Arsenic in the Azaleas

by Dale Mayer

  The response came back quickly. This is Robert Delaney, general handyman, who worked at the old folks’ home where Nan lives.

  Right. Something else to tie Nan into this.

  But this man’s last name, Delaney, and the dead body from Nan’s garden, James Farley, plus the dead man depicted in the thirty-year-old pictures, Jeremy Feldspar, still meant nothing to Doreen. Yet, they didn’t have to share the same last name to be related, to support this latest theory of hers. They could’ve been from the wife’s side of the family, or they could’ve been cousins. They could’ve even been related on the mother’s side—last names changed easier for women after they got married but also for a mom who remarried; her name would’ve changed too.

  She quickly texted him again. Don’t let the names fool you. Make sure there is no blood between these two recently dead men, including any relationship to the man who went missing thirty years ago.

  We know how to do our job.

  Short. Succinct… Right. Of course they did.

  She had to be grateful for that little bit of sharing. Mack was the investigating detective, and she was somebody who tripped over bodies. Not necessarily a good thing.

  Thaddeus crooned at her side. Goliath had somehow found her lap and had curled his not inconsiderable bulk into her arms. And to complete the picture, Mugs slept at her feet, stretched out on his belly froggy style.

  “Thaddeus, if you’re so smart, why can’t you tell us something about these men who were murdered?”

  With that thought, she pulled out her phone, shifted Goliath to lie beside her. Then she downloaded the images to her laptop that was parked on the coffee table for a closer look. Yes, she hadn’t been mistaken. The man in the creek had been murdered, as evidenced by a hole in the side of his head that she could just barely see at the edge of his hoodie. She’d not looked too closely while he’d been stretched out in the water, but it showed up clearly in her photos. Looked like he’d been shot.

  Speaking of images, she had none of the body found in her garden. She cringed at the thought of what a decaying body would look like.

  But she had seen pictures of him from his insurance ads in the paper. She quickly did a Google search for James Farley and his company. And there was his photo. Then she searched Google for the man they’d just found, Robert Delaney, bringing up his face on the monitor.

  She studied the features of the two dead men, looking for something that would link them. They were both around the same age. She put them each in their forties. Possibly as old as mid-fifties. It was so hard to tell with some people. They were both sitting in the pictures, one heftier than the other. But then one had a more physical job—the handyman. No comparison for muscles and leanness. She kept searching and found profile pictures of both. They both had a bump in the center of their noses. When put side by side like that, there was definitely a resemblance. She saved both photos to show Mack.

  And then she brought up the name of the man whose belongings she’d found upstairs—Jeremy Feldspar.

  How was she to research wedding records, divorce records, or last known residences? She really needed Mack’s help with this. Mack would probably say he needed her to stop interfering. Maybe he was right because, honestly, this was a bit beyond her investigative skills. She had to talk to somebody who had been around for a long time. So far Nan hadn’t been a great—or reliable—source of information. Doreen considered her chatty neighbor, Ella. She had shared all about how she had lived in the Mission area for thirty or so years. Just not at the house in this neighborhood.

  Then there was the retired guy who hadn’t been friendly but was quite possibly someone who would know the old case. She didn’t have his phone number, or she’d try calling. She wasn’t sure what he’d say if she showed up at his door again. But she was willing to take a chance.

  After another cup of coffee, she grabbed her notepad and got up the courage. She walked out her front door and down to the grumpy old man’s house, leaving the animals behind. She knocked on his door. He opened it as if he’d been standing at the front window, watching.

  He growled. “What the hell do you want now?”

  “I’m doing some research and was hoping you could help. Do you know any of these names or these faces?” She held up her laptop, sporting side-by-side full-face pictures of three men, beside her notepad with the names clearly written out in block printing: Jeremy Feldspar, James Farley, Robert Delaney.

  Doreen watched Mr. de Genaro’s face.

  His gaze went from the pictures to the names and back again; then he stared at her. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Well, one of them is the man found buried in the back garden of my property, so I care. I was wondering if the men were related.”

  His eyebrows shot up. He shook his head, reached out and tapped one name on her notepad. “I knew this one. He went missing thirty years ago.”

  “In what way did you know him?”

  He shrugged. “We were friends for a while. But he and his wife were into money scams. You know? Buy a property from him, then you find out there’s no property to actually buy. The law was after them, as were a lot of angry people too. The fact that he disappeared was no surprise. I would have helped them on their way myself, but I couldn’t find them. Jeremy cost me ten grand.”

  “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and said, “Jeremy was also accused of murdering his mother, but I never believed that.” Frowning, he studied the pictures. “How are they all related?”

  “Not sure yet. But I have profile pictures of two men, one whose dead body was found recently, and they seem to share the same nose.” She studied de Genaro’s face, seeing the anger, resentment and pain from so long ago. “Can you tell me where Jeremy worked? Who his friends were? If any members of his family still live around here? What about his wife?”

