All Natural Murder (21 page)

Todd raised the knife, his eyes unreadable through the clear lenses of his glasses. I scooted on the truck seat until my back hit the passenger door, my mind motoring. If I could pop the door open, I could jump into the truck bed and grab the gun. But would I be fast enough?

“What the hell are you doing in my truck?” he asked, his voice loud, the anger obvious.

I stared at him, my mind no longer motoring. Now it was idling. All I could think was, “Please don’t stab me. Please don’t stab me.”

“Answer me!”

He reached into the truck and swiped at my leg with his free hand. I scrunched up farther against the door, not sure I could get out before Todd grabbed me.

“I was . . .” I tried to think of any plausible reason I might be sitting in the truck of a likely killer. “I wanted to leave you a note,” I blurted out.

Todd gestured toward the windshield. “You couldn’t leave it under my wipers?”

“Nothing to write with. I was looking for a pen and some paper.” Sweat poured down my temples, and I wanted to wipe the mess away, but my brain no longer had control over my arms. Or my legs. All I could do was sit frozen in the corner.

A burly man not much smaller than Shaquille O’Neal came into view. “Need any help, Todd?” the man asked.

I didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. Surely Todd wouldn’t try to kill me with a witness present, would he? Then again, in some states, you could beat a robber to death with your shoe if he broke into your house, and the police wouldn’t arrest you. Did the same apply if someone broke into your truck?

Todd glanced at the man, who probably couldn’t see the knife behind the door. “I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

The man moved past the truck and on his way. I almost yelled to him for help, but I wasn’t sure whether he’d help me or Todd.

Todd lowered the knife. A positive sign.

“So if you
had
left me a note, what would it say?”

Good question.

“Um, to meet me at the Watering Hole after work.” What the hell made me pick a bar as a meeting place? I didn’t hang out in bars.

Todd folded the knife and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Wow, you’d break into my truck to set up a rendezvous? Sorry, honey, I’m married. Guess you couldn’t stop thinking about me after we met at the truck rally.”

I shot up from the corner without thinking. “I’m not hitting on you.”

Todd reached for his back pocket, and I tensed. When his hand reappeared, it held a bandanna. He whipped off his glasses and rubbed the lenses. “Then what did you want to meet for?”

“To talk about Thursday night. You know, the night Bobby Joe was killed.”

What was wrong with me? Here I thought Todd killed Bobby Joe, and I was provoking him while trapped in his truck, while he stood outside with a knife. What an idiot!

Todd’s hand froze for a second, then he resumed cleaning his glasses. He slid them back on his nose and folded up the bandanna before stuffing it in his pocket. “What about Thursday night?”

“You know,” I said, “it’s pretty hot in here. I’m just gonna step outside.”

Todd reached over and hit the lock button on the driver’s-side door. I heard a click in response from the passenger door behind me. My breathing grew shallow, my lungs begging for more oxygen. I grabbed my St. Christopher medal and pressed the smooth surface to my lips.

“The hell you are,” he said. “Why do you keep asking about Thursday night?”

“You’re right. Forget I said anything.”

I had to get out of this truck. Maybe I could honk the horn with my foot. Someone might notice and come help me. But I hadn’t seen anyone in the lot except that Jolly Green Giant. Of course, I’d been so focused on Todd that a band of trumpeters could have marched through and I would have missed them.

“Sounds like you think I had something to do with Bobby Joe’s death,” Todd said. “Now I know why you were chasing Maria at the rally. You thought she’d tell you I had a hand in it.”

My arms finally started working, and I reached out to him, palms up, like a beggar in the street seeking a handout. “He seduced your wife. No one could possibly blame you for killing him.” Well, other than twelve of his peers, but I didn’t mention that.

Todd placed a foot on the side step and rested one elbow on the armrest inside the door. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Of course you didn’t,” my lips said. But my mind screamed, “Yes, you did.”

“Then why do you keep pestering me about where I was?”

I sized up Todd’s threat level. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but he was most likely stronger. If I ever wanted to escape this truck, honesty might be the best approach. “My sister was dating Bobby Joe, and I’m worried the police think she did it.”

