He lowered his voice. “Yeah. I hope those two don’t take up poker. They wouldn’t last long.” He dropped the plastic bag into an open trashcan.
“You were good with them.” I stopped, but the glint of metal was only a crushed soft drink can.
“Like I said, they’re not really bad kids. Not like some I’ve seen.”
Rascal growled and I shushed him. My light beam picked up the glow of two eyes peering around a trash can. I jumped backward. A raccoon ran the other way.
I didn’t realize I’d grabbed Kurt’s arm until my heartbeat slowed. “Sorry.” I released my death grip on his arm. “Guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t a murderer.”
He chuckled. “Guess so. Of course, you could have thrown your pepper spray at his feet.”
“Ha ha.” I needed to change the subject. “Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You?” He used the toe of his shoe to push at a piece of glass glistening in the grass.
I nodded. “Yes. Is it true a murderer goes to the funeral?”
“Usually, especially in this type murder.”
I spotlighted a snuff can. “You mean that even though it’s not Walter”—I reminded him of what I hoped was Walter’s innocence—“you think it’s someone who knew Rockwell?”
“That’s my theory. From what I’ve learned, people were standing in line to off that guy.”
“Believe me, Rockwell made it easy for people to dislike him.” Uh-oh, I hoped I hadn’t said too much.
“Does that include you?”
“He wasn’t my favorite customer.” Hoping to remove myself from the list of suspects, I tried distracting him. “His wife has been really easy to work with while we’ve planned her projects.” I didn’t comment on Devlin or Sam. What did I know about them anyway?
He looked down at me. “You shouldn’t have come out on your own in the first place.”
“I’ve lived here all my life. I know my way around and where it’s safe to walk and where to avoid.”
He appeared skeptical. “I know this is your hometown but this could have been dangerous. You have no way of knowing who might be out here at this time of night.”
“I have Rascal and my pepper spray.” I wanted to forget how I’d dropped the canister.
“And we both remember how helpful that was.”
Drat, of course he remembered.
“What if two men had come at you? Rascal could only take care of one.”
“I scream pretty loud.” But I wondered if I’d be too frightened. I hadn’t screamed at Walter’s home site before I knew who Kurt was. Was I fooling myself thinking I could help Walter tonight?
“Heather, I’m not talking about a couple of harmless teens.” He sounded angry. “A man was murdered two nights ago. If you’re right and it wasn’t Walter, then a killer is walking free around Gamble Grove.”
Coupled with my own doubts, the validity of his words hit me hard and I shivered. “B-But I can’t believe Rockwell’s murder was random. It took a lot of anger to smash his head the way Miguel described. Someone hated him a lot to do that. I don’t have that kind of enemies. Not serious ones.”
“We have druggies even in Gamble Grove and they’ll do anything,”—he leaned near to peer into my fact—“anything when they’re high or need a fix. And you never know who might be off his nut and see things through a psychotic haze. Or what serial killer is just passing through looking for his next victim. You shouldn’t take chances.”
“Duly noted, but I think your choice of profession might have slanted your view of the world.”
He exhaled. “Right. Sometimes all I see are the scum.”
“I felt your gun back there, you know, when I leaned against you to whisper.”
“And?”
“It surprised me is all.” I stopped and looked up at him. The moonlight was too pale for me to see his eyes clearly, but his expression appeared annoyed. “In your jeans and baseball cap, you looked—“
“Harmless?” he started walking again.
I hurried to catch up. “Hardly. No, you’re too big for that, but I guess I meant normal.”
I heard his annoyed grunt. “You mean normal, as in not a cop? Cops aren’t normal?”
“Don’t get in a snit. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but it’s true.”
He stopped and turned. “Men—especially former Marines turned policemen—do not get in a snit.”
I faced him. “Could have fooled me.”
“Look, just because I’m a cop and carry a gun doesn’t mean I’m different from any other guy.”
“Detective,” I reminded him. “You’re a detective who carries a gun.”
“And flesh and blood.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. I thought he was going to kiss me but I couldn’t move. He lowered his head, watching me as he neared, closer....
