Ice Pick in the Ivy (Lovely Lethal Gardens Book 9)

by Dale Mayer

  Her daughter straightened up and said, “Remember? I told you about the case with the little boy—Pauly Shore—who was washed away in the river with the handyman, Henry Huberts?”

  The confusion on the woman’s face cleared. “Yes, of course.” She turned to Doreen. “You’re the one who figured out where they were, aren’t you?”

  Doreen shrugged and said, “Yes, I guess so.”

  “And she figured out about those poor women buried on that sneaky guy’s property and a whole pile of others. You’re really famous.”

  Doreen stared at the daughter in horror. “I hope not,” she said. “That’s the last thing I want to be.”

  The young woman smiled and said, “Fame is good. It’ll make you rich.”

  “Well, I’m not rich,” Doreen said. “And, right now, I’d like to see the Burns sisters get some justice.”

  “What about the old guy?” the young girl said. “Was he murdered?”

  “Not that we can see at the moment,” Doreen said. She turned toward the mother, who was staring at her daughter in fascination. Doreen pivoted, but she kept both women in her sights, while addressing the daughter. “Did your father leave any files or information on the sisters’ case?”

  Sarah’s face tried to shut down, but the daughter wasn’t having anything to do with that. “Mom, you know you do. If anybody can help, it’ll be Doreen.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “I don’t think your father would appreciate me handing off files to a complete stranger.”

  “She’s not a stranger,” the daughter said. “She’s famous. She’ll fix this.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Doreen said cautiously. “I’m looking into it to see what’s going on, and I certainly can’t promise to solve anything, but I need information in order to figure out what I can do for the sisters.”

  “Come on, Mom, please, please,” the daughter said. “It’d be so cool. I could tell all my friends.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t until I get to the bottom of this,” Doreen said quietly. “It would mess things up if you say I’m looking into it.”

  “Of course, of course, I’ll wait,” she said, and she laughed. “Mom, come on. You’ve been hanging on to that bloody envelope since forever.”

  “Sure,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

  “What is in it?”

  “My husband’s notes on the case. As I said, it really bothered him.”

  “If you have any information whatsoever about the Burns case,” Doreen said, “I could really use it.”

  The daughter laughed. “Come on, Mom.”

  “Fine,” she said, “but I don’t have it.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have it?” Doreen asked.

  “I don’t have it right here,” she said. “It’s at home.”

  “Right,” the daughter said. “I’ll run home and get it.”

  Sarah looked on helplessly as her daughter dashed out the front door and disappeared. “She’s such a trial and such a joy. A late arrival after we’d resigned ourselves to being childless. Then I did marry a man who was twelve years older than I was.” She shook her head as if confounded at the way life turned out and smiled at Doreen. “She won’t be but a moment or two.”

  “Do you live that close?” Doreen asked.

  “Sometimes it’s too close,” Sarah said sadly. “It’s been a very tough decade without him. He was well-loved, and he was a great father.”

  “All I can tell you is,” Doreen said, “I’m doing this for the right reasons. Those two women were shafted. And that young man who took everything even now refuses to make sure his sisters are okay, but he’s wallowing in millions and millions of dollars that he’s not sharing.”

  “That young man isn’t alone,” Sarah said. “So many people are selfish.”

  “Not all of them though,” Doreen said. “So let’s hope this one, when he’s given proof of his father’s intentions, will do something to help them.”

  “We’ll see,” Sarah said. “I’ll give you the information. But I want to know if you ever find anything or if anything comes out of this.”

  “I promise,” Doreen said.

  Chapter 24

  Monday Late Morning …

  With the 9x12 envelope in hand, Doreen walked back to her vehicle. She put Mugs inside and then drove straight home. She had a bunch of other stops she could make, but now she didn’t want to do anything except go home and read what was in the envelope. So that’s what she did. She’d made a promise to let Sarah and her daughter know if anything came out of Doreen’s work, and Doreen would keep that promise. She really, desperately wanted to know if she could do anything to help those sisters.

  And, of course, she couldn’t forget the fact that the ice pick had blood on it, nor the fact that Fred and Frank were more than slightly suspicious concerning what happened to their parents and little sister. Doreen would love to find Henrietta alive and well but highly doubted that was possible. Still, Doreen had pulled off a couple minor miracles already. Maybe she could tap yet another one.

  Back home again, she unloaded Mugs and headed inside. She put on a cup of tea this time and headed out to her little table on the veranda—next to her small nondescript deck that she couldn’t wait to turn into a proper deck—and sat down with the lawyer’s notes. As far as an envelope went, it was pretty substantial.

  She pulled out papers to find copies of everything and a sticky note to Doreen. “Smart daughter,” Doreen murmured to herself as she read it. Kept the originals. You can come and get them later if you need them for a court case.

  She perused through them and found the will giving the daughters half of everything and the son half. She frowned at that. “He’s still a lazy lug and about to have half of millions. But that’s incredibly greedy, to be unsatisfied with half.” As she read through the list of holdings, her eyebrows shot up.

