Murder Under the Tree Read online

  “You're crazy. Let's just start painting.”

  I excused myself. “I'm going to make a quick call.”

  Deirdre gave me another disgusted look. I went into the back room, and punched in Elizabeth's number.

  “Well?” Deirdre said when I returned.

  “Elizabeth's in.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. We started rolling the paint on the walls in silence. It looked like we had a good chance of finishing the project tonight. I kept thinking of how Elizabeth and I would get into Sheila's apartment. I didn't even know where she lived. And what would I be looking for? Was this a bad idea?

  About ten minutes later, Deirdre asked, “What did you get us from Marissa's?”

  “I don't know what's in the box. I couldn't decide, so I told her to surprise me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday, January 3

  I tossed and turned through most of the night having nightmares about Elizabeth and I searching Sheila's apartment...

  Elizabeth and I sat in her car a block away from Sheila's apartment, waiting for her to leave and head to Hawthorne Hills for the day. We had spent the last couple of days observing the place: looking through binoculars at the locks on the doors and into the windows, watching to see what times of day Sheila tended to leave the house. Yesterday, Elizabeth had grabbed a Bible and rang the doorbell, trying to invite herself in. Sheila wouldn't allow it, but Elizabeth had gotten a good look at the entryway to the house: it was difficult to see the front door from the street. Today was the big day!

  Sheila got into her car and drove down the street. We waited a full five minutes to make sure she wasn't coming back for something she'd forgotten, then we grabbed a brown package from the trunk. I looked at Elizabeth, and she at me: we were both looking professional in our brown United Packing & Shipping uniforms that Elizabeth had bought at the costume shop for her and a boyfriend a couple of Halloweens ago. Well, Elizabeth looked stunning and beautiful in hers; I was wearing the ill-fitting boyfriend's uniform. We carried the large box to the front door and set it down. No one except someone approaching the apartment could have seen us in the entryway.

  Elizabeth reached into her pocket and pulled out her handy set of thieves' tools, ready to pick another lock, as she had a couple of months ago in the ginseng case. She grunted as her usually dexterous hands seemed to have trouble working the lock.

  I looked around. “Everything all right, Elizabeth?” I asked, somewhat impatient.

  More grunting. “I seem to be having a little trouble with the deadbolt.”

  The lock pick broke off in the keyhole with a snap.

  I sighed. “Step aside,” I commanded, opening the box that we had brought with us.

  I pulled out a handheld SWAT-issue door battering ram, courtesy of my friend Thom Harris from the FBI. I wound up and busted the doorknob right off with one violent jab, the force of the impact causing the door to swing open into the house. Before it hit the wall, Elizabeth and I were already inside. Elizabeth closed the door behind us.

  The house was pristine; nothing looked out of the ordinary at all. Lavish furniture adorned the main living area with wall art and sculptures completing the impressive appearance of the space. Elizabeth and I pulled a pair of crowbars out. “Let's get to work,” I said.

  We went through the living room, the kitchen, the guest rooms. Sofas and chairs were overturned, mattresses and cushions torn apart, looking for clues. Elizabeth swatted all of the food and jars off the shelves in the pantry and groaned as she knocked the refrigerator over. I looked behind all of the paintings on the wall for any documents or photos that might relate to Les, throwing them to the floor when I found nothing. Nothing: that was what we were finding. Nothing at all: that was what this mission was amounting to so far.

  We moved up the stairs when we were finished with the ground floor. I paused to check out the window: it sounded like we were making a terrible racket in here. I hoped that it wasn't loud enough to attract attention of the neighbors. There were no police cars parked outside yet; so far so good. We encountered more bedrooms and duly searched those in our usual manner. I realized that I really enjoyed destroying Sheila's things. If she wanted to take someone's life, then I was more than happy to ruin hers. I rolled her bed to the stairway and pushed it down, gleefully watching as it slid all the way down and smashed onto the tile floor below.

