Oh, great. “Maybe, but I wasn’t aware of any personal problems serious enough that Fawn would have ended her own life.” The counter was clean, but I continued to wipe.
“Would you be willing to meet with them tomorrow?” he asked.
“At Fawn and Mark’s house?”
“Yes. For brunch.”
Oh, no. “That sounds festive rather than mourning.” I’d probably gag on whatever they served, but I felt I owed it to Fawn to help bring her killer to justice. If it meant meeting her family, then I’d do it. Maybe I’d get a sense of who was telling the truth or lying. I would have had a better handle on Fawn’s home situation if I’d known her outside of class. Visiting the house and spending time inside might prove helpful.
“I’ll do it,” I said, as David walked into the kitchen.
“Good. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
David stared at me, his arms crossed. “You’ll do what?” he asked after the call ended.
“Um, I agreed to meet with Fawn’s family. Detective Bronsen asked me if I would. They seem to think she may have revealed something that might explain her death, or maybe family secrets. Of course, that’s not the case. We don’t discuss our personal problems in our class. We cut glass.” “It will be an uncomfortable situation for sure, with their eyes on me hoping for answers I don’t have, but maybe I’ll pick up on a motive for her death.”
“Or learn something that will convince you Fawn did kill herself.”
“No way. Not possible!” I turned off the kitchen light, and we went up to bed.
Chapter 3
Wednesday morning I braced myself for what was to come. I paced nervously in the front hall while I waited for Detective Bronsen to pick me up. Why me? I didn’t know Fawn’s family, and I’d only known Fawn the three months she’d been taking my class. She was fun in a quirky kind of way, and someone I wished I’d known better. Surely she had other friends who knew her situation better.
I opened the front door as soon as Detective Bronsen pulled up to the curb in front of my house. I embraced the cold, crisp air against my warm face. He’d driven his new Lexus with plenty of room for my long legs, but I nervously twitched as I tried to get comfortable in my seat. That always happened when I felt obligated to go somewhere I didn’t want to go, or do something I didn’t want to do.
“Don’t be nervous, Bella. All you have to do is answer their questions,” he said. “If you don’t know the answers, say you don’t know. Just tell them what you know.”
“I will, but I don’t have much to offer. Certainly nothing to relieve the pain they must be experiencing.” I looked out the window as we drove. Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the tall iron gates that, surprisingly, opened automatically. The English Tudor house didn’t look as imposing in daylight as it had Monday night, but I did wonder how a schoolteacher like Mark Daniels could afford it. The middle garage door was up. I stared at the yellow Lamborghini. “Didn’t you say Fawn was found in that car?”
“That’s right. Why?”
I tried to wrap my brain around what bothered me about the car, but couldn’t put my finger on it. I let it go for now. “Nothing. Let’s get this over with.”
Detective Bronsen continued up the circular driveway and parked behind four other cars. I took a deep breath and stepped out when he opened the car door for me. He rang the doorbell.
A lean, wiry-built man with sandy hair and a freckled complexion opened up before the chiming bell stopped. It was almost as if he’d been watching for us. He smiled and offered his hand to Peter. I noticed he was wearing expensive looking loafers, no socks, and a gorgeous wool sweater in colors that matched his gray pants.
“Thanks for coming, Detective,” he said. He looked at me and then shook my hand. “You must be Bella, Fawn’s friend. I’m Mark. Come on in. Brunch will be served soon.”
When we were led into the living room to meet the rest of the family, I was glad I had worn my elegant black maternity slacks, matching blazer, and cream silk blouse. Money spoke volumes in the room. From the décor to the choice of objects, it was clear the owners were well-heeled. Instinctively, I stood straighter in my four-inch heels and smiled as we were introduced.
The heavy smell of flowers displayed around the room almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to rush to the fireplace and light the waiting logs to fend off the chill in the room.
Fawn’s mother, Claire, was a statuesque blonde dressed in an elegant ivory suit with a blue print scarf at her neck. She took my hands in hers and said, “Bella, thank you for coming and for being Fawn’s friend. She’d been through so much lately, and now this.”
Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Is there anything you can tell us, anything at all? Was she worried about something the last time you saw her? Did you notice any hint of depression?” She glanced at Mark. “Mark said she’d been depressed, but that’s not our Fawn. She was optimistic about her future.”
I hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so quickly, and I struggled to gather my thoughts about the last time I’d seen Fawn. I glanced at Detective Bronsen for guidance, but he was talking with Fawn’s father.
The detective had instructed me to answer their questions. But how could I tell Fawn’s mother that Fawn felt her baldness embarrassed her husband? That he hadn’t sounded totally sympathetic to her after her illness?
Before I had a chance to answer, Mark announced, “Brunch is ready.”
I sighed with relief and followed the family into the dining room. Thankfully, I was seated between Detective Bronsen and Fawn’s father, Chet. Across from us were Claire, Fawn’s brother Tom, and his wife Sandy.
Mark sat at the head of the table, which was elaborately set with sparkling china and a large arrangement of flowers in the middle.
I wondered where Mark’s parents were.
No one spoke until after the caterers served us and left the room. It felt like a wake without the body. I glanced at my plate. The smell of the onion-rich quiche hit me in the face. My stomach lurched. This was definitely not the time to give into a wave of morning sickness. I sipped my water and waited for the nausea to pass.
Claire looked over the flowers and asked, “Bella, did Fawn ever say she was unhappy?”
I glanced at Mark as I set my glass down. “Not really. She was relieved and excited that her chemo treatments were over, and she couldn’t wait for her hair to grow out. She said she was looking forward to starting a new adventure.”
“Really? I wonder what she meant by that,” Claire said. Then, “Perhaps she meant the art shop she hoped to open, a place where she could display her own paintings.”
Tom shot a hard look at Mark. I wondered what that was about. Was Mark against Fawn opening an art shop? I knew she painted, but I’d never seen any of her work and had no idea how good she was.
“That was just a hobby,” Mark said. He ate steadily, and I didn’t sense the grief in him that lay under the surface of Fawn’s family.
“Her paintings went beyond just being a hobby,” Tom said with a scathing glance at Mark. “She was a serious and natural-born artist. With the right support she would have gone places with her gift. Now we’ll never know.”
Mark tossed his napkin down. “Tom, I encouraged Fawn to do whatever she wanted. I told her I would support her in every way I could. We all need to find our own niche in life. Fawn’s was her art.” He turned to me. “Bella, I haven’t seen any of Fawn’s glasswork, but she spoke well of you and your class. You must have gotten to know her fairly well, enough to offer us some idea about her state of mind.”
Lying often causes a physiological reaction, like a tingling that makes the liar massage the spot, but Mark showed no signs of that. I hoped he meant it when he said that he had encouraged Fawn’s talent. I was tempted to tell him about the birdhouse Fawn had made for him, but instead I decided to wait and surprise him when the other women from class could come with me to deliver it.
“I’m sorry, but I’d only know
n her those few months she was in my class. We didn’t have much of a chance to build a friendship, considering we only met once a week. I know she was dedicated to learning the craft of stained glass. She talked about continuing the classes for however long it took to make a couple more projects, and how much she enjoyed the camaraderie of the others in the class. That’s why I was surprised when she didn’t show up yesterday. She never missed a class.”
Mark frowned, his steel blue eyes staring hard at me. “So you didn’t really know Fawn,” he pushed. “Or anything about our family, I mean.”
True, but I didn’t like his tone of voice. It was as if he was accusing me of something, and like it was my fault I didn’t know her better.
“I wouldn’t say that. I think everyone has a sixth sense about people.” I noticed Detective Bronsen shifting in his seat next to me. “We’re drawn to some, others not so much. Don’t you agree?”
Mark nodded, but I sensed uneasiness in his eyes. He leaned forward in his seat, his body language suggesting that I hadn’t told him everything. I wondered what I had said that he didn’t like or worried him. I reminded myself that he’d just lost his wife, even if he didn’t show it, the man was bound to be grief-stricken.
