“In my opinion, George Braun was only concerned about getting funding for his lab experiments. When I approved the money for his salary for the summer class, I never expected he'd ask for so much more. I don't want to get involved. Talk to Anita. She's the only other person close enough.”
“I would, but I heard they didn't get along very well. It sounds like George wasn't well liked,” I replied, feeling weird about the conversation but encouraged to learn George might have enemies.
“Ursula's all over me about this flower show… asking questions about how I hired such a pompous man to represent Braxton. I'm glad he's no longer with us, if you ask me. Death was more than that man deserved!” Dean Mulligan shouted before hanging up the phone.
Was this how Dean Mulligan normally behaved? Could there be a chance he had something to do with George's death? I hardly knew anything about the man, but immediately recalled Myriam's frequent digs about her boss's unprofessional style and superiority complex. She was one to talk! Feeling more confused than ever, I got back in the SUV and drove to Wharton County's central downtown quarter to finish my research on the Stoddards before I focused on Anita Singh's and Ed Mulligan's gripes with George.
Set in the middle of all four local villages, the amiable and well-frequented hotspot contained the county's main government branches and agencies as well a cute shopping and restaurant district along the Finnulia River. I parked in the public lot nestled south of all the civic buildings, paid the meter, and walked five blocks until I found and entered the Stoddards' restaurant.
Their new space occupied what was once a waterfront warehouse for storing grains before they'd been shipped by boat along the river. High-ceilings with exposed mechanical and plumbing ducts, cabling and wiring, and wood beams made the place feel industrial yet modern. To my right was a heavy metal door with a frosted glass window and the words 'Simply Stoddard,' the catering and event management arm of the family business, etched in fancy scroll font. To my left was the bar and dining room of Karen and Doug's new restaurant.
“Can I help ya?” a young guy in a royal blue polo, tight-fitting khakis, and dirty tennis shoes asked as I approached the front counter in the small vestibule. On the wall behind him was a glass-covered board filled with antique daggers and corresponding scrolls. Despite one being missing in the right corner, it was clear someone boasted an avid enthusiasm for dangerous and elaborate weapons.
“My name is Kellan Ayrwick. I thought I'd drop by for a bite to eat and to chat with the owners.” I paused to read one of the scrolls that indicated the corresponding and missing knife had been German.
The guy turned to see what I was looking at. “My dad's fascinated by knives and has collected them from all around the world for years. Loves to hunt and keep his skills current.”
“I met him last weekend with my friend, Maggie.” I nodded, feeling lucky to have run into Cheney without inventing a need to track him down. I also considered what he'd just told me about his father's obsession with sharp weaponry.
“Surely. I know Maggie, she's Helena's sister. I'm Cheney, and you're looking for my parents.” Cheney's smile displayed nearly perfect teeth as he grabbed a menu from the shelf behind him and walked toward the dining room. “You probably want something by the back window, right?”
“Yes, please. Helena's told me a little bit about you.” He was at least six-feet tall, carried wide shoulders across his muscular frame, and had gotten an early bronze tan for the summer. A chiseled structure to his face and a small indentation in his chin stood out as his best features. Classically handsome, but he walked with a slouch and slow gait. For a moment, images of Neanderthal men popped into my head as I waited for Cheney to end his quandary over which table he'd seat me at.
“Yup, quite a chick. Been seeing her for a few weeks now. She might be the one, if ya know what I mean,” he said, dropping the menu on the table with a thump. His hospitality skills needed some work.
“Oh, I think I understand what you're saying, but she's still young. Might want to keep an open mind, right? You've only been here for a couple of months, if I recall.” I pulled out my own chair and sat facing the gorgeous view of a small waterfall and windmill near the riverbank.
Cheney turned to me with a dark, brooding gaze. “She didn't say something to you, did she? About not wanting to see me anymore?” When I shook my head slightly, he calmed down. “Sorry, man, I just really dig her. I guess I'll get your server.”
