Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 6

  “I’ve put the final bid together, but it’s not our usual contract. We made the top three, and the committee came back with a few more requests. I want to offer free training and software upgrades, as an integral part of the maintenance agreement. It should guarantee the deal for us. I’ve studied other company policies, and maintenance is where companies like ours lose future business. I’ve worked up the numbers, and with a contract of this size, free software upgrades are a small concession when compared to future hardware costs. I wanted your opinion before I finalized the presentation.”

  “I’d like to see the figures, but so far I like the idea.” Sarah appreciated that Karen had done her homework.

  “I’ll email them to you, because I need an answer tonight. I thought I had a week, but they moved the presentation to tomorrow morning. I know its last minute, but my spies tell me we’re close to winning this.”

  “No problem. I’ll call you as soon as I review the numbers, but something tells me you’ve got this one handled.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate that, especially with such a large change.”

  “No problem. We have to stay competitive.” Sarah realized making Karen manager of the Anchorage office had been a very smart move.

  After lunch, Sarah did a little more shopping, but she needed to follow through on Karen’s request and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. Eddie took her to the condo, did a full check for her safety, and left early, glad for the opportunity to spend some more time with his girlfriend. Once she had business matters dealt with, Sarah rewarded herself with a long, soothing bubble bath, and fell into bed. John had come through on his promise, and Sarah had an unlisted telephone number, and, though the calls had stopped haunting her, she disconnected the phone beside her bed anyway.

  Several hours later Sarah opened her eyes. Something had startled her from a deep sleep, and she listened intently for any sound, any indication of an intruder. She sensed his presence before she made out his dark shape. She realized he was standing at the foot of her bed, mere inches away. Terror kept her immobile. Sarah wondered if he was waiting for her to move, to show some sign of consciousness, but her body froze with fear. She fought to move beyond the terror and managed to throw off the blankets and sit up, just as the figure fled through the bedroom door.

  At exactly 2:14, the telephone rang and Sarah screamed. An unlisted telephone number would not deter her tormentor. Unsure if she had just awakened from a nightmare or if the stalker had actually been in her apartment, she ran to the front door, checked the locks, and rechecked them. Her phone showed Unknown Caller on the screen. Terrified, she called John.

  “I’m sorry. He called again! I think he was in my apartment.”

  “Where’s Eddie?”

  “With Alexis.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on my way, start the coffee.”

  She turned on all the lights, checked the closets, and prepared a pot of coffee, but did not turn the brewer on. She made a quick cup tea for herself using the microwave and then sat huddled in a blanket on her sofa until he arrived.

  Just before three, John rang the doorbell. He immediately checked the caller ID and then dialed information. When he asked for Sarah Palmer’s number, they gave him what was supposed to have been her new, unlisted number.

  “Someone at the telephone company screwed up. The number they gave you is listed. I’ll have it changed, I promise, and this time they will do this right.”

  Sarah felt relieved and upset all at once. “Well, at least he didn’t figure out how to get an unlisted number.”

  He put his arm around her, alarmed because she still shivered with fear. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I disconnected the phone beside my bed before I went to sleep—at least I thought I did—no, I’m sure I did. Something woke me, someone was standing at the foot of my bed. Then the damn phone rang. The one I swear I disconnected. The intruder ran and I freaked. It was so real—almost too real to be a nightmare.” She sank to arm of the chair, her energy drained. “I’m sorry, John. I got you out of a warm bed for nothing.”

  “Don’t apologize; I would’ve come regardless, but Eddie was supposed to be here, not at his girlfriend’s!”

  “Please don’t blame Eddie. I insisted he leave; I told you I didn’t want to interfere with his love life. I’m sorry, I probably just overreacted. Since Michael’s death, I seem to have turned into Miss Needy.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat.”

  “I noticed you don’t have a chain lock on your door—and the keys, who has a copy of your keys?”

