Ready, Aim, Under Fire (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 10) Page 11

  Turning away from Fairmount Park, I walked back to my car and headed over to the hotel. I parked and thought hard about how to get the hotel staff to turn over Debby’s check-in time. Finally, after finishing my pastry, I hit on an idea.

  “Montgomery Hotel and Conference Center,” reeled off the bored-sounding receptionist.

  “Yes, hello. I have a complaint,” I yelled in a nasal-toned voice. “I think one of your guests scraped my car and I’m really mad! My husband is outraged. I’m going to sue her.”

  “What makes you think it was one of our guests, ma’am?”

  “It happened in your parking lot! Her name was Debby something. I know because I saw her name on an envelope inside the car,” I yelled. “She drives a rental car and her driving is bad. I might sue you too!”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Let me see,” I squawked before answering the day and time. “Unless you can tell me that she wasn’t there by some miracle then I demand you give me all of her information for my insurance!”

  “We do have a guest with that first name but I can assure you she checked into her room at seven-fifteen and one of my colleagues spoke with her at seven-thirty. She couldn’t possibly have been in the parking lot at the time you say.”

  “My mistake,” I yelled. “I should wear my driving glasses.” I hung up and tried not to giggle at the atrocious voice I managed to put on. I even felt pity for the poor concierge who had to start his day with an angry woman yelling at him. It was well worth it; Debby’s alibi was confirmed every step of the way.

  With my coffee cup almost empty and the remaining liquid cold, I checked my watch, wondering who else was likely to be awake at this hour, but not rushing to get to work or take care of kids. I knew one kid that couldn’t walk yet. Are you awake? I typed before tapping send.

  Always, came Lily’s immediate reply. Sleep is for the weak.

  How’s Poppy?

  She’s the only person in the world who gets praised for pooping on me.

  I didn’t know how to reply to that so I was relieved when Lily sent another text. Motherhood is boring. I love it but no one says how boring it is. Or how much you miss sleeping. I need to do something for me.

  Meet me later. Bring the baby.

  Cool. Who are we stalking?

  No one. I’ll take a break.

  You used to involve me. I feel so left out.

  I’m sorry!

  Seriously, I will do anything. I can be the mom with a baby no one ever looks at. It’s the perfect cover.

  Tapping my phone against my chin, I was thinking of something for Lily to do, something that would make her feel involved, but I came up with nothing. It was a shame because Lily was very committed to helping me. She never complained about staking out houses, breaking in when necessary, questioning or running interference with suspects, and was particularly enthusiastic when it came to disguises. Now that I thought about it, I felt her absence more acutely. I knew life changed for all new mothers but I never realized how much it would change my life. It was a selfish thought but I couldn’t deny the pang I felt in missing my best friend now she had a new favorite lady in her life.

  I will think of something, I typed. Then I decided to pump her ego with I need your expert skills.

  I waited a long five minutes for an answer. Finally, the phone beeped. Poppy is sleeping. I will call you after I’ve had a nap.

  I smiled, grateful for more time to think of how Lily could help me. I was sure I could figure out something for her to do, even if it were something to distract Lily, rather than actually helping me.

  By the time Debby appeared a few minutes before nine, passing through the hotel doors and belting her coat around her middle as she pulled the car keys from her pocket, I had already checked my emails, read the weather report, browsed the nation’s headlines and scanned the local news report. I also booked a manicure, checked out the menu of a new restaurant and browsed multiple cabin listings on Lake Pierce. In my quiet desperation, I was looking for any way to kill my time. What I needed most was a good breakfast but in my eagerness to get out of the house at an early hour, I forgot to bring any and the morning’s pastry had only served to pique my hunger. I could only hope Debby was heading somewhere that I could pick up a quick snack.

  I watched her crossing over to her car and getting inside. I switched on my car’s ignition and followed her out of the lot, staying at a discreet distance as she turned onto the road heading into town. My radio blared out Taylor Swift and I sang along, blurring several lines of the lyrics and not caring one bit.

