Death Vetoes The Chairman (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries Book 7)

by Teresa Watson

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Edward,” I said as I walked into the room.

  The expression on his face was priceless. I wish someone had taken a picture. When he saw me, his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise.

  “What was it Mark Twain said? ‘The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated’,” I said as I sat down next to T.J.

  Edward quickly regain his composure. “So it would seem, Ms. Crenshaw. What about Jacob?”

  “In the hospital, minus his spleen. He’ll live, much to the chagrin of the person who ran us off the road, I’m sure.”

  “I thought it was simply an accident.”

  “Who told you that?” McDonald said.

  “I don’t remember who exactly,” Edward replied. “I was just told that they had gone off the road between here and Marion.”

  “It’s interesting,” McDonald told him, “that you know about the accident and where it happened. That information was not made available to the public. In fact, no one was told anything at all, and the only ones that did know about it were ordered not to say anything if they wanted to keep their jobs. So, who told you?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to tell you and get some poor person fired from their job, Sheriff McDonald. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

  Edward looked around the table at all of us. “I have obviously been set up. So what is it you want from me?” he said.

  “Let’s start with Jessica Mangrove,” McDonald said.

  “Who?” Edward said, a blank look on his face.

  “A girl Ethan dated in high school, his first victim.”

  “Oh, her,” Edward said dismissively. “She committed suicide.”

  “Actually,” McDonald said, “I went looking for her case file, and it’s considered a cold case.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Meaning that any new information that comes in regarding her death will be investigated, and people of interest questioned.”

  “Are you implying that I am a person of interest?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Winthrop,” McDonald assured him, “but I am hoping you’ll be able to provide some additional information to help me out.”

  Edward gave him a look that clearly said he didn’t believe McDonald for a minute, but he nodded. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

  “Where were you the night Jessica died?”

  “You’re joking,” Edward scoffed. “You expect me to be able to remember that after fifteen years? That’s like asking me where I was a week ago. I can’t tell you because I don’t remember.”

  “Surely you have a calendar or files that could tell us,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I have no earthly idea. Taking care of those things is not my problem. I have other people who do that.”

  “Where was Ethan, then? Or was keeping an eye on your only child not your problem, either?” I retorted.

  “Are you always this disrespectful to your elders, Ms. Crenshaw?”

  “Only to the ones who try to kill me.”

  McDonald interrupted before Edward could reply. “Where was Ethan that night, Mr. Winthrop?”

  “At home, as far as I know.”

  “There is a witness who stated that he was actually at the high school, making up some work.”

  “Who said that?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mr. Winthrop. Witness statements are private to protect their identity.”

  “Whoever told you that Ethan was at school is mistaken. He was definitely home that night.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t even know where you were that night. How can you be so sure about where Ethan was?” I said.

  “I know he was there, regardless of what Ruthdale Simpkins told you.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. “How do you know that she told me anything?”

  Edward opened his mouth for a moment, then he stood up and slammed his napkin on the table. “This discussion is over. Any further communication will be through my lawyer, Sinclair Hawthorne.”

  “Just one more thing before you go,” I said.

  “What?” he said angrily.

  I stood up and walked around the table to stand right in front of him. “I don’t know why you think you are better than everyone else, Mr. Winthrop, but let me tell you this: you are no better than your son, who did nothing with his life to be proud of. He abused and beat women. I don’t know where he learned that from, but my guess is he learned how to be mean from you. I don’t know why you consider me such a threat, either. I know you are responsible for that accident last night, regardless of all your denials. So you just take a crowbar, pry open that wallet, and pay Jake’s medical bills.”

  “He doesn’t need money.”

  “This has nothing to do with needing money! This is about doing what is right. He’s going to be on medication for the rest of his life because of your arrogance, your need to control everything and everyone around you. Now you make the arrangements with the hospital.”

  “Anything else, Ms. Crenshaw?”

  “Yes. Stay away from me, my friends, and my family. I’m sorry your son is dead, but I had nothing to do with his death. The scars I’m carrying because of him will be with me for the rest of my life. At least he won’t hurt anyone else.”

  He glared at me one more time before brushing past me. “This is not over, Ms. Crenshaw. I know you killed my son, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you go to prison for the rest of your life.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Winthrop.”

  He stopped and turned around. “Excuse me?”

  “I apologize for saying you were a jerk like your son last night.”

  “Well, I…”

  “You’re a bigger jerk than he was.”

  His eyes widened, then he turned and stormed out. Garth got up and went after him, probably to make sure he actually left.

  “Well, that went well,” T.J. said.

  I returned to my chair and sat down. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t much help.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” McDonald said. “We learned he knows that Mrs. Simpkins gave Ethan an alibi for the night of Jessica’s death.”

  “Jake and I didn’t tell him.”

