by Libby Howard
“But no one else?”
Her eyes met mine. “No. Why? Has the dead woman’s ghost contacted you?”
“I think it’s her. She’s just lurking, and she only appears when I’m alone.”
Olive shook her head. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help. I could try to summon her, but if she’s that reticent, I’d probably fail.”
I nodded, wondering if I could somehow talk the ghost into sticking around so Olive could ask her who had killed her and why. But while some ghosts, like Holt’s, were chatty, others only repeated obscure phrases, and some didn’t seem to communicate at all. No sense in upsetting Olive unless I was sure this ghost was willing and able to tell her tale.
I didn’t think she would be from the brief impression I’d gotten the few times she’d appeared.
I finished my notes then looked up at the other woman. “I think that’s it for now, Olive. I’ll call if I have any other questions. I’ll also touch base in a few days to let you know how things are going—sooner if I get some information I think you need to know.”
Olive stood. “You might want to come to Uncle Ford’s viewing on Wednesday and possibly the funeral on Saturday. I know it’s a long shot, but if this has something to do with David and my family….”
“I planned on coming by for the viewing anyway, to pay my respects.”
Especially after I’d met DeLanie. I didn’t know the rest of Olive’s family, but viewings tended to be for those a bit removed to pay their respects—people who didn’t feel they knew the deceased well enough to come to the actual funeral. And if Uncle Ford was that close to David, maybe someone else in Olive’s family knew—someone close enough to have known Mary Allen and her possible connection to David.
I walked Olive to the door and went back into the dining room. Judge Beck looked up from his work, a resigned expression on his face.
“You heard?” I asked.
“I heard,” he drawled. “Please promise me if this leads to some dealer in a dark alley, you’ll put it in the detective’s lap and step away. Please?”
I held up my hand. “I promise not to take on any drug dealers or street gangs.” I sat down, but my mind wasn’t on these skip traces, it was on that woman in the grave and all the different wild theories I could think of on how she’d gotten there. Leaving the judge to his work, I headed back to the parlor, to the tick-tock of my mantel clock, to my cat snoozing at the end of the sofa, to my knitting. Here I could think. Here I could just let my mind wander and hopefully come up with an idea of what I should do next.
I’d just started my knitting when my phone rang. Picking it up, I was surprised to hear DeLanie’s voice. The woman sounded distraught as she identified herself, and her next words told me the reason why.
“I just read that the police identified the body they found in David’s grave. It’s Mary Allen. Can I hire you to investigate her death for me? I know the police are involved, but your card says you’re a detective, and I need to know what happened. That poor girl. That poor, poor girl.”
“You knew Mary Allen? She was a friend of David’s?” I asked. My gut instinct had been right—the two were somehow connected.
“She was more than a friend. She was David’s fiancée.”
That, I hadn’t expected.
Chapter 13
DeLanie handed me a cup of hot ginseng tea as I sat perched on a floral sofa, the guest book from David’s funeral by my side and David’s brindle bulldog, Beau, at my feet. DeLanie lived in a modest two-bedroom split-level on the other side of town—a house she proudly informed me that she’d bought thirty years ago when David was an infant and had just this year completely paid off. I envied her that.
“I’d only met Mary at the funeral,” she told me. “Didn’t even know her last name, but when I saw the picture online with the article saying that’s who was in David’s grave, I recognized her right away.”
I reached down to scratch Beau behind the ears. “You met Mary Allen at the funeral? But you said they were engaged.”
DeLanie sat down beside me, her own cup of tea in one hand and a photo album in the other. “You have to understand, David was always private when it came to his friends and social life. It wasn’t just when he’d been using—he was always been that way. But when he came back from the last rehab this past Christmas, he was different. He was…fragile, vulnerable, more open. He told me then that he’d met a girl, and although it was early, he was sure she was the one. He asked me if he could use my mother’s ring, and I told him yes. Went and got it for him so he’d have it handy at the right moment.” Her mouth twisted and she opened the photo album. “He asked me if he could get the band inside engraved with their initials—M for her and D for him.”
