by Tracy Kiely
“Yes, but he’s dead!” Frances said. “You can’t be happy that he’s dead!”
Reggie rolled her eyes in disgust. “Frances, I didn’t say I was happy that he was dead. I’m just not crying into my hankie. There’s a difference.”
Frances looked unconvinced but said no more. There was a loud, officious knock on the door, immediately followed by a collective intake of breath around me. The police, it would seem, were here. Frances and Reggie looked at me, while Scott stared at the floor. Apparently I had just been appointed official greeter.
I am by no means someone my friends would describe as being calm under pressure, but I was still taken aback at the surge of adrenaline that swiftly raced through my veins. With shaking hands, I grabbed the cut-glass doorknob and swung open the door.
Before me stood one woman and one man. The former was in a crisp, blue uniform, her light blond hair tucked underneath her hat. I couldn’t tell you much else about her other than the fact that she had blue eyes and a trim figure, because my real focus was on the second person.
He hadn’t changed much. No gray marred his thick, dark hair. From the way his Burberry overcoat clung to his broad shoulders, he appeared to be as lean and fit as ever. Seeing me, a flash of recognition appeared in his blue-green eyes, but no welcoming smile accompanied it.
Before I could speak, I heard Ann approaching from behind. Turning, I saw her just as she saw him. The color drained from her face and her grip on the glass of wine tightened, turning her knuckles white.
With a strained whisper, she got out his name. “Joe!”
Chapter 7
Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.
—Emma
Joe’s response to hearing Ann utter his name was a brief tightening of the muscles in his jaw. With an overly polite nod in her direction, he said, “Actually, it’s Detective Muldoon now.”
Ouch. It was clear that even after all these years, Joe hadn’t forgiven Ann. I glanced at her to see how she was taking all this. From the stricken look on her face, I deduced not very well. Ann blinked and pressed her lips together tightly, her face etched in silent misery.
I stuck out my hand, “Hello, Joe … er … Detective Muldoon. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”
“Elizabeth Parker,” Joe said, briefly taking my hand in his and giving it a formal shake. “Of course, I remember you.” Turning to the officer next to him, he said, “This is Sergeant Erica Beal.”
I nodded at the sergeant. Scarlett gave a happy bark and jumped up and began to paw at Joe’s leg. He looked down at her in confusion. “Scarlett, go away,” I said, nudging the dog away. Scarlett ignored me and began to lick Joe’s pant leg. I bent over and scooped up the dog while she squirmed in protest. “Scarlett, you are no lady,” I said before looking back to Joe. “Well, the family is all here.” I gestured toward the living room. “I’ll show you in.” Leading them into the room, I wondered what Reggie’s and Frances’s reactions to seeing Joe again after all these years would be.
“Everyone,” I said, “this is Sergeant Beal and Detective Muldoon.”
Reggie glanced up, her expression calm. However, seeing Joe, her eyes quickly darted to where Ann still stood in the foyer. When she returned her attention to Joe, there was a wary expression in her eyes. With the briefest nod of her head, she said, “Detective Muldoon. Sergeant Beal.”
Frances was less composed. “Joe? Is that really you? Why, you’ve hardly changed a bit! You’re a detective now?”
“As you see,” he said.
Scott moved toward him, his hand outstretched. “Joe, it’s good to see you again.”
Joe shook the proffered hand. Beside him, Sergeant Beal’s face was unreadable. She didn’t seem particularly surprised to find that her detective was on such familiar terms with the family. I wondered just how much Joe had told her.
“I’m sorry to have to disturb you,” he said now, “especially so soon after your father’s funeral.” He paused. “I was sorry to hear of his passing. You have my condolences.”
I have to admit, hearing Joe say that aroused my darkest forebodings. Joe hated Uncle Marty. And to be fair, it wasn’t without reason. Uncle Marty did everything he could to make Joe feel unwelcome and unworthy to be a member of the Reynolds family. But all those years ago Joe had an open face that was easy to read. However, the way Joe offered his condolences just now, you would have thought that he really had liked Uncle Marty. It didn’t bode well, in my humble opinion.
