Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1 (17 page)

“No, not at all,” Maggie said, looking at the handsome detective. He was about her age and seemed to have a gentle demeanor by the way he carried himself with a calm self-assurance.

“Officer Kline already briefed me on your answers to his questions, but I was wondering how many times you have been here, at Mr. Zimmerman’s apartment.”

“This is the first time. I moved in only a couple weeks ago.”

“Your apartment is 22C on the second floor, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Have you seen anyone come up to this floor?”

“I saw Susie . . .” She stopped speaking mid-sentence. Susie was a spirit from the past. Then movement caught her attention over the detective’s right shoulder. Debbie and Bruce were standing several feet behind him. She stared at them as they laughed at her.

“Who is Susie?” the detective asked.

Maggie could not take her eyes off the two of them. “She’s ah . . .”

Ethel grunted as she stood up, moved toward Maggie, and stood next to her.

Detective Becker watched Maggie’s eyes. “What are you looking at?”

Maggie pointed past the detective. “Do you see them?”

He turned around. “See who?”

“Debbie and Bruce; they live on the second floor.” Maggie looked back at the detective, knowing he was beginning to doubt her integrity. “I mean, they used to live there.”

“Are you seeing them now?” He kept glancing at Maggie and the hall behind him.

She shook her head even though she was still looking at them. “I’m sorry; I haven’t had much sleep lately. My husband committed suicide several weeks ago, and I guess I’m just not back to myself.”

“When was the last time Susie came here?” he asked. His voice was not as soft as when he had first begun speaking with her.

“Yesterday . . . No, I don’t know.” Maggie knew she was beginning to sound crazy.

“You’re a guilty, stupid bitch,” Debbie said as Bruce pulled her closer. Then she spoke louder, “Detective, Detective, Maggie killed Mr. Zimmerman.”

“No, I didn’t,” Maggie snapped. “Stop accusing me.”

Detective Becker looked surprised. “Who’s accusing you?”

Maggie shook her head and began to cry.

“She needs rest,” Ethel said, touching Maggie’s arm. “She’s been through a lot.”

“How long have you known Maggie?” Detective Becker asked.

Ethel looked at the floor then up at the detective. “Only a couple weeks but we’ve become good friends.”

“Have you seen anyone come up here?”

“No, no I haven’t.”

“Have you seen anyone else on the second floor?”

She shook her head. “No. The only other person I’ve seen in the building is her friend, and that was a week ago.”

Bruce walked up directly behind Detective Becker and began speaking next to his ear. “Maggie killed him. Maggie killed him. Maggie killed him.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s lying to you,” Maggie said as tears rolled down her face. She looked away from Bruce’s fiendish glare.

“Who’s lying to me?”

“Bruce.” Maggie sobbed. “Bruce and Debbie are lying.”

As the officers took bags of evidence from the apartment, the first responding officer came out and stood next to the detective. “Do you need me to make a call?”

The detective looked back at Maggie. “Ma’am, would you like me to call a counselor for you?”

Maggie did not answer as she watched Bruce and Debbie continue to talk as if the detective could hear every word they were saying. Maybe his subconscious could, she thought. If that was the case, she was doomed.

“She’ll be fine. She can stay with me.” Ethel said, pulling on Maggie’s hand. “Dear, come with me . . . if you’re done questioning us, Detective.” She looked at the detective with sweet old-lady eyes.

Detective Becker gave them both his business card. “I’ll be back in touch with both of you soon. Call me if you think of anything regarding this case.”

Ethel took the cards. “Thank you, Detective, we will. Come along, Maggie.”

The detective and the officer watched as Ethel, limping from her sore hip, guided Maggie to the elevator.

“We need to keep an eye on them,” the officer said, crossing his arms.

“I agree.” Detective Becker did not stop watching them until the elevator door closed.

THIRTY-FOUR

Ethel noticed Maggie had pushed the second-floor button. “Maggie, you're going with me to my apartment, not yours.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I need to get my phone charger. I won't be long.” 

