Murder on Sagebrush Lane (9 page)

26

Harrie’s brain buzzed. She could almost feel the neurons firing and bouncing around inside her head. While waiting for DJ, she and Caroline had spent the time discussing their next move.

Harrie now headed back to her neighborhood to speak to a woman who lived down the street from her. This woman had called Caroline before Harrie got there with Katie. It seemed she had important information that she wanted to relay but not to the police. She wouldn’t tell Caroline what it was. She insisted on speaking to either Caroline or Harrie in person.

Caroline assumed that Harrie knew the woman, and after they got Katie settled, she told Harrie about the call.

“But I’ve only recently met the people in my cul-de-sac, and I don’t know any of them well. Until this morning, I’d never been even been to the next block, and I never met any of those residents. Why would she want to talk to us? How did she know your number?”

“She looked me up in the phone book.” At the look on Harrie’s face, Caroline held up her hand. “I know. My question exactly. How did she get my name to look up?”

“And how does she know my name?” Harrie shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Remember the article in the newspaper last year that they did on Southwest Editing Services?”

“Sure. It was wonderful exposure for the company and worked out really well for us. I know we got most of our new clients based on that publicity. I never expected the photographer, or such a big article.”

Caroline smiled. “That’s how she knew about both of us. She apparently keeps a close eye on what goes on in our fair city. She must have an impressive filing system that enables her to put her finger on a particular piece of information when she needs it.”

“I don’t know.” Harrie shook her head. “What’s her name and where, exactly, does she live?”

“Her name is Winnie Devlin, and she lives next door to the Rinaldi house.”

So, here was Harrie, on her way to see a woman she’d never met, but one who apparently knew quite a bit about her.

When she arrived on her street, Harrie decided to park in her own garage and walk to Winnie Devlin’s home. She had a couple of reasons for that: first, if the elusive dark blue BMW was still lurking in the neighborhood, she didn’t want to announce her return. And for another, and perhaps the most pressing reason, Harrie didn’t want any patrolling police cars to know she was not where she was supposed to be.

She parked the car in the garage and was opening the door to the utility room when her cell phone rang. She almost jumped out of her skin, and her heart pounded wildly until she checked the caller ID. Thank God, it wasn’t DJ. She breathed a sigh of relief and flipped open the phone.

“Hey Ginger. What’s up?”

“Nice try, Lucille. I just called you at Caroline’s and she told me you’re off detecting. Are you nuts? DJ will have your head if he finds out.” Ginger’s voice sounded more concerned than irritated.

“Relax,” Harrie said. “He’ll be at the office for a couple of hours. This won’t take any time at all.”

Ginger wasn’t impressed. “Well, you’re
not
doing this by yourself. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Harrie said. “But you’d better hurry. I have to be back before DJ returns. If you’re not here in those promised ten minutes, I’m going without you.”

Harrie disconnected the phone and went inside. She walked around her house, checking the locks on all the outside doors. She had a “thing” about home security. Her grandfather had been an FBI agent and impressed upon her as a child the importance of securing ones home. Now, of course, being married to DJ brought all those early lessons even closer. With the frenzy of activity today, she couldn’t remember if she’d locked everything before she left. The blinds needed to be adjusted for evening too. She had another “thing” about leaving curtains and blinds open at night, where anybody passing by could see into her home. She checked the timers on the lights in the rooms at the front of the house. A quick look at her watch told her it was now just 5:15. At this time of year, it would be another three hours before sundown. By then the timers would come on. It gave the house an “occupied” look, hopefully discouraging any burglars.

Back in the kitchen she noticed the red light blinking on her answering machine. She pressed the retrieve button and the disembodied voice announced she had three messages. She pressed play and grabbed a pencil to write down names and numbers.

The first two recordings were devoid of speech. Whoever it was apparently stayed on the line through the announcement, but said nothing. All she heard was deep breathing. But when she listened to the third call, Harrie felt a chill speed up her arms and into her neck. Her heart beat a little faster.

“Mrs. Scott,” a deep, breathy voice said. “I believe you have something I need. I don’t have time to mess around so follow my instructions. Meet me tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. I’ll be waiting for you beside the docking station at the base of the Tram. I’m sure you know where it is. And if you don’t want anything bad to happen, don’t tell anybody about this.”

