“He does make it look easy, doesn’t he?”
“Life’s simpler for our pets. Miss Muffet spends most of her time snoozing. Maybe if I wasn’t so worried about how Luke might react to what I’m going to tell him, I could sleep better.”
“I hope it’ll all work out, Liz.”
“Me, too,” Liz sighed, picking up an album that looked much less worn than the first one I had seen. “I want to show you someone else, Laurel,” she said as she slowly turned the pages of the album. “Ah, here it is. This is a picture of Diana—Victor’s wife—and me taken a couple of months before she died. We dressed up and went to high tea at the Hotel Excelsior. Even though she was quite weak at that point, she really wanted to go to tea one last time. I know it must have cost her great effort. Our waitress took that picture for us in front of the hotel’s tea room.”
“Oh, yes, I see the silver tea service in the background on that little table.”
“It didn’t occur to us to take our own picture with one of our cell phones. Nobody’d ever heard of a selfie back then.”
“It’s a good picture, Liz. Something about that brooch that Diana is wearing looks familiar. I could swear that I’ve seen that same brooch somewhere.” The large brooch, set with hundreds of sparkly, tiny red rhinestones, black jet, and small white pearls, all set in silver, was shaped like two pistols placed at an angle facing each other with their barrels crossed.
“It was one of Diana’s favorites. She won it, along with a huge trophy, at a local shooting match. She wore it quite often.”
“I can see why. It’s so distinctive.”
Little yelping noises interrupted us. We looked at Bear, who was still sound asleep, although his legs were moving. Deep in dreamland, he barked so loudly that he woke himself up, looked confused for a moment, stood up, and nuzzled my hand. I scratched him behind his ears, just the way he liked, and he lay back down at my feet while Liz and I sipped our iced tea.
“Where’s the colonel tonight, Liz? I’m surprised you don’t have a date.”
“His hiking club’s on an overnight camping trip, but they should be back sometime tomorrow evening.”
“So that’s why you two didn’t get together tonight. You didn’t want to go with them?”
“Me? Hiking? Camping? No, I’m afraid I’m a city girl. Anyway, it’s strictly a men’s club—they’re all retired military guys.”
“Maybe you and the colonel can do something Sunday.”
“Yes, we’re planning to go to the Greek Food Festival Sunday afternoon.”
“No kidding? I’m going tomorrow.”
“With Tracey?”
“No, she’s tied up with work, but I have a date.”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Could it be with that handsome detective who knows more about me than he should?”
“Uh, huh. He took me to dinner last night.”
“And you two already have another date? I’ll bet he’s smitten.”
“Well, I just hope he can make it. He warned me that he’s on call tomorrow night.”
“If he has to cancel because of work, you could always go with Bobby and me on Sunday.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I guess it’s about time for Bear and me to head home now. Good-night, Liz.”
Once in bed that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about Liz and her plan to tell Luke that she was his grandmother. I’d all but eliminated Luke as a suspect in Victor’s killing, but what if I was wrong? It would be terribly hard on Liz, not to mention Luke’s wife and children, if he were the killer. The police didn’t seem to be making too much progress on the case, not that Wes would tell me if they were, and I hadn’t learned much from questioning the board members.
Kenny remained a wild card in the mix, but thinking about Kenny and what he’d revealed before his mother had told him not to say another word, I knew what I had to do, and I knew that I had to do it early tomorrow morning.
Chapter 17
Before I went to bed, I sorted through my file of paperwork from the Hawkeye Haven HOA, finally finding the most recent annual directory of residents of the community. Scanning the last names that start with C, I located Rachel Caswell’s home address, 3826 Lily-of-the-Valley Lane. Surprised, I hadn’t realized that the new president of the HOA and her son Kenny lived on the same street where my cousin Tracey lived, the very street where Victor Eberhart had resided before he’d been murdered. Kenny wouldn’t have had far to go if he’d shot Victor.
Somehow, I couldn’t quite picture the lazy high school student and part-time janitor as a killer, despite Wes’s having labeled him as “a person of interest.” Although I wasn’t sure whether or not the teenager had been lying about discarding the gun in a trash can on the way home, he’d sounded sincere. Kenny hadn’t had a chance to explain any details because his mother had suddenly told him to keep quiet, and that’s exactly what he’d done.
