“She stole the wig.” I felt as if I should have stopped her, but since I was trespassing …
“Tulla is the same size as Kathleen,” Tinkie said. “Could it have been Tulla in the video? Could she have planted that wig to frame Kathleen? I’d never considered how much they look alike in size because their personalities are so different. And Tulla is always frowning.”
“It could have been Tulla.” The truth was, I couldn’t say for certain. I’d never given it a thought, but both women had similar bone structure. Between the wig, the sunglasses, and the high collar of the coat, I honestly couldn’t say it was one or the other. My first assumption had gone to Kathleen because I knew there were hard feelings between Bricey and Kathleen. “But why would Tulla want to destroy her friend’s car?”
“These women are like a pit of vipers,” Tinkie said. “They’d bite their own tail just because they’re mean. Maybe they were working together to set Kathleen up. Maybe Tulla hired Colton and then decided she couldn’t take the blame.”
“Then wouldn’t she leave the wig to implicate Kathleen?”
“Not if the purchase of the wig can be traced back to Bricey.” Tinkie shuddered. “It’s impossible to think like that kind of deviant.”
“And yet men find them attractive.” That reality bemused me.
“Some men. And keep in mind that crazy in the brain often translates to crazy in bed. Some guys don’t look any deeper than that.”
“And those are the ones who end up with an ice pick in their spines while having sex.” We both laughed at the reference to the Michael Douglas / Sharon Stone classic, Basic Instinct.
“Yea, Nick wasn’t the brightest lamp on the street. It seems like under certain circumstances, men lose the ability to use common sense and self-preservation.”
“Same is true for women.” I had to be fair.
“You’re right about that. So what are we going to do about Tulla taking that wig? Should we call the police?”
“I don’t think so.” We weren’t in a great position to rat her out. “We know she has it. If we need it, we can let the authorities pick it up.”
“Unless she decides to get rid of it. If it were me, I’d destroy the evidence.”
Tinkie had a point, but I wanted to work through the implications of what we’d witnessed before I called the law. “Okay, so the assumption is that Tulla wore the wig and then planted it here on Kathleen?”
“But then Kathleen ended up … drowned.” Tinkie’s blue eyes lit up. “Maybe she’s going to frame someone else. Someone alive!”
In a cockeyed kind of way, that made sense. If Tulla had set Kathleen up to frame her, and then Kathleen was suddenly out of the picture, perhaps she’d decided to use the frame to her utmost advantage and take out another rival. If Kathleen was even a rival. “We need to see if we can find a notebook or anything where Kathleen might have written things down.”
“Like a journal.” Tinkie stood up. There was no need to hide behind the sofa any longer. Tulla was long gone and we had work to do. “Maybe a computer. If we could check her emails or text messages, we could learn a lot.”
But we couldn’t. We didn’t have any equipment or authority and Coleman had no jurisdiction to ask for them—if he would even consider doing that. So far Jerry Goode had been helpful, but this would be a bridge too far for him. Even if Kathleen was dead, going into her devices would be akin to an invasion of privacy, and I didn’t believe Jerry would go that far for two PIs from Zinnia. But he would if she was a suspect in some crime—hence we found ourselves on the horns of a dilemma.
While I cogitated on possibilities, Tinkie searched through all the drawers in the den furniture and the dining room. I headed to the bedroom. We’d looked there for the wig, but I hadn’t been thinking about a thumb drive, disk, or journal. It was a whole new ball game.
It was awkward as hell, searching through things with our hands in the long sleeves of our shirts so we didn’t leave fingerprints. Tinkie and I weren’t in the habit of carrying evidence gloves or bags with us on vacation. Next time we would. Don’t leave home without them.
“Nothing in the den or living room. The dining room is clean, too.” Tinkie was exasperated.
“No luck in the bedroom.”
“She doesn’t even have a desk,” Tinkie complained. “No computer. How does anyone live without a computer?”
“With a lot more sanity?” I responded.
“Maybe, but we need to find something and get out of here.”
She was right. “Take the bathroom. I’ll search the kitchen.” Those were the last two places left.
“I can tell from standing outside the bathroom door she has an affinity for coconut shampoo.”
Tinkie was really into the girly-girly accoutrements. She could recognize a scent from a hundred paces, especially one she liked. “Just search.” I opened the silverware drawer and noted the organization. Again I was struck by the disorder in Kathleen’s bedroom when even her silverware drawer was clean with every piece of cutlery in the proper place.
I moved through the cabinets, checking in the cups and bowls to be sure a thumb drive hadn’t been stashed there. Then I moved on to the pantry. A terrible image from some horror movie came back to me—a pickled head in the pantry. I was almost afraid to look, but I did, moving things around just enough to make sure there wasn’t a little hidey-hole for a book or computer
