Chapter Thirteen

~ Jenna ~

Monday afternoon, Ben Buxston calls me.

“I heard what happened yesterday,” he says. “I’m sorry. My mother is hysterical. She thinks the investigation isn’t moving along fast enough. To calm her down, my dad talked to the mayor, who is pressuring Chief Bradley to find Riley’s killer and wrap up the case. It’s a shame random people had to be dragged into the station. We need to arrest Riley’s killer and bring him or her to justice. I think it’s time we step things up. I have a plan. Do you want to hear it?”

~ Maddie ~

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jenna asks as the elevator doors open into Riley’s apartment. “I’m already in enough trouble, I don’t want to add breaking and entering to the list of potential charges.”

“Too late now,” Ben says. “You’re here.”

He did some reconnaissance work and discovered that the officer who’s been guarding the crime scene takes a dinner break between 7:00 and 8:00 every evening and during that time his post is uncovered. Hemlock doesn’t have enough personnel to spare an officer to cover dinner breaks.

By the time we arrive, the officer is gone. After waiting patiently for a lull in neighbor activity we’re able to make it into the elevator and up to Riley’s condo.

Because there are security cameras in the lobby and elevator, and the police will likely review the footage, we decide to dress to conceal our identities. Ben knew the particulars of the system they’d installed since he’d been involved in purchasing it when Buxston-Fox built the Birkshire. He said it was unlikely that the police could monitor it live and there was no doorman, concierge, or on-premises security personnel.

Buxston-Fox Development had intended to staff the property with such, but due to low presells and subsequent low occupancy, they’d been forced to scrap the extras.

He assures us as long as we are quiet and quick about getting in and out—and careful to wear our disguises and turn our faces away from the security cameras—we should be able to pull it off.

The three of us are wearing ski masks. After all, it’s winter and the temperature has been dipping into the low teens. It wouldn’t be so shocking or out of place to see people with their faces covered. Still, we make sure the coast is clear before we run for the elevator.

“How can this be breaking and entering when I’m using a key?” Ben says.

“We are crossing a police line,” I say. But when we step off the elevator and into the apartment we notice the yellow plastic crime scene tape is gone. That gives us a new angle. We can plead innocence if we’re caught. After all, we’re here with a family member of the deceased. He has a good reason for being here and he invited us to come along.

It’s the truth.

We each have our reasons for taking this risk. Jenna and I are here looking for clues that will help exonerate her. Ben needs to find Riley’s email password so he can get to the bottom of the honeymoon situation. He also needs to find his grandfather’s Rolex, which Riley had inherited. He was afraid Riley had pawned it in his quest for money. Or that it had been stolen, if his brother’s murder was a byproduct of a burglary gone bad.

I hope the watch is there. If not, it will be insult added to the injury of losing his brother.

We all step around the bloodstains that still mar the foyer. I try not to look at the gory mess because it reminds me of the way Riley looked lying there, staring back at me with unseeing eyes. I position my body so my back is to the foyer.

Even so, there’s an eerie feel in the air. Like Riley’s spirit is here watching us. Riley, if you’re here, please tell us who did this to you.

Other than the odd metallic smell in the air and the stained marble, the condo looks normal. The family will need to hire a professional company to clean up the mess. They shouldn’t have to deal with cleaning up a crime scene. I make a mental note to suggest it to Ben, in case Jackson doesn’t.

After Jackson’s stunt of forcing Jenna out of the White Owl Sunday, I’m not very eager to talk to him. I don’t care who’s demanding what, he could’ve handled it differently.

We’re all wearing gloves to keep from adding our fingerprints to the apartment. In the elevator, I gave everyone microfiber shoe covers to keep from tracking in debris.

“We need to be quick about this,” I remind them. “I’d say we shouldn’t spend more than ten minutes, five if we can manage it.”

“Should we make a plan in case someone does come up?” Jenna asks.

Jenna and I stare at each other, but Ben is already in another room, opening and shutting drawers. He doesn’t answer.

It’s a good idea. Wincing, I glance back at the elevator in the foyer. The elevator doors are still open. If someone comes up, at least we’d have the heads-up of the doors shutting so the elevator can go down and get them.

“It would be good to have a plan,” I say. “Better safe than scrambling at the last minute. Let’s figure out something.”

