Deadly Sins: Sloth

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “Why wouldn’t you confront him about it?”

  She spread her arms out to the side. “Look around. I have a nice house in a fantastic neighborhood and more money than I’ll ever need, thanks to the job my husband has. I don’t work. I spend my days doing what I want, when I want. You think I’d do anything to mess that up? No ma’am.”

  “When did your affair with Darryl start?”

  “Not long after he moved in.”

  “And did it end?”

  “It ended when he died, so yeah, it’s over now, isn’t it?”

  “Did you tell the police about your relationship?”

  “I ... umm ...”

  “I’ll take it as a no. I thought you said you believed in being honest.”

  “I do. I didn’t kill him, so why would my private relationship with Darryl be something they need to know?”

  “You had feelings for Darryl. I imagine it was hard when you found out he had a thing for hookers.”

  “A thing for ... I see what you’re getting at. You think I killed him, don’t you?”

  I leaned forward, looked her in the eye. “Did you?”

  “The girl. The one who died in his house the other night. She wasn’t there to sleep with him, Miss Monroe.”

  “Then what was she there for then?”

  She sighed. “Well, he’s dead. No use in keeping it to myself now. She was there to buy marijuana.”

  The more I learned about Darryl, the more I was convinced there had been more to him than most people assumed.

  Drugs.

  Hookers.

  Sex.

  He may have been a recluse, but he certainly wasn’t boring.

  I called Cade, asked if they’d recovered any drugs when they did a sweep of Darryl’s house. Turned out, they found several coffee cans stowed beneath Darryl’s bed, each containing a sealed mason jar that tested positive for weed. Postmortem toxicology tests ran on Darryl came out clean, but Heather died with a sizeable amount of THC in her system.

  Heather Farnsworth AKA Sadie Steele lived downtown in an expensive town home with a roommate named Molly. Around the same age as Heather, Molly styled her hair in a loose bun on the side of her head. Her face was void of makeup, and she wore a loose T-shirt, baggy jeans, and Birkenstocks.

  When she opened the front door, her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked tired. I introduced myself, and she just nodded like she was trapped in a fog and didn’t know how to get out. Without saying a word, she turned and walked toward a living room. I followed.

  The townhouse was pristine and elegant, furnished with high-end leather sofas, modern art, and a contemporary architectural design. Given the upscale neighborhood, I ball-parked the home around a couple million. Maybe more. It was hard for me to believe a former hooker and an earthy, tree-hugger could afford it on their own.

  “I gotta get to work in a few minutes,” Molly said. “But if I can help you, I’ll try.”

  “This is a nice place. Are you renting?”

  She shook her head.

  “How long have you lived together with Heather?” I asked.

  “About three years. We lived together before this—just not in a place this nice. I’ve known her all my life. We went to school together.”

  “Do you know much about her lifestyle?”

  “Are you asking if I know what she did for a living?”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “We didn’t have any secrets.”

  “Then you also know she did drugs.”

  “Weed isn’t really a drug. I mean, it is, but it’s not really a big deal anymore. It’s legal in twenty-five states. I don’t smoke myself, but I don’t fault anyone who does.”

  “It’s still illegal in Wyoming though.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Doesn’t mean it’s hard to come by.”

  “You knew Heather was a hooker. Didn’t it bother you?”

  She plopped her hands on her lap, looked at me. “It’s not what you think. Your idea of a hooker is probably some trashy woman working a street corner, going out with a bunch of different guys every night for a little money. That’s not what Heather did. Her clients were rich guys with good reputations. They flew her around with them, bought her nice things, treated her really good. One of them bought this place. It was hers. He put it in her name and everything.”

  “Was she still doing it before she died?”

  “She stopped a while ago.”

  “Why?”

  “She fell for one of the men she was sleeping with, and he fell for her too. He didn’t want her seeing anyone else, so he told her if she quit, he’d take care of her. And he does.”

  “Why didn’t he just divorce his wife?”

  “He wanted to, I guess. The main reason was they married without a pre-nup. Ten years later, he made his money. Ask me though, I believe he loved his wife and he loved Heather, and he didn’t want to give either of them up.”

  “Can you give me the guy’s name?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “He has nothing to do with what happened to her. And he has a family and a reputation. Heather wouldn’t have wanted me to do anything to destroy his life, and I care for him too, so I just can’t.”

  I wondered how the wives would feel, what the children would think if they found out who their father really was—a man leading two separate lives. One in public, and another on the side. The way I saw it, they deserved to be shamed. It was disgusting.

  “You know the police can make you give his name up, right?”

  She sneered. “They can try. I’ll tell them the same thing I told you.”

  “How did Heather know Darryl?”

  “One of her old clients introduced her.”

  “What was their relationship like?”

  “He was a really nice guy. A bit weird, but we both liked him.”

  “I’m trying to put together whether there was one intended victim or two, and if it was only one, the other may have gotten in the way and ended up being shot for it.”

