Chapter 23. Switcheroo

WHITNEY

Monday morning, I parked down the street from the Griffins' unit in Gideon's house, lying in wait on the opposite side of the street. I was afraid my red SUV would be too recognizable, so I'd swapped vehicles with Emmalee for the day. I'd also donned a pink blouse, tucked my hair up inside a floppy brown camping hat, and put on a pair of sunglasses with large, round lenses. With any luck, Holden wouldn't know it was me following him if he happened to spot me. It seemed ironic, me here, planning to follow Holden, when someone had followed me Friday night. But while whoever had followed my SUV had obviously hoped to intimidate me, I hoped that Holden would remain completely unaware of my presence.

I wasn't sure what time he normally left the house for work, but I'd mapped the route from here to the Frozen Freight warehouse. It was a thirty-minute drive in light traffic, forty-five during rush hour. Assuming his shift started at eight o'clock, I calculated that he probably left by seven fifteen at the latest. I'd gotten in place an hour earlier, just to make sure I didn't miss him. I'd brought a travel mug of coffee along with me, which was proving to be a blessing and a curse. On one hand, the caffeine in the coffee kept me awake when every cell of my body begged to snooze. On the other, the coffee filling my bladder was beginning to demand release.

Alyssa emerged from the townhouse where they were now basically squatting, rent paid up but without a full set of furniture. Her backpack was slung over her shoulder. She walked down their side of the street, Bluetooth ear buds in her ears, not casting so much as a glance my way as she passed. She stopped at the end of the block, joining two other teens as they waited on the corner. Not having children, I hadn't realized today was the first day of the new school year. The kids waited only a minute or two before a big yellow school bus rolled up the side street, its brakes squeaking as the driver brought it to a stop. A whoosh met my ears as the tall door folded to the side, allowing the students to climb aboard. Once everyone had taken a seat, the brakes squeaked again as they were released, and the bus rolled off to pick up more students.

I continued to wait, my bladder causing me increasing discomfort. I couldn't imagine relieving myself in a bucket, though if I'd been in my SUV right now, I'd at least have the option. There was always a spare bucket in my cargo bay. They came in handy for so many things. Cleaning. Carrying water. A place to collect odds and ends for disposal later. And… you know. When I could stand it no longer, I started the car, zipped around the corner, and hustled into the fire station to relieve myself. I was back in the car not two minutes later, driving back to my spying spot, when Holden's white pickup eased away from the curb, heading toward me. Perfect timing.

There were no signs of recognition as I drove past him on the street. I'd seen a flash of ice blue, and knew he wore his Frozen Freight Carriers uniform, even though he was no longer employed by the company. I watched in the rearview mirror to see which way he turned onto the main artery. Right. I whipped a quick U-turn, thankful that Emmalee's inexpensive commuter car had a small turning radius and didn't require me to execute a three-point turn. I might've lost him.

I punched the gas, raced up to the corner, and pulled onto the road without coming to a full stop. I checked my rearview mirror and could tell my rude maneuver had annoyed the driver of an approaching vehicle, who'd had to hit their brakes. The man didn't honk, however. This was Nashville, where people were known for being nice.

I drove along, keeping close enough to Holden that I wouldn't lose him at a traffic light, but far enough back that he wouldn't notice me tailing him. I wondered where we were headed. He seemed to be aiming in the same general direction of the industrial area where the Frozen Freight warehouse was located.

As we made our way to the mystery destination, I thought about the situation. Holden had seemed relatively unaffected by Joanna's death, cracking jokes not long after she'd drawn her last breath. I wondered why Macy hadn't noticed that Holden was no longer receiving a paycheck. Then again, there'd only been a couple of paydays since he'd left his previous employment. Maybe she hadn't checked their bank balances, didn't know he hadn't been paid; or maybe Holden took care of the bills and Macy was clueless as to their money situation. I had my doubts about that, though. Macy was a hairdresser, running her own business. Seemed she'd be the type who'd stay on top of things financially. Then again, being put on bedrest might have thrown her off her game.

