Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (69 page)

Piper was outraged. How could they be so cavalier about a possible murder case? “She was murdered. I know she was.”

“The coroner makes that distinction, Mrs. Lundberg. He saw nothing to indicate foul play. I’m sorry.”

“Even after what I told you?’

“There’s not enough there to make a case. Even if they found something to indicate foul play, there still wasn’t enough to put a criminal case together. I was hoping this would give you some closure.”

“You mean some closure for you.”

“Look, the woman wasn’t brutally attacked and killed. You should feel better knowing that the people living next door to you are not vicious killers.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“C’mon, Mrs. Lundberg, try to see—”

“The hearing aid—was it found?” she cut in brusquely.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Did they check for pepper spray on her hands or body?”

He looked down at his entwined fingers. “This doesn’t mean anything, so don’t jump to conclusions—”

“What?”

“The coroner found traces of pepper spray on the deceased’s hands. But she could have tested the canister to see if it was, well, full or functioning properly. It doesn’t mean she used it in self-defense against an attacker.”

“It doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lundberg. It’s done. The body was cremated. There’s nothing further we can do in that regard.”

“Did you review the video I emailed to you? Didn’t it look to you like the person in the video picked up a something resembling a mace canister?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that clear. I think you saw what you wanted to see. The man could have picked up anything.”

“In the bushes, in the dark, at four in the morning?”

“Mrs. Lundberg. You have a good eye, a keen sense of crime savvy, and a suspicious nature. I wish that’s all it took to make a case against those we consider to be the bad guy. But you’re a bright woman, you know as well as I do that that isn’t how it works.” He paused. “You see, the only reason Homicide Special became involved in this case is because we assumed there was a celebrity involved. When you called nine-one-one, you reported that Sybil Squire’s housekeeper had been murdered. As far as we’re concerned, Mrs. Squire is not involved, directly.”

“So you came all this way to tell me that you’re going to do nothing?”

“Well, no, not exactly. Actually before I came over here, I paid a visit to the Squire house. More out of curiosity than police work. Mrs. Squire and I had a nice chat.”

“You talked to Sybil?”

“Yes. I said I would and I did.”

“But not before the case was closed.”

“It would’ve made little difference. What your neighbor had to say merely confirmed what the coroner had already determined.”

“What did she say?” Piper sank down on the sofa. “Were you alone with her?”

The detective leaned against the dining room table. “An Asian man opened the door to me and, after I identified myself and asked to speak to Ms. Squire, he showed me into the front room. Ten or fifteen minutes later Mrs. Squire entered the room with the man. I asked to speak with her alone and the man…” he consulted his notepad, “a Mr. Jack Ling … left the room. For the next ten minutes we discussed Vera Wade, their association, and her death. She was deeply saddened by the sudden loss of her friend, but she knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Only a matter of time?” Piper asked, confused.

“Because of her heart condition.”

“Did she say she and Vera spoke with each other that night?”

“Oh, yes, I asked her that. They had a
lovely
visit—her words. Mrs. Wade wanted to move into the house and care for Mrs. Squire, but Mrs. Squire, who loved her friend, felt that Mrs. Wade was incapable of dispensing the kind of care that she, Mrs. Squire, required. Especially after the fire. With Mrs. Wade’s failing health, Mrs. Squire was afraid the roles would be reversed—with the patient caring for the caregiver.”

Piper sat quietly, taking it all in. “The fire. Sybil told Vera she was certain someone, a man, was in her house minutes before the fire. Detective Bower, I was there earlier that day and two people, one of them Asian, came to the house. Whatever they said to Sybil, it upset her very much.”

“Mrs. Lundberg, what do you want me to say? Even if what you tell me is true, it doesn’t prove a thing. What Vera Wade said to you is hearsay. What Sybil Squire said happened that night is not terribly reliable because she had been drinking, and drinking heavily. You said so yourself.”

Piper signed and leaned back against the sofa cushions. “Did Mrs. Squire seem withdrawn? Was she nervous or distressed?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Actually she seemed in high spirits, laughing and—” he chuckled, “— flirting even. She flirted with me. She’s what? Eighty-five?”

“She was in good spirits? Are you sure?” The disappointment she felt made her question her own sensibilities. Wasn’t that what she wanted, to see that Sybil was all right, that she wasn’t being abused or slowly killed off for her money? Yet she didn’t believe it for one moment.

“She smoked. Poured herself a drink,” he said. “In no way did she act like someone who is being exploited or abused. I don’t think you have anything to worry about regarding your neighbor. If she’s the unwilling victim, as you say she is, she’s quite the actress.”

“Yes, she
is
quite the actress. I doubt that’s changed.”

“Probably not,” Detective Bower said. “She gave me an autograph.”

He had her full attention again. “May I see it?”

He straightened, pulled a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket. That’s when she noticed the lipstick on his shirt collar. Her lipstick. An image of his arms around her in the parking lot, the ground shaking under their feet, flashed across her mind. He handed the paper to her. Their hands touched, sending a tingle through her fingertips.

She turned away.

The autograph was on a notepad page with the heading:
From the desk of Sybil Squire
. The same notepaper she’d written the invitation to coffee. In that flamboyant penmanship that she recognized as Sybil’s, it read:
To Jason, Sincerely Yours, Sybil Squire.
She had signed it the way she signed all her autographs. Piper’s mind flashed back to the salutation she’d penned on the publicity photo and the thank you note she’d sent the day after she visited her. Not
Sincerely Yours
, but
Forever Yours
. She had forgotten about that. She made a mental note to watch that particular movie again. Sybil was trying to tell her something. But what?

