But Not For Naught: A Clint Wolf Novel (Clint Wolf Mystery Series Book 5)

by BJ Bourg

  “Brandy wanted Mitch for the bar,” Connie said. “She saw the bar, this nice home, and the Porsche that Mitch drove, and she thought he was rich. What she didn’t know was that Mitch was noted out. One wrong move, one bad summer, and it would’ve been all over for him.”

  “Him?” I asked. “What about you?”

  “I had nothing to do with the bar. When we met, I was receiving royalties from an oil well on a piece of property I inherited from my grandmother, and he had the bar, so we were both doing well. We ended up falling for each other and he eventually proposed to me. I accepted, but I was scared. I saw how he played loose with his money, so I didn’t want him touching mine.”

  “What’d you do?” I asked when she didn’t elaborate.

  “I made him think it was in his best interest to sign a prenuptial agreement—to protect his bar, you know? It worked and we agreed to keep our assets separate.” Connie paused and grunted. “That was the best decision I ever made. He squandered most of his earnings from the bar and had to keep coming to me to bail him out.”

  “And did you?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Bail him out?”

  I nodded.

  “Every time.” She sighed. “I don’t like admitting it, but I loved him more than I loved myself. He was walking all over me and I knew it, but I thought he would eventually come around. My mom used to tell me if I loved something I should let it go, and it would come back to me.” She let out an evil laugh. “Boy, was that the worst advice ever. I let him go, just like she said, and he ran right into the arms of that little bitch.”

  “Brandy said he would go back to you from time to time.”

  Connie stared across the street, where some boys were playing in an empty field. After a long time, she spoke softly. “He would only come back home when Brandy would break up with him. That first time he came back, I thought God had finally answered my prayers and I thought she was out of our lives for good.” She shook her head. “But then he went right back to her. Each time he would come back around I hoped and prayed it would be the last time, but it seemed he couldn’t get her out of his system.”

  Connie lowered her head and tears came to her eyes. “I didn’t know what it was about that girl—why he couldn’t walk away from her. Sure, he had cheated on me before, but he had never left me for anyone else. This Brandy bitch had some kind of spell over him and, for the life of me, I just couldn’t seem to break it.”

  “Well, it seems he had the same spell on you.”

  She mulled that over, then nodded her agreement. “I guess you’re right. I don’t know what it was about that big lug, but I loved him.”

  I asked Connie if it was true that she had a new boyfriend, and she said it was.

  “He’s such a sweetheart, too,” she said. “On our first date, we ran into Mitch and Brandy. Later that night, after he dropped me off at my house, Mitch calls crying, begging me to take him back. He said he realized what a mistake he’d made and he didn’t want to lose me. I told him I would think about it and call him back, but he appeared at my door an hour later.”

  “How’d your new boyfriend take it?”

  Connie shook her head hurriedly. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. We had only been on one date and there wasn’t a promise of a second.”

  “Well, what’d you tell him?”

  “I told him we were trying to make another go at our marriage—that Mitch said he didn’t want to lose me.” She smiled. “He’s such a class act. He told me he understood and he would be waiting if I became available again.”

  Connie went on to explain that a month after Mitch left her the last time, she had finally made up her mind to end it for good and she went on that second date. “Word got around and Mitch called me crying again, but I told him to leave me alone. I told him if he called me again I would record it and send it to Brandy.”

  I leaned back in my rocker and studied the woman across from me. If what she was saying was true, she didn’t want Mitch anymore. If she didn’t want him, there was no reason to kill him. Unless…

  CHAPTER 19

  “So,” I began, leaning closer to Connie. “Now that Mitch is dead, who gets the bar?”

  “I’m his wife. Naturally, I get the bar.” She wiped her nose on a tissue she’d pulled from a pocket that was sewn into her skirt. “I deserve it, too, because I dumped so much money into saving it.”

  “Would it have pissed you off to see it go to Brandy?”

  She raised her eyes slowly to stare at me. “Are you insinuating that I killed him?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m asking if it would piss you off to see the bar go to Brandy?”

  “How would it go to Brandy?”

  “If you and Mitch would’ve gotten divorced and he would’ve married Brandy, then there was a chance she could end up with it.” I paused to let that information settle. “Having dumped so much money into the place, would that have pissed you off?”

  “I…I mean, I never really thought about it that way.”

  “Why don’t you do me a favor and look at it from my point of view,” I suggested. “Knowing everything you know, who would be on your short list of suspects? If you were me, who would you focus on most?”

  Connie stammered. Finally, she said, “I’m not some detective. I don’t know how those things work.”

  “You’re right, that’s not a fair question, but earlier you said you had wished him dead on more than one occasion. You also said you didn’t know of anyone else who wanted him dead, implying that you wanted him dead.” I paused and watched for a reaction. There was none. “Do you understand how that might make me think you killed him?”

  “Since you’ve got me pretending to be a detective, I can say that I wouldn’t expect a guilty person to admit to wanting the victim dead. I imagine the real suspect would pretend to like the victim to throw the detective off.”

