To my surprise, he walked toward me as I stepped out of the jeep.
“If it isn’t the little bluebird sitting on my shoulder again,” he quipped as his long legs strode toward me. The long hem of his black t-shirt was jammed behind his badge and the sunlight filtering through the tall trees glinted off the shiny metal and off the black lenses of his sunglasses. He stopped at the jeep and patted the top of it. “Nice wheels by the way.”
“Thanks. And I wasn’t on your shoulder. I was following you.”
“Bluebird on my tail then. I stand corrected.” He pushed his sunglasses up on his head, exposing his unusual amber eyes. In the semi-shade of the trees, they looked more like topaz than amber. “Since I’m a detective, I suppose my next logical question should beâwhy were you following me?”
He leaned against the side of the jeep and crossed his arms to wait for my explanation. It would be easy enough to let his cocky grin, muscular physique and uber-confidence intimidate me into holding back my information but I was a pro. Or at least that was the chant going through my head.
“While you’ve been romping around town trying to find Alder’s killer, I’ve been busy with my own investigation. And I’ve solved the mystery. Or at least I think I have. I’ve got some pretty solid evidence. Well, not direct evidence.” I pointed into my jeep. “But I’ve got a napkâa chart with a lot of evidence that points to one person.”
“Is that right? And who do you think killed the custodian?”
I shook my head. “Oh no, I’m not going to just hand you over the name. It took a lot of investigation and interviews to get to the suspect, I’m not just going blurt out the name.”
“I see. So you’ve discovered the perpetrator through guesswork and circumstantial evidence?”
“Isn’t that the case in a lot of crimes? I thought that half your day was guesswork.”
“I prefer direct evidence to guessing. Makes for a more solid case.”
“I agree but since I don’t have the privilege of forensic reports and questioning people of interest, I have to draw a conclusion my own way. Frankly, I think it’s much harder to do it my way. And yet, I’ve succeeded in doing just that. Now if you’d like to hear what I have rather than debate about investigative techniques …”
He waved his hand with a flourish. “Please tell me. I’d love to hear what you’ve found on your little reporter excursions.”
I stopped to huff out a breath and let him know he was irritating. “Yes, well my little excursions led me to find out that the student body president of Smithville High, Carter Greer, is selling high school yearbooks at a discounted price in a black market scheme.”
My mention of Greer erased some of the condescension from his posture and expression. It seemed I had his attention. “Go on,” he said.
“Well, Carter Greer also happens to be the football quarterback who earned a nice full scholarship, so he has a lot to lose if his scheme is discovered.”
Jackson rubbed his jaw and nodded. “Makes sense.”
I couldn’t decide if he was taking in what I said or just humoring me. It took all my will to keep up my confidence as I told him my information, which started to feel less conclusive as I told it. Maybe my threads were too frail for any strong connection. I forged ahead. I’d started, I decided I might as well just go for it while I had his ear.
“A few other interesting details about Carter Greerâand this is where the dots start to form a picture. Carter Greer’s dad is Martin Greer, school board president. He is also a distributor for a local canned food company, Bounty Foods. Like the flattened box weâI spotted in the park trash can on the day of the murder.”
He was about to interrupt, so I piped up quickly to stop him. “And, and this is a big and, Carter Greer is the boyfriend of Belinda Larson, one of the two people who had access to the locking cabinet where the murder weapon was stored.”
I was having a hard time reading his reaction in his face, but his lone dimple made its appearance. “Well done, Miss Taylor.” He pulled a set of keys out from his pocket, only the keys were inside a baggie and marked with an evidence label. “After Belinda told us that she had lost her keys to the cabinet, she also confessed to letting her boyfriend, Carter, hang out in the back of the pawn shop while her father was out of the store. We found the keys in Carter’s locker. Principal Morely knew something was going on with the yearbooks. A few students were caught with yearbooks. They wouldn’t name names. You know the social hierarchy in high school. If you get caught being a snitch, your social life is as good as over.”
