by Lynn Cooper
“I tend to agree, Mr. McCraven,” Archie says. “That bit about Bluff giving him his money back jives with what Tug told us about the money clip and the two-thousand dollars. It would seem his partner was in an atypically-generous mood in the hours just before he bought the farm.”
I cock my chin. “If I suddenly had $1.2 million in an offshore account, Sheriff, I’d be the happiest-go-luckiest girl you ever did see.”
Stan makes a face. “Bluff had that kind of money? That’s funny. He was always poor-mouthing to us about barely making ends meet. In polite company, I can’t tell you all the nasty things he called your mayor because she got him and Tug to broker our mall deal for peanuts.”
“That’s right,” Tom agrees. “He gave us the impression he was one step from food stamps.”
“Well, he got it from somewhere,” the sheriff says. “Miss Madeline, would you mind keeping these boys company for a few minutes? I’ve got to get back up front and take care of something.”
I purse my lips. “You want me to stand here betwixt these two handsome fellas? I don’t think I mind.”
Leaving, he chuckles and wags his finger at them. “Ya’ll boys behave yourselves. She might have a boyfriend.”
“Might?” Stan says, running his fingers through his hair. “I’d say it’s a stone-cold certainty.”
Tom rolls his eyes. “Always so cocksure of yourself, aren’t you, brother? Next time, I get to enjoy Madeline’s company in the mall, and you get to chat with Sheriff Rice at the hotel.”
Life’s funny. There have been dry stretches where I couldn’t get a man to give me the time of day if he was wearing five watches. Now, I’ve got Stan on my left, Tom on my right and Zeke staring through the two-way mirror in my general direction—each one apparently anxious to woo me. If I add flirty Officer Greg Lattimore guarding Missy’s and Landon and Roy, the Frisbee throwers from the park (which I do), I’m currently suffering from an embarrassment of riches when it comes to admirers.
“Do you fellas do this song and dance often?”
“Since way back in middle school,” Tom says with a shake of his head. “We both took a shine to a red-haired lass with braces. I don’t know if we’re genetically programmed to like the same girls or if we just naturally compete once a female shows up.”
“This wouldn’t happen to be Laney Crowder, would it?”
“Yeah. You remembered. It wasn’t much of a competition though,” Stan says with an arrogant sniff. “Tom lost, as he usually does. To his credit, little brother tries hard. Maybe too hard. I think women can smell desperation.”
Reaching past my shoulder, Tom good-naturedly socks his older brother in the arm. “That’s your deodorant not working. It’s better than having them feel sorry for me, which is Stan’s go-to move.”
I laugh along with them. The lighthearted moment gives me a great opportunity to abruptly drop the hammer. “Is that what happened with Yvonne Ellsworth?”
The laughter stops. They both shrug and give each other a clueless look.
“Who?” Stan asks.
“The woman you, Tom and Bluff met on one of your little testosterone tours through the mall. You know, where you puff out your chests and strut around like male peacocks spreading your feathers.”
Tom says, “I don’t think peacocks puff out their chests.”
“Okay, so I added that part. But the rest of the analogy is perfect.”
“Still not following you,” Stan says.
“Yvonne Ellsworth is the manager/saleslady at Missy’s Buxom Boutique. She told me the three of you stopped by and visited her in the shop a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Fine-looking woman. Voluptuous. Like you, Madeline—more curves than a mountain highway.”
Tom jerks his thumb at him. “Always on the make. He never lets up with those stale lines.”
“Except on that one,” Stan says, holding up his palms. “I backed off as soon as I saw the lady was wearing a wedding ring. I may be an incorrigible cad, but I don’t graze in another man’s pasture.”
“Good for you, Stan. Very noble,” I say before turning toward Tom. “I’m guessing you have no such qualms.”
Before he can respond, Stan laughs. “Good guess, Madeline. I’ve seen him hit on wives with their husbands standing right there beside them.”
Tom shrugs. “They’re big girls. They can always choose not to be charmed.”
I face him. “Which was exactly what happened with Yvonne, wasn’t it? She was one of those rare ones who didn’t fall for your charms. Who knows? Maybe she did sense desperation. Or maybe you came on a little too strong. According to research I did, once a peacock’s plumage crosses a certain threshold, it can drive potential mates toward what it described as ‘more modest males.’”
