“I hired a private investigator. Actually, it was Millie’s idea. I thought . . . well, I suppose I was too upset to see things clearly at first. I mean, I knew my Mitchell would never commit suicide. I knew that. But I thought it must be an accident. Then I talked with Millicent. She was very concerned for me. She thought it would give me comfort, I suppose, if I did everything I could to find out what happened to my darling husband. The next day I hired him.”
My heart sank. “Do you mind if I ask who?”
“A man named Matthew Cort. He and Mitchell went to school together.”
I had to get out of there.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I rose. She reached up and rubbed the baby doll’s back in circles. I let myself out of the house but hesitated on the porch. Dead investigators, pension shortfalls, missing executives, suicides. Cabot Cove had never seen a crime wave like this one. What the heck was going on at Masterson Enterprises?
Chapter Twenty-three
I took deep breaths as I went back to the car. Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I called Connor.
“Matthew Cort was hired by Emma Burke, the widow of the financial guy mentioned in Masterson’s will. Get this: It was Millicent’s suggestion.”
“Widow?”
“He died in a car accident a couple of months ago.”
“I see.”
“I . . .” I cleared my throat. “I couldn’t tell her.”
“The widow?”
“Yeah. You should see her, Connor. She’s a wreck. I just couldn’t tell her about Cort.”
“See her? Where are you?”
“At her house in Magnolia.” There was a long silence, but I could hear him breathing. “Connor?”
“Pretty good trick, being at her house when you’re also at your desk, like you promised.”
I squashed the pang of guilt I felt at his quiet comment.
“I guess this is where I say I’m sorry.”
“Since you’re okay, I’ll forgive you. Don’t worry about the widow, babe. The police will tell her.”
I thought about Sergeant Wesley. He’d been a consummate professional but not exactly warm. I looked over at the house, shuttered in the bright daylight.
“I have to tell her.”
“Want some company?”
I swallowed hard. “That’d be nice.”
“What’s the address?”
I leaned against the car, trying to come up with what I would say. The sun baked down on me, and my nose started to sting with the early signs of a sunburn. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to tell that sad old woman that the man she had hired to find out about her husband’s accident was dead. Worse, murdered. That fact alone raised a lot of other questions. The police had told her that her husband’s death was an accident or suicide. With this much coincidence, we should be in New Orleans. Still, murder might be better than thinking your husband killed himself, right? A killer could be caught. Prosecuted. Punished. Made to sit in a house full of dolls and grief and consequences. It would never be enough but it would be something.
Twenty minutes later, Connor parked behind my car and got out. He came over and leaned against the car next to me.
“Hi.” He put an arm around me.
“Hi.”
“Know what you’re going to say?”
Dread knotted my stomach. “I thought I’d go straight at her with, ‘You got that detective friend of your husband killed.’ ”
“Sara.”
“She’s just sitting in that house with these dolls. I mean, it should have been ridiculous, or absurd, or something. Instead it was just so sad. God, I really don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t have to be the one to tell her. The cops are going to do exactly what we did. Make the same connections. Then they’ll tell her.”
“I don’t want her to find out that way. At least she’ll know her husband didn’t choose to leave her. I guess there’s no point in putting it off.” I straightened and headed toward the house. Connor caught up and took my hand.
We climbed the stairs and crossed the porch. Pulling the screen door open with a sense of déjà vu, I knocked on the door. The door cracked open, then was thrown wide. Mrs. Burke stood in the doorway dressed in flattering navy trousers and a pink blouse. She’d used makeup to cover the dark circles. I took a small step back in surprise, bumping into Connor. She could have been a completely different woman.
“Mrs. Burke?”
“Miss Townley. How nice of you to come back. I was planning on calling you later. Oh, and you’ve brought someone with you. Please come in.” We entered the foyer and were led to the living room. Mrs. Burke moved to the sofa and gestured us into the matching armchairs across from her. Both were now empty of dolls. A place for human interaction. Connor pressed my hand and released me.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier, Miss Townley.”
“Sara, please.”
“Sara. That’s a lovely name. And your friend is?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is, um, a colleague. Connor McNamara.”
Connor rose, holding out his hand. They shook. “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” A delicate pink stained her cheeks, mirroring the pastel of her shirt. Connor’s thing, whatever it was, apparently knew no age limits.
“How do you do? You must call me Emma.” She smiled shyly, dropping her eyes. He released her hand and took his seat.
“Emma, I have some—”
“No. Wait. Please. I must apologize first. I was feeling sorry for myself this morning. In fact, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself since my husband died. Sitting around moping. Surrounded by my dolls. You must have thought I was a silly old woman.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“You didn’t say it. In fact, you were very sweet. But having someone ask about Mitchell—ask and really listen—I can’t tell you how much it helped.”
