Secrets Don't Sink, page 10
“I don’t know what to do, Audrey. This isn’t me; it’s not who I am. I don’t do this.” He threw his head back and growled his frustration.
“Look, I don’t want to ruin your life. I don’t want to mess up what you’ve built, your relationship, your career. I’ve come blustering back into town like a cyclone, and now everything’s a mess. Whatever’s here,” I waved my hands in the air, “I don’t want it at the expense of hurting your…Emily.”
“You and I both know this has been lurking beneath the surface since you got back into town.”
“You deserve more than what I have to offer. You’ll have a good life with her, which is more than I can guarantee. Don’t risk that for me. I’m a mess.”
“Since when are relationships about guarantees, Audrey? What about you? Are you going to live happily ever after with Darren? That’s the kind of man you think will make you happy?” He pulled away from me.
My hands flailed. “I’m not even sure I’m capable of a mature relationship with anyone. Here I am with you wishing…”
“Wishing what?” He searched my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter.” I waved my hand dismissively and rose to my feet. “You and I both know it doesn’t matter. You’ve got too much invested in your relationship, and I’m a vortex of warped romantic instincts.”
“Why do you talk about yourself that way?”
“I care too much about you to allow you to throw—”
“Allow me?” He stood. “Don’t I get a say in my own life?”
His lips were so close I could practically taste them. His gaze darkened with fury and pain. It took all my self-control not to grab him and kiss him until the ache went away…his and mine.
Holden’s phone rang, snapping us both out of the moment. He leaned over to grab the receiver.
“Holden Villalobos. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, I’ll let her know.”
“Everything okay?”
“That was Joan. She said forensics is ready for you.” He rubbed his fingertips across his mouth.
“How did she know I was here?”
“She said she saw you come in and thought you might’ve come to see me.”
“That’s weird. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“You have been gone a long time.” Holden’s laugh contained little humor. “People around here pay attention, Audrey. And they talk. A lot.”
“All the more reason for us to be careful in how we interact.”
“Got it.”
His sudden iciness stung more than the heat slapping my frozen cheeks as I entered the building.
I took a step and stopped. I turned back to face him. “You know, this small-town busybody stuff could work in our favor.”
“How so?” His mouth was set firm, except for the corners, which tipped down.
“I don’t mean for us.” I gestured between us. “I mean in this investigation. Someone must know something. Marcus had to have shared his theory with someone, right?”
“Probably.” He exhaled. “We should talk to Renee.”
I grimaced. “You mean you should talk to Renee.”
“No, I mean, we should talk to Renee.” He mimicked my gesture. “What are you afraid of? You think she’s going to attack you right on her doorstep?”
“Possibly.”
“You go do your thing. Come back when you’re done, and we’ll go together. She might be helpful. If she goes after you, I’ll be there to protect you.”
He patted my shoulder like a big brother, the romantic tension broken.
“Fine, but if she pulls out chunks of my hair, you’re paying for me to get it fixed at the nicest salon in town.”
Chapter Twelve
I passed Joan’s desk and gave her the stink-eye for being a busybody, but if she saw it, she didn’t let on.
The Chattertowne PD shared its waiting area with the passport office, so it was often filled with a combination of applicants, witnesses, and those wishing to file a complaint or report.
The chair behind the glass partition was vacant. Two female officers stood in the lobby cooing over a newborn baby in the arms of a third woman. I recognized one of the officers as Kimball.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m here to work with the forensic sketch artist.”
Kimball smiled at the baby once more before extricating herself from the group. “Audrey, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Assistant Chief Kimball. I’m overseeing the investigation into Marcus Washburn’s death.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Why don’t you follow me back to my office? We can chat before you meet with Dani.” She entered a code into the keypad to the left of the door.
“Cute baby.”
Kimball glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, Charlotte’s our receptionist, which is why we’re a little short-staffed right now. Baby came early, and she’ll be out on maternity leave for at least another month, maybe longer. If you know anyone looking for a temp gig with the potential to become permanent, send ‘em my way.”
“My sister Vivienne might be interested. She recently left her day job. She waitresses at Nautilus, but she’s looking to supplement her income.”
Kimball led me into her office. Multiple plaques and awards hung on the wall. On the oak credenza behind the desk were two photos in coordinating frames, an 11x14 photo of a women’s collegiate softball team at a tournament and an 8x10 faded photo of a large man in a navy-blue police uniform with his arm around a young brown-haired girl. The girl appeared to be about seven, wearing a bob haircut with straight-edge bangs and a giant smile minus its two front teeth.
“Is that you?” I squirmed and pointed at the photo of the child with the police officer. Her chairs seemed purposely designed to be uncomfortable.
Kimball glanced at the picture before returning her attention to me. “Yeah, me and my dad. He wanted a son. He got me. Your sister, is she the cute little blond thing with big gold eyes like a Margaret Keane painting? Sings once or twice a week also?”
