Shoots to Kill (27 page)

Marco emerged moments later with the news that the snake was no longer in the closet. Hearing that, Libby’s skin turned the exact color of the netting, giving her the appearance of a beeswax candle with a flame on top.

“Where would a snake hide?” Marco mused, gazing speculatively around the room.

“Under the b-bed,” Libby whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Marco crouched down at the foot of the bed and shone his penlight underneath the box spring, then checked beneath the dresser and desk.

“They like to curl up in small spaces,” I said. “Don’t people find them in their bathtub drains and toilets and wastebaskets?”

At that, Libby let out a gasp of alarm. “M-mailbox,” she whispered, staring at us with saucer eyes.

Marco and I both glanced around the room, looking for the mailbox in question.

“N-not in here,” she said. “I mean Oliver m-must have put his snake in my m-mailbox.”

“Why would Oliver want to scare you?” Marco asked.

“I d-don’t know. He knows how snakes t-terrify me.”

“Would that mean your stalker is out of the picture?” I couldn’t help asking, although I did manage to keep the snide tone out of my voice.

Suddenly Libby’s eyes got even wider, which I hadn’t thought was humanly possible. “M-maybe he was trying to kill me.”

Somehow I found that hard to believe. Oliver wouldn’t kill off an ally. “Come on, Libby,” I said. “We don’t know that the snake in your mailbox was poisonous, or if it was even your brother’s snake. A lot of people keep snakes.”

“N-name one,” she said, rubbing her arms.

She had me there. Still, the reptile had shown up in Libby’s mailbox days ago. Would Oliver have been able to keep a cool head around Libby after having sicced his snake on her? And if he was truly concerned about spies watching him, would he keep the empty snake tank in his closet as evidence?

Marco sat on the end of the bed. “Do you believe Oliver is a threat to you, Libby?”

“I don’t want to believe it, but . . .” She hunched her shoulders forward and pressed her lips into a flat, blue line, as though she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Her consternation certainly seemed genuine, but I couldn’t keep myself from doubting her. I pivoted around and opened up the laptop. “Remind me what the snake-in-the-box looked like.”

“B-big, b-brown, s-scaly, long f-fangs.” Her teeth were clattering against one another.

I turned the laptop so she could see the photo. “Did it look like this?”

Libby took one look at the hissing-snake photo, then hid her face in her hands. “Yes.”

“If this snake,” I told Marco, pointing to the picture on the screen, “is the same one that was in the closet, and the same one that was put into Libby’s mailbox, then I doubt it’s in the apartment. I’m sure it escaped soon after she opened the mailbox.”

“It’s the s-same s-snake,” Libby muttered from behind her fingers. “I’ll never forget that hideous face.”

I heard a car outside, so I swung around to look out the window. “It’s Reilly. Animal control just pulled up, too.”

“Stay here,” Marco said, “until we know for sure that the snake isn’t in the apartment.”

“Marco, don’t leave me,” Libby called, stretching out her hand for him, but he was already out of the room. She immediately curled up in a fetal position. I frowned, studying her. Was her fear real or was it an act?

“Police,” I heard Reilly call. “We’re coming in.”

I turned back to the computer, mulling over the snake situation. By the photo on Oliver’s laptop and the evidence Marco had seen inside the closet, my guess was that the snake was a pampered pet. So why would Oliver put his spoiled serpent in Libby’s mailbox, knowing it would escape when she opened the box? If Oliver had wanted to frighten Libby—or kill her—he’d had plenty of better opportunities. Was it possible that, while in a paranoid state, he’d believed Libby had become his enemy? Could he have turned on his mother for the same reason? I eyed the blinking cursor. Did his laptop hold the answers?

Enter Password,
the cursor beckoned.

I could hear Marco having a discussion with Reilly and another man somewhere in the apartment, probably in the living room, so after making sure that Libby was still curled up, her face turned away from me, I tried once again to gain access to the computer.
Military
,
espionage
,
war
,
battle
,
saber sword
—none of them worked.

