Design on a Crime (4 page)

With a glance, the woman put me under a microscope.

Since the best defense is always a good offense, I extended
my hand. "Haley Farrell. I came outside to look for Marge
when she didn't show up after the intermission. I found her
just as she is. Nobody disturbed her, although I can't vouch
for the lawn. When I screamed, everyone came running. I'm
sorry about the footprints."

The woman's hand was as cool and smooth as her appearance. "I'm Lila Tsu," she said. "Detective with the Wilmont
PD. I'll be heading the investigation."

I nodded.

The detective continued. "You need to go back inside. We'll
take statements from everyone, but we have to secure the area
first. We also have to wait for the coroner. Since Wilmont isn't
big enough for us to have our own, it will take him some time
to get through the Seattle traffic."

I nodded again.

Detective Tsu's eyes narrowed. "Remember, Ms. Farrell,
you can't speak to anyone. I understand it's hard to wait in
silence, but it's in your best interest to do so."

Did she think I wanted to while away my afternoon with
Marge's clients? I gave a third brief nod and, now mostly
numb, headed for the house. When I reached the columned
front porch, I heard a hiss.

"Over here, Miss Farrell."

"Ozzie! What are you doing? The police asked everyone
to go inside."

"I've been waiting for you, miss. I must ask-"

"Don't say anything else. We're not supposed to talk."

Ozzie's eyes bulged. He looked about to burst. Someone
else to feel sorry for. I knew how much I wanted-needed-to
talk to someone about what I'd found, what I'd seen. But cops
mean business.

I patted Ozzie's shoulder, then led him inside. Unnatural
silence filled rooms that a short while ago had hummed with
excitement. As I looked for an empty chair, I saw a policeman scribble in a small notebook. At his side, Penny Harham
whispered and nodded sagaciously.

Great. If the cops relied on her, they'd never learn what
happened to Marge. Penny's vision of reality is hers and hers
alone.

Hours trickled by in itchy silence. The lousy metal chair
made my back hurt. Some rows back, a man gave in to fatigue,
and his snores kept the rest of us wide awake. Finally, Detective Tsu appeared with the officer who'd spoken to Penny.
Just like that, the atmosphere changed.

I sat up. Maybe we'd all get sent home soon. Dad was
probably wondering what had happened to me. I'd told him
I'd be home no later than two o'clock, and it was going on
five by now.

"If I could have your attention," Detective Tsu said. "Because there are so many of you, we're going to take down
names and addresses and contact you at home."

Relief rustled through the crowd.

"Wait," cautioned the detective, her hand up like a traffic
cop's. "Some of you will still need to stay." Her needle gaze
skewered me. "Since Ms. Farrell and Mr. Krieger were the first
on the scene, I'll need them to stay. Those who live outside the Seattle area will also have to wait for us to get to you today.
And if anyone has information that might help, please don't
wait for us to ask. Tell us now."

My hope for a quick return home flapped away on the
wings of a musical but steely voice.

Soon that voice peppered me with more questions than I'd
ever thought any one person could ask. Everything from my
education to Marge's favorite foods was fair game.

Exhaustion took its toll; my answers took a turn down
Cranky Lane.

Detective Tsu didn't like the trip. "I understand this is
tedious, but a woman lost her life-"

"You don't have to tell me. I found her. And she means-"
My voice broke. I tried again. "She meant a lot to me. I've told
you all I know. Most of your questions have nothing to do
with anything, at least not with what I saw today." Hysteria
sprouted. "Can I please go home?"

Ms. Tsu checked her watch, then scanned the room and
nodded to the officer by the door. He hurried over. "They're
waiting."

"I guess we can wrap it up for tonight." The elegant detective turned off her pocket recorder. "We'll be in touch again,
Ms. Farrell. Even without the necessary autopsy, it's obvious
Mrs. Norwalk was murdered, and since you found the victim,
we will have more questions for you."

She put her notebook, silver-toned pen, and recorder in
a square leather purse. She slanted me another laser look.
"You'll need to identify the body before you leave."

"Me? Why? Everyone saw Marge. Everyone knows who
died. Why do I have to ... to see ... her again?"

Bile jetted up my throat. I didn't want to look at that
empty shell under the shrubs again. I wanted to remember
my mentor as the vibrant woman I'd known for years. I
didn't want to face that lifeless, spiritless ... thing another
time.

Detective Tsu remained implacable. "The coroner needs a
formal identification."

"Can't Ozzie do it?" I was desperate. "How about Steve?
Steve Norwalk, Marge's husband."

"Officer Young is still taking Mr. Krieger's statement, and
Mr. Norwalk is out of town. It won't take but a minute, Ms.
Farrell. You said you wanted to leave, so please come with
us. You can go home afterward."

I grabbed my backpack purse and stood. I could do this. I
could. If I'd made it through the last four years, then I'd also
survive this.

"Fine," I said.

My steps echoed in the empty rooms.

Outside, I rounded a corner and went to the backyard. A
yellow ribbon screamed "Crime Scene" and added to the
surreal quality of the lavender dusk. I slowed down as I
approached three men around what looked like a lumpy
bag.

I gagged.

I can do it. I can do it.

"Here's Ms. Farrell," Detective Tsu said.

A nondescript gentleman in a short-sleeved plaid shirt and
new-looking jeans knelt by the lump and ripped the zipper
open. "Come closer."

