Voted Out

by J. S. Marlo

  On his way to the farmhouse, Jasper received a call from Officer Welsh. None of her three cars had sustained the right damage. Despite looking like it was buffed with spiked gloves, this gray Accord fit the bill.

  “Someone was mad at the car—or the owner.” Unable to think of anything the owner, a sixty-eight-year-old widow by the name of Audra Barkley, could have done to warrant such a retaliation, Jasper turned his attention to the tools on the bench. Whoever did this may have used one of these. While the damage could be labeled as an act of vandalism, any relations between it and his murder cases remained to be determined. “I’ll get the crime scene unit in here. Did you find any signs of the owner or any indication the house was broken into?”

  “All the windows and doors are locked. As far as I can tell, no one attempted to pry them open and I can’t see any signs of life in the house.” Officer Gambone removed her cap then ran her fingers through short auburn hair. “I don’t know if I spooked anyone when I arrived, sir, but if I did, I didn’t see them flee.”

  Located on an acreage in the middle of the woods, the isolated farmhouse didn’t stand within walking distance of any neighbors. Fearing for the owner’s safety, Jasper marched to the house. When no one answered his knocks or the doorbell, he picked the lock. He learned the useful skill from his first partner, an old donut muncher nicknamed Pinky. The guy had retired a few years afterward. The last time Jasper heard of him, Pinky was wreaking havoc in a nursing home on the west coast.

  “Sir?” The officer cleared her throat. “Don’t we need a warrant to enter the premises?”

  “Not if I suspect the occupant of the house might be in danger.” The break-in in the garage justified his decision to check on the owner’s welfare. “Anyone here?” he called.

  No answer. No creaking. No squeaking. His hand on his holster, ready to draw his weapon, he advanced inside. The door closed behind him.

  “Gambone, take the upstairs. I’ll check the first floor.” Jasper walked through a tidy living room then entered a spotless kitchen.

  Letters were stacked on the corner of the counter. As he browsed through the pile, an insurance document caught his eye.

  Travel insurance? “Let’s see.” According to the certificate, Audra Barkley subscribed to a three-week travel insurance set to expire in six days.

  Thumps resonated in the house when Gambone stepped down the stairs. “Nothing, sir. The beds are made and the washroom is clean. It doesn’t look like anyone’s set foot in the house in a few days.”

  Jasper showed her the insurance paper. “I’m guessing our owner left on vacation. Check the basement, just in case, then go talk to the neighbors on each side. One of them might know where she went or if someone was supposed to keep an eye on her property while she was gone.”

  ~ * ~

  While Liliane waited for Nathalie to return with their food, the details of her confidential conversation with Greg replayed in her head despite her best effort to forget it. Something gnawed at her, something—

  Her friend entered her office with her hands full and Damien on her heels. “We’re eating here. I want to know why Greg paid you a visit in your office and Damien is curious too.”

  The puppy face Damien threw her way while he unfolded another chair looked anything like innocent curiosity. He should be babysitting Leonard, not conspiring with Nathalie.

  Liliane made room on her desk for the food. “Where’s Leonard? Are you sure it’s safe to leave him alone?”

  The man who dragged her into the electoral world picked one of the three take-out containers. “He’s taking a nap. He’s following your instructions to the letter, you know.”

  Considering she didn’t give Leonard any instructions aside from Don’t do anything, it shouldn’t be too hard to follow. “Fine. I guess you’re welcome to eat with us.”

  “Thank you.” He removed the lid and dug into his plate. The strong aroma of parmesan cheese mixed with garlic floated through her office. “So? What did Greg want? And don’t say nothing, Lily. At this point in the election period, he shouldn’t be consulting you unless it was important.”

  Hoping an excuse would pop into her mind if she stalled, she attacked her food. Famished described her better than important characterized her meeting with Greg. The manager only confirmed what she had already suspected. Thomas used every member of his entourage. It shouldn’t surprise anyone to learn it also included his wife. A guy like him didn’t let rules and regulations get in the way of supporting his favorite party. His wife—

  “She lied to me.” In a flash, the inconsistency flared in front of Lilian’s eyes. How could she have missed it? “She knew about the contributions.”

  Nathalie exchanged a puzzled look with Damien then pointed her fork at Liliane. “You’re not talking about me, right?”

  “No. Of course not.” The two current occupants of her office didn’t only count as her friends, they also belonged in the small category of people Liliane trusted implicitly. “What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this office. Do we agree?”

  They both nodded.

  “Remember the unlawful contribution check Thomas allegedly signed? Well, I went fishing for an explanation in his company and I met Janet, his widow, who took over the operations.” Without skipping any details, Liliane recounted her entire conversation with Janet. “She fooled me when she acknowledged the corporate check and the amount of his contribution as if Thomas had done nothing wrong.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know it was illegal for Thomas to finance a party. Any party,” argued Nathalie.

