* * *
GARY HAD JUST GOTTEN there when Deena arrived back home to her cozy house in the suburbs. Actually, Maycroft was too small to have official suburbs, but that’s how townspeople referred to the Butterfly Gardens neighborhood development.
Their little slice of the town had all the trappings of stereotypical suburbia, including nosy neighbors, ultra-competitive Little League dads, overprotective helicopter moms, cookie-cutter houses, and minivans or SUVs in almost every driveway. Deena liked it there.
Even though she felt safe, she sometimes felt out of place. Because she and Gary had no children, they often got hit up to buy the neighborhood kids’ fundraising merchandise. By her calculation, she could make it through twenty more years of holidays without having to purchase another roll of wrapping paper. The deep freezer in their garage had more tubs of cookie dough than Ben and Jerry’s. And as it turned out, those expired coupon books made great kindling in the winter during the two weeks it was actually cold enough for a fire in northeast Texas.
Deena waved at a few of her fellow suburbanites who stood at the edge of the lawns checking their mailboxes. Since Gary was already home, he would have beat her to it.
She went inside to find her husband sitting at the kitchen table with a big grin on his face. She prayed silently that he hadn’t turned in his two weeks’ notice at work. “Hey there. What’s going on?”
Gary grimaced when she took off her sunglasses. “What’s wrong with your face? You’re all red and puffy.”
“Cats.” She knew that was enough of an explanation for now.
He nodded and the smile returned to his face. “You’re never going to believe this.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I have a surprise for you. You might want to sit down.”
Oh dear. What was it now? A personal trainer? A coupon for ballroom dance lessons? A time share at Disney World? She slapped on a nervous smile and waited.
He held up a large manila envelope. “Guess who’s been named a beneficiary in Andrew Granger’s will?”
“You? Are you kidding?” Deena’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she grabbed the envelope.
“I can save you from reading through a lot of legalese. It basically talks about probate and creditors and potential exclusions, but that I am named as a beneficiary. Also, Allison has requested an old-fashioned reading of the will and it is being held at the attorney’s office on Monday.”
“This coming Monday?”
“That’s correct.”
Deena fanned herself with the envelope. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“That I have to take off another morning of work?”
“Yes, but also it means you and I will get to be there when the will is read. You know how it is on TV. That’s where they almost always figure out the murderer.”
Gary seemed to have trouble searching for the right words. “We, I mean, me. I mean, only I was named in the will, not both of us.”
“Pish-posh,” she said, waving her hand. “Minor detail. We’re Gary and Deena. No one is going to think twice if you bring your wife along.”
He looked at her like she was the cat who ate the canary.
She grinned back at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Gary let out a deep sigh and nodded. “I’m going to hold you to it.”
She kissed his cheek and pulled out her notes. “Are you ready to get caught up on the case?”
“Sure. Fire away.”
She told him about Officer Linndorf being the first responder and how he hadn’t really even considered murder as an option and had failed to do the usual tests. She also told him how the neighbor—the cat lady—said the cops were sometimes at the Grangers’ house, which worried her about Allison’s safety.
Gary rubbed his chin. “I would be sick to find out Drew had been abusing Allison. He didn’t seem like the type. However, we know that abusers come in all shapes and sizes, and you can never tell what goes on behind closed doors. Did you ask Linndorf if they had any police reports on it?”
“No. I talked to the neighbor after I spoke with the officer. I plan to ask Detective Guttman about that very thing tomorrow. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
As Gary walked into the bedroom to change out of his suit, Deena went to her office to email her editor Dan with an update. The case was still a puzzle with more pieces being added every day. Although there was still no hard evidence of a murder, there seemed to be a lot of finger pointing in this case. Most of those fingers pointed to Allison. Not only had she literally said she may have caused her husband’s death, but her sister-in-law had also suspected her. Lonnie Fisher had also implied the Grangers had a troubled marriage.
But now there was Owen Walsh. He, too, seemed to have a strong motive. But why now after all this time? And would he really be bold enough to show up at his victim’s funeral?
Gary was right. You never knew what went on behind closed doors. That was true for what went on in a killer’s mind as well.
Deena needed answers fast. The reading of the will was in two days. She wanted to narrow down the suspects so she could unmask the killer in dramatic fashion. She knew Gary would forgive her for making a scene.
But only if she were right.
Chapter 15
The press can be a powerful force when it comes to seeking justice. All Deena had to do was threaten Detective Guttman with running a story about the underwhelming police work performed on the Granger case to get him to agree to meet with her at the diner on the outskirts of town. It was the same one where she used to meet with Dan to talk about cases and articles they were writing.
She fantasized that when she walked in, Clara, the waitress, would greet her with open arms and ask if she wanted “the usual.”
In reality, the haggard waitress thrust a menu at her and said, “Find a spot.”
All the booths were taken by the local senior breakfast crowd and weary truckers needing a hearty meal and a break from the miles they’d traveled down the long Texas highways.
