Hometown Homicide Page 17

  For a moment, Frankie hardly recognized her. “Lookin’ good.” She handed Jesselyn her burger. Catsup and pickles only, no onions. “Do you think you can do something for me? So I’m not quite so…” She made a helpless gesture.

  “Of course. You won’t recognize yourself when I’m done with you. I see somebody chopped your hair.” Jesselyn scowled at Frankie as she took the Five Guys sack and dove in. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “Already did.” It was true. Partially, anyway. Wondering about the disc worked to kill a large portion of her hunger.

  “Let’s get going then. I only have an hour. Or an hour and a half if I stretch it.”

  Frankie blinked at her. “Will you be in trouble if you’re late?”

  Jesselyn only shrugged. “Barney’ll get over it. He always does.”

  The careless answer sounded strange to Frankie, who, after six years in the military, was accustomed to a stricter adherence to the rules.

  “So…” Jesselyn managed to say around a bite of burger, “any news about the explosion. Have they caught whoever did it?”

  “I haven’t heard a word. If they have caught anyone, nobody’s told me. How’d you know it was deliberate, anyway? Who told you?”

  Jesselyn snorted. “It’s all over the news. Since everyone at work knows I live in Hawkesford, it’s the main topic of conversation this morning. Barney had a television going for the breaking news. Susie Ray did an interview.”

  “She did? Yikes.” Frankie grimaced. Gabe was probably fit to be tied. “I hope she looked good on TV.” As a joke, it wasn’t much, but it served to sidetrack her friend from the main topic.

  Jesselyn laughed. “We should all be as photogenic. So what’s the story?”

  “Did she talk about being a hero and tell that between her and Banner, they saved my life?”

  “She may have mentioned it a time or two. And something about a car. I didn’t quite get that.”

  Frankie’s explanation took up the couple of miles between Jesselyn’s workplace and the mall. She wheeled into a parking space only steps from Macy’s front entrance.

  Jesselyn, still licking catsup from her fingers, hopped out of the Ranger more gracefully on her high heels than Frankie managed with her prosthetic foot. They dashed into the store, Jesselyn in the lead, carrying a list in her hand.

  A long list, Frankie thought, eyeing the page-length document with unfeigned alarm.

  “Bras, panties, socks. What size do you wear? What size jeans? I’m going to pick out a few things for you to try on, then while you’re in the dressing room, I’ll select some underwear. Do you still wear pajamas or have you gone over to nightgowns—or commando? Well, no. Probably not. You always were a Miss Modest.” Jesselyn, her pretty face intent, was all business. “We’ll hit Sephora for your makeup, and that’ll do for today. When you find a place, you can replenish your household stuff. Doubt if you’ll need any tonight. Personal gear is most important. Besides, we can only do so much in one lousy hour.”

  Frankie felt like a drowning person, underwater and out of breath. She hissed out answers, and by the time she made it into a dressing room, Jesselyn already had a dozen garments hanging over her arm to choose from. Resigning herself, Frankie removed her uniform and donned the first pair of jeans. Way too loose.

  Wise Jesselyn, prepared for all contingencies, had added a smaller size in a style with fancy back pockets guaranteed to add bulk to her skinny rear end—or so she said. Perfect. The keepers piled up on the dressing room bench, along with the cost. Her poor Visa. Frankie couldn’t prevent a whimper or two.

  A little more than an hour later, they were done—or, as Jesselyn told her, “At least we’ve made a small start.”

  The space behind the Ranger’s bucket seats was stacked high with bags and boxes—including two pairs of shoes Frankie somehow managed to purchase without either the clerk or Jesselyn commenting on her foot.

  “I’m exhausted,” Frankie announced as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Jesselyn grinned at her. “You’ve just experienced what we dedicated shoppers call ‘retail therapy.’ You’re supposed to be tired—and exhilarated. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  Frankie’s lips twisted. “Would’ve been maybe, if it hadn’t been for the reason behind the necessity.”

  “Um. There is that.”

  “Anyway, thanks, Jesse. I wouldn’t have known where to start without your help.”

