She looked for Emily Kenyon’s business card in her wallet. Where was it? Credit cards, receipts, and a punch card from a sandwich shop that she forgot she had. When she found it, Steffi started to dial.
The Crawford car dealership had undergone the kind of change in vibe that was usually reserved for a new model introduction that actually brought in prospects and rang up sales. The smell of hot dogs rotating on a little wheel in the front window still excited or turned the stomach, depending, of course, on how one viewed hot dogs. The abundance of helium balloons and strands of crepe paper still signaled that the dealership was a cool and fun place for the entire family. Jason Howard noticed that everyone working there seemed to be in good spirits.
Maybe having a boss arrested for murder is a real boost to morale? Jason asked himself as he came upon Darla, who was shuttling coffee and files from Stan Sawyer’s office. Sawyer was the acting manager, filling in until Mitch came back.
Jesus, she’s even whistling.
“Hi, Darla,” Jason said.
“Hi, Deputy,” she answered, a warm smile on her face. “You want some Starbucks? That’s what Stan’s offering to customers these days. Says he wants our customers to ‘wake up and smell the coffee.’ Isn’t that cute?”
“Pretty cute,” he said. “But I’m not here for coffee. I’m here for information. The sheriff sent me.”
The smile fell from Darla’s face. “I’m not going to have to testify now, am I? Not about you know what?”
“Oh, gosh, I don’t think so. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here about some, you know, odds and ends.”
“What kind of odds and ends?”
“We’re just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s before trial.”
“OK. How can I help?”
“Well, what we need to know about is the key situation with Mr. Crawford. He says that he had several sets of house keys at the office.”
“That’s right. He took a different car home two or three times a week. You know how when you buy a new car and there’s like sixteen miles on it? That’s from a dealer like Mitch driving it. Important to have product familiarity, you know.”
“Cool. I didn’t think of that.”
“Not many people know what happens behind the scenes in a car dealership. It’s kind of like what happens behind the scenes at McDonald’s.” Darla paused. “You just don’t want to know.”
Jason had worked at McDonald’s in high school. He knew what she meant and he smiled. “Yeah. So about his keys. Could anyone get them or were they kept in a secure place?”
“I kept them with all the dealership’s master keys. In the vault. So, yes, they were always secure. I log all vault entries.”
“I was hoping you did. Can you do a favor for me and look up who came and got keys on November twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth?”
“You mean, when Mandy disappeared?”
Darla was young, a little reckless considering her affair with her boss, but she was sharp. Her immediate recollection of the date surprised him.
“Yeah. Can you?”
“Sure.”
She walked across the showroom and retrieved a logbook in a metal case next to the vault.
“Only one thing jumps out at me.”
Jason drew closer. “What’s that?”
“Cary McConnell. I remember how he came over to get some keys to help out when all this started with Mandy.”
“OK. Anyone else?”
“Just me. And trust me, I really did learn from my mistakes.”
As Jason went for the door, he got a whiff of bleach coming from Crawford’s office. The smell triggered a memory. Bleach had been smelled at the Crawfords’ place when he’d first been questioned. At the time, it had been an odoriferous alarm that Mitch might have done something to his wife and used bleach to obliterate the evidence of his crime.
“What’s with the bleach?” he asked.
“It’s Friday.”
Jason looked puzzled.
“Every Friday we do a wipe-down of all surfaces in Mitch’s office. Even when he isn’t here.”
“Why bleach? Why not Fantastik or something else? This stuff smells.”
Darla looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. “OCD,” she said, lowering her voice. “Doesn’t want anyone to know. But Mitch is a little crazy when it comes to germs. I used to have to do his house, too. Finally, someone convinced him that it wasn’t my job to clean his house.”
Jason could relate. Emily sometimes had him photocopy things that Gloria could have done just as well. He carried a badge, after all, not a degree from a clerical college.
Having her call go to Sheriff Kenyon’s voice mail was exceedingly frustrating, given what Steffi Johansson had to say. She tried three times to dial the number, but in her haste and fear, her fingers felt fat and kept hitting the wrong keys on her touch pad. Finally, after getting the voice mail a second time, she hung up. She dialed the alternate number which went to Gloria, at the dispatcher’s desk.
“I need to talk to Sheriff Kenyon right away.”
“She’s not in right now. Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. I guess it is.”
“What is it?”
“Look, she told me to call her if I had something to say. This is Steffi Johansson. I was at that Crawford lineup a while back.”
“Yes, Steffi. Can I help you?”
“No. I really need to talk to Sheriff Kenyon.”
“She’s out. How about Deputy Howard? I can patch you through.”
“I guess so.”
The line went quiet and then beeped. Steffi knew that the spaced intervals of beeping were an indicator that her voice was being recorded; she’d worked as a telemarketer for a camping company before coming to the café.
“Deputy Howard speaking.”
“Hi, Deputy. I’m Steffi Johansson.”
“How can I help you?”
There was silence for a second as she found her courage. “I know who killed Mandy Crawford,” she said.
When he asked her who and she answered, he felt a rush go through his body like the shock wave he once felt while fixing his uncle’s electric cattle fence wearing soaked leather shoes. If he was standing when she said the name of the man, he surely would have stumbled to the floor. It was that jarring.
“Are you sure you saw him?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching with a little emotion. “One hundred percent.”
Jason Howard tried Emily’s cell phone three times. It went to voice mail. Finally, on the second try, he decided to leave a message.
“Emily, Steffi Johansson’s coming down here. She can ID the man she saw that night at her coffee place. Get over here, OK?”
Chapter Sixty-six
Seattle
His condo now in escrow, Chris knew that Emily would have to marry him or he’d have to find a new place to live. He knew she’d never leave Cherrystone. He’d tell her that they’d reached their moment of truth.
Either you love me or you don’t. I know that you do. Let’s spend our lives together.
He swung by Irv Watkins’s house in Normandy Park, a fir-canopied enclave south of Seattle. The house was a two-story contemporary with sweeping views of Puget Sound and Vashon Island to the west. Chris pulled alongside a cobalt blue Miata next to the garage with a FOR SALE sign taped inside the passenger window and parked.
Irv Watkins poked his head out the front door and shook off the chill of the northwest winter gloom. He wore a purple and gold University of Washington sweatshirt and faded brown corduroy trousers.