chapter 7
FIRST CALLIE CHECKED ON MAX, who still lay in the hall by the back door. No more than fifteen minutes had passed since he’d been hit with the tranquilizer dart. His breathing had evened out, but he continued to sleep soundly — unnaturally. She had no idea if he’d be out for twenty minutes or for twelve hours. She didn’t know enough about these types of drugs and how they worked on dogs.
What she needed to do was boot up her laptop.
What she needed to do was call her vet.
Or Shane.
Instead, she covered Max with the lap blanket from one of the chairs in the sitting area, picked up her monster umbrella, slung it over her shoulder like a bat, and began walking through the shop, from aisle to aisle, checking for intruders.
No one was there, but the register drawer was open, its contents spilled on the floor.
A peek in her office revealed the computer was on. The screen saver cycled back and forth from a photo of the girls’ quilts on display at the Chicago Museum of Arts to one of her and Max sitting in the garden. She’d taken that one with the self-portrait feature of her new camera and had uploaded it to the computer less than a week ago. Was it the last photo she’d have of her and Max?
Pushing the thought away, she reached forward and moved the mouse. The monitor displayed all of her folders, files, and accounts. Who had been on her computer? Who knew the password to log on? She had the computer set to sleep after thirty minutes of inactivity, so had someone been in her office and on her computer less than thirty minutes ago?
Tightening her grip on the umbrella, Callie stepped out of the office and into the hall. She tried the door to her apartment, found it unlocked, and started cautiously up the stairs.
The eighth stair creaked when she stepped on it, and she froze, holding her breath while she listened for any movement. It was hard to hear anything above her pulse thundering in her ears.
After waiting two minutes, she wiped her hands on her dress — they were so slick with sweat, she was sure she would drop the umbrella — before continuing her climb to the top of the steps. When she rounded the corner and took the first look at her apartment, her legs nearly failed her.
She clapped her hand over her mouth, but there was no preventing the cry that escaped her lips.
Every drawer was open, every object within them spilled out onto the floor. Cushions had been pulled from the couch, and her bedding had been ripped off the mattress, which itself had been tipped off the bed frame.
Callie slumped back against the doorjamb and stared at the mess in front of her.
Who had done this?
The man in the alley?
When? Wouldn’t it have taken a while to cause this much chaos? Shane had said the crime team finished up less than an hour ago. Whoever did this had been watching and waiting and had moved very quickly or …
Callie suddenly knew she was going to be sick.
She stood, stumbled through the disorder that had been her home and made it to the kitchen sink. She leaned over it for one minute, then two, but nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten. There was nothing in her stomach.
Running the cold tap, she splashed water on her face, then on her neck.
Was it even possible?
Could they have been up here in her apartment while she was downstairs helping customers? How? She hadn’t recognized the person in Shane’s sketch, so it couldn’t have been a customer in her store. But what if they’d sneaked in and made their way upstairs while she was busy with someone else? She might not have heard them over the noise of the crowd.
She kept the door to her apartment locked when the shop was open, but obviously her perp knew how to pick a lock.
Though Max would have heard them — heard them and alerted Callie.
Which meant they had to have come between the time the children left for their walk downtown and the time the police had arrived. They could have slipped in when she was out for register tape, sneaked by Deborah and Lydia. So who killed Mrs. Knepp?
Callie grabbed a rag, wet it with cold water, and pressed it to her forehead.
She needed to talk to someone, and she needed to see to Max.
But what about the note?
The thought had no sooner crossed her mind, than the phone in the shop began to ring. She ran down the stairs to answer it.
The display on the caller ID lit up, but the word scrolling across read Unknown.
She picked up the receiver, but didn’t say anything.
“It’ll take a while for the sedatives to clear his system. But you’d know that, having sold drugs and all.” The voice was male and middle-aged. It was the voice of a creeper.
Callie would have liked to kick his teeth in.
“Why did you do this to him?”
“Chill, Harper.” The man’s voice lost some of its amusement. “Max is fine — this time. Dogs bother me though, so don’t expect me to be kind twice. He’ll be awake in an hour, if you tell us what we want to know. Now turn the lights off, so we can talk.”
He was watching her?
From where?
