Hide and Snoop (The Odelia Grey Mysteries)

Innis Casey Photography

About the Author

Like the character Odelia Grey, Sue Ann Jaffarian is a middle-aged, plus-size paralegal. In addition to the Odelia Grey mystery series, she is the author of the paranormal Ghost of Granny Apples mystery series and the Madison Rose Vampire mystery series. Sue Ann is also nationally sought after as a motivational and humorous speaker. She lives and works in Los Angeles, California.

Other titles in the Odelia Grey series include
Too Big to Miss
(2006),
The Curse of the Holy Pail
(2007),
Thugs and Kisses
(2008),
Booby Trap
(2009),
Corpse on the Cob
(2010), and
Twice As Dead
(2011).

Visit Sue Ann on the Internet at

www.sueannjaffarian.com

and

www.sueannjaffarian.blogspot.com

Copyright Information

Hide and Snoop: An Odelia Grey Mystery
© 2012 by Sue Ann Jaffarian.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2012

E-book ISBN: 9780738732305

Cover design by Ellen Lawson

Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

Midnight Ink

Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

2143 Wooddale Drive

Woodbury, MN 55125

www.midnightink.com

Manufactured in the United States of America

For Diana James.

Thank you for everything.

You are sorely missed.

Acknowledgments

To the usual suspects: my agent, Whitney Lee; my acquisitions editor at Midnight Ink, Terri Bischoff; and everyone else at Midnight Ink/Llewellyn Worldwide who had a hand in making this book a reality.

And to those people who have become very special to me in the past few years: the members of the Sue Ann Jaffarian Fan Club on Facebook. You folks may not realize it, but your daily support and cheering from the sidelines kept me and this manuscript afloat when I felt I just couldn’t write another word. You rock!

A special acknowledgment goes to Cyn Rielley, who started the fan club as a reader and today is a dear friend, and to my niece, Lindsay Jaffarian Holm, who helps Cyn administer the club.

one

The joint. The slammer.
The clink. The words trekked through my brain like muddy feet across a clean floor.

The bright light above assaulted my tired, gritty eyes. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed. I tried to think of synonyms for bed but failed. Instead, my mind kept to its single track like a wheel in a rut.

Hoosegow. Big house. Pokey.

I didn’t know how long I’d been in this room. It was small and windowless, containing a sturdy metal table and a few chairs. Was it morning yet? It had to be. Resting my arms on the table, I cradled my head on them, face down, to escape the annoying artificial light.

“Really, Dev, that’s all I can tell you.” I spoke without lifting my head, the words coming slow, barely above a whisper, as if we were in church instead of jail.

Devin Frye, Newport Beach homicide detective and friend, parked half his butt near me on the edge of the long table. His close presence caused me to lift my head. Dev looked down with a
mixture
of disbelief and barely reined-in anger. He’d looked that way for hours. “Do you want to call an attorney, Odelia?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me that question, but this was the first time I’d seriously considered it as an option. “Do I
need
an attorney?” The question seeped out of me, small and fuzzy, like a gummy bear rolled in cat hair.

I raised my head until I was upright again and looked from Dev to the other detective in the room. She’d been introduced to me as Detective Andrea Fehring.

“I thought I was just pulled in for questioning. I mean, I wasn’t Mirandized or anything. That’s what they do on TV when they arrest people, isn’t it?” Detective Fehring, a trim woman with bobbed black hair and dark eyes, remained silent and studied me like a specimen trapped between two glass slides. Even though there were several other chairs in the room, she stood, leaning against the beige-painted wall.

Dev let out a uneven grumble that started deep in his gut. When he spoke, his usually deep, gravelly voice went up an octave, sounding like a Yahtzee cup shaken with too many dice. “No, Odelia, you’re not under arrest.
Yet
.” He emphasized the last word with the sharpness of an awl puncture. “But you were found at the scene of a murder, alone, in the middle of the night, wearing a bloody nightgown.”

“I wasn’t found at the scene like a lost wallet, Dev.” I was dangling over hot water, and I knew it. Mustering what strength I had left, I dropped the whisper, snapping at the detectives like a lobster about to be thrown into a hard boil. “I’m the one who discovered the body and called
you
. Remember? I’ve only told you that a hundred times.”

Dev had been the first and only call I’d made upon finding the body. I’d called him at home. Soon after, Dev arrived in his car, with several police cruisers as backup.

“But why were you there in the first place?” he asked, his face hard and crusty.

A knock sounded on the door. A uniformed officer stepped in and motioned to Dev, who left after giving Fehring a meaningful look.

