The Marquesa's Necklace (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

Yes, I have money. I just don’t spend it. My mother was a hippie—I learned from her you don’t need to spend money to be happy, but my father was an investment banker, and made a lot of it. I inherited a goodly sum when they died in a freak mountain climbing accident. I also inherited Dad’s financial adviser, and Keith knows what he is doing. I won’t ever have to worry about having enough money to live on. That makes the Corvette a definite possibility. I wondered how Detective Thomason would react if I pulled up next to him at a red light, gunning the car’s engine, daring him to drag race.

Still smiling, I studied the exterior of my humble abode as I strolled to the gate in the back yard. The house is a fully restored Victorian. Luke did most of the work to save it from demolition. I helped paint it the original colors—a yellow green with maroon trim. The exterior stairs were the only way to reach the entrance to my apartment unless you used a ladder to get to a window. There is an interior stairway that I, or my landlords, can use in case of an emergency, but they use it as a closet, and it’s an obstacle course to go up and down. Then there’s Luke’s dog and alarm system, Piper. He was in the fenced yard and I patted him before I started the climb to my place.

Piper is half Rottweiler, half German Shepherd, half demon, and extremely protective of his family. I live in the same house and take care of him when Luke and Joe are out of town which makes me family too. I always knew when I was under surveillance because he went crazy barking. No matter what Detective Thomason suggested, I don’t need to go stay with friends. My apartment is plenty secure.

Absentmindedly, I thumbed through my mail as I climbed the steps. Just the usual assortment of ads and credit card solicitations, nothing important. It would all get shredded and end up as mulch for the rhododendrons that graced the yard. I wasn’t paying attention as I pulled out my keys and unlocked my door.

The folded, bright orange paper that must have been stuck between the screen door and the main door caught my eye. I almost dropped my laptop bag when I snatched it from the clutches of a sudden gust of cold wind threatening to send the sheet sailing. But I managed to hang onto it with my free hand, using my hip to push open the heavy wooden door.

Curious, I set down my laptop and purse and unfolded the paper without even kicking off my shoes first. Totally not like me. I sank down on my old brown couch.

A crudely drawn skull and crossbones adorned the top half of the page. On the bottom half, scrawled in red ink, were the words “You got lucky this time.” I took a deep breath, picked up the landline phone, and hit memory five—Detective Thomason’s direct line.

I was sitting at the bottom of the stairway, patting Piper, and practicing breathing exercises to calm my nerves when he arrived in a squad car, sirens wailing. To my shock, Piper didn’t even growl. The uniformed cop with him dashed up the stairs, his hand on the butt of his gun. The detective sat beside me and pulled the evidence out of my still-shaking hand. He flipped open the sheet, glanced at it, and folded it in half. His lips tightened into a thin line as he stared at the crack in the concrete beneath his feet. We sat there, not looking at each other, until the policeman came stomping down the stairs.

“It’s clear.”

Detective Thomason grunted. “Ms. Duprie, have you met Officer Clearmont?”

I recognized the face if not the name. I’d probably seen him around the station. “I’d like to say good to see you again,” I said, “But unfortunately it’s not.” Wow, I was really slipping, cranking out a line like that. Under other circumstances, I would have been ashamed of myself.

“I’ll dust for prints on the door, but I don’t expect to find any,” the officer said, his expression not changing. “Except for yours, ma’am,” he added, acknowledging me.

“And we have hers on file at the station, so they will be easy to match up.” Detective Thomason noted dryly. “Bring back an evidence bag for this too.” He waved the guilty piece of paper in the air. “Although I doubt we will find any unknown prints on it.”

I watched Officer Clearmont’s retreating back. “Are you sure Jake is still in prison?”

“Yes.” He put his hand on my knee. “That doesn’t mean a friend of his, still on the outside isn’t doing this for him. Do you remember the names of any of his business associates?”

