Death of a Coupon Clipper (8 page)

Hayley was almost relieved to have to work on Saturday, if only to get out of Randy’s
house, where Blueberry was wreaking havoc like some evil presence in those
Paranormal Activity
movies—except this wasn’t some unseen apparition moving furniture and flipping lights
on and off. No, this was a twenty-five-pound cat—right out in the open—with killer
claws, and a really bad attitude, who was determined to keep everyone around him on
edge.

Hayley felt bad about slipping out of the house just as Randy stepped in yet another
pool of urine with his bare foot on his way to make a pot of coffee in the kitchen.
Leroy, meanwhile, was hiding under the bed in Randy’s room, whimpering softly, terrified
Blueberry might sniff him out.

After trudging through the snow to the office, Hayley blew through the front door;
her cheeks were red from the bitter cold. She found Bruce sitting at her desk, typing
on her computer. He didn’t even bother to look up as she shook off her coat and kicked
off her winter boots.

“Before you ask, I didn’t pick up any muffins at Morning Glory,” Hayley said, blowing
into her hands to warm up her face. “Maybe I’ll go later. It’s finally supposed to
warm up today.”

Bruce shrugged and just kept on typing.

“Is something wrong with your own computer?” Hayley asked.

“Yeah, it’s on the fritz and I want to file this story by noon so we can upload it
on the website.”

“Okay,” Hayley said, crossing to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Is Sal in yet?” she
asked, searching for the vanilla creamer. She noticed the last few packets were ripped
open and empty. She glanced over as Bruce stopped typing momentarily to slurp his
Styrofoam cup of light brown coffee.

Guess who used up the last of the creamer? Hayley sighed and decided that today she
would refrain from comment and just take her coffee black.

“He’s on his way. He wanted to get an interview with Eddie Phippen and decided to
do it himself,” Bruce said, setting his coffee down and continuing to type furiously.

“Who’s Eddie Phippen?”

“The producer of that extreme coupon-clipping show you’re going to be on. He flew
into Bangor last night and just arrived on the island this morning,” Bruce said, stopping
to read over his last paragraph. He grimaced and then started tapping the delete button
to erase his last sentence.

“I suppose he knows all about Candace Culpepper’s murder,” Hayley said.

“Duh. Everybody does, Hayley. He’s thinking about canceling the whole show.”

“What?” Hayley said, her heart nearly stopping.

She knew it might be the right thing to do, considering the controversy surrounding
the murder—and, of course, out of respect for Candace, who was slated to appear as
Hayley’s opponent. But that show was Hayley’s chance, perhaps her only opportunity,
to dig herself out of crushing debt, and now it was quite possibly slipping through
her fingers.

“You might want to rethink taking me up on that loan offer,” Bruce said, grinning,
knowing how much he would enjoy Hayley having to grovel.

“No, thanks, Bruce, I’ll be fine either way,” Hayley lied.

“Suit yourself. So, does Mona go by ‘Barnes,’ or is she one of those feminazis who
insists on being called by her maiden name? It’s something Irish, right, like ‘MacDonald’
or ‘McDuffie’?”

“It’s Mona McDuffie, but she uses her husband’s name. Why?”

“Just confirming for my column.”

“Mona’s in your column?”

“She’s not just in my column. She
is
the column.”

Hayley nearly choked on her coffee. She marched over to her desk and looked at what
Bruce was typing on her computer screen. “Please don’t tell me . . .”

“Yup. Mona Barnes is a suspect in the Candace Culpepper murder.”

This was not the first time Bruce accused one of Hayley’s friends—let alone Hayley
herself—of a local murder.

“Why do you insist on constantly painting me and my friends as world-class criminals
in your columns, Bruce? This is becoming a pattern!”

Bruce had written about both Hayley and Liddy in previous columns, offering tantalizing
but ultimately misleading details about their connection to a couple of local crimes.

“It’s only becoming a pattern because you and your little girl posse always seem to
be in the thick of things whenever there’s a murder in this town.”

“You have no proof.”

“I have several witnesses who clearly overheard Mona making public threats against
the victim at Drinks Like A Fish.”

“She was joking!”

“That’s your interpretation. Look, I didn’t go looking for these people who were at
your brother’s bar. They all came to me. And according to them, it didn’t sound like
Mona was joking.”

“You know as well as I do that Mona is no killer,” Hayley said, resisting the urge
to punch him in the face.

But losing her job at the paper because of assault was not an option at the moment.

“Maybe. But I don’t have the luxury of pulling a chicken marsala recipe out of my
mother’s scrapbook and writing about how some dandelions in the backyard help spruce
up my tablescape. I’m a serious journalist.”

“Writing about the town drunk mowing down a stop sign doesn’t make you a ‘serious
journalist,’ Bruce. You’re a muckraker who will stoop to any level to titillate and
get some attention, and it doesn’t matter who you hurt.”

