Chapter 24. Where There’s Smokes …

WHITNEY

Collin had paid for express shipping when he'd ordered the dash and rear window cams for me. They were waiting on my doorstep when I'd arrived home Monday evening, and I'd promptly installed them.

I took my own car when I followed Holden Tuesday morning, and activated the dash cam to record the evidence that he was not going to work at Frozen Freight. He was more likely to spot me in my own vehicle, but I didn't much care if he knew I was following him at this point. My patience was gone. Things had been dragging on, and I was tired of speculating and guessing and trying to make sense of things that seemed to make no sense at all.

Again, he'd come out of his house in his ice-blue Frozen Freight Carrier uniform and, again, he'd stopped at a fast-food place to change shirts in the bathroom. To my surprise, he returned to Tri-State Private Security Services. I'd thought he'd come here the day before to talk to someone about hiring protection, but it seemed that task could have been accomplished in one visit. Is he here for something else?

I climbed out of my SUV and accosted him as he slid out of his truck, before he could even close his door. A pair of thick nylon gloves was tucked into the map pocket. Like the shirt he'd left his house in, they were ice blue with a snowman logo on them, undoubtedly a pair he'd used in his former job at the cold storage company. I stopped directly in front of him, blocking his way. "What are you doing here, Holden? What happened to your job at Frozen Freight?"

He blinked, shocked to find me here demanding information. When he gathered his wits, his demeanor went from shocked to enraged. He draped a hand over the top of his open truck door, grabbing the frame in a death grip. "What right do you have to follow me here and interrogate me like this? You're not a cop!"

Cop?Interesting that he'd chosen to go there. "I watched Joanna die, remember?" I spat the words as if they tasted bad. "That's what gives me the right. Mercury got into her system. I don't believe that was an accident, and I want to know who made that happen. You've lied to your wife. Maybe it was you who poisoned Joanna." After all, Gideon said he'd found the pack of Newports he'd taken over to Joanna's sitting on the railing between his unit and the Griffins. Maybe Holden had tampered with the cigarettes and left them on the railing, knowing Gideon would spot them and take them to Joanna.

"Are you kidding?" Holden barked. "I needed Joanna alive more than anyone!"

"Why?"

He hesitated a moment, snarling a curse. "If I tell you, are you going to tell Macy?"

"I suppose that depends on what you tell me."

He released a long, shuddering sigh. "Look. I was up for a promotion at work. It was my third time to apply for an assistant manager position, my third time to be interviewed, and my third time to be passed over. The guys up the chain think I'm ‘too nice,' a ‘pushover,' that the workers would ‘walk all over me.'" His hands fisted in rage. "You have to be an asshole to move up in this world." He looked down and kicked the asphalt with the toe of his shoe before returning his attention to me. "I was pissed off and insulted. Hurt, too, if I'm being honest. I've given lots of good years to that company, and they made me feel like I'd been a fool to do it. I lost my cool, called my boss a name I shouldn't have, and told him he could take my job and shove it. I walked out." He looked up at the sky now, as if pleading with the gods. "Then I go home and have a couple beers to psych myself up to tell Macy what happened. Before I can, she drops a bombshell. She's pregnant. She'd taken an at-home test and it came back positive."

"Right after you lost your job? That's some bad timing."

"You're telling me!" He snorted. "You heard about her medical history when you were at Joanna's the day we shared the news. When Macy was pregnant with Alyssa, she had all sorts of problems. Seemed every day it was something new to worry about. It was unbelievably stressful."

I could only imagine. A pregnancy seemed difficult enough when things were going well.

Holden went on. "There was no way I could tell Macy that I'd got my jockeys in a bunch and quit my job. I was afraid it would jeopardize her health and the baby's if I told her. I called my old boss and begged for my job back, but even though I'd been a good worker for years, he refused to rehire me. He said I'd been ‘irredeemably insubordinate.' That jackass never used an everyday word when a ten-dollar word would do." He rolled his eyes. "Macy makes good money in her work, but she's only part-time. Like a lot of people, we live paycheck to paycheck. We try to save, but it seems there's always some unexpected expense popping up. A car repair. A vet bill. Something Alyssa needs for school or so she can keep up with her friends. Anyway, I didn't want Macy to know I was out of work. She would've worried, and she was anxious enough with the baby coming and all. I had no choice but to grovel to Joanna, see if she'd carry us until I found a new job. She didn't know yet that Macy was pregnant, and I didn't tell her. Macy wanted to wait to tell her mother until after she'd seen the doctor."

Holden had certainly been forthcoming. But was he being honest?

"Let me get this straight," I said. "You're saying you wouldn't have killed Joanna because you needed her money to support your family?"

"That's right. Joanna agreed to transfer the exact amount of my paycheck into our bank account on my usual paydays until I found a new job. I've been trying. Put in over forty applications all over town. Problem is, my old boss won't give me a good recommendation. Nobody's going to hire me without one. Joanna suggested I apply for a position at the prison where Macy's father worked. I didn't much like the thought of that, and I knew Macy wouldn't like it, either. She blames the stress of working in the prison for bringing about her father's heart attack. But it gave me the idea of working in private security. It's a growing business and I noticed there are a lot of job listings for security guards. To work as one here in Tennessee, you have to get a license from the Private Protective Services department, and to get that license you've got to complete training and take a test. That's what I'm doing here."

His story made sense, all except the part about needing to keep Joanna alive so that she'd keep transferring money to his account. After all, now that Macy had inherited all of her mother's property—other than the record albums Lane had requested—they'd no longer need Holden's pay, or a replacement for it, at least not for some time. They wouldn't immediately need Macy's earnings, either. Joanna's death had solved their financial problems.

