“Relax. Besides, tapes are always last.”
Because they’re tedious. She got that. But she should have considered electronic surveillance. She should have had that piece in mind as they questioned the housekeeper.
Which set her teeth on edge. Sort of the way Angelo’s laissez-faire attitude about it did.
They switched to an interior camera view: Margaret Cook leaving Vanderlund in the front parlor. The woman sat primly, waiting. She looked as threatening as a lap dog.
Micki started tapping her leg again. Anxious.
“When’d you say you moved up to Detective Bureau, Dare?”
“January one.”
“Not quite two months.”
She didn’t take her eyes from the monitor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Detective work’s tedious. Dot the i’s, cross the t’s. You seem like a cop who likes action.”
“And you seem like a cop who doesn’t.”
Instead of taking offense, he laughed. “True dat.”
Micki forced her fingers to still again. “How long have you been DIU?”
“Fifteen years, give or take.”
On the monitor, Cook collected Vanderlund and escorted her to Vivianne Stanley’s office. A moment later, the door shut and the housekeeper hurried off.
“Fifteen years. So you’ve seen just about everything.”
“Most days it seems that way.” He tapped fast forward. “I’ve seen a lot of good cops get burned out, that’s for sure.”
“I guess that’s your politically correct way of suggesting I dial it down a notch?”
“Just trying to help. Fifteen years is a long time, a lot of cases.”
They fell silent. Several minutes ticked by. It felt like forever. Finally, Micki cleared her throat. “Advice noted, Angelo—”
The last died on her lips as she watched Bitty Vanderlund exit Stanley’s office. Proper gray suit splattered with blood. Blood on her hands, face, legs. On her head perched a crown.
Stanley’s missing crown.
Angelo froze the image. “Well, I’ll be damned. What we were talking about before? Yeah, fifteen years I’ve never seen this.”
The woman looked pleased with herself. She was smiling—a small smile, turned up at the corners. As she reached the front door, she called out a cheery goodbye, just as the housekeeper said she had.
They switched cameras and fast forwarded to Vanderlund climbing into her car and driving off. Not even a glance back.
Micki stood. “We’ve got our girl. Let’s go get her.”
Chapter Five
4:00 P.M.
The Vanderlund residence had the wow of the Stanley’s, but not the history. “New money,” Grandma Roberta used to sneer. As a youngster, Micki had always wondered what that meant; she’d finally realized the ugliness was about the sender, not the recipient.
The Vanderlund housekeeper stared at their shields, then looked at them in surprise. “Mrs. Bitty isn’t here right now.”
“Do you know where she is?” Micki asked.
“She had a doctor’s appointment this morning, then planned to visit a friend.”
“What’s the name of the friend?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Angelo stepped in. “What time did she leave for that meeting?”
“Before nine this morning.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely. I came in at eight-thirty and she was preparing to go.”
Micki made a note. “And she hasn’t been back?”
“Not that I know of.”
Angelo looked up from his notebook. “You say she had a doctor’s appointment? Do you know the doctor’s name?”
The woman wrung her hands and darted a glance behind her. “Her daughter, Tori, is here. Maybe you should speak with her?”
“That would be helpful. Thank you.”
She showed them to the front parlor, one similar to the Stanley’s. Micki pictured Bitty sitting there waiting, expression so deceptively…pleasant. At that moment, had she been planning to beat the other woman to death? Had the thought, the urge, already been planted in her mind and heart, just waiting to bloom into full carnage?
Micki stopped the housekeeper on her way out of the room. “One last question. How did she seem this morning?”
“Mrs. Bitty? Same as always. Sweet and upbeat.”
“Sweet and upbeat,” Micki repeated as the woman exited. She looked at Angelo, who was busying checking out framed photos placed strategically throughout the room. “Hard to reconcile that description to the blood-soaked woman in the video.”
“What did you say?”
Micki turned. A young woman stood in the doorway. Tall, slim and attractive, shoulder-length brunette bob. And obviously smart, Micki thought. Some people simply emanated intelligence.
“Detective Dare,” Micki said, holding up her shield. “This is my partner, Detective Angelo. Are you Bitty Vanderlund’s daughter?”
“Yes.” She moved her gaze between the two. “Victoria Vanderlund, how can I help you?”
“We’re here about your mother.”
Alarm raced into her eyes. “What’s wrong? Has she been in an accident?”