Killer Chameleon (28 page)

“Please do,” I said, hoping my sarcasm hadn't bled through.

“Anyway, sometime between our setting up surveillance at both entrances to wait for her, she returned to her room. There's a possibility she was in the building all the time. Thack went back in to ask the house dick a question. The desk clerk heard us talking about her and said she had gone by the front desk not long before. He was working a split shift and had just come back to work. When he mentioned to her that he'd taken a call for her earlier, she took off upstairs like a cat with its tail on fire, as the desk clerk so wittily put it. We checked her room again and she'd definitely been there.”

“How do you know?”

“There were things missing we'd seen the first time security let us in, that's how. My point is, if you had left it to us, we might have caught her. But because you called, now she knows someone has tracked her down. I warned you to let us do our jobs, Ms. Warren. I'm repeating it now. Any more interference from you and I'll haul you in for obstruction of justice. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” I said and slammed down the phone.

I wasn't fooled. Granted, I'd made a mistake calling the Trilby, which, thank God, was the only infringement he was aware of, at least for the moment. But he was also pissed because she'd been right on the premises and had managed to give them the slip.

I took little comfort in that. Michelle was still out there. And until she was behind bars, my troubles weren't over, not by a long shot.

20

I ADMIT TO GREETING SUNDAY MORNING IN A
less than positive frame of mind, perhaps because the previous night had been such a downer. After my chewing out by Evans, I'd checked the messages on the answering machine. There were two, the first from Duck.

 

Hi, babe, and where are you, I wonder? Just letting you know that I probably won't be home until Tuesday. Preston has a bug, one of those twenty-four-hour viruses—sound familiar? Anyway, we can't leave until she's over it. I'll make it up to you. Talk to you tomorrow. Love ya.

 

I growled, erased it, and went on to the second message.

 

Hi, Ms. Warren, this is Sunny. At Arena? Sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner. About the lady in the pictures you left, her name is Shelly Halls and she was the understudy for the role of Georgia Keith in last season's production of
August Flames,
only she got kicked out of the cast because they think she doctored the coffee of the actress playing the role so she could go on instead. It didn't work because Celia got her stomach pumped and made it back in time. Hope that helps. Say hello to Beverly Barlowe for me. Tell her I'm a big fan. Bye.

 

The information was superfluous but, if nothing else, reinforced the lengths to which Michelle would go to get what she wanted. And she was out there somewhere plotting her next move, her goal: to get rid of me for keeping her from the audition that she was certain would have been her big break. Given her single-mindedness, I was not encouraged.

I was still in jammies, face yet unwashed and toothbrush in my mouth when I heard the kind of knock on the door that did not bode well. I can't explain it but there's something about the sound that's different when it's a cop on the other side of the door.

I slithered to the peephole and groaned. Evans and Thackery. I yelled at them to hold their horses and let them wait until I'd gotten rid of the toothbrush, pulled on a robe, and scrunched my hair into a semblance of order.

“Sorry to disturb you so early,” Evans said, coming in. I didn't believe him for a minute.

“Nice tree.” Thackery scrutinized it as if he'd never seen one before.

“It isn't finished,” I said, gesturing for them to sit. “I'd offer coffee but—”

“No, thanks. This won't take long, but we wanted to give you the word personally.” Evans perched on the edge of the couch, leaving the impression that a relaxed position would be inappropriate. “We got Halls's prints off a glass the housekeeper had just removed from her room at the Trilby. They match a set on the trunk of your old car, and on one of the knobs on an oven—”

“At Celebrations?” I blurted. “So she
was
there!”

“Yes. By the way, the cell phone she's been using was stolen from one of Celebrations' waiters weeks ago. But she's wanted for murder and arson now. The thing is, Ms. Warren, after last night she knows we're after her.”

“You already told me that,” I said, irritated that he felt he had to rub salt into my wounds.

“It bears repeating. She's a cold-blooded killer even though Ms. Hitchcock's death may have been unintentional; turns out she was allergic to latex.”

“Latex? Like in gloves?”

