"There is something I noticed when we first got the mayor's body out," Stephanie said, leaning forward and setting her empty cup on the table. "I'm no forensics expert, but it looked to me like the weapon went straight in. The way I see it is Alex Jordan is about six-two, close to the mayor's height. If he was going to stab him, he'd have brought the blade up, or down. Either way it would have been angled more."
"Maybe. If Ethan was bending over or had fallen. . .." The image of Jordan or anyone stabbing Ethan in the back seat Helen's stomach churning. "I don't suppose we'll have any real answers there until the medical examiner's report comes in."
"Joe's expecting a preliminary report this afternoon."
Helen nodded. "Then I'll have to make a point of stopping by the office."
"Hey, I gotta run. I'm glad we had this talk." Stephanie thanked her again and waved as she ducked into her car. "I'll keep you posted."
Helen stood in the doorway until the patrol car disappeared from view. She then shut the door, padded to the living room, and sank onto the couch. So Alex had confessed. She thought about the impression he'd made the day before when he'd been at the house. He was a nice-looking, clean-cut man and had the face and the smile of someone kind and loving. But it was more than his looks. There were plenty of guys in prison who looked like ordinary nice guys and yet had committed heinous crimes. Could her instincts be so completely wrong? Did she simply want him to be innocent because of Rosie?
Helen leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes, thinking of the Alex Jordan she'd seen in the patrol car the night before. The pleading eyes. The look of fear. He’d spoken of his innocence.
She'd believed him then. And God help her, she still did. She was a good judge of character, always had been. So why had he confessed? Had Joe forced a confession? She doubted that. Helen decided it wasn't really Alex's guilt or innocence that had her so concerned. It was his connection with Rosie, the check Rosie had written to Alex in the same amount as the deposit made to her account.
Planting her hands on her knees, she stood. "There's only one thing to do," she said aloud. "Find Rosie."
Chapter Fourteen
Helen gathered the items she needed for her trip to Lincoln City, her extra clothes, towel, binoculars, sunglasses, a novel, water bottle, and protein bar and stuffed them into her denim beach bag. Regardless of how the day unfolded, she intended to take full advantage of the sunshine.
Hopefully, she'd find Rosie and get the mess straightened out, and then locate a quiet beach and take a leisurely walk. She hadn't had a good walk or run in many days; her fitness regimen was practically nonexistent. Since being shot, she'd been remiss about exercising. Not a good thing.
Sitting in her car at the end of her driveway, Helen hesitated before taking a left toward Lincoln City. Instead, she hung a right. Soon she was driving into a private residential area on her way to the Crane home. The slight alteration in plans came as a result of two things. First, she felt guilty for not calling Eleanor the evening before, and second, she'd completely forgotten about talking with Annie regarding the women's luncheon. The stop wouldn't take long, and she felt compelled to check on the family.
She pulled into Eleanor's driveway at ten sharp. One of the doors on the three-car garage was left open, and inside was Eleanor's Mercedes. Two other cars were parked in front of the other doors. A bike leaned against the center support. It looked as though Nancy's daughter had returned to the fold.
Nancy came around from the side of the house, her shoulder-length ash brown hair tossing in the wind like a horse's mane. Her two-inch heels clicked and scraped on the sidewalk as she approached Helen. Nancy glanced at the cigarette in her hand as if she wasn't sure what to do with it. Looking at Helen, she took a puff and blew the smoke into the wind. "Mrs. Bradley."
From the almost hostile look on Nancy's face, Helen could tell she wasn't exactly thrilled about having a visitor, at least not Helen.
"Why are you here?" Nancy apparently had not inherited her mother's ability to spread out the welcome mat regardless of the situation.
Helen found the woman's attitude an odd blend of honesty and sarcasm, but she decided not to take it personally. Nancy stood about six feet away. She wore no makeup, but Helen doubted it would have done much good. The dark semicircles under her eyes and the dazed look indicated not only grief but a string of sleepless nights. She had the gray pallor of a woman who'd been on an all-night binge. Her outfit, black slacks and blazer with a dull, rusted print blouse, sucked the out of her skin.
