Slightly Irregular (32 page)

Once I was back
at my place, I powered up my laptop and began to search for any and all information on Ellen Becker. There were a few mentions about an Ellen Becker being a homecoming queen and a prom queen and Miss Low Country, but I skipped all that. No way was Ellen a beauty queen.

I finally found a reference to an Ellen Becker who was involved in a car accident. Unfortunately, the driver was killed after lingering in a coma for three weeks. I kept digging and it paid off.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. It was grainy and twenty-two years old, but it sure looked like Ellen. And she was wearing the Miss North America crown. How did someone go from beauty queen to frump?

According to the article, on the night Ellen Becker crowned her successor in Massachusetts, she had been in a car accident. Her fiancé was killed in the crash, but Ellen walked away without
a scratch. She’d been wearing a seat belt; the boyfriend had not.

I kept going back to the photograph. My brain was having trouble grasping the idea of her as a beauty. It looked like Ellen, but I couldn’t be sure. Same red hair, same pale skin, same height, but the picture was just too blurry.

I went back to the Google hits I’d ignored and saw more photos of Ellen Becker being crowned everything from Shrimp Princess to Miss South Carolina. Sadly, all the photos were grainy and hard to see. I wanted to check for myself.

Even though it was after one in the morning, I decided it was important for me to get inside Ellen’s house. If she was Ellen Becker, then why hide it? Why become Ellen Lieberman? Why go out of your way to be as homely as possible?

I drove to the condo and went up to the third floor. Thanks to Becky, I knew Ellen kept a spare key beneath the hallway table by the elevators. I felt around, then found it and pulled it off, tape and all.

Ellen’s condo was in shambles. Every cushion was cut and the stuffing had been pulled out. Every drawer had been dumped on the floor. I got scared, wondering why I hadn’t told anyone that I was going to Ellen’s. Just to be on the safe side, I called Jane.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“That’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“I’m at Ellen’s, and the place has been torn apart. I just want someone to be with me while I check the bedrooms.”

“Want me to come over?”

“No, just stay on the phone. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

I clipped my iPhone to the pocket of my black Lycra yoga outfit. “Can you hear me?” I asked.

“Loud and clear.”

Careful to step over the mess, I made my way through the maze of broken china and went into the back hallway. I reached the first bedroom, and it too had been tossed. Since I’d never been there before, I had no idea just how extensive the damage was. It just looked like a hurricane had ripped through the condo.

“First bedroom a mess, but it’s all clear.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going into the next one.”

I poked my head in and found the same thing. “Someone totally trashed this place.”

“Maybe you should get out of there. What’s the address? I’m calling the police on my landline.”

“Hang on, let me check the master before you call the sheriff’s office.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if there’s anything here that will tell us what happened. Oh God!”

“What?” Jane cried.

“There’s blood.”

“That’s it. I’m calling the cops.”

Detective Wilkes arrived about
twenty minutes after Jane's call. If his expression was any indication, he wasn't too thrilled with me.

“Why did you enter when you saw the condition of the apartment?” he asked.

“Because I was looking for something that might tell me where my friend is.”

“I told you we’d investigate the matter.”

“And so far, you haven’t done a thing.”

At that moment, Liam came into the room. “Mikey,” he greeted, shaking the detective’s hand.

I swear, he
did
know everyone in Palm Beach County.

Liam shot me a glance, then asked the detective, “Got any theories?”

“Someone figured out the apartment was empty. Must have gotten frustrated when there weren’t a lot of high-value items.” He pointed to wires hanging out of the wall. “Took the TV and the stereo. Easy pawns.” He turned to me. “Did Ms. Lieberman have a laptop?”

I nodded. “Two. One was for work and the other was for her personal use.”

“Neither of those are here, either. Jewelry?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never seen her wear anything but a watch.” I wondered if now was an appropriate time to mention that I had Ellen’s pricey brooch. Nope. “Ellen gave me some jewelry a few weeks ago.”

“Can we see it?”

“I auctioned it off on eBay. Well, all but one piece.”

“We’ll need that.”

“Okay. I’ll go home and bring it to the sheriff’s in the morning.” It was already nearing three a.m., and I was tired.

“That’ll work.”

Liam followed me out of the condo. His expression conveyed his disapproval. “Did you even consider calling me before you went into Ellen’s place?”

“How was I supposed to know it would be trashed?”

“You knew when you opened the door.”

I stepped into the elevator. “I don’t need an escort, Liam.”

“No, you need a keeper.”

“You need a keeper,”
I mocked to myself. “God, that man makes me nuts.”

There had to be a reason why a person or persons tore through Ellen’s place. And a reason why they hadn’t touched Becky’s home.

Unfortunately, I was far too brain dead to come up with a cohesive answer when my bedside clock read three thirty-five. As soon as I got some sleep, I would keep digging into Ellen’s dual life.

In what felt like ten minutes since I’d fallen asleep, my cell phone rang. I picked it up, but didn’t recognize the number. I slid the bar to unlock the phone, then I accepted the call. “Do you know it’s eight ten in the flipping morning?”

“Do you know that I’ll kill them both if you don’t bring me the brooch?” a woman said.

I sat up. “Who is this?”

“Doesn’t matter. No cops, no boyfriend, just you.”

