The Finest Hour

by Anina Collins

  With a tiny smile, she said, “No. My husband never thought he needed one.”

  We found the driver outside tending to the Mercedes. Crouching down, he sprayed cleaner on the tires just as we walked up to him.

  “Hello, Bruno Carter? I’m Officer Alex Montero and this is my partner Poppy McGuire. We’d like to ask you some questions in regard to the investigation into Samuel Morrow’s murder yesterday.”

  The man reacted to Alex’s announcement by looking up at us with a blank stare and then standing up. At his full size, he proved my estimation vastly incorrect, towering over Alex by at least four inches and me by nearly a foot. I had to crane my neck to make eye contact with him.

  “I don’t know anything about that. I’m just the driver,” he said in a deep voice that had a sort of dopey sound to it.

  Alex slowly removed his pad and pen from his shirt pocket and flipped the pages until he got to the notes for the current investigation. Looking up at Bruno, he asked, “Well, what time did you leave to take her to D.C. yesterday?”

  “Eight. Do you mind if I continue cleaning these tires? If you leave the stuff on too long, it’s a bear to get off,” Bruno asked as he crouched down to return to his task, not even bothering to wait for Alex’s answer.

  My partner turned to give me a look that told me he didn’t appreciate this driver’s lack of respect for the police and then continued with his questions. “Where did you go in D.C. and what time did you arrive there?”

  Bruno thought about the answer for a second while he scrubbed the cloth over the Mercedes’ right front tire and then looked up at us. “We got to Georgetown at ten.”

  Alex instantly jumped on his claim. “Why did it take so long since that drive should only take just over an hour?”

  “There was an accident on the George Washington Parkway that tied us up for nearly forty-five minutes. You can check with the police. It was a huge accident between two tractor trailers and a bus.”

  “We will, thank you. Now what did you two do all day since she didn’t get home until after five last night?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t pry into my employer’s business, so I have no idea what she did. I dropped her off at the Georgetown University library at ten and picked her up when she called me at around 3:30. And if you’re going to ask what took us so long to get here, it was rush hour and the city was mobbed. Something to do with a presidential motorcade or something like that. You can check it all out.”

  While Alex jotted the details down, I asked, “What did you do all day while Mrs. Morrow was busy at Georgetown?”

  “I caught a double feature of Planet of the Apes and Beneath the Planet of the Apes at the Royale in Penn Quarter. The originals, not the new ones with all the CG. It’s easy to prove. All you have to do is call them and they’ll tell you the movies that were playing.”

  Bruno sure was a real film aficionado.

  Alex snapped his notebook shut. “But that doesn’t prove you were anywhere near that theater. Thank you, Mr. Carter. If we have any other questions, we know where to find you.”

  With that, he turned on his heels and we walked down the driveway to the street. Once we reached the car, I said, “He wasn’t helpful at all, was he?”

  Nodding, Alex looked back at the driveway where Bruno remained cleaning his employer’s tires. “He’s certainly big enough to fracture a man’s larynx, wouldn’t you say?”

  I didn’t have to think about that answer. Bruno Carter was big enough to fracture the side of a house. One man’s larynx probably wouldn’t even make him break a sweat.

  “I’d say so. Are you thinking he and the widow were having an affair?” I asked as we opened our doors to get into the police cruiser.

  Alex slid behind the wheel and shut the driver’s side door. Turning to face me, he said, “I don’t know. They’re one of the oddest couples I’ve ever seen if they are. I have a feeling the gossips will know, though, so I think it’s time to go visit them.”

  Oh goodie. Another visit with the hens of Sunset Ridge. And I knew exactly where to find them at this time of year.

  “Then just point yourself toward the former first lady’s house on the next block. I imagine you should be able to catch them all there discussing the Founders’ Day plans right after church.”

  He put the car in gear and began driving toward the Gerards’ house. As we rode there, I couldn’t help but notice the irony of how willing they’d be to discuss a fellow citizen’s private business right after leaving church services.

