Reilly sighed.
I hit my fist against the seat. “Damn it, Reilly, that’s the reason, isn’t it? I can’t believe Melvin Darnell, the so-called man of the people, would put an innocent young woman in prison to help himself get reelected. Where is his conscience?”
Reilly’s radio squawked. He reached for the button, pausing to say, “You need to get out now, Abby.”
“We need to stop Darnell, Reilly.”
“Out! Now!”
Frowning at him, I climbed out and shut the door, then watched with a sinking feeling as he pulled away. When a prominent person was murdered, the public got nervous. So the faster the DA could bring an indictment, the bigger a hero he was, even if the person indicted wasn’t guilty. It happened all the time—one of the many flaws in our judicial system.
So if Darnell had his sights set on Nikki to further his own career, the only way to stop him was to find the real killer. But that would take time, and how much time did we have? It sure would have helped to have Reilly working with us.
All around me, lawyers, judges, and clerks were descending on the courthouse to start another workday. Among them was Deputy Prosecutor Gregory F. Morgan, briefcase in hand, walking in an easy stride that said he was in no rush to get to his office. Morgan and I had gone to high school together, and he’d reluctantly helped me out on a few investigations by passing along pertinent information. He was also Darnell’s right-hand man, just the guy I needed to see.
“Greg,” I called, hurrying toward him. “Got a minute?”
Although bundled in a beige wool topcoat, Morgan could still pass for a
GQ
model. He wasn’t tall, but he was good-looking in an angelic, little-boy sort of way. Women had been falling for Morgan since he was in high school. Even now, the women he worked with adored him, treating him more like a pet than a prosecutor, which merely reinforced his belief that the world started and stopped at his feet.
“A minute for my favorite florist?” He flashed his camera-ready smile. “Always.”
Yeah, right.
Back in high school Morgan had treated me as though I were transparent, looking through me rather than at me. But that was before I grew breasts.
“Are you working on the Jonas Treat murder?” I asked, catching my breath.
“Abby, Abby,” Morgan said with an exasperated sigh, “you know I can’t talk about my current cases.”
Did he realize he’d just answered my question? “Look, Greg, I don’t know how aware you are of what’s happening—”
He scoffed. “Of course I’m aware of what’s happening.”
“Then you know Nikki Hiduke has apparently been singled out as the prime suspect, which is so completely ludicrous I’m ashamed to admit my father was ever a cop on this police force. Truly, Morgan, the detectives seem to have totally ignored everyone else, and I’m talking about people with actual motives—”
“Whoa, Abby. Nikki was singled out because of the evidence.”
“It’s circumstantial. Every bit of it. You remember Nikki, right? Tall, blond, pretty? She went on her very first date with Jonas the night he was killed, Greg. She had no reason to want him dead.”
“Come on, Abby. They found blue clay on her boots, the victim’s blood type on her sweater, her fingerprints in his office . . . she even admitted to being there.”
“They found her fingerprints and no one else’s? Are you saying they didn’t find the prints of the people who work with Jonas?”
“Look at it from the detectives’ viewpoint. Nikki was the last one known to have seen the victim before he died, she lied about the events of that night, and she has no way to prove where she was when the murder took place. Can you blame them for thinking she might have done it?”
“As I keep trying to tell you, Greg, Nikki doesn’t have a motive, but at least three other people do, and if you’ll give me a chance to—”
“I have to stop you right there, Abby. The DA is convening a grand jury tomorrow, and I expect they’ll come back with an indictment.”
“Tomorrow? For God’s sake, Greg, Darnell’s going to put an innocent woman behind bars!”
“Lower your voice, will you? People are staring. Besides, it isn’t my call. I told you, the DA is convening them.”
“Then stop him! He’ll listen to you. Tell him you know there are credible suspects the detectives have overlooked.”
“Do you have proof tying any of these so-called credible suspects to the murder?”
“Not yet, but if I had a few more days—”
“Then I’m sorry, Abby. I won’t stick my neck out until I have something solid to take to Darnell. But if you do get that proof today, come see me.”
He walked away as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
I stared at Greg’s back, my fists clenched in frustration. I’d get that proof somehow.
