Jon's Spooky Corpse Conundrum

by A J Sherwood

  “I can’t say I blame them. Jon hated Rodger. And to hear what he did…ooh, it makes my blood burn. Do you think you’ll be over there for much longer?”

  “We still have no idea who killed Witherspoon,” I confessed, making the last turn into the grocery’s parking lot. It was half-full, a little slow, but then again it was an hour before quitting time. Throwing the truck into park, I added, “Although we hope the records we requested might give us some idea of who to look for. Right now we have no suspects.”

  “If that goes on much longer, will you come back?”

  “Yeah. No reason to keep us all out here if there’s no way to investigate.”

  “I thought so. Alright, well, keep me posted. I want to know when you head back.”

  “Will do.” After we hung up, I stayed in the truck long enough to text her the information she’d requested before I headed into the store.

  I had to wind my way through a few aisles before I found the right ingredients. I bought everything I needed and retreated to the truck, pondering my conversation with my mother as I went. I hadn’t thought of asking Mom to help Lauren out, but I really should have. Lauren needed someone to confide in, and I understood why she didn’t really have any close female friends. Rodger was such an ass that he ran most people off. If he tried that crap with my mother, he’d find himself diving for cover. My mother did not tolerate fools.

  When I got back to the house, I put my ingredients on the island so I could get the grill started. I did that, then came back in to start my cake. It wouldn’t take long to make, but it did have to chill. As I mixed ingredients together, the back door opened, and Jon and Neil stepped in.

  Jon took one look at me and a smile lit his face. “Mmm, you’re sexy when you’re in the kitchen.”

  I snorted in amusement. “I’m sexy in the kitchen because A, you don’t have to cook, and B, I’m using my mother’s recipe.”

  “I do not disagree.” He leaned over the island to give me a quick kiss before retreating a step, staying well clear of the stove and microwave nearby. “Whatcha making?”

  “Poke cake.”

  Neil looked confused—he clearly didn’t recognize it—but poke cake was a staple in my family, and Jon’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Neil, you’re going to love this. Anyone who likes pineapple loves this.”

  “Can’t wait to try it, then,” he agreed. “The grill on?”

  “Yeah, I started it about ten minutes ago.”

  “Probably not quite hot enough for the steaks yet, then. I’ll go wash my hands.”

  I couldn’t tell from their expressions if the notification had gone badly, or really badly. As I mixed up the topping, I invited Jon to sit in the barstool. “Sit, tell me how it went.”

  “It was sad,” he responded, sighing heavily. He slid onto the padded stool and kept his hands safely on the edge of the island. “They were resigned more than anything. I think they knew Jenny had been dead a long time. And it was hard for them, because of course we had to ask questions. The mother did her best to be helpful, though. She’d written down an account of everything she knew of her daughter’s schedule that day. It was taped into a scrapbook she kept. She handed it all over. We hope it’ll help us convict Stephenson for this. Unfortunately, they can’t just take my word for it.”

  The laws required collaborative evidence and not just a psychic’s word. That was understandable—not even psychics were incorruptible—but it did make the job hard sometimes. “We’ll nail him for this. I have a gut feeling.”

  “I hope so too. Anyway, she asked that we not spare her feelings. If we need to ask more questions or go through her daughter’s things, we should. She left Jenny’s room untouched, so it might help us too. Who knows?”

  I shrugged in agreement. Sometimes evidence could be found in the place you least expected it. I’d seen some families leave a loved one’s room intact, sometimes for decades, with the hope that they’d get them back. Or because they couldn’t admit that they wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure which it was in this case, but it might have been good fortune in the end.

  Considering the afternoon Jon had just had, I didn’t want to add anything to his burdens, but I’d promised not to keep things from him. It never worked out well in the end. “While you were doing that, Mom called me. Skylar reports that Lauren is too depressed to have much of an appetite.”

  Jon grimaced, face scrunched up with resignation. “I had a feeling that might happen. She’s the opposite of a stress eater. Get her too upset, she can’t eat at all.”

