Grounds to Kill Page 13

  My cell phone rang and I jumped. The call was another from Arthur that I let go to voice mail. I told Mallory about my decision to tell Detective Kellum everything about Dad and that I was waiting for his call.

  “I’m so glad,” she said. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

  We were quiet again and my thoughts drifted.

  “He kissed me last night,” I said.

  “Detective Kellum?” Mallory gasped.

  “No! And may I add ‘ew-w-w.’” I shuddered. “Mitch. Right there on the street before I got into my car.”

  “Was it just a kiss?” She made a small pecking noise. “Or was it a real kiss?” And she made a gruesome display of sticking out her tongue and wrapping her arms around herself.

  “A nice kiss. More than nice. Passionate. Hot.” I felt myself blush.

  “Zelma said he loved you.” She smiled. “Do you think he loves you?”

  “Until last night I didn’t even think he liked me beyond friends, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It was just a kiss.”

  “A hot kiss,” she reminded me with a huge grin.

  “Yeah.” I smiled. It was a nice distraction, but more serious things were going on in my life. “Back to the key. How do we even start to figure out what it’s for? I do believe Zelma was right that it might hold the answer to Misty’s murder and not just because of what Zelma said. It’s a gut feeling.”

  Mallory nodded.

  “Well, you need to clear your dad’s name,” she said.

  “Thanks for not saying that I need to see if he did it, because I can’t see him doing something like that.”

  “I know.” She clapped her hands together. “Well, I say we go see Zelma.”

  “I don’t have the cash, Mallory.”

  “Let me do it for you. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

  “My birthday’s six months away.”

  “Really early then.”

  We were getting ready to leave when my phone rang. It was Detective Kellum.

  “I’ve got some information I need to give you. I probably should’ve told you earlier,” I admitted. “When can we get together?”

  “Now would work.”

  “Okay.” I paused. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Do you think you need a lawyer?”

  I cringed inside, because I had no idea.

  “We’re leaving now,” I told him.

  Mallory came with me to the precinct for moral support. We called Beth on the way and left a message for her, because she was in a meeting. We told her that we were on our way to talk to Kellum, and I was hoping not to get arrested for obstruction of justice or anything like that so we could then continue on our way to visit Zelma for more psychic analysis.

  I doubted we’d hear back from her. All of this was way beyond Beth’s comfort zone. Mine, too, if I was to admit it.

  The precinct smelled of gym socks and old man sweat. It may have been my own fear. Kellum kept me waiting for half an hour during which time I played games on my Blackberry until my eyes blurred. Mallory on the other hand just tap tapped her foot nervously until I accidentally-on-purpose stepped on her foot.

  Once inside the small windowless room, Kellum turned on his detective charm.

  “So you got information that will crack this case wide open?” he asked with a jack-o-lantern grin.

  “Geez, I hope not,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Why? Is this a confession? Did you kill Misty?”

  “No!” I took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly trying to compose myself. “Okay, let’s start with those lost dog flyers.”

  “Oh, I was able to unravel the secret of the lost dog flyer that appeared on your half sister’s body.”

  “You were?” I gaped at him.

  “But then, you already know where the flyers came from.” He stared at me expectantly from across the hard metal table.

  “Well, sure, I know where I got my flyers, but I don’t know where Misty got hers.”

  Kellum frowned.

  “You don’t think they came from the same place?”

  “No, because I got mine from Merlot’s, but as far as I know, she was never there.” I tilted my head in confusion. “Where did you think they came from?”

  His lips pulled into a serious frown.

  “I’m talking about your dad, Ms. Hamby.”

  “What about him?” I swallowed nervously.

  “Your dad was the one handing out lost dog flyers. You know that—he was coming to the coffee shop where you work.”

  I hadn’t counted on the fact that the detective was obviously going to be doing some detecting.

  “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” I said, trying to match his serious tone and look him in the eye.

  His fingers opened and closed into fists on top of the table.

  “Do you remember when I said a lie by omission is still a lie?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well the thing is, a lie by omission in a murder case isn’t just a lie. If you’re covering up for someone, that’s a crime. It’s called obstruction of justice.”

  “Look, I’m here willingly, remember? I called you.”

  I held his stare and refused to look away even when I felt like his eyes were boring into my soul and trying to suck out a murder confession that didn’t exist.

  Finally, it was Detective Kellum who broke the staring contest. He smiled, sat back in his chair and said, “Okay, go ahead and say what you came here to say.”

  I started from the beginning and explained everything that happened beginning with my fight with Arthur, my drive to our old house in Renton, and finding Misty’s door slightly open leading up to the poop throwing. Then I stopped.

  “Go on,” Kellum urged.

  “The door swung open and in that split second that I flung the, um, blob, I saw Misty lying there.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “The thing is she didn’t have a lost dog flyer on her face.”

  “What are you talking about?” He was on his feet and standing with his hands on hips.