The heavy wooden gate behind us rattled, and I heard Mr. Denby demand, “Who the hell’s out there? Speak up and identify yourself!”
Kurt froze, his mouth inches from mine. Close enough that his breath was warm on my lips.
Before he could answer, I said, “It’s me, Mr. Denby. Heather Cameron.” I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed at the intrusion or relieved. From the warmth curling through me when Kurt was near moments ago, I had to go with annoyed.
“Heather?” Mr. Denby threw open the gate. “What the hell are you doing out here in my alley at this time of night? Are you crazy?” Carrying a golf club in his arms like a weapon, he wore a plaid bathrobe over his pajamas and had leather slippers on his feet. He narrowed his eyes when he saw my companion.
I thought I should make introductions. “This is Detective Steele from the Gamble Grove Police.”
Kurt offered his hand. “How do you do, sir?”
Mr. Denby shook it but he frowned. “Funny time of night to be detecting.” He peered at me, back at Kurt, then down at Rascal. “Saw your light going back and forth and heard voices. Figured you were up to no good. At least you were smart enough to bring Rascal along.”
Rascal wagged his tail when he heard his name. No doubt he remembered the treats Mr. Denby sometimes saved for him.
Kurt said, “Sorry if we alarmed or disturbed you. We were trying to help Miss Cameron’s friend.”
I stepped toward Mr. Denby. “You know Walter’s been arrested?”
He glared at Kurt. “Heard the cops think he killed that bas—, um, that no good Vance Rockwell. Ought to give him a medal if he did.” Mr. Denby shook his head. “But I can’t see Walter doing it.”
Kurt said, “We were hoping to find someone out tonight who might have seen Mr. Sims at the same time two nights ago.”
“Walter comes this way several times a week. Stops in if he sees I’m up, which I usually am. Arthritis gets to me, you see, and I can’t sleep more’n two or three hours at a time.”
He tucked the golf club under his arm and almost hit Kurt and me in doing so. “Let’s see, two nights ago. No, sorry to say I didn’t see him that night. I was at my daughter’s last weekend for my grandson’s birthday. Didn’t come home until yesterday.”
I tightened my grip on Rascal’s leash to keep him from sniffing at Mr. Denby’s leather slippers. They’d make tasty chew toys for Rascal. “Walter lost his pocket watch that night. If I can find it for him, it might help give him an alibi.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open for it.” He made a shooing gesture with his free hand. “Now, Heather, you go on home. Your grandparents would skin you if they knew you were wandering up and down alleys in the middle of the night”—he pointed at Kurt—“with or without that young fella.”
“Thanks, Mr. Denby.” I signaled to Rascal and started walking.
“Good night, sir.” Kurt joined me.
When we were several houses away, Kurt whispered, “You feel like you were twelve years old back there?”
“Yes. That’s what comes of living in one town all your life. Everyone still thinks of me as a kid and treats me that
way. You can bet my grandparents will hear about this before noon tomorrow.” I glanced back and Mr. Denby was still watching.
Kurt asked, “Do you suppose we looked as guilty as those kids did at the cemetery?”
“Sure I do. I thought he was going to make us come inside his house for milk and cookies while he called Grandpa to come after me.”
Kurt chuckled. “Better your grandfather than Gigi.”
Chapter Eleven
Like most people, I hate funerals. Even though I was no admirer of Vance Rockwell, here I was on my way to his service. My skinned knees meant I was wearing my black dress with the mid-calf-length fluted skirt. A favorite, but it had long sleeves, and I figured I’d bake in today’s heat. To do the ensemble justice, I’d added my mother’s pearls and matching drop earrings. I had to admit the pearls looked elegant against the black dress.
I’d learned my lesson with pinching shoes, no matter how gorgeous they were. In case the grandparents insisted on going to the cemetery for the burial service after the funeral, I was wearing reliable black pumps. Sedate, but comfy.
Beside me, Grandpa wore his navy suit with the tiny pin stripes, and he looked distinguished enough to be a diplomat. I was driving his boat of a sedan with Grandma and Gigi in back. Of course, like me, both grandmothers were clothed all in black.
