Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery)

by R. Barri Flowers

  I wondered why Brent hadn't mentioned it when he told me about his breakup with Karla. Perhaps he wanted to keep it a secret until he was sure it would work.

  "Do you know her name?"

  "I think it's Ivana."

  "You might want to pass that information on to the authorities."

  "I already did," she announced. "They plan to talk to her."

  "Good," I said. "She might know something important."

  "I'll be out of your hair later on today," she told me during the drive back to my house. "Detective Whitmore told me that they would be through with their investigation inside the house by three."

  "You're welcome to stay a little longer," I said. I knew it wouldn't be easy being in the house where a loved one had died. But I also knew that staying away would only delay confronting what happened there.

  "Thanks, but I need to be there to do whatever is necessary to get my uncle's house in order. I know that's what he'd want."

  "I agree," I said. Brent would want his niece to deal with his passing and get back on her feet as soon as possible.

  Speaking of which, I also needed to accept the reality of Brent's death and get back to living my own life.

  But first, there was the matter of seeing to it that he was given a proper burial.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Emily kept her interview with Klackston Industries, which surprised me a bit. Though I was glad that she still seemed intent on bettering herself, knowing Brent, I suspected that he had provided for her well as his sole living relative. I was sure Brent had remained a wealthy man over the years with bestselling books and selling the movie rights to at least two, which were made into motion pictures. But I also believed that he would never want Emily to simply live off his earnings without doing something for herself, even if it meant starting at the bottom and working her way up.

  After calling the funeral home, I phoned my attorney, Brianna York, whom I had actually been introduced to by Brent when we were involved. She had been wonderful in advising me on legal matters and I was sure the same could be said for Brent.

  "Well, hello there," she said cheerfully.

  "Hi, Brianna. I'm sure you've heard about Brent's death."

  "Yes and it's a terrible tragedy. He was a good man."

  "Yes, he was," I agreed. "I'm helping Brent's niece with funeral arrangements. I assume he had burial insurance."

  "Indeed, he did," she confirmed, "and he even has his plot and headstone paid for, though I'm sure Brent certainly hadn't planned for it to be utilized at this point of his life."

  I couldn't help but think that he had likely thought much more about his mortality than she realized, but said, "I'm sure he didn't."

  "Just let me know what funeral home will be handling the burial and I'll be sure the cost is covered."

  I thanked her for that, feeling a little awkward to be talking about anything other than my own legal business. But I was up to the task in helping Emily get through this.

  "While I've got you on the line, Riley," Brianna said, "a matter of Brent's will needs to be discussed..."

  "With me?" I asked in surprise.

  "Yes, you have been named as one of the beneficiaries of his last will and testament."

  "Are you saying he left me something in his will?"

  "Yes, he did."

  I let that sink in for a moment. Though we had remained friends over the years, I certainly had never considered being named in Brent's will. I hardly knew what to say. Since I was doing all right for myself financially, I didn't need his money. Or perhaps he had something else in mind.

  "You and the other beneficiaries will be sent a copy of the will as required by law," Brianna was saying. "However, before that stage occurs, Brent made a special request of all the beneficiaries..."

  "And what was that?" I asked, more than a little curious.

  "He would like everyone to gather together in one room, so he can speak to you on video."

  "You mean like a reading of the will?"

  "Exactly," she said. "Of course, this is no longer in vogue today or required legally. But as the benefactor, it was his wish and I would hope all the beneficiaries abide by it, so there are no unnecessary complications."

  My first thought was disbelief that Brent had requested what I had only seen in movies, given the standard legal process of probate where it concerned wills today. But since he had written about such readings in at least one of his novels and he was also somewhat eccentric, it wasn't so farfetched.

  "If that was Brent's wish, I will certainly come," I assured her.

  "Good," Brianna said. "I'm in the process of contacting the other beneficiaries as well. I thought that after the funeral might be an appropriate time to gather everyone to meet at my office."

  I wondered who was on the list. Apart from myself and Emily, I assumed that Pierce might be a beneficiary and perhaps Brent's surviving ex-wives, whom he appeared to have some obligation toward, even if they were no longer together. Might there be others as well?

  I couldn't help but wonder if what Brent had left behind and to whom he had left it to could have had anything to do with his death. Or was that scenario more something out of a good cozy novel?

  "Count me in," I reiterated.

  While I had Brianna on the line, I took the opportunity to go over some of my legal affairs with her, including adding a codicil to my will. I thought it was a good idea to put in motion an internship or scholarship at my alma mater, Oregon State University.

  Afterward, I called my good friend and florist, Peggy.

  "I'm so sorry about Brent," she expressed, having first met him when we were dating.

  "It's still hard to believe," I told her. "Finding him like that—"

  "It must have been awful."

  "Yes, it was," I said.

  "I can only imagine what it must have been like for Brent," Peggy said, "being confronted by his killer."

  I shared her disturbing thoughts and admitted, "Thinking about it gives me the chills."

  "Have the police come up with a suspect or motive?"

  "None that I'm aware of," I responded.

  "I'm sure they'll solve the case soon," she said. "Brent was famous. The authorities always give top priority to such crimes."