“I don’t have it, I gave it to the sheriff.”

I heard a bloodcurdling scream. I couldn’t tell if it was Becky
or Ellen, but it made my stomach churn. “Okay, okay! Tell me where to drop it off.”

“Go to the Carlin Park. I’ll call you with additional instructions.”

“Okay.”

“And Finley? Remember my instructions. I’d hate to have to kill the boyfriend who thinks you need a keeper and makes you nuts.”

“How did you—”

“It doesn’t matter. But if you must know, I bugged your house when you were out of town. I bugged your car, too. Be at the park in twenty minutes.”

I leapt out of bed, desperate to find whatever listening device was in my house. That was the only explanation for her repeating what I’d said a scant few hours earlier. But twenty minutes was a tight deadline, and I didn’t dare miss it.

I didn’t dare call the cops, either. I didn’t want to be responsible for getting anyone killed, myself included. I thought about calling someone but I wasn’t sure who. Liv and Jane couldn’t help, and Tony and Liam would just call the police. Unfortunately, I was on my own.

Pulling on a pair of shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, I stuck my cell in my purse and started for the door. I retrieved the brooch. For some reason I grabbed the key to Ellen’s storage unit and stuffed it in my front pocket. I was out the door in five minutes. Making it to Jupiter was going to be a challenge.

I managed to pull into the parking lot with two minutes to spare. I looked around. Nothing but surfers in board shorts carrying surfboards toward the wooden walkway that led to the
beach. Mine was only one of a half dozen cars in the lot. The others were unoccupied. Did that mean the woman was running late or—My cell rang, and I noticed my hands shaking as I answered the call.

“Very good, Finley. Now, come to the Jupiter Marina and park by the manager’s office.”

Now I was really scared and decided I didn’t want to fly solo. I did as instructed by the tormentor, trying to text and drive at the same time. I was so afraid that the crazy woman was watching me that I texted without looking down. When I sent the message to Jane, I wasn’t sure it made any sense.

I found a visitor’s parking spot and pulled in. As I cut the engine, I heard three dings from a brass bell. Immediately, I thought of Becky’s call to Crime Stoppers. You could hear the bells in the background.

There was a tap on the window, and a woman was bent over, flashing a really big knife from inside her overblouse. She was a hard-looking woman. Maybe five-five, a hundred and ten pounds, with dyed blond hair. Her eyes were blue and threatening. I knew her; I just couldn’t place her. I could only think about fear.

“Unlock the door and get out of the car,” she instructed.

I grabbed my purse and was about to get out when she said, “Leave everything but the brooch, your keys, and your cell phone.”

As I put my keys in my back pocket, I took out the storage key and left it on the front seat. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, she didn’t. Hopefully, someone else would.

She walked next to me, allowing the point of the knife to
scratch my skin with every step. By the time we reached the storage units, blood stained the right side of my T-shirt.

She unlocked the corrugated aluminum door, sliding it partly open, then shoved me through the opening. The tight space smelled of bodily fluids and fear.

It was surreal. Along the sides were gowns, trophies, and crowns. In the center, Becky and Ellen were duct-taped at the arms and the ankles. They were in plastic Adirondack chairs with their mouths covered with more duct tape. Fast-food wrappers and a Porta Potty filled the small space. Evidence that Ellen had spent every second of her two weeks held captive in the unit. Smart move since the marina was a favorite for storage and few, if any, locals stored their boats there.

Another chair stood empty, and I had a sinking feeling that it was for me.

She shoved me toward the chair, and I stumbled in the direction. “I brought you what you wanted. I don’t know your name or anything about you, so why tie me up? Why not let me go?”

“Because I need Ellen to watch.”

“Watch what?” I asked.

“First you text the boyfriend.”

I read the panic in Becky and Ellen’s eyes, so I complied. “Wait! You’re the traffic chick that’s been hanging around the office.”

“Smart girl. Now text.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Let him know you’re okay and that you are working too hard to see him for a few days. Don’t send it without letting me see it first.”

I carefully typed:

Sweetheart, sorry but I’m swamped with work from Ellen’s desk drawer. The spare key is in the driveway. I left your CD on the dining room table. XOXO Fin.

“Here,” I said handing it to the woman. Silently, I prayed she wouldn’t get it.

“Good job. Now tell your boss something similar.”

Again I typed:

Out of the office Monday working on the Bollan case. Transferring all the land in Jupiter to Sleepy and Wanda Jean. Finley

“Here.” I handed her the phone again. God, was it enough? Would Vain Dane and/or Liam pick up on the lame clues I was trying to give?

“Send it.”

I did as instructed. Then she took my phone, tossed it on the ground, and stomped it until the face shattered.

“What is it Ellen is supposed to watch?” I asked, hoping to buy time.

“I had to watch when she killed my brother. Course back then she was Ellen Becker, the beauty queen. My brother loved her, and she didn’t give a passing thought when she had his life support terminated.”

Ellen strained against her restraints. “Shut up! See, my brother was so besotted with her that he gave her power of attorney. It should have been a family decision, but no. She went
against my wishes and killed him. Now that I’m out of jail, I thought I’d return the favor.” She poked the knife in my direction. “I would have preferred a husband and some kids, but after watching Ellen for a while, I realize you two are the only ones she seems to care about.”