Dead on Her Feet (An Antonia Blakeley Tango Mystery Book 1) (33 page)

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she didn’t know about Nathalie and Roland getting engaged until that night.” Antonia grinned. “She was so pissed. I could see her killing either one of them out of pure rage.”

“Means and opportunity.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Okay. Argentines traditionally carried knives with them. Maybe Eduardo had one and took a swipe at Nathalie while he was sitting in the dining room then noticed the kitchen knife and decided to use it for the fatal blow. If he used his own knife for the first cut why bother switching to the kitchen knife? And what did he do with the one he brought? How could he hide it where the police couldn’t find it in a regular search? He’d never been to the house before.” She came up for air. “He suspected Nathalie was unfaithful. Did he want to kill the woman who’d humiliated him?”

“Means and opportunity.”

Antonia pushed her chair away from the table. “I can’t see how
anyone
could have done it. There were too many witnesses.”

The first weapon had to be still at the scene, Morrow knew. But where? With the exception of the library Shawna Muir’s house was fairly uncluttered.

 “… or Bobby sharpened the flaps in his ice tray and used it to attack Roland for seducing Barbara because he has a thing for her except his eyesight was so bad he nailed Nathalie instead. Are you listening to me?”

“Of course.”

“The weapon must identify the murderer in some way. It could have prints on it or it could be someone’s personal belonging. You think the murderer can’t afford to leave it there and will try to get rid of it, don’t you?”

“Exactly.”

“I have a very bad feeling about this.” Antonia clutched her stomach as if it had gone into a spasm. “What do you want me to do?”

He knew what he was about to say would drive her crazy.

“Wait.”

Esperar

To wait, hope for, or expect

ALMOST SIX FIFTEEN.
Darkness had fallen.

The trees in front of Shawna’s house had long ago lost their leaves. The yellow Do Not Cross police tape across the entrance to the screen porch glowed with reflected light from a nearby street lamp. The bungalow was dark. No sign of life.

Antonia backed her Audi into the driveway of the house across the street. The drive was one of the old-fashioned kind with two parallel tracks of rutted Georgia clay.

In the few hours since Morrow had shared the gruesome results of Nathalie’s autopsy, she’d focused all her energy on the question of who could have struck Nathalie on the dance floor. Nobody could have stabbed her in the back while she was dancing because Roland’s arm would have been in the way. And nobody could have counted on Nathalie staying in one place long enough for a blow to land with any accuracy.

Shawna would get to the house around seven. Jackson was due at eight for his supposed walk-through. That left sixty minutes for the guilty party to try to get rid of the evidence.

Soon she’d know who killed Nathalie and who tried to kill Christian.

The passenger door handle jiggled and she shot up in her seat. She jerked around to find Morrow slipping into the passenger’s seat next to her.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said matter-of-factly.

“If anyone recognizes my car—”

“They’ll just think you’ve come to get your stuff. I know.”

“You can’t send me home.”

“It’s too late for that. Consider yourself deputized.” He settled low into his seat. “Get down.”

She slumped behind the steering wheel, matching his posture. They sat in silence. The road was well off the main artery so there was little traffic.

She could just make out the outline of Morrow’s broken nose and his military mustache. In the short time they had known each other his features had become familiar, and this knowledge for some reason gave her comfort.

Morrow pulled a package of Life Savers from his jacket pocket, unwrapped the foil enough to expose the first one, and offered it to her. She took the mint and popped it in her mouth. Morrow took one for himself. She heard the candy snap as he bit down on it.

“Why did you ask us about our hobbies?” she eventually asked, watching his face.

He kept his eyes focused on the house. “I wanted to know who might have knowledge of anatomy.”

“Eduardo Sanchez paints nudes. Roland can field dress anything.”

Morrow didn’t react.

“Bobby’s medical knowledge probably ends with stegosauruses,” she said, but Morrow remained relaxed, unhurried, like a commuter waiting for a train that he knew would come on time, except in this case he was waiting for a person who might not come at all. Antonia could imagine all sorts of ways the plan could go wrong. She couldn’t see how it was possible for him to sit so still.