  I did not disagree with her, though it was hard to think of Brent as a celebrity, per se, as much as a dear friend, who deserved to live longer. "I hope so," I told her and then, "I'm handling Brent's funeral arrangements. I'd like some flowers delivered for both the church and cemetery."

  "Of course," Peggy said.

  We discussed having a standing spray with white roses and Asiatic lilies, blue hydrangea and delphinium, along with tropical ferns and leaves. For the casket, we would go with white roses, a white carnation and larkspur, along with white dendrobium orchids and an assortment of greenery. In a symbol of camaraderie, there would also be a couple of baskets with yellow daisies, snapdragons, gladioli, Asiatic lilies, and leatherleaf fern.

  Though I would have to clear it with the cemetery, we agreed that some ground cover plants and low growing perennials, such as blue river lavender or burgundy lace fern, around the gravesite might be nice.

  All in all, I was sure Brent would approve.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the morning writing my blog. The subject was inexpensive ways for remodeling a kitchen while still presenting an updated, vibrant place for family and friends to hang out.

  After fielding a couple of calls from friends and one from the press in wanting my take on Brent's death, which I kept brief, I called Yvonne.

  "I'm anxious to know how your date went last night," I told her.

  Yvonne paused. "It didn't go as well as I had hoped," she stated.

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Now I paused, trying to decide what to say. It seemed best to just come right out with it and see where it took the conversation. "So did you talk about having a child? Or did that not even come up due to the climate of the out
ing?"

  "We talked about it..."

  "And...?" I pressed, perhaps more than I should have.

  "And he doesn't think now is a good time to add to our family."

  "Did he say when he thought was a good time?"

  She sniffled. "Yeah, somewhere down the line."

  "But he didn't outright reject the notion," I pointed out. "So perhaps he is at least softening to the prospect..."

  "I think it's more that he's simply putting off having to deal with it," Yvonne stated flatly. "He's never wanted children, why on earth would I expect that to change now?"

  I wanted to concur with her, but also wanted to give her hope that it could still work out and needn't put her marriage in jeopardy.

  "People do change," I said, thinking of some of my shifting views over time. "Or at least they can. I suggest you not pressure him right now, but allow it to sink in before broaching the subject again and telling him why you feel now is a good time to have a child."

  "All right," she said simply. "Enough about me. How did things go last night with your house guest?"

  "Fine. We didn't come to blows or anything."

  "That's good to know. So how long will she be staying?"

  "Emily is moving back to Brent's house this afternoon," I informed her. "The police will be done with their work by then."

  "What are they saying about the murder?"

  "Not much at this point," I responded, "though I have a feeling they know more than they're letting on."

  "You mean like who the killer is?"

  "Possibly. Or at least they are narrowing down the suspects."

  "Do you have any ideas about who they might go after?" Yvonne asked.

  "Not really. I suppose it could be anyone who had a beef with Brent. He never talked to me about having enemies." I told her about Brent's ex-girlfriend showing up at the house.

  "Doesn't that strike you as odd?" Yvonne questioned. "I mean, who shows up to collect some items a day after the person is killed?"

  "Maybe someone with something to hide," I speculated. "Or a young woman who simply saw an opportunity and took it without considering how it might look to others."

  "Well whatever happens from this point on, I hope you stay out of it."

  "I'm afraid it's too late for that." I told her about making the funeral arrangements and that I was a beneficiary in Brent's will, while downplaying it. "My guess is he left me a piece of the art work he collected over the years, some of which he knew I loved."

  "He obviously never stopped caring for you," Yvonne said.

  I reflected upon that before saying, "That goes both ways. Anyway, I'd better let you go as I have a lunch date with Pierce O'Shea."

  "The writer?"

  "Yes and Brent's former research assistant."

  "Should I be asking why you're having lunch with him?" Yvonne asked.

  "It's not a romantic date," I said, and explained that it was merely what I believed to be two friends of Brent's exchanging thoughts about him and his death. I left out the part about wanting him to speak at our next book club meeting.

  Yvonne sounded disappointed. "There's nothing that says you can't go out on a real date again sometime."

  "I know and I plan to whenever someone comes along who suits my fancy," I told her.

  "You mean someone like Brent London?"

  "I mean someone I'm comfortable with and vice versa," I stressed, while wondering if I was still using Brent as the standard of measurement, even while trying not to.

  * * *

  The Crystal Club parking lot was packed, but I managed to find a slot that another patron had just vacated. It was one of the oldest eating establishments in Cozy Pines, catering to high end visitors and tourists, and was located right off the beach.

  When I stepped inside, Pierce was already there talking on his cell phone. He cut the call short when he saw me.

  With a preoccupied look on his face, he greeted me. "Thanks for coming."

  "Hard to turn down a free meal," I half joked.

  He grinned. "I believe our table is ready."

  I followed him through the dining room, where the walls were adorned with framed photographs of the owners posing with various celebrities, to a table with an oceanfront window. There were already two glasses half filled with wine on the table.

  "I took the liberty of ordering white wine," Pierce said. "I seem to remember during one of Brent's parties that it was your wine of choice."