“I’m glad, but—”
“After you left, I gave myself a mental shake. I’ve spent too much time wallowing. I mean, I even hired an investigator. It didn’t matter what the police said or what my friends said. I just couldn’t accept that my husband was gone and nothing was going to bring him back. Nothing. So I just sat in my house and moped.”
I shifted in my chair, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward. If my first visit had given her the impetus to get dressed and moving, my second visit was likely to send her back to the bedroom. I sent a quick, pleading glance at Connor, who gave a small shrug of his shoulders, leaving the decision to me. I hated being the bad guy.
“Then I saw myself through your eyes.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course you didn’t. You’re too nice a person to do that. But I heard myself going on and on about Mitchell. I heard all the things the police must have heard when I ranted about how he shouldn’t have been on that road at that time, how he must have been killed by some evil maniac no one knew anything about. It’s no wonder no one believed me. Well, Millicent was receptive, but I think she was just being kind. Even Matthew, the investigator . . . I knew he was just humoring the wife of his old friend.”
“The thing is, Mrs. Burke,” I said gently, “we do believe you.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“You believe me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, at least I . . .” I glanced at Connor. “We think there’s more going on.”glanced at
I searched the older woman’s face. She seemed calm, a little confused, but not in danger of being pushed over the edge. I hoped like heck I was reading her right.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Burke.” I choked a little on the words, pushing them past a lump in my throat. “Matthew Cort was killed on Wednesday night.”
“Killed?” Her pale hands twisted around each other, the only outward indication of a rising stress level.
“I’m so sorry.”
“He was murdered, wasn’t he? It was the same man. The same one who killed my Mitchell.” She put one hand over her heart a
s she gave me a stricken look. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t asked him to help me . . . Oh, dear Lord.”
Connor and I rose simultaneously. I moved from the armchair to take a seat next to her on the couch. Dolls stared at me from the mantel, their eyes glassy, as if from tears. I reached out to cover Emma’s hand. Connor disappeared into the house.
“It is not your fault. You need to remember that, Emma. The only one to blame is whoever killed him.” I gave her hand another squeeze.
Connor returned with a glass of water in one hand and a box of tissues in the other, He handed the glass to the older woman and set the tissues on the coffee table within easy reach before resuming his position in the armchair.
She lifted the glass to her mouth, and I could see it tremble slightly as she took a quick swallow, then a slower one. She set the glass on a gold-edged coaster and pushed the Kleenex farther away. Her husband’s death had obviously devastated her, but underneath her grief was a pretty tough woman. She squeezed my hand and I smiled at her.
“We think your husband’s death might be connected to a case I’m working on.”
“Something tied to his work?”
“We don’t really know.”
“Millicent. Oh, no. Her accident . . .”
“Really an accident,” I assured her. “Millicent was in a major collision. Dozens of cars, and hers wasn’t the first. Millicent’s death was definitely an accident.”
Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She clutched at the front of her blouse, wrinkling the pink silk.
“I’m glad. How foolish is that? She was a good person and she’s passed and I’m glad she wasn’t murdered, as if that matters at all. I want to help. How can I help?”
“We appreciate your offer, ma’am.” Connor interrupted. “But it’s important that you consider the risks. Matthew Cort was murdered. If it is connected to the work he was doing for you—and that’s a big if—it’s possible that helping us could put you in danger.”
“He’s right, Mrs. Burke. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Something has already happened to me, Sara. And it’s not right that whoever killed Mitchell and Matthew should get away with it. What can I do?”
“If you’re sure . . . ?” I waited until she gave me an emphatic nod.
“Okay. Did your husband have an office at home? Did he keep a computer or files or anything here at the house?”
“He never brought his work home. He did have a computer, one of those newfangled laptop ones. But he never really used it. He would just carry it back and forth from work, then leave it in the hall closet. He called it his daily workout.”
“Is that computer here now?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.” She rose and disappeared for a moment, returning to the room empty-handed.
“Is it possible it’s still at his office?”
“No. I cleaned out his office a couple of weeks after his death. I took all his personal things. They’re in storage. I couldn’t face having them in the house, so I just taped up the box and dropped them off.”
“Maybe we could have a look?”
“The storage facility requires a signature. I’ll get the box for you. What else?”
Talk about your needle in a haystack. Without knowing what we were looking for, there was no way to eliminate any item. We’d have to see everything and hope the significance occurred to us.
“What about a date book or Rolodex?” I suggested.
“That would all be with his office things.”
“Well, ma’am, it’s possible that your husband brought something home for safekeeping.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“It might not be obvious. It could be a key, a computer disk, anything, really,” Connor said.
Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to me that Burke knew the importance of whatever it was he might have found. It could be an accident. Or even suicide, although I’d hate that for this woman’s sake. Maybe her husband had known something. Maybe the killer just couldn’t take the chance that Burke would tell. On the other hand, what if Burke had tried to use the information? I really hoped I wouldn’t have to tell Emma her husband had been killed because he’d been a blackmailer.
