Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (29 page)

“Penny knew,” I said. “This was why she died. She had the training to recognize it.”

Marsali nodded reluctantly. “The question is, now…” His voice faded.

I finished the sentence. “Where’s the original?”

We looked at each other for a few moments. I stood and paced around the room restlessly. I noticed Livvy had the plastic fruit spaced across the rug and was playing some sort of game with the apples, rolling them into the other fruits. Toddler bowling, I thought.

If I could trust what Karen said, Rory had been accused of stealing something from the thieves, and I bet that something was this manuscript. Rory denied it and hired a thug, Mr. Baseball Cap, to intimidate the English dude, who had to be Victor Roth. Obviously, Rory didn’t have it, if he was hiring someone to intimidate Victor. And Victor
said
he didn’t have it. He’d told Mr. Baseball Cap that Penny probably hid it at my house.

I refocused on Marsali as he pored over the paper. “I need to use your phone.”

He grunted, which I interpreted as “okay.”

I found the phone and after calling base information I was connected to Thistlewait’s voice mail. “Umm, this is Ellie Avery.” I paused, reluctant to go into detail on a phone message, but I needed him to call me, so I said, “I’ve found something that Penny left for me. I think you need to see it.” I finished with a disjointed conversation as Marsali gave me his phone number and I repeated it into the phone.

I dropped into Marsali’s recliner to think. I couldn’t go off and leave the letter with Marsali. It was too valuable and I couldn’t think of a good hiding place. Better to wait here for Thistlewait to come and pick it up. I glanced down at the table. A notepad beside the phone had
white-headed woodpecker
jotted at the top. A pair of binoculars rested beside the notepad and a copy of
Birds of North America
. I surveyed the room, checking on Livvy, and noticed the recliner was placed so that Marsali had a great view of his spacious backyard. Several empty bird feeders dotted the lower limbs of the majestic pines in his backyard.

“You’ve taken up bird-watching?” I guessed.

Marsali looked up at me blankly; then he seemed to process what I’d said. His smile lines deepened. “Yes. It is fascinating. I haven’t seen many yet, but with spring on the way, I’m hoping that will change.”

“Another class through the senior center?”

“No. A private tutor. Dorothy MacMill. She’s spotted a hermit warbler, quite a feat, I gather, and has promised to give me a few tips.”

“That’s great.” It was the first time I’d seen Marsali looking genuinely happy since I’d met him. The phone rang and he flapped his hand at me, meaning go ahead and answer it.

Thistlewait sounded, well, happy. It took me a moment to place his tone of voice. I’d never heard him sound pleased.

“How did those cookies turn out?” he asked. “I assume you’ve been busy turning out dozens of cookies and you’re calling me to see if I want some, right?”

Did he have a sense of humor? Obviously, he hadn’t listened to either of my messages yet. “Hardly. I have something I think you need to see. It belonged to Penny.”

I briefly described Marsali’s theory. Silence followed.

“I’m at Professor Marsali’s house.” More silence.

Finally, he said, “I’m on my way over. Address?”

I gave him directions and hung up, knowing he’d have more questions than either Marsali or I could answer.

“You got this how?” Thistlewait asked again, pointing to Marsali’s television with the tableau of the birthday party frozen on the screen. His good humor had evaporated. I described Karen’s pit stop at my house.

Detective Jensen asked, “Where’s she now?” Thistlewait had called Jensen, and the Vernon arm of the law didn’t waste time getting to Marsali’s house. In his quilted vest, jeans, and Bass Pro Shop baseball cap, Jensen gave new meaning to business casual.

“I don’t know,” I said. We retraced that same path of questioning for a while until both men exchanged glances.

Jensen said, “Unusual for an ordinary military spouse to keep turning up like this in murder investigations.” He motioned for Thistlewait to join him at the side of the room. I caught a few snatches of Jensen’s part of the low conversation, “…take her in…little pressure…”

Jensen wasn’t going to read me my rights, was he? I felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. It was like the time I fell off the metal bars in second grade. I’d landed on my back and lay there staring at the vibrant blue sky unable to breathe. In. Out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, just given them the tape and the info I’d found. I swallowed and glanced at Livvy. Marsali held her up so she could look out the window to his backyard. He pointed something out and Livvy leaned closer to the window. I tuned back into the low conversation and heard Thistlewait say, “You go ahead. I’ll handle things here.”