As Cheney walked away, I called out his name and waited for him to turn around. “Maybe you could bring me a glass of water and tell me more about yourself.” I wasn't particularly highbrow, but it was clear he hadn't adapted well to the service industry. “Are you in school or is this your only job?”
Cheney shrugged his shoulders. “I'm in construction, but there aren't any jobs available right now. So, I'm working here with my folks till something comes through. Kinda sucks, but what are ya gonna do, right?”
Maggie's sister sure knew how to pick them. “I think I saw you the other night at the costume party in Braxton's Memorial Library. You were working the event with Helena.” I'd have to ask simple, specific questions to get anything out of this one.
“Yup. My parents needed the help, and it was good money. The costume stuff was kinda fun. I went as Robin Hood. Did you see that awesome bow and arrow slung across my shoulders?” Cheney fiddled with the back of a chair, tossing it left and right, so that it dangled only on two of its four feet.
I shook my head not truly remembering him in the costume. At least he didn't go with the loincloth as Maggie's sister had originally intended. “Helena's certainly got herself stuck in a tricky situation. I can't imagine what it was like for her to find, well, you know… that professor in the courtyard.”
Cheney's eyes grew wide and alert, then his hand missed the chair on its return sway back toward him leading it to fall to the floor with a loud crash. “She had nothing to do with it, so don't be giving her a hard time!” He leaned down to pick up the chair but continued to stare at me. There were a few other diners at several tables in the center of the room who looked over at us.
“Whoa, I'm trying to help clear her. I'm a friend of the Roarke family, Cheney,” I whispered, hoping to calm the guy. Helena mentioned he had a bit of a temper, but the panicked look in his eyes read as pure anger and innate fear.
“Yeah, sorry, man. I worry about Helena. That guy made her feel all sorts of skived out.” Cheney motioned to a busboy walking nearby, so he'd stop at my table to fill the water glass. “I gave him a piece of my mind in the library that night right before someone axed the loser.”
“What happened when you grilled him?” I asked as Doug and Karen entered the main dining room. They'd probably heard the crash and came running to see what'd happened.
“The guy claimed he was asking for more towels, but I knew better. He'd already broken his promise to me a couple of days earlier. I didn't trust him anymore,” Cheney said, softening a little. Maybe he needed to vent his frustrations to someone.
“Had you met George Braun before his run-in with Helena?” I wasn't sure I understood the specific timing of the past events. Cheney clearly had something to share, but we were interrupted.
“Is everything okay here, son?” Doug said curtly as he reached the table with Karen hovering at his side. “Oh, we met the other night. You're Kevin, was it?”
I smiled. When a guy had a unique name, he's used to hearing the wrong one called out. “It's Kellan, Kellan Ayrwick. We met at the costume extravaganza. You invited me to stop by for lunch at the new restaurant. It's a stunning space.”
Karen put her arm around Cheney's waist. “There's something wrong with the computer in my office, honey. Can you take a look at it? Sierra usually fixes that stuff, but she's been busy since she got home this week.”
As Cheney stepped away without saying goodbye, I realized his mother was trying to keep him from speaking to me. Had she overheard what he'd started to tell me or wa
s she being an overprotective mom? “Technology can be difficult.” I glanced back toward Doug. “No issues, we just bumped into one another, and the chair fell over.”
Doug didn't look like he believed me, but he wasn't about to question me in front of the rest of the patrons. “Sorry to hear, but I'm glad all is well. I'm pleased you came by. Lunch is on us.”
Karen pushed the chair further against the table, then said, “Of course it is. Were you and Cheney getting to know one another? He's a good kid. Both my kids are great. Sierra's in law school at Queen Mary University in London.”
“He's attentive and helpful,” I lied. No need to anger his parents any further. “Cheney mentioned you moved here recently but didn't say from where. What led you to our secluded town?”
Doug began to speak, but Karen put her hand on his forearm. “We lived in a few places. Cincinnati, St. Louis, and Chicago most recently. One of our daughter's friends attended college across the river over at Woodland. She raved about it so much, we took a trip and fell in love with the surrounding villages.”
