Girls' Night Out Murder (Ryli Sinclair 2) (17 page)

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. Paige’s dad had
arrived about an hour before the rehearsal, and his arrival changed the
dynamics of everything for me. It somehow became more real that Paige was about
to be married. Nothing would be the same anymore. I mean, she’d still be my
best friend…but our days of hanging out and it just being the two of us would
be no more. It’ll always include Matt. And in a few years when babies started
coming, it would always be kids.

I suddenly felt very lonely. And even a little sorry for
myself. While everyone was still in the living room, I snuck off to the
kitchen. Grabbing a jello shot left over from the other night, I downed one.
Then another. Then another.

I was just beginning to feel a little better when Aunt
Shirley walked in. Mom made sure she was respectable in a purple polyester
pantsuit. With her new hair color and purple pantsuit, she really did look
nice. Setting her purse on the counter, she grabbed one of the jello shots for
herself.

“Mom will kill us if she catches us,” I said.

Aunt Shirley laughed. “Doubtful.”

Figuring she was right, I downed another shot. I eyed her cute
purse. “Why did you bring a purse to the rehearsal?”

Grinning, Aunt Shirley reached over and grabbed the purse.
She tipped it on its side and twisted a cap I hadn’t even seen. She then tipped
it up to her mouth and took a long drink.

“Sweet! Is your purse a flask?” I asked.

“You know it,” she said, handing me the purse.

Jostling it up and down in my hand, I gauged the weight of
the purse. It was pretty light, considering it held a pretty substantial amount
of booze. Tipping the purse up to my mouth, I took a tiny swallow.

It took everything I had not to spit it back out. I’m not
sure what I was expecting…wine, mixed drink, not sure. But straight Fireball
Whisky wasn’t it!

“Hey, you’re not the only one without a man here tonight. At
least your man is coming up tomorrow. Old Man Jenkins couldn’t come…so I’m ringing
in the New Year alone. Don’t judge me.”

I shook my head to clear it. “I wouldn’t think of it. Drink
up, Auntie,” I said. “Just don’t let Mom see you.”

Clutching the purse like a lifeline, Aunt Shirley took
another nip at the purse.

I envied her.

“Come see how things turned out,” Paige squealed as she slid
into the kitchen. “It looks beautiful!”

Needing a little more liquid courage to get through the
night, I grabbed the purse from Aunt Shirley and took a long swig.

Paige was right…the living room looked exquisite. The
furniture had been pushed against the walls, and a red runner ran down the
middle of the makeshift aisle. A few chairs were placed on either side of the
aisle.

Megan and Mindy had painstakingly strung numerous strands of
white Christmas lights from the ceiling and one side of the wall to the other.

Everything looked amazing. The mantle would be decorated
with the flowers I would pick up from the flower shop in the morning, along
with our personal bouquets and boutonnieres. Everything was ready to go.

“It’s been a long night,” Mom said, wrapping her arms
through mine. “Your aunt is only slightly tipsy, the living room is all set up,
and I’ve only cried ten times tonight…I’d say we’re ready to have a wedding.”

“Wake up,” my aunt hissed in my ear.

“What the hell,” I groaned. “What’re you doing, Aunt
Shirley?”

“Shhh, you’ll wake up Paige, then we’ll all be in trouble.”
She grabbed the covers and pulled them down. I immediately pulled them back up.
“I’ve been thinking. I always do my best work when I’m tipsy. And I think we
need to make a move on Whitney. The more I ponder it, the more I believe she’s
the one.”

I groaned again and reached for my phone. It was two a.m.
“What’re you talking about?”

“Now’s the time to strike…or at least get a glimpse when
she’s least expecting it.”

I sat up in bed, the covers pooling at my waist. I hated
these moments. I knew she was right, but I also knew enough about Aunt Shirley
to know somehow we were gonna end up in trouble.

“What do you propose?”

“Nothing crazy,” she said, pulling a black stocking cap over
her colorful head. I barely refrained from laughing. The top of the hat had a
puffball on top. “Let’s just sneak into town, maybe look through her window.
Nothing too crazy. Just a glimpse of her in her natural habitat.”

Natural habitat? What
was she…a baboon?

“Her natural habitat.” I shook my head. I still wasn’t
convinced we could sneak out without anyone finding out. With Matt in the
house, I knew our chances were slim.

“Don’t worry about Matt and Nick,” she said, as though
reading my mind. “They were pretty lit after the rehearsal dinner. They’ll
sleep like babies.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t think of any other reason not to
go. “Wait. We don’t have an address.”