  “I had two sets made. I had new locks installed when I moved in. The other set is with Leeann. As for the chain lock, the condominium association claimed a deadbolt and a peephole were enough. You know associations—they want to tell you how often to flush your toilet.”

  Sarah took his jacket and pulled herself together by concentrating on the mundane. She walked with him around the apartment as he checked the rooms for his own peace of mind. They went to her bedroom.

  John knelt beside the bed, checking the phone cord. “Did you unplug the phone from the receiver or the wall?”

  “The receiver. I draped the cord over the nightstand, so I could easily reconnect if needed. A new habit, every night, no matter where I sleep.” The teapot whistled, startling Sarah. “You said coffee, but I made tea.”

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  They went to the kitchen, and Sarah prepared a pot of tea.

  “I’ll give that a few minutes to steep. Come on, let’s sit in the living room while we wait.

  John patted the seat beside him. “Sit. Let’s talk. We’re both wide-awake. Time to get rid of all the ghosts.”

  Sarah paced, still unable to relax. “Thank you for getting here so fast.”

  “From now on, Eddie or myself will use the guest room. He should’ve made sure someone was here. From now on, it’s twenty-four-seven until we know who and what.”

  “Please don’t blame him. He’s in love, and babysitting me is playing havoc with his love life.”

  “Don’t worry about Eddie or his love life. He’s found a wonderful girl. In fact, I think he wants to pop the question on Christmas. You’re right he’s in love and not on his game, still it’s no excuse! Now, come on, sit down.”

  “Give me a minute; I want to turn off some lights. I panicked and wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding in the shadows. I’m losing it, aren’t I?”

  She made her way through the apartment turning off lights and dimming the ones in the living room. In the kitchen, Sarah made up a tray with the pot of tea and a plate of danish. She finally relaxed beside John on the couch and poured them both a cup of tea. Tucking her legs under her she sipped her tea.

  “You know what I like,” John said, eyeing the danish. “Remember when I used to call you Cheesecake?”

  “Yes. I didn’t like nickname then, and I still don’t.” She smiled despite the warning tone in her voice.

  “Well, a married man has to save all his nicknames for his wife, even though you’ll always be Cheesecake to me.”

  He winked, she giggled, and they ate the sweet treats and enjoyed the tea while watching the hypnotic flames of the fireplace.

  After a few moments of silence, John spoke. “Sarah, can we talk? I mean really talk, no holds barred.”

  “Sure. Ask me anything.”

  “Why do you sing You Are My Sunshine?”

  Her eyes formed perfect circles of amazement. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Just now, while you were turning out the lights and preparing the tray, you were singing.”

  “Singing?” Sarah shook her head, confused. “I was… Oh, god, I’m so sorry, It’s a habit, I thought I’d grown out of it. Whenever I’m stressed, I use it to calm myself down. I guess like a mantra during meditation. Dad used to sing it to me whenever I got upset because they were leaving again.” She smiled sheepishly,
more than a little embarrassed she hadn’t caught it herself.

  “It’s no big deal. Singing is an appropriate way to cope, and you have a nice voice, so relax. Come on, talk, tell me about the last year. We haven’t had a real discussion in a while. You were incommunicado. I want to catch up.”

  “What about Leeann? She must think I’m entirely off my rocker, calling you out of bed at two in the morning.”

  “Actually, Leeann’s worried about you, and she wanted to come with me, but I don’t want her anywhere near this case. It’s to protect her and keep my attention on the details at hand. She understands and sends her love. She’s hoping when all this is over, you’ll join her on her next visit to Hawaii. She has the entire trip planned.”

  “She mentioned her next trip on Thanksgiving. Yes, I’ll consider it. I haven’t been there since my honeymoon. We were planning another trip when…” She trailed off, not wanting to discuss Michael’s accident again. She drew in a slow breath, then sighed it out. She set her cup down and walked to the fireplace. “I’m sorry. It’s getting late. Shouldn’t we both get some sleep before the day starts?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not getting off the hook that easy. I’m here at 3:00 a.m. watching fake fire logs, eating a cheese danish, and drinking decaffeinated green tea, all to help you chase away the ghosts. The least you can do is share the details of what happened… the day Michael passed.”