Combining my fact-finding mission with Bear’s Saturday morning walk might net some interesting information about where Kenny had disposed of Bessie’s gun. Armed with my smartphone, plastic bags for doggie pick-up duty, and my house key, I left the house with Bear a few minutes before sunrise. We headed for the back gate. I planned to retrace Kenny’s path back to the Caswell house after his attack on Bessie. Surely, Kenny hadn’t lingered after he’d shoved Bessie and she’d fallen, injuring her head. He must have pulled her gun from her holster and run away as quickly as possible, taking off his ski mask and making a beeline for home. Because all the houses in Hawkeye Haven had six-feet-high walled backyards, I thought it unlikely that Kenny would have tried to hide by taking that route. The fastest way for Kenny to reach his house would have been to sprint straight down Hawkeye Haven Way, the wide maple-tree-lined main street, which snaked through the community, the front gate and main guardhouse on one end and the back gate and its smaller guardhouse on the other end. Two blocks from the back gate’s guardhouse, he would have turned left onto Lily-of-the-Valley Lane, the four-block long street where he lived with his mother. I had written down Rachel’s house number, and, by comparing it with Tracey’s, I knew that the Caswell home was in the fourth and last block of Lily-of-the-Valley Lane, which ends in a cul-de-sac. Anyone visiting a home on Lily-of-the-Valley Lane or an intersecting side street would have to come in and go out at the intersection of Lily-of-the-Valley Lane and Hawkeye Haven Way because there is no other outlet.
Planning to start at the guardhouse and walk directly to Kenny’s house, I urged Bear to hurry up, but he had spotted Goldie coming out of her house with Fran, and I knew my chocolate Lab wouldn’t be satisfied unless I let him greet his pal. I waved to Fran and crossed the street. Tails wagging, the two dogs nuzzled each other.
“Hi, Fran, taking Goldie for a walk?”
“No, a ride. I forgot to buy coffee at the grocery store yesterday, and we’re totally out. I’m just going to buzz through Starbucks and pick up a couple of grandes while Brian fixes us some breakfast. Goldie kept bugging him, so I thought I’d take her along.” As if to confirm her pet mommy’s declaration, Goldie barked sharply.
“Sounds as though she’s raring to go.”
“She loves to ride in the car. Say, have you heard the latest?”
“Ummm. I don’t know. What?”
“Rachel has hired Gerard Foster as Kenny’s attorney. I just heard it on the early morning news.”
“No kidding! Gerard Foster, the celebrity lawyer?”
“That’s the one. Anytime Hollywood stars get into trouble, they hire him.”
“Kenny’s defense must be costing Rachel a fortune. I didn’t realize that she was so wealthy.”
“She isn’t, but her ex-husband is, and I’m sure he’s the one footing the bill for his son. He’d do anything to keep that kid out of prison, and if anyone can help Kenny get out of this mess, it’s Gerard Foster.”
“Kenny hasn’t been charged with Victor’s murder, has he?”
“Not yet, I guess, but it could happen any time. That�
��s probably why Kenny’s dad hired Foster. The report I heard this morning said that the gun used in the murder was our security guard’s stolen gun, and everybody at Hawkeye Haven knows that Kenny’s already admitted to taking it.”
Evidently, Luke had been right about the stolen gun’s being the same gun that the killer had used to shoot Victor. I wondered why the police had released that bit of information to the public. Perhaps, as Fran assumed, Kenny was about to be charged with the murder.
“Well, I’d better hurry. Brian will be getting grumpy without his morning coffee. Come on, Goldie.” Goldie hopped into the back seat of Fran’s car, and Bear tried to follow her, but I held him back. “See you later, Laurel.”
“’Bye,” I called to Fran, before tugging on Bear’s leash to turn him around. “Let’s go this way, Bear.” When we approached the guardhouse at the back gate, Bear pranced and wagged his tail in anticipation of his usual treat. Luckily, I had remembered to bring a dog biscuit to pacify him, but I felt sad that Bessie would never be there again to greet us on our daily walk.
