Murder on Consignment (17 page)

Sean’s eyeballs were practically rolling with information overload. We sat in silence for a second, while he processed it all. “So, why don’t you start over at the beginning and tell me everything that has been going on.”

I did and the whole story took over a half hour. By that time, the other officers were finished photographing my car and writing out their report. I signed a few papers and was told I was free to go.

Sean stood with me in the lot as the other officers left. I had called a tow company. “Can you give me a ride to the rental place?” I asked.

“I’ll be working late tonight, but I’ll be by your place around nine. Will you be there to let me in?” he asked, once we were on our way.

“Let you in?”

“Yeah, I’ll be sleeping inside tonight, not out in the drive.”

I quivered
with excitement. “Inside? There’s not much room. Do you want my bed?”
Or do you want me?
I could only hope.

“I’ll bring a sleeping bag,” he said, rubbing his back. “I can’t take one more night in the car.”

“Fine,” I replied, nodding nonchalantly. I was going to have to play it cool with Sean. If he wanted to rekindle things, it would have to be on my terms this time. No more pseudo-commitments, no more teasing, no more messing around. If he could commit to Sarah Maloney, he could commit to me. I was in it for a ring this time.

Chapter 20

A few hours later, I parked a sub-compact outside my apartment. Thirty-seven dollars a day sure didn’t rent much of a car.

I had stopped off and purchased some more things for the fridge and new cleaning supplies. No need for Sean to be grossed out about the h
airy blobs living behind my toilet. For the rest of the evening I cleaned, scoured, and scrubbed. By the time I was done, the place was looking pretty nice, despite my slashed-up sofa which kept leaking little puffs of stuffing every time I sat on it.

Sean arrived just as I was putting the final touches on my apartment. I answered the door, noticing first thing, that he was indeed toting a sleeping bag.

“Hi dear, I’m home,” he said, grinning.

I lau
ghed. A part of me wishing I could will away the past year and all the things that had come between us. I’d missed him more than I wanted to admit.

I pulled out some wine and a couple of glasses and we sat on the couch where we spent the next couple of hours talking, laughing … and, unfortunately, not much else. Then around midnight, I pulled out my sofa bed. There was a bit of awkwardness as Sean moved to retrieve his sleeping bag.

He stood with it in hand, looking around the place. With my sofa pulled out, the only open space in my tiny apartment was either in the bathtub, right in front of the door, or in the sofa bed next to me. He chose the spot by the door.

*

The next morning, I awoke to a weird thumping and giggling sound.

I sat straight up. The thumping, as it turned out, was the door banging up against Sean, who was rolled up tight
ly inside his sleeping bag. The giggling was coming from my precocious seven-year-old niece, Claire.

“Aunt
Pippi,” she yelled out, forcing her way through the tiny crack in the doorway. She stopped short upon seeing Sean. “Oh, I didn’t know you were having a slumber party!”

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on the situation. “Where’d you come from?” I asked, not sounding quite like the super aunt I really was.

“We’re all here. Mom, Dad, and Sam. Everyone else is coming today, too. You know, for Cousin Cherry’s wedding. Didn’t you know that I get to be one of the flower girls? My dress is beautiful!”

Well, at least that makes one of us, I thought.

“Papa told me to come up and get you for breakfast. He’s making cinnamon rolls, but I’ll go tell him that you’re busy with your slumber party.”

“No!” I yelled, but she was out the door before I could stop her. “Oh, no,” I said, scrambling out of bed and searching for my sweatpants.

Sean was hobbling around the room, one foot still in the bag, gathering up his clothing. “I’ve gotta run. I’m going to be late for work.”

“Oh, thanks. Just leave me with the fallout, why don’t you?”

“Hey, sorry, but I’ve already been late twice this week,” he said, making his way toward the door. “I’ll be back tonight. Stay clear of James Farrell, stay in public at all times, and call me if anything happens.”

I followed him out, making my way around the hedge and through the back door of my parent’s house. As usual, everyone was gathered in the kitch
en where my dad was pulling out a pan of cinnamon rolls. I grabbed a plate and bellied up to the counter.