  “Which means Kassandra Sherwood or Sage Kingsley did,” he said. “Now we just have to figure out which one.”

  None of us said anything for a minute. I toyed with a fork. “I just realized something,” I said, clanking the utensil against the plate as I dropped it.

  “What?” T.J. said.

  “He didn’t deny that he was responsible for the accident.”

  Two hours later, Edward Winthrop sat in the passenger seat of a dark blue truck. “I thought I made it perfectly clear: you were supposed to make sure they were dead when you ran them off the road last night,” he said angrily, his gloved hands clenched in his lap.

  “There was no way anyone could have survived the beating that car took from me.”

  “Well, they did! I’ve just seen the Crenshaw woman, and Mathias is in the hospital in critical condition.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t make it.”

  “I went by the hospital to see if there was anything I could do for his mother, and she told me he would be able to go home in a few days.”

  The man grinned. “I can slip in there, make sure he don’t go home.”

  “It’s too late for that. There is a bodyguard and a policeman guarding his room around the clock.”

  “So we wait and try again,” the man said.

  Edward reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “My father always said that the way to do your very best was to make sure to do it yourself. That way, it was done right the first time, so there would be no mistakes.”

  “Wise man.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Edward agreed. He pointed his .22 at his employee and shot him
three times. Pulling out his hankerchief, he wiped down the gun, wrapped it up, got out of the truck and locked the doors.

  They had met on a seldom used road a couple of miles east of the Mathias mansion. Edward got into his BMW, turned around, and headed back down the road, which ran behind the mansion. Parking his car, he grabbed the wrapped gun and stuck it in his pocket. He walked through a thick grove of trees which stopped near the back patio. He took a plant out of one of the concrete plant holders, put the plant on the ground, and took the gun out. Unwrapping it, he dropped it in the bottom of the holder, placed the plant on top of it, and left the way he had come.

  Chapter 28

  T.J., Owen and I went to see Jake that afternoon. He was sitting up in bed, flirting with a raven-haired nurse. “Gee, I hate to see you suffering so much, Jake,” I said as we walked in.

  The nurse smiled at us sheepishly and hurried out of the room. “Good to see you guys,” Jake grinned. “How are you doing?” He shook hands with T.J. and Owen.

  “I was going to say better than you,” Owen replied, “but it looks like you are being well-taken care of by the nurses.”

  “She just stopped by to say hi.”

  “Yeah, right,” Owen laughed.

  Jake looked at me. “You look pretty good for someone who was in a car accident.”

  “You should see my legs. One humongous bruise, trust me.”

  “Have you talked to Greg McDonald about what happened?”

  “We just had lunch with him a little while ago. And with Edward Winthrop.”

  “Oh really?” Jake said. “And how did that go?”

  “He’s a bit of a pompous jerk,” T.J. said.

  “That’s putting it nicely,” Owen snorted.

  “Actually, he thought we were dead,” I told Jake.

  “He what?! Why did he think that?”

  “We might have tricked him a bit.”

  “Back up and tell me everything.”

  Between the three of us, we told Jake about the meeting with Edward, how I stayed in the kitchen before making my presence known, and how Edward had lied about me trying to blackmail him. “You should have seen the look on his face when Lizzie walked in,” Owen laughed. “I thought the guy was going to have a heart attack right there at the table.”

  “I’m pretty sure that either Kassandra or Sage told him about the conversation we had with Mrs. Simpkins,” I told Jake. “As soon as he realized his mistake, he lawyered up and left.”

  “There was one other glaring thing,” T.J. said. “When Lizzie accused him of causing your accident, he didn’t deny it.”

  “Wow, that’s suprising,” Jake whistled.

  “She also told him he was going to pay all of your medical bills,” Owen added.

  “You did not,” Jake looked at Lizzie in surprise. I shrugged. “I bet that went over well.”

  “Like a lead balloon,” I said.

  “So what do we do now?” Jake asked. He winced slightly as he tried to reposition his pillows.

  I leaned over and helped him. “We don’t do anything. You are going to do what the doctor says so you can get out of here.”

  “You can’t leave me out of this,” Jake groused.

  “Face it, man,” Owen said, “you’re definitely on the sidelines for this one.”

  “Get me a computer. I can at least do some background checks.”

  Garth came into the room at that moment, carrying a manila folder. “I’ve already got my girl working on that.” He walked over and shook hands with Jake. “Good to see you.”

  “I don’t want to just lay here,” Jake complained. “There has to be something I can do.”

  “We’ve got it covered,” Garth replied. “Your mother would have my head if I involved you in any further activities.”

  Jake crossed his arms across his chest and pouted. I reached over and pinched his cheek. “You look so cute when you pout.”

  “Knock it off,” he said, swatting my hand away. “Ouch!”

  “You shouldn’t do that,” T.J. said. “You might hurt yourself.”

