My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth as I scrambled to come up with an excuse for our presence.
Then Theo said, “Freddie. What are you doing here?”
“I live here, Miz Humphries. In the pool house. Remember? You’ve seen me here often enough.” His exaggerated drawl mocked her.
“Still?”
Freddie smirked at the question. “I keep an eye on the place. Good thing I saw the red lights on the silent alarm start flashing. There’s no telling who might break in and take something before the cops respond.”
I had frozen in place at Freddie’s sudden appearance, but Theo did not seem to be fazed. She put her hands on her hips. “Does Mrs. Mead know that you’re still hanging around?” she asked.
He shifted his weight more toward Theo. “Does she know you’re here?”
I decided I’d better break this up.
“No, she doesn’t,” I said.
“Who’re you?”
“I’m a friend of Theo’s. She asked me to come with her.”
Fortunately Freddie had turned away from Theo when I spoke up, so he didn’t observe Theo rolling her eyes at this blatant lie.
“Come here? What for?” Freddie asked.
“Theo is deeply upset that Mr. Mead is gone. She’s mourning him. She wanted to be here where he lived. To feel his presence again, I guess you’d say.”
This was over the top, but in my experience, men who don’t spend much time around women are susceptible to such baloney. I was gambling that Freddie was such a man.
“Uh.” He shook his head. “If you say so, lady.”
I bent over and picked up the framed photo that Theo had dropped. I held it in front of Freddie’s face. “So, this is you.”
He took the photo and studied it. “Yeah. Me, Cutler, Scotty, Drew and Tom.”
“Y’all were friends.” I made it a statement and waited to see if he’d deny it.
“You could say that. We saw each other almost every Sunday.”
“You played golf together?”
“I don’t much play golf. Usually just came to have a beer.”
“How’d y’all meet?”
“We served together.”
“In Vietnam.” It was a safe bet, given his age and that of the other men in the photo.
“Right.”
The Baby Boomers’ miserable war. Thirty years or so ago, and little was heard about it now. I probably knew men who’d been there, but none of them talked about it. I said the only thing I could think of. “Y’all must have been awfully young.”
“Young and stupid.” Freddie gripped the framed picture, staring down at it. His thumbs rubbed the glass over the picture of the men. I had the feeling he’d forgotten we were there.
While he stared at the photo, I caught Theo’s attention and looked toward the hall, signalling for an exit.
“I’m sorry we bothered you. We’ll see ourselves out.” Without waiting for him to respond, I hurried out of the study and into the hall, heading for the great room and the outside door leading to the patio. Theo scooted ahead of me and was across the patio and through the back gate in no time. In my hurry to catch up, I stumbled against a webbed chair on the edge of the pool deck. When I paused to rub my shin, Freddie stepped out of the bushes to block my way.
“Stop there,” said Freddie.
How had he gotten ahead of me? My question must have showed on my face.
“Ran around you,” he said. “I know the terrain, and I can see real good in the dark.”
I took a step back. “What do you want?”
“I want you to stay away—from here, from me.”
“We didn’t come here to bother you,” I said. I was glad Theo had already gone through the back gate. I hoped she had started the car.
“You’re looking to help Mrs. Humphries.” he said. “I ‘magine the cops think she killed Cutler, but you don’t believe it.”
“That’s right.”
Freddie gave a whoof of disgust. “Finally, something honest out of your mouth. Was that so hard?”
“Now just a minute,” I said. “We haven’t done you any harm by coming here. I’m sorry if we surprised you, but…”
“You didn’t surprise me.” As he opened his mouth to continue, a shrill ring from a telephone interrupted him.
I started to move away, but he grabbed my arm above the elbow. “You and I aren’t finished.” He waited for the phone to go quiet.
For a brief moment there was silence. Then the ringing began again. “Ah fuck,” Freddie said, “Come on.”
With me spluttering, he half-dragged, half-led me back toward the house. An extension phone on the patio kept up its loud ring. Freddie reached for the handset, but stopped midair, before punching the speaker button.
“Where’ve you been?” The high tenor voice had an edge to it that carried easily in the warm night air.
“Outside. We’ve had visitors.” Freddie put a finger to his lips to warn me to stay silent, still holding me in place with his other hand. The caution wasn’t necessary. I was dying to know who was on the phone.
“Police?” the voice asked.
“No. Cutler’s latest girlfriend and a buddy of hers.”
“Latest girlfriend? You mean Theo Humphries? Dammit, I told you this morning to expect something.”
“You told me to expect the cops would be asking around about Cutler.” Freddie shifted his weight, but seemed more amused than concerned by the caller’s anxiety.
“Yeah, okay. But, what were they doing there? My instinct is that Theo Humphries would stay away from Cutler’s place. My contacts told me the policeman in charge has her figured as Cutler’s killer.”
“Your instincts are obviously wrong, Drew. And your contacts may be wrong, too.” Freddie glanced over at me, smiling like a hunter who’s just watched an animal fall into a trap. He was enjoying the other man’s case of nerves, and letting me know the man’s name.
