Lavender and Lies Page 15

  "I only saw a shadow. It wasn't very big. I don't think you need to call it in, James. I'm fine. They didn't get inside. You came so quickly after they rattled the front door. Did you see anyone? Any car that was unusual? Maybe someone running down Myrtle Place?"

  He grinned slightly. "I like how you spun this around. Now you're the detective questioning a possible witness." He rested back, the first time his posture had relaxed since he arrived. I was sure my own shoulders wouldn't slide away from their new position, next to my ears, for at least a week. "I didn't see anyone running down the street. Of course, I wasn't really looking and it was dark. The rain was pounding the windshield pretty hard too." He rubbed his chin. "Now that I think back to the drive up here, a car did pass me." He closed his eyes to picture the vehicle. "It was dark and visibility wasn't great, but if I had to guess, I'd say the headlights belonged to a Volkswagen Beetle or a car like that."

  My hand flew to my mouth. "I know who it was and I think I've also solved the murders." I hopped up from the couch, newly energized and ready to track down a killer.

  "Wait, hold on there, you just had a big scare. Who are we talking about?" He pushed to his feet.

  "I need my coat. Gather the flashlights and meet me at the door. I'll tell you all about everything on the way down to the beach." I grabbed my coat and pulled it on.

  Briggs picked up a few flashlights but the look on his face was pure confusion. "Why are we heading to the beach on this stormy night?"

  "Because I think I know where the murder weapon is hidden. But we have to hurry before she gets away in that rumbling little Volkswagen."

  Chapter 33

  We'd gotten lucky. The weather had shifted downward to a light drizzle, and the thunder and lightning had moved inland. Briggs parked on Pickford Way and we climbed out with our raincoats and flashlights. Neither of us was particularly dressed for a hike on the rocks, but we didn't have time to waste. Briggs had put out the call to keep an eye out for a green Volkswagen, but we hadn't heard any response yet. First, we needed the major piece of evidence, the murder weapon.

  "Let me repeat this out loud so I'm understanding all of it," Briggs said as we walked along the wharf. It was a far less inviting place on a wet, dark night. And the clouds had not thinned enough to allow even a stream of moonlight for illumination. "You think this Michael Plesser, the man who was caught cheating a woman out of her life savings, which drove her to suicide, is Lionel Dexter. And the photographer, Heather Houston, is actually Heather Bailey, and her mom was the woman who killed herself."

  "Yes, and the fact that Heather seemed to be lying about having a book deal only bolsters my conclusion. She came here pretending to take photos of the lighthouse when she was really just keeping an eye on her victims."

  We continued to the staircase leading to the beach.

  "But how do you know she was lying about the book deal?" He turned on the flashlight so we could see the steps.

  "She told Marty she had a deal with Ballard Publishing, but she told me it was Shuster Publishing. I did some research and neither publisher mentioned any book deal with Heather Houston."

  We reached the sand. The storm had produced a white mist over the ocean and wet sand that gave the entire stretch of coast an eerie feel. I wrapped my hand around Briggs' arm. I still hadn't shaken off the major case of nerves from my harrowing evening.

  "I have a thousand more questions, but I'll go straight to the most obvious. Why do you think she hid the murder weapon in the rocks?"

  "That question has a multilayered response," I said as we trudged through the sand. "Earlier this evening, I decided to head down to the beach to see if I could find out why Heather sent the photos to Kate and Margaret." I realized then that I'd left out a major piece of the puzzle.

  Briggs stopped and since I had hold of his arm, I sort of stumbled back. "Heather sent the pictures? How do you know that? And why the heck did my team not know it?"

  "It's not their fault. It would have been hard to track down the origin of the photos, but I just happened to see a picture Heather had taken of the lighthouse. She'd printed it on her own printer, which was low on ink. Her blues were sort of green and her blacks were gray." I pulled him along. "We need to find that gun. I got Hilda to let me into the evidence room." I smiled sweetly at him. "I told her you wouldn't mind."

  He couldn't argue with that. "So you matched up the colors on the photo in evidence. Very clever, Miss Pinkerton."

