Shoots to Kill (11 page)

“I understand,” Dave said.

“Does Oliver know yet?” Libby asked, reaching for her cup with trembling hands.

“I don’t know,” Dave said. “I haven’t heard any news about your brother.”

“He must be wondering where we are,” she said, almost to herself. “I can’t think why he hasn’t tried to call me. Do you mind if I check my cell phone?”

“Go ahead,” Dave said.

She took out a bright pink phone and flipped it open, pressing buttons with her thumbs. “He didn’t call. Maybe he’s at the shop.” She tried there, with no luck. “Where could he be?”

“Did you have just the two employees?” Dave asked. “Your brother and your mother?”

“Yes. Oliver is my deliveryman and Mummy is my”—she paused as she caught her mistake—“
was
my bookkeeper.”

”Don’t forget Tilly,” I said, remembering the Grace wannabe.

“Tilly,” Libby said with disdain. “She was our clerk until Mummy fired her after Tilly stole money from the cash register.”

“What’s Tilly’s full name, and where can I find her?” Dave asked.

“It’s Tilly Gladwell. I’ve got her address back at the shop. . . .” Libby’s eyes widened. “What if she killed Mummy for firing her? Tilly did threaten her.”

“We’ll have to talk to her and see what she says,” was all Dave would say. “Now, you said your mother was your bookkeeper. Was that in addition to running her talent agency?”

“She doesn’t own the talent agency anymore. She’s just a consultant.”

Dave paused to write it down. “Okay, Libby, this might be painful, but I have to ask if you’ve had any arguments with your mom witnessed by anyone, or overheard by anyone, that you can remember?”

“No,” she said forcefully, swiping the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “We were very close. Everyone will tell you that we got along famously.”

“Did your mom have any enemies that you know of? Anyone she fought with? Anyone who might have had a grudge against her, or was angry with her? In other words, can you think of any reason why another human being would want her dead?”

“Everyone loved her except for Tilly and one of Mummy’s clients—I think her name was Kayla—who claimed Mummy forced her to have plastic surgery that didn’t turn out the way she wanted. It was a lie, of course.”

I made a note to tell Dave the truth about the lawsuit later.

“Do you know who her lawyer was?” Dave asked Libby.

“No.”

“Was the suit filed here in New Chapel?”

“I think it was Chicago.”

“In federal court?”

“I don’t know. I was away at school.” Libby began to rub her forehead. “But I should know. I mean, it affected Mummy’s life. I’m sure she told me.” She was so agitated that she pounded her fist against her forehead, then burst into tears. “I’m a terrible daughter!”

I reached for Libby’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You weren’t a terrible daughter.” Why had I said that? I didn’t know what kind of daughter she was.

“I can get that information from the clerk’s office,” Dave assured her. “Now, Libby, I have another painful question, so are you okay with continuing?”

She gave my hand a quick squeeze back, then nodded.

“When was the last time you saw your mother?” he asked.

Her chin started to tremble. “Yesterday, at her house for dinner. We always have dinner together unless she has a late meeting.” Libby let go of my hand to hold the tissue to her eyes.

“You and your mom?”

“And Oliver, usually, but he went out last night. He plays war games with his stupid friends. Mummy says if he weren’t such a loser, he’d be dating.”

Dave looked back at his notes. “You said Oliver is your half brother, right?”

“We have the same mother, but he has a different father, also a loser, by the way. Mummy had Oliver change his name to Blume so he wouldn’t be tainted.”

Wow. Delphi sure controlled her children’s lives.

Dave asked her, “Did your mom seem worried or distracted yesterday, or did she indicate that she was frightened or in trouble?”

“No. We discussed plans for a new event at the shop. She was in a good mood.”

Dave jotted more notes, then glanced at me. “Abby, anything you want to ask?”

He had no idea! But since he probably wouldn’t appreciate me going into a tongue-lashing on the whole identity-theft issue, I kept it short. “Just two. Any progress to report on your stalker case?”

Libby’s gaze shifted away from me. “I don’t think so.”

Gaze shifting. Hmm. Wasn’t that a sign of deception?