  “It’s true.” I nodded. “I ran back to my apartment and called 9-1-1. If Misty had a flyer on her face when you arrived, it was put there after I left to call and before you arrived.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “He must’ve still been inside the apartment.”

  I could just about hear the gears spinning inside his head. It was killing me to watch him appear to click things into place and I almost didn’t tell him the rest. But I had to.

  “There’s more,” I said quietly.

  From under the table I brought up the orange Jansport backpack and put it on the table.

  “I went looking for my dad after you said there was a flyer found on Misty’s face. I wanted to...I don’t know...warn him or ask him about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything,” I said. “I didn’t find him and, besides, I haven’t heard him speak in years. But when I was out, I saw a homeless woman pushing a cart that had this backpack on top of it and I recognized it as belonging to my dad so I bought it off her.”

  Kellum snatched up the backpack and began going through it.

  He unwound the T-shirt that surrounded the picture frame and then held up the photo of me and Misty.

  “That picture...” I squeezed my eyes shut and a fat tear rolled down my face. “Was inside Misty’s apartment.”

  “This exact picture?” he demanded.

  “Yes. It was on the credenza inside Misty’s apartment the night she was killed and I found it inside the backpack.” I told him about how Mrs. Rudnicki let me inside Misty’s place on the pretence of getting the pictu
re, but it was gone.

  “You should’ve told me all this right away.” Detective Kellum sat back down at the table.

  “You’re going to arrest him, aren’t you?” I fought to keep back my tears.

  “We’ll bring him in as soon as we find him. If he’s as sick as you say, well, he’ll have to be examined, so this might be the best thing for him. He’ll get help. You’ve done the right thing coming in today.”

  “He was a good cop once upon a time, you know?” I looked up into Kellum’s face. “I don’t believe he did this. Yes, he’s sick, but I don’t think he killed Misty.”

  Detective Kellum warned me that if I saw my dad I had to call the police immediately and then he told me I was free to go. I burned Keds-style rubber out of that room and snagged Mallory by the arm, dragging her out of the building. Outside I took deep cleansing breaths and put my face up to the blinding sun to feel its warmth and defrost my shaky insides.

  “I basically just put a noose around my dad’s neck.”

  “No!” Mallory put her arm around my shoulders. “You had to tell him the truth, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “He thinks my dad did it. He thinks he killed Misty. Kellum figures he was still inside the apartment when I saw Misty’s body and then he took off when I went to call the police.” The words came out of me on a big rush of breath. I was breathing hard and my entire body was vibrating.

  “Stop,” Mallory said, placing hands on my shoulders and preventing me from walking any farther down the street toward my car. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself.”

  I tried, but air expelled from my lungs on a ragged sob. I was angry as hell and I was worried about my dad. My emotions were in the PMS zone times ten and I didn’t know how to calm myself.

  “Hand me your keys,” Mallory demanded. “You’re too upset to drive, and I still want to get to our appointment with Zelma. We need to solve this thing. We need to clear you and your dad and find out who really killed Misty.”

  I turned over my keys and was eternally grateful that Mallory was willing to go against her own moral fiber and drive my fossil fueled vehicle to help me.

  When I reached my car. I winced.

  “I forgot to tell Kellum about the spray paint job on my car.”

  “Do you want to go back inside?”

  “No.” I took a step back, took a photo with my camera. Later I’d send it off to the email address listed on his business card.

  Mallory drove to Zelma’s while I texted Fred the update about talking to Kellum. I also told him about finding the key and asked if he’d come up with anything new. He said he was busy at his son’s soccer game, but would get back to me.

  Zelma Turnquist lived and worked in an older two-story house about a half hour away. When we pulled into her driveway I asked Mallory to double-check the address. I was expecting at the very least maybe a neon lit crystal ball in the window. Instead, there were tulips in bloom in tidy flower beds and sheer lace draperies in the windows. It was a supreme letdown.

  Zelma greeted us at the door in sweatpants, a T-shirt and her long hair loose down her back. She looked like she’d just crawled out of bed. A mastiff the size of a small horse insisted on putting his muzzle in my crotch.

  “Don’t mind Zeus. He’s got control issues.” Zelma told the dog to go lay down and he yawned before shuffling a few feet away and taking over an entire sofa.

  We walked into the kitchen and sat down at a small round table, turning down offers of coffee and freshly baked muffins.

  “Then let’s do this thing,” Zelma announced, rubbing her hands together. “You found the key.”

  “Wow. You’re good,” I said, truly impressed with her psychic abilities.

  “When I called to make the appointment, I told her you found the key,” Mallory said.

  “Oh.”

  “But I am good,” Zelma said, snorting. “Hand it over and I’ll see what I can see.”

  I dug out my cell phone noting a text from Mitch. His message said that the Seattle police had been in to talk to him and the part-timer, Minnie, about a homeless man in the area. Handing the key over to Zelma I said, “If what you said last night was true, that this key will help me solve the murder, that would be great. I really, really need to know what this key opens and how it can help.”

