“He’s too smooth,” Teresa had said to her in the past. “I always felt he worked too hard at wanting to look perfect. Made me uncomfortable at times.”
Jonelle shrugged. She looked away from her uncle and around the backyard bordered by evergreens. Her eyes wandered over the paved patio where terra cotta containers of various sizes held red geraniums and herbs.
“I don’t know,” she said. “There were times when he stayed out really late and got annoyed whenever I asked him about it.” She looked down at her hands. “About a month before Del died, a strange white man came to the house asking about him. He gave me the creeps. He tried to look past me and into the house, asking where Del was and when he would be back. When I told Del about it, he laughed it off. Later that evening, though, I caught him whispering to someone on the phone. He seemed agitated and, when he noticed me standing there, accused me of trying to listen in on his phone calls.”
Jonelle grabbed a beer bottle and began tearing the label into strips. “Part of me is afraid to look too closely at what he may have been involved in, but I need to find out what happened to his body.”
“Even if it means uncovering some things you might not want to know about?”
Jonelle nodded. “Even if.”
CHAPTER 3
On Monday, at 6:15 a.m., Jonelle parked her car in the almost empty lot behind the campus Public Safety building. The habit of arriving for work forty-five minutes before her shift began gave her a chance to relax and savor some alone time.
Dew still covered the grass. At this time of the morning, the air held only the faint hint of August’s oppressive heat.
With a week to go before the official start of the semester, the university housed only a few full-time students. Next Monday marked freshman orientation, the beginning of a new and exciting school year.
Jonelle left her Jeep and strolled around the campus, running the weekend’s events at the cemetery over in her mind. She headed toward the college’s quadrangle, the original site of the school and where its oldest buildings still endured.
A marble obelisk with the letters of the Greek alphabet on all four sides stood in the middle of the quadrangle. Walkways led from the sculpture like spokes in a wheel pointing to the Psychology, Physics, Education, Fine Arts, and main Library buildings. She ambled over to the Education building. The words on a small plaque beside the front door so impressed her that she committed them to memory. She closed her eyes and called to mind the Native American saying written there: Tell me and I will forget. Show me, and I may not remember. Involve me, and I will understand.
Jonelle opened her eyes and checked her watch. Only fifteen minutes left to get back to the security office and punch in. Even with crime the lowest this time of the school year, the campus insisted on an obvious security presence at all times. Sometimes it seemed as if even the criminals weren’t sure where to go or what to do.
As part of the twenty-person full-time staff, Jonelle joined the security force five years ago, as a consolation prize for her original career choice. She wanted a job first as a police officer, then as a homicide detective.
Jonelle had applied to the county police academy. They said they rejected her because of her weight. Resembling her father in stature, Jonelle’s five foot eight big-boned frame allowed for more weight than average. Yet the department insisted she lose thirty pounds before they’d even consider her application. Jonelle managed to lose ten pounds around the time she married Del, but the last twenty clung to her like plastic wrap on melted cheese. It didn’t help that most of her day involved sitting on her butt, driving around in a campus security force car.
Though not allowed to carry a weapon during routine patrol work, Jonelle possessed her own Beretta 92FS, a present from her uncle against the loud objections of her aunt. Jonelle took and passed, with a ninety-eight percent, a small firearms training course required by the state and received her gun permit three years ago. This year she applied for and received a license to carry a concealed weapon. One of her current means of relaxation, consisted of practicing three times a week at a small arms shooting range in Jessup.
On the way back to the Public Safety building, Jonelle stopped at the campus carryout for a large decaf and a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich.
She opened the door to the office and noticed Tyrone standing near her cubicle. Jonelle cringed. For a split second she thought about going back out again. Too late. He saw her and his face brightened.
“Hey, Jonnie. How was your weekend?”
Tyrone Nelson always perked up whenever he saw Jonelle. She often caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The staff knew he had what amounted to an adolescent-sized crush on her. Unlike most guys with their lame, overused, and unimaginative pickup lines, Tyrone was truly a nice guy. But as a recent widow, she only considered her co-worker a friend.
“Weekend wasn’t so great, Tyrone,” she said. “And I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
He stood without moving for a long moment, looking at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged and shuffled over to his desk. Jonelle busied herself with breakfast and checked the duty roster. She groaned. She and Tyrone were assigned to patrol the southern end of the campus together.
Dumping the remains of the breakfast in the trash, Jonelle picked up the keys to the security sedan and motioned for Tyrone. “Okay, let’s go.”
He trotted along behind her like a happy puppy.
For nearly five hours, the two cruised through the campus. They patrolled the parking lots and occasionally left the vehicle to check the doors to the classroom buildings and student union. They placed leaflets on the dormitory bulletin boards with the various telephone numbers students could call for assistance seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Every now and then an early arrival stopped them and asked for directions.
At noon, Jonelle was ready for lunch. Tyrone’s happy chatter in a vain attempt to kick-start her out of her doldrums, instead ended up giving her a splitting headache.
Back in the office, Jonelle rushed to her desk, and before Tyrone could say anything, she put her hand out with her palm facing him.
