Really, Truly Dead

by Maggie Toussaint

  “I asked if you wanted to get iced coffee or head back to the office. You look dazed.”

  “Oh, sorry. The office, please.” I pushed my sunglasses up on my head. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Someone charged my dad with murder.”

  “You’ve got to accept that your father did this and move on with your life. It’s not doing any good for you to be stirring up trouble.”

  I was looking for something that pointed suspicion away from my father, and I was riding in his accuser’s car. My ire rose. “My father shies away from his own pain. He’d never inflict physical pain on anyone else. How could you believe he did this? He’s not a violent man.”

  Ike reached over and smoothed a stray hair behind my ear. “Hon, I’ve seen crazy things in this job. Little kids kill each other for a soft drink. Best friends shoot each other over a property line variance. Your father is capable of violence. We all are. It’s human nature.”

  “Daddy didn’t do this. You know him. He went on a two-week drunk when my brother drowned because he couldn’t face the truth. He stoically endured marriage to my mother all these years, even though she’s abandoned him to save the world. He’s not a man who takes matters into his own hands. He didn’t kill Judge Sterling.”

  Ike leaned back in his seat, adjusting his body so he faced me. “You’ve always been hardheaded, but you were rarely foolish. I’m not buying your argument, especially when the evidence points to George McKay, but tell me what you’ve got.”

  Here it was. My big chance to change my father’s future. “Mostly I’ve found people with grievances against the judge.”

  He shrugged. “He’s a judge. What did you expect?”

  “Alan Sterling had a lot of women in his life. Trish, his wife, who he didn’t sleep with; Angie, his mistress, who he did sleep with; and Dixie Lou, his clerk. Dixie Lou claims the judge had an affair with someone else recently. On top of that, the deed to The Oaks Motel is missing. Angie and Trish both think that property should be theirs. My gut says a woman killed him.”

  “None of them are strong enough to overpower a man that size. Forensic evidence on the judge or at the crime scene area would’ve alerted us to a struggle. The only forensics we have are your father’s fingerprints on the knife.”

  I rubbed my temples. I didn’t like the way Ike had an answer for everything. He didn’t believe me. I had to sway him. “That was my dad’s knife, which he kept in his unlocked house, so of course his fingerprints were on it. Anyone could’ve gone in there and taken the knife. Isn’t the lack of other evidence a clue in itself?”

  The sheriff tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. I got the feeling he was sizing me up for bad news. “Your father has been seeing Trish Sterling lately. Maybe there was a woman involved, and maybe your dad stood up for her against the judge.”

  My stomach lurched. “You know about Daddy and Trish?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you about their relationship, but I need you to see the big picture. A lonely man who found someone who understood him. Alan Sterling wouldn’t divorce Trish, or he would have done so years ago. Alan Sterling was in your father’s way.”

  I could refute his theories too. “Going by that logic, Alan was also in the bail bondsman’s way. Junior’s sleeping with Angie now. Maybe he wanted her to be exclusive to him.”

  “That’s some wild theory you’re spouting.”

  “Or maybe the clerk finally had enough of his dishonorable behavior,” I was on a roll now, “and someone in her family did her a favor by offing the man. Or maybe it’s a mystery woman he was seeing. Maybe her boyfriend didn’t like competition.”

  His lips thinned. “Now you’re grasping at straws. You’re giving upstanding citizens of the community a dirty name because you’re desperate to save George.”

  The steel in his voice irritated me. “I’m not printing this in the Gazette. This is speculation, between you and me.”

  “Speculation won’t cut it.” The sheriff shifted the Jeep into reverse, drove the three blocks down Main Street to River Road in silence, and parked at the paper. “You have nothing because there’s nothing to find.”

  And he called me hardheaded? He could give lessons in stubbornness. “My father didn’t murder the judge.”

  “The evidence points to him.”

  “You’re wrong, and I’ll prove it.”

  He stroked my hand. “I know a much more pleasant way we could pass the time. Would you have dinner with me and Trent? He’d love to see Bailey again.”