"I came by to see if there's anything you need." Helen now stood on the porch waiting for Nancy to join her.
"That's kind of you," she said in a husky voice. "But we have everything under control. Mother and Brian have seen to all the details."
Helen raised an eyebrow at the sarcastic note. "Brian. Your brother?"
"He came in last night and took over." She took one last draw from the cigarette, screwing up her face as if it were the most vile-tasting substance on earth. "He almost acts like he's glad Dad is gone." Throwing the butt to the ground, she joined Helen on the porch. "You can come in if you want. Mother will be glad you came." She tossed her head and finger-combed her hair away from her face. "Grief becomes her."
"What an odd thing to say."
With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face Helen. "I didn't mean it as a criticism, not really. She's as miserable as the rest of us on the inside. I just don't see how she can stay so calm and put-together like she does. People come around and you'd think she was throwing a tea party instead of getting ready for a funeral."
"Your mother has the gift of hospitality. She's used to caring for others. I suppose it's difficult for her to have things turned around. She's always been a strong woman."
"I suppose." Opening the door, Nancy added, "Joe called this morning. They think they have the guy who killed my father."
"Yes, I heard they'd made an arrest."
"Helen." Eleanor came toward them, elegant as usual in black suit and white silk shell. A diamond brooch on the jacket created a stunning effect. Helen understood more fully what Nancy meant. Helen felt a twinge of jealousy, then pity. How terrible it must be to feel you had to hold yourself together like that.
Memories forced their way into Helen's thoughts. She'd been much the same way after Ian's death, determined to put up a good front, comforting the children and grandchildren, playing hostess. Holding death at bay because it was simply too painful to bear. She'd gone back to work, kept busy. The days had been bearable. But the nights, being alone in that dark, empty house—almost undid her. A year later, with the help of a counselor, she finally allowed herself to grieve. She'd cried, really cried, for the first time since the funeral. Gut-wrenching sobs that tore her inside out. Grief, she'd come to realize, could be stuffed down for a time, but eventually, it rose to the surface, more fierce and persistent than it had a right to be. As these memories assaulted her, Helen wished there were something she could do to keep Eleanor from making the same mistakes. To reassure her that time would heal the wounds. That God would bring light into her darkness.
However, now wasn't the time to talk or even think about that. Maybe she'd broach the subject later, after the funeral and after the kids were gone.
"I'm going upstairs to check on Melissa," Nancy said.
Eleanor spread her arms and gave Helen the kind of comforting hug she should have been receiving.
"How are you holding up?" Helen asked, then wished she hadn't. It was such a tired cliché.
Eleanor assured her that all was under control. "Annie will cater a light lunch at the church following the interment. We don't have a date yet. The medical examiner says he can't release Ethan's body until he's had a chance to do a thorough exam. Maybe Friday. You are coming, aren't you, Helen? To the funeral, I mean."
"Yes, of course."
"Forgive me for not offering you coffee, but we're on our way to pick out the casket and cards and guest
register. There are so many details to attend to. We're using Woodland Estates, that new funeral home just northeast of town."
Helen nodded. "I know where it is."
"Ethan and I had talked about buying a plot and making arrangements early on." Eleanor blinked back tears and then turned to pick up her handbag from the half-round table in the entry. She stood in front of the oval mirror above the table adjusting her already perfect hair.
"Are you guys ready to go?" Brian, looking as handsome as ever, bounded down the stairs. His hair was the same ashy shade of brown as his sister's but with blond streaks. The black leather jacket and jeans couldn't have been more out of place as he stood next to Eleanor, but he didn't seem to notice or care. His gray-green eyes caught Helen's and for a moment held a puzzled expression.
"Brian, you remember Helen Bradley?" His mother adjusted his collar.
"Oh, right, the ex-cop." He pulled away from his mother and shook Helen's hand. "Mom tells me you're the one who found my father's body."
"Yes, I did."