  I smiled. “Or, if she was exceptionally brilliant, she would make that statement to convince the detective she was innocent.”

  Connie’s blank face broke into a knowing smile. “Or that.”

  “Can you now appreciate my dilemma?”

  “Detective Wolf—that is your name, right?”

  “It is.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t kill Mitch.”

  “Can you tell me where you were Friday night?”

  “What time?”

  “All night, beginning with nine and ending Saturday morning at five.”

  “I was here.”

  “All night?”

  She nodded. “All night.”

  “Can anyone verify that fact?”

  “Yes…I can.”

  “What about your boyfriend? How does he feel about Mitch?”

  “He doesn’t care about Mitch. Besides,”—she waved her hand dismissively—“he’s been offshore for two weeks. He’s due back home Tuesday.”

  “Can I have his name and employment information to verify his whereabouts?”

  Without hesitation, Connie provided his name, the name of the company, and the telephone number. As she watched, I stepped away from her and immediately contacted the employer. Everything checked out.

  Since the killer didn’t enter the bar, it would be futile to obtain her DNA or fingerprints. My only real chance of solving this case would be through a confession or finding the pistol in the killer’s possession.

  When I rejoined Connie on her patio, I asked her if she owned any guns.

  “I have an old shotgun my grandma gave me when my grandpa died. Each of his grandchildren got one.”

  “Any handguns?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t mess with handguns.”

  “Did Mitch have a life insurance policy?” Along with infidelity and revenge, greed was as strong a motive as any for murder.

  “He did.”

  “And the beneficiary would be…?”

  She smiled and leaned her head slightly to one side. “Detective, I’m his wife, so I’m obviously the beneficiary.”
/>
  “Estranged wife,” I corrected. “What if he changed the beneficiary to Brandy Lewis when y’all split up?”

  “Mitch didn’t even know about the policy. He was too self-centered to even consider what would happen to everyone else in the event of his death.”

  “So, you took out a life insurance policy on Mitch?”

  Connie nodded. “I didn’t want to be stuck with his debt when he died, so I got a policy to cover what I thought he owed.”

  “And how much was that?”

  “Half a million.”

  “When did you take out the policy?” I asked, hoping for something, anything, to indicate she had done it.

  “Two years ago.”

  Damn! I nodded slowly as I studied Connie. She could be lying, so there was only one way to find out. “Do you mind showing me the policy?”

  To my surprise, she said, “Sure.”

  She disappeared inside her house and returned a few minutes later carrying a portfolio. “Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I had to dig it out of my safe.”

  I flipped through the documents and sighed. She was telling the truth. Could it be that she had hatched a plan to kill him two years ago and just waited for this document to get old?

  “You mentioned Mitch had cheated on you before. Was it before or after you took out this policy?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “It was before I took out the policy.” She tossed her hair back. “He was messing around with a married woman at the time, so I figured his life expectancy was a bit low and I didn’t want to be responsible for his bills.”

  I stifled a grin and asked if I could search her house.

  “What would you hope to find?”

  “My hope would be that you’re telling the truth and I could corroborate your story by finding nothing. If you’re lying, well, then I’d hope to find evidence proving that, as well.”

  “Evidence…such as a handgun?”

  “Sure, that would be part of it.”

  “I can save us both some time.” She flashed a coy smile. “I already told you I don’t own a handgun. I don’t even like them.”

  She used a very specific word, “own”, and I wasn’t convinced.

  “I understand you don’t own one, but do you mind if I look inside to see if a handgun is present anywhere in your house? Maybe Mitch had one hidden somewhere and you weren’t even aware of it? Since you don’t like them, I could find it and dispose of it for you.”

  “Nice try, detective.” She flashed that smile again. “Now, if you’ll give me a list of items you hope to find, I can either assure you I don’t have it or I can bring it out to you, just as I did with the insurance policy.”

  “Is that your final answer?” I asked, smiling myself.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you searching my house while my mom is here. That would just be embarrassing.”

  I questioned her for about thirty minutes longer, pressing her a bit more on the information she’d provided, but I couldn’t detect a crack in her armor of a story. Finally, I thanked her for her time and left, wondering if she had indeed killed the man.

  CHAPTER 20

  I drove home for lunch, hoping to learn what information Susan had obtained about my family, but she waved me off because my mom was milling around. Susan’s mom was also there and the two mothers were hitting it off. Surprisingly, they were discussing plans for the wedding and a fistfight hadn’t broken out yet. It seemed they were all in agreement over the location, the date, the preacher, and the attendees. They also seemed to agree that I was only along for the ride. My new slogan was, “Yes, honey.”

  “I’m getting spoiled,” Susan told me as I sat down to a plate of fried pork, rice, and potato salad. “Your mom insists on cooking—claims she loves it—and I can’t stop her from cleaning everything.”

  “I do love it,” my mom called from the living room, where she and Susan’s mom, Lisa, were looking at wedding dresses. “I won’t want to go back home.”

  “But you will,” I said under my breath.