  Elizabeth and I encountered a locked door, which our crowbars made quick work of. Once inside, we stood, dumbfounded, trying to process what we were seeing. “DIE, LES HOLLINGSWORTH!” the walls proclaimed at us from every angle. It was written hundreds of times, sometimes small, sometimes as large as the entire wall. But always crudely scrawled in a bright, angry red. “Well, I think we may have some proof that Sheila is the killer,” Elizabeth whispered to me.

  “It seems like perhaps you do,” another voice responded.

  Eyes wide, we both turned around to see Sheila and Nancy, a pair of pistols trained on us. Seeing no way out, we put our hands up in surrender. Nancy gestured toward the corner of the room and we went over to sit down. Nancy kept her gun trained on us while Sheila went to look out the window, probably also looking for cops.

  “So,” Sheila turned to look at us. “You two sure are brave. Brave and stupid. Did you really think that we weren't on to the fact that you've been snooping around after us, asking questions, putting your noses in where they don't belong? Did you really think that we didn't notice you casing this joint for the past three days? And did you really think—” Sheila steadied her arm and took aim right at me, “—that I would let you live after seeing what you've seen in this house?”

  I closed my eyes. Deirdre was right. Phil was right. Everyone who had ever told me not to get involved or else I'd get hurt was right. Now, here I was: seconds away from becoming the next murder victim in the rapidly shrinking town of Sudbury Falls, murder capitol of Small Town USA. I crouched with my eyes clenched shut, waiting for the end, my heart pounding.

  The sound of gunfire made my eyes fly open in shock. I saw the spray of blood and broken glass form an arc through the air as Sheila fell in slow-motion to the floor, her eyes wide in horror, her now empty hands clutching at the blossoming wound in her chest. Nancy picked up Sheila's gun, ran to the window and quickly knelt to the floor as more gunfire came from outside. Elizabeth and I fell to the floor totally in shock. How would this end?

  “This is the FBI!” a familiar voice said over a loudspeaker outside. “We know you are in there! You are under arrest for the murder of Les Hollingsworth. Nancy Reinhardt, Sheila Harris, Elizabeth Sullivan...Kay Driscoll. We have evidence showing that you all conspired to murder mild-mannered Les Hollingsworth, AKA Les Hollings, and we are here to bring you in. Surrender now, or we will continue to exercise our authorization to use deadly force!

  I couldn't believe it! Thom Harris was outside! How could he think that I was somehow involved with Les' murder? I was one of the good guys! I had to tell him that I was innocent! Nancy was rising and falling in front of the window, exchanging gunfire with the FBI agents below and ducking back to safety. The final time she rose, she took a round in the shoulder and dropped the guns on the floor close to Elizabeth.

  “Elizabeth, grab the guns!” I shouted. Elizabeth scrambled for the pistols and brought her foot down hard on Nancy's injured shoulder as she tried to crawl away, pressing the barrel of one of the guns against Nancy's back.

  I had to let Thom know that it wasn't me; that I had tried to rescue Les, that I was working toward solving his murder! I ran to the window and leaned out to yell at him.

  “Thom!” I shouted, desperately scanning the crowd of heavily armed agents and squad cars below. “Thom, please!”

  Suddenly, I spotted him. He stood in the center of the group, his service firearm trained right at me. “Kay!” I heard him shout. “Kay, I'm sorry that it had to end this way!”

  I heard his gun fire and
saw the muzzle flash as I screamed, “Thom, noooooooooo!”

  I felt a terrible pain. Everything went black. All I could hear was ringing...ringing...

  Rrrrrrrring! Rrrrrrrrring! Rrrrrrrrringgggggg!

  I sat bolt upright...in bed. My alarm clock was ringing. It was time to see Will off and then pick up Elizabeth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After breakfast Phil and I helped Will pack up his car. I gave him a big hug and kiss and told him to call us when he arrived at his new apartment in Madison. I reassured him all would go well with his new job and that I expected a call on Monday evening to hear how his first day went. I kissed him one more time and then he backed down the driveway, onto the next phase of his life.

  Coming back into the house, Phil gave me a big hug. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Kay, we're going to see him in just two short weeks. How about a cup of tea?”

