Organized to Death Page 7

  “Yes. He’s a very good friend,” Tina said. Somehow she thought the officers knew more about Hank than she did, and they were impressed.

  “I see. We need to take a look at the gun,” Lisbeth said.

  “Okay.” On shaky legs, Tina rose and went upstairs to her bedroom.

  John followed, talking as they went. “Don’t touch it. Just show me where it is. We’ll test it for fingerprints as well as ballistics.”

  A chill ran through her. Could someone have taken her gun and used it on Crystal?

  Her lips felt numb, and when they entered her bedroom, she merely pointed to the wicker nightstand’s drawer.

  John opened the drawer. The spot where she kept the gun was empty.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tina and John stood staring at the empty drawer. “You sure you put the gun in this one?” John asked. He opened the one beneath it. No gun.

  He turned to look at her. The blood drained from her face and she felt faint. She plunked herself down on the bed. “Someone took it,” she said. But she knew the only people who would ever come into her bedroom were her mother and the maid. Perhaps Uncle Bob, but she couldn’t think why he would.

  And, of course, Hank. He thought it amusing to climb up the old, sturdily-built trellis and onto her tiny balcony to surprise her. Boy, was she surprised right now.

  “Mind if I search the rest of the room?” John asked.

  “Go right ahead.” She prayed he’d find it. Damn Hank. She’d always thought guns were more trouble than they were worth. Here was the proof.

  John was surprisingly neat as he started going through each of her drawers and her closet. After about ten minutes, Lisbeth appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Gun’s missing,” John muttered from inside the closet. “I’m searching for it. With Ms. Shaw’s permission, of course.”

  Lisbeth nodded and gave Tina a long, searching look. Tina didn’t know whether to stare back defiantly or to cower in a corner. Cowering seemed more appealing right now.

  While Lisbeth joined the search, Tina looked at the room with a critical eye for the first time in years. She still liked it, although there were some girlish touches she might want to get rid of later, like the stuffed giraffe and the children’s books in the small bookcase next to the window. Her mother, Uncle Bob, and Princess showed up. The humans hovered in the doorway, alternatively watching the police officers and looking at Tina. She couldn’t quite read their expressions. Princess sat quietly next to Uncle Bob.

  John came out of the closet without the gun, and Lisbeth straightened up from looking under the bed.

  “You have a dog,” John said. He looked nervous, and his small chin quivered.

  “It’s my Uncle Bob’s hearing dog.”

  “Hearing dog? What the hell is that?” He seemed more annoyed than Tina thought he should be. But she remembered he hadn’t known what a professional organizer was, either. Perhaps he didn’t like not knowing things.

  Tina explained what the dog did. Both officers seemed interested, and Lisbeth bent to pet Princess. Uncle Bob didn’t say anything. Usually he’d tell people not to do that when Princess was working. John kept his distance.

  “Well,” John said. “The gun’s not here. You want to take a guess where it might have disappeared to, Ms. Shaw?”

  “I haven’t any idea. I guess someone must have stolen it.”

  “And they got in without anyone knowing, including this dog?” He stood deep within the room, occasionally glancing at Princess.

  “If Uncle Bob was out … “

  “They knew where the gun was, and disturbed nothing.”

  He was relentless, probably covering up his unease, Tina thought. She remained quiet.

  “It’s an obvious place to keep it,” Laura said. “Anyone who knew Tina owned a gun could have guessed where she’d keep it.”

  “But you, her mother, didn’t know she had a gun, did you? How many people knew, Ms. Shaw?”

  All Tina could do was shake her head.

  “Is she a suspect?” Uncle Bob asked suddenly. “If so, she needs a lawyer. Laura, go call Brandon.”

  “Not Brandon,” Tina said.

  Her mother and uncle stared at her. “Why not?”

  She wasn’t sure. She knew she didn’t want to be beholden to him. She didn’t want him seeing she needed his help. Her fingers burned from rubbing the worry stone. She made herself stop.

