Now Mourn the Space Cadet (Conner Beach Crime Series)

by John Chabot

  "Maybe he was a friend of your wife."

  "I don't think so. I mean, I never heard her mention him."

  "Perhaps she wouldn't want to."

  Mickie watched closely as the confused look suddenly cleared. "Do you mean they were having an affair?"

  "I don't know. I thought you might."

  The look turned suspicious. "Damn you. You're just fishing."

  "I'm trying to find out who killed your wife, Mr. Siegert."

  "Well, it wasn't me. Who is this guy, anyway?"

  "On Saturday morning, Mr. Brodbeck filed a complaint against your wife."

  She watched his face as he tried to fit that in. Finally he said, "Shouldn't you be talking to him, then?"

  "Could you tell me how you spent yesterday?"

  "Yesterday? My wife was killed on Saturday, and you want to know how I spent Sunday? Why, what difference does it make?"

  Mickie took it as a rhetorical question, waiting for an answer to her own.

  "I was with a friend."

  "All day?"

  "No, I went back to the house. I wanted to check the answering machine, pick up the mail, things like that."

  "And when was that?"

  "I don't know. Middle of the afternoon."

  "What time did you go back to Ms. Meadow’s house?"

  "I didn't. I stayed home." He gave her his shrewd look. "You are just fishing, aren't you?"

  "You didn't go out to eat or run an errand, anything like that?"

  "Let me make it clear. I went home around three. I stayed there until this morning. No one was with me, so I can't prove it."

  "Did you have any calls?"

  "Some calls from reporters, but I let the answering machine take them. And I'd still like to know why you're asking."

  Walking back to the office area, Mickie thought about Frank Siegert. He hadn't seemed at all surprised at the thought of his wife having a lover. And for a man who had found her body two days earlier, he didn't seem to be feeling much grief. But then, she thought uncharitably, he's probably getting a lot of consolation.

  * * *

  Kathryn Meadows was busy. The computer screen was clearly where she wanted to focus her attention. "I'm sorry," she said, "but we're installing a new inventory system. I have to convert from the old to the new, hopefully without bringing everything to a halt. It's sort of a timing problem, so ... if you don’t mind."

  Mickie said, "I just have a few questions. I'll try to be quick. What can you tell me about Kurt Brodbeck?"

  "Who?"

  "Kurt Brodbeck. You don't know him?"

  "No, should I?"

  "I thought Mrs. Siegert might have mentioned him."

  "I told you, I hadn't seen her for ages."

  "Not even here at work? She came in last week to see her husband."

  Mickie watched as impatience changed to barely controlled anger.

  "I heard her—everyone did—but I didn't see her."

  "And Mr. Siegert never mentioned that name?"

  "Not to me."

  "What time did he leave your house Saturday morning?"

  Mickie watched the other woman's eyes harden, wondering why she was so up tight. Why the anger?

  "A little before eight, if it's any of your business. I came in to work about twenty minutes later."

  "On Saturday?"

  "I was doing preliminary work on the inventory system which, by the way, I have to get back to now."

  "Then you were here when Mr. Siegert left for lunch."

  "No, I wasn't. I left at about ten. I did some shopping." Her impatience was just barely controlled.

  "When did Mr. Siegert leave you yesterday?"

  Mickie knew she had touched a nerve with that one. The face before her turned stony, but the eyes flared. "I'm not trying to pry, Ms. Meadows. It's important."

  "Mid afternoon. I don't know the time."

  "And he came back...?"

  A long pause while Kathryn examined her nails. "He didn't."

  Ah, that was it. She wasn't angry that he'd left, but that he hadn't come back. "And what did you do the rest of the day?"

  "Nothing. What do you care?" She tried to keep her anger going, but tears were forming. She pulled a tissue from a box on her desk, wiped her eyes quickly. "I stayed there. I thought he ... he might come back. I don't know what I thought. I had a drink. No, I had several drinks and I got a little drunk." She wiped her eyes again, then pulled herself straight. "Sometimes it's just a bitch, isn't it?"

  Mickie had no argument with that. "Yes, it is. Sometimes."

