Bodice of Evidence Read online

  I put my hand on Mom’s back and walked with her and Felicity into the kitchen area of the shop. The young shop woman sat at the break table; tears flowed from her eyes and her shoulders shook. Someone had gotten her a glass of water, but she ignored it. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  “Is she going to be all right?” I asked the policeman who stood beside her with his hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ve called her husband,” he said.

  “Why don’t you move into the fitting room on your right.” The uniformed officer we were talking to in the alley ushered us through the kitchen and into a waiting room. “Do you ladies need anything?” he asked.

  “Water, please,” I said and ensured Felicity and Mom sat down before they fell down.

  “No problem,” he said and stepped out of the room. The sound of people talking and the general foot traffic a crime scene caused filtered in through the open doorway.

  “What time is it?” Mom asked as she patted Felicity’s hand. “Your father is going to get worried.”

  I took my phone out of my purse. “It’s five fifteen. Do you want me to call Dad?”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” Detective Murphy said from the doorway. “You ladies shouldn’t be driving home.”

  “Oh, the car.” Mom’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed. “I swear, if I get another parking ticket . . .”

  “A parking ticket?” Detective Murphy tilted his head slightly.

  “Mom got a ticket before we walked over here,” I said, and pulled the ticket out of my purse. “I guess that’s a good thing now, right?”

  Detective Murphy took the paper out of my hand. “Yes, it gives a time and date stamp that proves where you were when the crime was being committed.” He looked at the ticket. “Officer Toole will vouch for you. Were you all present when the ticket was written?”

  “Yes,” we all said at the same time.

  “Good,” Detective Murphy said, and handed me back the ticket. “Keep that close.”

  “Your water.” The uniformed officer handed glasses to my mother and Felicity.

  “Who found the body?” Detective Murphy asked.

  “We all did,” I said. “I was first out in the alley, but we sort of all saw her at the same time.”

  “Poor girl,” Mom said as she sipped the water. “Who would do such a thing? I mean, this is a bridal salon. Who would want to commit murder at a place like this?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Detective Murphy said. “Pepper, step out with me a moment.”

  I followed the detective out of the room. The younger uniformed officer stood with my family. He had his hands behind his back and his gun prominent. I knew instantly he was there to reassure my mom and sister that they were safe.

  “Tell me what happened,” Detective Murphy said. “How did you manage to get involved in yet another murder?”

  “Good to see you, too,” I said, and tried not to roll my eyes.

  “Pepper, this is serious.”

  “I know it’s serious.” I paced the hallway. “I’m the one who found her.” A shiver ran down my back. “She was still warm when I touched her.” I glanced at Detective Murphy. “That means she hadn’t been dead very long. Right?”

  “Her core temperature was ninety-seven degrees,” Detective Murphy said. “The med tech said she’d been dead less than an hour before we arrived on scene.”

  “Oh, goodness.” I sat down hard on one of the fainting couches in the main room. “We could have been here when the killer stabbed her.”

  “Try to remember everything you saw.”

  I shook my head at the thought that my mother or my sister could have been in the path of a murderer. “We were late.” I studied his calm, brown hound-dog eyes. “We were supposed to be here at four. We had an appointment, but Felicity was growing distraught at not finding the perfect wedding dress.”

  “Ah.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Ah, as in wedding dress shopping. My sister was ready to stab a fork in her eye before her daughter finally found the perfect wedding dress. They must have looked at hundreds of dresses.”

  “Well, Felicity is only at seventy-five dresses so far.” I hugged myself and rubbed my forearms. “My mom wants to decide for her already.”

  He sent me a small fleeting smile. “Wait until you go over the guest list.”

  “I can only imagine,” I muttered.

  “So, you were late because . . .”

  “I talked my sister and my mom into stopping in the park and having a coffee. It was only fifteen minutes. It should not have been a problem.”

  “Okay, you were late, so you opened the door . . .”

  “We opened the door and the front room here was empty.”

  “Did you hear anything? See anyone?”

  “No. Wait. Yes, the door slammed closed behind us. I think I said something about there being a door open somewhere. It’s the only way you can get that kind of crazy suction.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Mom and Felicity sat down here and there.” I pointed to the couches. “I walked over to the desk to see if there was a note or something.”

  “Was there?”

  “No, I saw the bell so I rang it. We were pretty noisy. If someone had been in the building, they should not have been surprised by the ringing of the bell.”

  “Okay.” He nodded and wrote something in his book.

  “When no one answered the bell, I told Mom and Felicity to stay put while I went to check out the place.”

  “But you said they were with you when you found the body.”

  “Yes, they were. It seems that not listening runs in the family.” I sent him a weak smile. “Anyway, I went down the hall and opened all the doors to the dressing rooms, but there wasn’t anyone in them.”

  “Do you think that’s unusual?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We were the last appointment of the day, so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

  “How did you know you were the last appointment?”