I was no longer in my nightie. As soon as I’d arrived at the Newport Beach police station, they’d taken it and the hoodie and jeans I’d also been wearing for evidence and gave me an extra-large tee shirt and some sweatpants to wear. Since I’d left the house in my nightgown, I hadn’t been wearing a bra, and now I felt naked without one. I crossed my arms in front of my big boobs more out of modesty than defense.

“May I call my husband?” I asked Fehring.

“Detective Frye already did.”

“Good.” In spite of the word, it didn’t feel good. I would have preferred to call Greg myself, after I’d had a chance to rehearse and soften the facts. I’d thought about calling Greg while I waited with the body for Dev but dismissed the idea, hoping I could simply answer a few questions and be on my way. The plan was to tell Greg about my nocturnal activities over a nice breakfast. I would have made him blueberry pancakes with bacon. One of his favorites. Who knows, I might even have woken him up with a booty call before easing into my confession.

Upon receiving Dev’s call, I had no doubt Greg sped out of our house in Seal Beach, the tires on his van squealing on the pavement. And I’m sure he was also glued to his cell phone, calling either Seth Washington or Mike Steele, both attorneys, and begging one of them to meet him at the police station. Greg was going to be madder than hell over this, but at least he’d be on my side. The heated lecture would come once we got home.

Fehring stepped closer to the table, her face deadpan. “So you’re the infamous Odelia Grey. I’ve heard a lot of stories about you.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” I squirmed in my chair, which was plastic and not made for someone with a bulky butt.

“Frye has a soft spot for you, but I don’t. Remember that.” Her dark eyes narrowed into two small ink pools. I noticed for the first time that her dark hair was laced with silver strands, reminding me of a sweater I wear around the holidays.

If she was trying to scare me, it was working. I looked into her face and saw not a hint of warmth, only tired lines and a thin, hard mouth on a face wearing very little makeup. She could have been anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five years of age.

“They call you Corpse Magnet, don’t they?” she asked without a smidgen of amusement.

“Who’s
they
?” My words had the attitude of a combatant in a playground tussle. My common sense tried to get the upper hand but failed. “It’s not like it’s on my birth certificate.”

Corpse Magnet was an ugly nickname given to me by Seth Washington in a fit of exasperation, and it was only used sparingly by my closest friends whenever I stumbled across a dead body, which was more often than one would think. I didn’t know the handle had become public knowledge. Dev must have told her.

“Don’t get cute,” Fehring warned. “And it’s not cute when private citizens get mixed up in serious crimes. You put yourself and others in danger.” She pitched forward, slapping both of her hands flat on the table across from me. In my seat I gave a startled little hop and looked down, noticing her square-shaped nails were clean and trim and shined with a coating or two of clear polish. “You can put officers in danger nosing around, and that I take personally.”

“Trust me, it’s not my idea of a good time. It just seems to happen.”

“Are you saying you just
happened
to be standing in someone else’s house in the middle of the night when that woman was killed?”

“She was dead when I got there. I told you that.”

Fehring stepped back and leaned against the wall again. She stuck her hands in her pants pockets and returned to studying me with laser eyes. “Personally, I think this time you did the killing yourself.”

“No!” I cried out in urgency. “I swear I didn’t. I—” but my words were cut off by Dev’s return. With him was my husband, Greg Stevens, and Seth Washington. Seth isn’t only an attorney, he’s a close personal friend. His wife, Zenobia, better known as Zee, is my best friend. I was so happy to see them, I nearly cried. But my joy was cut short by the look on Greg’s face. If Dev’s face looked as hard as day-old bread, Greg’s was the truck that ran over the bread. I almost peed in my borrowed sweatpants.

Seth turned to Dev. “I’d like a word with my client.”

As soon as Dev and Andrea Fehring filed out, I said to Seth, “I didn’t know you were a criminal attorney.”

Seth fixed me with his espresso eyes. “I didn’t realize you needed a criminal attorney. At least not yet.”

Yet
. There was that annoying word again. It hung in the air alongside the one Dev had thrown out—a pair of verbal vultures just waiting to pounce and make accusations about my evening.

Greg, in a wheelchair since an accident in his early teens, rolled up to where I was sitting. No hug. No kiss. The pressurized steam coming from his ears could have cleaned a greasy car engine. “What in the hell is going on, Odelia?”

“Calm down, Greg,” Seth told him. “We need to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.”

Greg looked raggedy, with his light brown hair uncombed and the nighttime stubble sprouting around his usually groomed Vandyke beard. “Seth, was it your wife who sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to have a slumber party with a dead woman?”

“Of course not,” Seth admitted. “Zee has more sense.”

I snapped my head around to look at my so-called lawyer. “I beg your pardon? Are you on my side here or not?” When neither Seth nor Greg said anything, I tacked on, “Don’t make me call Mike Steele. Please.” It was more of a supplication than a threat.

