Adverse Possession Read online

  I shook my head. “No bet.” She probably would be. Or if not precisely running, at least moving fast enough to leave skid marks on the ground. “Someone will be following her, right?”

  “We’ll keep an eye on her,” Grimaldi nodded. “And if she remembers to stop and pick up her phone on her way out, we’ll also be able to track her that way.”

  “So if she goes anywhere near Aislynn and Kylie’s house, you’ll know about it?”

  By now, Terry had to have guessed that Aislynn had told the police about the day they had spent together yesterday. Of course, what had happened was that Aislynn had told me and I had told the police, although Terry might not be reasoning that far. She’d probably blame Aislynn. And if Terry was trying to hide something, and feeling vindictive, she might decide to get back at Aislynn.

  Grimaldi nodded. “I’ve also got Spicer and Truman going by on their rounds. They’re working the late shift tonight, so they’ll keep an eye on the house.”

  Officers Lyle Spicer and George Truman were old friends of mine. They had been the first to respond to my 911 call a year ago, when we’d found Brenda Puckett murdered, and they had come upon me in compromising situations more than once since then. We went back a long way, and I trusted them. The fact that they’d keep an eye on Aislynn and Kylie made me feel better.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “We try not to lose any potential witnesses, Ms. Martin.” She headed for the door. “C’mon. We can go.”

  I followed. In the hallway, she took a right, I assumed to join Mendoza in the interrogation room to discuss the interview. I glanced left, in time to catch sight of Terry on her way out. I guess it must have taken her a moment to orient herself once she got out of the interrogation room, and to figure out which way to go.

  Or maybe she’d just needed a moment to gather herself after the ordeal.

  Either way, there she was, on her way down the hallway. Just before she turned the corner, she glanced over her shoulder. I took a step back, so she wouldn’t see me. Then she disappeared around the corner, and I headed down the hallway in the other direction, after Grimaldi.

  “That’s her,” I announced as I swung through the door to the interrogation room. “That’s who I saw sneaking around Aislynn and Kylie’s yard on Friday afternoon, wearing a plaid shirt.”

  “I thought you said she worked on Friday afternoon,” Mendoza said, looking up from his notes.

  “She did. I had lunch at Sara Beth’s, and Terry and Aislynn were both there. But after lunch I left and went to talk to Stacy. Terry would have had time to clean up and get to East Nashville before me. She had to come back and work the dinner shift, so she probably got a break in the middle of the day. And chances are Aislynn had to stay, since she wasn’t working the dinner shift. So Terry would know the house would be empty. And she looks different without the scarf on her head.”

  “Scarf?”

  “They wear them to work,” I said. “To keep their hair out of their faces. And I guess out of the food. Every other time I’ve seen her, she’s had a bandana covering the back of her head. If I’d seen her haircut before, I would have recognized her sooner. But that’s definitely her.”

  “Wish I would have known that earlier.”

  “Sorry,” I said, although there was nothing I could have done about it. “You’ll be talking to her again, though, right?”

  “Oh,” Mendoza said, “most assuredly. I suspect her of killing Virgil Wright. I just have to figure out why she’d agree to do that. Whether Stacy Kelleher was holding something over her—blackmailing her, essentially—or whether something else is going on.”

  It sounded like he was grinding his teeth, or at least clenching his jaw. Angry, I assumed, that someone was getting away with murder.

  Then he relaxed. “Did you hear anything contrary to what your friend told you?”

  I shook my head. “She didn’t admit much.”

  “No, she didn’t. Which leads me to believe she has something to hide. Innocent people don’t mind telling the truth.”

  “She could just be hiding something mildly illegal. And disgusting. Like being obsessed with Aislynn and breaking into her house to sniff her underwear.”

  They both arched their brows.

