3 Bean There, Done That Page 14

  ‘Good. Then use it.’ I nodded toward the door.

  Pavlik took the key from the deputy. I couldn’t see the eye-roll exchange, so much as feel it.

  ‘Now, please?’ I followed Pavlik over to the door and watched as he unlocked it. When he pushed it open, I went to follow him in. The deputy blocked me.

  ‘Pavlik?’ I called after the sheriff. ‘He’s not letting me in.’

  ‘I know,’ Pavlik’s voice, moving away, said.

  ‘I have a right to go in.’ I was trying to sound ‘assertive’, but getting ‘tearful’. I cleared my throat. ‘I was married to Ted for twenty years.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Pavlik stuck his head back out and his voice softened. ‘That’s exactly why you can’t come in.’

  ‘Did you find him?’ I asked fearfully.

  ‘No, but I’ve only gotten into the foyer, so far.’

  He signaled and four deputies, three men and a woman, came forward. I stepped back to let them through.

  ‘You don’t want me to see . . .’ I hesitated. ‘Him.’

  ‘Were you going to say “his body”?’ Pavlik stepped out and drew me aside, leaving his deputies to search. ‘That e-mail could just as likely be a goodbye to his friends, as a suicide note.’

  ‘A goodbye?’

  ‘As in, “I have to leave for now. See you later.” You know, a goodbye.’

  I peered up at him. ‘That’s what goodbye means to you?’

  ‘Sure. What else?’

  I didn’t answer that. ‘So why would he run?’

  Pavlik looked me in the eye. ‘Because he’s guilty.’

  ‘Or afraid.’ I stared right back at him.

  The stare-down was interrupted by the female deputy. ‘There’s nobody here, sheriff. It looks like he took off.’

  This time I trailed Pavlik in, noting that all the lights had been flipped on. I was glad to see that Brookhills investigators didn’t walk around in the dark with flashlights like TV cops did.

  ‘Looks like he took the computer,’ the deputy was saying. ‘The docking station for the laptop is empty.’

  Pavlik shook his head. ‘How the hell did he get out of here without the guys out front seeing?’

  ‘The back?’ I suggested under my breath.

  Pavlik threw me a dirty look.

  ‘An officer noted a Miata parked illegally earlier,’ the deputy said sheepishly. ‘It was one street over.’

  ‘Let me guess: it’s gone now?’ Pavlik asked, disgusted. The deputy just nodded.

  ‘All the lights were out when I arrived,’ I said. ‘If he stayed in the shadows along the house―’

  Pavlik interrupted, ‘What else is missing?’ he asked the deputy.

  ‘Probably some clothes. Things are thrown all over the bedroom upstairs like he was packing.’

  ‘Or maybe someone was searching for something?’ I was looking into the kitchen. ‘The pantry door is open and cereal is all over the floor.’

  Pavlik threw me an annoyed look, but stepped into the kitchen. Bending down, he examined the spill.

  ‘Krispees?’ I asked.

  ‘More like Friskies.’ Pavlik straightened up with a piece in his hand. ‘This is dog food.’

  I squinted at it. ‘It’s too small.’

  Pavlik snorted. ‘You’re feeding a small horse. They were feeding a big rat.’

  I looked around. ‘So where is the rat?’

  ‘Must be with Thorsen,’ the deputy said, coming into the room.

  ‘Homicidal maniacs usually take their chihuahuas when they skip town?’ I asked.

  Pavlik and the deputy looked at each other.

  ‘Lonely homicidal maniacs, maybe,’ Pavlik tried.

  Yeah. And they pack them doggy bags, too.

  Pavlik was already on his cellphone, probably putting an APB out.

  ‘Tell them to follow the trail of Kibbles and Bits,’ I suggested.

  The deputy stifled a laugh and headed back to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, when Pavlik flipped the phone closed.

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘Undermining your authority.’

  This time, it was Pavlik who laughed and he didn’t bother to stifle it. ‘It’s going to take more than a dog food joke to undermine my authority, Maggy. These people are glad to have me. They worked for a sheriff who ate himself to death, remember?’

