Plum Deadly (8 page)

M
aggie looked around
the kitchen, wondering how anyone could have been in the house without them knowing.

There was no doubt that they had been.

Silverware and other utensils were scattered in the kitchen on the floor and table. Cabinets were emptied. Even the trashcan was on its side, obviously having been ransacked by someone.

In the living room, pillows were tossed and sofa cushions removed. Aunt Clara’s big rolltop desk had drawers left open. Pens and paper were tossed everywhere.

“My laptop,” Maggie mourned. “They took my laptop.”

At least she’d thought to remove the flash drive. It was still in her pocket.

Upstairs, the bedrooms were the same. The beds were torn apart, drawers left open and contents dumped on the floor. The bathroom cabinets had been emptied too. Even the dirty towels and clothes in the hampers were taken out.

Nothing was broken. Furniture wasn’t tipped over. Whoever searched the house—Maggie felt sure that’s what they’d been doing—had been very careful and very quiet. She believed that meant they knew she and Aunt Clara were upstairs in the attic the whole time.

That was even scarier. What if they’d come down sooner?

“They could have killed us.” Maggie filled in the answer to her own question.

She dialed 911 despite her aunt’s wish not to have her do so. Aunt Clara didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Maggie wasn’t sure if her aunt didn’t want the police to see the house trashed or just didn’t want everyone to know. “We have to report this. I’m sorry, Aunt Clara. It could be involved with what happened to Lou. We have to tell the police. It could be important.”

Aunt Clara shushed her. “Don’t be silly. This kind of thing happens sometimes, I understand. Let’s not panic, honey. It’s not that bad. We can clean it up in no time. No real harm done. I feel foolish calling the police over something so small. They have murders to solve and drunk drivers to keep off the road.”

Nothing she could say would keep Maggie from reporting
the crime. Maggie explained that it had to be done to use Aunt Clara’s insurance to replace her laptop. “They won’t take our word for it. This is something we have to do.”

It only took five minutes for two patrol cars to appear in front of the house. It took a few extra minutes for the officers to get inside. They had to maneuver through the crowd of reporters on the doorstep again.

No doubt they had police scanners and this was part of the bigger story, Maggie guessed. Now she and Aunt Clara were targeted again since the house had been broken into. How much more dramatic and newsworthy could a suspected killer/bank embezzler be?

It took another ten minutes for Frank Waters to join them there.

The police officers asked dozens of questions about the incident, looking a little skeptical when Aunt Clara and Maggie said they hadn’t heard anything, even though they’d been in the attic.

The police asked if anything of value had been taken. Maggie was quick to say that her laptop was gone. She showed the officer where it had been. She even had the evidence to prove she owned it—thanks to the receipt she’d saved.

She’d decided after coming home that she was never going to own anything without a receipt again. It had made it too easy for the bank to confiscate what she owned after she’d been fired.

Frank listened and watched the proceedings with a jaundiced eye. He didn’t say anything to the officers who were investigating. Aunt Clara brought him a cup of coffee, as she
did the rest of the officers. She apologized for not having slices of pie for each of them.

Maggie could tell it was unusual for Frank to be there after a robbery. The police officers kept looking at him and one or two asked why he was there. They were obviously surprised to see him.

Frank shrugged and kept his motives to himself. It seemed to make the officers a little nervous and self-conscious. Maybe they were worried that he was watching to see if they were doing something wrong.

She hoped seeing the house this way might prove to Frank that something else was going on, underlying Lou’s death. The story wasn’t finished because Lou had died. There was still something very wrong. Maybe something that could jeopardize her and Aunt Clara’s lives.

The only thing that appeared to be missing was her laptop containing the information that could clear her name. Surely that meant something important. The thieves were somehow involved in Maggie’s being accused of embezzlement, which made them part of Lou’s death.

At least that’s what she got from it.

Frank crouched by the front door that had been forcibly opened in the foyer. “It doesn’t look like it took much effort to get in here. You ladies need a dead bolt.”

