Hide and Snoop (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (14 page)

sixteen

“So that’s the whole
story?” asked Seth. “And by ‘whole,’ I mean everything?” He glared at me, eye to eye, to make his point about full disclosure, breaking the steely stare only when necessary to adjust his large frame in the small plastic chair. It wasn’t made for his size any more than it was made for mine, though Seth was definitely not stout, just tall and broad. He was folded into the chair, not seated. I guess most criminals are tiny. Either that or discomfort was part of the interrogation process. No wonder Dev, a man the size of Paul Bunyan’s blue ox, had opted to sit on the edge of the table.

“Yes, Seth,” I answered, tilting my chin up in defiance. “That’s everything. And it’s exactly what I told the police.” I paused. Both men, knowing me well, gave me looks that let me know they didn’t believe me. “Well,” I admitted, “I told
you
everything. I didn’t tell Dev, or anyone else, about searching the Holt house.” I paused. Again, they waited for the next confession. “And I didn’t tell them about taking stuff from Erica’s and the office and sending it to Clark for prints.”

“Thank God for that.” Greg dragged a hand through his thick hair. “No sense adding ‘breaking and entering’ and ‘theft’ to your rap sheet.” His sarcasm was as jarring as an off-tune piano. “And no sense getting Clark involved.”

I slapped the table with the palm of one hand. “I don’t have a rap sheet, Greg! The police are just questioning me.”

“Still,” my husband persisted, “I wished you’d called me or Seth immediately, Odelia, before you started spilling your guts to the police.”

I turned to my husband, my mouth open like a frog waiting for a fly. “I have nothing to hide, Greg. I didn’t kill that woman. And—”

“I know, sweetheart,” Greg said, cutting me off. “But cops have a way of twisting information until it sounds like a confession. Dev may be our friend, but he’s still a cop and has a job to do.”

Seth held out his hands as if breaking up a street fight. “All right, you two, simmer down.”

He turned his attention to me specifically. “Greg’s right, Odelia. You should have called as soon as they brought you in. With that said, let’s move on. What else didn’t you tell the police?”

My brain was dangerously close to shutting down from exhaustion, but I cajoled it into staying open a bit longer while I sifted through my memory of the last few hours. What had I said to the police? When they first brought me in, I’d been careful, but as time went by and their constant questioning wore me down, had I let slip something that might incriminate me? Hard to say. Detective Fehring had circled my every word like a vulture, just waiting for me to drop my guard so she could feast.

“I’m pretty sure I told them nothing about my snooping at Erica’s or at Connie’s. I told them I went to Erica’s to find a toy for Lily and to see if Erica was really at home, but I’m sure I didn’t say anything about going to Irvine at all.”

Seth shifted in his seat while he thought it through. “But you did tell Dev and the other detective that Carl Yates wanted you to check out Erica’s whereabouts and her relationship with this Mark guy?”

“Yes.” I looked from Seth to Greg and back to Seth. “Shouldn’t I have told them that?”

Seth shrugged. “It’s something they would have learned from talking to Carl anyway. So at least they know you weren’t lying about your motive for being at her house.”

My heart stopped, then restarted just as fast. Of course they would talk to Carl. Why was I so surprised? I was found in the house of one of Woobie’s partners, standing over a dead body, and I’d said another partner had given me the green light to snoop.

“Looks like Mark Baker and Erica can stop their campaign to get rid of me.” I said the words out loud and in a soft voice, almost to myself. “There’s no way the firm would keep me now.”

“You don’t know that,” Seth assured me.

“But why couldn’t you have waited until morning, Odelia?” The question came from an exasperated Greg. “We could have gone together. Maybe someone else would have found the body before then.”

“You mean, someone other than me, right?”

Greg’s face was flushed, and his voice climbed. “It would have been a nice change of pace.”

I was about to say something rude to my darling husband when there was a knock at the door. Before we could say anything, the door opened, and Detective Fehring waltzed in with Dev behind her. Dev glanced at each of us, but his face remained a blank.
Fehring
dropped something on the table. I groaned inwardly, pleased I’d hadn’t been verbal in my dismay. On the table was a plastic evidence bag. Inside were the gloves I’d purchased and stashed in my glove compartment.