My sister, Maggie breezed in, dragging her youngest, Sam, wh
o had mud-caked hands. “Hey, Pippi.” She gave me an air-hug while maintaining her hold on Sam’s hands. “Wash your hands in the sink,” she ordered. “Sorry, Dad. He got a hold of the hose and has been making mud pies in your planters out back. He’s probably drowned at least three of your geraniums.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. They’re at the end of their season anyway,” my dad winked at Sam. Dad, always the essence of patience, was great with kids. He had, after all, survived raising five girls. Not that Mom didn’t help, but she was the bread winner. Dad, with his position at the library, had the most flexible hours. He was the one at home with us after school, the one to drive on our fieldtrips and volunteer at school, and the one who managed the household on a daily basis.

I finished off my first roll and reached for another. My mother raised her brows over the rim of her coffee mug. She, of course, would never indulge in a cinnamon roll, or two. Ever the professional, she didn’t want to jeopardize the fit of her designer suits. “Claire was telling me that you had a slumber party last night,” she said.

Maggie giggled. “Where’s your father?” she asked her son.

“In the front yard with Claire. They’re drawing on the sidewalk.”

She handed him a roll. “Here take this and go outside and join them. No more playing with the hose,” she scolded. I checked my sister out. She wa
s looking great, as usual. I’d heard through the family grape-vine that she and her hubby, Chris, were going to marriage counseling. It must be working. She looked happier than I’d seen her in years. She grabbed a cup of coffee, skipping a roll I noticed, and sat down next to me at the breakfast bar. “A slumber party, huh? Why wasn’t I invited?” she teased.

“It was just Sean and, for your information, he was sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied facetiously.

“Hey!” My Dad cut in, shooting us a dirty look.

My mother passed me a cup of coffee and moved the pan of rolls out of my reach. “Has he found out who broke into your place?”

“No, he’s still working on it.”

“Well, at least he’s keeping you safe. It takes a big load off our minds to know he’s watching out for you,” she said.

As if on cue, my brother-in-law came in with the kids. Chris w
as looking pretty relaxed in a faded jeans and a t-shirt. “Keeping her safe from what? What have I missed?” he asked, as Maggie placed a steaming cup of coffee on the counter next to him. He looked my way. “Have you been into trouble again?”

“I told you that
Pippi’s place was broken into the other day. Sean’s been keeping an eye on things, that’s all,” Maggie explained.

Chris looked confused. “Yeah, but I didn’t think she was in any personal danger. Why’s Panelli babysitting her?”

My father jumped in, “I for one am glad that Sean is taking this so seriously. I consider it a personal favor that he’s watching out for you, Phillipena. Especially after what happened last time.”

Ugh. There it was again. Couldn’t people just let the I-was-sucked-in-by-a-crazed-murderer incident go? 

The room grew silent as the allusion to my last escapade hung in the air like the odoriferous scent of the VFW after a ham and bean dinner.

Finally my mother broke the silence. “I can’t wait to see Claire in her flower girl dress and Sam in his suit,” she said, changing the subject.

“Oh mom,” Maggie started. “You should see how darling….” I sat back, snuck another roll, and listened to the family banter for another half-hour. After breakfast, we all parted ways, agreeing to meet again at the rehearsal dinner.

Chris and Maggie were planning on taking the kids to Brookfield Zoo for the day, while Mom and Dad were going to stock the fridge and change sheets in anticipation of the rest of the family’s arrival later that afternoon. With my other three sisters and their families, plus Mary Frances, we’d have a full house. I smiled at the thought. I was blessed to have such a big, wonderful family. I pitied people like James Farrell. His family was such a mess.

Mary Frances was right. No one could really blame Morgan for wanting to escape from that family. Heck, I’d only known the people for a few days and I could hardly stand to be around them anymore. Which made my own plans for the day all the more difficult.

*

I stopped in front of the Farrell’s gateman and whipped out my cell.

“Patricia. This is
Pippi. I’m at your front gate. Can you tell the gateman to let me in? I need to speak to you in person … I’ll explain when I’m inside. Oh, James isn’t home, is he … good.”  I breathed a sigh of relief. James had already left for the office.

Anna opened the door as soon as I approached. Patricia was standing behind her, waiting for me. She practically pounced on me. “So, what is it? Did you find Morgan? Where is she?”