“And yet I found a kid who sang like a bird and told me everything.”
“Really? Good work, Taylor. Maybe we’ll get you a shiny badge that says investigative reporter.”
I pulled out my press pass. “I have a badge, I just don’t display it on my belt like you.” I winked at him. “And if I’m being honest, I had to use a touch of blackmail to get him to spill. I worried he might throw up on my shoes in the process, but a good reporter always gets her story, even if she puts her sneakers at risk. So the keys are your direct evidence?”
“Actually, we had something pretty solid even before the keys. Something a little bluebird alerted me to. That folded box at the park had been used to smooth out the footprints in the soil around the body. Not only did the soil samples match up, but the victim’s blood was found in the same sample. The box in the trash can had no lot number or date on it which meant it was brand new. It had never been used. The box was never out in distribution, which meant it came directly from the Bounty Foods plant.”
Behind me, a car pulled into the lot. Detective Jackson glanced past me to get a look at the car. His posture stiffened some as he pulled his glasses back over his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Taylor. It looks like someone is here to bribe a pawn shop owner.” He swept past me and lumbered with long, purposeful strides toward the car that had just pulled into the lot.
The car suddenly turned sharply, kicking up a grimy cloud of dust as it made a donut shape and headed back toward the exit. The driver’s window was open, and I caught a glimpse of the man inside. I’d only seen him briefly as he entered Principal Morely’s office, but I knew immediately it was Martin Greer. In the explosion of activity, I’d lost sight of Detective Jackson. But as the kicked up dirt haze settled to the ground, he came back into view.
I stumbled back in horror as he stood in front of the speeding car, using only a hand gesture to stop it. The driver pulled sharply on the steering wheel to just avoid hitting Jackson, but he kept his foot glued to the pedal. I sucked in another alarmed breath as Detective Jackson launched himself onto the hood of the car. He slipped around on the hood but held firmly to the edge of the driver side window to keep from getting pitched off and possibly even run over.
“Stop,” Detective Jackson yelled. The car had driven off the road and careened wildly to the side as the driver raced through the shrubby landscape.
Dick Larson, the pawn shop owner raced outside and started filming the scene with his phone. I could only assume it was for the police and not for YouTube.
Jackson managed to shift his body over far enough to reach in through the driver’s open window. He yanked the steering wheel hard and the front end turned right into a granite boulder. The impact stopped the car but sent Detective Jackson sliding off the hood. He avoided the boulder and landed mostly on his feet.
“Now that’s what I call determination,” Larson called to me.
“Get out of the car before I pull you right out through this open window,” Jackson ordered as he reached for his gun.
There was a short pause before Greer opened the door and stepped out.
I walked over to join Larson in front of the store, and we watched as Detective Jackson searched and handcuffed his suspect.
“Well, I never liked the man, but I certainly didn’t take him as a killer,” Larson said as two more police cars arrived at the scene. “I called them the second I saw G
reer whip a circle in front of the store. Oh boy, my Belinda is going to be howling with heartbreak for the next three months. She was crazy about that boy. I never liked him, of course. But then I doubt I’ll ever like anyone she brings home.” He released a long, tired sounding sigh. “A summer of tears is just what she needs though. She knew all about Carter’s illegal yearbook sale, and she kept her mouth shut.”
“Sometimes love makes us do stupid things. Even if it’s for love of a child. Greer was hoping to protect his son’s misdeeds, but now their lives have been turned upside down. And, through no fault of his own, Alder Stevens paid the biggest price of all.
Chapter 35
I stared absently out the front windows of the newsroom, searching mentally for the right line to start my story. Parker had insisted it be in his inbox by four so he could do his edits and get the polished copy to the layout team in the morning for Saturday’s paper. I knew mostly what I wanted to say, but I was struggling to land on the right words.