“Hold on a minute, Tyrone. I’m going to call Adrienne, see if she wants to go to lunch. I should be back around one or thereabouts. Okay?”
“Well, if she’s not free, you know where to find me,” he said.
Jonelle muttered, “Yeah, I know.” She swallowed two aspirin with water, picked up the desk phone, and agreed to meet Adrienne for lunch at Absolutely Soup-erb, across the main thoroughfare in front of the school. Rather than spend time hunting for a parking spot, Jonelle walked the three blocks.
Half a block away, Jonelle watched her friend pace back and forth in front of the restaurant. Today Adrienne’s chin-length, jet black hair contained narrow streaks of orange. She wore a leopard-spotted, sleeveless blouse and black capri pants. A cigarette dangled from her right hand.
“I see you’re going for your best ‘dress for success’ look,” Jonelle said.
Adrienne shrugged. She tossed the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with one foot barely contained in a black sandal with a four-inch stiletto heel. Jonelle noticed her friend’s toes were painted a bright Halloween orange.
“This makes me feel good. That,” Adrienne said, pointing to Jonelle’s white shirt and navy blue shorts, “would make me totally depressed.”
Jonelle shook her head and followed Adrienne into the restaurant. She had tried over the years to convince her friend that maybe Adrienne would get promoted from assistant director to director of medical school admissions if she dressed more conservatively. Adrienne adamantly refused.
“This is who I am,” she had said. “If they don’t like it, well, screw ‘em.”
A man and woman were leaving a table near the window at the front of the restaurant, and they rushed over. Dropping handbags on chairs to hold their spot, they walked over to the soup island.
; Ten large black urns sat in the middle of the dining area. Each one accommodated a different kind of soup. Several large, round loaves of bread—rye, wheat, sourdough and pumpernickel—occupied space at opposite ends, along with different varieties of crackers in small wicker baskets. Crocks of butter, or what passed for it these days, and cream cheese rounded out the display. Steam rose from the urns as the two women ladled soup into heavy black plastic bowls. Jonelle chose the turkey vegetable and Adrienne the creole gumbo. Jonelle loved how all of the tangy, spicy smells mingled perfectly with the warm, creamy aroma of the many homemade soups.
They each picked up a small plate, sliced off a chunk of rye bread, and glopped on a generous amount of butter. The waitress took their order for large iced teas.
“Okay, what’s the matter? You look like you did when that stupid goldfish of yours committed suicide,” Adrienne said, buttering her bread.
Adrienne listened in silence as Jonelle explained the previous Saturday’s events.
“The body’s gone? Well, isn’t that a kick in the ass.”
“Don’t you find that a bit strange? Why would anyone want to move Del’s body?”
“Hmm. I seem to remember the casket was closed.” Adrienne pointed a manicured finger at Jonelle. “Was there something, well, peculiar, buried with Del? Something that someone would want back?”
Jonelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just thinking out loud. You know, Jonnie, I guess I can tell you this now.”
Jonelle waited for the rest. “Well, what is it?”
“See, thing is, I never really felt Del was the right guy for you.”
“That’s just great,” Jonelle said, throwing her napkin on the table. “Seems everybody I know hated my husband.”
“No, not hated. That’s too strong. I just didn’t like him.”
“Why the hell not? What was your problem with him?”
Adrienne looked at all the heads turned in their direction. “Keep it down, will ya? People are starting to stare.”
Jonelle leaned forward. In a fierce whisper she asked, “So what was it about Del you didn’t like?”
Adrienne munched on her bread then took a few sips of tea.
“People said he fooled around, you know? They’d see him late at night at bars and clubs, and he always had women hanging all over him.”
Jonelle knew women fancied Del. When they started dating, she thought him too good-looking. After a while, his charm and good humor pushed her feelings of insecurity away.
“Women hung around him, so what? He still came home to me every night.”
Adrienne nodded. “True, but that’s not all. I also heard”—she looked around to see if anyone was listening—“that he might’ve been involved in something, uh, illegal. Like selling drugs.”
Jonelle gaped at her best friend. The two women had known each other since elementary school. Adrienne had gotten Jonelle the university security job when the police force fell through.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” she asked, feeling betrayed.
“Because, number one, you’re my best friend,” Adrienne said, using her fingers to tick off the reasons. “Two, because these were just rumors, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. And last, because you’re a smart person and would’ve caught on yourself and eventually gotten rid of the sonofabitch. As it turned out, somebody else did it for you. Sorry.”
Jonelle looked down at her half-eaten soup and bread. All of a sudden she wasn’t hungry. “I need to get back to work,” she said, rising from her seat.
“Hey, don’t go away mad. Listen, I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
Jonelle threw some money on the table. “This should cover my part of the check. Tonight is probably not a good time to call. Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.”
***
Jonelle went through the rest of the day in a semi-trance. Tyrone, sensing her dark mood, wisely kept his mouth shut. At four p.m., she clocked out. Walking to her car, Jonelle decided she needed to see her uncle. She knew he’d still be busy working; Marvin Shorter rarely left the office before eight p.m. She needed to know what, if anything, he’d found out about the license plate, and she didn’t want to discuss it with him on the phone.
