“
How did Leslie find Jesse? And what the heck is Jesse doing?”

“
Jesse’s not doing much. You see, Leslie was out looking for a friend of his—hers—and saw a piece of cardboard with a couple of feet sticking out down the alley. He—she—thought the shoes looked familiar and lifted up the cardboard. Instead of his friend, he found Jesse—or the remains of Jesse. By the time Leslie got to the police station, she was a mess. He came hobbling in—a heel broke off on the way over—and her wig was askew.”

“
I don’t think I have ever seen Leslie less than impeccable.”

“
Neither had we. It took a while to figure out what had Leslie in such a state of acute distress. Then we went out and recovered Jesse’s body. So I have to ask again: have you been up to Austin at any time in the last forty-eight hours?”

“
Oh, not this again.”

“
Don’t worry, ma’am, I’m no Lieutenant Hawkins.”

“
You heard about that?”

“
It’s pretty well known over a twenty-county area. It’s even spun off a whole new take on every blond, Polish or lawyer joke you’ve ever heard. I do, however, need to eliminate you, since so many people knew you’d been hunting Jesse down. If you could give me a list of everyone you saw yesterday or talked to on your land phone and the time of each encounter, I’ll be on my way.”

“
Sure. But what happened to Jesse?”

“
It appears as if he was strangled.”

“
With a guitar string?”

He gave me a measured look through hooded eyes. “How did you know that?”

“
Didn’t. I was on the scene of the Rodney Faver murder.”

“
That’s right. I knew that. It just slipped my mind. Could you make that list for me now? And if you could, jot down any contact information you might have by each name. It would save me a lot of time.”

I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and sketched out my timeline. As I wrote, I took as many surreptitious looks at the officer as I dared. I didn’t think he had noticed. Then I looked at him one more time, and he was staring me straight in the eye with raised eyebrows. My lips formed an asinine excuse for a smile and he laughed. Good sign.

I finished my list without looking up again. As I handed it to him, I said, “I’m sorry I can’t give you a verifiable alibi for the whole time. I spent quite a bit of it alone.”

“
Only guilty people can manage to account for their time minute to minute over a two-day period.”

“
Thank you for that.”

“
Just telling it like it is. Well, here’s my card. If you think of anything that could help me—anything at all—let me know.”

“
You are looking into a connection with the other two murders, aren’t you?”

“
Of course. But we don’t have anything definitive yet. Are you holding something back, ma’am?”

I thought about handing over the guitar strings to him right then and there. But he was a cop, and even though he said he wasn’t another Lieutenant Hawkins, I was not in a real trusting mood. “No, sir,” I said.

The phone rang and I snatched it up and tensed. I thought it’d be Bart Seidell. I was wrong.

“
Good morning, Molly. How are you today?”

“
Eddie. Eddie Beacham. You rat.”

“
What?”

“
Don’t play innocent with me, Eddie Beacham. You ratted me out to Hawkins.”

“
Molly. I’m an officer of the court. I had no choice.”

“
Oh, give me a break, Eddie.”

“
Really, Molly. It was an untenable situation.”

“
Bite me, Eddie!”

“
Ooooh, that sounds quite tempting.”

“
Stuff it, Eddie. Why are you calling now? What else does Hawkins want to know? What else do you want to pin on me?”

“
Oh, Molly, please. Let’s talk about this over lunch.”

“
Drop dead, Eddie.” I slammed down the phone. I’ve got to do this more often. Hanging up on people can really be gratifying.

*

The next time the phone rang, I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly before I picked up the receiver. “Molly Mullet. May I help you?”

“
Ms. Mullet. This is Ms. Graceton.”

I waited for more but it was not forthcoming. Graceton? Graceton? Didn’t know. “Yes?” I said.

“
I did speak to Mr. Seidell since you issued your threat . . .”

“
That was not a threat, ma’am. That was simply a deadline.”

“
Humpf. I considered it so threatening that I contemplated calling the police before I spoke to Mr. Seidell.”

“
You what?”

“
Nonetheless, Ms. Mullet, I did speak to Mr. Seidell. And he is willing to talk to you at this time.”

“
Is he there?”

“
Yes, he is.”

“
May I speak to him, please?” I said through clenched teeth. This woman might even be worse than Ms. Arbuthnot.

“
First, Ms. Mullet, I need to inform you that I do not like it one little bit when someone hangs up on me. So, quite frankly, if you want to talk to Mr. Seidell, you will have to call back on your own dime.” Clunk.

She hung up on me. She hung up on me again. Damn. Call on my own dime? How old is this battle-axe anyway? Battle-axe? Jeez. Now,
I’m
recycling my grandmother’s discarded phrases.