Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (12 page)

“
I
guess
Geneva's too busy to take down the crime scene tape,” Lia said as she, Terry and Bailey hopped out of Terry's truck.

“The way you described her, she sounded like an entitled control freak. Wish I‘d been with you. I'd like to get a look at her aura. Bet it's dark.”

“Probably is. Thanks for helping us, Bailey.”

“I don't mind taking a break from Cruella. Yesterday she decided she didn't like the location of the fig tree I put in last week. I had to dig it up and move it. Today she'd just want to move something else. She's in that kind of mood.”

Bailey held a garbage bag open while Lia stuffed the yellow streamers into it. “I suppose we need a plan,” Lia said.

“The garbage truck comes tomorrow morning. I vote we focus on that for today and worry about packing up the rest later,“ Bailey said.

“A worthy plan,” Terry said.

Lia unlocked the door and shoved it in. The three stood at the doorway, gaping. Books, CD's DVDs, dishes, clothing; all were scattered across the floor, topped by poly-fil fluff extruded from eviscerated throw pillows. Shelves were empty, drawers were open, plants were upended.

Terry whistled. “I wasn't expecting detritus from a category three storm.”

“Something's wrong,” Lia said.

“What is it, Lia?” Bailey asked.

“I could be mistaken, but I don't' think it was like this when the police were here.”

“What makes you say that?” Bailey asked.

“Call it a hunch.”

Lia pulled out her phone and called District Five.

“Detective Hodgkins.”

“Detective Hodgkins, it's Lia Anderson.”

“What can I do for you, little lady? Ready to ditch your wimp of a boyfriend yet?”

“I'm at Desiree Willis' apartment. I was going to start cleaning it out, but it looks like it's been ransacked.”

“That's what happens when your house gets burgled.”

“I think someone was in here after you removed the body.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lia surveyed the chaotic sea that was Desiree's belongings. “Well, for one thing, there's no room for a body. I see a broken lamp and an upended table, but drawers, bookcases, everything has been dumped. The landlady said there was blood in the living room, but I can't see it. I can't even figure out where Desiree died.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. In that neighborhood, there are sure to be scavengers. Might have even been the landlady.”

“What if it's not? What if Desiree's killer was looking for something and they couldn't find it?”

“What movies have you been watching? Think there's a CIA NOC list floating around in there?”

Lia felt foolish. “It just looks angrier than someone who wanted free DVDs and didn't like the selection.”

“And what exactly, makes a ransacking angry? “

“I don't know, it just -“

“Tell you what, Anderson, you take pictures of everything, and if we want to look at them, we'll let you know.”

Lia tapped the phone off, wishing it was an old-fashioned land line so she could slam it.

“The gendarme were not impressed?” Terry asked.

“Apparently not. I wish I knew what to do. He said to take pictures, but he made it sound like he wouldn't bother looking at them.”

“Taking pictures is an excellent idea,” Terry said. “I had intended to do so, anyway. It will give me time to commune with the crime scene.” He picked his way carefully into the middle of the room and pulled out his phone.

Bailey sat on the porch steps while Lia peered in the windows of Desiree's car. “What do you think will happen with Desiree's car?”

“I don't know,” Lia said. “I imagine some bank owns it.”

“Too bad. It's cute. I could see you driving it.”

“I bet the payments are cute, too. . . . You've got five minutes,” Lia yelled to Terry.

“What are you looking for?” Bailey asked.

“Just checking to see if she left anything in here,” Lia said. “It looks clean.” She joined Bailey on the steps.

“Do you really think the guy who shot Desiree came back?” Bailey asked.

“I don't know what to think. What could Desiree have that someone would want? Desiree's no spy.”

“Drugs, maybe?”

“Whatever it is, has to be small. You don't look for a pony in a teapot,” Lia said.

“When Terry's done, I want to see if I can pick up any vibes in there.”

“Go for it.” She stood up. “Ollie, ollie, oxen-free,” she called.

“Uno momento,” Terry replied.

“We haven't got all day. We're coming in.” The two women passed into the gloom of the unlit apartment. “What's taking you so long?”

“I'm trying to figure out the flash on my camera. I need a few more close ups of the gashes in these cushions. It might be possible to determine what was used to cut them at a later date, if the pictures are good enough.”

“Gee, Terry, you don't think the shears lying on the floor might be involved, do you?”

“Aha! a clue! We should bag these for fingerprinting.”

“They're going into your storage unit. Knock yourself out. Bailey, how long do you need to pick up your vibes?”

“I'm getting a reading now.” Bailey pressed her fingers to her temples and picked her way through the debris. “I'm not getting anger, well . . . some, but mostly I'm getting panic, a lot of fear. There's something under that. . . . Grief. . . . It's intense. . . . and there's something obsessive. It's weird, confused. Doesn't feel like a garden variety burglar to me.”

“Foil Man's upset because he killed Desiree? There's your clue, Terry. Who wants to hold a garbage bag while I toss junk into it? And who wants to put the books and DVDs back?”

“I'll straighten out the media,” Terry volunteered.

“No contemplating her reading habits, Terry. Just shelve them.”

“But we could miss something vital.”

“Doubt it. If it were important, the killer would have taken it, not tossed it on the floor. Bailey, let's start in the bedroom.”

The mess extended into Desiree's bedroom, though the theme of the chaos was more intimate. Underwear was everywhere. Empty dresser drawers were flung at random around the room. The closet door stood open. Clothes remained on the hangers, barely, and were shoved to either side of the closet as if someone wanted to see if there were any hidey-holes in the back wall.

Bailey pointed at a radio-alarm clock, sitting alone on the bedside table next to an upended mattress stripped of linens. “Do people still use those?” she asked.

