Finding Sarah (18 page)

It wasn’t long before they’d left
Pine Hills behind. Traffic was light, and Sarah enjoyed watching the sky turn
pink with the approaching sunset.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,”
Randy said. “It’s nice to get away from work. Thanks for inviting me.”

“We’ll both have to thank Maggie.”

“You never said what we’re going
to see tonight.”

“
The Mousetrap
. Agatha
Christie. It’s a mystery. Right up your alley.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

“How are Starsky and Hutch?” When
he didn’t answer immediately, she studied him more closely and saw shadows
under his eyes. She hadn’t talked to him since Tuesday night. Had something
happened to them? She wished she could suck back the words, not remind him.

“No change. But at least they’re
not getting worse.” His voice was flat, but controlled.

Sarah felt a weight lift from her
shoulders. “I’m so glad. Othello’s home, but he’s really weak. How old are you?”
Where had that come from?

He looked at her, eyebrows
lifted. “Thirty-four. Why?”

“No reason. It occurred to me
that I don’t know a whole lot about you. We haven’t talked about much other
than your detective work. Maybe we can forget it for tonight.”

“You’re probably right, but
turnabout is fair play. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. At least for
another few months.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Ever come close?”

“No again.” Randy reached over
and let his hand rest on Sarah’s thigh. “The closest I came was a two-year
on-again, off-again relationship that’s been over for at least six years. She
realized I cared more about my police work than going to fancy parties to meet
all the right people, and I realized I couldn’t stand fancy parties.”

He took his hand away to shift
gears after a red light changed to green. Sarah noticed that his hand didn’t
come back. She’d spent all afternoon asking herself these questions and now they
were all pouring out. He must think she was giving him the third degree. And
about his love life. Darn!

“What do you want for dinner?”
she asked, desperate to change the subject. “Italian, maybe, since we didn’t
have that Monday?”

“Sounds good to me.”

When Randy said nothing for
several miles, Sarah pleaded with him. “It’s your turn. Ask me something.
Anything.”

“What kind of shampoo do you use?”

“What? What kind of a question is
that?”

“You said ask you anything. So,
answer.”

“Thriftway’s Peach Blossom. But I
meant something more personal. I was rude asking you all those questions. I
thought you’d like to get back at me.”

“That was a personal question.
The scent of your hair is one heck of a turn on.” Randy’s expression was dead
earnest.

“I’m blushing, aren’t I?”

“And it’s very becoming.”

She covered her face with her
hands. “I think I’ll sit here and look out the window and keep my mouth shut.”

Sarah and Randy worked their way
across the row of seats and settled into wait for the play to begin. Dinner
conversation had been comfortable, and she thought Randy had forgiven her for
the questions she’d thrown at him on the drive. Thinking of them still made her
cringe.

The lights dimmed and she glanced
at Randy. These seats weren’t designed for someone his height. He had slouched
down as a courtesy to the people behind him and his knees were practically
under his chin. She patted his leg. He smiled and whispered, “I’m used to it.”

Strains of
Three Blind Mice
sounded from the stage. The curtain rose to darkness and a woman’s scream.
Sarah reached for Randy’s hand and settled back to enjoy the play.

Halfway through the first scene, “Mrs.
Boyle” entered and recited her first line, “This is Monkswell Manor, I presume.”

Something about that voice made
Sarah sit bolt upright in her seat. She leaned forward waiting to hear more,
imagining the woman dressed in a sophisticated suit rather than the trappings
of a sensible dowager. She felt Randy pry her hand from his. She must have hurt
him, she’d been squeezing so hard. She leaned toward him and he lowered his
head so she could whisper in his ear. “That’s her. That’s my Gertie. Mrs.
Boyle. I’d know that voice anywhere.”

A not-so-polite throat clearing
came from the row behind them. Randy squeezed her hand gently and nodded,
putting his finger to his lips. Sarah could barely contain herself for the rest
of the first scene. During the brief pause before scene two, she saw Randy
studying the playbill.

“I don’t want to disrupt the
play,” he whispered. “I’ve got her name and I’m sure we can find her.”

“I hope you don’t mind me giving
it away, but I know the play. She’s going to get killed at the end of the first
act. She might not stay for curtain calls.”

“She’s got no reason to think you’re
here. The playbill says the cast comes out to the lobby to chat with the
audience after the performance. If you give me a positive ID, I can arrest her
tonight.”

The curtains opened and Sarah had
to restrain herself from leaping up and pulling Gertie—Mrs. Boyle—Harriett Pickett,
according to the program, off the stage.

