The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (80 page)

Josh started to wind down and fuss. "I bet you're hungry. Auntie Mickey will fix you a bottle." She got up and took his bag into the kitchen.

As she started back from the kitchen she heard a noise. What was that? She came around the corner to see that Josh had pulled her purse onto the floor, spilling all of its contents. This quickly reminded her how disorganized she was, seeing everything from receipts, gum wrappers, and even an empty raisin box on the floor. She cringed and ran over to where the baby was putting a business card in his mouth. He'd just started rolling over and he must've pulled on the purse strap. Dammit, she should've moved her purse off the chair. "Oh no, no, you cutie-patootie. What do you have there?" She took the card from his mouth and shoved it in her back pocket while quickly cleaning up the mess on the floor so Josh couldn't get into anything else. She laid him back down on the blanket and handed him his bottle. She watched him for a minute, then reached into her back pocket to see if the card he'd had in his mouth was important, like her coffee card from the Honeybear. She was only one stamp away from a free cup.

The card
was
important, but not because it entitled her to a free cup of java; it was Erin Hornersberg's card. The card had the makeup artist's name on it with her title, but it also had the name of the shop—The Sanctuary—and beneath that it read,
OWNER: SHEILA ADDISON
. Sheila! The tape. Michaela turned the card over and her jaw fell. She remembered what Erin had said to her when she gave her the card. "Sorry, there's an address written on the back here, but I don't need it anymore."

Michaela had blown it off. No biggie. But looking at the back side of the card for the first time, she realized something: She recognized the address. She'd even been there. It was Sterling Taber's.

AFTER JOSH SUCKED DOWN HIS BOTTLE HE started to fuss, forcing Michaela, for the moment, to forget about her questions regarding Erin Hornersberg and Sheila. She knew that she should drop the whole thing. Move on. She was clear of any wrongdoing. Her life was hers again. Why did she feel the need to pursue this? Maybe because she knew that there was still a killer among them. She had to get it off her mind.

Josh started to whine. "All right, little love, what's the problem? You've been changed, played with, fed…" He rubbed his eyes. "Ah, but you haven't been cuddled to sleep." She picked him up and wrapped a thin blanket around him, deciding to take him out to the back patio, where she had a wooden rocker next to the pool. Maybe the waterfall that flowed into the pool would soothe him. Nothing she'd ever experienced before was more comfortable than rocking and cooing to the baby.

She watched crystalline droplets of water flow into the black-bottom pool, which Uncle Lou had built to look like a lagoon. She sure did miss him. Green foliage surrounded the pool and area, along with an array of tropical flowers that flourished in the desert heat and dry air.

The beauty surrounding her and the baby in her lap brought a deep sense of contentment, despite everything else on her mind. She twirled Josh's fine brown curls in her fingers. His hair smelled of baby shampoo. He looked so much like his daddy. Ethan and Summer were lucky to have him. She couldn't help but nod off.

She didn't know how long they napped like that, but she was awakened by the touch of a hand on her head. She blinked several times.

"Hey, sleepyheads," Ethan said.

"Hi." She looked down at the top of Josh's head. He was still asleep. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know this was the most peaceful that I've ever seen you."

She didn't know how to respond, but she knew that she didn't want him to lift Josh off her lap. "Summer call you?"

He nodded. "Left me a message. Did she say where she was going?"

"No. I thought that maybe she was meeting you."

"Uh-uh. I had a full day. I've tried calling her but I keep getting her voice mail."

"I don't know."

Josh stirred and as soon as he realized his dad was there, his mouth grew into a wide toothless grin. "Hey, buddy," Ethan said.

Josh reached his arms out for him. Michaela handed the baby over. "You are such a good dad."

"Thanks, Mick. I know you'll be a mom one day. I know it. You'll be awesome."

She didn't reply.

"I better get going. I've got horses to feed and this guy to take care of."

"Hey, Ethan, everything okay at home?"

"Sure. Everything is fine."

Something in his voice made her wonder if he were telling the truth. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I don't know, I guess I found it odd that Summer would drop Josh off with me and…well, you seem kind of distant; I don't know."