“Among other things. Evidently it's a cumulative thing. In her case, it was probably a result of her years working with her family's cleaning service. She wore one of those bracelets with a warning on it but Halls didn't notice it, and she obviously wore gloves because there was cornstarch and latex particles on the victim's scarf. Looks like she might have been gagged with it and inhaled the particles, which caused anaphylactic shock. Without immediate treatment, she was a goner.”

My God. Poor Claudia.

“But the two poor working stiffs at Celebrations, pardon the pun, were already dead when the place went up, one from blunt-force trauma, the other from multiple stab wounds.”

Wow. She'd do that to a cousin?

“The rest,” Thackery took over for Evans, “the smoldering rags in the wastebaskets and the gas, was an attempt to cover her tracks. She assumed the bodies would be so badly burned that the fire and explosion would camouflage the cause of death. It might have if they hadn't been blown into the backyard.”

That didn't make sense to me, given the second floor's charred interior. “But the offices were gutted.”

“In spades,” Evans said, dryly. “She left one wastebasket smoldering upstairs and a second one somewhere in the kitchen. The one downstairs triggered the explosion once the gas had been on long enough and in the process, blew the contents of the wastebasket upstairs through the ceiling.”

“Which ignited the insulation,” Thackery clarified. “But by then, the bodies of the cleaners were already outside.”

“Lordy.” I slumped in my chair, imagining the horror of it.

They let me do that for a moment, before revealing the main reason for this wake-up call.

“Now, Ms. Warren.” Evans sat up even straighter and fixed me with a stern gaze. “I repeat, we're dealing with a cold-blooded killer, one with nothing to lose. And your experience as a cop notwithstanding, we're officially warning you to butt out and let us do our jobs. We'll even go so far, unofficially, as to ask you to make yourself scarce. Go somewhere, the farther away the better.”

“Excuse me?” I wondered if Duck had put them up to this.

Thackery leaned forward for emphasis, elbows on his knees, big hands clasped. I was surprised to notice that he was a nail chewer. “We don't have the manpower to give you round-the-clock protection; our resources are spread about as thin as they can get. Increasing patrols through the area is possible but probably not all that effective, since we can never be sure what Halls looks like at any given time. So it would be a load off our shoulders if you'd go underground. Someone mentioned you have family in North Carolina.”

There was no point in wondering who that someone might be. Duck was in for it.

“I do have family there,” I said, “but you forget, Michelle's been through that box of my personal papers, which includes cards and letters from my foster mother. No way will I expose her to Michelle's lunacy by going down home. And before I forget, do you mind explaining that little gem you dropped into the conversation with me last night, the one where you used identity theft and federal crime in the same sentence? I assume you weren't referring to such mundane capers as her posing as me in order to steal my wedding suit and cancel our honeymoon reservations.”

He grimaced, but he'd muddied the waters himself. It was obvious he considered this element of the case a nuisance. His focus was the homicides. So he told me what I already knew, that Michelle had had a field day in Salina's at my expense, along with a couple of other stores at which she'd opened accounts. I had started working on that last night, courtesy of the Web. Following through was at the top of my list of things to do.

I expressed appropriate outrage to cover the fact that I'd known about it already, then responded to the purpose of their visit. The whole business had kept me awake until the murky hours of the morning, even without knowing for certain that Michelle was a murderer. Some time between then and now, I had come to a decision.

“Gentlemen,” I said, giving them the benefit of the doubt, “you have every right to tell me to butt out, and I'm sorry if my call to the Trilby tossed a monkeywrench into the works. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd look at it from my point of view.”

They finally sat back, both their expressions acutely wary, as if there was a snake somewhere, ready to strike.

“In the process of doing what was my job at the time, protecting and defending, so to speak, I set off a chain of incidents for which, no matter what I tell myself or anyone else says, I feel responsible. Those incidents include the deaths of three people I never met. But I've seen the impact of those deaths on the owner of Celebrations, and on Clarissa, someone I've come to like very much. The bottom line is that I'm the cause and I'm the one Michelle Halls is after. The easier it is for her to get to me, the sooner you'll catch her.”

They jerked upright again, as if yanked by a single set of puppet strings. “Now, just wait a minute,” Thackery began.