A strong gust of cold wind reminded me I was shivering, so I turned up my collar and headed north. I had one more stop to make before returning to Down the Hatch to share the bad news with Marco.
Betty’s Bridal Shop was located in a beautiful old home three short city blocks from the square. The last time I’d been there was to be fitted for a bridesmaid’s gown for Jillian’s wedding, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. The other bridesmaids were tall and willowy, whereas I was . . . well, not. But when I stepped inside, the first thing I saw was a mannequin about my size wearing a dazzling, pearl-encrusted, off-white satin wedding gown that accentuated her curves and actually made her look taller at the same time, which I hadn’t thought was humanly possible.
I stepped up to the mannequin to see if we were the same height. Not quite, but pretty damn close.
“A stunning gown, is it not?” a buttery smooth voice said. I turned to find a woman in her sixties with upswept silver hair and huge fuchsia earrings smiling predatorily. “It would look spectacular on you, darling. Would you like to try it on?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” I said, moving away from the mannequin. “I’m not here to buy a gown.”
“I see.” The butter turned to ice. She probably worked on commission.
In my most professional voice, I said, “I’m helping with a murder investigation, and I’m hoping you can tell me if Robin Lennox ordered a wedding dress a few months ago.”
She arranged a fold in the mannequin’s gown. “Sorry, no can do.”
“Not even to help catch a murderer?”
“Sorry, not even then.”
Sorry, she was lying. “Look, I just need to know whether the dress was purchased here.”
The saleswoman cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, then whispered, “The owner would kill me if I divulged customer information to a stranger. . . . But to a customer?” She grinned slyly. “That’s different.”
Ah, so that was how the game was played. “You know, maybe I will try on that gown.”
With a conspiratorial smile, the woman led me into one of the salons. She searched through a rack of gowns, located a size she thought would fit, and ushered me into a roomy, curtained dressing room. “I’ll go see what I can find about the Lennox gown.”
“Thank you so much.”
I was planning to only pretend to try on the dress, but once I was inside the dressing room, standing in front of the three-way mirror with the beautiful gown in my arms, I had a change of heart. Quickly I shed my coat and clothes and pulled the layers of satin over my head.
Wowsers!
The gown was gorgeous, fitted at the waist with a heart-shaped neckline that didn’t give me Dolly Parton boobs. I really did seem taller, too. In fact, I really liked the dress.
I turned to the left, then to the right, then stepped back and twirled in a circle. I imagined a veil over my hair, pearl earrings on my lobes, satin heels, and sighed wistfully. Maybe someday I’d be ready.
“How are we doing?” Butter Voice called from outside the curtain. Before I could reply, she parted it and stepped inside. “Oh, darling! This is the gown for you.”
“It is lovely.” I gave the dress another glance, then turned away from my reflection. “Did you find that information on Robin Lennox?”
“Yes, and yes, she did order a gown.”
“Can you tell me how much it cost?”
“Sorry, no can do. That wasn’t part of the deal. Now, about
this
gown?”
“Sorry. No can decide so quickly.”
“I see. Well, I’ll leave you alone, then. Let me know if you need help.”
I waited until she left, then gazed at myself in the gown one more time. Nikki had to see this. Knowing what a chicken I was about marriage, this would definitely make her laugh. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of myself pretending to scream, then sent it to Nikki with a message that said, “Bridezilla lives!”
Sent to Portia
, the phone duly reported.
Portia? Oh, no! I’d missed Nikki’s entry in the address book by one line. Quickly, I sent my sister-in-law a text message that said,
Disregard previous msg.
Then I re-sent the photo to Nikki. That goof would earn me some ribbing at the next family gathering.
When I walked into his office, Marco was watching the computer monitor over Rafe’s shoulder, the phone pressed to his ear. He lifted an eyebrow to let me know he’d seen me.
“Thanks, Steve. I’ll see you then.” Marco hung up and clapped Rafe on the shoulder. “Good job, man. Hey, Sunshine. Why the frown?”
“Greg Morgan told me the DA is convening the grand jury tomorrow.”