  “I told you,” I said. “I saw her. On Friday afternoon. She went into the backyard. When I got there, I didn’t see anyone. Terry could have taken the key out of the thermometer and let herself into the house. Aislynn might have told her there was a hide-a-key in the thermometer next to the door. They were friends. But even if she didn’t, Kylie told me the thermometer was there when they bought the place. The previous owners would have known about it. That means Stacy. He could have told Terry where to find the key.”

  Mendoza and Grimaldi exchanged a glance.

  “So maybe she’s just hiding that. Not that she committed murder.”

  “But if Terry didn’t kill Mr. Wright,” Mendoza said, “who did?”

  I shook my head. “No idea. That’s your job.”

  “It is. And I’m going to do it. And nail Ms. Dixon. Because she picked up that rock and bashed Mr. Wright’s head in, and she’s going to pay for it.”

  He snatched up his legal pad and stalked out of the room. I glanced at Grimaldi.

  “He takes his job seriously,” she said.

  “As he should.” I headed for the door, too. “I’m going home. Rafe should be there soon. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. Either of you.”

  Grimaldi said she would, and I made my way out of the police station and to my car, and onto the bridge across the Cumberland River to East Nashville.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I know I’d said I was going home, but I couldn’t go there without first stopping by Aislynn and Kylie’s house to tell them what I’d found out, not just about Terry, but about Damian, too. He and Kylie had been married a while; I felt I owed her the knowledge that her ex-husband had had nothing to do with what had happened to her. And I definitely wanted them to know that Terry might be a whole lot more dangerous than we’d imagined, and to not open the door for her if she came knocking.

  By now, rush hour had started, and I made my slow way across the bridge, bumper to bumper with a lot of other cars, three lanes deep all the way across. At the light on the other side, the right lane disappeared, as the cars there headed for the interstate. Halfway up the next block, there was an entrance for Ellington Parkway on the right, and a steady stream of cars drove that way. By the time I reached the stop light on Main Street and Fifth, traffic was a lot more manageable.

  I drove another few blocks, up to the corner of Tenth, and took a right at Brew-ha-ha, the coffee shop, and from there disappeared into the residential districts. A couple of minutes later I was parked outside Aislynn and Kylie’s house.

  It took a minute or two for Aislynn to come to the door. She peered out before she unlocked the door. I didn’t mind; I was glad she was careful.

  “It’s just me,” I told her through the glass. “Can I come in for a few minutes? I have some news.”

  She opened the door and let me in, but not without peering up and down the street before she shut and locked the door behind us. “Kylie’s resting.” She kept her voice low. “I’ve been cleaning up.”

  I glanced into the office. Yes, she had. Most of the papers were up off the floor and in piles on the desk. Somehow, I didn’t think that Kylie would be all that appreciative of the ‘help.’ Not unless Aislynn had actually taken the time to sort and organize the paperwork, instead of just scooping it up into piles.

  None of my business, though. “I just came from the police station,” I said. “They pulled Terry in for questioning and asked me to sit in, to see if she told the same story about yesterday that you told me.”

  Aislynn blinked. “They arrested Terry?”

  I shook my head. “They let her go after they spoke to her. I wanted to let you know, so you could be careful.”

  “Of Terry?�
�� Aislynn said incredulously. Not surprising, since she’d felt safe enough with the other woman to spend two nights and a day on Terry’s futon.

  “She has a thing for you. She could have known where you keep your hide-a-key. And she’s who I saw sneaking around the yard on Friday afternoon. When I was standing in the backyard, she was probably upstairs pawing through your drawers.”

  Aislynn’s face twisted. “That’s sick.”

  Yes, it was. “And that’s why you don’t want anything to do with her.”

  “So did she write the letters after all? To get me to leave Kylie, or something? Or just so I’d be scared and spend the night with her? Did she hit Kylie, too?”

  “I don’t think she did,” I said, “and I don’t think the police think so, either. She was working at Sara Beth’s Friday night. She couldn’t have been here.”

  “So why do I have to be careful? She didn’t hurt me this weekend. And if she didn’t hurt Kylie...”

