A Novel Way to Die

TWELVE





“HILDA?”

Had Darla passed this version of the Great Scentsations owner on the street, she likely would have slipped the woman a dollar and kept on walking. Never had she suspected that the coolly elegant Hilda Aguilar could look so downright . . . well, frumpy.

Today, the woman’s frosted blond hair was pulled back in a stubby, lopsided ponytail rather than styled into the usual sleek French twist or smooth bob Darla was used to seeing. As for the usual professional makeup job—the one that looked airbrushed on—this morning it consisted of simply a slash of red lipstick that had already been partially chewed off. But, the designer handbag over her shoulder notwithstanding, the most surprising aspect of the woman’s appearance was the fact she was wearing a tracksuit of the kind septuagenarian Mary Ann Plinski favored when not dressed for work.

Hilda, however, seemed either unaware or unconcerned that her appearance had shocked Darla into momentary speechlessness. Barely missing stepping on Hamlet, who scrambled out of the way just in time, she hurried to the counter where Darla was standing.

“Darla, thank God you are here! I came to see Jake, but she won’t be back for a while. I talked to her on the phone, and she said I could wait for her up here, if you don’t mind.”

Darla shook her head, her concern growing. “No, I don’t mind. Why don’t you sit upstairs in the lounge area? There’s coffee up there, and hot water if you want tea.”

Though the woman could probably use a cup of something stronger, Darla decided. Hilda’s eyes were ringed with dark circles that were likely owed in equal parts to a sleepless night and yesterday’s makeup.

Hilda, however, shook her head, refusing the offer. “I-I’d rather stay down here, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I’ll go crazy if I stay alone.”

Darla stepped around the counter and impulsively took the woman’s hand. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she urged. “Is it Tera?”

The other woman nodded.

“Darla, she-she never came home last night.”

A tear spilled down one unpowdered cheek and left a faint eyeliner trail behind. “I spent all yesterday afternoon calling her, and she never answered her phone. I finally closed the shop early because I thought maybe she was home sick in bed, but she wasn’t there, either.”

The woman paused and took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I phoned a few of her friends. No one saw her at school yesterday morning. And then that detective—I don’t remember his name—came by my house looking for her last night. He said that when she showed up again, he needed to talk to her right away.”

“I’m sure it’s just routine,” Darla assured her, but Hilda shook her head.

“You don’t understand. The questions he asked me about her, I could not believe. Does she have a passport . . . does she have any friends with criminal records? Finally, I got angry and told him to leave.”

Probably not the best move, going Mama Grizzly on a cop, Darla thought wryly, though she could understand a parent wanting to protect her child. Aloud, she asked, “So is that why you’re looking for Jake, to see if she can find Tera before the police do?”

“That’s all I could think to do. Tera has no one in this city besides me. The rest of the family, they’re back in Miami or in Cuba. I’ve always taken care of her. She knows nothing of life, of what it takes to survive on her own.”

Hilda paused and gave a swipe at her eyes, which were damp again.

“Me, I was only seventeen when I escaped from Cuba with my husband and his entire family on a little fishing boat meant for just six people. It was the hurricane season, but we didn’t know a storm was forming in the Atlantic when we set out. With the wind and the waves, it was a miracle that we stayed afloat long enough to reach Miami.”

“Hilda, I didn’t know. That must have been a terrifying journey.”

“I suppose it was, but I had grown up being frightened and hungry. To me, it was just one more thing to endure. But after that, I was never frightened of anything else again . . . not until now.” She paused, and her regal features abruptly crumpled. “Dios mío, I am so afraid! I’m afraid that the police think my daughter killed Curt Benedetto!”

“Who wants lunch? Get it while it’s hot!”

Darla had been so caught up in Hilda’s account that she hadn’t heard the bells on the shop door jingle. Robert had returned from the deli and was making his way toward the counter triumphantly waving a large and slightly greasy paper bag. Darla released Hilda’s hand and hurried to intercept him.

“Why don’t you put mine in the fridge upstairs in the lounge?” she suggested, giving her head a meaningful shake as he peered curiously past her. “I’ve got a customer I’m helping right now.”

Hilda began to sob, and the teen’s inquisitive expression promptly morphed into the distressed look common to males who can’t bear to see the opposite gender cry.