During intermission, Randy called
the Cottonwood police. Sarah fidgeted in her seat now that it looked like they’d
caught Gertie.
Her
Gertie.

The rest of the play passed in a
blur. As soon as the house lights came up, Randy and Sarah moved toward the
lobby, where two uniformed police officers waited. Randy identified himself and
spoke to them. They nodded and one walked down a side corridor.

“What did you say? Where’s he
going?” Sarah asked.

“He’s going to let the manager
know what’s going on, but we’re going to be cool and not do anything until
after this meet-and-greet business is over. Assuming she’s the right person,
Cottonwood will keep her in custody and we can question her at their station.”

“She’s the right person. I know
it.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but I
want you to look again out here where the light is better and you can see her
up close. She was in costume up there, and in stage makeup.”

“It’s her. It’s her,” Sarah
insisted. Randy put his hand on her shoulder.

By now, members of the audience
milled around the lobby waiting to see the cast. Gertie arrived first. Randy
held Sarah back.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Slow
and careful.”

Sarah took a deep breath and
studied the actress who had played Mrs. Boyle. There was no doubt in her mind
that the woman was Gertie, and she told Randy so.

“Wait with the officers by the
door,” Randy said and approached the woman.

Sarah joined the uniformed men
and gave them a polite nod. The drone of conversation in the lobby made it
impossible to hear what Randy was saying. She watched the woman’s eyes widen
when Randy pulled out his badge. The woman shook her head. She seemed more
confused than afraid.

Randy brought the woman to where
Sarah waited. “Harriett has agreed to explain what she did,” he said.

“Come on back to the green room,”
Harriett said. “I’m sure we can clear up this little misunderstanding.”

The woman’s voice had lost the
arrogant sophistication Sarah had noticed in the shop. Now that she wasn’t
playing a role, a Midwestern twang took over. Sarah followed the officers down
the corridor.

Inside the green room, which was
actually a pleasant shade of peach, Harriett fidgeted on the edge of a brown
vinyl armchair as she talked to Randy. “I can’t believe this is happening. I
was assured everything was taken care of. Like I told you out there, I’m sure
if you check with your superiors, you’ll find this is all a big
misunderstanding. He told me everything was cleared.”

“He? This guy have a name?” Randy
asked. He pulled out his notebook and pen.

Randy leaned into Harriett’s
personal space. His size alone was intimidating. Those extra few inches of
encroachment would make anyone uncomfortable. She saw him at work now, doing
his job. A quick thrill of excitement ran through her, and she almost forgot
she was the victim of this so-called misunderstanding.

“Of course he had a name,” Harriett
said. “I don’t remember it offhand, because I dealt with him by phone. I
remember better when I see someone.”

Randy’s pen clicked and he leaned
in a little closer. “Go on,” he said.

Harriett sat up straight, her
hands in her lap. “He told me he needed someone to do a small job in Pine
Hills. A practical joke. There was good money in it for me for a morning’s
work.”

“Tell me exactly what the job
was,” Randy said.

Harriett fussed with her skirt,
tugging it over her knees. She studied her fingers as she spoke. “He said he’d
been trying to talk his fiancée into getting a burglar alarm for her shop,
because she spent all day alone in there and he worried. He told me he’d send
me everything I needed—clothes, wig, even a prop gun, and if I did a good job,
he might recommend me to a big-time producer. I got the costume and a down
payment in cash. He said he’d have it cleared with the police.”

Sarah couldn’t contain herself
any longer. What kind of a person would believe such a story? “Didn’t it seem
funny? A total stranger asking you to rob someone at gunpoint? What did you do
with my things? My money?” She heard the edge of hysteria in her voice, felt
one of the officers touch her shoulder.

“Let the detective do his job, ma’am,”
he said.

Heat rose in her face and she
sank down in her chair.

“Oh, you mean the frame and all?”
Harriett asked. “I left them in the alley with the clothes like he said. The money
was in the purse.” She peered at Sarah. “You didn’t get it back?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Ms. Pickett, I think you’re
right about a misunderstanding,” Randy said. “But it’s on your part. There’s no
such thing as police permission to enact a robbery. Whoever hired you is not
Ms. Tucker’s fiancé, and she never got her property back. You were set up to
carry out an actual robbery, for whatever reason this man had.

“Simply because you thought it
was a joke doesn’t mean it isn’t still a crime.” Randy’s voice was even, but
Sarah saw the way he set his jaw and held his eyes focused on Harriett’s. He
sat there and waited. Neither officer moved. Sarah could hear her own heart
pounding in her ears. Harriett remained silent.