“You recognize these?” Fehring asked.

I nodded, then looked at the two detectives with indignation. “You searched my car?”

My lawyer piped up. “You get a warrant for that?”

Dev pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and waved it at half-mast. He was doing his job and at the moment not liking it one bit.

“How did you even know where the car was?” I asked.

Dev answered, his face still a blank wall. “You said yourself that you drove to the Mayfield house, and I know what you drive.”

“Lots of people drive the same make and model,” I protested, in spite of Seth poking me under the table.

For the first time all night, a teeny-weeny smile threatened to crack Dev’s tight mouth. “And how many of those folks have a license-plate frame that says
I brake for Thin Mints
?”

Seth leaned in and whispered, “Let me do the talking before you fry. Please.”

On my other side, Greg reached a hand under the table and squeezed my knee. From the pressure, I knew it wasn’t a gesture of affection but a request to keep my mouth shut.

Seth answered for me. “A lot of people buy rubber gloves, Detectives.”

“According to the receipt found in the bag,” Fehring announced with smug satisfaction, “these were bought yesterday afternoon at a Rite Aid in Irvine.”

“And?” prodded Seth.

“And,” answered Dev, “Connie Holt lived in Irvine.”

Detective Fehring dropped another evidence bag on the table. It contained a single pair of crumpled rubber gloves. “And these appear to be used. We found them discarded on the floor of the back seat of your vehicle, Ms. Grey. Could you tell us what you used them for?”

Dev rephrased the question. “What were you doing in Irvine, Odelia, during a workday?”

“Don’t answer that, Odelia,” Seth told me. He looked at the two determined detectives. “Are you charging Odelia with anything?”

“Depends,” Andrea Fehring said with a slight snarl, “if we find gun powder residue on the used gloves, or anything else incriminating.”

“You won’t,” I shot back at her, “and I think you know that.”

Seth started to say something, but I held up my hand, stopping him in his tracks. Under the table, my husband squeezed my knee so hard, I’m sure he was leaving a bruise. But I didn’t care. I’d had enough. Let them put me in a cell and throw away the key. At least I’d be able to get some sleep. This was Newport Beach, not South Central. How hardened could the female criminals be in here?

I fixed my eyes on Detective Fehring, willing them to look hard and determined instead of bloodshot and drooping. I didn’t want to look at Dev. Cop or not, he was too close of a friend for me to feel antagonistic towards, even under these circumstances. Fehring and I had no such bond, and I doubted we ever would.

“I went to Irvine to see if the Holts were home. I told you Connie dumped poor Lily on her aunt, Erica Mayfield, who, in turn, stashed the kid with me. Last night—” I paused to realign my dates. “Actually, the night before, when Lily stayed at our house, she had a nightmare and was calling for her mother. With Erica nowhere to be found, I got to wondering if maybe Connie was around—you know, maybe taking a little break from being a mom—so I drove over there.”

“And the gloves?” Fehring asked.

I hesitated, knowing I was about to admit to breaking into someone’s home. My brain did some painful calculations, trying to figure out a cagey way around the truth, but it was no use. I was beyond exhaustion, and my brain was mush. I stole a glance at Dev Frye. He was watching me, weighing my facial expressions and eye movements like the pro he was, and I knew he’d detect any lies before they passed my lips.

Next to me, Seth was quiet, almost holding his breath. On the other side, Greg had a death grip on my knee. Had he been able to move his legs, I’m sure they would have been jiggling from nerves, as mine were.

After a big sigh of surrender, I plunged forward. “I bought the gloves because I needed them at home.”

My brain had decided on a compromise—half lie, half truth. I might be ready to admit I was inside the Holt house, but there was no way I was going to admit to it being a premeditated break-in.

