Sinking Ships: An Abishag's First Mystery (The Abishag Mysteries Book 1) Page 9

  “It’s been good for you too. You’ve changed.”

  “Yeah.” This I said sourly. Seeing a dead body on my wedding night definitely had altered something in me.

  “Yeah,” he mimicked me gently. “I think taking care of someone has centered you somehow. Kat said the same thing.”

  I blinked. Huh. If Kat said it, it must be true.

  “We think you’re starting to growing up.” The look on his face, like he was a proud dad, made me feel uncomfortable.

  “Okay, okay.” I gave Thomas’s foot a final pat and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a half hour to get ready.”

  Twenty-seven minutes later, I exited Thomas’s bathroom in a cloud of steam and lavender, the flannel nightgown dragging on the floor behind me.

  “You look like you’re ready for a sleepover.”

  I giggled, not because I felt like a five year old, but because Dog was acting like the Dog I knew.

  The first two nights I’d spent the night with Thomas, Dog attended us like a disapproving angel. Now I slipped into bed, next to Thomas lying on his right side on the left side of the bed and cuddled close to him.

  “It is a sleepover,” I said as Dog neatened the covers over us. “But not for me. I’m on duty now.” I lifted my hand from Thomas’s shoulder and saluted Dog.

  “I’ve put your phone on the nightstand, and you can use the intercom if you need me.”

  He was chattier than he had been the previous two nights. Suspicious, I asked, “What’s going on?”

  He scratched his jaw and then winked. “Don’t tell the boss…” He glanced comically at Thomas. “Kat texted me while you were in the shower. She’ll be here in an hour. Said she found something.”

  I almost sprang from the bed, and Dog looked alarmed.

  “Whoa, Les. She said whatever it is will wait till she gets here, so calm down.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet she just misses me.”

  I willed my heart to slow as I eased even closer to Thomas. Dog didn’t get it. Something had scared Kat or she’d have waited till morning. She would never have interrupted my Abishag duty otherwise. Whatever scared Kat terrified me.

  I wondered what she’d discovered and whether I could protect Thomas.

  “You okay?” he asked from the door, dimming the lights.

  ‘Yeah, we’re fine,” I whispered.

  He left the door partly open, and I listened to his light steps on the stairs. I didn’t count the minutes, but not long afterward I heard the muted roar of the Keurig from the study and smelled coffee brewing.

  The faint rise and fall of Thomas’s breathing comforted me. I wondered if my warmth and the smell of his dead wife’s lavender lotion equally soothed him. When he “departed,” would he remember anything of his Abishag wife?

  My ear against his back, I heard the slow, steady pumping of his heart. Somehow Dog could read his vitals and know he was still dying, but his heartbeat said that my Thomas still lived, maybe for a good time more.

  When my grandfather died last year, my dad’s family had gathered around his bedside to say good-bye. I wanted Tina and Sebastian and the older grandson, whose name I couldn’t remember, the one with a wife and baby, to be there when Thomas passed.

  Rule 57 in the Handbook for Abishag Wives: She safeguards the family’s final memories of their loved one.

  I’d been listening so intently for Kat’s arrival that when I heard the front door open, every nerve zinged. I grabbed Thomas’s arm. I gulped a few times, before I hummed a lullaby to calm us both.

  I heaved a sigh of relief when Kat peeked in and whispered, “Okay if I come in? Dog said I shouldn’t.”

  It probably broke about a dozen rules in the Abishag Wife’s Handbook. Add them to the rest I’d fractured in our investigation. I motioned her to enter.

  She pulled a chair close to the bed and grimaced at Thomas. My left arm still held him close, but I leaned on my right elbow so I could see her better.

  “You figure out who the killer is from my notes about the shipwreck?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t have a chance to look at your notes. Found something that makes me think the killer knows we’re closing in and might try something tonight.”

  I sat straight up, and Thomas listed forward. “What?”