  “I came straight here after seeing Micha,” Garth told us. “She dug up a lot of interesting information on young Winthrop.”

  “Like what?” Owen said.

  “Well, he certainly had more than one girl in every port,” he said, “but no more than four.”

  “How many cities are we talking about here?” I said.

  Garth opened the folder. “Twelve cities here in the States, and three overseas.”

  “Good Lord.” I did the math. “You can’t be serious. That’s fifty women.”

  “Those are just the ones we know about,” Garth said.

  “How many of those women did Edward pay off?”

  “Micha is still working on that.”

  I sat down in the chair next to Jake’s bed. “How did he get away with this for so long?”

  “Money talks,” Jake replied. I glared at him. “What? Don’t look at me like that. It’s true, and Edward is one of the best at making his money do all the talking for him. Or for Ethan, in this case.”

  “No wonder Ethan was so mad at me when I wouldn’t accept his gifts or money.”

  “How dare you have morals and scruples!” T.J. said in mock horror.

  “At least one of us does.”

  “Yes, well,” Garth said, looking at the folder again, “Two women are currently living in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Barbara Stephenson lives in North Richland Hills, and Cynthia Davis lives in Allen.”

  “I recognize the Davis name, but I knew her as Cindy when we were in high school,” Jake said. “I have no idea who Barbara is.”

  Garth flipped a couple of pages. “When she was in high school, she went by the name Marie Erickson.”

  “Marie?” I said. “Do you have a picture of her?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll check with Micha and see if she’s found one.” He pulled out his phone and started typing a message.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Jake said.

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” I said. “Lots of people out there named Marie.”

  “Total coincidence that he was dating someone with that name, right?” he replied.

  “Of course.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I knew neither one of us believed a word we were saying.

  Garth walked back to Jake’s bed. “No luck. All the high school yearbooks say is “photo not available.”

  “How did she get access to the yearbooks?” Jake said.

  “She knows someone at the school, I guess,” Garth replied. “I have learned not to question how she finds things out. Ignorance is bliss.”

  “I wonder what she’s been up to since we talked to her?” I muttered.

  “When you two talked with her, did she have an alibi for the night Ethan died?” Owen said.

  “Yes, she did. She took a friend to urgent care because of an ingrown toenail,” I told him.

  “We’ll definitely need to verify that.”

  “Look, Owen,” Jake said, “that woman was an airhead. There’s absolutely no way she could have killed Ethan. He was her sugar daddy. No one in their right mind kills the golden goose, pardon the cliché.”

  “That woman,” Garth replied, “has a Master’s degree in criminal psychology.”

  “Well, that certainly changes things, doesn’t it?” I said.

  “We need to know what she’s been up to since Ethan died,” Owen said.

  “I can call Hopkins, see what he can dig up if he’s not too busy,” T.J. suggested.

  “I’ll get Micha to take a closer look at her,” Garth replied. I handed him back his phone, and he started sending another message.

  “I think we better go home,” Owen said.

  “I’ll make sure the jet is fueled up and ready,” Garth said.

  Jake looked very unhappy. “I need to go back with you,” he said.

  “You know that’s not going to happen,” I told him. �
�I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You stay out of this,” he replied, pointing his finger at me. “Let Owen and T.J. handle things from now on.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I snapped. “How would you like me to break your nose again?”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “I know what you’re saying, and I’m telling you to back off. I don’t like being told what to do. When are you going to learn that?” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Stop flirting with the nurses. Hurry up and get out of here.”

  Garth’s phone dinged, and he checked the message. He got a serious look on his face. “We need to go back to the house,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket.

  “Anything wrong?” Jake asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”

  Jake called T.J. over as Owen and I followed Garth out the door. “You take care of her, Roosevelt,” Jake said.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

  “You’d better not, because if something does, I’m going to finish what I started a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You can try,” T.J. grinned, “but you won’t get far.” He shook Jake’s hand. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

  Jake watched him leave. “Why don’t I believe that?” he said, and pushed a button on the side of his bed. It was time he got out of there.

  Chapter 29

  Sheriff McDonald was leaning on his car, waiting for us, as we parked at the Mathias house. “How’s Jake doing?” he asked as we got out.

  “Flirting with the nurses,” I told him.

  McDonald laughed. “Sounds like he’s feeling better.”

  “What brings you back here, Sheriff?” Garth said.

  “We got a call from a man who was headed to his cabin with his family. They saw a truck on the side of the road, with a man sitting in the driver’s seat. He got out to see if the man needed some help, but the man was dead.”

  “I hope his family didn’t see the body,” I said. Seeing a dead body wasn’t something that I had gotten used to seeing yet, and I hoped I never would.

  “No, he kept them in the car. He called it in, and waited for us to get there.”

  “Did he see anything or pass anyone on the road?” Owen said.