Jensen stalked over and stood a few inches from me. “I’m going to check you out good. Every move you’ve made since the Follette woman died. Every conversation you’ve had. Every bank transaction. Every phone call. Everything.” He paused, like he expected me to suddenly break down and confess to Penny’s murder. Words warred inside me but I couldn’t untie my tongue.

After a second he strode out. Thistlewait retrieved the tape from the VCR and said, “Thanks for your help, Mrs. Avery. Don’t leave town.”

I took Livvy from Marsali. As I zipped Livvy into her winter coat, I could hear Jensen in the hall on his cell phone as he called in a renewed search of Penny’s house.
Penny’s journal.
I got out of there fast. Part of me wanted to go home and burrow under my quilt and ignore everything, but that instinct warred with the sheer panic I felt creeping through me. Jensen wanted to take me in. I
had
to figure this out before I ended up in the Vernon jail.

I clicked Livvy’s car seat straps into place and hopped in the Cherokee. Thistlewait hurried out the door and over to my window. He pulled out a small notebook. I cranked the window down, my palm slippery on the knob. I had to get that notebook back to Penny’s house. “Yes?”

He picked up on my impatient tone. “One more question.”

“Okay, but I’ve really got to go.”

“Why did Victor Roth call you?”

“What?” I’d been expecting another question about the manuscript I’d just given him. “He didn’t call me. I called him when I returned Penny’s phone messages for Will. He never bothered to call me back. I had to call him.”

Thistlewait studied his notes for a moment, then said, “His phone records show he called your house four times in the last few weeks.”

“I never talked to him.” But those hang-ups. Could it have been Victor? But why would he call and then hang up?

I glanced at the clock. I could think about this later; minutes were trickling away. I didn’t know how long it would take the crime scene people to get back to Penny’s, but I didn’t want to be there when they did. “He must have been trying to catch me at home to return my call.” I cranked the window up a few inches. Thistlewait got the message. He replaced his notebook and went back inside Marsali’s house. I started the Cherokee and drove to Penny’s house, halfway down the block.

I didn’t see Will’s car. I pulled in the driveway. I’d rather have parked several blocks away in case Jensen’s team showed up, but I couldn’t go off and leave Livvy buckled in the car, and if I brought her it would take twice as long. I pulled on my gloves and fished the plastic bag out from under the passenger seat, locked the Cherokee, and scurried down the ruts to the detached one-car garage. I checked the side door to the garage. It wasn’t locked. The warped door frame opened when I pulled hard. Penny’s car, a battered gray Saturn, sat inside. I tried the handles on the passenger side. Still locked, just like when I found the photographs for Hetty in it. I sidestepped my way around the car, to the driver’s door, and tried it. It opened. I leaned down and shoved the bag under the front seat. I shut the door and sidestepped my way back, then pushed the garage door back into its frame. I stepped back into the snow-grooved driveway and hurried back to the Cherokee.

I slammed my door and backed out while I buckled my seat belt. At the corner stop sign, I took a deep breath. I felt a little foolish for my mad dash through the snow. Obviously, I could have taken my time because there was no rush to search Penny’s house again.

Just as I put on my turn signal, a dark four-door car that I recognized as Thistlewait’s appeared in my rearview mirror and pulled into Penny’s driveway. I executed my turn and only spun a little on the ice. I reminded myself that I was in the clear.

I concentrated on the traffic and the patches of ice as I drove downtown. I had one more stop to make.

An Everything In Its Place Tip for Organized Closets

Assess the function and use of each closet with these questions:

• Is the closet meeting the needs you have for that area of your home?
  
• How can you increase the storage and accessibility? Do you need more shelves? Would labeling help you find what you need easier?
  
• Are the items in the closet located in the most logical place in your home?
  