  Debby drove without stopping until she pulled into a parking space downtown. I continued along the street, finding a space on the next block, and keeping one eye on Debby in my rearview mirror. I hopped out, fed the meter, and hurried after her when she rounded a corner and walked out of view. I slowed down to a walk when I reached the corner and looked around for her. No sign of her anywhere. I strolled ahead, looking into the stores and spotted her inside a florist shop, browsing a book at the counter. Retreating to a bench nearby, I sat down and waited ten minutes for her to point to something in the book before producing a card and sliding it into the pay machine.

  As she turned to leave, I bent down and very studiously played with the laces on my boots until she passed me, walking towards the coffee shop. Over my shoulder, I watched her go inside. She smiled at the man who held the door open before taking her place in the queue. I counted the people in front of her. The queue was long and the service slow. Hoping she was desperate for her coffee, I strode over to the florist.

  The bell over the door tinkled as I entered and a woman appeared from a rear room, a pair of clippers in her hand. “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m just looking, thank you.” I moved my gaze to the array of colorful blooms stacked in buckets on multi-tiered shelving to my right. Although I couldn’t name most of them, I did not fail to appreciate the bounty of nature and the heady scents mingling in the air. “Do you have a book I could see?” I asked. “I’m looking for a bouquet.”

  “Sure do. Birthday, anniversary, or some other special occasion?” she asked.

  “Special occasion,” I decided. I stepped over to the counter and watched her reach for a pink card file with metal edges from the bookshelf behind the counter. Glancing down, I noticed the order book. Casting another glance over my shoulder across the small plaza, I saw the coffee line shuffle forwards. Debby was now fifth in line.

  “Let me know if any of these are what you’re looking for,” the lady told me. “We can customize any bouquet so long as we have enough prior notice.” She laid the book open and moved to the side. I flipped through it quickly, wondering how to get a look at the order book. In its current position, I couldn’t read it and the lady would surely notice if I reached for it. “I have some more photos in the back room,” she said. “I was just organizing them into a new folder. Would you like to take a look at them too?”

  I seized on her offer. “Yes, please!”

  The moment she stepped through the door, I reached for the order book and turned it around. Debby’s entry was last. One small condolence bouquet for Jerry Queller addressed to the Queller’s home and a funeral wreath, however, the funeral home was not listed. I wondered if MPD had released the body yet. Hearing footsteps, I dropped the order book, spinning it back to its previous position. “These are lovely,” I said, “but I can’t decide. I need to consult my father before I pick one.”

  “Take a card and drop in whenever you can,” she said, pointing to a stack of postcards. “All our information is on the back. We provide flowers for all occasions.”

  “Thank you.” I took the postcard and deposited it in my purse before aiming for the coffee shop. Debby had reached the front of the line and was taking the cardboard cup, smiling at the barista as she turned, making for the exit. With the bench now occupied by two elderly men, I crossed the plaza and ducked to one side of the coffee shop. I cas
ually lounged against the wall, pretending to check my phone.

  Debby exited the coffee shop and turned away from me, walking at a steady pace. I pushed off the wall and followed her, never more than forty paces behind. I had to be able to see her without being obvious. She turned into a grocery store and picked up a basket. Following her inside, I did the same.

  I was careful not to follow her down every aisle, criss-crossing the sections as she moved slowly through them, her basket gradually filling. I threw a couple of freshly baked muffins into my basket for effect and because I was hungry, then moved to the end of the aisle. I was fully expecting to see Debby as I crossed the next one but she wasn’t there. I turned around, looking for her, then moving to the next aisle and the next. There was no sign of her! Had she recognized me? If she had and given me the slip, I would have to seriously reconsider my tracking technique. I turned around and hurried back, checking each aisle again. Turning, utterly confused now, I bumped into someone.

  “I am so sorry,” said the woman as we caught each other’s eye. “Lexi? Hi.”

  “Hi, Debby,” I squeezed out, trying not to wince. Just what I didn’t want to have happen: running into my mark. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shopping,” she said, pointing to her basket.

  “Me too! Did you move out of the hotel?” I asked, knowing already that she hadn’t.

