ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (8 page)

Kate jotted down the name on her notepad.

“The other time was when I was talking to Carla Baxter. She lives in the building next door. I was talking to her about… something else, and then she started saying that Betty must be guilty. Her comment was ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”

Kate noted that name as well. “Thanks, Frieda. I’ll make sure Carla Baxter gets added to our list to interview. I think the Forsythes were already on there.” She stood up.

“I feel so bad for Betty.” Frieda lumbered to her feet to escort her guest to the door. “I can’t believe people are jumping to the conclusion that she’s a killer.”

“Unfortunately, it’s human nature to make that kind of leap. All too often what could be becomes what is,” Kate said.
Especially when people are gossiping and spreading rumors
, she thought, but didn’t say out loud.

At the door, Frieda patted the younger woman’s arm. “I hope that young fella’s still hangin’ around when you’re ready to date, honey, ’cause he’s one
gorgeous
hunk of manhood!”

Kate smiled at her. “I did notice that.”

•   •   •

That afternoon, Kate was able to eliminate several more people who didn’t seem to know Doris all that well. The last person she interviewed lived in the second building over from Betty’s. She denied being part of the group in the cafeteria who had assumed Betty was guilty. But her attitude toward Doris confirmed yet again that the deceased was not well liked.

Kate met up with Skip in that building’s atrium and they headed back to Betty’s apartment. “Did you find the maintenance man?” she asked.

Skip shook his head. “Saw a youngish guy, in work clothes, going into one of the buildings, but when I got there I couldn’t find him… Oh, by the way, Rose is off duty tomorrow. She’s coming up to give us a hand.”

“Good. Otherwise, at the rate this is going,” Kate dropped her voice to a whisper as they entered Betty’s building, “most of our suspects will have died of old age before we get a chance to interview them.”

Halfway across the atrium, some instinct told Skip to look up. In the next instant, Kate was laying under him on the cold slate floor. Before she could recover her wits to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, there was a tremendous crashing sound just a few feet away and they were being pummeled by flying dirt and little bits of terra cotta clay.

Skip rolled off of her and was on his feet in a second, his gun drawn. There were gasps all around them from the residents heading toward the door and the cafeteria in the recreation building. Skip slowly spun in a circle, eyes up, scanning the railing of the second level walkway. He located the hole where the fallen pot had been, but saw nothing else.

Smoothly he slipped his gun back into his waistband, but kept his hand resting on the butt. He extended his other hand to Kate to help her up. His eyes were not on her, however. They never stopped searching the atrium for signs of trouble.

“You okay?” he asked Kate, still not looking at her as he scanned the upper level again.

“Yeah,” she said, although she suspected she would have a few bruises in the morning from being squashed between Skip’s bulk and the hard floor. She wasn’t about to complain, though. His tackle had saved her from being smashed on the head by a potted plant. She wasn’t sure if it would have killed her, but it would have definitely given her one hell of a concussion.

“Stay here,” Skip ordered. She ignored his words and followed him as he sprinted toward the fire stairs door. Stopping there, he said, “Kate, it would be helpful if you stayed down here and watched for anyone suspicious while I’m in the stairwell.”

Okay,
that
seemed like a good reason to stay here. She modeled his scanning behavior, although she wasn’t real sure what she was looking for. She realized just how difficult Detective Lindstrom’s job was. Assuming Doris had been killed by another resident, how could you tell who was suspicious? They all just looked like what they were, senior citizens–some of them scowling at the intrusion of these strangers, some of them staring out of curiosity. The only people in the building who looked out of place were
her and Skip.

Lindstrom. She should call him. She took her cell phone from her purse and looked up his number that she had added to her contacts list on Friday. She punched send and did another scan of the atrium, that was quickly emptying of residents as they went in search of their supper.

She thought she caught a flash of stealthy movement on the second level, across from where Skip was examining the gap between the potted plants. Waving her hand to get his attention, Kate then pointed to the railing on the opposite side.

But by the time Skip had raced around the walkway, no one was there.