  I did. Sadly, the doughnut-loving cop stereotype was all too true in Sheriff Niebuhr’s case. "Jelly doughnuts don't kill people,' I intoned solemnly. 'People kill people.'

  Another grin from Pavlik. I was making progress here. And I was so relieved that Ted had not committed suicide by doughnut or anything else, that I hadn’t really thought about the obvious question.

  Pavlik did though. ‘So where would he go, Maggy?’ He was standing close to me.

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  Pavlik took me by the shoulders. ‘Think about it. Did Ted say anything? Did he give you any indication why he did this?’

  Did this? ‘You mean run away?’

  Pavlik kept his gaze steady. ‘I mean, kill his wife.’ I tried to move back, but he kept the light insistent pressure on my shoulders.

  Pavlik is half a foot taller than I am, lean and muscular. At this moment he could choose to pull me to him and kiss me thoroughly, or he could slide his hands together and crush my larynx.

  It was one of the things that fascinated me most about him.

  And frightened me.

  I put my hands on his chest and pushed back hard. ‘Ted did not kill Rachel.’

  I didn’t so much as budge him, but he dropped his hands. ‘I know you want to believe that.’

  ‘I do believe that.’

  ‘And you don’t know where he would run.’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Would you tell me if you knew?’

  ‘Of course, it would be a crime not to. Withholding information, right?’

  ‘Right. Spousal privilege does not attach to ex-wives.’

  Pavlik meant that I could be forced to testify against Ted now, though that wasn’t true when we were married.

  ‘You’ve never hesitated to withhold information before, spousal or otherwise,’ Pavlik pointed out.

  Low blow. And they say women are always bringing up the past.

  I opened my mouth, but Pavlik’s cellphone rang.

  As he listened to the person on the other end, I was busy framing my reply.

  Unfortunately, I never got a chance.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maggy.’ Pavlik slid the phone back in the pocket of his jacket.

  ‘Sorry? What happened? Is Ted OK?’

  My God, I’d divorced the man for cheating on me and here I was blithering for fear something had happened to him. Did this make any sense at all?

  But Pavlik shook his head. ‘That was our numbers guy. Apparently, Ted went online just before five yesterday afternoon and transferred all the money from his and his wife’s joint accounts.’

  ‘Five o’clock? But that was just after . . .’

  ‘He wrote the e-mail.’ Pavlik stepped closer, so close I had to tilt my head to look up at him. ‘He sent the e-mail, emptied all the accounts, including―’

  I started to interrupt and Pavlik held up a finger. ‘Including one with four hundred thousand dollars in it from the sale of some of Rachel’s Slattery stock. It was money she’d planned to spend on an addition to the house, according to her brother.’

  ‘The nursery,’ I said, not daring to breathe. Or maybe the nursery wing, at that price. None of this made any sense.

  ‘Yes.’ He put his hands on my shoulders again. ‘He killed his pregnant wife by battering her face and tossing her into Lake Michigan. Then he stole the money she’d put aside for the baby’s nursery, plus everything else they had that was liquid – a total of about half a million – and ran.’

  He put his index finger under my chin and forced me to look up at h
im. ‘I know it’s hard to believe that the man you lived with for twenty years is a monster, but he is.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Frank met me at the door. I was still wearing my Little Black Dress from dinner hours earlier. Nonetheless, I slid down on to the floor and hugged him.

  ‘What do we do now, Frank?’ I said into his furry ear. ‘My God, what do we tell Eric?’

  Frank, expecting me to act the way I usually did when I was wearing something that attracted dog hair, pulled back and regarded me suspiciously.

  At least it showed he had better instincts than I did.

  Talk about a malfunctioning radar. I was suspicious and a little afraid of Pavlik, who was on the periphery of my life. Ted, on the other hand, had been my life for a lot of years. And he was a murderer. And a thief.

  How do you live with someone for twenty years and not see it? Shouldn’t I have turned suddenly and caught him with an evil glimmer in his eyes? Shouldn’t he have kicked a cat? Stiffed a waitress? Something?

  But maybe Ted had just snapped. ‘Good timing for that,’ I said aloud. ‘If you’re going to snap and kill someone, do it when they have half a million dollars lying around.’

