Murder Takes a Dare: The First Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 1) (20 page)

The door opened, and a bone-thin woman hesitantly leaned her head inside. “Lee? Some old woman kept pestering me while I was sitting in the truck, asking me questions, so I came in here to find you—” She peered into the kitchen. “Miss Marisa? Is that you?”

Marisa frantically wracked her brain to match the woman’s familiar face with a name.

“I’m Fern. Remember? I’ve seen you several times at the domestic violence shelter, where you do volunteer work.”

Mosely laughed shortly. “I’m not surprised to hear my sister is a do-gooder. I’m sure it makes her feel like she’s better than the ones she does good for.” He stood so close to Marisa that she could have counted the broken capillaries in his heavy nose. “Don’t you know giving begins at home?” His breath would have stripped two hundred years of varnish off antique furniture.

Marisa tried to breathe through her mouth as her hands stilled on her wallet. “Fern?”

“I didn’t realize you were the sister Lee told me about. Oh, Lee, Miss Marisa was so nice to me at the center after I left that good-for-nothing Bobby Ray!”

“Blah blah blah, we ain’t got time for all that, Fern.” Her brother turned to Marisa.

Fern continued her happy prattle. “And who would have thought I would actually meet your brother when I went to the Redneck Ruin Bar!”

Hating herself, Marisa passed a plastic card to her brother.

Mosely reached for the card. His thin hand shook uncontrollably. Following Marisa’s gaze to his trembling hand, Mosely forced a laugh. “Too much caffeine.” He snatched the card. “Huh, another damned gas card! Don’t you know the station will only let me buy gas with it?”

Marisa bared her teeth at her brother. “Just enough gas to get you back to Mom’s house. You should be ashamed of yourself, allowing our seventy-year-old mother to work long, exhausting hours at the sewing factory to put food in your belly and a roof over your head, paid truck insurance, and legal fees and bail to keep you out of jail.”

He slammed out of the kitchen.

Turning away, Marisa wondered if her mother incessantly coddled her son due to guilt. Their mother had chosen to stay with an abusive alcoholic who flew into rages, with Mosely as his favorite target. She wondered how much different their lives would have been if her mother had possessed enough backbone to leave their father. And now, if Mom could find the strength to force Mosely to stand on his own two feet, would he come out of his alcoholic haze and learn to take care of himself?

“Your brother is much nicer to me than Bobby Ray.”

Marisa turned to Fern in surprise. From her work at the shelter, Marisa knew Bobby Ray was Fern’s abusive husband. He was lazy and worked only sporadically, for beer and drug money, Marisa remembered. He was also a small-time criminal who dabbled at the edge of the underworld, pulling small jobs for easy money. Bobby Ray was as mean as a snake and as sneaky as a weasel. Fern had traded Bobby Ray for a man just like him. Marisa’s brother.

“During the past year, I’ve run away from Bobby Ray and taken shelter at the center five different times. Each time after leaving him, I always went back. I’m not sure why.” Fern glanced at Alex and Russell, seated at the table, and then away at the floor.

Marisa sighed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Bobby Ray made promises, and you thought he’d keep them.”

“Mrs. Gray, the director at the shelter, said sometimes it takes a lot of tries to finally break free. Mind if I sit down? Lee seemed a little cross, so I reckon I’ll let him settle down a bit in the truck.” Fern pulled out the chair next to Russell. Crossing her legs, encased in threadbare jeans, Fern gazed at the slate kitchen floor. “After I left Bobby Ray, his friend Kerry came into the convenience store where I work. Can you believe he was hitting on me? Luckily, I told him to get lost. If I had gone on a date with him, I’d have missed the chance to meet your brother.”

Marisa smiled weakly. That would have been too bad if Fern had missed out on a wonderful catch like her brother. Wait a minute. Kerry? What was it about Kerry that caught her attention? “Kerry? What’s Kerry’s last name?”

“Webber. Kerry Webber. Why?”

Alex pounced. “The ambulance driver, Kerry Webber?”

Fern was surprised. “Yes, he drives an ambulance. He also does odd jobs at the strip club, along with Bobby Ray.”

