Death Overdue

by Allison Brook

  I received a few more responses regarding programs I wanted to present and composed e-mails to two presenters I felt obligated to drop. One was a tenor who sang arias and talked about operas. Barbara’s note said he’d been a popular draw for years until last May, when his voice cracked and he repeated himself several times. Barbara had written that it was both embarrassing and sad to see the effects of aging and a failing memory. The other was a history professor at the nearby junior college who wanted to talk about an archeological trip he’d taken with his wife. His presentation nine months earlier had been boring, Barbara had written, and several patrons had walked out as he rambled on. I sighed. I didn’t have much experience turning people down. I’d run the e-mails by Sally before sending them out.

  I looked up and realized it was time to stop for lunch. I put on my jacket and was walking down the hall when Sally came toward me.

  “They’re having a memorial service for Detective Buckley tomorrow morning. Would you like to go and represent the library?”

  “I would!”

  “Very well. It starts at ten thirty. I’ll text you the directions.”

  Chapter Five

  As it turned out, Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco also planned to attend the memorial service for Al Buckley, so we set out for town hall, which was just a short walk around the corner of the Green.

  “The mayor’s making it his business to attend,” Uncle Bosco said.

  “As he should,” Aunt Harriet said. “Al Buckley was an upstanding citizen and an officer of our police force.”

  “Too bad he had to retire before he straightened himself out.”

  “The important thing is he did straighten himself out. And recently he was on the verge of solving a cold case.”

  “So he claimed,” Uncle Bosco said darkly.

  We joined the crowd entering the white building through the double doors. Aunt Harriet and I lost Uncle Bosco when he stopped to speak to Mayor Tripp.

  “Let’s get seats,” Aunt Harriet said. “Your uncle will join us before the service begins.”

  We found three seats in the center of the auditorium. I looked around, surprised by all the people who had come to pay their respects and bid farewell to retired Detective Albert Stephen Buckley. From what Trish had told me, Al was pretty much a loner after leaving the police force. I imagined most of those present were here because of his appearance at the library last Thursday night and the shocking way he’d died.

  Lieutenant Mathers was among the group of police officers in their dress uniforms sitting in the back row. He noticed me and tipped his head in recognition. I gave him a small smile and then turned around. I was a bit annoyed that he hadn’t told me about Al’s being poisoned and his iPad disappearing when he’d questioned me a second time, though he’d told Sally. Then I told myself not to be petty. After all, Sally was the library’s director and could be expected to be informed about how the investigation was progressing. But if I was going to find the murderer, I needed this information too.

  I glanced at Uncle Bosco, who sank noisily into his seat between Aunt Harriet and me. “Do you know Lieutenant Mathers well?”

  “John Mathers? The lieutenant who questioned you?” Uncle Bosco asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sure do. I’ve known him ever since he was born. His daddy and I did our share of business together. Why do you ask, honey?”

  “Soon as this ends, I’d like to ask him how the investigation’s coming along.”

  Uncle Bosco chuckled. “I’m afraid he and his group will be the first to express their condolences to the grieving family and then be on their way. But I can always drop in at the station and make a few inquiries if you like.”

  “I’d like it very much. I’m so sorry Al’s dead.”

  Aunt Harriet gently elbowed Uncle Bosco’s large stomach. “Shhh. They’re starting.”

  Sure enough, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties with a build like Al’s was moving to the front of the room.

  “Frank Buckley,” Uncle Bosco said. “He was a good kid.”

  “Did you forget about the time he and Joey LaSalle climbed the water tower and scribbled all over it?” Aunt Harriet whispered.

  “That was over twenty years ago. You have to be more forgiving.”

  Frank Buckley spoke eloquently about his father, both as a father, and as an officer of the law. He concluded to a burst of applause and then sat down. A young woman wearing a loose brown dress that nearly reached her ankles took his place.