“There's something about starting fresh in a small town that makes you feel part of the community,” Doug added while removing the extra place settings and looking strangely at his wife. “Can I recommend anything for you? I am the executive chef, you can trust me. The salmon was caught fresh this morning.”
“Sounds perfect,” I noted while handing him the menu. “Tell me all about your experience moving here. I grew up in Braxton but took off to the West Coast for a few years. I only returned again this year, hence why I'm curious what others think about the place.”
While Doug seemed interested in talking, Karen was distracted and wanted to get away. “Oh, it's quite lovely. We both worked for other people for so many years, we got to that point where it was time to take our chances and start our own business. The Roarke family has been generous with introducing us to some of the more influential folks in the county.”
Doug added, “If I had to get sweaty in the kitchen and stick it out until well after midnight, it might as well be for my own restaurant, right? And Karen was tired of the late nights constantly checking on her results at the—”
“Office. I had a lot of projects that often kept me working around the clock,” Karen interrupted gently tugging on her husband's arm. “We should sort through the upcoming events, Doug. Let's give Kellan a chance to look around and eat his lunch.”
I thanked the Stoddards for their hospitality and assured them I'd share how my meal turned out. I couldn't push Karen or Doug any further without causing a scene, but I'd learned enough to let them scurry away. It would be more helpful to corner each of them by themselves in the future. One of three would share something that might confirm a stronger connection to the late George Braun. For now, I could follow up on the leads I'd gotten thus far. What promise had George broken to Cheney? What kind of work did Karen do that caused her to check on results late at night? Who or what really led them to Wharton County? They hadn't been completely truthful, I was certain. I'd share what I learned with Ursula, and maybe she could decipher what was going on.
While devouring my lunch, I checked with the Wharton County Sheriff's Office on the updated statement I needed to review and sign. Officer Flatman confirmed I could stop by that afternoon to take care of it. I couldn't help but notice the new confidence and maturity in his tone. He was gunning for the detective spot on the force that would be open once Gilkrist retired.
The salmon was brushed with a delectable horseradish-flavored glaze and broiled until a perfect char coated the crispy skin. For a side, they roasted Brussel sprouts with pancetta, shallots, garlic, and red chili flakes. The combination of sweet and spicy was mouth-watering and comforting, I'd definitely recommend the Stoddards' restaurant to friends and family. And it had nothing to do with the hazelnut crème brûlée dessert that magically appeared on my table after I complimented the entire experience. When finished, I left a twenty-dollar tip for the server because the check was on the house.
Given that the sheriff's office was only a few blocks away, I walked along the riverfront and breathed in the faint scent of honeysuckle and the blossoming rose bushes lining the path. When I reached the Wharton County administrative building that contained the courthouses, jail, and town offices, I felt a flood of renewed energy consume my body. I was prepared to navigate the muddy waters of my tepid relationship with Sheriff April Montague. I needed to encourage her to divulge anything useful about George Braun's untimely death.
Flatman escorted me to the sheriff's office noting Detective Gilkrist was offsite on an interview. He declined to answer my question of who the detective was interviewing. “Can't discuss open cases, Mr. Ayrwick,” he rattled off like a squeaky robot needing more oil or to be fed better canned lines.
Sheriff Montague looked up from a mound of paperwork on her desk and told me to take a seat. “I needed to talk with you anyway. That's why I'm doing this instead of my team.” The blazer and jeans were gone today, replaced by a pair of jade-green dress pants and a cream-colored V-neck light cashmere sweater. She'd applied product to her hair, parted it on the right, and neatly combed the rest across the top of her head. There was a gentle wave in the classic cut making April look more styled than usual. She wore a silver locket around her neck and had a small amount of cleavage showing. It was the first I'd ever seen her look so feminine.
After sitting, I looked around the sparse room and grumbled. “This might be the blandest and most impersonal office I've ever seen, April.”