  That would have been lost on them, though.

  Chapter Seven

  The Girard House loomed in front of us as we approached the front door of the former mayor and first lady’s grand home. The same size as any of the others in Victorian Row, it stood out because of its bright pomegranate red exterior and jade green painted trim and shutters. For years, people had whispered behind Mrs. Girard’s back about it, calling the house the Christmas Mess.

  Alex looked up at the home and shook his head. “The Girards obviously don’t know the meaning of the word subtle.”

  “And they have no sense of what looks good either. I’d guess they spent ten thousand dollars on getting the house painted these awful colors, you know that?” I said in return.

  “I guess it shouldn’t surprise anyone. It’s not like that red hair Mrs. Girard wears is in any way natural or appealing. Every time I see it, all I can think of is she looks like a clown. You’d think one of those women she spends so much time with would tell her how bad it looks.”

  We stepped up onto the wrap-around porch painted jade green, and Alex rang the doorbell. “You know they talk about her behind her back and make fun of that hair,” I said, feeling a twinge of pity for the former first lady.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me since they talk about everyone else in town. What would make any one of them exempt from their gossip?”

  I knew how much he disliked meeting with these women, but every so often on a case, they could be helpful because even though neither of us approved of their backbiting and petty gossiping, we couldn’t deny that they seemed to know things others in town didn’t. That probably came from sitting around all day and watching their fellow citizens instead of accomplishing anything on their own.

  Clearly, my opinion on the gossip coffee klatch hadn’t sweetened any, despite their overwhelming approval of my life choices with Alex. That they liked my selection of a husband didn’t change the fact that I thought much of what they did in Sunset Ridge hurt people needlessly.

  Eileen Matthews answered the door and smiled from behind the screen door that separated us from her. Flipping her mousy brown hair off her shoulder, she said, “This is a surprise. What are you two doing here at the First Lady’s home this morning? Poppy, are you here to get details on the Founders’ Day plans for your article this year?”

  I shook my head but didn’t tell Eileen that I didn’t need any more details about the event since it never really changed from year to year and Howard didn’t want anything more than the piece I’d always written. Instead, I gave her question a shrug and said, “Maybe next week. Today, Alex and I would like to speak to you ladies and hopefully benefit from your extensive knowledge of Sunset Ridge.”

  In the past three years, Eileen had slowly grown to be as obnoxious as the rest of the biddies in the Founders’ Day Committee, so by now I didn’t see her as any different than them. As disappointing as that was, it did make it easier dealing with them en masse since all I had to do was be ingratiating to the point of being sickening. My pride suffered a little, but whatever I needed to do with them invariably became easier.

  Her ego stroked, she eagerly opened the door and welcomed us into the Girard house. In all my time in Sunset Ridge, I’d never been inside their home. Although I had expected the décor to match the outside of the home, even that hadn’t prepared me for how garishly they had decorated the interior.

  Everywhere my gaze fell I saw knickknacks. The place looked
like a museum for useless junk. A set of tiny figurines of frogs with guitars on lily pads lined the top of a fireplace, as if they were items to be shown off to visitors as they entered the home. Decorative tea cups from the size of a thimble to one that looked like it could be used as an aquarium in a pinch sat around on end tables and shelves, none of them looking like they matched anything else in the room.

  And those were just the small things about the room we stood in. The furniture looked to be straight out of the actual Victorian period, but none of the pieces would be truly considered antiques anyone would want. A couch upholstered in a multicolor tapestry depicting what looked like some medieval battle made me cringe at the thought that some misguided soul at some point in time had actually wanted to sit on something that mimicked the Bayeux Tapestry.

  Even worse was the reality that the Girards had paid for that piece, probably handsomely, and thought the couch should be displayed so anyone visiting their home would see it.

