Decorating Schemes Page 16

  My temper decided to join us. “No, Dutch. I’m not that dumb. I signed up for lessons with Tom on Monday. I’ll get more details as my lessons go along. I know I can get info out of him sooner or later. But I have no intention of hounding him for answers.”

  “I get it.” His eyes warned of incoming sarcasm. “You’re going to put on your flippers and snorkel, go under, and then do a ‘Glu glub. Bub blub glup’ bit. Hope you hire a translator.”

  “Good thing you didn’t go into clowning. It doesn’t come naturally, you know.”

  “Neither does detecting come so naturally to you, but when has that stopped you?”

  “Hey! You asked me to help.”

  “How will your scuba lessons help me?”

  “They might if you’d let me tell you the rest. I had a close encounter of the intriguing kind down at the shop. Guess who else is a devoted diver?”

  He shrugged and swigged more soda.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you. Dr. Marshall walked in just as I was leaving the shop.”

  That caught Dutch’s attention. He clunked his drink down on the coffee table, leaned forward, and met my gaze. “It is interesting that he’d be down there, right where KC supposedly spent most of her time. I’m getting an inkling where you’re going with this.”

  “Well, bing, bing, bing! The man just won the giant stuffed panda. You’re lucky I’m on your side, buddy. I’m going to give you more than an inkling here. After you and the pool guy left the mansion, I had to measure the pantry. That’s why I stayed behind when Deedee walked you guys to the door. And that’s where I hit the mother lode.”

  He peered at me, surprised me with the hint of mischief on his face. “You don’t look like you’re in danger of starvation, so I can’t imagine why you’d think of groceries as the mother lode.”

  If looks could kill, Dutch would need an undertaker. “You have a lot of nerve! I’ll have you know I’m not fat.”

  He had the gall to laugh. “I never said you were. In fact, I think you’re pretty close to perfect—in the weight category, that is. In the realm of sanity, though, the jury’s still out.”

  “Do you want to know what else I found out?”

  He nodded.

  “Then just zip your lips and let me tell you. I went into the pantry, and those shelves were packed. I couldn’t see the walls because of all the food and kitchen equipment they’ve stashed in there. I had to shuffle stuff around to get to the wall with my tape measure, and that’s when I hit pay dirt.”

  “Are you going to make me beg for the info?”

  “Maybe I should, after all the grief you’ve put me through.”

  “I didn’t make you beg when you were poisoned—”

  “Fine, fine. You win. I won’t make you beg. The Marshalls could open a pharmacy with all the drugs they keep in that kitchen. They specialize in narcotics. Legal ones—if prescribed by a physician, that is. And...”

  For drama I mouthed a fake drumroll.

  Dutch shot daggers at me.

  I thought better of more teasing. In any case, it wasn’t a laughing matter, no matter how much humor helped me get through the tough stuff.

  “They have a pretty big container of RU-486. That’s the morning-after pill.”

  I doubt he would’ve looked any worse if I’d thwacked him between the brows with a two-by-four. I let a minute or two go by before I continued.

  “Now, according to the autopsy, KC delivered a child. I suspect that means the ME found her uterus distended enough to have carried an infant fairly far along.”

  “Where are you going with that?”

  “Only to say the morning-after pill played no part in KC’s death.” He went to speak, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Hear me out. The morning-after pill wasn’t part of KC’s murder, but I have to wonder why a plastic surgeon would have that particular drug in his home.”

  “Why would you think it’s his?”

  “He’s a doctor. He can get his hands on all kinds of drugs.”

  “Yeah, but an abortion pill? A plastic surgeon?” He shook his head. “You stick with me here, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense for Deedee to be the owner of the medicine? I heard back when the FDA was going over all the tests and trials to decide whether to approve it or not that women in Europe get the stuff ahead of time. They want to have it on hand for possible ‘accidents’ rather than lose time after the fact with the need for a doctor’s prescription.”

  “But why would Deedee want to kill KC?”

  “Why would Stewart Marshall want to kill her—and the baby?”