“Just one more thing,” I said. “Why did you get a yellow Corvette like mine?”

Libby glanced at me in surprise. “You’re not angry, are you? Honestly, Abby, it was because I absolutely fell in love with yours, and I knew no amount of money would make you give your car up, so Mummy found another one for me through a dealer in Chicago. She couldn’t locate any 1960 models, but”—Libby’s chin quivered—“she tried.”

I glared at her. She brazenly admitted to coveting my car, then had the audacity to seem surprised that I was upset. I had to sit on my hands so I didn’t wrap them around her throat.

“Are you done, Abby?” Dave asked.

I was too furious to speak, so I pressed my lips together and gave him a quick nod.

“Then I have one more question for you, Libby.” Dave sat forward, his gaze focused on Libby’s face to catch the tiniest nuance of expression. “I need to know if you’ve ever been convicted of a crime, either a felony or a misdemeanor, in this state or any other state, or had any other legal problems.”

There was a momentary hesitation before she answered. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

Another hesitation. “Positive.”

A big red flag went up in my mind. Hesitations usually meant uncertainty. Why had Libby hesitated? Was there something in her past that she didn’t want us to know about? I underlined the note I made on it.

Dave glanced at his own notes. “Then what we haven’t covered is the financial side. You haven’t been charged, but just in case you are, I’d like to do a preliminary investigation to make sure our bases are covered. That means I’ll need a substantial retainer.”

“Mummy opened an account for me at the New Chapel Savings Bank, so all you need to do is contact Rita and she’ll issue you a check.”

Dave wrote it down, then capped his pen and sat back. “Okay, Libby, you can go home or go back to work—just stay close to town. If the prosecutor does decide to charge you, he’ll contact me first and I’ll call you immediately. Do you have any questions or comments?”

She thought a moment, then shook her head.

“Then that does it for the time being,” Dave said as we all stood up. “The minute I have any news I’ll contact you.”

“Thank you, Dave,” Libby said, shaking his hand. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

She walked to the door, then paused to look back. “I do have one question. You mentioned a preliminary investigation. Does that mean you’ll be hiring an investigator?”

“That’s my usual practice,” Dave said.

Libby smiled at me, and I thought,
Oh no. She’s going to ask me to do it.

She looked at Dave and said with a straight face, “Then I want Marco Salvare.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Marco’s a good PI, Abby,” Dave assured me after Libby had left the office. “I would have hired him anyway.”

“But can’t you see she’s still at it? She knew that would make me angry.”

“Dave,” Martha said, poking her head in the doorway, “you have court in ten minutes.”

He gave Martha a nod, then began to pack up his briefcase. “While I’m at the courthouse, I’ll check on that lawsuit filed against Delphi Blume.”

“Good, because Libby didn’t have the whole story. I was told there was a judgment against Delphi, so she filed bankruptcy to keep from paying up, which meant that her client”—I glanced over my notes to find the girl’s name—“Kayla never collected a dime.”

“Good to know. I’ll get the particulars today.” He stood up, ready to leave.

“I have a question for you. While I was in the lockup, I found out that there are at least a dozen women who’ve been waiting a long time for a hearing. They don’t have bail money and can’t afford a lawyer, so they’re stuck. Why is that happening? Why aren’t there more hearings?”

“Sad to say, Abby, it’s all about money. There just aren’t enough dollars available to hire enough judges, prosecutors, and public defenders to monitor all these cases. You’re talking about adding two to three hundred thousand dollars to an already tight budget.”

“But there has to be some way to help people in that situation.”

“There is. Allocate more money. Unfortunately, the county’s budget has all sorts of interests tugging at it. The same goes for the state. There’s usually federal money lying around, but it takes an interested bureaucrat to work through the red tape to get it.”

“What if I could find an interested bureaucrat who could get at the money?”

“Then a courtroom could be set up in the jail, staffed with a judge, prosecutor, and public defender. They could meet every other day to review the inmates’ files and move them through the system quickly.”

“So all I need to do is find someone who will take it up as a cause.”

