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The car was gone by the time Imogene, Willow, and Kat made it outside, but they had a clear view of what it had left behind in its wake.
A woman was sprawled by the curb, her motionless body in stark contrast to the aluminum cans rolling around her. It looked as if she had dropped a bin full of recyclables before collapsing.
“Oh, heavens,” Imogene whispered, setting one hand over her heart. “It’s Nikita.”
Willow pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket. “I’ll call for help.”
A man rushed over from another yard. He crouched next to the woman and set his fingers against her wrist. When he stood up a moment later without making any attempt at resuscitation, Kat’s stomach dropped to her feet. Catching them watching, he shook his head, his expression grim.
Kat stood there, her shoes rooted to the ground. A minute ago she had been admiring one of this woman’s paintings. Now, she was dead, her life taken away in a flash.
Imogene’s neighbors were starting to pour out of their houses. Kat could see them moving in as word traveled up and down Spencer Street. Everyone looked as startled as Kat felt by the violent end to their quiet Thursday evening.
“Did anybody see the car?” Imogene shouted.
“I might have,” an elderly woman called out from across the street. She was hunched over a walker, but that didn’t seem to slow her down as she pushed her way toward Imogene.
Imogene met her at the end of the driveway. “What did you see, Esther?”
“A dark car. I was doing my dishes when it happened. Looked out my window and saw it speeding away.”
“Did you get the license plate?” Kat asked.
The woman scoffed. “Darling, the way that car took off, you’re lucky I saw anything at all. Didn’t even have its lights on.”
Kat stilled. “The headlights weren’t on?”
“Nope. Lucky the streetlamps on this block aren’t burnt out.”
The sound of sirens interrupted their conversation. They all turned to watch as an ambulance sped toward them, its lights flashing. A police cruiser wasn’t far behind. When the vehicles came to a halt, the neighbors all backed away to give the response team room to do their jobs.
Kat wrapped her arms around her middle to help shield herself from the frigid December air. They hadn’t bothered to grab their coats, in too much of a hurry to get outside. If the way Imogene was shivering was any indication, Kat gathered that her friend had only just recently noticed the cold as well.
Or maybe that was the effect of her neighbor being struck dead in this typically peaceful neighborhood.
A familiar unmarked car pulled up to the curb. Kat exhaled, a little less anxious now that her boyfriend, Cherry Hills Police Detective Andrew Milhone, was on the scene.
Imogene rushed toward him as he climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Andrew, thank goodness you’re here.”
“What happened?” he asked, his eyes taking in their surroundings.
“We were inside the house for our 4F board meeting when we heard the screech of tires and Nikita’s scream,” Imogene told him. “By the time we made it out here, Nikita was lying there and the car was gone. Esther saw it though.”
“Sure did,” Esther piped up.
Andrew pulled a notepad and pen from his breast pocket. “What can you tell me about the vehicle?”
“It was dark, maybe black.”
“What else?”
“Had four doors.”
Andrew waited a beat, then said, “Did you notice anything else?”
Esther shook her head.
“You didn’t see its headlights on, did you, Esther?” Kat prompted.
Esther straightened. “That’s right. Girl’s got a good memory.”
Andrew pushed his sandy hair off of his forehead and surveyed the crowd. “Are you the only one who saw anything?”
“As far as we know,” Imogene said. “Except maybe for Clover.”
“Clover?” Andrew frowned. “You mean your cat Clover?”
Imogene nodded. “He was looking out my bedroom window at the time. Something outside had obviously caught his interest. I assumed it was a raccoon or some other wild animal, but now I’m not so sure.”
Andrew’s eyes drifted toward Imogene’s pink house. “Huh.”
Kat figured he wouldn’t give much merit to Clover’s potential insights into the crime. From previous conversations they’d had on the subject, she knew he didn’t think highly of felines serving as eyewitnesses.
“Poor Nikita,” Imogene said, her shoulders sagging. “That’s her name,” she told Andrew. “Nikita Stoll.”
“The artist, right?” Andrew said.
Imogene bobbed her head. “She was a delightful neighbor. Never gave me one problem.”
“Any idea what she was doing outside?”
“Friday morning is trash pickup,” Imogene told Andrew. “I imagine she was bringing her bins out.”
“I wonder if the driver knew she would be outside tonight,” Kat said.
Andrew wrote something on his notepad. “With this type of hit and run, it’s just as likely she was struck by accident.”
Esther’s lips puckered. “Crazy drunks. They ought to know better than to drive around after imbibing a few.”
“There are a lot of reasons why the driver might not have stopped: fear of being caught behind the wheel while under the influence, improper car insurance, maybe an illegal weapon in the car.” Andrew shrugged. “I’m not ruling out anything at this point.”
“Hey, Milhone,” a uniformed officer hollered, running over to join them.
Andrew faced him. “Yeah?”
The portly officer stopped and braced his hands on his knees. He didn’t say anything as he worked to catch his breath, the short jog leaving him noticeably winded.
“Leon found an abandoned car a couple blocks over,” he finally wheezed out. “Sloppy parking job near the curb. Driver’s side door was wide open. Leon said it looked like blood on the right front fender.”
“What kind of car?” Andrew asked.
“Black Camry.”
“Could be the same vehicle you saw then,” Andrew said to Esther.
Esther nodded. “Could be.”
“Leon checked it out,” the officer continued. “It’s registered to a guy up in Wenatchee. Turns out he just reported it stolen not more than five minutes ago.”
“Wenatchee’s a thirty-minute drive from Cherry Hills,” Andrew said. “That means the owner either didn’t notice his car was gone right away, or he held off on notifying the police.”
“Says he was at some party for the past few hours, but when he went to leave the car and his keys were both missing,” the officer contributed. “Guy doesn’t know exactly when they were snatched.”
“Nikita’s killer could have stolen somebody else’s car to avoid having it traced back to them,” Kat said.
“Or the car thief didn’t know Nikita at all, but he wasn’t willing to wait around for the cops to show up after hitting a woman during a joyride,” Andrew countered.
“I’m not so sure about that.” The officer held up a baggie containing a scrap of paper. “Leon found this on the ground near the driver’s side door. He says it looks like it was dropped when the driver exited the vehicle.”
Andrew took the baggie. Kat crowded closer, leaning over his shoulder to see if she could make out anything from this angle. She spotted the words ‘Spencer Street’ scribbled in a jerky, narrow scrawl, but not much else.
“It’s the vic’s address,” the officer said.
Kat sucked in a breath, the implications of Nikita’s killer having her address written down knocking the air from her lungs.
Regardless of all the reasons Andrew had listed as to why a reckless driver might flee the scene, this note all but guaranteed that this particular accident might not have been so accidental after all.