  “You’ve read the police report. I really don’t have anything to add.” Sarah wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stepped closer to the fire.

  John stood. “I don’t understand. Why won’t you discuss this with me? We’ve been friends for years. You used to tell me everything.”

  “What do you want? A confession? Yes, I killed Michael—haven’t you heard? I bought him a bright, red Porsche, cut the brake line, and then I kissed him and waved goodbye as he drove to his death. They call me…” She covered her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears.

  He heard the grief and anger, saw her struggle to regain control, but no tears fell. He realized her experience in Seattle had been worse than he imagined.

  “Oh, god, John. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  He quickly pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Damn it, Sarah. I just… you aren’t going to make this easy are you?”

  “I don’t mean to be impossible. I’m just not ready. Not yet.”

  “I understand. No more questions. Come on, finish your tea.” John led Sarah back to the couch, then sat down and settled her in front of him, massaging her shoulders. “My god, woman, you’re tied up in knots. Lean forward, let me work these out, then I want you to get some rest. I’m staying right here until Eddie arrives.”

  December 14th–1:00 p.m.

  honda Parker had just finished showing the house and was in a hurry to get home before her oldest son, Aaron, arrived from school. Selling real estate part time provided her family with extra money and gave her the opportunity be home to take care of her two young sons, Joshua and Aaron. Even if the money wasn’t that good, the time with her children would be more than worth it, in Rhonda’s opinion.

  Her clients had made an offer on the house, but, before she could complete the paperwork this afternoon, she had a standing date with Aaron. Sitting down and discussing his day at school over a glass of milk and homemade cookies was a ritual more important than celebrating Christmas. Rhonda would not allow anything to interfere with their special time—not even a definite offer to purchase in cash. She had her car in reverse when she noticed the lights were on in the master bedroom. Damn it. She put the car into park.

  “Never, never be in a hurry,” she muttered.

  Aaron would be getting home from school any minute, and she wanted to be there when he arrived. But, as a stickler for closing up properly before leaving a property, she had to shut the light off. A few minutes can’t hurt. Aaron will understand.

  Rhonda left the car running and headed back into the house. Thoughts of her children filled her with pride, and she smiled, recalling how excited Aaron was yesterday. His girlfriend had called. She remembered feeling a little sad. He had another girl in his life now—Marie, the freckle-faced tomboy from down the street.

  She unlocked the door and entered the house, quickly climbing the stairs to the second floor. Rhonda entered the master suite and stepped directly into the blade of a knife. A dagger sank deep into her chest, once and then twice. Rhonda put her hands up to fight, but a lucky blow struck her heart, and her fight ended before it began.

  6:00 p.m.

  Steven seethed. In one month, three murders had occurred in his city. The dead stares taunted him, and answers were becoming more difficult to find. Although they were certain Troy Stoner, Ginger Hardin’s boyfriend, had killed her, the other two murders had no solution. They had Troy’s DNA, the weapon—with his fingerprints—and witnesses who claimed he flashed a wad of cash the evening she died, despite losing his job. But Troy had disappeared, and a statewide manhunt could not locate him. Joe claimed it was his mission to track Troy down.

  The murders of Rhonda Parker and Debra Johnson had a distinctively different signature; this killer stalked his victims and carefully planned his crimes. The women were also similar in features, coloring, and lifestyle, but the scenes were almost wholly absent of forensics. With no real evidence, no DNA, not even a footprint in the snow, and zero witnesses, the puzzle grew. What tied these two women to the same killer? Steven swore he would know before January 14.

