Second Chance Love (28 page)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Two days later, Elizabeth pushed open the door to Todd Billings' law office. It was a single open room with two desks, one covered with files and books, the other partially so. Todd was behind the less cluttered desk. He stood and put out a hand. “Welcome to the jungle. As you can see, it is the cleaning ladies’ year off. Please, sit down.” He gestured at a green office chair, the only other surface that wasn’t covered in paper.

“Thank you. What have you found?”

Todd rubbed his face. “They’ve got a lot, Ms. Coleman.” He rooted through the pile on his desk, located a fat file folder, then plucked out three pieces of paper stapled together. “Ms. Stanton’s statement. Very damning.” Todd produced a series of black and white photos that showed a small box tucked under the front seat of Steve’s Taurus, the box sitting on a counter, and the open box showing a number of pieces of jewelry inside. “Ms. Stanton alleges Steve showed up unexpectedly, still angry at her and wanting to have it out with her. She said that she stepped into the back room for a moment to let him cool off, and when she returned, Steve was rifling behind the counter and had this box in his hand. When she confronted him, she alleges that he attacked her.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That makes no sense.” Todd presented another series of photos, this time in color, showing injuries to Chelsea's arm, leg, and face. “Seems like an odd pattern of injuries for an assault on her, especially inside the store, unless she has a bare concrete floor, or she alleges he came at her with a cheese grater. There’s no chance that these have been faked?”

“Highly unlikely.” Another sheet of paper from the file. “Here are copies of the medical reports from the hospital. They show the extent of the injuries—the leg wound is superficial, but the damage to her arm and face is much worse.” He flipped through the report. “Non-displaced fracture of the radius, fracture of the orbital bone around the eye, severe hematomas. She was in pretty rough shape.”

“Could these injuries be self-inflicted?”

Todd sat back in his chair. “I guess they could. But why would she?”

“To frame him. Can I make copies of all this?”

“No need. I met with Steve again this morning, and he instructed me to give you anything that I can get my hands on. He said you are one smart lady.”

“I am one determined lady.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

The next morning, Elizabeth visited Margaret Bishop, formerly Larson. Gordon had headed home to get a few changes of clothes.

“I feel so useless,” Elizabeth said. “All my life, I’ve solved crimes early in mystery books. Now I have a chance to do it in real life, and I have no idea where to start.”

Margaret reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. We'll put our heads together and figure something out. Let’s start at the beginning. We know that Chelsea is setting Steve up for all of this to get back at him."

"How can we prove it?”

“You could talk to Simon Barsin. He and Chelsea aren’t seeing each other any more. She might have talked to him about this.”

“Good idea.” Elizabeth tapped her phone awake. “Max, make a note for me to talk to Simon Barsin.”

“Yes, Elizabeth.”

“Also,” Margaret added, “Steve didn’t date a lot, but he did escort different women to different events. I remember them. We could see if we could get statements from them about how Steve treated them. He's never been violent, but it would help to have witnesses to testify to that.”

“That might help at a trial."
I hate that word now
. "I hope I can find something to set him free before then.”

“He called me yesterday and positively forbade me to go his bail for him. He knew I was arranging it, but said that if I did, he would just keep sitting there in that awful little cell.” Margaret turned and looked out at the grey day. “What would your famous detectives do in this case?”

“I suppose they would go to the scene of the crime and look for clues. I don’t want to run into Chelsea, though.”
Because what I want to do to my dear half-sister, and might do if I saw her, would be the best way to make this much worse
.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. My friends tell me that she has holed up in her home. She doesn’t want anyone to see how she looks.”

“That brings up another question. Steve said he saw the pictures of the damage to her face, and that it was awful, but that she looked fine when he saw her. So, how did that happen?”

Margaret smiled, thin-lipped. “Well, she had to either do it to herself, then, or hire someone to do it, didn’t she?”

The idea hung in the air between them, both repugnant and impossible not to contemplate.

Elizabeth smiled, a little ruefully. “If I’m going to be playing detective, I should probably learn how to drive and get my license. In the books, none of the detectives do this while taking public transportation from one stakeout to the next.”

