“Yeah, it is important. Are you free? Can we get together?”
We made arrangements to meet in a half hour at The Dairy, a favorite family gathering place. The location was ideal, as it was between our family home, the church, and elementary school. Besides, it had a table big enough to accommodate all of us.
I arrived twenty-five minutes later and met Pete as he was walking in the door. After a quick hug, we moved to our favorite table even though there were only two of us today.
Pete’s Irish cable-knit sweater, worn over a green turtleneck, complemented his curly blonde hair. He had a great profile too; one of the few who didn’t inherit the family pug nose. Females in town called him “Father What-a-Waste.”
Marge, the waitress, nodded and we knew she’d bring over two black cows—the Midwest equivalent of a root beer float.
“What’s up?” he asked. As usual, Pete didn’t waste time.
I really loved this man. When he was born, he’d already had a glow about him that had not diminished. As a seven-year-old I had remarked upon the glow. Well-meaning aunts quizzed me about it. They thought I was either hallucinating or having religious visions, neither of which was acceptable in their view. They would have preferred the religious visions, but even that would have raised eyebrows. So I stopped remarking on the things I saw and felt. Mom and Dad knew, or suspected. I think Mom may have had a bit of the “feeling” herself. Or at least I like to think she did.
“I need to talk over some things. My boss was murdered yesterday.” I waited for an exclamation of surprise and was disappointed when it didn’t appear. I had forgotten that the murder had happened over twenty-four hours ago. I hadn’t seen a newspaper or listened to the news. Surely people as far away as Marblehead, a distance of six miles, knew and also probably knew who did it. Well, doggone it. I didn’t know who did it. And I wanted to prove everyone else wrong.
“Gwen didn’t do it, Pete.”
“If you say so, Gwen didn’t do it. Now let’s talk about who might have killed your boss.”
And we set to work.
SIX
Pete and I talked for a long time, but we didn’t come up with any likely suspects. I knew it was time to stop when we started giggling over probable candidates like the butler, the upstairs maid, our sister Jill, Butthead, and Dr. Burns himself. We said goodbye and made plans to get together soon to continue the discussion. I knew I could count on Pete to keep things hush-hush. I certainly didn’t want Ed and Rob to find out I was working on the case. And, above all, B.H. could not know. My greatest thrill would be to solve the case, give some credit to my brother, Rob, and leave B.H. in the dust.
My hostility toward B.H. was probably juvenile, and I even felt guilty about it, but I wasn’t ready to give it up. He’d broken my heart.
I arrived home a few moments later to an angry dog. Over my profuse apologies, she got her leash and then waited impatiently for me to check my messages before we left for the walk. I had one message. From Michael O’Dear, asking if I’d go out to dinner with him on Friday. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. At the end of his message he asked if I had heard that Gwen Schneider had killed Dr. Burns. He sounded smug. But he didn’t have the knowledge I had. I knew she didn’t do it. I knew it for a fact, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Of course I had no proof, but I wasn’t going to let a small thing like that stand in my way. I just needed to find the killer.
I called Michael’s number immediately, told his machine that Friday would be fine, and that I’d be ready at seven. It was hard sounding sophisticated while doing a happy dance around my living room.
I smiled at Clancy as I tried to make up with her. She is my significant other and I couldn’t afford to have her mad at me. She finally gave me one of her “okay, you’re only human” looks and handed her leash to me. I accepted it gratefully and we headed for the park.
This part of the city had a lot of parks. In fact, many of the lawns were large enough to qualify as well. I put myself on automatic pilot and concentrated on the case. I had never met Mrs. Burns but planned to see her at the funeral home. Other staff told me she was a nice lady, but they said it in a way that seemed they didn’t quite mean it. I also heard she was a beauty and quite a bit younger than the doctor. I was anxious to meet the woman who had been married to the enigmatic Dr. Burns.
Clancy and I walked for over an hour and both of us got nice and sweaty. That felt great while the blood was still pumping, but it soon chilled me to the bone. I wanted to hurry into the carriage house, but saw Mrs. Granville’s curtains move as I started to pass.
