I determined the scene had been secured enough and climbed out of the car. Briggs and another officer were searching Heather's car. Heather was cuffed and being watched over by a female officer as I approached. I almost felt sorry for her. She had gone through an ordeal, and it was easy to see how it might push someone to murder. My sympathy waned some though when her blue eyes shot my direction and her nostrils flared with anger.
"You," she hissed. "This is all your fault. I should've known the first time I met you when that old lighthouse keeper told me you solved murders." Her laugh was mean and edged with hysteria. "I didn't believe him, of course. You don't look as if you could solve a riddle, let alone a murder." My sympathy was vanishing quickly.
I grinned at her. "And yet, here you are standing in handcuffs. Shall I tell you all the mistakes you made? Hmm, let's see," I said before she could respond. "First of all, you shouldn't brag about a pretend book deal. Obviously, you concocted that lie to give yourself cover for hanging around town taking pictures."
The slightest tick had begun to twitch in her cheek. "The lie worked," she sneered. "I had that old lighthouse keeper standing out there for hours, thinking I was there to take pictures of his stupid lighthouse."
"You aren't even a good liar. You gave out two different publisher names. That was my first clue that something wasn't right about your coffee table book." I walked a little closer. "And his name is Marty, not old lighthouse keeper, and the Pickford Lighthouse is wonderful. If you were a real artist, you'd see that. But your head was clouded with revenge."
Her icy expression melted some and tears filled her eyes. "Michael Plesser was a monster. My mother was the kindest, most wonderful woman in the world. She trusted everyone. She was funny, outgoing and desperate for love. My father left us when I was seven." A sob bubbled from her throat. "She was devastated and heartbroken. But she rebounded and went to school to become a teacher. The two of us lived a nice, happy life in a small house with our own vegetable garden. Mom was frugal and she socked a lot of money away in retirement. It's for you, Heather," she said in a wavering voice. "For you after I'm gone," she continued. My sympathy level was rising again. "She was so in love with him, and she was sure he loved her. I knew there was something strange about him, and I tried to convince her to break it off. Then she started handing him money, everything she had saved. Once it was all gone and she had nothing left to give, he showed up with that woman." Her mouth crinkled as if she had just bit into a sour lemon. "Glenda or whatever her real name was. She showed up at our front door in her expensive high heels and fur coat, holding his arm as if they were just going off to be married. He'd come for his things, his clothes, he told my mom. He let her know he was moving out of state and that he never wanted to see her again. My mom didn't eat for days. She got so dehydrated from crying I had to take her to the hospital. She lost her job. That evil man had charged thousands on her credit cards. The bank took the house, the garden.” She shrank down with each word until she dropped to her knees to cry. "He only spent a few months in prison," she sobbed. "Our lives were destroyed, but he went right on living the good life." Her head dropped and her shoulders shook.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. There just wasn't anything else for me to say. I'd been feeling victorious, excited, proud that I'd helped solve the double murder but as I walked back toward Briggs' car, where I intended to sit and get warm, I felt pretty miserable. The justice system hadn't worked the first time, so Heather took matters into her own hands. Listening to her story, it was hard to blame her.
I sat huddled in my own arms, my face buried in the collar of my coat as Briggs finished up. The police put Heather into the back of the squad car for transportation to the precinct. Briggs walked back to his car and climbed in. Being a wonderful boyfriend, he instantly sensed that something was off.
He took hold of my hand. "I saw you talking to Heather. Are you all right?"
I sniffled to assure him I wasn't. "Maybe I shouldn't have pursued this one. But I didn't know the motive." I swiped at a tear and turned to him. Again, wonderful boyfriend and friend that he was, he just listened instead of talking me out of my notions. "It was a really good motive. I don't know what I'd do if someone destroyed my mom's life, driving her to suicide. It all seems justified. The system didn't work for her. Michael Plesser committed terrible crimes and got almost no jail time."
Briggs reached across for an awkward hug over the console. It was still effective. I always felt better with his arms around me. "I know it doesn't seem fair, Lacey, but she killed two people. She played judge, jury and executioner in this." He straightened. "As rotten as the two victims might have been, they didn't deserve this."
I nodded, reluctantly. "You're right, of course." I sniffled again. "I guess that's why I wouldn't make a great detective. I let my emotions get in the way."
"Wrong, a good detective always keeps that human side handy. It's just as important as the cold, official side. And the way you ferreted out this suspect, with no help from the police, was nothing short of amazing. I'm proud of you, Miss Pinkerton." He leaned over for a kiss. That darn console was in the way again.
"I've realized something with this last case," I said. "Sometimes it's better to just have a pair of eyes and ears hanging around town. It's amazing what you can discover just talking to the lighthouse keeper or visiting the local bakery. But don't forget, I did have one visit to the evidence room to look at the photo. I just got lucky when the print quality matched the quality of Heather's lighthouse photo."
"Which you wouldn't have seen if you hadn't been hanging around town."
"Yep, my point, exactly."
"Well, I'm starved," Briggs said. "How about dropping by Franki's for some late night pancakes?"
"Yes, after this evening, I think I deserve some pancakes."