  * * *

  "Who?"

  Cheryl Doles barely looked up from the lists of numbers on her desk. Her office was as severe as her apartment, everything neat, everything in its place. The walls were bare except for another picture of Jesus. He had seemingly calmed down after chasing the moneylenders from the temple, was downright serene. He sat on a large rock, several children gathered around him. Mickie wondered where in the world you could find children that placid looking.

  "Kurt Brodbeck. I thought you might know him."

  When Cheryl did look up, her deep brown eyes were disconcertingly direct. "What makes you think I know him?"

  "I thought Tina might have mentioned him."

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Would you tell me how you spent yesterday?"

  "There was nothing special. I went to church in the morning. In the afternoon, I went back to help with some cleaning. That's when I met you. After supper, I went back again for an evening service."

  "And when you weren't at the church?"

  "I was at home."

  "You didn't go anywhere else, take in a movie, something like that?"

  "Of course not.” She looked shocked. “It was Sunday."

  "I see. When was the evening service over?"

  Cheryl thought about that, her eyes sliding sideways. "It wasn't late. I wasn't feeling well, so I left early. I'm not sure what time."

  "I thought you might have gone to Mr. Clarke's. To study for the exam tomorrow night."

  "No. Why do you keep talking about Bryan?"

  "Sorry, I didn't know I had been."

  Cheryl’s hands tightened into fists as she said, "I know what you think. I heard what you said about me. It's a lie."

  "What I said?"

  "That I killed Tina because I...." She stopped, unable to say it.

  "No," said Mickie, "That was just —"

  “It was a lie!” Cheryl’s eyes were squinting in fury.

  Damn Morris, and damn his big mouth!

  "And Bryan didn't do it, either. He could never hurt anyone. I've told you that."

  * * *

  Mickie drove down the coast from Wilmington to Wilford, glad to be away from Cheryl's accusing stare. She had felt like a kid who'd been caught telling lies, and wasn't sure why. What had she done?

  She found the print shop in one of the older commercial areas, on a slightly grungy street lined with the everyday, unglamorous businesses that made or did the unglamorous necessities. Money budgeted for display and advertising consisted of an ad in the yellow pages. She passed an auto parts store, a plumbing supplier, an abandoned-looking building where electrical motors were repaired. On the corner was a body shop, its parking lot half filled with cars that had suffered everything from minor dings to caved-in sides. High chain link fences enclosed the areas behind many of the shops. On either side of the Ambrose Print Shop were a place that did things with plate glass, and another that produced unfinished furniture.

  A buzzer sounded somewhere in back when Mickie opened the door. Behind the counter, a door opened onto the rear of the shop, and through it she could hear the rhythmic whup, whup, whup of some kind of small machine, something heavy being dropped, then echoing footsteps coming toward her.

  A business smile began forming on Bryan's face as he came through the door, but went to blank as he recognized her. Instead of the ‘Can-I-help-you?’ that went with the smile, he simply look
ed at her inquisitively, wondering what she wanted this time.

  She started with, "Do you have a few minutes?"

  He glanced toward the back of the shop, then said, "Well, yeah, I guess."

  "Could you tell me what you did yesterday? After Detective Chervenic and I spoke to you."

  "Not much. We have a history exam tomorrow night, so I was studying for that. The other one, Chervenic, came back to talk for a while."

  He watched Mickie's face to see if she knew what they had talked about, but she kept it neutral.

  "You didn't go out at all?"

  "I had dinner with my folks. They live a couple of blocks from my place."

  "What time was that?"

  "About five-thirty. They always eat early. We ate and had coffee, and then I went home."

  "To study."

  "Yeah."

  "No one came by? Ms. Doles didn't study with you?"

  "No, nobody."

  "What about Kurt Brodbeck? How did you meet him?"

  "Who?"

  "Brodbeck. You don't know him?" She made it sound as if she couldn't believe it.

  "I don't think so. Who is he?"

  Mickie shook her head in bewilderment. "I'm beginning to wonder about that myself. Well, thank you, Mr. Clarke."

  As she reached the door, she stopped, remembering something else. Bryan was just going through to the back of the shop.

