Candace McCauley, P.I Mysteries (5 Cozy Mystery Books Collection)

by Kira Reese

  “I was so shocked I couldn’t even face customers that next day. For the first time in a long time, I closed the shop.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I am sure he was killed over the jewelry pieces that came into his possession illegally. I know he told me he was working with the police on it all.”

  “It could have had something to do with it,” I said. “I know it was a blow to you. Did he ever say what he knew about it all?”

  Beverly shook her head. “He did not tell me that. I didn’t pursue it, because I knew he was being much more careful about what he sold and I trusted him.” She sniffed softly. “I will miss him. We had a very good working relationship for the past few years.”

  I offered my condolences and left. In my car, I dialed the number for Officer Sam Checkers. Sharon told me he was on duty every other Sunday, and I crossed my fingers this was his Sunday. It worked. He answered when the call was put through.

  “Was Zach Phelps working with you regarding stolen jewelry?” I asked.

  “Until the man’s body was found, I had never heard of him. Why do you ask?”

  I told the officer everything I knew about the jewelry vendor. “Could he have been talking with another officer?”

  I waited while Officer Checkers brought up the file on Zach Phelps. After a couple of minutes, he spoke. “There is only information about the death and scene. It includes everything pertinent to a murder investigation. There is nothing about any reports from him about the matter.”

  We talked a few minutes longer until his interest reached its peak. I knew he was anxious to hang up and delve deeper into the life of Zach Phelps. I sat in my car rolling things over in my mind. My cell rang.

  “I made it back to home sweet home, Candy,” said Nick. “I miss you already.”

  “I missed you as soon as you put the car in drive,” I said. I told him of my afternoon activities. “Zach Phelps joins my list of suspects in the matter of jewels. I think he knew he sold stolen ones. His mistake was selling them so close to home.”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t going on hard facts,” said Nick, “unless you think his failure to work with the police is one.”

  “I have to admit that this time I have a very strong gut feeling about it. He told Beverly more than once he was working with the cops on the matter. He had plenty of time to do so before he was murdered.”

  After we ended our call with expressions of our love for one another, I drove to the park off the center of town. Families were giving the children an afternoon of fun on the slides and swings. Several joggers circled the large area on the track. I chose a spot a few yards from a couple spreading out Subway sandwiches between them. I doubted they even saw me nearby. Lost in thoughts, my cell rang again. It was Sam Checkers, who asked me to come down to the precinct.

  When I walked in, his light blue eyes appeared brighter than usual.

  “I went to the physical file box on each victim. You will be interested in what I found,” he said. “Come downstairs with me.”

  We entered the smaller basement room where he explained the active files were kept. Boxes that had the names John Goff, Vickie Goff, and Zach Phelps were set at one end of a long table. On a smaller side table were four large boxes marked Goff and Sons Mortuary. He opened the first box and took out a manila folder. There were several sheets of paper of various sizes in it. Right away I recognized the half-printed, half-cursive handwriting. Sam handed the folder to me. I sifted through and read each note.

  “They are in the order I decided they were written. Each one escalates to a degree until threats are revealed,” he said.

  I read them in order. This will make a lot of money for us. Let’s talk again. This was followed by several more short notes that spelled out steps to become rich. "I know you can do this. I will distract John for a few minutes and you take over. The more I read, the more I could see the plan was made and executed. A few names of the deceased were noted, which told us that the person knew whose family asked that jewelry be buried with the dead. The third note from the last read: I have lined up the buyer used before. He can be trusted. The next one noted the buyer’s name—Zach Phelps. The last one was the crumpled one I found just after Vickie Goff’s body was found in the mortuary basement.

  “There must have been a gap between the last two,” I said. “How did they get from going forward to someone accusing the other of being too greedy?”

  Sam nodded. “I think a visit to the mortuary is in order. I have word there is a funeral there later today. The secretary should be there, as well as Randall Hunt, who I understand will conduct the service.”

  I commented I was surprised services continued there. He told me this would be the last one. The will was to be read Monday. “I will be there with the permission the executor has already given me,” said Sam. When he told me who the executor was, he may as well have hit me with a flat rock. “You will be there, too. The executor could hardly refuse, since this is a matter of murder.” He leaned back, and the satisfied smile on his face caused me to mirror his expression. “The lawyer will read the will. Everyone else will be present who may have a vested interest in the outcome.”

  I had the feeling Sam Checkers purposely lined up the audience for the will reading. I got into the passenger side of his patrol car and we arrived at Goff and Sons Mortuary. Three cars were parked at the end of the parking lot. I recognized Catherine Medlin’s first. There was a battered pickup truck at the end of the building. It was almost hidden. I asked if Sam recognized the truck.

  “That is the maintenance truck. The SUV belongs to Randall Hunt.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if John Goff could have afforded a newer maintenance truck. Catherine looked up in surprise when we walked in the side office door of her area. She immediately recognized both of us. I noticed she twitched her fingers in and out of one another.

  “We want to take a look around downstairs again,” said Sam.

  “Of course,” she said, “go right on down. I believe you will be alone. Randall is in the back taking care of last-minute details. We have a funeral in about a half hour.”