The shadow of a large figure passed the window just as I looked back at my computer. The door to the newspaper office opened. Detective Jackson walked inside and, without waiting for a invite, he strolled past a thunderstruck Myrna and right to my desk. I glanced at Parker’s office door. He and Chase were still in a meeting, a meeting that had gotten remarkably loud at times. It seemed they hadn’t noticed our visitor.
Jackson grabbed Chase’s rolling chair and pushed it across the floor to my desk and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his muscular forearms on his thighs. I’d never noticed the skull tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Somehow it worked nicely with the rest of him.
“Since you solved the case around the same time as me, I thought I’d share some of the final details with you.” He reached for the bowl of peppermints I had on my desk. Mints helped me think when I was writing. Jackson unwrapped the candy and stuck it into his mouth.
“Please,” I motioned to the chair. “Have a seat.” I lifted the bowl of candy. “Can I interest you in a peppermint?”
His shoulders were almost too big for a normal shrug, but he pulled it off and then reached into the dish for a few more mints. He straightened his intimidating torso and pushed the mints into his pocket.
“By the way, I think your timing might be off. I discovered the suspect was Greer earlier in the day while I was picking through my cobb salad at the diner.”
“And drawing cute graphics on the napkin? Do you want to hear the rest of it or not?”
“Yes, I do. What happened exactly? Was Principal Morely involved?”
“In the murder? No. But his hands were not clean. Morely had found out about Carter Greer and his secret yearbook sale. Because of Greer’s position as school board president, Morely was hesitant to do anything about it. But he finally worked up the courage and confronted Martin Greer, letting him know that he was going to have to report it to the superintendant and that Carter might be expelled. Unfortunately for Morely, he was having a secret affair with a teacher that was anything but secret. The entire staff lounge and half the student body knew about it. So Martin Greer had leverage. Morely would keep his mouth shut about the yearbooks, and Greer would not bring up the affair to the board.”
“Ugh, men in power. They are always so corrupt.”
“Yep.” Tired of shuffling the mint around on his tongue to talk, Jackson bit down on the candy, scenting the air with peppermint.
“And Alder? How did he end up dead?”
“Alder had caught Carter and his friends selling the yearbooks, and he let them know he was going to tell the district. But Carter got ahead of that. He had his girlfriendâ”
“Call the office and report a burst pipe in the girls’ locker room.”
Jackson sat back, looking properly impressed. “You’re a regular gumshoe, Taylor.”
“Thanks.”
“As you know, Alder got the shaft. Morely accused him of walking purposefully in on the girls changing for gym and asked for his immediate resignation. Later, he softened the term to retirement because he knew that Alder would never have done anything inappropriate. But Martin Greer had pressured Morely to get rid of Alder. And Alder probably could have just slipped quietly into his retirement, but he refused to let the embarrassing incident stand. His reputation was ruined all because a spoiled kid decided to make some bucks selling stolen yearbooks. He told Greer he would go to the police about the stolen yearbooks unless his name was cleared. Greer decided it was too risky leaving Alder alive with the secret. Morely resigned from his position an hour after we booked Greer. Greer gave a written confession, saying that he acted alone in the murder. He’d asked Carter to steal the gun and the bullets not for murder but because he was sure they were worth millions.”
Jackson stopped and pointed at my laptop. “Shouldn’t you be writing all this down for your story?”
“Actually, it’s not my storyâ” As I spoke the office door opened. Chase walked out, looking agitated, but he opened up a wide smile when he saw the detective.
“Jackson, hey, I was just coming down to see you. I need to get all the details of the Stevens murder.”
Jackson turned his questioning gaze my direction. I nodded to let him know that yes, Chase was writing the article. He leaned back on his chair.
“Actually, Evans, after I have a chat with my friend, Miss Taylor, I’m heading out to meet friends in the city. You can get the details from Officer Reed. She’s still in the office, so she can fill you in.”
