Cracks beneath the surfa.., p.7
Cracks Beneath the Surface, page 7
Laurent wandered into the bedroom. The room was large with a king-size bed in the middle. The bed was made, the down comforter a pale gray geometric pattern. Nightstands stood on either side of the bed, and on an opposite wall was a chest of drawers and dresser with attached mirror. Laurent walked to the closest nightstand and picked up the framed family photo. Aubrey and Doug had their arms slung around each of their boys. She didn’t recognize the background. She picked up the other framed picture and saw a look-alike Keith smiling at her. Must be Andrew and his family. She returned both pictures to the nightstand. Stacked against the wall to Laurent’s left was a row of boxes, neatly labeled, and two bulging suitcases.
A short hallway with walk-in closets on either side led to a full bathroom. Separate toilet room, bathtub, shower, and double sink vanity. Two boxes sat on the floor next to the vanity. Laurent opened the linen closet. Towels, sheets, cleaning supplies. Lisa was all set to move in. Just hadn’t unpacked.
Laurent left the bathroom and opened the nearest closet door. Pants and shirts hung on hangers, shoes on the floor, and a stack of sealed boxes took up most of the back wall. More boxes filled the shelf above the hanging clothes. The image of Lisa’s bedroom on Cardinal Street floated in her mind. Such a difference.
After searching the closets and bathroom, Laurent plopped into the chair next to the bay window and stared out. Vickie’s house sat on five acres with the entire lot lined with huge old trees. From the en suite bedroom window, she looked at the empty cornfield and a circular drive in the rear of the house. Two rectangular garages, each large enough to house six cars, sat on either side of the drive. Enough for twelve vehicles. Laurent wondered if Vickie or her husband collected cars. Glancing at her watch, she decided to call it quits for the day. Pizza with Randi, her daughter, was next on her schedule.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAURENT GAZED AT her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A touch of mascara, some lipstick. After her shower, she had left her long black hair unbraided and it lay on her shoulders in waves. I don’t understand why I’m so nervous. Ever since Randi had contacted her, Laurent realized that getting to know her daughter was a gift, a rare opportunity for which she was grateful. She intended to grab it.
“Tell me about my father.”
Laurent gagged on her pizza and held up a hand. After swallowing a mouthful of ice tea, she swiped a napkin across her mouth. It was Monday night. She had driven south to Charlotte’s Pizza, and after spending the day interviewing suspects, she was happy not to think about murder for the evening. Randi’s demand caught her off-guard.
“You didn’t list a name on my birth certificate. Do you even know who my father is?” Her daughter leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
The silent accusation hung between the two women.
There’s no good way to answer her question. Laurent shredded the paper napkin in her lap. “I know who your father is.”
“Is he alive?”
Laurent nodded. “I’m not sure telling you is a good idea.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
“I’m trying to protect you,” Laurent said.
“I don’t need protecting,” Randi shot back.
“He left me, pregnant and broke. He got me thrown out of the orchestra. I don’t have anything good to say about him.”
“He’s a musician?”
Laurent stared at the plastic tablecloth. She wanted to reach over and squeeze Randi’s hand but was afraid of the response. So far, she and Randi hadn’t touched or hugged or even shaken hands. “I think you and your parents are very brave. It takes courage to seek out biological parents without hurting the adopted parents’ feelings. I admire them. That being said, they may be afraid they’ll lose you.”
“Mom and Dad are not insecure. They know I love them and always will. Adding you into my life doesn’t change that, and knowing who my father is won’t change that either.”
“It might.”
“He can’t be that bad.” Randi picked up a breadstick and dipped it into the marinara sauce. “Did he ask you to marry him?”
“He was selfish and arrogant, and I doubt he’s changed. And no, he never asked.”
“I think I should be the judge of that.” Randi wiped her chin. “You don’t trust me.”
“We haven’t known each other for very long. I have no idea how you’ll react.”
“Is he in prison?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Why are you so reluctant to tell me his name?” Randi asked.