  "Thank you very much." Even though we were traipsing across a dark beach, headed for a weapon search on slick rocks, I was feeling a million times more myself. "Anyhow, Heather happened to go into Elsie's bakery for a croissant, and she mentioned to Elsie that she had finished with the lighthouse pictures but that she was sticking around for a better shot of the sunset. I know you were stuck in a dreary old courthouse all afternoon, but the sky was clear at dusk. It really was ideal for a sunset photo."

  "That storm did move in fast," he noted.

  We reached the rocks. Both of us instinctually gazed up at the lighthouse. It looked a little ghostly, almost menacing, in the dark, towering over the rocks with its black hat and one big eye.

  "It seems you did exactly what I told you not to do, you confronted a possible murderer," Briggs said as he dragged his gaze downward. "She must have known something was up so she came after you." He held up his hand to stop me from entering my counter argument. "But you did a good job with this one, Lacey." He leaned forward for a quick kiss. "Next time, call me first."

  I cleared my throat. "A lot of good that would've done me. You weren't available for most of the day."

  He sighed in surrender. "You're right. And I'm sorry."

  I kissed him back. "That's all right. You showed up exactly when I needed you most. That was quite the fright. I think I need to teach Kingston to be an attack bird."

  He laughed. "Somehow I don't see that happening." He handed me a flashlight, and we aimed our beams at the myriad of rocks in front of us. They looked extra treacherous in the dark, slick with algae and dotted with hidden cracks and crevices.

  "I just realized," Briggs said, "you haven't explained to me why we're about to risk our ankles and possible our necks by climbing over these slippery rocks."

  "You're right. I got sidetracked. I walked down to the beach just before sunset to look for Heather. There was no sign of her at first. I didn't want to give the impression that I was stalking her, so I took a stroll on the sand as if I'd just come down to the beach for a walk. That's when I spotted Heather. She was coming from the rocks carrying her camera bag. This time her camera was not around her neck," I said excitedly. "That makes sense now."

  "You're losing me," Briggs said.

  I motioned for him to follow and stepped up on the first rock. He joined me but we split off on different rock paths.

  "The first time I met Heather," I continued, "she was taking pictures of Marty in front of the light—eek!" I shrieked and sidestepped an angry crab I'd disturbed with my beam of light. "I forgot about all the crawly things living in these rocks."

  "You were talking about the first time you met Heather," Briggs reminded me to get me back on topic.

  "Yes, that's right. Well, a wind kicked up and Heather decided to stop the session for the afternoon. She hung the camera around her neck. Marty wisely suggested she put it inside her case but she decided not to. I saw her a few times wearing the camera around her neck and holding onto the camera case. I think she was hiding the gun in her case."

  "Clever deduction." He stooped down and aimed his flashlight beam in a crevice.

  "Did you find it?" I asked, excitedly.

  "Huh? Oh. No, I was just watching this sea urchin. I've only ever seen all these tide pool animals in the day. Kind of interesting to see them at night."

  "Detective Briggs, I know you've been cooped up in a courthouse and suit and tie all day but try and concentrate. We're looking for a gun."

  He saluted me. "Yes, sir."

&
nbsp; Each step took planning and concentration. Once I found a nice solid spot to stand, I circled the flashlight beam around, looking for a flash of metal, anything that was out of place in the rocks. Briggs had his own method. He took a step and circled the flashlight around his body. His was probably the more efficient method but he was far more steady on the rocks than me.

  We worked in silence, with only the rhythmic sounds of the ocean for background music. It was an amazingly nice time to be out on the beach, with no other people or sounds to distract from the beauty of nature.

  "We should do this more often," I said. "It's kind of cool out here in the dark."

  "I was just thinking the same thing." He crouched down. "Hold on. I think I've got something." In my excitement, I took an enthusiastic step and slipped down to one knee.

  Briggs' face popped up. He moved his flashlight beam to his clumsy girlfriend. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Yes, I'm fine. What did you find?"

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a latex glove. The man was never without his supply of gloves. He pulled it on and his gloved hand disappeared into a crevice. It emerged with a pistol. "Jackpot." He smiled at me. "And all because Lacey Pinkerton is an amazing sleuth. Now, let's go catch a killer."

  Chapter 34

  What an adrenaline filled night! And it still wasn't over. Briggs got a call that an officer had spotted a green Volkswagen Bug at a gas station in Mayfield. He told the officer to keep his eyes on the car but do nothing until he arrived. We jumped into his car and headed in the direction of Mayfield.