“I guess.” Lia shrugged. “It's odd, though.”

“What is?”

She pointed at the clock. “It's still running. Everything else has been tossed on the floor. Why is the clock still there?”

“You got me.”

The tote Desiree always brought with her to Scholastic hung gaping by one strap on the closet doorknob. Lia waded over to it, tossing thongs and lacy underwires up on the bared mattress as she went. “How can one person need so many brassieres?”

Bailey picked up a frilled bit of yellow and orange striped silk and examined it, shaking her head. “The important question is: how can something so small support something so big? This stuff must have cost a mint.”

“Just because we don't need them doesn't mean nobody else does.”

“Just once, I'd like to know what it feels like when your boobs are so big they give you a backache.”

“Not me. I'll stick with my tank tops. Bras compress your lymph nodes and give you cancer. Underwires are the worst. I read a study that says so,” Lia said.

“That's been debunked.”

“If you read the so-called debunking, it consists of people saying ‘I'm a real scientist and it isn't true because it hasn't been proven to my satisfaction.' There have been no follow-up studies that actually disproved the original results, just people whining how the study wasn't valid.” Lia peered into the canvas bag. “They're gone.”

“What's gone?” Bailey asked.

“The foil dolls. All of them. She kept them in a shoe box and brought them to Schholastic every night so she could look at them while she worked. Or maybe she was showing off. I wonder if she carried them with her to A. Vasari, too.”

“You think maybe the police took them?”

“Doubt it. I'll call Heckle and Jeckle later and ask, but I bet they don't have them. Guess I'll ask at the jewelry store, too, just to make sure.”

“Who else but Foil Man would want them?”

“Exactly. This proves Foil Man was here. Will they listen? Of course not.”

“Do you think she had any contact with Foil Man before he killed her?”

“Don't know. Who knows what happened after he posted that YouTube video? For all I know, they were planning their wedding and Desiree was going to ask me to be her Maid of Honor.

“By the way, you can thank Trees for me, for pulling the video down. Shame it went right back up.” Lia grabbed some
Vegan Times
magazines and tossed them in Bailey's trash bag on top of a
Cosmo
and several jars of make-up.

“Yeah, he said that might happen, but it was worth a try. Anyway, I was thinking, maybe Desiree kept a journal on her computer and say she wants to access it while she's away from home, so it's in the cloud. Everything's in the cloud these days. Trees says that makes it easy for guys like him—not that he messes with private citizens.

“All you have to do is know someone's email address, and you can scout the different cloud venues for their accounts. Then, all you have to do is figure out their password. If you want, I can ask Trees to poke around. He can hack her email account while he's at it, maybe Foil Man wrote to her.”

“You say this like I want to get involved in Desiree's murder. Terry's the one who got us into this mess, and I do mean that literally.” She scowled, shoving more garbage into the bag. She tossed yet another underwire brassiere onto the bed. This one had tiny lavender dots scattered across burgundy silk.

“Umm . . . Didn't you just say you were going to make some calls about the dolls?”

“What of it?” Lia asked.

“Don't look now, but I think you're already involved in the investigation.” She looked around at the now cleared floor. “Should we throw the underwear into another garbage bag?”

“Not just yet,” Lia said. “I don't want to get it mixed up with the trash.”

“What are you going to do with it all, anyway?”

“I don't know, but it's too nice to pitch.”

“Why don't we save it for the Northside garage sale in August? It always brings out a big crowd. And if we advertise it's from Desiree's estate, we'll be able to charge premium prices for one of those brassieres.”

“Ghoulish, but true, Bailey.” Lia sat down on the bed and started folding underwear. Bailey tied off the now-full bag and joined her.

“Crime sells,” Bailey said. “We could tag those scissors Terry found as a bona fide clue.”

“I can see it now: ‘scissors used to rip open cushions during ransacking of Willis crime scene.' If we find the dolls, we shouldn't waste them on a garage sale, we should put them up on eBay,” Lia said.

“That's getting mercenary. What will you do with the money?”

“Scholastic is collecting money for a donation to Three Sisters in her name. Why don't we do the same with the proceeds from the sale?”

“Anything for the dogs. Merc away.” Bailey folded the last thong, if it could be called ‘folding,' and handed it to Lia. “That's about it for the bedroom. What—“

“Evidence! We have a clue!” Terry shouted from the kitchen.

Lia rolled her eyes, but got up to join the dogged detective anyway.

“What did you find, Terry?” Bailey asked.

“I missed it when I was taking pictures.” He pointed at the window over the kitchen sink. “This pane of glass has been broken. The rogue who despoiled Desiree's belongings must have used this window as his method of entry.”

“Why would anyone want to climb in over a sink?” Bailey asked.

“Because the side windows are eight feet from the ground and the front window faces Hamilton Avenue where they could be seen. This way they're on the back porch. What do you want to bet they pulled a chair up under the window?” Lia asked.

“You called it,” Terry said, peeking out the back door.

Lia looked down. “Geezelpete. Did they have to smash so many of her dishes? Some of this is Depression milk-glass.”

Bailey sighed over the loss. “I'll grab the broom.”

“
R
ough day
, Lia?” Eric asked, nodding at her grimy
Day Soldiers
tee shirt.

Lia was still sweaty, and she could feel the dust they'd raised at Desiree's clinging to her skin. She'd had to forgo a shower, with barely time to feed and walk the dogs and make it to work on time. She blamed Bailey's insistence on smudging Desiree's apartment. Bailey said it was necessary to get rid of all the violent vibes before they infected all the stuff in Terry's storage unit.