  “The appointment calendar was open on the desk.” I got up and went over to the desk. “See, right here it says ‘Pomeroy party, four P.M.’ Then nothing until tomorrow.”

  “The rooms were all empty,” Detective Murphy prompted as he nodded at a crime-scene tech to let him know he needed to check out the appointment book.

  “When we didn’t find anyone, we went to the back room. It looks like a break room and there are bathrooms back there. But the bathroom doors were open.”

  “What made you think to check out the alley?”

  “Well, with the way the front door slammed, I wondered if, maybe since we were late, our salesgirl might have stepped out for a smoke. Then I remembered the state law that people can’t smoke within fifteen feet of an entrance. That’s when I went around the Dumpster and found her on the ground.”

  “What happened when you found her?”

  “Mom and Felicity saw her at the same time. My sister turned a little green. Thankfully my mom whipped out her cell phone and dialed 911.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “Yeah, well, I saw the knife and the blood, but I didn’t know for sure she was dead. I bent down and checked for a pulse.”

  “Did you find one?”

  “No.” I shook my head and rubbed my arms to ward off the chill that wouldn’t leave. “But she was warm. I knew that if she was warm, she might still be breathing. I took out my compact mirror and put it under her nose and mouth. But there wasn’t any condensation at all.”

  “You assumed she was dead.”

  “Yes.” I paced the length of the pink and white front room. “We stayed with the body until the first police officer arrived. I think he introduced himse
lf as Officer Parrack. He also checked for her pulse, but there wasn’t any.”

  “Did you start CPR?”

  “Oh,” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Should I have? Do you think I could have saved her?” Fear and guilt crept through me. “There was so much blood. I didn’t think about CPR.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could have done.” A tall, thin man in a black coat marked Med Tech strode out of the hall and into our conversation. He had a black leather bag in his right hand. I assumed it was his CSU kit. “We won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but it looks like the knife cut straight through her heart. She bled out.” He sent me a sincere look. “Nothing can save a person when they lose that much blood.”

  “Oh, dear.” I sat down hard. The room spun a little.

  “I meant to comfort you, not upset you.” The man in the med tech coat was beside me in a flash. “Put your head between your knees and breathe in and out.”

  I did as I was told and things stopped spinning so much. “I know you were trying to help,” I muttered to my knees. “But the idea that all that blood could have come from my sister or my mom if we’d gotten here a few minutes earlier is a little hard to take.”

  “Here.” Detective Murphy squatted down beside me and handed me a glass of water. “Sip this.”

  I sat up slowly and sipped the cool water. “So there’s really nothing I could have done?”

  “Not a thing,” the man said. His gray eyes were solemn. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to swab your hands.”

  “Why?” I glanced at my palms. “You can’t be looking for gunshot residue. The murder weapon was a knife.”

  “It’s standard procedure,” he said, and opened the kit on the floor next to him. I watched in fascination as he pulled out a tall paper-covered swab, cracked it open, and took my hand in his. “I’m going to hold your hand for just a second.”

  “Her boyfriend might not like the sight of you down on your knees holding her hand.” Detective Murphy winked at me.

  “I’m Blaine Wilson, by the way,” He introduced himself as he carefully ran the swab over my palms and between my fingers. “CSU.”

  “Pepper Pomeroy,” I said. He took a second swab out of his kit, then gently took the glass of water from me and carefully placed it on a coaster on the white-painted occasional table beside me. He took my hand and turned it palm up and mirrored the swiping he did on my right hand.

  “You found the body?” he asked without looking at me.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry for that. She died very quickly. Like I said, there really wasn’t anything you could have done.” He sat back on his heels, bagged swabs, and marked them with my name, the date, and his initials. “I have a good friend who’s a trauma counselor.” He reached into his open jacket and pulled a card from his shirt pocket. “Give her a call. These things can sneak up on you. When they do, she’s a good one to go to.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at the card. It said Judith Miller, Trauma and Grief Counselor, and gave a phone number. “I handled the last dead body I found pretty well . . .”

  “Keep the card,” he said as he stood. “Nice to meet you, Pepper.”

  “Nice to meet you, Blaine.” I shook his hand and he moved off to whatever other duties he had. I turned to Detective Murphy. “Do you know her name?”

  “Who? The victim?”

  “Yes. I feel like I will carry her with me for the rest of my life. The very least I should do is know her name. Was it Eva?”

  He raised an eyebrow questioning my guess.

  “Our appointment was with an Eva,” I explained.

  “Right.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “We don’t have an official ID yet.”

  “What about the woman who came back from getting coffee? She obviously works here. It sounded like she recognized her. Didn’t she call her Mom?”

  “I can’t give out the identity of the dead woman until we follow proper channels.” He raised his right eyebrow. “You’re going to have to wait for the details just like everyone else.”

