by Eileen Brady
I made myself a mental note to check the animal hospital’s security system.
“How can I be a suspect? I didn’t even know Angelica.” Jeremy’s angry voice rose in protest.
“That only puts you into the category of crazy-ass killers who don’t need a motive.” Luke pointed at him. “Didn’t you tell us they shut down your dig because one of your porters was murdered? Maybe you are a secret psycho.”
Jeremy glared at him. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry, but you are under arrest.”
Before this got any further, I jumped in. “Come on, guys. We’ve got a real crime here. What other motives does the Chief have at this point?” I raised my sore feet in their fuzzy purple slippers up onto the coffee table.
Luke shrugged his shoulders. “Take your pick. There’s jealousy, greed, anger, money, you name it.”
“Has anyone questioned Angelica’s estranged husband?” I looked at him for confirmation but didn’t get any.
“That’s one direction they’re looking into. It did occur to the Chief that maybe someone at the reunion killed her because Flynn’s body was found, but that was as far as it went.”
“Some kind of revenge?” My thoughts went back to all the gossip I’d heard.
Our conversation was interrupted by Luke’s cell phone ringing.
Jeremy and I huddled in silence as Luke stood up and deliberately walked away from us. Although he’d turned his back, I caught a few noncommittal words before he hung up.
“Good news, of a sort. That was a friend at the station, who will remain anonymous.” He came back and picked up his beer. “It seems Angelica was going through a bitter divorce with her orthopaedic surgeon hubby. We’ve got two eyewitnesses who saw him at the reunion, even though he wasn’t on the guest list.”
That got my attention. “So he’s a suspect? Have they interviewed him?”
Luke took another sip before he answered. “No interviews. He crashed his car into a tree this morning a little before one a.m. Right now he’s in intensive care with massive head trauma in an induced coma.”
I remembered a vibrantly alive Angelica confiding in me last night that she and her husband might go on a second honeymoon.
“So what’s the deal?” Jeremy asked. “Husband kills her then is overcome with remorse and tries to commit suicide?”
“That’s what Chief Garcia suspects happened—a crime of passion. The husband certainly had enough medical knowledge to strangle her.”
That information made me shift in my seat. “Luke, she did mention to me that her husband, Norman, had a temper.”
“I don’t think it was any secret. You probably need to go down to the station, though, and give them a statement to that effect.”
Jeremy lifted his bottle. “Now you sound like a cop, Luke.”
Luke waited a moment before raising his own bottle. “Well, that’s because I am a cop. Don’t forget it, Jeremy.”
It sounded like a warning.
***
A steady icy rain fell for the next hour. Every ten or fifteen minutes Luke’s cell phone would ring and he’d walk off into some corner. I expected Jeremy to get annoyed that our lazy Sunday had been hijacked, but he appeared to be fascinated by the ongoing investigation.
I took advantage of a break and asked what the husband’s prognosis was. Head trauma could go either way. Since Luke wasn’t officially on the case, he was more forthcoming than usual. Whoever his sources were had no ethical problem keeping him up-to-date.
“Not good. Maybe that’s for the best.”
More questions occurred to me as I thought about the couple. “Any children?”
“Nope, and no relatives close by. Angelica’s parents moved to Florida. Her husband’s sister lives in Manhattan and she’s on her way to the hospital. That’s all I know.”
“I’ve got a great idea,” Jeremy suggested from the depths of the sofa. “Let’s change the subject.”
The guys started to talk about wrestling while I excused myself to get out of my pajamas and into some clothes. Maybe the police weren’t concerned, but it seemed odd that two members of the Class of 2007 had been murdered. Who was it that said there is no such thing as coincidence? I’d spoken to Angelica the second time that night only minutes before her murder and she hadn’t seemed upset at all. By the time we talked she must have encountered her husband, but her manner was bubbly and vibrant, like she was in her element that night.
Veterinarians are trained to remember details. When Angelica admitted her husband had a violent temper, she made it sound as though that problem was in the past. Certainly planning a second honeymoon would indicate that.
If he was there at the reunion and she was afraid of him why was she hiccupping and happy only a few minutes before going backstage? Our table was near the ballroom exit door. The only people who scurried past us during that critical time frame were the waiters.
Maybe the police force was convinced her husband stalked her, then killed her, but my women’s intuition told me it was more complicated than it seemed.
Chapter Twenty-nine
My women’s intuition appeared to be on vacation because in the next few days damaging information surfaced about Angelica and her doctor husband, Norman. Three restraining orders had been filed against him over the last two years. Their divorce turned contentious when Angelica’s lawyer fought to overturn the prenup agreement for a bigger slice of the couple’s combined assets. The doctor, known for his temper at the hospital where he worked, had threatened to “kill the bitch” in front of witnesses. Operating room nurses and staff confessed that the volatile surgeon often threw scalpel blades and other surgical instruments at the walls during medical procedures and had been verbally abusive on numerous occasions. The head of the hospital noted diplomatically that Norman was currently on an administrative leave of absence.