CHAPTER 4
Urban sprawl, and urban prices, threatened to invade the northern edge of the city where the Shorter Investigative Services office was located. The area held on to its working-class roots. Everything remained clean and simple, without pretention. Billboards advertising quick weight-loss programs competed with those directing patrons to the next fast food restaurant.
Pedestrians ran for the last bus home before the evening news. Many carried plastic bags from places like Bertalucci’s and Frank and Betty’s Fried Chicken Boxes. Those with no need to get anywhere in a hurry pushed their life’s possessions around in shopping carts.
Low-rise brick buildings stood on every block. Jonelle pulled up to the curb and parked in front of one of those buildings.
Recessed in the outer wall, a printed label advertised Shorter Inves. Services. Jonelle pushed the button on the wall next to the entrance. She announced herself and opened the glass door after the buzz. Entering the lobby, bare except for one dusty plastic plant, she headed for the stairs and climbed to her uncle’s second-floor office.
She opened the wooden double doors to number twenty-eight and entered a small reception area. Rainey Gottzchek, Marvin’s secretary-receptionist, smiled and waved Jonelle inside. Phone cradled between shoulder and chin, Rainey said, “Uh huh, uh huh. Right. No, he won’t be able to meet with you until”—she checked the appointment book on her desk—“two weeks from this comin’ Wednesday. Well, sorry, that’s the best I can do. Mr. Shorter is awfully busy.” Rainey rolled her eyes at Jonelle. “So, do you want me to put you down for, say, three o’clock? You know where we are, or do you need directions? Good enough, see you then.”
“Is this a bad time to see him, Rainey? If it is, I can come back.”
“Not at all, hon.” Rainey took off the wire-rimmed glasses attached to a silver chain that hung around her neck. She stuck the pencil she was using in white, cotton candy hair and looked up at the clock on the wall. “He’s got a prospective client comin’ in about a half hour, so he’s free right now. Go right on in there.” She cocked her head toward the open door of the interior office a few feet away.
“Thanks. By the way, how’s Roberta and that grandson of yours?”
“Mikey’s perfect a’course. Still amazes me he came outta that daughter of mine. At least she finally got a decent job. Maybe soon she can start payin’ me a little rent, or at least buy her own groceries.”
“Jonnie, is that you out there?” Marvin called from his office.
Jonelle entered the open door to Marvin’s office. She watched him scribble some notes in a large leather binder. He held up a finger indicating he wanted her to stay. While she waited, Jonelle glanced at the three gold-framed photographs on his desk. One was a picture taken in Saudi Arabia of Marvin with six of his buddies—one of the men was killed as a result of friendly fire just days after the photo was taken. The second photograph was of him and Teresa, and the third pictured Marvin, Teresa, and Jonelle taken twelve years ago on the London Bridge in front of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. The trip was their present to her when she turned twenty-one.
“Gotta finish getting this down. Be with you in a sec,” he said.
“No problem.” Jonelle walked around the office sticking her finger in the soil of the spider and pothos plants that Teresa insisted would lend a homey feel to the office and that Marvin habitually forgot to water. That chore was left to Rainey and Jonelle. Satisfied the plants would live to see another day, Jonelle straightened the larger of the two racing sailboat prints that adorned the sand-colored walls to the left of Marvin’s oak desk. On the opposite wall, in a space between two bookcases, hung a red velvet-lined shadowbox with his two
bronze stars. Teresa had insisted he take them out of the box in the attic and give them a place of honor.
“Almost done,” Marvin said. Jonelle sat in one of the two square-backed chairs in front of the desk.
Marvin put the pen down. He reached in the top drawer and pulled out a folder.
“I’m guessing you want to find out what I learned about the license plate you gave me and whether or not Cornelius Manross has a record. And I also figure you don’t wanna wait until I get home.”
Jonelle smiled. “Guess that’s why you’re the PI and not me.” She reached for the folder.
He pulled it out of range. “Oh no you don’t,” he said.
“What?”
He placed his forearms on the manila folder. “First, you have to promise that you do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone where you got this information. Gordon did me a favor by running this tag on such short notice.”
Jonelle nodded and held out her hand. Marvin ignored the gesture.
“You also have to promise me that you don’t do anything stupid with this information.”
“Like what?” she asked, somewhat offended.
“Like confronting the people whose names are listed here with this information.”
Jonelle frowned. “What if I just drive by, you know, just to see where the guy lives?”
Marvin tapped the folder. He turned and gazed out the window behind him. Jonelle knew not to interrupt his thoughts, so she waited.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, turning back around to face her. “I will give you this information if you agree not to harass these people. Is that a promise?”
Jonelle crossed her heart. “I promise,” she said. “I just want to ask some questions about Del, that’s all.”
Marvin opened the folder. He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s not exactly ‘driving by,’ is it?”
Jonelle shrugged.
Marvin pursed his lips. “Teresa, not to mention your mother, will kill me if…”
Burial Plot (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 1) Page 2