  “Of course.” I stood. The earth tilted a little as I got that woozy feeling from standing up too quickly. Detective Murphy’s hand was out of his pocket like a shot and cupping my elbow. “I’m good,” I lied, and stepped away from his touch. “Do you need anything else?”

  “I need to get a statement from your mother and your sister. Then you can go.”

  “Great.” I moved to the salon door where my family was stashed. “I’ll send Felicity out next.”

  “Thanks.” Murphy sent me a curt nod. “It’s best if you don’t discuss what happened until we let you go.”

  “Right,” I put my hand on the doorknob. “Thank you, Detective.”

  “We’ll talk again.”

  “I’m sure we will.” I opened the door to see Felicity resting her head on Mom’s shoulder. My sister’s face was blotchy from crying. “Felicity, Detective Murphy needs to ask you a few questions.”

  My sister sat up. She pulled a tissue from a paper box, blew her nose, and stood. “That poor woman.” She shook her head. “Who does such a thing to another human being?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and held open the door. “I trust Detective Murphy will find out.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Felicity walked through the doorway and I closed the door behind her.

  “What a terrible thing,” Mom said, and blew her own nose. My mother’s eyes flashed with anger as quickly as they welled up with tears. “No one deserves to die like that.”

  “The med tech said there was nothing we could have done to save her.” I took a seat next to Mom. “Did you call Dad and let him know we were going to be late coming home?”

  “Yes, the officer here let me make the phone call as long as I didn’t mention details.”

  “What did Dad say?” I took Mom’s hand and her fingers were cold as ice, so I rubbed them between my hands.

  “He wanted to come straight down, but I told him we were fine.”

  “We’re all pretty shaken up,” I said, and glanced at the officer. “Maybe you should have Dad come down and drive us home.”

  “What about my car?” Mom asked. “I refuse to get another ticket.”

  “I can have someone drive the car to your home,” the officer said. “Your daughter’s right, it would be safer.”

  “Fine.” Mom waved her hand. “Call your father.” She sighed and shook her head. “This can’t be good for Felicity.”

  “What can’t be good?”

  “Murder,” Mom said, and turned her wide brown gaze on me. “This is the second murder to get in the way of our planning your sister’s happy day.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” I patted her hand. “This has all been so random.”

  Mom pulled her mouth into a thin line. “These things come in threes, you know. I’m praying that the next one killed is not a member of our family. It can’t hurt, right?”

  I had to agree. “You’re right,” I said. “A prayer or two might be fitting right now.”

  “I’ll call the church group and get them praying around the clock that you and your sister don’t have to witness another murder ever in your lives.”

  Now that was a wish I could get behind.

  Chapter 3

  “I’m glad you called Warren.” Mom patted Dad’s knee as he drove us home. “Felicity needs her fiancé, just like I need you, dear.”

  “I’m glad my girls are safe.” Dad glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do they have any idea why that poor woman was killed?”

  “No.” I leaned forward as far as the seat belt would let me, which was pretty far. Dad had an old Buick with enough space in the back to sleep ten. I kid; it would sleep four. “Detective Murphy said it may have been a robbery gone bad, but at first glance it didn’t seem like
anything was taken. I do know some of those designer dresses are worth a quarter of a million dollars or more.”

  “Who spends that much on a dress you wear for a few hours one day of your life?” Mom shook her head. “Ridiculous. That’s a nice down payment on a condo or a town house.”

  “They are designer dresses with hand-sewn beading and crystals,” I said. “You don’t expect to be paid 1980s wages. Therefore, you have to be willing to pay today’s prices.”

  “So, wait . . .” Dad made a mad maneuver to pass a slow-moving van. He barely cut back in in time to miss a head-on collision with an oncoming semitruck. The semi honked his horn in anger. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dad muttered to the semi. “What was I saying?”

  “You said, ‘So, wait . . .’” Mom patted Dad’s knee as if that would help him remember.

  “I forget what I was going to say. What were we talking about?”

  “The ridiculous price of dresses,” Mom said.

  “No, that’s not it . . .”

  “The murder?” I suggested.

  “Close,” Dad said, and hit the blinker and pulled out into oncoming traffic.

  “Gun it, dear,” Mom said absently. “There’s another car.”

  “I see it.” Dad squeezed back into his lane just in time to hit his brakes as the traffic in front of us slowed to a crawl. “What was I saying?”

  “You said, ‘So, wait . . .’” Mom repeated, and I swear I was in the middle of some kind of Abbott and Costello comedy bit.

  “I was telling you that as far as Detective Murphy could tell, nothing had been stolen,” I said in a desperate attempt to stop yet another Groundhog Day–like repeat of the conversation.

  “Right,” Dad said, and squealed the wheels to take the exit off of I-90 to Arlington Heights Road. “So the woman was killed and the shop left wide open, and as best the cops can tell, nothing was stolen?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “But they need to check with the owner before they know for sure. Turn here, Dad.”

  “Oh, right, I’m taking you home. For a moment there the car was taking you back with us.”