Corpse in the Crystal Ball (12 page)

“I am best friends with your mother,
not
your grandmother, for Pete’s sake. I used to babysit you more times than I can count. Don’t you ma’am me, Randy. I’m not that old, and I can still take you over my knee.”

He flushed. “Sorry, Ms. Frey. Just trying to keep things professional.”

“What happened, Gretta?” I asked quietly.

She let out a heap of air and sat down in her purple lilac embroidered chair, looking exhausted. “That woman made me mad enough to spit nails. She came into my store, asking Emma about Detective Stone. Emma never had the chance to answer. Poor little Abigail Brook perked right up at the mention of the detective’s name.”

“Who’s Abigail Brook? I’ve heard of her, but I didn’t realize she had a thing for Mitch—I mean, Detective Stone.”

“Abby’s harmless. She works at the Divinity Diner. That’s how she first met Mitch. Everyone in town knows she’s obsessed with him. Has been since he moved here over a year ago. He made it clear he wasn’t interested in getting involved with any woman, and Abby was fine waiting until he was ready. But once Miss High-and-Mighty showed up and let it be known she was Mitch’s ex-girlfriend, well, Abby went a little crazy, I think.”

Detective Fuller scribbled something in his notebook.

“Poor Detective Stone,” Gretta continued. “No wonder he wanted out of town for a couple days. When Isabel wasn’t hounding him about getting back together, Abby was stalking him, begging him to give her a chance. She kept calling him and started showing up everyplace he went. That’s why she was in my store. She’d received a tip he was here. You should have seen her face when she realized he’d already left town.”

Detective Fuller mumbled, “Hmmm,” and scribbled some more.

“Anyway, when Miss High-and-Mighty arrived, she set right in on poor Abby, making her feel like an ugly duckling. Admittedly, Abby’s a little pear-shaped, and she dresses kind of frumpy, and she needs to do something with that limp brown hair of hers, but not all of us can be beautiful like Isabel. She didn’t have to stomp on the poor girl’s self-esteem. The things she said to her were just plumb awful. Abby ran off crying her eyes out, vowing to get even with Isabel. I, for one, hope she did. That’s all I’m saying about that.”

Detective Fuller closed his notebook on one final note. Probably the same as my mental one: check out Abigail
Brook. Then he asked Gretta, “What about you? Where do you fit into all of this?”

“Well, I was in my office at the time, listening to the ruckus going on. I came out just in time to see Abby run off. Then that no good troublemaker, Isabel, had the nerve to turn on me. She started demanding I tell her where Detective Stone went. Ha! The naive little snot really thought she could intimidate me. I may have grown up in a peace, love, and harmony era, but I also grew up with lots of brothers and sisters. Scrapping is what I do best.”

Detective Fuller’s lips quirked like he wanted to smile, but he managed to refrain, as did I. Gretta was a real firecracker. I wouldn’t want to be next to her when she went off. Something told me she’d light up more than the sky.

“Anyway,” Gretta continued on her rant, “I told her off and then told her to go to hell and never step foot on my property again or else.… Then I left. She was so mad she knocked over several tulip display cases and cracked the glass door to my rose cooler. I put so much work into decorating those, I was furious. I came running out after her with my baseball bat, but the coward had already run off. I knew it was hopeless to follow her, so I made some calls and then went to see my insurance broker around one o’clock.”

“If he can verify that, then you should be all set,” I said happily. I liked Gretta a lot and would hate to see her land in serious trouble because of her feisty streak.

“Not quite.” Fuller chewed his pen cap as he studied his notes. “Ms. Gonzales called her sister at six
P.M.
The coroner, Kip Johnson, said she was beaten, strangled, and then thrown in the river. She crawled out and died from internal injuries sometime between eight and ten
P.M.
If that hadn’t
killed her, hypothermia would have. It still gets cold at night this time of year, and without a phone or a way to call for help, she didn’t stand a chance.”

He looked at Gretta all business now. “I like you, Ms. Frey, but I’m not a child anymore. I’m a detective, and I still have a job to do. Where were you on Tuesday night between six and ten
P.M.
?”

