Getting Away Is Deadly (5 page)

“Fascinating, Summer. That’s great. I have to get on the elevator to go down to the parking garage with the tour group. I might lose you.” I hoped she wrapped it up.

“Well, the thing is, I told Ms. Archer about you yesterday. About your organizing business and, well…”

“Do you really call her Ms. Archer? All the time?”

“She hasn’t asked me to call her anything else, so that’s what I call her. Anyway, there’s a small problem. Emma’s room is a mess.”

“So I guess you’ll be cleaning it up.”

“That’s the thing. It’s really terrible. She has every toy ever made, no shelves, no storage. Her closet is a big tangle of clothes. You can’t really
walk
in her room because there’s so much stuff and her closet kind of scares me. So”—her voice rose on the word—“when Ms. Archer heard about your organizing business, she said wouldn’t it be great if you’d come organize her daughter’s room?”

For a few seconds, I was actually speechless. I found my voice and said, “Summer, I’m on vacation.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but Ms. Archer has already pitched the idea for the article to the magazine and they love it. Before and after photos of Emma’s room. They can show how a busy mom with a full-time job can organize her kids’ rooms. And Ms. Archer is sold on it.” I had to strain to hear Summer’s voice as she practically whispered, “I think Ms. Archer is about to transition to something new. Maybe a run for Congress. I don’t know, but there’s been a lot of talk about softening her image and everyone loves the idea of this article. Please, Ellie, if you help me pull this off, I might get a job out of it, maybe even as a congressional staffer. That’d be huge. And it would be good for you, too.
Mom Magazine
will interview you. You’d be the organizational expert.” She spoke more quickly, her words almost bumping into each other. “It’s a national magazine. Think of the publicity. And I’ll help you. You wouldn’t even have to do the actual work. You’d be like a consultant. You tell us what to do and we’ll do it. I’ll get as many people we need.” She finally ran out of steam and I realized everyone was in the elevator waiting for me to step inside.

“I’ll call you back from the van,” I said.

The elevator doors closed, shutting out the guy in the hooded sweatshirt, who was sprinting toward the elevator. I said to Abby, “That was Summer and she wants me to organize a room for her boss while I’m in town.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Abby stepped back a pace, nearly knocking over Gina, who was so slight it wouldn’t take much more than a heavy breeze to topple her.

“I know. I told her I’m on vacation.”

“You didn’t tell her ‘no,’ though, did you?” Abby asked.

“I had to get in the elevator. I’ll call her from the van.”

Abby exchanged glances with the other women in the elevator. “Her sister-in-law,” she explained to everyone. “Ellie can’t say no to save her life.”

Nadia patted my arm as we emerged from the elevator. “I know, honey. I hate to disappoint people, too.”

Abby sighed. “How much work is she talking here? A whole house?”

“No. One room. It sounds bad, but I could probably pull it off in a day or two. She said she’ll get as many workers as I need. In fact, she says I don’t have to do the work at all, just tell them what to do and they’ll do it. I’d consult. I have to admit, I do like the sound of that.”

“Who does you sister-in-law work for?” Nadia asked.

“Ms. Archer. Apparently, she doesn’t have a first name.”

Gina glanced quickly in my direction. “Vicki Archer, from the Women’s Advancement Center?” I nodded and she whistled. “That was her doing the TV interview in the Metro before…Anyway, she’s supposed to be one of the fastest burners in D.C.”

“Really? You recognized her? I haven’t heard of her. I mean, I don’t watch the news as much as Irene does, but I’m not totally out of it.”

Gina climbed into the van and sat in the backseat. “I was reading an article about her a few days ago. She’s listed as one of the ‘Women to Watch in Washington’ this year. They think she’ll run for Congress. Her name is already popping up as a potential vice presidential candidate.”

I slid into the seat beside Gina. Was it too early for chocolate? I definitely needed some. Chocolate was my go-to stress-relief mechanism. I pulled out a few Hershey’s Kisses and offered some to everyone. Wellesley shook her head, but everyone else grabbed one. I said, “How am I going to be able to say no now? Summer’s hoping to get a full-time job with Vicki Archer after graduation, and if Archer has such great prospects, it would be an amazing job for Summer.” I popped the chocolate in my mouth and sat back to try and think of a kind way to let Summer down easy.

Nadia belted herself in and leaned forward to talk to Wellesley. “This afternoon, is it free again?”