“Yeah, sure,” he verbally backpedaled. “Do you want me to, uh, take my break now, or wait?”

“Go ahead. I’ve got things under control here.”

Which wasn’t exactly the truth. For the moment, she had no idea what to say to a mother whose only child had just become a suspect in a murder investigation. And she couldn’t just leave the woman there crying, especially since her usual lunchtime customers would be popping in any minute now.

Darla hurried back around the counter, grabbed the box of tissues from the shelf below, and then thrust it into Hilda’s arms.

“Let’s find you a quiet spot,” she said, deftly steering the woman toward the shop’s rear room. As in the main part of the store, a few small tufted chairs were tucked in strategic corners so customers could sit and peruse potential purchases. Darla settled the woman alongside the New Age shelves. Maybe she’d gain a bit of serenity by osmosis.

“Here you go,” she said and plumped a tapestry pillow, which she then slipped behind Hilda’s back. “You can wait right there until Jake comes back. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to bring you something?”

Hilda sniffled a moment into her tissue and then shook her head. “I’m so sorry, causing such a scene in your nice store. But I know my daughter. She’s not capable of doing such a horrible thing. How could that detective suspect her of murder?”

“Reese has to check her out, just like he’s doing with everyone else who knew Curt. He’s only doing his job,” Darla gently reassured her. “Remember, she didn’t come home the night that Curt was murdered, and you yourself said that she usually spent her evenings with him. It does seem a bit suspicious.”

“I know, I know,” the woman agreed, breaking into fresh sobs. “But no matter what happened, I can’t believe Tera would leave home without telling me.”

Darla handed her another tissue and desperately wished that Jake would hurry up. While she was inclined to agree with Hilda that Tera didn’t seem to fit the type, she’d heard Reese and Jake recount enough tales about unlikely killers to know that one could never say never when it came to murder. On the other hand—

“Hilda, maybe Tera did have something to do with Curt’s death,” she ventured, “but that doesn’t mean it was deliberate. Maybe they had a fight, and he tried to hurt her, and she was defending herself. Or maybe he brought her down to the basement and tried to force himself on her, and she had to hit him with the crowbar to get away. I think on the cop shows they call it justifiable homicide or something.”

“You mean, self-defense?”

“Right. And maybe she’s afraid to come home because she knows the police will be looking for her. And she won’t call you because no one can accuse you of helping her if you don’t know where she is.”

“Oh, Darla, that does make sense.” Hilda looked up from her pile of sodden tissues, her swollen eyes suddenly filling with hope. “I know she could never hurt anyone on purpose . . . but maybe if he had tried to hurt her . . .”

She straightened and reached into her handbag, pulling out a compact. “I look a fright,” she exclaimed with a glance in the small mirror. Shoving the mirror back into her purse, she got to her feet again. “Please, I must make myself halfway presentable before Jake gets here.”

Darla obligingly pointed her in the direction of the ladies’ room and then went to wait on the middle-aged executive who’d just walked in. By the time she’d sent him off with a best-selling business biography and then rang up another customer who’d come in for her weekly fix of the latest romance novels, Hilda had emerged from the restroom looking almost like her usual self.

Darla took in the woman’s deftly recoiffed hair and fresh makeup with amazement. She must have a personal stylist stashed in that purse, she thought with a wry shake of her head. Even the tracksuit looked suddenly trendier, thanks to a scarf Hilda must have found somewhere in the handbag and which now was wrapped jauntily around her throat.

“Darla, I am so sorry for dropping in on you like this with my problems,” Hilda exclaimed, the earlier quaver in her voice all but gone. “I must have faith that Jake will find Tera before the police do and bring her home so we can work this out together.”

“I’m sure she will. And even if Detective Reese finds her first, I promise you he’ll treat her fairly.”

“Perhaps.” That last was said with a shrug that seemed to speak of more than a little distrust of authority. Though, now knowing the woman’s history, Darla couldn’t quite blame her.

Bells jingled again. This time, to Darla’s great relief, it was Jake walking through the front door. She was dressed for serious investigating, her unbelted black leather duster swirling around her jean-encased calves with every stride, her stacked-heel boots effectively camouflaging her limp. A pair of mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes, and her curly black hair sprang from her head like a lion’s mane, everything combining to give Jake the look of a kick-butt anime heroine come to life.