  Sitting at a red light, Steven pondered these questions when he saw her, his snow angel from the park. Steven gawked. Getting into a Mercedes, he recognized the delicate, well-defined features set off by large eyes and a sensuous mouth. Her smile held more mystery than the Mona Lisa’s and triggered deep memories of love long ago buried under anger and heartache.

  “Well, I’ll be. She must be special if she has Eddie as an escort.” He watched them drive out of sight. The cars behind him blew their horns. The light had turned green.

  Eddie took Sarah home to change for a dinner party. She was hosting the kickoff celebration for the weekend’s pre-holiday activities for the board members and their spouses.

  “Well, Ms. Chairman, you seem much happier than this morning. I’m surprised you find this type of work so rewarding—I mean, because you’re an artist, not because you aren’t capable.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m surprised, too, but, in a way, it’s very rewarding. I think I’m doing a good job, and Michael would be pleased. The last board meeting of the year is over, the company is doing well, and most of the board members brought their families up for the weekend’s festivities. I’m actually looking forward to this weekend. They usually spend so much time on business, I wanted to show them what Alaska really has to offer. I do apologize, making you escort me to all the activities. You must be bored out of your mind.”

  “Not at all. Granted, your stalker hasn’t done much since last month, but the phone call this morning is a warning of some kind.”

  “It’s the fourteenth.” She stated the obvious and brushed any concern aside. “Did John find out why they released my number?”

  “Apparently a new employee screw up. He said the number should change again by Monday.”

  “And the locks?”

  “As soon as the condo association approves it, one of our men will contact building maintenance and install a new form of chained door guard with a bolt lock. He’ll call me when the job is done, but most likely sometime during the holiday when you’re safely tucked away at the cabin. Until then, you’re stuck with me!”

  When they arrived, Eddie accompanied her upstairs. While in the elevator, Sarah asked him, “What are your plans for the holidays?”

  “Guarding you. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m leaving for my home on the Washington coast Monday. Emma left this morning. Cecil and Opal are planning an old-fashioned Christmas celebration. You’re welcome to join
us. But what about your girlfriend? Don’t you two have plans?”

  “You’re trying to tell me creeps take a holiday? I don’t think John will let you go unguarded.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to convince him I’ll be fine. Crank telephone calls won’t keep you or me from a great holiday. I refuse to give this maniac the upper hand. Besides, I’m going to Washington.”

  “Maybe.”

  Eddie unlocked the door of her apartment, but, before he stepped inside, he noticed the red envelope on the floor. Using a handkerchief, he carefully picked it up. Sarah followed him, and they went over to her desk, where she handed him the letter opener. Eddie gingerly sliced the envelope open and dumped the contents.

  A red heart and a gold emblem—the advertising logo of a local real estate company—fell to the desk. Eddie retrieved it and turned the logo over carefully.

  “What’s this?”

  The red heart had the words You’re Dead, Valentine printed in the same neat block letters, but the wording differed. Eddie puzzled over the difference in the wording for a moment. Watching Sarah’s reaction, the difference suddenly dawned on him: the first Valentine read Your Dead Valentine, and had been an allusion to Michael, and the cards he sent her every month. This valentine left no doubt—someone wanted Sarah dead.

  “I’m dead.” Sarah whispered the words, not quite believing them herself. It wasn’t until she noticed the gold emblem in Eddie’s hand that she became quiet, and then frantic. He watched while she rifled through her desk, opening drawers, throwing papers left and right, and searching through file after file.

  “Sarah, what is it?”

  “How could I have been so stupid?”

  Eddie just stared, baffled by her actions, waiting for Sarah to continue.

  “Remember, in the car on the way home, the report on the news about a young real estate agent murdered in a house she had just shown. Today a real estate agent and last month a cocktail waitress, both killed on the fourteenth.”

  “I didn’t hear the news, but what? How?” He held her by the shoulders in an effort to calm her down. “It’s all right. I’ll call John.” But she pulled away.