  I followed Sam downstairs to the room where Vickie’s body was found. Officer Checkers’s eyes scanned the area before he entered.

  “Is this the way you found the room?” he asked.

  I looked around. A small desk had been shifted to a different position. The blood stains were gone, so someone had cleaned up once the area was cleared to do so. I told him all of this and stood where I was. There was more to see, but what? Something did not seem the same.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That desk was against the wall. Now that it has been shifted, it looks like it was hiding something in the wall.”

  We pulled the desk farther away and recessed in the wall was a door measuring two by two and a half feet. Sam swatted down and pried it open with a small pocketknife retrieved from his pocket. I sat on my haunches and peered inside. He put gloves on and brought out a mailing envelope. It was secured with a large rubber band around it. In irregularly printed letters, the name Zach Phelps was printed on the envelope.

  The container was bulky in spots. We stood up and Sam opened it on the table. Several earrings and necklaces fell out, plus a man’s Rolex watch. The jewelry was of diamonds and one set of emeralds.

  “These came from very wealthy people,” I said. “I can’t believe they wanted to be buried with this kind of wealth.”

  “People have made stranger decisions,” said Sam.

  He closed the door to the wall again but not with notable care. We went back upstairs. I concentrated on Catherine when she saw us reappear. Her ashen face turned whiter than I could imagine a person’s face to be. She turned and ran to the private bathroom off her office where we heard the retching. A few minutes later, she returned. Moisture remained on her face after she washed up. She reached for a tissue from the box on her desk and finished the job.

  “I take it that you recognize this envelope, Miss Medlin,” s
aid Sam.

  She nodded. I suggested I get her a glass of water from the nearby cooler and she agreed. The room remained quiet until she regained her composure and we sat down. Soft murmurs and sobs could be heard, and I could tell from them that the loved one of the deceased has arrived for the funeral. Randall Hunt stuck his head in the room to tell his secretary that things were ready. He stopped short when he saw us.

  “After your duties are completed, Mr. Hunt, we wish for you to join us,” said Officer Checkers. “The sooner, the better.”

  Randall nodded and turned toward the room that held the body and its mourners. I closed the door and turned the latch on the outside door to the office.

  “Now, Miss Medlin, what do you know of stolen jewelry from the bodies of the deceased?” The officer rubbed his chin and leaned back as if we were there for a social call. “Tell us what you know about the entire affair.”

  “John was a man who was not likeable. He always treated me with respect but was very reserved with me. I knew nothing about him, except what I observed while working for him. He was a good boss and I overlooked his mannerisms.” She took a deep breath. “Vickie and John did not have a good marriage. He tolerated her affair with Sean Scholten, and I don’t believe it concerned him at all. The whole town knew about it. Vickie was not Sean’s only girlfriend.”

  “I am more interested in this envelope, Miss Medlin,” said the officer.

  “One day John came in very distressed,” she said. “I wanted to ask him what was on his mind. He looked at me twice, and I was sure he was going to confide in me, but he changed his mind. A week later, he prepared for a funeral. It was for Peter Pemberton, a prominent man in the area. John paced in his closed office.” She pointed to the office across the narrow hallway from hers. “I decided I would ask him what upset him so much. I had worked here long enough that I felt he trusted me.” Fingers entwined again.

  “What happened next?” I asked.

  “He did confide in me. He said he thought somehow items he marked to be buried with certain deceased were missing.”

  “How often did he say it happened?” the officer asked.

  “He told me he suspected it at least three different times in the last eight months. It isn’t often people want to be buried with valuables, but it does happen.”

  “I understand from what I have discovered that the thefts occurred from the time of visitations to the final closing of the caskets,” I said. “Didn’t John take care of the final closings?”

  “He usually did that, but sometimes Vickie closed them.”

  I was sure Sam’s mouth gaped like mine. “Vickie told me she had nothing to do with the business. Why would she secure the caskets?”

  “She was in here in the middle of the business several times a week,” said Catherine. “She always came to help when we had consecutive services. She didn’t like doing it, but sometimes John asked her to close the coffins if he had to hurry to the next preparations.”

  I asked if John suspected his wife of stealing from the bodies. She stated he did not mention her but believed he thought it was a possibility since she was the only one who could have access that way. We asked who else John may have possibly assigned that task to. She shook her head slowly then she sat up straighter.

  Chapter 14

  Repeat Interviews

  Officer Sam Checkers and I leaned toward Catherine Medlin when she suddenly sat up straight during our interview. Soft music played in the viewing room as more mourners arrived. Randall Hunt had not returned to join us.

  “What do you know?” asked Officer Checkers.

  “I do remember when John told me his suspicions, he mentioned once that Vickie was not there when he needed her help. He had an emergency call in his office. He mentioned asking someone else to do it. He didn’t say who he asked. It was Peter Pemberton’s casket, and according to John, the other person took care of it.”

  “What were his exact words?” asked Sam.

  “He said, ‘I had to get someone else to close the casket.’ He was not happy.”

