Corpse in the Carnations

by Dale Mayer

  “I figured it had more to do with the recent murders, what with the guy threatening you would be dead next.”

  “Could be,” Doreen said in a noncommittal voice. “I don’t know for sure though.” With that she signed off with her grandmother. But she felt better now. The retirement home could do something about Brandon.

  Doreen still couldn’t shake off the feeling that maybe he’d nicked something from her place the first night. After all, he was actually inside that time. The trouble was, so many knickknacks were here that she couldn’t begin to pinpoint what he might have taken. And her antiquities appraisal had been based on the larger furniture pieces. She’d taken multiple pictures herself, but so much stuff was here that she couldn’t be sure …

  In order to push along the sale of these expensive antiques—and to get them out of her home—Doreen needed that provenance folder of Nan’s. In the back of her mind, Doreen thought it would be either in the master bedroom closet upstairs or in the basement. She now remembered the basement from her childhood—where Nan had kept her canning supplies for her preserves. Doreen remembered a musty smell on the furniture at the time. And how she hated going down there because of the poor lighting and the spider population.

  Now any antiques down there could be ruined if Nan hadn’t properly protected them from the musty damp environment.

  But that wasn’t today’s priority. She did have to get to Millicent’s garden. She was probably better off doing that right now. With that thought in mind, she packed up, grabbed a pair of gloves, a water bottle, an apple, and the animals in tow, she walked the creek way around to the garden. Millicent didn’t have access to the creek from the back of her yard.

  Doreen walked around to the front of the block. As she walked up to the front porch, she saw no sign of Millicent in the window. Doreen carried on through to the back, hoping at least Mack had told his mom that Doreen would be coming today. As she stopped at the backyard gardens, she smiled to see how much work they’d done. The begonias had been transplanted. The daisies had been transplanted. The irrigation was being installed, with some of the digging in progress. Lots of weeding was also in progress, and the shrubs still needed some pruning.

  She got to work. She was sticking to two hours every week and just keeping up with what was absolutely necessary. And then, as more was required, Mack would give her a hand to cut back on some of the heavier physical work. It wasn’t that she cared about that. She was more than happy to have the hours and to do the work. But some of it was too heavy for her to do alone.

  She lost herself in her work, only coming up for air when her watch told her that two hours was up. She was happy with the amount of weeding she’d accomplished, but still so much was left to do. She should, by rights, be working four hours a week here. But she knew money was tight for them to pay somebody too.

  She collected her animals, who had done nothing but sniff and wander around the garden, enjoying themselves, and started back to her place. She went along the creek again, absolutely loving the pathway, focusing on that, easily ignoring things swept downriver that she’d found. That was good because the last thing she wanted to do was find more ugly things in the water. It would just spoil the creek for her.

  Having found a dismembered arm had been a huge shock. But she was quite happy in that she and Mack had found the rest of that body too, and the poor woman could be put to rest, all the pieces of her in the same place.

  Leaving the creek at the pathway to the cul-de-sac, Doreen sauntered back home. As she walked past Ella’s empty house, the neighbor who had accused Doreen of interfering in all kinds of stuff. But with Ella now facing a trial for murdering her brother, Doreen figured Ella’s house would be for sale soon.

  As she walked closer to her place, the old neighbor on the other side of her stepped out to grab the newspaper. He looked at her and frowned. She looked at him and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “What’s good about it?” he asked.

  “Well, the cul-de-sac isn’t clogged with reporters,” she said cheerfully. “That’s something good.”

  He glared at her. “They wouldn’t have been here in the first place if you hadn’t moved into the neighborhood.” He turned to walk back inside.

  “Have a nice day,” she called out as his door slammed. She chuckled. “Life is too short to get mad about something like that,” she said to the animals.

  She turned to make sure Goliath, ever the straggler, was still with her. But he appeared to be wandering through the garden bed. She wondered about getting a harness for him too but figured that would lead to nothing but a huge fight. “But it might be entertaining. Come on, Goliath. If you don’t come now, I’ll start researching harnesses for cats. And then you and Mugs can walk together.”

  As if he understood, Goliath screeched past her and raced across the lawn to the front porch, where he hopped onto the railing and stared out with a sense of disdain.

  She just grinned. “Perfect timing and a perfect place to come home to,” she announced as they walked up. “It’s lunchtime. Now, do we have anything left to eat in the house?” She answered her own question. “Of course not. Why would there be food today when there hasn’t been some on any other day?”

  She walked into the house and headed straight for the kitchen. And froze. She slowly took five steps backward so she could look at the living room and damned if one chair wasn’t upside down.

  She gasped and cried out, “Somebody was in here again.”

  She ran around the room and the lower floor, checking to make sure nothing was missing. She returned to the upended chair that went with the couch and the bedroom set.

  The maker’s mark had been exposed for all to see.

  Chapter 18

  She called Mack. “I was only gone for a couple hours to work in your mom’s garden,” she cried out. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “I guess the answer to that is, stay home,” he said quietly. “But I’m not sure that’s a great answer, depending on who is doing this.”

