Murder Is No Accident

by A. H. Gabhart

  “So she doesn’t like you. That’s not a crime.”

  “Extortion is.”

  “Yes. But statutes of limitations can apply.” Michael kept his gaze locked on the man. “Unlike for murder.”

  Color flooded Carlson’s face. He jerked forward in his chair and almost shouted. “I knew it. I knew she came back here to stir up trouble. What has she told you?”

  Instead of answering him, Michael said, “We don’t operate on a he-said, she-said basis here. We need facts.”

  “Yes, facts.” He sank back in his chair and rubbed his hand across his face. “All right, here are the facts. I loved Audrey Chandler. Why else would I have spent over a decade in this backwater town? She was the mother of my son. The day she died was the worst day of my life.” A genuine look of distress settled on his face. “All so long ago now.”

  “Were you in the house when she fell?” Michael didn’t know why he asked. He wasn’t investigating Audrey’s death.

  “I was.” Carlson looked down at his hands, clutched in his lap now. As though realizing that revealed his tension, he pulled them apart and placed them on the chair arms. “We were all three on the upper floor. I was repairing those ladder steps up into the tower room. Why, I don’t know. Nobody ever went up in there.” He grimaced at the memory. “But Fonda wouldn’t rest whenever she noted something in need of repair in the house.”

  “But she didn’t live there then, did she?”

  “That didn’t matter. She was always poking around, pointing out things to do, and believe me, something always needed to be done in that old house. Even after she married Gilbert, she was in and out constantly, telling Audrey how to do things or that she was doing them wrong. The worst thing she did wrong, according to Fonda, was marry me. I used to worry about her poisoning my coffee.” A ghost of a smile slipped across Carlson’s face. “Is the old girl still living? She has to be getting up there in years. She was at least ten or twelve years older than Audrey.”

  “She’s still living,” Michael said.

  “At the house? Or the Chandler mansion, as she liked to call it.”

  “She’s at an assisted living home now.” Michael glanced over toward Betty Jean. She’d given up any pretense of working and was watching them. “She has memory problems.”

  “She always had memory problems.” Carlson breathed out a disgusted sound. “She tried every conceivable trick to have me charged in Audrey’s death. She kept saying it was my fault, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with Audrey falling. The two of them were fighting about something, but then they always were. I tuned them out. Do you have sisters or brothers, Deputy?”

  “No.”

  “Consider yourself fortunate.” Carlson made a face. “I tried to get Audrey to move. Just let Fonda have the house. But Audrey said her parents wanted her to have the house and not Fonda. That really rankled Fonda. As it turned out, Fonda got the house, but that wasn’t all she wanted. She would have done her best to take over my son too. I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  “So you left.” Michael considered taking notes, but he didn’t pick up a pen.

  “The day after the funeral. I packed our clothes and Brad’s toys in the car and we headed north. I wanted to get my son away from Fonda. While I suppose I never really believed Fonda would poison my coffee, I had no doubts she would attempt to poison young Brad’s mind against me.”

  “Where did you go?” Michael took a sip of his coffee. It was already cold.

  “To Indiana. We needed a fresh start. And we found it with Lorene. She was no Audrey, but she had a sweet gentleness about her. Brad liked her from the start. He needed a mother and she made her house our home. It was only after I ran for public office that she began to have nervous problems. I tried to convince her she didn’t have to be the typical politician’s wife. I was quite capable of campaigning on my own, but she felt she was letting me down.”

  “Were you married long before she died?”

  “Twelve years. Things didn’t really get bad for her until after Brad left for college. He went to a school out in California and didn’t make it home much. Lana was busy with her publishing ventures in New York, and I was on the road a lot or in Washington. Lorene didn’t want to come with me, but she missed having someone there to take care of. That’s the kind of person she was. Then she hurt her back and started making the rounds of doctors. Too many doctors, I think.”

  “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t suicide.” His eyes were sad as he sighed a little. “That’s what the coroner ruled. Suicide. He was wrong. Lorene didn’t kill herself. Not intentionally. Lana is absolutely right about that. But Lorene had been having trouble sleeping. I suppose she didn’t realize the potential danger of taking a combination of pills after having a few drinks. I got home late that night after a campaign meeting. So rather than wake her, I slept in the guest room. I found her the next morning after it was too late.” His distress deepened. “If I had checked on her that night, things might have turned out differently. But I didn’t. It took a long time for me to forgive myself for that, but in the end, it was a tragic accident. Just like Audrey’s fall down those stairs.”

  Michael twirled his cup again, but didn’t pick it up. “If I’ve got the years straight here, your second wife’s death had to have been over twenty years ago.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you say Lana Waverly is just now blackmailing you about it? That doesn’t seem reasonable.”

  “I told you right off the bat that Lana Waverly isn’t reasonable. Has never been reasonable when it came to her mother and to me.”

  “But why would she have waited so long?”

  Carlson threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Nothing she ever did made much sense.”

  Michael kept his gaze steady on the man. “There must be something.”