“I’m afraid he’ll be cruel and mean to you.”
“You’re just afraid.”
Laurent pushed her plate away, appetite gone. She had hoped to build on their previous lunch date and now it looked as though she’d lost Randi before she ever had the chance to know her.
“David Lucroy.”
“My biological father is a world-renowned violinist?”
That did not go well. After finishing their meal, the two women said goodbye with no mention of a future meeting. Laurent walked slowly back to her little red pickup truck and started the long drive north. Now what? I guess I’ll have to wait for her to contact me and hope and pray Lucroy is the same selfish bastard he always was. What if he sweet-talks her and she believes him? He can be charming if he wants to. What if he carries a grudge against me? Sees this as a way to hurt me even more. Why should he carry a grudge? He got off scot-free. What would happen if I contacted him first? No. I’m not calling that asshole.
What am I going to do if Randi decides she doesn’t want to see me anymore? That she doesn’t need me in her life? That I was just a curiosity? An itch? And I haven’t even told her about the mess of a family she’d inherit. Her adoptive parents have been good to her, and she doesn’t need me or Joelle or Lucroy. Well, no one needs him.
What’s he going to say about me? That I’m stupid? Delusional? Untalented? What if he offers to further Randi’s musical career? If he does that, I’ve lost. Again.
Laurent clicked on her right blinker and pulled off the road onto the shoulder, her tears blurring her vision. She drew in a sharp breath. I love my daughter. I always have. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER TWELVE
“AUBREY, I GOTTA talk to you.” Doug Holmes put the fireplace poker in the holder and sank onto the couch.
“What now? Can’t you see I’m exhausted?” Aubrey said.
“I know you are, but this can’t wait.”
“How much is it this time?” Aubrey dropped into her corner chair and pulled the throw pillow to her chest. These conversations with Doug never went well and were always about money.
“Thirty thousand.”
“What the fuck?” She threw the pillow at him.
“College basketball.”
Aubrey stared at her husband; her breath caught in her chest. This is not happening.
“I was positive Michigan State was going to take the whole ball of wax. It was Izzo’s eighth appearance in the Final Four, and they were the most talented team. Everybody said so. And the odds were only seven-to-four.”
Doug’s mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear his words over the roaring in her ears. The rushing, pounding blood. How could he do this to me? He promised!
“It’s your mom’s fault. She wouldn’t loan me the money, and I’m cashed out all over town.”
“Don’t you dare blame my mother.” Aubrey shot to her feet. “Every time you couldn’t pay your gambling debts, you ran to her and begged for money, and she never gave you a dime. She told you time and time again, she wouldn’t pay. Did you kill her?”
“No. No. No. How could you think such a thing? You know I can’t kill my own spiders.”
“Where’d you go Sunday afternoon? I saw you leave.” Aubrey glared at her husband.
“You sound like the police. How could you doubt me?”
“Answer the question.”
“I took your stupid dog for a walk. She was whining by the front door. I think the kids running around the backyard screaming and yelling scared her,” he said.
“Doug, you know we have no money. How can you do this to our family? What is it that makes you think you can put us in financial jeopardy over and over? I don’t understand. Just stay away. Your addiction makes no sense to me. Where are your priorities? Why don’t the kids and I come first?” Tears flowed down Aubrey’s face. She had said the same thing last time. And the time before. And the time before that. It was only by stealing from her mother’s daily cash flow at Big Al’s that she was able to cover Doug’s gambling losses and keep the bills current. Thirty thousand dollars was too much.
“I just want one big score. Then I’ll stop.” Doug sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, face in his hands. “He says he’ll put me in the hospital if I don’t pay up.”
“Who says?”
“My bookie.”
“When?”
“End of the week.”
Aubrey slumped back in the chair. “We’ve got the reading of the will coming up. After that, we’ll go to the diner and grab the key to the safe deposit box and go to the bank. Mom always kept a bunch of money in there.”