“Yes, that’s her.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Viv had caught the eye of many men, so it stood to reason she’d also grabbed women’s attention. Kimball was apparently one of them, judging by the blush which had crept into her cheeks.
“She might be a good fit. Have her give me a call.” She reached into her top desk drawer, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the desk.
I reached for the card and tucked it into my purse. “What did you want to ask me?”
Kimball pulled out a yellow writing pad and grabbed a pen from the black plastic cup on her desktop. “How long have you known Marcus Washburn?”
“We dated for a few months one summer back when I was in college. Nothing too serious, at least not on my end. We lost contact for quite a while. He recently attempted to reconnect online. I was hesitant, for obvious reasons. I didn’t see him in person until….” My voice caught.
“Until the day he died?”
“Yes.” I watched my hands fidgeting in my lap.
“What do you mean by obvious reasons?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said you were hesitant to reconnect for obvious reasons.”
“Oh! You know, ex-boyfriend…married…sometimes it’s best to leave Pandora’s Box closed.”
I found myself staring at the photo of Kimball as a child. Had that little girl always wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps, or had he pulled her onto his path?
“His wife seems to be under the impression something was going on between you. You sure you didn’t meet recently for a little romantic reunion?”
My head jerked back to look at her face. “What?”
Kimball’s gaze was hawkish. “Holden Villalobos mentioned you’ve got suspicions about Renee Washburn and suggested we look more closely at her. Funny thing, though, your name was the first out of her mouth.”
“What…what did she say?”
“She said she believed you and her husband were involved in an emotionally inappropriate relationship, maybe even a physical one.” Kimball scanned my face, like a human polygraph test.
“That’s crazy!”
“Is it?” Kimball tilted her head.
“Yes! I was completely respectful of his marriage! He warned me she might be jealous of me, but accusing me of this is low, even for Renee.”
“Why would she be jealous of you if nothing was going on?”
“She’s hated me since the seventh grade, long before Marcus and I dated. By the time they got together, I lived in Portland.”
“So, you’ve had no physical contact with him in the last few months?”
“I hadn’t seen him in years until I saw him lying dead on the dock.” Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“A witness claims to have seen a woman matching your description acting suspiciously just prior to the discovery of Marcus’s body.”
“Meaning?”
“She says a woman with long dirty blonde hair was sneaking around the building.”
I blinked at her three times. “Okay, first, that’s rude. It’s ash blonde. Second, I wasn’t sneaking up on Marcus. I have aquaphobia.”
“Aquaphobia.” Her tone dripped with skepticism.
“It’s a thing.” I jutted my chin forward, feeling defensive.
“So, were you there to meet him? Marcus, I mean. A lover’s rendezvous, perhaps?”
“You keep asking me the same thing, as if my answer will change. No, I was not meeting Marcus for a rendezvous, romantic or otherwise. I was running an errand for my boss, Nicholas Anderson. He asked me to go to the marina office to pay rent on his boat slip.”
I could hear my shrieky tone and was reminded of
Hamlet’s famous line “The Lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Judging by Kimball’s skeptical grimace, my defensive reaction wasn’t doing me any favors in the credibility department.
“Mmm.”
“You can call and ask him.”
“I will. Nick and I are slip neighbors at the marina. I have a liveaboard sailboat near his Bayliner cabin cruiser. Before their divorce, he spent many nights on the boat when Peg and he would fight, which was quite often ‘cause that broad is one unpleasant woman. We’d have a commiseration nightcap about our love lives, or lack thereof in my case.”
Kimball spoke as though we were girlfriends sharing secrets at a slumber party, not interrogator and interrogatee. My befuddlement must have brought her back to the moment because she reared her head like it had been yanked. She pressed her palm against her chin to crack her neck before returning her laser-beam gaze to me.
“Villalobos said you received a message from the victim the day of the murder. Is that true?” Despite the phrasing, it wasn’t a question but a thinly veiled accusation.
Still stinging from the affair allegations, I took a deep breath to regain control of my emotions before answering. “Yes, I sent a screenshot of the message to Holden. Didn’t he give it to you?”
“No, he hasn’t provided that yet. Could you send it to me directly, please?”
“Sure.”
Kimball shifted her posture and tone. “Marcus’s death must be difficult for you. How are you feeling?” Her concern seemed as fake as swap meet Louis Vuitton.
My brow arched, and my mouth pinched. “I’m fine. Like I said several times, Marcus and I hadn’t seen each other in many years. What I’m feeling, Chief Kimball, is frustration his wife is making baseless allegations impugning my moral character and the Chattertowne police department seems to be buying it. Did it occur to you she’s deflecting suspicion off herself and onto me because she had something to do with his death? If he and Renee were having problems, I was not one of them. If she has an issue with him messaging me, she’s jealous without cause…on my part, at least. I can’t speak for Marcus regarding what he was thinking or feeling. I’m happy to turn over his message because it will prove there was nothing going on between us, and I had zero motive to hurt him.”
Kimball inclined her head to the left and stared for several long and uncomfortable moments. Uncomfortable for me, at least.