I heard footsteps in the hall outside, so I quickly turned away from the computer and donned a concerned expression. Seconds later, Marco strode into the room followed by Reilly and a man in a protective jumpsuit, his head encased in a hood with a clear face shield on it, his hands in thick gloves. He carried a long-handled hook in one hand and a sturdy butterfly net in the other. Marco showed them to the closet, then came back to us.

“How about if I escort you out now?” he said to Libby.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” she whimpered.

At Marco’s nod, she uncurled her legs, peeled back the netting, took his hand, and allowed him to lead her out of the room. Quickly, I swiveled back to the laptop to try a new password:
snake.
Damn. It didn’t work, either.
Viper
? Nope.
Serpent
?

“What are you doing?” Reilly asked, peering over my shoulder.

Yikes. I shut the lid and turned my back to it. “Waiting for my escort.”

“Sure you are. What were you looking at?”

I opened the lid for him and the snake photo appeared. “That.”

“Huh,” was his comment. “Looks to me like you were snooping in Oliver’s computer.”

“No, I wasn’t. I don’t have the password.”

“What a shame,” he drawled.

“I know. So let’s say that you were going to guess a password for a guy who’s into military games and snakes, and may have put his snake in his sister’s mailbox to kill her, and has now gone into hiding. What would it be?”

Reilly folded his arms and gazed down at me. “Marco didn’t tell me that part. When did Oliver go into hiding?”

“Sometime after five o’clock this evening. According to his buddy Tom, he’s in a forest preserve in Starke County. So . . . passwords?” I positioned my fingers over the keypad.

“Do we know
why
Oliver went into hiding?”

“Because he believes someone is after him, which is another reason I need a password. There might be a clue inside.” I raised my eyebrows, my fingers poised.

“Forget it,” he said.

“Listen, Reilly, this is me being serious now. Something strange is going on with Oliver that needs to be investigated. According to Libby, Oliver is paranoid and, as a result, sees enemies everywhere. He’s supposed to be on meds to keep the paranoia under control, but Libby said he keeps going off them. She believes he’s off them now, and that his condition is worsening, and that one day he’ll mistake her for an enemy and harm her. I checked his medicine cabinet and didn’t see any prescription bottles, but he could be carrying them with him.”

I paused as the man from animal control stepped out of the closet. “All clear,” he said.

As soon as he left the room, I said to Reilly, “Are you with me so far? Okay, then, if we’re to believe Libby about Oliver’s paranoia getting worse, then we have to believe that Oliver may be dangerous, and if we take that a step further, then he could have been dangerous enough last Monday morning to kill his mother. But the bigger question is, do we believe
Libby
?

“For instance,” I continued, “Libby said that when Oliver is off his meds, he covers his windows with aluminum foil. Look around. Do you see any foil? So is he off his meds and dangerous, or does he really take meds at all? Do you see why I want to get inside this computer? I’ll bet we’ll find things in here that will tell us whether Oliver’s mental state is as bad as his sister wants us to think it is.”

Reilly cast a quick glance over his shoulder, then said in a hushed voice, “Look, I don’t trust Libby any more than you do, and I can understand why you have your suspicions about Oliver, but, well, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this yet, so you didn’t hear it from me. Don’t waste your time on Oliver or Libby.”

“Why not?”

“Because neither of them killed Delphi Blume.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Reilly. Was it Cora?” “You got it. She lied about everything. There’s no record of her staying at the motel she claims she was at, or at any other hotel or motel in that area, and no one recognized a photo of her, either.”

“What about the key they found in her purse? Did it fit Libby’s Corvette?”

“It sure did.” Reilly began to list items on his fingers. “Cora had the Corvette key, she was tall enough to have needed to move the car seat back, and she had purchased a red wig—which we learned thanks to your help. Means, motive, opportunity—a slam dunk case.”

Reilly hooked his thumbs in his thick black leather belt and rocked back on his heels. “She was indicted an hour ago and is now an inmate of the county jail. So that’s why I’m telling you not to waste your time on Oliver or Libby.”