  “All right. It could be that I am considering a run for governor and she wants to spoil that for me. I haven’t even made a final decision yet. I’m not sure I want to take on the challenge at my age, but my potential opponents are already building a campaign against me just in case. I think some of their henchmen must have contacted Lana hoping to dig up dirt on me.”

  “Simply discrediting you with her suspicions isn’t extortion.”

  “I know the law, Deputy Keane. You’re not talking to your usual country bumpkin off the street. I wouldn’t be here without proof of a crime.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s your proof.” He leaned forward and flipped it down on Michael’s desk. “A printout of the message she sent demanding cash for her silence.”

  Michael unfolded the paper. Something about it all wasn’t adding up. He didn’t doubt Lana Waverly was eager to discredit the man staring across the desk at him. But he did have a hard time believing her silence could be bought.

  The message was short and to the point. I know what you did. Everybody else will know too unless you send $5000 by October 30. The message gave details on how the payment could be made online to what was surely a bogus company, Secret Books. No signature. Just another threat. If you don’t send the money by the end of the month, I’ll contact the newspapers. I have proof of what you did.

  Michael looked up at Carlson. “I suppose you had your office check out the company.”

  “I haven’t involved them. Totally unnecessary to waste taxpayer money on this. I expect you to do your job and arrest the woman. I know Lana. That will be enough to get her to stop. After a night in your jail, I’ll drop the charges with a cease-and-desist warning.”

  “You seem to have it all figured out.” Michael fingered the sheet of paper. “But this is all pretty vague. The message could have been sent from anywhere about anything. Nothing mentioned here about Hidden Springs or either of your wives. Plus, five thousand dollars is a lowball figure to keep a murder from being reported.”

  “I didn’t murder anyone.” Carlson’s voice was almost a gro
wl.

  “But that is what you are assuming whoever wrote this has against you.”

  “Not whoever. Lana Waverly.”

  “Nothing here implicates Lana Waverly.” Michael held up the paper. “I would need more than this for an arrest warrant. Much more. As far as I know, you could have written this and printed it out to incriminate her.”

  “Why would I do that?” Red crept up Carlson’s neck to flood his face.

  “I’m not saying you did. I’m merely saying there’s nothing here to prove Lana Waverly sent it.” Michael kept his voice steady with his eyes directly on the man. He hoped the man would realize the sense of what he was saying.

  Carlson didn’t. He sprang up from the chair and put both hands on Michael’s desk to lean toward him. “I know people in this state. I can have you fired.”

  Michael stayed unmoved. “Are you threatening me, Congressman Carlson? In front of a witness?” Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Betty Jean pick up a notebook and start writing something. “Again, I suggest you sit down and look at this with a clear eye and stop letting emotion carry you.”

  Carlson sank back down in the chair. “You’re right, of course.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off his face. “So what do you propose I do, Deputy? Just forget this?” He waved his hand toward the paper on Michael’s desk.

  “Not at all. You can still report the incident to your local police or the FBI, since extortion using a communications means is a federal crime. That’s what I would advise since you are a congressman.”

  “You could be right.” The man looked defeated. “I can’t force you to act, but since Lana Waverly is here in your town, I do think it’s your job to talk to her. Investigate this as a serious threat.”

  “I will talk to her. Get her statement.” Michael gave the words on the paper another look. “What proof do you think whoever wrote this has?”

  “How would I know? You need to ask Lana that.”

  “Is this the only message you’ve received?”

  “Yes. I got it last week and couldn’t get away until today.”

  “You haven’t answered the threat in any way? Had any contact with anybody in regard to this?” When Carlson shook his head, Michael went on. “How were you supposed to get whatever proof they supposedly had after you made the payment?”

  “I suppose that would have been addressed when I responded to the threat. It could be that’s what I should do.” Carlson suddenly looked thoughtful. “Set up a meeting to take Lana the money and have her give me whatever proof she thinks she has. That would be proof she sent the message.”

  “I don’t advise that, Mr. Carlson. The thing for you to do is go back to Indiana, make your report there, and leave the matter in the hands of the proper authorities.”

  “Yes, of course.” The congressman stood up. He didn’t offer Michael his hand. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but I’ve always found it better to be truthful when I can. It’s apparent that nothing has changed here in Hidden Springs since I had the misfortune to live here.”

  Without another word, he turned and left.

  “Well, that was interesting.” Betty Jean stared at the door. “Do you think he’ll scoot on back up to Indiana and do what you told him?”

  “No.”

  Betty Jean looked over at Michael. “Looks like he forgot to take his proof.”

  Michael picked up the printed message. “He can make another copy.”

  “Do you think Lana Waverly is blackmailing him?” Betty Jean frowned. “That doesn’t seem like her.”

  “I don’t know. People do things you don’t expect.”

  “True enough. Somebody shot Sonny Elwood. Who would have ever expected that?” Betty Jean got up and peered over Michael’s shoulder at the note.

  “Not me.” Michael handed her the paper. “Why don’t you write up a report on this? Since you heard it all.”

  “Sure. I took notes while he was talking. I should have turned on the recorder. I can’t believe he threatened to have you fired. He doesn’t know Uncle Al, does he?” Betty Jean made a sound of disgust.