The answering machine voice announced, “End of message,” and the final beep ended the recording.

Harrie looked at the offending machine. She shook so hard her teeth chattered, and her feet seemed glued to the floor.
Who is this person? How does he know my name? What does he think I have?

When the doorbell rang, she jerked so violently she knocked the answering machine off the desk. It landed on the floor with a loud crash.

At that same moment, the sound of a key in the front door announced the arrival of Ginger, and she called out, “Harrie, are you okay? What’s happening in there?”

Before Harrie could respond, Ginger was at her side. “What’s wrong? I heard a loud noise.” She looked down and saw the broken equipment.

Harrie bent over to pick up the machine. The flimsy plastic case had split apart, and she carefully picked up the pieces.

“Just me being clumsy.” She shook so hard she dropped one of the pieces. Then she noticed the cassette tape containing the message. It had apparently skidded across the floor when the machine came apart. She picked it up and clutched it to her.

Ginger took the machine from her and set it back on the desk. “You look terrible. What in blazes is going on?”

Harrie handed her the notepad where she’d jotted down the message from the strange voice.

Ginger’s eyebrows furrowed as she read the note. “I hope you plan to call DJ immediately. This is too creepy.”

Harrie looked at her watch once more. “I’ll tell him as soon as we finish talking with Winnie Devlin.”

She retrieved her handbag and dropped the cassette tape into a zippered pocket. “There’s nothing he can do right this minute anyway. Come on.”

She grabbed Ginger’s arm and pulled her along. “Let’s get out of here. Can you drive us down the street in your car? I suddenly find my knees are a bit wobbly.”

27

“Put on your seat belt, for Pete’s sake.” Ginger gave Harrie a stern look. “That damned buzzer will drive me crazy unless you buckle up.”

Harrie smiled. She knew Ginger often hid any feelings of apprehension under a protective layer of gruffness. “Yes, Ma’am, right away, Mother.”

Ginger shot her a look, then her face creased into a grin. “Okay, point taken. But you know, this insistence of yours—plunging into dangerous situations—has caused me a great deal of stress. I’m guessing you’ve knocked about five years off my life with your antics.”

Harrie almost managed a contrite smile, but gave up. “I know, I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to cause you grief, but I can’t just ignore these things. There are times I have to take action.”

It took less than two minutes to reach their destination. A police car sat in front of the Rinaldi home, but Harrie noticed the officer inside paid no attention to their arrival in Winnie Devlin’s driveway. The two women didn’t speak as they exited the car and walked to the front door. Harrie pressed the doorbell and heard the chime inside the house.

The woman who answered the door was about 5 feet 4 inches, with thin, mousey brown hair, cut in a style that could only have been achieved by using hedge clippers. Her build could best be described as “stocky,” and that was the kindest thing Harrie could say about it. Her piercing, dark brown eyes were her most prominent feature. She wore a pair of glasses with clear plastic frames and oversized lenses. The lenses were covered with greasy prints from her fingers constantly pushing them back on her nose.

“Yes?” The woman squinted, pushed the glasses back up on her nose, and her bushy eyebrows traveled up half an inch into her forehead.

Harrie breathed deeply before she spoke. “I’m Harrie McKinsey Scott, and this is my associate Ginger Vaughn. You called my mother-in-law, Caroline Johnson, and said you wanted to speak to me.”

The woman visibly relaxed and assumed a friendlier attitude. “Why yes, come in. I’ve been expecting you.” She stood back and opened the door wider.

Harrie asked, “It’s Mrs. Devlin, isn’t it?”

“You can call me Winnie. Everybody does.” She led them into a surprisingly well-appointed living room, and indicated they should have a seat on the delicate, brocade sofa. She seated herself in a matching armchair.

Harrie said, “Mrs. Devlin . . . ” Winnie shook her head, and Harrie corrected herself. “Winnie,” she said, “how do you know me?”

Winnie seemed confused. “Excuse me?”

Harrie tried again. “Why did you call and ask for me? Have we ever met?”

“I don’t think so,” Winnie said. “But you’re my neighbor.”

