by Cindy Sample
"Anyone?” Even a lock challenged mother of two?
"Yep. The only thing left behind was one significant piece of evidence."
Our eyes locked. I had a feeling I wasn't going to be happy with his response.
"A business card from Hangtown Bank. One Laurel McKay, underwriter."
I walked over to the pantry and grabbed a bag of Oreos. I ripped opened the bag, threw it on the table, grabbed a double stuff cookie and took a bite. Then another. My blood pressure dropped as the chocolate worked its McKay magic.
"You're awfully quiet,” he said, reaching for a cookie.
"I'm thinking. I don't remember giving Garrett my card, although it could have fallen out of the side pocket of my purse and landed in the backseat of his car. But I don't know how it would have ended up in his office. Jeremy asked me for my card when we met so he'd have my office number. Tons of people have my card."
Well, not exactly tons. But certainly more than the two men.
I offered Tom more cookies. He grabbed a couple and put the bag on the table. Looks like we had something else in common besides dead bodies.
"Just because my business card is in his desk doesn't mean anything,” I mumbled through chocolate crumbed lips.
He sighed. “Let's just say it's highly suspicious that all of his files are gone. But I must admit, your card in the drawer seems way too obvious to me. I told Bradford I think you're being set up by the real murderer."
"How did Tall, Bald and Homely respond to that?"
"Who?” He looked puzzled then chuckled. “Oh, Bradford. As far as he's concerned you're the one. Especially now that Garrett and Jeremy's deaths may have been linked with the same murder weapon."
"What?"
I saw the “oops” flicker across his face.
"I hope I don't regret this. And you cannot share what I tell you with anyone, not your mother, not Liz."
I lifted my right hand. “Scout's honor.” Did you actually have to be a Girl Scout to utter those words?
"If you hadn't been with him when he died, it's unlikely Slater's death would have been pronounced anything more than an accidental drowning. There were bruises on the back of his head. Lacerations and contusions all over his body, mainly from the battering he took from the rocks in the river. Since his lungs were full of water, the official cause of his death was drowning."
Okay, that made sense.
"Since both men were members of the Love Club, and both dined with you shortly before they died, the medical examiner intentionally looked for similarities between the two deaths. Lindstrom had an unusual indentation on the back of his head but the back of Slater's head was a mess."
I grimaced and pressed my hands against my stomach.
"Sorry, didn't mean to be so graphic. Let's just say that during the autopsy of both men, minute flecks of red paint were found embedded in their skulls."
"Okay, I watch CSI but what the heck does that mean?"
"It means both men could have been bludgeoned with the same instrument. It's just far more difficult to ascertain in Jeremy's situation. But that's why I'm meeting with the crime techs later. They should have their analysis completed by then."
"So what kind of weapon are you talking about?"
"It's hard to say at this point. I'll know more after our meeting. Some kind of tool, maybe a hammer or wrench with a red handle, assuming the paint flecks match."
"So, since it looks like the same weapon was used both times, Bradford is even more certain that I'm responsible?” I wrinkled my nose in frustration. “It's not like I carry hammers and wrenches in my purse."
He grinned. “I've seen your purse. You could carry a chain saw in there."
"Well, I think the evidence is lame,” I muttered.
Tom shook his head. “Opportunity, weapon. All he needs is a motive. And as far as Bradford is concerned he has a motive for both deaths."
What? My eyes opened wide and my lips opened wider as I stuffed another medicinal Oreo in my mouth.
"Here's the deal with Robert. His thirty-five year marriage ended in an acrimonious divorce a year ago. A couple of months after that, he was forced to release a suspect accused of killing her husband because he didn't have enough evidence. She ended up murdering her in-laws a few days later."
I remembered that case. It was nasty.
Tom grabbed a cookie, rolling it around the table as he selected his words. “It's not that Bradford is biased against women, but because of his history, he may be overly suspicious of women in general. According to him, between the evidence we've discovered and his gut feeling, you're the killer."
