Statue of Limitations

by Kate Collins

  “Are you serious? Why would you want to test it in such a public place?”

  “I can’t think of a better way.”

  “I can. Stay away!”

  Case rubbed his hands together. “Come on, Athena. It’ll be fun.”

  Fun?

  Tums. I had to buy Tums.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Friday

  From the moment we opened the doors for our grand unveiling of the Treasure of Athena, Spencer’s was mobbed. A whole slew of our local customers and a lot of curious tourists turned out to see our original Antonius. There were so many people in the garden area that I could barely squeeze my way among them. Of course, it didn’t help that I was seeing spots before my eyes. The reporter from the Sequoian Press must have snapped two dozen photos of my family and me posed by the statue with various customers.

  But by eleven o’clock, the food had been gobbled up, the shop had emptied out as the crowd left in search of other pursuits, and best of all, the cash register was full.

  While the caterers loaded food trays into their van, I flopped into a wicker chair and gazed up at the statue as Dad took a seat at the wicker table next to me. “That turned out a lot better than I expected,” I said.

  Delphi brought us cups of coffee, then perched on the statue’s base. “Good job, guys.”

  “Thanks.” I held up my coffee. “Same to both of you.”

  My father inhaled the coffee aroma and sighed with pleasure. “This is just what I needed. Thank you, Delph. That was sweet of you.”

  “I know,” she said with a satisfied sigh, smoothing out her long, flowing skirt. She was dressed in a vibrant red peasant blouse and tie-dyed navy cotton skirt with her ever present green flip-flops and her curly black hair pulled away from her face with sparkling red butterfly clips.

  My outfit, as usual, was more conservative—aqua boatneck top and white pants with white flats. In honor of the occasion, I’d swept my light brown hair back into a high, loose knot and left a few long strands hanging down in front of each ear, with round pearl earrings to complete the look. It had taken an extra fifteen minutes of fiddling, but I wanted to look more polished for the photographs than my usual plain self. Even Dad had dressed up today, wearing a button-down white shirt and blue-and-green–striped necktie with navy pants and black shoes.

  “Anyone want to come down to the diner with me for an early lunch?” Delphi asked.

  “Hey, bottomless pit,” Dad teased, giving her a playful poke. “It’s only eleven o’clock. How can you be thinking about food already?”

  “It has to be noon somewhere,” she replied.

  That reminded me, I had forty-five minutes until my meeting with Kirkland and I hadn’t yet thought up a reason for being absent at lunch.

  Ah. I had it. I made a show of stretching leisurely, then stood up. “I’m going to help you tidy up back here and then take a break from the diner for a stroll to City Hall Plaza to sample pizza from the new gourmet food truck.”

  Eat pizza—meet with the coroner—almost the same thing.

  But then I noticed the look of interest on my sister’s face and wished I could take back my words. Bad idea, Athena! More proof I was not cut out for espionage.

  Before my sister could respond, Dad jumped in. “Not that anyone cares but I’m having lunch at the Bon Ami Bistro with a lady friend.” He gave me a wink.

  “A lady friend?” Delphi asked looking from him to me. “It’s your sister Maggie, isn’t it?”

  Dad smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Your cousin Patty?” quizzed Delphi.

  “Give up, Delph. I’m not telling.” He got up and headed toward the office with Delphi following behind, still trying to guess the woman’s name. I dropped my head against the back of the chair. Saved by Dad.

  * * *

  At noon, I paused outside the door to City Hall and looked around for Case. He’d promised to be there five minutes ahead of time. Where was he? What if he’d been spotted even with his disguise? I scanned the men passing by on the sidewalk, but there was no sign of him.

  “Are you ready to play detective?”

  I turned with a gasp to find not Case but the new Dimitrius directly behind me. Trying not to betray my anxiety I answered, “Of course I am.” Not. I was shaking like a leaf inside. “Are you ready?”

