Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Duke parked down the street from Monica’s house and focused off in the distance. “Grab your phone and zoom in behind her house. Is she outside talking to someone?”
Ferd dug her phone from her purse and did what Duke said. “Yeah, she’s talking to Carl, the guy on the winch when we were pulling the container from the water.”
“Convenient that the box swung on the end of his hook, hit his boat and tore the means of flotation, and all the evidence was washed away in the process. I know this is a small town and everyone knows everyone, but what is he doing with her hiding in a back alley?”
Carl leaned forward and hugged Monica, patting her back. The embrace lasted longer than Ferd expected, then a little longer still. “That’s . . . interesting.”
“Unexpected.” Duke wrinkled his forehead. “Just when I think I’ve finally learned to expect the unexpected, something like this happens.”
“You don’t think they’re . . .” There had to be nearly forty years between the two of them.
“In this day and age, who knows?” Duke unbuckled. “I don’t judge. Let’s go find out.”
As soon as Ferd stepped out of the car and closed her door, Carl looked over at them. He raised his hand, waved, and walked away.
“We let him go?” Ferd asked.
“Yeah. I want to talk to her for now. We’ll want to talk to him now too, though. Since he is a man over forty who has access to someone who may have a key to Bailey’s apartment and might have had a motive to destroy evidence that I didn’t originally see.”
“Ugh. I thought we were at the point of crossing people off. Not adding them. It looked like an accident, but I was too busy clinging to the rail to be a good witness.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He looked ahead and adjusted his sunglasses. “Morning, Monica. Do you have a minute to answer a few more questions?”
She shifted her weight and took a deep breath. “I suppose. It’s as good a time as any because I’ve got the cat locked up.”
“Oh, was Carl inside?” Ferd asked.
Monica swung toward her and stepped closer. “Why is that any of your business?”
“Whoa, I was asking because of what you said about the cat. It would make sense that you’d locked him up if you knew someone was coming over.” Ferd held her ground.
Monica frowned. “I suppose you’re right.
He comes to see me every few weeks. He was really good friends with my parents and promised them he’d drop in and check on me after they moved out of state.
Especially now that I’m alone. Divorced.
” She sniffled and her shoulders stiffened. “At least somebody still checks on me.”
Ferd glanced at Duke to see his read on what Monica said, but he made no indication of belief or not. She let them inside and gooseflesh popped down Ferd’s arms. The room was like a fridge. Ferd resisted the urge to hug herself.
“Goodness. It must cost a fortune to keep a house this size, this cool.” Ferd rubbed her arms.
“I like it cool. So does my cat.” She swept into the sitting room and flounced onto a sofa. “Now, what more do you need from me?”
Keeping a house cool is not a crime. But that didn’t make her curiosity go away. “May I use your restroom?” She raised her brows. “Coffee.” Ferd touched her stomach for effect.
“It’s just down the hall, to your right. Don’t get lost.” Monica smirked.
Ferd made her way slowly down the hall. Jackpot.
The thermostat hung on the wall where she’d hoped it would.
She frowned as she read the flashing number.
Only sixty-nine degrees. Not abnormal at all.
Was she trying to find guilt where there was none?
She headed farther down the hall and stalled at the kitchen.
On the counter sat an empty can of the same obscure brand of beer Kelly had found in Bailey’s apartment.
She headed back to the living room and sat next to Duke. He already had a few notes on the screen of his phone.
“So, Monica, we’ve come to the possible conclusion that someone planted evidence in Bailey’s apartment. There are circumstances surrounding Bailey’s death that I can’t divulge right now, but planting evidence against a victim doesn’t seem as strange with the full picture.”
“Which I don’t have and can’t. I understand.” She threaded her long, manicured fingers together on her knee, showing off a massive diamond ring.
“To that end, I’m wondering if you know who might have a key to his apartment? I know you’ve been divorced for a while, but this is also a small town. You know who his close friends were.”
She nodded, pursing her lips. “Yes, well, of course I have a key. I haven’t ever used it, but he had a copy made for me when he moved out. I don’t know why. Seems like half the time he wished he’d done things differently and the other half he was glad to be rid of me.” She frowned.
“But who else has a key? I think his boss does. Whoever owns the apartment would. I hear he’s seeing another woman. She likely has one. Kelly would have one to clean for him. Goodness, now that I’m listing them out, he has a lot of keys floating around.” She fluttered her fingers.
“That’s not common for a rental,” Duke said, monotone.
“I suppose not, but small towns are safe.” She rolled her eyes.
“I think Bailey would beg to differ if he could.” Ferd couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
“Well, you can have my copy. I’ll show you right where it is.” She shot up from her seat and stomped toward the kitchen.
Ferd followed her like a shadow so she could see every reaction, every hesitation. Even though the killer couldn’t be a woman, that didn’t mean a woman wasn’t involved.
Monica yanked open a drawer so hard a pen flew out and skittered across the floor. Ferd picked it up and handed it to her. As Monica grabbed it, Ferd looked her straight in the eyes.
Fear. She’s terrified.
“The trash is in the cabinet behind you. That pen doesn’t work.” Monica said as she drew back and rifled through the contents of the drawer. “Where is it?”
“Is it a key all alone or on a ring?” Duke asked.
Ferd tossed the pen. Why did people always have junk drawers full of items that should be thrown away?
“On a pink keyring. It was a fuzzy pink crown. Bailey knew I would love it because it’s frilly and girly,” her voice hitched.
“Sometimes I can’t believe he’s really gone.
I know you don’t believe me. I’m sure you think all I ever wanted was his money but that’s not true. Bailey was my one true love.”
The word hit Ferd. Love. People could love someone for years and still lose them. Other people only pretended to love at all.
Monica patted her nose. “I don’t even date now. I think part of why I kept after him all this time was because I hoped that if he kept seeing me, he’d remember he loved me.” She turned away and whipped a tissue from the box on the counter. Her sobs loud in the huge, echoing kitchen.
The box was already half empty. How many tears had Monica shed for her ex-husband? “Who has access to your house who might know the key was there?” Ferd asked quietly.
Monica glanced over her shoulder, her cheek dark red. “The only person who comes into my home regularly is Kelly. She cleans here too.”