  “Now it's just the two of us.”

  Phil kissed me. “I know. Finally, right?” He smiled and I smiled back.

  Phil busied himself making the tea while I searched the internet for Sheila Harris' address. I knew the street. I had told Elizabeth last evening that I would pick her up at noon.

  “What would you like to do tonight, Kay?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Listen to music somewhere or go out to eat?”

  “We could try that new Thai restaurant you've been talking about.”

  “I'm due to meet Elizabeth soon. Let's talk about it this afternoon.” I couldn't think about that now; I hoped all would go well with Will in Madison and then about what Elizabeth and I were about to do. I shouldn't be breaking into Sheila's apartment. I hated the idea, but how else was I going to learn anything? I had to step up my game.

  Things were going to get ugly.

  * * * *

  I left the house and was in the car waiting outside of Elizabeth's home at twelve o'clock sharp.

  She got into the car and said, “This is exciting! It's like déjà vu all over again.”

  And it was like déjà vu. I had just lived this a few hours ago in my dream. Elizabeth was dressed in black from head to toe. At noon. On a sunny day, making herself more conspicuous.

  I smiled thinking about how Elizabeth was dressed. “I knew you'd be up for it.” Unlike myself.

  “I brought the same lock pick set that I used last time, but first I'd try the credit card trick, like you see in movies.”

  I couldn't wait for this to be over.

  As we backed down the driveway, Robert Peterson back out of his. I opened my window, smiled and motioned for him to go. He hesitated, but smiled at us and drove to the corner. We turned the other way, went a half block, and ducked down an alley, just as I saw him turn back onto our block. At the end of the alley, I turned left and drove into the first alley on the right side. I must have checked my rearview mirror at least a dozen times to see if he was following. Peterson didn't know his way around town. I couldn't take the chance of his following us to Sheila's.

  Five minutes later, we pulled up to an apartment building complex. The buildings were brick, two story. Six apartments to a building. We scanned for apartment numbers. Sheila's address was in the farthest building. We parked just a little way down the street and hustled to a private enclosed stairway. Reaching her apartment, we put on gloves I had brought along, then we knocked on her door. No answer. It was a good thing we didn't have to worry about being seen, since it took Elizabeth almost five minutes to pick the lock. The credit card trick didn't work. “I must be losing my touch,” she said.

  The door looked like one of those hollow plywood-doors. Someone easily could kick it in. Or used a battering ram like in last night's nightmare. This was so weird, first my dream and now actually being here. I was having third thoughts.

  The door lock clicked. When we entered, that is where the déjà vu ended and the stale smell of cigarette smoke took over. I relocked the door. The entryway of cracked tiles led right into Sheila's small kitchen. The formica countertops were marred with burn marks. Food-encrusted dishes and silverware festered in the sink. A small table in the corner hadn't been cleared from breakfast, probably because there were too many dishes already in the sink.

  “What a dump!” Elizabeth said.

  Out of curiosity I opened Sheila's refrigerator to see what the inside of a kitchen manager's refrigerator would look like. I stared at the almost empty shelves. There were a few condiment bottles on the door and a pizza box from Bellini's on the top shelf. Two containers from a grocery store's deli lay on the bottom. One had blue mold in it and brown liquid oozed out the other. “This is really disgusting for a kitchen manager.”

  “She's like a gourmet chef who is a closet fast food junkie. So, Kay, do you know what we're looking for?”

  I looked up from the refrigerator and closed the door. Not saying anything, I looked around the room. The furnishings were shabby and dusty.

  Elizabeth folded her arms and gave me a long look. “Let me guess, you don't...again.”

  I didn't feel like explaining the tenuous connection between Sheila and our main suspect for the murder. “Let's just walk through her apartment and see what we have here.” I could practically feel Elizabeth's heated glare on the back on my head.

  From the kitchen we went into the living room. The first thing I noticed was the red walls and the green shag carpeting which looked like it continued into the two bedrooms. A number of outlet covers were missing. Romance books covered the coffee table.