  “The police think she may have killed Virgil Wright,” I said.

  Aislynn stared at me. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she closed it again. And tried one more time. “Why? Did she know him?”

  I shook my head. “But she knew Stacy. Virgil’s ex. They live in the same apartment complex. And while Stacy was working Wednesday night, Terry wasn’t.”

  While Stacy had been free Friday night, when Terry was at work. Maybe the two of them had engaged in a game of you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll scratch-yours?

  Maybe Terry had whined to her good buddy Stacy about this girl who wouldn’t pay her any attention, and Stacy had realized that Aislynn was the same girl who was now living in the house he’d shared with Virgil. Maybe he had suggested the anonymous letter campaign as a means of scaring Aislynn into leaving Kylie, but also as a way to muddy the waters once he was ready to kill Virgil. He had told Terry where to find the spare key to the house—inside the hide-a-key thermometer on the back porch—so Terry could come and go in Aislynn’s house as she pleased.

  And in exchange for all this, Stacy had requested—or required—Terry’s help in getting rid of his former lover, so he could cash in on the insurance policy he had on Virgil’s life. He might have sweetened the pot by telling her he’d give her some of the money after he got his million.

  And who knew, he might be planning to use the rest of the money to buy back the house Aislynn and Kylie lived in. If the letters caused Aislynn and Kylie to break up, Terry would be standing ready to offer Aislynn the futon and the second bedroom for as long as Aislynn needed it, and Stacy would be ready to swoop in and take the house off Kylie’s hands.

  It all made sense. In a weird, twisted, obsessive sort of way that was extremely disturbing.

  And I wasn’t even sure whether I was more freaked out by Stacy thinking of it, or Stacy using Terry to execute it—and Virgil—or by Terry going along with the twisty plan. I mean, what kind of person agrees to something like this? And for love—or whatever you’d call what Terry felt for Aislynn.

  “Please be careful,” I told her. Someone who’d kill for her, was likely to do pretty much anything else, as well. Including killing again.

  She nodded. “I won’t open the door for anyone. I promise.”

  “Take the extra key out of the thermometer so no one can come in. She knows it’s there.”

  “Already done,” Aislynn said.

  “A couple of the local cops are supposed to drive by from time to time and make sure everything is all right. Although maybe it would be better if you put Kylie in the car and went somewhere else. In fact, now would be a great time to make that visit to your parents.” Only an hour’s drive, but safely away from Nashville.

  Aislynn hesitated. “My folks really aren’t that crazy about Kyle...”

  “My mother hated my boyfriend,” I said. “”But last month, he got himself hurt. And it changed everything. Now my mother dotes on him.”

  There had been a little bit more to it than that, of course, but since there was no way Aislynn or Kylie could possibly match Rafe’s encounter with the serial killer from his past, there was no sense in even mentioning it. I added, “I bet, if you take Kylie there and explain that she got hurt because some nut job is after you, your mother will do the same thing.”

  Aislynn looked unconvinced.

  “I’m sure they just want you to be happy,” I said. “And once they get to know Kylie, they’ll see that she loves you, and that she makes you happy. You just have to give them a chance. If my mother could change, there’s hope for anyone’s mother.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “You’ll be safer if you leave. And so will Kylie. She can’t go back to work for a day or two anyway. And I’m sure you don’t want to go back to Sara Beth’s while Terry is there. Do you?”

  She hesitated.

  “And this way, you won’t get any surprise visits from Lauren, to check on the invalid.”

  That did it.

  “I’ll just throw some things in a bag,” Aislynn said, already making for the stairs, “and then we’ll be gone.”

  She took the steps two at a time, with those long, skinny legs. I turned my attention to the desk.

  As I had expected, she had just haphazardly thrown things together in piles. Kylie would have a hell—heck—of a time trying to straighten it out when she recovered enough for the task.