“Oh, shit, Clancy, she saw us. Act sick, so I have an excuse not to talk long.” Clancy immediately obliged and hung her head as she stuck out her tongue.
“Oh, Ms. Darling, may I speak to you a minute?”
Smiling my phoniest smile, I approached her verandah. Other people would have called it a porch, but to Mrs. Granville it was, and would always be, a verandah.
Georgianne Granville had on her usual evening attire: a quilted bathrobe, pink fuzzy slippers, and pink plastic curlers that were covered by a diaphanous scarf-like apparatus. With all her money, I wondered why she didn’t have better taste in at-home loungewear. She pulled herself up to her full 4’10” and spoke to me as if she were Queen Elizabeth II on her balcony.
“Ms. Darling, I saw a man looking around the carriage house today while you were gone. I hope you don’t plan to have people lollygagging around while you are engaged elsewhere.”
“No, Georgianne. My plans don’t include the lollygagging of people around my house. Did you see what he looked like?”
“Well, I wasn’t really looking.” She couldn’t see me roll my eyes in the dark. “But he appeared about twenty-five to twenty-eight, dark hair, a little shaggy around the ears, he had on a brown corduroy jacket with the patches on the elbows. So outré, don’t you think? And he was looking very suspicious. But as I said, I really didn’t get a good look.”
That didn’t describe any of my brothers, Michael O’Dear, or B.H. Lansing. Aha, as they say, the plot thickens.
“Well thanks for telling me. By the way, how is Gus today?”
“He is still very ill and unable to have visitors.”
Just then a booming voice echoed out of the open door, “Sam, is that you? Come in here and see me, girl.”
Ignoring Georgianne’s grimace of distaste, Clancy and I both bounded up the stairs and into what Georgianne called the parlor. Lying on the couch was one of the nicest men ever to grace this earth. Unfortunately, he probably wasn’t going to be gracing it much longer. I thought he would probably live a long and healthy life if it weren’t for his wife. But maybe that’s too cruel. Some people enjoy sparring with their partner, it keeps them lively. I know I enjoyed it too, until I discovered that my husband was sparring with someone else at the same time. Sparring outside of marriage was against my personal belief system.
What Georgianne knew and didn’t like was that I had known Gus for many years, ever since I was in elementary school. I had been brave enough to not only walk past the rich people’s houses, but also to dawdle a bit. One day, I came upon a gardener, working in a flowerbed at the Granville’s. He was singing WWI and WWII era songs in a booming baritone. I joined in. He was surprised that someone my age would know these songs. I later told him how my mom had taught me songs from her youth and from her own mother’s youth.
I began helping Gus the gardener nearly every day after school and he taught me many more songs. It was fun singing and playing in the dirt. I’d run home right after school and change into my blue jeans. Gus always wore overalls. In the summer he wore an undershirt and the other seasons he wore comfortable old flannel shirts. I began asking him questions about the rich people who lived there. He told me that money wasn’t everything. And I said I wouldn’t know, never having had any. So he started paying me a quarter every time I helped. Eventually he revealed himself to me as Gus Granville, the owner of the home. Well, actually
he said his wife owned it and she let him live there. With that, he laughed the loudest, most beautiful laugh I’d ever heard. He laughed until he cried. I did too, although I didn’t know what I was laughing at.
I kept in touch with Gus over the years, stopping by whenever I was in Quincy. He cherished pictures of my kids, attended their baptisms, and grieved with me over the death of my parents. He grieved again with me when my husband left. Other than my family and Clancy, Gus was the best friend I’d ever had. When I returned to Quincy, I bunked with Jen and her brood for a few weeks while I looked around for a place to rent. When Gus found out I was looking, his eyes twinkled and he said he had just the place for me. He put on his overcoat and boots and took me out back to the carriage house. Like a proud artist, he pointed at it, wanting me to love it as he did.