I smiled. “If you’re asking me whether Fawn revealed family secrets, then no, not that I’m aware of. Like everyone else in the class, she was there to learn. We laughed, joked, and had coffee and cookies while we worked.” I briefly glanced down. “I’ll miss her.”
“We all will,” Claire said, a soft sob catching in her voice.
Mark arched a well-groomed eyebrow and appeared to relax in his chair. “Then I don’t understand why Claire and Chet were so eager to invite you here today. Not that you’re not welcome, but under the circumstances you can’t offer much to help us understand Fawn’s passing. Isn’t that right?” He placed his napkin beside his plate, as if to signal my visit was over.
“Mark! That’s not very nice to say,” Claire said. Disapproval radiated from her.
“Do you always have to be so rude, Mark?” Chet added.
Red crept over Mark’s face. “All I meant was coming here today couldn’t have been easy, meeting total strangers under these circumstances. Really, this is a waste of everyone’s time, don’t you agree, Bella?”
I didn’t like Mark’s negative tone and I responded accordingly, “Not necessarily. When I was asked to come here today, I hoped my presence would help...help me as well as all of you.” I sipped my water, as I carefully weighed my next words. “I’m sorry, Mark, but I honestly don’t believe for a moment that Fawn committed suicide.”
Detective Bronsen nudged my foot.
Claire dropped her fork and slapped her hand over her mouth, a muffled cry escaping.
Then Fawn’s father Chet wheezed.
Silence followed, broken only by silverware clattering against china plates as everyone stopped eating.
Mark stared at me, his expression momentarily blank. Then he looked as if he were about to spontaneously combust. He pushed his chair back, jumped up, pointed a finger at me, and yelled, “How dare you! Get out!”
I wasn’t blaming anyone at the table for Fawn’s death, but as sure as I was sitting there, I was convinced more than ever that Fawn hadn’t taken her own life.
Detective Bronsen leaned close and whispered, “No one will thank you for voicing your opinion.”
“I’m not here for their thanks.”
~*~
“That went well,” Detective Bronsen said, after we were settled in his car, and he started driving.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dropped a bomb like that, but you told me to tell them what I knew. I’d reached my limit with Mark’s arrogant attitude. He’s a cold fish.”
We circled past the garage.
I shouted, “Stop!”
He slammed on the brakes. “What’s wrong?”
I opened the car door. “I just remembered what it was about that Lamborghini that bothered me. I’ll be right back.” I hurried over to the garage, stepped inside the open bay, and looked around. There it was...Fawn’s silver Honda, parked in the left bay of the garage. After an up-close look at the Lamborghini, I trotted back to Detective Bronsen’s car, got in, and closed the door. “We can go now.”
“Care to tell me what that was about?” he asked.
I smiled, satisfied with myself. “I didn’t know much about Fawn, but she made it perfectly clear that she hated Mark’s car and refused to drive it. She considered it ostentatious and too expensive. So I ask you, Detective, if Fawn killed herself, why would she do it in a car she hated? Why not in her own car?”
Chapter 4
I watched Detective Bronsen struggle for the answer that was obvious to me.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be too eager to close the case,” I added.
“I see your point, Bella,” he said, “but photographs were taken and the car fingerprinted. Fawn’s prints were found on the wheel of the Lamborghini.”
“That doesn’t mean she drove it. Someone could have planted them in there. How was she dressed when she was found?”
“Dressed for a casual dinner at home, jeans and a sweater.”
“Shoes?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
He frowned. “Slipper socks.”
I smiled and exhaled in relief.
“Before you ask, there weren’t any defensive wounds on her hands as if she’d been trying to protect herself. No contusions. No blood. No DNA found under her nails. Nothing to indicate she’d fought for her life.”
