Chapter 27. The Bus Stops Here

WHITNEY

On Thursday, Buck and I continued to lay the tile in the bathrooms at the fire station. It was hard, physical work, requiring precision and concentration. One misplaced tile could have a chain reaction, and you could find a layout looking totally off-kilter. It was the perfect job for me today, when I needed something to take my mind off Joanna Hartzell's murder.

I'd racked my brain over and over and over again, all through the night, but couldn't think of a suspect—other than Macy herself. Had she killed her own mother? Maybe she'd grown tired of her mother berating her and her husband, second-guessing her decisions, making her feel like a disappointment. Surely if I'd had this thought, Detective Gleeson would, too. Part of me would love to see Macy put through the wringer. After all, she had to be the person who'd gotten me dragged down to the police station yesterday. But another part of me hoped she wouldn't be subject to an interrogation. In her condition, she might not be up for it. I didn't want her or her baby's health to be jeopardized. There'd been enough suffering already.

I forced the murder from my mind, and instead focused on our flip projects. My mind went back to Samira, her apology, her nesting instincts, her obsession with the townhouse, wanting it to become a happy home for herself, her husband, and their children. I'd want exactly the same thing in her situation. Though her tactics had rubbed me the wrong way, especially the question about whether profit was the only thing I cared about, her apology had gone a long way with me. Is there some way I can help them afford the townhouse?

While Buck, Presley, and I would need the money from the sale to continue our house-flipping business, there was someone else who'd expressed interest in the property who might be willing to help out. After all, he'd proven to be the best of friends to Joanna, a nice guy with a big, generous heart.

At half past three, my back and knees needed a break. I decided to go talk to Gideon in person, see if he'd be amenable to my suggestion. I told Buck about the idea I'd come up with. "I'm going to see whether Gideon might be willing to go along. I'll be back in a bit."

I removed my knee pads, went down the stairs, and headed outside. It was a bright late-summer day, partly cloudy, warm but not excessively hot. In other words, perfect. Could the weather be a good omen? I certainly hoped so.

I walked down the sidewalk, keeping my gaze straight ahead to avoid glancing over at the Griffins' former unit or Joanna's townhouse. I had no idea which one Macy might be resting in now. With the air and water having been tested and cleared, maybe the family had moved back into Joanna's place. Last time I'd seen Macy, though, she'd still been in their unit in Gideon's building.

I turned down the walkway and made my way up onto Gideon's porch, knocking softly in case Macy was napping next door. My ears detected a shuffling sound inside, and Gideon pulled the door open, but only an inch or two. Does he suspect me, too?

"Hi, Gideon," I said. "I have a proposition for you. It involves the townhouse."

"Yeah?" He opened the door another inch.

"I know you expressed an interest in buying it to use as a rental, but it would be wonderful to see a family be able to own it. Samira and D-Jay are interested." I told him how Samira had shown me her designs, how she'd put some real time and thought into them, how she hoped to make the townhouse her family's home. "They really want the place. I'd like to make it happen if I can. Our house-flipping business isn't only our livelihood. It's our passion. We enjoy providing homes for people."

Gideon opened his door a little farther. "Where do I come in?"

"What if we sold the place to you, and then you immediately resold it to Samira and D-Jay on an owner-finance arrangement? You'd earn interest income on your funds, and they'd be able to buy their dream home. It would be a win for everyone."

His face brightened, and he opened the door fully now. "That's not a bad idea. I like those folks. They've always paid their rent on time, never been a problem, don't complain. Their boy's a little loud, though." Gideon chuckled, then eyed me intently. "Macy thinks you might have killed her mother but, for the record, I don't believe it. You're good people. You coming up with this plan proves it."

Though I'd assumed Macy had been the one to suggest my guilt to Detective Gleeson, learning that I'd been right, that she believed I could have killed her mother, made me heartsick. I'd never felt so misjudged. It was frustrating, humiliating, demoralizing. My chest felt tight with emotion. "Thanks, Gideon," I managed. "That means a lot." Especially coming from someone I'd once considered a suspect myself. "Why don't I come back later, once Samira and D-Jay are home from work, and we'll propose the plan to them, see what they think."

He dipped his head in agreement. "It's a date."

I turned to step off the porch, and he closed the door behind me. As I made my way down the steps, the squeal of brakes drew my attention to the right. A school bus had stopped at the corner. The handful of teenagers filtering out told me it was the high school bus.

The last to emerge was Alyssa. She had her backpack slung over her shoulder, but the curve of her back told me she was bearing more weight than just the bag. She had a hand on the strap. A bright yellow bandage on her finger caught my eye, and my blood froze in my veins. An instant later, my feet moved on their own accord, carrying me on a route to intercept Alyssa on the sidewalk.

She looked up as she noticed me approaching, and offered a feeble smile. "Hi, Whitney."

We met directly in front of Joanna's townhouse, our gazes locking.

"Alyssa," I said softly, "show me your splinter."

She stared back at me for several long beats, her eyes first misting then filling with tears. One escaped and rolled down her cheek, leaving a trail in her makeup, exposing the skin underneath.

We didn't break eye contact as the door to the townhouse jerked open and Macy marched out, clad in a pair of soft shorts and a tank top. "What's going on out here?"

In my peripheral vision, I saw that Gideon, too, had opened his door and emerged onto his porch.

Macy walked up and shot me a glare, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Come inside, Alyssa."

Alyssa made no attempt to move. Instead, she rolled her backpack off her shoulder, letting it drop to the ground. Gideon walked up as she held out the bandaged finger, using the fingers of her other hand to slowly peel the adhesive strip back. Once she had, she held the finger out for Macy, Gideon, and me to see. No sliver of wood from a porch swing was embedded under her skin. Rather, her finger contained a tiny shard of glass. Alyssa has been lying to us.

