What We Bury

by Carolyn Arnold

  “So when did Saul show up that night?” Madison asked.

  “Somewhere between nine and ten.”

  Considering that Carson had arrived at eight o’clock, she may have come to talk to him but hadn’t arranged it beforehand, or she came early. She had been acting strange on the video. “And when did he leave?”

  “Around twelve thirty or so? Not a hundred percent sure.”

  He could have attacked Carson out back. She was stumbling to the street at quarter to one. “Did he leave alone?”

  “Ah…” Chloe’s forehead bunched in thought. “I think so, yeah.”

  “And which door did he use when he left?” Madison eyed a narrow hallway at the back of the pub.

  “He used the one in the rear.”

  Terry leaned forward. “When did you last see him?”

  “Come to think of it, that night you’re asking about. He’s all right, isn’t he?” She scrunched up her brow. “You mentioned that lady was murdered. What does that have to do with—” She slapped a hand over her mouth, slowly lowered it.

  Madison looked at her and stated calmly, “We both appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Summers, but we have a few more questions.”

  Chloe nodded.

  “You said that Saul was a regular,” Madison started. “How long has he been coming here?”

  “For a few months now. Usually on Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “And just to clarify, you slept with him when?” Madison recalled Chloe had said a few weeks ago, but the day of the week might prove useful.

  “It was three Fridays ago. I got off early.”

  The week before Carson’s murder. Madison squirreled that fact away and returned her mind to the regularity with which Abbott had come to the pub. Carson’s photos and documents testified that she had gathered intel on Elliott, and his coming here on a predictable schedule would have be helpful in tracking him down. Madison couldn’t recall a picture that was taken outside the pub, but that didn’t mean Carson hadn’t known about his habitual Friday night outing. “How often did the woman come here?”

  “I only saw her that one time.”

  Carson could have followed Elliott here in the past and just not entered the bar. “I see,” Madison said. “And how did Saul react to her staring at him?”

  “Just ignored her, from what I could tell.”

  That must have made Carson crazy with rage after what he’d done to her. “Did you see when she left?”

  Chloe shook her head. “Honestly? I don’t know. I went to get a drink order for another table, and she was gone. A few quarters for my trouble on the table. And she stayed for a long time.” She rolled her eyes.

  “When did you go to this other table? Just after Saul left?” Madison was trying to piece together if Carson had followed Saul out of the bar.

  “That’s about right. Yeah.”

  “And you’re certain you never saw the woman and Saul interact?” Terry asked.

  “Nope. Doesn’t mean they didn’t. Just that I didn’t see it.” Chloe moved to stand. “I really should get back to work.”

  “Just one more question,” Madison said. “Did Saul ever come here with a date?” She was curious if he brought his next marks to the pub.

  “No. He always came alone. Usually he left with someone.” Chloe’s gaze went past Terry, and Madison followed the direction of it and realized the bartender was waving her over.

  “Well, thanks for your help,” Madison said.

  Chloe didn’t make a move to walk away. Instead, she locked eyes with Madison and said, “Do you really think Saul killed that woman?”

  “We’re trying to figure that out,” Madison said.

  “And trying to find him, I take it. Given all your questions.”

  “We are,” Madison confirmed. “You don’t happen to have a way of reaching him, do you?”

  “No. It was just a one-nighter. Not sure if this will help, but I heard him on the phone after we…ah.... He was in my bathroom, but it’s not exactly soundproof.”

  “What did you hear?” Madison asked.

  “He told the person he was talking to they needed to keep calm, not that he sounded calm. Panicked, maybe scared even.”

  The conversation might not have anything to do with a perceived threat in reference in Carson, but it might. And if it did, were they to assume he had a partner? Carl Long or someone else?

  Again, Chloe’s gaze snapped across the room to the bar. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work.”

  The server gone, Madison turned to Terry. “We need to find out who he was talking to.”

  “I agree but have no idea how we’re going to do that.”

  Madison considered the possibilities. “We need Elliott’s phone history.”

  “Hard when you don’t have his number.”

  “No, but we have Carson’s. You know, the ones you haven’t looked at yet.” She paused as Terry glared at her. “So we call the outgoing numbers that come up repeatedly and ask for Saul Abbott.”

  “Sounds like a job for you.”

  “Why me?”

  “He has a thing for women.”

  “Or you could do the calling and say you’re from Southern Life about a will. Tell him he stands to inherit, which he does if he didn’t kill her, so it’s not a lie.”

  “Ah, sure.”

  “Assuming one of the numbers she called ties back to him, we’ll get a subpoena to trace.”

  “Sure. But consider that the ‘calm down’ comment might have had nothing to do with Carson.”

  “Considered. And we need to find that Mercedes. Is it registered to him or someone else? Maybe even a woman he’s currently conning?”

  “Any ideas how to find out?”

  “Must I think of everything?”

  “Why not?” He grinned.