“Will there be enough to cover this?” Doug cleared his throat.
“I think so.”
“You think so? Yes or no? I don’t want to get beat up.”
“You should have thought of that when you were betting on stupid basketball,” Aubrey snapped. “You have to stop. Not even Big Al’s can cover these kinds of losses.”
“Thanks, Aubs. This is the last time, I swear.”
“Where have I heard that before? Get out of my sight.”
Aubrey stared into the fire and listened to Doug’s heavy tread on the stairs. Maybe I should let Doug get beat up. Maybe that’ll stop him from gambling. Aubrey pounded the armchair. He has to stop. There’s no way the diner can support Doug’s gambling addiction. After I inherit Big Al’s, I’ll probably have to share the profits with Andrew, and he’s such a stickler. He’d probably audit me. The only thing I’ve got going for me now is that Andrew has no idea what the diner brings in. As long as the bills are paid, I shouldn’t have a problem taking the rest. At least now I don’t have to hide it from Mom. I wonder how much I’ve borrowed over the years? She flopped back in the chair. It seemed like yesterday was the first time she had taken money out of the cash register at Big Al’s.
Aubrey remembered she had been on edge all that day. She and her high school friends had been planning a sleepover, including alcohol. Except no one had any money. Her friends expected her to shove a few twenty-dollar bills into her pocket as she’d worked that day.
It was the last ten minutes of her shift, and the diner had been empty, the lunch staff leaving, the dinner staff not yet clocked in. She had it all figured out. Her mom usually removed the cash from the drawer around three in the afternoon and put it in the safe in her desk.
Aubrey walked the few steps to the hallway and peered down it.
“Looking for your mom? She’s in the bathroom. I’m clocking out. See you tomorrow.”
With a wave, Aubrey watched several employees leave the diner through the rear door. She shot to the cash register. Opening it, she snatched three twenties and shoved them into her jean pocket.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her mom had caught her. “That money doesn’t belong to you.”
Aubrey’s heart jumped. “You know my sleepover tonight? I’m eighteen—and the only one who can buy beer, except I used all of my last paycheck to buy that new makeup I wanted to try, and none of my friends have any money either. I told them I’d buy the beer. They think I’m rich because we own the diner.” Aubrey’s words came out in one big breath and her heart pounded so hard she remembered feeling it knocking against her ribs.
“Stealing from me is your answer? You spend all your money on clothes and hair and makeup and when that’s not enough, you steal. Give me your car keys. You can walk home.” Lisa slapped the countertop.
“Mom, no. Look. I’ll put the money back.” Aubrey reopened the cash register and threw the twenties back in. “We’ll skip the beer.”
“Car keys. Now. Go home. I don’t want to see your face.”
Aubrey threw her keys at her mother, grabbed her coat and backpack, and stomped to the back door. She wrenched it open and began the six-block walk home, fists clenched at her sides. I hate you. All you care about is this stupid place. Dad’ll give me money. Might even buy the beer for me. I should have asked him first. And he’ll let me go to the sleepover. Mom won’t be home before ten, and by that time, I’ll be gone, and she’ll have forgotten about me. I bet she doesn’t even check my room. That’s how much she cares about me.
Now, Aubrey pulled herself out of the La-Z-Boy and walked through the living room and kitchen to the mud room. Plucking her purse off the hook on the wall, she scrounged around for the deposit ticket from Friday afternoon. The balance in the account should be listed. With Friday’s deposit, there was about ten thousand in the account. Not enough to pay Doug’s bookie. Wonder how much Mom shoved into the safe over the weekend? The deposit I make on Monday afternoon is usually five grand, maybe six. It’ll be less because the diner was closed for Easter.
She plopped into a kitchen chair and stared at the receipt. I’m going to need that money to pay next week’s wages and suppliers, which means I’ll have to take the cash out of the safe deposit box. Mom kept fifty thousand in cash there. Just in case. I always complained that the money could be earning interest, but she said she wanted a few thousand on hand. Guess I’m lucky she didn’t listen to me.