  The piece of paper on top of one of the piles was a copy of Kylie’s dissolution of marriage from Damian Mitchell. So that was one mystery solved: namely how the fake Damian who had come to the hospital had known Kylie’s ex-husband’s name. He must have seen it while he was here on Friday night.

  And that proved pretty conclusively—if you asked me—that the guy at the hospital and the burglar were one and the same.

  It also proved that Terry hadn’t been the burglar, since surely Dr. Ramsey was able to tell that she was female, and not Kylie’s ex-husband.

  Upstairs, I heard drawers and closet doors opening and shutting. Aislynn packing bags, I guess. And I heard soft voices, probably Aislynn explaining to Kylie what was going on.

  I headed down the hallway to the backdoor, to make sure it was locked and that the key was, indeed, not in the thermometer. That done, I went back to the front of the house, in time to see Aislynn steadying Kylie down the stairs to the first floor, an overnight bag in her other hand.

  Kylie looked marginally better, so resting must have been good for her. She still looked pale and wan, though, and was moving slowly. I took a step forward to grab her other arm when she came off the staircase. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Her voice was weak, and she cleared her throat. “It’s nice to be back home.”

  “And now we’re taking you away again.” I grimaced. “I really do think you’ll be safer somewhere else, though. Just for a day or two. If we’re right, this woman has already committed one murder. She might find it easier to commit another.”

  Yet another reason to believe it hadn’t been Terry in the house Friday night. After bashing Virgil’s head in on Wednesday, I’m not sure she could have resisted doing the same to Kylie when she had the chance.

  “It’s all right,” Kylie said. “All I need is a bed and I’m good. It doesn’t matter where it is.” She smiled. That, too, was weak. “I just want to survive this.”

  “Let’s get you in the car,” I said, turning toward the door. “I checked the back door. It’s locked.”

  We stopped on the porch so Aislynn could lock the front door too, and then I got them both settled in Kylie’s Volvo. I stood on the sidewalk and waved until they’d driven away, and then I got into my own car and went home, feeling a lot better about the fact that they were out of harm’s way.

  The house was empty when I got there. So was the yard. Rafe was not outside mowing the grass today. I let myself in and set about preparing dinner.

  The phone rang twenty minutes later, just as I was getting ready to put the food on the table. (Chicken fajitas wit
h black beans, green peppers, and onions, in case you were wondering. I was planning to take extra Tums again afterward.)

  “Sorry, darlin’,” my husband told me, “I’m gonna be late.”

  I looked at the two plates, the two glasses, the heated tortillas, and the pan full of sautéed vegetables and chicken, and sighed. “How late?”

  I could imagine him shaking his head. “Dunno, darlin’. This thing with Jamal’s going down tonight. I gotta be there to make sure he don’t get himself in too much trouble.”

  Of course he did. I turned off the heat under the fajita mixture. “That’s too bad. I just finished making black bean fajitas.”

  “Well, damn,” Rafe said, since he’s quite fond of my black bean fajitas, and since he also knows that there’s a lot of chopping involved. “Sorry, darlin’.”

  “It’s all right. You can’t help it. And Jamal’s more important than coming home for dinner.”

  For the record, I did mean that. It wasn’t like this happened all the time. Or like I felt he put too many other things above me. He loved me. I knew that. But he had an important job where lives sometimes hung in the balance—sometimes the life in the balance was his—and when it came down to a question between being home for dinner or making sure Jamal was safe, the answer really was a no-brainer.

  “I’ll just eat on my own,” I said, “and put the leftovers in the fridge for later. You can heat it up in the microwave when you get home.”

  “I don’t imagine I’ll be home until pretty late, darlin’. Too late to heat anything up.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “I could wake you.”

  “I don’t mind if you do. Although you might be too tired.”

  “I ain’t never too tired for that,” Rafe said. There were voices behind him, and he was silent for a moment, I guess to hear what they were saying. Then he asked, “So how’re you gonna spend the rest of the night?”

  “I figure I’ll probably eat while the food is warm. I can’t skip meals these days. The baby gets cranky.”