  Madison got up with care and stood to full height without her ribs hurting too badly. “Chloe also said that Elliott—or as she knew him, Saul Abbott—came here regularly for months, but hasn’t been in since Carson was murdered. Seems suspicious to me, like he’s hiding out.”

  “Me too.”

  She walked toward the back door, passing an entrance to the kitchen. She peeked in, and the staff was busy fulfilling orders, but she was looking for one man in particular and spotted him. It was the smoker from the back stoop they’d talked to last Saturday. He was pinching green garnish onto a plate of pasta. “Excuse me,” she called out. The other five people in the kitchen looked at her before the man did. When he saw her, he held up a finger to indicate a minute, then headed over.

  “Detectives,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron and letting his gaze go from her to Terry, back to her. “What can I do for you?”

  “You often take your smoke breaks out back?” she asked him.

  “All the time.”

  “On a set schedule?”

  “Not necessarily.” He glanced back at the bustling staff and bellowed, “Stepping away for a minute!”

  The three of them shimmied down the hall toward the back door but remained inside.

  “You ever see this woman before?” Madison pulled out her phone and showed him a picture of Carson.

  “A few times.”

  That didn’t coincide with the server’s story. “Where? Inside the bar, out back?”

  “Out back. Usually standing at the edge of the parking lot under the oak tree.”

  Madison recalled the tree that hung over the lot at the back side. “But she never came in?”

  The man smiled. “In the kitchen, remember?”

  “Right.” Madison put her phone away. “Is there anything else you can tell us about her? Did she ever approach any of the pub’s customers maybe?”

  “Not that I saw. When you were here… When was it?”

&nbs
p; “Last Saturday,” Madison confirmed.

  “You mentioned something had happened to a woman. That her?” He pointed in the general area of the pocket where she’d tucked her phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I definitely know her, to see her anyway. She was often out back like she was waiting for someone, but she was twitchy. I assumed she was high and just left her alone because I didn’t want any trouble. She was hugging her purse to her chest and mumbling… She made me uneasy.”

  “She could have been on her phone, using earphones,” Terry suggested.

  “Possibly, but I don’t think so. She seemed to figure out I was watching her sometimes and would leave through the opening onto Napoleon Avenue.”

  That was the street that ran north of Burnham behind the pub.

  “She was in quite the hurry too. Almost like I spooked her.”

  It would seem Carson had been hanging out back waiting on Elliott several times. Stalking him? Building up courage? Madison showed him the picture of Jake Elliott. “You ever see this man talking to her?”

  He leaned in. “I recognize the guy, but I never saw them talk.”

  This man had already told them last week he hadn’t witnessed any altercations in their lot, so no point going down that road again. They probably should question everyone on staff though, just in case someone saw something. But if Elliott was such a regular, maybe this guy got the plate on the Mercedes. “Did you ever see a silver Mercedes SUV parked in the lot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you happen to notice a plate number?” The meat of her reason for asking him about the Mercedes.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “Thought I’d try. But thank you for your help. What’s your name if we need to speak to you again?”

  “Glenn Donnelly.”

  Madison dipped her head in thanks and stepped outside with Terry.

  “I’m almost starting to wonder if Carson intended to physically harm Elliott,” she said, feeling the truth of her instinct send chills through her. “Donnelly mentioned her mumbling and hugging her purse. Like in the video from the night she was murdered. Twitchy too? Sounds like she was up to no good. What if she didn’t plan to expose Elliott but to kill him? She could have pulled the knife on him, but she wound up the one on the blade’s stabbing end.”

  -

  Forty-Seven

  Madison and Terry stood on the back stoop of Luck of the Irish for a few minutes. She looked to the oak tree and the opening to Napoleon Avenue. She considered doing a little tour of the area, but she’d made a promise to Troy. Besides whenever Cynthia and Mark arrived, they could handle that along with Terry.

  “Listen, I’ve gotta go,” she said.

  “You’re in pain?”

  “No…yes, but that’s not why.”

  “You want me to drop you off?”

  “I’ll call a cab. I need you to stay here. Question all the staff about Carson and Elliott, the Mercedes SUV. See if anyone saw the two of them interact or caught a plate.”

  “Okay. Might take all night.”

  “You know I’d help if I could.”

  Terry slowly nodded. “Go. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Also, arrange to have officers watch the pub tonight in case Elliott shows up.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and run our thought about Carson past Cynthia. Maybe there was a knife missing from Carson’s kitchen that was a match to the stainless pulled from her stab wound?”

  “Carson could have purchased one just for confronting Elliott. Maybe just as a means of threatening him.”

  “Could be, but I have the feeling she planned more. He’d destroyed her, and it was cumulative. Every man in her life had let her down. Her husband, her new lover, that being Elliott, and her boss. And if she only wanted justice, why didn’t she report him?”

  “You said before if she didn’t know Abbott’s real name, that would have been tough to do. Look how hard it’s proved to be for us. We still haven’t found him. You really think she had cold, premeditated murder on her mind?”

  “Wouldn’t shock me.”

