“Can I sit down? I’m kinda tired.”
I offered him a seat and I joined my dog on the couch. “Why don’t you just tell me what I can do for you?”
He glanced around a little before looking me straight in the eye, and said, “They arrested my sister tonight for murdering Dr. Burns, and I know she didn’t do it. She told me you said you would help. Since you’re Father Brother’s sister, I thought I could trust you. I don’t know who else to go to, so here I am.”
He made perfect sense to me, and that was scary. I quickly reassured him, “I know she didn’t do it, Charlie, but I don’t have any proof.”
“I’m your proof,” he blurted. “I did it.”
The corpse was barely cold and I’d already solved the murder. God, I’m good. Even Clancy was wagging her tail.
SEVEN
So I was sitting in my living room with my dog and a confessed murderer. And what did I do?
“Charlie, would you like cream in your coffee? How about another piece of pie? You look like you could use something more to eat.”
I wouldn’t let him talk while he was finishing the leftover lasagna, garlic bread, and pie. This was every mother’s dream—someone who really appreciated a good meal. I didn’t think it necessary to tell Charlie that the lasagna was made by Mama Manicotti in a sterilized kitchen and that the pie was frozen before I popped it in my oven. He gulped down two cups of coffee as if he were freezing. As he let out a very satisfied belch and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, I realized this guy was probably not the brightest porch light on the block. I also knew he was innocent. My vibes were dormant; there were no errant physical sensations. And it made me mad that he felt he had to confess. This guy was as innocent of murdering Dr. Burns as I was. It was obvious that he was trying to protect his older sister, Gwen.
I decided to try to get a little more information. “Charlie, will you tell me what was going on with you in the ER this morning?”
He looked sheepish; his unstructured hair fell into his eyes, a shield protecting him from the world. “Yeah, they make me so mad in them damn hospitals. My wife and little baby was hurt bad a couple years back in a car wreck and we didn’t have no insurance and they took ’em to the hospital and they both died there.” Charlie had a hard time maintaining eye contact; his eyes darted back and forth from the plate to Clancy, scarcely alighting on me. “They’re still sendin’ me bills. It’s like they don’t know there’s human beings on the receivin’ end of them bills. Every time I get one of ’em, I get a little crazy. But Dr. Burns said I wasn’t crazy. He called it something else, like post dramatic stress.”
More information. Charlie was seeing Dr. Burns professionally and was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He would be a perfect candidate for the villain. PTSD, mood swings, the victim was screwing his sister—literally, and the hospital was screwing him—figuratively. Too bad he wasn’t guilty.
“Charlie, will you answer another question for me?”
He nodded.
“Did you get arrested this morning for what you did at the hospital?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did. But they know’d me down at the police station and they let me out until the court day. My lawyer said it’d be awhile. Heck, I’ll be in jail anyway for murder, so this thing won’t count for much extra.”
“Why are you saying you killed Dr. Burns, when I know you didn’t?”
“I did too kill him.”
“Okay, why did you do it?”
“Just cause I wanted to, that’s why.”
“So you killed him because you wanted to. How did you do it, Charlie? What did you do to him?”
He stuttered a bit, unable to come up with a plausible method. I was convinced that neither of us knew how Burns had been killed, but I knew more about it than Charlie did. I’d seen Burns dead.
“Sorry, that’s not good enough. I know positively that you are innocent. Unfortunately, I can’t reveal my source at this time.” I was getting tired of saying that. “What’s going on?”
“Well, they got my sister and she didn’t do it neither. I thought ’cause I’m such a screw-up anyway and I don’t have nobody but her, that I oughta say I did it. That way she’d get out.”
“Don’t worry, Charlie, she’ll get out anyway. I’m going to help her by finding the real killer. Now the best thing for you to do is to take good care of yourself and make sure you visit her a lot.”
He nodded. After crossing our fingers for luck, and pinky swearing that we wouldn’t tell anyone else about me working on the case except Pete, otherwise known as Father Brother, we parted company for the night.