A
n hour later, Detective Lindstrom was examining the dirt, greenery and pot shards scattered across the atrium floor, while Mrs. Carroll stood nearby, asserting in a too-loud voice that the pot must have gotten bumped by someone walking past it. The director glared in Kate’s direction, as if she were the cause of the problem.

Lindstrom made no comment to the director’s assertions. He turned to Kate and Skip.

For the time being, they had decided that Skip would be introduced as a friend of the family. Cops rarely appreciated private investigators sticking their noses into official police investigations.

After they gave the detective their account of what had happened, Skip quietly pointed out that there was a four-inch side along each edge of the shelf holding the plants. It was no doubt there to prevent the plants from being accidentally knocked off. Someone had to have lifted the heavy pot up over that side.

The potted plant had been dropped on them intentionally.

Lindstrom turned to Kate. “Mrs. Huntington, I would suggest that you go home. It isn’t safe for you to continue poking around in this.”

Kate didn’t respond. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the situation at this point. She was certainly rattled, and as a single mother, she didn’t want to risk leaving Edie an orphan.

But part of her was starting to get really pissed off. Bad enough that this killer was trying to frame a little old lady, now he was trying to frighten her away from investigating and clearing Betty’s name. Kate was adverse to the idea of running back to Maryland like a scared puppy. And she had Skip to protect her. They would just have to be more vigilant.

She nodded at the detective to let him know she had heard him. If he chose to take that as acquiescence, well, she couldn’t help it if he misunderstood her.

When she and Skip were finally allowed to go their way, it was after six. They went down the short hall off of the atrium to Betty’s apartment. When she answered the door, Betty exclaimed, “Thank God, Kate. I was beginning to worry.”

The fragrance of crab soup simmering on the stove had Kate’s mouth watering, but first she introduced Skip and they filled Betty in on the pot incident.

The elderly woman covered her mouth with her hand and turned pale. “You can’t keep asking questions then. I’ll not have you getting hurt on my account.”

Skip had observed both the minimal response to Lindstrom earlier and the set of Kate’s jaw now. He said to Betty, “Give it up. She isn’t going to stop. She’s one of the most stubborn women I know.”

Kate glared at him. “I like to think of it as determination.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean that as an insult.” Skip raised his hands in mock surrender. “Personally, I
like
stubborn women.”

Only partially mollified, Kate said, “Well, I
don’t
like the idea of letting some… bozo chase me away.” The word she was thinking of was much stronger than bozo, but she didn’t want to offend Betty.

Skip was shaking his head at her, and grinning at the same time.

“I want to go knock on some doors on the upper level, before folks start settling down for the night,” he said, his face sobering. “See if anybody saw anything. Can you save some of that wonderful-smelling soup for me, Mrs. Franklin?”

“Of course, young man,” Betty said, having already forgotten his name.

Over Maryland crab soup and homemade biscuits, Kate filled Betty in on their interviews that day, handing over the notes she had taken. “We caught up with two of the married couples today. Mr. Murphy didn’t even realize Doris had been coming on to him. And his wife seemed amused by the whole thing.”

Mrs. Murphy had chuckled at her husband’s startled expression and had told them, “I don’t worry about him straying. Marilyn Monroe could be batting her eyelashes at him and he’d think she had something in her eye.”

“The other couple, the Petersons. He looked kind of embarrassed and then tried to downplay the flirting,” Kate continued her report. “The wife did seem a bit pi… uh, annoyed about it all. But I think maybe the undercurrents between them were about past transgressions. I didn’t get the impression that he’d actually responded positively to Doris’s attention.”

Kate hesitated. “We also overheard Frieda and another woman talking earlier today. They seemed to be talking about Doris and your book, and something about the poker.” She wasn’t sure how important this was but she figured they should note everything. You never knew what pieces of information, seemingly innocuous by themselves, might connect with each other.

“I love Frieda dearly,” Betty said, shaking her head. “But that woman is an incurable gossip.”

“Did you talk to Rob or Liz today?” Kate said, as she scraped the last few strands of crabmeat from the bottom of her bowl.