“Where’s Detective Jackson?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

He waits. I move. He waits. I move. Waiting. Waiting. Only six thirty.

Her right leg was starting to go to sleep. She stretched and wiggled her toes. “So who did it?”

“Antonia, I can’t talk about this.”

“Do you think I can’t take it?”

“I know what you can handle. Your ex put you in the hospital three times,” he said in his soft, gravelly voice.

“How—?”

 He shifted in his seat. “Routine background checks. You tried to get a restraining order against him and nobody would give you one. I understand why you don’t trust the police.”

“It’s nothing personal. You say you investigated us. Did that include Christian?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find out about what happened the night his parents died?”

“Yes.”

Her chest ached like someone had heaved a boulder at it. “Tell me.”

“Bottom line, he risked his life to protect his mother. His father turned on him. Self-defense. Crime scene photos prove it.”

“Oh God.” She felt the cool night air rush back into her lungs. “He always said he couldn’t remember.”

“Trauma does that.”

She bit into her lip to keep it from trembling, not that Morrow could have seen. “I’ll never be able to make it up to him. And he’s lying in a hospital room while we still don’t know who’s trying to kill him.”

Morrow grasped her arm. “Hold on.”

Shawna’s car edged up to the curb, right on time. After a few seconds she alighted from the car and trudged up the walk to her house. She climbed the steps to the front porch, fumbled in her purse and used something, probably her key, to slit open the yellow tape across the front door. She entered the house. A light went on in the front hall, revealing her figure just visible through the living room windows. A table lamp went on in the living room, the light illuminating the length of her arm, her neck and the underside of her chin, leaving her features and the rest of the room in near darkness.

Morrow bolted up in his seat. He felt for the overhead switch to make sure the interior light stayed off and reached for the handle to the passenger door. He cracked it open and slipped out, stooping to stay out of sight. “Wait here.”

Antonia had no idea what he’d seen but there was no mistaking the contained urgency in his voice. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Then do what I say.”

“Okay.” She eased out of the car and pushed the door closed until she heard it latch, her heart thumping wildly.

He stole across the street and she sprinted after him. They reached the porch almost at the same time and crouched next to one of the rhododendrons.

She peered through the porch screen, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Her view through the porch into the living room was partly obstructed by the wicker furniture but through the picture window she could see Shawna picking up a pillow and putting it back on the couch. Beyond her, near the arch leading to the dining room, the rest of the house was shrouded in patches of gray and black. One of the larger shadows looked just like a person. When she was young and her mother would put her to bed and turn out the lights she used to test her nerve, staring until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could recognize the shadows as bookcases, doors, things she knew were safe.

The shadow moved.

She gasped and gripped Morrow’s sleeve.

He nodded and placed his finger against his lips, signaling her to keep quiet.

She started for the stairs but Morrow grabbed her belt and pulled her back. “Wait.”

Antonia watched as the man advanced towards Shawna from behind. It was someone tall. Eduardo and Roland were physically so much alike it could have been either one of them. He must have made a noise because Shawna whipped around. He said something. Antonia couldn’t make out what it was but Shawna shook her head violently and put her hands to her cheeks. He spoke again and Shawna whipped away from him, her face contorted. Antonia watched in helpless silence. Shawna moved away from the window and Antonia finally saw the man clearly, his normally handsome features distorted with fury.

Eduardo.

Ahora, no me conoces

Now you don’t know me

ANTONIA STARTED FOR THE FRONT STEPS,
again, but Morrow yanked her back and clamped his arms around her.

“Shhhh,” he whispered.

“Shawna needs me.”

“It’s under control.”

She sank into his arms and he relaxed his hold. She turned back towards the house to see what was happening, aware that he was doing the same.