I bit my lip. Marge's blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses, high forehead, straight nose, and wide mouth were there. Marge
wasn't.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Identify the body, please," the man said.

"It was Marge Norwalk. It's an empty body now." Nausea
swelled. "I have to go. Please."

My Honda Civic had never seemed so far away. I ran,
gulped down evening air, prayed I wouldn't vomit and humiliate myself. I don't know how I made it to the relative
safety of my car.

By virtue of sheer cussed determination, I didn't hit anything on the way home. On autopilot, I parked in the manse's
driveway, locked the car, and ran up the front steps. A light
shone in the living room. The strains of Pachelbel's "Canon"
reached out through the open window.

I was home.

But would I ever be safe?

"Haley?" Dad called out.

Every bone in my body melted at the sound of that muchloved voice. I stumbled in. "Yeah, I'm home. I'm so ... sorry
... I'm late . . . "

Sobs stole my voice. Dad wrapped his arms around me and
pulled me close. He led me to the sofa, where he continued to
hold me. He rocked me like he had when I was little. I wished
I still were. Then what I'd seen wouldn't be real. I wouldn't
have had to go through it.

But I wasn't a child. The pain told me I hadn't imagined a
thing. And I hadn't explained my anguish to Dad.

In a guttural croak, I said, "Marge is dead."

My father closed his eyes. His lips moved in prayer. My tears flowed on, silent now. As they did for the rest of the
night.

The phone rang me awake only moments after I finally fell
asleep. At least, that was how I felt. I reached for the miserable
machine. "Wilmont River Church manse, Haley speaking."

"They canceled the auction," Dutch growled.

"And a very good morning to you too." His words registered. I reeled from the fresh flood of images and fell back
against the pillows. "They? The auction?"

"Yes, Haley, the auction. The sale of the Gerrity mansion
was called off. By the police. Because it was the scene of
a crime, they sealed the property and postponed the sale
indefinitely."

"Gee. Thanks for the news. Tell me again why you felt the
need to share with me."

"Because according to the morning paper, you're about to
become filthy rich. And your fingerprints and footprints were
all over the place. That big inheritance gives you an awfully
good reason to want Mrs. Norwalk dead, doesn't it?"

This had to be a nightmare. It made no sense.

He made no sense.

"What are you talking about? And why are you yelling
at me?"

"Inheritance, Haley." I heard him fight for control. Then
his words came out measured, careful. "I'm talking about
Marge Norwalk's will. The one where she cuts her husband
out without a penny. According to her lawyer, you get everything, even the auction house. The same auction house the
Gerrity heirs hired to sell the matriarch's mansion. Marge's lawyer leaked the details. It's all in the Seattle Times for you
to read."

My head spun. The world had tilted out of orbit at the
Gerrity the day before, and it refused to settle back down.
"I'm sure there's some kind of mistake. I know nothing about
Marge's will or any newspaper story. All I know is that my
friend died a horrible death yesterday."

"Your friend isn't the only casualty, you know."

"Oh?"

"The renovation of that mansion means a great deal to me,
and a murder investigation means trouble. I need that job,
and the killer is responsible for the delay."

My temper began a slow boil. "You know, Dutch Merrill,
you give one fabulous condolence call. On top of that, your
insinuations are offensive, and you're making me mad. I've
never hurt anybody, especially not Marge. And I resent-"

"I resent your interfering with Marge's life, and as a result, mine. I'm as sorry as the next guy about her death. She
seemed okay. But she's gone, and you have the best motive
for wanting her dead. Plus, your fingerprints put you at the
scene. I can't afford to let your greed keep me from getting
on with my life."

"Now, you listen to me-"

"No, you listen to me. I'm going to do everything in my power
to help the cops nail the killer so Noreen can buy the Gerrity.
The sooner the better. And from where I sit, lady, you're it."

"It? You're nuts. I have nothing to gain from Marge's death.
You don't know what you're saying."

Tears poured again, but I fought the sobs with everything
I had. I refused to give this wacko a glimpse into my grief.

I went on. "I don't want her money or her company or her
stuff-I never did. I want her friendship, her kindness ...
even her lectures. But now she's gone, and I have nothing
left. How dare you-"

"Can the drama. I don't buy it. I'm going to watch every
step you take. You watch. At the first mistake, I'll have the
cops all over you faster than you can sneeze."

He killed the call with a slam.

I stared at the phone. That had to hold the Nobel prize for
worst wake-up call. "He's out of his sleazy, corner-cutting,
cheap, and shoddy mind," I muttered. I needed to hear something, even my own rant about the disturbing dolt.

"Now there's a word for you," I added when Midas licked
my chin. "Disturbing. As in disturbed. As in Dutch Merrill is
one disturbed character."

The saddest eyes in creation, that unique, heart-tug brown
gaze of the golden retriever, followed me as I stood, dug out
clean underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt from my blue milkpainted chest of drawers, then made a beeline for the shower.
Doggy nails clicked against hardwood floors, a comforting,
familiar sound.

"Haley?" Dad called from downstairs.

"Yeah?"

"Who was that?"

Dutch's rugged good looks flashed through my mind. Too
bad he's certifiable. What a waste. "Just a wrong number."
Boy, did he ever have the wrong number. To accuse me-me!

"Oh. Okay."

The scent of cinnamon wafted up from below. My mouth
watered.