It was getting close to noon when we made it to her street, which was filled with apartment buildings in various degrees of disrepair. Marge found a parking spot a few buildings down from our destination, and we made our way down the sidewalk, which was cracked and dotted with old soda cans and discarded wrappers.

  “She’s in 4D,” I told the others as we approached the building.

  Inside, the building looked well kept, although nondescript. Probably a step up from the others on the street. We found the apartment number on the fourth floor, and Celeste knocked on the door. I had no idea how we would get the girl to talk. Hopefully, Celeste or Marge would take the lead this time. I didn’t have it in me to wing it a second time.

  We waited for a while. Celeste knocked again, then we heard footsteps at last.

  “Who is it?” It was a female voice, and she sounded all stopped up.

  “We’d like to speak to Tiffany Rogers, please. It’s concerning Nathaniel Gossard.” Celeste spoke in a professional, confident-sounding voice.

  After a long silence, we heard the rustle of a chain and the sound of a lock coming undone. Very warily, Tiffany peeked out in a housecoat with a wad of tissues in her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen. Even her neat bob was looking sad.

  Recognition and anger filled her eyes. “It’s you! Those supposed cousins who came around the other day nosing at the office. How did you even find me? You leave me the heck alone.” For such a grief-stricken woman, she heaved the door at us with a mighty force.

  Marge stopped it with her foot. “Tiffany, please wait! You’ll want to talk to us. We’re not the enemy. I swear! We’re investigators.”

  Ah. We were going with the truth. A new approach, but it could work, I guessed.

  Tiffany frowned at her. “Investigators? Why should I believe you?”

  Celeste pulled our credentials from her purse and showed them to her. Tiffany perused them and looked back up at us. Tears welled up in her eyes. I could tell she was completely overwhelmed with the influx of information.

  Marge spoke with a soft voice. “Look, we want Nathaniel’s murderer caught, and I think you want that too.” She looked her in the eye. “I think you want that more than anyone.”

  “What exactly do you mean, more than anyone?” Tiffany looked nervous.

  “Working together as you did, I supposed the two of you might have gotten…close?” Celeste raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh! Well, I…” Tiffany backed away. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks.

  “We don’t mean any harm,” Marge told her soothingly. “We just need your help so whoever did this won’t be allowed to just run free.” Her voice grew a little softer. “You would help, if you could, right? You would do that for him?”

  Tearfully, she nodded and stepped aside to let us in as she blew her nose.

  She led us into a small living room that was neat but sparsely furnished. The three of us squeezed onto a love seat, leaving the one chair for our hostess.

  She saw us glance around. “They don’t pay a lot, not as much as one would think. Plus I’ve got student loans.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Um, I could make some tea?”

  Marge smiled at her politely. “That would be so kind.”

  Kind, but also germy? I was almost sure the reddened eyes were more from crying than a cold. Still, with all the sniffling, I was not exactly eager to drink something from her kitchen. I supposed, however, the tea would make things feel cozier and encourage her to talk.

  I would graciously accept, and then when I got home, my mother would be more than glad to whip me up some potion to zap any germs that might be lurking. Sometimes she would be touting her flu-busting smoothie made with kale and pomegranates. For anything that ailed you, Barbara Cooper had a smoothie. And a spray. Most of the time, I chalked it up to so much hocus-pocus. Now, however, as our sniffling hostess busied herself over tea, I thought I could ask my mother for whichever nasty-tasting blend of magic she thought kept me safe.

  Once we were settled in, we tried to drink our tea without bumping elbows on a couch that was built for two, not three. Tiffany pulled a wad of tissues from the pocket of her robe and held it to her nose. The poor girl was suffering from something a cold pill couldn’t cure.

  Marge explained how we’d been hired by a private citizen concerned about activities on his property. That included, she explained, the shooting death of one Nathaniel Gossard.

  Tiffany brought her hand up to her mouth and began to weep at the mention of the death. I supposed she’d been weeping since she heard the news.

  “I know this must be hard,” I said in a gentle voice. “You seem so torn up. Tell us something.” I tilted my head in sympathy. “Was Mr. Gossard more to you than a boss? I know things like that can happen in an office setting. Love finds a way to…um…bloom.”

  The girl hesitated for a moment as she looked away. “We were in love,” she said.

  “My sympathies,” Celeste said. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

  Tiffany sniffed. “Thanks.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on who could do such a thing to Nathaniel?” Marge leaned forward, which jostled all of us. I tried to keep my teacup steady.

  “Was he involved in anything…unusual that put him into danger?” Carefully, I brought my teacup to my lips.

  “Would anyone have benefited from his death?” Celeste watched her closely.

  “You can tell us anything,” Marge said. “We are not the police. We represent our client, and he is also vested in this thing to find out what happened.”

  “We want someone to pay for what they did to your friend,” I added.

  The girl covered up her face and softly wept again.

  If I ever thought Tiffany was a suspect in this case, I didn’t anymore. This was real heartbreak I was seeing. Not in a million years could Tiffany Rogers have killed Gossard. Nobody could act this good. At least we could cross one person off the list.