  I meant to pull my hand away, but his touch felt nice. “Trent can see my dog anytime he wants. But you and I are on opposite sides on this.”

  In answer, he reached across the front seat and planted a lingering kiss on my lips, rendering total paralysis of my entire body. “Think about it, sugar. There’s unfinished business between us.”

  I groped for the door handle. “Why do men think sex will cure everything? Don’t you think about anything else?”

  He smiled. “Rarely.”

  Ellen and Bailey had their noses pressed against the front window when I walked in. Ellen’s eyes were round as sand dollars. “Did Ike kiss you?”

  I sailed on past her, hoping Cousin Janey and Aunt Fay had found the motel deed without me. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Wait until I tell the gals at Misty’s beauty shop.” Ellen followed me into my office. “They were sure he’d date Patsy at the phone company next. I won the pool.”

  I gasped at the implication. “There’s a pool on who the sheriff dates? Does he know about it?”

  She shrugged. “Who cares? I won, and I need the money. He’s been hanging around you a lot lately.”

  I wasn’t ready for anyone to know about that kiss. I barely knew about it. “He’s hanging around because of the murder investigation.”

  Ellen shook her head. “You’re the one who got away. And his son likes you.”

  I rubbed my temples again. My head ached. I shoved the kiss out of my thoughts and welcomed the buzzing of my phone. It was a call from my boss in Atlanta.

  “Lindsey, good work on finishing Bob Harvey’s assignment. I like the book proposal ideas,” Ted Townsend said. “When can I see a full-blown proposal?”

  “Things down here aren’t resolving as quickly as I thought,” I hedged. “This has a long-term feel to it.”

  “What?” my boss sputtered. “You’re not coming back?”

  Now that he’d asked, the idea of staying seemed plausible. Working at the paper was fun. I had autonomy here. The people I came in contact with genuinely cared about me. Other than a job I enjoyed in Atlanta, I had no one waiting for me in the big city. The facts lined up in a decision matrix, and I realized what I’d been denying all along. I belonged in Danville. “My family needs me, and I can’t leave until this is finished. I can’t predict how long that will take. It isn’t fair to leaving you hanging indefinitely. You’ll have my letter of resignation today.”

  “I won’t accept it. How much longer do you need? One week? Two?”

  “I’m so busy with the paper and working for you that I can’t concentrate on my father’s case.” I exhaled slowly. “Straddling two jobs isn’t working.”

  “Do me a favor, and take another week to decide. Bob Harvey will cover for you since you helped him last week. See if you can finish a proper book proposal, and we’ll talk later.”

  I hung up the phone. I had tried to quit, but Ted had stopped me. I wouldn’t change my mind in a week, a month, or a year. I’d finally come home, physically and mentally.

  Now if I could just get the facts surrounding the judge’s murder to line up in the correct sequence, I could clear Daddy’s name. Seemed like Trish Sterling was overdue for my visit.

  Chapter 11

  The judge’s widow answered her door in faded jeans, a yellow blouse, and a speckled paint smock. Her little Jack Russell terrier, Sparky, nipped at my heels. Fortunately, I’d left my dog in the car with the AC on so I could
focus on Trish’s reaction to my questions.

  “Lindsey, what a surprise,” Trish said. “Pardon my appearance. I’m painting. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to talk, if you have a minute.”

  “Come in.” Trish directed me to the sun porch. Sparky scampered up on the sofa and patrolled its length and finally lay down. I chose a wicker chair. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Trish asked.

  “No thanks. I’m here about my dad. My married dad. Where is your friendship headed?”

  Trish sank into a padded rocker. “George and I are friends. We have mutual interests. Ask him.”

  I knew he would say nothing more than he already had. “Mama’s mission trip ends in six weeks, if not sooner. What happens then?”

  Trish laughed harshly. “Sorry. I’ve never been the Other Woman before. I’ve always been the one cheated upon. Regardless, George and I take each day as it comes.”