  “Good news is, Mom’s decided she needs to step in.”

  He looked at me with increasing interest, perking up in the stool. “Your mom. Has decided to take care of mine.”

  “In a nutshell, yup. She didn’t give me any operational parameters, but I know a woman on a mission when I hear it. Your mother now has mine in her corner, whether she wants her or not.”

  Jon leaned back in the stool, practically cackling. “I almost hope Rodger tries to get to Mom. Your mother will lay him out flat. Alani takes shit from no one.”

  “That she does not.” Which was the other reason why I felt glad Mom was taking Lauren under her wing. My mother was a retired army nurse. Nothing got past her. “So, to sum up, your mother’s not doing so hot at the moment. My mother has decided to fix it.”

  “I think just having a friend to support her will make a world of difference.” He took in a breath, released it, and I could see some of the worry fall off his shoulders as he did so. “I’ll call her later and thank her, give her a heads-up on what Mom doesn’t like to eat.”

  “Probably a good idea.” The timing for us being out in Sevierville was sucky, for Lauren’s sake, but I knew no one regretted it. Jon would never have found Caleb otherwise.

  Speak of the devil. Caleb came strolling in with a smug tilt to his lips, like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Oooh, Caleb knows something good,” Jon caroled. “Share with the class, old man.”

  “I’ll ‘old man’ you in a second,” Caleb threatened good-naturedly. “And as a matter of fact, I might know something good. I think I know how she died.”

  I paused with the spatula still in the bowl. “Hang on, you told me you’d have to examine her to figure that out.”

  Caleb only looked a little sheepish. “I might have taken a quick look as I moved her into the locker. It was hard to resist.”

  “Color me surprised,” Neil drawled as he rejoined us. “Alright, so you might know how she died. And?”

  “And…” Caleb was enjoying our suspense, his eyebrows waggling up and down playfully. “I think I have physical evidence linking her to her killer.”

  15

  “Well, don’t leave us in suspense!” Neil said in exasperation.

  I could tell Caleb was milking this for all it was worth. Then again, he probably didn’t get the chance to show off to an interested audience very often. He hesitated for a full ten seconds, just to rile us up a little, then asked mock-innocently, “Which one do you want first? How she died or the link to her killer?”

  “Jon, you’re closer,” Neil said. “Smack him for me.”

  I aimed a teasing swipe at my father’s head, which he ducked, chuckling. He was so much happier now than when I’d first seen him a week ago. I’d like to think that having access to his children had something to do with that.

  Holding up both hands, Caleb surrendered. “Alright, alright. I’ll need to do a more thorough exam, but I believe her neck was broken. There’s a cervical fracture in her C3 and C4. No trauma I can find on the base of the skull, so my guess is that she was pushed down against something hard, her neck impacting on the site. It’s possible this was accidental except…”

  “She was stuffed in a cistern and left to die?” I finished darkly.

  Caleb gave me a nod of agreement. “That, and what I found on her class ring. There was blood and a little tissue left behind. I tested it, on the off chance it wasn’t hers, and sure
enough, it wasn’t. Different blood type. Jenny Cartwright was AB. Her murderer has B blood.”

  I let out a hiss of triumph. “If we can find the DNA to match to that ring, half the evidence will be there.”

  “I think so.”

  Donovan set his cake inside the fridge to chill before asking, “You said cervical fracture. Does that mean if she’d been treated properly afterwards, she could have survived it?”

  “There’s a strong possibility, yes. The seventies didn’t have our medical know-how, but…still. If she’d been braced, properly x-rayed, treated, she’d probably have lived. Possibly have been paralyzed in some form or fashion too, but odds were, she could have survived it. She wasn’t given the chance.”

  And for that, Stephenson would be incarcerated as a murderer. I’d make damn sure of it. “I wonder what happened, though. I mean, I haven’t gone through that scrapbook completely, but there’s not much mention of Stephenson in there. Those two weren’t together.”

