by Sharon Pape
“Let’s start with the houses next door to his and work outward from there,” Rory said.
Zeke’s voice piped up from somewhere behind her. “Will you look at that—we’re actually startin’ to think alike.”
Great, just what she needed. Although the marshal was intelligent, even insightful at times, his thought processes were often strangely off-kilter. She didn’t know if it was a side effect of being dead or if he’d always been that way. In either case, she wasn’t thrilled. One of them had to remain sound of mind and body.
She walked up to the house that was to the right of Matthew’s, passing the black mailbox with the name “Desmond” painted boldly in white. She’d flirted briefly with the idea of having the marshal pop into each of the homes to determine who was inside and what kind of reception she might expect from them. But it would be an unforgiveable breach of their privacy. She’d at least been able to choose whether to live with a ghost or walk away from the issue.
She rang the doorbell and heard it chime inside. Although she could pick out muted voices from what sounded like a television, no one came to the door. She rang the bell again. “Would you like me to scare them out of the house?” Zeke whispered, sounding far too partial to the idea.
“Don’t you dare,” Rory warned him, just as the front door finally opened. A woman wearing a gray sweat suit and a harried expression scowled at her from behind a glass storm door. In the background, Rory could see two children fighting over the TV remote.
The woman yelled at them over her shoulder, threatening to take away their TV privileges unless they behaved. As far as Rory could tell, her threat went unheeded.
The woman turned her attention back to Rory. “What do you want?” she asked warily.
Rory managed to come up with a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Desmond. I’m a private investigator.” She held up one of her business cards. “I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to talk to me about your neighbor Matthew Dmitriev.”
The woman squinted at the card, her curiosity clearly warring with her better judgment. “Yeah, I suppose,” she said, looking right then left, as if to make sure Rory was alone. Satisfied, she opened the storm door to let her in. Rory was immediately struck by the smell of frying fish. Back in her early teens, she’d suffered a terrible bout of food poisoning from eating bad fish sticks at a friend’s house. Even all these years later, her stomach started roiling the second she walked inside. To her dismay, the woman led her into the kitchen and offered her a seat at the table—ground zero of the offending odor.
The boy and girl stopped fighting over the remote and came to stand in the kitchen doorway. “This doesn’t concern you,” their mother said, shooing them back toward the living room. She stopped at the stove to turn the sizzling fish, which only served to intensify the smell. Then she sat down across from Rory, who was trying to breathe through her mouth instead of her nose. She wished the woman would turn on the fan in the range hood but decided it would be rude to mention the awful odor, given that it was no doubt the family’s dinner.
“Do they have a suspect in Matthew’s death yet?” Mrs. Desmond asked. “Do they have a motive? This block was crawling with cops when it happened, but we haven’t heard anything since then. There’s not even much in the newspapers.” The woman was good; Rory had to give her that. She’d managed to grab the upper hand, making Rory feel like the interviewee.
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” she said, reclaiming control. “First I need to get some information from you, starting with your name, please.”
“Carla Desmond,” the woman responded, not bothering to hide her annoyance at being preempted. “Spells like it sounds.”
Rory jotted the name on her pad. “Thank you—did you know Matthew well?” she asked without pausing, leery of giving Carla time to launch another coup.
Carla shrugged. “We weren’t BFFs, if that’s what you mean. He only lived here, what . . . a year? I have a family, and he was a single guy. We had very different schedules. I don’t think we ever talked for more than two minutes at a time. But he seemed nice enough. “Did you happen to notice if he had a lot of visitors?” In the next room, the kids were shouting at each other again. Carla didn’t seem to care.
“Look, I’m no busybody,” she said. “I don’t have time for that. Matthew’s mother was the only one I ever saw there on a regular basis. Nice lady.”
Rory smelled something acrid on top of the fishy odor. “I think your dinner’s burning,” she said, looking toward the stove, where smoke was rising from the skillet. Did Carla’s sense of smell work at all?
She jumped up and ran to the stove, where she pushed the pan onto a cold back burner and turned off the hot one. “The oil just cooked out,” she said, waving her hand over the smoke as if to disperse it.
“You’ll get rid of the smoke faster if you put on the fan,” Rory said. Considering the new circumstances, the suggestion was more helpful than rude. Carla followed her advice. The fan proved very noisy, which had the added benefit of drowning out the children’s screeching.
“I hope your dinner isn’t ruined,” Rory added, once Carla resumed her seat.
She laughed. “It’ll be fine. I’ll tell them blackened fish sticks are the latest thing. As long as they get to have cake for dessert, they’ll eat pretty much anything.”
Rory forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as phony as it felt. When Carla opened her mouth to continue, she beat her to the punch. “Do you remember hearing anything, maybe an argument, coming from Matthew’s house in the days before he was murdered? It would probably have been in the evening, since he was at work during the day.”
“No, I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary. Of course my husband and I watch TV at night. A lot of cop shows. With all the shooting and shouting, it’s hard to hear anything else. No—wait,” she corrected herself. “I did hear someone slam a car door really hard back around then. I’d come into the kitchen to get some ice cream, and I remember thinking, boy oh boy, somebody’s mad.”