“There’s a balcony over here.” Jenna points to a wall of French doors. We both walk over, and I open the door. A gust of arctic air blows in as we step out onto a large balcony and walk over to the waist-high stone wall that serves as the safety rail. I look down. There’s no escaping this way. It’s a sheer six-story drop to the lawn. There are balconies below us, but since we’re not Cirque du Soleil performers, that’s not an option. Plus, vertigo makes the ground spin. I step back.

“Hey, Mom, look at this.”

Jenna has discovered a staircase leading up from the balcony to what appears to be the roof. I follow her. It crosses my mind that it might not be smart to be parading out in the open on the roof of the crime scene, but she’s already started up the staircase. I’m curious so I follow. The perp didn’t appear on footage shot by the security camera that surveils the elevator entrance and the emergency stairs, which remain locked up tighter than a maximum security prison. Jackson said it didn’t appear that the footage had been tampered with, so that can only mean that the person who killed Riley got in another way. But how? I wonder as I step onto a magnificent rooftop patio.

“Is this a private space or is it shared?” I ask.

Jenna shrugs. “I don’t see another way to get up here. I’m assuming it’s private.”

I make a mental note to ask Ben when we get back inside.

I notice an ashtray with remnants of ashes and fresh snow. I pick it up and hold it up to my nose. It smells like cigar ashes. I wonder if Riley had somehow rallied after Jenna had tucked him in and had smoked a cigar with his killer before the altercation that cost him his life?

But it’s cold up here now with the sun is shining. I can’t imagine it would’ve been comfortable in the middle of the night. I abandon that train of thought and glance around for another way in or out of the rooftop area, but I don’t see one.

“I think we should go back inside before someone sees us up here,” Jenna says. She’s already starting down the staircase.

By the time I get down, she is standing in the living room staring at the couch.

I close the door behind me and stand beside her, touch her arm.

“This is where I left him. Right here. I covered him with that blanket.”

There’s a chunky woven throw lying in a heap on the floor—as if it fell off him when he stood up. It makes me wonder if there was an element of surprise to him discovering the perpetrator.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I know this is hard.”

She nods.

“I wish I could lie down on the couch and cover myself up with the blanket and see if that’s how it would land if I was startled and stood up without removing the blanket first,” I say. “I don’t want to move it because it might contaminate the evidence.”

“By this time, don’t you think they’ve taken all the evidence they needed?” Jenna asks. “They’ve had three full days.”

“We still need to be careful.” I hope Ben’s only touching what’s absolutely necessary to find Riley’s passwords.

“When I left, the decanter was right here next to a box that’s not there anymore.” Jenna points to an empty space on the coffee table.

They probably took the box as evidence.

“Maybe Riley was trying to escape into the elevator when the killer hit him?” I shake my head. “Poor guy. It must’ve been terrifying to wake up out of a sound sleep and realize someone was after you.”

“Is that really what you think happened?” Jenna asks.

I shrug, because I don’t know, but it gives me an idea. “But let’s think about this. You left Riley asleep on the couch.”

I move so I’m standing next to the couch, behind the blanket, which is heaped on the floor. “Let’s pretend like I’m Riley. You be the killer. Where would you stand?”

“We know that the killer picked up the decanter,” Jenna says. “That means at one point he or she would have to be within reach of it.”

“That’s right. And Riley’s body was found in the foyer and there doesn’t appear to be blood elsewhere. So, that means Riley was probably hit in the foyer. From what I saw, he was hit from behind.”

“He would’ve needed time to see the person, get off the couch, and move into the foyer,” Jenna says.

I step over the blanket and move from the living room into the entryway. Jenna follows me and pretends to clock me in the back of the head with an invisible decanter.

I am about five foot nine, but my daughter takes after my petite mother and measures only five foot. As she pretends to swing the weapon at me something twigs.

“How tall was Riley?” I ask.

“Very tall,” she says. “Six-four, six-five? People used to tease us because there was such a difference in our height.”

Relief floods through me. “I think I just cleared you of Riley Buxston’s murder.”

Jenna’s eyes are huge. “How did you do that?”

“It’s simple. From what I saw when we discovered his body, the wound was on the crown of his head. I’d be willing to wager you’re not tall enough to have delivered the fatal blow.”

Jenna’s hands fly to her mouth. She looks so relieved, I’m afraid she’s going to cry.

“Think about it. I’d wager most brandy decanters measure less than a foot, including the stopper. On expensive ones, the stopper just sits in the opening. It’s not secured. So if a person grabs the decanter by neck, it falls off and they lose that much range. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense. After choking up on the neck of the bottle, they’d only have nine inches, if that.”