“Home, Detective Fuller,” Gretta said defiantly.

“Can you prove it?” I asked quietly.

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked much older all of a sudden. “No.”

“Thanks, Gretta.” I patted her shoulder.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Frey. Here’s my card if you can think of anything else at all.” He handed it to her, but she didn’t take it or look him in the eye. He sighed and set it on her desk. “Don’t leave town until we figure all this out.” Detective Fuller stood and left the tension-filled room.

“Here’s my card, too.” I handed my card to her and she took it with a small smile. “Don’t worry, Gretta. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

I hurried after Fuller, knowing in my gut that Gretta didn’t do it. She might be stubborn and proud, but she just didn’t seem like the murdering type. Chuck, on the other hand, still gave me the willies even though his alibi checked out.

Maybe Abigail Brook was worth checking out. The fact that she was obsessed with Mitch was reason enough for me to want to take a closer look at her, if for no other reason than to make her unstable behavior stop. No telling what she’d do if she found out Mitch and I had kissed.

Can anyone say
Fatal Attraction
?

We agreed to take a break, put our thinking caps on during lunch, and then meet up again in a few hours to compare notes. Fuller dropped me off at my house because I had a reading scheduled with the mayor, while he had lunch at Nikko’s. A couple hours later he returned to pick me up.

“Bob said Ms. Gonzales got directions to your house, right?” Detective Fuller asked as he drove to Abigail Brook’s house on the
outskirts of town. “Did she ever stop by?”

“I don’t know. I gave Granny driving lessons on my lunch break that day, and we ended up stuck in the mud at the swan pond. If Isabel left Gretta’s at one, then she probably headed to my house. Big Don was pulling my bug out with a tow truck at that time. Then I left and went straight home. If she did stop by, I must have just missed her.”

I thanked goodness for Granny at that moment, realizing she was my alibi for both day and night since Kevin hadn’t shown up for our dinner date. Everyone knew I didn’t particularly like Isabel, either, but this time I wasn’t a suspect. Mitch was.

I had stayed home that night, taken a hot bath, and gone to bed early to avoid Granny’s relentless questions. And now fixing Kevin and me up had become her obsession. Like Morty, she didn’t much care for Mitch, but they both loved Kevin. He was such a great guy. I wanted to love him, too.… I just couldn’t. It wasn’t my fault.

One hardheaded detective wouldn’t let go of my heart.

“Earth to Sunny, you in there?” Fuller asked.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said we’re here.” He cut the engine, and we climbed out of his car.

Abigail Brook lived in a double-wide trailer on the outskirts of town. Her place looked dark, like the lights were all off. The only neighbor she had was way up the road. If she were to go anywhere, the neighbor would surely see her drive by, but otherwise the distance between them gave her plenty of privacy.

We knocked on the door, but no one answered. We knocked again and again but still no answer.

“Well, it doesn’t look like she’s home. Last I heard she lived alone. She’s got no kin in town that I know of. We’ll have to ask around tomorrow and see what’s what.” Fuller’s stomach growled. He looked at his watch. “I say we call it a day. Supper’s on at home. Don’t want my food to get cold. What do you think?”

“Sure thing,” I agreed a little too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. “You do plan to go right home, too, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I said. And I would. But that didn’t mean I had to stay there. If we only worked nine to five, we would never solve this case. Trouble is Fuller’s stomach was on a tight schedule.

Lucky for me I never was a schedule person.

Later that night I parked my bug way down the road from Abigail Brook’s house. There were no streetlights this far out in the country, and Abigail hadn’t left any outside lights on. Either she’d taken off in a hurry, or she wasn’t that concerned. I was betting on the latter since she tended to be the one doing the stalking, not the other way around.

I’d told Granny I was off to Jo’s house, just in case Fuller checked up on me. Jo agreed to cover for me, even though
she didn’t like the idea of me out here on my own. Especially since Isabel’s killer hadn’t been caught. I couldn’t help it. Time was running out.

I parked my car way down Abigail’s street where I could maintain a visual. Sinking low in my car, I settled in to watch and wait …and wait …and wait some more. How did detectives do this for a living? I was going stir-crazy, and it had only been thirty minutes. Once again I hadn’t planned very well. I had no “sleuthing” supplies. No food, no entertainment, no gear. Ugh. One of these days I would get it right.