  “I’d just rather you didn’t,” Tina said.

  “Your uncle is right,” Laura said. “You need a lawyer, and Brandon is one of the best. I’m calling him.”

  Tina realized she’d rather have Hank than Brandon. Hank wouldn’t think she needed coddling. Hank would take charge and probably make the cops squirm. Brandon was part of the system. He might even think Tina was guilty of something. But Hank wasn’t a lawyer. At least she didn’t think he was.

  Her mother went to her room down the hall to make the call, and the cops gave the room one last searching look.

  But it appeared Lisbeth and John decided to give up. Tina didn’t know if it was because her mother was calling a lawyer, or if they simply didn’t have enough to go on. As they were leaving, Brandon drove up in his black BMW, a little fast, and parked in front of the house.

  He spoke to the police a couple of minutes while Tina, her mother, and uncle stood inside waiting. Then he came up the front steps carrying his briefcase, looking tense but sturdy. He greeted everyone and they walked to the living room in silence.

  After they sat down, he opened his briefcase and pulled out a yellow pad and a pen. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Those police officers treated my daughter like a criminal,” Laura huffed, fingering her necklace. “They badgered her, Brandon.”

  “That’s what cops do,” he said.

  “They left,” Tina said. “They had no reason to question me anymore.”

  “They left because we called a lawyer,” her mother said.

  “You don’t know that. They might have left anyway. They didn’t find the gun. All they know is that I had a slight argument with Crystal a week before she died. I’m sure they’ll find other people who had arguments with her. It was common.”

  “What gun?” Brandon said, ignoring the rest.

  “The gun we didn’t know she had,” her mother said.

  “Where’d you get a gun?” Brandon asked. His hand hovered over the legal pad, but he wasn’t writing anything.

  “Hank gave it to me.”

  Silence filled the room as if in the aftermath of a bomb dropping.

  “Hank,” Brandon said.

  Her mother made a disgusted sound.

  Tina looked at the three of them. Dear Uncle Bob didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t. But her mother and Brandon made her angry. She didn’t know why. She had argued with Hank herself when he gave her the gun. Perversely, their disapproval made her like him more. She knew in her head it was irrational, but her heart went out to him for some reason. Perhaps because he wasn’t always so critical of her.

  She stood up. “We have nothing to talk about. I didn’t kill Crystal with my gun. I don’t know where it is. Let the police handle it.”

  Tina stomped up the stairs, wishing she had the self-control to go up them with dignity. When she stepped into her room, she had a wild impulse to search it herself, but she knew the police had probably been more thorough than she could be. She flopped on the bed, picked up the phone, and called Hank’s cell.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Red.”

  “Hank. The police were here, asking about an argument I had with Crystal. They wanted to know if I owned a gun. Of course, I said I did. But when I went to get it from my nightstand, it was gone. You didn’t take it, did you?”

  For a long moment, there was silence. “No, doll, I didn’t take it. I would have told you if I had. Who’s been in your room lately?”

  “No one,” she said quickly. “I mean, just me and the maid. P
erhaps Mother.”

  “No friends or lovers, eh?”

  “I don’t entertain my girlfriends in my room any longer, Hank. We’re too old for that. As for lovers, I always take them to the Viking Hotel.”

  He chuckled. “I see. Then I would guess your mother has it.”

  “What?”

  “I imagine she took it to protect you. Ask her. I have another call. We’ll talk later.” He hung up.

  Tina sat staring at the receiver, then slowly put it back into the cradle. Was it possible? Had her mother taken the gun? Pretended she didn’t know Tina had one in front of the police? With her mother, Tina knew, anything was possible.

  She ran down the back stairs. Her mother and Uncle Bob were in the kitchen having a glass of wine while the aroma of meatloaf and potatoes cooking permeated the air.

  “You took the gun, didn’t you?” she asked her mother, gasping for breath, both from the run and from shock.