“Don’t tell the Missus I told you this, but we’ve had a few spats over the years. When we were young I decided I didn’t want to get mad and leave, but I needed a space to call my own. So I converted the carriage house into an apartment. Lately, I haven’t felt the need or the energy to use it, so it’s empty and would be perfect for you. Please take it.”
I said “yes” without even looking at it. Knowing it would bring such joy to Gus and such agony to Georgianne were enough reasons for me. When I went inside, I knew my instincts were correct. There was a small kitchen downstairs, with a nice sized living room, small dining room, and large master bedroom and bath. Upstairs were two small bedrooms and another bath. It was just what I wanted and needed. There was room for the kids when they came home from school, but my personal living space was all on one floor. I moved in the next day, converting the dining room into my office. My brothers and sisters were huffing and puffing, but we got the job done. I was very happy in my new home and even happier with one half of my landlord couple.
When I tuned back in to the conversation, Georgianne sniffed her distaste and continued a diatribe already in progress, “…I insist. Please take your animal outside and tie it up. We cannot have animal dander in the house. My husband is ill and his breathing will be compromised. Surely you don’t want to be responsible…”
Gus interrupted, “Leave the girl alone, Georgie. Go ahead, Sam, tell me what’s up.”
Georgie? I managed to avoid a fit of the giggles and went on. “It was really something. No sooner had I started my new job, than Dr. Burns was killed. I was still in the personnel office filling out forms when I heard the scream.”
Gus responded that he’d heard details from his neighbors already. “I probably knew almost as soon as you did,” he chuckled.
I asked him if he had known Dr. Burns well.
Gus sat up so I could join him on the couch. “I wouldn’t say I knew him well. I did know him for a lot of years. Hell, this is a small community and we lived in the same general neighborhood.”
“Did you like him?”
Gus laughed again. “I didn’t care much for the old fart,” he became serious, “but I’m sorry he was killed.”
“Please don’t use such vulgarities.” Georgianne reminded us she was still around. “I’m sure you can convey your meaning in a more refined manner.”
“Sure, honey.” Gus said to his wife, and then turned toward me again, “I didn’t care much for the old bastard, but I’m sorry he was killed.”
He cocked his head to look at his wife, “Is that better?”
That did it. The laugh that I’d been able to suppress finally forcibly exploded. “’Scuse me.”
Gus smiled and Georgianne pouted. I liked that.
I asked Gus if I could bounce some ideas off him. He brightened up.
“Sure. I’m bored stiff cooped up in this house all the time.”
“Okay, here’s what I want to know. Even though you don’t get out much I know people visit you all the time. So do you know if anyone hated Dr. Burns?”
Gus laughed. “If anyone hated him? Hell, it’d be easier to list the people who didn’t hate him. There weren’t many of those.”
“Well, he did give me the creeps. But why did everyone dislike him?”
“I dunno. He seemed to have everything but always wanted more. Then when his wife started making so much money, I think he got a little jealous.”
“Wait a minute. What did his wife do to earn a lot of money?”
“Guess you haven’t heard about it since you’ve been gone so long, but Carolyn Burns is actually Felicia Greene.”
“Whoa. Burns’ wife is Felicia Greene? I don’t believe it. I’ve read all her books.”
“Yep. She’s quite a bit younger than Burns and rumor has it that she got bored one day and just started writing. Surprised everyone when she got published. Burns didn’t fuss too much about what he called ‘her little hobby,’ as long as it didn’t infringe on his life. His only input was to insist that she use a nom de plume so no one would know his wife was a novelist.”
“This is unbelievable. Her books are my favorites. I mean they have everything in them—murder, sex, intrigue, mental illness. She’s got the workings of the mind down pat. Was she involved in the mental health field too?”
Gus chuckled before he spoke. “I don’t think Carolyn Burns worked a day in her life before she began writing. Wait until you meet her and then tell me what you think.”
I pictured Mrs. Burns as middle aged and dumpy and thought she must have used someone else for the author’s picture on her book jackets. After all, Dr. Burns was in his sixties and the young woman pictured as Felicia Greene certainly couldn’t have been married to him. I’d heard Burns’ wife was younger than he was, but there were limits to my imagination.
