Tacked to Death (6 page)

She couldn't think on it any longer.
Her head hurt from it all. She willed herself to sleep after a
short prayer to help rid her of the day's trauma.

She didn't know what time it was when
the banging woke her up. At first, she thought she was dreaming.
But the banging grew louder, and then the doorbell rang. Michaela
rolled out of bed, noticing that it was just past four in the
morning. What in the world?

She pulled on her robe and tromped down
the stairs. She really did need to get a new dog. She'd lost her
old lab, Cocoa, a while back, and it was time to look into getting
a puppy. She didn't like opening the door to someone at this hour,
but because it was so late, she knew that whoever and for whatever
reason they were on the other side of her door, it could not be
good.

She peered through the peephole. Her
stomach sank. Detective Peters stood there. What did he want? "Ms.
Bancroft, open the door, please."

Michaela swung the door open. A
uniformed cop, who Michaela recognized as Officer Garcia, stood
behind him. "How can I help you? You do realize it is the middle of
the night?"

"Turn around, Ms. Bancroft," he said,
reaching behind him for his handcuffs. "You are under arrest for
the murder of Sterling Taber."

Seven

“
Wait, wait!”

Garcia started reading Michaela her
rights. Peters abruptly turned her around. "What are you doing?
What is this about? I didn't kill Sterling Taber! You can't come
into my home and do this."

"I'm afraid we can," Peters
said.

"Can you tell me on what grounds you're
arresting me?"

"Your polo mallet."

"My mallet? We went over this
before."

"Yes we did, but your fingerprints are
the only ones on it. And you discovered the victim and you had
motive."

She shook her head. "Motive? What
motive? I had no reason to murder Sterling Taber. This is insane!
What motive are you talking about? And my fingerprints on my
mallet—of course they were on my mallet. It's my mallet, for God's
sakes! What about other prints? Weren't there any other prints? And
again, what motive? It wouldn't be very smart of me to use my own
mallet to murder someone."

"It might be smart for you to stop
flapping your mouth, because I'm arresting you and, like Garcia
said, you have the right to remain silent…"

This was no nightmare…well, not one she
was sleeping through.

Camden raced through the door in a pair
of short pajama bottoms and T-shirt, Dwayne at her heels. "What's
going on?" she asked. "The flashing lights outside our window woke
us up. What are you—? Wait a minute! What are you doing?" She
looked at Peters.

"We are arresting Ms. Bancroft on
suspicion of murdering Mr. Taber this afternoon."

"Oh no, no, man. You be wrong. This
girl, she good people. She didn't kill nobody," Dwayne
said.

"There has to be a mistake," Camden
added.

"No mistake, ma'am. Now if you'll
excuse us."

"Wait," Michaela said. "I'm in my robe.
Can I at least change?"

Peters nodded. "Go on up with her,
Garcia. You got three minutes."

"I didn't kill him," Michaela muttered
as Garcia followed her up the stairs. There was no love lost
between her and the officer. They'd dealt with each other in the
past, when a good friend of hers had been murdered, and Garcia had
caused some problems for her and Jude. It wasn't a secret that
Garcia had a thing for Jude, who at that moment Michaela wished
wasn't on vacation.

"That's for a court of law to decide,"
Garcia replied.

Michaela ignored her and quickly
dressed, everything seeming so surreal at that moment. What in
God's green earth was this all about? Someone had come into the
office, picked up her mallet, and killed Sterling with it. Someone
who had gloves on. Could it have been another player? They all wore
riding gloves. But it could have also been a socialite with a pair
of white gloves, showing herself off to the polo elite. Oh jeez, it
could have even been a server. Didn't they all wear
gloves?

Peters yelled up to them, "Let's
go."

This could not be happening. But it
was, and moments later Michaela found herself in the back of a
squad car, Garcia at the wheel, surely with a satisfied look on her
face. Camden and Dwayne followed them to the car. "We'll get you
out. I'll call Ethan."

"No." She didn't want Ethan to find out
about this. "Call Joe. He'll be able to help."

She thought about her parents for a
minute and was thankful that the two of them had taken a
well-earned vacation for their fortieth wedding anniversary. They
were on an African safari—something her father had always wanted to
do. She could straighten all this out by the time they returned.
But it wasn't good that Jude was also gone. She needed him right
now.

Emotion rose up in the back of her
throat, making her feel like she was choking. She swallowed it,
refusing to allow any of this to get to her. This was one big
mistake. One helluva mistake, and she would find the answers,
because she refused to be framed for murder and spend her life in
jail.

* * *

This was ludicrous. Peters and some
other detective—a woman named Singer—had her inside an
interrogation room. They were throwing questions at her right and
left. She felt like a boxer inside a ring—right hook followed by a
double left. If she could only pass out and then wake up to find
them all gone.

"When did you meet Mr. Taber?" Peters
asked.

"I don't know. I think four months ago.
It was about the time I started taking polo lessons. Robert
Nightingale introduced us."

"And what was your relationship
like?"

"We didn't have one. We were
acquaintances. That's it. I saw him at the polo grounds on occasion
and we played polo together."

"So, you never spent any other time
with Mr. Taber outside of the polo grounds?" Singer asked. She was
an attractive, short-haired blonde who looked more like a soccer
mom than a hard-nosed detective.

"Once, actually. A group of us went
over to Sorvino's for dinner one night after practice. Ed Mitchell,
the owner of the grounds, wanted to meet with us about the charity
event."

Singer didn't respond. She left the
room.

"Think about it, Ms. Bancroft, is there
maybe another time or two that you associated with Mr. Taber?"
Peters asked.

She tried to find the right answer to
get him off her back. "You know what? No. What is this
about?"

