“Circumstantial,” I said stubbornly.
“People have been convicted on less.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“I agree.”
That surprised me. As did Cheryl’s sudden appearance at my side. I’d thought she’d stayed back.
“Hi, Bat,” she said a little breathlessly.”
“Cheryl.” Battersea gave her a nod. Interesting. He seemed to have such a difficult time using my first name.
“What about Annabelle’s little boy? What’s going to happen to him?” Cheryl asked.
I felt a little guilty about not asking first. But I was worried about my friend. My friend who could go to prison for life if I didn’t help her.
“Annabelle’s mother is on her way up from Arizona. She’ll be here in a few hours. Until then, he’s staying with a neighbor.”
“Oh, that’s good. Annabelle’s mom is a sweet woman. She went to school with my mom,” Cheryl said.
I breathed a sigh of relief that the kid would be fine. Well, not fine. But at least cared for by someone who loved him. Now I could focus on Portia without feeling guilty. Although I did. What if Annabelle had been killed because of the information she gave me? Then it would be my fault she was dead.
“Do you know why Annabelle was murdered?” I asked the detective.
“I know as much as you know at the moment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” He turned and started toward the dock.
“These murders are connected,” I called out to him over the bark of the sea lions. “I’ll bet you anything.”
He paused and turned back, his face expressionless. “Then find me proof.”
As he continued his stride down the walkway, I stared after him, grim thoughts swirling in my mind. “You better believe I will. If it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter 18Stuck in the Window With You
“YOU KNOW...” I STARTED as Cheryl and I climbed back in the car.
Cheryl groaned. “I’m not sure I can handle this without a drink.”
“Too bad. No drinking and driving. As I was saying, I bet we could find some answers at Annabelle’s house.”
“Maybe. But I’m sure the police have it under control.” She started the car.
I snorted. “If by ‘under control’ you mean they’re happy to pin The Louse’s murder on Portia...no. We need to find out all we can before the police get there.”
She banged her head against the steering wheel. “What if we get caught?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when it starts burning.”
“We don’t know where she lives.” She was desperate now.
“Ah ha! Leave that to me.”
A quick call to our bunco friend, Agatha, and not only did we have the address of Annabelle’s apartment, but the name and apartment number of her onsite landlady.
Annabelle lived in nearby Warrenton, across the bridge and down the highway from Astoria. Painted in whites and blues, the tidy units were perched on a stretch of land across from a small park. It would have been peaceful if not for the busy main road zipping between the apartments and the park.
We found the landlady’s unit easily and rapped on the door. It swung open to reveal a plump, older woman, perhaps sixty or so, wearing a purple and orange housedress with her hair wrapped up in a matching turban and fluffy pink mules on her feet. It was so stereotypical, I wanted to laugh.
“Hello, Mrs. Forrest?”
“That’s me.” She peered at me through thick-lensed glasses that made her hazel eyes appear larger than they were. “Who are you?”
“My name is, uh, Viola....Smead. I’m Annabelle’s cousin.”
“Oh, my dear,” she said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. It was supposed to be a sympathy squeeze, but she nearly broke my fingers in her enthusiasm. “I am so sorry to hear about Annabelle. Such a shock. I didn’t know she had a cousin nearby.” I was surprised she’d gotten the news so quickly. Then again, small town grapevines could beat the Internet any day of the week.
“We were on our way for a visit,” Cheryl blurted, “when we got the news. So terrible.”
Mrs. Forrest frowned as she gave Cheryl the once-over. “You’re not a cousin, too, are you?” Doubt dripped heavily in her voice as if she’d never heard of a multi-racial family before.
“Oh, no,” Cheryl chirped. “I’m Viola’s best friend. But Annabelle was a sweetheart, wasn’t she? The news was such a shock.”
“Oh, it was.” It was Cheryl’s turn to receive the sympathy death grip from Mrs. Forrest. “Sorry, how can I help?”
“Well, as you probably know, Annabelle’s mother is coming into town,” I said.
“For Timmy. Yes. Poor little guy.” Mrs. Forrest clucked in sympathy.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I was wondering if you would let me into Annabelle’s apartment to gather a few things for my aunt to take with her. We’ll get the rest later, but there were some items she needed right away, and I told her I’d stop by. I don’t think she can handle it, you know?” I gave Mrs. Forrest a conspiratorial nudge.
“I understand completely. I normally would insist on coming with you, but I’ve a party tonight and I need to get ready.” She blinked as a thought struck her. “Is that terribly insensitive of me?”
We assured her it wasn’t and, after several reassurances that we would be quick and return the keys promptly, she let us go and disappeared inside. Cheryl almost wilted with relief.
“I can’t believe that worked,” she whispered as we scurried down the stairs and across the parking lot to the building where Annabelle’s apartment was.
“It only did because this is a small town and the police haven’t arrived yet. We need to make this snappy.”
She nodded in agreement as we stopped in front of Annabelle’s first-floor apartment. The key was a little sticky, but we managed to get the door open and get inside without anyone noticing.
The place was neat as a pin. I pulled out two pairs of rubber gloves and handed one to Cheryl.
“Are you kidding me? You carry these things around with you?”
“I do now. Can’t be muddying the waters by leaving our
