CHAPTER 21
Wednesday, March 9, 2005
2:00 a.m.
The ringing phone dragged Stacy from sleep. She opened her eyes, disoriented. Dispatch. She blinked, fighting to shake off the fog. Somebody’s dead. Got to-
The device screamed again and she snatched up the receiver, answering as she had on the job.
“Killian here.”
“Got a question.”
Malone, she realized, fog clearing. Not dispatch. New Orleans, not Dallas. She shifted her gaze to the bedside clock.
2:05.
A.M.
“It’d better be a good one.”
“In Alice in Wonderland, does a mouse drown? In a pool of tears?”
Stacy sat up, instantly, fully awake. She recalled the pen-and-ink drawing Leo had received, of the creature in a pool of what had looked like blood.
She pushed the hair out of her face. “Why?”
“I’ve got a homicide. Killer left us a message. Poor little mouse, drowned in-”
“A pool of tears,” she finished for him.
“Is it in the story?”
“Not exactly,” she said, glancing at the clock once more, calculating how long it would take her to dress and get to Leo’s. “But yes.”
“Not exactly,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“That it’s close enough for there to be a connection. Read the Cliff’s Notes, you’ll understand.”
“You know something about this, Killian. What is it?”
Great, now he gets perceptive. “It’s the middle of the night, Malone. Mind if I get back to my beauty sleep?”
“I’m going to want to talk to your boss.”
“Free country. Talk to you when the sun’s up.” She hung up before he could argue, then punched in Leo’s office number. The man claimed he never slept; she would put that claim to the test.
He answered on the second ring.
“Something’s happened,” she said. “I’m on my way over.”
“You’re headed over? Now?”
“No time to explain. I want to beat Malone and his partner.”
“Detective Malone?”
“Trust me, okay?” She scrambled out of bed and started toward the bathroom. “And get some coffee on.”
CHAPTER 22
Wednesday, March 9, 2005
2:55 a.m.
Fifteen minutes later, Stacy braked in front of Leo’s. She’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a light sweatshirt, taking the time for nothing else but pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
She climbed out of the car and hurried up the walk. The house was dark, save for the gas porch lights. Leo sat on the top step waiting for her.
He stood as she reached him. “There’s been another murder,” she said without preamble. “It appears to be related to Alice in Wonderland. And to one of the cards you received.”
He paled. “Which one?”
She quickly explained about Spencer’s call, sharing all she knew. “I fully expect him to show up here. I thought we should talk first.”
He nodded. “Let’s go inside.”
Leo led her to the kitchen. As she had requested, he had coffee waiting. He waited as she lightened and sweetened it.
Obviously a man who understood the powerful pull of caffeine.
“What does this mean?” he asked after she had taken a sip.
“There may be a connection between this murder and you.”
“The game. The White Rabbit.”
“I said there may be. You have to show the police the cards.”
“Did you tell Malone-”
“About the cards? No. I thought you should.”
“When will they come?”
“Any minute is my guess. Though they may wait until morning. Depends on what else they have and their sense of urgency.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Leo looked at her; she indicated he should answer and that she would wait in the kitchen.
Moments later he returned with the two detectives.
“Thought you’d be here,” Spencer said when he saw her.
She smiled slightly. “Ditto.”
“Coffee?” Leo asked.
The men both refused, though Tony reluctantly.
Spencer began. “Obviously, Ms. Killian filled you in.”
“Yes.” Leo glanced at her, then back at Malone. “But before we go on, there’s something you need to know.”
“What a surprise,” Spencer said, looking at her.
Stacy ignored his sarcasm. Leo continued. “In the past month, I’ve received three cards from someone claiming to be the White Rabbit. One depicts a mouse, drowned in a pool of tears. The cards are signed the White Rabbit.”
Spencer frowned. “From the game?”
“Yes.” Leo quickly explained about the role of the White Rabbit in his game and his fear that someone had begun to play the part for real. “I’ve gotten plenty of crank mail over the years,” he finished, “but these…something about them unnerved me.”
“That’s why he hired me,” Stacy said. “To find out who sent them. And if that person was dangerous.”
“I’d like to see the cards.”
“I’ll get them.”
“I’ll go with you,” Tony said, falling in step with the other man.
Stacy watched them go, then turned to Malone. “What?”
“Going into the private dick business?”
“Just helping a friend.”
“Noble?”
“Cassie. And Beth.”
“You think the cards are from their killer.”
It wasn’t a question; she answered, anyway. “They could be.”
“Or not.”
Leo and Tony returned then. Tony handed Spencer the cards, exchanging a telling glance with his partner. By his expression, Stacy knew he believed they were onto something.
Spencer studied the three cards. He lifted his gaze to Leo’s. “Why didn’t you call us about these?”
“And say what? I wasn’t overtly threatened. Nobody was dead.”
“Somebody’s dead now,” Spencer said. “Drowned in a pool of tears.” He took out a photo and handed it to Leo. “Her name was Rosie Allen. Know her?”
Leo stared at it, shook his head and handed it back.
“What’s going on?”
They turned. Kay stood in the doorway, looking fresher than she should for the hour.
“There’s been a murder,” Leo answered. “A woman named Rosie Allen.”
Kay frowned. “I don’t understand. What does this Rosie have to do with us?”
Spencer stepped in. “She was murdered in a manner similar to a card your ex-husband received.”
“The mouse in a pool of tears,” Leo said.
Spencer held out the photo. “Ever seen this woman before?”
The woman stared at the picture, her face going white. “It’s the sewing lady,” she whispered.
“You know her?”
“No…yes.” She brought a hand to her mouth. Stacy saw that it trembled. “She did some…mending and…alterations for us.”
Spencer and Tony exchanged glances. Stacy knew what the look meant: this was no coincidence. It was a connection.
Leo crossed to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “What we feared, Kay. It’s true. Someone’s playing the game for real.”
The detectives ignored that. “When did you last see Rosie Allen?”
Kay looked blankly at Spencer. He repeated the question. Before she answered, she followed Leo’s lead and sat down. “Just the other day. A suit of mine needed alterations.”
“And she fitted you?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t know her name?”
“Mrs. Maitlin…she takes care of such things.”
Tony frowned. “Such things.”
“Taking care of the help. Arranging appointments. Paying for their services.”
“I’ll need to question her. And the rest of the household staff.”
“Of course. The staff arrives at eight. Will that be soon enough?”
Both detectives checked their watches, then nodded. Having been there herself, she recognized their thought processes. It was five-thirty now. They’d go home for a quick shower, then meet somewhere to grab some grub. That would put them back here just as the staff was arriving for the day.
After telling Leo she would call him later, Stacy followed the two detectives out, hurrying to catch up. She missed Tony, but stopped Malone as he unlocked his car door.