CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

 

As we headed for Marco’s silver Prius, I asked, “Was it just me, or was there something odd about Slade Rafferty?”

“He was questioned by the detectives and failed to mention a drug addict neighbor and harassing ex-husband,” Marco said. “That seems very odd to me.”

“It’s more than that,” I said. “Something about him just seemed off. Hanging up on that incoming call, and taking notes while we interviewed him, what do you think that was about?”

“I caught a glance when we stood up,” Marco said as we stopped at his car, “and it was exactly that.”

“What?”

“Notes,” he said. “Slade was taking notes about the interview just like you were. I’ve interviewed many people, but I’ve never had someone take notes.”

“Very strange,” I said, “but I still don’t think he’s the killer.”

“Based on?”

“He had flowers delivered to his house at the same time Paige was killed,” I began. “If Slade had planned to kill his wife and stage a robbery, then why invite a potential witness to the crime in progress?”

“That’s a very good point,” Marco said, squeezing my hand. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Plus, there was that whole Mr. Smith ploy to make sure Slade wasn’t at home at the time of the murder.”

“It could be a ploy,” Marco said, “or it could be Slade’s cover story. He could easily have called his own secretary and told her to put that appointment on his calendar to set up an alibi, albeit a very slim one, but enough to throw the detectives off his trail, especially when there are two very likely suspects waiting in the wings.”

“I highly doubt that, Marco.”

“Yes, but don’t discount it either. If Slade had planned to kill his wife and stage a robbery, any good detective would be all over Dylan Cutler and Luke Hurst. Perhaps Slade was counting on competent detective work and wound up caught in his own trap. Maybe for once Arno is right.”

“I hope you’re not serious,” I said.

“I’m just playing—”

“I know what you’re playing, but there are more sinister devil’s that you could advocate, like Dylan Cutler, just released from prison, a drug addict. What about him?”

“From what Slade told us, the motive for Dylan would be money, but we have no verification.”

“And ex-husband, Luke Hurst?”

“Luke is someone I wouldn’t mind talking to. From what we know, his motive would also be money, but with ex-husbands the motive is usually much deeper.” He added, “If we could get a look at those texts that Luke sent to Paige, we would have some much needed verification.”

“Her phone is still missing,” I said. “Do you have the ability to track it?”

“I don’t, but maybe Reilly does.”

“That would be risky,” I thought aloud. “Wouldn’t the detective already be tracking it?”

“Good detectives would,” he answered. “I’ll talk to Reilly and see what he thinks. In the meantime, we have plenty of people to interview.”

Marco opened the passenger door for me, but I stayed for a moment and couldn’t help but think about Slade Rafferty actually murdering his own wife. It just didn’t seem right. Nothing about this case seemed right. “Marco, would you buy me extravagant jewelry, pay for an expensive cruise, and then kill me?”

He thought about it for a moment then answered, “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I wanted to look innocent or not.”

“So you’ve thought about this, have you?” I asked playfully.

Marco put his arms around me and pulled me in for a hug. “Of course not, Sunshine,” he said and kissed me on the cheek. “I could find a much cheaper way to look innocent.”

I gave him a jab in the ribs. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said, laughing. “It could be a ploy to look innocent. Now why don’t you call Paige’s sister and set up an interview for after supper? She might be able to shed light on both Luke’s and Slade’s relationship with Paige.”

I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m on it now.”

As soon as I was back at Bloomers, Grace and I found the anniversary card with the cruise tickets in it. The shop was quiet and the orders were complete so we spent the rest of the day talking about Paige’s murder. We discussed the interview with Slade and everyone seemed to agree that it would be odd to send flowers to your own house while you were committing a premeditated murder. Although we agreed on most details, the ladies were still very torn about the guilt of Slade Rafferty.

 

…

 

I left Bloomers around four and headed back to Slade Rafferty’s realty office to return the cruise tickets, noticing that he and Paige would have been travelling on the same boat as us. On the way, I called Dylan’s mom, Darlene Cutler, and set up a quick meeting with her at Rosie’s diner the next morning. Rafferty’s realty building was quiet as I entered the lobby and approached Slade’s office door.

“You can leave them with me,” his secretary said, coming around the corner with a steaming cup of tea. “Mr. Rafferty isn’t in at the moment.”

“Do you know when he might be back?” I asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said with slight concern in her voice. “He left around one for a meeting with his lawyers and hasn’t returned.”

“Is that normal?”

“Not really,” she said and then stopped herself. “I’m sorry, Abby. I don’t mean to trouble you. I’ll give him the tickets and let him know you stopped by.”

I got home around five and was greeted warmly by my sweet, three-legged mutt, Seedy. From around the corner casually strolled Smoke, our giant Russian Blue rescue cat. He let out a curt meow and headed straight for his food dish.

“I know, Smokey boy. I’m hungry, too.”

After feeding our pets and taking Seedy out for a quick walk I was caught standing in front of the open refrigerator.

“Guess what’s for dinner?” Marco asked as he kicked off his shoes and came up behind me for a kiss.

