A Grave Situation

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A Grave Situation Page 5

by Libby Howard


  “Okay. Come on, Nancy Drew. Let’s get you home.” Judge Beck put a hand around my shoulders and steered me toward his SUV. “I’m sure you’ll be knee-deep in all this by tomorrow morning and have the culprit in hand by the end of the week.”

  Maybe he did know me after all. “I need to find out who was killed and buried in that grave. And clearly whoever filled it in has to be complicit, don’t you agree? I mean, how could you possibly fill in a grave without realizing there was a body tossed on top of the casket? The body was four feet down. If I figure in the depth of the casket, someone literally tossed him in on top, then covered him up. I’ll need to talk to the cemetery manager and caretaker, and the gravediggers. Who was he? Was this just a convenient spot to dump his body, or was there some reason he was put in a grave plot with David?”

  Judge Beck stuffed me into the passenger seat of his vehicle then went around to the other side, his face filled with amusement.

  “I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it, Kay. In the meantime, you’ve had a busy day, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t had dinner yet. Steak? Chinese? That new sushi place out by Milford?”

  “I told Suzette I’d get back to her place and let Olive and DeLanie know what happened.” I bit my lip, thinking that dinner would be nice right now. Had Suzette ordered pizza? Would there be any left?

  Crap! The cemetery would close at sunset and both Olive’s and DeLanie’s cars were still inside. Was there an after-hours number to call to open the gate? Or maybe they could just stay at Suzette’s or my house, and we’d take them over in the morning.

  How horrible for this to happen to DeLanie. I’d just met the woman and already my heart ached for her. To have lost her son, then been pressured by her cousin into moving his remains only to have a murder victim unearthed on top of his casket. Poor DeLanie. And poor Olive.

  “Takeout,” Judge Beck announced. “We’re going to grab some tacos at a drive-though, then the pair of us are going over to Suzette’s house.”

  “The pair of us?” I asked, wondering if he hadn’t meant he was intending on dropping me off. I could walk home. Suzette was only a block away from me.

  “The pair of us,” he assured me. “Because in spite of my lecturing you back there, I’m curious. I’d also really like to know how that body got buried with your friend’s cousin.”

  I fastened my seatbelt and turned to him. “Suzette was going to order pizza. Let’s just head there, and if she didn’t get anything, we can order delivery ourselves.”

  “Pizza it is.”

  We followed the M.E. van out of the cemetery, the gates closing firmly behind us.

  “So, how’d your team do in the golf tourney?” I asked, eager to lighten the mood a bit.

  “Second place.” The judge seemed especially pleased about that. “We all got ribbons. I’ll show you mine when we get home. I’m thinking of sticking it on the refrigerator like we used to do with the kids’ grade school artwork.”

  “Go right ahead. The fridge could use some decoration. So, who won?”

  He sniffed. “The Hole-In-One-Listing team, who else?”

  I laughed. “Those real estate ladies? They win everything.”

  “I know. If I ever need to buy or sell a house, I’m definitely using them.”

  The smile froze on my face. Was he planning on buying a house soon? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to either imply that I was eager for him to move or that I was worried he would. It was the latter that bothered me the most, sending me closer to a panic attack than catching a glimpse of a body in that grave plot.

  “Well, I’m assuming you and Heather will eventually sell your house,” I said instead.

  His expression soured. “Eventually is the key word there. I want to sell the house and move on, but Heather’s digging in her heels. She’s pushing to keep it, even though there’s no way she can afford the mortgage. She can’t afford it even without buying me out of my share, let alone after.”

  “I don’t know much about divorce, but most couples seem to end up selling the house,” I told him. “I’m sure your lawyers will hash it all out.”

  “For what I’m paying my lawyer, I hope so,” he commented dryly. “I certainly don’t want it. It’s a nice house, but it’s bigger than we needed and was stupidly expensive. Looking back, it wasn’t the smartest decision to buy it.”