  “Naturally.” He gestured toward my upswept hairdo. “Different. I like it.”

  “Thanks.” Trying to act casual about it, I fiddled with one of my earrings. In truth, his remark made me feel . . . awkward, and slightly pretty. My sisters were the ones who got all the compliments. I was always the tall, pale one in the back row of the family photographs who stuck out like a sore thumb.

  After an uncomfortable moment in which I realized belatedly that he’d been waiting for a return compliment, Case asked, “Do I look okay?”

  He looked—I had to take a breath—great. I hated to admit just how great, but the only way I could describe his appearance was sexy—that dark, almost curly hair dipping down over his forehead, his expressive eyes, the thick beard now filling in across his firm jawline, the crisp blue plaid shirt tucked neatly into jeans that fit him like a glove right down to his navy sh—

  The shoes! My eyes widened in shock. I nudged him over to the edge of the sidewalk and whispered angrily, “You wore your own shoes.”

  He whispered back, “You forgot to buy me new ones.”

  “Case, your photograph is all over town. What were you thinking?”

  “Mainly that your grandfather’s shoes made me wince when I walked.”

  “And you couldn’t wear them for one lousy hour?”

  “I’m not a big fan of torture.”

  Chewing my lip, I checked my watch. “It’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  “Calm down. Lots of men wear navy loafers. Now take a deep breath—thatta girl—and let’s do this thing.”

  As Case opened the door for me, I pressed my hand against my racing heart. I still couldn’t believe he was out in public and not worried at all, although his disguise had really changed his looks. Still, he made Kevin’s annoyingly prudent nature seem desirable by comparison. Fortunately, the building was practically empty because of the noon hour, so only a few people were in sight.

  “The coroner’s office is down the hall to your left,” I said quietly. “Remember, you’re Dimitrius Costas, a mystery writer from Tarpon—”

  “I’ve got it memorized, Athena.”

  I had a sudden thought and stopped in alarm. “Wait! How do we know each other?”

  “I broke into your shop and tried to steal your statue. Remember?”

  With a scowl, I started walking again. “I’m being serious. We worked out your history but not how we met.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” As we approached the coroner’s office he said, “How about this? We dated one summer when your family came down to Tarpon Springs on vacation.”

  “I’m still being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, so I teased him back. “What makes you think I would’ve dated you?”

  Case gazed at me with a tiny quirk of a smile. “Because women can’t resist me.”

  “How about we’re distantly related and we met at a family reunion in Tarpon Springs?”

  “Whichever works for you.” He reached for the doorknob. “Ready?”

  Ready to leave that subject behind. “Wait,” I said, digging in my purse. “We need to put our phones on mute.”

  “If only I had one,” he said dryly.

  Damn. I’d forgotten again. “I promise I’ll get one for you later.” I clicked the mute button and squared my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  When we entered the office’s anteroom, there was no secretary to greet us. I saw a frosted glass door with the words County Coroner on the right side of the small room, so we headed for it. After I gave two soft raps on the glass, I hea
rd a man call, “Come in.”

  Taking a steadying breath, I waited until Case opened the door and then I stepped inside. Immediately, Daniel Kirkland rose from his black vinyl swivel chair and came around his desk to greet us.

  “Miss Spencer,” he said with a polite smile, shaking my hand, his heavy palm damp with perspiration. “Nice to see you again.”

  The coroner was a short, stout man with craggy features, a red-veined nose typical of heavy drinkers, and a head full of white hair. He wore a white long-sleeved, button-down shirt, yellow-and-brown–striped tie, and brown pants with a sharp crease down each leg. His brown leather oxford shoes had that spit-shined look of an army man.

  The office had typical administration-cheap furniture—a large maple desk and credenza behind it, a row of maple filing cabinets, a window covered by white aluminum blinds on one wall that looked out over the parking lot, and a gray linoleum floor.

  Trying to unobtrusively wipe my palm on my pant leg, I said, “Dr. Kirkland, this is Dimitrius Costas, the writer I mentioned on the phone.”