The elevator bounced to a stop on the second floor. Then, when the cab decided it was ready, the door rumbled open. Maggie and Ethel stepped out.

“I'll be right back.” Maggie walked across the hall to her apartment, avoiding the temptation to look at Bruce and Debbie's doors. When she got to hers, she noticed it was unlocked. Not surprising because of the speed at which her and Ethel had left the apartment yesterday.

Maggie left the door open and walked inside while Ethel stood in the hall. She went into her bedroom and unplugged the phone charger from the wall. She looked around. There were still lots of things she wanted to take with her, so she opened her big rolling suitcase and began taking the remaining clothes from the closet and dresser draws. Then she went to the bathroom and began collecting things that would not fit into her backpack yesterday. She pushed the shower curtain aside and took the wet shampoo and conditioner bottles out. She would need to dry them off before putting them into her suitcase. I will just put them in the laundry basket, she thought as she walked out of the bathroom.

The basket was still sitting next to the bathroom door. When she dropped the bottles onto the dirty towels, she heard a dull clunk, there was something hard underneath them. However, nothing hard should be in the laundry basket. For a moment, she thought it was her video camera, but she had taken it yesterday, and besides, she never hid it in the laundry basket.

Maggie bent over and slowly pushed a towel and the bottles to the side. She screamed. Not an ordinary scream of 
help me
, but a cry of anguish; of I
 cannot take this anymore
. She backed up to the wall and began hyperventilating.

Detective Becker ran into the room while Ethel waited outside. He followed Maggie's eyes to the laundry basket. There, once hidden in the pile of dirty laundry, was a bloody knife. He put gloves on and inspected the curved blade, stained with blood.

“Is this yours, Ms. McGee?” He looked at her with suspicion.

Maggie stopped screaming, but she was still shaking uncontrollably. She could not stop the movements or even speak.

Two other police officers came into the room with hands resting on their sidearms.

“I think we found the weapon. It's a karambit and is designed for slashing.” The detective stood and looked at Maggie. He asked again, “Is this knife yours?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, I've never seen it before.” Movement behind the detective caught her attention; it was Bruce and Debbie. “Go away, leave me alone.”

“Ms. McGee, I'm not leaving.”

“Not you, them,” she said, pointing toward Bruce and Debbie. Part of her mind knew she was making things worse by talking about people no one, other than Ethel, could see.

Debbie walked in front of the detective and spoke directly to him. “Detective, it's Maggie's weapon. She did it. She killed our beloved superintendent, Mr. Carl Zimmerman.” She pretended to pout and then she turned and looked at Maggie. “What are you going to do, Maggie, kill him, too? Go ahead, grab the knife and hack him, hack him to death. Do it now you witch, you murderous whore. Kill him.”

Maggie stood there, her limbs moving as if she was having a seizure. She looked at the knife and then at the detective who was not taking his eyes off her. “No, I'm not going to kill. I'm not.”

The two officers approached Maggie and handcuffed her and began reading the Miranda warning, “You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, it can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a lawyer present during any question. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire. Do you understand these rights?”

Maggie was preoccupied with Debbie and Bruce's laughter and taunting. She could not stop crying as she repeated, “Leave me alone; just leave me alone.” She would have begun banging her head against the wall to stop the thoughts, stop the visions, but an officer was gripping her handcuffed arm.

Detective Becker approached her. “Maggie, they are going to take you to the police station. There are people there who can help you.”

“Why are you being so nice to her, Detective?” One officer asked as the other took Maggie out of the apartment. “She's the perp; it's plain as day.”

Detective Becker ignored him. “Bag the evidence and search the apartment.”

Maggie's brain had taken a leave of absence from its duty of rational thought. She was acting insane as she passed Ethel, not even acknowledging her words of 
getting to the bottom of this
.

Ethel went to the apartment door. “Detective Becker, I need to speak with you.”

