ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (13 page)

Kate patted Betty’s arm, but then curiosity got the better of her. She went back around the breakfast bar and leaned over Skip, who was stooped down examining the objects on the floor. “What is it?” she asked, squinting at what looked like a clear tube.

“Glass vial of some sort. Do you see any puddles of liquid anywhere?”

Kate looked around. “No.” Then she noticed the small rug in front of the sink, near where she had been when she originally kicked the vial. Gingerly she stepped around Skip’s bulk, trying to steer clear of the rag and scrap of paper on the floor. She leaned over and touched the rug. The edge was wet. She lifted one finger to her nose and sniffed cautiously. “Rug’s damp, but it doesn’t have any odor, so not chloroform.”

“Get a couple of chairs from the dining room. Let’s put them over these things to mark and protect them,” Skip said.

“Good idea.”

She had put one chair over the damp spot on the rug and was going back for a second one when a rap of knuckles on the open door announced the arrival of the paramedics. Kate pointed to the living room. “Patient’s over there.”

She led them to Betty. They quickly and efficiently started taking the elderly woman’s vital signs and asking her questions. Kate stepped back out of the way.

“Come look at this, Kate,” Skip called over. He was squatting again, examining the scrap of paper.

She crouched down beside him. “What is it?”

“Looks like the corner of a note to me. Something’s written on it.”

Kate was trying to get her face closer to it without touching it, when they heard the crunch of glass breaking. “Oh, no!” Kate gasped, sitting back on her heels.

“What?” said the paramedic, standing between the breakfast bar and the sink. “The lady wanted some water.” Inches from his feet, where the glass vial had been, there were now just tiny specks of glass.

“Never mind, man,” Skip said. “You didn’t know it was there. But you just stepped on some evidence.”

“Shit!” The paramedic said, then gave Kate an apologetic look. “Sorry, ma’am.”

It was a day late and a dollar short, but Kate went to get another chair to put over the broken glass. When she returned, Skip was holding the scrap of paper pinched between the fingernails of his index finger and thumb. “Find me a plastic baggie, would you?” he asked. “And something to mark where my right toe is. That’s where it was. But I figure it’s not that crucial where it was, since it fell out of her hand. More important to make sure it doesn’t get damaged.”

“Good point,” Kate said as she rummaged through cabinets to find Betty’s storage supplies. She located a crayon in a drawer. Handing a freezer bag to Skip, she crouched down and made a small x next to his toe.

Skip brought the baggie, that now contained the tiny piece of paper, up close to his face. “Looks like something’s typed on it. Can you make it out?” He handed it to Kate.

“Hmm, capital S, then o and maybe an r just before the torn edge, and I think a capital I under the S.”

“Let’s bag the chloroform rag as well,” Skip said. He had a theory about what had happened and the rag was crucial to proving that theory’s validity.

Kate leaned over and carefully drew a line around the edge of the rag. Then she dug out another plastic bag and handed it to him. As he pinched a corner of the cloth and dropped it into the bag, Skip said, “Better slightly compromised evidence than damaged evidence.”

“Hope Lindstrom sees it that way.”

“You hope Lindstrom sees what that way?” the detective said from the open doorway.

W
hen Rob saw his great aunt’s door standing wide open, he broke into a run, quickly outdistancing his petite wife. He skidded through the door. Kate, Skip and a tall, thin sandy-haired man in a suit were in the kitchen area, all talking at once. Aunt Betty was sitting on her couch, holding her head, with two paramedics hovering over her.

Rob raced over to his aunt, crouching down in front of her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache. And I’m not real sure what happened,” Betty said.

As Liz came through the door, Rob straightened up and closed the distance to the breakfast bar in two strides. “What happened?”

Everyone stopped talking and turned toward him.

Kate spotted Liz behind her husband and took a step toward them, anger on her face. What were they both doing here, leaving Edie with just an English-challenged nanny and a seventeen-year-old?

“It’s covered,” Rob said. “Shelley got home from her trip yesterday.” The Franklins’ eldest had been touring Europe for a three-week mini-course sponsored by the International Studies department of her college. Kate’s maternal anxieties were assuaged, temporarily at least. Twenty-year-old Shelley had a mature, down-to-earth personality and lots of babysitting experience.

