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

by R. Barri Flowers

  "It should be interesting," Josh said, seated between us. He smiled at me as I got a whiff of his musky cologne. I wondered if he still had an interest in me beyond us both being avid book fans. Moreover, I wondered if I was ready to begin dating anyone at this point in my life with my busy schedule.

  "I suspect that Pierce is just as eager as we are to meet us and get our take on his new mystery novel," I said.

  Annette leaned forward and said, "I read some advance reviews and, for the most part, they were stellar. In fact, one reviewer went so far as to call it a masterpiece that Brent London would even tip his hat to."

  "I saw that review, too," Kelli said. "It suggested that Pierce O'Shea had practically reinvented himself with this novel and it could only lead to bigger and better things."

  "Just don't give anything away," pleaded Judith Eckersley, who was nearly six feet tall, with long dark hair. "I'd rather read it and judge for myself."

  "Me too," Stephanie seconded. "I'm also going to pick up a copy for my sister. She doesn't normally like mysteries, but she wants to give this one a try."

  "Maybe O'Shea should give us a commission for every extra book sale we generate for him," Josh joked.

  "That's a thought," Judith said with a laugh. "Then we could all get rich and retire early in life."

  "Thanks, but I think I'd rather work for a while longer," I said amusingly. "Besides, I'm sure that Pierce and his publisher are used to his growing fan base spreading the word through social media about his books. In fact, I'm sure they're encouraging it, making the novels that much more successful."

  "I'd love to be a writer," Barbara said, "but I doubt I'd ever be able to collect my thoughts in such a way as to put them into book form. Seems like really hard work."

  Her words made me think about Brent and the fact that, with Alzheimer's disease, he was slowly beginning to lose his ability to put together thoughts cohesively to write books before he was murdered. The one bright spot in his passing was that he'd been able to pretty much keep it together before he reached that stage.

  "There he is," Kelli announced as we all looked up and saw Pierce and the store manager headed our way.

  We all stood as the store manager, a slender woman in her early thirties, introduced him.

  Pierce looked at me with a tender smile and put his hands on my shoulders. "Riley and I go way back as friends of the late Brent London."

  "Hello, Pierce," I said warmly.

  "And these must be the members of your book club," he said, glancing at the front row.

  I introduced everyone as he shook their hands. He even received a hug from Barbara.

  "Do you mind if I take a picture with you?" she asked him, taking out her cell phone.

  "It would be my pleasure," Pierce said charmingly.

  After Barbara snapped the selfie, everyone else decided to follow suit. I even took one with Pierce, though we had previously taken one together with Brent at a book launching party in his honor.

  Pierce was able to take a few questions from club members and answer them equably before the place began to fill up. Soon there was standing room only as Pierce read the first chapter, took more questions from the audience, and signed books.

  By the time it was over, everyone seemed satisfied. Pierce promised to show up at our next book club meeting and we, in turn, promised to read his latest novel as a prelude for discussion.

  Josh walked up to me afterward. "Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

  "I'd love to," I told him, trying not to seem too overeager.

  "There's a great Italian deli here in the mall that we can walk to."

  "Sounds great."

  Five minutes later, we were standing at the counter looking over the menu board.

  "Anything excite you?" Josh asked. "If not, I'd recommend the prosciutto ham sandwich."

  Though I had been thinking about homemade lasagna, I took him up on his recommendation. I also ordered a small cannoli and orange vitamin water.

  We sat at a table with our food.

  "So that was quite a show Pierce O'Shea put on," Josh said, digging into his sandwich.

  "Yes, he did a good job making everyone feel welcome," I conceded.

  Josh grinned. "The man's obviously a natural when it comes to wooing the audience."

  "Maybe it comes with the territory as a novelist, as they're used to creating comfortable storylines," I suggested, not sure I truly believed that, since each writer was different in how he or she related to an audience.

  "Perhaps, but I think I'll wait until I read the novel before I decide whether or not it measures up to the advance billing."

  I smiled. "I can't wait to debate it at the next meeting."

  "O'Shea will definitely be on the hot seat," Josh said, sipping beer. "Or the cold seat, depending on how things turn out."

  "Agreed."

  He gazed at me. "So how's your blog coming along?"

  "It's been great," I told him. "It makes me feel good to know I'm helping people improve their homes and places of business with practical ideas."

  "I've checked it out and I like what you have to say," Josh said smoothly. "In fact, Faith used to visit your blog all the time, probably still does, and found your advice helpful."

  Faith was his ex-wife and former member of the book club. "I'm glad to know that." I drank water, while wondering if he wanted her back. I also wondered if Yvonne and George could work through their issues and keep their marriage intact.

  "So how are things with your job?" I asked, knowing that he was in private practice as a clinician.

  "No complaints," he said. "Keeps me pretty busy and gives me the opportunity to both help and educate my patients."

  "It's nice that you're able to find the time to be in a book club."

  "It keeps me grounded and allows me to enjoy one of my passions," Josh said, taking another bite of his sandwich. "So, in that case, Faith did me a big favor."