  She grimaced. “I went to that brokerage firm after I left here, the one on Crenshaw. Turns out that accountant, the one who’d been sent away for fraud, used to work there. His son and daughter still do. No one believed that he cheated that investment firm. The president of the brokerage house provided a character reference for his trial, but there was a mountain of evidence that he did it.”

  I leaned back down and clutched Thomas tightly. “Kat, get to the part where we’re in danger.”

  “I’m trying. Hillary worked at that investment firm too. I had to do some digging, but it turns out that that she supplied most of the evidence against the accountant.”

  Kat’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Like a spider, remember? I think she helped them cover up whatever happened, whatever the detective took photos of. The executive has been paying Hillary quarterly for the past eight years. My contact there said he’d been in the hot water with the company about eight years ago. No one knew why exactly. A clerk thought she’d heard something about double payments to a subcontractor. Turned out they traced the fraud to the accountant. With Hillary’s help.”

  “Huh.” I smoothed Thomas’s thin hair on his neck that tickled my cheek. “She was a busy receptionist—blackmailing the executive for something we don’t know about and finding evidence against that accountant. I wonder why the accountant wouldn’t pay Hillary to keep silent? Think he killed her in revenge? Eight years later?” We both heard my disbelief in my whispers.

  “The accountant’s dead.” Kat’s words made me shiver and burrow closer to Thomas. “He died in prison. He was pretty old. His funeral was last week.”

  “That’s awful.”

  In the monitors’ faint light, I saw her nod. “I tried to see his kids, both work at the brokerage firm on Crenshaw, but they’re on bereavement leave. Wouldn’t be back in the office till Tuesday.”

  She pursed her lips. “So I went to the coffeehouse about Hillary’s visit there the day she died. The cashier remembered seeing her meet a man and a woman. The guy accused her of framing their father, said he was going to make her pay for it. Screamed at her at the top of his voice, while Hillary smirked and drank her venti vanilla latte. The manager asked him to lower his voice, and he left in a huff. But the cashier said that wasn’t the worst thing.”

  Kat licked her lips, the shine in her eyes transmitting distress. “The woman who’d come in with the man, stood by the door, never said a word. When she followed her brother out, the cashier said she never saw such a look of hatred.” Kat swallowed hard. “Said she looked like she wanted to kill Hillary.”

  “Brother?” My whisper feathered Thomas’s hair.

  Kat nodded. “I showed him a picture of the accountant’s funeral, and the cashier picked out the son and daughter.”

  “You think the daughter killed Hillary?” My brain reeled. What did this have to do with the shipwreck and the missing ledger?

  Kat nodded again. “Wouldn’t you? That was a terrible thing Hillary did.”

  It was bad enough knowing Thomas’s niece blackmailed people, but framed innocent people? No money in that. Was she psychotic?

  As if Kat read my mind, she whispered, “There may have been method in Hillary Lattimer’s evil. She didn’t earn her blackmail payoffs just by keeping silent; she also provided a surefire way of making sure her “clients” never got caught. She pinned the blame on someone else.”

  Forgetting to be quiet, I gasped, “No way.”

  “Way. I found some squirrely stuff that got suppressed at the trial. It looks like that executive may have been getting kickbacks from the subcontractor for inflated payments.”

  My head dropped to Thomas’s pillow. Hillary had been a spid
er spinning webs of deceit around her victims, ruining innocent lives. I remembered what Tina had told me about Hillary’s brother-in-law, Jeppers, which I told Kat about briefly. Without using that information, I wondered if we could find the proof of her crimes to repair some of the damage, but I needed to focus on the present danger to Thomas and everyone at his house tonight.

  “You think the killer will return to the scene of the crime?”

  She nodded. “I broke into both the brother’s and sister’s houses.” She grimaced. “Hope you and Thomas can keep mum about that. I found some documents at the brother’s house. Looks like he’d been talking to a lawyer about suing Hillary, but he hasn’t been seen since Hillary’s murder. A neighbor, who is taking care of his dog, said he had to leave town Saturday, expects him back next week.”

  “You got a picture of him?”