  Nearby, a high backed chair that looked to be in deep blue velvet and came up over the head of the person sitting in it resembled a partial Iron Maiden more than anything else. I had to look away, but everywhere around me existed another decorating tragedy.

  Some things went out of style for a reason.

  Alex leaned in as we followed Eileen to another room and whispered, “Damn, this place is like a house of horrors.”

  A shiver of disgust overtook me, and I simply nodded, not able to say anything in response. House of horrors indeed.

  We walked through a doorway to a smaller sitting room decorated just slightly less grotesquely. This room had been painted the exact shade of green used in the felt on pool tables. This gave it the effect of the ten foot high walls closing in on you as soon as you stepped into it.

  Definitely not the kind of place I’d want to spend any considerable time. Silently, I prayed the ladies gave us what we needed quickly so we could escape this place in a hurry.

  “Ladies, look who came to visit us today,” Eileen announced before taking her seat in an old style burgundy velvet chair with gilded trim that matched the other three her friends sat in around a large wood table with nail heads around the top edge.

  Mrs. Scanlon’s grey eyes lit up at the sight of the two of us standing there. “Poppy and Officer Montero! What a wonderful surprise! And so close to your big day. Is everything ready? You know you don’t want to wait until the last minute.”

  I felt Alex tense up next to me at hearing yet another person he barely knew interjecting themselves into our wedding plans with their opinion. Happy to take the lead in this part of our visit, I put on my cutest smile for her and said, “Oh, I know it, but everything’s ready. All we need to do is get the two of us to the church.”

  Eileen smiled and pointed us to a tan couch that seemed to match nothing in the room and certainly didn’t feel like it fit with anything Victorian. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem then. It’s going to be a lovely wedding, I’m sure.”

  We sat down as I heard her say for the second time how sure she was about our wedding plans. Dangerously close to having the old maid moniker tacked onto her, she seemed a little too happy when she spoke about our big day.

  I took Alex’s hand in mine and gave it a squeeze. “As long as this guy is there with me, it’s going to be the happiest day of my life,” I cooed.

  My almost sickeningly sweet tone made him look at me strangely, but I knew what worked with these women. Eleanor Girard tilted her chin up and gazed down her nose to study the two of us for a moment before adding her own comment about our big day.

  “You’ve found a very nice one in him, Poppy,” she said with that pompous air she liked to affect, referring to one of the town’s police officers in a way that made it sound like I’d chosen a good horse.

  His fingers squeezed mine in a signal that told me he wanted to get on with our business there and end this discussion of us as a couple and our wedding plans, so I thanked her politely.

  “Thank you. I agree, Mrs. Girard.”

  The pleasantries finished, Alex jumped right in with his questions. “Ladies, we’re here because we’re investigating the death of Samuel Morrow. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that he was found murdered in his store yesterday morning. We’re hoping you might know something that could help the police find his killer.”

  The Widow Dunn made a sound of disapproval and shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. I did hear that, and it’s quite a shame. Samuel Morrow was a proper jeweler and not like those flim flam artists at the malls. He knew the value of a fine piece of jewelry just by looking at it. I can tell you that.”

  I couldn’t decide which bothered her—Samuel’s death or the fact that he wouldn’t be around to appraise her jewelry anymore.

  “I was so sorry to hear of his death,” Mrs. Scanlon said, shaking her head slowly so her chin length grey hairdo swung in slow motion. “He was the kind of man this town needs.”

  Feeling like they needed some egging on, I quickly asked, “Even though he rarely participated in town events?”

  The four women nodded in unison, and the former first lady came to his defense. “He worked day and night in that store of his. It wasn’t his responsibility to participate. He did what was expected of him in this town. His wife, on the other hand, the same can’t be said for her.”

  And there it was. Our in to get the gossips talking about Eliza Morrow.

  The nodding intensified at the mention of Eliza’s lack of real participation in the town’s events. I’d suspected the gossips disapproved of her not giving her all for things like Founders’ Day or the Christmas decorating festival. Now we just had to listen to what they had to say.