I hated doubting myself, but for the first time I wondered if I could I be wrong. Was it possible Fawn had taken her own life? Although I was glad I went to the brunch, if only to meet her family, I was surprised none of them had bombarded me with more questions, especially Mark. Maybe they would have if I hadn’t shut them up when I brazenly announced I didn’t think Fawn committed suicide.
But all that aside, I had expected Mark to show grief or sadness at Fawn’s death. Wouldn’t any loving spouse? Instead, he appeared cold and unemotional until his outburst abruptly ended my visit.
Fawn’s family had been friendly and kind to me, even as they struggled with their grief for her sudden death. I only wished the outcome of Fawn’s demise could be different. An accident, instead of homicide.
The rest of our drive passed quickly with the detective and I both lost in our own thoughts.
David greeted me when I arrived home. “Why are you here and not at work?” I asked.
“I was worried about you having to face Fawn’s family,” he said. “How’d it go?”
We sat close together on the sofa, his arm across my shoulders while I briefed him about my observations of Fawn’s family and how my visit had ended on a sour note. I was still glad I had spoken up and said what I felt. But when I mentioned my concern over the Lamborghini, David moved to the edge of his seat, worry etched on his face.
“Bella, please don’t get any more involved with this. If there is a murderer out there, I don’t want you in his sights. Leave it alone; just let the police do their job.”
I took his face in my hands and kissed his lips. “I will. I just hope the case isn’t signed off as a suicide before a thorough investigation has been completed. Maybe Detective Bronsen will take my concerns to the chief or whomever he reports to.”
“I’m sure he will. So you’ll let it go?”
I never lied to my husband, only fudged the truth a little. I kissed him again to keep from committing a lie.
“I better get back to work,” he said as he stood. “I’ll probably be late coming home.”
As soon as I closed the door behind David, my cell phone rang. I dug into my purse and recognized Julie’s number. “Hey,” I answered.
“Have you asked your detective friend about taking flowers and Fawn’s birdhouse to Mark?” Julie asked.
“I forgot,” I said, “but I think Mark has enough flowers. I just came from there.” I told her about the
brunch with Fawn’s family, and the bomb I dropped on the family before I left.
What I didn’t mention was my concern about the Lamborghini. I didn’t want to step on Detective Bronsen’s toes before he had an opportunity to have another look at the crime scene.
“Here’s what I can do,” I continued. “I’ll attach the bell to the schoolhouse and polish the solder until it’s bright and shiny. Then I’ll ask Detective Bronsen when a good time might be to give it to Mark.”
“Probably after the funeral,” she said.
How odd, I thought as I realized that no one at the brunch had mentioned anything about a funeral or a memorial service.
~*~
It was still early, only three o’clock. I had plenty of time to solder the bell on the schoolhouse and polish it before David came home for dinner. I plugged in the soldering iron so it could heat while I fixed tea.
I filled a mug with water, set it in the microwave, and zapped it for one minute. Then I dunked an Earl Grey teabag in and took it to my worktable at the end of the kitchen.
The windows were open, a gentle breeze moving the curtains against the screen before releasing them. I started the little fan I keep on the counter to blow the fumes from solder and flux outside.
I found the tiny bell in a clear plastic bag next to Fawn’s birdhouse. I placed the birdhouse on its side and used a small stiff wire brush to clean the lead at the joint at the pitch of the roof. This would improve the bonding of the solder and the lead.
Next I applied flux to the joint with a brush. Solder would join the glass pieces together, and the flux would remove the oxide residue when I soldered the join.
I touched the soldering iron to the tip of the roll of solder. To avoid any fumes that might have escaped the fan, I tipped my face to the side and held the bell in place as I allowed a bead of solder to drop onto the underside of the roof and bond.
Satisfied the bell was attached, I sipped my tea, set the birdhouse upright, and tapped the bell to hear it tinkle. As a personal favor for Fawn, I had asked David to etch a sign to go above the orange door. It read “Flight School,” and Fawn loved it. I turned off the soldering iron, pulled out a stool, and sat down to polish the birdhouse. I blinked back tears as I used a white cotton cloth and wax to clean and polish the glass.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 8