Rory’s heart did a hopeful little jig. “Do you recall the time?”
Carla reflected for a minute. “I’d have to say about 8:30. I generally wait for the half hour commercial break to get my dessert.”
“Did you look outside to see who was slamming the car door or where the car was parked?”
Carla shook her head. “I didn’t have time—I wanted to get back to my program. But it sounded like it was close by.”
Rory thanked her for the help and promised to let her know when the police had the guilty party in custody. As she walked back down to the curb, she breathed deeply of the fresh salty air until she’d purged the smell of burnt fish from her nostrils. “Zeke,” she called in a loud whisper. “Where are you?” Why hadn’t he said anything now that they were outside? His response was barely audible, a staccato jumble of sounds as if he was on a cell phone with poor service. She’d reached the house to the left of the cottage by the time she figured out he was trying to say the word “cold.”
She’d forgotten that the cold drained his energy. Since he’d apparently forgotten about it himself, she didn’t feel too badly about her lapse. She hurried back to the Audi, turned on the engine and blasted the heat, which felt wonderful on her mortal flesh too. After a few minutes, the marshal appeared in the seat beside her. “That was frustratin’ as all get-out,” he said, looking chagrined.
“I can imagine,” she said to be sympathetic.
“I doubt it, but we can’t waste time debatin’ that now. Here’s what we’ll have to do,” he barreled on. “I’ll arrive once you’re inside a house and then I’ll meet you in the car after each visit so we can figure out our next move. You’ll have to leave the car runnin’ so it stays warm.”
Even though she thought it would be a huge waste of time to meet between each house, she kept that opinion to herself. The marshal wasn’t in the best
of moods, and though she’d never admit it, she wanted his company on the drive home.
No one answered the doorbell at the next house or at the one beyond that. Rory drove to the last house on that side of the street, because the distance was too far to keep walking back to the car. Lights were blazing inside the house, and after one ring of the bell, a man in his forties opened the door. She held up her card again, and before she could even explain why she was there, he invited her inside. “I didn’t want to leave you freezing outside,” he said, taking the card from her and glancing at it. “Well, Ms. McCain, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Tony Valenti.” He held out his hand and Rory shook it, a little surprised by the uncommonly warm welcome. “I’m sorry to say I can’t be of any help to you, though,” he went on. “I just moved in last week, so I never met Matthew. Maybe I can interest you in a cup of coffee or cocoa before you go back out to brave the cold?”
“Thanks, that’s a very kind offer,” she said, thinking she probably shouldn’t have been so quick to enter a stranger’s house, even with a Walther PPK in her purse and a no-nonsense ghost hovering nearby. “But I don’t really have time right now.” She thanked him again and was out the door before he had a chance to insist, and before Zeke felt compelled to teach him any lessons. Since nothing had been gained by the visit, she made an executive decision to skip the car talk. She crossed the street, hoping for better results than she’d had so far, although neighbors this far from Matthew’s house weren’t likely to have heard anything either.
She didn’t immediately notice the man walking the golden retriever. The two seemed to appear out of the shadows between the lampposts as if they’d just been born there. Rory ordered her imagination back in line. She’d clearly been hanging out with a ghost for too long. She waited beneath one of the lights for them to reach her. Most dog owners she knew walked their animals on a pretty regular schedule, and a detective couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.
“I’m Russ Cavanaugh, and this is my gal Gracie,” the man said, after Rory introduced herself and explained why she was there. She put Russ on the far side of seventy. He was wearing a heavy parka, a wool scarf around his neck and a jaunty fisherman’s cap on his snow-white hair. She could picture his wife of many years making sure he was adequately bundled up against the cold. Of course Rory didn’t even know if he had a wife, but she liked the image that sprang to mind.
“I wonder if you’d be willing to answer a few questions,” she said, as the retriever nuzzled her hand with a snout as white as her owner’s hair.
“All right,” Russ said reluctantly, “but only for a minute. I need to get Gracie here back home. She’s pushing twelve, and the cold is hard on her.”
Rory considered inviting them to sit in her car while they talked, but she didn’t know how Gracie would react to a ghost. “I’ll make it quick,” she said instead. “Do you walk Gracie every night about this time?”
Russ seemed confused by the question. “As a matter of fact I do. But I don’t understand why that would matter to you, or anyone else.”
“I believe Matthew may have had an argument with someone around this time of night, in the days before his death.”
Russ thought for a minute. “I live a few blocks over, so I don’t know everyone who lives on this street. Which house was his?”
Rory pointed to the cottage. “The altercation may have ended with a man getting into a car and slamming the door.”
“Yes,” Russ said, his face lighting up. “Yes, that jogged the old gray matter. Gracie and I were taking our last walk of the night. We’d crossed the street on our way home when I heard some shouting. They were so loud I heard them even though the windows were closed.” He dropped his voice. “I hate to admit it, but I stopped outside to see if I could make out what they were saying. I’m getting to be a worse gossip than my wife. That’s what retirement will do to you.”