  “I’ll tell you what I told the cops. Before Darryl died, he told Heather he’d been having a problem with one of his regulars, a guy he sold to all the time.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “He didn’t say. He just said the guy was harassing him, showing up and saying he’d narc him out. I don’t know if he meant to cops or other dealers in the business or his clients or what.” She walked past me, slung a bag over her shoulder, headed for the door. “I have to go to work.”

  “Hang on. Do you know the name of the guy—the one who threatened Darryl?”

  “Yeah. Ricky. Lives over on Pine in a dark-red house with a tan roof. You can’t miss it. Like I said, I told the cops all of this already. I’m sure they talked to him.”

  I called Cade to verify whether or not he’d sent someone to Ricky’s house. He said he had. The initial conversation turned up nothing, but a warrant did. A significant amount of weed was found in a dresser inside three of Darryl’s socks. Facing an arrest, and fearing police believed he was now the number-one suspect in Darryl’s and Heather’s murders, Ricky’s anxiety boiled over, and he began to sing.

  According to Ricky, his relationship with Darryl had been severed a couple weeks before when Ricky accused Darryl of selling him K2, synthetic marijuana made of dried, shredded plants sprayed with chemicals. Ricky swore he was the one to break ties with Darryl. And as for where the pot in his dresser came from, a hesitant Ricky said it came from his current dealer, a name he was more than happy to give up in order to avoid charges.

  With Ricky looking like an innocent victim, once again I was back to square one.

  A frustrated Mary leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, attempting to maintain control of her emotions. Except she couldn’t. The rush of tears came anyway. “You don’t know anything yet, do you?”

  “These things take time.”

&n
bsp; “They’re going to arrest me. I can feel it. And you’ve done nothing to help me. If you have nothing of value to offer, what are you doing here?”

  My head felt wet like a drop of water had just plopped down on it. Then another, Then another. I looked up. The sky was ashen and grumbling, likely to spill at any moment. “Can I come in?”

  She led the way to an outdated, nineties-style sitting room decorated with plush, pink carpet and floor-to-ceiling rose-and-vine wallpaper. The roses were shimmery, like they’d been applied with glitter. We sat.

  “Did you know Darryl was a drug dealer?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I just said.”

  She ran her fingernails along the top of the armrest. “I don’t see how that’s possible. If he was dealing drugs out of his house, I would have known about it.”

  “Even if the deals were done after midnight?”

  “Miss Monroe. I don’t miss a thing that goes on here. It’s just not possible.”

  “You said sometimes you noticed a smell coming from his house.”

  From the look on her face, I could tell she was contemplating it. “I guess it could have been the smell of narcotics.”

  “Weed was found in coffee cans under his bed. I spoke to the roommate of a girl he sold to this morning.”

  A stunned Mary remained silent, and during that silence I saw Tammy through the window, crossing the street, walking toward Darryl’s house. It was then something occurred to me. Something I hadn’t thought of before. I stood. “I need to leave.”

  “What? Why?”

  I headed for the door, turning back when I reached it. “I just thought of something. I’ll explain later.”

  I found Tammy sitting on the floor, legs crossed, rummaging beneath layers of meat in the pullout drawer on the bottom of Darryl’s refrigerator.

  “You won’t find what you’re looking for in there, Tammy,” I said. “It’s gone, and you’re trespassing on a crime scene.”

  She looked up at me. “What’s gone?”

  “The weed. Police have it. All of it, from what I’ve been told, and he didn’t keep it in there anyway.”

  She cupped a hand around the end of the Formica countertop, pulled herself to a standing position. “I’m a simple housewife. What makes you think I have any interest in drugs?”

  “When I was here before, you said you had ADHD. You also said it’s been a lot better lately.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “It’s better because Darryl gave you weed, right? What was it, some kind of exchange? Drugs for sex, maybe?”

  Tammy leaned against the counter and grinned like she was impressed. “The sex was his idea. Have to say though, I didn’t mind going along with it. He suggested exchanging a little pot for a few minutes in the sack, and I accepted. Truth is, I would have paid for it and slept with him anyway. Getting both free was even better. It was a mutual arrangement that benefited us both.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “No I didn’t. I withheld information. There’s a difference.”

  “How’d he do it? How did he manage to deal the drugs without neighbors like Mary noticing?”

  “He had a runner. A guy who’d pick them up and take them around. It made it a lot more convenient.”

  “Then what was Heather doing there the other night?”

  “From time to time, if he had a high-end client and they couldn’t wait, he’d allow them to come to the house. Heather was one of the few people he allowed to do it.”

  “You told me you were an honest woman. You led me to believe all you cared about was telling the truth. But you don’t care about honesty at all. You care about saving your ass.”

  “I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t kill his lady friend either. I knew what you’d think if I told you everything. You’d think I did it. It’s what you’re thinking now, isn’t it?”

  It was what I was thinking. I’d imagined Tammy and Darryl arguing—maybe over drugs, or sex, or both. It was too easy though. It didn’t feel right. I felt like a child playing a game of hot and cold with my friends. Today, I was the child. And I was cold. Very, very cold.