“But he never introduced you to her?”
She shook her head. “I thought maybe they’d broken up or something and didn’t want to hurt him by bringing it up. Although he still seemed happy, he was never quite as glowing as he was over Christmas. He was stressed, you know? It’s hard coming back from rehab. You want to do the right thing, but there’s your old friends, and you’ve got to deal with all the mess you left behind the last time you were using. The slightest little stress and you start thinking about what a refuge those drugs were.”
“She came up to you at the funeral? Introduced herself to you?” I winced, thinking how hard that must have been. The man you loved, that you were going to marry, was dead, and you were meeting his mother at his funeral.
“Yes. She said her name was Mary, and that she and David had been close, that she’d loved him and had wanted to marry him. She was wearing the ring. That’s how I knew she was telling the truth, and that David must have proposed to her.” DeLanie’s eyes filled with tears. “He hadn’t told me, and it was all my fault.”
“What was?” I was confused, wondering why she would have thought a woman claiming to be David’s fiancée might have been lying, and why his hiding the engagement was her fault. He’d gotten the ring from her. Maybe he’d only given it to her recently and had planned on bringing his fiancée over and introducing them over dinner or something more formal?
But then he’d overdosed and died.
“I didn’t know her name or anything, but a few weeks before David died, Ford came by to see me. David was working at his company, and he said he was concerned about this girl he was dating, that someone had told him she was a druggie and bad news. He’d done some digging and told me the girl had a record, that he was worried she might make David start using again. Said he was going to talk to David about it.” DeLanie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Maybe that’s why David didn’t tell me they were engaged. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t approve of her.”
“Uncle Ford seems to have been really close to your son,” I mentioned, giving Beau another quick pat on the head and sitting back on the couch.
DeLanie nodded. “David didn’t have a father growing up, and Ford loves kids. He’s got two of his own, although they’re older. Olive will tell you, Ford was the one who would set up volleyball nets in the back yard, build tree houses, make homemade ice cream with the kids. He and David were close. He’d paid for David’s rehab, sending him to a place I could never afford on my own. He got him a good job in his own company. He looked out for David. Ford took his death hard. The man was sick, really sick. He got diagnosed right after David’s funeral and went downhill fast. I always believed in my heart that with David dying, he just didn’t have the will to fight the cancer.”
I thought of Madison and Henry and how I’d feel if something happened to one of them. It would be hard to go on about my life, knowing theirs had been cut tragically short, even more so if I were battling a terminal illness. Plus, Ford must have blamed himself. He’d done all he could for David, and still couldn’t keep him safe from drugs.
I looked down at the photo album, at the adorable boy with his curly black mop of hair and dancing dark eyes in a round golden-brown face. His obituary picture had shown him to be a very
handsome man, and as a child he’d been beautiful.
It was impossible to look at these pictures and connect this child, so very alive, with that body in the cemetery plot.
“Here’s one of my mother wearing the ring.” DeLanie paged back and pointed to a picture of an elderly African American woman, her hand in front of her mouth as she laughed. On her finger was a pretty ring with a modest sized diamond and a filigree setting on a plain white-gold band.
“It’s pretty,” I told her.
“It is, and David was so excited when I let him have it. About Mary, though.” DeLanie sniffed and straightened her shoulders. “I know it sounds uncharitable of me, but she didn’t seem well at the funeral.”
“Not well? She was…” I frowned. “She was high?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, or maybe it was just grief. I was probably really sensitive to it after losing my only child to a drug overdose. But you know…” she looked down, running her fingers over a picture of David jumping into a pool, “if they were engaged, then maybe they both relapsed. Ford could have been right about her being bad for David. But there at the funeral, with her wearing his ring, I didn’t have the heart to confront her or kick her out.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told her, knowing how it felt to lose a loved one, although it must have been especially terrible to lose a child. No one should outlive their children.