  “This could be my ex-husband’s portfolio,” she murmured. “A lot of money is here.” And, for that, the son just dropped down yet another rung. “Talk about greedy and selfish,” she muttered. Then she found notes from a private detective. That brought her eyebrows right back up again. As she went farther through the notes, the detective made a point of going through the son’s recent history but said there was no proof he’d had anything to do with the father’s death.

  Doreen sat back and wondered about that. The only two people who would know would be the new lawyer and the son. Somebody had to have made up that new will—the new lawyer obviously—and somebody had to have made it legal. Like filing it with the court or whatever. Again the new lawyer could have done that too.

  She didn’t understand the complete process, but, as soon as a will was declared the new and active one, then the old one ceased to be. What she had here was one will dated a good ten years ago. When was the supposed new will signed and dated? Maybe this one trumped that one. And who signed it? They would need witnesses. Could she find out who those people were? Not without a copy of the new will.

  She couldn’t text the sisters because of their strange living situation. That bothered Doreen as well. She wondered if Mack could find out who the witnesses were on the new will. Or would that mean requiring a warrant to get into the lawyer’s office? Surely wills were filed in public, weren’t they? She texted Mack, asking him. He responded with a question mark. She groaned and texted him back. Can you see who the witnesses are on Burns’s new will? She decided to put “new” in italics, of course.

  You can ask.

  I can?

  Yes, he typed, and you’ll get the same answer I will, which is, it’s none of our business.

  Unless something’s fishy about it?

  Correct. Do you really think there is?

  Yes, the old lawyer even hired a private detective to look into the son.

  At that, her phone rang. Mack asked, “How do you know that?”

  She explained about her morning’s jaunt and the fact she’
d been given an envelope with the lawyer’s notes. And then she amended that. “They’re photocopies,” she said.

  He groaned. “Send them to me.”

  “I just—”

  She stared down at the phone as he hung up. She snapped, “Sure, no problem, don’t mind helping you out.”

  But she did get up and took the entire stack of paperwork and walked over to her scanner. It wasn’t a bad idea to have a digital copy, given everything else she currently had. With a digital copy scanned through, she emailed it to Mack, then sent it to herself, so she could save it on her laptop in her case files. She had collected a huge amount of information on people. Even she was getting confused. She went back to the folders Bridgeman Solomon had gifted her and searched in his boxes for a file on Ed Burns. Solomon had gathered a little, nothing too bad, except Ed Burns had a few dicey business practices. “And a few dicey fatherly practices too apparently,” she muttered.

  She could only do so much research online. Sometimes she had to do her research among the living. She walked back to the paperwork, took a look at the private detective’s name, researched his name and office info, and picked up her phone.

  He answered, “Corey Junior Agency, how can I help you?”

  “I’m looking into Ed Burns’s will,” Doreen said clearly. “I understand you were hired by his lawyer to look into Burns’s son, Jude.”

  There was a hesitation on the other end.

  “Unless it is something that you’re being paid to keep quiet about now that Ranford is dead?”

  Corey snorted at that. “Like that’ll happen,” he said, “but how the hell do you know I was hired by the lawyer? And what do you know about Jude Burns?”

  “I spoke with Sarah this morning, and she and her daughter gave me copies of Ranford’s notes. And I know nothing about Jude. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “And who are you?”

  Now she hesitated. “I’m Doreen.”

  “Doreen,” he said suspiciously. “Doreen who?”

  “Doreen Montgomery, but I doubt you know me.”

  He laughed. “Are you kidding? I think everybody in town knows who you are by now.”

  She frowned at the phone. “All good things I hope.” But she knew it wouldn’t be.

  “If I could have the advertising you’ve managed to get yourself,” he said, “I’d be doing really well businesswise. I mean, I do okay, but it’s not as if the town knows who I am, the way they know who you are.”

  “I didn’t go after the notoriety,” she said glumly. “It seems to have found me instead.”

  At that, he laughed again. “I’m not upset because, if you can do something to right this wrong, I’d be a happy camper. I dug and dug, and that little weasel is just really slimy. He’s never worked a day in his life. Women supported him in his adult life until his dear old dad kicked the bucket, and then he inherited everything. He’ll run it all into the ground in no time, and he’ll be back looking for some rich woman to support him again.”

  “Multiple millions are shown here. Surely he can’t be that bad.”

  “The estate might survive him,” the private detective admitted, “but I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t think he has a head for business. Now, the sisters, on the other hand, they’re solid people. They worked their butts off, and they’ve been really good at pulling forward and doing what they need to do.”

  “Right,” she said. “I talked to them too. But I’m not sure you understand how dire their situation is. What’s been done to them is a travesty.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got a few additional notes for you,” he said. “I didn’t hand over everything. The things Sarah has are just my rough stuff. But you’ll have to come to my office.”

  “Fine,” Doreen agreed. “I’ll be at your office in fifteen.” And she hung up. She left the two animals at home, taking only Mugs, and dashed to her car and down to his office. It was in the Pandosy area too. One of the small offices on a side street.