My aunt chuckled. “Actually, we do. Remember when I went to
the bathroom at Jim’s office? Well, I happened to snap a couple pictures with
my phone of his Rolodex. I didn’t know people still used those things.”

I sighed. “Okay, let’s do this.”

I quickly dressed in dark sweats and sweatshirt, threw a cap
over my head, and tiptoed up the stairs as quietly as I could. Aunt Shirley was
waiting for me in the kitchen.

I grabbed my keys and we slunk out to the Falcon. Luckily
I’d parked the Falcon as far away from the house as possible when we came home
from our errands that afternoon. Praying no one would hear, I drove us into
town.

Aunt Shirley plugged in the address on her phone and a male,
Australian accent led us toward Whitney’s. “Seriously?” I asked.

Aunt Shirley grinned. “He sounds yummy.”

I found Whitney’s house without too much trouble. It was a
beautiful, one-story brick house with lots of windows, doors, and tiny pitched
roofs in the front. It smacked of money. No surprise there.

I parked two houses down from Whitney’s and turned off the
Falcon. Putting on our gloves, we walked briskly to the front of the house. Our
breath came out in tiny puffs of smoke.

“Looks like a light is on in the house,” Aunt Shirley said.
We parted the bushes underneath one of the windows and peered inside. A faint
glow of a flickering TV illuminated the back room.

“Must be the living room,” I said.

“We’re never going to see anything from out here. We need
inside.”

I cursed. “No, absolutely not! It’s one thing to peep in on
someone, it’s a felony to enter their house.”

Aunt Shirley rolled her eyes. “Don’t go soft on me now,
girl. We need inside. Unless you
want
to
be arrested tomorrow and spend out the rest of your life in jail.”

I knew she was goading me—trying to get under my skin. It
worked. “Fine.”

“Good, girl. Let’s just see if there’s anything open on the
side here.”

I grabbed Aunt Shirley’s arm as she turned to walk away.
“What if there’s an alarm!” I hissed.

“Please, this girl is so narcissistic. She’s not going to
have an alarm. She believes she’s above everyone and no one would dare enter
her house, much less enter to hurt her.”

I bit my lip and stewed. Usually Aunt Shirley was right
about these things. I sighed and followed her as she crossed in front of the
two-car garage and around the corner of the house. There was a side door
leading into the garage.

Aunt Shirley carefully twisted the knob and pushed. The door
swung open. We crossed the threshold and entered the dark garage. I pulled off
my gloves, got out my phone, and hit the flashlight app. Light illuminated the
garage.

We carefully stepped over the debris on the garage floor.
Another door on the opposite side of the garage led to the interior of the
house. I knew if I went in I’d be breaking the promise I made to myself to
never break and enter into a house again with Aunt Shirley. That promise lasted
a day.

Aunt Shirley stopped in front of the door and put a finger
to her lips. Like she needed to tell me to keep my mouth shut. I almost laughed
out loud at that ridiculous notion.

Praying nothing would go wrong, I shut off the flashlight
app and followed Aunt Shirley into the house. We entered a small laundry room that
spilled into the kitchen. Our running shoes glided silently across the tile
flooring.

“Look through the drawers and see if you can find a knife.
Anything that might lead to the murder weapon at Julie’s,” Aunt Shirley
whispered.

She started at one end and I went to the other. We silently
opened countless drawers. I wasn’t sure what to look for. I had no idea what
kind of knife was used. Was it a serrated, butcher, or what?

I found the drawer with about seven knives and motioned for
Aunt Shirley. She gently picked up a couple and twisted them in the moonlight.
I assumed she was looking for blood.

I hoped to God Whitney didn’t put the knife back in her
drawer. But I remember crazy Sharon bragging she did that very thing when she
held me hostage and tried to kill me months ago. I guess it was a trophy thing.

A huge rounded archway to the left led into the living room.
Whitney was softly snoring on the couch in front of the TV.

I’m thinking the two empty wine bottles on the coffee table
were helpful in her recent coma-like state. There was a little red wine left in
a clear, deep-set glass. An empty syringe lay next to the wine glass and bottle
of insulin.

Aunt Shirley put two fingers up to her eyes and then pointed
them down the hall. She then tapped on her wrist with the other hand.

Oh, Christ. Now she
fancies herself a SWAT leader.

“What?” I mouthed angrily to her.

“You take the rooms on the left, I’ll take the rooms on the
right.”

Splitting up did not sound like a good idea at all. Before I
could say anything, Aunt Shirley took off down the darken hallway. She opened a
door and slipped inside.

Knowing I was in too deep to back out, I hurried down the
hallway and opened the first door on my left, sliding into the room. It looked
like an extra bedroom. Moonlight shone through the window, and I waited for my
eyes to adjust.