“In the hallway, please.” He watched as the officers took Maggie down the staircase and then looked at Ethel and the tears of black mascara streaming down her face. “I know this may sound crazy, but Maggie did not kill Mr. Zimmerman. It's this place, the spirits in this place. I know you don't believe me, but could you at least consider the possibility?”

As officers began investigating Maggie's apartment, he said. “I'll look at all the evidence, ma'am.”

Ethel watched as officers strung more yellow barrier tape, blocking all the upper levels of the building. An officer helped Ethel to the elevator. When she reached the lobby, she looked through the window and saw a squad car drive away, with Maggie inside.

THIRTY-FIVE

A young woman wearing a tight black skirt and holding a tablet in her hand poked her head into Nora Bella's office. “Pendleton Books called while you were at lunch. They want a change in Dane Slegers contract,” she cleared her throat, “they want us to take a smaller cut.”

Nora Bella continued looking into the compact mirror and finished applying her red-wine lipstick. Then she checked her teeth, looking for pieces of parsley that may have lodged themselves in crevices, from the pasta she had at the deli. “Thanks, Yani.” 

She blew out a breath of frustration and began looking through her overflowing inbox of mail. She noticed Maggie's letter and picked it up, taking note that it was too thin for a manuscript. Its contents felt to be only a single sheet of paper.

“Maggie, is this your letter of resignation from the Raven Ridge series?” she murmured to herself as she tossed it aside. “I can't deal with this right now. I'll read you later.”

THIRTY-SIX

Maggie wore a dark green inmate uniform as she sat behind bulletproof glass in the county jail visiting room. She saw a line of visitors, mostly women; come up the stairs, Ethel was one of them.

Ethel looked around the room until she noticed Maggie sitting and waiting. She sat in front of the glass and picked up the phone to the side of the window, Maggie did the same. “How are you doing in here, Maggie?” 

Maggie shrugged. “They think I'm crazy.”

“I know you're not crazy and I'll keep in communication with that Detective Becker. Even though he has to follow the rules, I sense that he knows there is something else happening. I'm on your side, Maggie, and I think the detective can help you.”

Maggie looked down at the table. “I don't know how. The knife was found in my apartment.”

“It was 
found
 there; you weren't caught using it red-handed.” Ethel looked at Maggie's messy hair and drooping shoulders. She lowered her voice and said, “I'm working spells of protection for you, but the blackness that's attached to you is powerful. Just do not give up. The more upset you are, the more you fuel it . . . And them. Stay positive.”

Maggie's eyes were moist with tears. “Thank you, Ethel, you're a good friend. But I'm not having much luck staying positive, especially when I may be convicted of murder.”

“You're innocent, Maggie, and the truth will come out.”

“Even if the truth was to come out, Debbie and Bruce will do whatever they can to make me look guilty. It's hopeless.”

Ethel changed the subject to something more pleasant, even though no matter what topic she chose, it would be depressing to a person trapped in a jail cell. A new recipe she was going to try, the flat tire she had repaired, and the sales at Lenny's grocery would make a prisoner jealous.

The buzzer sounded.

“I guess my time's up.” Ethel leaned toward the glass. “I'll be back for the next visitation day. And don't worry about your stuff, I've got it stored in my spare room. Is there anything you need me to do?”

Maggie shook her head. “Keep working on getting Debbie, Bruce, and Susie away from me . . . and that dark thing in the monks robe.” She paused, and then said, “Sometimes I see them here in the jail. They're making fun of me and saying things to the guards. Can people hear them? I mean, the guards and detectives, do you think their subconscious minds somehow hear the lies about me?”

“Depends,” Ethel said, with a voice that scratched more than usual. “Most people have no ability to hear them and no matter what Debbie and Bruce may say in their ears, it goes unheard and unacted upon. But sad to say, some weak individuals can hear, at least a little bit, and be influenced by the voices in their heads. Other people who hear them take it for what it is, spirit talk. They either ignore it or go into professions such as mine and use their sixth sense to communicate with spirits.” Ethel forced a smile. “But don't you worry, I'll figure out a way to cast the evil spirits from your life.”