  “No, I’m still waiting to hear about the apartment I applied for. Actually, I’m making dinner for my parents. I miss cooking and thought I would treat them to a mezze, just like I used to have when I was in Greece. I got Greek sausage and ingredients for souvla. I’m also going to make tzatziki and I found these imported olives and the bakery had fresh pita bread that smells amazing. I can’t wait!”

  “That sounds really nice,” I said genuinely as my stomach gurgled and I remembered my longing to pick up a snack. Muffins would have to suffice.

  “I just hope they like it. My dad is a meat and potatoes man but I want him to try something new. I miss cooking so badly. I can hardly wait to get my own apartment and start cooking all the time. I tried to pick up a new skill and recipe everywhere I went. In France, it was all about the butter and the bread. In Italy, I learned how to make my own pasta. In Germany, the sausages are insanely good and I learned how to make great cakes.”

  “Have you always liked cooking?” I asked, glad she was feeling so chatty and not suspicious.

  “Nope. When I lived in Montgomery, I existed on the easiest food to make. I always thought I couldn’t cook. Turns out all I needed was someone to teach me. But enough about me, have you heard anymore about Fiona? I don’t know if you can tell me anything but my mom is so worried and it’s so awful.”

  “It’s still pretty early in the case. There isn’t much to say.”

  “Well, I just want you to know that I’m glad someone is helping Jerry. I can’t imagine how awful he must feel. I might make him something and take it by his house but I can’t help thinking how a stupid casserole is no replacement for a wife.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it is but I’m sure he’ll appreciate it all the same. No one wants to think about food at a time like this.”

  “Then I will make him one! I should have just enough time in between getting to my parents’ house and Dad getting home from having drinks with his old hunting buddies.”

  “Hunting buddies? The gun-toting type?” I zeroed in on this slip of information. Garrett mentioned the gun used to shoot Fiona still hadn’t been recovered.

  “Yeah, he’s hunted ever since I was a kid. He tried to get me interested in shooting but I can’t aim worth a damn.”

  “Can your dad?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s ever shot anything really. I think he just likes hanging out with his buds.”

  “Does he keep his guns at home?”

  Debby stopped and her eyes narrowed. I realized I might’ve poked a bit too far, and too obviously. “I have no idea but I can tell you this: I don’t have access to any of them,” she said, her voice cooling. “You can tell Lieutenant Graves that, too. I better get going. Like I said, I have a lot of things to do today. Bye, Lexi.”

  “Bye,” I said, not daring to follow her in case I spooked her further. Now that she was on alert, I sensed she would find it more than a little suspicious if we ran into each other again. This was one occasion where I wished I could tag-team my target, dropping out when it got too hot for me and letting someone else take over. Instead, I had to be glad to finally get time for a snack. I took my basket and headed for the checkout, making sure I was far away from Debby.

  Back in my car, I called Lucas. “I don’t have the emails yet,” he said.

  “Okay. Can you check into gun licenses? Under the name of Rod Patterson?”

  “Sure. Am I looking for anything in particular?”

  “A 9mm.”

  “On it.”

  “Also, see if Debby Patterson has ever possessed a shooting license,” I added. Debby might say she couldn’t aim, but that didn’t mean it was true. Her father was a long-time gun owner, and if she had access to his weapons, she might have had access to the one that killed Fiona. Garrett didn’t say that the weapon had been found yet so I had to assume it was still missing. Even if he thought it might have been disposed of, it had to come from somewhere.

  “Done.”

  Next, I called Garrett. “I’m watching Debby,” I told him. “Did you know her father shoots?”

  “Shoots what?”

  “I don’t know. Animals, possibly. He’s a hunter, or he used to be.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know. A marksman too.”

  “Like a sniper?”

  “Not exactly. Shoots in competitions. Has one of those high-powered marksman rifles. I saw some certificates at his house.”

  “So he could have taught Debby how to shoot? Does that connect Debby to Fiona’s murder?”

  “Not really. Anyone could have killed Fiona with a shot of such close range. Plus, the murder weapon was a handgun not a rifle. Something about Debby make you wonder?”

  “No, she just mentioned her dad’s old hunting buddies. I ran into her at the grocery store a few minutes ago. She didn’t seem like someone who just killed a person. She seemed almost happy.”

