Chapter 26 #2
Pierce shook his head, his dark hair glinting in the overhead lights.
“Believe me, there was no love lost between Sylvie and her ex. They fought all the time. He wanted custody, and now he has it. Along with the death benefits. When she died in the line of duty, he lost a thorn in his side, gained his kids, and made out like a bandit. Win. Win. Win. Nope, not Bart. You and I both know it has to be Toby.”
“I don’t want to think it,” she finally admitted, not wanting to dwell on the pain the boy had endured, pain she’d caused.
Crouching down, Pierce touched the offensive letters, studying them, then looked up at her.
“I’ve been reaching out to him, trying to help.
To say he’s rejected me would be an understatement.
I even offered for him to live up there.
” He motioned toward the ceiling, above which was the attic over the garage that they’d been converting to office space bit by bit.
“What?” she asked, more than a little taken aback. “You didn’t want another dog, but you’d take in an angry teenager with a serious grudge against us—or at least me?”
“Don’t worry. He wasn’t interested. But you’re right. Toby’s angry. Really angry. With you. With me. With the whole damned world. Ten to one, he did this.”
She still didn’t want to buy it. “But Tom Fink’s car was vandalized just recently, too. Someone scratched MAN-WHORE into his Corvette. Would Toby do that? Why?”
“Don’t know.”
“But … it’s reaching to think that there are two vandals out there doing the same thing at the same time.”
“Both messages are personal,” Pierce pointed out, straightening, but still eyeing the car and its damage. “Not just obscure or random graffiti like you’d expect from a gang or a bunch of kids out for some kind of thrill. I don’t like it, Nikki. You could have been killed or seriously hurt.”
“I don’t like it, either, but I don’t think he was aiming for me.
” She’d replayed the scene over and over in her head.
“I assume he was aiming for the car. It seemed that way. And the reason I’m calling him a male is because of the way he threw the rock.
He looked like he knew what he was doing. Like he’d practiced a lot.”
“Like maybe a kid who played baseball?”
“Yeah … It was hard to see, but that was the feeling I got. Growing up, I played catch with my brothers, and they’d always throw the ball hard, trying to knock me over. That’s what it felt like.”
“Don’t suppose you kept the rock or whatever it was that hit the car?”
“Didn’t think about it.”
“Could have had fingerprints.”
“Maybe,” she said aloud, but thought back to the fleeing figure dressed in black. “I think he was wearing a ski mask and gloves.” She paused. “He threw left-handed.”
“Did he?” Pierce’s face darkened, and he swore under his breath. “Toby was a pitcher for the JV team. Ambidextrous. Could throw left-handed.”
“He didn’t play varsity?”
“Quit.” His eyes held hers.
“Because of his mother’s death,” she said and felt terrible all over again.
Pierce exhaled a long breath, stared up at the ceiling and ran stiff fingers through his hair.
“I made a promise to Morrisette,” he admitted, then added, “but there’s nothing we can do tonight.
” Once more, he surveyed the damage to her Outback, which looked ready for the junkyard parked next to Pierce’s gleaming Cadillac.
“I don’t want you driving around in it.”
She let out a laugh without any humor. “So you’re going to let me drive the Caddy?” she said, tapping his vintage car’s hood.
“We’ll see.”
“No—just kidding.” She couldn’t imagine driving around in the huge vehicle.
It would draw more attention than her vandalized Subaru.
And she needed stealth and anonymity, to blend into the woodwork for what she planned on doing in the next few days.
“I’ll get a rental.” Something innocuous.
A vehicle that no one, not even her husband, would notice.
She caught Pierce’s eye and imagined he could read her mind, so she determinedly shrugged off all her concerns about the car, at least for now.
Heading into the house, she was immediately greeted by Mikado and Arlo, both dogs acting as if they hadn’t seen her in days as they wriggled and twisted, demanding attention and generally getting in her way.
Chloe was seated on the floor in the middle of the family room, where the TV was on mute, Lily on the couch with a book. Chloe looked up from surreptitiously playing with Phee’s forgotten Barbie dolls, then quickly clambered to her feet and ran across the room.
“I thought you’d be in bed, fast asleep,” Nikki said, sweeping her daughter off her feet, only to be ignored. Chloe leaned away and stuck out her arms to Pierce as he came inside.
“Daddy!” she cried, excitedly.
Nikki grumbled, “Traitor,” as she passed the toddler off to Pierce, who twirled her around. Chloe giggled wildly, while Arlo, thinking it was a game, spun in circles beneath her, his tail wagging wildly above his rear end, where his fur was trying to grow back over his wounds.
