Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 7

  “You don’t understand. Last month, I opened the other card right here, over my desk, the same way you did. Never mind—if I can just find the damn thing, you’ll see what I mean.” She continued to throw papers everywhere. When she uncovered a napkin, she handed her find to him.

  He read the print along the border. “The Piano Bar. Oh, my god, Sarah.”

  Last month, the murder of a cocktail waitress, the valentine card, the cocktail napkin from The Piano Bar—all warnings, but somehow the cocktail napkin went unnoticed. Her stalker was also a killer.

  The telephone rang, startling them. She stared at the words flashing on the caller ID display: Debra Johnson.

  “No!” Sarah ran from the room.

  Eddie didn’t know what to do first: answer the telephone, go after Sarah, or call the police. The telephone insisted. He picked up the receiver, half-expecting Debra to speak to him from the grave, but the caller disconnected. Eddie dialed John and explained the valentine, the cocktail napkin, the real estate logo, and the new wording on the card. John asked no questions. Instead, he called his friend, Detective Steven Quaid.

  Sarah understood, for the first time, the reality of the threat. The valentines were more than a stalker’s sick joke. A monster had committed murder and then calmly strolled to her doorstep to leave his calling card.

  Sarah stood under the hot flowing water of the shower and forced the tears back. She refused to allow herself to fall apart, to give in to the fear. Doubts and questions bombarded her. No, I will not let him do this to me. She stopped thinking. Her sanity depended on it. The memories of her nightmares and the truth they foretold surrounded her like fog. Although she stood in her own home, she felt violated. Her head pounded from the effort to hold herself together. Nevertheless, she would not go into hiding like she had after Michael’s death. I came home to fight, and I will. Sarah fought hard to put the horror away in a drawer she could pull out later, examine, analyze, and paint.

  Singing You Are My Sunshine once more, she did her hair, put on her make-up, and dressed for dinner. An expert at denial, Sarah used her skill to move forward. She had obligations to fulfill; no freak would dictate her life. Grieving in solitude for Michael was different. She chose it. Hiding from a sick lunatic meant having freedom taken from her.

  If it’s a fight he wants, then it’s a fight he’ll have.

  Steven stood on the other side of the door, swearing under his breath. When John called, Steven agreed to the consultation because he needed to give his mind a break from the slowly rising body count. It would be a quick consult, maybe some paperwork, and a restraining order, and then he would be on his way.

  He never finished the thought because the door opened. “Hey, Eddie, what’s that brother of yours up to now?”

  “I’ll let him explain.” Eddie led the way to the living room.

  “A real mystery—” He stopped mid-sentence. His snow angel stood beside John wearing a white evening gown. Her hair glittered with green emeralds. He stared. Her eyes were haunting and sad, yet inviting.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly.” John shook his hand and made the introductions. “Sarah, this is the detective I told you about. Steven Quaid.”

  She smiled. “Mr. Quaid, thank you for coming.”

  Her brief smile brightened her face, and Steven responded with a grin. Muscles he had not used in what felt like years cheered. He reached out his hand, his gaze never left her face—the one he had seen in his dreams every night since he first saw her in the park. Their hands touched, the room disappeared, and his senses responded. She had a warm, firm grip. Her eyes mesmerized him, and her scent tantalized.

  She pulled away and motioned toward a chair. “Please, sit. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Steven, keenly aware of his fascination for her, reacted with surprise when she failed to acknowledge him. Disappointed, but not discouraged, until he recalled her name. Mrs. Palmer—with an emphasis on Mrs. Steven’s grin disappeared. He recognized the name, but couldn’t recall at that particular moment.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He took a seat, and surveyed his surroundings: bright white walls covered with colorful art. White plush furniture offset by splashes of color, while antiques dotted shelves and tables everywhere: the apartment had a rich but warm personality.

  “These items may be evidence you’re missing in your current murder investigation,” John said and pointed at the display on the coffee table between them.

  The word evidence caught Steven’s attention. “What kind of evidence?”