Holden turned in to a fast-food joint, parked, and climbed out of his car. Is he going inside to get breakfast? I wouldn't mind some hash browns myself.

I backed into a parking spot so I'd be able to pull out easily when he returned to his vehicle. He was inside only a minute or two when the door opened and he exited. I very nearly missed him. I'd been keeping an eye out for the ice blue shirt, but he wore a striped gray and white shirt now. His uniform shirt from Frozen Freight was rolled up in his hand to keep it from getting wrinkled. The guy was certainly a quick-change artist.

He climbed back into his car, and we motored on for another ten minutes before he pulled into the parking lot of single-story building in an industrial area. The sign above the door read Tri-State Private Security Services.

I drove slowly past, pulling over to a curb once I was out of sight to ponder this development. Why is Holden here? Does he plan to hire a security guard for personal protection? Does he fear for his family's safety? If so, why?

Joanna's death was purportedly just an awful accident. Only the killer would know it had been intentional. I'd been operating on the assumption that Holden might have murdered his mother-in-law, but if that was the case, then there'd be no reason for him to hire protection. He'd know his family was safe.

Did he suspect someone intentionally killed Joanna, someone who might now come after his family? Lane, perhaps? But if Holden feared for Macy's and Alyssa's safety—maybe even their moppy dog's, too—why would he have left Macy home alone this morning? The dog might bark to alert her of an intruder's presence, but the cute little beast was much too small to defend her from an attacker. Maybe Macy, too, thought Lane could be guilty of causing their mother's death. Maybe that's why she didn't want him moving in with her and her family. Maybe she also had the means to protect herself while Holden was away. Guns were easy enough to get. Then again, a gun would only protect someone from a violent attacker. Whoever had killed Joanna had taken pains to obscure the fact that she'd been poisoned, and seemed unlikely to launch an open attack on anyone else.

Could Holden have concerns about his own safety? If so, there was only one explanation I could come up with. He thinks Macy killed her mother. But if Macy had killed her mother, why would she have pursued an autopsy that would reveal her mother had been poisoned? Wouldn't she have just let everyone think her mother had died of an aneurysm? The pieces simply didn't fall into place. Every theory just seemed to take me back into a circle. The only thing I knew for certain right now was that Holden was putting on a ruse, pretending he was going to his old job when that was clearly not the case.

A ping sounded as a text came in on my cell. It was from Macy. Got the test results back. Can you come over to discuss?

A creepy feeling seeped into my bones. While going into Macy's house alone might be risky, it could give me a chance to better suss out the situation, and I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity. I sent her a return text: Running an errand. Be there soon.

After driving back home and swapping cars back with Emmalee, I drove to the fire station. Buck was there, preparing the bathroom floors and backsplashes for the tile. I told him where I'd been that morning, where I was going now.

He didn't look at all surprised. He knew I'd been bit by the curiosity bug, and that there was no cure for the malady other than indulging the drive to collect clues. "Take your big wrench. Text me if you need me. Jot a quick note on the wall saying this place is all mine if you get yourself killed."

I indulged him, whipping a marking pencil from my toolbox and scribbling on the wall, offering the same verbiage that had been in the quitclaim deeds the Bottiglieris had signed, with a few modifications.

"Know all men by these presents that for and in consideration of the sum of diddly-squat in hand paid to me, Whitney Whitaker (grantor), I do hereby quitclaim to Buck Whitaker (grantee) all rights, title, interest, and claim in or to the following real estate: this fire station right here where you're standing."

Knowing we'd be painting over my scrawl, I signed the wall with a flourish and left, wrench in hand.

Macy answered the door at their unit in Gideon's building, wearing a versatile knit dress that could be an outfit in itself, or serve as a beach cover-up or a nightgown. I presumed she wore it as the latter. She was barefoot, which made me slightly more comfortable. If she'd lured me here to end my life, suspecting I knew too much and to stop me from digging further, she'd have to kill me here. No way could she chase me out onto the hot sidewalk in bare feet. Her laptop was tucked under her arm.