Just what Hilda and Tera needed right about now, Darla thought with a grateful sigh.

“Hey, kid, thanks for filling in.” Jake gave Darla an approving nod before turning to Hilda. “Sorry you had to wait. I was making a few inquiries about Tera.”

“Did you have any luck?” Hilda greeted her, the crispness of her tone belied by the anxious way she was twisting her hands. “Has anyone seen my daughter?”

“So far, none of her friends have seen her since her Wednesday morning class. And I can’t find anyone who saw her after you said she left the house again Wednesday evening. Late Thursday morning is when Darla and Barry found Curt’s body, so we’ve got about twelve hours we have to account for to get her off the hook. Do you have that picture I asked you to bring?”

“Of course.” Hilda reached into her magical handbag and pulled out a small framed photo, the size one would keep propped on a bedside table. “That detective—”

“Detective Reese,” Darla helpfully supplied.

“—Yes, that Detective Reese, he wanted a picture, too, but I lied and told him I didn’t have one,” Hilda replied, a faint look of defiance adding color to her pale cheeks. Darla caught a glimpse of the photo as the woman clutched the frame to her with a possessive air.

The image appeared recent and professionally shot, although the setting was casual and outdoors. The photo captured the girl from the waist up, turned so that she peered back over one shoulder toward the camera. For once, it looked like Tera had abandoned the exaggerated makeup she usually favored, wearing just enough color on her wide brown eyes and full lips to accentuate those features. Her shoulder-length, dark blond hair was loose and windblown. One carefully manicured hand—the pink nails the same girlish shade as her bright lipstick—had reached up to brush an errant lock from her eyes.

In the hands of a less skilled photographer, the image might have appeared deliberately posed in poor imitation of some glossy magazine cover. Instead, it looked as if Tera had simply turned in laughing response to someone calling her name, her youthful beauty and exuberance captured forever in that one shot.

Breathtaking, Darla thought with a sudden feeling of dismay that she couldn’t quite explain or dismiss.

Hilda, meanwhile, had released her grip on the frame and was handing the photo over to Jake, adding, “Tera gave me that picture just a couple of weeks ago. I-I’d like it back when you’re finished.”

“Certainly. When we go back down to my office I’ll scan it, and then you can take it right back home with you again,” Jake assured her as she accepted the photo. “I’m going to make some fliers with her picture on them to start handing out around the neighborhood. I’ll leave a stack here to pass out to anyone willing to help, if that’s okay by Darla,” she added with a meaningful look in her direction.

Darla nodded, concurring with the unspoken suggestion that Reese would be the first recipient of same. In fact, as soon as she had the fliers in hand, she’d give the detective a call.

“Hi, Ms. Martelli,” came Robert’s voice from behind them. “What’s up?”

Using the back of his hand to swipe the last of the crumbs from his mouth, he leaned over her shoulder to see the photo Jake held. “Hey, that’s Tera. What are you doing with a picture of her?”

“You know her?” Jake demanded.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen her around with some of the other girls. I think she’s in college.”

“Tera is Mrs. Aguilar’s daughter,” Darla explained with a gesture at Hilda. “She’s gone missing, and Jake is trying to find her.”

“Oh, yeah? I saw her the other night.” He turned and started toward the best-seller display, only to stop in his tracks as he was pelted by a chorus of questions.

“Where did you see her?”

“You’re sure it was her? What night, Wednesday or Thursday?”

“Was she all right?”

This last came from Hilda, who hurried over and reached for Robert’s arm. The teen swiftly stepped back, holding up both hands in surrender.

“Whoa. Can you, you know, ask me one thing at time?”

“Robert, this is very important,” Jake told him, turning the photo so he could see it again. “You’re very certain it was this girl you saw, and not some other blonde?”

“Yeah. She’s not into the goth scene, so we’re not, like, friends or anything, but I’ve talked to her before. She was standing right under a streetlight when I walked past her.”

Jake tucked the photo under her arm and pulled out a notebook and pen from her coat pocket. “All right, we’ll assume it was Tera. Which night did you see her?”

The teen squinted in concentration as he counted back on his fingers. “Definitely Wednesday night.”

“Good. Now, what time?”

“I don’t know. Early. Maybe midnight?” Which time Darla personally wouldn’t have classified as early, but then she wasn’t eighteen anymore, either.