  John showed Steven the telephone and the caller ID with Debra Johnson’s name. Steven immediately called his department to have the call traced. His team, unaware that Debra’s cell phone was missing, promised to get right on it. John filled Steven in on the details, including the discovery of the cocktail napkin. But Sarah kept diverting Steven’s attention. All the pieces were fitting together—his snow angel from the park had somehow become a target for murder. The beautiful blondes were a substitute for her. He watched Sarah while she prepared coffee in the kitchen.

  Steven now understood why Eddie acted as chauffeur, but her indifference to the goings-on around her confused him. Her appearance and manner were atypical of a woman stalked by a killer. He thought he heard her singing; he listened more closely and realized the tune she sang was You Are My Sunshine.

  Does she lack the intelligence to understand what’s going on?

  She never once glanced in his direction while she prepared the coffee, but he watched her carefully. She set the tray on the table, and handed him a cup, and then she sat on the edge of a chair and listened intently to their conversation.

  The information John relayed finally sank in, and Steven frowned.

  “What? Wait a minute… this started last month? You received a message after the first murder, and you’ve just now called me? Evidence we could have used to save a woman’s life. What the hell were you thinking?”

  His frustration over the case got the better of him. His words were for John, but Sarah flinched, jumping to her feet. Her eyes never left his, but she volunteered no answers. Turning over the murders and this new information together in his mind, Steven remembered where he had heard the name Sarah Palmer. Sarah, the wife of Michael Palmer, deceased.

  Steven remembered the news story that Terry O’Conner, his friend and fellow officer from Seattle, had sent him several months earlier. Terry wanted Steven to know she was now in his jurisdiction. Black widows devour husbands, and Terry feared she would strike again. Steven realized his snow angel was very likely a cold-blooded killer. He wondered if Eddie was going to be her next victim, but the worst part of the revelation was finding himself attracted to a possible murderer. He felt exposed and certain she had bewitched him, a talent of women accused of misandry. The idea that he’d found her the least bit enchanting made him cringe. He tried to gather his thoughts, regain his balance, and start the evening over by wiping all fantasy from consideration. He watched her closely, and this time he saw her differently. He no longer regretted his outburst.

  Sarah returned his intense gaze.

  “Eddie, can we go now? I have a dinner to host.” She left the room, took her coat from the hall closet, and waited for Eddie to join her.

  Steven thought she’d read his mind. Her knowing gaze unsettled him.

  “Party? There is no party. Not tonight. You’re not going anywhere, Mrs. Palmer. Unless you want to be arrested? You’re a material witness. Believe me, I won’t hesitate.”

  She glanced at John, who signaled her to go ahead. They were gone in seconds. Steven could not believe her actions, and he turned to go after her, but John blocked his path.

  “Arrest her as a material witness—good one. Settle down. She’ll be back. She has to go. She’s the chairman of the board. Besides, I can tell you what you need to know.”

  “Aren’t you worried about your brother with that… that woman?”

  “What?”


  “Don’t you know who she is? Mrs. Michael Palmer.” Steven paced the floor. “She murdered her husband and got away with it. She killed her husband with a Porsche on his birthday. They don’t come more cold-blooded.”

  “I know exactly who she is. I’ve known Sarah longer than I’ve known you!” John shouted, disgusted with his friend. The one person he had assured Sarah would help her had just turned into her worst enemy. “When were you elected judge, jury, and executioner?”

  “You know her?” John’s words shocked Steven, and he didn’t believe it. “What did she tell you, that her husband died in a simple car accident? A new Porsche? Like hell. Either she cut the brake line or she paid someone else. Eyewitnesses said he had more than enough time to stop.” Steven spat out the words as if they tasted sour in his mouth. “If the car hadn’t burned, she’d be in prison. I guarantee it. Honestly, John, how did she get to you? I never would’ve thought, although one look into those amazing eyes and all reason is gone.”