"I'm tired, that's all. Summer dropping the baby here…well, you're his godmother and I'm always suggesting that we have you watch him. Looks like she took my suggestion."

"Yeah. Okay." She gave Josh a kiss on the cheek.

Ethan took her hand and squeezed it. "Thanks, Mick."

"Anytime. I love having him here. Hey, did you hear? I've been cleared of the murder charges against me."

He grinned and hugged her with his free arm. "I knew you would be. No way in hell were you going to jail." He thought a moment. "Hell, you probably
could
get away with murder. Everyone loves you and people know you wouldn't hurt a soul."

She smiled at him, helped pack up Josh's bag, and walked them to the door. She was sad to see them go. Did Summer have a clue as to how good she had it?

EVENING WAS SETTLING IN AS A FULL MOON started to rise over the mountains and waves of pink and orange floated through the desert sky. Dwayne would've fed the horses tonight. Michaela contemplated making a drive over to the shop where Erin and her girlfriend worked. She wasn't going alone, though. She gave Joe a ring.

"Oh hey, Mick, Camden give you my message? Why didn't you call me and tell me that the cops are off your back? My cousin Anthony got a call from Peters today about it. That's great. You probably wanted to tell me about it tonight, right? Do you need any help getting all that stuff over here?"

Michaela smacked herself upside the head. How could she have forgotten Gen's birthday? They'd even talked about it when they'd gone over to break into Sterling's place. "Of course I'm coming. I told you that I wouldn't miss it. And, yes, I did plan to tell you about the case, but there are a few unanswered questions."

"Drop it, Mick."

"I'll tell you about it when I see you." She looked at her watch. She was supposed to be at Joe's in less than an hour. "I've got to go by the tack shop and get Gen's gifts loaded. Sorry for the delay. Nothing is wrapped."

"No, no. You been under a lot of pressure. I was gonna come by earlier today and grab them, but Marianne needed my help around the house. I got a few minutes to spare now; why don't I meet you down there and I'll help you get everything together. I appreciate you ordering all that stuff on short notice."

"I can do it, Joe, don't worry about it."

"I'll see you in, what, a half hour?"

"Okay." She sighed, knowing that it was no use arguing with him. She changed her blouse because the other had wound up streaked with baby spit, ran a brush through her hair, and darted out the door. She wanted to get to the shop before Joe did and see if she couldn't get a few things wrapped. Thank goodness Camden had thought of everything when she stocked the tack shop—including horse-themed wrapping paper.

When she pulled into the parking lot, it was obvious Camden had already locked up and gone home for the day. She stood in front of the double doors and unlocked them. Joe hadn't arrived yet.

She flipped a light on and punched in the code on the security alarm. Suddenly she felt anxious about being there. It was nearly dark. She turned back to lock the front door and as she did she stopped. Her heart raced and fear coursed through her as she stared into the eyes of someone in a mask, dressed in black. Blood rushed through her ears.

"Wh-what…do you want?" she stammered. "The money is in a safe. It's…it's not much, but you can have it."

The figure started toward her and she knew that whoever was behind the ski mask was not there for any money, but rather for her. She darted toward the door and he lunged in front of her, reaching out to grab her. She pulled back and raced in the other direction, toward the rear door. She could hear steps close behind her. Running between a row of English saddles, she turned to push a set of them down as hard as she could. The intruder tripped over them and grunted, then rose and started after her again. She was at the door, her hands shaking, and turning the dead bolt, when she felt something hard hit the side of her face. She screamed as she fell to the ground. Her assailant pulled her by the arm and dragged her away from the door. Michaela knew that her life was about to end. She looked up and saw evil in the eyes behind the mask. Then she saw a polo mallet in the one free hand. It rose above her. She screamed and twisted away as a voice from the front called out her name. The intruder turned, dropped the mallet, and ran out the back door.

"Joe!
Joe!
He's getting away!"

