Rip Your Heart Out Read online

  Sydney had told me Tasman took her place watching Aunt Mabel on Sundays because the day nurse was off that day and Sydney worked a long shift. Mabel passed away on a Monday. If Tasman purchased the vegetables and fed them to her on Sunday, he could also have convinced her she'd already taken her anti-coagulant medication. With her memory impairment, it wouldn't have taken a great deal of persuasion. If Mabel recalled she wasn't supposed to eat a lot of green leafy vegetables, she might've said to her nephew, "I can't eat that, kid." It was very similar to the phrase I'd heard Goofus repeat several times–"I can't eat that, skid."

  The pieces seemed to be falling into place. The day I'd witnessed the spat between the twins in the cardiac ward of the hospital, Sydney had mentioned that Tasman had been fired from the fast food restaurant after being caught smoking marijuana. I'd photographed what was undoubtedly his roach clip on the marble table in the foyer, which meant he'd been in and out of the house at least once without my knowledge. He'd left behind his sunglasses on another occasion, but I couldn't be certain I was away from the house at the time.

  Tasman's devious plan could possibly have been without either of his sisters' knowledge. On the flip side, all three could've been in on it. I'm sure they'd all heard the tale of Mabel's childhood and knew there was likely two million dollars' worth of gold somewhere on her property.

  Even so, because of the store receipt, I was leaning toward Tasman. I hadn't trusted the boy since the moment I'd laid eyes on him. Tasman was a sleazy character with only his own best interests at heart. With his Aunt Mabel gone, he'd be in line for a healthy inheritance, and money is a great motive when it came to murder. But, as far as I knew, the gold nuggets had yet to be found.

  I ran upstairs to show the receipt to Rip and explain why I thought Tasman Combs was responsible for the murder of his Aunt Mabel. Rip would know what I should do, who I should call, and where I should take the receipt so Tasman could be apprehended and brought to justice.

  The relief I felt was palpable. Not only was I glad the killer would not walk away a free man with hundreds of thousands of dollars falling into in his undeserving hands, I was also convinced with near certainty Sydney had nothing to do with her aunt's death.

  Meanwhile, my shoulder was almost out of alignment from patting myself on the back. Once again, I'd be the individual primarily responsible for solving a homicide. Even though the hospital board was pursuing their investigation, the police department didn't seem compelled to look any deeper into Mabel's death. The results of the autopsy left the homicide detectives uncertain as to whether the death was accidental, or the result of foul play, and they seemed content to sweep the case under the rug as long as none of the family members stirred up too much of a fuss. No big rip, I thought. I'll just have to stir it up myself.

  I now had a piece of evidence I hoped would encourage the police department to open a full-blown homicide investigation. I just knew I'd discovered Mabel Trumbo's killer.

  But, for the umpteenth time in my sleuthing career, I was mistaken!

  Chapter 29

  At the police department, I turned over the Safeway receipt and explained the extenuating factors that pointed an accusatory finger at Tasman Combs. The detective I met with was appreciative of the evidence and information I'd provided. He told me he was a rookie, and I knew solving the murder case of a prominent citizen like Mabel Trumbo would be a big fat fluffy feather in the detective's cap.

  When I received a call to come to the police station the following day, I naturally thought I was about to be awarded with my second commendation plaque in as many months. Together, Rip and I had been given one when we solved the death of a Buffalo, Wyoming, RV park owner in April.

  Imagine my surprise when the clearly disappointed detective informed me that four fingerprints were found on the receipt, and none of them belonged to Tasman Combs. One print belonged to me and one belonged to a clerk at the Tokeland Safeway store, but no match was found when the other two prints were run through IAFIS, the national fingerprint database. Tasman was in the system from a prior DUI arrest, but whoever the prints belonged to was not, the detective informed me.

  "Does that mean he didn't kill Mabel Trumbo?" I asked Detective Akers.

  "No, but it does mean we don't have enough evidence to charge the young man in question with murder."