Deena found a table near the back. She debated taking off her sunglasses. Her nose was still red but the puffiness around her eyes had subsided a little. She put the glasses in her handbag and waited for Clara to bring coffee.
To her disappointment, the waitress obviously didn’t remember her. Clara poured the coffee, splashing some onto the table, and groaned that she’d be back to take her order. Deena didn’t even have a chance to tell her she was waiting on someone to join her.
Deena pulled out her notes and studied the questions she planned to ask Guttman. Most of them centered around Allison as well as the investigation itself. She was locked and loaded, ready for bear.
When Guttman came in, Deena waved to get his attention.
Clara was all over him, smiling and escorting him to the table. “Aren’t you just the tallest, yummiest drink of water I’ve seen in here in a while,” she crooned. “Where have you been all my life, handsome?”
The fact that Clara was thirty years older than Linus Guttman didn’t seem to bother him at all. Was that a blush she detected under that dark beard? Indeed, it was.
Clara poured the coffee and pushed the cream and sugar closer to his mug.
Geez. It wasn’t like he couldn’t reach the extra six inches to get it himself. Deena felt nauseous just watching the over-the-top display of flattery.
Clara seemed disappointed when Guttman said he’d already eaten and would only be having coffee. She didn’t even bother to ask Deena for her order.
After Clara left the table, Deena grinned at Guttman. “Looks like someone has a new girlfriend?”
He stopped midair as he was pouring artificial sweetener into his cup. “How did you know?” He looked around as though a state secret had just been uttered in front of the enemy combatants.
“I was kidding,” she said. “Clara...the waitress...”
“Oh, that,” he said with an air of relief. “I get that all the time.”
Now Deena was surprised, not by the fact that he didn’t catch her humor—Guttman had always been pretty straitlaced—but by the fact that he was used to flattery and apparently had a new friend.
Deena probed. “Who’s the lucky lady? Someone on the force? The new owner of the bakery on Elm? Clara’s daughter?”
“Not a chance. Don’t even ask.” He blew in his cup and took a sip.
Deena patted her chest. “You know that it’s not against the law to be dating someone. You’re allowed to be happy.”
“Let’s stick to the reason you called me here, Mrs. Sharpe. You can gossip down at the beauty shop if you’re bored.”
Same old Guttman. He always called her Mrs. Sharpe when he wanted to intimidate her. Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. She clicked her pen and started right in on the questions.
“Is it usual to conduct such a shoddy investigation when someone dies in Maycroft?” She braced herself for the blowback.
Guttman rubbed his forehead as though he had a migraine coming on. “What makes you think it was a shoddy investigation?”
His tone revealed more patience than Deena had expected. “Well, it sounds like Linndorf and his fellow officers concluded that Granger’s death was a suicide without much thought to anything else. I thought the police were supposed to assume all suspicious deaths were homicides until proven otherwise.”
Guttman nodded slowly. “You hit the nail on the head. All ‘suspicious’ deaths. This one was open and shut according to the officers. Fingerprints on the gun matched Granger. It was laying right by him.”
It was too pat an answer. “I guess you and I have different definitions of the word ‘suspicious.’ For example, I find it suspicious that a man who just found out his wife was expecting their first child would take his life.”
“You do? Haven’t you seen some of those bratty kids shows on TV? Like the ones where the parents have to hire a special nanny just to keep from killing their kids? No, thank you. I’d rather have a dog.” He took a big swig of coffee.
“Seriously. Did his wife say he was depressed upon hearing the news or was he excited like most men would be?”
“Maybe it wasn’t his baby.”
“Exactly!” Deena pointed her finger at him. “And wouldn’t that be suspicious?”
Guttman shrugged and just stared back.
Deena could feel her temperature start to rise. It wasn’t like Guttman to make jokes. He was usually a “just the facts” kind of detective. “I suppose you at least checked out Allison’s alibi for the night her husband died.”
“She was at her book club. From what I understand, that’s code for women getting away from their husbands to drink wine and complain about their coworkers. Am I wrong?”
Deena snorted, but then had to admit he was right. “Okay, but did you talk to the other members of the club at least? Maybe Allison ducked out, went home and shot her husband, drove away and hid out until after the police came. Did you consider that?”
“There was no reason to. Why can’t you just accept the facts here, Mrs. Sharpe. Is this because of that news editor, Dan Carson?” Guttman motioned to Clara for more coffee. “He’s always trying to stir up trouble.”
As Clara returned and flirted with the detective, Deena looked back at her notes. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t getting straight answers for her questions. Was it because she was a woman and he didn’t take her seriously? Surely not. She had helped him on cases in the past. Maybe he was covering for somebody.
Clara left without even looking at Deena or filling her cup.
Guttman grinned. “You were saying...”
“Owen Walsh.”
“Who?”
“Owen Walsh owns a farm and has a grudge against the Grangers. Maybe you should check him out.”
Guttman pulled out an imaginary pencil from behind his ear and pretended to make a note. “Question Owen Walsh, the book club gals, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny. Anything else?” He looked up.