“I also spoke with her doctor,” he said. “He assured me he saw nothing out of order in the Squire household on his last visit.”

Piper figured the doctor had told him about the telescope trained on the house next door. The telescope Detective Bower had been glancing at throughout his entire visit. She wasn’t surprised when he said, “Mrs. Lundberg, neighborhood watch is a positive program, and if it wasn’t for conscientious people like you who are vigilant, looking out for others, a lot of crimes would go unreported and unsolved.”

“But …?”

“Homicide is a serious accusation.”

“It’s a serious crime.”

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not asking you to stop being observant. I’m asking you to let the law do its job. Back off.”

“When the law does its job, I’ll be happy to back off.”

He exhaled, nodded. Still holding the paper with the autograph, turning it in his fingers, he added, “Mrs. Wade had listed Sybil Squire as the contact person in case of an emergency. Or death, should that happen. It was Mrs. Squire who paid for the cremation, the urn and the deceased’s final resting place.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why are you making this your battle? You said yourself you haven’t known her very long.”

Piper’s anger intensified. Gordon had played his hand well for five years. The man she married, a master of deception and manipulation, had duped her. She’d been too trusting, assuming he was looking out for her. Now, because of him, her trust in others was compromised. She could count on the fingers of one hand the people she trusted completely.

“Because when I'm all alone I hope someone will look out for me. There are too many people in this world who lie and cheat and...and—” she stopped abruptly, covering her hand over her mouth.

He looked into her eyes and something passed between them. An unspoken understanding. He nodded and looked away.

“Goodbye, Detective.”

He started down the stairway and paused. Something across the driveway had caught his eye. She followed his gaze to the Vogt’s second floor where Luke Monte was bent over the window frame. When Luke saw them looking his way, he paused, then stood up slowly.

“The quake broke the window. That’s the Vogt’s handyman,” she said.

Bower frowned. “Uh oh, trouble.”

“What?” Piper’s eyes locked on Luke.

“Those multi-pane windows, they’re a real pain to replace. Expensive too.” Bower raised a hand in greeting to Luke before continuing down the stairs.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The next day Luke Monte replaced the windows, spackled the cracks in the two bedroom walls, and helped Piper with the cleanup. The weather was beautiful. She supposed it was Mother Nature’s way of making up for her fit of anger, for wreaking havoc on their quiet community.

From the glass door of her place, she had a clear view of Luke high atop the ladder that stood braced against the house. Bare from the waist up, the muscles in his tanned back and shoulders rippled as he pounded away at the bricks, knocking them to the lawn below. There was no denying Luke was attractive. His blond hair, trimmed close at the sides and neckline, was long on top, falling whichever way it took a fancy. His eyes were his best feature. Light blue irises made more striking by a ring of midnight blue. Cool blue eyes that, when lingering on her for longer than a few seconds, sent tingles up and down her spine.

She caught herself staring at his broad, bare shoulders, lean hips, and firm backside and quickly looked away. “Piper, don’t go there,” she whispered under her breath. “No men. No romance. Don’t even look. Rebound’s a bummer. Although the divorce was underway, she was still legally married to the jerk. Not that being married had any influence on Gordon’s social behavior. Lee had spotted him with a Victoria Secret model at a Hollywood premiere.

She pretended not to notice the long glances Luke cast her way. The last thing she needed now, she told herself, was a man—any man. It was time to get her life back. Time to regain her independence. A man would only complicate things.

Piper watched Luke climb down the ladder, jumping backward the last four feet to the lawn. His chest glistened with a fine film of sweat. He looked up, saw her watching him, and smiled.

She resumed her spying at the back window. She was becoming quite the voyeur. Caught between two points of interest. Across the way, in the Squire’s bird room, she saw Sybil’s platinum hair as she sat near the window, her back to her. At least two birds were singing, a sweet chorus, one canary clearly the leader. She leaned against the side of the window and listened, wishing she had a canary. Gordon refused to have a pet, claiming allergies. Another lie.

The birds stopped singing. It was so abrupt it jarred her. Her eyes flew open. The nurse had entered the sunroom from the patio, holding a cat. The big orange tom, the one she’d seen the nurse feeding a few days ago. The cat squirmed in her arms. Its tail twitched and jerked back and forth. The nurse strolled up to one of the canary cages and held the cat up against the bars. The cat lashed out, its paw hitting the bars and rocking the cage on its metal hanger. The bird flew about wildly in the confined space, its frail body striking the sides of the cage. The nurse turned to Sybil and said something. Then, as quickly as she had entered the room, she backtracked, opened the door to the patio, and tossed the cat outside. The cat landed on his side, bounced to his feet and shook his head.

A cat allowed inside the Squire house, near her precious song birds, seemed irrational. Yet, from what she could see, Sybil had not moved a muscle when the cat struck out at the frightened bird.

#

That afternoon, returning to her place with the mail, she saw the orange tomcat leap over the stone wall from the Squire property into the Vogt’s yard. He darted under the thick foliage to the side of the glass doors. Inside, the cockatoo squawked and shrieked in alarm. Piper stepped closer, bent down, and caught sight of the cat hunched over in the deep shadows under a hedge, his large paws crossed in front of him. He glared up at her with eyes the color of saffron.

“What have you got there?” she said, remembering the food she saw the nurse handing out to him, not once, but many times since that first day. It seemed he’d grown attached to their yard, staying close, waiting for a handout. The cat looked away from her. “Don’t worry, I don’t want your priz—” the word froze in her mouth. She heard a squeak. The cat suddenly chomped down on whatever it had captured, as though afraid she might try to steal it away. He completed the kill, burying his fangs into his prey. The bright yellow canary stopped struggling.