Russell hissed in Marisa’s ear, “Brandon said Kerry Webber was there the day of the murder! And Kerry also did odd jobs at the strip club! What if it’s the same club where Zoe worked?”

Marisa waved him back. “What about Kerry and the strip club, Fern?”

Fern shook her head, the limp brown hair flying around her flushed face. “I don’t know. I did have to sneak back to the house to get some stuff. I heard Bobby Ray and Kerry talking about the club. Bobby Ray said, ‘Kerry, don’t you know what this is? It’s a chance to get money, really big money. Not the measly few dollars here and there to do odd jobs. We can get the big bucks—’”

The blaring of a horn interrupted Fern. “Oh, wow, your brother is getting tired of waiting for me. Gotta run! Don’t want to make him mad!”

Marisa exchanged glances with Alex and Russell. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She grabbed Fern’s arm before she slipped through the door. “What is Bobby Ray’s address, Fern?”

* * * * *

“We’ve got to get to Bobby Ray’s house as fast as we can!” Marisa glanced in the rearview mirror. “My gut is screaming those two hoodlums have bit off more than they can chew, and their newfound source of income is going to decide to get rid of those two loose ends!” The tires squealed as Marisa took a turn on two wheels.

“Marisa, my gut is screaming we’re going to have an accident if you don’t slow down!” Alex ground through teeth clenched in terror as the jeep careened around another sharp curve. He leaned forward to glare at Russell. “Letting her drive just because she knows the way was a big mistake!”

“I didn’t know she was going to drive my Jeep like it’s a ballistic missile!” The Jeep turned sharply and threw Russell against his door. “Marisa! We’ve already called the police! They are bound to beat us there, so we might as well slow down!”

“I’m sorry.” She slowed the car fractionally. “I know they’re just no-good scum and at least one of them is an abusive husband, but I’m positive they’re in imminent danger. If we can beat the killer, then we can at least get them into protective custody, where they can safely tell us the name of the murderer.” In her agitation, she accelerated.

When they neared the address Fern had given them, Marisa’s heart sank. “Oh, no. The police wouldn’t need an ambulance to question the men.” Several police cars lined the street, their blue lights flashing in the hot summer sun. An ambulance was pulled up in the driveway, the back doors open. By the time they screeched to a halt in front of the small, rundown house, Marisa was positive they were too late.

Russell opened his door. “Stay here, Marisa,” he ordered tersely.

Alex tumbled out of the back seat and nearly fell on the ground. “He’s right, Marisa! Don’t move! We’ll be back!”

“Like hell!” Marisa scrambled out, and had to practically run to keep up with Russell and Alex. As they stumbled across the uneven lawn of sparse grass like bald spots on a mangy dog, littered with empty beer cans, trash bags of leaves, evidently from the previous autumn, and a wilted inflated Santa Claus, the peeling front door opened.

Struggling through the narrow opening, an emergency medical technician nearly fell onto the littered porch, gripping the head of the stretcher. He backed up, stumbling down the uneven steps. The other end of his burden appeared, held by a technician in an identical dark uniform. When the two men reached the bottom of the steps, they let the wheels down on the gurney. As the technicians drew abreast of her, Marisa saw a mound covered the stretcher. The white sheet was soaked in blood.

The second paramedic grunted, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for that taco salad with lots of salsa for lunch now.”

Marisa gagged. Russell and Alex each reached for one of her hands.

A familiar voice, sharp with exasperation, penetrated Marisa’s lightheadedness. “Why am I not surprised to see you three here? Two small-time criminals get blasted into more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle, and who I do find on my crime scene? My favorite trio of amateur detectives.” She pulled away from Russell and Alex to face the lawman. In his t-shirt and jeans, Lieutenant Camden looked like a teenager, ready for a basketball game with his friends.

Speaking rapidly, Marisa explained what had led them to the house. “But obviously we arrived too late.”

“I need you three to go by the police station and give your statements.” The lieutenant ran his hand over his shorn head. He frowned, his frustration and fatigue giving his face a haggard cast. “Something…odd has come up.”

Marisa’s heart sank right to her toes. Whether it was her guilty knowledge or something in the lieutenant’s demeanor, her mind flew directly to embezzlement at the hospital.