  “I know.” Jesselyn’s smile was smug.

  They tooled down Sullivan and turned west on Sprague, pulling up at the office where Jesselyn worked. The pickup’s air conditioner ran full blast, blowing Frankie’s short hair into a halo around her head. Jess, in the passenger seat, fiddled with the air ducts, directing the strongest stream into her face. They had five minutes left of Jesselyn’s stretched lunch hour.

  “I found out your boyfriend’s name,” Frankie said, aware of how abrupt she sounded. “Matt Chavez. He sounds cool. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me about him.”

  Jesselyn’s lips pursed. “Maybe because I didn’t want anybody to know.”

  “Oh, please.” Frankie cast Jesselyn a mock scornful glance. “This is Hawkesford. Maggie knows. From what I understand, that’s enough for everyone. How do you think I found out?”

  “Damn,” Jesselyn said, but without real heat. She must have been aware the news would soon spread.

  “I don’t understand why you wanted to keep it secret. It’s not like he’s an out-of-work gigolo trying to live off you. Executive chef at the casino is a pretty impressive job. I heard he’s been invited to cook in New York at one of the best restaurants.” Frankie kept the words and tone admiring, which is why she didn’t understand when Jesselyn turned pink and avoided her eyes.

  “What?” she demanded. “Am I wrong?”

  Jesselyn fiddled with the air stream again. “No. You’re right. Matt does have a good job, and it pays well. He’s an ambitious man with lots of opportunities, and he’s certainly not trying to live off me. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, there’s Russ. My dear brother was pretty pissed at Matt when he—Matt—started going out with Denise Rider right after she broke up with him. And…”

  Ah, the jealousy factor. Never good. Frankie frowned. “And what else?”

  Jesselyn’s hand sneaked onto the door handle, as though she couldn’t wait to be gone. “Oh, it’s just that Russ would have a total fit if he knew where Matt learned to cook.”

  “He would?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Jesselyn pushed the door handle down, opening the pickup interior to a rush of hot outside air. She stepped down, finally meeting Frankie’s eyes. “Here’s something I don’t think Maggie knows and I trust you not to tell her.” Her pause was dramatic. “Matt was in prison. That’s where he got his initial chefs training. When he got out, he went on to culinary school. Anyway, I wanted Russ to have time to get over the break-up with Denise before this fact came to light. You know. Since Matt took over where Russ left off. Then it didn’t work out between them, either.” Her voice rose into a wail. “And now Denise is dead. And Russ…and Matt…What if he leaves and doesn’t ask me to go with him.”

  “Who, Matt?” Frankie’s mind stuttered.

  “Of course, Matt. Who else?”

  “Would you go with him if he did ask?”

  “Like a shot.” Quite suddenly, Jesselyn slammed the door closed and fled into the office building, quick as her stilt-like shoes would carry her.

  Frankie winced. Wow! That had been awkward. Her fact-finding mission had met a rather momentous bump in the road.

  She could always rely on Jesselyn to bestow her affections on the least deserving man in the area, laying herself open to unhappiness. Her previous history was checkered with broken hearts. Her heart, at least. Jesselyn always cared too much.

  Of course, Frankie had an equally checkered history when it came to blundering into her friend�
��s affairs. No wonder Jess hadn’t wanted to talk to her about Matt.

  But she couldn’t help wondering what crime had put Chavez in prison? Some investigation seemed in order.

  When Frankie got to the veterinary clinic, Dr. Kelly made time to see her. The vet smiled, observing the eager way Shine greeted Frankie. It was as if a load lifted from the doctor’s mind. She gestured Frankie into her office and offered a chair. “Do you have time to talk a minute?”

  Frankie couldn’t help a niggle of worry. Dr. Kelly’s smile seemed off. Had something gone wrong with the bichon?

  “First of all, Shine is receiving a clean bill of health.” Dr. Kelly alleviated that concern right off the bat. “The wound is healing well, and there’s no trace of infection. You’ve done a good job with her.”

  Instant relief swept over Frankie. She thought of Gabe. “I had help. A…a friend, and Banner, of course.”