  I felt my body press back against the seat as Briggs pressed hard on the pedal. I squealed with excitement. "Can we put the siren on?" I asked.

  "No, we don't want to alert her we're on the way."

  "Phooey. I'll just have to pretend there's a siren and flashing lights. I'm living out a childhood dream right this moment chasing down a bad guy . . . or woman. I guess I always pictured it was a bad guy because well, let's face it, men just do a lot more bad things."

  "Unless they are women who have no qualms about shooting two people point blank," he noted.

  "Yes, I'll give you that. Heather Houston, if guilty, which she is, absolutely falls on the side of bad. When you mention two people, it brings me to something that keeps scratching at the back of my mind. Heather obviously killed Lionel because he drove her mother to suicide, but what role do you suppose Glenda played in all this?"

  Briggs turned toward the center of Mayfield. "We saw them kiss as he was leaving the boat. It seems she was his true girlfriend and accomplice in his devious schemes. She probably just traveled with him and waited for him to do his thing. Then they both took off with the money and spent it on things like nice boats."

  "There's Officer Muir's car." Briggs pointed to a black and white that was sitting at a good distance and, thanks to a delivery truck, out of sight from the gas station.

  Briggs picked up his radio. "Officer Muir, this is Detective Briggs, I see the car in question. I want you to stay right where you are, nearby and out of sight."

  "Ten four, Detective Briggs. The driver of the vehicle has finished filling her tank. She walked inside the convenience store about five minutes ago."

  "Copy that, Muir. Await further instructions. Over." Briggs put down the radio and pulled into the gas station. He parked next to the air pump for tires. His detective car looked like a regular old sedan as long as you didn't look inside of it.

  I shot a glimmer of a smile at him, which he caught. "No, you can't use the radio," he said.

  "I was just going to give Hilda a quick hello."

  "It's past her work hours. Chinmoor is watching her desk. By the way, thank you for insisting that I eat your piece of her coffee cake."

  I grinned. "I'm generous to a fault."

  "Yes you are. I just can't understand how she can make everything taste so bad. I mean, it seems like you'd have to work hard to make things that flavorless," he said.

  I suppressed a giggle. "Poor Hilda and she's always so proud of everything she bakes. I wonder if there's something wrong with her taste buds."

  Briggs sat up straighter. "Is this Heather Houston?"

  Heather was bundled in a big coat leaving the convenience store with a cup of coffee and a package of mini donuts. "That's her. That's our suspect." I was feeling very official. I reached for the door handle.

  "Uh, where do you think you're going?" Briggs asked.

  I pointed in the direction of the green car. "I thought I'd help you arrest her."

  "Nope," he said curtly. "Stay in the car. She's shot two people and she tried to break down your door. She's dangerous." He climbed out and strode across the gas station lot. He reached for his badge.

  I glued my face to the window to watch. If nothing else, at least I had a front row seat to the action. More action than I expected.

  "Miss Houston," Briggs called as Heather was climbing into her car.

  "Yes?" She peered innocently up over the driver door window.

  Briggs flashed his badge. "Detective Briggs of the—" Before he could finish announcing himself, Heather dove into her driver's seat, started the engine and raced a circle around him. I gasped as he jumped out of the way of her car.

  He ran back to his own car and jumped inside.

  "Oh my gosh, I'm going to be in a real car chase," I chirped.

  "Fasten your seat belt, Lacey. This could get wild."

  "Gosh, I hope so," I said quietly, really only for my own enjoyment.

  Briggs shot me a sideways scowl before he focused his full attention on the road ahead. "Just a good thing it's late enough that the streets are almost empty." We flew down the street behind the Volkswagen. It was going at a pretty good clip considering VW Beetles weren't exactly known for being fast or aerodynamic.

  I gripped the edges of my seat as we took a corner so fast, I half expected us to tilt onto two wheels. "Wee," I squeaked. "Sorry, that just called for a wee."

  We were heading toward the highway. Even though this was my first real car chase, I was certain letting the suspect's car reach the highway was not a good thing. I glanced in the side view and noticed that the black and white was following quickly at our heels.