Fifteen minutes later, with some guidance from Max about bus routes, Elizabeth was seated among the working poor who could not afford to live within walking distance of their jobs. She got off in front of a Nordstrom and walked several blocks east, which put her directly across the street from
La Boutique
.

She had grilled Steve for every detail of the assault, and had even drawn a little map to show where the store was, where the Taurus had been parked, Chelsea's path, and any other details he could remember. Now she pulled it out of her messenger bag and sketched in more details. Specific stores, light posts, fire hydrants, and other minutiae took their spots on the map.

On one side of
La Boutique
was a men’s clothing store elegantly signed
Melvin & Sons, Fine Men’s Haberdashery.
On the other was a high-end cheese store called
C’est Cheese
. The rest of the block was full of similar upscale stores, all with matching green awnings.
A whole store, dedicated to expensive cheese. In my market, the cheese section is four feet long and has mostly cheddar, cheddar, cheddar, mozzarella and jack. I am not the type of person who is normally wanted here
.

Elizabeth looked behind her. This side of the street was also nice, but less exclusive. A children’s clothing store, a Verizon Wireless store, and a used bookstore filled this side, with a coffee stand called
Espresso Yourself
set off by the street. Resisting the bookstore's gravity well, she scanned the upper parts of the buildings that faced
La Boutique
.

If there are security cameras facing the store, maybe one of them caught the action.

Her search revealed no cameras, aside from the one above the stoplight, which was of no use to her, as it only showed the traffic flow. Elizabeth took a deep, calming breath.
Think. Think. There’s got to be something here that will show me what I need
.

Five minutes later, she had no new thoughts. She looked at the coffee stand thirty yards away.
Maybe all I need is a shot of caffeine, and all will be apparent.

As she walked toward
Espresso Yourself,
she took note of the stand's clever design. It was set back several feet from the street, with a service window on both sides, so that two baristas could serve during rush hour. It had a clear view of both sides of the street. At first, Elizabeth mistook the occupant for a short, heavyset man, but a nearer approach brought a woman into focus. She had a short haircut and wore a flannel shirt, and her nametag identified her as Jo. "What can I get for you?" asked Jo in a husky voice, meeting Elizabeth's eyes.

Elizabeth smiled. “Can I have a small Americano, please?”

“One small Americano, coming up," said Jo. "That’s an order I don’t get every day. Most of our customers would take this stuff by IV if we set one up.”

“I have to limit myself. This will probably keep me up at night as it is.”

“Never touch the stuff, myself,” said Jo. “I’m like a non-drinker tending bar.” She turned away from Elizabeth for a moment, plucked a cup from beneath the counter, then gave the coffee pot a disapproving look. She looked back out at Elizabeth, and did not disapprove. “How would you like it?”

“Just black for me, please.”

“In that case, are you in a hurry? This pot has been sitting here for a few hours and I’d like to make you some fresh. If you were going to doctor it up a lot, I would have probably let it go, but I can’t serve this to you straight, with no chaser.”

“That's really nice of you. Thank you!”

Jo dumped the pot down a small sink, put three scoops of a dark blend into the machine, poured in water, and hit a red button. “It’ll just take a minute. These machines are fast. It’s death to make people wait very long for their coffee.” She paused for a moment, pretended to examine the shelf's napkin and straw supply, then looked up again. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here in the neighborhood before. I’m Jo.”

“Hi, Jo. I'm Elizabeth. As you can probably tell, a fish out of water here.”

“No, not at all,” Jo lied, nicely.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing here,” Elizabeth confessed. “I’m a bookstore clerk, playing detective to try and help my fiancé out. He was falsely accused, and I thought if I visited where it happened, I could figure everything out. But I haven't. Instead, I think I’m just going to drink a nice cup of your coffee, get back on the bus, and go home and think about things.”

Jo’s eyes lit up. “Falsely accused, huh? Sounds like something I'd read in a book.” She reached under the counter and produced a copy of Tess Lincoln’s
The Sky Cries Mary
.

“Oh, don’t you just love Tess? She came to our book club a few months ago, and she was wonderful. I can’t wait for the next one to come out.”

