Lye in Wait (23 page)

I sighed. "I was at Beans R Us. Talking to Walter's fiancee and
that friend of theirs."

"What did you talk about?"

"I wanted to find out more about them, because I knew they
both hung out with Walter. And I wanted to make sure Debby
knew about the fire at Walter's-don't worry, I didn't mention
arson-and I asked how to get a hold of them if I needed to. Jacob
didn't want to tell me, but Debby said her last name is Silverman.
Deborah Silverman. I got her phone number. I'll get it for you before you leave."

"Tell me why you've zeroed in on those two."

I shrugged. "They're the only ones I've found who might have
wanted Walter dead. They knew he had the money from the lottery. I can't tell about Debby-she seems pretty upset that he died,
but I can't be sure. But I think Jacob is in love with Debby, and he
resented Walter. He also didn't like Walter giving all that money
away to charities."

"He told you this?"

"When they came in while we were cleaning out Walter's place,
he mentioned something about how Walter could have used that
money in better ways."

"I heard him, too. He didn't sound happy," Meghan said.

Ambrose nodded, scribbling in his notebook.

Looking up, he said, "Did you say anything to either of them
that would set them off somehow? Could one of them have left the
coffee shop, gotten to the truck, and positioned it on your route
home?"

"They said they hadn't heard about the fire. I gave them a copy
of the paper so they could read about it."

"Yeah, I saw that. Nice picture."

I ignored him. "I can't think of a thing that would make them
come after me. If they'd started the fire, I guess that could have
been a sensitive point. And either of them would've had time to
get the truck situated, since I was in the tearoom for at least ten
minutes."

Ambrose shut his notebook. "I'll look into this, see if we can't
pin down the owner of the truck. In the meantime you've got to
stop poking into this on your own. I told you it could get dangerous-and today it did. I don't want something like that happening
again. You might not be as quick on your feet next time."

Next time. That had an unpleasant ring to it.

"So can you tell us anything about your investigation?" Meghan
said.

Ambrose looked pained.

"Of course he can't," I said. "We're suspects. At least I am."

"Is that true?" Meghan asked Ambrose. "You won't tell us
what's going on even though we could be in danger because you
think we killed Walter?"

He sighed. "It has nothing to do with you being suspects."

"So we are suspects," Meghan said.

"Not currently."

"Did you investigate us?" I asked.

"Enough to feel confident that neither of you had reason to be
involved in the murder. Though I don't like how deeply involved
you've become in the whole situation."

"I couldn't see any other choice," I said.

"You had a choice," Ambrose said. "You were just too.. .pigheaded to take it. And today you almost died because of it."

"Hey, that's not-"

"Tell him about the papers," Meghan interrupted.

"Papers?" he asked, giving me the evil eye.

"Oh, that's not important. I'm sure-"

"Tell him."

Meghan still had her back up from her encounter with Grace,
and she wasn't too happy that someone had tried to kill me earlier.
Fighting her now would be a lost cause.

"We took some papers from Walter's when we were cleaning out his house for his mother. We brought them over here. I
thought I could get a handle on his financial situation from them.
And I wanted to know why he committed suicide. Then later I
thought there might be something that would help figure out who
killed him."

He sighed. "Knowing full well you were withholding evidence
from us."

"No! Well, not at first. Maybe later I sort of knew you'd want to
see them. I planned to bring them to the station today."

His look said it all.

"I did! And you know, if I hadn't moved those three boxes of
papers over here, they would have burned in the fire anyway."

"Three boxes? So why didn't you bring them to the PD today?"

"Well, for one, someone tried to kill me this afternoon."

He looked a little sheepish until I went on in a much smaller
voice. "And besides, they're gone now. When the thief took our
jewelry yesterday, he took the boxes, too."

" Thiefl" he said, his voice raising. "What goddamn thief?"

"OFFICER DANSON HASN'T HAD a chance to fill you in," Meghan
said, a little too magnanimously in my opinion, and fleshed out
the details of the burglary.

"Let me get this straight. You removed paperwork from a possible murder victim's house, which then burnt to the ground,
but you didn't see fit to share it with the police. What were you
thinking?"

"That you treated me like crap," I snapped. He looked bewildered. "Calling me down to your office, calling me a suspect. And
besides," I finished lamely, "I knew you'd yell at me."

"Yell at you! Yell at you?" He took a deep breath. And another.
With careful calm he said, "Is there anything else you've been
doing on your own that I need to know about?"

"No."

He looked at Meghan. She smiled and shook her head. Darn
those two, anyway. I'd had just about enough of their simpatico.

Ambrose drank some coffee, holding the mug in front of his
face with both hands. I could almost hear him thinking. After several swallows, he put it down and said, "Did you find anything in
the papers?"

"Walter took blood pressure medication. He went to the Evergreen State Fair this year. And he gave a ton of money away to
children's charities."

He sighed. "Great"

We sat in silence for a few moments.

"Does anyone want more coffee?" I asked.

Ambrose ignored me. "Do you have someplace where you can
go stay for a while?"

"Me? I can't leave. I have a business to run," I said.

He thought a moment. "You've pissed somebody off, and I
don't know who. Or how. The department doesn't have enough
manpower to assign someone to watch this house. I can ask the
patrol cars to come by more often if you insist on staying, but
that's all I can do."

"It'll have to be enough," I said.

"Are you staying, too?" Ambrose asked Meghan. She hesitated,
then nodded.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to move your daughter someplace else
for a few days. If nothing else, it'll mess up any plans your ex-husband might have."