  “Costas,” the coroner said, eyeing Case warily as he shook his hand.

  “Dr. Kirkland, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Case said with his disarming smile, even as he, too, slid his palm discreetly down his pant leg. “Thanks so much for agreeing to this interview.”

  Kirkland indicated a pair of standard-issue white plastic office chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat. I need to tell you up front, however, that I’m going to have to limit our conversation to twenty minutes. I need time to eat and be back for a meeting.”

  “We appreciate any amount of time you can give us,” Case said. His easy manner made my insides unknot appreciably.

  We sat in front of Kirkland’s desk while he relaxed into his swivel chair. I slid my notebook and a pen out of my purse and gave them to Case, who opened it to our questions. When Case handed me my iPad, however, the coroner sat forward and held up his hand.

  “Stop right there. There will be no videotaping of this conversation. Is that understood?”

  His defensive tone put me on alert. “I’m just going to be taking down your answers.”

  Kirkland jabbed a thick finger toward Case’s notebook. “Then what’s that for?”

  Case held the small, spiral-bound book up for Kirkland’s inspection and said nonchalantly, “These are my questions. Athena is using her tablet because she can type faster than I could ever hope to scribble anything legible.”

  As Kirkland pondered Case’s answer, I held my breath and waited, hoping he wouldn’t cancel the interview before it even got started.

  Kirkland made a motion with his hand. “Proceed then.”

  I felt my shoulders relax.

  “One more thing,” Kirkland added.

  And there went my shoulders.

  “You make sure I stay anonymous.”

  “Absolutely,” Case said.

  The coroner sat back with a smug look and folded his thick fingers over his stomach. Case’s casual banter had obviously eased his mind, but Kirkland’s guarded behavior didn’t ease mine. It just made me even more suspicious of him.

  Placing my fingers on the keypad, I let Case take the lead.

  “My first question is probably the most obvious,” he began. “What kind of training is required for your job?”

  “It depends on the county,” Kirkland said, loosening his tie. “In my case, I had to complete a probationary period of on-the-job training with the former coroner.”

  As I typed his answer, Case placed a checkmark next to the question, then moved on to the next. “Do you have any medical training?”

  Kirkland puffed up in indignation. “I’m a licensed physician, sir. I have a thriving medical practice.”

  “Excuse me, then. Being new to town, I didn’t realize that.” Case continued down his list, placing checkmarks beside each completed question. “Would you outline your duties?”

  “In a nutshell, I lead investigations into the cause of a person’s death.”

  “Do you remove bodies from crime scenes?”

  “Not personally, no, but I oversee the removal.”

  “What happens once you arrive on the scene?”

  “I perform a cursory exam to look for signs of trauma and identify the cause and time of death.”

  “What if there’s no clear-cut reason for the death?” Case asked, as I typed furiously to keep up.

  “That’s what an autopsy is for.”

  Case paused, as though considering the coroner’s answer, then asked, “Are you the one who decides whether an autopsy is needed? Or do the detectives make that call?”

  “I make the decision.”

  “In the event of a murder,” Case asked, “do you interview witnesses at the scene or is that something the police handle?”

  “The detectives and I both do. Usually I’m on the scene first so I start the investigation.”

  “What was the official cause of death in the most recent murder?”

  “Asphyxiation.”

  “In layman’s terms?”

  “Suffocation.”

  “Whom did you interview at the scene?”

  Giving Case a wary glance, Kirkland asked, “How does that pertain to your book?”

  I glanced over at Case in surprise. That question hadn’t been on our list. I could feel perspiration begin to gather under my armpits as I waited for Kirkland’s answer, and I could tell he was struggling to come up with it.

  “What I think Dimitrius meant to ask,” I said, “is how much time did you have to spend at the scene interviewing witnesses on that case? We’d been discussing Harry Pepper’s murder on the way over and I guess that’s still on his mind. Right, Dimitrius?”