  Kat flashed her penlight on a blurry picture she’d enlarged from the funeral. He had the same wolfish features and build of the Portuguese Cove policeman who’d talked of marriage not being a business transaction, but the grainy photo could have been of anyone. It boggled my mind to imagine that someone at a brokerage firm could also impersonate a policeman. Surely it’d been too crowded that night with other law enforcement personnel for him to get away with it.

  “Can you get a better picture?”

  “I could call Stanley.” Kat didn’t seem driven to do so. Our housemate Stanley could always be counted on to break through any firewall for a DMV license or a police department personnel file, but he slept like a dead man. It would take too long to rouse him.

  I peered closer at the woman next to him. “Is that the sister?”

  “Uh-huh. I thought she looked a little familiar.”

  Although blurry, her tight posture seemed familiar to me too.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Annette Reich. Recognize it?”

  I shook my head.

  “She lives in Redondo. She’s still in town. Fresh veggies in the fridge, and she’s been taking in her mail every day.”

  Trust Kat to take simple detective work to acts of felony. “You’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

  She made a face. “I never get caught. I asked a buddy of mine to watch her place. She hasn’t shown up today, but the police have stopped by twice.” She flashed a smile. “Another reason I think I’m on the right track. The police are interested in her too.”

  “When are you going to get to the part about us being in danger?”

  She grimaced. “The executive, the one who really defrauded the investment firm? He disappeared the night Hillary died. She must have told them—the brother and sister, before they killed her, who really committed the crime. They got rid of him too.” She squeezed the penlight tightly. “He was last seen at his house, and that’s just a few miles from here. The police have been questioning the neighbors too.”

  I propped myself up on my elbow again. “But, Kat, why are we in danger?”

  She took a deep breath. “The sister told a friend at the brokerage firm that she had unfinished business. Her family had been destroyed, and she planned to make sure that the woman who’d killed her father (yeah, she blames Hillary for her dad’s death) would pay in full. She said she’d destroy Hillary’s family too.”

  I took a shaky breath. “She’s going to kill Thomas?”

  Kat nodded wide-eyed. “And you too, I think. Don’t forget—you’re family.”

  I don’t know how the daughter, Amanda Reich, could have heard that Thomas had an Abishag wife. I reached for my phone. “Do you think she’ll go after Tina and her family too?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The lights went off and worse—Thomas’s monitors went silent and black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I heard quick footsteps up the stairs and dropped the phone. Reaching across Thomas, I grabbed Kat’s frozen hand. She shook me off. “It’s Dog.”

  “You girls okay?”

  Kat said too loudly, “Yes.”

  “I’ll check the fuse box and call the security company. Stay here.”

  Listening to Dog’s footsteps fade, I pressed my ear to Thomas’s back and felt relieved to hear the faint but steady thump of his heart. “We should call the police,” I said.

  Moonlight faintly outlined Kat’s shrug. “And tell them what?”

  “You and Dog need to get out of here. She threatened the family, not you.”

  Kat scowled. “We’re not leaving.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “If anything happened, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “We’ll go if you will.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not leaving Thomas. For better or worse, you know.” Technically that wasn’t part of my vows. Abishags promise only to stay till the end.

  Thomas still lived, and I was still getting paid so it wasn’t the end.

  I leaned over and kissed Thomas’s cheek. “Dear Thomas, my Thomas, forgive me, but I won’t be keeping your bed warm tonight. Your house is under siege, and Kat and I gotta do whatever it takes to protect you.”

  Kat’s eyes gleamed. “Hooah.”

  Dog hadn’t returned by the time Kat and I finished preparations. With lightning speed, I changed into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I couldn’t find my sandals; I must have left them downstairs, but I wasn’t going looking for them.

  Kat had a switchblade, vine plastic ties, and a taser in her backpack. Remembering Hillary lying in all that blood, I felt sick staring at the knife. On the other hand, Kat looked capable and assassin-like holding the blade loosely in one hand, the taser gleaming in the other.