Seeing Ann still standing in the foyer helplessly clutching Reggie’s glass of wine, I said, “Let me go get some coffee for everyone.” I hurried out, still clutching Scarlett in one hand, and firmly grabbed Ann by the elbow with the other and steered her to the kitchen.
“It’s Joe!” she said numbly. “Jesus, I can’t believe this. After all these years, he’s here. In this house. Oh, my God.” Frantically running her hands through her hair, she tried to see her reflection in the chrome toaster. “I look like shit!” she wailed.
“Would you put the toaster down? You do not look like shit,” I said, as I deposited Scarlett on the floor and then yanked open cupboards in search of the coffee. As I said this, though, I realized that to a certain extent Ann’s looks had suffered somewhat since her breakup with Joe. For lack of a better phrase, she’d lost her glow. When Joe left, a part of Ann had faded away. As no other man had ever come close to Joe in her estimation, the glow had never returned. However, this obviously wasn’t the time to address that. “Pull yourself together. Where the hell is the coffee?” I asked.
“Top shelf, left,” she said automatically. “Did you see the way he looked at me? Like he was looking through me or something.”
“He was just trying to be professional, that’s all,” I said, quickly pulling down the package of whole beans, which then slipped from my hands. The bag landed with a crash on the kitchen floor, sending tiny brown beans flying everywhere.
“Oh, crap, crap crap!” I said as I scrambled to clean up the mess. Seeing Ann’s stricken face, I joked, “Hey, look! The cops are here and I spilled the beans!”
Either Ann didn’t hear me or was politely ignoring me. It was probably the latter, because you have to admit, it was a funny joke. “Now, I know I said no crackers and cheese,” I said, as I gathered all the beans together and dumped them into the trash can, “but I’ve changed my mind. How about you get out a platter while I get the coffee going?”
There was no answer as I scooped fresh beans into the grinder. “Ann?” I said, looking over my shoulder at her. She was still standing where I’d left her. Her head tipped back, she was rapidly draining the glass of wine. “Or you could just chug the wine,” I said. “Yeah, that’s a better idea. Why don’t you do that and I’ll get the cheese.”
* * *
Once the coffee was made and Ann had finished her liquid courage, we emerged from the kitchen, coffee and cheese and crackers in tow. Scarlett tagged right along and ran straight to Joe, who was sitting on one of the chairs, his coat off and neatly folded on his lap. He was wearing a blue suit that fit him like the proverbial glove. Scarlett plopped herself down directly in front of him and barked happily. Sergeant Beal stretched out her hand and attempted to pet Scarlett, but Scarlett ignored her. Scarlett, like her namesake, preferred the company of men. Joe reluctantly scratched Scarlett behind the ears.
I placed the crackers and cheese on the table while Ann poured the coffee. Nobody spoke. Finally, Joe pulled back from Scarlett and said, “Well, you know why we’re here. Michael Barrow’s body was discovered earlier this week under the foundation of the pool of the house your family used to own in St. Michaels. I don’t have the medical examiner’s final report yet, but it seems pretty clear that he died from blunt force trauma to the head.”
“Could he have fallen into the hole and struck his head?” Frances asked hopefully.
“As I said, I am still awaiting the medi
cal examiner’s report,” came the reply. “I wondered if you all could tell me when you saw him last.”
“Are we under suspicion?” asked Scott.
“Right now, we’re just collecting information,” Joe replied. “Ms. Reynolds,” he said, turning to Reggie, “why don’t we start with you. I believe you were engaged to the deceased.”
Reggie smoothed out her dress and uncrossed her shapely legs. Sergeant Beal’s eyes narrowed, and I noticed she glanced at Joe to gauge his reaction. I wondered just how close Joe was with Sergeant Beal. “Actually,” said Reggie, “it’s Ms. Ames now.”
“I’m sorry. Ms. Ames, could you tell me the last time you saw Mr. Barrow?” asked Joe.