“Let me finish. I have a couple of chores to take care of which will get me out of your hair for today. I have to go out and I'll wear a damned wig and the makeup, etcetera, so if she's around she won't recognize me. It worked yesterday; there's no reason it won't work again today. But today is it. Effective tomorrow, no more wigs, no more disguises. I'm going to make myself as accessible as I can be. I
want
her to make her move.”

“No,” Evans said, shaking his head. “We can't allow you to act as bait.”

“I'm not asking your permission. This woman cannot be allowed to inflict any more damage, especially to people who have nothing to do with her beef against me. And I understand that for all intents and purposes I'll be on my own. As far as protection's concerned, I've broken up enough bar fights in the line of duty to know I can take care of myself. I don't have a service piece any longer, but I can use one of Duck's. They aren't throwaways,” I added quickly. “They're registered to him. And I won't use the thing unless I have to. But I've been a victim long enough. Now, if you want to waste your breath arguing with me, fine, but make it fast. I've got to get out of here.”

To give them credit, they tried their best, but Nunna could have told them they were simply spinning their wheels. With three deaths on my conscience, there was nothing they could say that would change my mind.

After about a half an hour of it, they left with a promise to step up patrols starting this evening. I expressed my appreciation for whatever they could do and nudged them out of the door. With their departure, I felt more at ease than I had since the whole business had broken wide open this past Monday. Even though it had actually begun some weeks before then, tomorrow would be the beginning of the end of it.

Over breakfast, I faced an additional truth. The postponements aside, I was not happy about my wedding. As much as I loved Duck, as much as I looked forward to being his wife, I was beginning to hate more and more the three-act production my wedding had become. I'd wanted simplicity, intimacy, just family, It was still just family, but one that amounted to a cast of dozens.

The loss of that ecru suit from Bridal Bower was, on balance, as upsetting as losing our Hawaii reservations. It wasn't often that I genuinely liked the way I looked in whatever I wore, but that two-piece creation had moved to the top of the list. Therefore, having to ask my aunts to whip up something for me stuck in my craw far more than it would under ordinary circumstances. Not that I doubted their dressmaking skills; my cousin Tracy's wardrobe was equal to anything Salina's sold. But whatever they came up with would be my second choice, not my first. And I resented that.

I showered and attacked the closet to come up with an outfit that would fool my nemesis but wouldn't make me look like a fool in my grandparents' eyes. The braids were definitely out. I flipped through Janeece's wigs and hairpieces and finally settled for a chin-length page boy with bangs. It was cute enough to make me consider letting my hair grow. That lasted perhaps thirty-seven seconds. Why bother when I could wear a wig?

It took me fifteen minutes to get the lashes on straight, but I turned thumbs down on the stuffing. I'd be wearing my Sunday go-to-meeting coat, a black cashmere that closed with a belt and was a perfect fit. It had cost too damned much for me to want to look as if I was about to burst out of it.

I was squeezing my feet into a pair of dress boots when the phone rang. I was tempted to let the caller leave a message, since I'd gotten all the bad news I cared to hear for the next year and a half, but gave in, in case it was Duck.

It wasn't. “Leigh, if I'm not in the doghouse about last night, can I ask a favor?” Tina's tone of voice could best be described as wheedling.

“Depends. What is it?” Truthfully, I was still pissed at her, but was determined to rise above it.

“I was supposed to pick up Auntie Clar from church, but I'm on my way in to work. Eva called in sick. I tried Aunt's cell phone to tell her to take a cab home, but she probably doesn't have it with her. It's not that far from you or I wouldn't ask. I don't want her standing in the cold waiting for me.”

If there was a polite way to say no, I couldn't figure out how. “All right. Which church?”

She gave me directions and thanked me effusively. I sighed. Taking Clarissa home meant a detour, but it wasn't as if I was in a rush to get to Ourland, despite what I'd told Thackery and Evans.

“Leigh,” Clarissa exclaimed, when I found her on the corner looking like a poor lost sheep. “I almost didn't recognize you. What are you doing here?”

“Subbing for Tina. She's having to fill in for someone at work. Get in out of the cold. How would you like to go to Ourland with me?” I asked, surprising myself.

“Oh, I'd love to.” She scrambled into the car, her cheeks pink from the December chill. “Would there be time for me to see your new house? Tina told me about it. It sounds wonderful.”