Teased to Death (Misty Newman 1) (17 page)

I shut the door as he got out of the car.

"We have to be careful about this," Jax said. "We'll go inside—yes, I'm coming with you." He didn't stop at my
please don't come with
face. "But let's feel out the situation. I still haven't actually seen a copy of this will, and your source is a faceless man who you won't reveal."

I shrugged.

"So let's see if we can get her to admit that she omitted some details about the will. Deal? Don't go in accusatory. Let me do the talking."

I harrumphed, but I didn't disagree. As mad as I was, I kept reminding myself that at the end of the day what I really wanted was the real murderer in jail so I could go freely about my business.

"Do you have a gun?" I asked as we approached the door together.

Jax simply looked at me.

"Okay, okay," I said. "Just checking. She had a pretty big knife on her last time we came in here."

Jax exhaled a huge breath, and I thought he might've even considered doing the sign of the cross. Instead, he knocked.

I looked up at him expectantly, his face grim, eyes set straight forward. He made a good cop, I had to admit. He listened and was kind in general, stern and serious when necessary. I bet he made a great team leader. Not only because people liked him but also because he was out on the street doing the footwork with everyone else.

I knocked again.

Jax's cheek twitched a bit, but he didn't say anything.

When I knocked a third time, he put his hand over mine.

"Let's come back," he said, not removing his hand.

"No. What if she sees it's you, and she's hiding in there?" I pounded again. "We can't let her get away."

"I don't think she's home right now."

"But her car's here." I pointed to a beat-up truck that Anthony used to drive around. It was originally white, but the paint was peeling so badly it looked more like a cow.

"Maybe she went for a walk. It's not like this is the largest town in the universe."

"I think we should go in."

"Believe it or not, I can't just break down anybody's door that I want."

"But you have probable cause."

"Do I?" Jax turned toward me. "One of the prime suspects, who I must admit is being very sneaky herself, just told me that a mysterious will was signed
conveniently
the day before the victim died. And it left a bunch of money to his wife, who is also a suspect. How do I know who to believe?"

"Jax…come on. You know me! I wouldn't lie…"

"What if your source lied? I don't even know who your source is."

"Father Olaf, you guessed it…"

"I thought you didn't want me to pass that information along, so I
forgot
about it like you asked."

I looked down, at a loss for words. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Let's go get you a phone. I have my guys looking into this. If there was a will signed in this town, we'll find out about it. Very soon. Probably by the time we're done getting your phone."

I sighed.

"Don't worry. We've got men watching her on a regular basis anyway."

"Do you have them on all the suspects?" I asked. I stepped back and gasped. "
You're
watching me, you sneak."

"You asked me to come with, if you'll remember. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You little
sneak.
"

"Listen, you asked me to help you out. I'd be just as happy back in my office."

"Okay, then please feel free to go back to your office. I'm more than happy to take care of this myself." I put my hand on the knob of the front door and twisted hard. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to happen. Mostly I wanted to relieve some anger. But instead, the knob came off right in my hand, and the door swung wide open.

"Whoops," I said, glancing down at the knob now dangling between my fingers.

Jax's features scrunched up in exasperation, as if he didn't want to believe what he was seeing.

"Looks like I've been invited in." I stepped into the sorry excuse for a home, immediately plugging my nose. "Smells like something died in here."

I felt Jax freeze behind me. I hadn't realized he'd been so close to me, but his hand clasped my arm and his muscles tightened on the word
died
.

"Poor choice of words," I said. "It just smells terrible. But it could be because of
that
." I pointed to a molding pile of garbage in what used to be the garbage can but now looked more like a compost pile.

"I don't think she's been here recently," Jax said.

"She was at class."

"Have you seen her since?"

I paused, taking in the violently gross kitchen. The tequila bottle and citrus peels were where we'd left them after our first visit. "I don't think she's a great housekeeper. She could just be tolerating this smell."

"Nobody can tolerate this smell."

I nodded. Speaking of, the smell was getting to me. I leaned a hand against the counter. "Okay, you're right. It's making me nauseous."

"Let's do a quick scan of the place. Make sure she didn't OD in her bathtub or something." Jax strode past me without so much as flinching at the smell. Apparently he'd seen some nasty things on the job and had learned to put up with it. Either that or he was born with one of the strongest stomachs I'd ever encountered.

Jax must have noticed my struggle to stand upright. He extended his arm, and I grasped it like an inner tube that'd been tossed to save me in the middle of a particularly stormy ocean. I hung on for dear life, choking back gags as we started through the house.

There was nothing and nobody in the dilapidated bathroom, nothing and nobody in the living room or the hallways. All that was left in the tiny place was the bedroom.

"Ooh," I gasped. "This isn't good." At the sight before us, I turned around and waited out the waves of nausea in the hallway as Jax rubbed my back lightly.

Once I was under control, he took out his phone and placed a call.

"We need some guys over here, stat. Potential murder scene."

Jax did a quick scan of the room after hanging up the phone. He looked back at me. "We've got one hitch. I don't see a body."

Whether or not it was a murder scene, we couldn't be certain until there was a body. What I was certain of was that there had been some sort of struggle based on the amount of blood on the bed, the carpet, and even the wall.