“Don’t tell me whodunit! I’m only halfway through. I suspect the business partner, but the sister is acting pretty damned suspicious, too.”

Elizabeth mimed locking her lips and tossing the key. “I'm president of
The Locked Room Mystery Readers
group. If I ruined a story for a fellow mystery buff, I'd probably be impeached.“

Jo laughed. “Fair enough. But,” she said, with a wink, “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s that jerk business partner.”

Elizabeth looked side to side in an “I’ll never tell” gesture.

“So, what’s this boyfriend of yours been accused of?”

Yes. She is a good mystery reader. 'Falsely' means leaping to a conclusion, so she omitted it. I like this Jo
. “He’s been accused of First Degree Assault, and theft, but I’ve known him since we were kids. He just dipped into his own pockets to give his former employees a great severance package. He has never been the type of man either to steal, or to be violent. Least of all against a woman.”

“Did all this happen here in the neighborhood? I’m surprised I didn’t see it. It must have happened at night, I guess, when I’m off.”

“No, but it was on a Saturday. Maybe that’s why you missed it.”

“No, that wouldn’t be it. I’m here every Saturday, from eight to three. I wonder how I missed that much excitement. Were there cops called and ambulances and all that?”

“Not until later. That’s part of why we think it’s a setup. What actually happened is that the person that claims to be the victim, Chelsea Stanton—"

“Wait, did you say Chelsea Stanton?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, I definitely know Chelsea Stanton.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, in a small voice.

“No, no, not in a friendly way. She comes to the stand almost every time she goes to her store. She always orders the same thing.” Jo tilted her head, tossed her crew cut as if it were much longer, and put her nose in the air. “I want a Grande caramel Frappuccino, but with light ice. And I want caramel sauce instead of caramel syrup, and could you drizzle it inside the cup? Oh, and make it with soy milk, of course.” Jo's Chelsea voice was an uncanny impression, like nobility bossing the help about.

For a moment Elizabeth held it together. Then it was too much, and she began laughing. Aware that she was in danger of making a public scene, she put both arms on the shelf and buried her face in them, shaking with gales of mirth. After about twenty seconds, she looked up, eyes brimming tears of laughter. "That...is...perfect." This set off another round of laughter.

When Elizabeth finally got it all out, Jo was chuckling along. “In four years, she’s never left a tip. Baristas always remember two classes of customers: the big tipper and the no tipper. Cheapo Chelsea falls into the latter category. I see you don't like her much either, but I'm glad you like my imitation. It's not Tina Fey as Sarah Palin, but I try.” Jo said this last in her Chelsea voice, triggering a more manageable giggling fit in Elizabeth.

“I can’t imagine anyone really liking her."

"I don't even think other socialites even do. She’s always acted like she’s doing us a favor just by coming to the stand, but God forbid if she thinks we shorted her a half pump of caramel. Anyway, sorry to interrupt. So, she’s the victim?”

“She’s the alleged victim. She and Steve—that’s my fiancé—had gone out in the past. Steve tells me that she asked him to come by and pick up a wedding present for us. When he did, she attacked him, then called the police and claimed that it was the other way around.”

Jo’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Wait a minute. Did you say she attacked him? Like, she came running across the sidewalk in her high heels and launched herself at him like a cruise missile, then ran back inside?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Yes!” She fought to contain her excitement. “Yes. That’s exactly what Steve described. Did you see it?”

“You bet your bananas I did. It was late in the morning. I remember, because the early morning rush was over, but the lunch crowd hadn’t hit yet. I was sitting here reading my book, but I always keep one eye on the street, because I don’t like people sneaking up on me. I watched him pull up…” Jo paused. “He pulled up in a red four-door of some kind or other, right? Dark red, almost a crimson?”

Elizabeth just nodded. She didn’t want to break the spell.

“I saw him walk inside. He was in there for maybe two or three minutes, tops. Then he came strolling out toward his car again. That’s when Cheapo Chelsea came at him like a Doberman after a piece of raw meat, attacked him, then ran back inside. He turned around just in time to get hit. For a minute, he just stood there. Then he got in the sedan, and pretty soon he left.”