“She had a fit about going to bed tonight,” Lily explained. “Trust me, I tried. Everything.”
“So you just let her stay up?” Nikki asked.
“I can only take her crying so long. Besides it’s only been a couple of hours.”
And we’ll pay for it tomorrow, Nikki thought, noting that the TV was tuned to the news and a reporter was standing in front of Jeanne LaRoux’s lane, inaudibly giving off the few details about the homicide, all of which were showing in closed captions, all of which Nikki already knew.
Lily pointed the remote at the television.
“I assume this is what kept you both.” The screen flipped to a picture of Jeanne LaRoux, larger than the two other photographs that flanked hers.
One was a very unflattering mug shot of Billy Huber, the other a posed headshot of Mavis Greenlee.
“Still trying to piece it together,” Pierce said, as he set his daughter onto the floor.
“You, too?” Lily asked her sister, then, before Nikki could respond, added, “I don’t know why I even asked; of course you are.
” She stretched to her feet. “Phee’s already upstairs, finishing homework, I hope, but probably on her phone.
I’m going up to play the role of drill sergeant.
” Motioning to Chloe, still in Pierce’s arms, she added, “You can try to get little Miss Fussy Pants up to bed.”
“Am not fussy pants!” Chloe said petulantly.
Lily smothered a smile. To Nikki, she said, “She’s all yours.”
“And I love it.” Nikki snagged Chloe from her husband, then nuzzled the little girl’s neck, while Pierce quietly explained about the vandalism and Lily took a quick trip into the garage to see for herself.
Upon returning, she looked at her sister. “Someone doesn’t like you very much.”
“Whoever it is, they can join the club. It’s not all that exclusive.
” Nikki had made more than her share of enemies while investigating some of the most heinous crimes in the area, but she couldn’t dwell on that now.
She touched her daughter on the tip of her nose.
“Come on, let’s take these Barbies up to bed. ”
Once upstairs, she sat in the rocker, cuddling with Chloe and a blond Fashionista Barbie, a Black Barbie with an Afro, and a half-naked redheaded Barbie in pigtails.
As Nikki read Goodnight Moon for the kazillionth time, Chloe started drifting off, and the redheaded doll fell out of her arms. By the time Pierce walked into the room and told her there was cold pizza in the fridge, their daughter was fast asleep.
The transfer of Chloe from her arms to Pierce’s didn’t quite go as planned as the little girl, groggy, half woke and started crying about the doll that had fallen, that she couldn’t reach it.
Nikki headed downstairs, where she warmed up a couple of slices of pepperoni, added tomato, then carried the makeshift pizza dinner, along with a bottle of Dr Pepper, to her office. She paused on the second floor to hear her husband trying to cajole their stubborn daughter back to sleep.
Good luck, she thought, as there were nights when Chloe, exhausted as she obviously was, refused to settle down. Tonight, it was Pierce’s problem, she reminded herself, as she climbed the spiral stairs to her office.
Once in her chair, she alternately took bites from the pizza and read through her notes. Arlo had followed after her and spent a couple of minutes adjusting the toys and blanket in his dog bed before he tucked in, nose to tail, and began to softly snore.
Fink wanted another story, so she pulled up the article she’d written about Jeanne LaRoux from years before and tried to figure out how to bring it back to life, a new angle, with updated information, if she could find it.
Maybe an interview with whoever had found her?
A client—if she could find one.
Or possibly something more in-depth from Granger?
Or what about Archer Greenlee? No, scratch that. He wasn’t exactly the grieving widower. He wouldn’t talk to her. Nor would Annabelle. Archer had seen to that.
She came back to the simple question: Who gained from the deaths?
Billy Huber’s daughter, Janelle McGowan, possibly, if there was any value to his estate. Or possibly his brother, Robert, in payment of the loan Billy had reneged on. But his property was mortgaged and not worth much at that.
With Mavis Greenlee’s death, Archer was the big winner. No divorce; he would probably inherit all of her estate, and he was free to be with Annabelle.
She tapped her fingers on the desk and thought.
Though it was unknown about Jeanne LaRoux, it seemed likely that her only son would inherit. But unless there was life insurance, her estate wouldn’t be worth much.
Not enough to kill for.
Or was it?
But, even so, that didn’t explain why they all were murdered. There wasn’t one single person or entity who would benefit from the three deaths. At least not one she’d uncovered.
Yet.