  “Some killers are.”

  “I know but she was talking about cooking and other stuff and even bought a condolence bouquet for the Quellers.”

  “Not unusual. Some killers like to attend their victim’s funerals. Even help out the victim’s families. They get a kick out of being in the middle of things.”

  “People are so weird.”

  “Tell me about it. Did you find anything else out about Debby?”

  “Just that she likes cooking and seems to be nice to everyone. I guess she blossomed out of that awkward Debby everyone remembers from before she left.”

  “Like maybe blossoming into a different person?”

  “I haven’t found anything strange about her and I’m still checking into her story. I think she’s a bit pissed at you though. She said to tell you she doesn’t have access to her father’s guns. Any news on Fiona’s case?”

  “We found the gun late last night. An officer picked it out of a dumpster three blocks away. Ballistics confirmed it this morning. Before you ask, there was a print but it was too smudged to run through AFIS. However, there is a tiny amount of DNA on the grip, like the shooter nicked him or herself.”

  “That’s great!”

  “I wish. You know what a defense lawyer is gonna say? That gun was sitting in a dumpster for almost two days and that trace could have come from anywhere. We’re running it anyway but I’m not hopeful of getting a match in the system.”

  “What if you had something to compare it to?” I asked.

  “Like a nationwide database?” asked Garrett.

  I ignored his sarcasm. “No. Something closer to home.”

  “There is nothing to compel anyone to hand over their DNA for comparison tests.”


  “Could you ask for the purposes of elimination? And if someone close to Fiona refuses to comply, wouldn’t that point towards their guilt? If they are innocent, there should be no problem in handing over a cheek swab.”

  “You’re so sweet,” said Garrett. “I like how you think it’s that easy.”

  “What if I got some DNA that you could compare it to and then you can find…”

  “Inadmissible in court,” cut in Garrett. “I can’t risk a murder case getting thrown out on a mere technicality. The DA would tear me a new one.”

  “What if I happened to collect DNA for another case? You might helpfully run that DNA for me and put it in the system. Then, if anything else comes up… yay?” I paused, waiting.

  “Might work. It would have to be official police business.”

  “Cut the agency a consultancy check and that makes it official.”

  “It will be a very tiny check.”

  “Tiny doesn’t matter as long as it’s official.”

  “Then we have a deal. If you come up with the goods, I’ll work out how to get it admissible for your case; and if it happens to benefit mine...”

  “It’s a win-win!”

  “Yeah. Hey, what do you know about the fire department being called out to Mom and Dad’s?”

  I paused. “Nothing. I will get back to you when I have something,” I told him, hanging up and smiling.

  I was still smiling as I placed my third call. An idea was forming in my mind and I couldn’t do it alone. “How was your nap?” I asked.

  “Amazing. Best nap ever.”

  “Can you get a sitter? I need your help.”

  Lily squeaked and I knew she was already anticipating the plan I had in mind for her. “I think I can. Let me make a call.”

  “Do it. I have a job for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m in position,” said Lily. She sounded serious so I knew she was eager to begin. Either that, or she was simply too tired to make wisecracks. “Where is the mark?”

  “She’s inside with her parents,” I said, looking around for Lily’s car, wondering where she parked. I’d been tailing Debby all the way from downtown, and was not surprised to find out her promise to make a meal for her parents was actually true. I parked almost a block away, neatly shoehorning my VW between two other cars, their roofs sticky with fallen leaves, indicating they hadn’t moved for a few days. The cars provided coverage but allowed me enough of a view to monitor Debby’s entry or exit from behind my camera. With her rental car parked on the street in front of the Pattersons’ garden, I could easily see if she left. So far, I had a good angle of her talking with her mother, catching up I assumed, or, when Debby passed a box of tissues to her mom, perhaps consoling her. Worst case scenario: she was continuing to establish herself as the real Debby Patterson. Just as I thought that, I saw Debby stroke her mother’s back with a look of genuine concern on her face as her mother wiped her eyes. Dr. Patterson walked into the room with two mugs in hand. He set them down in front of his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. To anyone else, they were simply a family comforting each other. Heck, they looked like that to me.