  "But he lives in Tokeland, where the items were purchased." I'd thought I'd explained the Vitamin K aspect thoroughly to the detective.

  "Do you have undeniable proof it was Tasman Combs who made the purchase?" The detective asked. "I spoke with Dr. Thies, the medical examiner who performed the autopsy, and he agrees with your premise. Whatever Ms. Trumbo ate the previous evening was likely responsible for the clot in her lung that killed her. But for right now, we're at a dead end unless we can determine who made the black smudge on the back of the receipt."

  "What?"

  "There was a fifth print that was rendered useless because of the smudge. The trace evidence from the substance that caused it was sent to the lab and came back as containing formaldehyde, cyanide, arsenic, and polonium."

  "Oh, my! Are you saying Mabel Trumbo was killed with a cocktail of poisonous chemicals?" I was dumbfounded. "Why were none of those toxins discovered in the autopsy?"

  "Because none of those chemicals were ingested by the victim," the detective explained. "Believe it or not, those same chemicals are found in smokeless tobacco. The smudge on the receipt was residue from chewing tobacco, and was most likely left behind by the killer. Do you have any proof that Tasman Combs chews tobacco?"

  I felt shock radiate to my spine, like I'd been struck upside the head by a Louisville Slugger. My mouth dropped open so wide, my dentures nearly fell out. I could barely answer the detective as I realized an idea that'd been festering in the back of my mind could actually be correct. "No, I don't think Tasman uses smokeless tobacco, but I know someone close to the victim who does. Can you run a name through a computer database that will show what her maiden name was?"

  "Sure," he replied, hesitating before he asked his question. "What's the name?"

  "Itsy Warman."

  The detective came back a few minutes later. It seemed as if I'd been holding my breath the entire time. "There was no Itsy Warman, but there's an Isabella Wright Warman who lives on South Hart Street, next door to–"

  "Next door to Mabel Trumbo's house. Oh my goodness," I mumbled, as the truth hit me. "Isabella Wright Warman, also known as Itsy Warman, is Mabel's sister."

  It's no dang wonder Itsy knew Mabel's life story so precisely, I thought. How could I not have seen it immediately? Itsy was Mabel's younger sister, Bella, the six-year-old sent to an orphanage here in the states a few years after their mother died. Being siblings explained why Itsy felt such a close bond with Mabel, and yet she could be annoyed by her at the same time. I often felt the same way about a couple of my brothers. Although they irritated the crap out of me sometimes, I still loved them with all my heart. Blood was thicker than water and, apparently, stronger than intense exasperation.

  "What motive could Itsy have had to kill Mabel?" Detective Akers asked. I could tell by the tone in his voice that the detective's interest was renewed. Earlier in the conversation, he'd sounded as if he'd be happy to sweep the entire case back under the same rug I'd forced him to retrieve it from.

  "Well, I can think of two million reasons right off hand."

  "Huh?"

  I told the detective the story about Mabel's childhood and explained my theory for a motive. "I believe you'll find that money is the motive behind Mabel's murder. It's quite likely Mabel hid roughly two million dollars' worth of gold nuggets on her property. Gold that once belonged to their father. Itsy had just as much right to half of it as Mabel did. After all, she was only a year old when their mother died. Itsy might've seen the money as her justifiable reward for having been sent away to live with strangers in a foreign land when she was only six. And now it would serve as salvation from her lack of fun
ds. She no doubt loved her sister, but Mabel's determination not to share their family fortune might've resulted in the love/hate relationship they shared. With Mabel, who was already showing signs of Alzheimer's, dead and out of the picture, Itsy could try to locate where Mabel had hidden the gold."

  "Go on." The detective encouraged me to continue. I sensed he was taking notes as I rambled on.

  "To complete her scheme, once Itsy found the gold, she probably planned to sell it on the black market and use the cash to live out her life in stress-free comfort. Well, as stress-free as one can be with the threat of being caught, arrested, and tried for murdering her own sister, hanging over her head."