  Understanding dawned. All the time Daddy said he was elsewhere, he was with her. “But he’s here every day.”

  “Again, you need to ask your father about this.” Trish paused before speaking again. “I know it’s messy, but that’s been my life lately. Alan was a self-centered jerk who couldn’t get enough sex, if you’ll pardon my frank language.”

  Ah. Another subject I wanted to pursue. “Did your husband change after marriage?”

  “He was always self-centered. I ignored his adultery for the first twenty years. Raising the kids kept me pretty busy, but after the youngest left last year, I’ve been restless and lonely. I didn’t know what to do with myself, only that I was trapped in this loveless marriage.”

  I scowled. “You could’ve divorced him.”

  “Why? I love this house, this view,” she said, as she rocked in her chair. “Alan would’ve taken that away out of spite. I stuck it out, and now I’m free. I won.”

  “Did y’all talk about divorce?”

  “It never came up. Alan wouldn’t have been a judge without my family’s money. Once he had what he wanted, he left me alone. Divorce would’ve cost him half his wealth.”

  I pushed a little more. “Still, it must have been hard, knowing that he sought other women all these years.”

  She stopped rocking for a minute. “You have no idea.”

  My last conversation with Ike had given me an idea. “Sheriff Harper said he had a deputy following Daddy. Your affair is one of the reasons my daddy was arrested.”

  “The world is against us. Why blame George? He’d never hurt a fly.” Her concern seemed genuine.

  “That’s why I’m trying to clear his name. Tell me about Alan’s last day.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t see him in the morning because we have separate bedrooms. I’d been up late the night before and slept in. I went into town just before lunch to see if he would loan our oldest son the money to add another room on his house. Alan was furious. Said his son should have married money like he did. Then he left for an appointment.”

  “Do you know who he met?”

  Trish’s face froze into a mask of hatred. “Maybe Angie, maybe another woman. I don’t know.”

  I cleared my throat delicately. “Was he seeing someone whose husband would take offense? I wouldn’t ask except I’m desperate to clear Daddy’s name.”

  “I want to help George, but I always looked the other way at Alan’s shenanigans. I don’t know who my husband was sleeping with, but I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

  “I see.” I considered that for a minute. “I know I’m from the wrong generation and all, but, what was the judge’s appeal? How did he get women to sleep with him?”

  “Alan could be charming when it suited him, and he was insatiable in the bedroom. Some women like that much physicality, but it exhausted me.” Sparky sensed her distress. He jumped off the back of the sofa and hopped into her lap. Trish hugged her little dog.

  Insatiable. I never thought of the older generation in that way. “But still, you must’ve known if he was seeing someone. Did he behave differently? Were there variations in his routine?”

  “Alan and I lived separate lives. He kept to his study and his rose garden when he was here.”

  Another dead end. “Again, forgive me for prying, but is any money missing?”

  “Our joint checking account hasn’t had any major transactions go through in the last few months. I can account for every expenditure in that account. I already told Sheriff Harper.”

  What had I missed? “What about money markets or stocks? Did you check them?”

  “Those documents go directly to our accountant. I don’t know where our retirement money is invested.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “The sheriff didn’t ask about our investments. I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded. Maybe we’d find something the sheriff missed. “May I look in Alan’s study and garden? The smallest thing could be a lead.”

  “Be my guest. It’s my fault George’s involved in this mess.” She stood, walked over to the study door, and opened it. “I wanted to move my studio in here because the lighting is better, but frankly, this room is depressing.”

  I could see what she meant. The room felt oppressive. Built-in bookcases lined three walls. I thumbed through several books, but they pertained to the law and weren’t easy reading.

  The maroon leather chair behind the massive desk looked comfortable. A cigar box and a green lamp rested atop his desk. There were no personal photos, no home computer, and no phones in here.

  His desk drawers held everyday rubble. Pencils, pens, rusty paper clips, rubber bands, extra staples, legal pads, tape, and household files. In the drawer of manila folders, I found a stack of girlie magazines.