Harrie’s eyes narrowed. “And how did you know I was your neighbor? We’ve only lived in this area a few months. I just recently met the people who live right next to me.”

Winnie smiled, “But don’t you see? I know all the neighbors on this street. The people next to your house told me all about you and your FBI husband.”

Harrie decided to let that pass for now. “Okay, what is it you want to tell me?”

“You’re the woman I saw walking past my house this morning.” It was a statement but seemed intended as a question.

Harrie’s guard went up. “My husband and I did walk by here this morning. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I know you’re the woman. I recognize you. That red hair of yours is hard to miss.”

Harrie didn’t know what to say, and was grateful when Ginger jumped into the conversation. “Why did you want to speak to Harrie, Mrs. Devlin?”

Winnie produced a coy smile. “Now, now, call me Winnie. I really prefer that, you know.”

“All right, Winnie. Why did you ask to see Harrie in person?”

Winnie hesitated a fraction of a second. “Well, you see,” she smoothed the skirt of her dress, “I’m helping the police. They’ve asked me to see what I can find out about the goings on at the house next door. Naturally, when I remembered seeing you and that tall, dark-haired man walk past my window so early in the morning, I figured it might be related to the murder. So why were you there?”

Harrie could feel her temper rising, and she deliberately pushed it back down before she spoke. “Mrs. Devlin—ah, Winnie—I’ve already spoken to the police today, several times in fact. They know why we were here this morning. So there’s no need to go into that with you. Is that the big thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

Winnie seemed to deflate but quickly recovered herself. “No, of course not. My information is far more important. Tell me about the little girl you had with you. Wasn’t that Mr. Rinaldi’s daughter?”

Harrie made a move to rise from the sofa. “Winnie, I think this discussion is over. I’m not at liberty to discuss any of this with you. I don’t know the real reason you asked me here, but if it’s to question me about the murder of Michael Rinaldi, or the status of his daughter, I have nothing to say.”

Winnie was on her feet with a speed Harrie would not have thought possible, considering her chunky build. “No!” She seemed frightened that Harrie and Ginger would leave.

“You can’t go yet. You don’t understand. I have important information, but I have to be sure I’m giving it to the right person.” Her eyes had grown even larger, if possible.

Harrie looked at Ginger, and they sat back down. “Okay. We’ll stay a few more minutes. But we are not here to answer questions. If you have information, tell me what it is.”

“Okay,” Winnie said. “No more questions.” She rearranged herself in the chair, took a breath, and continued.

“My husband and I came into a bit of money a couple of years ago. I’d always wanted to live in a fine house like this, in such a nice neighborhood. So I started looking at ways to invest our windfall. We looked all over town for a house, but none of them seemed quite right, if you know what I mean.” She looked at Harrie and Ginger to make sure they were still paying attention. They both nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“When we saw this house, I knew it was perfect for us. It had just been built and we were the first ones in the neighborhood. It was important to me to get to know everybody, so when each family moved in, I went to their house with a casserole, introduced myself, and welcomed them to the community. It was so wonderful. All these lovely people, living right here in our neighborhood.” She seemed to lose herself in the memories.

Harrie cleared her throat, and Winnie started again. “About a year ago, the Rinaldis showed up and bought the house next door. I noticed they had a little girl, and I tried to be friendly with them but they were very snooty. They acted as though I wasn't good enough to be friends with the likes of them, with all their fancy furniture, clothes and cars. Then I figured it out. That kid was adopted. She had to be.”

She gave a determined nod of her head, as though that settled everything.

Harrie looked at Ginger, and Ginger shrugged as if to say, “I have no clue!” Harrie shook her head. “I still don’t see the point of all this, Mrs. Devlin. What made you think Katie was adopted, and why is that any business of yours?”

This time Winnie didn’t try to correct her. “Don’t you see, Mrs. Scott? It should be obvious to everyone by now.”

Ginger had remained silent through this pointless tale, and finally spoke up. “Perhaps we’re dense, Mrs. Devlin, because we still don’t see where you’re going with this conversation. What are you trying to tell us?”

Winnie huffed and crossed her arms. “That little girl—Katie Rinaldi—she’s my granddaughter.”