“Now tell me what happened,” Rob said.

Kate and Skip started talking at once again. Detective Lindstrom held up his arms and they went silent.

But before anyone could answer Rob’s question, one of the paramedics stepped up to him, clipboard in hand. “The lady says you’re her nephew. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Are you her medical surrogate?”

Rob nodded. “Is she really okay?”

“Seems to be,” the paramedic said. When Rob glared at him, he shrugged apologetically. “I’m not a doctor so I’m not allowed to make pronouncements about someone’s medical condition, but I see no reason for you to insist she go to the hospital.”

“In other words, she’s okay,” Rob said.

The paramedic smiled and shrugged again. “We need a signature saying the patient is voluntarily refusing transport.” He handed Rob the clipboard.

As Rob glanced over the form on it, Kate said, “Betty’s not incompetent. She can sign for herself.”

The paramedic hesitated. “Yes, ma’am.” He took the clipboard back to give it to his patient.

Rob turned to Kate. “So is anybody going to tell me what’s…”

At the same moment, the detective said, “You must be the lawyer nephew.” He stuck out his hand. “Detective Andrew Lindstrom.”

As Rob shook his hand, Lindstrom said, “Why don’t we all sit down?”

Good idea
, Rob thought, and started to sink into the nearest chair.
Why are dining room chairs scattered all over the place?

“Not there!” Kate and Skip said in unison.

Rob grabbed for the breakfast bar in an attempt to stop the momentum of his butt headed for the seat of the chair. Half hanging from the edge of the granite top, he said, “Why the hell not?”

“Because there’s evidence under it,” Kate said.

“What evidence?” Lindstrom’s voice was sharp.

Kate and Skip both started to explain how first Kate accidentally kicked the vial and then the paramedic accidentally stepped on it.

Rob put his cheek down on the cool surface of the counter, sighed and then mimicked banging his head against the counter-top.

Liz’s booming voice, so incongruous coming out of her petite body, cut across the noise. “Will somebody please tell the man what happened before he has a heart attack.”

Mac and Rose came through the still open door. “What the hell?” Mac growled, at the sight of the crowded room.

Rob groaned, pushed himself upright and walked around the end of the breakfast bar and into the living room. He flopped into an armchair. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked his aunt.

“Yes, dear. I’m fine.”

“Good. What’s in your liquor cabinet? I need a drink.”

•   •   •

Half an hour later, they were all sitting around the living room, again with several chairs dragged over from the dining area. This time, Mac was the one sitting cross-legged on the floor, between Rose’s and Skip’s chairs.

Liz had made coffee. Decaf. She figured they were all plenty tense enough.

The paramedics were gone and two crime scene techs were taking pictures in the kitchen area and gathering up the compromised evidence. Another was in the bedroom dusting the window frame around the jimmied lock for prints.

Rob swirled the ice cubes around in the remainder of his bourbon. He was considering having another one. Since he didn’t drink very often, he decided he’d better not.

Betty, Kate and Skip had filled the detective and the others in on what had happened.

Betty had been in the kitchen making tea. The water running into the kettle had apparently covered the sound of the intruder breaking in. She had just put the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on under it when an arm came around from behind her and yanked her head backward. Then a smelly rag was held over her face. The next thing she knew she was waking up with Kate crouched beside her.

Kate and Skip had taken over from there, describing how they had found her and why they had decided to bag some of the evidence to keep it safe.

“You may have to testify in court, if and when the time comes, to establish the chain of evidence,” Lindstrom was now saying to Skip. He nodded.

“Humph, a defense attorney will have a field day with that,” Rob said.

Lindstrom shrugged. “When we catch the culprit, we’ll be charging him with bigger crimes than breaking and entering and assault,” he pointed out. “But we gotta find the guy first.”

“Or woman,” Kate said.

“Nope, Kate,” Skip said. “I think this had to be a man.”

“Why?” Kate turned to Betty. “Did you see anything that would indicate it was a man or a woman?”

Betty closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “The arm was bare, no jacket or shirt sleeve. I don’t remember it being particularly hairy. The hand with the rag had a glove on it, dark brown, like a work or gardening glove.” As she opened her eyes, she couldn’t suppress the slight shudder that ran through her body. “Other than that, I couldn’t tell you. It all happened so fast.”

