by Cindy Sample
“You better continue to look for another suspect,” I said. “Otherwise you’ll have to contend with three generations of the Titus women digging up our own clues.”
“Make that four.” Jenna raised her glass of milk, and we clinked to our female solidarity and the pursuit of truth, happiness and frosted chocolate brownies.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I woke in the middle of the night with my bladder screaming at me. Once awake, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I thought back to our dinner the previous evening. It ended amicably enough although Hank refused to get the hint his presence wasn’t needed or wanted by his ex-wife. He seemed determined to deprive me of my boyfriend’s company. And his kisses. Tom and I only managed to exchange one chaste goodnight kiss before he and Kristy drove home.
Hank and I needed to sit down and discuss my personal situation. Just because he was currently single and seemingly intent on spending time with me did not mean the feeling was reciprocal. We had both grown up and moved on.
At least, I had. It was time for him to start a new life as well.
It took forever before I fell back to sleep only to be awakened a short time later when the phone rang. Outside my bedroom window, the sky resembled a Turner painting in swirling shades of pink and blue.
I switched on my nightstand lamp and mumbled “Hello” into the phone.
“I need your help,” the caller whispered.
“Who is this?”
“It’s your husband.”
“What?”
“It’s Hank.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so in the first place? And stop referring to yourself as my husband. That spec home sailed a long time ago. You’re not my––”
Hank interrupted before I could throw any more confusing metaphors into the mix.
“Laurel, listen to me. I’m in trouble and I need your help.”
Geez. What now? I grabbed the clock and brought it so close to my myopic eyes that my eyelashes dusted it clean. A few minutes before six. What kind of trouble could Hank be in before the sun rose?
“I thought you were meeting Spencer at five,” I muttered into the phone. “Did he show?”
Hank paused for a few seconds before he replied. “Kind of.”
“What?”
“Spencer is here. In a sense.”
I sighed. “Hank, I need to jump in the shower and get ready for work. Can you speak in plain English?”
“I’ll try,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I overslept this morning. When I arrived, Spencer wasn’t waiting for me, so I figured he left to get to his Rotary meeting.”
“He was probably ticked off at you for being late. Did you try calling him?”
“Yeah, that’s when I heard his cell ringing upstairs.”
“Maybe he left his phone behind when he drove off.”
“Spencer didn’t drive off,” Hank shouted into the phone causing me to shrink back.
“Listen, Hank, if you’re going to yell at me I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, the fear in his voice unmistakable. “Please.”
In the background, I heard sirens, the shrill sound gradually increasing in volume.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Upstairs in the attic of the Hangtown Hotel.”
“And you have no idea where Spencer could be?”
“I didn’t say that,” he muttered. “You know the dummy that hangs over the Hangman’s Tree building a few doors down from the hotel?”
“Of course. I used the Hanging Man dummy in one of the bank’s ad campaigns recently.” Or attempted to until my boss shot me down.
“Well, now there’s two of them.”
I leaned back against my pillow. “Did vandals string up another dummy? Don’t worry. It’s not your concern.”
Hank’s loud sigh boomed over the phone. “It’s my concern when the new hanging man isn’t a dummy.”
I was about to chastise Hank for being a dummy himself when he finally elaborated.
“Spencer is hanging from the scaffolding of the Hangtown Hotel!”
CHAPTER NINE
The phone slipped and banged against my front teeth. “What do you mean Spencer is hanging from the scaffolding? Is he dead?”
“Well, I haven’t examined his body,” Hank said, “but he’s looking kind of limp and, um, dead-ish.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No, I called you first.” My ego was impressed Hank called me first. My brain decided he was an idiot.
“I heard sirens in the background a few minutes ago,” I said. “Are the police there now?”
“Someone must have realized he wasn’t a dummy and called the cops. Two police cars parked on the street in front of the building. What should I do?”
I rested the phone on my shoulder, which left my fingernails free for chewing. Certainly gnawing my nails down to their nubs would help me come up with a solution.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I said. “Just because you and Spencer scheduled a meeting this morning doesn’t signify anything. But why would someone kill him and string his body up?”
“Crazy, huh? Should I go talk to the officers?” Hank’s voice shook. He must feel awful after such a grisly discovery. I was feeling nauseous myself thinking about it.
“You can’t hide up there forever. The detectives will want to examine every inch of the building before long. Why did you go inside? Didn’t you notice Spencer hanging out front?”
“I always park my truck in the Center Street garage and enter through the rear door. Spencer has a reserved spot in another lot. Since the door wasn’t locked, I assumed he’d already arrived. When I didn’t see him, I figured he must have left. I called his cell and heard it ring up above me so I climbed the stairs to the second floor.” Hank gulped before he continued. “At first I thought someone had moved the dummy again. You know like the time he went missing and ended up sitting in a chair at the Liar’s Bench bar. I almost had a heart attack when I realized it was Spencer.”