"There's a good amount of blood," Jax said. "Whoever's it is doesn't have a great chance of surviving."

"What is that?" I asked. Jax hadn't let me enter the room any further, mostly so I didn't destroy a potential crime scene if my stomach revolted on me, but I peeked around the doorframe regardless.

One of the pillows was stabbed all the way through with a long, ugly knife. It looked suspiciously like the one wielded by Mrs. Jenkins the night Donna and I had stopped by.
Had we barely escaped with our lives that night?
The thought turned my stomach.
What was I doing putting a mother of five children in danger?

"Our killer has left us a note, it appears," Jax said.

He gingerly leaned across the bed without touching anything and read the note aloud.

"
My dear Anthony. When will you leave your wife? My heart is breaking. I can't bear to spend my evenings with you, only to go home alone. I'll give you one week, and then it's over. I'll never stop loving you, but I need to stop torturing myself. With love…
"

Jax turned toward me.

"With love from who?" I asked.

"The note is ripped below the name," he said with downturned lips.

"Mrs. Jenkins probably wanted us to work for the name of the victim," I guessed. "If we don't know who it is, we don't even know whose body to look
for
."

"How do you think she got Anthony's lover to come here, into her home? If it is Anthony's mistress's blood."

"Force?" I shrugged. "Or maybe the girl found out about the will and came here to confront Mrs. Jenkins. Maybe she wanted the money. There's a bunch of reasons."

Jax nodded. "There's nothing more you can do here, Misty. Listen, I have a bunch of guys on the way. Take my car and go get a phone. We can't have you hanging around the crime scene anyway. I'll get a ride back to the station, and you can drive my car to your place. I've got the squad car I can use."

Jax handed over a key.

"That's…thank you," I said. "I'd like to stay though."

"We won't find out anything for a while, and I'll call you when I do. The team won't be happy if you're mucking up the scene when they get here. Speaking of…I think I hear them now. Give your statement and go. I'll have a patrol car follow you to the phone store at least until we find Mrs. Jenkins. If this is a crime of passion like I think it might be, then you're probably out of the woods. But it's better to be safe than sorry. Especially until we find her."

I backed away, horrified, but too intrigued to rip my eyes from the scene. Finally, the smell overwhelmed me, and I headed outside, giving my statement to a friendly cop who thankfully wasn't Alfie.

Once I finished, I took the keys and hopped into Jax's car, cruising away. Jax had mentioned that I should let the cops know when I took off, but I was only going to the phone store. That was a public, safe place. I'd give Jax a call from my new phone and tell him when I was headed home. He'd be proud that I kept him updated
and
got a new phone. Double score.

On the way to the store though, I had a sudden ping of guilt. The woman who'd been in love with Anthony—she'd been wrong to sleep with a married man, yes. But did she deserve to be brutally murdered for it?

I took a brief detour. The comic store was supposedly closed today, but I had a gut feeling that the store was never
completely
closed. Maybe a member would be there to let me in. If I could just locate someone who had a better idea of who this girl was, maybe we could find her body. Her family deserved to know, if nothing else.

I whipped Jax's car into a parking space out front. I wasn't really worried about anyone seeing it. I'd only be inside for a few short seconds. Walking up to the door with a million different knobs, I realized I still wasn't quite sure how to get inside the joint.

First, I tried the same handle that'd caused the door to swing open before. Nothing, except the small electric jolt I'd gotten the first time. But this time, there was no swinging door that accompanied it.

I tried another one that set off a rooster-like sound inside the building, and then the next, which was incredibly slippery and made my hand feel like it'd bathed in olive oil, and the last, which was unpleasantly slimy.

"Come on," I said. "Open sesame."

I kicked the door, and this time it swung open a bit.

Wow
, I thought. I was two for two at this whole
getting locked doors opened
thing today.

But this time, a face awaited me on the other side of the door.

"Merlin?" I asked.

Father Olaf was dressed in his purple cloak once more, looking both resigned and extraordinarily tired. "What is it?"

"I…I need to ask a favor."

"Haven't you already asked enough?"

"Actually, just about," I said. "But there's one more thing…and this time it's not for me."

"What is it then?"

"The girl—I
really
need to know who she is. The one Anthony liked."

"I told you, nobody knows her name. Not her real name."

"Bullshit," I retorted. Then I remembered that I was talking not only to Merlin but also to a priest. "Sorry. Bull-crapola. Somebody better know something because there's a
very
good chance this girl is dead."

Merlin gasped. "Dead? No. She can't be. Alfie said she might be coming by tonight…"

I gave Merlin the evil eye.

"I was going to call you," he hedged.

"Well, I just came from a pretty gnarly crime scene, and unless Anthony had more than one lover, things don't look good for her."

"That's…that's terrible."

"Yes, it is. But we don't have her body. We need a body, or else there's no crime. And a body might just lead us to Mrs. Jenkins. This is about more than some comic stuff, or whatever, that you guys are into. This is about life and death. Help me, please."

"Come in. We can talk more inside."

I followed the swirly purple cape into the comic store. The dark passageway melded into a room full of books, which was a blur. It wasn't until we'd reached the simple desk in the middle of the room that he stopped.

"What do you need from me?" he asked. "I assume the information will be kept in the greatest confidence."