Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Anna Drake

  NINE

  By the time Gary’s funeral was held news on the murder investigation had ground to an irritating halt. Dad moaned nonstop over the lack of fresh information coming out of Gossford’s office but he made do with what little there was as best he could.

  Meanwhile, Ginger and I were having as little luck as Gossford at finding new avenues to pursue. The waitress from Gary’s bachelor party was still nowhere to be found. Our calls to her went unanswered. Friends and family denied having seen her. On another front, Ginger and I had both tried our hands at using GPS to track her cell phone but had come up empty-handed. We figured whoever had grabbed the phone had destroyed it after placing the call that lured Gary to his death. In short, we had no idea what to tackle next in our effort to track the killer.

  And now the funeral had come and gone and his mourners had gathered at the Pepper home after the service. I stood before the coffee maker in the dining room. The place was packed. Nearly all of Cloverton had turned out along with his college friends to mourn their loss. Sipping coffee, I studied their faces. Most were familiar to me although there were also some I’d not seen before.

  It was one of the latter that now walked up beside me. “It’s good to see you again,” the man said, offering me a hand.

  I studied the incredibly handsome face gazing at me. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?” He work a dark, well-tailored suit with the perfectly matched tie. Dark hair, pale skin, electric-blue eyes, and a sturdy chin. None of his features looked familiar to me.

  “I’m Don Treadway,” he said with a comfortable smile. His hand closed around mine. His flesh was warm, his grip firm.

  Since starting to work news, I like to think I’ve cultivated an excellent poker face. Not showing my surprise or anger come in handy when dealing with sensitive sources. But this time, I was pretty sure my shock was on open display for all to see. I wondered where this man’s acne, inch-thick glasses, and pocket protector had gone?

  “It was kind of you to come,” I managed to get out.

  “I couldn’t let Cordelia down. Or Gary’s folks either. I told you I’d be here.

  His concern for Gary’s parents didn’t fool me. This man was here to see Cordelia.

  “So, what have you been up to since high school?” I asked.

  “I’ve graduated from a few schools here and there. MIT, Berkeley, University of Chicago, all in my march to chalk up post-graduate degrees.”

  His listing of universities read like the Who’s Who of the academic world. Of course, I wasn’t surprised. He’d said he was employed at one of the most a prestigious physics labs in the nation. “I’d ask you what you’re working on now,” I offered, “but I’m sure it’s so involved that I wouldn’t understand a word of your explanation..”

  “No offense meant, but that probably is true.” He smoothed his perfect tie.

  Ugh.

  Still, I had to give him points for effort. I couldn’t imagine the will power it must have taken to transform himself from our high school disaster of a Donny to this suave, impressive man.

  Then again, maybe his ego would be his final undoing. The only thing I felt certain of was that Donny would make a run at my dear, dear friend. Then, I wondered why I found that thought depressing?

  “We’ll be seeing more of you, I assume?” I asked.

  “It’s highly likely,” he said.

  I watched him drift away and point himself at a another person from our high school class.

  “Who is that?” Ginger asked, her gaze glued on Treadway’s departing back.

  I filled her in.

  “You’re lying,” she protested.

  “Nope. Not a bit.”

  “Geesh. I never knew anyone could clean up that well. Where’s he living now?”

  I explained his academic and employment history and provided her with his current address.

  Ginger’s eyes grew even larger. “It was nice of him to come to the funeral, then. Were he and Gary tight in high school?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure they weren’t. Don’t you remember Donny’s huge and never-ending crush on Cordelia?”

  “Wowzie. Cordelia should take a gander at him now.”

  “I think that’s the point of his being here – to give Cordelia a chance to feast her eyes on him.”

  “You’re kidding me. After all these years?”

  “He’s apparently unmarried.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I asked him.”

  “Yikes.”

  Josh joined us, his large brown eyes taking all of Ginger in with one quick glance.

  “Hello, there,” she said..

  Josh grinned and nodded at her. “It’s a decent turn out. Don’t you think?”

  “Of course it would be” I said. “Gary was widely respected here.”

  Ginger sighed. “I only wish they’d find his killer. I can’t shake the feeling I’m still a suspect.”

  “How’d that come out with Gossford over your missing cell phone?” Josh asked.

  “Not word one, is how. I never dreamed he could be so tight lipped.” Ginger set her plate down on the table and reached for a coffee cup to fill.

  “He hasn’t charged you,” I reassured her. “That has to count for something.”

  Ginger huffed. “Doesn’t mean much, if you ask me. I feel as though I could jump out of my skin any minute now.”

  “It will come out all right,” Josh said. “Besides, the suspense has to end before too long. It’s a small town. How many suspects can there be?”

  “One too many if you ask me,” Ginger offered with a worried smile. “And worse yet, everybody knows he pulled me in for questioning. I bet I’m the subject of half of the conversations going on here today.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” I responded.

  “You’re only saying that to cheer me up. But thanks anyway.” Ginger’s eye apparently caught sight of Stepich on the far side of the room. “Later,” she said, scurrying off in his direction.

