An Uncollected Death

by Meg Wolfe

nervous and under scrutiny was unsettling.

  Just then, from the window in the breakfast nook, Charlotte could see a black sedan quietly pull into the driveway. The spotlights attached to the side mirrors meant it was an unmarked police car.

  “Helene, someone is here, and I will have to call you back, okay?”

  “Please do. Thank you, Charlotte.” She disconnected.

  Charlotte opened the front door immediately, forcing assertiveness for Helene’s sake. A heavy-set man in a dark suit and tie got out of the car and hoisted up his trousers as he walked toward her, revealing his gun and holster. He nodded and smiled as he held up his identification.

  “Ms. Anthony? I’m Detective Gordon Barnes with the State Police Criminal Investigations Division, about the incident at Mrs. Targman’s in Elm Grove.”

  Charlotte nodded in understanding and held the door open. If he could be gracious, so could she. “Please come in. I’ve got coffee on.” She spotted a movement on the other side of the privet hedge. Ernie was snooping again. She lowered her voice. “My neighbor isn’t shy about eavesdropping.”

  They entered the kitchen, and Charlotte silently thanked her lucky stars that it wasn’t a mess. There were the things she had boxed up, of course, but the rest of it looked clean and welcoming, or at least calm and orderly, unlike her nerves at the moment. What was going on? “Pardon the boxes and such. I’m putting the house on the market and getting ready to have an estate sale.”

  “I saw the sign. Where are you moving to?” Barnes nodded thanks as she handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Both, thanks.”

  “I’ve taken a studio apartment in Elm Grove, right above The Good Stuff.”

  “Downsizing.” He stirred and sipped his coffee.

  “That’s what they call it,” she laughed, somewhat nervously. She had a feeling he’d been looking into her.

  “My wife’s sister did that last year when she got laid off and stayed laid off. It’s not easy.”

  “It’s been eye-opening, but in some ways almost exciting. It’s really making me think about why I have the things I do, why I thought I wanted them, and just how little of it is really worth it.”

  He smiled and nodded. “You seem to be handling it well.”

  “I’m tired, I’m probably trying to do too much too quickly, but, yeah,” she smiled and nodded back, and realized her hand was trembling ever so slightly as she held her cup. “I’m all right with it. Drinking far too much coffee, but I’m alright with it.”

  Barnes nodded briefly and cleared his throat. The niceties were done. “Well, to get down to business, the incident at Mrs. Targman’s is now officially a murder investigation.”

  Charlotte was struck cold on hearing the word “murder” from a policeman, in a way that was much more visceral than hearing it from Diane.

  Barnes continued. “Do you know Wesley Warren?”

  She paused. Where was this going? “I know who he is, one of the Warren Brothers, but I never knew him, no. He drove his car into a pond, right?”

  Barnes nodded. “We’ve matched the blood on the rug and bat at Mrs. Targman’s house with Mr. Warren’s.”

  “Oh my god!” Charlotte’s jaw dropped, and her mind raced with trying to make sense of this new fact.  “Do you think Olivia, Mrs. Targman, killed him? How did he get in the car, then? Or was it the accident that killed him?”

  “The cause of death was drowning. Toxicology came back clean. But the autopsy showed there was a severe injury in the back of his head, enough to render him unconscious. There was nothing at the scene to indicate it occurred during the accident, and in fact the injury seems to have occurred a fair bit of time before he drowned.”

  “So the head injury probably happened at Olivia’s, and he drove away, lost consciousness, drove into the pond, and then drowned?”

  Barnes nodded briefly. “Something along those lines is possible. It is presumed that Mr. Warren was visiting Mrs. Targman, perhaps in regards to appraising some items she may have wanted to sell, and there was an argument that led to an altercation. This presumably led someone, perhaps Mrs. Targman, to injure Mr. Warren with a baseball bat. In turn, he presumably pushed her down, causing her fall and head injury. Then, as you suggest, he left, and as his injury bled, or perhaps bled internally, he lost consciousness and drove into the pond. But this is all speculation at the moment.”

  “Do you really think she could have hit him that hard, or even had a chance to? She was in her nineties!”

  “It does seem unlikely, yes, but we can’t rule it out—it might even have simply been an unlucky blow. We also can’t rule out the presence of a third party.”