  “Okay. But even if one of them fed her the morning-after pill, it didn’t work, did it? The baby grew. So what I’m trying to say is that the scenario doesn’t make sense—”

  “You think it doesn’t make sense? How do you think I feel? I’m the one Lila’s trying to pin the whole thing on. The pregnancy, the murder, and who knows what else she’ll try to get me for. Maybe global warming or the hole in the ozone layer.”

  “Don’t get sarcastic on me—”

  The ring of the phone cut me off. I grabbed the receiver and answered.

  “Is this Haley Farrell?” a woman asked.

  The voice wasn’t familiar. “Yes... who is this?”

  “My name... I’m Alicia Daniels. I’m Tedd’s client. She called a while ago and said I should speak with you. She insisted it was very, very important.”

  My heart ached at the tremor in her voice. I had a good idea how hard this was.

  I responded in a gentle voice. “I’m so glad you decided to call. I believe there’ve been at least two deaths, and an innocent man might wind up in jail instead of the one who did commit the crimes.”

  “That’s pretty much what Tedd said, and believe me, if she hadn’t insisted it’s a matter of life and death, I would never have called you.”

  Thank you, Lord. “I’m glad you did. And please understand—I do appreciate how difficult this is for you. I’ll keep whatever you say in confidence—”

  “I know you’ll try to be discreet, but if this leads where I think it’s going, then I have to be the one to call the cops.”

  I sighed in relief. “What can you tell me?”

  Alicia’s voice gained strength as she spoke. “A couple of years ago, I had a stupid relationship with a married man, a Seattle politician, and I wound up pregnant. I was dumb enough to think he’d divorce his rich wife and then marry me for true love.”

  The bitterness in her voice stung. I didn’t comment.

  She went on. “Instead of a divorce lawyer, he called a friend who’d do us a favor, ‘take care’ of our little problem. Then he gave me a check for twenty-five thousand dollars, as if my feelings would disappear in the face of money. Of course, the procedure was on the house.”

  “And...?”

  “And I had the abortion. I wasn’t more than three months into the pregnancy, but I learned this so-called doctor specializes in late-term abortions. Makes a ton of money that way too.”

  I felt sick; my stomach churned and my head pounded. “They say crime pays...”

  “It sure does for him. My procedure was a cheapy. If he’d charged for it, it would have only been a couple hundred dollars. And had I suspected conception immediately after the critical time... well, right after the fact, then he would’ve been happy to provide me with enough morning-after pills to get rid of the ‘problem.’”

  I fell back onto the rocker. Dutch came to my side, took hold of my icy free hand. Worry colored his gaze a couple of shades darker than normal.

  To my surprise, that warm clasp gave me a whole lot of comfort. It also helped me get my next words out.

  “But you say he specializes in late-term abortions.”

  “Yes. The rich society families in Seattle take their wayward daughters to him when they need to take care of the consequences of their indiscretions. And even though it doesn’t matter here, I want you to know that I�
�ve regretted my decision every single day. I did kill my child.”

  I couldn’t take any more. “Alicia, I think you’d better call homicide detective Lila Tsu at the Wilmont PD. This is what I thought I’d hear, and she needs to know.”

  Tedd’s client took a long, shaky breath. “I never thought counseling for postabortion trauma syndrome would require a call to the cops.” She scoffed. “What am I saying? I didn’t even think of consequences when I started that affair. But I’ve learned my lesson. What was that old law in school? For every action there is an equal but opposite reaction.”

  “Amazing how true all that schoolwork turns out to be sooner or later.”

  She asked if I wanted the doctor’s name.

  “From what you’ve said, I have a pretty good idea who the doctor is, but go ahead. I have to be sure.”

  She told me.

  I was right.

  After a few more words, we exchanged good-byes. I hung up and set the phone down on the coffee table. I turned to Dutch. “Your patience is awesome. I would’ve been jumping all over you, trying to yank the phone away.”