  “Why did you?” I asked, half expecting him to blame Heather and say she’d pressured him into it. I actually liked Judge Beck’s soon-to-be ex-wife. She seemed to enjoy her luxuries, but didn’t appear to be one of those people who desperately needed to keep up with the uber-rich Joneses.

  “My career, that’s why,” was his surprising answer.

  “Impressing the partners at your former law firm?” I guessed.

  He nodded. “It wasn’t just that, though. I’ve always wanted to be a judge but being appointed is a bit who you know, a bit your professional reputation, and a bit how you present yourself. Ever since high school, I’ve been leveraging the connections my parents had as well as connections I made in college. I made sure I had the right internships, the right law school, and even the right law firm for a first job.”

  “The right country club, the right parties, the right house in the right neighborhood,” I added. “The right golf swing.”

  He shot me a smirk. “I’ll have you know my putting game was spot-on today.”

  “Supreme Court here you come,” I teased.

  “I wish. I don’t have those kinds of connections, though, and probably never will. Now Henry or Madison, if they go into law, might be able to springboard off what I’ve done and reach that high.”

  “Madison’s going to be a chef/anthropologist/softball player, and Henry is going to have one of those antique evaluation shows on television. I think you’ll have to do the Supreme Court route yourself.”

  He was silent for a moment and I began to worry that my teasing had insulted him or made him sad that neither child would follow in his footsteps. They were still young. They might change their minds. I know I did at that age—clearly since I’d never become a foreign ambassador.

  “Can I share something with you in confidence?” he finally asked.

  “Of course.” A thrill ran through me at the thought.

  “There’s some talk about me being considered for an appellate judgeship at the state level.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said, all the while I calculated the distance from Locust Point to the capital, realizing that he’d hardly want to commute nearly two hours each way five days a week.

  The kids. Was this why he had been pushing for primary custody? This one week on and one week off wouldn’t work in school districts two hours apart. If he did get primary custody and moved, how would the kids feel about having to switch schools? Or only seeing their mom every other weekend? And what if he didn’t get custody? In spite of everything he’d told me about changing his life to make his children more of a priority, would he end up putting his career first? Was this the sort of offer he just couldn’t refuse, even if it meant less time with Madison and Henry?

  “There are logistical issues if it happens,” he admitted, as if he’d read my mind. “Serious logistical issues. I’m flattered they’re even considering me. To be an appellate judge at that level…I’d be working with the other judges to set legal precedents in the state to review death-row appeals. It’s an exciting opportunity.”

  I nodded. “No more juries. No more trials. Just listening to oral arguments, reviewing case law, and deciding with a group of other judges. Writing opinion papers and that sort of thing. It’d be very different from what you’re doing now.”

  “True, very different. I’d still be making an impact, but at a higher level. And I can’t deny that I’m thrilled they’re even considering me. I’m young for a judge as it is. I’d be especially young for an appellate court judge.” He glanced over at me. “Depending on what cases come my way, if I get this appointment I could end up being
considered for a federal judgeship at some point.”

  “And then a Supreme Court nomination,” I teased.

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen. The opportunity in front of me might not even happen. There are lots of qualified judges in the state—ones who’ve been on the bench a lot longer than I have. It’s an honor to even be approached about a nomination, and I feel like I need to pursue it. Just in case.”

  Understanding that if he got an offer, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. I took a breath, realizing what a huge crossroads this would be for him. If he got the offer and ended up refusing it because of the custody situation, he’d most likely never be considered again. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. His current appointment was pretty close to a lifetime one. Every eight years, his name got stuck on the ballot for what was basically a confidence vote. I didn’t recall there ever being a judge that got voted off. People tended to just check that box and move on to the more contentious political offices up for vote. He’d keep his current Circuit Court judgeship.

  But that would most likely be where he career stayed for the rest of his life. And I got the idea that would be difficult for Judge Beck to accept.