The only contradictory statements came from Angelica’s sister-in-law. In an interview Norman’s sister insisted that her brother had worked on his anger management issues with a therapist. He’d called her the night of the reunion and told her he was meeting Angelica after the prom, and then the two were leaving for a second honeymoon. On further questioning, however, she admitted Norman was taking several different medications after being diagnosed as bipolar and currently struggled with bouts of acute depression.
Hopes of obtaining a confession were dashed when the doctor died from his injuries the following day without regaining consciousness. After obtaining results of trace evidence from Angelica’s gown and confirming that the DNA matched her husband, Chief Garcia announced the investigation closed.
Life in Oak Falls went on. No one asked me about Flynn anymore. Even his family stopped calling me.
***
Four days later I went from having two guys around, to zero guys. An excited Jeremy left for an interview at Harvard while Luke went back to his old routine—police work during the day and classwork at night. I assumed the demanding Dina took up the rest of his time.
I’d complained about my personal life being too complicated and now it had gone back to being deadly dull. Jeremy’s romantic goodnight calls were no substitute for the real thing.
That evening restless dreams took over my sleep, one dream after another. In the deep, dark woods Flynn appeared being pulled in all directions by people with animal masks covering their faces, screaming, “He’s mine, he’s mine.” My client, Daffy, and her Chihuahua floated by wearing floral crowns, her hands sprouting roses and thorns instead of fingernails. I stood at the top of a cliff staring down at a quarry filled with water. The sun was blazing hot. Flynn stood beside me and grasped my hand. He wore swim trunks exactly the same as in the old picture scotch-taped to his bedroom wall. “Don’t be afraid,” he told me. I felt myself falling backwards as we plunged together, toward the rocks below. At the top of the
cliff stood Luke, sadly waving good-bye.
I awoke with a start, still feeling as if I were falling. My nightgown was drenched with sweat. Buddy jumped onto the foot of the bed and woofed at me. The alarm clock read three in the morning, way too early for the night to be over. I got out of bed and paced around for a while before deciding to make myself a cup of chamomile tea in the microwave.
Ever since my mom’s accident, I’d been plagued with vivid dreams. The therapists I’d gone to in my teen years told me my subconscious was trying to sort things out. In veterinary school they’d receded into the background and been replaced by normal anxiety dreams—forgetting your locker combination or missing a test. But now, since I’d moved to Oak Falls and started investigating murders, they’d come back full force, as though they’d been lurking in the shadows of my mind all along—waiting for a chance to come out and play.
Determined to go back to sleep, I opened an old organic chemistry textbook and brought it into bed with me. It had put me to sleep many times when I was studying. I hoped tonight wouldn’t be any different.
While my drowsy eyes wandered over the Krebs cycle, I considered the latest dream.
How did Daffy fit into this whole thing?
And why didn’t Luke try to save me as I fell into the gorge?
Chapter Thirty
Coincidentally, the following day Mari and I paid a return visit to the client who had appeared in my latest dream. As we drove up, I noticed her beautiful garden now was completely winterized. Mounds of hay protected the hundreds of bulbs that would appear next spring. The white picket perimeter fence gleamed with a fresh coat of paint. Everything appeared tidy and neat, just the way she liked it. Daffy didn’t feel comfortable unless she had absolute control over her tiny bit of the universe.
We waited on the porch and listened once more to her custom doorbell ring. The familiar tune “How Much is That Doggy in the Window?” echoed around us and inside the house.
“What do you think they’ll be wearing this time?” Mari shifted back and forth in the cold.
“Something spectacular.”
When the door opened we both laughed. Daffy and her Chihuahua, Little Man, were dressed as gypsies. Not real gypsies, but make believe gypsies out of a 1950s Hollywood movie. What made us laugh the most was the big false moustache Little Man wore.
“That doesn’t bother him?” We walked into the house, Mari closing the door behind us. “By the way, I don’t think a fake moustache is a good thing to put on his skin.”
Little Man seemed to understand what I said because he gave his owner a dirty look.
Daffy immediately removed the offending bit of hair and offered her pet a kiss. “I confess. That was for your benefit only. I put it on him just before I opened the door.”
“Well, I think he’s pretty happy that it’s gone.”
Little Man growled at me in agreement.
Since we saw them every two weeks, our visits with Little Man and Daffy usually proceeded like clockwork. Mari and I glided into position to outmaneuver the grumpy dog and put a small muzzle on him before we trimmed his nails. I think the mustache might have demoralized him because today he barely put up a fuss.
“Daffy,” I said as I began my exam, “I hope your boy isn’t wearing clothes all day long. That’s also not good for his skin.”
Little Man must have recovered his dignity because he bared his teeth as best he could when we finished his front paw.
To my discomfort his owner satisfied my curiosity a little too candidly. “Silly, we dress up only for company. Normally, he doesn’t wear any clothes around the house—and neither do I.”
The appointment over, Mari and I sat at the kitchen table in front of the usual array of brownies, cookies, and pie. I tried hard to get over the image of Daffy blissfully putting out the spread for us as naked as the day she was born, except for a pristinely ironed Laura Ashley-style apron. However, pie is pie, and for the sake of my appetite, I put all thoughts of her private nudity aside and helped myself to a second slice of delicious strawberry-rhubarb pie from the Oak Falls Diner.
