Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (17 page)

TWENTY-THREE

Madeline ordered French toast and a glass of milk and handed the menu to the waitress. Mike ordered the Big Kahuna: three scrambled eggs, a sausage patty, bacon and cheddar cheese on rye toast with cottage fries, and a
hot chocolate.

“How can you still be hungry?” Madeline asked. “You just ate.” Mike checked his watch.

“That was over an hour ago. I’m hungry,” he said with a shrug. “Murder does that to me.” Madeline let out an exhausted wheeze, holding her head in her hands. “You look wiped out,” Mike said. For some reason, Madeline didn’t seem happy to be
told this.

“Hmmph,” she responded. “This has been one of the most surreal days of my life. Actually, the whole week has been like a bad dream.”

She glanced around at her fellow late-night diners, mainly to keep from looking at Mike. He knew her better than anyone, and she didn’t feel like being under his microscope just then. Mike could sense this, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop being himself, no matter how hard
he tried.

“You want to talk about it?”
he asked.

“No. I don’t. I’m already sick to death of talking about it and I’ve
barely started.”

“I realize that, and I’m sorry you have to go through all this shit. But sometimes it’s good to have someone you can just vent to.” Mike shrugged again. “I’m just putting it out there.” He wanted to take her hand, but he knew better than to do that.

He sat back and pretended to enjoy the dubious ambience of Henry’s Hole-in-the-Wall.
More like Henry’s Dump,
he thought as his eyes roved over the odd assortment of dingy nautical items like old life preservers, diving gear and a ship’s wheel, along with out-of-state license plates, plastic leis and competing beer posters.

Even he felt bored with the task of trying to find something appealing about the décor. In his estimation, the place survived was because it was open around the clock and the food was cheap, and better than just edible. He figured it was a sign of Madeline’s frazzled state of mind that she hadn’t complained when he suggested
coming here.

Mike looked back at his partner and was startled by the sharp contrast between her and the surroundings. At that moment, she reminded him of Audrey Hepburn standing in front of Tiffany’s wearing a tiara while eating a Danish out of a paper bag. Not that Madeline looked like her, but she was dressed like she should be dining at Le Cirque, not Henry’
s Hole.

“A hundred-dollar bill for your thoughts,” he said, breaking into her silent contemplation. He managed to get a small smile out of her, which he found encouraging. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Madeline shifted in the semi-circular booth, her eyes floating around the dimly lit room. “I’d hate to see this place with the lights turned up,” she said. Not exactly what Mike was shooting for, but he took it as a positive sign. At least she didn’t lash out
at him.

“I was hoping you might share your thoughts about what happened tonight.”

The air went out of Madeline’s lungs and she seemed to shrink a little. “I’m furious with Lauren,” she said. “When we were looking at the surveillance footage, I realized how much time had passed between Vivian giving her the note and her giving it to me. If she hadn’t been so damned star-struck, I might’ve been able to save Vivian’s life.” Madeline’s face hardened at the thought. “At least I would’ve been able to find out what she wanted to see me about. That alone could’ve prevented the murder.”

The waitress appeared with their food. Madeline glared at hers like it was the most contemptible mess she’d ever seen. As soon as the waitress left, she pushed
it away.

“You need to eat,” Mike insisted, pushing it back toward her. “Look, I shouldn’t have brought this up… Eat. We can talk about this later.” Madeline folded her arms across her chest stubbornly. Mike pushed his plate away. “Okay, talk. We’ll
eat later.”

Madeline let her breath seep out through her nose. She leaned across the table and snagged one of Mike’s fries and ate it. Mike pushed his plate closer, but she waved
it away.

“I’m just so furious with myself for detouring to check on that idiot Cherie first. I wasted precious minutes trying to talk that bubblehead out of her funk. She was just sitting there, nearly naked, making no move to get herself dressed and get back down to the party—her damn party. I had to cajole her into action. Fortunately, the makeup girl came and I let her take it from there.”

Madeline cadged another potato off Mike’s plate, lost in thought. She ate it absentmindedly, then looked at Mike, a startled expression on her face. What she saw was the same look of sudden comprehension on
his face.

“She was just sitting there…undressed…in a funk?” he asked. Madeline nodded her head slowly. She brushed her hair back as her gaze went inward again. Mike watched on as the realization of what she had encountered hit home.

“Good God! Cherie.” Madeline’s eyes widened as goose bumps ran down her spine. She was temporarily at a loss for words. “Oh…shit,” she said at length, after reviewing all the comings and goings on the stairs in her mind’s eye. Cherie had gone up on cloud nine, yet she was a basket case when Madeline found her twenty
minutes later.

“Do you really think she’s capable of killing someone?” Mike asked as Madeline rooted around in her bag for the notes she had made. “She sounds like a self-centered ditz with a prima donna complex, but…killing her own mother-in-law with dozens of high-profile people waiting for her to return…? I really find that hard
to believe.”

Madeline regarded him silently for a moment. His assessment of Cherie was pretty accurate; so was the fact that she was playing hostess to a large crowd. Yet, Madeline couldn’t completely discount her possible involvement based on those factors, when in reality she had the opportunity that no one else shared…at least that they were aware of at
this point.

“The whole thing is hard to believe,” Madeline said as she smoothed out the piece of paper detailing who went up and down the stairs and when. “But here are some specifics that are hard to argue with.” She explained her shorthand and what it meant as far as a window of opportunity
was concerned.

