Deadly Valentine (Special Releases) (10 page)

She came out of the condo alone. He thought she’d head for her car. Instead, she took off on foot, going south toward The Riverside hotel.

He waited until she’d passed, then got out of his car and followed her at a safe distance through the falling snow. She had bundled up for the storm and walked quickly as if she knew exactly where she was headed and why.

He passed a stand of pines, the trees breaking the wind, increasing visibility. He could see her ahead, as dark as the fringe of cold pines etched against the snowy skyline. The air seemed to grow colder, the wind stronger. He bent his head to the snowstorm, staying back as far as he dared, but determined not to let her out of his sight.

She entered the side door of The Riverside and he had to run to catch up, afraid he’d lose her once she got inside. He’d barely cleared the door, when he caught a glimpse of her disappearing through another door. This one he realized led down to the basement and the boiler room. What the hell was she going down there for?

With growing anxiety, he hurried after her, catching the door before it could automatically lock behind her. Quickly he stepped through and pulled the door closed with a click he was afraid Tempest would be listening for.

He could hear her footfalls on the concrete steps. Cautiously, he followed her down. She hadn’t turned on more lights. Dim bulbs provided a bare minimum of illumination, no doubt to save energy.

He could hear the scuff of footfalls over the sound of the steam heat belching from the boilers. She was moving through the dark shadows of the large water tanks. He tried to stay with her, hoping she couldn’t hear him behind her.

It took him a moment to realize the sound of her footsteps had ceased.

He stopped walking but too late. She came out of the darkness from behind one of the tanks, stepping out in front of him, her weapon drawn.

‘‘Easy,’’ he said quickly, palms up. ‘‘It’s me.’’ He expected her to put her piece away, hoped she would, hoped she’d then explain why she’d lied about meeting Dobson and what she was doing down here.

When she didn’t, he felt his heart drop. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how afraid he was that she was the murderer.

‘‘What are you doing here?’’ she whispered.

‘‘That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you?’’

She motioned for him to keep quiet, and glanced behind him as if she suspected they weren’t alone as she lowered her weapon. ‘‘Oliver left me a message to meet him down here,’’ she said in a whisper. ‘‘He said he wanted to tell me the truth about Peggy’s murder, that he couldn’t live with the horrible things he’d done.’’

‘‘And you believed him! Why would you agree to meet him here of all places?’’ Jack demanded. ‘‘Especially knowing he might have already killed at least one person?’’

She met his gaze, hers steely. ‘‘I know perfectly well what Oliver is capable of.’’ But she seemed jumpy.

Jack heard something. A creak. Then another. He drew his weapon and motioned for Tempest to follow as he stepped around the large water tank off to his right, moving in the direction he thought the sound had come from.

At first he couldn’t see anything. Then he saw the shadow silhouetted on the back wall. ‘‘Oh God,’’ Tempest cried when she saw the hanging figure.

‘‘Holy shit,’’ Jack said and lurched around the tank to where Oliver Sanders’s body dangled from a makeshift noose. ‘‘Christ, he hanged himself.’’ The rope creaked again from the weight of the body. He started to reach to pull the body down even though it was plainly too late for Oliver. He’d been hanging there for some time.

‘‘No, don’t touch him,’’ Tempest said, grabbing Jack’s arm. She still had her weapon drawn. ‘‘Don’t touch the crime scene,’’ she said, pointing the gun at him again.

‘‘What the hell?’’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm while his heart drummed in his chest and he looked at the weapon she had pointed at him again. ‘‘What’s going on?’’

‘‘We both know Oliver didn’t have the guts to kill himself,’’ she said.

‘‘You think I killed him?’’

‘‘Someone did,’’ she said, pulling out her flashlight to shine the beam at Oliver. ‘‘Look at his neck,’’ she said in horror.

He followed the beam of her flashlight. Oliver had clawed at the noose and his neck, tearing deep gouges in his throat as he’d desperately tried to free himself.

‘‘He could have changed his mind at the last minute,’’ Jack said.

‘‘Then why didn’t he just stand up on the wooden box? He could have reached it without any trouble.’’

Jack felt a chill. Tempest was right. The box was close enough so that Oliver could have drawn it closer with his feet and stood up.

Tempest shone the light on the concrete floor. There were drag marks. First where the box had been pulled over under the beam and the noose. Then where the box had been pulled back—and then slid over again, the scrapes fresh and not the same as the first.

Jack swore and looked over at her. ‘‘You’re right, he didn’t hang himself.’’ Then he realized that Tempest was again holding her weapon on him. ‘‘Come on, why would I want to kill Oliver? Not all the crap from high school. You can’t believe that I’d kill a man over that petty stuff.’’