  “Is the maintenance man, Jim, here for funerals?” asked Sam. “We saw the truck out there.”

  “He is probably at home on a Sunday. He uses the truck for general maintenance reasons or a run into town for something. He comes and goes to work in his own truck.” A very faint smile emerged. “His truck looks better than the one out there.”

  Randall Hunt appeared at the door. “If Catherine can be excused,” he said to Sam, “I want her available out there in case anything is needed.”

  The officer excused her and told her not to leave the premises yet. We hadn’t gotten to the part about how she recognized the large envelope yet.

  Randall sat down and looked expectantly. “It is all bad business, these murders,” he said. “I will be glad to answer any questions you have.”

  He was true to his word. He agreed with Catherine that Vickie Goff was more involved in the business than she let on to me or to law enforcers. When Officer Checkers showed him the large envelope, his demeanor didn’t change. He told us he recognized the name as the latest murder victim.

  “Do you recognize this handwriting?” I asked.

  “It looks somewhat familiar, though I can’t place it. It resembles something a child might do.” He peered closer. “I mean, most adults either print or write in cursive, not a mixture of both.”

  We excused him and asked him to send Catherine back in. In the meantime, we discussed the fact that no child had written the messages. Catherine entered and sat down again.

  “How did you recognize this envelope?” asked Officer Checkers.

  “I saw it on the floor sticking out from the desk in the basement. The day I found Vickie’s body on the floor, I noticed something like that behind the edge of the desk. I didn’t pull it out to look at it. I just wanted to get out of there.” Her body convulsed. “I noticed part of the name, and that’s why I recognized it when you showed it to me. Where was it?”

  “It was securely inside a wall safe of sorts behind the desk,” said the officer. “Did you put it in there later?”

  Catherine’s eyes looked like large bowls. “I did not know there was anything in the wall at all. Maybe the cleaning service put it in there when they left after the final cleanup.”

  “That is lame reasoning,” I said. “How would an outside cleaning crew know to do that?”

  She shook her head. “I am just reaching for reasons. You are right. Someone else knew it was there. What is in the envelope?”

  “Jewelry,” said the officer.

  “Who does it belong to?” she asked.

  “We will have to find that out, but I feel sure it belongs to at least two or three deceased people who went through this funeral home,” he said. “Miss Medlin, do not leave the town. We will want you to come down tomorrow afternoon for a statement. You will be at the reading of the will. Make time to come with me after that.”

  Officer Sam Checkers went in search of Randall and gave him the same instructions. I wondered who all was invited to the reading of the will. Back in the patrol car, I commented that the afternoon had proved to be an interesting one.

  “I think Catherine may have recognized the handwriting. Unless asked, she had no intentions of offering an explanation,” I said.

  “I purposefully did not ask her that and was glad when you held back, as well.” He drove in silence and we each pondered our own thoughts. “I don’t think Randall Hunt plays any part in any of it. He was open and answered every question. Above all, he did not add unnecessary comments. That tells me he has nothing to hide.”

  He told me how when suspects answer questions, they often spew comments that excuse them of any wrongdoing. At least, they think that is what they are doing. Instead, they dig deeper holes. Randall Hunt did not show any signs of guilt. He was outwardly relieved this was his last service at Goff and Sons Mortuary. I thought he was glad to be done with it all. Sam agreed.

  When I got b
ack to Sharon’s I picked up the enticing aroma of beef stew simmering on her stove. She arranged rolls on a baking sheet and set them aside. I greeted her and flopped in a kitchen chair.

  “That smells heavenly,” I said. “What can I do?”

  “You can sit there and tell me everything,” said Sharon. “What did you find out in all the time you were gone?”

  After I finished my saga, she looked at me in surprise. “You sure made tracks,” she said. “Do you think Catherine has anything directly to do with all these murders?”

  “I think she is scared, and I think she knows whose handwriting it is on that envelope. I am not sure yet if she directly relates to it all or not.” I told Sharon about my invitation to the reading of the will the next day.

  “I’d love to be a spider or some small insect in the corner of that room tomorrow,” she said.

  “You go on into work as planned. I’ll tell you everything. It will be hard for me to sleep, though.”

  Sharon ladled the steaming stew into bowls and took the rolls out of the oven. She dumped them into a serving basket and set them between us. I complimented her more than once on the dinner as I spread smooth butter on one roll after another. When we finished the meal and had everything cleaned up, she poured wine and we settled in front of her fireplace. The night grew cold and the warmth from the fire was a perfect way to end a very informative day.

  We talked about Sharon’s work and I was very impressed with the good her organization did for women. She was in her element, and I was glad when she was the first to yawn.

  Before I turned off the bedside lamp, I called Nick. I gave him details of my afternoon but did so briefly. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow night. I am anxious to hear that will.”

  His voice warmed me more than the fire had earlier, and I yearned to feel him next to me.

  Monday morning brought rain. It pummeled down. I was first up and had coffee ready for Sharon. She was muttering again when she came into the kitchen. Her lack of the ability to call early morning her favorite time of day was well known to me. The rain didn’t help. She gulped two cups of coffee before she said much to me.