Jake nodded as she made another note. “Where exactly—I mean, besides under a streetlight—was she when you saw her?”

“She was a couple of streets away from here, near the house where that Curt guy bit it.”

“She was near Barry’s brownstone?” Darla exclaimed. Then, ignoring Jake’s okay-you-can-shut-up-now look, she demanded, “What were you doing there at midnight?’

“I don’t know, stuff,” was Robert’s evasive reply, his expression taking on the same defiant look that Hilda had worn earlier. “It’s a free country.”

“It doesn’t matter what Robert was doing there,” Jake broke in. “What’s important is what he knows about Tera. C’mon, kid,” she urged as he remained silent. “The girl could be in real trouble, and you’re the only one so far who knows anything about where she was around the time that Curt, er, bit it. Was she with anyone?”

Robert shook his head.

“And what was she doing, besides standing there? Looking behind her, carrying anything?”

“She was, like, talking on her phone,” he replied in an incredulous tone as if to imply, What else would she be doing?

Jake nodded again. “Could you tell if she was angry with the person on the other end? How did she seem?”

“I don’t know . . . regular, I guess. I didn’t stand around listening. That’s, like, rude.” Another customer walked in just then, and the youth seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Sorry, gotta go help the lady,” he declared and rushed over to the silver-haired retiree in question.

Darla glanced Jake’s way. “I can go wait on the customer. Do you want me to drag him back over for more questions?”

“I’ve got what I need for now,” Jake said and shut her notebook. “If nothing else, we’ve established that Tera was in the neighborhood the night of Curt’s murder. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she swiftly reassured Hilda, who had given an audible gasp at that last. “Let’s go downstairs so I can scan this photo and get some more info. Darla, I’ll be back later with those fliers.”

The pair walked to the door, Jake leading the way like the heavy metal version of an avenging angel. Hilda’s posture was equally determined, if significantly less intimidating. Darla allowed herself a small smile. Even though she knew that Reese was a good cop, if it came down to betting who would locate Tera first, Darla put her money on Jake.

The question was, would finding the girl also mean that they’d found Curt’s killer . . . or was the true murderer still out there somewhere?

Darla pondered this while she made her way upstairs and pulled her turkey Reuben from the refrigerator. She’d carried with her the list she’d started before a disheveled Hilda had come rushing into the store. Between bites, she studied the page again, trying to find another clue in the column of names that she’d written. By the time she’d finished the sandwich, she’d conceded defeat.

“I might as well try a Magic 8 Ball,” Darla decided, crumpling her sandwich wrapper and tossing it in the trash.

She nearly threw her list after it but then changed her mind. She’d have James puzzle over the matter later in the afternoon. He’d enjoy the challenge and might well spot something that she had missed. For now, however, she wanted to have a word with Robert regarding his nighttime activities.

Darla made her way down the stairs again, dreading the conversation she was about to have but knowing that the subject would keep gnawing at her if she didn’t. Robert lived in the general vicinity, so it wouldn’t be unheard of for him to be wandering the neighborhood, even after midnight. But given that he had a job to go to in the morning, the fact that he wasn’t home asleep by then raised an unsettling question in her mind: what was Robert doing during his early morning rambles?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said aloud. She already knew he was into the goth scene, which almost by definition required that he engage in dark-of-night activities. And people his age generally treated the wee hours like any other time of day.

But she also recalled the rumor Barry had mentioned that the scrap thieves might be tied to one of the local Russian gangs. Curt had said the last time she’d seen him that the police suspected it was teens doing the deed, particularly since they’d found candy wrappers at some of the scenes. She’d seen for herself that Robert treated candy as one of the primary food groups. He also had bragged about doing construction work for his friend Alex Putin. Could Robert somehow be involved in the recent spate of metal thefts?

And then a far worse possibility flashed through Darla’s mind, the thought so disturbing that she halted at the bottom step and abruptly sat down on the stairs lest her legs give out from under her. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the barrage of questions that abruptly pelted her like an unexpected Texas hailstorm.

What if Robert was the scrap thief who stole the copper tubing from Barry’s brownstone? And who’d then returned to plunder a second time, only to be confronted by a crowbar-wielding Curt? What if Robert had fought back against the older man and won that struggle?

What if it was Robert—not Tera—who had killed Curt Benedetto?