“Meatloaf? Mashed potatoes? Oven-roasted ham…”

“Salad it is,” he said enthusiastically, revealing a large takeout container from Down The Hatch.

“How am I going to live through three weeks of this?”

“You can do it, babe.”

Right. “By the way, I stopped by Rafferty’s realty office after work.”

“And?”

“Rafferty wasn’t there. His secretary said he left for his meeting at one and never came back.”

Marco reached around me and grabbed the Italian vinaigrette from the side panel, then shut the refrigerator door. “Is that significant?”

“I’m not sure, but his secretary seemed to think so. I just wanted you to know.”

“Did you get in touch with Darlene Cutler?”

“Yes, and that’s Doctor Cutler. She’s a child psychologist. The only time she could meet with us is tomorrow morning at 9 am.”

“Well,” Marco said. “That’s extremely inconvenient.”

“Apparently,” I said as I prepared my air quotes. “She’s a ‘very busy woman.’ But I can get one of my assistants to cover for me.”

“Then let’s do it.”

We ate our healthy dinner and talked over the case, laying out different strategies and theories. I popped the last cherry tomato into my mouth and sank in, savoring every last bite.

“That salad wasn’t so bad,” I said. “And I am surprisingly full. Good job, hubby.”

“Being on a diet takes some getting used to,” he replied, “but I’m glad you liked it.” Marco picked up one of the glasses of Chardonnay that I’d poured, and I picked up the other. “Here’s to saving our friend Sean Reilly,” he said, clinking glasses with me.

“And here’s to showing Dutch how to solve a case the right way,” I said, and we clinked again.

We were almost on our way to canvass the Rafferty’s neighborhood when my phone dinged to signal an incoming text. It was from Jillian: On my way!

“Oh, shoot,” I said and grabbed Marco’s sleeve, stopping him before he opened the door to the garage.

I texted back: I am soooo sorry, Jill. I completely forgot. Busy with the case.

“What’s wrong?” Marco asked.

“I told Jillian I would do Pilates with her tonight. I totally spaced it.” Possibly on purpose.

“She’s not going to be happy about that,” Marco teased.

“I think she’ll understand.”

Jillian replied: BUT YOU PINKY SWORE!

“Okay, maybe not,” I said to Marco.

My reply was short but sincere: So sorry. Tomorrow. 7 pm. I promise.

Her response was a sad face emoji.

 

…

 

We canvassed the residents of Sandy Creek Court but came up with no new information. Some of the neighbors had seen the police cars, and some had even noticed my Bloomers van, but no one had noticed any strange cars in the alley, or seen anyone at Paige’s front door, or even heard the sound of a window being smashed. Whoever had entered the Rafferty’s home had gotten in without being spotted.

At eight-thirty that evening, I rang the doorbell at the home of Susan Gillen. A divorced woman who worked as a branch manager for New Chapel Savings Bank, the attractive forty-six-year old divorcee lived in a one-bedroom condominium in a beautiful new complex near the university.

I was instantly overwhelmed by the distinct and nauseating aroma of ammonia mixed with something else equally unbearable. I almost took a step back, but was ushered inside.

“Quickly now,” she said, “step inside. We don’t want anyone escaping, do we?”

And then I realized that she wasn’t just talking to me and Marco, but instead to a room full of darting, furry animals.

“Don’t mind the smell,” she said.

“It’s okay,” I tried to say between breaths through my mouth. “I can hardly smell the litterbox.”

“The litterbox? Oh, no. Those are in the basement. I meant about the fishy smell. I made tuna for dinner.”

“We have a cat too,” I said, looking around at the feline décor and paintings. “He eats everything, but for the life of me I can’t get him to eat tuna.”

“Oh, no,” she corrected again. “The tuna was for me.”

“I see.”

Marco gave me a look of frightful desperation.

“Let’s get straight to the questions, shall we?”

Susan poured chamomile tea into cups and handed them to us before taking a seat on a blue chair across from where we were seated on the couch. A large orange tabby leapt onto my lap with a frisky meow and I was compelled to pet him with one hand while I opened my iPad with the other.

“First of all, I need to ask if you stopped by Paige’s house on Monday to have coffee with her,” Marco said, as I balanced the cat on my knees.

“No, I was out of town until Monday evening,” she said.

I made notes while Marco continued and the tabby rubbed his nose on my chin.

“Tell us about Slade and Paige’s marriage.”

A gray and white tiger cat jumped onto the sofa and curled up beside her. She instinctively caressed him while she answered, “Slade was wonderful to my sister. He treated Paige as a beautiful, independent woman, not as a possession, like Luke had.”

“Do you know anything about Slade taking out a life insurance policy on Paige?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” she denied. “I handle all of their personal finances and I haven’t seen anything unusual.”

“What are your feelings about Slade being your sister’s killer?” Marco asked, getting right to the point.

“I don’t believe it for a second. He adored Paige as much as she adored him. In fact, she told me only last week-” Susan gulped back tears and started over, her voice breaking. “She told me – only last week – that she’d never – felt as loved as when –”

She covered her face and began to sob so hard she had to leave the room. The cat, startled, jumped down and trotted after her. I knew exactly how Paige had felt about her husband because I’d gone through a similar life-changing event.