Pulling my smartphone out of my pocket, I activated the voice memo function so that I could make a record of my findings. I planned to note the address of each house where a trash can had been set out. Wednesday and Saturdays are the regular trash pick-up days for Hawkeye Haven, so the residents usually set out their garbage the night before or sometimes early in the morning (HOA Regulation 89a states that “trash must not be set out until after dark on Tuesday and Friday.”).
Kenny had said that he’d dumped the gun in a trash can. Many residents simply used trash bags, rather than cans, because they wouldn’t have to worry about bringing them in from the curb within the HOA’s mandated twelve-hour time limit after the garbage had been collected. There’d be a limited number of trash cans set out, and I intended to learn where they all were.
We proceeded along Hawkeye Haven Way, where only four garbage cans were set out in the two blocks from the gate to Lily-of-the-Valley Lane. I noted the address at each place on my voice memo. We turned left at Lily-of-the-Valley Lane, and I continued noting trash cans and addresses until we reached the end of the street. Rachel Caswell’s house turned out to be one of the last homes on the street, sitting on the cul-de-sac. There was no trash at all in front of the house. Rachel had probably been too busy dealing with Kenny’s legal problems to worry about trash pick-up.
We circled the cul-de-sac and headed back, switching to the east side of Lily-of-the-Valley Lane. We’d passed Tracey’s house when we came in, but I didn’t go to the door or text her because I hoped that she’d still be asleep. Undoubtedly, she could use some rest after the week she’d had at work—the week that had become never-ending. I knew that her rich-but-in-your-face client had proven to be even more indecisive and unreasonable than Tracey had first anticipated, and she and her team were going to have to spend the entire weekend trying to come up with a plan of action and branding strategy that he would approve. He was the reason she’d had to cancel our plans to go to the Greek Food Festival together.
Just as we were about to pass her house on the other side of the street, Tracey’s garage door opened, and she slowly backed her white SUV into the street. She spotted us, stopped, and opened her window. Bear jumped up on the door and poked his head in the window to greet Tracey, but I quickly pulled him back. She was on her way to work and didn’t need to take any stray dog hairs along with her.
“Lo-lo and my best buddy Bear! I wish I could go walking with you instead of heading to work.”
“You’re going in early today—and on a Saturday, too. I hope this client comes through for you.”
“So do I. We haven’t spent this much time courting a client in years, but it’ll be worth it if he buys into our plans for his company’s branding. He’s insisted on taking us all to dinner tonight, so I knew there was no way I’d be able to go to the Greek Food Festival this evening, but I’m glad you’re going to be able to go with Wes.”
“So am I. I’ll pick up some baklava for you.”
“My favorite. That’d be great!”
“Good luck with your client.”
“Thanks, I’ll need it. Keep me posted on Mr. Wonderful.”
I smiled. “I will.”
“And I promise I’ll make Bear some yummy yam chips just as soon as my client leaves town.”
Wagging his tail, Bear woofed his approval as though he knew what Tracey had said, and maybe he did. He probably recognized the word “yam.”
Tracey drove off as Bear and I continued down Lily-of-the-Valley Lane. As we walked, I wondered whether or not tracking the residences where the trash cans were used was an exercise in futility. Since I didn’t know most of the people along the route, I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to garner any clues, but I was certainly going to try. So far as I could tell, nobody was paying much attention to what Kenny had said about getting rid of Bessie’s gun.
That was probably unfair of me. More likely, the police hadn’t yet been able to question Kenny. After all, thanks to his father, Kenny had a high-powered attorney who would use every legal maneuver in his repertoire to obtain the best possible outcome for his client. Anyway, if Kenny hadn’t shot Victor, he would still be accountable for the attack on Bessie, but his celebrity attorney might well be able to wrangle a favorable deal for Kenny. I was sure Bessie wouldn’t like that. Even if Kenny hadn’t deliberately injured her, the attack had altered her life significantly. Without the hapless teenager and his desire to join the Dragons, Bessie would still be on the job at the guardhouse.
