“I can only take her crying so long. Besides it’s only been a couple of hours.”
And we’ll pay for it tomorrow, Nikki thought, noting that the TV was tuned to the news and a reporter was standing in front of Jeanne LaRoux’s lane, inaudibly giving off the few details about the homicide, all of which were showing in closed captions, all of which Nikki already knew. Lily pointed the remote at the television. “I assume this is what kept you both.” The screen flipped to a picture of Jeanne LaRoux, larger than the two other photographs that flanked hers. One was a very unflattering mug shot of Billy Huber, the other a posed headshot of Mavis Greenlee.
“Still trying to piece it together,” Pierce said, as he set his daughter onto the floor.
“You, too?” Lily asked her sister, then, before Nikki could respond, added, “I don’t know why I even asked; of course you are.” She stretched to her feet. “Phee’s already upstairs, finishing homework, I hope, but probably on her phone. I’m going up to play the role of drill sergeant.” Motioning to Chloe, still in Pierce’s arms, she added, “You can try to get little Miss Fussy Pants up to bed.”
“Amnotfussy pants!” Chloe said petulantly.
Lily smothered a smile. To Nikki, she said, “She’s all yours.”
“And I love it.” Nikki snagged Chloe from her husband, then nuzzled the little girl’s neck, while Pierce quietly explained about the vandalism and Lily took a quick trip into the garage to see for herself.
Upon returning, she looked at her sister. “Someone doesn’t like you very much.”
“Whoever it is, they can join the club. It’s not all that exclusive.” Nikki had made more than her share of enemies while investigatingsome of the most heinous crimes in the area, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. She touched her daughter on the tip of her nose. “Come on, let’s take these Barbies up to bed.”
Once upstairs, she sat in the rocker, cuddling with Chloe and a blond Fashionista Barbie, a Black Barbie with an Afro, and a half-naked redheaded Barbie in pigtails. As Nikki readGoodnight Moonfor the kazillionth time, Chloe started drifting off, and the redheaded doll fell out of her arms. By the time Pierce walked into the room and told her there was cold pizza in the fridge, their daughter was fast asleep.
The transfer of Chloe from her arms to Pierce’s didn’t quite go as planned as the little girl, groggy, half woke and started crying about the doll that had fallen, that she couldn’t reach it.
Nikki headed downstairs, where she warmed up a couple of slices of pepperoni, added tomato, then carried the makeshift pizza dinner, along with a bottle of Dr Pepper, to her office. She paused on the second floor to hear her husband trying to cajole their stubborn daughter back to sleep.
Good luck, she thought, as there were nights when Chloe, exhausted as she obviously was, refused to settle down. Tonight, it was Pierce’s problem, she reminded herself, as she climbed the spiral stairs to her office.
Once in her chair, she alternately took bites from the pizza and read through her notes. Arlo had followed after her and spent a couple of minutes adjusting the toys and blanket in his dog bed before he tucked in, nose to tail, and began to softly snore.
Fink wanted another story, so she pulled up the article she’d written about Jeanne LaRoux from years before and tried to figure out how to bring it back to life, a new angle, with updated information, if she could find it.
Maybe an interview with whoever had found her?
A client—if she could find one.
Or possibly something more in-depth from Granger?
Or what about Archer Greenlee? No, scratch that. He wasn’t exactly the grieving widower. He wouldn’t talk to her. Nor would Annabelle. Archer had seen to that.
She came back to the simple question: Who gained from the deaths?
Billy Huber’s daughter, Janelle McGowan, possibly, if there was any value to his estate. Or possibly his brother, Robert, in payment of the loan Billy had reneged on. But his property was mortgaged and not worth much at that.
With Mavis Greenlee’s death, Archer was the big winner. No divorce; he would probably inherit all of her estate, and he was free to be with Annabelle.
She tapped her fingers on the desk and thought.
Though it was unknown about Jeanne LaRoux, it seemed likely that her only son would inherit. But unless there was life insurance, her estate wouldn’t be worth much.
Not enough to kill for.
Or was it?
But, even so, that didn’t explain why they all were murdered. There wasn’t one single person or entity who would benefit from the three deaths. At least not one she’d uncovered.
Yet.
Leaning back in her chair, she considered the All Christian Church connection, but it was thin. Too thin. Mavis had been a parishioner and active in the church, but Billy Huber was far from churchgoing. So he had a collection of Bibles. So what? He had a collection of everything. It was true, Linda-Sue, his wife had been a member, but that had been years ago.
As for Jeanne LaRoux, she’d been raised as a Catholic, but practiced a weird blend of voodoo, paganism, and Christianity that seemed unrelated to the other victims. And it didn’t connect her to All Christian and Westin Stark.