After taking a second or two and several deep breaths, Greg asked, “So who’s the stiff this time?”

“Please let me ask the questions, Greg,” said Seth, using his lawyer voice. “I think it will go smoother if I handle this.”

It was in Greg’s nature to take charge, but what Seth said made sense. He was, after all, the only law degree in the room. As soon as Greg nodded his assent, Seth turn to me. “So who’s the stiff?”

Greg did a double take but remained silent.

“Her name is Connie Holt,” I told the two of them. “She’s Lily’s mother.”

Seth’s mouth fell open. So much for his legal composure. “Lily? You mean the sweet little girl sleeping under my roof right now?”

“Yes. Connie is Lily’s mother and the sister of my boss, Erica Mayfield. Like I’ve told the police, I found her—Connie, that is— already dead when I got to Erica’s house. I didn’t know who she was until the police told me.”

Greg groaned. “Please tell me you did not go over to Erica’s to beg for your job.”

Seth held a hand out towards us, indicating for us to be still. “Back up the bus, folks.” He turned to me. “This woman fired you, and you went to her house in the middle of the night?” He took a deep breath. “Why do you do such dumb things, Odelia?”

“I am not dumb.” My nose twitched in annoyance while I fought to defend my actions. “I’m impulsive.” I turned to my husband for support but could see he was clearly in Seth’s camp on this issue. “And I wasn’t fired,” I insisted. “At least not yet.”

“I didn’t say you were dumb, Odelia,” Seth clarified. “But your actions are often those of an insane person.”

Greg was nodding in agreement. I was on my own.

“Maybe I should call Steele,” I suggested.

Greg let out a short, dark snort. “If you think he’s going to be any easier on you, you’ve been away from him for far too long.”

My hubs was right. If Steele, my former boss, were here instead of Seth, he’d be crucifying me. I just wasn’t sure if it would be because of my nocturnal actions or because I didn’t invite him along. Steele had grown disturbingly fond of sticking his nose into my amateur murder investigations. Come to think of it, so had Greg, making me believe his anger was more focused on my safety and possible future criminal record than on my actions specifically.

“We’re wasting time,” Seth told us. “According to Dev, they don’t believe Odelia is the killer. The woman was shot twice in the chest and may have been dead several hours before Odelia called him.”

“I can vouch for her whereabouts,” Greg offered. “We went to a dinner party last night given by one of my basketball buddies and his wife. We got home around eleven and went straight to bed. I’d had a few drinks and fell asleep before the Channel Four news ended. Odelia was in bed with me.”

Seth knitted his brows as he wrote down the information. “That will help in the event they start looking at her as a suspect.”

Suspect
? My stomach did a flip. When Detective Fehring suggested earlier that she thought I might be the killer, I thought it might have been more of a scare tactic than something she truly believed, and it had scared the snot out of me. But hearing my lawyer say the word had even more impact. I took a sip of water from the paper cup Dev had brought me earlier. My hands shook, threatening to cave in the thin vessel.

“I think I got to Erica’s around one thirty,” I added. Seeing no napkin or tissue, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Remembering how Connie had looked when I stumbled across her, I shuddered. “When I arrived, Connie was staring up at the ceiling, pale and still, the front of her long-sleeved tee shirt drenched in blood. I tried to give her CPR, just in case she wasn’t dead. That’s how I got so much blood on me.” I took another deep breath. “I told the police all this several times.”

“I’m positive they’re checking your clothing for gunshot residue.” Seth stopped writing and looked at me. “Did they test your hands yet?”

“They applied some sort of adhesive strip to them, like they were waxing for hair removal. They also took a swab for DNA. I thought it would help if I were cooperative.”

Seth nodded as he made more notes. When he was finished, he put his pen down, folded his hands, and leaned his large body back in his chair. “Okay, Odelia, tell me how you got to Ms. Mayfield’s house in the first place.”

“I drove.”

Greg placed a hand on my arm. It was his first act of affection since entering the room, and it meant the world to me. “He means what caused you to go there.”

“Oh.”

Of course that’s what Seth meant, but the night’s events and lack of sleep were taking its toll on my middle-aged brain cells.

I dug through my tired mind for the root of my actions. When had all this craziness started to take shape? What exactly was its genesis? It had started small, of that I was sure. Like a palm-sized snowball, over the past couple of days it had gathered in size with every discussion and situation until it had become a large, heavy orb too big to ignore.

I took a deep breath, ready to start at the beginning.

“It all started with Lily,” I told Greg and Seth. This was not something I had told the police, because it really had just come to me.

“The little girl?” Seth asked again with surprise.