  “My thought too, except I learned an interesting fact from a source this morning. Before her husband’s death, Janet Finch wrote a check to a political party. When she delivered it in person, she admitted her husband pressured her to contribute the maximum amount allowed by the law. That denotes knowledge of the rules, doesn’t it?” While she didn’t mention any names, Liliane expected her cohorts to connect the dot with Greg’s visit. “That check should have raised a huge red flag in her mind, and yet she downplayed it like it was nothing, like I should forget about it.”

  “If she somehow knew of the existence of that check ahead of time, it could explain why she appeared unfazed.” Damien stared at her with his most serious expression, the one he displayed in dire situations. “Are you thinking she signed the check and lied to you so you wouldn’t accuse her? If so, why would she do that?”

  Janet didn’t waste any time cancelling that account, which made Liliane wonder how long the betrayed widow had known about it—or when she gained access to it for the first time.

  “Maybe she had planned to destroy his reputation and get rid of him, but when someone stabbed him, she feared suspicion would fall onto her so she tried to cover up her own attempt.” The dubious glances her two cohorts exchanged unsettled Liliane’s stomach, dimming her appetite. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m getting a bit paranoid, but I almost died when my car blew up in my face this morning. New cars don’t blow up for no reason. What if—”

  Nathalie’s fork fell onto the floor. “Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?”

  Not prone to exaggeration, Jasper wouldn’t have speculated on the cause of the explosion unless strong evidence pointed toward the existence of an explosive device.

  “I don’t know, but what if I unknowingly stumbled onto something worth killing for?” Aside from the check, Liliane wasn’t embroiled in any other conspiracy. Why else would someone try to kill her? “Two persons already died in this office and a third one disappeared. I don’t like these odds any more than the presence of a suspicious car in my street.”

  Damien chucked his empty container in her garbage can. “What car?”

  “The car parked in front of my neighbor’s house early this morning.” As she gazed at him, a plan formed in her brain. A crazy plan. The kind of plan he was fond of. “I need your help to test a theory, Damien. How would you feel about paying a grieving widow a visit tonight and offering her your symp
athy?”

  ~ * ~

  Nowadays nobody goes on vacation without telling at least one person. Even if only to water the plants and check the premises to satisfy the insurance company in case something happened.

  Jasper didn’t see any plants, and though someone cleaned and tidied the interior, the farmhouse dated back to the mid-forties. A rusty pipe could burst and flood the house within hours.

  Officer Gambone talked with the neighbors, but they rarely ran into Audra Barkley. From what he gathered, the owner lived like a recluse with few friends and a grown-up daughter who had moved to Alberta years ago.

  Locating the daughter proved as challenging as tracking the mother. Lots of Barkleys lived in Canada and if the daughter got married, she might have forsaken that name all together.

  A knock on the doorframe prompted Jasper to hang up before he finished dialing a number that didn’t look any more promising than the other few dozen he already tried.

  “Sir, I think I found something.” The officer fidgeted with a sheet of paper, her excitement palpable from the doorway.

  “Come in, Gambone.” The anticipation of a lead invigorated Jasper. “I could use some good news about now.”

  “Well, sir, I called my boyfriend Matt who called his grandmother. She’s a dear old lady, but she’s probably the worst busybody in town, so I figured if anyone knew about Audra Barkley, it would be her.”

  The rookie thought outside the box and showed initiative, which boded well for her budding career.

  “According to Matt’s grandma, Audra is gone on an Alaskan cruise with her friend Wilma Vitale, so I dug deeper. Wilma lives in a nursing home in town. On her file, she listed a nephew as her next of kin and emergency contact. His name is Stuart Reiter.”

  ~ * ~

  During his lifetime, Damien had worked and completed many assignments, but he’d never played the role of a private investigator. In order not to disappoint Liliane, he intended to follow her simple directives to the letter.

  Note the description of the cars owned by the Finch family and determine if the widow has an alibi between 5:00 and 7:00 this morning.

  But before he could make any progress, he needed to park his rental car. After driving up and down the street a few times, and not finding a spot to slide into along the curb, he resigned himself to the fact he would have to walk two blocks to reach the Finchs’ residence.

  Along the route, he lost his balance twice after tripping over the uneven sidewalk. Not only did he need to pay attention to where he stepped, but he also had to dodge kids speeding by on bikes and skateboards, toys forgotten on the sidewalk portion of the driveways, and the front or back of the vehicles parked too close to the sidewalk.

  The address Liliane gave him led to a bungalow with a double garage. The beige upper vinyl siding of the house offered a nice contrast to the brown roof and the speckled reddish brown brick surrounding the lower section. The open garage door also gave him an unobstructed view of two vehicles. A yellow convertible with the top down and a black SUV.

  Damien snapped close-up pictures of both vehicles and texted them to Liliane along with a short message.

  With one task done and one more to go, he knocked on the front door.

  A middle-aged woman wearing designer jeans and a silk blouse smeared with something similar to tomato sauce or ketchup answered the door. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to come without notice, Mrs. Finch.” Though Liliane didn’t provide him with a description of Thomas’ widow, the beautiful and disheveled yet stylish woman resembled the image his mind had conjured up. Damien added fool to Thomas’ long list of shortcomings. No sane man let such an enchanting creature slip between his fingers. “My name is Damien Godfrey. I’m with Election Headquarters.”