“Maybe Sal will let you write Monday’s op-ed piece and you can get all that off your
chest, Hayley. But by then, it will be too late because this column is being posted
on the website today.”

Hayley knew there was no stopping Bruce, and she was done trying. She would call Mona
and warn her. Mona was a sturdy brick wall. Unlike herself and Liddy, she could weather
any kind of storm—both literally and figuratively. She hauled traps for a living and
had rough skin and calloused hands, and her spine was made of steel. Handling petty
accusations and town gossip would be a cakewalk. But it still angered Hayley that
Mona would have to go through it at all. It was so unnecessary. Just an excuse to
give Bruce something to write about. Officer Donnie hadn’t even interviewed her yet
about that night at the bar, and now the whole town would just assume she had something
to hide.

The door to the office burst open and Sal plowed inside. “Christ, it’s cold out there.
I can’t even move my face. I’m talking right now, but are my lips even moving?”

“Let me pour you some coffee, Sal,” Hayley said, scooting back over to the pot. There
was just enough left to fill one more cup.

“How was your interview, Sal?”

“Fine. I’m always wary of talking to showbiz types, but Phippen wasn’t an a-hole like
most of ’em,” Sal bellowed as he tried extracting himself, with little success, from
his bulky wool coat. He managed to get one arm free before Hayley handed him his coffee
and helped him get his other arm out. Then she took the coat, brushing off the flecks
of snow with her hand, and hung it in the closet.

“So, is he canceling the taping?” Hayley asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

“No, they may delay it a few days, but otherwise it’s full steam ahead. He wants the
show to be a tribute to Candace.”

“That’s sweet,” Hayley said, trying not to sigh audibly with relief.

“It’s bull puckey, is what it is. He may be a nice guy, but he’s still a TV producer.
The murder is all over the news. Do you know how much free publicity he can milk this
episode for? It’ll be a ratings bonanza for him. And a boon for us. This is an exclusive.
We’re going to scoop the
Herald.
I’ll be in my office writing up my interview so we can post it immediately.”

Sal headed for his office, but he stopped long enough to check the area around the
coffee station. He frowned. “No muffins?”

“Hayley didn’t pick up any,” Bruce offered quickly.

Hayley scowled at him.

Sal kept going, exhaling a big, disappointed moan.

Hayley heard a click. She swiveled around and saw Bruce stand up from her desk.

“All done. Uploading,” he said, winking as he brushed past her and ambled back into
the bull pen.

Hayley was not going to stand by and just do nothing as Bruce’s column indicted her
best friend Mona.

No.

She was going to be there for her best friend, and she was going to start by looking
into the facts surrounding Candace Culpepper’s murder herself.

“There’s no way I’m letting you in here,” Officer Donnie said. His lean, lanky frame
filled the doorway of Candace Culpepper’s small two-story house.

“But I brought almond fudge brownies. Your favorite,” Hayley said, holding out a white
plate stacked with brownies and covered with plastic wrap.

Actually, she hadn’t made them. She had bought them at the Morning Glory Bakery. But
these were just as good as hers, and Officer Donnie would never know the difference.
Hayley had babysat Donnie when he was a little kid and remembered he had an insatiable
sweet tooth. She was hoping to take advantage of that weakness for chocolate to gain
entry into Candace’s house.

So far, it wasn’t working.

“How did you know I was even here?” Donnie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“I called you at the station to get an update on the case, and Earl, who was working
dispatch, told me where I could find you.” Hayley thrust the plate up into Donnie’s
face. “Don’t be shy. Take one.”

Donnie was trying hard to resist the urge. The brownies looked warm and inviting;
he sniffed a few times as the cold air made his nose run. Finally he couldn’t help
himself and reached out, ripped open the plastic wrap, grabbed the brownie on top
with his gloved hand, and stuffed half of it into his mouth.

“Technically, this is a bribe,” Donnie said, his mouth full, bits of brownie flying
out so fast that Hayley had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face.

“I just thought you’d like a snack while you were searching Candace’s house for any
clues that might point you in the direction of her killer,” Hayley said, trying to
sound as innocent as possible.

Donnie eyed her suspiciously. He knew her history of poking her nose into crime scenes,
and he didn’t want to do anything to make Sergio mad.

Hayley could tell his mind was racing as he debated with himself. He looked like he
was about to crack, especially since he had just finished downing one brownie and
was glancing at the plate, hoping she’d offer him another.

Hayley raised the plate even closer to his nose. “Go on, Donnie. I won’t tell if you
won’t.”

He slipped off his glove and picked up another, popping the whole thing into his mouth
this time. “They’re really, really good.”