She walked to the main light switch and flipped the downstairs lights off. Shafts of light from the street lamps shone through the front windows. Would Gavin or Shane notice that her shop was in darkness? She tried to resist, but she stepped away from the counter, so she could see the street better, see if help was coming.
“The good officer, Gavin, passed by right before I shot your dog, so you can stop gazing out the window.”
Callie ducked back behind the counter. Had he seen her? How was that possible? Infrared glasses? No way this creep was that well equipped.
“Everything appeared to be locked up nice and tight from the street. I made sure he couldn’t see the door was open as he drove by. You had to be standing on the sidewalk to see that — trick of light. I’m good with tricks. I wanted you to find my note, not Officer Gavin. I wouldn’t expect help from that direction. He only checks once every ninety minutes, and by then, you better pray I have the information I want.”
A deep fright filled Callie’s belly, like ice water swallowed on an empty stomach. But at the same time her anger began to boil. The temper her mother had often warned her about threatened to erupt. This person had no right to violate her private space, shoot her dog, and then think he could hold her ransom.
For information? What information? What could she possibly know that he would want so badly?
Then another thought leapt in front of the others. The same thought she’d had earlier, but this time it came back stronger, more certain.
“You killed Mrs. Knepp.” She practically spat the words.
Instead of denying it, the man on the other end of the phone laughed. She heard the strike of a match, a deep inhalation, and then the scrape of a chair against concrete.
“Yeah, I did, and I won’t stop there. So listen real close. You can save yourself and the mutt too. Tell me where the money is.”
“The money —”
“We know it’s not in your register, your safe, or your apartment.”
They’d been searching for money?
She didn’t have any. The shop was making a profit, but barely.
“We even know it’s not in your bank account.” He took another drag from his cigarette. She could practically smell the smoke. “Found your little notebook with all your passwords. Might want to keep that somewhere else in the future. Next to your keyboard isn’t the smartest place — you know, in case you’re burglarized.”
A woman giggled in the background. That sound was so out of place, clashed so completely with all that had happened in the last six hours, that Callie nearly fell apart then and there. Surely this was all a terrible nightmare.
She would wake and find Max lying beside her, conscious and safe.
She would wake and find her life put back together.
“Why …” Her voice cracked on the word. She swallowed and tried again. “Why did you kill her?”
Creeper blew out one last long, exasperated breath. It was followed by the sound of his boot grinding against the ground, probably crushing out his cigarette. Then the sound of a chair scraping across floor, as though he had stood up. “One hour — have the money in the alley or when we come back Max dies.”
“But —”
“If you try to contact anyone, you will both die.”
Panic surged through her veins. She imagined him about to disconnect the line. Knew she had to find some way to keep him talking. “I … I hid it.”
He grunted. “Hid it,” he repeated.
Callie squeezed her eyes shut, tried to think of the biggest lie that would buy her the most time. “I didn’t want to report it to the IRS. So I hid it instead.”
“All right. Tell us where, and we’ll retrieve it and be out of your way.”
“It’s not here. Do you think I’d keep that much money close by?”
Creeper’s voice faded as he spoke to someone else, no doubt the giggling woman he’d chosen for an accomplice. “I told you she was smart. Didn’t I tell you she was smart?”
Pressing her forehead against the wall, Callie tried to think up more details to this preposterous scenario before he could ask her questions.
“Give me directions, and we’ll go and get it.”
“Can’t.” Callie thrashed around in her mind for an excuse. “Even I couldn’t find it in the dark. And every cop in the county is hunting for you.”
The woman in the background began arguing. Now Callie could make out her words. She definitely had a Chicago accent. “I told you not to use the Taser. You shouldn’t have killed —”
Creeper screamed an obscenity and the woman shut up. Silence filled both rooms, and Callie suddenly became aware of her computer humming, the clock over the register ticking, and her own pulse thumping.
“Are you playing with us?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Mrs. Knepp’s murderer was quiet for five, then ten seconds. “Nah. You’re not stupid.”
He struck another match, and she wondered why he didn’t use a lighter. Would the police be able to track the smell of nicotine, discarded matches, and a room with a concrete floor?
“How long do you need?”
“I’m not sure.” Callie felt sweat trickle down her back. What should she say? She needed to get him off the phone and find a way to contact Shane. How much time would it take to search for money she didn’t even have?