“Not that I need to explain myself to you, Little Ayrwick, but I prefer a pristine working environment. No distractions. It's important that I focus on the cases hitting my desk and nothing else,” she said in a cordial tone while handing me the revised statement. “Let's get business out of the way, then I'll talk to you about something else that crossed my path recently.”
After reading the statement, I signed it and placed it on the desk just out of her reach. “You made every correction I asked for. How come?” I wasn't surprised she'd included the proper updates as much as I was that she didn't purposely leave in something incorrect to frustrate me.
“I'm good at my job. There's no need to waste this county's time or money. Believe it or not, you're beginning to grow on me like harmless barnacles to an undocked ship.” She sat back in her chair until she found the most comfortable position. “Don't let that go to your head.”
Was she comparing me to a parasitic sea creature that latched itself on a boat and traveled the world in search of greener pastures? “I appreciate it. So, before we jump into this other topic you mentioned, can I ask a few questions?”
“As long as it's not about a current case, certainly,” she said while cracking her neck to the left in quick motion.
I tried my best but squirmed a tiny amount when her neck made an incredibly loud popping sound. “It is, but I'm not interfering this time. I promise.”
“Go on.”
“Hypothetically speaking, of course, if someone were to find… let's say… a folder of papers in a room… let's say… at the Roarke & Daughters Inn. And still hypothetically speaking, of course, the said papers belonged to someone who'd recently been murdered… how should they handle it?” I asked while staring directly at the sheriff's perplexed face.
To her credit, not a single muscle or nerve twanged on her face. “Hypothetically speaking, of course, an intelligent and reputable detective would have clearly marked such a room as off-limits to the general public. I'd also assume the said papers must have been found by the inn's staff who'd been given permission to enter only because the detective supposedly completed a thorough search of the said room and no longer needed anything within it.”
“One would think, yes.”
“In that case, hypothetically speaking, of course, the employee who found the said papers should be the one to notify the sheriff's office. If it was to happen under my jurisdiction and someone else had taken the said papers from the
said room, I'd feel compelled to arrest the said person who wasn't an employee of the inn for as many crimes as I could sway a judge to render a guilty verdict on,” April said, still with the only movement a faint rising of her chest as she exhaled a breath of air.
“I think we're on the same page. I appreciate your candid and detailed advice on such a complex matter. I'm confident if this particular situation were to happen, the inn's owners would notify the sheriff before the day was over. But, since this is only hypothetical,” I continued, pausing as April's jaw set a little tighter, “we should move on to my next question.”
“Go on.”
“Maggie Roarke, a very good friend of mine for many years, asked me to talk with her sister about the experience of finding a dead body. As you know, I've had the unlucky occasion to stumble upon a handful of them myself in the last few months.” I was trying to tread as carefully as I could before her jaw unhinged and she injected venom from two of her fangs into my neck. I'd either die from her poison or a nasty bleed-out from the wound itself.
“You've certainly been much closer to any murder investigation than I'd like.” April leaned forward and took the signed statement from me despite my fingers pressing it tightly to the surface of the desk. “Please get to your point more quickly. I'm growing age spots listening to you ramble.”
“Okay. I'll be blunt and ask you about the knife. Maggie told me it had some writing on it. She mentioned seeing some unusual letters. I happen to be a bit of an expert in different languages and believe it's from the German alphabet. Perhaps I might be able to lend a hand?”
“In exchange for?” April said while snapping my photo and scanning the statement into her computer files. Who knew the Wharton County Sheriff's Office had current technology at their disposal!
“Finding out if the victim's name was really George Braun or if that was a fake identity he'd been using.” I tapped my fingers on her desk, patiently waiting for her to respond.
April stood and shut the door to her office. “Obviously, you know a lot more about this case than you're letting on. I'm going to forget you are a private citizen and that it annoys me to no end that you have firmly planted your feet in my shoes ever since you showed back up in Braxton. So, spill it now, and if I like what you tell me, I'll consider being more open with you.”
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