Meeting Grandma’s glance in the rear view mirror, I said, “You know, it’s no longer considered a breach of etiquette to wear bright colors at a funeral.”
“According to whom?” Grandma asked. “Just because many have forgotten the niceties of civilized behavior does not mean we have to follow suit.”
She was probably going to launch into her “if everyone jumped off a cliff, would you?” spiel, but Gigi spoke up.
“Remember when that trashy Mabel Hickock and her daughter wore capri pants to Alvin Mitchell’s funeral last month?” Gigi snapped, “Don’t even get me started.”
I was sorry I had and changed the subject fast. “Grandpa, do you believe it’s true that criminals attend the funeral of their victims?”
“Hmph, you tell me. You’re the one with a direct line to the police, apparently at all hours.”
I swerved from surprise. We bumped the curb and narrowly missed Mrs. Findley’s minivan. Were there no safe topics with these people? “As if you aren’t good friends with Chief Webster. Don’t tell me Mr. Denby already called you?”
“Before breakfast.”
“I knew he’d call but figured he’d wait until lunch time. He chewed Kurt, um, Detective Steele and me out because we were looking for clues late last night.”
“Honey, I had three calls before breakfast.”
“Three? Ridiculous when I can’t take one little walk trying to help Walter. I’d hoped to find his watch.” I braked at a light and looked at Grandpa. “Who else called you?”
“Johnny from the Alibi called to tell me it wasn’t safe for you to be out walking by his place alone at midnight.” He frowned at me. “Which is true, young lady, even with Rascal along. Then Billy Ray called long before I thought he ever woke up.” The frown turned to a glare. “Must’ve thought it was real important.”
Incredulous, I skimmed right past his scolding. “Billy Ray? I’d like to have been in on that conversation. I’ve never heard him put more than two words together at a time.” And I had no idea he was ever sober enough to look up a number and dial it.
Grandpa chuckled. “He was cryptic all right. Would have been hard to figure out his message if I hadn’t already had the other two calls.”
“I know they mean well, but I wish people would mind their own business. Speaking of ours, do you think we’ll see the murderer at the funeral?”
He thought about it a second, then answered, “Probably. Way I see it, only someone who knew Vance would have hit him so hard. He wasn’t robbed, so that wasn’t the motive.”
There was truth in that. A robber would have whacked him on the head then taken his wallet and Rolex. So, that meant that whoever killed him knew him and was either plenty angry, hated him fiercely, or both. Narrowed it down to anyone who’d ever talked to the man.
Gigi leaned up and tapped me on the shoulder. “Ruby said to be observant. She’s sure the murderer will be at the funeral.”
I said, “She should have come and looked for herself.”
Gigi said, “Told her so, but she said she wouldn’t walk across the street to spit on Rockwell if he was on fire and she sure wasn’t putting on pantyhose to go to his funeral.”
Going into the First Community Church, I walked with Gigi while Grandma and Grandpa walked behind us. I spotted Kurt standing with military bearing at the back of the church and smiled at him. He dipped his head in a nod, but continued scanning the crowd. At the other side of the sanctuary, Officer Winston also stood watching the crowd.
It unnerved me to think I shared a church with a killer, especially that it might be someone I knew. Though he’d been born in Gamble Grove, Rockwell had been away over thirty years until recently. Attendees were scattered through the sanctuary so sparsely I wondered why Bootsy hadn’t chosen the smaller chapel across the hall. A cluster near the middle looked to be businessmen and women, and I supposed they were from Rockwell’s Dallas office. The front two rows were roped off for family. My grandparents and I chose a pew across from those mourners I’d decided were Rockwell’s employees and associates.
The casket was draped in the most lavish blanket of white roses I’d ever seen. I’m not in the floral business, but I remember from my grandfather Cameron’s death five years ago when Nana Cameron wanted to use roses. The florist told us then that it’s difficult to find cut white ones in good condition. White roses won’t hold freshness as well as the colors do. These looked perfect, and I could guess the bonus Bootsy had paid for them. I spotted the large basket of spring flowers I’d sent from our family amid a couple dozen other sprays and arrangements.