  She narrowed her eyes in a quizzical frown. “I heard about you from Thomas. What can I do for you, Mr. Godfrey?”

  Since whatever she’d heard didn’t result in the door being slammed in his face, he deployed his best tactic. His shameless charm. “These aren’t the circumstances under which I would have loved to meet you, but it’s still a pleasure. Wouldn’t you mind if I come in for a few minutes? I’m afraid the mosquitoes will add me to their menu if I stay outside any longer.”

  A smile flitted across her face as she stretched her neck and gazed over his shoulders. “Where did you park?”

  “Two streets down.” With a tilt of his head, he indicated the four-way stop on his left. “Is the neighborhood always this busy?”

  “Only on evenings, nights, and weekends. Most people around here keep their toys in their garages and their trucks on the street. Go figure.” She opened the door wider in an invitation to come in. “Please don’t mind the mess. My son, his wife, and my grandson stayed for supper. I haven’t had time to clean up after them yet. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water would be great. Thank you.” Her grandson’s visit gave him the perfect opportunity to unravel her whereabouts as he followed her. “I never had children, but I would have loved grandchildren. I bet he was delighted to visit grandma. Did he get to spend the day with you?”

  “Little Tommy is my pride and joy. I love him to death.” With her foot, she pushed the construction blocks lying on the kitchen floor against the wall. “We had a sleepover last night.”

  Someone had spilled some milk on the table beside a plastic plate containing lots of ketchup and green beans. The age of the grandson hadn’t been mentioned, but the booster seat on the wooden chair suggested a preschool child.

  “A sleepover?” Damien pulled a chair opposite to the mess and sat away from the table. “Did you get to sleep? Or did he keep you awake all night?”

  She chuckled as she poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. “He crawled into my bed at 5:30 this morning, we watched cartoons for an hour, we ate breakfast, and then his mom picked him up around 7:30. After that, I went to work, locked the door of my office—and enjoyed a cat nap.”

  “I love naps.” Enthralled by her quirky sense of humor, he accepted the glass and took a sip. “Do I detect a strange ingredient in my water?”

  “Mint.” An enigmatic smile floated on her lips. “So? Will you tell me why you truly came tonight? I doubt you wanted to talk about my sleepover with Tommy.”

  Without him having to probe, she had provided him with a solid alibi. He completed his mission. “On behalf of everyone at Election Headquarters, I would like to extend my sincere condolences. Despite his behavior, your husband didn’t deserve to die the way he did. I’m truly sorry for the pain and suffering his murder caused you and your family.”

  “That’s...” Unshed tears shone in her eyes. “That’s very kind of you. Thomas abused his power and humiliated me. Not many people understand how that feels.”

  The widow’s vulnerability and unfortunate situation appealed to his protective side. “Your late husband was a man of many facets, Mrs. Finch. I’m guessing not everyone knew of his darker ones.”

  “Please, call me Janet.” With the back of her left hand, a hand bare of any jewelry, she wiped her eyes. “If not for my sons, I would change my name back.”

  His not-soon-enough-to-be-ex-wife had also sputtered a similar sentence the last time Damien encountered her, but her words had contained more venom and less resilience than the ones uttered by the woman sitting across the table from him. The yellow walls cast an aura around her head, and though the color clashed with the cherry wood cupboards and maroon speckled ceramic flooring, it brightened the kitchen.

  “Janet...” He loved how her name rolled off his tongue. “I also wanted you to know I have no intention of embarrassing your family any further by revealing the many shady deals your husband concocted as returning officer.”

  A furtive shadow crossed her lovely dark eyes. “I suppose it’s a small consolation, still I’m grateful.”

  “May I ask you something? I’m in the middle of a nasty divorce and my wife pretends that forging my signature wasn’t a bi
g deal, that every woman does it at least once in her lifetime.” His wife’s lawyer had the gall to argue she meant no harm when she applied for a fifty-thousand-dollar loan in his name. “Out of curiosity, have you ever forged your husband’s name on a document? Could my wife be telling the truth?”

  An invisible veil fell over her face, obscuring her expression. “I understand why you’re divorcing her, Damien. I may call you Damien, right? In any case, she’s a liar. Pure and simple. I would never in good conscience forge anyone’s signature. It would be dishonest.”

  If not in good conscience, how about in bad conscience? With great effort, he refrained from uttering out loud the question toying with his tongue. “I guess I married the wrong woman.” That much was true. “I should go. Thank you for the drink.”

  “But you’ve barely touched it.” She sprang to her feet. “I was going to make coffee when you arrived. Why don’t I make a full pot and you can tell me all about your awful wife? You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

  He glanced at the cuckoo clock beside the window. In a few minutes, the birdie would sing, chirp, or tweet eight times. Liliane would be eager to hear from him, but he could always catch up with her at home.

  “A cup of coffee would be nice.” Besides, who knew what other details he might uncover if he kept chatting with her. “Would you mind if I use the washroom?”

  “Of course not.” With a spoon, she pointed down a corridor. “Second door on the left. Be careful not to trip over Tommy’s potty chair.”