  “Of course not,” Laura said. But she said it a beat too late, and she wouldn’t meet Tina’s stare. Tina knew her mother could lie to other people with impunity, but she seemed to have trouble lying to her daughter. She’d fooled the cops, though.

  “Yes, you did. Did you take it before or after Crystal’s murder?” The question just popped out of her mouth, and she put her hand over it, but it was too late.

  The silence was deafening.

  Then her mother said, “I told you, I didn’t take it.”

  Tina knew Laura would never tell her what she’d done with the gun. Perhaps she’d disposed of it. Perhaps she thought Tina had killed Crystal with it!

  Quickly turning away, Tina said, “I won’t be here for dinner.”

  She ran back upstairs for her purse, then down the front stairs for her coat and out the door to her car.

  Without much thought, she drove to Hank’s place.

  Hank lived in a modest, three-bedroom ranch in Middletown. It felt like a spaceship inside to Tina, all glass and chrome, but she supposed it suited him.

  He stood in the doorway talking to a very tall, very blond, very beautiful woman who wore very tight designer jeans, a very tight red sweater, very shiny black, high-heeled boots, and a hip-length, very furry, unbuttoned coat.

  Tina sat in her car. She knew Hank had seen her drive up, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Finally the woman kissed Hank on the cheek and came down the walk toward her car, a Lexus, Tina noticed. Black. Sleek.

  As the woman climbed into the Lexus, Tina climbed out of her VW, not allowing herself to give in to the urge to kick it. She walked up the path, aware the other woman watched her. Hank leaned on the doorjamb, arms crossed, a slight smile on his face. Did he hope she was jealous? Was she jealous?

  Her emotions were so mixed, she couldn’t tell what she felt right now.

  Hank took her arm and led her into his living room, helped her take off her coat, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Too restless to sit down, Tina paced the room. Nothing there lacked taste—no statues of nude women, no kitsch. Crystal vases filled with real flowers. A seascape over the mantel.

  Hank came back with two glasses of wine. “Here. Sit down.” He put one glass next to the most comfortable-looking chair in the room, and Tina sank into it, suddenly weak-kneed.

  She wouldn’t ask him who the woman was. It would be tacky. Instead she said, “My mother took the gun.”

  “She admitted it?” Hank sat down, a surprised look on his face.

  “No. But I can tell when she’s lying.”

  “I imagine you can.” That was the difference between Hank and Brandon. Brandon would have dismissed her conclusion because Laura had not actually said she took the gun. “I’m sure she only took it to protect you,” Hank said.

  “But I’m sure it makes me look worse in the eyes of the police. It looks as if I disposed of it. After murdering Crystal, of course.”

  “Possibly.” Again, he was treating her seriously.

  Tina took a sip of wine and relaxed into the chair. What a relief to talk to someone without worrying about what he thought. Well, she took that back. She did wonder what Hank really thought of her, but she could still relax in his presence.

  “But possibly not?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not if they have another, better suspect.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  He smiled. “They always look most closely at the husband. Also, they’re pretty sure she ran from her house through the back yard into Nicky and Rach’s house, coming into the nursery. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  Tina stared at him. “But you know more than you’re telling me, right? You love this, don’t you? Being secretive, playing games.” Suddenly she was angry. Angry and tired. The stress of the past few days had caught up with her.

  His smile disappeared and his face softened. “No, it’s not a game. It’s too real to ever be a game. I’m interested because you’re involved, whether you want to be or not.”

  He took her breath away. The anger drained out of her, leaving her exhausted. He pulled gently on her arms and lifted her out of the chair. Melting against him, she never wanted to leave the shelter of his arms.

  But eventually, she drew away. Why did his holding her feel so different from Brandon doing the same thing? She chafed at Brandon’s concern, but Hank’s unexpected solicitude touched her.

  “I should leave,” she said, hoping he’d ask her to stay.

  He nodded. “You need a good night’s rest.” He helped her on with her coat and walked her to the door.