“I can’t really blame her, you know. Those days after David died, I seriously considered losing myself in drugs or drink as well. I didn’t blame her, but I think maybe Ford did. She was at the reception after the graveside service, but when she left, I noticed Ford followed her out to the parking lot.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he gave her an earful, poor girl. I hope the three of them are making amends up in heaven, because I hate thinking of people going to their graves without forgiveness in their hearts.”
I frowned. “About what time was that?”
“Two? Three? The funeral was at eleven, so an hour for the funeral, the procession to the cemetery and the service there, then the reception at the church following…yes, it was probably closer to three because we were winding up when she left.”
Speaking of winding up, it was close to eleven at night, and all of us had to work in the morning.
“It’s really late,” I told her as I gave Beau another pat, gathered up my purse and the funeral guest book, and got to my feet. “I should be going, but I’ll let you know if I find anything. In the meantime, please take care of yourself, okay? This has got to have dredged up a lot of sorrow.”
She nodded, her and Beau both walking me to the door. “I wasn’t going to ask for the ring back. It was the last thing David gave her. But if she was wearing it…” DeLanie grimaced. “This sounds horrible, but it was my mother’s ring. If she was wearing it, do you think I could have it back?”
“I’ll let the police know about the connection, and tell them she was wearing a family engagement ring. Her family will probably be coming down for her effects and to make arrangements, but I’m sure they’ll return the ring once they know.”
“I’d like to meet them,” DeLanie blurted out. “Can you give them my contact information? David loved their girl enough to put a ring on her finger, so I’d like to meet her parents.”
“I’ll make sure they get your information, and I’m positive they’d want to meet you as well.”
I headed home, lost in thought and dealing with a lot of dredged up sorrow as well. And I wasn’t all that confident I’d be able to help Olive and DeLanie solve this mystery. Bob Baughman claimed they weren’t aware of Mary’s body in the grave, and Melanie claimed the cemetery had nothing to do with it either. If it had been someone from the outside as Bob had alluded to, that disposed of the body there and partially buried it, we might never discover who. It wasn’t like the cemetery had security cameras or anything.
I’d do what I could, and hopefully the police would be able to solve this at their end. I’d do what I could, but the best I was hoping for right now was getting DeLanie back her ring and hopefully putting her in touch with another set of grieving parents to discuss a love that never made it to the altar.
Chapter 14
Morning came way too soon, and I’ll admit I skipped my morning yoga. On the way into work, I called the sheriff’s department and left a message for Miles, figuring it would be quicker to get information from him than from regular police channels. He showed up promptly at eight, right before the coffee had finished brewing, and the crestfallen expression on his face as he realized there was no basket of baked goods next to the coffee maker made me laugh.
“Rain check?” I asked.
“Kay, you’re a muffin tease,” he lamented. “I broke three speed limits getting over here.”
Muffin tease? Oh my, that sounded positively lurid, which I’m sure was not what the deputy had intended. But his comment reminded me—I had some matchmaking to do here.
“You’re a cop. You break speed limits all the time. Besides, I never said on the message there were baked goods involved as a reward for your information. Not everything in life is quid-pro-quo, buddy.”
He sighed, looking at the empty spot beside the coffee maker. “Well, it should be. So what information are you trying to not-bribe out of me with muffins and scones?”
“Before we get to that, I’ve got a question for you.” I waited until he’d filled a cup with coffee and I had his full attention. “Do you know Violet Smith?”
He thought for a moment. “Is she the one that just started working over at the courthouse a few months ago? The Smith girl that hasn’t murdered, or stolen, or gotten into a fistfight with her neighbors, or got drunk and ran her car into the middle of the Durden’s living room.”
“Oh, like Rose is the only one who’s ever driven into the middle of the Durden’s living room. That’s why they finally put that huge boulder out front. It’s a wicked curve in the road, and people go too fast.”