I let the hand stay, but Piper growled. Detective Thomason glanced at the dog, but Piper was inside the fence and no threat. I patted him through the wire until he settled down. “No, Jake never introduced me to them. Of course, I thought his business was real estate until you arrested me for selling drugs with him.” It might have been a figment of my imagination, but I think the detective blushed.

“Just doing my job.” He moved his hand. I missed its reassuring warmth.

“I don’t know how you thought I was some gangster’s moll. I mean, I’m just a plain old ex-librarian.”

“There’s nothing plain about you, Harmony,” he blurted out. It was my turn to blush. I busied myself patting Piper until Officer Clearmont returned. The two men went upstairs to do whatever it is the police do at a crime scene.

I cleaned for two hours after they left. It started with washing the residue of fingerprint powder off the door, and morphed into a deep cleaning of everything Officer Clearmont might have touched. The counters, the doorknobs, I even changed the cover on my bed, and that was a week ahead of schedule. Don’t get me wrong, he was well-groomed, but my friends accuse me of being slightly fanatical about keeping my place up to my rather-high standards. My furniture may be old, but nobody will ever be able to say anything in my apartment is dirty.

The whole ritual was cathartic. It made me feel in control again. Almost as good as deep meditation. I put away the soap, bucket and sponges and sat down to relax. The fresh scent of pine filled the air, and I filled my lungs as I sank into the cushions of my couch. The notion of borrowing Piper to spend the night with me fled. As much as I love him, he stank. Then my eyes fell on my laptop case.

With the piece of blank paper tucked inside.

The one from the library.

The one I conveniently forgot to mention to Detective Thomason.

*****

Monday morning, I pulled up to the library in my brand new salsa red Jaguar. I could practically hear the vertebrae in people’s necks cracking as they twisted their heads to see. It was an F-Type V-8 S, and smokin’ hot. Definitely not a George. That snooty salesman never knew what hit him when I walked in wearing my old jeans, pointed to the car I’d seen on-line, and brought out my checkbook. He practically fainted when he looked at the check and realized it was for the full amount of the asking price of the car. Of course, the sales manager needed to call my bank before he handed over the keys. Now I had two new best friends. Too bad neither one of them was my type.

I considered doing my bit for the environment and buying a Tesla Roadster. But living in a third floor apartment it made it next to impossible to charge the battery. And the Jaguar was only half the cost of the Aston Martin I checked out, being a big James Bond fan. I could spend hours debating the merits of each of the actors who played him in the movies. Daniel Craig was my new favorite.

So I bought the Jaguar. I should be able to outrun anyone who tried to tail me now. Her name would come to me soon. Yes, a she. That much I knew.

*****

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I settled into my preferred chair. It gave me view of the front door as long as I didn’t pile too many books in front of me, and the sun streaming in the windows made it as cheery as me. It didn’t take more than a minute for Janine to show up.

“Don’t tell me your insurance paid for that,” she said, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Would you believe it’s a loaner until George gets repaired?”

She put her hands on her hips and stared at me.

“I haven’t asked yet if my insurance covers accidental bombings,” I tried not to smile, but lost the battle. “Let me know when you go on break, and I’ll take you for a quick spin.”

“Oh no, not on my break. After work. When I can go home and put on an outfit the car deserves. I’m thinking ‘Thelma and Louise’.”

Bad reference, considering my recent past, but I let it slide. I was in a good mood. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at 5:30. We’ll find a long straight road somewhere and see what she’ll do.”

“Maybe you ought to spend a few days getting used to it before you push it too far.”

“What do you think I was doing when your calls went to voice mail yesterday?”

She still looked doubtful. I winked at her. “Who’s the scaredy-cat now?” She was always after me about expanding my horizons, trying new things, letting go of my inhibitions. She’s the one who introduced me to Jake.

Chapter Five

Jake.