I should have felt relieved—after all, my goal had been to make sure every possible suspect was considered until the true killer was caught—but somehow this development wasn’t sitting right with me . . . that old gut feeling again. The evidence was simply too neat. I wondered if Reilly felt the same way. “Did the detectives verify that Cora never got a driver’s license?”

“I don’t know, but she did take a bus to Michigan. Why?”

“Because if she lied about everything, including the driver’s license, plus had the stolen cash on her, you’d think she would have rented a car to drive to Canada. It would have been a heck of a lot faster than taking the bus.”

“The murder happened early in the morning. Maybe she didn’t want to hang around until the car-rental agencies opened.”

“Or maybe Cora was telling the truth about not being able to drive in the U.S., in which case she wouldn’t have used Libby’s car to dispose of Delphi’s body, would she? And she wouldn’t have needed a key, either. So maybe she didn’t lie about
everything
.”

“She’s a thief, Abby. Why would we believe anything she tells us?”

“I don’t know, but I’d sure like a chance to find out. Am I able to visit Cora in jail?”

Reilly looked surprised. “Are you
able
to? Well, sure, but—”

“Awesome.” I hopped down from the desk. “How soon can I get in?”

“Whoa. Slow down. I just got done telling you she’s been charged with murder. That means you don’t need to talk to Cora. If there are any loose ends, Detective Wells will see to it.”

“Yeah, right. After deciding Cora is the murderer, do you think either Detective Wells or the prosecutor will spend time trying to prove Cora
didn’t
do it?”

“No, but that’s why she’ll have a defense attorney.”

“Who may or may not be able to convince a jury that she’s not guilty. Tell me something, Sarge, are you one hundred percent satisfied that Cora’s the killer?”

“Listen to me, Abby. She’s been indicted. The investigation is over.
It doesn’t matter
.”

“Not to you maybe, but I have to be satisfied in
here
.” I tapped my stomach.

He sighed in resignation. “You never give up, do you? Fine. Talk to the matron at the jail. See if she’ll get you in. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until visitor day next Tuesday—
if
Cora agrees to see you.”

“Talk to the matron?” I shuddered, recalling the harsh, pug-faced woman who’d let me out of lockup. “Well, that’s out, then.”

“Matron Grody is on vacation this week. Patty is there. Go see her.”

That was a different story. Patty had been very fond of my dad and always kind to me. “Thanks for the tip, Reilly.”

Hearing footsteps coming up the hallway, Reilly put his finger to his lips. “If it’s Marco, I’ll fill him in about Cora. You don’t know anything about her being charged, got it?”

“I won’t say a word about Cora—as long as you don’t tell Marco I’m going to visit her.”

He knew there was no time to negotiate with me, so he said gruffly, “Deal.”

I started to give him a high five, but then Marco strode into the room. Noticing that I was off the desk, he said, “I take it you don’t need an escort?”

“No, but thanks anyway.”

“I’m still not clear why you were on the desk in the first place,” Marco said, giving me one of his inquisitive gazes. “You’re not afraid of snakes.”

I put a hand on my hip. “How do you know I’m not?”

“Because you told me.”

“When?”

“About a week after we first met. We drove out to the dunes to hike through the woods, remember?”

How could I have forgotten such a romantic moment? It was my first clue as to what a gentleman Marco could be. He’d gallantly stepped in front of me when a snake took exception to our crossing his path. I started getting all misty-eyed thinking about it. Boy, how time changed everything. “I remember.”

“The maple trees?” he asked huskily.

Another moment I’d never forget. I’d leaned against the trunks of two entwined crimson maples to gaze up at a hawk overhead. Marco had put his arms on either side of me and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. I used to picture us as those two trees, united for eternity. I was surprised he remembered, though.

I gave him a nod, and he smiled at me with his eyes, as though it was our secret.

The sound of Reilly clearing his throat brought me back to reality. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got to get going. If you two are going be at the bar tonight, maybe I’ll come by with Karen and we can hoist a few brewskies together.”

Talk about an awkward moment. Marco glanced down at his shoes, so I said, “I’ve got something going on tonight. Sorry.”