She shook her head. ‘‘Frannie must have told you.’’

His breath caught in his throat. ‘‘Frannie must have told me what?’’ he asked, his entire body suddenly weak with fear.

Tempest’s hands were shaking and she looked scared. ‘‘Drop your weapon,’’ she said, pocketing the flashlight to take her own weapon in both hands. ‘‘Please, Jack, drop the gun.’’

He did, afraid she wouldn’t tell him otherwise. ‘‘What is it you think Frannie told me?’’ She swallowed, keeping the weapon aimed at his heart, searching his face as if she could read the truth there.

He wanted to take the weapon from her and shake the words from her. ‘‘For God’s sake, Tempest, tell me.’’

The rope creaked again. Another boiler cut on. ‘‘Frannie called me the day she...died,’’ Tempest said slowly, still watching him closely. ‘‘She remembered.’’

Jack felt his legs go weak beneath him. He realized he was shaking his head as he fought to stay on his feet. ‘‘No.’’

Tempest nodded.

He closed his eyes, swaying under the weight of it.

‘‘That’s why Frannie blocked it from her memory,’’ she said. ‘‘Because her attacker was Oliver.’’

He was still shaking his head, not wanting to believe it, his eyes squeezed shut. When the sheriff’s job had opened up, he’d jumped at it, believing it was fate. As sheriff he could look into Frannie’s case, maybe find some answers, but not really expecting much. He’d never dreamed—

‘‘It’s true, Jack,’’ Tempest said more softly. ‘‘I tried to help Frannie. I swear I did. I told her I’d kill the son of a bitch for her. When I hung up, I thought she was all right. I never dreamed she’d—’’ Tempest started crying. ‘‘If she’d have been here in River’s Edge, I could have gone to her. I could have done something—’’ She was crying hard, angry sounding sobs. ‘‘If only I’d been able to stop Oliver...before he hurt Frannie, too.’’

Jack opened his eyes. ‘‘He—’’

She nodded through her tears.

‘‘But you didn’t turn him in?’’

‘‘I went to the sheriff,’’ she said angrily. ‘‘You remember who was sheriff then, don’t you, Jack? A good friend of Otto Sanders. He called me a liar and a lot of other things and threw me out of his office. I didn’t know who else to turn to. There’d already been so much scandal in my family.... That’s when that rumor started going around school that I was a slut and did it with the entire football team.’’

Jack shook his head, too sick to speak for a moment. Now he understood why she’d gone into law enforcement. Why she’d come back here. Not just to torment Oliver with what she knew, but to make sure no other girl would have to go through what she did. It also explained what he’d seen between her and Oliver. Oliver’s fear. Tempest’s anger. And the meetings the P.I. had witnessed.

‘‘I’m sorry. You told Oliver you knew?’’

She nodded, getting control of herself again. ‘‘I wanted to make him suffer like Frannie had all these years, not knowing what I was going to do to him. Can you believe Frannie blamed herself? Oliver told her she’d
made
him rape her. At least I didn’t fall for that.’’

Jack saw now how easy it had been for Oliver to get to Frannie that night. Otto had sent Jack up to fix those broken pipes. Oliver had to have known Frannie would be alone. Oliver had gotten away with it once, he must have thought he could get away with it again. And he had.

He looked up at the body hanging from the beam, wondering what he’d have done if he’d known about this before and what he would have done if he’d found Oliver before someone else had.

‘‘Oliver hurt Frannie because of me,’’ he said, the words coming hard. This was about the competition between the two of them. Good God.

‘‘That’s exactly why Frannie didn’t want to tell you. She knew you’d blame yourself, just as she blamed herself,’’ Tempest said.

‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ he said to Tempest, to Frannie wherever she was.

Tempest shook her head. ‘‘Oliver is to blame, not us,’’ she said angrily. ‘‘That’s what I couldn’t get Frannie to understand. I hope you’re smarter than that.’’

He stared at her.

Tempest studied him for a moment, then sheathed her weapon. ‘‘I was so afraid—’’

He nodded. ‘‘We both had good reason to kill Oliver. But we didn’t.’’

‘‘No,’’ she said.

‘‘I think we’d better call in our crime team and find Mitzy,’’ he said. ‘‘She knew about Oliver and Peggy. She’s known for several weeks.’’

‘‘But she couldn’t have done this by herself,’’ Tempest said, glancing again at Oliver’s body.