  His face twisted in disgust. “That was way back when. I have no idea where any of them are, except for his wife. Her name’s Alice. I never could figure out if she was part of it or not. But she’s living decent for somebody who never worked a day in her life.”

  Doreen didn’t know if that was a diss on her too because she certainly hadn’t worked a day in her life either, not a traditional job anyway. On the other hand, she wasn’t living high on the hog now. She was living mostly on her grandmother’s charity. And that did prick her pride a bit. “Do you know if she has the same last name?”

  “Last I heard, she did. But not sure now. She’d be in her mid- to late seventies. She’s living in the same retirement home as Nan.”

  Inside Doreen cringed. Of course she’d be living there. Everything kept circling back to Nan. An old-timer in this small town. But it’d be nice if one of the darn threads would go in the opposite direction. “Did they have any kids?”

  He nodded. “Three or four of them, I think. They were young enough back then that the kids didn’t really know what their parents were up to at the time. I don’t think the kids were involved in the scams. They were in junior high or so back then.”

  “Outside of Jeremy just dropping off the earth, did you ever hear any more about what happened?”

  Mr. de Genaro shook his head. At least this time his tone was a whole lot more amiable when he said, “No, I haven’t, but I sure would like to. Like I said, for a time, we were friends. If you find out anything, please let me know.” On that note, he started to close the door.

  She stepped back. “Likewise, if you hear of anything happening with these people, please let me know. I’m just trying to clear any suspicions regarding Nan in all this.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “How can anybody possibly think Nan had something to do with this?”

  “Oh, I agree. But, since the first body was found in her backyard…” She shrugged. “It does put her in a bad position.”

  “Fools. The whole lot of them.” And the door closed with a bang.

  She agreed and returned to her house. As she walked up the driv
eway, a vehicle came up behind her. She turned to see Mack, smiled and gave him a small wave.

  He parked, got out, motioning at the notepad and her laptop in her hands. “Now what have you been up to?”

  She gave him a look of complete innocence, but when he narrowed his gaze at her, she knew she had completely failed to convince him. She motioned to the neighboring house. “Richard de Genaro’s been around for a long time. He’s grumpy and angry, but I figured he might be a source of information.”

  “On who?”

  She held up a photo of Jeremy Feldspar, the missing man from thirty years ago. “Him.”

  Mack stopped and stared at the photo. Then glanced at the neighbor’s house. “Did he know him?”

  She nodded. “Apparently Jeremy Feldspar and his wife were involved in a property development scam, and according to de Genaro, a lot of people wanted Feldspar dead.”

  Mack nodded.

  She gasped. “You knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “I took a look at the old missing person’s police file on Jeremy. It’s a cold case with boxes of paperwork to go through. I haven’t had time for that, but I read the brief on it.” He shrugged. “Only so many hours in a day and, so far, you’re doing a good job filling those hours with fresh bodies.”

  “Sorry about that.” She winced. “It’s not like I’m trying to find them. I’m just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Like moving into Nan’s house. If I’d moved in right when she moved out, then likely the first body wouldn’t have ended up on her property.”

  He stopped and grimaced. “Not necessarily.”

  She stared at the small circle of houses. “When Nan and I first talked about this change of residence, we didn’t really lock down the dates. If we both had to live temporarily with each other in the house, we would have. No problem. And, if there was a gap between her moving out and me moving in, Nan was okay with that too.”

  Doreen spun to look at Mack. “I mean, Nan had been on a waiting list for Rosemoor, but usually someone has to die for a spot to open up at the retirement home. You can’t exactly plan to give two weeks’ notice for that event. Sure, sometimes a family caregiver will take a resident into their home and will give Rosemoor some notice. But those are rare events. So, when a sudden opening popped up, Nan took it rather than waiting for the next… opening.”

  He nodded. “And you got here as soon as you could.”

  “Something like that. It’s not a good idea to leave a house empty for too long. But Nan wasn’t all that worried. Like she said, nothing happens around here, and I was trying to tie up something else before coming.”

  “The body had been here for at least a couple weeks.”

  She stared at him and swallowed. “Oh. So while Nan was in transition…”

  He nodded. “So what’s the chance that, even while Nan lived here, she had no clue?”

  “It depends if she had her hearing aids in or not,” Doreen explained. “Without them, she’d have heard nothing. And, if she was sleeping, then she really wouldn’t have heard anything. Compound that with her moving to the retirement home and all the trips that would have entailed, plus she obviously never went into the backyard for quite a while…”

  “So, of course, she had no idea. Likely the location was picked for just that reason.”

  Doreen froze and stared at the side-by-side pictures on her laptop in her hand. “Or for another more sinister reason?”

  Now standing on the front doorstep, he put his hand on her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t get past the idea that all the murders are related, that the victims might be related. But, what if the first man, who disappeared thirty years ago, is buried here too? And the body we found in the garden was his son? Maybe the killer wanted to bury him beside his father?” She shook her head and broke into maniacal laughter. “Can you imagine? That would make this property a family burial plot.”