  "It is and thank you," I told him, taking a seat.

  Just as quickly, a waitress came and handed us menus.

  "You can't go wrong with anything here," Pierce said. "My personal favorite is grilled salmon with roasted walnuts."

  "Sounds tasty," I admitted, "but I think I'll go with crab cakes and hazelnut salad."

  "Good choice," he said.

  Momentarily, our orders were taken.

  No sooner had the waitress left, when Pierce leaned forward and said, "I understand from Detective Whitmore that Brent hired you to consult on redecorating his recreation room?"

  "Yes," I acknowledged. "I think he was tired of his man cave décor and wanted something fresh."

  "It was a good idea," Pierce said, sipping wine. "I just wish Brent had lived to see it come to fruition."

  "Me, too."

  "And you happened upon the crime scene as a result of your scheduled meeting with Brent?"

  I nodded. "I certainly hadn't expected anything like that."

  Pierce furrowed his brow. "I dread to think that you could have walked in on the killer. Or worse, that the killer might have been present even while you were in the house."

  "I hadn't thought about that at the time," I conceded, "but, yes, it is quite unnerving. Fortunately, there was no sign of anyone else in the house—or outside it, for that matter, which I told the police."

  "It would have made their job much easier had you seen someone, without the person seeing you, that is," he said.

  "I only wish that had been the case. Obviously, the sooner the crime can be solved, the sooner Brent can rest in peace and the entire community can feel safe."

  "I agree." Pierce lifted his wine glass. "I definitely want justice for my friend and you surely want the same. That's why I've informed the police that my door is always open, if there is anything I can do to help them nail the bastard and put him or her away for a very long time, if not receive the death penalty."

  I gazed at him across the table. "Do you really think the perpetrator could be a woman?"

  He shrugged. "Sure, why not? The murder weapon—a pool cue—could just as easily have been used by a female full of rage."

  "You mean like a vengeful ex-girlfriend or wife?" I threw out.

  "Yes, or even an unbalanced fan," he said. "Brent has told me about encountering such on more than one occasion. Of course, I could be entirely off track here. It's also more than possible that a male perpetrator could have broken in and attacked Brent."

  "From what I understand, there was no sign of forced entry," I pointed out.

  "Yes, I heard that too. But someone sophisticated enough would have had no problem bypassing Brent's security system and door locks. Especially someone who was determined to take his life."

  "I suppose you're right about that. Hopefully, whoever did it left behind clues, such as DNA."

  Pierce nodded. "The police department has an excellent forensics team. I'm confident that if there's anything to be found, they will find it."

  I took solace in those words as our food arrived. The break gave me a chance to collect my thoughts and approach a different front on Brent and why someone succeeded in killing him.

  "The day before Brent died, he and I had dinner at Cheri's," I said while drizzling ranch dressing on my salad.

  "Nice place," Pierce said, slicing into the salmon.

  "He said he would be meeting you afterwards."

  Pierce nodded. "Yes, we did meet there for a drink."

  I looked at him. "Do
you mind if I ask what the meeting was about?"

  He cocked a brow. "Nothing in particular. We got together every now and then and talked about old times, new times, and anything else that came up. Why do you ask?"

  "I don't know. I just thought maybe he might have said something that could have given a clue about his state of mind or if he was having problems with anyone."

  Pierce shrugged. "He never mentioned anything about someone being after him or anything else of concern. As far as his state of mind, he seemed sharp as a tack and ready to do more writing."

  It was clear to me that Brent had gone out of his way to cover up his Alzheimer's disease, even to someone he held in such high esteem as Pierce. Whether this was a good idea or not, it seemed to have worked in giving off the appearance of being well, when Brent was, in fact, slowly declining.

  But that didn't mean he was unaware of his surroundings. Or clueless that someone might have targeted him for some reason. Had he let his killer in voluntarily?

  How did the person get out of the house without being seen?

  Did Brent actually see the person who beat him to death? Or had he been caught completely off guard, and never knew what—or who—hit him?

  "So what's going on in that head of yours?" Pierce asked intently.

  "Oh, I was just thinking about Brent and what he went through on the last day of his life," I answered, lifting my glass of water.

  "It's hit me too. I can't imagine going through anything like that."

  "But you're a mystery writer," I said. "I would think you would have no problem picturing such a scenario."

  "That's true," he said, scooping up mashed potatoes. "I can picture anything where it concerns fiction scenarios. But when it hits close to home in real life, well, the mind just goes blank and shuts out things that are too painful."

  "I understand," I told him, hoping he didn't think I was suggesting that what happened to Brent was like something out of a mystery novel that either one of them could have written. Seeking to switch to a less dreary subject, I mentioned to him that our book club had recently featured one of his titles for discussion.

  Pierce smiled. "Yes, Brent told me. I'm honored."

  I left out the part that not everyone was impressed with the novel. Perhaps that could change if he could explain the characters and their motivations for doing the things they did. "Would you consider coming to one of our meetings?" As he chewed on the thought, I added, "Brent had already agreed to come to our next meeting, but fell short of it through no fault of his own."