  “Probably why he wasn’t suspected of her murder to begin with,” Neil muttered grimly. “When they started searching for her, no one asked him squat. I checked the records on that. But the mystery can wait until tomorrow. Caleb, what are we doing along with the steaks?”

  “I thought some veggie pasta.” Caleb said to Donovan and I equally, “That’s what we call it, anyway. It’s Brussels sprouts, cherry tomatoes, and asparagus mixed in a buttery-garlic sauce over pasta.”

  “That sounds delicious.” It, in fact, made my taste buds water. “Yes, please.”

  “Donovan, if you’ll get that oven heating up for me? Broil, please.” Caleb moved comfortably around in the kitchen, washing his hands and chopping up vegetables.

  My boyfriend followed directions and helped him. I got passed the asparagus to chop up. As long as I didn’t move from my spot, the kitchen appliances were more or less safe from me.

  As we all worked, Caleb asked, “How is your mother doing?”

  I saw his sincerity so answered his question truthfully, “Not well. I mean, under the circumstances, she’s doing alright. But it was a blow to her that Rodger was so manipulative. And, of course, it’s very hard to no longer have an anchor after almost forty years of depending on one.”

  “But she’ll recover from this? Right?” Caleb was both sympathetic but disturbed at this description. “She can shield herself?”

  “I had to reteach her the basics, but…she’s managing. That’s about as much as I can truthfully say. Fortunately, Donovan’s mother has decided to step in. I hope you get to meet Alani soon—she’s the sweetest typhoon you’ll ever meet.”

  Donovan laughed out loud, apparently delighted by this description. “God, I love that. I’m so using that from now on.”

  To the bemused men that hadn’t met Alani yet, I explained wryly, “She’s a force of nature when she decides something needs to be done. She’s sweet about it, and charming, but it WILL be done. I’m actually relieved to have her take my mother in hand. Rodger won’t get anywhere near her, not with Alani guarding the door.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Caleb’s tension eased. He was genuinely worried about her. If they’d ever loved each other, that feeling had long since faded, but general affection remained. A memory of a time when they’d been very close. I think they had a chance of being good friends now.

  I felt relieved to see Neil took this conversation in stride. He wasn’t jealous, hearing about his husband’s ex-wife. The two of them were rock-solid together, and watching them gave me relationship goals of my own. Donovan and I were still adjusting to each other in some ways. I wanted to be like these two—to be entirely comfortable and know exactly where I stood.

  From the outside, it likely looked as if we had that. But I’d seen the strain in Donovan when he’d sent me off with Neil. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Neil. He just had a difficult time with me working alongside someone else. Especially in an area he didn’t really know. Already out of his element, it made him uneasy, and his discomfort ratchetted up several notches when I wasn’t where he could lay hands on me. It showed strength on his part that he sent me off anyway.

  Donovan was battling his instincts to avoid upsetting the balance we had. I respected that, and appreciated it, because he was correct. If he tried to smother me or lock me up in a glass house, he’d be in for a world of hurt. I allowed him his little white lies for that reason. Also to build his confidence up. I hoped with enough experience he’d learn that just because I was away from him didn’t mean I was in danger. I didn’t want him to live in constant fear for my safety. That wasn’t healthy for either one of us.

  The way he’d handled it today made me proud of him. I fully planned on giving him a little positive reinforcement for it later, too.

  We sat around the dinner table, enjoying excellent pasta and steaks. The conversation hit a lull as we all fed our faces, and while I didn’t want to ask, I felt like someone should. “While I’m glad I helped solve a cold case, it didn’t really help us with the Witherspoon mystery.”

  Neil regarded me thoughtfully. “You’re still sure Stephenson didn’t kill Witherspoon?”

  “Pretty sure. He was telling the truth about not being back on the property and…the guilt from the murder he committed is old. I can tell from his lines he’s only killed one person, and he’s carried the weight of that soul around for a while. I’ll be very surprised if he has anything to do with Witherspoon’s murder.”