  “Jennifer’s lost weight,” Aunt Harriet whispered to me, loud enough for the people around us to hear. “She’s a pretty girl but needs to wear more attractive clothes. But then, her mother never dressed well.”

  This time, Uncle Bosco jabbed Aunt Harriet’s arm. “Shhh, my love.”

  A boy and girl—I’d guess eight and ten—came up to say how much they loved their popo and were going to miss him. The little girl added that she hoped the bad man who killed her popo would get caught and punished.

  Frank returned to the podium and asked if anyone would like to say a few words. A man wearing a down vest over a red plaid shirt got to his feet and walked to the front of the hall. Trish’s father, I assumed, since she was sitting beside him.

  “Al Buckley was a wonderful man. I was proud to call him my friend. He spent his last year gathering evidence to solve his last murder case. I hope his killer is found—and soon.”

  Murmuring filled the hall as friends and spouses spoke to one another. I turned to see how the six police officers were taking this subtle nudge to action; they were talking among themselves. Silence fell. Then Jared, who had been sitting in the front row with Al’s family, walked to the podium.

  “Through the fifteen years since my mother’s death, Al stayed in touch with me. Even after he left the police department, he never gave up trying to find out who killed my mother. I think it’s safe to say the same person who killed her killed Al Buckley.”

  His direct gaze swept across the audience. “And I’ll do my level best to find him.”

  I joined in the applause that lasted until Jared took his seat.

  The police who were present must have decided it was time they put in a word to defend themselves.

  Lieutenant Mathers strode to the front of the hall. “The Clover Ridge Police Department is doing everything in its power to find the person who murdered retired Detective Albert Buckley, one of our own. We are interviewing everyone who attended Detective Buckley’s presentation at the library last Thursday night as we try to discover who is responsible for his untimely death. We ask that you contact us if you have any information related to this case.”

  He looked sternly at Jared. “We also ask that you not do any investigating of your own.”

  People raised their hands to ask the lieutenant questions. He’d answered three when Frank announced that this was a memorial for his father and not an occasion to question the police.

  A priest came forward to speak about Al and lead us in prayer, and then the memorial was over. I told Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco I wanted to try to catch Lieutenant Mathers before I went to work, but Uncle Bosco was right. By the time I’d squeezed out of our row, the men and women in blue were gone. Trish called to me, and I waited for her and her father to reach me in the crowded aisle.

  “Carrie, this is my dad. Dad, this is Carrie Singleton, my new boss at the library.”

  “Roy Peters. Pleased to meet you.” Trish’s dad stretched out his hand and we shook.

  “Trish tells me you used to play cards with Al.”

  “Every Friday night. He was a man of great character, and he felt things deeply.”

  “I only met him the night he died, but I sensed he was someone you could count on.”

  “For sure. He lost his way there for a while. Started drinking heavily after he was injured on the job. Then he and Thelma split, and the drinking got worse. But he came back a good man, stronger than ever. Did volunteer wo
rk at the veterans’ nursing home. Then he got all obsessed with the Foster murder case. Regretted how he’d failed to catch Laura’s murderer and vowed to find him.” Roy laughed. “Before long, he was spending his days going over his notes on the case.”

  I opened my mouth to ask Roy if Al had interviewed any of the suspects again when a couple squeezed past us.

  “Come on, Dad,” Trish said. “We’re blocking traffic. Besides, I have to get home and get ready for work.”

  “Yes, my love,” Roy said to his daughter. “Nice to meet you, Carrie.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Roy. I’d love to talk to you about Al someday soon. I admire the way he was investigating Laura Foster’s murder after all these years.”

  Roy winked. “Planning on solving the murders yourself, are you?”

  I felt the blood rushing to my ears. “Of course not. But I feel awful about the way he died.”

  “Anytime you want to talk, just give me a call. I have plenty of free time, now that I’m retired. Trish will give you my number.”

  I thanked Roy and followed him and Trish up the aisle.

  “Carrie!” someone called behind me.

  I turned around.