Stan slaps his knee. “That, honey, is exactly what happened. You’re talking about Bluff, aren’t you? I mean, he and Tom both were pitching woo at that lady faster than a Randy Johnson fastball.”
Biting his lip, Tom smiles. “Hey, man, you were right there shoveling it just as hard as we were.”
“I’ll bet,” I say. “How was it Yvonne put it? ‘Men being men, they all tried to be a little flirty. Nothing vulgar, of course. Just about how nicely I filled out my clothes.’”
“Yeah, brother,” Tom says, “that was your smooth line.”
“Before I noticed the ring. After that, I just stood back and watched you two go at it.” He winks at me. “Maybe Tom can’t compete with me when it comes to females. But, I’ve got to give him props. He’s got the McCraven genes, so he’s naturally handsome. This peacock here was a head taller and twenty years younger, with five times more muscle than Bluff had fat. But, when the dust settled, who did the lady go for? The short, slight, bald-headed guy. Women. Go figure.”
“Well,” I say, “the article said when the peahen is choosing a suitable mate, she does generally go for the greater abundance of eyespots on the bigger, ahem, tail. But it also stated tails that are too big or flashy may actually work against a peacock.”
“It sure worked against Tom that day.”
“There’s no accounting for tastes, albeit temporary ones,” he says. “She wound up dumping him, so nobody won.”
I catch just the slightest crease in Stan’s forehead. “Anyway,” I continue, “Yvonne summed up her attraction by saying, ‘Bluff was the sweetest, though.’”
I notice Stan’s smile is starting to fade. “So a few guys were tomcatting around a little. What’s going on? Is the lady trying to claim some sort of sexual harassment against us? She can’t do that. Just because we built the mall doesn’t make us her employer. Right, Tom?”
The younger brother nods. “She has no case.”
“Right,” I say. “And you would know. Sheriff Rice,” I say, directing my voice toward the corridor, “when you visited Tom in his hotel room this morning, he said Lonnie helps him in the accounting department, correct?”
Archie appears in the doorway, grins and hunches his shoulders. “I was eavesdropping just a little bit. But you’re correct, Miss Madeline.”
“So what?” Stan says. “He and Lonnie handle the books.” For the first time, he notices neither Darren nor Zeke has been questioning Lonnie for several minutes. All three are looking silently through the two-way mirror at the four of us. “Hey, what is this? We came down here of our own volition to make sure Lonnie was getting a fair shake until our lawyers get here. Now, you’ve got me wondering if Tom and I should keep our mouths shut as well.”
“That’s your privilege, Mr. McCraven,” Darren says through the glass. “I strongly advise you to take advantage of it.”
“Hush up, Darren,” the sheriff says.
Tom steps up to the glass. “Wait a second—they can hear us?”
Archie grins. “I turned on the two-way audio remotely from up front. Is that a problem for you?”
“No. No problem at all. We’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Right there,”
I say. “That pesky pronoun ‘we.’ The other day in Mayor Kwan’s office, you boys were tossing that first-person plural around in every other line.”
“Of course we were,” Tom says. “It’s McCraven Brothers, not Brother.”
“Fair enough,” I reply. “You were telling us about the power outage delaying the mall’s grand opening. You said, ‘We promised you’d open at nine’ and ‘we didn’t deliver’ and ‘we’re obligated to pay penalties.’”
Looking at Tom, Stan says, “She remembers things word-for-word.”
“I’m happy for her. I still don’t see the relevance.”
“Ah, there it is: I. First-person singular. After Stan jokingly suggested you guys hire me, you said, ‘No way, bro. We’ve already lost a pile of money to one slick Slocomb resident.’ That would be Bluff.”
“I know what I said. Maybe not word-for-word, but close.”
“Curiously, you followed it with, ‘I’m not going to risk getting skinned again, no matter how beautiful she is.’ Uh, thanks for the compliment. But, that time, you didn’t say ‘we’re,’ Tom. You said ‘I’m.’”