Reggie responded promptly. “The last time any of us saw him was at my father’s Fourth of July party eight years ago. It was at that party that I told him I didn’t think we should go through with the marriage.”
“When was this, exactly?”
“Just after the fireworks ended. I told him and then I went to bed.”
“And what was the reason for the breakup, if you don’t mind me asking?” Joe asked.
Reggie shifted slightly. “His drinking, for one. It was getting completely out of hand.”
Joe nodded. “I see. And what was his reaction to your ending things?”
Reggie paused. “Well, he was upset, naturally. He begged me to reconsider. I told him to go to bed and sleep it off. I said that we could talk more in the morning, but by that time, he was gone. I assumed that his pride was hurt and he’d left for his house. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured that he was waiting for me to call. Of course, I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t wonder why you never heard from him?” Joe asked, with a dubious expression.
“Well, no. I just thought he was pouting, but within a week or so afterward, we discovered that Michael had embezzled almost a million dollars from Daddy. We all assumed that he had hightailed it somewhere. So no, I never wondered why I never heard from him,” said Reggie.
“Yes, I have the copy of the report your father submitted regarding the embezzlement,” said Joe. “Did anyone see Mr. Barrow after that Fourth of July party?”
We all shook our heads.
“Don’t forget, Joe,” said Frances, “you were at that party, too. With Ann,” she added unnecessarily. Beside me, Ann flushed crimson. Joe cleared his throat. Sergeant Beal shot Joe a searching look.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Phillips,” Joe said. Turning to Ann, he said, “An … excuse me, Miss Reynolds. It is still Miss Reynolds?” he asked. Ann gave a quick nod. Joe continued, “Did you have any contact with Mr. Barrow that might be relevant?”
Ann didn’t answer right away. I knew she was wondering if she should reveal Michael’s attempted attack on her. After a moment, she said, “He was extremely drunk. But I don’t really have any information other than that.”
Joe regarded her silently. At one time, Joe and Ann were so in tune with each other they could practically read each other’s minds. I found myself fervently hoping that Joe had lost that ability. After a brief pause, he said, “I see.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “Did any of you have any contact with Mr. Barrow at the party? Or notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“I had a couple of drinks with him,” Scott said cautiously.
Joe nodded at him encouragingly. “And…?”
Scott looked down at the carpet before answering. “And nothing, really. We had a few beers on the back patio and then … I went to bed. Michael was still outside when I went inside.”
“Any idea what time this conversation was?” Joe asked.
Scott shot Joe an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? It was eight years ago!”
“Fair enough. Was it a friendly conversation?”
Beside her husband, Frances stiffened. Scott paused. “Friendly enough, I guess. I don’t remember the details.” Frances shifted in her chair and glanced quickly at Scott and then at her lap. Was I missing something?
“You were staying at the house, I take it?” Joe said.
“Yes,” said Scott. “We all were.”
“Including Michael?”
Scott nodded. “Yes. Although I remember he wasn’t there in the morning. His car was gone. I just assumed that he’d already left.”
“When did you leave?”
“The next morning, the fifth. We all did,” Scott said, looking around the room. “Construction was to start on the pool and…” Scott abruptly stopped talking as he realized what must have happened.
Joe looked at the rest of us. “Did any of you see Mr. Barrow the next morning?”
We all shook our heads. “As I told you,” said Reggie, “no one saw Michael after that party.”
Joe leaned back in his chair, the barest of smiles on his lips. “Although my mother always told me never to argue with a lady, I think I’m going to have to disagree with you there.”
The doorbell rang, breaking the sudden tension Joe’s words caused. Ann jumped from her chair and hurried to open the door. Scarlett abandoned her post at Joe’s feet and ran after her. It was Miles and Laura Carswell. A former marine, Miles had stayed in excellent shape, so much so that those who met him thought him a good decade younger than his actual age of seventy-three. To me, he looked like Cary Grant in his later years: round pleasant face, snow-white hair, and black-framed glasses. Laura was an elegant woman with brown eyes and short brown hair that was flecked with gray (“You wouldn’t believe how much it costs to realistically ‘fleck’ one’s hair,” she once told me). Her clear complexion and high cheekbones gave her a more youthful appearance than her actual age of sixty-nine.