I felt absolutely drained, but I also felt such an adrenaline rush, it was hard to settle down. “Clancy, how about an extra outing tonight? I feel like running a little.”
She returned with her leash even before I finished my sentence. I put on my boots and parka and we started out. The snowy night was so bright that I could see clearly. The ground was already covered and flakes were once again falling. I couldn’t run much because of my boots and because of the snow, but I knew I had to try, or I’d never be able to sleep.
We started jogging around the big house, but then hit a patch of ice. Clancy skidded; I let go of her leash and windmilled my arms trying to avoid the inevitable. No such luck. With a giant thud I fell flat on my butt. Luckily I had enough padding so I suffered no injury. And because there were no witnesses other than Clancy, even my dignity wasn’t damaged. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t get up. Clancy was laughing too. We couldn’t stop. The guffaws were flying from both of us. The Granville’s light went on and I knew that Georgianne would soon be on the back porch with a shotgun, looking for the intruder. I still couldn’t get up, so I belly crawled next to her house so she wouldn’t be able to see me. Breathing heavily, I pulled Clancy close and begged her not to make any noise.
Sure enough, “Who is it? I’ve called the police. You better get out of here.”
I could just picture her hair in curlers and a gun in her hand. Gus, long weary of his wife’s eccentricities, would be snoring happily upstairs. After a few moments, she went inside and I was able to limp back to my house, dragging an unwilling Clancy with me.
“I know I lied, Clance, but my energy is gone now and I can’t run. Besides, I’m literally freezing my butt off. Would you like some hot tea and cookies?”
The bribe worked. We drank. Then we slept.
An early phone call the next morning from Schnitzer in the personnel department notified me that the office would be closed until after Dr. Burns’ funeral on Monday, so I had the whole day to myself. I could clean house, solve the murder, or think about going out with Michael. I chose Door #2 and decided to do some sleuthing.
First things first. I called Angie, my brother Ed’s wife.
“Darlings.” She loved to answer the phone that way.
“Angie, hi, this is Sam.”
“Oh, hey, I heard about the tragedy at your office. So sorry about it. And to think the murderer was right under your nose. She worked for him for almost twenty years, I heard.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but that’s not why I called. I want to make a call on Mrs. Burns and I either need to pick up a dish from the deli or call upon one of my favorite sisters-in-law to see if you have anything freshly baked just laying around.”
I could hear the grin in her voice. My family was used to covering for me at potluck dinners and carry-ins. “Well, it just so happens I’ve made two bundt cakes. And you can have one. Good timing, sis.” Angie was an only child and has certainly adapted well to the vagaries of a big family. She knew how to go with the flow.
“Thanks, Ang, I’ll pick it up in a little while. I owe you.” I couldn’t begin to count the number of times she rescued me. God help me if she ever decided to keep track.
“I know you do. Can you babysit for Skeeter tonight so we can go to the game?” There was no need to tell me which game. St. Francis University had a superb basketball team
and the entire town attended the games.
“Love to but I can’t. I think I have a date. Don’t laugh. I really do. But next time you need a sitter, you got one. See you in a few minutes.”
After hanging up the phone and also saying good-bye to Clancy, I stopped to speak to Gus for a while. I’d seen Georgianne leave a few minutes earlier.
“Hi ya, gal.” Gus was genuinely glad to see me.
“I want to run a few things by you.” He nodded and put on his “business” face.
“Right after we discovered Burns’ body, I saw his receptionist sitting in the corner of his office, sobbing. A little while later she said, ‘I didn’t mean to do it, but…’ and then she started sobbing again. It sounds like she was trying to confess, but I don’t think she did it. The next day she acted really weird when I arrived at the clinic. Pretended she didn’t hear me knocking, and then acted phony-sweet to me. I can’t say I like her, but I’m convinced of her innocence.”