We sat there eating cookies and contemplating one another. A detective and his suspect.
The sound of giggling children echoed from the family room. Tom went in and carried his daughter back to the kitchen table.
She rested her head on his broad chest as she settled in his lap. “Daddy, did Laurel tell you about my game? I made a goal."
Oops, I was so distracted by the murders and damaging new evidence that I forgot to report on today's game.
Tom hugged her tight. “That's wonderful, honey."
"Are we going home now?"
"No, I need to go back to work. You'll have to spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa's."
"Again?” She sighed with the gusto of a daughter trying to squeeze her father's tender heart.
"Can I stay here tonight? Would that be okay with you, Laurel?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.
As far as I was concerned she could stay, but Tom shook his head no. “Sorry, sweetie. I don't know when I'll be done and we don't want to disturb Ms. McKay in the middle of the night."
Why don't we ask Ms. McKay if she would like Detective Hunter to disturb her in the middle of the night? Heck, yes, but probably not with his young daughter in tow. I went into the laundry room, gathered Kristy's soccer clothing, put it in a bag and met Tom in the foyer. He still held Kristy, her arms wrapped around his neck. No wonder his biceps were so well developed. She was one big little girl.
He lingered for a minute to say goodbye. “Thanks for watching Kristy."
"Sure. Anytime. Provided I'm not in jail."
"I'm doing everything I can,” he promised.
"I know. Maybe I'll discover something at Jeremy's memorial service."
His face closed up faster than the ticket window for a Rolling Stones concert.
"You're still planning on attending?” His eyes turned harder than granite and his voice dropped thirty decibels. How quickly he could revert to his official capacity.
"I don't have a choice. I was the last person to see...” My voice faltered when I realized Kristy was listening to our conversation.
Tom set Kristy down and told her to go play with Ben for a minute. She looked puzzled but evidently recognized his official tone too. She was certainly better at obeying him than I was.
Tom waited until his daughter was out of the room before he lashed out at me. “Laurel, there is a killer out there.” His face grew more purple with each overly enunciated word. “He has already murdered two people. Do you want to be the next victim?"
"No, but..."
"Laurel, there are no buts. No buts whatsoever. Can't you see how dangerous this amateur detecting is? What about your kids?"
"What am I supposed to do? Sit here until Bradford arrests me? Then who will take care of my children?"
He didn't answer. How could he?
[Back to Table of Contents]
NINETEEN
The next morning the kids and I finally made it to church. With ten minutes to spare. Mother showed up shortly thereafter, dressed in an orange knit suit, a perfect Creamsicle confection.
Every time I belted out a “Hallelujah,” my thoughts returned to my encounter in the laundry room the previous afternoon, and it was difficult to keep a grin off my face. Thank you, Lord, for the health of my family, and for providing me with that very healthy specimen, Tom Hunter. Now if I could ask one tiny favor
like providing the detectives with another suspect, I would be eternally grateful.
I reviewed the information Tom had shared about the murderer possibly using the same weapon on both men. Visions of tools as potential murder weapons danced in my head. Suddenly I dropped the hymnal splat on the floor. That didn't get me any brownie points with Mother, or Pastor Martin, who was right in the middle of his sermon. His sweet blue eyes didn't look all that sweet as he zeroed in on the source of the disruption.
I dropped my gaze and folded my hands together while my brain considered various options. Hammers, wrenches—my ex-husband had all of those items on his tool belt. But any normal male would have access to those tools. Even I possessed a tool kit, albeit in plastic. And in Ben's toy chest.
As soon as I arrived home, I changed into my navy blue sweats. My culinary skills are adequate but something inevitably spills when I cook. It was best not to tempt fate with one of my better outfits. Mother arrived about twenty minutes later.
"Laurel, you'll never guess who I was speaking with,” she said as she entered the kitchen.
"Lay it on me.” I bent down to reach inside the cupboard that held my odd assortment of baking pans. I pulled my head and arm back out of the cabinet. Success at last, one slightly bent and corroded baking dish. A bacon-scented kitchen was only minutes away. I heard the tail end of her sentence.