  Terry returned inside the pub, and she called for a cab. It showed up five minutes later, just after she’d gotten rather comfortable on one of the stairs at the front of the pub. She had the driver take her straight home, even though she felt like a dog dragging its ass along the ground. She was queasy just thinking about what Troy wanted to discuss.

  With early-evening traffic starting to pick up, the drive took twenty minutes as opposed to fifteen. She paid her fare and let herself inside.

  Troy was on the couch, watching something on television.

  Hershey barked and jumped off the couch, hurtling toward her.

  “Hey, baby.” She ruffled his ears and bent over and kissed the top of his head. “You broke him out of jail?” she said to Troy.

  He flicked the TV off and got up to meet her at the door. “Surprise.” He’d said the word rather drily, and she couldn’t touch on the reason why. Disappointment she hadn’t been there when he came home with Hershey?

  He hugged her gently and kissed her. “Happy you’re home.” He tapped another kiss to her forehead.

  She smiled, a little more at ease by his reaction to seeing her. They’d made peace before she went to Luck of the Irish, but his hanging up on her earlier still wasn’t far from mind. Troy didn’t typically get worked up and terminate their phone conversations like that. “Happy too.”

  She slipped out of her coat and placed it on a hanger in the front closet. Troy didn’t say anything, but Madison didn’t miss the expression of surprise on his face at her doing so. She would normally toss it on the back of a chair or hook it on the closet handle. She slipped off her shoes and let out a deep breath.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Please don’t ask.” She attempted a smile, and he swept a hand over her head.

  “Want a drink or something to eat? I can get it for you if you want to sit down.”

  “Do I want a drink?” She laughed. “A glass of water, I guess.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She settled on the couch, getting semi-comfortable. Hershey laid his head across her lap, and she rubbed behind his ears.

  “So how’s your murder case coming along?” Troy returned to the living room with her water.

  “Think we’re making some headway. Finally. Thanks.” She took the glass from Troy and took a greedy sip, imagining it was wine instead. “Not sure how Terry kept himself busy without me though.”

  “Ah, you’re too hard on the guy. I’m sure he followed a lot of leads.”

  She grinned. “He did. I’m just kidding around.” She hated herself for how awkward she was feeling.

  “I was thinking a chicken casserole would be our safest bet. Sound good?”

  They smiled when they met each other’s eyes.

  “We can risk it,” she said.

  Silence wormed in, the tension crackling in the air. She would take a stab at easing it.

  “I’m happy that you understand why I left the house today.” Definitely wishful thinking, but phrasing it that way might help him see things from her perspective and put off what he wanted to talk about.

  He sat in a chair, seeing as Hershey was taking up the rest of the couch and seemed quite content all spread out.

  “You know that when I get a case, I need to see it through,” she added.

  “That’s why you’re Bulldog.”

  “Right. But you do understand?” She wished she could retract the question the instant it came out. She was quite sure she didn’t want to hear his answer.

  “I know what you’re like. I know you have a hard time letting go.”

  She could puff out her chest and become all indignant about how she took her b
adge and the responsibility that came with it seriously, but there was no need, and she in no way wanted to imply that Troy didn’t.

  Troy went on. “I just want what’s best for you. I always have.”

  The urge to cry rushed over her. Likely the cursed pregnancy hormones at work. Could she blame them yet? “I know you do. But I’m fine.”

  “I know you are, but I don’t want you to just be fine. I want you happy, good, great even. I don’t know if you realize how often you say you’re fine.” His green eyes locked with hers. “Are you happy, Maddy? With me, us, I mean?”

  “Yes, I…” She gulped as her heart raced. “I love you. I love my life with you.”

  “It’s just things have been strained lately.”

  So he had noticed. “I’ve been busy with work.”

  “Is that all?” His question was short but potent and heavy as concrete. He let it sit there for some time, and she considered bringing up the ring and how she thought he was going to propose, but he continued. “I told you I tracked the partial plate you gave me to Joel Phelps, Dustin’s brother. Well, I spoke with Joel. He said his truck was in his driveway all week, including Monday night.”

  “He’s lying,” she burst out.

  Troy’s gaze hardened.

  “I’m telling you his truck was the one that rammed me.” Looking at him, she decided to hell with holding anything back. Maybe he was more understanding than she ever gave him credit for. He had understood when it came to her interest in Dustin Phelps and had even stood by her side to set things right.

  “Why would he?”

  And we’re back to that! “You’re treating me like I’ve done something wrong.” She detected the screech to her voice and hated herself for it. “I know what I saw. Murphy behind the wheel and the partial plate. Murphy must have been driving Joel Phelps’s truck, I swear to you. Talk to Joel’s neighbors, ask around, verify that the truck was in his driveway all week—because I’m telling you it was not.” She stiffened, about ready to pull out her phone and show him the pictures she’d taken of the grille guard, but she had a feeling that would just make everything worse.

  “I’m not saying that you’re making it up or—”