I couldn’t help but wonder why Freddie was letting me listen in to the conversation. Did he want me to know that he wasn’t the only one protecting Cutler’s interests—and opposing Theo’s? Was he trying to tell me something about Cutler’s friends? Or was Freddie leading me into a trap by letting me hear what Drew was saying?
“Okay, say you’re right and I’m wrong,” the voice went on. “Even so, what was she doing there? Wait, you said there were two of them. Who was she with?”
“We never got around to formal introductions. I surprised them in the study, looking at all those framed pictures Cutler kept in the bookshelves. They said…” at this, Freddie looked directly at me, “they said they were visiting because Mrs. Humphries was mourning Cutler and needed to feel his presence. Once I showed up they skedaddled.”
“That’s crazy. I’m coming over there.”
“No. Stay away. We can talk about this on Sunday when we get together.”
With this instruction, Freddie dropped his voice to a deep purr. The sound raised the hair on my neck. Whatever that voice meant to the man on the other end of the line, it worked.
“Maybe you’re right.” I could almost hear the man swallow. “Somebody could be watching the house. I’ll see you at the funeral. You going down to Cutler’s Sea Island place afterwards?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. But call me if anything else happens. I don’t like to be surprised.”
Freddie hung up the phone and shook his head.
“What a pussy.”
“Was that Drew Littlefield?” I asked, remembering Theo’s identification of the man in the photo.
“Yep. Imagine following that bundle of nerves into a fire fight.”
“What’s he got to be nervous about?”
“Who knows with Drew. He needs to be reassured all the time.” Freddie sighed. “Cut
ler used to do that.”
“And now he’s asking you for reassurance.”
Freddie huffed a laugh. “He’s gonna wait a long time.”
I searched for something that would keep Freddie talking. “I take it Drew wasn’t a natural soldier?”
“When Drew was walking point, he thrashed around so much every VC in 20 miles must of known we were there.” Freddie looked down and shook his head. “That was a long time ago. I try to forget that time.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up unhappy memories.”
At my comment, Freddie straightened up and his face hardened.
“Stir up unhappy memories. You don’t know shit. What do you think was stirred up when I saw Cutler being zipped up in that body bag. Any idea how many guys I’ve seen zipped up in a black bag?”
I swallowed hard. “I apologize.” It sounded feeble, but I couldn’t think what else to say.
He shook his head, refusing my apology. “Don’t come back here. There’s too much at stake for you to mess things up poking your nose in where it don’t belong.”
I started to speak, but he shushed me, his yellow eyes staring into mine. “I’m telling you to stay out of this. I learned some useful things in the war. I learned a dozen ways to…protect myself.”
If he intended to scare me it worked. I wanted to run away, but I was afraid to turn my back on him. “And don’t think you can sneak in,” he said. “I heard you tonight. Knew you were here even before the alarm lit up. Next time I’ll know you, even in the dark, by your walk—and your smell.” He leaned slightly toward me and sniffed, moving his head from the crown of my head to my chin.
I jerked backward and pulled my arm from his grip. Ignoring the flagstones, I bolted across the grass to the back gate and ran for the car, grabbing the door handle and falling into the front seat. One look at me and Theo wasted no time starting the engine.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “I was just about to go back and look for you.”
“I ran into Freddie.”
“He’s a weirdo. Freddie….Somerset, I think. I should have remembered he’d be there. Let’s get out of here.” Theo put her foot down and accelerated out of the neighborhood. “You okay?”
“Yeah. But I’ll admit he spooked me.”
“He’s spooky, all right,” said Theo. “I think I peed in my pants when he snuck up on us.”
“Good thing we’re in your car then,” I said, in a half-hearted attempt at humor. My pulse was returning to normal. “How come this Freddie dude is living at Cutler’s?”
“He sort of follows—followed—Cutler around. He lives in the pool house here, but I’ve seen him down on Sea Island at Cutler’s other house, too.”
“He doesn’t seem like the Sea Island type. Why did Cutler put up with him?”
“Cutler had a soft spot for him. Freddie came back from Vietnam with a lot of problems. He’s better now, but sometime he freaks out. Thinks he’s back there. Scary.”
“Scary enough to kill somebody?”
Theo considered the question while she drove. “I don’t know. Maybe some of the other guys in that picture would know.”
“If we can get them to talk to us. That’ll be our next problem.”
7
Funeral
Cutler Mead’s obituary appeared in the Atlanta Journal that Friday. He had been awarded several medals for his service as a First Lieutenant in Vietnam. It was impressive that he’d managed to come home at all, much less in one piece. Lieutenants in Vietnam had a short life expectancy. If the other golfers had been with him, perhaps they credited him with bringing them back alive. Was that the glue that held them together?
Now that the police had released the body, a funeral service was planned. I read the announcement over my coffee and tried to decide if it was too ghoulish to attend. I couldn’t pass up this chance to get a look at alternative suspects, but I didn’t want to go alone.
Flynn answered the phone on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“I need you to go to Cutler Mead’s funeral with me.”
“Ugh. I hate those things. Why would we go?”