"We have friends she can stay with."

"Good. And I want you to call me immediately if anything happens. Immediately. These are my cell and home numbers if you
can't reach me at work."

"Okay." I took the numbers. "Thanks. I'll get Deborah Silverman's phone number."

Meghan said good night to Ambrose and went upstairs, no
doubt to talk to Erin about the scene with her father and grandmother. I gimped up behind her, fished the scrap of newspaper out
of the slacks lying on my bedroom floor, and copied the number
onto a fresh sheet of notebook paper. Then I made my geriatric
way back down the stairs and handed it to him.

"See me out?" he asked, tucking it inside his notebook.

I followed him to the front door. He opened it and turned back
to me. "I'll share whatever I can with you, just please stop asking
questions. Will you do that?"

"I'll try."

He sighed. "You've already been hurt. Please, Sophie Mae. Be
careful." Then he hesitated, opened his mouth, and then closed it
again. He turned and walked outside without another word.

I found myself wanting to know what he had been going to
say.

"Barr?"

He turned around, looking up at me from the front gate.

I wavered. "Never mind."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's nothing."

"Okay. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

I walked back inside, shutting the door firmly behind me.

I'd called him Barr without thinking. And he hadn't seemed to
mind.

The kitchen was a mess. Lamenting the extra piece of corn
bread I'd consumed out of cowardice, I carried dishes to the sink and put leftovers in the fridge. Once the dishwasher had started its
wash cycle, I collapsed on the sofa to wait for Meghan.

Upstairs, she would be trying to explain to Erin how grown-ups
could be assholes-though she'd use a term more suited for tender ears-and that Brodie was in no danger of being put to sleep.
Then Meghan would have to turn around and tell her daughter to
stay with her friend Zoe for a few days. How much would she say
about why? How much would Erin figure out on her own? Considering her sometimes-disconcerting intelligence, probably more
than Meghan wanted to divulge.

It would be just a few days, wouldn't it? Ambrose seemed smart
and dedicated. He'd figure this out soon. I shook my head. Hope
wouldn't make it so. Already I seemed to have discovered more
than the police had. But with Ambrose playing his cards so tight to
his chest, I couldn't be sure. Even though I knew it was childish, it
didn't seem fair that I'd shared and he hadn't.

I got up from the sofa and began to check the windows. Most of
them opened from the bottom, an old weighted-sash design. But
in the kitchen, the basement, and the upstairs bathroom, Meghan
had updated to modern double-paned windows with drop-in casings. These slid open to the side. All had sturdy locks, but adding
doweling to prevent them from opening if the locks were broken
would be fast and inexpensive. Not a lot we could do about someone breaking the glass, though.

I could...

... Oh God. My stomach flipped over as I realized that, just for
a moment, I'd thought of asking Walter to secure the windows. I
swallowed and continued checking the locks.

Okay, so I seemed to have gotten us into this pickle: possibly in
danger (definitely, insisted a small voice), and having to live on the
defensive as a result. I was thinking about how to make the house
more secure. Erin couldn't live with Zoe's family-at least that's
where I assumed Meghan would send her-forever. I couldn't just
sit around while our lives closed in on us, afraid, jumping at every
sound, counting on Ambrose. I'd started something, in ignorance
of what I was getting into, and now I couldn't just call a time-out.
Things had gone too far.

Problem was, even if I wanted to continue poking into Walter's
death, I had no idea what-or who-to poke next.

Down in my workroom I checked the locks again, twisted the
deadbolt to make sure it latched all the way. Feeling exposed, I
turned off the lights and moved from window to window, standing
back so I couldn't be seen. Light from the street filtered through
toward the alley, pale and mottled by angled geometric shadows
of house, fence, bushes, and.. .what was that one? The one moving
back and forth? After a while, I traced it to a hanging bird feeder
nudged by the wind.

Disgusted, I went back upstairs. For the first time since I'd
lived with Meghan, I closed and locked the door that led from the
kitchen to the basement steps. Not sure how much good it would
do, given the wobbly, painted doorknob and delicate old-fashioned
key. But it made me feel better to close off that part of the house,
however ineffectively.

Brodie sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking up with a worried expression on his fox-like face. While I'd been in the basement
Meghan had brought him down from Erin's bedroom, probably to
take him outside, and neglected to carry him back up with her. His arthritis prevented him from bounding up the stairs the way he
used to. I sat down and ran my fingers through his fur, smoothing
the light strip that ruffled across his shoulders. Legend held that
the fairies' saddles left this mark when they used corgis as steeds
on their magical nocturnal wanderings.

"I don't want to disturb your girls," I whispered. "Or I'd carry
you up myself."

Brodie sighed and slid his forepaws out a few inches. That was
all it took for him to lie down. He laid his chin on his paws and
looked up at me. Dogs must have a gene that tells them when to
use that look to best advantage.

Standing up, I coaxed the little dog into the living room and
lifted him up onto the sofa with me. Pulling the afghan from
where it lay folded along the back, I rested my head on a throw
pillow. Brodie snuggled up next to me, nestling the top of his head
up under my arm. His warmth felt comfortable and solid. I closed
my eyes, just for a moment.

I awoke with a start, and Brodie barked, a high, alarmed bark.
Shushing him, I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest. Helping
the dog to the floor, I strained to hear what had awoken me. I stood
and moved quickly through the house, looking out the windows,
checking the locks all over again. Brodie followed behind me, muttering but not barking again, his toenails clicking when we moved
off the carpet. The only unusual thing was an unfamiliar white car
parked across the street.