  "Mr. Clarke?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you go to church?"

  He showed surprise, then shrugged. "Sure."

  "Regularly?"

  He hesitated, wondering what she was getting at. "My parents are pretty religious. Well, my Mom, anyway. And we live so close. It's easier than the hassle of not going."

  "After your divorce, did you ever think of remarrying?"

  "Me? Well, sometimes, I guess. I mean, you know, just thought of it. But there hasn't been anyone I wanted to marry especially."

  As she left, he stood watching her get into her car, pull out and drive away. Getting married again? What was that all about? Was it some kind of come on?

  * * *

  The sun was just starting to dip into the trees as Mickie pulled into the library parking lot. After the rain, the air was just nippy enough to make her glad she had brought a jacket.

  As she went in through the heavy glass doors, she saw Dana Converse standing behind the desk. She was checking out books for a young woman with two toddlers standing one on either side, each holding a pant leg. The youngest—a boy—let go and started off, but the mother reached out, nabbed him and hauled him back without even looking. Practice, thought Mickie, wondering if she could ever picture herself doing that.

  The woman gathered books and kids and headed for the door, but by that time, three other people were there to take her place. Mickie glanced at her watch. It was nearly dinnertime—everybody checking out their books and heading home. When she looked up, the line had grown to four. A boy who seemed to be still in his teens joined Mrs. Converse behind the desk, running library cards through the scanner, stamping dates into the backs of books, smiling as he pushed the books back and looked to the next one in line. Mickie leaned against the wall, practicing patience.

  When the last of the patrons had been checked out, Dana Converse looked over at her. "I'll be just a few minutes more. Then we can talk." Which surprised Mickie. She had been watching since she came in, and hadn't seen the librarian even glance in her direction.

  Dana left the boy behind the desk and walked over to Mickie. "Now," she said, "we can talk. How can I help?"

  "We've had a new development," said Mickie.

  Dana looked at her sharply. "Are you all right?"

  "Me? Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

  Dana shook her head in dismissal. "Never mind. What happened?"

  Mickie decided not to answer until her own question was answered. Instead, she asked, "Do you know a Kurt Brodbeck?"

  The other woman considered, then slowly shook her head. "No, I'm sure I don't know the name."

  "A big guy, nearly forty, lifts weights, finds himself irresistible."

  Dana laughed quietly, saying, "That could fit a lot of men. As a matter of fact, it sounds like one who works at the health store where I buy vitamins."

  "Nutrix?"

  "Yes, at the mall."

  "That's him. How well do you know him?"

  "I don't. We hardly spoke. Oh, I remember now. 'Kurt' was stitched into his shirt. I once thought to myself it was so he wouldn't forget his name. That’s not very nice, I'm afraid, but he didn't seem awfully quick."

  "Did you ever see him anywhere else? In here, for example?"

  "No, I don't think so. Certainly not here."

  "Would you tell me how you spent yesterday, after you spoke with us?"

  Dana pulled her sweater closer about her. "Something's happened to—what did you say his name was—Brodbeck? Hasn't it?"

  Mickie shrugged, said nothing.

  "Most of yesterday I was in the garden, just as you left me. Maggie has a bridge club every Sunday night, so I decided to treat myself to dinner out. I went to the Oyster Bar."

  "When did you get there?"

  "Seven-thirty, maybe. I was there for quite a while. I have a weakness for broiled scallops. Besides, I was in no hurry."

  "You came home after you left the restaurant?"

  "No, not right away. If you must know, I went out onto the beach. I took off my shoes to feel the sand, and I sat down close to the water to listen to the surf and look at the stars. It fills my senses and helps me to think."

  Mickie had the feeling she was suddenly in where it was none of her business. "I'm not trying to pry, honest."

  Dana smiled. "Of course you are. Like it or not, it's your job. Besides, it's not a secret. I'm forty-two years old. My husband died, and I'm sorry that happened. But I stopped grieving a long time ago, and I'm not at all sure I want to spend the rest of my life alone. I was thinking about ... getting on with things." She smiled again, as if at her own silliness. "Anything else?"