  Jared Foster was waving his hand. “Wait up!”

  I stepped into a row and waited for him to take the seat beside me. He looked handsome in his navy suit, blue shirt, and bourbon-colored tie.

  “I’m glad to see you here.”

  “Sally asked me to come on behalf of the library, but I wanted to come. I liked Al, and I’m terribly sorry about the way he died.”

  “Someone murdered him!” Jared gestured at the people leaving the hall. “Look at them. Curiosity vultures—or worse. Like the drivers who rubberneck as they pass an accident.”

  “Schadenfreude,” I murmured. “Taking pleasure in the misfortune of others.”

  “And with two murders possibly linked, how could they resist?”

  “I was thinking of calling to see how you were doing. I know you were close to Al and glad he was working hard to find out who murdered your mom.”

  Jared swallowed. “Al’s death brings it all back—something my father and brother can never understand.”

  “Your dad was against Al’s reopening the investigation?”

  “It was hard for him, especially the hostile way Ryan reacted. Dad went through so much when Mom died. He was never the same strong, confident man I remember. I think all this talk about finding my mother’s killer was more painful for him than cathartic.”

  “Do you think Al had solid evidence to back up his assumptions? He seemed more interested in finding out what your mom’s friends and neighbors had to say.”

  Jared laughed. “That was Al’s way—always investigating and questioning to find the truth. Like a sculptor chipping away at a piece of marble to discover the beauty beneath.”

  How poetic.

  “But to answer your question, I don’t think he’d go around claiming he’d solved the case if he hadn’t.”

  “If it was the same person who murdered your mother, he or she must have thought so too, because Al’s iPad was stolen.”

  “Really?” Jared looked upset. “Everything he’d written—the manuscript, his notes—was on his iPad.”

  I suddenly realized we were the only two people in the auditorium, save for the janitor sweeping the front of the room.

  I glanced at my watch. “I have to get to work. Sally’s annoyed at me for insisting on having Al’s presentation. I don’t want to antagonize her more. And I want to extend my condolences to Al’s children.”

  “Hey, would you like to talk about this some more over dinner? Antonio’s in the next town serves the best Italian food around and carries artisanal imported beers.”

  “Sure.”

  Jared handed me his smartphone, and I clicked in my cell number.

  “I’m seeing a client tonight. How about tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  I grinned as we walked outside.

  What kind of a client? I wondered. After telling Frank and his sister how sad I was about what had happened to their father, I headed to my car, pleased with the connections I’d made that morning. Though I’d missed the chance to speak to Lieutenant Mathers, I’d met Al’s good friend Roy Peters and planned to talk to him in the future. Jared Foster wanted us to work together to find the person who’d murdered his mother and possibly Al Buckley—the very thing I wanted.

  Jared was the one person who knew both victims well. It was possible he knew more than he realized.

  Chapter Six

  “Why are you checking out Jared Foster’s Facebook page?” Trish asked.

  I jumped up, banging my knee against the desk. “Just curious. We got to talking this morning after the service.”

  Trish’s round face broke out in a grin. “You think he’s cute.”

  “He’s nice looking. Actually, I’m curious about Laura Foster’s family. Did you know them when you were growing up?”

  “I knew who they were because in Clover Ridge you know just about everyone. And when Laura was killed, we were always aware of Bryce and the two boys—what they did, where they went. It was like they were constantly on stage, with everyone watching them like a play.”

  “It must have been a terrible shock to them. Did the tragedy change them much?”

  Trish chewed on her lower lip. “Bryce worked in finance on Wall Street before the murder. After Laura died, he walked around in a daze. He took time off but never went back. He eventually took a job managing the furniture store in the mall. Told everyone he wanted to stay closer to home.”

  “What about Ryan and Jared?”

  “Ryan’s thirty-one, three years younger than me. He’s always had a mouth on him. As he got older, he became more belligerent. You heard how rude he was Thursday night. If he wasn’t part of Laura’s family, Sally would have ordered him out of the building.”