  Susan playfully socked my shoulder with her fist. “Be nice!”

  As I ate, I went over the details of the case with her. “I’ve got three potential suspects—Chris Jenkins, Connie Taylor, and Brandy Lewis—but none of them stands out more than the others.”

  “Didn’t y’all recover a pistol off of Chris Jenkins?”

  I nodded and waited while I chewed on my food. Once I swallowed, I told her about his possible alibi. “I have to go to Old Man Pat’s this evening to see if his alibi checks out.”

  “And if it does?”

  I sighed. “Then the next best suspect would be Connie. She’s the only one who stood to gain something if he died, and she admitted to wanting him dead.”

  “What would she get?”

  “The bar and five hundred grand in life insurance money.”

  Susan whistled. “That’s enough to put anyone’s life in danger.”

  “Whose life is in danger?” my mom asked from the living room.

  “No one.” I wanted to confront her again about my dad, but decided against it. She seemed really upset last night and I didn’t want to ruin our Thanksgiving visit.

  Once I’d finished eating, I grabbed a few chunks of meat and walked out the back door, where Achilles was sitting in the shade of a tree. His ears had perked up long before he saw me and he sat at attention, watching me walk across the yard toward him. I could tell he wanted to jump up and rush over to me, but he was exercising restraint. It was almost as though he knew he would be rewarded for being patient.

  “Come,” I said when I was halfway across the yard.

  He yelped in excitement and rushed toward me, stopping and dropping to a seated position at my feet. I was always impressed with his stopping abilities. It often looked like he would crash right into me and knock both of us sprawling, but then he would dig in his heels and come to an abrupt stop mere inches from my legs.

  I told him to shake. When he extended his paw up to my hand, I rewarded him with a piece of meat. He swallowed it without taking the time to chew it. I played with him for a few more minutes and then trudged back to the house, bummed that I couldn’t take him to work with me.

  “Do you have to go back so early?” Susan asked. “It’s Sunday. You should take some time off and spend it with your mom while she’s here. Besides, Old Man Pat’s won’t be open until later.”

  “I have to interview the other worker from the Corner Pub—some guy named Foster Blake—just to cover all the bases.” I shrugged. “He might know of some beef someone had with Mitch.”

  “Or, he might be the killer,” my mom offered from the living room. “Why don’t you tell me about this case? I might be able to help.”

  “I can’t discuss open investigations,” I explained.

  “Excuse me?” She looked up from the wedding dress catalog and a frown fell across her face. “I heard you discussing it with Susan earlier.”

  “She’s the chief of police,” I explained. “She gets to know everything that happens in town.”

  “But what if she’s right?” Susan asked. “What if he is the killer?”

  “He can’t be. His alibi is rock solid.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He was having an affair with the only other employee from the bar, Joyce Reynolds.”

  “Maybe the dead guy was sleeping with this Joyce character, too,” my mom said. “You want to get two guys fighting, put a girl between them.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, waving. “I’ll keep that in mind as I’m questioning him.”

  Susan kissed my cheek and entered the living room. “I’ll tell you about a major case we worked about a year ago,” she told my mom. “It’ll help pass the time while we look for the perfect wedding dress.”

  “Just as long as it doesn’t involve you getting shot with an arrow or breaking your leg,” Lisa Wilson said from her perch next to
my mom. “I don’t think I can tolerate hearing about any more violence directed toward my baby girl.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Lacy Court was on the western side of Main Street and a couple of miles from Paradise Place, so it didn’t take long for me to reach it. I cruised down the paved road and scanned both sides of the street, searching for the correct address. I finally found it and parked on the shoulder. The driveway was crowded and it looked as though they were also entertaining company for the Thanksgiving holidays.

  I approached the two-story, barn-style home and knocked on the door. An elderly man answered and I asked if he was Foster Blake.

  “No, sir, I’m Desmond.” The man stuck out a thin hand that trembled slightly. “I’m just visiting, but I can get Foster’s wife for you.”

  I thanked him and waited. There was some shuffling from inside and then a woman wearing an apron over tights and a T-shirt answered the door. She glanced down at my badge and then out to my unmarked Tahoe, and her eyes widened.

  “Oh, God, what is it? Is it Foster? Is he…is he okay?”

  “I’m here looking to speak with him,” I said. “I have some questions about an incident down at the bar that took place Friday night.”

  The woman’s shoulders drooped in relief. “Thank God! I thought something terrible had happened.”

  “Why would you think that?” I asked.

  “We got into an argument and he left.” She waved a wooden cooking spoon in the air. “Just regular family stuff, you know? Well, maybe not so regular, but it is what it is. Anyway, he told me he would be sleeping in a motel for a couple of days, so when I saw you, I was worried something bad had happened to him. You know how people get depressed sometimes and want to hurt themselves around the holidays.”

  I nodded, remembering what Joyce had told me about them separating. “So, I take it you’re his wife?”

  “Oh, yes, forgive my manners.” She switched the spoon to her left hand and held out her right one. “Pearly Blake. I am his wife.”