Shawna, seated on the couch, was shaking her head. Eduardo stood over her. He handed her a handkerchief. Shawna blew her nose and she raised her head to say something. He nodded and then offered his hand to help her up from the couch.

Antonia turned to Morrow. “What now?”

“Follow me,” Morrow said in a low voice. He darted across the front path to the other side of the entrance and crouched behind a bush. She joined him.

They didn’t have long to wait. Antonia heard the front door open and shut, then a squeak as the porch door opened. She saw Eduardo start down the steps from the porch and when he got to the walk Morrow came up behind him. She realized for the first time that Morrow was carrying a gun.

 “Dr. Sanchez, put your hands where I can see them.” The detective’s voice was cool and impersonal.

Eduardo slowly raised his hands. “It
is
Detective Morrow, is it not? Your voice is distinctive.” His voice sounded calm but then again, Antonia reminded herself, he’d faced much worse than the Atlanta police.

“Turn around. Slowly. Antonia, you can come out now.”

She stepped out from the bushes.

“So you are here as well,” Eduardo said. “We are making quite a party.”

Morrow said to Eduardo, “Empty your pockets, please.”

Eduardo turned towards Morrow, unbuttoned his jacket, slipped it off, and moving with deliberation emptied the contents of his pockets onto the porch steps: a pack of cigarettes, a book of matches from Watershed, a set of Avis rental car keys, a single house key, and an open pack of chewing gum.

Morrow holstered his gun. “You didn’t leave any belongings that night. You had no reason to be here today.”

“I had the best of reasons. I came to get justice for Nathalie.”

Antonia said, “By breaking into Shawna’s house?”

“Did you think a piece of yellow tape and a locked door would stop me?” Eduardo hitched up his trouser legs at the knees and sat on the top porch step. “None of us had left anything at the house—you took everything. I knew you were setting some sort of trap. I was convinced Shawna had proof of the murderer’s identity and was going to destroy it. I got there first and had started to search but I could find nothing. When she arrived I faced her with my suspicions but she denied everything.”

“If Shawna’s protecting someone it could only be one person,” Antonia said, sadly.

“You’re lucky I don’t arrest you right now, Dr. Sanchez.” Morrow looked up and down the block. “You’d better wait with us.” Morrow turned to go back across the street.

I have to go to her, Antonia thought. Without waiting for permission she ran up the steps, passed through the porch, and opened the front door. The stench of mildew and garbage was overwhelming. “Shawna, it’s me!”

A listless voice answered from further inside the house. “In here.”

Antonia found Shawna in the dining room seated in one of the folding chairs against the same wall where Eduardo and Barbara had sat sharing their troubles a week ago. The police had taken their evidence but had left their own traces: gray fingerprint powder coated every surface. “Eduardo told us everything. Are you okay?”

Shawna flicked her toe at one of the plastic cups that littered the dance area. It stuck to the floor. “Everything is such a terrible mess …,” her voice broke and she began to cry, silently.

Antonia squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get me a broom and a dust pan? And a trash bag.”

While Shawna made her way into the kitchen Antonia surveyed the dining room. What with the dust and the fingerprint powder and the trash from the party it looked like a volcano had erupted. She went over to the CD player and pressed the remote control button, hoping that a little music might bring a little normalcy back. “Milonga de mis Amores” came on, the milonga that had been playing when Bobby and Shawna collided on the dance floor with Nathalie and Roland, and memories of the party and the reconstruction flooded back.

Nathalie untying her costume shawl from around her hips and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Shawna, who hated milongas but who’d agreed to dance one with Bobby that night.

Bobby, stomping around the floor with Shawna during the reconstruction. Shawna, hanging on to his shoulder for support.

It’s a two-way conversation ... the lead invites ... the follower suggests ...

Antonia’s whole body went cold.
That’s
what had bothered her at the reenactment: Shawna and Bobby’s dancing had been much worse than usual. But Shawna was a strong dancer. She never had trouble staying on her axis with Bobby. Shawna knew how to manage him. There was only one explanation.