At the last minute, the pallbearers and the family came in and took their seats. Devlin and Sam flanked Bootsy, who could hardly stand. Beside Devlin, another woman and man took seats. I opened the small program and read down the list of pallbearers. I thought I recognized one of the men and scanned the memory folder. When I saw the bottom name, I elbowed Grandpa and pointed. Everett Denby.
Last night Mr. Denby had said harsh things about Rockwell and never mentioned he was one of the pallbearers. And he had the nerve to tattle on me when he obviously had his own secrets.
Grandpa leaned near my ear. “Friend of Vance’s dad.”
I guess you could be a friend of the family without liking all the members. But I wondered if anyone had checked to be certain Mr. Denby really was staying with his daughter when Rockwell died? I looked over my shoulder and saw the grim expression on Kurt’s face. He’d checked. I’d be willing to bet on it.
The organist and minister came in and looked all set to begin, when a last-minute group of mourners arrived. I bit my tongue to keep from showing my surprise when Sharee Ormond, her mousy mother, and Sharee’s two no-account brothers came in and sat down in one of the rows reserved for family. There was a lot of whispering between members of the Ormond family, and it looked heated. Sharee hissed a warning and the others sat up and looked forward.
This time the organist got busy. A portly man I didn’t recognize walked forward and sang “How Great Thou Art.” Then, the minister took the lectern. He was known locally for long, rambling sermons. I was glad my family went to the Presbyterian Church a block away. I hoped he wouldn’t drone on or spout false virtues about the deceased. I’d heard Bootsy attended church here, but I wondered if the minister had even met Vance Rockwell.
During the times I’d met her, Bootsy had seemed a delightful, good-natured scatterbrain with an unchecked lavish sense of style. Her quiet weeping now unsettled me. No matter how much I disliked Rockwell, I couldn’t help sympathizing with his family.
The woman on Devlin’s other side clung to him, and it looked as if he had to suppor
t her. She must be his aunt, Kay something. Oh, yes, Kay Douglas, never married and worked in the company. That would probably make the man beside her the attorney, Lionel Wyatt. I’d ask Grandpa later.
In record time for this long-winded minister, the service was over. We all stood as the casket was carried out of the sanctuary, followed by the bereaved family. We waited our turn and filed out behind the others. Kurt spoke to Winston, the officer who’d been at the murder scene questioning Miguel and Steve, then both men left the church.
On the portico, we saw Kurt and Winston watching the Rockwell family drive away in an extra-long black limousine.
Gigi poked Kurt’s arm. “Hello there, young man. I’m thinking about your marriage proposal. I may take you up on it.”
People within hearing turned to stare, saw it was Gigi, and went on their way. Something to be said for getting old and being able to say whatever you wish.
Kurt grinned. “Glad to hear it, Gigi. Sad occasion this, but how are you?”
“Any day a person my age goes to a funeral and it isn’t mine is a great day. You remember my granddaughter, Heather?”
Grandpa said, “He ought to, out strolling the town with her half the night.”
Beside Kurt, Winston coughed, and I had a feeling he covered a chortle. Kurt actually blushed, but he grinned at me and winked.
“I couldn’t let her walk around on her own, sir, and there was no talking her out of it.”
Grandpa shot me a glare then shook hands with Kurt. “You don’t have to tell me about this girl’s stubborn streak. Her mother was just the same. Appreciate you keeping an eye on her.”
He sounded as if I were ten and needed someone to hold my hand crossing the street. But I knew better than to protest and open that can of worms in public. “We’d better hurry to the car if you plan on going to the cemetery.”
Kurt offered his arm to Gigi. “Allow me to help you down the steps.”
Darned if she didn’t reward him with a flirty smile. “Always ready to have a handsome man escort me.” She looped her arm with his. “I hope they hired an extra awning. I’m not standing, especially not with the sun blazing on my skin.”
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