“Is that it?” Maggie asked out of panic, desperation, and fear. “Our home is broken into after my friend is killed and all you can say is that we need a dead bolt?”

“What did you expect? Were you looking for a marching band? Maybe you thought we’d take you into protective custody to make sure you were safe?”

“Even you should be able to see this was something more. Someone was searching our home, and took my laptop. It had all the information I’ve been gathering about possible suspects in Lou’s death and my embezzlement charge.”

“You must be one of those conspiracy nuts. Houses get broken into every day.”

“Then why are you here, hmm?” Aunt Clara put her hands on her hips and impatiently tapped her foot. “I think you’re here, Detective Waters, because you
know
something else is happening.”

Frank scowled. “Look, I admit that something seems wrong here. That’s why I came out when I heard the call. It’s like when a store gets robbed, and then the store owner’s home gets robbed the next day. I don’t like it.”

“So you think there may be a link between Lou’s death and this breakin.” Maggie felt as relieved as if he’d said she had won a million dollars.

“Maybe.” He scratched his head. “I don’t like to make assumptions with no proof. It’s as likely that whoever broke in here saw your address on TV and thought they’d clean you out. They broke in, took the easy valuable to carry—the laptop. That makes sense too.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Maggie was quivering with fear and rage. “That doesn’t make us feel any safer.”

“Look. I think you’re in some kind of trouble. I don’t mean to sound like I don’t want to help. I need proof to move on anything. So far, I have your past issues with your ex-boss, a press release that says you didn’t steal any money, and a breakin with a missing laptop. That’s not much to go on.”

Maggie was fuming. “If I were a killer and a thief, I’d want to make sure no one had evidence that could prove it. I’d come and search this house and take my laptop so I could see what was on it. Then I could decide if I needed to be killed too.”

Frank nodded. “That is one possible explanation. We have no real proof of that, Maggie. That’s what I run on. Right now, I can only investigate what I have and hope something else comes up that leads me to the next place.”

She sank back into a chair, suddenly running out of steam. “By the time you get that proof, we could be the next victims.”

He sat down beside her. “The boys are gonna take fingerprints. We’ll see if any of those match the ones we’ve found in the pie shop. We’ll keep our ears open for your laptop being found somewhere. That’s the best I can do for now. How about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What kind of information were you looking at? You should’ve been sharing that with me, not storing it up for someone to steal. I want you to write down anything you think could be useful and bring it to me.”

She stared at him mutinously.

He smiled at Aunt Clara. “Mrs. Lowder, I’m sorry this has happened to you. Is there anything you can think of that might make some sense of this matter?”

“Only what Maggie has already said, Detective. I stand beside my niece. She didn’t steal anything or kill anyone.”

“Okay then.” He shrugged into his coat. “I’m heading out. It was good to see you both. Take care. Better get dead
bolts for the front and back doors. Maybe even consider a security system.”

• • •

M
aggie and Aunt
Clara stood with their arms around each other after seeing the last of the police officers to the door. They were both scared to death.

The officers warned them to get new locks as quickly as possible. The last officer even put a piece of duct tape on the front door to make sure it would stay closed.

Reporters snapped pictures as the police were leaving, calling out Maggie’s name and asking for an interview. They came right up to the door and tried to get pictures of the inside of the house before the door was taped closed.

“Where were they when the thieves broke into the house?” Maggie asked. “They should’ve gotten pictures of the real criminals.”

“Let’s get this cleaned up and watch some TV,” Aunt Clara suggested. “Everything will look better in the morning.”

While they put everything away, Maggie called a locksmith. They were going to have a dead bolt on the outside doors before they went to sleep that night. It was going to be hard enough not to jump at every noise they heard as they were going to sleep, even with the doors locked up tight.

Maggie believed Lou’s death, the breakin, and losing her job were connected, proof or no proof. She didn’t know how or why, but she felt it inside. She had to think of a way to prove it to Frank.