Gus didn’t bother asking me how I knew Gwen was innocent. “Maybe she’s just in shock. Finding Burns dead like that would be enough to make anyone act a bit goofy. Why don’t you give her a few days and see how she behaves?”
“And I’m the one who’s the therapist? You’re right. Her behavior is consistent with people who suffered a traumatic event.”
I thanked him, gave him a peck on the cheek, and made my getaway before Georgianne’s return.
I drove the few miles to Ed and Angie’s. As I pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. The lawn could not be described as “neatly manicured.” In the past it had been littered with bikes of various makes, colors and sizes. Now most of the kids were older and drove cars, but the yard still held reminders that a large family lived there.
Ed and Angie had committed the big “no-no” and so they got married immediately after graduating from high school. Alice was born a few months afterward, then Susan, John, Robert, and fifteen years later the ever popular Skeeter.
Skeeter met me at the door. He was dressed in bib overalls and a long sleeved T-shirt. Perched on his head was his favorite baseball cap that said, “Cute.” He was cute; in fact he was downright adorable. He was just beginning to walk; and he smiled and drooled at the sight of his Aunt Sam. We had a great rapport, and spoke each other’s language. Even though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t resist crawling around on the floor with Skeeter for a few minutes.
As someone with a “favorite Aunt” status, I always bought kids toys that I liked. That way I had something fun to play with when I visited them. So Skeeter and I played with a talking truck for a short time.
Angie hollered from the kitchen, “Sure you don’t want to stay for lunch? Ed’ll be home in a little while.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. Gotta visit Mrs. Burns.” I grabbed the cake, hugged and thanked Angie, scooped up Skeeter, and promised to spend more time with him as soon as I could.
Then I drove back to “my” section of town. The Burns’ home was a conglomeration of styles, a white quasi-Spanish-Moorish-Victorian-Tudor-Queen Anne home. It was built in 1887 and was one of the showplaces of Quincy. It was a favorite in the annual “let’s show off our homes” tour. I’d never been inside, and was kind of looking forward to it, wondering how anyone could live in such a hodgepodge house.
I rang the bell and tidied myself up a little, brushing off stray Clancy hairs from my coat. A stiff looking guy in a black suit with tails opened the door. It couldn’t have been a butler, but it was. A bit pretentious, even for this section of town. I swear he would drown if it started raining, his nose was so far in the air.
He said, “May I help you?” and I introduced myself as an employee of Dr. Burns. It didn’t seem important that I tell him the employment was for less than an hour prior to Burns’ death. Anyway, he let me in and took my coat. As he opened the closet, it was apparent that my coat, like me, didn’t quite fit in. Choosing to ignore this, I followed the sound of voices.
The room I entered must have been the drawing room. It was too overdone to be called a living room, or even worse—a family room. It was enormous, but it was hard to tell a lot of the details, because it was literally brimming full of people. I looked around for Mrs. Burns. Although we’d never met, I recalled seeing her name in the society pages along with Georgianne’s. The only photographs I’d seen were the ones that appeared on the back covers of her novels, but I didn’t believe those pictures, which showed her as young, brunette and pretty.
I saw a few people that I recognized from the neighborhood, and grinned when I noticed Gus sitting on a sofa, holding court. He had always been a popular guy, and was even more so, now that he no longer got around much. Georgianne always discouraged visitors, but they kept coming anyway. Once you knew Gus, you found it hard to stay away for too long.
I placed my cake on a table in the hall. Joining Gus on the couch, I took advantage of the momentary lull in his entourage.
“Hi. You feeling better?”
“Of course, Sam. I always feel great when I see you.”
My blush lit up my face like a neon sign. Damn, I wish I took compliments better.
“What’s everyone doing here? In my family, we have the wake the day of the funeral. Why are they holding the party of the century before the funeral, with Burns hardly cold?”
Gus smiled, “I think everyone is a little curious. Murder and mystery are scarce in Quincy. No one wants to miss out on anything.” At that he glanced around to see if his wife was nearby. “Including Georgianne. I must admit it didn’t take much convincing to get me to come. I’m curious too. Not much excitement in my life. Thought this might be interesting.”