  I wondered when they would arrest him. The crime had taken place in Milwaukee, but Ted lived in Brookhills. Would Pavlik be there? Would he let me know? And when would I tell Eric? How would I tell Eric?

  I glanced at my son’s pictures on the fireplace mantle. I never considered myself much of a parent. I wasn’t the Kool-Aid mom or even the cool mom. I was the mom who was feeling her way through, learning as she went.

  The one thing I did know early on was that I would die to protect my son. Being a fairly self-centered person, that took a while to get used to. So did the realization that even so, I couldn’t keep him entirely safe.

  Especially if the evil had lived in our house.

  ‘How do I tell Eric?’ I asked Frank, who had given up and was now sitting next to me, both of our backs against the door.

  Frank licked my nose.

  I sniffed. Probably not the smartest thing, but the inhalation of sheepdog spit didn’t seem like a big deal right now.

  Eric was a five-hour drive away. It was one thirty in the morning. If I left now, I could be there before he woke up. Break the news to him in person, before he saw it on television or the newspaper.

  How would he take it?

  I was divorced from Ted and I was horrified by what Pavlik had told me. Add the fact that Eric was Ted’s flesh and blood . . .

  ‘Maybe I could tell Eric I had an affair and Ted isn’t his father,’ I said. ‘That way he won’t worry he has evil genes.’ Frank swiveled his head around to give me a look of canine disdain.

  ‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘Layering on fictional trauma on top of real trauma probably won’t help matters. What if I―’

  My purse, tucked between Frank and me, beeped.

  Frank and I looked at it. ‘You answer it,’ I said.

  He cocked his head.

  No help forthcoming from Frank, I dug the purse out from between us and then the cellphone from within the purse. ‘Call from Eric’ the screen said.

  As I went to open it, the ringing stopped. A reprieve for now, but I certainly wouldn’t have time to drive up to Minneapolis before he tried again.

  Eric was worried and I needed to call him back. First, though I’d figure out what I’d say. Maybe, I would―

  Beep beep. ‘Call from Eric’ flashed in my hand.

  Frank put his paw on my hand. ‘I’m getting it,’ I told him, and flipped the phone open.

  Before I had a chance to say ‘hello’, I heard, ‘Why do you have a cellphone if you never answer it?’

  Fair enough question, but better saved for another day. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told him, ‘but it stopped ringing before I could get to it. I was going to call you back.’

  ‘I’ve been going crazy. Did you find Dad? Is he OK?’

  ‘He’s gone, Eric.’

  ‘Gone?’ It was almost a sob.

  Geez, what an idiot I was. ‘No, no. I mean, he’s fine, as far as I know. It’s just―’

  An explosive sigh of relief on the other end interrupted me. ‘Thank God. I was afraid . . . well, you know.’

  ‘I do,’ I said gently. ‘I was worried about the same thing.’

  ‘So you said he’s gone. Where?’

  ‘I don’t know. The sheriff’s department is looking for him.’

  ‘You called the police?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘No, but Pavlik arrived just after I did. He saw the e-mail, too.’

  ‘Great.’ Eric sounded more perturbed than worried now. ‘Just what Dad needs is your boyfriend on his tail.’

  I didn’t say anything to that, but Eric kept right on going. ‘Why did Dad run anyway? Now everyone will think he really did it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He must have heard something in my voice. Or maybe a lack of something. ‘You think he did it, too? How can you say that?’

  Hearing Eric’s raised voice, Frank sniffed at the phone.

  ‘I don’t know what else to believe,’ I said. ‘He transferred all the money out of their accounts.’

  ‘Of course he did,’ Eric said angrily. ‘How else is he going to live on the lam. Even if he went up to―’

  He stopped.

  ‘Up where?’ I asked.

  ‘I was thinking Canada, like that that Lawrencia Bembenek chick did, but he’d need a passport now, right?’

  It was true that if you drove northwest, Thunder Bay, Ontario, was only about a ten-hour drive. Canada was even closer if you went east via Detroit. Either way, though, Eric was right, Ted would need a passport.

  ‘He has a passport,’ I said. ‘He and Rachel went to Dubai on their honeymoon. But I assume the police will put out some sort of alert at the border.’