Hayley knew she was in when he casually stepped aside as he licked chocolate off his
fingers. Sergio would never allow her to enter the house of the victim. In the past
she had tried to do it under his nose, with disastrous results. But right now, Sergio
was thousands of miles away in Brazil. What harm could it do? Poor Donnie was an emotional
wreck being in charge. She convinced herself that she was actually helping the chief
by holding Donnie’s hand and guiding him along so he didn’t miss any important clues.

“Now don’t touch anything,” Donnie said, closing the door behind them.

Hayley looked around. The house was dusty and unkempt. Candace worked a lot of double
shifts, so she wasn’t home a lot to do much cleaning. Hayley made her way to the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator. A half bottle of white wine. Some mustard and ketchup.
Not much else. Candace probably ate most of her meals at the hospital, which would
explain why she complained so hard about the beans in her chili. She didn’t do her
own cooking and relied on the cafeteria to make sure she got what she wanted to eat.

“Hayley, I told you not to touch anything,” Donnie wailed as he followed her into
the kitchen.

Hayley slammed the refrigerator door shut and threw up her hands. “Sorry.” Then she
handed Donnie the plate of brownies. “You mind holding this while I check upstairs?”

Donnie opened his mouth to protest, but then decided to silence himself by popping
a third brownie into his mouth. Hayley seized the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen
and up the staircase.

She had reached the second floor and was halfway into the bathroom when Donnie called
to her from the foot of the stairs. “I already did a sweep up there. I didn’t find
anything. So, why don’t you just come back down here? I’m starting to think letting
you in the house wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Okay, let me just use the bathroom first,” Hayley said, sneaking into the bathroom
and closing the door before opening up the medicine chest. There was blood pressure
medicine, some Advil, a half tube of toothpaste, and what looked like a bottle of
birth control pills. Hayley checked the label. Definitely birth control pills. She
was about to close the cabinet, when she noticed something odd. The back of the cabinet
was lined with newspaper pinned down with Scotch tape. She pulled at a small piece
and tore it away. It was covering some kind of mirror. Hayley started ripping the
newspaper off. When she had removed half of it, she realized it wasn’t a mirror at
all. It was a small window, which looked into Candace’s bedroom. She flushed the toilet
and turned on the faucet and let water run into the basin so Donnie would have the
impression she was washing her hands.

She quietly opened the bathroom door and tiptoed down the hall into the bedroom. There
was a mirror hanging on the wall in the exact spot as the window in the medicine cabinet.

Omigod.

It wasn’t any regular old mirror.

It was a two-way mirror.

Why on earth would Candace need a two-way mirror pointing straight at her bed?

Unless . . .

Hayley didn’t even want to think about it, but she couldn’t help herself. Was Candace
making sex tapes when she wasn’t busy working as a nurse? Hayley knew that once the
image got into her head, there would be no way of ever getting rid of it.

Too late.

Hayley searched the dresser drawers and found some camera equipment; she then began
rummaging through Candace’s closet. Hidden deep in the back was a box filled with
DVDs. Most of them were boxed sets of Candace’s favorite TV shows, such as
The Sopranos
,
True Blood,
and
Game of Thrones
. Nothing sordid or out of the ordinary about those. But as she opened one of the
cases, Hayley noticed the DVDs didn’t have any labels. The distributor would certainly
have labeled the DVDs. The only thing written on them were dates.

It suddenly struck her.

Were the TV cases a way to disguise Candace’s homemade tapes?

She grabbed one made a month ago and hurried over to a small desk and inserted it
into Candace’s laptop.

Sure enough. It was a recording of Candace’s wild romp with the local pharmacist.

The local
married
pharmacist.

Hayley ejected that one and put in another from six months ago, during the summer.
Some rather erotic foreplay of Candace with a man wearing nothing but a Chicago Bulls
basketball team cap. Probably a tourist she had picked up.

Hayley knew the clock was ticking.

Even though Donnie wasn’t exactly a Rhodes scholar, pretty soon he was going to realize
it would never take Hayley this long to wash her hands. She was about to head out
when she noticed a DVD left out on the desk; it was almost buried underneath some
of Candace’s bills.

This one had been made just two days ago.

“Hayley, what are you doing up there?” Donnie yelled as he began stomping up the stairs.

She was out of time.

But she had to know.

She waited for the DVD to load and play.

Outside in the hall she heard Donnie banging on the bathroom door.

“Are you okay in there?”

An image of Candace, topless, came up on the screen.

She was with a man; his bare back was to the camera as he grabbed Candace and began
smothering her with kisses. He pushed her down on the bed, turning just enough so
he could straddle her. It was at that moment Hayley saw a glimpse of his face and
instantly recognized him.

It was Drew Nickerson, the pompous, overbearing, and sex-crazed host of
Wild and Crazy Couponing.