Miles scowled. “People who’ve lived here all their lives should know better than to go fast around that curve. Rose was drunk as a skunk. I don’t even think she was speeding when she missed that curve, that’s how drunk she was.”
How had we gotten onto the topic of Violet’s less-than-law-abiding siblings? “Okay, but Violet hasn’t broken any laws. She’s got a degree in accounting. She’s passed her CPA exam. She has a job at the tax assessor’s office and has a very promising future in forensic accounting.” I shot Miles a significant glance. “She’s young, pretty, and I think you should invite her out to dinner.”
Was that rushing things? I don’t know. I’d never done this matchmaking thing before—well, besides J.T. and Daisy, and J.T. was already completely on board with that pairing.
Miles stared at me for a moment, his coffee forgotten. “I don’t even know what she looks like. I just remember seeing the name in the paper when she got the courthouse job. How does she know me? Did I meet her somewhere?”
I had no stinking idea. “I’m sure you’ve met her in passing. She’s blonde. Pretty. She’s got that wholesome girl-next-door look.”
“All the Smith girls look like that,” he told me. “And they’re all bad news.”
I was beginning to think this was a terrible idea. And I was beginning to think Miles was a horrible snob. “Okay. Forget about it. I just thought you guys would suit, but clearly I was wrong.” On to the other reason I’d asked Miles to stop by. “So, who’s the detective on the Mary Allen case?” I grimaced. “Please don’t tell me it’s that jerk Desmond Keeler.”
The deputy took a sip of his coffee, trying to hide his smile. “He’s a Milford City detective, Kay. Mary Allen’s body was found in Locust Point, so it falls under the Sheriff’s Department. And Keeler isn’t a jerk, he just has a problem with civilians sticking their noses into investigations and doing things like, oh, getting themselves locked in a dumpster by a murderer, or insisting that he charge a dying old man based on circumstantial evidence.”
; “You don’t have a problem with those things,” I reminded him.
“I do have a problem with those things, but I’m easily bribed with muffins and scones.”
I remembered Detective Keeler’s fondness for baked goods, although he didn’t seem to have quite the enthusiasm for them that Miles had. Perhaps I hadn’t yet found his Achilles’ heel. Maybe he was a pie sort of man.
But that didn’t matter because he wasn’t in charge of this investigation, and hopefully I wouldn’t be finding myself working with him in the near future anyway.
“Chuck Norris,” Miles suddenly announced.
“Huh?” I blinked, wondering if impressive martial arts skills or movies had a bearing on the Mary Allen case.
“He’s the detective assigned to the case.”
Miles sounded a little bitter at that, making me realize he was still harboring a resentment that he’d gotten stuck with charity-golf-tournament duty while the other deputies got called in for a murder.
“Chuck Norris,” I repeated, thinking perhaps I’d heard him wrong.
“Yeah. Chuck Norris.”
“You seriously have someone at the Sheriff’s Department named Chuck Norris?”
“Yes, we do.” He grinned, setting down his coffee mug and heading for the door. “Actually, I’ve got no idea what his real first name is. It starts with a C, judging from the nameplate on his desk. Detective Norris. Everyone calls him Chuck because it’s funny.”
Miles headed out, and I wasn’t far behind him, driving over to meet the man in charge of the Mary Allen murder investigation. I didn’t realize quite how funny the nickname was until I was face-to-face with Detective Norris. The guy really was a dead ringer for a young Chuck Norris. Detective Keeler might have that steely glare down pat, but I found this guy far more intimidating, probably because the whole time I was with him I kept imagining him tossing bad guys around the room.
“You’re Miles’s muffin lady,” he said, eyeing my hands which were not holding any muffins. “You might want to start putting Stevia in those things or making low-fat bran or something because Pickford looks like he’s gonna break the scale at his next physical.”