Scarlett’s yips of excitement increased upon seeing Miles. He bent to pet her while Laura focused on Ann. Seeing her flushed face, Laura stepped into the foyer, her brown eyes filled with concern. “Ann!” she said. “Are you all right?”
A noise from the living room alerted her to our presence. Turning our way, her eyes landed on Joe. Her mouth pulling into a faint frown, she said, “Good Lord. Is that Joe?”
Eyeing Laura with a cool, appraising glance, Joe merely said, “Mrs. Carswell. We meet again.”
Chapter 8
An occasional memento of past folly, however painful, might not be without use.
—Northanger Abbey
Miles stepped forward. “Hello, Joe. I’m not sure if you remember me…”
“Mr. Carswell,” Joe replied with a genuine smile; seeing it was a brief reminder of his former self. Joe stood up and extended his hand. “Of course, I remember you. It’s good to see you, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. How have you been?”
“Pretty well, pretty well,” Miles replied. Miles had always gotten along great with Joe and, in fact, had been his strongest champion to Uncle Marty. But as close as Miles and Uncle Marty were, Miles still couldn’t convince him of Joe’s merits. Eight years ago, Joe was just starting out on the force. He was, in Uncle Marty’s words, “nothing but a blue-collar cop,” and as such he viewed the match as “degrading” for both him and his daughter. It didn’t help that Laura agreed with Uncle Marty. Laura adored Ann—just as she had adored her mother. She wanted the best for Ann and, unfortunately, that didn’t include a marriage to Joe at age twenty-two. Ann found herself opposed by both her father and the woman she looked to almost as a mother.
“We were told that Michael’s body was found on the St. Michaels property. Don’t tell me that you are on this case,” said Miles.
Joe nodded. “I am, sir. I’m a detective, now.”
Miles smiled. “Congratulations. I always knew you’d go places.”
Joe nodded briefly, the compliment seeming to remind him of those who didn’t have such confidence. Ann stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable.
Joe deflected the awkwardness of the situation by introducing his associate. “This is Sergeant Beal,” he said. “Sergeant Beal, this is Mr. and Mrs. Carswell.”
“Pleased to meet you,”
she said.
“And you as well,” Miles said with a smile. “My, but sergeants have definitely gotten prettier since my day.” Sergeant Beal smiled coyly at this and threw a challenging glance at Joe. Yup, I thought, she likes him. And if I had to interpret that glance she gave him, I would say she wonders why he doesn’t like her.
“Well, we might as well sit down,” Miles said. Joe moved aside so he and Laura could find a seat. Ann came and sat next to me. Her hands were nervously twitching. I reached over and grabbed one, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“What do you need to know from us?” Miles asked.
“From what we know so far, it appears Mr. Barrow died of blunt force trauma to the head. His remains were found under the foundation of the pool. We are trying to gather information as to when he was last seen. Do you remember when you last saw him?”
Miles frowned as he thought over Joe’s question. “I think it must have been at Marty’s Fourth of July party,” he said. “Is that right?” he asked, looking quizzically at Laura.
She shook her head apologetically. “I couldn’t tell you, Miles. Remember, I was out of town that weekend, visiting my mother.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. Well, I think it was at the party.” Miles looked over to where Reggie sat. “I believe it was soon after that that we learned the money was missing.” Reggie nodded. Miles continued, “I remember thinking that it was a good thing I was out of town when I found out what he’d done because I’d probably have…” Miles abruptly stopped.
“Killed him?” said Joe.
Miles gave a rueful smile. “Well, that’s a stupid figure of speech under the circumstances. But I probably would have done my best to mar that pretty face of his. You’ve no idea what his theft did to the company. I left the day after the party and was in New York for two weeks for a meeting with a potential client. By the time I got back, everything was in utter disarray.”