Singer came back in holding a set of
ropes that looked like the one she'd given Sterling yesterday. "Do
you recognize these?" she asked.

"Sure. I sell them at Round the Bend.
They're roping ropes."

"Uh-huh, and did Mr. Taber get these
from you?"

"He did."

"But I thought that you said that you
didn't have a relationship outside the polo facility with Mr.
Taber."

"I didn't."

"Do you want to explain the
ropes?"

Michaela detailed the incident that had
led Sterling Taber to walk out of her shop with the
ropes.

Singer and Peters eyed each other. "You
and Mr. Taber never used these ropes together?"

Michaela sat up straight, aghast at the
question. "Are you kidding me? First, we could not have had time,
considering he got them just before the polo match, and as far as
spending any time with him, that wasn't going to happen. I didn't
even like the man. He was repulsive to me…"

Oh how stupid. How could she have
allowed herself to say such a stupid, stupid thing? Oh no, no, no.
She could tell by the looks on the cops' faces that she'd helped
put another nail into her coffin. Coffee! Maybe coffee would help
her brain connect at this ungodly hour.

Singer and Peters looked at each other
again. "Ms. Bancroft, we have it from a source close to Mr. Taber
that the two of you had a sexual relationship and that Mr. Taber
had certain fetishes." Singer held up the ropes.

Michaela's jaw dropped. Now not only
was she as dumb as paint on a fence, she was speechless.

"Do you care to comment?" Singer
asked.

It took her a few seconds. Brain
connect. Brain connect. "What source? You are kidding me." She
shook her head. "No, no. This is some kind of joke. Who told you
that?"

"We can't reveal sources. But this
person claims that Mr. Taber frequently discussed your
relationship."

"Well, whoever it was is lying. That is
not true. Not even close."

Peters sat down and pulled the chair
up, his face now only inches from hers. Michaela could smell coffee
on his breath. Her stomach soured as he spoke in an accusatory
tone. "Is that why you killed him? Because he was spreading rumors
that the two of you were sleeping together? Or did you kill him
because you were having sex with him and he was dating another
woman? Did you murder Sterling Taber because you were jealous? As I
said, we have your fingerprints on the mallet. They match what's in
the computer. Lucky for us when you applied for a license to teach
autistic children, you were fingerprinted by the
county."

"I did not kill him. I never slept with
him. That's crazy. It's just not true!"

"Why would he say it then?"

"I don't know!" Michaela now knew what
it must feel like to be a cornered dog—one being kicked and beaten
for no reason. And, as her brain further connected, she realized
that it looked like she needed a lawyer, and panic started to set
in.

"Ms. Bancroft, you still have the right
to contact an attorney."

"I think that would be a—"

Before she could finish there was a
knock at the door. Singer opened it. On the other side stood a
shorter version of her friend Joe. The man stretched out his hand.
"I'm Anthony Pellegrino. I'm counselor for Ms. Bancroft
here."

Yes, the man was definitely related to
Joe. Same last name, same round stomach, wavy black hair slicked
off his face, and warm brown eyes. A first cousin was her guess. It
looked like Camden had called Joe, and he'd obviously gone to work
rapidly, rounding up one of his cousins to save the day. Anthony
looked to be doing well for himself. He wore a pinstriped silk navy
suit, crisp white button-down shirt with a rose-colored
tie—Italian, for sure. Joe had a barrage of cousins. He blamed it
on his devoutly Catholic family. He claimed there were some he
hadn't even met.

Michaela had learned over the years
that Joe's many cousins worked at anything from garbage truck
driver to chef…but an attorney? That was a new one on her. Still,
at that moment she felt grateful, albeit a bit surprised, to see
Mr. Anthony Pellegrino enter the room to represent her.

The attorney removed a handful of
papers from a leather briefcase. He took his time—deliberate and
slow, almost achingly so for Michaela. She wanted to get out of
there. "It's my understanding that you've charged my client with
murdering a Mr. Sterling Taber."

"That's correct," Peters
said.

"On what grounds?"

"The murder weapon belongs to your
client and her fingerprints were on the weapon."

"The murder weapon being the polo
mallet I read about in your report," Pellegrino said.

"Yes."

"Of course her fingerprints are on the
mallet. It's her freaking mallet. I don't see what that's got to do
with anything." Pellegrino shook his head and looked as if he were
about to laugh. Michaela wasn't sure how to take it, because she
was about to cry. "You are so joking here. You do realize that it
would take nothing for the real killer to slip on a pair of gloves
and there you go? No wonder Ms. Bancroft's fingerprints are the
only ones. Anyone can see that. You don't have to be detective to
figure that one, eh, folks?" Pellegrino smiled. "You, my friends,
have a weak case and I'm sure that you know it. I'd like to confer
with my client alone."

Both detectives left the room.
Pellegrino stuck out a hand. "Joe sent me over. I'm a
cousin."

"I figured. I would normally say that
it would be nice to meet you, but…"

He waved his hand at her. "I
understand. So, did you off the guy?"

It took her a few seconds to process
his question. "Of course not!"

"You can tell me, I'm your
lawyer."

"No way. I didn't kill
anyone."

"Yeah, Joe says you're a good lady. I
think I did pretty good with them cops, huh?"

What did he mean by that? "Yes," she
said. "I think so. Wouldn't you know? I, uh, have never been in a
situation like this."

"Oh yeah, me either. Crazy, man. Kinda
cool, like one of them cops-and-lawyer shows."

Michaela crossed her arms and stared at
him. "What kind of law do you practice?"

"Who, me?" He pointed at himself and
then flattened down his silk tie. "Yeah, well, I'm a tax attorney,
you know."