  She regained her composure. “I’ll be honest with you, because goodness knows, someone needs to pay for what they did. Nathaniel, while I loved him, was not exactly honest in the way he handled business. For instance, he was the manager of finances for the firm.” She paused. “He managed some of those finances into his own pockets.” She looked down at the worn carpet and then back at us with a pleading glance. “You have to understand, that was not okay with me. I told him he had to stop, but he wouldn’t listen, and I…I…just loved him too much to expose him.” She smiled a little at some memory that seemed to have crossed her mind.

  “Who knows about you and him?” I asked.

  “None of his partners know. I’m positive of that. We kept our relationship a secret because Nathaniel…his divorce wasn’t final yet.”

  Oh.

  The girls and I exchanged glances. Somehow, I got the feeling this poor girl was being played by someone who knew too well how to play the game.

  Tiffany glanced away from us. “I know how that sounds, and I’m really not that way. I was raised to be respectful of marriages and families. We were just so in love.” She stopped to blow her nose. “Until the divorce was final, he said we had to keep it as quiet as we could. Otherwise, he said, his ex would get more money. He said I deserved it way more than she did.”

  Real swell guy, this Nathaniel.

  “She doesn’t even live here in Springston anymore,” Tiffany continued. “She moved to Arizona for her job or something about one year ago.”

  “I see,” I said. “Thank you for your honesty.” I tried to concentrate on our conversation and block out the part that made Gossard a pig. “Did something happen before his death?” I asked. “Did he take up new activities…of perhaps an illegal nature?”

  Tiffany thought about it. “Now that you mention it, there was something going on, I think,” she said, “although I’m fuzzy with the details. I type up legal things, but I often have no clue what that stuff even means. Anyway, he had some plan to make a lot of money, like really major bucks.”

  “Tell us anything you can remember,” I urged her.

  “Well, I do know that lately, he had a lot of meetings with an ‘old acquaintance,’ mostly in the evenings. It was never at the office, so that in itself was fishy.” She paused. “Huh, I never really thought anything of it until now.”

  “Any clues at all,” I asked, “about who this person was?”

  “The only thing I know—”

  But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. She was interrupted by a loud rap at the door. “Springston Police Department! We’re here to execute a search warrant!”

  Celeste’s eyes met mine.

  Marge’s hand flew to her heart.

  My own hand was shaking as I tried not to spill my tea.

  That voice belonged to Alex because life hated me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We all jumped up and froze.

  Tiffany’s eyes were huge. I thought that any minute she might hyperventilate.

  Celeste held up both hands as if to keep us steady. “Everyone stay calm,” she told us quietly. “Stay calm, and we’ll be fine.”

  I felt a lot of things. One of them wasn’t fine.

  I glanced around the small apartment. No way could we hide. If Alex had a warrant, he would search every inch of the place. I made myself take a breath and think calming thoughts. We had a right to be there! Tiffany had let us in. Still, Alex would be pissed.

  I set down my teacup and strengthened my shoulders.

  Tiffany was shaking as she went to the door, and then, there he was. A warmth cut through my strain as I saw the way his muscles bulged inside his sleeves. I wanted more than anything to brush away the silky strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes. I quickly snapped back to reality.

  I could see two more officers standing behind Alex. He let out a sigh and shut his eyes when he caught sight of us still frozen in our places. “Why?” His voice was pleading. “Why are the three of you everywhere I go?”

  Tiffany frowned, looking from Alex to us, but didn’t say anything.

  Marge took a deep breath to begin her usual burst of words, which Alex clearly had no time for. Before she could begin her explanation, he put his hand up. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” He glanced in my direction but didn’t meet my eye. “I need you to go now while I get this thing handled. This is official business.”

  Oh, yes. Official business: one of the many ways the cops had an advantage over us.

  On the other hand, I thought we could get a lot more out of Tiffany than he would. She was looking at us sadly as if she were begging us to stay and support her through this ordeal of Alex showing up.

  Celeste took her hand and softly said goodbye. “We are again sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you for the tea.” I touched her elbow gently.

  Marge handed her another tissue she had taken from her purse. “I always find that movies are a great distraction. Movies with light plots, things to make you laugh. And a tub of ice cream too.”

  Tiffany just nodded, looking shell-shocked.

  “Butter pecan is delicious,” Marge said, “although I must say a high-end brand of chocolate chip—”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Hating to have to do it, we headed to the door, wondering what our despairing hostess was about to say to us when Alex had come knocking. I glanced at him while the three of us left the apartment.

  I exchanged a look with Marge and Celeste and stuffed down my disappointment. We’d let him do his thing, but I had a feeling that tea and sympathy would go a whole lot further here than Alex and his warrant.

  We traipsed back to the car without saying a word. Marge let out a sigh as she got in. “Well, shoot. I guess Alex found the same emails you did, so it’s no surprise he’s here.”

  “I wonder if he found out something more, though.” I pulled my seat belt across my chest. “Would those emails between Gossard and Tiffany be enough to justify a warrant?”

  Celeste rolled down her window and lit a cigarette. “He did have a lot more time to search the office than we did. Who knows what he found while we were out there parading high above the city streets.”