Creeper lowered his voice to a whisper. “I like feisty, but not too feisty.”
“You want me to do this without attracting police attention?” Callie fought through the fear, forced herself to make up a believable scenario. “I’ll have to keep the shop open, or they’ll know something’s wrong. Which means I can’t go out until after I close the shop, and then it will take time to dig it up.”
“We’ll help you.”
“No.”
“You’re not in a position to give orders, remember?” Again the deep inhalation as he sucked up nicotine.
“I remember, and I’ll get you your money. But I …” She allowed some of the tears she’d been holding back to escape, allowed her voice to tremble with the fear threatening to consume her. But she held the rage and anger that were building in check, forced herself to keep it inside a little longer. “I want my dog to be okay, and I want my house back to normal. I don’t want to ever hear from you again.”
He laughed softly. “We can arrange that. Long as you turn over the money. By the time the cops catch on to us … we’ll be gone, like smoke.”
The woman cackled with him, the sound echoing in the night.
“Don’t take too long, Harper. I’ll be watching you.” His boots clomped against the concrete. She thought he’d disconnected, thought it was finally over, when he whispered his parting shot into the phone.
“We can see more than you think — I can see you hiding behind the counter right now — and we can hear more too.” He paused and sighed in what seemed to Callie like frustration. “You find the money. Find what’s mine. In the meantime, we’ll check with a few other people who might have a portion of what needs to be returned, what I mean to have back.”
Then the line went dead.
Callie hit the End button on her cordless receiver and had just pulled in her first full breath when the phone began ringing again. She stared at the phone in her hand and finally pushed the Talk button on the sixth ring — though she didn’t say a word.
“One last thought, Harper. That little kid in the wheelchair might be able to identify me, which is a worry. You want to have that money to me quick-like so it won’t be a problem. And as far as your boyfriend, the invest-tee-gator? Tell him something — anything — to keep him off my back.”
Then Creeper hung up again, and this time he didn’t ring back.
She listened closely, straining to hear the sound of a car door or even the tinkle of the bell over the door of her shop. But there was nothing.
Eventually she became aware, once more, of the hum of the computer. She reached under the counter, behind the curtain that covered her supplies, and checked for the black box, the surveillance system her aunt had purchased several years ago. It was gone. She’d known it would be, but still another part of her heart cracked.
She stood, her legs numb from kneeling on the floor, and moved to where she’d left Max. He still lay in the same position.
Watching her dog, she noted the slight rise and fall of his chest. Sobs began building in her throat, wanting to escape, but she refused to give in to them.
A dozen questions and answers collided in her mind as she watched Max.
Why did he shoot her dog if they’d already been through her place? Because he wanted to show her he could.
Why didn’t he kill her like he’d killed Mrs. Knepp? Because he wanted his money.
What would he do to Aaron if she didn’t deliver it? He’d kill him.
She knew the answers, knew them every time her mind conjured up the sketch Shane had shown her, every time she remembered the sound of his voice in her ear.
But the one question she couldn’t find an answer to, the one question that spun round and round as Max finally began to stir, was the question she knew she’d have to answer and answer soon.
What money was he talking about?
Shane stared down at the text message once more before exiting his vehicle. The message was odd enough on its own, but the fact Callie had sent it at two a.m. was completely unexplainable.
Can’t sleep. Might b late 4 r bfast date. 6:30 instead? Am sure Margie will hold our tbl. Gnight.
He’d wanted to call immediately to talk to her, but he’d resisted because of that last word — it sat there, like a nail in a firmly sealed coffin. Everything about her message sent warning bells screaming through his head and heart, but that last word plainly indicated he was not supposed to call her.
Gavin had reported that all of Callie’s lights were off when she had gotten home and every ninety minutes after that as well. So the part about not sleeping made no sense.
And Shane and Callie had never made plans to meet for breakfast. Why was she pretending they had? Why was she pretending she needed to move the time to six thirty? It was as if she were speaking in code, as if she expected her message to be intercepted — which was ridiculous — and needed him to read between the lines.
It was only six fifteen, but he’d decided to go with his instinct and scope out the only place he knew of where someone named Margie might hold a breakfast table for them. He snapped his phone shut and walked toward The Kaffi Shop. Between the murder and the cozy mysteries Callie had been reading, perhaps she’d developed a little paranoia.