“I’ll look. I’ll go through the house room by room.” She seemed eager now, the concrete tasks strengthening her resolve.
“Good. Emma, what did you tell Matthew Cort when you hired him?”
“Just that I thought Mitchell’s death wasn’t a suicide.”
“Did he ask to see your husband’s personal items?” Connor picked up on my train of thought, leaning forward, resting his chin on top of his steepled fingers.
“No. He was more interested in the information from the accident scene.”
“What information?” I jumped back into the interviewer position.
“Photographs. The medical examiner’s report. Some other reports. I called the police and insisted on seeing everything. They didn’t want to give me a copy of the file, but I called the insurance company and they helped me get it. I gave it to Matthew.”
“Did you make a copy?”
“No. He said he would make a copy and return the originals to me.”
“Do you remember anything specific in the file?”
“I couldn’t look. I just couldn’t bear to see him like that.”
“I understand. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can get a copy.” I wasn’t sure of anything of the sort, but I didn’t want to sidetrack her. “Did Matthew Cort tell you what he had found?”
“No. I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. He said he thought he was making progress, but we didn’t discuss specifics.”
I turned to Connor.
“Maybe we should get the police reports from Cort’s files. It’ll save us from having to reinvent the wheel on anything he’s already checked out.” It would also save me from having to ask Sergeant Wesley for them.
“I tried to talk to Mrs. Cort earlier, Emma. She wouldn’t discuss particulars of the case with me. But maybe, if you called her and explained that it was okay to talk to us, she’d be willing to fax a copy of the file.”
“Oh, my goodness. Roberta.” The color had once again drained from the older woman’s face, leaving her ashen and shaking.
“Mrs. Burke?” I asked, alarmed. Connor was already out of his chair and kneeling at her feet, gently rubbing her hands in his.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“We’ve never been close. She’s so much younger and all. But I never even thought . . . It never occurred to me.”
“What?”
“I made Roberta a widow.”
“Roberta is Matthew Cort’s wife?” I was confused.
“She was his wife. Now she’s his widow.” She shook her head slightly and threw her shoulders back. She looked at Connor as if realizing for the first time that he was there. “I’m fine . . . Um. I can’t believe this. I’ve forgotten your name. How rude of me.”
“It’s Connor, ma’am.”
“Well, Connor, you can get up now. I very much appreciate your concern, but let me assure you that I will be fine. Now, however, I will have to ask you to leave. I need to call Roberta.”
Connor stood and I did, too. Emma rose from her seat and ushered us in front of her toward the door.
“Are you sure you are all right, ma’am? Maybe we should call someone to come keep you company.”
“That won’t be necessary. I need to help Roberta through this difficult time. After all, no one understands her pain quite like I do. Then I need to gather those things I told you I would get for you. After that, I’m going to search this house from top to bottom for something I might have missed.”
“You’ll call us when you have something? Or if you need anything?” I was nervous about leaving her alone in case she fell apart as soon as we left. Widow crusher wasn’t a title I aspired to.
She reached behind me and pulled open the door, sl
iding her arm into the opening to push the screen door open. Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry? She was pale and retained her air of fragility, but her posture and expression told a different story. This woman was taking her life back.
“I will call you in a few hours. You call me if you think of anything else I can do.”
“We will,” Connor assured her, using one hand to urge me onto the porch and down the steps. The door closed behind us with a click.
We walked to the curb and I turned to look back at the house.
“She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”
“She seemed pretty tough to me. At least now she knows she isn’t crazy.”
“You think the detective’s wife will blame her?”
“I don’t know. People do things in times of grief that don’t make sense. Even if the Cort woman doesn’t hold Emma responsible, a little guilt is probably inevitable.” He patted me on the back. “She’ll feel better when we find the bastard.”
I stared at him. When we find him. I leaned forward and kissed his chin.
“What was that for?”
“I think you’re cute.”
“Works for me. So, Madam Investigator, what do you want to do now?”
“Emma said her husband was under subpoena in the Jepsen case. With Cort’s number on the phone bill, I think I should pay Jepsen a little visit and try to find out where he was on Wednesday night.”
Connor leaned back against my car and folded his arms across his chest. I crossed my arms in response.
“I know I agreed to let you make the decisions in this case, but just hear me out,” Connor began.
“Yes, you did. And I’m holding you to it.”
“Jepsen’s already seen you. He knows you’re tied to Masterson. If he killed Cort he’s proven he’s ready to kill anyone who gets too close to whatever it is he’s hiding. And it would be pretty easy to jump to conclusions about how much you know if you turn up again so soon.”
He had a point, much as I hated to admit it. “Do you have a suggestion, or are you just going to rain on my parade?”
“I’ll go see Jepsen.”
“What makes you think he’ll tell you anything?”
Catnapped Page 17