  “Shut up, Quaid. You’re going to say something we’ll both regret. Sarah loved her husband!”

  “Yeah, she loved him so much, she didn’t even show up for the funeral. Come on, John, admit it. She batted long eyelashes, and you believed every word that poured from her seductive mouth.”

  John’s sat back down. “Shit, Quaid, what’s your problem?”

  “My problem. You’re the one consorting with a murderess.” Steven paced in front of the fireplace, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Were his friends in danger from a she devil, or was he overreacting?

  “Oh, now I understand.” John smiled. “You’re attracted to her.”

  “Attracted… are you nuts?” Steven laughed. Good god, am I that transparent? “I just met the woman!”

  “Then what’s happened to you? I’ve never seen you so hostile. You’ve convicted the woman without any evidence. Why, because she reminds you of Denise?”

  “Leave Denise out of this.” Denise, Steven’s ex-wife, was a talented, ambitions woman with a mind of her own. “They have nothing in common. I have all the evidence I need. Terry O’Conner, a friend and detective in Seattle, sent it over. You know better than anyone—just because there’s no physical evidence to bring an indictment doesn’t mean there’s no crime. She’s cold, John. Ice cold. For heaven’s sake, the woman sang while we were just steps away discussing murder. Maybe someone just wants justice.”

  John stood. “Justice? Someone wants Sarah dead, maybe the same person that killed her husband! Does justice include Debra and Rhonda? You’re an ass, Quaid!”

  Steven’s posture return to normal, but he ran his hands through his hair, broke the band that held it back, cursed, and then stretched his shoulders as though he were working out stiff muscles.

  “What’s really going on?”

  “Three murders, John. Three in two months. That’s what’s going on. And now Mrs. Arrogant Palmer. I wasn’t expecting to find her.”

  “Understood. So what do you say we concentrate on finding the killer of these women, and in the process, maybe the person responsible for Michael Palmer’s death? Steven, I know Sarah well. She’s not what the papers print. She’s shy and reserved, yes, but intelligent and tremendously determined. I promised I’d find the person responsible for her husband’s death. I have a man in Seattle now.”

  “What’s he discovered?”

  “I don’t have the full report yet, but, and this doesn’t surprise me at all—the people closest to her will bite your head off for thinking she could kill anyone. Yet anyone with a reason to be envious will instantly condemn her.”

  John sat down on the couch. “I can’t fully explain Sarah to you in a few words, but I respect her, and I’d do anything for her. If you’re willing to get down to business, we have a killer running free, and she’s the target. Are you going to work with me on this, or would you rather arrest the lady on unverified suspicions?” John folded his arms.

  Steven finally felt as though he had things under control. “No, I’ll wait. She’s not going anywhere. Let’s call a truce. We’ve been friends a long time, and I trust your instincts. Just don’t expect me to warm to the lady without some proof.”

  “Of course.”

  Steven saw an opportunity. He could solve two crimes instead of one—find the killer who liked the fourteenth and perhaps trap a black widow sitting comfortably in her own web. He would withhold his compassion for the time being. “What else is there besides this?”

  Steven gathered the valentines and other evidence John had placed in plastic bags.

  “If you want copies of my files, I have no problem supplying them.” John explained the steps he had taken. “So far, I’ve turned up nothing, but I haven’t interviewed these people personally. You’ll be able to get a lot further. One favor, though. Keep this information away from the press, for Sarah’s sake.”

  Steven could see the headlines: Murder, Valentines, and Black Widows. “It will be difficult, but not impossible. How many people know?”

  “The four of us.”

  “We’ll do our best. I want to get this to headquarters. The sooner my team gets started, the sooner this mystery gets solved.” Steven’s cell phone rang, and he answered it quickly. “Quaid … Meet you there.” He hung up and pocketed his phone. “I’ve got to go, John. They traced the call from Debra Johnson’s cell phone to The Piano Bar. How do you want to handle Mrs. Palmer?”

  “I’ll gather my files and meet you at your office in what, three hours?”