“Yes, Robert called around five. I think he was still in that court mode you talked about. He was rather brusque.” Betty pursed her lips in mild annoyance. “Said he was working on his closing argument for his case. He’s hopeful it will be finished by tomorrow, or Wednesday at the latest.”

Kate nodded, trying to decipher the odd expression on the elderly woman’s face. “What’s the matter, Betty?”

“This just doesn’t sit well with me. It’s just not right.”

“Of course it’s not. Someone’s killed a woman and is letting you take the blame.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, dear, although that’s certainly not right either,” Betty said, shaking her head slightly. “It doesn’t sit well with me that you and Robert, and now this young man, are having your lives disrupted like this, because of me. And now someone’s tried to harm you.”

At that moment, Betty looked every minute of her eighty-five years. Worry and guilt were etched on her face. Gently covering the older woman’s thin fingers with her own, Kate softly said, “Betty, we all
want
to help. You’re family.”

Betty turned her hand over and wrapped her fingers around Kate’s to give them a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, dear, but I’m worried you’ll get hurt, because of me.”

“Betty, Skip’s a licensed investigator and he’s also a trained bodyguard. We’ll be on the alert now. It’ll be okay.”

The older woman’s lips formed a thin, tight line. “That nephew of mine implied that Skip was a friend, returning a favor. But he’s paying him, isn’t he?”

Kate was reminded of a time when she was ten and her mother demanded to know if her brother Jack had broken the crystal vase laying in shattered fragments on the floor. Bridget O’Donnell had worn the same no-nonsense scowl on her face that day, a look that said Kate had
better
choose honesty over filial loyalty.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that he’s family, too.” Kate gave Betty a lopsided grin.

“Trust me, young lady, I would remember if I had ever seen
him
at a family party before.” Betty relented and let her stern expression melt, returning Kate’s grin. “He tends to give tall, dark and handsome a whole new meaning.”

“To answer your question, yes, Rob is paying Skip, but I know he considers it money well spent. He wants to clear your name.”

“Well, I’ll just have to insist that
I’m
paying that bill,” Betty said emphatically.

“You might not want to go there right now.” Kate caught herself before she blurted out that Rob was already stressed out and might react poorly. She didn’t want to add to Betty’s guilt and worry.

“When this is all resolved might be a better time to have that argument,” she said instead. “I’ll tell you what’s worked for me when we go out to lunch together. You let him argue just long enough to appease his male ego, then you offer to split it with him.”

Betty nodded, flashing Kate a conspiratorial grin. She pushed herself to a stand and headed for the den with Kate’s notes. “Excuse me, dear, while I make a few notations on the lists,” she said over her shoulder.

Betty had just finished writing “might be jealous” under Mrs. Peterson’s name and “gossiping about book/poker” under Frieda’s when a knock on the apartment door announced Skip’s return.

He shook his head at Kate’s questioning look, then sat down at the breakfast bar while Betty ladled up soup for him. “Everybody was either already downstairs on their way to the cafeteria, or in the cafeteria,” he said, between spoonfuls. “Except for a couple of folks who decided to eat in their apartments. One of them came out when he heard the pot hit the floor.” Skip devoured a biscuit in two bites. It had been a long time since lunch.

“Fella said he didn’t see anybody on the upper level, but he wasn’t really looking there. He was looking down into the atrium to see what was happening. Once he was sure no one was hurt, he went back to his supper.”

Betty yawned, and the contagion spread. Kate’s mouth stretched so wide, her jaw made a cracking noise. “My bedtime,” Betty said.

After traipsing all over the retirement community for several days, Kate was ready for an early night as well.

Skip looked dubiously at the silk-covered settee in the living room. Before Betty could offer to take the settee and give him her bed, he said, “I saw a Travel Lodge on my way into town. Doubt they’re booked up on a Monday night. I’ll see you ladies in the morning… Thanks for the supper, ma’am.”

Kate walked him to the door. Once there, he stopped and whispered, “Make sure you put the security chain on. And don’t allow Mrs. Franklin to let anybody in, even one of her closest friends… On second thought, maybe I should stay here tonight.”