  “Think she picked this color scheme for Christmas?” Elizabeth asked as she sat down on the sofa and picked up a book.

  I shrugged my shoulders as I walked into the bedroom. What did Sheila do with the money she earned? I'm sure she made a decent salary being head of the kitchen at the Home. She sure didn't spend it on rent.

  In the bedroom, heaps of dirty clothes lay on the floor next to the double bed. If there were any clues in their pockets, they were safe from me. There was nothing under her bed other than dust bunnies and food debris. I opened her closet. A couple of carelessly hung articles of clothing, but mostly empty hangers. I looked back at the huge mound of clothes on the floor.

  Several framed photos sat on her dresser. I picked up a photo of a younger Sheila. She was hanging around a small boy's shoulders. Now that I knew she was Bobby Harris' sister, I guessed that was the boy in the picture. He was looking up at Sheila. Looked like a sweet kid. There was another photo, a family photo of Sheila and this same boy with what must have been their parents. I could see the resemblance.

  After putting the photos back on the dresser, I left the room and popped my head into the bathroom. It reeked of mildew. Some kind of a bug, a beetle or cockroach, crawled in the stained sink. I looked into the stall shower. Another one! And a third on a towel. I made a quick exit.

  Elizabeth looked up when I came back into the living room.

  “Don't go into the bathroom. Cockroaches.”

  She turned back to the book. I walked into the second bedroom that Sheila must have used for her office. It held a computer on a small desk. I looked up at the wall above the computer. “Elizabeth, come here!”

  On the wall was a dart board with a photo of Les on it. He had five darts sunk into his face. A collage of other photos of Les, most from “The Hawthorne Hills Bulletin” were also on the wall. One was of him as employee of the month. Taped to the wall were a couple of yellowed newspaper clippings. My mouth hung open. I thought about the angry scrawlings on the wall that I found in my dream last night. Somehow, the dartboard and clippings were creepier.

  Elizabeth came into the room. “Did you find something?”

  I pointed to the wall, then looked closer at the clippings. One was a report of the accident with Les' name circled in red. Another showed a photo of Bobby's bike lying next to the road.

  “Oh my gosh,” Elizabeth said when she saw the wall.

  This was enough smoking gun evidence for me that Sheila hated Les, and could have wanted him dead. We
had only been here for fifteen minutes. I had seen enough and needed fresh air. A wave of nausea rose up from my stomach. The mixture of the horrific scene and the putrid state of the house made me want to vomit, but I was afraid to enter the cockroach-infested bathroom to do so.

  “Listen!” I said in a low voice. The front door knob jiggled.

  We both looked towards the entryway. “Elizabeth, quick! The bedroom...under the bed.” We ran to the bedroom and crawled under the bed among the dust bunnies. I looked up at the sagging mattress, careful not to breathe too loudly or deeply.

  Footsteps. Coming nearer. I gave an involuntary shudder then froze. We waited, almost laying on top of each other in the middle.

  While we laid under the bed, I saw a woman's shoes entering the room and go over to the closet. Her pants fell to the floor. She stepped out of them, leaving them lay where they landed. The closet door closed as she began to put on a new pair. She came over and sat down on the bed. We held our breath, the dusty liner of the bed mattress touching us. I heard a sound of an old rotary phone, and then, “Hello. Could you connect me to Mrs. Harris' room, 204 please? This is her daughter calling... That's right.” Sheila's raspy voice was unmistakable.

  Silence. “I know it's been a while. Don't wake her up. Tell her that I said I love her and will call back this evening as soon as I can.”

  Silence. “Yes, it will be before nine o'clock. I know the bedtime. Thank you.” She hung up.

  She got up from the bed, which rebounded with a rusty squeak and a billow of dust, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door. I thought about the cockroaches in the bathroom. I was sure they were in this room as well, remembering the food debris.

  “Should we make a run for it?” Elizabeth whispered.

  “No,” I returned her whisper. “Wait! Sheila should be at the Home. Whatever she's doing here, she won't be here long.”