Chapter Twenty-eight

I
was so busy maneuvering the Cherokee into the parallel parking spot in front of Victor Roth’s gallery that I didn’t notice the small sign stuck in the lower corner of the window until I pushed on the glass door and it wouldn’t budge. The sign read
AVAILABLE
. I tightened my grip on Livvy’s gloved hand and stepped back to get a better look. The windows were still covered in white paper, but there wasn’t any light or movement behind them.

I returned to the Cherokee, buckled Livvy in, and then dropped into my seat. I dialed the number painted on the glass under
WHITE WALLS GALLERY
.

“We’re sorry. The number you dialed has been disconnected.”

I closed the phone, disappointed. A missing and possibly valuable ancient manuscript and an art dealer accused of fraud seemed to go together like two pieces of a puzzle, but it looked like I wasn’t going to get to talk to Victor.

The heater warmed my feet as I considered what to do next. Victor claimed he didn’t have it, but that could have been a lie to get Mr. Baseball Cap off his back. Maybe Victor did have it and he’d slipped out of town. Possible. But who was his buyer? I’d seen Ballard’s name on the phone message slip at the White Walls Gallery. Did she have the money to purchase it? Who else would want the book?

Livvy talked in the backseat, but I focused on my thoughts, blocking out her murmurs, an essential mommy skill. Ballard had said her father was a college professor, hadn’t she? Livvy continued to chant. Didn’t sound like she came from money, but Irene said Ballard’s business was booming. Enough that she could make an offer on a valuable manuscript? Livvy’s words finally penetrated my thoughts. “Li-beary. Li-beary.”

I glanced across the street in the direction Livvy pointed. “Yes, sweetie, the library sounds good to me, too.” What better place than the downtown library to check Ballard out? And they had the added bonus of story time coming up in thirty minutes.

I parked Livvy’s stroller beside the computer and handed her a book from my stack. We’d attended story time and now with her focused on
Brown Bear, Brown Bear
I could give my attention to a computer search.

Maybe Ballard wanted the manuscript, but I had a hard time picturing her dognapping Rex with her sensitive attitude about balance and peace. And a man had called me. But I kept thinking about the glass displays in her little museum.

I figured she had a Web site and she did. The Total Body Wellness site had lots of white, lots of quotes, and no prices. Photos of her antiquities dominated the Who We Are page with phrases like “ancient secrets,” “old knowledge rediscovered,” and “unknown beauty secrets gathered from the ancients.”

Next, I typed her name in a search engine. A few related genealogical links popped up. I handed Livvy an ABC book and swished the mouse around. Where else should I look? Newspapers.

With the help of the librarian I logged in to a database with news articles and tried “Pathway group.” No hits. “Ballard Nova” brought up a list. A few PR-type pieces were from her time in California. Apparently she’d called her business Body Life in California. I clicked on another article and read the headline
FTC INVESTIGATES FRAUD CHARGES
.

“Wow.”

I skimmed the article. Body Life was one of three California companies that had restraining orders placed on them. I printed the article plus a few others, then headed for the checkout.

Thirty minutes later, I parked in front of Ballard’s store. Livvy slept in her car seat, occasionally emitting a petite snore. I didn’t want to wake her because this would be her nap for the day.

Just then Ballard came out the door, locked the dead bolt, and crossed the porch with snow-dusted rocking chairs. I rolled my window halfway down. She saw me and came over. “I’m sorry. Closing early today.”

“That’s okay. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Her shopkeeper smile went down a notch, but she remained polite. “Sure. I remember you from the Pathway group. You were with Irene, right?”

“Yes. I’m Ellie Avery. Did you know Victor Roth?”

She fumbled and dropped her gloves. “Yes.” She retrieved them and flicked them back and forth against her leg. “He acquired an Etruscan deity for me.”

“Did you know he’s under investigation for fraud?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“His gallery is closed and his number’s disconnected.”

She stamped her feet back and forth. This info didn’t seem to bother her. “Really? Well, since I have the artifact I paid for, that doesn’t concern me. Now, what’s this about?”

“Another antiquity, a manuscript, has been found. Did you want the manuscript?”

“It would depend on the manuscript, wouldn’t it? He did mention something was coming in that might interest me, but it didn’t arrive. Now I’ve got to be going.”