The Pleasant Grove Police were once more less than helpful. They wrote up a report and took the lock pick things with them in an evidence bag. Maybe one day they’d check for fingerprints but I doubted it.
Fred spent the night in my living room on Trent’s air mattress which Trent graciously agreed to loan him. I think those two could be friends if they weren’t both so secretive about everything. But I suppose an air mattress is as good a place as any for a friendship to start.
When I left for work, Fred was already up and making strange noises in my basement. I gave him carte blanche permission to go through everything. I figured by the time I got home, he’d have my house cleaned and all my spices in alphabetical order. I was hoping he’d find a few missing things like my favorite iron skillet and my purple T-shirt with rhinestone butterflies.
The morning went well. I made chocolate mousse for lunch, served it with a dollop of whipped cream and a strawberry on top, and saw a lot of happy faces.
Paula and I were cleaning up and preparing to close for the day when Trent called.
“We’ve arrested someone for Rodney Bradford’s murder,” he said. “I wanted to let you know before you saw it on TV.”
“Who? Lisa? Rick?”
“Diane Hartman.”
“Who?” I’d never heard the name. “Are we talking about the same Rodney Bradford?”
“She’s his old girlfriend. They were together before Rodney went to prison, and then he dumped her for Lisa.”
“Oh. Well. So you caught her. That’s great.”
“You don’t sound like you think it’s great. You can let Henry roam again and won’t have to worry about somebody breaking into your house.”
“I do think it’s great. I really do. It’s just that, well, I’ve become sort of personally involved, and I guess I’m a little disappointed not to be involved in the final solution. You never mentioned that woman before today. I had no idea she was even being considered as a suspect.” I felt a little betrayed.
“Lindsay, you know I can’t tell you everything that goes on in an official investigation.”
“I understand. No problem.” I did understand on a rational level, but I still had a problem with it. Okay, I knew that was irrational. Didn’t matter. I was miffed that Trent had been in my house and shared my chocolate and even kissed me but still kept secrets from me. “So this woman killed Bradford because she was upset with him for dumping her?”
“That’s our take on it.”
“What was she looking for in my house?”
“She denies being in your house.”
“Well, of course she does. I suppose she denies killing Bradford, too.”
“Yes.”
“So she didn’t confess, but you have evidence to prove she’s guilty?”
“Yes.”
“Like cat scratches on her arms?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
That sounded like a no to me. “What does she look like?”
He hesitated.
“Oh, come on! I’ll see her picture on TV on the evening news!”
“Medium height, dark hair, ample bosom.”
“That doesn’t sound like the tall, blond woman who came to Paula’s house.”
“Wearing a wig, it could be. Paula’s short. If Diane was wearing heels, she’d seem tall to Paula.”
“What would she be doing driving a car registered in George Murray’s name?”
Silence for several heart beats. “How did you know about George Murray’s car?”
I considered telling him Fred told me, get all the secrets out in the open. But it wasn’t my place to divulge Fred’s secrets. “Computer,” I said, feeling certain that was how Fred got his information.
“You found that information on the Internet?”
“You can find anything on the Internet.”
“License plate registrations are not public information.”
“That all depends on your definition of public. I need to go. We’re busy.”
“Hmmm,” he said.
“Good-bye,” I said.
“What was that all about?” Paula asked as soon as I hung up.
“They arrested Rodney Bradford’s old girlfriend for his murder.” I gave the counter a final wipe.
“Well, that’s good. We won’t have to worry anymore about people breaking into your house or trying to hurt Henry.” She didn’t look convinced. “What were you saying about George Murray’s car?”
“That beige car that came to your house and that Henry chased away last night is registered to George Murray.”
In the silent restaurant, surrounded by clean, empty tables and counter stools, we stood for a long moment looking at each other, our doubts so loud I could almost hear them.
“Surely they have some sort of evidence against this Diane Hartman,” Paula finally said. “The police know what they’re doing.”
“You really believe that? You were married to a cop.”
Paula nodded, her jaw firming. “Good point. We still need to be careful.”
***
I returned home to find my house much tidier than when I left and loud noises coming from my attic. Henry darted down the stairs and made a big production of telling me about this latest interruption to his once-orderly life. I gave him tuna and promised catnip later. He grudgingly accepted.
I went up to the attic where Fred sat in the middle of the floor clutching a hammer and looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. For one thing, he was sweating. Who knew Fred could sweat? His hair was a mess, tousled, more gray than white from all the dust, and his face was streaked with grime. He didn’t look happy.
“There is nothing…and I emphasize the word nothing…in this house that anyone would risk jail time to obtain.”
I sat down beside him. It seemed the polite thing to do. “That’s good, right?”
“It makes no sense,” he said.
“Want to hear something else that doesn’t make sense? The cops arrested Bradford’s old girlfriend for his murder.”
Fred’s scowl deepened. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. Did she confess?”
“No, she denies everything. But Trent said they have evidence.”
“I don’t suppose Mr. Stone Face told you what that evidence is.”
Mr. Stone Face. Good one. “Of course not. He can’t tell me everything that goes on in an official investigation.”
Fred rose. “I’m going to go home and shower. I’ll be back in two hours and we can eat leftovers from yesterday’s cookout.”
I stood and headed out of the dusty attic. “And we can talk about the evidence that Trent won’t tell me about.”
“Maybe.”