  "Must be hard without her in your life," I said, tasting the cannoli.

  "It used to be, but not any longer. In truth, we'd been drifting apart for some time. Making it official just allowed us to move on." He wiped his mouth. "How's your love life been lately?"

  "Nonexistent," I said truthfully. "I haven't been involved with anyone for a while."

  "That by choice?" he asked.

  "Yes and no. It's hard to meet people when I do most of my work from home. Then I'm busy doing volunteer work with seniors, tending to my garden, and—"

  Josh broke in with, "Sounds like you're open to meeting someone if the connection is there."

  I smiled. "Exactly."

  I felt comfortable with him, enjoying his easygoing nature, warm humor and, of course, his penchant for reading.

  By the time we left the food court two hours later, we had made plans to see a play the following week. I really hoped it might be the start of something nice with a handsome man who clearly had a lot going for him. I recalled the same was true for Brent when we first met. Only things were not meant to be beyond friendship.

  Maybe it would prove to be more than that with Josh as we got to know each other better.

  That night, I read a few chapters of Pierce's novel in bed. The more I read the more there seemed to be an air of familiarity about it. I wondered why. I obviously hadn't read it before, since it was a newly published novel.

  As I pondered this, I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  On Monday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk working when my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and saw Yvonne's name. We hadn't spoken since she and George left my house on Saturday morning, presumably to discuss their future. I had decided it was best to give them their space without interfering.

  I clicked on the request for a video chat. "Hey," I said evenly.

  "Hey to you," she responded, giving no hint in her inflection as to which way the wind was blowing in her marriage.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked gingerly.

  "Things are fi
ne. George and I had a long talk. We're going to look into adoption as a possibility."

  I lifted a brow. "Really?"

  "Yes. There are so many children out there in need of a good home with loving parents. We think we'd be a good fit for the right child and vice versa."

  "So George has changed his tune about not wanting children?" I asked skeptically.

  "It wasn't that he was totally averse to the idea," she claimed, "but more about the timing and feeling pressured, as well as working through some of the parental issues he experienced during childhood."

  "Well, I'm happy to hear that you're talking again and working things out in a way that you can both live with," I told her, though still not convinced that George had gone from seemingly one extreme to another in the blink of an eye.

  "So am I. Running away was not the answer, though I'm grateful you put me up for the night. I still love George and want my marriage to work."

  "As do I," I told her. "It does take two to make that happen."

  "I know and he does too," Yvonne insisted. "We still have a long ways to go before we can make this happen with adoption and starting a family, but I'll just take it one day at a time."

  "Good for you—and George."

  Just as Yvonne had begun to talk about her kitten, which she had named Ginger, my doorbell rang and I had to end the conversation, sure she would keep me posted every step of the way.

  I went to the door and opened it, surprised to find Detective Whitmore standing there.

  "Hello, Ms. Reed."

  "Detective."

  "May I come in?"

  "Of course," I told him, stepping aside as he walked through the doorway.

  He took a glance around. "Nice place."

  "Thanks." I regarded him curiously, waiting to see what came next.

  "There's been a development in the Brent London case," he said equably.

  "Really?" Now he had my full attention. I was hoping it was good news for Emily.

  "On Sunday evening, a young woman fell to her death at an apartment complex in town."

  "Yes, I recall hearing something about that on the news," I told him.

  Whitmore sighed. "Well, that person was identified as Karla Terrell..."

  My eyes popped wide. "What?"

  "By all indications, Ms. Terrell took her own life by jumping from her third floor balcony down to the sidewalk, breaking her neck in the process. She left a suicide note, in which she confessed to murdering her onetime lover, Brent London, stating that she could no longer live with the guilt. Wearing gloves, she entered the house using a key London had given her and caught him off guard, bludgeoning him to death with the pool stick. She made her escape out the back door. The note included information that hadn't been made public, such as the position of the victim's body in death and where she tossed the pool stick."

  "I'm stunned..." I told him, while trying to wrap my mind around this disturbing news.

  "Frankly, so am I," the detective said, "since we were pretty convinced that we had the right perpetrators. In any event, given this turn of events and Ms. Terrell's confession, the charges are being dropped against Ms. Peterson and Mr. Sullivan. They will be released from custody this afternoon."

  "I'm delighted to hear that," I said, knowing it was news Brent would have welcomed wholeheartedly.

  Whitmore frowned. "You don't look so delighted."

  I thought about the last time I saw Karla at the Senior Center. She hardly seemed like she was contemplating suicide. I relayed this to the detective, recalling that Karla had promised her elderly neighbor, "I'm not going anywhere," to which I commented, "Does that sound like a person ready to take her own life?"

  "Maybe not," he allowed, "but suicidal people are unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst—especially when they're harboring a deadly secret. I'm afraid Ms. Terrell reached the point of no return in carrying this guilt and decided to check out before the authorities could put the pieces together."

  I stood speechless in thought, hating to believe that Karla had plunged three stories to her death. Would she really have taken such drastic measures to deal with the burden she carried? Or was it only made to seem that way?