  When she walked into his office, she saw a madcap mid-forties man with a mop of hair hanging long past his ears and a baseball cap turned sideways on his head. “I’m Doreen,” she announced.

  He looked at her in surprise, then his face split into a big grin that only widened as he spied Mugs at her feet. He shook her hand and said, “I’m Corey. Nice to meet you.”

  “And now that we have that over with …”

  He walked over to his filing cabinet, pulled out a file, and said, “I’ve been paid once. I don’t want any money for it. If there’s anything I can do to help nail this little runt, I’ll be happy to do it.”

  Doreen was delighted with his attitude. “That guy’s making friends all over the place, isn’t he?”

  “He’s so not,” Corey said with a big, beaming smile. He took his files and said, “Let me take a quick look. If it’s of any value I’ll scan it for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll read it and add it to my notes. I would love a chance to get this guy. Did you happen to get a copy of the death certificate?”

  He replied, “I got the death certificate. I spoke to the coroner. There didn’t appear to be anything odd about Ranford’s heart attack.”

  “Any unexplained deaths in Jude’s other relationships?” she asked, watching as Corey fed things through the scanner. At that, he stopped, turned, and looked at her. “You really do have a dark turn of mind, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “It’s a yes,” he said, “and I tried to nail that on him too, but I never got that far.”

  “Nail what?”

  “His ex-girlfriend. She was older with a heart condition already, and she had a heart attack that killed her.”

  “Oh, interesting. I don’t like that.”

  “Why is that?”

  “That’s three heart attacks, bang, bang, bang. Burns, Burns’s lawyer, now Jude’s girlfriend. Way too convenient. Did he inherit anything from the girlfriend?”

  “She was supposed to write him into her will, but whether she never got around to it or just told him that to keep him on the string, I don’t know, but he never did get anything from her.”

  She snickered. “Good,” she said. “However, did the girlfriend die first? Then Jude’s dad?”

  “Yeah,” Corey said, a frown on his face.

  “Because, depending on when she died in relation to when his father died, my concern is the fact that, maybe his own father died because of her not leaving Jude something. That, since he was left with nothing, he found another way to get what he needed.”

  Corey stared out the window as he fed paper through the scanner. “Meaning that, if she had left him enough to live on comfortably, he might not have been too bothered about killing his own father?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering because she died of a heart attack, his father died of a heart attack. and his father’s lawyer died of a heart attack. All in that order. Doesn’t that sound like too many related heart attacks?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s not like we have any proof though.”

  “Nope,” she said. “We don’t, but, if it’s there, you can bet I’ll do my best to find it.”

  He gave her a big grin. “I like your attitude, and I gather because of who you are that people tend to give you things that maybe I don’t have access to.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it does seem like people have been very helpful.” She nodded at his files. “Case in point.”

  “A journalist was on Ed’s case for a while.”

  “Bridgeman Solomon,” Doreen said triumphantly.

  Corey stared at her in astonishment. “For someone who just arrived in town a couple months ago, you seem to know a lot.”

  “Bridgeman is a friend of my grandmother’s. He’s in hospice care.”

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s too bad. That guy is great. He’s been a huge icon in town.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Don�
�t suppose he gave you any insight into it, did he?”

  Doreen nodded. “I have a copy of his file too.”

  He stopped feeding the scanner and asked, “Anything valuable?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing concrete, nothing I can take to the police, nothing that can get any warrants or injunctions. Nothing.”

  “Damn.” He shot her a sideways look and a bit of a sly smile. “I hear you have an in at the police department too?”

  She gave him a bland stare. “You mean, besides the fact that I keep pissing them off and making them work overtime?”

  He chuckled at that. “I imagine they’re doing a lot of overtime. You’ve brought a ton of cases to light.”

  “And solved a large portion of them,” she said. “I think I’ve found more evidence on six or seven cold cases. Maybe more. I don’t know.”

  “You should keep track of it,” he said. “Build yourself a little file and put checkmarks beside them, so you know which ones you’ve solved. If nothing else, when you have a bad day, you can take those out and see where you are doing something with your life.”

  His tone made her take a closer look. He was in his early to mid-forties. Well, he could even be a well-preserved fifty. What did she know? But a note of sadness was heavily present in his voice.

  “I’ve already been through some of the most depressing times in my life,” she said, “and so what you just said is not a bad idea. If nothing else, maybe set up some cue cards with notes of how people have reacted and the thank-yous I’ve gotten.”

  “I like that idea too. It’s hard to get kudos, and, when we do get them, we need to remember them.”

  “True.”

  “You’re not thinking about going into the business permanently, are you?”

  She was grateful to hear no edgy tone to his voice, as if maybe he was worried about competition. Something was in there, but she didn’t quite understand it. She shook her head. “No. I’m just a happy camper with a hobby.”

  He nodded. “Well, if I can help you with this case, I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said. “I’m doing it for the sisters more than anything.”