  I flipped through a few of the well-worn volumes, but they yielded no murder clues. The room smelled stale, with a trace of cigar and a masculine aroma.

  The fourth wall led to a patio garden. I opened the French doors and walked outdoors. The brick patio was bordered by rose bushes, Inverness Pinks to be exact. The roses were in various states of bloom, displaying everything from new buds to heads past their prime.

  Trish appeared in the doorway with my dog. “I heard Bailey barking in your car and let her out.”

  “Thanks.” Bailey trotted towards me and then veered off to sniff the rose bed. She favored the stems with spent flower heads. Curious.

  Trish sneezed from the doorway. “Forgive me if I don’t join you. I’m allergic to roses. I swear Alan cultivated them to spite me.”

  “Would you mind if I cut some?”

  “Help yourself. I plan to have those bushes removed anyway. The garden club is taking them, when the heat breaks. I’ll grab some clippers.”

  Bailey sniffed every bush. Certain ones got watered doggie-style. She usually watered everything. Very odd.

  Trish returned with the clippers. I cut three nearly-spent roses from the bushes Bailey marked. My plan was to give these flowers to the sheriff and have them tested.

  “You’re getting yucky ones. Take some buds so you can enjoy them longer,” Trish encouraged from the doorway. “You should put Alan’s tonic on them too.”

  “What tonic?”

  “Something he keeps in the potting shed. An old Mason jar. Help yourself.”

  I walked over and opened the shed. There I found some fertilizer. More clippers. And an empty Mason jar, but no liquid. “He must have run out of the tonic,” I said, as I closed the shed door.

  “That’s odd. Alan swore by his tonic. Said it made the roses extra special. Kept the blossoms fresh an extra-long time.” Trish disappeared and came back with some newspapers to wrap the flowers. “While I was in the kitchen, I remembered something. A few months ago, Alan came home smelling of oranges. It struck me as peculiar because I’d never seen him eat an orange.”

  As I drove away, I reviewed what I’d learned. Trish didn’t know the orange-scented woman who Alan had been seeing, and no money was missing. There was also
Bailey’s curious behavior. My dog had only marked certain flowers. I still had nothing solid. But it felt like I was on the verge of something.

  I stopped at the jail and carried in the three spent roses. “Is the sheriff here?”

  His sister winked at me. “Let me get him for you.” She turned around and hollered his name.

  Heck, I could have done that. Probably not as loud, though.

  Ike strolled into the reception area, a wide grin pasted on his face. “You brought me roses?”

  “They’re evidence. I want them tested.”

  “Inverness Pinks?” He looked skeptical.

  “Bailey couldn’t stop sniffing these bushes. She only watered the bushes these three roses grew on and no others. There’s something unusual about them.”

  “Tests cost money. I can’t test everything that comes in here.”

  Daddy’s life was on the line. “I’ll pay for the tests if I have to, but I thought since it might be related to the murder investigation you’d be interested.”

  “How could it be related? The judge was murdered in town, not at his place.”

  I leveled my gaze at him. “Bailey has a great nose. I trust her implicitly.”

  “I’ve seen the places Bailey puts that nose,” he said, as his eyes glittered, “and I’m not so sure. But I tell you what. I’ll have these flowers tested under one condition. You agree to have dinner with me.”

  What was one night of my life if this led to Daddy’s freedom? “I’ll do it. After the results come back.”

  “Woo doggies! Put a rush on the analysis, Sis.” The sheriff thrust the wilted flowers at Alice Ann and walked me outside. “Does Friday suit you?”

  Friday sounded soon. But soon was good if it cleared Daddy’s name. “Friday works for me.”

  “I’ll be ticking off the minutes until then.” The sheriff gave me a bone-melting smile.

  His eyes twinkled dangerously. “Whatever you say.”

  Was Ike insatiable? Yikes. This wasn’t helping. I drove my fresh rosebuds to the office.

  Ellen startled with recognition. “I know where you’ve been. The judge’s rose garden.”