Alyssa turned to look at her mother. "I did it, Mom. I killed Grammy. I didn't mean to. But I did."

"No!" Macy cried, backing away with her hands over her mouth. "No! No! No!"

Though the girl's face, like her mother's, was grief stricken, her straighter posture said that getting this information out in the open had unburdened her. "I figured if Grammy thought her age was catching up with her, she might ask us to move back in with her, like when I was little. I knew you and Dad were having money problems—"

Macy, still in shock, shook her head so hard she risked rattling her brain. "We weren't having money problems!"

"Yes, you were!" Alyssa insisted. "Dad just didn't tell you. I figured it out when we went to Grammy's house and you told her you were pregnant. Remember when you said we were doing fine and she said ‘that's what you think'? I knew something was going on. I put strawberry candies inside Dad's work gloves. I knew that if he was still going to work, he'd find them. He'd realize I'd been the one to put them there, and he'd think it was funny. But he never said anything about the candy to me. That's how I knew he wasn't wearing the gloves anymore."

It had been a clever ploy. If only Holden had seen the candies sooner, maybe he could have alleviated Alyssa's concerns.

She continued to explain. "I got on his computer and was able to look at your bank account. It looked like he was still getting his paycheck twice a month because the amount was the same, but the data was different. The money wasn't an automatic deposit from Frozen Freight. It was a transfer from another bank account. I knew the money had to be coming from Grammy."

Macy shook her head again, though less vehemently this time. "No!"

Alyssa continued. "You said something about pregnant women not eating fish and I was curious about it so I looked it up. The links I read said that mercury poisoning causes dizziness and memory loss and tremors. Those are things old people get. I thought if I could give Grammy just a little bit of mercury, she'd have the symptoms and think she needed some help. I knew there was mercury in old thermometers, so I broke the big one in the root beer sign on Gideon's porch to get the mercury out." She pointed across the street to the mustard yellow sign. "That's when I got the glass in my finger. I read that breathing in the vapor is how most people get mercury into their system, so I got the idea to put it in Grammy's cigarettes. I got a pack out of the carton in her pantry. I divided the ball of mercury into smaller balls, and I only put a tiny amount in each cigarette."

Sadly, I could verify that fact. The bead of liquid mercury Sawdust had discovered in the bay of the fire station had been nearly microscopic in proportion. Unfortunately, mercury was so highly toxic that a small amount was all it took to result in big consequences. The improvised hazmat suit Alyssa had worn when she'd cleaned out Joanna's townhouse made sense now. She'd been trying to be careful not to carry any mercury residue home to her pregnant mother. That's why she'd later disposed of the suit in the dumpster outside the fire station. I'd been right that day when I'd seen her on the porch of her grandmother's place. The girl had been dealing with much more than grief. She'd also been dealing with guilt.

"I left the pack of cigarettes on our porch," Alyssa said. "I figured Grammy would find them when she came over to check on you, or that Dad or Gideon would take them to her." Alyssa choked up and had to clear her throat before continuing. Her voice was a mere squeaky whisper now. "Grammy said she only smoked two cigarettes a day, but I think she must've lied about that." She cleared her throat again, to little avail. "Mercury poisoning is supposed to be treatable. I never meant to kill her!"

The girl completely broke down now, her knees giving way. Fortunately, just as I'd been able to break her grandmother's fall in the fire station, I was able to break hers now. I grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her toward the yard so that her knees landed on soft grass rather than rough, hard concrete. She fell forward, collapsing completely, and put her hands over her face, sobbing and writhing with grief and guilt. Macy fell to her knees on the grass beside her, sobbing as well.

Gideon pulled out his phone. "I'd better call Holden."

"Text him," I said. "He's in a class."

Gideon's fingers hovered over the screen as he eyed me. "How do you know that?"

"I had the same epiphany as Alyssa about what Joanna said." That's what you think. "I followed Holden to a private security center. He's training to work as a guard."

"You were doing your own investigating?"

"Yes," I said. "I felt that I owed it to Joanna." The woman had spent her final moments in my arms, after all.

Gideon heaved a slow, ragged breath, then moved his thumbs over the screen as he drafted the text that would change Holden's life forever. Once he'd finished, he jabbed the button with his index finger to send it on its way.

I had no idea what else we were supposed to do here. Alyssa was a minor, a juvenile who'd made a mistake—a serious, horrible, fatal mistake. Though I wanted to call Collin and ask him to come here to help sort things out, I didn't want to circumvent regular protocols and get him into any more trouble. Instead, I stepped away from the mother and daughter, and phoned the police department, asking to be transferred to Detective Gleeson.

When she picked up her phone, I identified myself. "We've figured out what happened to Joanna Hartzell. Please come to her townhouse as soon as you can."

"I'll be right there."

Fifteen minutes later, Alyssa and Macy had calmed enough to move to the rockers on Joanna's porch and await Alyssa's fate. Gideon remained with them on the porch. I kept my distance, sitting on the dilapidated steps of our adjacent townhouse.

When the police cruiser pulled up, I stood and met Gleeson at the curb. I angled my head slightly to indicate the two on the porch. "It was the granddaughter," I said. "It was unintentional."

Gleeson took one look at the pathetic young girl and inhaled a deep breath, releasing it slowly to steel herself. "This is going to be a tough one."

Through my relationship with Collin, I knew police work was rarely black and white, clearly right or wrong. While those who went into law enforcement wanted to see justice done, determining what constituted justice in each set of circumstances could be extremely difficult.

Having delivered the information and set the wheels in motion, I turned and gave a solemn nod goodbye to the three on the porch.