“I want to get a look at who shows up. Especially the golfing buddies. Remember I told you about that guy Freddie spooking Theo and me when we were at Cutler’s house?”
“You two goofballs were lucky he didn’t call the cops.” Flynn had been appalled by our nighttime exploration of the Mead residence.
“I know, Flynn. But listen. Freddie told us that all of those golfers served with Cutler in Vietnam.”
“Do you expect one of them to confess to the murder in front of God and everyone?”
“Humor me. Let’s go and just watch.”
Flynn grudgingly agreed to drive with me to the rites. Now I had to tell Theo we were going. I suspected she would not react well. I was right.
“I feel like I should be there for him,” Theo wailed.
“Are you out of your mind? This is an event where Sissy Mead—Mrs. Mead—will be justifiably center stage. It would be awful, just awful for you to show up. Can you imagine the press coverage?”
Theo sank back into the couch cushions. “You’re right, I know, but it seems unfair. I can’t wait for this to be over.”
Theo’s misery was obvious in her puffy eyes and splotchy complexion. Maybe I could encourage her to do a spa day, have a massage and a facial. On second thought, Theo would infer grooming criticism from that suggestion. Better to let it go than add to her suffering.
Despite my sympathy for her, I was annoyed by Theo’s seeming naïveté. After all, it had been only a few days since Cutler died under circumstances that implicated her. She had no idea of the scrutiny to come from the cops and the public. Theo’s reaction was perfectly in character. She expected things to work out, until—like George’s unexpected death—they didn’t. By contrast, I was routinely cynical—justifiably so, on occasion. The real miracle was that we had remained friends after all this time.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” I said “but I’m working on it. Let me and Flynn go to the funeral, check out who’s there. We’ll come back and tell you everything. It’s best if you stay away.”
On the way to the service, I told Flynn about Theo’s reaction.
“Maybe she should be here, so that the cops can see how distressed she is. Could someone who is that distraught be guilty of killing him?” Flynn asked.
“I don’t think that will convince them of anything. There must have been lots of murderers who cried at the graveside of the dearly departed.”
“There’s a chilling thought,” he said.
We waited for the parking valet amidst a line of idling Mercedes, Lexus, Audis and Jaguars that advertised the prestige of the funeral home’s clientele. Patterson’s has been known since 1882 for handling the final obsequies of Atlanta’s wealthy or well connected. Its prestige was so secure that, although the funeral home and its garden now sit surrounded by high rise office buildings in midtown, it was still the preferred venue for Atlanta society’s memorial services.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen valet parking at a funeral,” I said.
“I’m sure that Sissy Mead’s sorority sisters are here in force, and none of them could be expected to walk all the way from the parking lot in stilettos.” The comment was unusually cynical for Flynn.
“Are you ok?”
“I’ve been here a lot.” He had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel of his BMW.
I was confused at first, then I realized what he meant. Atlanta had been the South’s destination of choice and party central for gay men. Backstreet, a gay bar, was such an institution that no Atlanta politician would miss a campaign event held there. A decade ago, the entire scene had been upended by AIDS. Flynn had several friends who’d succumbed to the disease.
“I’m sorry, F
lynn. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I don’t mean to dredge up unhappy memories.”
“Forget it—life must go on.” He relaxed his hands, but wouldn’t turn his head to look at me. The lines of cars moved up a space and he eased our way forward. “Let’s talk about you. When are you going back to work?”
“I’m not thinking about that now.” I wished Flynn hadn’t brought it up. I had not decided whether I wanted to return to the practice of law. With the money Daddy had left me and some investments that weren’t connected to my ex-husband, I was financially okay for the time being. Theo’s situation gave me an excuse to do something useful and, in the meantime, avoid making any decisions about my own future.
“You should, Audrey. You were a good lawyer. There weren’t many who could have figured out what Charlie was up to.”
I guessed Flynn wanted a distraction from his memories of this funeral home. I owed it to him to talk. “I don’t think there are many Atlanta law firms who’d hire me after all that publicity.”
“Don’t you still have your license?”
“Sure. Thought it might come in handy.”
“You could always move somewhere else.”
“Are you insane? And take another state’s bar exam?”
“You can’t sit around and do nothing for the rest of your life, Audrey. You’ll go nuts.”
“Right now you and I are trying to help Theo. I’ll think about what I’m going to do after this is over. Correction—after Theo is cleared of any suspicion and the real killer is locked up.”
We both fell silent as the end of the line grew near. Flynn guided his BMW to the valet stand, and we left the car with the attendant. I had bowed to Theo’s opinion of what was appropriate for a Buckhead resident’s funeral and wore my sole designer outfit, an Armani sheath and jacket. I was stylish enough to blend in with the couture-clad mourners shuffling respectfully toward a palladium window that floated above the double doors leading to the chapel.
Built in the 1930’s, Patterson’s funeral home was designed to mimic an old English manor, complete with 18th-century-style furniture. The entrance hall’s black and white tile set off the creamy paint on the chair rail and elaborate moldings over the windows. Silk draperies puddled on the floor, complementing the pale yellow walls. The effect was luxurious, elegant, and soothing.
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