I pointed at the bag with the unused gloves. “If you check the receipt, you’ll see I also bought ibuprofen. I had a headache and decided to take something before I got to the Holt house. While at Rite Aid, I spotted the gloves and picked them up at the same time.”

“So where’s the bottle of ibuprofen?” asked Dev.

“In my tote bag. At home.”

“And what about these gloves?” Fehring jabbed a finger at the evidence bag containing the used gloves.

“When I got to the Holt house, no one was home, but through the front window it looked like someone had trashed the place. I was going to try all the doors, then remembered the gloves and went back to my car to get a pair.”

“So you wanted to help, but didn’t want to leave prints?” Fehring pulled out a plastic chair across the table from me and sat down. Her trim ass fit it perfectly, giving me another reason to dislike her. “This is fascinating,” she said with a sneer. “Please continue.”

“No need to get snotty,” I snapped, rallying my own snarky attitude. “I’m trying to help here.”

“If you were trying to help, Odelia, why didn’t you call the police when you noticed the Holt house had been broken into?” The question came from Dev, and it was a damn good one.

Quiet filled the room. The cops were waiting for my answer. My husband and lawyer were dreading it.

“Because I wanted to search the place first,” I finally admitted. “To see if I could find out where Connie was. I knew once the police came in, I’d never be able to check anything out, but I also didn’t want to leave prints that might confuse the police when they did investigate.” My explanation sounded plausible to me, even if it was on the fly. “I didn’t know for sure the house had been broken into until I got inside.”

I held up my right hand and index finger to emphasize my next point. “
And
, I want you to know I didn’t break into that house. The back gate was unlatched and the back sliding door was open when I got there. Once inside, I saw that the whole house had been ransacked. When I left, I locked up.”

Dev slowly shook his head with disbelief and displeasure. “Did you take anything, Odelia?”

“Yes,” I confessed. “I took some clean clothes for Lily, but that was it. From the look of the place, I figured she might be with us longer than expected.”

“And you didn’t think to call the police even after you were inside?” This question came from Detective Fehring. She and Dev were playing Ping-Pong, with my brain as the ball.

“Whoever trashed that house meant business,” I said, looking straight at her again. “I got in, took the clothes, and got out. Connie and her husband are up to their necks in something nasty, and I didn’t want to get involved any more than necessary.”

Fehring laughed. She actually leaned back in her chair and laughed. It was low and laced with amusement, like a hungry snake inviting a field mouse to tea. “And how’s that working out for you?”

The thought of reaching across the table and slapping Fehring crossed my mind. Then I remembered she carried a gun.

Before I could do or say anything monumentally stupid, the door opened and someone motioned to Dev and Fehring. They both left.

Once the door was closed, I looked to my left, then my right, and said, “That went well.”

“In what universe, Odelia?” Greg took his hand off my knee. I’m sure if he’d been able, he would have been up and pacing the room. “You’re in jail, being questioned about a murder, and you’ve just confessed to breaking and entering.”

“The door was open, Greg,” I corrected. “I broke into nothing. Both houses had their doors unlocked.”

“It’s still trespassing, Odelia,” Seth chimed in.

Before the three of us could muster enough energy to get into a verbal brawl, the door opened again, and Fehring and Dev walked back in. There was nothing bland about Dev’s face this time, and even Fehring’s usual smirk was wiped clean.

“How well did you know Harrison Holt?” Dev asked without preamble.

“Who?” I responded.

“Hank Holt,” added Fehring. “Connie’s husband.”

“I don’t know him at all. In fact, I’d never even set eyes on Connie until I found her dead.” My eyes widened with horrible possibility. “Why? Do you think he killed his wife?”

“No,” answered Dev. “Holt did not murder his wife. He was found dead a few days ago up in Laguna Canyon.”

Greg and I gasped at the same time, but he found his voice first. “You mean that guy burned in the fire?” Before they could answer, he added, “We saw it on TV the other night. I thought they didn’t know who that was.”

“They identified his body late yesterday,” Dev told us. “The sheriff just notified us when they got the report about Connie Holt this morning.”