  Whatever Alex knew, I doubted he would share it over a fruity glass of red at a romantic dinner—if that dinner ever came.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “Good question,” Celeste said. “We’ve got some time until we need to go and pick up our client.”

  Marge fished some wrapped candies from her purse and handed one to me. “Let’s think about the pieces of the puzzle that are missing. We still have no idea why Gossard, and whoever shot him, were in McMillan’s yard. What does our client or his property have to do with this whole mess?”

  “That is the magic question,” Celeste said, “or one of them at least.”

  “I think that’s the key to everything.” I unwrapped my candy.

  Marge cocked her head to think. She turned sideways in her seat so she could see us both. “The key could also be that ‘Tony winners wet a gullet’ or ‘Pony winners get a pullet.’” She scrunched up her nose. “Did I get those two mixed up? It’s like some gruesome mystery told in a nonsense rhyme, which is kind of fun. Except for the dead-guy part, of course.”

  “It could also be that what was really said that night was altogether different.” Celeste blew out a ring of smoke. “Maybe it doesn’t have a thing to do with Broadway or a chicken or whatever.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. Consider the source, I suppose.” I gazed down the street in the direction of the apartment we’d just left. Maybe Alex was at that very moment getting the case solved. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so bad. We all wanted to see the murderer behind bars. We would still get paid for our work, though, since our fee wasn’t contingent to solving the case before the police did.

  “Let me check my notes,” Marge said. “Was it the pony winners or the actors who wet a gullet or a pullet?” She considered it a little longer; Marge did love a good puzzle. “I guess it’s nice to win a pony, but oh that poor, poor chicken. I don’t imagine a pullet would like it very much to have someone spray it with water.”

  I wondered what was going on in there between Tiffany and Alex. He would be considerate with her once he saw how stressed she was. Alex had a big heart underneath the muscled, soft-eyed gorgeousness that had me so distracted. Everything would be perfect with him, if he would just stop barging in at the very moment a witness is about to tell us something good.

  Marge cut into my thoughts. “If Grumpy Man McMillan heard it wrong, what else could it have been?” She thought about it for a moment. “Phony sinners get a mullet?” She sighed. “Worst hairstyle in the world.”

  We sat in silence in the car while we thought about where to go from there.

  “What do we think about the wife?” I said at last. “Should we work that angle right now? I mean, if she really did move to Arizona, what are the chances of her coming back to kill her husband?”

  “Jealousy is one of the top motives for murder,” Marge said. “Could be that she found out about her husband and Tiffany, and even though they were getting divorced, she couldn’t handle it.”

  “Then she would have to have the physique of a bodybuilder,” I said, “the way our killer climbed up that fence in McMillan’s yard.”

  “You’re right,” Marge said. “Chances are extremely low we’re dealing with a woman here.”

  “Then let's skip the wife for now,” Celeste agreed, “and put her on the back burner.”

  “There’s also another thing we have to think about,” I said. “We should take a good look at some of those other lawyers who work in Gossard’s firm. If he was taking money from the business—and it sounds like he was—that could be a motive.”

  “You’re right.” Celeste said. “How many were there again?”

  “I think four,” I said.

  “I’ll check again.” Celeste tapped into her phone and pulled up the home page of the law firm on her screen. “You remembered well. There are four partners besides Nathaniel,” she said. “Two women and two men.”

  “But if one of them killed him, why go to McMillan’s house for it?” Marge asked.

  “Good question,” Celeste said. “It comes down to it again.”

  “Let’s check those lawyers out,” I said.

  “Off we go.” Marge started up the car. “Let’s try to stay on the indoor side of the windows this go-round, okay?”

  “What’s the plan?” I asked.

  Celeste put her cigarette up to her lips. “I don’t know. Let’s think.”

  Traffic was very light, and about twenty minutes later, we were pulling into the familiar parking garage of Gossard and Gossard LLP.

  “They should give us our own space,” I said, “as much as we come here.”

  I was hoping that we’d sit for a while and discuss how to get information out of those attorneys, but before I knew it, Marge and Celeste were out of the car and heading toward the elevator. As we took the elevator up, I wondered how we would explain ourselves this time to the girl behind the desk. Celeste and Marge looked lost in thought as well, probably thinking the same thing. My heart was pounding now. We really had to get away from this whole idea of winging it and hoping for the best.

  As I watched the lighted buttons track the progress of the elevator, a somewhat decent story began forming in my mind. “I’ve got a thought,” I told the others. “Let me take the lead.” I closed my eyes and concentrated, mentally beginning the transformation from down to earth and clumsy to airheaded (just a little) and vivacious.

  The receptionist frowned at us as we entered, and there was a question in her eye.

  I clasped my hands together as a sign of gratefulness and excitement. Let the show begin. “It was just amazingness to spend some good time with our girl, and you made that happen. You are such a doll.” I studied her teasingly. “Are you Kappa Delta Lambada? Because you are fabulous. You have that Kappa flair!”

  The receptionist smiled and blushed before quickly switching back into the cool detachment that was her professional demeanor. “I hope you found Tiffany improved.”

 

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