  Chapter 28

  “Easy, take it easy.”

  Her wild laughter morphed into sobs. She heard Mack’s voice through her tears. She excused herself and ducked into the bathroom while Mugs greeted the newcomer. There she turned on the cold water and splashed her face, patting down the tears. When she was composed enough to face him, she walked into the kitchen, sat down and very quietly said, “I’m sorry.”

  Mugs nudged his nose against her leg. She reached down to stroke his big ears wondering what Mack must think of her.

  He looked at her in surprise. “Why? You’ve come across two dead bodies, one in your own backyard, and may have found a conspiracy involving the third, all within your first four days here in Mission.” He shook his head. “Anybody who’s not in law enforcement or the medical profession would have the same kind of reaction.”

  She nodded, but it didn’t help very much. She didn’t want to be just anybody. She craved to be somebody special, to be somebody different. She’d been just a wife for so long, and now she was an individual person, in her own space. But what did that mean? Who was she? She wasn’t sure what to do now in her life. She felt lost in the brand-new scheme of things as her daily events unfolded here in Mission. She could only hope she’d find out who she was soon enough.

  She picked up the coffee cup Mack had filled for her and took a big drink. Then she hugged the cup with both hands. “Did you find any connection between the men?”

  “Not yet, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. We do take murder very seriously here.”

  She nodded. “Mr. de Genaro said Alice Feldspar, Jeremy’s wife, is a resident at Rosemoor. Maybe I should ask around at the retirement home or speak to her directly.”

  “No.” He glared at her. “I’ll take care of that. What is your problem? Just leave it alone, please.”

  Doreen glared back. At least she no longer felt like crying. “How can I just sit here and do nothing? The least I can do is talk to people, find out information, and feed it to you. Unless you want me to go off and find the killer myself.”

  “You just did find out info and feed it to me. The Alice Feldspar lead. And, hell no, I don’t want you to go off and find the killer yourself. How would you even know who the killer is at this point? And what would you do? Just walk up to some suspect and ask him if he committed two murders recently? You realize somebody has killed two men in two weeks, possibly the third from as many decades ago.

  “If it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Nan, chances are it’ll be somebody who Nan knows, possibly very well. It could even be somebody who you know. This is a small-town community. Sure, the city itself is big, but this area that we live in, it’s small, it’s tight, and everybody knows each other. You can’t take the chance of pissing off the wrong person. Neither can you take the chance of tipping off the person who did this.”

  She sat back, disgruntled. Mugs looked up at her from his spot on the floor then dropped his head down again Doreen finally nodded. “Okay.”

  He stared at her as if waiting to see if she really understood. “Now let’s get your police statement started.” He pulled out his notepad and pen but also set a handheld tape recorder on the kitchen table and hit the Record button. “What made you go in that direction coming home?”

  She frowned at him. “I was just looking for a path along the creek. It’s pretty back there. I wasn’t looking for the missing man.”

  “How did you know he was missing?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

  She gave him a drawn look. “I didn’t kill him.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question please.”

  She nodded. “Nan told me about it.”

  “And by sheer accident you went in that direction? Just a coincidence that you stumbled over the second body?”

  “Absolutely.” It sounded a little thin to her ears too.

  He studied her for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay, so you went directly from the retirement home toward this creek path?”

  She shook her head. She gave him as ma
ny of the details as she could remember about the convoluted way she came home. “I was just walking aimlessly, exploring. I don’t know the area. I thought I’d walk around and see something new about the town. I came upon the creek, crossed it and kept going. I figured I would end up at home if I kept walking in this direction. I saw the cul-de-sac beside ours.” She nodded toward the houses she could see out the back window. The two cul-de-sacs were kind of in a cloverleaf pattern. “I knew I wasn’t very far away from home.”

  “How did you recognize the cul-de-sacs?”

  “Only one house in both of these cul-de-sacs has those big Spanish tiles on the roof,” she said quietly. “I do observe things, you know.”

  He wrote down some notes. “So what made you see him in the first place?”

  “Mugs.”

  “Right, the dog.”

  “But not right away.”

  He raised his head and looked at her again. “Why not right away?”

  “We were sitting on a log maybe ten yards from where the body was. I was enjoying the rest, thinking how beautiful the spot was and how absolutely lovely the town is to live in. That Nan had made a wonderful decision in spending as much of her life here as she had.”

  “Mugs wasn’t bothered?”

  Mugs lifted his head at the sound of his name. She stroked his body with her foot and shook her head. “There had been a nice breeze up until then. It came more from across the river. But when a big gust of wind came downriver, then Mugs barked like crazy. Up until then I think he was just tired and sleeping.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  She looked at Mack in surprise. “I stood, and the three of us walked the creek toward home. Mugs was still barking like crazy, and he didn’t stop until we approached the body. I could see that the man was dead, just lying there in the water.”

  Mack finished writing down another note, looked back at her and said, “And then what?”

  She raised both hands in frustration. “What do you mean, And then what? I called you. That’s what.”