Page 27 of Little Dark Deeds (Georgiana Germaine #12)

I waved Foley and Whitlock over, tipping my head toward the discovery I made.

“Well, I’ll be,” Foley said. “I can’t believe it.”

“And the card, with your name on it,” Whitlock said. “Eerie. It’s like she knew you’d find it.”

I reached for the card, unfolded it, and read aloud.

To the person reading this note,

If you are not Mrs. Georgiana Germaine of the Case Closed Detective Agency this note is NOT for you. I would ask that you cease reading immediately and see that she gets the note and the accompanying lighter at your earliest convenience.

Now then ...

Georgiana,

If you are reading this, it means I am dead. What a pity, though I’ve lived a long life, a good life, a life with almost no regret. If you were the one to discover my hiding place, you’re a far better detective than I gave you credit for, my dear, and I’m sorry for ever doubting you.

I also must apologize for not handing over the lighter sooner. As I’m sure you’re aware, Tiffany was not a smoker, so it seemed unlikely that the lighter belonged to her. I imagine the killer dropped it at some point. Please note what appears to be dried blood on its side.

When I entered Tiffany’s house on the day she was murdered, I found the lighter on top of the rug in the kitchen.

My glasses weren’t on when I picked it up, so I didn’t notice the blood at first. The lighter itself is vintage and unique.

I did some research, and it turns out, a similar one by the same maker sold at auction for over a thousand dollars earlier this year.

After I found the lighter, I slipped it into a plastic bag, and I considered looking around the rest of the house.

Before I had the chance, Tiffany’s father found me in the kitchen.

He told me the police were on their way, and I fisted my hand around the lighter.

That’s when an idea came to mind. How challenging would it be to see if I could solve the murder myself?

A challenge I decided to accept.

I bet you’re wondering why I’d do such a thing, but there’s something you don’t know about me.

Before I was married, I was a police officer, the first female officer in my city.

I had dreams of becoming a detective one day.

Back then, women weren’t promoted to those roles, even though I would have run circles around them.

As on officer, I didn’t get to play much with the big boys, either.

I was given menial tasks like supervising women and children in custody and investigating domestic abuse.

A couple of years into the job, I met my husband.

He was shocked to hear I had a job, and even more so when I explained my position.

He didn’t want a wife who worked. He wanted a wife who stayed at home with the kids, a wife who had dinner waiting when he came through the door.

If I was to marry him, I had to choose—him or the job.

I quit my job, but the desire to do detective work never left me.

And though we tried, children were never in the cards for us.

In closing, I bet you’re wondering if I was able to identify the killer before my death.

I’ll say this much; I have a solid idea, but after meeting you and knowing the personal connection you have to this case, I have a feeling you’d rather solve it yourself.

So, I’ll not speak any further on the matter.

After all, if I gave away the name of my prime suspect, what mystery would be left to solve?

Farewell, Detective, and best of luck to you,

Queenie

I slid the letter into my pocket, and for a moment, the three of us stood there in shock, as if searching for the right words to say.

“What a cunning, if not clever, woman,” Whitlock said.

“Cunning, yes,” Foley said. “Clever? She got herself killed—and for what—a one-time opportunity to relive a career she wished she hadn’t given up?”

“I disagree,” I said. “I believe she exited this life achieving a dream she never thought possible.”

Foley stepped in front of me and bent down, lifting the plastic bag out of Queenie’s hiding place and dangled it in front of us.

We all leaned in, taking a closer look. The front of the lighter was fashioned in black lacquer with a chrome finish on the front, and on the back, cedarwood.

And just as Queenie said, there was a spot of what appeared to be dried blood.

“Thoughts?” Foley asked.

“It’s feminine enough to belong to a woman and yet masculine enough to be owned by a man,” I said.

“I agree,” Whitlock said.

Foley turned toward Whitlock. “Would you holler at Silas, see if we can borrow him for a moment?”

“You got it.”

Whitlock left the room, and I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “Before you take the lighter into evidence, I’d like to take a few photos of it.”

“Go right ahead.”

I took my photos, then Whitlock and Silas entered the room.

Silas looked at the bag and said, “Whatcha got there?”

“A lighter, and a crazy note that accompanied it,” Foley said. “Georgiana, why don’t you do the honors?”

I showed Silas the letter, who read through it with a look of astonishment. Then I explained how I came to find both items.

When I finished, he leaned over, peering into the plastic bag. “I find the smudge mark confusing.”

“How so?”

“Let’s assume it’s blood, either Tiffany’s or the killers. How do we think it got there?”

It was a question I’d thought of myself, and I had a few ideas.

“I assume the killer would have gotten a fair amount of Tiffany’s blood on himself during her murder,” I said. “Maybe he went to the kitchen to wash off before he left,” I said. “There were what appeared to be dried red spots on the rug in front of the sink.”

“If he wore gloves, why bother going to the sink?”

“True, but Tiffany’s blood could have gotten beneath the gloves, or all over his person.”

“I see where you’re going ... in the process of cleaning up, the lighter may have slipped out of his pocket,” Foley said. “It could have made contact with blood on his skin or on his clothing as it fell to the ground.”

“I’d bet the killer didn’t even realize he’d dropped the lighter,” I said. “It’s small and lightweight. When he figured it out, it was too late. Police were crawling all over the place.”

Silas nodded, and his cell phone rang to the tune of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.”

He reached into his pocket and left the room.

“If Queenie started talking to people she thought were connected to the murder, there are only so many people she would have known about,” Foley said.

“I ... ahh, regret to admit, but I may have spilled a bit too much tea when I spoke to her,” Whitlock said. “She had a way of getting information out of a person. I believe I said too much.”

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Foley warned.

Whitlock nodded and yawned, and Foley followed suit.

“I’m ready to call it a day,” I said.

“I’m right there with you,” Foley said. “Let’s go home, get some shut-eye, and touch base with each other tomorrow.”

Good idea.

It was almost midnight, and every fiber of my being had started to ache.

We made our way over to our vehicles, and as they backed away, I leaned against my car, taking a moment to assess the day.

Turning toward Tiffany’s house, it was still hard to accept my friend was gone.

There would be no more dinners here, no celebrations, no laughs.

The longer I stood there, thinking about it, the bigger the lump in my throat became.

It was one of those moments where life offered up an icy, unwanted little nudge, a nudge that reminded me just how short life could be and how important it was to stay in contact with those who held space in our innermost circles.

The front door opened, and Silas burst out, his face frantic.

He looked left, then right, then his eyes met mine.

“Have Foley and Whitlock gone?” he asked.

“A few minutes ago. What’s wrong?”

“I have news. I just got a call from Kiera. She managed to lift a few decent prints from the pictures you gave us.”

The ones left on Jana Seymour’s car. “Fantastic. What do you know?”

“The first two prints were a match to Jana.”

“And the third?”

“Belongs to a guy named Chad Hayes. Name mean anything to you?”

Chad Hayes.

Well, well ... it sure did.

“I know him,” I said. “He dated Tiffany a while back and then a second time, right before she met Tyler.”

“Oh, man. We gotta let Foley and Whitlock know.”

We did.

But ...

“Would you mind if I told them?” I asked.

“Not at all. It would check one more thing off my list.”

I was glad Silas hadn’t asked when I planned on telling them.

I would tell them.

I just needed to make a stop first.