  “She’d do that?” I asked, astonished.

  “Sally does lots of things that would surprise you.”

  “And Jared?”

  Trish started to walk to her desk. She turned around. “He’s twenty-nine, an accountant with the best firm in town. He was always a sweet kid. His mother’s murder devastated him. And now Al, whom he thought the world of, gets poisoned after reopening her case.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You mean, who is he dating?”

  I felt my face grow warm. “I’m curious.”

  “As far as I know, no one right now, so the field is clear.” Trish broke out into a grin. “Are you interested?”

  “We’re having dinner tomorrow night—to talk about the murders.”

  “Of course. To talk about the murders. There’s no attraction.”

  This isn’t going in the direction I wanted it to go. “Please don’t tell anyone—not that it’s a secret we’re having a casual meal together. Only, this is a small town, and everyone knows everyone’s business.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m the soul of discretion.”

  “What kind of work does Ryan do?”

  “If I remember correctly, he was planning to be a lawyer, but he got into a fight in his senior year of college and broke another student’s jaw. He was expelled and never received his undergraduate degree. Bryce hooked him up with a few of his friends in the financial district, but it didn’t work out. The last I heard, he’s managing the game arcade in the mall. Another job Bryce got for him.”

  “He doesn’t sound very stable,” I said.

  “Never was, never will be,” was Trish’s cryptic comment.

  * * *

  Thursday evening, I left the library at five sharp to give myself enough time to shower and change into something more casual before having dinner with Jared.

  “How nice that you’re going out on a date,” Aunt Harriet said.

  For the third time in the fifteen minutes since I’d arrived home, I gave a snort of exaspe
ration. “As I’ve explained, Aunt Harriet, it’s a friendly meal with a male acquaintance. Nothing more.”

  How frustrating that I couldn’t tell her the real reason Jared and I were getting together, but our joining forces to investigate two murders would have upset her.

  Aunt Harriet shot me a knowing smile. “Friendly, eh? It’s good to be friendly, isn’t it, Bosco?”

  “Certainly, my dear.” Uncle Bosco patted her arm. “It’s good to start off on a friendly footing.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You two have it all wrong. And I think you’ve imbibed more than your limit.”

  “Our limit?” Aunt Harriet laughed. “I don’t think you’ve ever seen us reach our limit.”

  “I’m going upstairs to shower.”

  I decided to wear black tights, a magenta tunic, and my new boots.

  Aunt Harriet walked by the guest bathroom as I was brushing blush on my cheeks. “Don’t you look pretty. And I’ve the perfect piece for you to wear.”

  “Please, don’t bother . . .”

  But she was back two minutes later with a long string of alternating silver and black onyx beads. She slipped it over my head and placed me in front of the mirror. “Lovely.”

  It was lovely. “Thank you, Aunt Harriet. I won’t let anything happen to it tonight.”

  “I hope not, since it now belongs to you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I want you to have it, Carrie. I have so many pretty things and no children to leave them to. I’ve given your cousins pieces of jewelry and family antiques over the years. Now I’d like you to have your share.”

  I hugged her tight, feeling those pesky tears starting again. Why was it that anytime someone was nice to me, I felt like bawling like a baby?

  This isn’t a date, I reminded myself as I dabbed blue eye shadow on my eyelids. Jared and I were putting our heads together to see if we could come up with some ideas as to who had murdered his mother and probably Al Buckley. In fact, I’d offered to meet him at the restaurant, but he said Antonio’s was located off the beaten path and it was easy to miss the turnoff, so it would be wiser if he picked me up. Reluctantly, I’d agreed and made a mental note to be downstairs before seven so I could dash out when he arrived and avoid his having to exchange pleasantries with my aunt and uncle. Though I loved Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco dearly, I’d been living on my own for the past twelve years and wasn’t used to having older, well-meaning relatives comment on my social life.