  He winked. “That’s the difference between us, Haley. I’m mature, and you’re...” He gave a helpless wave. “You’re not.”

  “If that’s the way you want to be about it, then I’ll just go on upstairs and take a nap. You can wait until your friend Lila and her giant Smurfs come and fit you for your shiny new bracelets—”

  “Forget it. The look on your face as you talked with whoever that was on the phone is the first thing that’s given me hope since the day KC died.”

  I reached out and touched his forearm. “All kidding aside, Dutch. You have good reason to hope. I’m sure you’ve figured out that I just spoke with a woman who went to Stewart Marshall for an abortion. Hers was a first-trimester one, but it seems he has a corner on the local late-term market.”

  Instead of the relief I expected to see on his handsome face, Dutch’s rugged good looks took on a ruddy undertone. His eyes narrowed.

  He stood, clenched fists at his sides. “I wonder if Ron and Lori know their good friend killed not just their unwanted grandchild but their darling daughter too?”

  I stood and met his gaze. “Good question. One we need answered. Have you had your talk with the Richardsons?”

  He turned away. “No. I... well, I just put it off and put it off because I really don’t want to come face-to-face with Ron again.”

  “But you know you have to. Especially now.”

  “Especially now.” He looked over his shoulder. His dark eyes pleaded. “Will you come with me? Please?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Dad and Madeleine Ogleby walked in the door as we were on our way out. Both were beaming.

  “Haley, dear.” Dad’s voice was jolly. “Come and give us a hug. We’re celebrating today.”

  I gave him a wary look. “What’s so special about today?”

  He opened his arms, and I took my time to walk into his hug.

  “Today,” he said, “this wonderful, beautiful woman has agreed to become my wife.”

  I backed up. “Huh?”

  Oh yeah. I tend toward high eloquence when stunned.

  Madeleine reached out and took my hand. “Your father, Haley, the nicest man I’ve met in years, has asked me to marry him. Of course, I agreed.”

  I shot wild looks at everyone in the room. Dad and Madeleine looked like matching nodder dolls. And Dutch? Well, when I snagged Dutch’s gaze, I saw him fight the urge to laugh. Then the big jerk began to sing. Seems he’s figured out I’m a fan of old movies.

  “Sisters,” he warbled. “Sisters. There were never such devoted sisters.”

  Evil.

  Wicked.

  Foul and fiendish.

  That’s what Dutch Merrill really is. To think he’d take such grisly glee in the face of my distress.

  Sure, I was distressed. I was also stunned, stupefied, stressed—take your pick. Because if Dad went ahead and married Madeleine, then yes, Deedee would become my stepsister.

  How much worse could things get?

  I suspect Dutch shot question after question at me on the drive to the Richardsons to try to take my mind off Dad’s impending nuptials. Mind you, I have nothing against my father finding happiness again. It’s just that he hasn’t known Madeleine all that long. And there’s that minor matter of her pink-obsessed daughter.

  “Earth to Haley!”

  “Hey! Give me a break here, will ya?” I blew a tangle of wild curls off my forehead. “After all, it’s my dad who’s gone bonkers on me.”

  “I don’t think an engagement is a sign of going bonkers.”

  I didn’t like the hint of laughter in his voice.

  He went on. “It’s Deedee that’s bugging you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, okay. You’re right. The thought of Barbie as a stepsister does give me the willies. I’d almost rather get Bali and Faux Bali, and you know how I feel about them.”

  Dutch chuckled. “Aw... she’s not that bad, is she? You’re always down on Bali H’ai. Poor kitty. And she’s so sweet too.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you’re Bert and Ernie, Cookie Monster, Elmo, the Count, and Kermit in one.”

  He laughed louder.

  “No, really. Give me a break here. It bugs me that Dad’s asked Deedee’s mother to marry him. Wouldn’t it bother you too? I found KC at Deedee’s home. Then her kitchen’s stocked with more drugs than General Hospital. Plus, don’t forget her husband’s a baby killer. Would you get all giddy about future family members like them?”