Liz, sitting next to Betty on the settee, gave her hand a squeeze, as Lindstrom jotted in his little pad.

“I don’t think a woman could have outrun me,” Skip said.

“I’m not sure that an elderly man could run all that much faster than an elderly woman, Skip,” Liz said.

“Good point, Mrs. Franklin,” Lindstrom said.

“Aunt Betty’s Mrs. Franklin. Call me Liz. Too confusing otherwise.”

Lindstrom nodded, as Kate was saying, “Besides, Skip, whoever it was only had to get around the corner of the building before you got to the window. Once they were on the sidewalk they could just innocently stroll along. Did you see anybody out front?”

“Two women walking by. They weren’t together. Mrs. Forsythe and another one I didn’t recognize. And I concede the point, Kate,” Skip said, smiling at her. “Mrs. Forsythe would definitely be strong enough and fast enough to pull this off.”

“They didn’t see anyone running away?” Rob asked.

“I didn’t take the time to ask them. I wanted to get back inside and make sure Kate and Betty were okay,” Skip said. “We keep assuming this is just one culprit, but it occurred to me that there could be two people working together, and one could’ve still been in the apartment.”

“Who’s Mrs. Forsythe?” Lindstrom asked. He’d been trying to place the name. He couldn’t recall seeing it in any of the reports his officers had flagged as having potentially useful information.

“Wife of one of the men Doris flirted with,” Kate said. “She and her husband both dismissed the flirtation, but she’s very fit for her age. Was actually working out in the gym when we caught up with her.”

Skip pulled his list of interviewees out of his pocket and consulted it. “They’re two buildings over, near the recreation center, apartment 210.”

“Any other impressions of them?” Lindstrom asked.

“He probably likes alcohol a little too much for his own good,” Kate said, with a shrug.

“How’d you figure that out?” Skip asked, flashing her an impressed smile.

Kate tapped her nose. “There’s a skin disease that causes that kind of large nose with broken veins,” she said, “but it’s aggravated by alcohol abuse.”

Rob slouched in his chair, swirling the ice cubes in his glass, contemplating that second bourbon again.

Kate gave him a concerned look. He didn’t seem to be quite himself tonight. Maybe he had lost his court case. With all the chaos, there had been no chance to ask how that had gone. Kate silently forgave Liz for leaving her child in the hands of their daughters and coming with him. They were competent hands and Liz was no doubt worried about Rob’s health right now. He was definitely in stress overload.

“Detective, I’m assuming the same thing has occurred to you,” Skip was saying. “I’m thinking that scrap of paper was the corner of a bogus suicide note, in which Mrs. Franklin was supposedly admitting that she was the killer. The intruder was probably planning to knock her out with the chloroform, then inject her with whatever was in the vial. If he, or
she
,” he smiled at Kate, “could make it look like Betty had taken her own life out of remorse, you would have your case tied up in a nice pretty bow and the killer’d be in the clear.”

“What about the broken lock on the window?” Kate asked.

“The frame’s scuffed up but the lock’s not broken,” Lindstrom said.

“Killer probably used a slim jim,” Skip said.

“What’s that?” Kate asked.

“A slim metal strip that you push up between the two parts of the window to work the lock open.”

Kate gave him a warm smile. Skip smiled back at her and then continued, “If we hadn’t interrupted him, the killer probably would’ve locked the window and slipped out the door. Scuff marks on the window frame might not have even been noticed if we hadn’t known that’s how someone came in.”

Rob was glancing back and forth between Kate and Skip. What was it with these two and their mutual admiration club?

Lindstrom pushed up out of his chair. “I think I’ll be paying the Forsythes a visit this evening.”

“We’re done, Detective,” one of the techs said.

“Good. Let me know what the lab comes up with as soon as you can.” The detective was acting like he believed Mrs. Franklin had been attacked, but he really wasn’t sure what to think. The department’s computer geeks had sent over their report that afternoon. The contested subplot idea first appeared in Mrs. Franklin’s earlier drafts of her book four days after she had met with Mrs. Blackwell. The victim’s plagiarism accusation seemed to be legitimate.