  “I’m not worried about that, but I better go talk to Lana Waverly.” He pushed away from his desk. “If Buck calls in, tell him to send us a copy of the report on whatever they found at the house.” Michael looked at the clock. The morning was almost gone, but he should have time to do what he needed to do and still make it to see Alex at one.

  “I’m going to Geraldine’s funeral,” Betty Jean said. “I’ll have to leave here around one at the latest.”

  “Tell Lester to come in and cover the office.” Who knew how long it would take to propose to Alex? And he was going to propose. He had his grandmother’s antique diamond ring in his pocket. Not exactly Alex’s style, but it was a ring. She was going to have to give him an answer.

  “Have you forgotten that Lester likes to be in position for his school crossing duty at the elementary school by two?”

  Michael was not calling Alex to change the time. “Okay. Is anything going on?”

  Betty Jean raised her eyebrows at him. “You mean other than people getting shot?”

  “Right. Other than that.”

  “Not much.” She shrugged. “The phones have been unnaturally quiet. Most everybody in town will be at Geraldine’s funeral.”

  “Then put a note on the door and lock up. I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”

  Michael was not going to let Alex fly away without talking to her. He didn’t care how many murderers were on the loose. Or blackmailers. Maybe it would be good if the congressman did get him fired.

  “If you say so.” Betty Jean gave him a funny look. “Are you all right, Michael?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Alex trouble?”

  Betty Jean knew him too well. “Murder is trouble enough,” he lied.

  30

  At her tearoom, Lana Waverly’s smile turned wintry when Michael asked when she’d last been in contact with Bradley Carlson. She turned from him to promise her customers she’d be right back to freshen up their tea. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and led the way outside.

  Once out on the street, no trace of a smile remained. “I have not seen or talked to Bradley Carlson or even had the unpleasant experience of seeing him on the news for over a year.”

  Michael was a little surprised at her reaction to his question. She’d been more than ready to talk about Bradley Carlson on Sunday, but now she was staring at Michael, her whole body stiff and on alert.

  “Have you contacted him in any way, through any means, in the last few weeks?”

  Instead of answering him, she said, “Is this an official visit, Deputy Keane? Should I call my attorney?”

  “If you feel the need for representation before you answer, that is your right, Miss Waverly. But I merely asked if you had contacted Bradley Carlson via any method in the last few weeks. A simple question.”

  “One that reeks of accusation.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “What has Congressman Carlson accused me of doing?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions.” Michael didn’t let his gaze waver from her face, even though people were approaching them on the street. The middle of town wasn’t the best place for an interrogation. “It might be best if we step back inside and sit down at one of your tables.”

  She stared at him without speaking. Then all at once, the harsh lines on her face vanished and she laughed. “You could be right. I’m sure the ladies inside are doing their best to peer through the window at us.”

  Two people stepped past them with a curious look. Lana gave them a big smile and an invitation to try out her teas, but they nodded and hurried on. Lana laughed again. “And now you’re scaring away potential customers. Rumors will start floating around that I’m serving tea without a license or something. So let’s make this quick. I haven’t contacted Bradley Carlson for years. He must have heard I was here in Hidden Springs and his guilty conscience is
bothering him. Did he dispatch his henchmen down here to discredit me?”

  Michael found it interesting that Lana echoed some of Carlson’s own words in his complaint about her. “No henchmen. He filed a complaint himself.”

  “Here?” She looked shocked. “In Hidden Springs?” When Michael nodded, she went on. “About me? For what?”

  “He claims you sent him a message demanding money to keep you from revealing proof of wrongdoing on his part.”

  The disbelief on her face looked genuine. Then her face hardened. “Let me assure you, if I had such proof, I wouldn’t be contacting him. I’d be contacting the authorities. You can tell Bradley Carlson that for me.” She poked her finger at Michael’s chest to emphasize her words. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”

  She whirled and disappeared into her shop. Michael had the feeling he’d just lost his chance for that free cup of tea. He also believed her. She wouldn’t trade her chance for public revenge on Carlson for any amount of money. None of it was making much sense, but then little had in the last few days.

  He checked the time. Noon. He had time to pay his respects at the funeral home before he went to see Alex.

  When he got to the funeral home, Betty Jean was already there, on the front row where family usually sat. Not that she was taking anybody’s chair. Geraldine’s only family besides Grant was a few cousins and an elderly aunt from Tennessee. But if family was scarce, townsfolk made up for it. While Geraldine might not have been the most popular woman in Hidden Springs, nobody had wanted her to meet such an untimely end. Then again, maybe somebody had.

  Michael looked around the room. The thought of any of these familiar faces being that of a murderer defied everything he wanted to believe about the people in his town. But whether Geraldine’s death was accidental or intentional, there was no doubt Sonny Elwood’s was no accident.

  After Michael offered his condolences to Grant, he was on the way out when he ran into Justin in the hallway. The undertaker had on his black funeral suit, but he didn’t wear his usual calm funeral expression.