Randy broke the silence. “Holding
someone up at gunpoint, even with a fake gun, is still a felony. You will be
arrested. What happens after that depends on how much you cooperate and whether
Ms. Tucker decides if she wants to testify against you.” He turned to the two
officers. “You want to read Ms. Pickett her rights, gentlemen?”

The two officers stood. One began
reciting her right to remain silent and the other removed the handcuffs from
his belt and took two steps toward Harriett.

She jumped to her feet. “Hey,
just a darn minute. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Her face paled as
her hands were restrained behind her back. She looked at Sarah again. “What if
I pay you back the money I took, plus whatever those trinkets were worth? Would
that be okay? Forget the whole thing?”

Sarah’s head spun. She wanted her
money, but this woman couldn’t be allowed to walk away like nothing had
happened. She stared at Randy in confusion.

Randy held off the officer with a
raised hand and spoke to Harriett. “I’m sure that making restitution will help
your case. What will help even more is for you to tell us who you were working
for. Perhaps you’d like to go to the station and call a lawyer? I’m sure one
would be there before they finish booking you.”

“To hell with a lawyer. What do
you want to know?” Harriett asked.

Randy gave Sarah a quick smile
that sent a shiver down her spine.

Randy turned to Harriett. “How
about the truth this time?”

“Everything I told you was the
truth,” she whimpered.

“Then why don’t you tell us the
rest of the truth?” Randy said. “You expect us to believe that you never
thought you did anything wrong?”

“I had to do it. You don’t
understand.”

She stepped back toward the chair
and Randy helped her sit. “Why don’t you try? I can be an understanding kind of
guy.”

“It’s my father,” Harriett began.
Her voice was low. “He’s eighty-three years old and has Alzheimer’s. He’s the
only family I have. But it was too hard to take care of him. I tried. Took him
into my home. But he’d wander off, and he didn’t even know who I was anymore. I
had to find someplace that would take care of him. But not one of those
horrible homes that smells like piss, where they sit around in bathrobes all
day, drugged and drooling. He was in good health otherwise and could be sharp
as a tack sometimes.”

“I understand,” Randy said. “It
must have been rough.”

“I found this fantastic place.
Assisted living, they called it. Kind of like a big college dorm for senior
citizens. Round-the-clock care, with lots of activities and things to keep
their minds active. But it cost a fortune. I’m working three jobs to pay his
expenses.”

“I can see how the extra money
might have been tempting,” Randy said, “but that doesn’t erase the fact that
you committed a crime.”

“It wasn’t the money,” Harriett
cried. “I turned him down when it was for money. But then he said he’d get my
father kicked out of the facility if I didn’t cooperate. I couldn’t move him.
That place was perfect, and there’s nothing else like it around. He was
blackmailing me.”

Randy sat up straighter, flipped
a page in his notebook. His pen clicked a rapid staccato. A gleam of excitement
shone in his eyes.

“Go on,” he said. “How could he
do this?”

“Woodland Meadows—that’s where
Dad is—is owned partly by Consolidated. This guy, whoever he is, said he had
connections there. About two months ago, I got a letter from the Meadows saying
there had been some problems with the account and I was behind in my payments.
I managed to straighten it out, but then this guy calls me back and says that
that was only the beginning—that things would get to the point where I couldn’t
straighten them out if I didn’t cooperate. So after a while, I agreed.” She
looked at Sarah again, an expression of abject apology on her face. “I didn’t
know it would be this bad for you. I thought that someone who could manipulate
the administration at Woodland Meadows could pull some strings with the police.”

Sarah looked at Harriett’s
pathetic face. The woman was an actress. But not that good. Sarah believed her.
Randy’s face revealed nothing. She waited to see what Randy would do next.

“That’s helpful,” he said to Harriett.
He fixed his gaze on hers. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Lawrence. Lawrence Pickett.”

Randy wrote in his notebook. “Thanks.
And would you have managed to remember the name of the person who set you up
for this?”

Harriett’s face was grim. “You
better believe I remember.” She stared at Randy. “Can you make sure nothing
happens to my father?”

“We can get in touch with the
people at Woodland Meadows and make sure that anything involving your father is
double-checked through you first. I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Then if I go down, he goes down,”
Harriett said, her eyes narrowed. “His name is Brady. Mitchell Brady. I never
saw him—everything was done by phone. That much was true.”

“Do you have the phone number you
called?” Randy asked.

“I can get it for you.”

Randy stood and helped Harriett
to her feet. “I’m still going to have to send you with these officers, but the
fact that you’ve been helpful should make a difference when you come up before
the judge.”

Harriett dropped her head and
allowed the two officers to escort her from the room.

* * * * *