“Did you happen to notice the brand of the decanter when you looked at it?”

“It was Waterford. I saw the card that came with it. It was from Bebe and Harris Bailey. We can ask them which pattern it was and look up the dimensions.”

I nod. “As much as I don’t want to talk to Jackson right now, I need to find out if this has crossed his mind. If it has, I don’t see how he can still consider you a suspect.”

“What has crossed whose mind?” Ben asks as he joins us in the living room.

I repeat my theory.

“Riley and I were the same height. Six-four. Pretend to swing at me and see where it would hit.”

Jenna does. Even with the added reach of the decanter, she would’ve hit him on the back of the neck, not on the top of his head.

“You don’t have the reach,” Ben says. “That should clear you. I found the passwords. Riley didn’t have a very good memory, which is why I had a feeling he’d write them down. I took a picture of the page with my phone. Let me grab the watch off the nightstand and let’s get out of—”

The sound of the elevator doors closing preempts Ben’s words.

“Someone’s coming,” Jenna whispers as the car begins to descend the shaft. “What do we do?”

“Hide,” Ben hisses.

He ushers us into Riley’s bedroom and mouths, “Under the bed.”

Jenna and I drop to the floor and somehow manage to shimmy under the frame in time to hear the sound of the elevator doors opening.

My heart is pounding. Since the room is quiet, I’m guessing Ben was able to hide, too.

The sound of shuffling feet enter the bedroom. Someone begins to open and shut drawers.

I hate feeling so vulnerable. All the person needs to do is lift the bed skirt and look underneath. I hold my breath and contemplate what I’ll do if that happens. Would we be better off wriggling out the other side and making a run for it? The elevator doors would likely still be open.

As the person walks by the bed, the toe of his shoe goes under the bed skirt and narrowly misses my fingers. I can’t look at Jenna because I’m afraid I might scream or break out in inappropriate hysterical laughter or tears.

Now he’s standing so close, rooting through the drawer in one of the bedside tables, that I can see the leg of his blue jeans and a pair of new-looking white sneakers. Obviously he’s not a cop.

He draws in a breath and whispers, “There you are. Hiding in plain sight.”

I brace myself for him to pull up the bed skirt and discover us, but instead, I hear the sound of footfalls growing fainter. Eventually the elevator doors close. I realize he’d been talking to himself. Obviously, he’d found what he was looking for.

I glance at Jenna. She looks as freaked out as I feel. I press my finger to my lips to signal her to remain quiet and still until we’re sure he’s gone. What if he decides to come back? I doubt he will, but I want Ben to be the first one to come out of hiding.

A minute later, I hear feet shuffling. I know it’s Ben because he’s walking toward us from the closet.

Then I hear him utter a loud expletive.

“What is it?” I ask as I push my body out from underneath the bed.

“Whoever it was took my grandfather’s Rolex. It was right here. Now it’s gone.”

We all stare at each other for a moment.

“It’s not only a homicide, but it’s become a burglary, too,” Ben adds. “It was a 1942 Rolex Antimagnetique. It’s worth around $500,000.”

“Is that the Rolex Riley used to wear?” Jenna asks.

Ben nods. He looks furious.

“I didn’t realize it was so valuable. It just looked like an ordinary old watch. Granted, it was a Rolex, but it wasn’t flashy. I guess you had to know what you were looking for to recognize what you were looking at.”

“What was Riley doing walking around with such an expensive watch?” I ask.

Ben shakes his head. “My dad was always on him about keeping it in the safe deposit box and not wearing it like it was a Timex, but Riley never listened to him.”

“Is it insured?” Jenna asks.

Ben nods. “The money isn’t the point. It’s been in our family for three generations. We were supposed to pass it down the Buxston line. I just want to get it back.”

“The guy’s voice sounded familiar,” Jenna says. “But I can’t place him. Can you?”

Ben and I shake our heads.

“It was just a whisper,” Jenna says.

“Since I was in the closet, I didn’t even hear him,” Ben says.

“He didn’t sound familiar to me,” I say.

Jenna shrugs. “Let me process it. I’ll definitely be listening closely to every guy I come into contact with.”

“You’ll need to be careful about what you say when you report the watch missing,” I remind Ben. “You can’t tell the police we were here, and if we know what’s good for us, we’ll leave now. The officer is going to be back any minute. With people coming and going, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the neighbors has already called the police.”