  "One thing. When I said something had happened, you asked me if I was all right. Why?"

  Dana's eyes flitted to one side. "I'm sorry I said that."

  "I could tell that. But what did you mean?"

  "I only meant that ... you're going to think this is stupid."

  Mickie said nothing. Dana's eyes met hers solidly, a little sadly. She said, "Sometimes I ... feel things. Sometimes very strongly. I don't know why or how, but I've learned not to dismiss those feelings."

  "And?"

  The older woman reached out and took Mickie's hand in both of hers. "Be very careful," she said. "Please, be very, very careful."

  CHAPTER 15

  SURPRISE, SURPRISE

  The building was practically new, but inside a great deal of trouble had gone into hiding the fact, to give it the feel of being old and used and comfortable. The wooden booths along one wall had been painted with a dark stain, the floor surfaced with deep green tile. The bar was one of the old fashioned wooden bars with a brass rail. Behind it, on a darkly paneled wall, were rows of bottles of every kind of hard liquor offered. Deliberately dim lighting in fake tiffany lamps finished the effect, leaving soft shadows and secluded corners. It had the feel of a dark, smoky saloon even though, at the moment, the only person smoking was a young woman at the bar, practicing being sophisticated, and not quite making it.

  At this hour, business was slow. Later, it would be next to impossible to get a booth, but now there was only the on-the-way-home crowd, stopping for a quick beer or a shot of something to unwind on. Harry picked a booth toward the back, and he and Mickie slid in.

  The waitress was young, pretty and unbelievably healthy looking. Harry couldn't believe she was twenty-one, but then they all looked like kids anymore. Sometimes he felt like Methuselah in a daycare center.

  "Hi. What'll it be?"

  "Beer," he said. "Whatever's dark and on tap."

  "You don't like light beer?"r />
  "That's a contradiction in terms."

  She grinned and turned to Mickie.

  "Mineral water," said Mickie. "With a twist."

  Harry frowned. "Be careful of that stuff. You don't know what they put in it."

  "They don't put anything in it, Harry—that's the idea. Do you know what goes into beer?"

  "Only the finest natural ingredients. Don't you listen to the ads? Besides, it's a scientifically established fact—there is no known pathogen that can live in beer."

  "Yeah, well that ought to tell you something."

  When the drinks arrived, Harry held his up to admire the dark amber color, then took the first swallow. Mickie sipped at hers.

  "Okay," she said, "let's compare notes."

  Harry took another hefty pull. "What's your hurry? I asked Morris to meet us here."

  Mickie said, "Oh.”

  Harry laughed. "Why such great enthusiasm?"

  Mickie shrugged. "He's all right, I guess."

  "But?"

  "Nothing. He just ... I don't know."

  "Sure you do."

  "He gets on my nerves. He's gross, and...."

  "And what?"

  Mickie said nothing, just flashed him a sharp look. Harry laughed. He said, "Mo belongs to the keep-em-barefoot-and-pregnant school. He thinks 'woman detective' is an oxymoron. Like 'light beer'. Don't let it get to you. He's a good cop."

  "I know that. It's just that he pisses me off."

  "So tell him. He just came in."

  Morris spotted them, and started toward their booth. As he passed the waitress, he said, "Bourbon and water, Honey." Slipping in beside Harry, he said, "I heard about Brodbeck. You think it was him?"

  Mickie answered. "I wouldn't have thought so. Now I don't know."

  "Was there any connection between them, besides that hassle on the beach?"

  "I wish I knew," said Mickie. "I can't find anyone who ever heard of Kurt Brodbeck, let alone connect him to Tina Siegert. At least, no one who'll admit it."

  "Maybe they had a thing going," said Morris. "Not hard to believe about either of them. She was ticked off about something, pulled that stunt on the beach. He turned her in just to get even. Then it got out of hand."

  "Maybe." She turned to Harry. "What are we doing to find him?"

  "Whatever we can. His description, a description of his car, his license number went out to the Highway Patrol. Also to surrounding departments. The usual. He has a checking account, but he hasn't pulled out any money recently. We’ve started checking the airports and bus stations, but we don't have a picture of him."