At Dave’s skeptical glance I said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment, but I do intend to pursue it as soon as I get this matter with Libby cleared up.”

He put an arm around my shoulders and walked me into the hallway. “You don’t need to clear anything up, Abby. Marco is a smart man. He’ll find out if Libby is the murderer. Now, go back to Bloomers and forget about it.”

Forget? With Libby on the loose and a murderer roaming free—both of whom might be one and the same? Not a chance.

As soon as I left Dave’s office, I called my dad to assure him I was fine and thank him for sending Reilly to the jail for me. Then I called my mom’s cell phone to leave her a message, since she’d be in class with her kindergarten kids. “Hey, Mom. I just wanted to let you know I’m fine and heading back to Bloomers now. Talk to you later. Bye . . . oh, and, Mom, I love you.”

The instant I hung up, my phone rang. The caller ID was unfamiliar, so I answered with a tentative, “Hello?”

It was a reporter wanting to know how I felt about Libby murdering her mother, then trying to pin the crime on me. I was about to tell him where to stuff his question, because clearly he had already decided that Libby was guilty, but then I had a better idea. I told him I’d give him a comment if he would write a piece about a problem at the jail. But after I explained the situation, he said he’d get his comments elsewhere, thanks.

It was nearly one o’clock, so I detoured to the deli to pick up lunch, only to spot Connor MacKay standing in line for a sandwich. Quickly, I turned to duck out before he caught sight of me, but then I remembered my promise to my cell mates. So I waited until Connor had paid for his food and was about to walk past me; then I let my purse slide off my shoulder onto the floor.

“Oops,” I said, and when we both stooped to retrieve it, I pretended to be surprised to see him. “Connor! Who knew you were such a gentleman?”

“Well, if it isn’t New Chapel’s notorious redhead,” he said loud enough to draw every eye in the place. “Bust out of jail, Libby? Oh, wait. You’re Abby.”

“You’re a riot act, MacKay. Too bad you’re not a real reporter, because I have a story that would make headlines.”

“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

So was everyone else in the deli. I leaned closer to say, “How about somewhere more private?”

“Rosie’s Diner is around the corner. Want to join me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Back at my apartment that evening, I fed Nikki’s white cat, Simon, and made myself an omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, basil, and feta cheese—my new favorite supper. Then, wrapped in a cuddly robe, I curled up on the sofa in front of the TV with a happily purring Simon in my lap. Yet even in that tranquil setting I felt distracted and restless. I tried to make myself believe it was the shock and exhaustion from my grueling morning, but I knew it was more than that. More even than losing Marco.

Two images kept replaying in my mind. The first was Libby’s face when she told me her mother was dead. I knew that if I’d just lost my mother, my expression would have mimed exactly what I saw in Libby’s. Could anyone fake that soul-shattering grief?

The second was when it hit Libby that her mother was truly gone from her life. Either she was an actress worthy of an Oscar or a daughter devastated by a heart-wrenching loss. I wanted to believe she was the killer only to satisfy my need to understand why she’d stolen my identity, yet because of those two images, a sliver of doubt kept creeping back in.

What if Libby hadn’t killed Delphi? It seemed a remote possibility, yet what if someone else had taken advantage of there being two women in town with red hair and yellow Corvettes, either of whom could be made to look guilty? What if I’d done such a good job of portraying myself as the victim of her identity scam that I’d doomed Libby to a conviction of murder and given the true killer a way out?

I wrestled with those questions until midnight, when Nikki got home from her evening hospital shift in X-ray.

As soon as she saw me, she dropped her purse and ran across the room to give me a hug.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. The news is all over the hospital. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry if I worried you. I had to shut off my phone because of all the calls I was getting. Everyone wants the inside scoop on the murder.”

“Is it true Libby killed her mom and dumped her body behind Bloomers?” Nikki asked, obviously wanting the scoop, too. “Wait! Don’t answer that yet. We need ice cream first.” She ran to the kitchen and returned with two spoons and a container of Lighten Up. She handed me a spoon, scooted my legs off the sofa so she could sit beside me, then said, “Tell me everything.”