  Eli had been absolutely dedicated to his career, but as a surgeon, he hadn’t needed to do quite the mover-and-shaker political dance that Judge Beck had. And success in Eli’s mind had always been about solving a challenging medical problem, helping to make sure his patients had the best life they could. I knew Judge Beck cared about delivering justice to the people who came into his courtroom, but he also had a personal ambition that was very different from Eli’s.

  “So, what goes into you getting a nomination?” I asked, curious about the process. “Did you preside over a controversial case this past year or something?”

  “Professional experience does play into a nomination, but sadly it’s mostly networking that gets someone noticed,” he admitted. “Attending events. Fundraisers. Keeping in touch with people you went to school with or worked with and their connections. Family connections play into it as well. Then there’s politics, sadly. Are you conservative in your rulings and opinion papers, or more liberal? Does that align with the current state or federal government representatives and their leanings? Reputation also matters. It helps to drink with the right people, but always having a martini in hand means you’re a bit of a risk to recommend. Same with gambling, financial issues, marital issues.”

  “Marital issues?” I winced, worried that the judge’s current “marital issues” might derail his career aspirations.

  “Divorce is okay, as long as it’s not so ugly that there is dirty laundry flying in the wind. Things like rumors of unusual sexual practices, abuse allegations, and that sort of thing can get your name off the list.”

  “Mistresses,” I added.

  He grimaced. “Sadly, that’s not a deal breaker as long as it’s discreet.”

  I remembered that Judge Beck had told me he’d never cheated on Heather. I’d asked once, and as rude as it sounded now to have pried like that, we’d been talking about his divorce and his reply had been a moment of honesty on his part.

  Actually, Judge Beck had always been honest with me. And far more forthright about the details of his personal life than I’d ever expected. That first day I’d met him, he’d seem so reserved and guarded. I got the feeling he was that way with most people—friendly, but in a formal sort of way with firm boundaries. Maybe it was our friendship, maybe it was living in close quarters with each other these last seven months, but he never seemed to hold back anything from me.

  And the only thing I held back from him was my seeing ghosts. Maybe someday I’d tell him when I was sure he wouldn’t think I was having a mental health crisis. Maybe...

  Chapter 6

  The judge drove past our house and to the end of the street where Suzette’s cabin sat down a long lane. Our houses were all built on what had once been her family’s land. She’d inherited the cabin from her grandparents along with the remaining acreage of what had been a huge farm.

  The cabin had originally been a small, one-room structure with a loft overhead for sleeping quarters. Over the last two centuries, it had expanded here and there in odd clapboard additions that added a first-floor bedroom, a kitchen with a dining area, and two bathrooms. It was still a small house, especially compared to the huge Victorian houses that lined the road, but it was quaint and cozy, and it had been clear from the moment I’d met her that Suzette wouldn’t have wanted to live anywhere else.

  Judge Beck pulled up behind my sedan, turned off the car, and began to climb out.

  “You’re really coming in?”

  “There’s pizza. It’s Saturday. I’ve been playing golf most of the day and have nothing planned for tomorrow. I want to support Olive and her family. And I’ll admit that I’m curious.” He hesitated. “Unless this is a woman thing. Would me being there make everything awkward?”

  I snorted. “More awkward than having your son’s remains exhumed and the diggers finding another dead body in the grave? Come join us. If anything, having a legal mind there might help.”

  His eyebrows shot up as he came around the SUV to walk by my side. “A legal mind? I’m going to bolt if you gals are expecting me to weigh in on the legal perspective of any of this.”

  I looped my arm around his. “Relax. I meant a calm, logical approach. DeLanie is bound to be upset, and Olive as well. We’re here to be sympathetic, supportive, and let everyone cry it out if they need to.”

  Suzette opened the door and the moment I walked in I realized that the three of them were a bit over the line of tipsy.

  “Kay!” Suzette threw her arms around me. “Come in. Oh, and Judge Beck.” Her voice immediately sobered. I noticed she didn’t throw her arms around my companion.