"...don't you agree with me?” Like I would dare to disagree with my mother. Maybe by the time I turned sixty.
"Yes, absolutely.” I would agree with anything if I could entice her to attend Jeremy's memorial service with me.
It turned out that the wife of the new young couple from church was the granddaughter of one of my mother's former clients. The couple was looking for a new house in the area and my mother was going to help them. The real estate queen was never happier than when she had three generations of loyal customers.
The kids inhaled their bacon, avocado and mushroom omelets within seconds. They loaded their plates in the dishwasher and politely excused themselves, giving me an opportunity to discuss what had been foremost on my mind throughout the meal.
As I walked into the pantry to grab some more coffee beans, I tried to think of a scintillating lead into the conversation that would involve Jeremy. Before I could open my mouth, my mother brought the subject up herself.
"Have you heard anything further about Dr. Slater's death? I didn't realize what a well-respected man he was. Even though his practice was in El Dorado Hills, several of the real estate agents in our office said he was their personal physician. Detective Bradford told me his memorial service would be held on Monday."
"Really?” I said, with an attempt to look surprised. Unfortunately, the surprise was on me. The lid on the coffee grinder must not have been clamped down because beans skittered across the tile counter. I glanced at Mother to see if she had noticed the wayward beans, but she was in the pantry rearranging cans and boxes.
She popped out of the pantry, arms laden with boxes. “These have all expired."
I had lived with the pantry queen's invasions for twenty years so her latest mission didn't even faze me.
"Umm, speaking of expired..."
"Yes, what a shame Dr. Slater died so suddenly.” She proceeded to dump half my food staples in the trash. “He would have been quite a catch for you. Maybe you should attend the service since you were the last person to see him alive."
There are times when I love my mother, pantry invasions and all.
"What a wonderful idea. I wish I had thought of that.” I could sense my nose growing as I continued my lie. “I should go to the service, out of respect to Jeremy and his family. But I'd feel funny going by myself. Would you come with me? At least you'll know some of the people there."
She thought it over, nodded and patted my hand. “Of course I'll go with you, dear. You've had a tough few weeks and I'm sure attending this memorial service is the last thing you want to do."
Right.
"Do you think that intriguing Detective Bradford will go?” she mused out loud as she completed one more sortie into my pantry.
I almost gagged up my omelet imagining a potential coupling of the ornery detective and my mother, but decided to keep mum for now. My mum was needed for my next detecting expedition.
Since the service was scheduled for three, we agreed to meet at two-thirty at the Starbucks that was a few blocks away from Fullers Memorial Home in El Dorado Hills. I don't know where people had meetings before Starbucks appeared on every corner.
She thanked me for brunch, but of course couldn't walk out the door without a typical maternal parting shot. “Be sure to wear a nice dark suit for the service."
"Oh, I was planning on wearing a red polka dot dress. I thought it would liven things up a little.” Fortunately, looks can't kill. She shook her head and walked out the door.
The next morning I wore my best black wool suit to work. As I stored my purse under my desk, I glanced at the desk calendar. My agenda was clear so I wouldn't have any difficulty leaving at two. Earl probably wouldn't mind if I left a few hours early, especially when he was bent on enticing me to stay in the department.
The phone rang and I grabbed it. “Laurel speaking."
"It's Anne Lewis. We managed to squeeze in an opening for you today but it wasn't easy. Bill Becker wanted to make a decision over the weekend because he needs to fill the position, but I talked him into waiting until he met with you. Your interview is scheduled for four."
Darn and double darn. How could I attend both the service and the interview at the same time? Talk about prioritizing.
"Um, Anne, a dear friend passed away and I have to attend the memorial service at three. Is there any way you can squeeze me in this morning?"
"You are not making my job any easier, Laurel,” she responded in a clipped tone. “I doubt if Bill can change his plans again. Was this a very close friend?"
"Very very close.” I sighed an Oscar worthy sigh. “We were romantically involved and I'm devastated by his death."