“Damn,” Marco muttered. “I was hoping for more time.”
“Elections are coming up,” I said, “so obviously Darnell’s going after an easy conviction. You know what that means, Marco.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Marco grabbed his leather jacket from a bar stool. “Let’s go out to Jonas’s development. I’ll fill you in on some surprising information on the way.”
“How surprising?”
“It just might break this case wide open.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“
H
ank Miller,” Marco said, as we headed toward Chateaux en Carnations in his green Prius, “lied about being in Florida when Jonas was killed. If you remember, he told me he was at his home in the Keys on Sunday night. But I’ve got flight manifests from my friend at O’Hare and a car rental receipt that show he flew into O’Hare airport on Saturday, the day before Jonas died, rented an SUV, returned it Monday morning, then flew back to the Miami International Airport Monday afternoon.”
“Marco, you just poked a big fat hole in Miller’s alibi!”
“You got it. Now we need to know why he lied to me and, more important, what his reason was for flying to O’Hare and renting a vehicle.”
“He must have been coming back to New Chapel.”
“Even so, that doesn’t make him a murderer. After all, he still has a home here. He might have come back to check on it.”
“Then what did you find out that might break this case wide open?”
“Rafe stumbled across an item in the crime section of the
News
’s online edition about problems builders at Chateaux en Carnations were having with thieves stealing copper wiring. I called the development’s general contractor to find out what steps they’d taken to stop the theft, and, as I suspected, security cameras have been installed in strategic locations. I spoke with Steve, the general contractor, just now, and he said he’ll meet us at the sales office in half an hour to let us watch the videotapes from Sunday.”
“Marco, that’s wonderful! If Miller shows up on the video at the right place and time, we’ve got our killer. But why don’t the police have the tapes?”
“They apparently didn’t know about the security cameras. When I mentioned it to Steve, he said he hadn’t even considered that the cameras might provide evidence. It’s an oversight that shouldn’t have happened, but did. Obviously, we’ll have to turn the videotapes over to the police after we view them, but we’ll deal with that later. So, tell me how it went with Iris.”
“I didn’t get to talk to her. She wasn’t due at the dry cleaner’s until noon. I tried to talk to Mrs. Frey instead, but she got hostile and chased me out. But it wasn’t a total waste of time. I learned from one of the employees that Iris found an invitation to Thursday’s speed-dating event in Jonas’s suit pocket. That answers the question of how Iris knew he’d be there. The girl said Iris was so excited when she read the invitation, she ran to the washroom and rehearsed how she was going to wow Jonas.
“So think about it, Marco. Even though Carmen wouldn’t put Iris on Jonas’s list, Iris still went to the event with high expectations and ended up being rejected. It’s not a terribly strong motive, but it’s still a motive.”
“I thought people had to sign up for the event.”
“Someone sent Jonas an invitation in a silver envelope—and silver just happens to be Carmen Gold’s favorite color . . . or metal. The problem is, though, why would Carmen send Jonas an invitation to a speed-dating event after the shameful way he used her?”
“What’s even more interesting is why Jonas would accept her invitation.”
“I can answer that one. Jonas was a womanizer. What better way to meet lots of women than a speed-dating event? And so what if Carmen was there? I don’t see him caring how it affected her.”
Marco nodded. “And Carmen would know he’d jump at the opportunity to attend.”
“Exactly, which would indicate she had an ulterior motive for inviting him, such as revenge. Maybe she damaged the Ferrari, then decided it wasn’t enough.”
“Or maybe Jonas figured out she hit his car and threatened to press charges.”
“She was so enraged, she stabbed him,” I said, “then called in an anonymous tip about Nikki to throw the cops off her trail.”
“I’m still having trouble with that scenario,” Marco said. “To make it plausible, Carmen would’ve had to know Jonas was with Nikki Sunday evening.”
“Let’s hope Carmen’s assistant can shed light on that problem tonight.”
“Who knows?” Marco said, as he made a right turn into a subdivision marked by a huge stone arch etched with the words
Chateaux en Carnations
. “Depending on what we learn here, we might not even need to go to the speed-dating event.”