I hugged him and stood. “Well, I need to express my condolences. Can you point out Mrs. Burns to me, please?”
As he pointed, I gasped. There, talking to my future date, was one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen. Much more beautiful in person than in pictures. At the same time, a wave of revulsion washed over me, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even if I wanted to second-guess my ability, I couldn’t at that point. I was literally doubled over with psychic, painful vibes. The woman made me sick.
Michael rushed over and Mrs. Burns arrived at the same time. They both grabbed me. And I fainted. Yes, I swooned. Not only was I in the presence of all of the money in the city, but this was the first time Michael had touched me—and I passed out. I wouldn’t know what class was if it bit me in the butt.
Michael and Mrs. Burns helped me into an adjoining room. With my keen observation skills, I guessed it was the library. Hundreds of books lined the walls. I reclined on a chaise lounge, and Mrs. Burns immediately placed a cover over and around me, probably not from any sense of care, but because she didn’t know what to expect from me next, or maybe so I wouldn’t touch her fancy-schmancy furniture.
I tried to be gracious. “Thank you very much, but I’m fine now. I am so sorry, Mrs. Burns.” It was hard to be nice when this woman made me dizzy and sick to my stomach. I’d never had such a powerful negative reaction to a person before. If this was what tuning into my psychic abilities would do, then I thought I’d pass.
Normally I’d just get a crick in my neck or a dizzy, light-headed sensation. This was an entirely too drastic reaction. The only possible explanation was that Mrs. Burns must be the murderer.
“No need to be sorry, dear.” Dear, indeed, and this from a woman who either was twenty years younger than me or else had extensive work done on her face and body. I hoped it was the latter. There must be something in the rulebook that states a widow cannot look so sexy at her husband’s wake. At least there has to be a paragraph somewhere that says they can’t wear skintight black wool crepe dresses. Especially in front of my soon-to-be date. She continued to be solicitous, “Are you sure you feel well? Is there anything I can get for you? There are a few doctors in the other room. Would you like me to find one for you?”
After saying, “No thanks,” I reclined and panicked. Panicked and recl
ined. The panic subsided somewhat, but the reclining didn’t. Now that I was more accustomed to being in the presence of a murderess, I was feeling better physically, but still couldn’t figure out what to do. I needed to get rid of her so I could talk to Michael.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but could you please get me a club soda?”
She didn’t look like she wanted to leave me alone with Michael. Maybe she had designs on him. God knows, he was good looking. But he was mine. Or soon would be, as soon as I sat up and started charming him.
Anyway, ever the dutiful hostess, Mrs. Burns slithered out of the library.
I shot into an upright position. “Michael, she did it!”
“No, she didn’t, Sam. All she did was touch you. You passed out. It wasn’t her fault.”
“No, I don’t mean that,” trying hard to sound competent, “I mean she killed her husband.”
Did he have a glint of amusement in his eyes? Or was it a patronizing look one gives a child? Or maybe, he just felt a little woozy himself because of my mesmerizing effect on him.
“What makes you think she killed her husband?” The detective in him couldn’t resist asking questions.
With that he put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back into a reclining position. He stroked my hair and I melted. Again. Tingles everywhere. And a dangerous remnant of dizziness.
“Well, I can’t really tell you my source. Just trust me. I know it and I’m not wrong. Believe me, Michael, I’m not making this up. Please…”
My pathetic whining must have done the trick. Michael took my hand, looked into my eyes and said, “God, you look horrible.”
Then he smiled, and I couldn’t be mad at him. “Yeah, I know I look bad, I just fainted; but that doesn’t change the fact that Mrs. Burns killed her husband.”
“Carolyn didn’t kill anyone, Sam.” Carolyn? Since when was my soon-to-be-beloved on a first name basis with a murderer?
Who Killed My Boss? (Sam Darling Mystery #1) Page 6