  After the detective told me he was sending a couple of officers out to apprehend Itsy and bring her in for questioning, I went home, feeling deeply troubled. Although I was relieved it now appeared as if the truth had come out, I was saddened to find out a woman I'd have enjoyed having as my own sister was actually a killer. To me, taking another person's life, especially one's own sibling, was an inconceivable and unforgivable sin.

  It was just another example that proved the love of money truly was the root of all evil.

  Chapter 30

  I almost fainted when I answered the front door of the Heart Shack a few hours later to see Isabella "Itsy" Warman standing on my doorstep. With her hands planted firmly on her hips, she looked mad enough to bite a rusty nail in half. "Why in Sam Hill did you go and turn me into the cops? If you'd just asked, I would've told you Mabel was my sister."

  Rendered speechless, I just stood there and stared at the irate woman. Finally, Itsy said, "There's a reason I didn't want anyone to know who I was, Rapella. But I certainly would never have killed the only family member I had left in this world—other than those Combs brats, of course."

  I just stood there staring at Itsy, seemingly unable to utter a single word.

  Itsy's eyes filled with tears of grief. "I never even told Mabel I was the sister she'd tried to locate for years. When she'd talk about finding her 'long-lost sister', I'd try to convince her it wasn't worth her time and trouble because I didn't want my identity to be discovered."

  "But why not?" I was truly perplexed at why the woman wouldn't want her sister to know who she was all those years.

  "Don't you see? She'd think I only tracked her down to get my half of our father's gold. I was afraid it'd drive a wedge between us that could never be removed. That was the last thing I wanted, and the money wasn't that important to me. So I changed my name to Itsy and took the surname of my last foster family so Mabel wouldn't put two and two together. Even though she didn't know we were sisters, I did, and I wanted to remain close to her. After all, she'd raised me by herself until I was six and sent away by our father. So when the house next to her became available in 1962, I bought it. I spent the next thirty years working for a landscaping company in order to make the payments and put food on my table. I draw a small pension and social security, of course. It's not a lot, but it's enough to scrape by."

  "Now I see why you have such a green thumb. Why don't you come inside so we can chat over a cup of coffee? It seems we have a lot to talk about," I said. Itsy looked lost and forlorn, standing on the porch with tears now streaming unchecked down her cheeks. I had a feeling it was the first time she'd allowed herself to grieve the loss of her sister.

  "Don't you have any tequila or whiskey, or something a little stronger than coffee?"

  "You betcha, I do. After today's events, I could use a strong drink myself."

  We spent the next hour discussing what had brought Isabella to where she was today as we sipped a mixture of tequila and orange juice. I knew, without a moment's hesitation, Itsy was being totally honest with me.

  "Why didn't you ever marry?" I asked, despite knowing it was known of my business.

  "Why, you ask? I'll tell you why," Itsy was intense as she answered my nosy inquiry. "I never had any desire to marry after seeing the way my father treated my mother. Her death was ultimately at his hands, you know."

  "I understand completely." I decided not to ask Itsy any more prying questions, but as it turned out, I didn't need to. Itsy's emotions were flowing out of her now, like rain water out of a downspout.

  "Mabel was difficult to get along with at times, but then I reckon I could be, too. I knew she thought the gold was evil, a reminder of the depravity that killed our mother. I couldn't disagree. She suffered through a lot more strife with that miserable father of ours than I did. I didn't want my sister to ever have a single doubt about my intentions and I truly never gave the hidden treasure a second thought until Mabel died of what I believed to be mysterious causes."

  "So what did you do then?" I asked.

  "What could I do? Tell the cops I had a gut feeling one of those kids was behind her death? Without proof of any wrongdoing, I was basically up a creek without a paddle. The Combs kids had no clue that, like Mabel, I was also their great-aunt, and that's the way I wanted to keep it. I wanted nothing to do with them because I really didn't like the way they treated my sister."

  "How'd they treat her?"