  “So him having a motive to keep Witherspoon out of the distillery was just coincidence, in all likelihood,” Neil finished morosely.

  Donovan cleared his throat to catch our attention. “Neil, I hate to say this, but if you can’t use us, we’ll need to return to Nashville.”

  “I think we’ll need you a bit longer, just to help us wrap up Stephenson,” Neil answered thoughtfully, as he cut his steak. “But I agree that we can probably send part of your agency home. I’d like to keep you two, of course, and Michael and Garrett. Those two have proven handy when it comes to research. I got notification today that all the medical and legal records I requested for Witherspoon came in. It’s a lot of information to parse through. We’re of course still going through financials. I wouldn’t mind having another set of hands to do it with.”

  I could see the logic. Without something to physically hunt for, Carol couldn’t really be put to good use here. Sharon, of course, was her support. “Are you going to talk to Jim about that soon?”

  “Tonight, probably. If he’s alright with leaving you four behind? Then we can modify my request for your agency.”

  “That should be fine,” Donovan allowed with a glance at me. “We normally work in partnerships anyway. Having the whole agency come for one case is rather rare.”

  Neil was part thoughtful, part aggrieved. “So Jim said. I hope the records will give us something to go off of. The records are bound to help fill in some of the gaps.”

  It’s true that few murders happened between complete strangers—unless it was a gang war of some sort, where unfortunately the innocents were often casualties. Or a serial killer. But on a regular basis, in most cases, the person knew their attacker. I could see why Neil was hopeful the records would shed some light.

  “If you want to go through all those records quickly, you definitely need to keep Sho,” Donovan agreed. “He’s a whiz at that kind of stuff.”

  Caleb looked at Donovan thoughtfully, fork pausing in the middle of his pasta. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Sho and Garrett seem to be something of a set.”

  “You don’t see one without the other, generally speaking.” I swallowed down an evil cackle. Oh, if they could only see what I saw.

  Donovan threw me a glare. “He knows more than what he’s telling. A lot more.”

  I batted my baby blues at him. “Not a tattle-tale.”

  “You withhold information just to mess with people,” my lover (rightfully) accused me.

  “That is part of the fun.” I beamed at him w
insomely, then dodged when he tried to get a finger into my ribs.

  In an effort to get us back on track, Neil asked, “So they are together?”

  “Not officially,” I denied, keeping a weather eye on Donovan. “They’re mutually interested, I think is the best way to put it. They like each other and are inclined to date, they just haven’t made a move yet. Don’t tease them about it, please. Sho’s…not really in the right mindset to date at the moment.”

  “Stupid fucking punk.” Donovan stabbed an innocent asparagus in anger. “Garrett and I will deal with him once we’re back in Nashville.”

  Seeing my father’s general alarm, I explained sourly, “Sho’s ex is stalking him. He tried reporting it, but the police can’t find him long enough to serve him. They can’t get a valid address or even an employer for him. It’s spooking Sho. The man’s abusive.”

  Caleb was no slouch. He put the pieces fast enough. “Which is the other reason Garrett’s sticking close?”

  “Pretty much.” I didn’t bother to explain that Garrett’s protective instincts ran nearly as high as Donovan’s.

  “I can see what you mean, then.” Neil frowned at the far wall, clearly thinking. “Hard to think along romantic lines when you’re looking over your shoulder for trouble. Do I need to put a word in with your department?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t know that it would do any good. Our precinct likes Sho. He’s got more friends there than I do. They actually are trying to protect him, not just sweep this under the rug. But until they can lay hands on the ex, there’s not much they can do.”

  Donovan had that smile on his face that scared lesser beings. “Don’t worry about it. Garrett and I got this.”

  That smile promised a whole bag full of pissed off cats kinda trouble there. Oh boy. “Just remember, orange is not your color, and you get no nookie in prison.”