"Why didn't you tell me that yesterday when you were here? I didn't know until Joe mentioned it this morning." Eleanor opened her bag and withdrew a tissue.
"I didn't see any reason to go into the details at the time," Helen said.
"It must have been terrible for you. But then having been a police officer, I imagine you get used to such things."
"One never gets used to it. But you do learn to cope."
"Yes." Eleanor looked in the mirror again, rubbing her lips together. "Well, the main thing is that they have the killer."
"He's a suspect. We don't know for certain that he's guilty."
"Of course he is. That man had Ethan's keys."
"We're ready whenever you are." Nancy came down the stairs with her daughter dragging along behind. Melissa plunked down on the last step. Her dark eyes and hair reminded Helen of Ethan. She was a gangly girl, all arms and legs. The long floral-patterned skirt and short knit top accentuated her slender frame.
"You might be ready, but I'm not." Melissa folded her arms. "I don't see why you can't let me stay here. I don't want to go to a place that's full of dead bodies. It totally grosses me out."
"We aren't going to be seeing any bodies." Nancy rolled her eyes.
Melissa lowered her gaze to the floor. "Besides, if Grandpa is really in heaven like you say, why do we need to go through all this anyway?"
"I'm not crazy about going either, Mel," Brian said. "But Mom wants us all to go. It's called moral support."
Melissa leaned her head against the banister. "Please, Grams. You know I love you and Grandpa, it's just that I don't see why I have to help pick out the casket."
Eleanor sighed. "I don't want to force anyone. Perhaps it would be best if Melissa stayed. Annie's here. I don't think she'd mind looking out for her."
Melissa jumped up and flung her arms around her grandmother's neck. "Thank you." Without waiting for a response from her mother and uncle, she fled upstairs.
Eleanor stared at the now-empty stairway for a moment and then turned to Helen. "I'm sorry, but we need to be going."
"Don't apologize. You go ahead. I want to talk to Annie before I leave, so, if you don't mind, I'll just go find her."
"Of course. She's in the kitchen."
Helen stood in the entryway for a while till they got into the Mercedes and backed out of the garage. She then headed for the kitchen, but halfway there, did an about-face. As if her feet had a mind of their own, Helen detoured into the den, which she knew to be Ethan's home office. With Annie busy in the kitchen and Melissa upstairs, it seemed the perfect opportunity to look through Ethan's desk and perhaps find some clues as to who may have wanted Ethan dead, Joe or one of his deputies would undoubtedly have done a thorough search, but it never hurt to have a fresh perspective.
The desk was spotless. Even the in-out trays were empty. Helen checked the desk calendar. It hadn't been turned since Thursday, the day Ethan left for D.C. Flipping through the pages, she saw that he'd scheduled a church council meeting for tonight. And there were various other meetings scheduled, among them one with Chuck Daniels for lunch tomorrow. Men's prayer breakfast Tuesday morning. Wednesday night meeting at church for Bible study. Thursday night choir. It looked as though most of the events he had scheduled here were of a personal nature. There was no reference to his meeting with Alex Jordan. She flipped the pages of the calendar back and noticed that the page for Sunday was missing.
She doubted Joe or one of the deputies would have removed a single page. They'd more than likely have taken the entire calendar. Did Ethan have another engagement scheduled after his dinner with Alex?
Opening the drawers, she found a file of correspondence from a law firm representing a California corporation wanting to build a shopping center in Bay Village. They had chosen a site but needed final approval. The letter was signed by their legal representative, Nathan Young. A copy of a letter from Ethan stated that the city council had denied their proposal. Then another letter from the lawyer threatened legal action against the city.
Helen had heard about plans for a shopping center, but she hadn't known the details. Though the land was mostly privately owned, part of it had been designated as a wildlife refuge, and Ethan was not about to let the new owners build anything that might disrupt the ecosystem there. But nothing in the letters indicated who the owners were. Too bad. Helen wanted to talk to them. She still harbored the idea that someone may have killed Ethan because of his environmental policies. Chuck fit this picture, and apparently so did whoever owned this property. Would they have a better chance with Ethan out of the way? Possibly. Helen made a mental note to check it out later. And maybe call on the lawyer. Nathan Young, of Young & Associates in Lincoln City. She committed the name to memory, then shuffled through the rest of Ethan's papers.