  “Do you still have my intruder locked up?”

  “No,” he said heavily. “He was released on bail this morning.”

  She froze. “Why didn’t you forewarn me?”

  “I didn’t know until just a few moments ago.”

  “So you guys let go the one guy we caught breaking into my house?” she yelled. “Why?”

  “I didn’t, but, yes, the prosecutor said to release him,” he said. “Of course, if we can prove he was the one at your house this morning or two nights ago,” Mack said, “no way would he get out of jail again.”

  “The legal system is so broken.” She sat down on the couch. “This is really sad.”

  “It is. You need to make sure nothing is missing.”

  Once again she gave a half-hysterical laugh. “Remember what this place looks like?”

  “I know,” he said. “Look. I’ll see if we can get you a basic security system set up temporarily. I know you can’t afford to get a proper system, but this is getting serious. Let me talk to my boss, and I’ll get back to you.”

  She still shook with outrage, not fear, which she thought was amazing, but also felt such anguish that somebody would try to take what could be a life preserver from her.

  She headed into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. She didn’t need a caffeine high by any means, but it would be a soothing comfort drink. As she’d worked hard all morning, she also needed food.

  The coffee finished dripping, and she poured herself a cup. With a peanut butter sandwich, she sat down at the kitchen table and tried to eat slowly. But she was too hungry. When the sandwich disappeared in a few bites, she got up and made herself a second one. She could understand why people were addicted to them. Although, if it was all she had to eat, she’d get sick of them eventually.

  When the phone rang, she was grateful to see it was Mack.

  “I’ll be over later this afternoon,” he said, “with some security equipment. We’ll
set it up at the front and the back doors and will ensure every camera is directed toward the antiques. I’ll bring a team to canvass your neighbors, seeing as your latest intruder was there in broad daylight, but also to gather and to process fingerprints found on the chair, the doorknobs, the hutch.”

  “Thank you. And thank your boss for me.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll explain how to use the security system when I get there.”

  With that she had to be satisfied. At this point, she was bound and determined to document everything else on this floor. She figured the basement door was behind that massive hutch in the living room. But the basement was a project for another day; she had more than enough to keep her busy for a long time yet. After taking more photos of hopefully every little thing in the living room, she felt it was time for a cup of tea. But then Mack drove up. She opened the front door and beamed at him. “Thank you very much for helping out.”

  “I think the boss figured maybe we should since you’ve helped us so much.”

  She was delighted with that answer, ushering in the men.

  Apparently Mack, with his big grin, thought it was a good one too. He pointed to a tall skinny man beside him. “This is David. He’ll help me install this.” Mack pointed to the other two guys, dispersing in her living room. “Those are some of my forensic guys, who will gather fingerprints.”

  “Perfect,” she said, reaching out to shake David’s hand. “Thank you all very much,” she said, including the two fingerprint guys already at work.

  David just gave her a sideways grin. “No problem, ma’am.”

  She backed away. “I’ll put on some coffee for you.” She went into the kitchen, almost skipping.

  With the coffee on, she stood in the kitchen–living room doorway and watched as two men dusted for prints while Mack and David set up cameras and her temporary alarm system. “Is this something I will control or you guys?” They didn’t answer.

  When they started swearing, she realized something was not working out. She tiptoed back into the kitchen, whispering to Mugs, “We should leave them alone.”

  Thaddeus had different ideas. He continued pacing the floor around the men, generally getting in the way.

  Exasperated, Mack turned to Doreen. “Get Thaddeus out of here, will you?”

  “Thaddeus, come on. Come over here and leave the men alone.”

  But Thaddeus just cocked his head and shot a gimlet look her way.

  She sighed and walked into the living room. “These men are having some trouble. Just leave them be.” She squatted and picked him up just as David swore.

  “Goddammit,” he said.

  Instantly Thaddeus repeated, “Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit.” And he preened as if perfectly delighted to have a new phrase.

  She groaned. “David, if you don’t mind …”

  He looked up, horrified at the bird waiting for him to open his mouth and to potentially give him another choice of words. “I had no idea he would do something like that,” David said.

  “Nobody does,” Mack said. “He is the damnedest bird.”

  “Damnedest bird. Damnedest bird,” Thaddeus said. And then, as if realizing how irritating he was, he cackled with a roaring laughter.

  Everybody stopped and stared at him. She shook her head. “He’s demented. Nothing I can do about it,” she said.

  “Except you could take him away,” Mack said drily.

  That sounded like an order. With Thaddeus on her arm, she backed into the kitchen and sat down with her laptop. Because David and two more policemen were here with Mack, she wouldn’t pester him with questions about the other cases they were working on. But she had a lot of notes and questions herself that she needed to work on. And the biggest one was, who was Josh Huberts, the grandson of the handyman Henry Huberts?