  “Do you know I saw her last month as she was leaving her house and she didn’t even acknowledge my hello?” the Widow Dunn huffed. “She intentionally avoided me, and I bet I know why. She knows Founders’ Day is right around the corner, and once again, she won’t lift a single finger to help. Oh, we’ll get a check all right, but you won’t see her on Main Street for not one moment of the most important event of the year for Sunset Ridge.”

  “She thinks money is enough,” Mrs. Scanlon said in a tone full of disgust and disapproval. “That’s how you know she’s new money.”

  Alex glanced over at me at the mention of new money. We both knew once the town gossips trotted out the new money insult that things would soon get vicious.

  But I wanted to help them along so we didn’t get stuck listening to them bash Eliza Morrow for the rest of the day, so I said, “She and Samuel had been married for twenty-five years, though. Can that still be considered new money?”

  I knew the answer before I even asked the question. Yes, it could be. New money wasn’t determined by time so much as attitude and behavior.

  “Oh yes!” the former First Lady said with all the attitude she could muster. “That money was always Samuel’s. She never made one red cent of it. All she ever did was ride around in that silver Mercedes of hers, not even waving hello when she saw any of her fellow citizens.”

  Before Alex or I could say a word, Eileen Matthews jumped in and began piling on. “And speaking of her riding around in that car, what is going on with that driver of hers? What is he, like twenty-five? Why would a married woman in her late forties have a man like that driving her everywhere? Doesn’t she know how bad that looks?”

  “She doesn’t care,” the Widow Dunn said in her nastiest voice. “I heard there were problems in that marriage, and if that was the case, it’s no wonder. No man who spends hours upon hours slaving away to make a successful business like Morrow’s Jewelers to provide his wife with a house like she has wants to see his wife being driven around with some beef hunk.”

  Beef hunk? I didn’t even want to ask her to clarify what she meant by that.

  “Beefcake,” Eileen corrected her. “I think he’d be called beefcake.”

  The Widow Dunn looked at her and grimaced in disgust before snapping, “I don’t care what he’
d be called. It’s not right. Everyone in town knows it too. She looks ridiculous having him drive her around, and it made Samuel look like a fool.”

  Alex nudged my knee with his, so I jumped at the chance to get the ladies to talk about more salacious topics related to Eliza Morrow. “Do you really think there’s something between her and her driver?”

  One after another, the women nodded and said, “Yes.”

  Mrs. Scanlon then added, “I heard that Samuel hired a private detective because he thought something untoward was going on too.”

  For the first time since they started bashing Eliza, Alex spoke up. “When, Mrs. Scanlon? Do you know when Samuel was supposed to have hired this person?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment and looked surprised to hear him join the conversation, but then she said, “I heard that right around Easter this year.”

  “Do you remember who told you that?” he asked, unknowingly breaking the gossips’ code.

  Who said it didn’t matter as much as what they said. Well, unless the person gossiping said something that reflected on them personally. Then who was doing the talking meant a great deal. But even then, they didn’t share their sources.

  Not even with a policeman they liked.

  I quickly worked to repair the damage of Alex’s unfortunate faux pas. “So Samuel actually suspected something was going on with his wife and the driver? Do you think he ever found any evidence to prove it?” I asked eagerly, as if I felt the same way as the four women did about the situation.

  Mrs. Scanlon sighed but I thankfully saw my questions distracted her from what Alex had interjected into the conversation. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he did. I mean, look at the way she acts as if that whole Driving Miss Daisy thing she’s doing with that young man isn’t going to make people talk.”

  “If I were her husband, I would have been doing some checking up on her. Samuel spent every day working to make that store a success, and what did he get for it? A wife who didn’t understand her responsibilities to him or this town. It just burns me up as someone who’s devoted her life to our beautiful town,” Mrs. Girard preached, surprisingly not going into chapter and verse about all that she’d done as the first lady of Sunset Ridge.