Daffy smiled benignly at both of us wolfing down way too much sugar before she brought up the cold case.
“The grapevine tells me you are still investigating poor Flynn’s murder.”
“Daffy, is there anything that happens in this town that you don’t know about?” The napkin caught the remaining crumbs decorating my mouth.
She pursed her lip. “Oh, there might be a few things.”
With an effort, I tore away from devouring another cookie to keep up my end of the conversation. “Anyway, you’re right, although it’s winding down. I’ve got a few more interviews to do, but after that…”
“Cold cases are just that—cold,” Mari interjected before wrapping up a huge oatmeal raisin cookie for later.
Little Man growled out the doggy opinion.
“Be nice,” Daffy cooed.
The Chihuahua turned to look at his owner, his bat ears translucent. A bulbous head, big dark eyes and thin skin gave him a baby-like quality, until he growled.
Ignoring her pet, Daffy asked us a question. “Have you checked to see when Mr. Cassidy got out of jail?”
I stopped mid bite. “Who is Mr. Cassidy?”
“The teacher Flynn turned in to the police.”
“What?” This was news to me. “Can you tell me about it?”
She picked up Little Man, gave him a treat, and tucked him into his bed before sitting down with us. I suspected Daffy enjoyed a little drama with her revelations.
“Homer Cassidy was a well-respected Oak Falls High School gym teacher, that is until Flynn saw him take money from the carwash fundraiser receipts.”
“The gym teacher was a thief?”
“Yes. Well, Flynn thought so. He told the principal and, sure enough, Cassidy had been embezzling money from the school for years. Money for uniforms, equipment, student fundraisers—anything he could get his hands on. But he was smart. He’d only take small amounts each time, but they sure added up. They calculated he stole over twenty thousand dollars.”
“Did the school prosecute?”
“Absolutely. I believe he was sentenced to four or five years in prison. It was quite a scandal. Turned out he had a gambling problem.”
“So when did he get out of jail?” I took a sip of coffee.
“That, I don’t know.”
“Perhaps he came back looking for revenge.” Mari pushed away her plate.
“Was Bobby Garcia the Police Chief then?”
“No. It was Chief Pollack, who passed away in 2010. Heart attack.”
That meant I had to ask Luke.
***
During our good-byes to the pair in their gypsy outfits, I thought about Flynn and the courage it took to turn in a popular teacher.
When I got back to the hospital, I called the only person I knew who could do a trace.
Luke did me a favor and said he’d check on Homer Cassidy and get back to me.
Ten minutes later the phone rang. In the background I heard multiple people talking followed by laughter. “Sorry, Kate. It’s the Chief’s birthday today and someone gave him one of those gag books for old guys.” This time Luke’s laugh joined the others.
I waited until the noise level dropped. “Wish Garcia a happy birthday from me.”
“Not a good idea. I think he’s still annoyed at you for bypassing law enforcement on that last murder case you solved.”
To keep the peace, my succinct response to that statement remained under wraps. “Did you find out anything about Cassidy?”
“Yes.”
“Any idea where he is now?”
“Yeah, he’s doing pretty good for himself. He’s outside of Albany.”
Albany was an easy two-hour car ride. “Has he got a job?”<
br />
“You might say that. He’s the minister of one of those drive-in-and-get-blessed churches. Cassidy landed on his feet, alright. Just Google him.”
“Google him?”
“He found God in prison. From what I gather, he’s now Reverend Cassidy, a multi-millionaire from faith healing and Bible thumping as the founder of The Righteous Church of the Lord. You can see him every Sunday on cable TV.”
“That’s a big life-change.”
Luke continued. “Sorry to tell you this, but he’s not your killer. Records show he was still incarcerated on the day Flynn disappeared.”
“Really?”
“As God is my witness.”
Amen didn’t feel like an appropriate response.
Chapter Thirty-one
With the born-again gym teacher out of the picture, I ignored Bruce’s ultimatum once again. I was determined to interview the one remaining member of Flynn’s gang. The last of the three, Denny Alantonio, sold real estate up and down the Hudson Valley. According to his advertisements plastered around town and in the newspaper, his niche was the second-home market, targeting rich city-dwellers yearning to breathe fresh, country air on the weekends.
It was Jeremy’s idea to contact Denny about purchasing a home near Oak Falls.
“Remember, I offered to help you investigate.” Some of his statement was muffled because he’d stuck his head in my fridge.
My boyfriend had been gone for the last five days. Determined to explore the newest avenues in his field, he’d scheduled multiple interviews with molecular anthropologists on the East Coast. Now that he was back in Oak Falls, we took up where we’d left off.
“Are you suggesting we play house?” I threw a shirt at him from the mound of laundry I was folding.
“Of course not. We should stick to our real stories, otherwise it gets confusing. This is a little too small for me, don’t you think?” He wadded my clean shirt up into a ball and lobbed it back at me.