Maid of Murder

“Well, I’m seeing it, and I can’t ignore it. No one could. You need to file a report.”

“No,” I said resolutely.

“You could be in danger,” he protested. “Whoever did this is obviously not stable.”

I placed my hand on the warm hood and let my fingers trace the r in killer, such an ugly word. “I’m not in any danger.” I was certain that Kirk wouldn’t harm me. If he had wanted to, he would have taken his opportunity when we were in his hotel room.

Mains’s voice was gentler. He put his hand on my wrist, encircling it with his fingers like a bracelet or a handcuff. “At least tell me who did this. Something tells me that you already know, which is why you are reluctant to file a report.”

“Do you promise not to do anything about it? You have no crime if I refuse to file a complaint.”

He grimaced. “Fine. I promise that I won’t do anything without your permission.”

I nodded in acceptance. “It was Kirk.”

He let go of my wrist. “That son of—” he stopped in mid-curse and slammed his fist on the hood of my car. The couple playing catch glanced over.

“Don’t you think my car has enough abuse already?”

Mains’s eyes blazed. “I’ll have a little talk with him.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, using my sternest voice, the one I use to tell rowdy undergrads to pipe down in the library. “You promised. Besides I already talked to him about it.”

“You talked to him? Alone?”

I nodded.

Mains’s jaw twitched. “There was something you wanted to show me.”

I walked around to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. Mains peered inside it. I waved him away, threw back the tire well cover, picked up the T-shirt-wrapped frame, and handed it to him.

“Where’d you get this? Why do you have it?”

“Let me explain,” I pleaded.

Mains examined the frame and the photograph. Angrily, he said, “I’m waiting.”

“I found them in Mark’s office.”

He wrapped the frame back up but didn’t return it to me. Not that I expected to ever see it again. “When?” he asked.

“Monday.” I didn’t clarify that it had been just before he’d arrived with a search warrant for Mark’s office on Monday. We both knew the exact time.

Mains took a quick breath.

“Someone planted it,” I said. “Just like they planted the scarf.”

Mains opened his mouth to protest.

“Hear me out. You arrested Mark because you found a scarf in his apartment that matched the dress Olivia was wearing the day she was attacked. How could Mark have such a scarf? He hasn’t seen Olivia in years, and I doubt she was wearing the same dress at the time. There was no time for him to take the scarf those few minutes he was at the Blocken picnic.”

Mains tried to speak.

“Wait, let me finish. If there was no time for Mark to take the scarf, there was certainly no time for him to swipe this engagement picture. Someone wants you to believe that Mark stole both.”

Mains peered down at the package in his hands. “The Blockens haven’t reported anything missing to the police.”

“With the funeral and everything, something like this would be easy to forget. I saw Dr. Blocken two days ago, and he mentioned that Mrs. Blocken was missing the picture, so they do know that it is gone. Dr. Blocken told me that his wife was talking about reporting it missing to you. Maybe she changed her mind because she thought it was misplaced in the confusion and not actually stolen.” I took a breath. “Or, maybe she doesn’t want you to know.”

“I know what you are implying, India, and I know that you don’t have the best relationship with the Blocken family.”

It was my turn to protest.

“I’ll be sure to ask the Blockens about this picture; you can bet on that. But that doesn’t change the facts about the scarf. You’ve neglected to consider that Mark could have taken that scarf from Olivia just before or after he pushed her into the fountain.” Mains walked back to his sedan, opened his trunk, pulled out a huge plastic bag, and placed picture, T-shirt, and all inside. He zipped that bag closed, dropped it back into the trunk, and slammed the lid. “I don’t want you talking to anyone about this case anymore.”

“What?”

“Contrary to what you might think, the police can do the job. Those stupid cop shows will be the death of me,” he mumbled under his breath. “I won’t arrest you for the time being, but taking and hiding evidence is a serious offense.”

Gee thanks, I thought.

“I didn’t know that it was evidence when I took it,” I said.

Mains gave me a look. We knew this was merely a technicality.

“You’ll need to stop by the station to make a statement. I have to speak to my superiors about the mess you’ve created, but I’ll expect you within the hour.” Mains opened the sedan’s door.

“Won’t you at least consider the possibility of Mark’s innocence?” I asked.

“This is my first murder case; I won’t screw it up.” He looked at me, and an emotion I couldn’t name crossed his face. “If your brother is innocent, I’ll do whatever I can to keep him out of prison. However, I would do much better if I didn’t have your bumbling help.”

I imagined that comment was more of a boost to his confidence than it was to mine.

He squeezed my wrist again, so quickly that I couldn’t be sure that it even happened. Then, he jumped in his car and drove away with his lights flashing.

Chapter Forty-Two

My cell rang as I was driving through town. The feeling of Mains’s fingers encircling my wrist lingered as much as I wanted to ignore it.

I plucked the phone off the passenger seat and checked the caller ID. A picture of Bobby’s face rolled its eyes at me on the tiny screen. I smiled as I remembered that I took that picture during a particularly boring faculty meeting the year before.

Bobby’s voice was apprehensive. “I need to tell you something, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

“That’s an encouraging opening,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Okay, I promise, but if this has something to do with Martin Campers’ Week, all bets are off.”

“Must all our conversations revolve around the library?” he asked.

I stopped at a red light. “Nope. Spill it.”

“Bree’s been turned out of her hotel and needed a place to stay.” He took a deep breath. “So she is crashing with me.”

A pause. The light had turned green, but I didn’t take my foot off the brake. The guy in the car behind me honked and saluted me with his middle finger. I rolled the car forward.

“India?” Bobby asked. “Bree told me that the two of you had a misunderstanding over dinner last night.”

A misunderstanding. The woman was carrying a gun. I bit my lip and wondered if I should tell Bobby about the gun. Would it make any difference? Would it change his mind about her?

“Why are you telling me this? You’re your own man; you can spend time with whoever you want.”

“I know that, but things have been weird between us this week and I just thought . . .” He trailed off.