“So you decided to play Little Miss Detective and point the blame somewhere else. You planning on sticking something in my truck, then calling the cops with an anonymous tip?” He snarled the last two words, like it wouldn’t be the first anonymous tip pointed his way.

“Don’t be silly.” But darn, that would have been a good plan.

Todd straightened up and put his foot back on the ground, creating a small draft that I lapped up. At this rate, I was going to die of heat exhaustion. Todd wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I’ve got an alibi.”

Someone near the building called Todd’s name. He looked in that direction and raised a hand in acknowledgment.

It was now or never.

I twisted around, jerked up the door lock, grabbed the handle, and pushed. The door opened so fast, I almost fell onto the pavement. I managed to swing a foot out and bounce down from the truck, slamming the door shut at the same time.

I looked at Todd over the truck bed.

“You got out,” he said. The small smile on his lips implied more amusement than surprise or anger. He rubbed at the brown stubble on his chin.

I couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he was for a killer, and I felt a tickle of doubt. Could I have been wrong about Todd? But what about his Twitter post?

Now that I wasn’t locked in his truck, I could afford to rile him up a little. I rested my forearms on the side of the truck, dangling my hands toward the bed, matching his calm attitude. “Your alibi might not be as good as you think.”

He scowled, and I stiffened. Not only did he have that knife in his pocket, but the gun still sat in the tool box. It was closer to me than to him, but the difference was that Todd probably knew how to use it.

“You sure think you know a lot,” he said.

“I know your wife lied about your alibi to the police.” Okay, so I didn’t know for a fact, but the implication had been there.

“Maybe I have another alibi.”

That stopped me. Why would Maria need to create a fake alibi if Todd already had one? Where was he that night? Anger management class? Wifebeaters Anonymous?

“Tell me about it,” I said, trying not to drool in my eagerness to find out.

“You tell me, since you know so much.”

“You posted on Twitter that your wife betrayed you. That was the same night Bobby Joe was killed.”

Todd’s face reddened. “And what would you do if you found out your wife was cheating on you with some loser?”

“Um, kill him?” I said. “I think I already mentioned that.”

“Or maybe you’d run to the nearest bar and pick up the first chick you saw to get back at your two-timing spouse.”

My mouth dropped open. Literally. “You were with another woman?”

“You got it. Not that anything happened. I couldn’t bring myself to cheat on my wife, even if she did it to me.” Todd adjusted his glasses. “Maria has no idea where I was that night, but she lied to the cops to give me an alibi.”

“But why would she even protect you? I heard that you beat her.” An image of the knife in his pocket popped into my head, and I wondered if I should be keeping my mouth shut.

Todd harrumphed. “My mother-in-law tell you that?”

“Well, not directly.”

“She’s said a lot worse, believe me. Can’t stand the fact that her daughter married a gringo, as she likes to call me. Talks shit about me every chance she gets.”

“Sounds like the mother-in-law from hell.” For a moment, I felt sorry for Todd, even if he might be a killer.

Todd jutted his chin out. “You don’t know the half of it. Tells people I’m a child molester, that I’m running from the law. She had a husband all picked out for Maria, and she never got over it when Maria married me instead.”

So that was it. A bitter mother refused to accept her son-in-law and instead spread lies about him. I felt more deflated than a Macy’s parade balloon the day after Thanksgiving. I’d based all my assumptions about Todd’s guilt on the fact that he beat his wife. And he’d just told me that not only did he not hit his wife, but he had a solid alibi for Bobby Joe’s murder.

Todd flicked a fly off his forearm. “Looks like you’ll have to find someone else to blame Bobby Joe’s death on.”

I swallowed hard, trying to quell my sense of despair as I grasped at the one thing that had been nagging me since my chat with Kimmie.

If Maria hadn’t been with Todd the night Bobby Joe was killed, then where was she?

Before I could ask Todd about Maria’s whereabouts that night, he slapped the side of his pickup. “I gotta get home. Make some dinner for Maria before she gets off work.”

Todd climbed into his truck and slammed the door shut as I half-heartedly raised a hand to stop him. There was really no point in asking him about Maria’s alibi. If he’d been at a bar the night Bobby Joe was killed, then he couldn’t verify where his wife had been. He could only tell me whatever she’d told him, which might not be the truth.