  "As soon as she showed the first sign of having memory issues, they wanted to put Mabel in a home where her dementia could be monitored and controlled."

  I wasn't certain that would've have been such a bad thing to do, and told Itsy so. She replied, "The truth was, her memory issues hadn't yet reached the point where she was a danger to herself or anyone else."

  "Was that the falling out you mentioned when you told me about her childhood?"

  "Yes."

  "I have to ask, Itsy. How did your chewing tobacco end up on the sales receipt I gave to the police?"

  "I was the one who discovered my sister's body. I'd gone over to visit as I did nearly every morning, and when she didn't answer the doorbell or my raps on her door, I went back to my place to get my key to her house so I could let myself in. I found Mabel slumped over the kitchen table, cold and lifeless."

  "Oh, no! I'm so sorry, Itsy." Although I didn't mention it, I was greatly relieved to discover Itsy's sister hadn't died in the exact spot I laid my head every night.

  "Thanks. So anyway, I called the police. While I waited for the emergency workers to arrive, I noticed a sack of thawed-out vegetables on the kitchen counter. Since Mabel's freezer was stuffed to the gills, I ran the bag out and tossed it into the old chest freezer in the garage. Although Mabel didn't use it anymore, she'd never unplugged it. I think I was in shock, reacting as if she wasn't really dead and might want to cook the frozen veggies in the future. I wasn't thinking straight at the time, or I'd have left the sack on the counter. If I had, the emergency personnel might have made the connection to Mabel's death. I told the investigators that same thing when I was interrogated today." When she'd finished, Itsy gave me a venomous look, as if suddenly reminded of the fact I was the turncoat who'd precipitated the humiliating injustice she'd been subjected with.

  "I'm sorry I doubted you. But what was I supposed to think? I was seeking justice for your sister. I did the same thing you'd have done had you been in my shoes."

  "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

  Now I knew how the tobacco got on the receipt and that the bag wasn't deposited in the freezer until after Mabel's death. But the missing items from the bag were most certainly the murder weapon, and I'd thought for sure the receipt for them was the smoking gun. To see if Itsy was in agreement, I asked, "So, do you still believe, as I do, that despite what the detective said, it was Tasman who killed Mabel?"

  "Yes, but what good does that do us?"

  "We need to go to that detective's office and demand he listen to all the reasons why we think Tasman's responsible for your sister's fatal pulmonary embolism. The receipt makes it probable that Tasman purchased the vegetables with the intention of killing Mabel with them. The detective I met with agreed the evidence was damning when I presented it to him this morning, but he told me it wasn't enough to charge Tasman with murder."

  "Is
that when you decided it must've been me who killed Mabel, and then told the cop to come cuff me and stuff me in the back of his patrol car in front of all of the gawking neighbors?"

  "Oh, come on, Itsy! Give me a break!" I was naturally defensive when I explained my actions. "Detective Akers told me there was chewing tobacco residue on the grocery receipt. As much as I hated to do it, I had to tell him that you were a tobacco chewer."

  Itsy actually laughed at my discomfort, and said, "Oh, all right. Go on with your evidence against Tasman."

  "Well, Mabel died the morning after he spent the day in her home 'taking care' of her. Tasman took care of her, all right. Maybe with both of us demanding action, we can persuade them to interrogate him and delve further into the case."

  "I agree."

  "Good. So will you help me nail the little bastard?" I asked.

  "You better believe I will, Rapella."

  I reached across the table and clasped her hands in mine as a gesture of solidarity and our newfound friendship. "Let's see to it that little creep spends the rest of his life behind bars."

  "There's nothing I'd like better."

  Chapter 31

  The next morning was an off day on Rip's rehab schedule, so I drove the truck to the police station to meet with Detective Akers. Itsy sat in the passenger seat. I turned to her and asked, "Would you prefer I call you Bella?"

  "I've been Itsy a lot longer than I was ever Bella, and that name probably suits me better, anyway."