“Can you tell me what you heard?” Rory asked, to refocus him before they all froze to death.
“I’ll do my best, but I didn’t hear all of the argument, and I’ve probably forgotten a good part of what I did hear.”
“Anything will help.”
“It was two men, and one of them was threatening the other. He ordered him to stop doing something or he’d see to it he lost his job and his mother was kicked out of her home.”
“What did the other man say?
“His voice wasn’t as loud, so it was harder to make out, but I think he was trying to defend himself—verbally, I mean. I don’t think they were actually throwing punches. Then one of the men stormed out of the house and got in his car, like you said. I pretended Gracie and I were just passing by, but he didn’t even seem to notice to us.”
“Did you get a good look at him?” Rory asked hopefully.
“As good as you can under these streetlights.”
“Then I need to ask a favor of you. I’d like you to describe the man, so I can sketch him. I was a police sketch artist,” she added in response to the puzzled expression on Russ’s face. “It won’t take long, and you can come sit in my warm car while we do it.” This was one of those times when push had actually come to shove. She’d have to take a chance that the dog and the marshal could coexist for a short time, because this was too important an opportunity to pass up.
When Russ didn’t answer her immediately, she was afraid he might refuse. She couldn’t let that happen. “You have no idea how pivotal this could be,” she said. “Your help might actually solve the case.” She could see by his expression that her words had hit their mark. “My car is right over there,” she said pressing her advantage. “Gracie sure looks like she could use some heat about now. I’ll even drive you two back home as soon as we’re done.”
“Elizabeth is probably wondering what’s taking us so long,” he hedged. “Elizabeth’s my wife.”
“You can call her from my cell as soon as we get in the car,” she promised, which sealed the deal. “I’ll need to sit in the passenger seat to do the sketch, so I hope you don’t mind sitting in the back with Gracie,” she said as she unlocked the car.
“Makes no difference to me.” He climbed in, but Gracie refused to follow. It took several stern commands from him before she finally ignored her better judgment and jumped inside. She planted herself up against him, her ears back and a low growl rumbling in her throat.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” he said. “I’ve had her since she was eight weeks old, and I’ve never seen her act this way.”
Rory wished she could relieve his concern, but telling him that the dog had just met her first ghost was only bound to make matters worse. “Maybe she’s upset because she smells my dog; his fur is all over the place.” She handed Russ her cell phone to distract him and excused herself to grab the sketch pad she always kept in the trunk. He was talking to his wife when Rory jumped into the passenger seat. The heated air wrapped around her like a warm bear hug. Letting the car run for the marshal had definitely turned out to be a good idea after all.
Gracie was still growling, and when Rory turned around to see how she was doing, the whites of the retriever’s eyes were showing. Russ kept stroking her back, but even that didn’t seem to reassure the dog. This would have to be one quick drawing. Russ clicked off the call with his wife and handed the phone back to Rory. “Whatever is bothering Gracie is getting worse by the minute,” he said. “If you want to do this sketch, we’d better get started.”
Chapter 26
Rory put the finishing touches on the drawing and clambered over the center console to sit behind the wheel. A minute later she was pulling up in front of Russ’s house. By then Gracie was alternately whimpering and yelping. When Russ opened the rear door, the dog nearly trampled him in her mad scramble to get out.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Rory called as he was yanked out by the leash wrapped around his wrist. “I hope she’s okay.
”
“Glad to help,” he called back, trying to keep up with Gracie, who was hell bent on reaching the sanctuary of the house. Rory had to get out of the car to close the rear door and by the time she slid back under the wheel, Zeke had reclaimed his seat.
“Why didn’t you just go home and wait for me there?” she asked, thinking she might prefer to drive back alone after all.
“I was curious, same as you,” he said without apology.
“But you nearly gave the poor dog a heart attack. Let’s face it; you chose to be there. I didn’t have a choice. It was too cold and dark to do the sketch outside, and I had to get that description down on paper.”
“You’re wrong; you did have a choice. You could have driven Russ home and done the sketch at his place. That way the dog could have hidden under a bed somewhere, and we all would have been a lot more comfortable.”
“I can’t just invite myself into someone’s home like that,” she said, pulling away from the curb. “I know you’ve been out of the social loop for a long time, but I doubt that would have been proper even back in your day.” Zeke didn’t reply, which generally meant he knew she was right. Rory drove in silence until she’d found her way off Eaton’s Neck and down Asharoken Avenue.
“Were you as surprised by the drawing as I was?” she asked once they were in more familiar territory.
“I’ve seen enough twists and turns in cases to expect pretty much anything,” he said. “But if you’d asked me who I thought I’d see looking back from that piece of paper, it would not have been James. He seems like a level-headed family man, and he has a rock-solid alibi.”
“In the end, all this sketch means is that he argued with the victim a few days before his death. It doesn’t prove he had anything to do with killing him.”