When Todd started the engine, I jumped back. Considering I’d broken into his truck, he might run over my toes to show his unhappiness with me.

As he drove away, I waved exhaust fumes from in front of my face, relieved to have survived the confrontation. Then again, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in danger at all. The poor guy, going about his regular day, got off work and found his truck door open. It was somewhat understandable that he’d pull out a weapon in defense, in case I turned out to be a homicidal maniac.

Which apparently Todd wasn’t. He wasn’t even a wife beater, for crying out loud. He was a loving husband who cooked dinner for his wife.

I groaned and rubbed at my sweaty temples. I’d been so sure that he was the killer. The motive fit, he was definitely strong enough to land a fatal blow, and his Twitter page had hinted at revenge for his wife’s affair. He might be lying about his alibi, but he’d sounded too cocky for me to believe that. And that meant I was back at square one, minus one suspect.

Well, I wasn’t going to solve the crime standing in a hot parking lot, feeling sorry for myself. I got back in my car and drove home, trying to shake off how wrong I’d been.

Ashlee’s Camaro hogged the driveway. As I looked for a spot on the street, I saw a dark blue Crown Victoria slide away from the curb, Detective Palmer behind the wheel. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, but all I could do was stare. What was he doing here? Had something happened?

I parked as quickly as I could and hopped out, only partially aware of the evening’s lingering heat. I hurried up the walk and into the house. Even from the entryway, I could hear Ashlee’s wails. I ran into the kitchen to find out what had happened.

Ashlee sat at the table with her head on her arms. Mom stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders and offering reassuring noises.

“Mom, what’s going on?” I asked.

Before Mom could answer, Ashlee lifted her head. “That policeman was here again. I think he’s about to arrest me.” She laid her head back down, a sob escaping.

“Is that true?” I asked Mom.

“I’m sure he just needed to ask a few more questions.”

Ashlee’s head popped back up. “Then why did he ask the exact same questions as last time?”

“Maybe he forgot to write down the answers last time,” Mom said.

I started to comment on how ridiculous that statement was, but Mom cut me off. “Dana, you told me you knew who the killer was. Did you have any luck finding the proof?”

Her question brought back the realization that I’d completely failed at solving Bobby Joe’s murder. “Sorry, a dead end.” I winced at my choice of words as Ashlee broke into new sobs.

“Oh, God, they’ll lock me up for sure,” she said.

Mom frowned at me, and I flushed.

“You wouldn’t believe how mean he was to me.” Ashlee sniffed. “He didn’t even smile this time.”

Detective Palmer was probably feeling threatened by my superior investigating skills and wanted to take his bitterness out on Ashlee. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested that they weren’t making any progress in the case.

Mom squeezed Ashlee’s shoulder. “We’ll be right back.” She walked over to where I stood, took me by the elbow, and led me into the other room.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your sister,” she said in a low voice, “but I think she’s in real trouble now. This visit from the police was much more serious than last time. He was quite stern with her. Made several veiled accusations.”

Her hand still rested on my elbow. As she spoke, her grip tightened, but that was nothing compared to the invisible hand of worry squeezing my innards.

“Did you call your lawyer?” I asked.

“Of course. He said not to answer any more questions and call him if she’s arrested. But I don’t want it to get that far. Your sister is much too fragile to be arrested.” Mom released her grip on my arm. She stared at the picture of Dad on the mantel for a moment, then turned back to me. Who else could be the killer, Dana?

I threw up my hands. “I don’t know. It could be anyone. Even someone I haven’t thought of yet. I still can’t believe how wrong I was about Todd.”

She gestured toward the kitchen. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.”

“But how can the police possibly think she did it? It’s absurd.”

“She found out that very night that Bobby Joe was cheating on her. She had that big argument with him in front of all those people. And she doesn’t have a good alibi.”

I rubbed my eyes, but the vision of Ashlee in prison garb didn’t go away. Did they at least let you accessorize in prison?

“There’s no one else?” Mom asked.

“I still have some possibilities. Bobby Joe’s boss was definitely hiding something last time I was out there, but I don’t know if it has anything to do with the murder.”