He laughs. “Who are you—the grammar police?” He glares at Archie. “What is this, Sheriff? You, your detective and your lawyer sit on your thumbs while this seamstress does your dirty work?”
Archie grins. “A person always learns more from listening than from talking.”
I nod. “You’re right, Tom. Using a different pronoun could just be a slip of the tongue. In and of itself, it’s not significant. But when you add bragging about your highly-technical knowledge of back-up generators to it—‘I’ll spare you the technical mumbo-jumbo about cross-over circuits, voltage re-routers and remote kill switches’—it makes a person start to look at you in a whole new light.”
Blinking, Stan appears to be doing that right now. “After high school, he went to vocational school to become an electrician. For a couple of years, he worked as a sub-contractor wiring homes.”
Tom shrugs. “So, I know enough not to electrocute myself. So do the dozens of guys on our crew who wired the mall and set up the back-up generators.” Furrowing his brow, he folds his arms. “You’re suggesting I caused the power outage and then somehow prevented the back-up generators from kicking in. That’s preposterous. Why would I do such a thing?”
Zeke steps out of the side door of the interrogation room. “Because you wanted to create a diversion from your plan.”
“What plan?” Stan asks.
“His plan to kill Bluff Burrows,” I say.
Stan holds up his palms. “Whoa. Time out. He and Bluff had become great friends. All three of us had. My brother didn’t kill him. Isn’t that why you’ve got Lonnie in the box?”
“Hey,” Lonnie yells, rising from the table and walking up close to the mirror, “I didn’t kill him either, Stan. The only reason I’m not on a plane out of the country right now is Tom convinced me to come back and clear my name. He said we’d get it all sorted out, and they’d let me go.”
“Tom did,” I say.
“They say innocent men don’t run, Lonnie,” Sheriff Rice says. “How come you did?”
“I panicked. After that incident in Mexico, I figured you cops would naturally pin Bluff’s murder on me. But, I swear I didn’t kill him. When he gave me my money back, that was the last time I saw him, and he was alive.”
“That was the last time any of us saw him alive,” Stan adds somberly.
“Except for the murderer,” I remind him, fixing my gaze solidly on Tom.
Smiling, he glances downward and shakes his head. “Listen, pretty lady, I’m sure you’ve got a stuffed alligator or a teddy bear who’ll gladly listen to your ramblings. Why don’t you go home and bend their fuzzy ears?”
Actually, it’s Bear I bounce my thoughts off. What kind of an idiot would I be to run things past an alligator?
“You’d be surprised how insightful Miss Shore’s ramblings can be, Mr. McCraven,” Zeke says. “You might be wise to wait on your lawyer.”
Well, well. Looky who’s got Madeline’s back, and maybe her front, too. I give him a smile, and he returns it with a crooked one of his own. (Focus, girl, focus.)
“Not only do innocent men not run,” Tom says smugly, “they also don’t require lawyers—especially when they’re dealing with amateurs. But this is amusing. How do you allege I committed this crime, Madeline?”
I walk over and lean my back against the two-way mirror. “Shortly after the poker game broke up and everybody left, you came back to Bluff’s house. Tug told us about the man across the street making out with a woman in the back seat of a car. Well, that gentleman, a Mr. Gates Thompson, confirmed you drove up in your canary-yellow Mercedes just before dawn. He’ll testify you and Bluff left together a few minutes later. That would make you one of the last if not the last person to see Bluff Burrows alive.”
Tom says nothing but continues to smile.
“Since dead men tell no tales—and you’re not likely to share it as this point—I’m having to speculate about how you were able to get Bluff to accompany you to the mall.”
“Why stop now? Everything you’ve said so far is pure speculation anyway.”
“Okay, it probably has to do with Yvonne Ellsworth.” I turn to Stan. “A few minutes ago, your brother said Yvonne dumped Bluff. Based on your reaction, you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t even know they got together.”
“So, Tom, the only people who knew Yvonne had broken it off were Bluff, her and you.”
“Again, what if I did? Doesn’t that shoot a big hole in your so-called case against me? All it does is confirm how close Bluff and I had become during the past two years. Close enough he felt comfortable confiding to me how torn up he was she had decided to stay with her husband. I had no reason to kill him.”