Deena wasn’t amused. “But what about gunshot residue and the trajectory of the bullet? How about blood splatter or signs of forced entry? What about the whereabouts of his wife and other possible suspects?”
Guttman shook his finger playfully and grinned. “You’ve been watching television crime shows, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and maybe you should, too!” The volume of her statement drew the attention of those nearby.
Clara swung by with the coffeepot and filled Guttman’s cup even though he’d barely taken a sip. She put her chubby hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay over here with you and your mother?”
Deena curled her lip and felt light-headed. She glared at Guttman, expecting him to correct the wretched waitress.
Instead, he nodded and said, “We’re fine. I think I’ll have a blueberry muffin, if it’s not too much trouble.” He looked across the table. “How about you, Mother?”
“I’ll mother you,” she seethed through pursed lips before realizing how awkward that sounded. She sneered at Clara and said, “I’ll have the same.”
Guttman smiled. “Like mother, like son.”
Clara jotted down the order, stuck the pencil behind her ear, and winked. “I do loooove me a mama’s boy.”
By the time Clara left, Deena had lost her appetite as well as her patience. “You realize she’s older than me, right?”
“Maybe I like mature women,” Guttman said. “She makes a mean cup of java.”
“Stop deflecting, Detective Guttman. I’m a reporter and I’m asking you real questions on the record. I expect straight answers.” She could feel the hot flash subsiding into a cold sweat.
“I didn’t realize we were on the record.” He fidgeted with his beard. “I thought we were just two friends breaking bread and shooting the breeze about current events.”
“That flew off the table when you called me ‘mother,’” Deena said. “You are the only detective in the Maycroft Police Department. The investigation was your responsibility. So, will you give me a statement or not?”
He avoided eye contact as he fiddled with the creamer.
As a tray of water glasses crashed to the ground, the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen drew everyone’s attention. A young waitress and a busboy began pointing fingers as to whose fault it was. Through the clamor, Deena remained motionless and kept her eyes glued on Guttman. She knew he was either hiding something or stalling. She was prepared to wait.
He finally looked back and met her gaze. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it on the table. “This is off the record.” He took a big swig of coffee and then leaned in. “The reason I can’t answer your questions, Mrs. Sharpe, is because I don’t know the answers. I had to rely on the report of my acting investigator, Clay Hitchcock.”
“Officer Hitchcock? He used to be Larry Linndorf’s partner, right?” She threw out her hands. “So why didn’t you follow up?”
Guttman shrugged and stood up. “You see, I was out of town the week Andrew Granger died. He was six feet under by the time I even found out about the case. There was really nothing I could do.”
* * *
DEENA COULDN’T WAIT to get home and write up her news story for Monday’s paper. She raised the question about the thoroughness of the investigation and said that an anonymous source claimed Andrew Granger may have been murdered, although she left out anything about Edwina and Allison. She emailed the story to Dan, who approved it with a few minor changes. He made her include the part about Hitchcock and Linndorf having been former partners.
“Do you think that implies they were possibly in cahoots?” she asked Dan when he called her.
“It’s a fact and it needs to be put out there,” he said. “If we want Guttman to reopen the case, there needs to be evidence that the department didn’t handle the investigation as they should have. It will be up to the public—and the mayor—to apply pressure.”
Deena agreed and made the cha
nges. She was excited to be getting a byline even though the story wouldn’t be on the front page. She spent the next few hours organizing her notes and writing questions she still wanted answers for.
When Gary got home, Deena unloaded on him about Guttman. When she finally stopped to take a breath, he squared his shoulders and asked, “Are you telling me that you’re the new crime reporter?”
Oops. It was no use. She couldn’t keep secrets from her husband. “Yes. Major crime like murders and such. And I’m good at it, too. So, get over it.”
He started to speak but closed his mouth, apparently knowing she had made up her mind. Then he asked, “Did you ask Guttman about Allison and whether or not there had been allegations of abuse?”
She smacked her forehead. “I was so rattled I didn’t get to ask half my questions.” She made herself a note.
Gary pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat. “Let me get this straight. There’s Allison, who may or may not have been abused and who has been accused by her sister-in-law of killing Drew.”
“And she’s pregnant, let’s not forget,” Deena added. “Edwina said Allison was having an affair, so it may not be Drew’s baby.”
“Right,” Gary said, nodding thoughtfully. “Any other suspects?”
Deena paced across the floor. “Owen Walsh, the man who accused Drew of stealing his prized vines and then showed up at the funeral and confronted Allison. When I mentioned his name to Guttman, he acted like he’d never heard of him.”
“Anyone else?”
Deena stopped pacing and sat down across from Gary. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Who else might have benefitted from Drew’s death?”
Gary’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious. I had no idea I was in the will until yesterday.”
“Not you, silly! I mean Edwina Granger. She started this whole thing but still hasn’t gotten back in touch with me. Doesn’t that seem suspicious? As a relative, she might be in the will, too.”
Stay Sharpe Box Set Page 22