I slumped in my chair, all thoughts of saving my own skin gone. “Poor Lily.”

seventeen

As soon as we
got home, I crawled into bed. I didn’t even bother to change out of the clothes the police had given me. All I wanted was to sleep for a few weeks and wake up to find this was nothing but a bad dream. But sleep eluded me once more.

Not too long after, I heard Greg wheel in, undress, and lift himself onto our bed. He positioned himself and rolled towards me. I was on my side, my back to him.

“You’re not going into the shop today?” I didn’t turn to face him. As a rule, Greg worked every other Saturday, trading weekends with his manager.

“I called Chris. He said he could cover today.”

Chris Fowler was the manager of Greg’s California shop, Ocean Breeze Graphics. Greg and his partner, Boomer, owned several graphic design and print shops—one in Colorado, one in Phoenix, and the original shop here in Huntington Beach. Boomer lived in Denver and ran that one. The location in Phoenix was operated by Boomer’s brother.

“I just fed the animals,” Greg added. “So they should leave us alone while we grab some more sleep.” He snuggled close and put an arm around me.

“You’re not mad at me?” I asked, still not turning to face him.

“I’m pissed as hell.” The words were harsh, but his voice was low and soft. “But I’m also exhausted and thankful you’re safe.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “But let’s get some sleep and talk about it more later.”

“But what about Lily? She can’t go into foster care.” I started to cry. “She just can’t!” This time I did turn around. “We can take her. She can live with us until this is all sorted out.”

“It’s not that simple, sweetheart.” Greg wiped the tears off my cheeks with his fingers. “Her parents are dead, and you were found with the body of her mother. I don’t think the county is going to just hand her over to us, considering the circumstances.”

“But we can try.”

Greg studied me a full minute before turning away. Grabbing his cell phone from his nightstand, he punched one of his speed dials. “Seth,” he said when the other party answered, “I’m sorry to disturb you, especially after what you just did for us, but I have a question. Is there any way we can get temporary custody of Lily? We don’t want her going into foster care if it can be helped.”

Greg listened for what seemed an eternity but was really only a few seconds. “What’s he saying?” I hissed with impatience. “Put him on speaker.”

“Seth, I have you on speaker,” Greg told him after punching the phone’s feature. “Odelia’s here.”

“Like I was telling Greg,” Seth said, his voice coming through the speaker low and tired. “Zee and I feel the same way about the girl. Zee’s done a lot of volunteer work and fundraising for the Orangewood Children and Family Center over the years, and she put in a call to the head honcho. She called him at his home as soon as I got back. Got him out of bed and everything.”

“And?” I pushed with impatience.

“Nothing’s final yet, but he’s going to pull some strings and see if Lily can stay with us for the time being.”

“She can stay here,” I suggested.

“I’m sorry, Odelia, but they won’t go for that. Not with you being so involved. They’re stretching it for us as it is.”

Greg gave me an I-told-you-so look that made me want to pinch him, but joy at Lily not going under the care of the county overrode my annoyance.

“What does ‘time being’ mean?” I asked, wanting clarification.

“It means,” Seth explained, “until they can find members of her family who can take her. She has at least an aunt that we know of.”

“And,” Greg added, “Odelia said the girl’s maternal grandparents are alive and living somewhere out of the country.”

“In the Caribbean,” I called out in the direction of the phone.

“It won’t take long for the authorities to hunt them down to tell them about Connie and her husband. And I’m sure the county would rather keep Lily in a stable home than put her in Orangewood, where they are already filled to capacity.”

“I want to come over and see Lily later today,” I told both men.

There was a long pause, both on the phone and in the bed next to me.

“Sweetheart,” began Greg, “as much as I know you want to see Lily, and so do I, I think we should lay low today.”

Seth was of the same mind. “Greg’s right, Odelia. Let everything settle down and get some rest. You’ve had quite a shock and no sleep. Lily will be fine with us.”

“How about tomorrow?” I pushed.