“Technically,” Wellesley said as she reversed and pulled out of the parking garage, barely missing two pedestrians before she merged into the traffic of Crystal City. “I don’t have anything scheduled, but I was leaving it open for you to choose what you’d like to do. I thought possibly Union Station.”

“Perfect.” Nadia turned back to me. “I’d like to see where a potential vice presidential candidate lives.”

 

An Everything in Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip

 

Pick the right bag

• Choose a bag made with a durable material, preferably one that is water-resistant. Check zippers and handles for sturdy construction and look for reinforced side panels.
  
• Pick a color besides black to avoid confusion at baggage claim.
  
• You can also use colorful luggage tags to help distinguish your bag from similar ones.
  
• Luggage wheels that rotate 360 degrees make maneuvering easier.
  

A
fter our tour of the monuments, Wellesley parked the van on the street in front of a white 1950s Cape Cod–style house with a red front door. The neighborhood, a mix of bungalows and Cape Cods with tiny square footage and surrounding mature landscaping, reminded me of our neighborhood in an established section of Vernon in Washington state. Except this neighborhood had an air of aggressive maintenance. No peeling paint or scruffy lawns marred these streets.

“It’s so tiny,” Nadia said with dismay.

Wellesley said, “It may not look like much, but this is prime real estate, an inside-the-beltway location. These houses go for over half a million dollars.”

Nadia stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding. For that little thing?”

“I’m serious. Fairchurch is a primo location.”

I climbed over Gina to get out of the van. “Thanks for dropping me off. Summer can give me a ride back to the hotel.”

As I stepped out of the van, a blue four-door car pulled into the driveway. A man in a suit and a woman in a pantsuit got out and paced toward me. They didn’t look threatening, but suddenly I felt nervous.

“Detective Jason Brown, Metropolitan Police,” said the heavyset man as he ambled across the grass to me. He didn’t remove his aviator sunglasses from his face, which was narrow near his forehead and salt-and-pepper crew cut, but widened around his chin and lower checks because of his jowls.

The approach was so similar to Mansfield’s last night that I thought of MacInally. Were they here to ask more questions about him? Had he gotten worse?

“I’m looking for Summer Avery,” Detective Brown said as the young woman followed him.

“I’m Ellie Avery, Summer’s sister-in-law. She lives in the converted apartment in the back,” I said and pointed to the small building at the back of the lot. It was obvious that the apartment had once been a detached garage, because the driveway still ran right up to the edge of the small building. “Is there something wrong?” It dawned on me that a detective wouldn’t bring me news about MacInally’s health.

“Thanks. Just usual inquiries,” he said and walked up the slight incline of the driveway with the woman.

I turned back to the van. “I’d better go.”

Abby leaned forward. “Do you want me to stay? Do you think everything is okay?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s okay, but I think it’ll be better if I go by myself.”

“All right. Call me if you need me. I can get a cab or something and come get you.”

By the time I got to Summer’s door, the police were already seated on her futon couch. Summer had pulled a bar stool over to the “living area” and perched there with one high-heeled foot dangling. She hopped up when she saw me walking up the driveway and let me inside. “Just be a sec,” she said to me as I headed to the other bar stool in the kitchen area. “Help yourself to something to drink.”

I really couldn’t believe her sometimes. A second session with the police and she was acting like all she needed to do was put on her lip gloss and she’d be ready to go. I know I wouldn’t be so blasé.

Summer went back to the living area and I found a bottle of water in the fridge. One of the first mantras of pregnancy is to stay hydrated. Not that I’m very good at following mantras, but I like to at least give the hydration one a shot every once in a while. I climbed onto the other bar stool, wishing I could kick off my shoes. I hadn’t thought I was tired from the day, but suddenly my feet and calves ached and I wanted to stretch out and take a nap. The monuments had been amazing and I’d been caught up in their massive scale.

I couldn’t see Detective Brown’s face, but the set of his shoulders seemed to telegraph his disapproval. He asked, “So you met Jorge Dominguez six months ago?”

Summer shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t remember the date. He came to work for the Archers’ last fall. Probably around October. I’m sure they’ll have the date.”

“Did he have any family?”

“I don’t know.”

“How often did you talk to him?”

“I don’t really know. Whenever he was here doing the yard I’d say hello to him if I was leaving to go to class or coming back home. And I saw him in the Metro a few times.”

“When did you start dating?”