“You had two. But, let’s get back to how you got him to make such a bizarre odyssey through the side door of the mall, a quick detour into the doughnut shop, up into the ceiling and along the catwalk to Missy’s. I’m guessing you told Bluff something a man with a broken heart desperately wants to hear—that the woman who spurned him wishes to get back together with him.”
Zeke seamlessly picks up the narrative. “You tell him you spoke with Yvonne at the mall. She wants you to tell Bluff she’s changed her mind. That she is leaving her husband to be with him. That she wants to see him as soon as possible.”
“But she can’t do it out in the open,” Sheriff Rice jumps in. “Her husband Vince is crazy jealous. So Close, Confiding Friend Tom tells Bluff he’s figured out a romantic way to get those two, desperate lovebirds back in each other’s arms without being seen. Naturally, Bluff is more than willing to be persuaded. He’s missed her something terrible. Whatever reluctance he might have had was washed away by all those beers. I also imagine, Tom, his being a bit tipsy made him a lot easier to handle.”
Looking at him, I spread my hands. “Easy peezy. You drive him to the mall. You’re a techno-electrical whiz. In the same way Sheriff Rice turned on the two-way audio down here, you cut the power to the mall as well as the back-up generators from your yellow Mercedes. Otherwise, the outside cameras would have shown you pulling up to the side entrance. You do remember using the term remote kill switches in the mayor’s office, don’t you?”
Tom grins at his brother. “I thought you and I had great imaginations.”
I continue. “The rest is just as simple. You don’t have to murder Bluff elsewhere and then carry him through the ceiling. You don’t even have to force him at gunpoint. He goes willingly. Cheerfully. And why not? He’s anxious to be with the woman he loves.” I feel my brow knitting together. “But he’s not your close friend, Tom. He’s someone you hate with a blinding passion. A man you want revenge upon. A man you want to humiliate even in death. You pull back the drop-leaf ceiling panel in the dressing room, have Bluff put his legs in the opening and then wrap a garrote around his neck. Gravity does the rest.”
For a moment, th
e room falls into silence. Tom breaks it with a slow clap. “You missed your calling, Madeline. Get out of that craft shop. Your forte is creating fiction. It’s a great story. I was riveted. But, you have absolutely no evidence whatsoever to prove any of this garbage.”
“We’ll see. In a way, how you did it explains one of the reasons why you did it. If you had just not allowed your emotions to get the better of you, you might have gotten away with murder. But you had to vent. To send messages. You had to let certain people know how angry you were.”
Stepping forward, Stan looks from me to Zeke to the sheriff. “You think Tom killed Bluff just because Yvonne chose him? That’s beyond ridiculous.”
“I agree—if that was all it was. Unfortunately—especially for you, Stan—there’s a lot more.”
The interrogation room door opens, and Darren and Lonnie emerge. “Mind if we join you?” the lawyer asks, pulling his suit jacket on. “It’s kind of weird hearing you people talk while we look at ourselves in the mirror.”
“Join the party,” Sheriff Rice says. “We’re getting down to the nitty-gritty now.”
Stan glares at me. “What’s unfortunate for me, Madeline?”
I sigh. While I enjoy figuring out whos and hows and whys, I don’t relish hurting good people. If I weren’t already so vested emotionally in Zeke Worthy, I’d definitely give Stan McCraven a shot. Sure, he’s a little full of himself. And, for such a successful guy, he’s a little naïve when it comes to business. But trust can do that to a person in his position. I think he’s basically a good person who cares about his craft and his customers—something I can readily relate to.
Being good-looking doesn’t hurt. Neither does being rich.
Mom would go into convulsions if I brought him to supper.
“Stan, your brother has been stealing money from your construction company.”
As I figured it might, it catches him totally off-guard. “That’s baloney. Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s what you told me. When you took me on a tour of the mall. You told me businesses ‘incur some minor losses. You have glitches. Unforeseen monetary hiccups.’ You then went on to tell me that, in the last two years, you lost money on three of your last six malls. There was a lawsuit claiming you used substandard structural materials. Union members claiming they weren’t paid their bonuses.”