I tried my best to reassure him. “You have nothing to worry about. The two of you merely have, I mean had, a business arrangement. Go downstairs and explain your situation to the officers. It’s far better if you tell the cops now than if they find out later you were on the premises. I’m sure the police will understand.”
Silly me.
Ninety minutes later, I stood on the sidewalk alongside a throng of spectators across the street from the old Hangtown Hotel. Yellow crime scene tape formed a barricade around the brick and clapboard building Hank was in the middle of renovating. Crime scene tape also covered the scaffolding. A few early birds displayed photos taken with their smart phones before the police took down Darius Spencer’s body.
I shivered, either from the early morning temperature or from the ghastly sight of Spencer’s limp frame that the woman next to me insisted on sharing via her iPad. The high definition version. Whoever hung Spencer intended to make a statement. No attempt had been made to disguise the death as an accident.
My heart went out to Janet, the victim’s wife, and their children. Losing a spouse was tragedy enough but for him to be killed in such a horrific manner would be even more devastating.
I’d expected Hank to be in the crowd, but I had yet to see him around. He might still be talking to the police or he could have gone home. Main Street had been cordoned off to vehicular traffic, but that hadn’t stopped people from parking a few blocks away and scurrying along the sidewalk to check out the crime scene behind the tape.
Jake Russell, the owner of Hangtown Bakery, true to character, chose to profit from the crime by setting up his portable kiosk next to the barricade perimeter. The curious spectators could sip a cup of java and nosh on a jelly-filled doughnut while watching the Hangtown version of Law and Order. While I applauded Jake’s ingenuity, profiting from a murder lacked good taste.
Although Jake’s incredible pastries lacked for nothing.
I grinned. My homicide hotline had arrived on the scene. Once the detective entered the building, he would be off limits.
I called out his name. Tom halted, his internal “Laurel” GPS zeroing in on my location. He must have told the deputy accompanying him to go ahead because the younger man walked inside while Tom headed toward me.
“Excuse me,” Tom said. The crowd parted as if he’d majestically commanded the Red Sea to divide in half. He grabbed my hand, and we weaved in and out of the spectators until we reached the corner of Main and Sacramento Streets.
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked. “Shouldn’t you be at the bank?”
I glanced at my watch. “I still have ten minutes to spare. Hank called early this morning to tell me about finding Spencer, so I thought I’d see him here.”
Tom’s chiseled features hardened causing him to resemble a Bernini sculpture. “What do you mean Hank called you about Spencer? You’re not saying he had anything to do with the murder, are you?”
“You’re calling it a murder already? Normally you officials say a death is under investigation until you’re positive it’s a homicide.”
“Someone hung the guy from the scaffolding. He doesn’t appear to have done it on his own, so it’s not an accident nor a suicide.”
I frowned at Tom. “Do you know if the city police talked to Hank?”
He shook his head, looking even more confused than I felt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s the deal with your ex?”
“Hank and Spencer scheduled a meeting for five, but Hank overslept and didn’t enter the building until close to six. He claims he didn’t notice anything unusual until he called Spencer’s cell. When he heard the phone ringing, he went up to the second floor and discovered the body hanging from the scaffolding. Then he called me. And I told him to talk to the police.”
“Hank called you?” Tom asked. “Not 911?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t say Hank was smart. But he’s not a killer.”
Tom’s eyes softened. “I realize the man’s an idiot. He let you go, didn’t he?”
Aw. After that compliment, I could have thrown my arms around him, but two men dressed in suits crossed the intersection and stopped to speak to us.
Tom nodded at the men. “Mayor Briggs, Supervisor Winkler. What can I do for you?”
“What’s the situation here, Lieutenant?” asked the mayor, his face flushed and his navy and yellow print tie somewhat askew. Then his gaze shifted to me. “Are you assisting Detective Hunter?”
I could think of a dozen ways I’d like to assist my detective, but I doubted Mayor Briggs had any of my R-rated scenarios in mind. Tom shot me a look indicating it was time for this civilian to trot down to her office while the police and politicos attended to business.
Fine with me. I winked him a goodbye and headed down the street.
I entered the lobby of the bank, which bustled with customers. Although crime scene tape blocked the sidewalk a few doors down, it had not impeded foot traffic. I returned to my supply closet turned office. I shoved my well-worn black Coach purse, a present from my mother, into my desk drawer and turned on my computer. Seconds later, Stan landed in my visitor chair.
“Can you believe what happened?” he asked.
I shook my head as I typed my password into my computer. “I saw photos of Spencer’s body hanging from the scaffolding, but I still can’t come to grips with it. Such a tragedy.”
“And a pretty ballsy thing for the killer to do,” Stan said before adding, “volleyball-sized balls.”