She focused back on Chuck Daniels. He presented another part of the mystery. Was he actually missing, or had he killed Ethan and run? Then there was the matter of Rosie's letter opener. It seemed unlikely that Chuck Daniels would have used something like that. She saw him more as a gun man.
Helen replaced everything the way she'd found it and closed the desk drawers. Except for the shopping-center file, everything else had to do with the church and personal papers, warranties, bills, that sort of thing. There was also a copy of his will that indicated everything was left to his children, with the exception of a twenty-thousand-dollar bequest to the church for mission work. She suspected Brian and Nancy stood to inherit a great deal of money. It seemed strange that Ethan hadn't included a clause naming Eleanor as beneficiary. Not that it would matter to Eleanor. She'd come from a wealthy family and probably had more money than Ethan anyway. The will stipulated that Eleanor was to divide Ethan's estate equally between his children.
The distinct smell of chocolate drifted to her nostrils, reminding Helen of her intention to talk to Annie. She followed the aroma and found Annie up to her elbows in bread dough. Pots and pans and bowls and utensils of varying sizes filled the double stainless-steel sink, overflowing onto the white tile counter.
"Hi, Annie."
"Oh, Helen! What a surprise. What brings you here?"
"The luncheon, for one thing. I also stopped by to see if Eleanor needed anything."
"Well, you missed them. They're headed for the funeral home."
"Yes, I talked with them as they were leaving." The second the words left her mouth, Helen wished she could put them back. The family had been gone for a good ten minutes. "Something smells good," she added quickly, in case Annie discovered the time discrepancy.
Apparently she didn't. As busy as she'd obviously been, she probably wouldn't have noticed much of anything.
"Chocolate brownies." Annie winked at Helen and sent her a conspiratorial grin. "I just took them out of the oven. If you have a few minutes, I'll finish up here and have one with you. You can pour us some coffee while you wait."
"They smell absolutely wonderful, but I ca
n't have any. I'm allergic to chocolate."
"Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten." She rounded up the bread and turned it into a large bowl. "How about one of my lemon squares? Made those this morning too."
"Wonderful." Helen poured the coffee into mugs she found on a rack above the opposite counter while Annie washed her hands and spread a towel over the dough. Setting the mugs on the kitchen table, Helen said, "I hope I'm not keeping you. I was hoping to talk to you about the women's luncheon."
"I'm glad you came by. I've been working nonstop since five this morning, so I needed a break." She wiped her hands and took out two dessert plates and forks. "Spent the night here last night, since they had a late dinner and I had so much to do today. There we go." Annie placed lemon bars on a platter and set it with the two plates and forks on the table in the breakfast nook. The table had already been laid with linen place mats and cloth napkins in different pastel colors. The bay window next to the table offered a terrific view of the ocean, which was probably another reason Annie hadn't noticed when the family left. She wouldn't have been able to see them, since the driveway and garage were on the street side of the house.
"Are you sure you'll have time to cater the luncheon?" Helen asked.
"Of course. Once the funeral is over and Brian is gone, things will be back to normal." She frowned. "Well, not normal, exactly. But the luncheon isn't for two weeks, so there'll be plenty of time."
Helen sliced into the delicate yellow-and-white dessert and put a small portion into her mouth, savoring the sweet, tangy taste. It reminded her of the lemon meringue pies she used to make when the children were small. They'd been Jason's favorite. She chased down the sweet with a swig of coffee. She hadn't baked a pie in ages.
"So, what would you like me to serve?"
"What?" Helen came back with a jolt.
"The luncheon. What would you like on the menu?"
"Oh. Why don't you choose? Can you do something for around ten dollars per person?"
When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5) Page 10