  “Right. Sorry if I gave the wrong impression.”

  Kirkland’s answer was curt and sly. “I spent as much time as I needed to spend.”

  I saw the narrowing of Case’s eyes as he studied the man and I knew he was about to dig deeper, something we had agreed not to do. “How many witnesses were there when you arrived?” he asked.

  I gave Case’s hand a painful squeeze, but he merely pulled it away.

  “I’m not allowed to answer a question pertaining to an ongoing criminal investigation.” The coroner glanced over his shoulder at a clock on the credenza behind him, as though hoping our twenty minutes were up.

  “Okay, then, let’s talk about another death that occurred in the same house,” Case continued, “Grayson Talbot Senior. There’s no ongoing investigation into that case, so perhaps you can tell me about his cause of death.”

  I squeezed Case’s hand again and he pulled it away again. He had wrested control of the interview from me and there was no way I could take it back now without raising the coroner’s suspicions.

  Looking through a stack of files on his desk, Kirkland replied with studied disinterest, “It was an accidental drowning.”

  “I read in the newspaper that Talbot’s daughter-in-law discovered his body submerged in his bathtub one morning and said that he’d simply fallen asleep during his bath, which is how you ruled his death. Is that correct?”

  “I believe so.”

  Case glanced at Kirkland with a puzzled expression. “That’s odd. The account I read online said that Talbot’s son reported that his wife had given his father a sleeping pill before retiring for the evening, which had caused him to fall asleep in the bath and drown. Is that true?”

  “I don’t remember Mr. Talbot ever telling me his father had taken a sleeping pill,” Kirkland replied stiffly, “but I’d have to look up the report to be sure.”

  “Have you ever prescribed sleeping pills for Lila Talbot?”

  “That’s confidential information.”

  “Thinking back on it,” Case probed, “don’t you find it questionable that there are two conflicting accounts of the man’s death? Either he fell asleep naturally or was drugged and then fell asleep. It has to be one or the other.”

  “What difference d
oes it make to your novel? You’re the one writing it.”

  Point Kirkland’s. I stayed silent to see how Case would respond. But instead, the crabby coroner stood and began stuffing files into his briefcase. “I have to leave now.”

  I nudged Case and indicated that we should leave, too. We weren’t going to get anything useful from Kirkland now.

  I closed the iPad and slipped it into my purse, ready to stand up, but Case wasn’t done yet. “One more question before you go. I would assume that by virtue of your position of responsibility you’d have interviewed both Talbot’s son and daughter-in-law after both deaths. Did you interview the household staff?”

  Kirkland snapped his briefcase shut. “I’m sure I did but it happened a while ago and I have a busy medical practice in addition to this job. And again, what does that have to do with your story anyway?”

  The deaths happened a while ago? That was his excuse? That did it for me. His evasiveness had to stop. “Dr. Kirkland,” I said with rising anger, “we’ve had two suspicious deaths in less than a month in a town that hasn’t seen a murder in over a year. How is it possible you can’t remember whom you interviewed?”

  The coroner’s expression turned dark. “I think it’s time you left.”

  At that my short-tempered Greek side reared its head. “What are you hiding, Dr. Kirkland? Are you protecting someone?”

  “Protecting?” he asked, puffing up again. “What are you insinuating?”

  “Why didn’t you perform an autopsy on Mr. Talbot when it’s required by law in cases where no witnesses are present?” I asked. Case turned his head toward me in surprise. Oh yes, I’d done my research. I hadn’t been a reporter all those years for nothing.

  His face turning redder by the second, Kirkland said, “That’s my business, not yours.”

  “It was Talbot’s son’s decision, wasn’t it?” I asked. “What’s the payoff? Unlimited term in office?”

  He grabbed his briefcase and strode to the door. “See yourselves out.”

  And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “So,” Case said slowly as he escorted me out of the building, “that went well.”