Still, Shane scanned the street as he pushed open the door. The odor of fresh coffee — which in no way resembled what he’d been drinking at the police station — and baked breads nearly knocked him back out to the sidewalk. For one second, he forgot why he was there as his stomach responded to his more primal needs.
“Morning, Shane.” Margie glanced up in surprise. Bright red hair framed a face spotted with freckles, even though she was in her late-thirties. He’d yet to see her when she wasn’t smiling. Margie was one of the most contented persons Shane had ever met — and definitely a morning person.
“Morning, Margie.”
“Surprise seeing you here so early.”
He ordered a coffee and a cinnamon roll, placed his money on the counter, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Have you seen Callie today?”
Margie shook her head, causing her long, green earrings to bounce and glitter. “Nope. Callie’s not much of an early bird. She usually drops by at lunch or in the evenings after she closes her place.”
“Got it.” He grabbed a copy of the Gazette, which had a photo of yesterday’s murder splashed across the front, and placed another dollar on the counter. “I’ll be at the back if anyone needs me.”
Ten minutes later, at exactly six twenty-eight, Callie pulled up across the street. She had Max with her, and Shane knew as soon as they both stepped out of the car that something was wrong.
For one thing, Max usually bounded out of a car. This morning Callie had to reach in, pick him up, and set him down on the ground as if he might break. The dog sniffed around, gazed up at his owner, then began to walk gingerly — but when he took his first step, he wobbled.
What was that about? It looked like her dog was dizzy.
Callie wore a knee-length jean skirt, her Texas boots, and a long-sleeved brown suede top. In other words, she looked like the country girl who was in the process of stealing his heart. As she moved toward the shop, walking stiffly with her head never glancing left or right, her eyes focused completely on him, Shane stood. He began to move in her direction, but she shook her head, or at least he thought she did. The shake was so small, he could have imagined it.
And then she was opening the door.
“Morning, Callie. What can I get you?”
But Callie didn’t answer Margie. She just walked toward Shane. And then he noticed her lack of color, the dark smudges under her eyes. His pulse kicked up a notch, and his mind began to shift through all the things that might have happened since he saw her last night.
Before he could choose one though, before he could begin to guess what might be wrong, she walked straight into his arms.
“Callie, what?”
“Hold me,” she whispered. The tremor in her voice was nearly his undoing.
His arms closed around her, and he could feel her trembling. He wanted to pull away, wanted to look into her eyes, but something told him she would fall onto Margie’s floor if he didn’t hold her up.
After a minute, no more, she disentangled herself and walked to the booth where he’d been sitting. She sat on the side he’d occupied only moments before, facing the front of the shop.
Which forced him to take the seat with his back to the windows.
“Nice seeing you so early, Callie. Still want a double shot of espresso in your coffee and whipped cream on top?”
“Yes. Thank you, Margie.”
“Sure thing.” She studied them curiously. “I think I have some dog treats behind the counter for Max.”
“That would be great.”
Max lay with his head down on her feet, showing no interest in the people around him. He didn’t even bother to sniff Shane or respond to Margie’s voice. To Shane he seemed more than unresponsive. It almost seemed like he had been drugged.
“Listen and don’t ask too many questions.” She licked her lips, tried to speak, but couldn’t. Clearing her throat, she started again. “They could be watching from outside, and I don’t want them to see your expression. I don’t think they could possibly have microphones here. They can’t put mics everywhere. How could they? How would they know where we might meet or who Margie is even if they were somehow monitoring my texts?”
Sweat was now pouring down Shane’s back. He leaned forward and captured her hands, which were shredding his napkin. “Slow down and breathe.”
So she did. And then the horrible story began to spill out. At first he had trouble believing what she was telling him. But it synced too well with what he was seeing — Max’s lethargy, her shock, the evidence at the scene. Mrs. Knepp had technically died of a heart attack, but preliminary autopsy reports indicated an electrical shock caused the heart attack. A small mark at the base of her neck, half an inch below her prayer kapp, was indicative of a Taser.