“Assistant Chief.”
“What?”
“You called me Chief Kimball. I’m Assistant Chief. I do appreciate your candor, though, Ms. O’Connell. I’d like to see any DM or text messages between you and the victim. Saves me from having to get a court order.”
I retrieved my phone and Kimball’s business card from my purse. I opened the app, copied Marcus’s message, and emailed it to the account listed on her card.
“Done.” I shoved the phone and card back into my purse.
“Thank you. I’m not trying to be insensitive to your situation, but my job is to make sure whoever did this to Marcus is brought to justice. I can’t leave any lead or allegation unexplored. I’m sure you understand. I’ll take you to see Dani now.” She stood and indicated for me to follow her down the hall to a small meeting room.
The petite woman sitting at the conference table smiled as I entered. She had chin-length black hair, dark almond-shaped eyes, and a friendly round face.
“You must be Audrey. I’m Dani Lim. Have a seat, and we’ll get started.”
Kimball hovered in the hallway for a bit until Dani got up to shut the door. I appreciated the subtle power move.
“So, from what I was told, you had a run-in with a potential witness or suspect to a murder?” Dani asked.
“Two, actually.”
Her eyes widened. “Would you say you got a good look at the person either or both times?”
“I got a better look during our first encounter. I was paying more attention.”
“Man or woman?” Dani wrote on the pad and entered something into her laptop.
“Man. He was short, I’d say five-foot-six at the most, probably in his sixties.”
“Great. So, can you describe what you remember about him?”
Dani’s serene demeanor gave space for the tension from my meeting with Kimball to fade and allowed memories to surface.
“Kinda like George Costanza. Short, stocky, and balding with a thick reddish-brown mustache. Whatever hair he had left on his head was straight and dark.”
“I’d like to get more specific about his features.”
Dani pulled out a spiral book of faces and asked me to indicate those which looked similar to what I remembered in terms of shape, nose structure, eyes, and mouth. After creating an initial sketch, she asked me for feedback in order to make adjustments. By the time we were done, we’d put together a reasonably accurate composite.
I returned to Holden’s office and was about to knock when a conversation between Holden and a woman floated into the hallway. I stood outside the door for a few minutes debating what to do. Without warning, it opened, causing me to jump back.
While I’d never met the woman before, I’d seen enough photos online to recognize her long medium-brown hair and wide crystal-blue eyes.
“Oh! Hello. I didn’t expect to see anyone standing there.”
“Hi, you must be Emily.” I extended my hand, and Emily tentatively shook it. “I’m Audrey O’Connell.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall where we’ve met.”
“We haven’t, but you graduated with my sister Vivienne.”
Emily’s face morphed into a friendlier demeanor. “Oh, right! I ran into Viv at dinner a couple months ago, and she mentioned you’re back in Chattertowne. You’ve moved into her place, right?”
“I have, temporarily.”
Her forehead creased like three seagulls flying above her brows. “Are you here to see Holden?”
He appeared in the doorway.
Had she conjured him merely by speaking his name?
If he was as nervous as me, he didn’t show it.
“I am. Holden and I are working together in a semi-official, mostly unofficial capacity to try and figure out what happened to Marcus Washburn.”
Emily glanced at him for confirmation. “You never mentioned that.” Her mouth pulled at the corners.
“Sorry, that’s my fault,” I said. “I write for the Current, and I’m trying to keep my investigation under the radar. I need Holden’s connections here at City Hall. Also, since we were on the scene right after it happened and, of course, we’re both personally invested in finding Marcus’s killer, being his friends from way back…” The Lady doth protest.
Holden remained mute, with his face tight.
Emily became somber. “Yes, it’s sad, and scary. Makes you suspicious of your own neighbors. You never believe anything like this could happen in our small town. When it does, it’s disturbing. You think you know people and then you find out you don’t know them at all.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Hey, I’d better get back to the school. My planning period’s almost over. It was nice meeting you, Audrey. We should all go for drinks sometime soon.” She turned to Holden. “Right, honey?”
“Uh, sure. Sounds good,” he said.
Holden’s expression was apologetic. Emily smiled radiantly.
“I’d love that,” I lied.
“Great! We’ll set it up soon. Good luck with whatever it is you two have going on.”
I froze in the hallway until the elevator door closed behind Emily and then let out the breath I’d been holding.
Holden lowered his head. “Well, that was awkward.”
“Ya think?”
“Let me get my coat and lock up. When we’re done with Renee, I’m taking you out for a drink. Or two.”
As I climbed into Holden’s car, a black Lexus with tan leather interior parked in a reserved spot directly in front of City Hall, I called to him across the roof. “No wonder you’re not in a rush to solve the parking problem downtown. You’ve got the primo spot.”
He shook his head and smiled.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked. “Besides Renee thinking I had an affair with her husband and accusing me of being involved in his murder, aren’t we interfering with an active police investigation? Could we get into trouble with Kimball?”