“See, between 8:49—when Vivian and Teresa went up the main stairs—and 9:25 when I went up, only Cheri and Helen were seen going up either staircase. And since we have clear evidence that Helen and Teresa left together, that only leaves Cherie. And Sally, who came up after I did. But judging from the time stamp of my 911 call, she didn’t have time to detour to Vivian’s room first. So, it’s back
to Cherie.”

“And you,” Mike said.

“Ha, ha.”

“Hey, I know you didn’t do it, but you had as much opportunity as Cherie did,” Mike pointed out,
shrugging innocently.

“Do you think I killed Vivian?” Madeline asked, her voice sharp with impatience.

“Of course not, but I’m not law enforcement. I mean, you can’t assume SBPD isn’t going to have a picture of you tacked up on their incident board. I’m just saying you have to consider that.” Madeline drew back as though she’d
been slapped.

“Well, thank you very much for bringing that to my attention and making a hideous night even worse,” she said. After smoldering for a few seconds, she flagged down
the waitress.

“Are you still serving alcohol?” The waitress looked at
her watch.

“Yeah. What would
you like?”

“A Maker’s Mark Manhattan, up. Make it
a double.”

“We don’t have Maker’s Mark.”

Madeline craned to see the back bar. “Jack Daniels
is fine.”

“Anything for you?” the waitress asked Mike. He looked at the waitress two beats longer than necessary, which made Madeline perversely happy. Not that she wanted to see him mar his eight years of sobriety just so she could gloat.

Madeline shook her head to dispel the nastiness that had seeped into her tone. This ordeal was almost more than she could cope with, on top of
everything else.

“I’m sorry I said that,” Mike
offered contritely.

“No, you were right to point that out. I certainly had the opportunity. Until the coroner’s report is released, we won’t know what the ‘means’ were. If Vivian wasn’t strangled with something in her room, then that would probably put me in
the clear.”

“Unless you, or someone else, grabbed something from one of the other rooms upstairs,” Mike
pointed out.

“Right. That could be true in any case,” Madeline said thoughtfully. The waitress appeared with a Manhattan in
each hand.

“We only have the one size,” she explained as she set both drinks in front
of Madeline.

“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed by her obvious need for an alcoholic sedative. She took a tentative sip from the closest glass. It went down smoothly enough to encourage
further sips.

“Feel better?” Mike asked.

“I feel like a shameless drunk,” she said, leaning back against the booth, drink
in hand.

“You could never be
a drunk.”

“You don’t know that,” Madeline replied in a rare moment of self-pity.

“If you haven’t crawled into the bottle to escape reality after all you’ve been through, it’s never going to happen.” Madeline smiled and set her drink down. She pulled the plate of now-cold French toast toward her and cut off a bite. Mike picked up her notes and tried to make sense
of them.

“H, arrow up, 9:01? Is that when Helen is seen going up the stairs?” Madeline nodded, her mouth full of food. She hurriedly chewed it and washed it down with a sizeable swallow of the Manhattan.

“And see here, H &T down BS 9:11. There was a fourteen minute gap between them leaving by the backstairs and me going up the front. It isn’t recorded anywhere, but I made about a ten-minute detour to Cherie’s room prior to
discovering Vivian.”

“Were Helen or Teresa seen on any other cameras after they went down the
back staircase?”

“They were seen driving out together at 9:22,”
Madeline said.

“So, that leaves both of them in the clear. I wonder if there’s another way to get to the second floor, like a trellis,
or something.”

“I don’t remember one. There are three balconies off the second floor, so someone could’ve entered and exited that way.” The two were quiet as they considered that while they ate. “But I’d be very surprised if those balconies weren’t covered by video surveillance. I’m sure we’ll find that out tomorrow.” The thought of the fast-approaching appointment with Detective Slovitch made Madeline lay down her fork.

“I’m ready to get out of here whenever you are,” Mike said, picking up on her renewed fatigue.

“I’m ready,” Madeline said, killing the first Manhattan. Mike signaled for the check and paid it. He pulled the table aside so Madeline wouldn’t have to squirm over the worn booth to get out. The second, untouched drink sloshed over the rim as the table jostled. Madeline regarded it with
a smirk.

“You’re right—I don’t really have the makings of an alcoholic,” she said with a dispirited laugh as they weaved through the tables toward the exit.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done enough drinking in my life for both of us,” Mike said, holding the door open for her. What he didn’t tell her was how close he’d come to slipping, mainly due to worrying
about her.

“You know, the one thing you haven’t mentioned is motive,” Mike said as he opened the passenger side door for Madeline.

“That’s the tricky part,” she said, slipping in and fastening her seatbelt as Mike walked around to the driver’s side. Once he was seated, she continued. “Out of the four people who had the opportunity—as far as we know now—I can only see Cherie or Teresa having any reason for wanting Vivian out of
the picture.”

“Teresa because Vivian might have confronted her about the missing jewels…?” Madeline nodded. “And Cherie…because…she’s out of touch
with reality…?”

“In the year that I’ve been working with her, I’ve noticed Cherie becoming more paranoid around her mother-in-law, like she thinks Vivian was giving her son negative feedback about her while he’s out
of town.”

“Do you think she was?” Mike asked, turning right onto Carrillo Street,
heading west.

“I doubt it. I don’t think that was really Vivian’s style. She wasn’t a mean person at all. I think she actually felt sorry for Cherie. I know she didn’t approve of everything her daughter-in-law did, but there’s a big generation gap between them. Still, I think Vivian would’ve rather seen her son have a successful marriage with Cherie than go through
another divorce.”

“Where are we going, your place or mine?” Mike interrupted as they crossed the intersection at San Pascual and headed up Carrillo Hill. They were almost to the turnoff that would’ve taken them to Madeline’
s house.