There were no dart-like electrodes left in her skin though, only the single mark. The killer had used a Taser, but he’d used a model with drive-stun capability, which was not supposed to incapacitate — unless the person being tased was in her eighties. Shane’s preliminary meeting with Knepp’s family had revealed that Knepp had an irregular heartbeat and was taking medication for the condition. Apparently the shock of the night before was too much. “What about the security machine in your shop?”
“It’s gone. The entire device is missing.” She stared at him, fear mixing with dread.
And then there was the thing, that single thing that had been scratching the edge of his consciousness for the past twelve hours, and it finally broke through.
“The dress you had on yesterday —”
“What about it?”
“The material, a dark green, was it something new? Something from your shop?”
“Yes. Deborah helped me with the pattern.” Her hands shook as she tried to drink the coffee Margie had brought. “I made it from our new fall fabrics. Shane, I don’t think that’s important. We need to figure out —”
“You said he admitted killing Mrs. Knepp, and then later in the conversation you heard a woman arguing with him?”
Callie nodded. “Right. Something about a Taser and that he should have used something else. I didn’t understand it. I was trying to think of a way out of the conversation, but it almost sounded as if things hadn’t gone according to plan. As if he hadn’t meant to do that at all.”
“I don’t think he did.” Shane considered holding back what he’d pieced together, but Callie needed to know as much as possible now. She had shown great courage coming to him. He needed to be straight with her, and he needed to find a way to protect her until this psycho was caught. “Callie, I think he meant to attack you. If he had used a Taser on you, it would have knocked you out, but it wouldn’t have killed you. Mrs. Knepp was old, and her heart couldn’t take the stress. Think about it. Both you and Mrs. Knepp wore a dark green dress. He approached from behind, saw a shoulder or hemline, and thought it was you.”
“But she was so old.” Her voice rose in indignation. “Are you telling me I look like an old Amish woman? I have much better hair than she does, and my skin … You can’t be serious, Shane.”
“You don’t resemble each other from the front. He attacked from the back, and there wasn’t much light.”
“Her kapp —”
“He might not have seen it with her hiding in the shrubbery, though I still don’t understand why she would have been spying on your shop.”
“It was just something we did. There was no real harm in it.”
“Until last night …”
Callie’s eyes flooded with fear for a moment, then anger won once again. “We have to stop them.”
“We will, but until then I want you to let me send you away. I don’t know why he’s focusing on you or what this talk of money is, but we can protect you —”
“No.”
The stubborn woman Shane knew so well stared at him, and though the fear was still there, lurking below the surface, he knew arguing with her would be useless. “No. I won’t do it. I won’t run and hide while Aaron is in danger.”
“Then we’ll hide Aaron too.”
“And his entire family? How do we know they won’t go after Deborah or Esther or a dozen other families in Shipshe? No. This stops with me. So far he’s already accidentally killed an old woman and tranq’d my dog.”
“And tossed your apartment.”
Callie’s eyes nearly closed in anger. “If you catch him, promise me ten minutes alone with this creep.”
“When we catch him. It might take us a while, but we will catch him.” Shane felt a sudden urge to hit something — a punching bag, a wall, this perp’s face. “Have you forgotten how many people are in town this weekend? This won’t be easy.”
“He’s not leaving until he gets what he wants, and he wants his money.”
Shane sighed, realizing again how much the woman sitting across from him had found her way into his heart. She was stubborn, yes; but she was also smart, even when she was scared. “I’ll put up perimeter security.”
“That won’t work. They’ll be watching. He told me he could see everything.”
Shane smiled for the first time since receiving her text. “That was probably a bluff.”
“But he knew where I was sitting —”
“A good guess. He knew where the phone was located, so of course you’d be nearby.”
“But he knew” — her hand came out of her lap, waving, nearly knocking over their coffee mugs — “other things.”
“He may have had binoculars or infrareds on the place, but I doubt it. I think we have a Vegas player here. Someone who knows how to bluff and how to bluff well.”
“So how do we catch him?”
“Use the festival to our advantage.”
“But you said it would be hard to find him with so many people.”
“True, but there are good things about it being the busiest weekend of the year. There are people everywhere.” Shane tapped a beat on the table. “He can’t watch us all, and he’s not the only one who can wear a disguise — if what he had on when Aaron saw him was a disguise, and I’m betting it was. You’re not going to be out of my sight until your creeper is behind bars. I will catch this guy, and when I do — only God will be able to help him.”