“Great. Go talk to him again.” She gave me a critical look and adjusted the collar of my polo shirt. “See what you can find out.”

I stared at her. “And what if he’s the killer? You want me to pester the guy at that lonely deserted gas station where he could kill me, too?”

“You know I’d never ask you to put yourself in danger. Use your judgment. Make sure other customers are there when you talk to him.” Mom glanced at the mantel clock. “If you go right now, you can still catch the tail end of the commuter traffic.”

“Right now?” I said. A look out the window confirmed that the sun was still shining, which meant it was still hot. Another wail erupted from the kitchen. Maybe being out in the heat wasn’t such a bad option.

I sighed. “All right, I’ll go.”

Mom reached over and brushed down my hair. “Perfect. And I’ll have the cabbage rolls ready for dinner by the time you get back.”

Couldn’t we have chicken again? I grabbed my keys from the kitchen, offered Ashlee a reassuring pat on the shoulder, which she ignored, and headed back out.

I hadn’t been in the house long enough to cool off, and the air-conditioning in my Honda did little to help. But my bit of discomfort was nothing compared to how poorly Ashlee would feel if she was carted off to jail.

On the drive to the gas station, I wondered how much I could actually accomplish out there. Whatever Donald was trying to hide, he wasn’t going to tell me. He’d made it clear he didn’t appreciate my questions. But maybe I could hit up Tara. She’d been more open on earlier visits and might let something slip if I pushed hard enough.

Three parking spots in front of the mini-mart were already taken, and a teenage girl was pumping gas when I pulled into the lot. I parked in the last available slot and made my way inside. Donald looked over at the sound of the bell and gritted his teeth when he saw me. If it hadn’t been for the customers already in line, he might have thrown me out right then.

I grabbed a bag of Fritos and stood in line. Donald couldn’t kick me out if I was a paying customer. That W
E
RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE
sign on the back wall was merely for show. I just hoped Donald knew that.

The old man at the front paid for his chewing tobacco and girlie magazine and left the store. While I waited for Donald to ring up the woman who was next in line, I studied the back of the guy in front of me. His hair reached halfway down his neck, the strands greasy.

The woman accepted her change and her paper bag full of goodies and exited through the doorway, the bell ringing in accompaniment. That left the guy in front of me, and I still had no idea what I was going to say to Donald.

I almost laughed when the customer placed a pink and yellow seashell with green polka dots on the counter. How on earth did those ugly little four-dollar tchotchkes sell so well?

I shifted to the side to get a better look at the guy and watched as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill. Donald’s hands trembled as he reached in the till and handed back six dollars.

The guy took the change, snatched up his trinket, and turned to go.

I couldn’t believe it! Donald was short-changing the guy, and he didn’t even notice.

“Hey,” I said, touching the man on his forearm, “I think you got cheated.”

He jumped a little and looked at me. His ice-gray eyes locked on mine, and I recognized him as the guy I’d spotted at Stump’s apartment the first time I’d gone there. Coincidence?

“What?” He stared at my hand still on his arm, and I pulled it back.

I pointed to Donald. “He only gave you six dollars back for a four-dollar item. He shortchanged you ten bucks.”

Donald was licking his lips and staring at us.

The guy shook his head. “No, that’s right. I gave him a ten.”

“I saw you give him a twenty.”

The guy looked at Donald, who still hadn’t moved, other than his flicking tongue, then shook his head again. “You must have seen it wrong.”

What was going on here? Didn’t this chump care that he was getting cheated? Was he embarrassed that he hadn’t caught the mistake himself?

The guy and Donald exchanged a look I couldn’t quite read, but I suddenly got the impression they knew each other more than a casual gas station customer and owner might. The only other place I’d seen this guy was at Bobby Joe’s apartment. And Donald always got weird around those seashells.

I snatched the shell out of the guy’s hand.

His eyes flew wide. “Hey, give that back.”

“I’ll give you the four bucks,” I said.

I smashed the shell on the counter.

It shattered, pieces scattering.

Among the broken bright pink and yellow shards sat a little plastic bag of green leaves.

Holy crap. That was definitely worth more than four dollars.