  I found Thomas’s cane in his closet, a heavy mahogany one with a silver handle. I sat on Thomas’s bed, my left hand checking Thomas’s pulse, my right hand holding the cane like a baseball bat.

  Kat grinned, teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Doors are secure, you know, and the Crowder mansion is not only built like a fortress, it’s got security patrolling regularly.”

  “I know.” I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. Who knew that marrying brain-dead old men required commando training?

  “Shush.” Kat crouched in the shadows. I froze, fists clenching the cane, straining to hear what had alerted her.

  I heard footsteps coming from Hillary’s room down the hall, and a ghostly beam illuminated Thomas’s door.

  “Dog?” Now gripping the cane with both hands, I looked at Kat. It couldn’t be him. We hadn’t heard him on the stairs, but I didn’t want to believe that Hillary’s wraith approached.

  Someone appeared in the doorway, a female-shaped shadow, light in her left hand.

  “Vicky?” I almost dropped the cane in a wave of relief. I don’t know what she was doing here (could it be morning already?), but we needed all the help we could muster. Maybe Mrs. Timmons was on her way too.

  Then I saw the gun.

  “Annette Reich, I presume?” Kat said.

  “Clever girl. I knew you were getting too close.”

  “You’re not Vicky Sellars?” Not my swiftest response, but I’m surprised I could say anything with, hello, a gun pointed at us.

  She shrugged. “The hospice service often uses temp aides. I found Vicky Sellars’ name on the list, called Miss Crowder and reminded her that I’d taken care of her father in the hospital. “I knew she wouldn’t remember. No one does. And voila—I was sent here when that woman who killed my father and destroyed my family died.”

  Even petrified with fear, part of me wanted to applaud her performance. Flighty, trashy-magazine-reading Vicky Sellars was completely transformed into Annette Reich. Wrathful intelligence glittered in her steel gray eyes, avenger of her father’s death and family honor, too far for my cane or Kat’s blade to reach, her gun held steady on Thomas.

  And the right height too.

  The sound of crickets and the muffled crash of waves seeped from the window. What I didn’t hear was Dog, inside or outside. Kat and I faced a killer alone.

  “Did your broth
er kill Hillary?” Kat spoke conversationally, casually, as if she were in a Rhetoric lecture.

  A muscle flexed on Reich’s jaw. “Stan wanted to sue her. Can you believe it? Like money would make up for what she did?”

  “I’ve been researching Hillary Lattimer,” Kat said. “The woman was evil. Really needed to be stopped.”

  “Permanently.” The word exploded in the room, and Reich’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the gardener?”

  “That was my cover,” Kat said. “I’m a detective with the Portuguese Cove police. Put the gun down, Miss Reich.”

  I hoped Kat could carry it off, but I raised the cane when Annette swung the revolver toward Kat.

  “Where’s your gun? Where’s your shield? I’m not an idiot. I listened to you and the Abishag talking. You two are just interfering university students poking their noses into other people’s business. I’m thinking there’s not that much difference between you and Hillary Lattimer.”

  “Hey,” Kat and I protested in unison.

  “I’d planned just to kill the old man, a little nitroglycerin in his glucose today, but that didn’t seem good enough. He’s as good as dead anyway. So I thought, let the Abishag die too. Let the news of why they died make the papers. Let the daughter live with the shame, as my brother and I lived with our father’s shame.”

  “That doesn’t…” I’d seen Kat’s signal. When she stepped forward, Vicky’s trigger finger twitched.

  I screamed. The gun veered toward me but not fast enough. I swung the cane down hard on her hand and heard the revolver fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Twenty-one days. My marriage to Thomas Crowder lasted twenty-one days. Although the first three had started with a murder and ended with attempted murders, I’d filled my Thomas’s final days with all the peace and comfort a well-trained Abishag wife could supply.

  The funeral went beautifully, and we laid Thomas to rest next to his beloved Carol. I would never know how aware Thomas had been of me, his final wife, but I missed him and cried all the way back to the house where the reception was in full swing.