  “Have you decided to keep her in a forever home?”

  A small foot pawed at Frankie’s leg. Shine, wanting a lap to sit on. Frankie picked her up. “Yes. I don’t know if there are hoops to jump through, but if there are, I’m willing to do the jumping.”

  “I’m so relieved.” Dr. Kelly’s blue eyes brightened. “I don’t think there’ll be any problems. I’ll just see to changing the information on Shine’s microchip, shall I?”

  “Fine.”

  “In fact, I’ll do it right now.” She brought up a form, asking Frankie questions and typing in answers. Finished, she turned the screen for Frankie’s okay and sent the document off into the ether.

  “Also, I wanted to ask,” the vet continued, absently closing out the microchip change program, “have you, or the police, discovered anything new about Denise’s murder?”

  “The police are working non-stop, trying to find the killer.” Frankie hunched her shoulders. The vet evidently hadn’t heard about the notorious exploding duplex or finding Denise’s car. Yet. “There have been other things happening around Hawkesford. It’s gotten…dangerous.”

  Dr. Kelly frowned. “What other things? Dangerous to whom?”

  “Me, among others.” Frankie spilled the story. Most of it, anyway. It was as she spoke that the program now showing on Dr. Kelly’s computer drew her attention.

  She pointed at the monitor. “What is that?”

  “What?”

  “The document on your screen. What is it telling you?”

  Dr. Kelly slanted the monitor, so Frankie no longer had a view. “You shouldn’t have seen that. Private contents.”

  “Yes.” Frankie moved impatiently, disturbing Shine’s nap. “I’m sorry. I don’t care who it’s about, but I need to know what it shows.”

  “Why?”

  Oh, Lord, Frankie thought. What should she do? Was it wise to talk to Dr. Kelly? It seemed a bit like stomping on Deputy Gabe Zantos’s toes. But if the vet had answers, a short cut to information, wasn’t this more important than a few toes? Besides, Dr. Kelly’s concern over Denise Rider and Shine seemed genuine.

  Frankie took the plunge. “I have in my possession a DVD. I’d like you to take a look at it and tell me what you think about the contents.” She spoke slowly, picking her words to avoid telling Dr. Kelly where she’d gotten the disc, or what she suspected it contained. If the vet was able to offer a plausible explanation of the contents without knowing the background, it made her summation all the more authoritative. And then, just maybe, Frankie would have something solid to aid Gabe’s investigation.

  “A computer disc? What is it?” The vet tapped her fingernail on the desk. “I’m a little busy, Frankie. Maybe you can—”

  Frankie cut across Dr. Kelly’s excuse. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  “Does it pertain to Denise?”

  “Please. I don’t want to say anything yet. Not until you’ve made an evaluation.”

  Dr. Kelly stared across at her for a moment, then slowly nodded her head. “Do you have the disc with you?”

  “Right here.” Lowering Shine to the floor, Frankie rummaged in her handbag and drew out the grubby case. She handed it to Dr. Kelly.

  “Let’s make it fast.” The vet opened the case, glanced at the title, and, with a puzzled crease between her eyes, slipped the DVD into the drive. After a few seconds, the spreadsheet blossomed onto the monitor. Silently, Dr. Kelly studied the columns, scrolled down to the next page, then more swiftly to the end, and back to the start. Biting her lip, she looked at Frankie. “What do you think all this is?”

  Instead of answering directly, Frankie asked, “Can you interpret those number codes?”

  Reaching for a book on the shelf behind her, Dr. Kelly lifted the heavy volume and flipped through a few pages. Finally, she slammed it closed. “Well. Definitely not smoke signals, but something on the same order. They’re CPT codes. All health insurance companies require physicians to use CPT codes to expedite payment. Even us lowly veterinarians use them for our patients who carry insurance.”

  Light dawned in Frankie’s head. Of course. God knows she’d seen enough of those on her own medical statements. She should’ve caught on immediately. “No wonder they looked familiar. So the names must be patients, the dates are doctor appointments, and the dollars are the amounts their insurance paid.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Kelly was frowning again. “Maybe your deputy sheriff can check, but I’d say—” She hesitated. “No. I don’t want to presuppose anyone. Just have the police see if they can find the doctor involved and check the statements.”