  “Fine.”

  He shook John’s hand and left to look into the cell phone call from a dead woman.

  Steven discovered Debra Johnson’s cell phone in the same spot where Debra lost her life. He realized the killer took the phone to torture the object of his obsession—Sarah Palmer—and then returned the phone to the scene of the crime after achieving his macabre goal.

  Steven called his team together to inform them of the new developments. He put a gag on all evidence and stressed the opportunity to solve two crimes with one investigation. Then he called Terry O’Conner.

  “Sorry, Steve, I should have followed up with you on that, but believe me she has John bamboozled. It’s a smokescreen cooked up by a black widow to win him over. I saw no evidence of a shy, reserved, or even intelligent woman. Cruel, cunning, and manipulative are more like it. And, Steven, I still think Gerald Kessler, Michael Palmer’s best friend, had something to do with it; I think they were working together. Even though he married someone else, I’ve heard recently the marriage isn’t a happy one.”

  “Okay, Terry, it’s appreciated. Anything else I should know?”

  “Just watch yourself. The lady is dangerous.”

  “You really think so.”

  I’ll just say that several members of the board thought they could pull some weight down here. They managed to make my job a lot tougher. She has influential friends, so watch your step, especially if you’re going to be investigating them. I’ll do what I can at this end. Keep me informed.”

  Steven paced after he hung up, eager to get a closer look at the woman with no conscience. What a waste.

  John appeared, on time, and turned over copies of his work. Steven briefly introduced him to his team, then Steven and John left the station together.

  “I hope you don’t have any other plans this evening,” John said as they crossed the parking lot to John’s car.

  “No, just questioning the indomitable Mrs. Palmer. Why?”

  “Because Sarah has gone to her home east of town, in the foothills, and it’s a forty-five-minute drive.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Eddie drove her home as soon as the dinner party ended,” John explained as they got into his car.

  “Who the hell does she think she is? I should go back to the station and order a squad car to go pick her up. Maybe questioning at the station, handcuffs and all, will bring her down to earth.”

  Steven tried to calm his indignation for Mrs. Palm
er, a woman clearly in control. But Terry’s description of manipulative, and cold, fit. As his resentment grew, he recalled the promise he made in front of his team. When this case is closed, we’ll have two killers behind bars.

  “Calm down, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never seen you so wound up. I thought we had this discussion.”

  “Sorry, it’s this case. Two young women are dead just because they look like Sarah Palmer. A woman who…” Steven used more caution when he chose his next words. “Who may have killed her husband. It’s senseless, John. Rhonda had two sons, two boys who will grow up without a mother, and for what? And Debra, the first victim, she had two little ones, too. You’re right. I’m on edge. Enraged, because it’s just so pointless. While your friend, Mrs. Palmer, acts like the world revolves around her.”

  “I understand your frustration, but where you question Sarah isn’t important. I’ve already given you everything. The apartment’s left her too exposed. This guy’s been to her front door. That first valentine was slid under her door by the manager, but this last one was delivered by the killer. This place is secluded, offers better protection. Besides hauling her in, as you say, would invite press coverage!”

  “You’re right, but damn it! The spider invites the fly into her parlor, and the dumb fly accepts.” Steven refused to be appeased.

  They finally arrived at the house. And, while magnificent, the Christmas decorations bothered Steven. How could a woman intent on murder have the heart that would allow such expression? Then Steven remembered the shell, the ideal covering needed to shield the devious mind. The sociopath achieved normalcy easily and artfully. Sarah fit the description. Tonight, he had seen her dressed beautifully for a party, and now he was looking at her home. What did I really expect? Still, he could not help but question why any woman needed such an expensive home. He knew where Michael Palmer’s money had gone.

  They entered the foyer, and Sarah descended the stairs. Steven had to look twice. The evening gown was gone. She wore a pair of jeans and a simple red, plaid shirt tied at the waist. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in honeyed waves, while a simple pair of moccasins brought her height down by several inches.