  "Lacey, hold on. I'm going to try and pass and cut her off." His mouth was pulled in a grim line. I had been acting as if I was on an amusement park ride, but the truth was, this was a dangerous situation.

  I double checked my seatbelt and held onto the edge of the seat. Briggs' car roared as he pushed the pedal to the floor. I was thrown slightly back against the seat. Suddenly, I knew how the astronauts felt in those g-force simulators. Well, sort of.

  Tires screeched and the outside world became a blur as we raced past the green car. I flicked my eyes the direction of the speedometer and was sure I saw the dial go past the hundred mark. Once we were clear of Heather's car, Briggs released the gas pedal and swerved in front of her before putting on the brakes. Heather reacted by turning her wheel sharply. Her car bounced up over the curb and rammed straight into a bus bench.

  "Stay here and get down in case she found herself another gun," Briggs ordered before jumping out of the car. He pulled his gun from his holster and walked toward Heather's car.

  I ducked down but then peered up over the window ledge. I didn't want to miss the action, and since she had only just ditched the murder weapon, it seemed unlikely she had a second one on hand. I definitely hoped so as I watched Briggs walk toward the car, gun positioned in front of him. Back up had arrived and surrounded the car. Heather had no choice except to give up. The driver's side door slowly opened, and she emerged looking as scared as I'd felt just hours earlier when she had rattled my back door.

  Briggs ordered her to put her hands on her head. She complied. She had given up. "He deserved to die," she sobbed. "They both did."

  Chapter 35

  I determined the scene had been secured enough and climbed out of the car. Briggs and another officer were searching Heath
er's car. Heather was cuffed and being watched over by a female officer as I approached. I almost felt sorry for her. She had gone through an ordeal, and it was easy to see how it might push someone to murder. My sympathy waned some though when her blue eyes shot my direction and her nostrils flared with anger.

  "You," she hissed. "This is all your fault. I should've known the first time I met you when that old lighthouse keeper told me you solved murders." Her laugh was mean and edged with hysteria. "I didn't believe him, of course. You don't look as if you could solve a riddle, let alone a murder." My sympathy was vanishing quickly.

  I grinned at her. "And yet, here you are standing in handcuffs. Shall I tell you all the mistakes you made? Hmm, let's see," I said before she could respond. "First of all, you shouldn't brag about a pretend book deal. Obviously, you concocted that lie to give yourself cover for hanging around town taking pictures."

  The slightest tick had begun to twitch in her cheek. "The lie worked," she sneered. "I had that old lighthouse keeper standing out there for hours, thinking I was there to take pictures of his stupid lighthouse."

  "You aren't even a good liar. You gave out two different publisher names. That was my first clue that something wasn't right about your coffee table book." I walked a little closer. "And his name is Marty, not old lighthouse keeper, and the Pickford Lighthouse is wonderful. If you were a real artist, you'd see that. But your head was clouded with revenge."

  Her icy expression melted some and tears filled her eyes. "Michael Plesser was a monster. My mother was the kindest, most wonderful woman in the world. She trusted everyone. She was funny, outgoing and desperate for love. My father left us when I was seven." A sob bubbled from her throat. "She was devastated and heartbroken. But she rebounded and went to school to become a teacher. The two of us lived a nice, happy life in a small house with our own vegetable garden. Mom was frugal and she socked a lot of money away in retirement. It's for you, Heather," she said in a wavering voice. "For you after I'm gone," she continued. My sympathy level was rising again. "She was so in love with him, and she was sure he loved her. I knew there was something strange about him, and I tried to convince her to break it off. Then she started handing him money, everything she had saved. Once it was all gone and she had nothing left to give, he showed up with that woman." Her mouth crinkled as if she had just bit into a sour lemon. "Glenda or whatever her real name was. She showed up at our front door in her expensive high heels and fur coat, holding his arm as if they were just going off to be married. He'd come for his things, his clothes, he told my mom. He let her know he was moving out of state and that he never wanted to see her again. My mom didn't eat for days. She got so dehydrated from crying I had to take her to the hospital. She lost her job. That evil man had charged thousands on her credit cards. The bank took the house, the garden.” She shrank down with each word until she dropped to her knees to cry. "He only spent a few months in prison," she sobbed. "Our lives were destroyed, but he went right on living the good life." Her head dropped and her shoulders shook.