Once home, I settled myself on the patio with a cup of coffee, my laptop, and Hawkeye Haven’s directory of residents while Bear wandered around the backyard. Spotting a harmless little garden snake that lived under one of the dense bushes along the back wall, he raced to the spot where the snake had slithered out from beneath the bush, but the snake, easily taking cover under another bush, proved much faster than Bear. Still alert, Bear sat under the bush awaiting the small reptile’s return while I pulled my smartphone from my pocket and transferred all the addresses where I’d spotted trash cans during our morning walk to a spreadsheet on my laptop. Listing each address first, I then looked up the name of the residents who lived there and entered those names in the second column. I created a third column for notes, or more accurately, speculations about each entry.
There were three addresses that I didn’t have to look up in the directory because I already knew who lived there; in fact, they lived within a few houses of each other—first, Cynthia and her husband Pete; second, Amy; third, Karl and Eva. They all lived close to Victor’s house, so close that Karl had heard Courtney’s screams when she’d found her father’s body lying in the doorway and had run to help her. Amy evidently hadn’t been far behind.
There were five names on the spreadsheet that I didn’t recognize at all along with another name of someone I knew—one of the ladies who often attended my DIY classes. But the final two entries on my spreadsheet were the ones that gave me pause and might very well mean that I should narrow my list of suspects to three.
Chapter 18
One of the two residences that had strongly grabbed my attention belonged to Tommy and Sonya, and the other belonged to Luis Cardoza and his wife. I hadn’t realized that Sonya and her angry husband or Luis Cardoza, who’d warned me that it could be dangerous to “nose around” in the murder investigation, lived on Lily-of-the-Valley Lane. Well, well, well. Although I realized that this information might mean nothing, it was equally possible that it might mean everything.
Abby, my student, had described Sonya’s behavior as “weird” when she’d attended my DIY Earrings class the day after the murder. I remembered the reason for the comment: Sonya had been acting as though nothing had happened after Victor had been shot, and she’d mentioned the detectives’ visit to her in an almost breezy way. She’d been more concerned about extending her babysitter’s hours so that she could run errands than with Victor’s murder. Somethin
g about her attitude had struck the other students as odd, although I hadn’t paid much attention at the time, having been mainly worried that Sonya would blame me for pointing the detectives in her direction. Of course, that worry had subsided when I learned that I hadn’t been the only person Sonya had told about her problems with Victor and the HOA. She’d confided in quite a few other residents, too.
Tommy, Sonya’s husband, hadn’t exactly played it cool, either. Several men had heard his locker-room threats against Victor, including Cynthia’s husband Pete, who’d witnessed the scene in the locker room at the golf course and had concluded that Tommy might very well be Victor’s killer.
Then there was Luis Cardoza. At Victor’s funeral reception, he’d admitted that he felt responsible for his fiancé’s suicide, but he’d denied allowing Victor to blackmail him. He’d certainly sounded believable, I thought. When he’d ended our conversation with a warning, I hadn’t known quite how to interpret it. Had he threatened me, or had he warned me because he’d felt concerned for my safety? His meaning was ambiguous, at best.
Any one of the three could have seen Kenny put the gun in their trash cans as he fled from the guardhouse. Any one of the three could have taken advantage of the opportunity such a weapon had presented, especially if they could have retrieved it from the trash can without anyone’s observing their actions. In that case, there’d be nothing to connect the stolen gun to the killer. All three had a motive to kill Victor, but which one had acted?
So far as prime suspects were concerned, I was leaning toward Tommy myself, mainly because Luis had seemed somewhat credible to me, and Sonya didn’t seem the type of person who would resort to violence. Still, I couldn’t discount either Luis or Sonya. Maybe I could eliminate one, two, or all three of them, if I could just find out whether or not they had alibis for Thursday night and early Friday morning, the time frame during which Victor had been shot. I’d had the opportunity to ask Luis Cardoza where he’d been the night of the murder, but I hadn’t done so. I could have kicked myself for failing to ask the question. I’d seen Sonya in class the day after the murder, where I could easily have asked her what she’d told the detectives about her and Tommy’s whereabouts that night, but I hadn’t done that, either. I’d have to try to think of a way to ferret out the information because, thus far, the sum of my sleuthing amounted to very little.
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