  Zelma took the key, cupped it in her palm and held it out as if she was trying to tell the weight of it. Then she rubbed it between her index finger and thumb and frowned.

  “Unfortunately, this isn’t for me to know.” She handed the key back to me. “This is your game.”

  “What?” I looked at the key and then at Zelma. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Couldn’t you at least try,” Mallory pleaded.

  “I just did,” Zelma insisted. “That was me trying.”

  “That was you trying to take our money without doing a damn thing,” I replied. I stood up with the intention of leaving and never coming back.

  “Sit, you fool,” Zelma said.

  Reluctantly, I did just that.

  “We don’t have time for games,” I said. “This is serious. I’m not here to ask you if my boyfriend will ask me to the prom. I’m trying to solve my half sister’s murder.”

  “Exactly.” Zelma nodded.

  When I gave her a look that indicated I was ready to leap across the table and rip off her eyelids with my teeth Zelma continued, “This is your battle. It’s personal. Sometimes I get readings from objects, but sometimes that message isn’t for me. That key...” she pointed to the key still in my hand. “...wasn’t going to give me anything. It’s holding out for you.”

  “But I can’t get anything off a key!”

  Tears filled my eyes and I rubbed them away roughly with the back of my hand. Mallory reached inside her purse and handed me a tissue.

  “I don’t have any kind of a talent that will help me.” I sniffed. “My Hand of Doom only gives me messages when it wants. I have no control over it.”

  “You’re wrong,” Zelma said emphatically. “You just haven’t learned to control it so it comes and goes. I can teach you a few things that might help.”

  “I don’t have time!” I insisted.

  “Maybe we need to make time,” Mallory piped up.

  “You’ve just been wandering around in life and when messages come through the air they zip through you and you write ’em down. If you were more in tune with yourself, had more belief in your own ability and more faith in yourself, there’s a good possibility you could be more of a vessel for your guide and less of a fast food drive-thru service.”

  “That sounds...” Stupid and impossible, “...better than how things go now, but it also sounds like a life-long mission and not something that will help me today.”

  Zelma got up from the table and went to a file cabinet in the corner of the room. She took out a pamphlet and handed it to me.

  “How to Get in Touch with Your Inner Clairvoyant?” I read aloud. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Follow the steps inside and it’ll help. I promise.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do to help her now?”

  “We can try another way.”

  This time Zelma opened a cupboard. She stood on tiptoe and took down a large white crystal the size of a football and then brought it over to me.

  “Hold this.” She thrust the crystal into my hands. “If I can’t get energy off the key, maybe I can pick up on your personal energy. You need to hold that in your hands and concentrate.”

  I did as she asked. The crystal was cool and smooth to the touch in some areas with a few sharp angles. As odd as I felt groping a rock, I was willing to do anything if I could clear my dad’s name. After a couple of minutes I handed the crystal to Zelma so she could do her thing.

  Her thing, a
pparently, was to make a lot of murmuring noises to herself. Mallory and I shared an uneasy look as the psychic appeared to be having a very quiet conversation with her rock.

  Finally, she put the crystal on the table.

  “It’s not much, but it’s something,” Zelma proclaimed.

  “What?” Mallory and I chimed simultaneously.

  “You know the number 207B message that you’ve been getting?”

  “Yes?”

  “The key opens number 207B.” She threw up her hands. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know where or what that number represents, but at least we know the key is connected to the message you’ve been receiving for some time now.”

  Mallory and I thanked her and walked toward the door. Zeus had dragged both my shoes to a corner of the living room and had his entire mouth around one while the other lay in a soggy heap. While Mallory paid Zelma, I wrestled with a hundred-twenty pound dog until he gave up my sodden Keds.

  Once in the car I drove back to Mallory’s home in silence. When we got inside her phone was ringing. It was Beth announcing that she’d done something big that would help us all.

  “I’ve got a headache,” I said to Mallory after she hung up and relayed the cryptic message from Beth. “And I don’t think I can handle anything more today. I’m going to go back to my own apartment and veg on my sofa until Kellum calls and says he’s dragging me off to jail or announces they’ve put my father there instead.”

  “We still don’t know who killed Misty,” Mallory insisted. “So it’s still not safe for you to be alone. If you really want to go home, I’m coming with you.”

  She hugged me and reminded me to put the pamphlet from Zelma in my purse. A few minutes later, we were on our way with Mallory holding Mojo on her lap while I drove.

  I’d just kicked off my slobbery shoes inside my own apartment when I heard loud arguing from across the hall. I put my eye against the peephole and saw Charlie from Fresh! Fresh! Fresh! having a heated discussion with Mrs. Rudnicki.

  Mojo was tilting her head at me in a way that judged me for my sneaky spying.

  “You’re right. I shoudn’t snoop. And considering how screwed up my own family is, I’m not prepared to judge either.”