  He paused, watching Charlotte take in the significance.

  Before she could answer, Barnes began asking a “routine” series of standard information-gathering questions, along with questions about how she was connected to Olivia and Helene. Charlotte knew, from the experience of answering questions on the day she found Olivia, to keep her answers on point and brief, and she resisted the temptation to elaborate or go off on tangents. She was dying to ask questions, but bit her tongue every time one nearly blurted out. She wanted the detective to take her seriously, but she didn’t know if it was because she was trying to figure out what happened herself, or if her ego was fragile because of her circumstances. She also couldn’t help thinking that Donovan was now much more likely to be a suspect, or somehow involved.

  Then he said the magic words: “Do you have any questions, Mrs. Anthony?”

  “Oh, I have a thousand questions!” she laughed.

  He smiled. “Naturally. Anyone would under the circumstances.”

  “Is there any firm knowledge about what actually happened at Olivia’s?”

  “It’s all speculation at this point. It is assumed that Mrs. Targman knew Mr. Warren, or that there is a connection between them, because there was no sign of a break-in.” He paused and fiddled with the coffee spoon.

  “But what about Mrs. Targman? Do they know if she was also hit or if she fell?”

  “That is still under examination; the position of her body was different than it would have been if she’d just fainted or passed out. Not impossible, mind you, just not likely.”

  “Is Helene considered a suspect?”

  Barnes looked at her with the most neutral expression she had ever seen on anyone. “At this time we have not ruled out anyone.”

  Charlotte felt her jaw start to drop again, but she managed to talk instead. “So I’m a suspect, too? What about Donovan? I mean, he would have been expected to benefit from his mother’s death, and he was very upset to find out that the property is tied up.”

  Barnes nodded as he looked at her for a few long seconds, as if sizing her up. “I know about his blowing up at his aunt. He’s got an alibi, but you’re right that he bears a closer look. We do know that he has a minor record, and some dodgy associates, but nothing serious, no violent crime history. But we’re seeing a sharp increase in crimes of desperation, as would be expected in this kind of economy, and Donovan Targman appears pretty desperate.”

  “So I’m considered a suspect because I’m forced to downsize?”

  Barnes remained neutral. “We are looking into the possible motivations of everyone involved.”

  Charlotte barely repressed a short laugh of disbelief at this turn of things. Snap out of it, you’re not the only one hurting here! She looked up at Barnes. “The one I’m worried about is Helene. She’s just lost her sister, she’s being forced to deal with Olivia’s overwhelming estate and requests, and her nephew has a temper.”

  “Have there been any further outbursts?”

  Charlotte shook her head. The idea that she and Helene were among the suspects triggered something in her brain, though, gave it a shot of adrenaline that refused to let her become a victim of circumstance. “No, but something odd did happen this morning.” She recounted Mitchell’s appearance on the scene, and Donovan’s unea
se, which drew a look of intense interest from the detective, and he made some notes as she talked. “So now someone from Warren Brothers is once again in that house. Do you think they know that Wesley Warren was there, or could this be a coincidence?”

  “You raise a very good question. I don’t like coincidences, especially in a small town. Mitchell Bennett is known to us, but not as an employee of the Warren Brothers. In fact, he’s bad news, and I urge you to exercise caution in his presence or while working in Mrs. Targman’s house.”

  “Oh good grief. What on earth do they want with Olivia, or anything in that house?”

  “Another good question. Mitchell Bennett is connected to one Toley Banks, who has his fingers in a number of underground pots. Banks is the half-brother of Bosley and Wesley Warren. We know Banks bailed them out of their failing hobby shop several years ago and set them up as a pawn shop, which could be pretty convenient for his activities, but we just haven’t caught him yet.”

  He got up from the table, took out a business card, and handed it to her. “Thank you for the coffee. Here’s my info, and don’t hesitate to contact me if Mr. Targman continues with aggressive behavior, or if Mitchell Bennett or anyone else is hovering on the scene or giving you the sense that people are acting under pressure or threats. Of course, call me if you think of anything more, or if anything new comes to light.”

  “Of course.”

  As he left, he turned and asked, “By the way, what is your impression of Simon