For now, the killer/thief knew there was no proof to
worry about. He’d probably already looked through her laptop and not found anything of substance. There was so little there, he’d probably sleep well that night while she and Aunt Clara were shivering in their beds.

She’d felt so fortunate when the bank had decided not to press charges. She’d thought if she could only get home again, everything would be fine. That hadn’t worked out quite as she’d planned.

It suddenly hit her that the bank might not have pressed charges because the person who’d made that decision was the one guilty of embezzlement. Maggie felt as if a cartoon lightbulb lit up on top of her head.

After all, a police investigation might have uncovered her innocence, and the other person’s guilt. Of course, she had no idea who that was. Only Lou would have known that information. He’d carried it with him to the grave.

Now all she had to do was convince someone else to see it that way and find enough information to give Frank something to investigate. Any way she looked at it was maddening.

Neither of the women wanted to finish the piecrust that night. When everything was back where it belonged, they huddled over the kitchen table, whispering, until the locksmith got there. It was as though they were too scared to raise their voices for fear of being overheard.

The locksmith was a jolly man with a booming voice. He commiserated with them over the breakin and told them terrible stories about other breakins he’d worked before. The stories were so fantastic that Aunt Clara and Maggie actually began to feel a little better. At least they were still alive.

He put in two new locks and dead bolts in each door and even did a temporary repair on the front door so they could close it without the duct tape.

The reporters almost mauled him for information as he worked on the front door. Aunt Clara paid him when he was finished and Maggie let him out through the back door.

It was expensive—Maggie hoped Aunt Clara could afford it. She vowed to pay her back as soon as she had some money of her own. This was her responsibility. She felt bad that Aunt Clara was not only dragged into it, but had to finance it too.

When the press finally went away, Aunt Clara and Maggie tested the new locks. The doors were secure. Each of them put their new keys away in safe places, although neither of them felt a lot safer.

“Now what?” Aunt Clara jumped as the doorbell rang. They both crept to the front door together and Maggie peered through the peephole.

It was Ryan. He’d heard about the breakin on the police scanner that he monitored for the paper. “Are you two okay?”

Maggie stepped back and let him in the house.

He studied their pale, frightened faces. “You both look a little shaken.”

“We’re fine,” Maggie said raggedly. She realized she was holding both her hands in tight fists and forced herself to relax.

“Fine might not be the best word,” Aunt Clara said. “We’ve survived so far. It’s been a long day.”

She offered to make coffee for him. Ryan suggested they
all go out for dinner. “It’s after eight and I haven’t eaten. I don’t think you have either. It would do you both good to get out of the house. My treat.”

Maggie and Aunt Clara went with him reluctantly.

Aunt Clara had offered to stay home so she could make sure everything was safe. “Plus I don’t know if I can eat anything tonight. I think you two should go without me.”

Maggie finally convinced her to go—and locked both doors twice, checking them inside and out—before they left.

It seemed ironic to her as she performed this task that she’d lived all those years in the city and never had a breakin.

The circumstances were different, she grimly reminded herself as they got into Ryan’s late-model Honda. People weren’t calling her a thief, liar, and killer. Her life had been normal then.

It was a pity party, no doubt. She knew that and decided to stop feeling sorry for herself. She had to concentrate on what she was doing—working on her plan to clear her name.

Ryan took them to a nice little Italian place with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and candles in Chianti bottles with wax dripping down the sides. It was very charming and intimate—a good choice for their frazzled nerves.

Between glasses of wine and courses of salad, soup, and pasta—of which Aunt Clara managed to eat a fair share—Maggie told Ryan all her suspicions. She even laid out her new theory about why the bank hadn’t prosecuted her.

It was good to say it out loud, even if it was only in a whisper.

Ryan took it all in calmly. He asked questions when she
paused for breath and made a few remarks about Frank’s attitude.