She glanced at Alex. His body was braced, as if he was waiting for a blow to strike him. She knew he was thinking of the user identification, his user identification, associated with the embezzlement.

Russell threw his head up, like a wolf catching a scent. He seemed to sense something was wrong.

The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck. “A Mr. Jacobs was in my office earlier this morning. He stated he is auditing the financials of the trauma hospital. He turned over copies of documents which indicate Mr. Caldwell has been stealing from the company. Jacobs believes Mr. Caldwell slipped down the hallway, into the outer office, and fired into Ms. Adair’s office to kill his blackmailer. According to Mr. Jacobs, given the so-called evidence he found, it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Caldwell kills Ms. Adair. He’s very concerned for her safety.”

“Mr. Jacobs,” Marisa mimicked the lieutenant’s tone, “is a self-righteous prick. I am sure a personality test would show he doesn’t have one. Hell, if anybody was the poster child of a potential murder victim, then it would be Brad Jacobs.”

“Lieutenant Camden, I’m willing to take a lie detector test. Whatever it takes to prove to you I’m innocent, I’ll do it—”

“Wait a minute. Ms. Adair, what did you say?” The lieutenant turned to her as if he was on a string she had yanked.

“Jacobs is a self-righteous prick?”

“No, not that—”

“He doesn’t have a personality? Hey, can you get a court order or subpoena or something to get confirmation—”

“Ms. Adair!” Camden visibly held onto his temper. “You said Jacobs would make an excellent murder victim. What if he was the target? Jonah Graham and Jacobs were both wearing similar gray suits. He and Jacobs were both tall and skinny. Jacobs was in your office only moments before Jonah showed up as a surprise visitor. Jonah was where Jacobs was expected to be. What if the embezzler meant to kill Jacobs before he could find the discrepancies, but shot Graham by mistake?”

A discrepancy…a tiny tendril of memory teased Marisa. What was it? Something that didn’t make sense, a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit neatly into the picture.

“Ms. Adair! Do you have a tummy ache or are you thinking?”

“Something just out of my mind’s reach…” The particular tendril of memory burned away like mist in the sun. “Damn, it’s gone. But wait a minute—” Marisa sucked in an excited breath as she remembered the confrontation between Jacobs and Jonah. “There could have been a connection between Jonah and Jacobs! Jonah hinted he’d seen Jacobs in the Golden Kitty strip club the night before! Jacobs denied it, but he was obviously agitated. He was in such a hurry to get away from Jonah he nearly left skid marks on the carpet!”

The lieutenant puffed up like an angry cat. “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Ms. Adair?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Jonah was shot in front of me. That fragment of conversation just flew right out of my head.”

His sharp claws metaphorically extended, Camden pounced. “If it flew right out of your head, as you say, then why were you and Meeks nosing around the club after the murder?”

Russell shuffled to Marisa’s side. “Because Zoe Walker was a dancer there, we decided to ask questions at the club.”

The lieutenant swung his gaze to Russell, as if he was a larger and juicier mouse than Marisa. “That doesn’t explain Ms. Adair’s haunting of the club for several years, until six months ago.” At the trio’s matching expressions of surprise, his smile was smug. “I am a detective. I detect.”

Alex slid to Marisa’s other side. “I was writing my doctoral thesis on the behaviors and interactions of strip club customers and dancers. Since I had less chance of getting close to the dancers than of a ground hog crossing a busy interstate, I needed Marisa as a pass to the tightly guarded inner circle of exotic dancers.”

“And the reason for Ms. Adair’s abrupt cessation of visits was…?”

Alex shrugged. “I finished my thesis.”  

The lieutenant’s next comment was like a paw swiping Alex. “Your thesis must have exhausted Ms. Adair, since she missed work after her last visit to the club.”

Marisa felt Alex draw a deep breath. “Her hiatus from work was completely unrelated to her help with my thesis.”

In that instant, Marisa was positive Alex knew she’d spent the time in an inpatient rehab facility. Before rehab, she’d consistently taken off early on Fridays, been in late or not at all on Mondays, and barely managed to do her job by the seat of her pants. After rehab, she’d returned with school marm clothing, a zest for her work, and perfect attendance. She might as well put a flashing neon sign on her forehead.