Before I’d left my house, I made a few calls around town just to make sure Abigail wasn’t downtown somewhere and due to return home this evening. I checked anywhere I thought she might have gone. No one had seen or heard from her since the day she stormed out of Gretta’s, crying and vowing to get even with Isabel.

It was pretty safe to assume she was out of town. And I couldn’t handle waiting any longer. Glancing down the road in both directions one more time, I slipped out of my bug and darted down the street to Abigail’s trailer.

It suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t have any way of protecting myself. Forget about the killer—what if Abigail had a dog? Look what had happened to Kevin, and in this neck of the woods, no less.

Searching both sides of the pavement, I ran out back of her house and snatched the nearest, most lethal-looking branch I could find. I held it in front of me as I crept toward the back door.

I wasn’t an official detective and didn’t have a search warrant, so I was basically trespassing. This was probably
a big no-no, but I was desperate. If I could just sneak a peek inside, then maybe I’d discover a clue to the murder or, at the very least, her whereabouts.

Biting my bottom lip, I reached out and knocked. There was no answer. I knew there wouldn’t be, but I felt better nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, I tried the doorknob. It turned.

Good Lord, the woman hadn’t even locked her doors.

If her doors weren’t locked, then technically I wasn’t breaking anything, I was just entering. I slowly opened the door and poked my head inside. Probably another big no-no.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I called out.

Again, no answer.

And no dog, thank goodness.

Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. Just not mean ones that try to gnaw your hand off. I might not have brought a weapon, but I did at least think to bring a flashlight. Okay, so I didn’t
think
to bring it as much as I still had it in my purse at my father’s insistence, along with what I like to call my multipurpose tool—that handy all-in-one corkscrew, screwdriver, scissors, tweezers, nail file, mini-knife, and the ever-important bottle opener.

Leaving the lights off, I set my branch down, turned on the flashlight, and started to look around. Although I had to admit I felt more like a criminal casing the joint than I did a detective investigating a suspect.

Wow, turns out Abigail Brook was a slob. Her place was trashed with empty take-out containers, dirty laundry scattered about helter-skelter, and old junk mail littering the kitchen table.

It appeared as though she’d left in a hurry.

I wandered farther into the double-wide trailer, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Oh my. She really was obsessed. The only thing that was organized in her entire apartment was her shrine to Detective Mitch Stone.

There were tons of pictures of him methodically placed everywhere. From the time he first moved here until now. With handwritten notes beside them that said either
Threat
or
No threat
. There were plenty of pictures of me when we had worked on Amanda Robbins’s murder case a few months ago but not a single
threat
was evident.

Great.

Isabel Gonzales had barely been in town for two weeks, yet the word
threat
was written in caps all over the place. If
Fatal Attraction
Abigail Brook didn’t even think I was a threat, then how could I possibly think Mitch and I stood a chance?

Feeling depressed, I decided to call it a night. I turned toward the door when I heard a noise. The telltale sound of footsteps. My heart started pounding, and my brain screamed,
Run!

I bolted for her bedroom door, but the sound came from just outside. I jumped in the closet and pulled the door closed at the last second. Darnit! Her closet door didn’t have slats. I couldn’t see a thing.

Loud, heavy thuds sounded right outside. Holy crap, what was I supposed to do? I held my breath because my breathing sounded so loud to my ears. I heard a curse from the other side and couldn’t help but gasp for air.

The noise outside the closet stopped. What did that mean? Suddenly, the knob to the closet began to turn. I had to do something. I fumbled about in the dark and grabbed one of
Abigail’s shoes. Of course she wouldn’t have a stiletto handy. I just prayed her one-inch pump would do as I waited for the door to open. When it finally did, I pounced!

I let out a screeching wail, in case it was the last sound I ever uttered, and I started pummeling the person who had opened the door.

A few grunts and curses later, the shoe was ripped from my hands. A gloved hand snaked behind my neck and twisted me around in a one-eighty, flinging me to the floor and landing on top of me hard.