Chase pointed and winked at him. “Perfect. I will head down to the station just as soon as I get some work done at my desk.” He looked pointedly at his chair.
“Oh, this is your chair?” Jackson asked. “I’ll be out of it in a minute.” Now his impressive forearms, ink skull and all, were resting on the top of my desk. “Just wanted to say good work on that investigative reporting, Bluebird. I’ll let you get back to business.â
“Thank you.”
Jackson stood up, towering over my desk as he pushed Chase’s chair back to his desk with one swift shove of his boot.
As he walked to the door, an idea popped into my head. I jumped up. “Detective Jackson, I’ll walk you out.”
I could have sworn that Myrna hadn’t closed her mouth since the first moment Jackson stepped into the news office.
Jackson opened the door and we walked out onto the sidewalk. He was at a dizzying height when I was standing close to him. “Alder Stevens was working on a cardboard castle.”
His brow arched. “Hmm. A little trespassing, huh?”
I ignored the comment. “So you saw the castle?”
His single dimple appeared. “I did. It’s amazing.”
“He promised his wife Pauline that he would build her a castle. I hate to think that it will just get thrown away when the house is sold. Do you think you could ask the district to display the castle at the high school or somewhere that people could enjoy it?”
“You bet. I think that’s a great idea.”
I turned and reached for the door.
“Next time, Bluebird, leave the investigation to the professionals.”
“I am a professional, a professional journalist. Have a good day, Detective Jackson.”
He waved good-bye over his head as he walked back to his car.
I hurried back inside and quickly shook my head at Myrna, who looked ready to fire off a million questions. “Not now, Myrna. I’ve got a story to write, and I’ve just thought of the start.”
I sat down at my computer. My fingers took off over the keyboard.
“The Secret Life of Alder Stevensâby Sunni Taylor. Most people knew him as the quiet, industrious man who kept the cafeteria floors shiny. The man who the teacher called when the classroom window got stuck or the heater thermostat was broken. He was the man who made sure bookshelves in the library were free of dust and that there were paper towels in the bathroom. But when no one was looking, Alder Stevens was making sure a student who came to school s
hivering in the dead of winter had a warm coat. He was helping out a coworker whose heart was broken by the loss of a loved one. He was making sure all of our feathered friends stayed fat and happy. He was making adventurous plans to see the world with his beloved wife, plans that, sadly, would never come to fruition. And in the quiet of his backyard shed, when no one was looking, Alder Stevens was building a castle…”
Chapter 36
I positioned the ladder near the wall and stepped back. Ursula and Henry, with all their whining and fighting, had done a beautiful job in the sitting room. They’d even done all the prep work on the walls and wood trim. All that was needed was a luscious coat of Cupid Pink.
I picked up the paint can opener and pushed it under the lid. I pressed down to pry it open, but the round lid didn’t budge. I turned the can and tried it from the other side. It was as if I was trying to lift a two ton boulder with the tiny can opener. I turned the can again but no luck.
“Hello, Sunni, where are you?” Nick’s voice echoed through the entryway.
“Perfect timing, Nick,” I called back. “I need your help opening a paint can.”
Nick appeared in the doorway holding up a basket that smelled like oranges wrapped in a warm blanket of cinnamon and sugar. “Emily made orange muffins.”
“Yum.” I walked over and took hold of the basket of muffins and handed him the paint can opener. “If you don’t mind. Apparently, I’m getting weak in my old age. I can’t budge the thing.”
Nick curled his arms to show off his biceps. “There’s no job too big for these guns.” He continued the muscle builder stance, holding his arms out to the sides like a gorilla as he walked across the tarps on the floor. He crouched down to the paint can and flexed his forearm ready for a stubborn lid. Instead, the lid flipped right off, somersaulting once before landing on the tarp. Paint side up, thankfully.
Nick held out his arms. “Wow, I’m even stronger than I thought.”
Death in the Park (Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 17