  “Did you see that large spray of flowers at the funeral?” Gary asked. “The one off to the left of the casket.”

  “How could I miss it. It put most of ours to shame.” I grabbed a pepper slice and proceeded to nibble on it.

  “It came from Bella and her son.”

  I blinked. “You checked the name on the card?”

  “I had to know.”

  “That is odd, isn’t it?” I went for a slice of carrot this time. “I never knew Gary was tight with either Bella or Jimmy.”

  “I’d say they must have thought highly of him.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Maybe it was all your father’s stories. He’s done an awfully good job of chronicling Gary’s life. I never met him, yet though your father’s articles I feel I know him rather well. I get the feeling the whole community lost someone special with Gary’s death.”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  Josh glanced about the room. “Is he here?”

  “Yes. He’s in standing in the corner talking to Mrs. Pepper now.”

  “The distinguished looking gentleman?”

  “That’s him. And thanks for the compliment, but he’d appreciate your observation about his writing best. Dad’s not the least bit concerned with his looks.”

  “Has he ever said anything more about inviting me over for dinner?”

  “Not recently. I tell you what. Let’s go over and talk to him now.”

  I grabbed Josh’s arm and pulled him off in my father’s direction.

  So that’s how, later that night, Dad and Josh and I sat down in our dining room to generous portions of beef Wellington. My father made the pastry for the dish in advance, wrapped it around the beef, and then froze the whole, enabling him to produce the impressive dish for our dining pleasure even in the middle of the week. That’s how good a chef my dad was.

  Josh shot an appreciative glance my way. “Thank you, that was delicious,” he said, wiping his mouth with the cloth napk
in.

  We were seated in the dining room. Silver glistened. Linens were white and crisp.

  I laughed. “I’m not responsible for this incredible meal. Dad’s the cook in this house.”

  “Really,” Josh’s head swung toward Father. “Everything was delicious, sir.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Beaming, Dad sat back mother in his chair. “And for dessert, would you care to hear stories about your?

  “I’d be absolutely delighted to, thank you.”

  Father looked so pleased. He absolutely adored telling stories. He’d be going on about this meal for weeks to come.

  “Your mom was the prettier and younger of the two sisters,” he told Josh. “But it was your Aunt Violet that won the heart of the man who had come between them.”

  “Uncle Vince?” Josh asked.

  “One and the same. So that’s how Gary’s mom stayed in Cloverton and married Vince, while your mom, Rose, went on to college and eventually married your dad.”

  “Are you telling me this family feud was over a high school crush?”

  “Well, not exactly a crush, perhaps. Remember, your aunt went on to marry the man. And one should never discount the power of first love. Not of your aunt’s nor of your mother’s.”

  “Maybe we’re talking about different generations here,” Josh replied, crumpling his napkin into a ball.

  “Perhaps, but then how do you explain the allure of Romeo and Juliet to me?”

  “I’m an accountant. I’ve never read that play.”

  Dad smiled. “I think you’d like it. I doubt your heart is as immune to young love as you are projecting it to be.”

  A flush crept up Josh’s neck.

  “So who’s up for some real desert?” I received an enthusiastic response all round. “Good. I’ve heard there’s a blueberry pie waiting for us in the kitchen. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch it in.”

  ***

  That night, up in my room, my mind kept returning to Treadway. He’d come down for the funeral, as promised. And as I’d suspected he would, he’d chased Cordelia about the dining room. He was a young, accomplished adult still chasing his adolescent fantasy.

  It seemed to me that his obsession provided him with an excellent motive to have murdered Gary. In fact, the longer I thought about the man, the better I liked him for the killer.

  I rolled over in bed and grabbed my cell phone.

  “Ginger,” I said, when she answered on the second ring.

  Her voice was groggy. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Who?”

  “Melanie. Have I woken you?”

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “Ooops. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  Ginger sighed. “So what do you want.”

  “I should let you go back to sleep.”

  “No, now that I’m up, spit out whatever it is that has you so riled up, please.”

  “I’ve been thinking about Treadway.”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “No, I don’t mean like that. Even you must have noticed that he has eyes only for Cordelia.”

  “So?”

  I elected to give up on pointing out the obvious to Ginger. “So… what do you think of him as Gary’s killer?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because Cordelia has become — or maybe always was — an obsession with him. Think of how much he’s changed. What if he’s only undergone such pains in hopes of winning over Cordelia? She may have rejected him in high school, but Treadway isn’t the same man today.”

  “So he believes all he needs to do is show himself to Cordelia, and she’ll swoon all over him?”

  “You saw him at Gary’s funeral today. He did his very best to place himself before her.”

  “He’s supposed to be a bright man, isn’t he? To risk his career, everything he’s gained by killing a man is way beyond stupid.”

  “As well as brilliant, I suspect Treadway’s also vain.”

  “That could work, I suppose. He might think knocking Gary off would clear his path to the woman of his dreams, I guess. But that’s sick thinking. So how do we check this latest theory of yours?”