  Dutch sighed. “I hoped if I teased you enough you wouldn’t make the connection right away.”

  “Yeah, right. How could I not?”

  “Well, I tried. Anyway, even if the woman you spoke with does call Lila, and even if she does come through and testify against Stewart Marshall, without hard evidence to prove her allegations, it’ll be a case of he said, she said all the way.”

  “You’re leagues ahead of me.” I’d been too busy bemoaning my family situation to think of the more horrific matters before us. “Sorry. I just zoned out. You have to admit, it was a shock.”

  “Sure was.” He gave me a gentle look. “But what do you think? Where are we going to find evidence of those late-term abortions? I know you know that’s what happened to KC.”

  “Of course I do. But don’t forget the Coumadin. Without that her death would be maybe second-degree murder. The blood thinner makes it a whole other ball game. And even if we find a container of the stuff in his house somewhere, we still need a motive. You don’t think he killed the girl just because he did her late-term abortion, do you?”

  “No. If that were the case, then he’d have a trail of dead women behind him. There’s got to be more than that here. Why would he want KC dead?”

  I had no answer, so I kept silent. We were in his truck, a shaky, rackety exemplar of decrepit Detroit art, and while the vehicle was horrible, Dutch’s driving was sure and safe. I chalked that up on Dutch’s plus column.

  “You know,” I ventured. “I can think of one possible motive.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What if, like Alicia Daniels, KC expected more from the father?”

  “Do you mean marriage?”

  I shrugged. “More, Dutch, more than he was ready to give. And if he’s the son of a prominent family...You know. Maybe he has a brilliant future as a rocket scientist or Einstein the second, or maybe he’ll be the one to make Michael Jordan look like a dud on the court.”

  “I suppose a powerful parent can demand anything if he’s willing to shell out enough dough. And Marshall likes money—or at least, what money can buy him. But how do you make the leap from abortion to murder?”

  “I don’t know—yet. But I do know the Coumadin’s important. You can’t forget the Coumadin.”

  After a while he slanted me a look. “I haven’t forgotten the Coumadin, Haley. Yes, the autopsy found it, but we still need
hard evidence to connect it to Stewart Marshall. We need evidence to prove he’s in the abortion business and not just the nip-and-tuck market.”

  “We could contact more of his patients—victims, really.”

  “No way. The fact that Alicia is willing to come forward is almost a miracle. Women go to butchers like Marshall because they don’t want anyone to know about their pregnancies. Remember, abortion’s legal—”

  “Only to a certain point in gestation.”

  “Which goes to prove my point. For whatever reason, they can’t—or won’t—go to a regular abortion clinic. You’ll never get his average patient—victim—to talk.”

  The thought I fought so hard to keep in the back of my mind pushed its way forward. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead, my hands went ice cold, and bile filled my throat.

  Lord Jesus, please don’t make me go there.

  The silence in the truck’s cab lengthened. I shivered, my emotions again in an uproar. Dutch gave me time, time I didn’t want. When he stopped for a red light, I had to smother the urge to jump out and run.

  Where would I go? I didn’t know. I just wanted to get away from all of this. I wanted to forget, to get beyond all that had happened to me, to get away from KC’s murder and its implications.

  But I couldn’t escape.

  This was reality.

  “Where’s the evidence?” Dutch asked again, his voice gentle.

  “We... we need to find out where he... where he disposes...” Oh, Lord, help me! “We need to find out what he does with the babies he... he kills.”

  Dutch’s hand, warm, gentle, strong, landed on my knotted fingers. I looked at him with gratitude.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s really ugly, isn’t it? And it’s my fault you’re in it this deep.”

  “Don’t forget, I’m the one who walked out on that patio and found KC.”

  He squeezed my hands. Almost without conscious thought, I opened one and laced my fingers through his. “I’m in this with you all the way.”

  “Thanks.” His voice sounded husky.

  I thought for the next couple of miles. “Since there’s two of us, we can concentrate on different things. Why don’t I check out the house and the dive shop while you take Dr. Marshall’s office?”