  ‘Maybe he already made it across.’ Eric sounded hopeful.

  Me, I was doubtful. ‘Maybe. If he didn’t hit traffic in Chicago and drove around the lake and up to Detroit, it would take him about six, six and a half hours to get to Windsor.’

  ‘So if he left just after he sent the e-mail, he could already be there.’

  ‘He could.’ I didn’t add that it would have taken Ted at least a little time to transfer the money to somewhere he’d be able to pick it up. I also didn’t say it totaled a half million dollars. I doubted the authorities would release the amount, so I thought I was safe in withholding the information.

  ‘What car did he take?’

  ‘The Miata, I think.’ I said, a little surprised at the question.

  ‘That was stupid. The Saab gets better gas mileage.’

  ‘True.’ Then there was Rachel’s Escalade, which was still missing. If Ted had killed Rachel, he’d also hidden the SUV somewhere.

  When Eric didn’t say anything, I asked. ‘Are you OK, kiddo?’ It was a stupid question, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK. Just thinking.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Listen, Mom, it’s awful late and I have two exams tomorrow.’

  ‘You go to bed,’ I said, relieved to have the conversation over. ‘I’ll call you when I hear something.’

  ‘Or text,’ Eric suggested. ‘I can pick up a text in class.’

  My journalism professor would roll over in his grave. Assuming he was dead. ‘Gotcha. It’s going to be all right, Eric.’

  ‘I know it is, Mom,’ he said.

  We were both quiet.

  ‘Dad didn’t kill her,’ Eric said after a moment. ‘You know that, right?’ He sounded more like the parent than the kid.

  ‘I know,’ I said, and hung up. Then I patted Frank on the head. ‘If I’m willing to die to protect him, I should also be willing to lie, right?’

  Frank shook his head, stood up and padded off to bed.

  I was reminded that I hadn’t taken Frank out the night before, when he woke me at five a.m. This normally wouldn’t be a hardship, but Wednesday was the one day
that I could sleep in late. I worked ten a.m. to closing.

  I’d had one of those ‘it was just a dream’ moments when I awakened, only to realize it wasn’t. Once awake, I couldn’t get back to sleep. So what does one do at five a.m., when you need to knock the cobwebs out?

  You take your big ol’ sheepdog for a run.

  It had been a while since either Frank or I had run so I wasn’t sure how either of us would fare. To my surprise, it was like riding a bike. You don’t forget. Frank remembered to drag me and I remembered to hang on to the leash.

  All told, we did about two miles and I was feeling pretty virtuous but the time I’d showered and arrived at Uncommon Grounds. Not good, you understand. Virtuous.

  I was working with Amy, who gave me a sympathetic hug when I came in. The fact I’d missed the commuter hours between six thirty and eight thirty meant I was spared the line out the door, each person with a different version of the news reports I’d been avoiding.

  What I couldn’t avoid, though, were the tennis moms. We had two tables of them. One tableful was wearing identical turquoise tops and black skirts. The others sported black and white – two women in black skirts and white tops, one in a white skirt and black top, and one in a white golf shirt with black shorts.

  What this all said to the discerning Brookhills observer was that the players at table A (matching turquoise and black) were seasoned veterans of both tennis and tennis fashion and those at table B (black and white) were newbies. Essentially, the elite and the townies.

  Brookhills, though, was nothing if not upwardly mobile. By next year, Townie Table B would be flaunting their matching Sport à la mode outfits and looking down their rackets at the new newbies.

  I love America.

  Seated at table A was Sophie, who was more tennis grandma than mom. When I saw her trying to catch my eye, I signaled her over.

  ‘I don’t mean to pry,’ she said, ‘but they said on the news that the police are looking for Ted. Are you all right?’ Even Sophie couldn’t quite keep a straight face on the ‘pry’ issue, but something about her smile looked odd.

  ‘Did you get Botoxed?’ I asked.

  She glanced around furtively and leaned across the counter to whisper. ‘Vickie had a Botox party last night and I got a free trial. Don’t you think it’s amazing? Look.’ She ran her finger up and down her forehead just above her nose. ‘The vertical wrinkle is gone.’