Design on a Crime (7 page)

I studied the cranes in the watercolor over his head. "Last
I heard, he was out of town since Wednesday at a teacher's
seminar or something. That's why he missed the Gerrity sale.
That sounds to me like a pretty good alibi."

Tyler stood, and out the corner of my eye, I noticed his
frown. "I don't know why you're so upset. It's not a matter of
alibis or anything. You didn't hurt Marge, and soon enough
Lila's going to realize it. So chill."

I stood and paced from one end of the room to the other.
"You don't understand. It's not just that. But I'll tell you, your
friend, Detective Lila Tsu? She's a pretty scary character."

Tyler smiled and crossed his arms.

I ignored his reaction. "On top of everything else, the
mansion's off-limits. It's the scene of a crime, and the police
have it cordoned off. It can't be sold, so Noreen Daventry can't
buy it. Since she can't buy it, she can't hire me to redesign it.
Since she can't hire me-"

"I get the picture. But come on. I'm sure you can get a job
or two if you really try. It might not be as flashy as that big
old place, but fixing up a basement family room will pay
some bills."

"The Stokers did hire me to do their living and dining
rooms." Why did I keep forgetting the couple who'd be my
first real customers? "I should call them and take a look at
the space."

When Tyler didn't respond, I shot him a glance. Uh-oh.
I knew that look. It was the one that announced outgoing
questions.

"What's the real problem, Haley?" he asked. "Is this too
close to what happened four years ago?"

My hard-won progress vanished. I again felt my attacker's strength. I don't think I screamed, but I might have,
because a sharp sound rang out. All I knew was pain and
fear.

My ears buzzed. I shivered. I wrapped my arms around me,
but they couldn't protect me. A gentle force at my back moved
me forward. Like a robot, I went. I was told to sit. I did.

Desperation almost smothered me, but its return somehow
made me react. From somewhere deep inside, I dredged up a
spark of anger. That I could handle, so I clung to the flicker. I
could beat the confusion, pain, and fear if I stoked the flicker
into a full-blown furnace blaze.

I opened my eyes. At first, the red walls made me think real
flames surrounded me. Then slowly I remembered where I
was. The dojo ... Tyler ...

"She was helpless!" My words came out raw; my throat
felt even more so. "He hit her from behind."

I cried. Big, gulping, convulsive sobs tore through me.
Stinging tears poured down my cheeks. I couldn't stand to
think that the woman who'd stood by me and helped me find
footing-find myself-after I went through living hell had
now been subjected to the ultimate victimization.

After a while I brought my misery under control. I wiped
my cheeks with the backs of my hands, shoved my hair out of
my face. Again I clung to the rage, and with its help I stood.

I looked at Tyler. His expression showed concern. "I'm okay,"
I said. 'As okay as I can be, considering the circumstances."

He didn't believe me.

My wry grimace changed nothing. But I was going to be
okay. I didn't know when or how, but I had been down this
road before.

I've learned a lot. Thanks to Tyler, my body can withstand
a lot more now than before I met him, but only if I use my
head. I had to focus on what mattered.

The top to my gi had become twisted somewhere along the
line, and I straightened it. I usually showered and changed
after class, but no way was I going to risk another face-to-face
with Detective Tsu. Anger kicked in again.

Good. That would help me focus. "Tell you what, sensei.
I'm not going to let your fellow instructor shut me up in jail.
And I'm not going to let her build such a crummy case that
whoever killed Marge gets away with it."

"Really?"

Tyler's mild tone spurred me. "Yeah, really. Last time, the
cops and the court messed up big time, and that creep got
off with just a slap on his hand. This time, I'm going to make
sure justice happens."

"And how are you going to do it?"

That tripped me up for half a heartbeat. "I'm not a cop,
but I can pester them until they do their job. Then I can bug
the prosecutor until his case is airtight. The jury and the jail
can do the rest."

"Hmm ... so you're going to become a one-woman ultimate
judge."

"Someone has to. Look at what happened to me."

"What makes you think that ultimate judge isn't already on
the job and that he doesn't do it better than you ever could?"

"Don't start with all that God stuff again, Tyler. I know
where you and Dad stand, but until you've crawled through
the pit I got shoved in, don't tell me how just and good and
... and ... whatever else you say God is."

He lowered his head, and I could tell he was praying. It
made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't ask him to stop when
I didn't want him to ask me to start.

I thought I heard a whispered amen.

"Let me know when you let him catch you in those warm,
strong, loving arms of his again," he said.

My breath caught. I didn't have words to reject his. Something about them made me sad. As if I wasn't already sad
enough.

I grabbed my duffel bag and opened the office door.

"God bless you, Haley."

I once treasured those words so freely given by my devout
Christian parents and friends. But after God left me at the
mercy of a monster, I no longer give them much weight.

"Don't hold your breath." I closed the door, hurried through
the lobby, and burst into the drizzly, gray day. I didn't want to meet Detective Tsu again, nor even the nice women I'd met
before class. I was too ... too ... I didn't have the words to
express all I felt. One feeling I could identify.

I couldn't remember ever feeling this alone.

I drove away.

For the last six months, Saturday mornings meant a crowded
store with fussy furniture buyers. They do no more. Now
Saturday's about to become a worse form of torture. I have to
cross the parking lot between the manse and the church and
preside over the missionary society. I know nothing about their
business, even though I know the members pretty well.