  “All right.” Heart-lifting, Frankie felt vindicated. “But just between you and me, what is it you think you see?”

  Dr. Kelly blinked. “Fraud.”

  Chapter 18

  As though on auto-pilot, Frankie drove into her grandmother’s driveway and stopped. Only after helping Shine to the ground and opening the crew cab door to retrieve the bags holding her purchases did she realize she’d spaced one of the main goals set for herself today.

  Rent a new place.

  For heaven’s sake! How could she have forgotten? Finding an apartment had been number one on her list. Or number one after Shine’s check-up, anyway. And dead even on the checklist was buying clothes. Then it had been important to ask Dr. Kelly about Smoke Signals. A glance at her watch did nothing to dispel the guilt. It was too late now to begin a search in either Spokane or Coeur d’Alene. But after her promise this morning, she wouldn’t blame Gabe if he kicked her out.

  What was worse, she thought viciously, her damn foot was giving her fits. She stumbled, burdened by an armload of heavy packages, over the paved sidewalk to the front porch. Something had tweaked when Banner dragged her away from the exploding duplex, and the muscles in what was left of the foot kept spasming. Tromping around the mall and trying on shoes hadn’t helped any.

  Banner waited at the door, bouncing his front legs up and down as though anxious his new-found friend might’ve pulled a disappearing act. Disgruntled, Frankie thought he seemed more relieved to see Shine than he did her.

  “Two-timer,” she accused as she dumped her packages on the dining room table. The table sat bare, without centerpiece or cloth to accent the cherrywood’s beauty, dull now from lack of polishing. Dust-free, but in need of a coat of wax. Remembering all the Sunday and Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners of her life, her hands itched to remedy the condition.

  Meanwhile, Banner, ignoring her epithet, led the bichon into the kitchen where he held the doggie-door open for Shine to pass outside under his belly. Frankie had to laugh. “You’re a regular gentleman, aren’t you? So helpful.”

  Kicking off her shoes and prosthesis, Frankie scrounged under the sink until she found the bottle of furniture polish Grandma McGill had kept there since time began. Selecting an old kitchen towel from a stack of rags in the utility room, she started on her self-imposed housekeeping duty before she could forget.

  The fresh lemon scent of the polish, still strong after her grandmother’s death eighteen months earlier, co
mbined with the repetitive motion of rubbing the table, soothed her soul. As she stroked, Dr. Kelly’s assertion came back to her.

  Fraud, the vet had said, her blue eyes narrow with what looked like disgust. According to the parameters laid out in the date column, over a two-year period, the dollar amounts added up to several hundred thousand dollars. Definitely a motive for murder. So what had been Denise’s part in the setup? She had to figure in the equation somewhere. Even Dr. Kelly had admitted that.

  Furniture well-polished, Frankie limped into the kitchen to put away the cleaning materials. In need of coffee, she ran fresh water into the pot and flipped up the toggle switch, preparing to wait on a caffeine revival.

  Having put off the moment, she was working herself up to call Gabe. Tell him what she’d learned and, in the process, no doubt, earn a butt-chewing for delving into matters without his say so. Well, tough. When the coffee finished brewing, she sat at the battered old kitchen table, took out her phone and dialed the number Gabe had given her.

  Closing her eyes, she waited, a little catch of anticipation roiling through her.

  “Zantos.” His voice sounded strong in her ear. “Have you got the list ready? We learned Pettigrew has an insurance policy for his renters, so you may be able to collect. The good news is we found a small fire-proof lock-box in the rubble. Is it yours?”

  Frankie blinked. List? Insurance? Lock-box? What in the world is he talking about?

  “Hello? Frankie? You there?”

  Gabe’s impatient question alerted her.

  “Yes. I’m here. It’s just—” There, on the table in plain sight, was a piece of typing paper half covered with a looping scrawl. “Sorry. I just now got your note.”

  She tried to read it while listening to him say, “Where were you? I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”