  “I’m not sure how yet, but we need to start by figuring out whether Treadway was in town on the day Gary died.”

  “No problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She yawned. “Leave it to me. I’ll ask around. Goodnight.”

  After she’d disconnected, I hung up, pounded my pillow, and endured another long, sleepless night.

  TEN

  At the office the next morning, I sat at my desk still obsessed over Treadway’s fixation with Cordelia. Ginger believed she had sources to scope out the information we needed on the man. But I felt duty bound to come up with a little on my own.

  But how? Treadway didn’t live locally. I didn’t know any of his friends. And from what I information I had tracked down, his family had moved away from Cloverton at least a decade ago.

  I leaned forward and fired up my computer and pulled up our high school reunion list. A lovely woman had handled the hard work of organizing the affair, but Dad and I had volunteered to keep the data on our news office computers so we could send the invitations out on our dime. It was my personal contribution to the reunion committee’s effort.

  Scrolling through the screen, I found Treadway’s name complete with home address and telephone number.

  Yes!

  Now I needed to figure out a way to make use of this information. I thought about using a reverse telephone directory. The listings were by house numbers and not names. With it I could scope out phone numbers for Treadway’s neighbors. Ginger and I could call them. But to what purpose? We could hardly ask if they knew if their neighbor came down to Cloverton recently and killed a friend of ours?

  People would hang up on us and possibly phone their police department to scream about these strange women calling them with strange questions. Maybe it would be better if we drove up to Chicago. Visited Treadway’s neighborhood. Showed our faces while we asked our questions.

  We’d need a cover.

  I shook my head. The idea couldn’t possibly to work. I couldn’t think of any excuse that could cover our bizarre set of questions.

  I rubbed my forehead in response to the nagging signs of a blossoming headache.

  My phone rang. I scooped up the receiver. Ginger’s voice greeted me from the other end of the line. “Treadway was in Cloverton last weekend,” she announced without preamble.

  “How in heaven’s name could you have learned that fact this quickly?”

  “It was dead simple. I called my beautician buddies. They called all their friends who work at motels, and voilà. Treadway was spotted at the Happy Traveler Inn over in Hammitsville. He arrived Thursday night and didn’t check out until Sunday morning.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “I’m good, huh?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Yeah. But it wasn’t really my doing. It’s called networking. You should try it some time.”

  I do, I thought. I just work with a different set of contacts.

  I put my elbow on my desk and cradled my aching forehead in my hand. “This saves us a lot of phone work.” I managed to spit out, although the effort cost me. I know it’s petty of me, but it killed me to think that Ginger had outperformed me – again.

  “So what’s next?” she asked.

  I lifted my head and gave her question some thought. “Since Treadway was in Cloverton the weekend of the wedding, the next step is to see if we can figure out exactly where he went. Did he sneak up close to you to lift your cell phone? Was his car was seen anywhere near the church? I’d be even more encouraged if we could place his car in that alley where we think Gary was killed.”

  “I’ll get back to my gal. She, or rather, her friend at the motel, might have seen Treadway’
s car. If so, she may remember its make. I can’t think of a way to help you with the alley, though.”

  “What about his license plate number? Would she have that?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  “Why don’t we get together after supper tonight?”

  “At your place?”

  “Are you kidding? Dad would be all over that. He’d listen to every word we said and ground me for life.”

  “Dearie,” Ginger responded, “You need a place of your own.”

  “The idea has merit, but the simple truth is. I can’t cook.”

  “There’s always peanut butter and jelly and bread.”

  “Do you have any idea of what kind of food I dine on around here?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Your dad’s supposed to be good in the kitchen.”

  “Good doesn’t come close.”

  “How about you team up with Bella’s son? He’s worked in a restaurant all his life. I bet he could whip up a tasty dish or two.”

  “Right. That’s such an appealing thought.”

  Ginger laughed. “My place then? Say seven-ish?”

  I checked the calendar. Luckily, I didn’t have anything that needed to be covered for the paper. That didn’t surprise me. Friday night’s were usually free. “Seven it is,” I told my fellow crime fighter.

  ***

  I arrived at Ginger’s house right on time that night. She opened the door for me and then ushered me to the kitchen. “Sorry about the mess,” she said as we trooped through the living room. “The cleaning lady was a no show today.”

  I wondered if that was why Ginger had suggested holding this session at our house? I glanced around. Her home looked perfectly fine to me. And I was used to living with my father’s extremely high standards. So I knew clean when I saw it.

  But her tables gleamed. Her pillows were fluffed. I couldn’t spot a speck of dust on anything. From everything I could see, the place was sleek and trim just like its owner. And believe me, I took a good, hard gander.

  Arriving in the kitchen, Ginger nodded me toward the table. She proceeded on to the counter where a coffeemaker was emitting a fragrant scent. “Black no sugar?” she asked. She dragged a pair of coffee mugs from the overhead cabinet.