"What?" Joe approached her, clearly aware that something horrible had just happened. He sprinted past her and out the back door. Michaela stood, rubbing the side of her head. She could now see what the killer had initially swung to knock her down—a twisted snaffle bit. Her hands shook and her body felt numb. She tried to get up but could only sink back to the floor, stunned.

A minute later, Joe came back in and knelt by her. "You okay?"

"I…think so. What happened? Did you see him?"

"I'm sorry, Mick. The bastard got away."

"LET ME GET YOU SOME ICE." JOE BENT DOWN. "Looks like you got a bruise there across your cheek. That ain't so good. You got some in the freezer, don't you?"

"Yes—wait, don't leave me!" Oh no. Michaela didn't like sounding so needy. She prided herself on her independence and, yes, even courage. But right now the last thing she felt was courageous.

"Don't worry, Mick. No one is gonna hurt you. I'll kick the shit out of 'em."

She smiled at his retort. He was right. One look at Joey P. and the bad guy would be off and running.

A minute later, Joe brought back a small bag of ice and placed it on the rapidly swelling lump on her face. "That jerk say anything? Take any money? Anything?"

"No. He was here to kill me."

"What?"

"Yeah. I offered cash, but he chased me through the store, swung that metal bit at my face, and then tried to bash my head in with the mallet. Thank God you showed up when you did."

"You sure it was a man?"

"Seemed like it, I mean whoever it was, was pretty athletic."

"Yeah, but not a big guy. I got a good look at the physique; we can't assume it was a guy yet, but we gotta call the police, Mickey."

"What? No way, Joe. The last thing I want to do is call the police. I've had enough of them. I don't want to answer any more of their questions."

"What about Jude?"

"Not even Jude." She didn't want to say
especially
Jude. He was the real reason she didn't want to call the police. She knew that he'd come unglued.

"Don't be stupid here. Someone tried to swing that thing at you and you don't want to bring in the police?" He pointed to the mallet.

She shook her head. "Okay, okay, but look, you've got to go and be with your family. Next thing I know it'll be Marianne swinging a mallet at me and I wouldn't blame her."

"Ah, Marianne knows you're like a sister to me. She loves what you do for our kid. Don't go worrying about that. Let's call the police."

"Okay."

Joe made the call and within ten minutes a black-and-white arrived. Shortly after, Jude rolled in, his face strained with worry.

Michaela sat on the sofa in her office drinking the water Joe had gotten her. After Joe told the police what had happened from his perspective, Michaela insisted that he go on home. She told him where Gen's gifts were, and one of the officers helped him carry them to the minivan, while Jude sat down next to her. "You're going to give me an ulcer," he said.

"It's not as if I ask for this stuff to happen."

"I know." He reached for her hand. "Let me ask you, what do you think this was all about? You say it wasn't a robbery. Do you think this was some kind of copycat killer?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like Sterling Taber's killer."

"That was no copycat killer. That was
the
killer."

He shook his head. "No, Michaela. Peters is certain that Carolyn Taber hired someone to murder Sterling, if she didn't do it herself. She was found at the Marriott. She hung herself. She left a note for her husband, apologizing for the grief she'd caused, and for Sterling. Her husband says that last Saturday she told him she was going to a weekend yoga retreat, but we checked, and she never went there."

"I don't think Carolyn killed him. She came to see me about the tapes."

"What? You didn't tell me this." He let go of her hand.

"I know I didn't."

"Why?"

"I didn't think it was important. I gave you the tapes and I figured that was enough."

"No. That's
not
enough. That's you keeping important information from the police. From me. When are you going to stop playing detective? When are you going to trust me?"

She didn't reply.

He sighed. "What else? Is there anything you want to tell me about when Carolyn Taber came to see you about the tapes?"

"She tried to pay me for them. I told her that the police had them."

"Did you ever think that might be why she killed herself?"

Michaela sat up. "Wait a minute. You're not blaming me for Carolyn Taber's death, are you? I had nothing to do with that. She…she tried to threaten me. That woman didn't kill herself. There was another set of tapes somewhere, and whoever had them, that's your killer."

He stood and again reached for her hand. She didn't take it. "Come on, let me take you home," he said.