“I have chocolate mousse.”
“You always think you can bribe me with chocolate.”
I preceded him down the stairs, smiling to myself. There was a reason I always thought I could bribe him with chocolate. It always worked.
“Did you find my iron skillet?” I asked.
“You have an iron skillet in the back of the top shelf of the third row of kitchen cabinets. Is that the one you’re talking about?”
“Yes. Kitchen cabinet, huh? Who would have thought to look there?”
“Did you know you have six pairs of men’s silk bikini briefs with the monogram RLK under your bed?”
“Yes. Those belonged to Rick. They somehow got mixed up in my stuff when I moved out.”
“Somehow?”
I paused halfway down the attic stairs and looked at him over my shoulder. “We all know how. Let it go.”
He nodded. I turned and continued on to the second floor landing. “Is there a reason they’re under your bed?” he asked.
“Henry likes to drag things under there for his den, and I thought he deserved expensive things.”
“I also found a purple T-shirt with rhinestone butterflies mixed in with those shorts.”
“Ew! Guess I won’t be wearing that shirt again, not after it’s been in close proximity to Rick’s underwear.”
“They’re all covered in cat hair.”
“Good.” Maybe one day I’d give Rick back a pair or two of his expensive shorts.
***
Fred returned exactly two hours later, clean and looking more like his usual self. We had hamburgers and chocolate mousse, and Henry had catnip. Soon everyone was satiated, and at least one of us was in a suitable state to be pumped for information.
I popped open fresh Cokes for Fred and me, and we moved into the living room.
“What evidence do they have against Rodney’s old girlfriend?” I asked as we both sank onto the sofa. I stretched out, putting my feet on my coffee table. It’s my coffee table, so I’ll put my feet on it if I like.
“She has an amoprine tree in her front yard, and it’s loaded with berries.”
I shrugged. “Maybe those trees aren’t common around here, but I’m going to bet that’s not the only one in the area.”
“Probably the only one with a direct connection to the murder victim. Perhaps not damning evidence in itself, but they also received an anonymous tip that Bradford was at her house a couple of hours before he died.”
“Anonymous tip? They trust a tip from somebody who won’t even leave their name?”
“Enough to investigate, and a neighbor confirmed seeing Rodney’s car in the driveway that morning.”
I sat back and sipped my Coke, considering that information. “This puts a whole new light on things.”
“Not really. Diane claims he arrived at her house that morning saying she’d texted him to come by, that she had something important to tell him. She says she didn’t text him, that she doesn’t own a cell phone. The text originated from one of those prepaid phones, so that doesn’t prove anything one way or the other. He did go into her house for a while, and they had coffee together.”
I turned to look directly at him. “Coffee? Are you using that as a euphemism for something else?”
Fred heaved a frustrated sigh. “No. Bradford loved coffee. They drank coffee together. She said they had a nice conversation, and he left to keep his appointment with his real estate agent. That would be Rick.”
“A nice conversation? Not likely.”
“I guess we’ll never know. Bradford’s in no condition to verify or deny what she says. Amoprine berries do have a bitter flavor similar to coffee, especially coffee the way most people brew it, so she could have done it.”
We sipped our sodas in silence for a little while.
Henry strolled in, eased onto the sofa beside me and went to sleep, snoring softly.
“Cat scratches?” I asked.
“No, thank you.”
“I mean, did this Diane person have cat scratches on her?”
“No, but the police are not as convinced as you are that the murderer and your intruder are the same person or even that Henry left scratches on your intruder.”
“Oh, really?” Wait till I got hold of Trent. He could have at least assured his buddies that I knew what I was talking about. “So I guess they’re not concerned that Paula’s visitor and my potential intruder were both driving a car registered to George Murray?”
“No, they’re not.”
I wiggled my bare toes, increasing the blood flow to my brain, considering what all that meant. “We need to find out who’s paying the personal property taxes on that car. Not likely Murray since he’s in prison. Could be his grandparents. I’ll bet they know who has possession of it and who would be driving it. And to think, they seemed so innocent!”
“The records show that Murray’s paying the taxes and getting the license plates renewed.”
“Is that possible?”
“Possible but not likely. It’d be pretty easy for anybody to use his name to do all that. The government just wants money. They don’t care who they get it from.”
“I see.” I chewed my bottom lip and thought for a minute. “Then I guess we need to talk to Murray.”
“He’s in prison.”
“So? Inmates can have visitors. I see it on TV all the time.”
Fred studied me for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Lindsay, I don’t think you have a very good idea of what a prison is really like.”
I set my empty Coke can on the coffee table and swung my legs to the floor. “I probably don’t, but I’m going to find out. I can go by myself or you can go with me, but I’m going.”
“Okay. He’s in a local facility twenty minutes south of here. I’ll see if I can schedule an appointment for us.”
That was easy. Suspiciously easy. He was already planning the excursion or he’d never have given in without a fight.
“When?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
“How should I dress?”
He gave me a look that suggested I’d asked a stupid question. “It’s not a formal event. I think your jeans will be fine.”
“What will our names be?”
“You’ll be Lindsay Powell, and I’ll be Fred Sommers. Honestly, Lindsay, sometimes I worry about you.”
“You mean we’re not going to pretend to be private detectives or mob members or the Prize Patrol?”
“Of course not.”
“Sounds a little boring, but I guess I’m in anyway.”