  His lips brushed her cheek, and she felt his kiss all the way to her car.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning Tina arrived at Dr. Ted’s office just after nine. She’d had a restless night and working on the kitchen would be the best thing for her. It would tire her out and keep her occupied. Since it was Thursday, she would work with Sylvia on the reception area in the afternoon.

  Everyone kept busy all morning, and it was after one when the last patient left. Dr. Ted locked up, and he, Sylvia, and Brenda gathered in the kitchen, exclaiming on how nice it looked. Tina had cleared and scrubbed the breakfast area so they could all sit comfortably and eat the lunches they had brought with them.

  “Any news about the murder?” Brenda asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Tina said.

  “They said on the news that they brought in the husband for questioning,” Sylvia said.

  “They always suspect the spouse first.” Brenda took a bite of her tuna sandwich.

  “How do you know?” Sylvia stole one of Brenda’s potato chips.

  “I read mysteries. And the newspapers. Anything about murder.”

  “I could never do that,” Sylvia said. “Too gruesome for me. What about you, Tina, do you read mysteries?”

  “Not much.”

  “You know everyone involved?” Ted asked

  “I’m afraid so. Known them all my life. Brenda knows them, too.”

  “Yeah,” Brenda shuddered. “And even with all the mysteries I’ve read, I never would have thought anyone I knew would be murdered. Not to speak ill of the dead, but Crystal could be a pistol. But I don’t think she deserved being murdered.”

  “What do you mean she could be a pistol?” Ted asked.

  “She wanted to run things. Would argue at the drop of a hat. Crystal believed she knew everything and was never wrong.”

  “That type of person sure can be annoying,” Ted said.

  Brenda and Tina laughed.

  “A bit more than annoying, I’d say,” Brenda said. “Tina, didn’t you two have an argument at the club a while ago?”

  All eyes were on Tina, and she couldn’t help blushing. “Yeah,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “But it was only about decorating for the winter dance. She wanted a Hawaiian theme. I thought that was pretty silly for Newport.”

  “Why?” Ted asked.

  Now everyone was looking at him. Tina laughed. “Because we’re an islan
d, too. We have a rich history. Why not do something with that?”

  “Oh, so you convinced her to do something else?” Ted asked.

  They laughed again. “No. I don’t even know why I tried.”

  “Ah,” Brenda said, “then you killed her.”

  No one said anything.

  “Hey! I was just kidding.” They all looked at her uncertainly.

  It wasn’t a joke when the police questioned me and searched my room, Tina thought. How many other people remembered that argument? Tina could only hope they found the killer soon.

  Everyone stood and threw away their trash. Brenda wiped the table, Tina was glad to see. After Ted and Brenda left, Tina and Sylvia spent the afternoon in the reception area clearing out everything Sylvia didn’t think she’d ever need, boxing it up and labeling it, and rearranging stuff so it would be convenient and easy to find. Tina explained how to handle routine tasks, such as the mail.

  “Open it as soon as you can, next to the wastebasket. Open each piece, unless you can tell without opening it that it’s junk. If you find it’s junk after opening, throw it away, including inserts in bills and such. Put bills to pay in one pile, magazines in another, stuff to file in a third, and stuff you need to handle in yet another one. Having a standing file folder can help with that, or a tickler file, which I can help you set up another time.”

  “What’s a tickler file?”

  Tina explained the system, then asked, “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. And it sounds like a system I could use. Both here and at home.”

  They smiled at each other.

  Someone banged on the front door and Sylvia went to see who it was. Dr. Stevenson’s old office manager, Betsy, stepped into the reception area.

  “You’re closed?” she asked in her hollow-sounding voice. In her late fifties, she hadn’t dyed her gray hair. Slightly plump with a round face, she wore brown slacks and a zipped-up, tan jacket.

  “Yes,” Sylvia said.

  “We always closed on Wednesdays. Middle of the week. Ridiculous to close on Thursday afternoons.”

  Sylvia stiffened. “Doctor Ted has a standing tee time on Thursday afternoon. He couldn’t set it up for Wednesday.”