I’d been engaged to the eldest son of one of the scions of New Chapel, Pryce Osborne II, but I’d never felt he’d truly loved me. He’d just wanted someone his family deemed worthy of being his wife, and once I’d flunked out of law school, I’d flunked out as his fiancée too, a stain on their high social standing in the community. It was only under Marco’s love that I’d blossomed.

Sensing my thoughts, Marco gave my hand a squeeze and gazed into my eyes, his reflecting that same deep love I felt for him. I gave him a grateful smile and he said, “We need to get out of here. My eyes are burning.”

Susan came back into the living room, a different cat in her arms, composed once again. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a voice still constricted with pain. “My sister and I were very close. Losing her has been the worst thing I’ve ever endured.”

“And I’m sorry to have to put you through this,” I said, “but we believe the detectives aren’t looking at all the evidence.”

“You better believe they’re not,” Susan said angrily. “They’re ignoring everything I told them. I informed Detective Arno what Luke Hurst had been doing to my sister and that he should be investigated, too, not just Slade. He listened with obvious disinterest, didn’t take any notes, and thanked me curtly. So I took it upon myself to call Luke and ask him where he was on Monday afternoon. He merely hung up on me.”

“Slade told us what he knew about Luke asking Paige for money,” I said. “What can you tell us about that?”

“I can tell you that Slade didn’t know everything. Paige didn’t like to upset him. In fact, she knew neither one of us liked her helping Luke out, but that was my kind-hearted sister. She had a hard time refusing anyone. She always wanted to believe the best in everyone.”

“Slade told us that Paige had filed a restraining order against Luke,” I said. “Do you know if Paige had any contact with him since then?”

“Yes, a few weeks ago I happened to be at the house when Luke called. He told her he was out of work again, looking for a new job, and, as usual, wasn’t able to pay his rent. She asked me not to mention it to Slade because he’d just get angry. I told her he had every right to be angry. She was being a fool, and if she couldn’t say no to Luke, then for heaven’s sake, stop answering his calls!”

Susan huffed, clearly still upset, and reached for her tea, giving me a chance to catch up on my notes before continuing.

“At my urging,” she said, “Paige finally called Luke back to tell him she’d changed her mind about lending the money. And then she did exactly what I’d advised her to do, stopped taking his calls. That was when he started sending her emails.”

“Slade must not have known about the emails,” I said to Marco.

“I doubt he knew,” Susan said. “She confided that to me.”

“And those emails could be why the computer is missing,” I said to Marco. “I’m sorry for interrupting again, Susan. Go on.”

“Actually, you’re right, Abby,” Susan said. “Luke wouldn’t have wanted those emails discovered. Anyway, Paige blocked his email address, and then he started texting her so she blocked his number, too. He didn’t pay any attention to that restraining order.”

“Theoretically, Luke was blocked on all fronts except one,” I said, “to show up at her house and ask for the money in person.”

“That’s very possible,” Susan said. “He could’ve easily talked his way inside.”

“Given all that harassment, would she have felt comfortable enough to have had coffee with him?” Marco asked.

“If he asked for a cup, I’m sure she would have. Take it from me. Luke could be very humble and convincing when he wanted something.” Through gritted teeth she said, “I’ll never forgive him for the way he treated my sister. If he’s the one who killed her, I hope he rots in prison.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find your sister’s killer,” I assured her.

“Would you please keep me informed? I can’t get Detective Arno to return my calls.”

“Of course.” I dug one of our cards out of my purse. “Thank you so much for seeing us, Susan. If you think of anything else that might help, please call. Oh, and one more thing. Do you have Luke’s address?”

“No, but I know where he always used to hang out. It’s a pool hall and bar on the south side of town, just off Route Thirty, called The Lost Weekend.”

“I know the one you mean,” Marco said. “Thanks.”

We walked back to the Prius, taking turns swiping cat fur from each other’s clothing. Marco’s phone rang as we got into the car, “It’s Reilly,” he said and put the phone on speaker. “How’s desk life, Reilly?”

“Don’t get me started. I feel like a zoo animal,” he said quietly. “Everyone in the precinct is watching me, waiting to see what I do next. It’s humiliating.”

“I’m sorry, Sarge,” I said into the speaker. Marco moved the phone closer to me. “It’s Abby. Do you have any news for us?”

“I just got an email from our tech specialist,” Reilly started. “He can track the phone without a warrant, but he’s nervous about taking orders from me now that I’m being investigated. He didn’t promise anything, so we’ll see. He said that if the phone is powered on he can locate the wireless signal pretty accurately, but there’s the problem.”

“The phone’s not on,” I said.

“Probably not,” Reilly confirmed. “Most likely the phone was either destroyed or powered off. The good news is that the phone can be tracked up until that point, so we may have something within a day or two. He said he would get back to me if he could.”

“Thank you, Sean,” Marco said. “Just let us know.”

“Will do,” Reilly said before hanging up.
It wasn’t until we were almost home that Marco asked, “What are you thinking?”

“That we have a new top suspect – Luke Hurst”