I nodded my agreement. “Was it someone with a huge ego, or someone who hated Spencer so much he wanted to make a grand statement?”
Stan rested his chin on his palms. “Could one man have done it alone?”
I pondered his question half wishing I’d seen the victim myself, half relieved I had not. “I’ll have to ask Hank if he thinks one person could have strung him up.”
“Have you talked to him today?”
“He called me this morning. Right after he found the body.”
Stan’s mouth opened wide enough to swallow a mouse. The one resting next to my keyboard. “OMG. Your husband killed Spencer?”
“Hank is not my husband and don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t kill a fly.”
Well, my ex had eliminated a few hundred flies in his lifetime, and I’d personally witnessed him use a shovel to slice off the head of a rattlesnake. But we were talking about a man here, not a snake.
So I thought.
“Did you forget Hank punched Spencer at the Cornbread & Cowpokes soiree?” Stan reminded me.
“He merely imbibed a little too much that evening. Remember, Spencer had just fired him. Well, temporarily, until Hank apologized for his idiocy. Besides that’s not a sufficient reason to kill someone.”
“You never know what makes people snap.” Stan stood, smoothed his pressed trousers and snapped his own manicured fingers. “Let’s hope the police agree with you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Stan departed my office, but his final remark lingered on. I’d expected Hank to call me back after he met with the police, and his lengthy silence began to unnerve me. I dialed his cell and was almost ready to hang up when he picked up and whispered a soft hello.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I’m worried about you.”
“Thanks, hon. I appreciate that.”
“Did you experience any problems explaining your situation to the cops?”
Hank cleared his throat. “I decided they were busy enough without me interfering, so I left.”
“You left the crime scene?” I could hear my voice growing shrill. “Without explaining you were there?”
“After you and I hung up, I walked downstairs and went out the back door to drop off my tool box in the truck. Then I decided to drive home. I figured the cops would call me if they had any questions. You think I screwed up by not hanging around?” He chuckled. “Hey, that’s funny.”
No, it wasn’t funny at all.
“There’s not much you can do about it now,” I grumbled, “except wait until the gendarmes come banging on your door.”
“The who? Oh, you really think they’ll want to talk to me? I’m only the contractor.”
I ticked off all the reasons the police would want to interview him, beginning with his fingerprints covering every wall of the building, him punching Spencer Sunday night and concluding with his presence at the scene of the crime.
“Laurel, I punched Spencer out of frustration combined with one too many beers. After I apologized to him, everything was cool with us. Certainly there are far more people who had a reason to kill him.”
At least one person must have a reason. His killer.
“You’ve spent a lot of time with Spencer lately,” I said to Hank. “Why don’t you come up with a list of possible suspects? Whoever is investigating this case might appreciate the help.”
“Great idea. You always were smarter than me.” Hank paused, waiting for me to disagree with him. It would be a very long wait.
“I’ll stop by the house tonight, and we can put our heads together,” he said. I started to protest, but he clicked off.
Seconds later, my cell rang. Mother. I debated between answering the call and doing what I should be doing at nine in the morning––my job. I was still annoyed with my boss so Mother won this round.
“Did you hear about Spencer?” I asked her.
“What? Oh, yes, terrible thing. Although he was an an
noying rodent of a man.”
I stared at my cell phone to confirm it was my normally classy mother on the line. “Did you refer to Darius Spencer as a rodent?”
“I once called him a rat-faced liar to his face, so that would be an affirmative, dear.”
“You didn’t happen to ask your husband to hang Spencer from a pole, did you?”
“Of course not,” Mother replied. “If I were to murder someone, it would be far more subtle.”
“Good to know,” I said. “But why are you so down on Spencer?”
“No reason other than he foreclosed on one of my clients. He not only cheated me out of a commission, he stole their home right from under them.”
“You never mentioned anything about that to me.”
“It occurred a few years ago when you were still dealing with your post-divorce issues. The Beckers held plenty of equity in their house, but they had both lost their jobs and couldn’t keep up with their loan payments. Spencer acquired the Becker mortgage from the original construction lender and promised to work with them. I found a purchaser for their home, but we needed some time to work out the financing details. The next thing I knew, he’d foreclosed and the sheriff was knocking on their door to evict them.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. My mother put her heart and soul into helping buyers and sellers of homes. For Spencer to go and unnecessarily evict them seemed wrong.
“When I ran into Spencer at a chamber meeting, I told him exactly how I felt about him shoving that poor family out their front door. He laughed and told me to suck eggs.”
“Do you think he made a practice of cheating people? It’s hard to believe a politician would lie for his own benefit.”
And what fantasy world did I live in?
After Mother stopped laughing at my absurd comment, she informed me about the real reason for her phone call. “Your Gran is driving me crazy.”
I felt like saying, “So what else is new,” but restrained myself. “What do you want me to do?”