He’s the one that gave me the confidence to buy the Jaguar. His car, a souped-up Dodge Charger, could outrun anything in a 200-mile radius, including the cops. That’s the car he used to give me driving lessons. And I don’t mean the check your rear view mirror, use your turn signals, hands at ten and two type lessons. I mean like the 90 degree handbrake turn, or parallel parking by sliding into a spot. I never got the courage to try driving on two wheels like he wanted. After our arrest I figured out why he wanted me to be able to drive that way.

Jake was perfect. At least I thought so for the longest time. He was tall and handsome in the rough way cowboys are. The scar that ran across his left shoulder—from a motorcycle accident he told me—just added to his charisma. He liked when I ran my fingers lightly across the scar, and loved when I followed its length with my tongue. He seemed to have an unlimited supply of money, but didn’t make a big deal about it. And he liked to spend it on me. I never understood why.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ugly, but I’m no model either. Average height with mousy brown hair and a plain Jane face, I rarely bother with makeup. My clothes have sometimes come from the same thrift shops as the furniture in the apartment. A man like Jake would look natural with a supermodel or two hanging on his arm, not a small town librarian.

My friends tell me I sell myself short, and am better looking than I give myself credit for. Jake made me feel that way. In fact, he made me feel sexy, both in and out of the bedroom. He took me to a little dress shop in Cleveland and helped me pick out outfits that made it seem like I had curves in all the right places. For him, I gave up my plain white cotton underwear and bought little lacy stuff. I never gave in to buying thongs to please him, but I came close. Those clothes are stuffed in the back of my closet now, except for the underwear. Once in a while I still wore them, especially the red ones, when I needed a boost in my self-confidence. I wouldn’t let him buy me everything he wanted—once he gave me what was obviously a ridiculously expensive necklace. I wore it once to make him happy, and then gave it back.

His cover story was that he was a real estate investor. He planned to buy up old Victorian houses in town, remodel them, and sell them for an outrageous profit to wealthy internet entrepreneurs wanting to escape the grind of the big cities and work in a more comfortable, Mayberry setting. Oak Grove sits close enough to Pittsburgh and Cleveland so if they wanted to go to concerts or sporting events on a weekend, travel wouldn’t be an issue. He even bought one house—I helped him to research the original colors. It’s sitting empty now, the inside walls on the first floor torn out and ready to be rebuilt. I hope the court allows it to be put up for sale soon, so someone else can finish the project. I would be tempted to do it, but it holds too many bad memories.

It didn’t bother me when Jake left town on his trips. He didn’t always tell me when he left, but it wasn’t like we were married or anything. Early on in our relationship he informed me that sometimes he would need to travel unexpectedly. I assumed he had real estate deals across the United States. He surprised me with perfume from Paris one trip—I hadn’t thought of him traveling overseas. He said he had been there negotiating with a fabric firm to supply material for one of his projects. Said he would take me along the next time. He even helped me figure out the paperwork to apply for my passport, and took the picture I would use for the required photo.

Maybe I’ll make that trip by myself one day.

*****

I sat on the floor of the third floor of the library between the rows of the 960’s, picking out books to haul to the table downstairs, but not concentrating on the task. My thoughts kept wandering to the bright red car sitting outside. I couldn’t decide whether to take Janine on the curviest road possible and show off how well the car handled, or on a long, straight road and see how fast she would go. As I daydreamed about it parked in front of the Red Pyramid, a sudden chill crawled down my back. Looking up, I caught a glimpse of a pair of brown shoes and pants walking by the end of the row. When I turned back to the book in my hand, there was a single, perfect, deep-red rose lying across its open pages.

Carefully, I moved the book from my lap to the floor and stood, then slid to the end of the aisle. I peered around the corner to the next aisle over, but it was empty. The aisle after that was empty as well. An elderly gentleman, a regular, occupied the next one. Determined, I traced my steps backward and checked out the rows in the other direction. The man in the brown suit was nowhere to be found.

Janine came by my table later to confirm our date, and caught me twirling the flower.