After my close encounter with Tyler's faith the day before,
I dreaded today's meeting more than I otherwise would have.
If possible.

For a nanosecond I wished I could beg off and go sell bilious couches to people with too much money and too little
taste. But then an especially unfortunate episode with a wellheeled woman who loved all things orange and plum came
to mind.

"That's a quick cure," I told Midas. I doubted Penny Harham would approve of my dog's presence at the meeting,
but the other ladies had asked me to bring him along. The
Golden One is a favorite with Dad's flock.

"Well, it's about time you got here," Penny groused the moment I opened the door to Room A. "Your tardiness is more
proof of your lack of interest in the society's business."

Ina Appleton smacked a white china mug of coffee in front
of the postal clerk, but in an even, pleasant voice she said,
"It's exactly nine oh two, Penny. The society's meetings have
never started less than fifteen minutes late. Please give our
new president the benefit of the doubt."

Penny pursed her lips. 'And whose fault are the late starts,
Mrs. Hospitality Chair in Perpetuity? I've never seen coffee
perk as slow as when you make it."

"The urn's not as young as it used to be," Ina replied. Her
tight smile showed what it cost to keep the peace. "Just like
the rest of us."

Penny stiffened. "Speak for yourself. There are those of us
who pride ourselves on our young-at-heart spirits."

'And it's for the well-being of our spirits," Gussie said,
"that we meet to consider the needs of the missionaries we
support."

Wow. Impressive. Those sweetly voiced, gentle words had
sure packed a punch. Penny's leather-tanned cheeks turned
the color of bricks.

A rousing cheer rose from the far end of the table. "Go get
'em, Gussie girl!"

Bella Cahill is one of the most outspoken people I've
ever met. She's also a true original, and she proves it every
chance she gets. Four months ago she celebrated her seventieth birthday. That day she showed up in church with
her hair cut into a choppy Hollywood style and dyed magenta. In spite of repeated efforts to return it to its initial glory, the moppy mess has now faded to an odd shade of
Pepto-Bismol pink.

"How's it going, Haley?" she asked.

"I'm okay"

She ogled my outfit. "Like your shorts. I think I'll go get
me a pair just like 'em when we're done here."

I looked from my bike shorts to the pudgy woman. As
beautiful as Bella had once been, and we all knew she'd
graced the cover of every fashion magazine in her day, the
decades had melted the lean and elegant lines to Michelinman rolls. But if Bella wanted her Rubenesque thighs stuffed
into bike shorts, more power to her. In the Seattle area, even
senior citizens can look ... unique and nobody will look
twice.

"Bella Cahill," Penny chided. 'Act your age."

Well, almost nobody.

"Hey!" the offended party yelped. "Didn't you just say you
were young at heart? Well? How young is that?"

Gussie gave a ladylike ahem. "Penny, I'm sure that Bella
will find appropriate shorts. Besides, that's not the reason
we're here. The Randalls' efforts are bearing wonderful fruit.
The school has grown faster than they thought it would, and
now they need to add an eighth grade. What would be the
best way to fund textbooks and other supplies?"

My admiration for Gussie, always great, was now eclipsed
by my gratitude. I had no clue how to handle the missionary
society, but she'd calmly and sweetly taken the reins and
run with it. All I had to do was offer an occasional uh-huh
and scratch Midas's head each time he begged, which was
often.

I let the murmur of women's voices lull me into a thoughtful state. Because of the way I wound up with my unexpected
inheritance, I don't want it. But I can't just refuse it. True, I
don't have to use it, but then, what's the point of letting it all
go to waste? Especially when people like the Randalls can
use it to help little kids in terrible need. I can see why Mom
had devoted so much time to the missionary society.

All of a sudden, I noticed the shrieking silence. Every eye
skewered me. Penny in particular wore an 1-had-canary-forbreakfast smile.

It sure looked like I, on the other hand, had trouble for my
midmorning snack. When no one spoke, I turned to Gussie.
"What? What'd I do?"

Penny snorted.

Gussie blushed.

Bella whistled. "You hit the jackpot!"

"Huh?"

Gussie tsk-tsked. "Oh, Bella. That's a terrible thing to
say. Marge is dead, and you know how much Haley loved
her."

So much for my lull. The grief was back in spades.

"True," Bella said, unrepentant. "But that love never really
croaks, ya know? Money's just for stuff this side of heaven.
Think of all she can do with all that dough. It's not as if Marge
was snuffed and no one'll be the wiser to her life. Haley
loved-loves-her, and she can even come up with memorials or something like that." Bella beamed bright blue eyes
on me. "So what're you gonna do with all the bucks?"

Talk about being put on the spot. "I haven't given it a
thought. I just want to help the police find the killer."

If my ears didn't deceive me, Penny muttered, 'A likely
story."

Bella's cheeks turned rosy. "Woo-hoo! Can I help? I'd be
real good at it too. I've got every last episode of Murder, She
Wrote on tape and a copy of every single book on my bookshelf. I've even got Angela Lansbury's autograph on a couple
of 'em."

"Bella, that's just a TV show. I'm not going to do anything
like that. I just meant that I'm cooperating with the police
investigation. That's all."