  “Hi, Suzette.” He gave her a charming smile. “I gave Kay a ride from the cemetery. She said she’d promised to come here and update you all and talk about what happened. Is it okay if I join in?”

  “Oh. Of course. Come in, come in.” She turned bright red, obviously flustered. “White or red? Wine I mean, because we have wine. And we have hand-tossed veggie pizza or deep-dish pepperoni with extra cheese. Are you hungry?”

  We walked in to find Olive and DeLanie sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire, pizza and wine spread out all over the coffee table in front of them.

  Both women stood and I introduced DeLanie to Judge Beck.

  DeLanie twisted her hands together as she turned to me. “Is the cemetery…do you know if they’re going to move David tomorrow?”

  “I really don’t know, but I’m sure that Melanie woman will call you as soon as they’re given the okay to proceed. There’s crime scene tape everywhere right now. They’ve got a tarp over the grave and the canopy. I’ll drive you back tomorrow to get your car and we can ask when they think the police will release the scene.”

  “Who was that in the grave with David?” she asked. “Whose body was in there? And why David’s grave?”

  She’d been through so much, and now this. I reached out and gripped her hands in mine. “I don’t know who it is yet. And it may not have anything to do with your son. It could have just been a convenient spot to hide a body. It could have been that his interment just happened to coincide with someone’s murder. I’m so sorry this is happening to you. It’s so unfair that you’re going through all this.”

  “It is.” Olive put her arm around her cousin’s shoulders. “Losing David was hard enough. Having to move his remains…I’m so sorry, DeLanie. I love Aunt Sarah, but she’s wrong about this. And I’m sure Uncle Ford would never have wanted you to go through this.”

  DeLanie nodded, pulling her hands from mine to wipe her eyes. “Ford was a good man. And Sarah…I know she’s probably doing this because of a combination of grief and old resentment. It’s just...having David buried away from the family section feels like he’s being exiled. It feels like he’s being shunned because of how
he died.”

  My heart twisted.

  “Everyone thinks of drug abuse as some sort of moral failing, a weakness of will. No wonder people hide it when they’re struggling with an addiction.” DeLanie shook her head. “I never saw anyone fight so hard against this as David. He was a smart man. He went to college, had a good job, had everything. He wasn’t weak; this thing just dug its claws into him and like a cancer, it wouldn’t give up. He fought so hard, but ultimately it got the best of him. Sadly, people will always judge him by his death, not his life. People will always see him as a weak-willed junkie and not a bright, funny, wonderful man who gave recovery everything he could, but died anyway.”

  “That’s not how anyone in the family thinks of David,” Olive argued. “How he died…it was tragic, but his struggles don’t negate the fact that he was a good man. Everyone in the family hoped he’d beat this. We were all rooting for him, DeLanie. And this stupid fight over the grave plot has nothing to do with how David died. I honestly don’t know why Aunt Sarah is so fixated on having that plot, or why she’s pushing to have David’s remains moved, but her actions don’t speak for the rest of us. And we all loved David.”

  Judge Beck stood silent in the background. I glanced over at him, thinking he’d probably seen his share of drug-related crime in his courtroom, and how addiction could ruin a life—a whole family.

  DeLanie wiped her eyes again. “Twice before he’d been in rehab. This time…this time, I thought he was going to make it. He’d gotten a new job. He wasn’t hanging out with his old friends anymore. He was going to meetings five times a week. He’d told me he had a sponsor who had been clean for more than ten years. I’d thought he was going to get married and I’d have a wedding to look forward to and grandkids. Then I get the call that night…”

  DeLanie slumped down on the sofa. Olive sat beside her, holding her cousin and consoling her while the rest of us stood around in a sort of awkward sympathy. I could sympathize with her grief even though I’d never had children of my own, even though I’d never had any thoughts of grandkids or watching future generations live their lives. Looking up at Judge Beck, I could see from the expression on his face he was thinking of his own two kids and how he’d feel if he got that call in the middle of the night.

 

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