Big Al’s is locked up tight because it’s a crime scene, but the reading of the will is on Wednesday. After that, the sheriff will have to remove all that yellow tape and the first thing I’m gonna do is change the locks. All those high school kids and Moonshine Mamas have access to the diner, day and night. Mom was so lazy about security. Trusting fool.
Aubrey wiped a tear. She would miss her mother terribly, but now she could make the diner into something she would get credit for. A new look. New sandwiches. New décor. Get rid of all those old milk tins and jugs. And the color. I’m tired of barn red. I’m gonna jack up the price of moonshine and all the liquor, and with the money I’ll rake in, I’ll be out of this dumpy little house in no time. Maybe I’ll build a country mansion like Vickie.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’M RELEASING LISA’S body to the family tomorrow,” Dr. Romero said. “The autopsy report is on its way. Check your email in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Laurent tapped END on her cell phone and leaned back in her chair.
“Well?” Dak strolled into her office with Bill Poulter right behind him.
“Dr. Romero emailed her report to me. Everything she told us on Sunday was spot on. The stab wound was on Lisa’s left side. Because she was sitting behind the wheel of the van, the killer could be either right-handed or left-handed and it was close up. No blood spray pattern, so the killer is someone Lisa knew.
“I asked about the force necessary to go through the T-shirt, skin, and the upper body. She said that piercing the fabric would require little force. The blade was ten inches long and serrated; the handle, a standard five to six inches. The serrations were one-eighth of an inch apart. The knife was long and sharp enough to slice through the thoracic cavity, going through the lung tissue there and then on to the heart.” Laurent clicked on the mouse.
“Dak, I’m forwarding the autopsy report to you. Check the size of the knife wound and see if you can match it with any item on the inventory list. If you find something, call CSU and ask them to put a rush on the fingerprints.”
“What was the height of the driver’s seat from the ground to Lisa’s butt?” Poulter asked. “Any way we can figure out how tall the murderer is?”
“The seat is forty inches off the ground. When we were at the crime scene, I used Caleb’s measuring tape to check that.” Laurent stood and pointed to her waist. “About here. Imagine I have a knife in my hand.” She thrust upward. “I’m five-ten. If I were five-two, I’d still be able to insert the knife, but the angle would be different.”
“If the murderer was shorter than you, would the angle be flatter or sharper?” Dak asked.
“Flatter,” she said. “The knife would have cut through the liver.”
“The killer could be anywhere between five-two and six-two,” Dak said. “All the suspects are in that range, so we’re back to someone who Lisa would let stand next to her.”
“The woman knew everyone in Field’s Crossing,” Poulter said.
“Family, friends, and coworkers are our prime suspects in that order,” Laurent said. “Linville’s Funeral Service is picking up the body tomorrow and Rina Yoshida called and told me she has been appointed by Judge Jenkins to open and read the will. She’s setting up a meeting with the heirs this week. I’m not expecting anything to come out of it.”
“I’m guessing Aubrey or Keith will get Big Al’s,” Dak said. “Sure hope it’s Aubrey.”
“Me, too,” Poulter said. “I never saw Keith in the restaurant. He probably doesn’t know the first thing about making a sandwich or running a business. Aubrey’s been there for years.”
“Don’t forget Aubrey has a brother. Andrew. He’ll probably inherit something. I don’t know anything about him.” Laurent glanced at her two deputies.
“Me, neither.”
“Ditto.”
“Thank God CSU took the vans and the dumpster, or we’d still be sorting trash,” Dak said.
“Amen to that.” She looked at Poulter. “How many people do you have left to fingerprint?”
“Getting the high school kids to come in and get fingerprinted has been a piece of cake. What they don’t realize is that now we have their prints on file for the rest of their lives. Suckers.” He tucked his thumbs into his belt. “I should have all the current employees printed by late this afternoon. All the lunch ladies stopped in this morning.”