  Rain poured down from the sky, pelting my hoodless jacket. I was wet and sticky. I parked, then ducked into a restaurant and found a booth, squeezing a hand through my damp hair while I waited for Cade. The waitress came by. I ordered hot tea. Black. And then I sent her on her way.

  Adjacent to me was a man around forty who didn’t seem to fit in with everyone else in our western resort town. Then again, I didn’t either. I’d moved here for Cade. That was my excuse. I wondered what excuse the man would use if I asked him. Every minute or so, he’d rub a hand down the side of his face. He looked sad. Heartbroken.

  The man looked over, seemingly aware I’d been staring far too long. “Sorry. Was I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all. Do you live around here?”

  He shook his head. “I only visit from time to time. Flew in earlier today. Didn’t plan on being here again so soon after my last trip, but I ...”

  But I was all he gave me before his words trailed off. His attention wasn’t on me now. It was on the girl who’d just walked in. Molly.

  Molly waved at the man. He nodded back. She walked over, sat down next to him. She rubbed up and down his arm affectionately, then said, “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for the next girl to take over my shift. How are you holding up, Grady?”

  “I dunno. Still can’t believe what happened. I guess I just don’t understand why. I’m expected to believe she was murdered over pot? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “The cops are trying to figure it all out. I’m sure they will.” She rested her hand over his, lowered her voice. “Let’s not eat here. Let’s pick something up instead. Come on, sweetie. Come with me. Let’s go to the house.”

  Sweetie?

  My instincts kicked in, and I became suspicious. First, I believed Grady was one of Heather’s rich lovers. And second, Molly and Grady may have been much more than friends.

  Grady muttered something I couldn’t hear, and the pair stood. She still hadn’t noticed me sitting next to her. And I couldn’t allow the moment to go to waste.

  “Have a good night, sweetie,” I said.

  Molly pushed her head forward like a cobra lining up its prey. “How long have you ... how much have you ...”

  “Everything,” I said. “I heard everything.”

  Grady thumbed in my direction. “Who is this woman, Molly?” When she didn’t reply he looked at me. “Who are you?”

  “You’re Heather’s married boyfriend, aren’t you?”

  Molly glared at me like she imagined I was dead, and she was responsible for making it happen.

  “Her boyfriend? Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Are you the guy who bought her the condo?”

  He glanced around the restaurant. “Keep your voice down.”

  Funny thing was, we were the only ones there.

  “Why? Does your wife work here or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “I’m not worried about anything,”

  I turned toward Molly. “You’re the one who should be worried.”

  She jerked her body in my direction, eyes shaped into thin slits. “Don’t threaten me.”

  My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down. It was Cade, texting to let me know he was going to be late. I glanced at Molly, noticed her looking at my phone too.

  “Why’s the police guy texting you?”

  “We’re in a relationship.”

  Her eyes widened. “I need to talk to you. Privately. Now.”

  I looked at her curiously. Besides the three of us, the restaurant was dead on a Wednesday night. It didn’t get much more private than it already was.

  “What’s going on here, Molly?” Grady said.

  “This woman’s a PI. I need to talk to her about Heather f
or a minute. Why don’t you go back to the house? I’ll meet you there.”

  He crossed his arms in front of him. “I’m staying. I want to hear what she knows about Heather too.”

  Faced with a dilemma, Molly leaned in close, whispered in my ear. “I’ve been thinking about it all day today. I think I know who killed Darryl and Heather. Give me a minute to talk him into leaving. I’ll be right back.”

  She grabbed Grady’s hand and led him out the front door. I wanted to follow. I had no reason to believe she wouldn’t make a run for it. No reason to believe she hadn’t killed Heather to have what Heather had: Grady’s money. I didn’t follow her out though. I stood there and watched her go, hoping my hunch was right.

  As guilty as she seemed, she also wasn’t the killer.

  Grady and Molly stepped outside into the darkness. A couple flashes of light followed, each making the same distinct sound.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  I drew my weapon, ran for the door. Not sure of the exact direction the gunshots came from, I aimed in front of me, used my arm to push the front door open, then crouched behind a car. I waited. Listened. All had gone silent.

  I peeked around the front bumper. In the soft glow of the restaurant lights, I saw a good-sized woman hovering over Molly, pistol lowered, aimed at Molly’s chest.

  “Toss the gun to the side,” I said.

  “This doesn’t concern you,” the woman said.

  “Who are you?”

  “He’s dead!” Molly said. “You killed him! You bitch! You stupid bitch!”

  “You’re next,” the lady said.

  My pistol fired with precision, nicking the woman in the arm—the same one holding the gun. Blood dripped, showering the pavement below in a sea of red. The woman shrieked, attempted to keep a handle on her gun, but couldn’t. It slipped out of her hand. Molly dove for it, but the heel of the woman’s stiletto shoe made an impact first, slicing across Molly’s face. The woman bent down to retrieve the gun.

  “Touch it and I’ll shoot you again,” I said.

  Headlights beamed into the parking lot, circular and heavy. Familiar.