She stared down at the enormous wrench in my hand. "What's that for?"

"Oh, this little thing?" I said, though the wrench, being as long as my forearm, could hardly be called little. "I was tightening a pipe behind the building and didn't want to leave it outside. I was afraid I'd forget it there."

Through the open door behind her, I could see three chaise longue lawn chairs set up in the living room in front of the television, which sat on the floor. I'd expected her to invite me in, but instead she came out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

She placed her laptop on the railing and opened it. "We got the test results on my mom's townhouse." She gestured to the screen.

Leaning in, I scanned the screen, taking in the information. "Looks like everything was in normal range. No mercury contamination. That's good."

"Is it?" she said.

"Well, it means it's safe for you and Holden and Alyssa to move back into her place. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I suppose so." She eyed me with what looked suspiciously like suspicion. "I just wish I knew exactly what happened to my mother. How in the world did she end up with mercury in her system?"

I fought the urge to scream, I've been trying to find out! Instead, I said, "I don't know. Do you have any guesses?" Could your husband have done it? I was tempted to tell her that he'd been lying about his job, but I decided to keep mum about that until I determined why, exactly, he'd been engaged in the subterfuge.

Macy gave me an odd look. In fact, she looked nervous. She closed the laptop and backed away a step or two. "No. No guesses."

We both stood there in awkward silence before I said, "I guess I should get back to work." I gestured back at the fire station with my wrench.

Her eyes on my tool, Macy backed up, plastering her back against the wall of her porch. "Bye!" She yanked open the door to her unit, slipped inside, and slammed it behind her. I heard the rattle of locks being engaged.

That was weird.

After my odd interaction with Macy, I was more confused than ever. I returned to the fire station and texted Collin. Macy received the test results on Joanna's townhouse. Both air and water tested negative for mercury.

I'd expected as much, after Sawdust discovered the little ball of mercury in the fire station. Still, the lack of a second source of mercury told us that we were likely on the right track with the cigarette theory.

I spent the rest of the day wondering when and how I could confront Holden for answers as to why he'd gone to the security firm that morning. Should I follow him again tomorrow? I didn't want to have to get up early again, so I decided to try to intercept him when he arrived home. As strange as Macy had acted this morning, I wasn't sure she'd let me inside. It was almost as if she thought I might have something to do with her mother's death. Ridiculous, right? I'm sure it would be hard to accept that your mother had somehow been poisoned, but that was no reason to project guilt onto someone who'd only been trying all along to help. I figured I'd have to catch Holden right when he pulled up.

Fortunately, fate provided me with a convenient excuse to hang out at the townhouse we'd bought from the Bottiglieris, where I could keep an eye on the Griffins' place across the street. The new water heater had arrived, and the plumber called to tell me had a cancellation in his schedule. "I can install it at four o'clock this afternoon if that works for you."

"Perfect. See you then."

I headed over to the townhouse at half past three, just to make sure I wouldn't miss the plumber. I sat inside with the lights off and the mini blinds angled ever so slightly, watching the street in case Holden came home early.

The plumber arrived right on time. I let him into the townhouse and motioned for him to follow me. "This way."

The old water heater stood in the corner of the utility closet in the hallway between the kitchen and master bedroom. I showed him where it was, and got out of his way so he could do his work. Standing so long made my feet sore, so I finally sat down on the stained carpet and continued to watch out the window.

When the plumber finished installing the water heater, I retrieved my business credit card from my purse and tapped it against his card-processing device. The machine whirred and spit out a receipt. I returned the card to my wallet and stashed the receipt in there as well. We'd need it later when we completed our taxes.

I turned, walked the man to the door, and opened it for him. "Dammit!" Holden's pickup truck sat at the curb across the street. He'd arrived home in the brief expanse of time I'd been tied up with the plumber, paying for the water heater.

"Something wrong?" the plumber asked.