“Odelia, it’s me.” Coming from the phone now was Zee’s voice. She sounded concerned and dead serious. “Odelia, the child has been through a lot, and the worst of it is just beginning, with both her parents now gone. Let her have today without confusion and being torn in several directions. If you come here, she’ll want to go home with you, and we can’t allow that. It will be difficult for both of you.”

It made sense, but I still didn’t like it. After a long silence, I squeaked out, “I understand. We have to do what’s best for Lily.” And I meant it.

“Tell you what,” said Zee, softening her voice. “Let’s see what happens today. If everything calms down and the county doesn’t object, you and Greg can come over tomorrow for Sunday dinner. You can have a nice long visit with Lily, and I know she’ll be happy to see you.”

She was throwing me a bone, and I snatched at it like Wainwright. “Okay. Let’s see what happens.” I followed that with something else on my mind. “Did Lily have a nightmare last night? Did she call out for her mother?”

“No,” answered Zee. “At least not that we noticed. She slept like a log.”

Maybe it was only our house or my mothering that brought out Lily’s night terrors.

I looked at Greg and saw he was reading my thoughts. Sometimes I love that he knows me so well. Other times, like now, it felt like an annoying invasion of privacy.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for that,” my husband whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

When Greg and I woke up, it was just after noon. We dawdled around the house with no real purpose, neither productive or relaxing, until Greg suggested we go out for lunch, then a movie. I knew he was trying to keep my mind occupied, and I loved him for it. While we showered and dressed, I asked Greg if he thought the police would question Carl Yates today or wait until Monday when the office opened. The idea of going into the office in two days made my stomach churn.

Greg carefully shaved around his beard. He stopped long enough to give the question a few seconds’ thought before airing his opinion. “I’m betting they try to contact him today or tomorrow. Seems they’d start asking questions sooner than later, and the police are going to do their damndest to find Erica. You can bet on that. I’ll bet one of their first stops was to that housekeeper of hers.”

I ran a brush through my hair while standing at the sink next to him. “Do you think Erica killed her own sister?”

“Hard to say.”

He rinsed the remaining scraps of lather from his face before burying it in a clean towel. I love watching Greg shave. It’s like comfort food for the eyes.

He pulled the towel down, revealing his tidied face and beard. “You’ve said yourself she’s a cold piece of work.”

I nodded. “That she is, but I’m not sure she’s a cold killer.”

“If Connie came to the house looking for Lily, they might have gotten into a fight.” While he spoke, Greg wheeled into the bedroom to get dressed.

I followed and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on my socks. “True. If I had a sister and she’d pawned my kid off on strangers, I’d be mad as hell.” I stood up and reached for my jeans. From the bed, the two cats watched with bored expressions. Wainwright was in the back yard. “But would I be mad enough to kill? It’s not like Lily was sold into slavery.”

Greg shimmied into his own jeans. “Who else could have had access to Erica’s house? For starters, there’s the housekeeper, Racel.”

“Connie might have had a key. At least you would think so, given they have no other family and lived in the same area.”

Greg agreed. “Makes sense for emergencies. Mom and Dad have our key, as do Seth and Zee. And we have both of theirs.”

“Racel mentioned Erica having a boyfriend. He might have a key, depending on how close they were.” I slipped a gray nubby sweater over my head. “I hope Clark can determine if it’s Mark or not.”

Greg popped his head through the neck of his sweatshirt. “Maybe the killer was waiting to kill Erica and not Connie. If so, do you think they’d really need a key to get in?”

Stopping short while fastening my watch around my wrist, I turned and looked at Greg, my eyes wide. “That means it could have been anyone. And the killer could have been after them both.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Beyond washing and drying, that was his idea of combing. “My money’s on the thugs who trashed Connie’s house and torched her husband.”

“Ya know,” I said, sidling up to Greg. I put a hand on his shoulder. He put a hand on my ass, his earlier anger with me apparently gone. “Could be, whoever killed Connie was actually there to kill Erica.”

“Could be,” my hubs added, giving my butt a gentle squeeze, “both sisters were in hot water and on someone’s serious shit list.”