"I'm so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I didn't realize you had a boyfriend. What was his name?"
"Jeremy Slater,” I blurted out without thinking.
"The doctor who drowned in the American river? I thought he was murdered by the woman he was dating."
A few seconds elapsed while Anne and I both contemplated her comment.
She cleared her throat. “Laurel, maybe this position isn't a good career move for you. There's a tremendous amount of customer service involved, plus considerable contact with the community. You wouldn't want the public worrying about your reputation."
"You aren't insinuating I had anything to do with Jeremy's death, are you?"
"No, of course not. I'll get back to you if Bill says we can move up the interview.” The phone slammed in my ear. Evidently being considered a murder suspect was not an ideal career path. But was it sufficient grounds for termination?
As I mulled over my future employment prospects, Stan slid into the chair in front of my desk. I noticed that he too was dressed in a very conservative charcoal suit and subdued burgundy tie, quite unlike his normal fashion plate “Queer Eye” wardrobe.
"You look like you're going to a funeral, Stan."
"I am, sweetheart. We're going together, remember.” Shoot. I'd forgotten Stan volunteered to attend the memorial service with me.
"Thanks but you don't need to go. Mother is coming with me now. You look very nice though.” I hoped that would appease him. After all, he had dressed for the occasion.
"C'mon, you said I could help you look for the culprit.” He pouted as only Stan could pout. “You know I watch CSI every week. I'm sure I can discover some clues. Plus it can't hurt to have another set of eyes and ears."
"What do you think you're going to find? Are you going to climb on top of the casket looking for clues?"
"Puleeze. You know what a good judge of character I am. I have an intuitive sense when it comes to people.”
He crossed his legs, pursed his lips and looked down his nose at me. “It's a gay thing, you know."
I wasn't sure how useful Gaydar would be in finding a murderer, but I decided to acquiesce. As he walked out of my cube, the phone rang again. I thought it might be Anne calling back to reschedule my appointment but I was greeted by a British accent.
"Hi, Liz. What's up?"
"Today's paper said that Dr. Slater's memorial service is this afternoon. I thought we should go together and do some more investigating. Isn't that an excellent idea?"
Apparently everyone I knew thought it was a great idea to accompany me to the funeral. So much for discreetly sneaking into the service.
"I'm already going with my mother and Stan. There's no need for you to come too."
"Are you sure? It never hurts to have another set of eyes and ears."
Great. Now my dysfunctional detective team was starting to sound alike. Liz agreed to meet us at Starbucks. If nothing else, that particular Starbucks was going to have a profitable afternoon.
By the time I had to leave the office, I still had not heard back from Anne about rescheduling. I decided to focus on the memorial service, and to paraphrase a few friends, keep my eyes and ears open.
Liz and Mother, dressed in nearly identical black pin-striped designer suits, were chatting over a couple of lattes when I arrived. I cast lustful eyes at the Frappuccino menu but decided to forego my favorite treat. Stan arrived right behind me. He and my mother argued over who would chauffeur our foursome. Even though Liz wanted to ride in Stan's new Beemer, we decided my mother's car was the largest and most suitable for our entourage.
When we arrived at Fullers Mortuary and Chapel, the parking lot was full of BMWs, Mercedes and Lexuses, or was it Lexi? It made sense since many of the mourners were probably doctors.
I pulled my team aside. “Now remember, I'm hoping to find that man I saw talking to Jeremy along the riverbank the night he died. He's tall and balding. If we sit in the rear of the chapel, it'll be easier to notice someone with a bald spot."
All three agreed it was an excellent plan. We walked through the nine-foot double doors into a large foyer of wall-to-wall plush cream-colored carpeting. The over powering floral mix of gardenias, gladioli and lilies made me gag. A gangly man with a prominent nose and an Adam's apple the size of a cantaloupe ushered us into the chapel. A substantial number of people were already seated, but fortunately there were enough chairs in the next to last row to accommodate the four of us.