I was taken back. Patricia was not only acting neurotic, she looked neurotic. Her hair was disheveled, eyes glazed, hands shaking. She was still dressed in her bathrobe and slippers. Anna was hovering about like a protective mother hen.

“Patricia, I need to speak to you in private,” I said, giving Anna the eye. She shot me one right back—hers said screw-you in an orderly, efficient way that only a housekeeper of her status could pull off. I just couldn’t figure out what I ever did to get on that woman’s bad side
. 

“What have you found out?” Patricia said after Anna finally disappeared down the hall.

“Nothing new since last time we talked,” I reported.

She deflated, causing her to look even more pitiful.

“Did James come down hard on you for hiring me?” I asked, wondering if he had found out that Patricia asked me to look for Morgan. What was I thinking getting involved with these people? Poor Patricia. After learning she’d crossed him, James had probably what… Threatened her? Beaten her? Was he angry enough about it to spray paint that ugly message on my car?

“Yes, he was upset.”

“Do you want me to keep investigating?”

“Of course. I need to find Morgan.”

“Then, I want to go through her things to see if I can find a clue to where she and Alex might have gone.”

“Her things?”

“Yes. Her clothing, correspondence, bills … everything.”

Patricia co
nsidered my request for a few seconds before responding, “Fine. I’ll show you where their suite is located.”

I stared at the back of her feet as we made our way up the winding oak staircase. She was wearing those fluffy-type of slippers with the feathery stuff on the toes and the open back. I marveled at how smooth the back of her heels looked. How did she do that? My heels were rough enough to refinish an old Amish kitchen table.

“Here we are,” she said.

I looked up and surveyed the room. Very nice. It was sort of designer showroom meets Paris flea market all wrapped up with a strong country vibe. I liked it.

“It’s distasteful, I know,” Patricia commented, running her finger alongside a black lacquered shaker dresser. “But how could one expect any sort of taste and style from someone of her background?” 

I shrugged. Guess I wouldn’t be seeing Patricia at my Third Saturday Flea Market booth.

“Well, I’d better get busy,” I said. “Looks like I have a lot to go through. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” I headed straight for a small secretary’s desk nestled near a wall of windows which afforded a spectacular view of the back acreage and stables.

Patricia turned back on her way out, “Phillipena, my husband was furio
us when he found out that I implicated him in Morgan’s disappearance. He can be a dangerous man, so please be careful.”

“You’re not expecting him back any time soon, are you?”

Patricia absently touched her cheek. “No, he said he wouldn’t be home until this evening,” she replied, leaving the room.

I felt stricken with guilt. I shouldn’t have agreed to get involved in all this. I didn’t think through my actions and how they m
ight affect Patricia. I was sure glad Morgan was tucked away somewhere with Alex and out of harm’s way. I had no intention of locating her. As far as I was concerned, she could sue J.J. for all he was worth, get her house, and live happily ever after with Alex in her new suburban mansion.

I was looking
for different answers. Answers I hoped to find by searching the room that Morgan shared with J.J. Although I was almost completely sure James had murdered Jane and Pauline, I wasn’t completely convinced that J.J. wasn’t somehow involved. He stood to lose a lot if Alex came forward and claimed his birthright.

I started with the bills. Lots and lots of bills—all the maj
or department stores plus a few from some hipster Wicker Park stores like Landis, Belmontos, and Psycho Babes. Cool. Morgan and I frequented some of the same stores. Although, by the looks of these bills, she wasn’t perusing the last-stop sales racks looking for good buys to resell for profit on-line.

I go
t down on the floor, pulled the middle drawer all the way out and looked underneath. Nothing. I opened the laptop and turned it on, hoping to find it logged onto email. No such luck. Instead, a password prompt blinked at me from a blank screen.

Next, I moved on to the dresser drawers. I pulled out all of them, but paid extra attention to J.J’s d
rawers. The only information I garnered was that he was a brief man—basic whites with blue elastic trim. Boring.

The nightstands proved fruitless, too. I wasn’t surprised to find a stack of smutty romances inside Morgan’s stand. The one she pilfered from the garage sale, was right on top.

I checked under the mattress, under the bed, all around the closets, and behind the artwork before moving to the bathroom where I searched every drawer, behind the towels, and even in the toilet tank. Nothing.