On the wall were pictures of Jim. I walked over to them. It
looked like Whitney had thumbtacked them. I leaned in and could make out Jim
looking over his shoulder and laughing at someone while he carried a piece of
drywall. There were countless pictures scattered across the walls. The eerie
thing was, in most of them he appeared unaware that he was being photographed.
Sometimes he was bent over a saw or outside looking at the front of a house.

I walked the length of the wall, silently looking at the
pictures. I stopped in front of one that had Jim with his arm around Julie. Or
at least I’m assuming it was Julie. All I could make out was her body…the face
had been scratched out with a pen.

I turned and caught my breath. On the closet door hung a
picture of Julie’s face. Darts were embedded in her forehead and chin.

Whimpering, I quickly raced to the door. The sooner I got
out of this room the better. I quietly opened the door, only to hear a toilet
flush.

Was Whitney up?

Before I could duck back into the room, the door opened and
out came Aunt Shirley. “Did you pee in there?” I hissed.

“Yep.”

I was about to chew her out when movement to my right caught
my attention. A pair of eyes seemed to be floating in the pitch-black hallway.

“Oh, shit,” Aunt Shirley whispered. A piercing scream echoed
the hallway, and a black cat jumped on Aunt Shirley’s parka, clawing its way up
to her head.

“Mr. Savage,” Whitney’s drunken voice yelled out. “Is that
you? What’s wrong baby?”

Aunt Shirley and I bolted down the hallway, rounding the
corner as Whitney stumbled into the darkened hall behind us. I glanced back and
saw Mr. Savage holding on tightly to Aunt Shirley’s head, while simultaneously
batting at the puffball on top of the hat.

I yanked open a door on my right and we staggered inside. We
could hear Whitney calling for Mr. Savage the whole time. I pushed Aunt Shirley
toward the closet. She reached up and yanked Mr. Savage off her head, the cap
going with the cat. He howled his outrage at being thrown down on the bed.

I pushed Aunt Shirley through the bi-fold closet doors and
quietly closed the doors as much as I could. We tried taking deep breaths to
stop our panting. The closet doors were open enough that if Whitney looked
hard, she’d see us huddled in the closet.

“Mr. Savage, are you in here?” Whitney stumbled into the
bedroom, setting her wine glass down on the dresser.

Mr. Savage was still hissing his outrage at being dumped
onto the bed.

“What’s the matter, baby? You want your mommy?” Whitney
collapsed onto the bed next to the hat-clutching cat. Mr. Savage jumped off the
bed, hat still clutched in his paws.

“Night,” Whitney mumbled right before she passed out.

We waited a few more minutes in silence. It was the longest
three minutes of my life. Once again I cursed my aunt as I tried to control my
breathing.

“Let’s go,” Aunt Shirley hissed in my ear. Her brightly
colored hair was sticking up all over her head.

I gently eased one side of the bi-fold closet doors open.
Turning sideways I eased out of the closet, Aunt Shirley following close
behind. Mr. Savage stopped batting the puffball around when he saw us. Black
yarn was strewn all over the room.

It was a standoff.

Aunt Shirley won when she reached down and grabbed her cap
off the floor. Mr. Savage hissed and swatted Aunt Shirley’s hand with his paw.

I grabbed onto Aunt Shirley’s parka and pulled her through
the bedroom door. We slunk back through the house and out the garage door.
Turning on my flashlight app we made our way quickly to the Falcon.

I rested my head against the steering wheel and waited until
I stopped shaking.

“Damn cat ruined my hat!” I looked over at Aunt Shirley. She
was wiggling the now poofless hat. “My ball is gone.”

I chortled. “One thing you got, it’s plenty of balls.”

Aunt Shirley grinned at me. “I like that.”

Shaking my head I started the Falcon. The low purr of the
car helped sooth my nerves.

I told Aunt Shirley what I saw in the extra bedroom. About
the secretly obtained pictures and the dartboard of Julie.

“I’m not sure that’s guilt, since it’s mostly circumstantial
evidence, but it at least puts a shadow over her,” Aunt Shirley said.

“So did this crazy excursion get us any closer to proving
Whitney the murderer?” I asked.

Aunt Shirley thought a moment. “Like I said, it’s all
circumstantial…the syringe, the pictures and dartboard, the obvious hatred of
Julie because of Jim. But no direct evidence. We have no way of linking Whitney
to the drill at Jim’s place or the knife from Julie’s murder.”

“But we can agree she’s moved up on the list of suspects?”

Aunt Shirley nodded. “You bet.”