‘‘No,’’ Jack agreed. ‘‘She would need help.’’ Nor would it be easy to prove. If he knew Mitzy, she would have covered her tracks well.

CHAPTER TEN

M
ITZY DIDN’T
seem surprised to see Jack. In fact, she jumped up from the couch and rushed toward him, stopping just short, her gaze searching his face.

‘‘Oh, Jack,’’ she said, her hand on her heart, tears filling her eyes. ‘‘It’s about Oliver, isn’t it? I just knew it. I’ve been so worried. When he left here—he was talking so crazy! I called Randall and we tried to find him....’’

Jack looked past her to Randall Garrison, Oliver’s attorney. It was clear what Mitzy would see in the guy. She’d look good on his arm and Mitzy had always cared about appearances.

‘‘Please, Jack, tell me Oliver’s not...’’

‘‘Oliver’s dead,’’ Jack said.

She burst into tears and turned to Randall. He put his arm around her and tried to console her.

‘‘He was murdered,’’ Jack said.

Mitzy stopped crying and jerked her head up in surprise.

Jack began to read them their rights. ‘‘...for the murders of Peggy Kane and Oliver Sanders,’’ he finished.

Mitzy shook her head in disbelief. ‘‘Jack, you know me! You can’t really believe that I killed my own husband.’’

‘‘Yes, I do know you, Mitzy. That’s why I should have figured it out a lot sooner. The bellhop thought he saw Oliver going up the elevator not long after Peggy because of the cologne Oliver wore, but it was Randall. They wear the same brand, dress alike.’’ He smiled at Mitzy. ‘‘I’m sure that was your doing. And Randall and Oliver looked enough like each other even if the bellhop had seen him, he’d have sworn it was Oliver.’’

‘‘Don’t say anything,’’ Randall warned her.

‘‘We know you bought the chocolate,’’ Jack continued as if the attorney hadn’t spoken. Jack remembered on the way here that he’d seen Randall Garrison’s name on the list of people who purchased the heart-shaped Valentine’s Day boxes, but hadn’t thought anything about it at the time.

‘‘We know you bought two boxes. One, obviously to poison, and the other box...’’ he motioned to the coffee table finding it hard to believe what he was seeing ‘‘...to celebrate your victory.’’ Mitzy did love to flaunt her successes.

There on the glass coffee table was a big heart-shaped box of chocolates identical to the one that had killed Peggy Kane just the day before—open and partially empty.

Jack shook his head, remembering what Oliver had said about never eating chocolate again. But Mitzy had no reason to fear a few chocolate creams—other than what they’d do to her hips.

‘‘I can see how you manipulated Oliver to make him look guilty and make his suicide almost convincing,’’ Jack said. ‘‘I have to hand it to you, Mitzy, you’re good. But how did you get Peggy to eat the chocolates?’’ he asked conversationally.

‘‘Mitzy—’’ her lawyer/lover tried to warn, but she waved him off.

She smiled at Jack, no doubt figuring it would be his word against hers. ‘‘That was the easy part, Jack. I knew her weakness. I knew once those chocolates were opened and one was missing, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. That’s what killed her. Not her weakness for chocolates so much as her weakness for
my
chocolates.’’

‘‘And what was Oliver’s weakness?’’ Jack asked.

‘‘Shut up,’’ Randall hissed at her. ‘‘You’ve already said too much.’’

But Mitzy was dying for Jack to know how clever she’d been. ‘‘Oliver had soooo many weaknesses. He was always leaving his elevator key lying around. It was easy to pocket it, give it to Randall and make it look like it had been Oliver who’d switched the chocolates that killed Peggy.’’

‘‘Mitzy!’’ Randall said through gritted teeth.

But she didn’t seem to hear him. ‘‘I followed Peggy around town as she bought my Valentine’s presents because I knew Oliver would send her out to do his dirty work, and I knew she couldn’t resist taking a look around the penthouse. It was so-o-o easy. Randall wouldn’t have been noticed when he came right back down by elevator. The desk clerk and bellhop had been too occupied with the busload of Minnesotans.’’

‘‘But getting Oliver down to the boiler room, that must have taken something,’’ Jack said.

‘‘Another of Oliver’s weakness,’’ Mitzy crowed. ‘‘Women he couldn’t have. I just sent him a note that he thought was from Tempest to meet him in the boiler room.’’

So Mitzy thought Oliver had been pursuing Tempest. Jack didn’t correct her.

‘‘You must have hit Oliver with something,’’ Jack said. ‘‘I can’t imagine him climbing up on the box and putting the noose around his neck.’’