  Detective Whitmore appeared to be reading my mind, as he said, "I would think that this development would give you peace of mind, Ms. Reed. After all, you did insist that Ms. Peterson and Mr. Sullivan were innocent and prompted us to look into other suspects, including Ms. Terrell. We did just that and, in fact, were in the process of calling her in for an interview when this occurred."

  "I am certainly grateful that Emily and Tony will be set free, absolved of any guilt for Brent's murder," I told him sincerely. "I'm just a bit shaken that Karla, who seemed to have her whole life ahead of her, would end it this way."

  "That's the point," the detective muttered. "She didn't have her whole life ahead of her, at least not as a free woman. Ms. Terrell must have come to this conclusion and reacted in a way that she felt may have been in her best interest."

  Again, I was tongue-tied trying to make sense of it, even though I had once believed Karla was possibly Brent's killer. Was it wise to have second thoughts now? Or were they completely justified, given the questions swirling in my mind?

  "You said Karla left a suicide note. Was it handwritten?"

  "Typed," he responded matter-of-factly.

  "Doesn't that strike you as odd?" I asked.

  "Why should it? No one writes anything these days. Typing a suicide note makes perfect sense, since you can make sure everyone understands exactly what you're trying to say."

  "It's also quite convenient if she was pushed off the balcony," I told him.

  His brows stitched. "There you go again, Ms. Reed, playing armchair detective. Or, perhaps, thinking of murder mysteries in scripted television series. There's no indication that Ms. Terrell was a victim of foul play. It is what it is, I'm afraid."

  Though I felt he was patronizing me, I couldn't really blame him, given that I wasn't in the business of solving real life mysteries and he was. I supposed that I had to accept the fact that Karla Terrell had murdered Brent and, consumed with guilt or fear of detection, chose to take her own life as well.

  "I appreciate you dropping by with this news," I told him candidly.

  "I thought you deserved to hear it from me," Whitmore said. "Well, I'll let you get back to what you were doing while we wrap up the rest of this case so Brent London can rest in peace, knowing his killer will no longer harm anyone else."

  I showed him out the door.

  No sooner had I done so and before I could give further thought to this latest twist in the murder of Brent, my cell phone rang.

  It was Emily. "Tony and I are being set free," she said ecstatically.

  "Yes, Detective Whitmore just shared the good news with me," I told her.

  "Thank you so much for believing in us when no one else seemed to."

  "You're welcome. Having the wrong people in custody would have been an injustice for everyone, particularly you and Tony."

  "They're saying that Karla Terrell confessed to killing Uncle Brent."

  "Yes, I heard that," I said.

  "How could she do such a thing?" Emily asked angrily.

  I considered the question and came to a painful but realistic conclusion. "Assuming she did kill Brent, we may never know what drove her over the edge." Though I could think of some reasons, none of them seemed to rise to that level, even if I knew most killers did not think rationally when perpetrating homicides.

  "At least it's over now and we can home and return to our lives."

  "Would you like me to pick you up?" I thought to ask.

  "Thanks, but Mr. Resnick will be driving us home," she said. "But please drop by the house, Riley, and help us celebrate," she requested.

  "I'd be happy to," I told her. They were entitled to a celebration after being released from what could have only been an unpleasant detention.

  I just wished I was in a celebratory mo
od. As it was, with Karla now dead, I definitely had more questions than answers as to why, and whether or not a killer might still be on the loose.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I spent an hour at Brent's house, which Emily had inherited. She felt enormous relief at being set free, as did Tony, both of whom had been vindicated, thanks in large part to Karla's suicide and confession. Though I shared their satisfaction at no longer being considered the prime suspects in Brent's murder, I must confess that I still had lingering doubts that Karla had killed Brent, even if I had nothing to justify those qualms that I could put a finger on. The pieces of the puzzle simply didn't seem to add up, though I had once believed Karla might have been guilty of the crime.

  But for Jonathan Resnick, having his client cleared was more than enough to cause him to do a little dance as Tony played his guitar triumphantly. Jonathan even went so far as to offer me a job as an investigator for his law practice, giving me full credit for compelling the police to reopen the investigation into Brent's death. Though certainly flattered, I respectfully declined, quite happy to be an authority on home décor and renovation.

  That night, I tried to take my mind off Karla's confession and death by getting back to reading Pierce's latest mystery novel, which was quite intriguing. The more I read, the more it struck me as having a familiar storyline and use of words. It was early in the morning before I completed the book, which was exceptional and suspenseful right to the very end. But the feeling that I had read it before persisted. Was that even possible? If so, how? Pierce had not sent me an advance copy.

  On a whim, I began leafing through the first edition collection of Brent's novels, looking for a similar plot. I found none, though the similarities in writing style were hard to ignore. I wanted to chalk this up to the student mimicking the teacher, given Brent and Pierce's relationship. But there seemed to be something more disturbing.

  Then a light bulb went off in my head.

  I remembered that a couple of years ago Brent had e-mailed me a copy of a rough first draft of a mystery novel. I had given it a cursory glance, made a few notes, read some more, and gave him my preliminary appraisal.