  He and Celeste had been arguing at the gardening store, but that didn’t mean he was a murderer. Now that he was dead, Doreen wanted to know who had killed him, or had he really killed himself? She wondered about why somebody would take their own life. If you had just killed the woman you loved—in a fit of rage or a bout of temporary insanity—and immediately afterward realized you would spend the rest of your life in prison for that one fatal second of action, then maybe it made sense. But only if his suicide was just as motivated and just as reactive, as in the seconds following Celeste’s murder.

  Not that Doreen would ever do something like that, but she had thought that killing some people at various times in her life might be a nice—and permanent—answer to some problems. She just wasn’t the kind to go through with it.

  She researched the grandson’s past, hoping that maybe, just maybe, something would pop up. But not very much was out there on him. He had kept a fairly low profile. She wondered and worried, and then thought about the Family Planning Center. Maybe the choice to place Celeste’s body there wasn’t directed against the center itself; maybe it was more against the people running it.

  As she researched that angle, she realized that the owner of the center, Cecily Bingham, was the sister of the dead woman, Celeste Bingham. Doreen just loved small towns. Everybody was related to everybody else.

  Surely Mack already knew about that familial tie, right? He wouldn’t dismiss this connection so casually, unless the higher-ups were tying his hands. She shook her head at the legal system that could leap at a murder-suicide solution so quickly just to supposedly solve a crime.

  Delighted with that tidbit, she brought forward her notes and added these to her collection. Maybe Huberts had a problem with Cecily. Then Doreen searched online for information on Josh and Celeste. But nothing came up, just hints and innuendos from social media about their relationship problems and the occasional online article regarding abortion. Seems Josh was against abortions, whereas both sisters were advocates. The older sister, Celeste, was mentioned in many articles as she rose to prominence as a businesswoman. Cecily was often mentioned as an activist.

  “Now what are you working on?” Mack asked as he walked toward her with a mess of electronics in his hands. He pointed to the kitchen door. “We’ll set up another one here.”

  She beamed in delight. “I guess I should mention the garage door. It’s not locked, but it doesn’t open either. The door is jammed shut and probably has been for years.”

  He looked at her. “I keep forgetting about the garage.”

  She nodded. “I do too. For one, you can’t even get in there, it’s so damn full. And, for another, the garage door into the house has been behind boxes of crap, so I don’t think anybody could get in or out that way.”

  He walked over to the far side of the dining room, which met up with the storage area off the kitchen where the washer and dryer were. By wiggling through the stacks of boxes there, he tried to open that door. It wouldn’t budge. He shrugged. “Well, I presume they’re not coming in from there.”

  “I can’t even get any of the garage doors open,” she said. “I asked Nan about it, but I never did get an answer. She kind of brushed it off.”

  He stared at her.

  She nodded grimly. “I know. Do you ever think a deep dark secret could be in there?”

  David chuckled. “Nan has been collecting crap since forever. I’m not sure I’d call her a hoarder. As you look around this place, there’s lots of room to sit. It’s clean, although it’s crowded.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t seen the inside of that garage though,” Mack said. “There is another door on the other side of the garage. I looked in the window one time, but stuff was piled so high that I could barely even see past the window itself.”

  “Maybe we should check if it’s still that way,” she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. “Have you seriously never been in there?”

  She shook her head. “No, because, like you, I couldn’t get in, and I couldn’t see in. I’ve got enough to deal with on the inside of the house. I’m still working my way through her closet, for crying out loud. I’m only about ten percent, mayb
e fifteen percent, through it.”

  “At least she enjoyed her life,” David said.

  “At least she is enjoying her life,” Doreen corrected. “My grandmother is happy and healthy, living at Rosemoor Manor.”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen her there. My grandmother is in there too. She says Nan keeps things lively.”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” Doreen said. “She’s a constant source of entertainment for everyone.” She didn’t want to discuss the garage at the moment. She motioned at the kitchen door. “Are you doing the install now, or do you want coffee first?”

  She wanted to distract them because she had looked in that side door. The fact of the matter was, it looked like junk upon junk upon junk had been amassed in the garage. Cleaning that out would take more effort than she had at the moment. That it was also possibly jam-packed with antiques filled her with excitement, but she had more than enough trouble dealing with the antiques she had already had appraised.

  She poured coffee for the two men—the other men gone already—and handed them cups while they discussed how to set up the second set of alarms.

  As she listened to them, her phone rang. It was the appraiser.

  “I’ve got the photos forwarded to Christie’s,” he said. “They should be in touch with me over the next day or so. I just wanted to give you that update.”

  She grinned when she got off the phone. Mack cocked his head in question. She shrugged. “The appraiser just gave me an update, that’s all,” she said smoothly. She gave David a half glance.

  “David works with me at the station,” Mack said. “We’re hardly here to steal your stuff.”

  “You could probably steal a ton of stuff that would make me quite happy,” she said. “And save me paying for dump runs.”

  David nodded. “We had lots of dump runs at my grandmother’s house too. But nothing was valuable in all her junk. She was one of those who liked to collect things. Dolls, garden gnomes, those little traveling spoons. I think, by the time we were done, we found over ninety-four garden gnomes.”