I couldn't exactly tell the man I was snooping around my neighbor, trying to figure out if he'd poisoned his mother-in-law right next door. "Sorry," I said. "I just remembered something I'd forgotten to do. Thanks for coming out."

He gave me a two-finger salute and strode out to his truck. The diesel engine rumbled as he drove off. Strangely, it didn't seem to be getting quieter as he made his way down the street. That's when I realized the sound was coming from another truck, a tow truck that was easing to the curb at Joanna's place.

I hadn't ruled out Lane and he seemed like one of the most viable suspects. Lane might have killed Joanna in the hopes that he'd inherit some of her money and property. In the alternative, if what Gideon said was true—that Joanna had cut Lane out of the will—he might have murdered Joanna out of anger… assuming he knew what she'd done. Had he truly only learned he'd been cut out of the will when Gideon told him?

I trotted down the steps and met Lane as he came over to Joanna's porch.

"You going inside?" I asked.

"Yeah. Macy told me she got the test results, and that the air and water are safe." He gestured to the door. "There's a few things I left in the attic when I moved out that I've come to get."

"You've got the code to get in?"

"I do now. Macy gave it to me. She changed it to keep Gideon out. She likes the guy, for the most part, but he's been butting in a lot since Mom passed. She's tired of it."

"I can see why." I offered a congenial shake of my head before tilting it. "I don't mean to pry," I lied, totally meaning to pry, "but I thought it was out of line for him to mention that your mother had cut you out of your will. He should've let Macy be the one to tell you."

"Probably, yeah," Lane agreed.

"So, you didn't already know."

"No. Mom hadn't said anything to me about it. We really didn't talk about that stuff."

Is he telling the truth? I cringed, as if I knew what I was about to ask might be painful. "Did it hurt your feelings? To be cut out of her will?"

"Honestly?" His face transformed several times, as if he was working through his emotions right there on the spot. "Not really. I mean, I get why she'd do it. Like Gideon said, she probably worried that if she left me money, I'd spend it on pills." He snorted. "Hell, at one time, I definitely would have. But now? Nah. Besides, I'd cost her enough already, not in money, but in worry and heartache." He blinked rapidly as his eyes became wet. "I just wish I could have reassured her that I was going to be okay, that I am okay now. I wanted to give her peace of mind, not take any more from her."

He seemed sad that he hadn't had the chance to reconnect with his mother on solid footing before she passed. Now, he'd never have the chance. But could this all be an act? It didn't seem like one, but I figured I'd come this far, I might as well see if I could rule him out entirely. I lifted my chin to indicate his tow truck. "You enjoy working auto salvage?"

He barked a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

I shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "I like working with my hands, building stuff, taking it apart, seeing how things work. I figured you might enjoy being a mechanic, pulling parts and fixing cars."

"I'm not a mechanic," he said. "I wouldn't know a carburetor from a crankshaft. I only tow the cars to the salvage yard, or sometimes to repair shops. It's just a job. Pays the bills—barely."

"But, surely, you're buddies with some of the mechanics. Don't you guys love to stand around and talk shop?"

"I might, if I had the chance. I'm always on the road, though. I go to the yard at the beginning of my shift to pick up the tow truck, go back to drop off the busted-up cars to be added to the pick-and-pull inventory, and then return the truck when my shift is over. There's not much time for conversation. Most days, I'm lucky if anyone says two words to me."

It sounded like a lonely existence. It also sounded like he wouldn't know how to dismantle a pre-2003 switch to remove the mercury. I felt like I could cross his name off my list of potential suspects.

Before we could naturally wrap up our conversation, Lane's phone pinged with an incoming text. He pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and read the screen. He cast a glance at his sister's unit across the street before casting a second wary glance at me. He shoved his phone into his back pocket and abruptly ended our interaction. "Gotta get moving." With that, he turned, entered the four-digit code into the keypad, and stepped inside, closing the door on me. Just as Macy had abruptly locked her door behind her earlier, Lane did the same, the deadbolt sliding home with a loud click.