“Ms. Darling,” Georgianne again, “my husband needs his rest. I think it’s time for you to be going.”
“Sure thing, Georgie,” I loved calling this formal, cold woman by her nickname.
As I kissed Gus on the cheek he said “No need to rush off,” but his tired eyes belied his words.
“I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll see you soon though.”
Gus replied, “I think I’ll feel well enough to attend the funeral. It’s likely to be a real shindig and I don’t want to miss it. I’ll see you there.”
Clancy and I entered our home just as the phone was ringing. When I answered it, two youthful voices said, “Hi, Ma.” It was Adam and Sarah calling from school. I’d called and told them about my boss’s death and they wanted to know how I was holding up.
“I’m fine. I’m sure sorry he was killed. It was really a bad experience for everyone, and I imagine his wife is devastated. I haven’t paid my condolence call yet, but I’ll meet her soon.”
“Mom, you seem way too excited. What else is going on?” Sarah knew me too well.
“Well, I just thought I’d look around a bit and see if I can help your Uncle Rob solve the case.” Surely my kids couldn’t object to that.
“Mom,” Adam’s turn, “remember, you’re a social worker and not a cop. Leave the detective work to Uncle Rob and his coworkers. Stay out of it. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
When did my lovely son turn into a man? “Listen, you guys, I’m fine. I’m not doing anything stupid and I can take care of myself. Remember who the parent is here. Now, be good little kids and get back to your homework.”
We spoke for a few more minutes and after I hung up the phone, I kept thinking about them. It hadn’t been easy raising two kids virtually on my own, but all in all they had turned out fine. I was so proud of both of them. I also loved the fact that they were at the same school, and was grateful that they had each other while they were gone.
I made dinner for Clancy and me. In the past I had been a firm believer that dogs should only get dog food, but ever since Clancy and I have been alone, I’ve changed my mind. Many times, she and I have shared the same meal. I’m a vegetarian however, and Clancy didn’t used to be, but she’s almost converted; she does have her limits and draws the line at tofu. I warmed up leftover vegetable lasagna and put some in her bowl a
long with some canine morsels. I poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and sighed contentedly. Sometimes life was really good.
I had just finished my meal and was making a pot of decaf, when I heard a light tapping on my door. I opened it without looking to see who it was. Another bad habit from my childhood, but it’s one I had a hard time breaking. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness; then I noticed a man standing there. He was hiding in the shadows, and rocking back and forth on his heels.
I said, “Can I help you?”
A sad voice asked, “Are you the new lady at the clinic?”
I answered in the affirmative.
“Are you Father Brother’s sister?”
Again I answered affirmatively, and then added, “Well, I used to be; I mean he used to be. Well, yeah.”
“I know him from the hospital and he told me about you. I need to talk to you. Can I come in? Please?”
The “please” did it. I didn’t know too many bad guys who would look and sound so sad and who would say “please” when they wanted to enter a house. So I stepped aside for him to enter. Besides, Clancy was still eating—a sure sign the stranger posed no threat to me.
As he walked into the living room, I thought he might be the person that Georgianne Granville described. When he stepped into the light I also noticed that he was the “John Doe” from the ER earlier in the day.
The first thing I said was, “Tell me your name.” I was tired of this “John Doe” thing.
He looked surprised at my directness, but answered, “Charlie Schneider.”
The puzzle pieces were multiplying, but a few were starting to fit. “Any relation to Gwen Schneider?”
“Yeah,” he said, “she’s my sister. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I thought it also could have something to do with the incident this morning in the ER. I saw your fascinating performance and since I’m a therapist and occasionally accept private patients, I thought you might be here for some counseling.”
He gave me a look he could have learned from B.H. or Clancy. I decided to mind my manners and not glare back. Clancy didn’t have any such reservations, however. She decided to acknowledge his existence by staring. Charlie didn’t notice.
Who Killed My Boss? (Sam Darling Mystery #1) Page 5