Her Last Word(83)

When Gina, Jennifer, Erika, and I crossed paths with Randy, he was a twenty-one-year-old man already showing signs of substance abuse. He had dropped out of college with no plans to return, and his relationship with his parents was already strained.

“The plan started simple,” Randy tells me later from his jail cell months after the police closed the case. “I just wanted to have some fun with the girls.”

“What was the plan?”

“Erika would do anything for Brad, and when Brad asked her to spike the bottle of lemonade with Ecstasy, she did. Later, when the shit hit the fan, Brad warned her not to tell, because if she did, she’d go down as an accessory. So she kept quiet.”

“What did you plan to do once we were drugged?”

“Nothing terrible. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“But you were high, too, that day, right?”

“It was supposed to be fun, and no one was going to get hurt.”



CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Friday, March 23, 2018; 6:00 a.m.

Margie’s Maids was located on Midlothian Turnpike and housed in a small industrial-style building. Parked out front was a collection of cars and trucks, each bearing a magnetic sign with the company’s name on the side.

Adler strode toward the front door, opened it, and paused as two women dressed in pink Margie’s Maids shirts hurried past him. He crossed the room to the front desk, where a stocky redheaded woman wearing one of the company’s pink shirts checked off what looked like the morning’s assignments.

Adler pulled out his badge. “I’d like to speak to the owner,” he said.

The woman peered up over pink reading glasses. “That’s me. I’m Margie Smith.”

“Ms. Smith, your company cleans for the Crowleys, and you did a job for Jennifer Ralston a few weeks ago.”

“That’s right.” She pulled off her glasses. “I heard about Ms. Ralston. She was a nice lady, and I was sorry to hear about it.”

Adler pulled a notebook from his breast pocket. “You have keys and security system codes for all your clients, correct?”

She frowned. “We do. But we’re very careful with alarm codes and keys around here. I insist that my cleaning professionals log out and log in all keys each day. I check them in myself.”

He flipped a page in his book. “I ran a check on your business in our police database. Did you report a breakin four weeks ago?”

“Yes, my assistant manager opened that day, and she thought we’d been robbed. She called the cops before I could stop her.”

“Why stop her?”

“Like I told the officer, nothing was taken.”

“Are you certain?”

“I accounted for all the cash in the safe, and every client key was on its hook. Nothing was missing.”

“Was anything disturbed?”

“Only thing my manager noticed was her mug.”

“Her mug?”

“She always keeps it on the right side of her desk, and she found it on the left. In my book, that wasn’t worth calling the cops.”

“Did you alert your clients?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “No. I didn’t see cause. We service over one hundred homes. That’s a lot of locks to be rekeyed and security codes changed.”

“A key can be made using a molding compound. Where do you keep the security codes?”

She drew in a breath. “In my assistant manager’s desk.”

“And she noticed her desk had been disturbed.”

“Just a mug,” the woman said. “It was just a mug.”

“What kind of security do you have here?”

“Locks. A security system.”

“Your alarm didn’t go off during the night of the alleged breaking and entering?”

“We had a power outage that night, so no, it didn’t go off.”

“I want a list of all your clients. And I suggest you alert each one about the breakin.”



When the apartment doorbell buzzed, Kaitlin rose off the couch, moving with careful precision toward the call box. She pressed the red button. “Yes.”

“It’s Detective Adler.”

She glanced toward the security camera screen now projecting his tall, wide shoulders and short dark hair. She admired his strong jaw and angled features before she caught herself and pressed the door release button.

She collected a plate of leftover pizza and an empty coffee cup from last night and took them to the kitchen. She quickly rinsed off both and placed them in the drying rack as the doorbell rang.

Anxious and nervous, she dried her hands and then ran fingers through her hair. She opened the door. “Good morning, Detective.”

Sharp eyes studied her. “Have you been resting, Kaitlin?”

“I feel great. I’ve turned a corner.” Well, maybe not a full corner, but close enough to get through this day.

“Ready?”

“Yes. Let me just grab my backpack.”

He stepped into the foyer and scanned her apartment as he must have when he’d dropped her off.

“I could lie and say the place isn’t normally this messy, but it is,” she said.

“It’s eclectic. That bed is an antique. Queen Anne, right?”