When I pointed this out to Holden, he appeared confused for a moment. Then he simply shrugged and shook his head. "That thought of taking Joanna's life never would've occurred to me. I didn't like the way she talked to Macy and me sometimes, especially me, but we took it in stride and just tried to ignore her when she got like that." He raised his arms out to his sides. "Look at me. I might be an unemployed idiot who should've kept his mouth shut, but I'm no killer."

I stared him down, assessing. He seemed sincere. I hope he's not fooling me.

He eyed the door of the building and checked the time on his sports watch. "I'd better get in there. Class is about to start."

As he went to close the door of his pickup, one of the gloves fell out of the map pocket and landed on the asphalt. He bent down to pick it up. As he lifted it, something fell out of the glove. A hard strawberry candy wrapped in red cellophane. He picked up the candy and stared at it for a long moment before tossing it into a cup holder. He tucked the glove back into the map pocket, closed the door, and squeezed the fob to lock his truck. Raising a hand in a goodbye gesture, he turned and marched toward the door.

I returned to my SUV and sat there for a moment, thinking. I'd tentatively ruled out Gideon, Lane, and now Holden as Joanna's killer. That left all seven of the Bottiglieris on my list of possible murderers, as well as Samira and D-Jay. If one of the Bottiglieris had poisoned Joanna, my money was on Peter. After all, he'd been at our townhouse. Collin had proved it with the spelling test. Peter could have found a way to slip a tainted pack of cigarettes to Joanna, maybe by prying open a window or door on her unit and sneaking inside, leaving it on the kitchen counter or coffee table while she slept. But none of the Bottiglieris would talk to me now, not after everything that had transpired. There seemed to be no way to amass evidence against them.

Would I ever know who killed Joanna, or would her killer forever remain a mystery?

Early Tuesday evening, I dragged Buck with me over to Samira and D-Jay's unit. They were the last suspects on my list, and I wanted to see what they had to say for themselves.

Samira answered the door. D-Jay stepped up behind her. Before I could even speak, she said, "I am glad that you are here, Whitney. I would like to apologize to you."

"You would?" I asked. "For what?"

Her lip trembled as she cast a glance at the townhouse across the street behind me. "I want a home of our own so bad, one here in this neighborhood, that I have been much too aggressive toward you." She put a hand on her baby bump and attempted a smile. It came out small and forced. "The pregnancy hormones sometimes turn me into a person I do not recognize."

Buck had said essentially the same thing with his comment about pregnant women and their nesting instinct—that being pregnant had a big impact on their behavior.

"No worries," I said. "My cousin's wife is pregnant, too. I know it can difficult."

"Thank you."

From inside the unit, Kavish screamed, "Ga-ga-da!"

Samira put a hand to her forehead. "I love my son, but right now he is giving me a headache."

It was ironic. Here she was complaining about a headache, while here I was trying to determine whether she'd given one to Joanna by inserting tiny drops of mercury into her cigarettes.

D-Jay looked from me to Buck and politely asked, "Why are you here? May we help you with something?"

"You can," I said. "When we moved the Griffins into Joanna's townhouse, I noticed you threw away a carton of Joanna's cigarettes. It was open. A pack fell out of it."

Samira turned and looked to her husband. After exchanging confused glances, they returned their gazes in our direction.

"Yes?" D-Jay said.

"Do you know how much cigarettes cost?" I asked.

"Not precisely," D-Jay said. "We do not smoke."

Samira added, "We do know that they are expensive."

"If you know they're expensive, why did you throw them out without checking with Macy and Holden first?"

The two exchanged another confused look before Samira said, "We did not ask because we know they do not smoke. We have had them up for dinner a few times—"

"And they have also invited us to their unit for game night," D-Jay interjected.

"They never smoked," Samira said, completing her thought. "There was no reason to keep something they would not use. I was also concerned that the cigarettes might pose a temptation to their daughter or her friends."

They had a point. If the cigarettes had remained in the pantry, the teens might have wanted to try them.

D-Jay turned the tables on me, his brown eyes narrowed. "These are very odd questions. Why do you ask?"

Although I felt more assured now that these two had not likely killed Joanna, I didn't want to reveal that the mercury in Joanna's system had been introduced via smoking. Better to hold that card close to the vest, and see if someone accidentally spilled the beans. I racked my brain, trying to come up with some reason why I would ask them these questions. "I just want to be clear that, when D-Jay comes to help us at the townhouse, we do not want him to throw anything away without first checking with one of us. Sometimes, supplies or materials may look like worthless scraps but actually be quite valuable. We keep extra materials like tile and trim in case something gets damaged and needs to be replaced."

D-Jay dipped his head. "I understand. I will always ask permission before discarding anything."

Samira's eyes gleamed. "Does this mean you will be doing more work on the townhouse soon?"

"It'll be a few more weeks at least," I said. "We've got plenty more to do at the fire station."

While Samira appeared disappointed by the news, D-Jay looked relieved. "That will give us more time to seek a loan. We have had no luck so far with private lenders. Many require a larger down payment than we are able to make."

I wasn't surprised. Those who made loans to people with questionable credit had to take measures to protect their interests.

We bade the couple good night, then headed home ourselves. I hoped Collin would have the double homicide investigation completed soon so that he could open an official murder investigation for Joanna Hartzell. So far, the killer had continued to elude me. Maybe I'd reached the end of my skill set as an amateur investigator. Maybe this case was one for the professionals.