It was a good thing I hadn’t taken a big swig of water because, if I had, I would’ve spit it across the room. I managed to choke down my drink with only a muffled cough. Summer didn’t seem to notice my reaction. She laughed, a short, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding laugh. “We didn’t date.”

“Your neighbors say you rode in the landscaping truck with him.”

“He gave me a ride to class once when the battery in my car was dead. It was on his way to his next job. It was nothing.”

“When did he start bothering you?” Summer’s foot swung into a higher gear, but that was the only sign his question bothered her. I bet Brown picked up on it, though.

“He asked me out for a date. It was probably a month ago. I said no, thanks. End of story.”

The woman stood up and strolled around the room. Since I’d missed the introductions, I wasn’t sure exactly what her role was, but I assumed she was another detective.

“Then why did you talk to your campus police about how to file a restraining order? And why didn’t you tell us this when we first talked to you?”

Summer gathered her long red hair, pulled it over one shoulder, and leaned forward. “Look, the guy was getting to be a nuisance. He asked me out. I said no, but then he kept on asking. I found out what my options were. I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t know who had died. You only wanted to know where I was on Monday afternoon. You didn’t mention his name.”

I felt myself go very still as I thought back over my conversation with Summer. She
had
known the name of the man who died. At least, she had when we talked. Why was she lying now? Why had she held back before? Was she afraid of the police?

“And why didn’t you file a restraining order?” Brown didn’t seem to be aware of the other detective moving around the room, but it bugged me. Her light brown hair was pulled off her puffy face into a ponytail. Her slightly uneven bangs were plastered to her forehead. I watched her as she strolled around the studio apartment like she was browsing in a store, but the gaze from her small, closely spaced eyes roved over everything.

Everything Summer owned was out there in the open. Was the detective seeing anything she shouldn’t? I gave myself a mental shake. Of course the detectives could look around all they wanted. Summer had nothing to hide.

“After I found out how involved the whole process was I decided I’d just talk to him. It worked. He left me alone after that,” Summer said.

“So you threatened him.”

Summer sat up straight and assumed a rather haughty air. “No. I did not threaten him. I told him to stop asking me out, to stop watching my house, to leave me alone or I’d have to go to court.”

Brown jumped on her slip. “So he was watching your house, too? How often? Did you record the dates he was here?”

“No. At that point, I didn’t realize how persistent he was going to be. I didn’t know I needed to write stuff like that down. Are we through here?”

“Not quite.” Brown turned to me as he flipped though his notebook. When he looked up, his gray eyes were cold as they focused on me. “Mrs. Avery. You were in the Metro station that afternoon as well.”

Surprised, I choked on another swallow of water. “Yes, I talked to the police Monday. They took everyone’s contact information.”

“And were you aware of your sister-in-law’s conflict with Mr. Dominguez?” His jowls vibrated a bit as he tossed his head in Summer’s direction.

I didn’t like the turn his questions had taken. “No, I didn’t even know she knew him. I didn’t know who he was.”

“I see.” His tone clearly said he didn’t believe me.

“You’d been in touch with your sister-in-law before you arrived here?”

“Of course. We talked about getting together while we were in town.”

The female detective made another loop of the room. For some reason, her slow, silent circuits made me think of a shark. I felt a prickle of sweat break out at my armpits. I tried to push my nervousness down.

Summer said, “You can’t be serious. There’s no way we’d do what you’re insinuating.”

Brown ignored her indignant voice and kept his monotone as he turned back to her. “We’re not insinuating anything, just confirming information. Where were you Monday afternoon between three and five?”

I could tell Summer relaxed just a bit, because her foot stopped swinging so frantically. “Back to that again? I was right here, babysitting the Archer’s daughter at their house. And before you ask
again
, I didn’t make any phone calls or talk to any of the neighbors.”

“Then why was your Metro card used at four-oh-five in the afternoon at the Metro station where Mr. Dominguez died?”

“What?” All the hauteur went out of her. She looked truly disconcerted for the first time in the interview. “My Metro card?”

“Yes. The one you purchased with your Visa credit card two weeks ago Thursday at seven-thirty in the morning. It was used twice before Monday. No activity since Monday.”

Summer jumped off the bar stool and grabbed her hobo bag from the kitchen counter. Pens, notebooks, a pack of tissue, sunglasses, a long scarf, and her beret scattered onto the counter as she pawed through the pockets. She looked up from the disarray, her eyes wide, a completely shocked expression on her face. “It’s gone.”