Stay Sharpe Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Chapter 19

  Tears slid down Deena’s cheeks as she drove back home. Her suburban neighborhood of Butterfly Gardens was her refuge, the place where she felt safe and sound—well, mostly sound. Sometimes her neighbors could be a little annoying when they got too competitive in fundraising for Little League sports or decorating for holidays, but mostly life there was serene and quiet.

  Poor Edwin. She wondered if the stress of the past few days had just taken its toll on him. After all, he was in his eighties and didn’t seem to get out much except to play bingo, according to Tiny and Darlene. They said he would go with a “crazy-looking lady.” She made a mental note to ask Darlene who the woman was.

  Deena wondered if Kitty had been informed about her grandfather’s death. How would this affect her case? Hopefully, they would drop the charges or at least release her from jail so she could arrange for burial. The whole thing was just too upsetting.

  As she turned onto Cricket Lane, Deena saw the ambulance and police car in front of Edwin’s house. Neither had their lights flashing—not a good sign. That usually meant they weren’t in a hurry to get the patient to the hospital for treatment. Edwin was indeed gone.

  She wiped the tears from her cheek, feeling guilty that she hadn’t gone over that morning to check on him. But if she had, she might have been the one to go to the door, get no answer, and call the police. She shivered at the thought. It was one thing to investigate the death of people she had barely met; it was another to learn someone you know had passed.

  Today was Wednesday, which meant Edwin’s housekeeper was expected. She must have been the one to find him. Deena recognized the car in the driveway. Although she’d never met the housekeeper, she had occasionally spotted her coming and going. Deena braced herself as she pulled into her driveway. As she got out of the car, Christy Ann barreled across the street holding the receiver for her baby monitor, as she often did. She stopped at the edge of Deena’s yard, which was as far as the signal would reach.

  “My lands, Deena! What is going on over there? I’ve been waiting for someone to come out but haven’t seen a soul since the ambulance got there. Is he dead?”

  “I think so,” Deena said, glad her neighbor was on a short leash. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Christy Ann put a hand on her hip. “Well, let me know asap. I need to know if I should bake another casserole.”

  Deena was already halfway across the yard when she rolled her eyes at the remark. Walking tentatively up the steps, she looked inside the open door to see Officer Hitchcock talking to the paramedics who had already placed Edwin’s body on a gurney and covered it with a sheet.

  Hitchcock spotted her and waved her in. “Mrs. Sharpe, you live next door, right?”

  Deena nodded as she took in the scene. Lillian, the housekeeper, sat in a straight-back chair next to the old television that was tuned to a game show but muted. Her ashen face confirmed that she was indeed the person who found Edwin dead. A plate with what looked like the remnants of chicken casserole and a nearly empty glass of something pink sat on the coffee table across from Edwin’s favorite spot on the sofa. Had he choked to death while eating?

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Hitchcock had his notepad out.

  She glanced at the gurney.

  “Alive,” Hitchcock said.

  She had to think. Was that really just yesterday? So much had happened since then. “Yesterday morning. I came to check on him. He seemed fine—physically, that is.”

  “Have you seen anyone else come to the house since then?”

  “No. But I was out most of the day, and I just got back from . . . um, running errands this morning.” She wondered why he was asking. “Is something going on, Officer Hitchcock? Are you thinking there might have been foul play?”

  The officer grabbed a toothpick from parts unknown and stuck it in his mouth. “Why would you say that? Do you know something?”

  Deena realized they all had their eyes on her. Even the paramedic who had been writing notes on a clipboard had stopped to stare.

  “I don’t know anything. Why? How did he die?”

  Hitchcock nodded at the paramedics and they wheeled the gurney out the front door to the ambulance. He glanced over his shoulder at Lillian. “Stay here.” He took Deena by the arm and led her to the front porch. “You probably know that anytime a person dies unattended, there can be an investigation.”

  Deena nodded. “Right.”

  “So I have a question for you. Did you make pink lemonade for Mr. Cooper?”

  “Pink—what? Are you thinking he was poisoned?” Deena took a step back.

  “I’m not saying anything. Would you mind if I look in your refrigerator?”

  Another police car pulled up and Officer Santos got out.

  “Wait here,” Hitchcock ordered and walked over to talk to Santos. Before long, Santos walked past her into the house and Hitchcock stood on the sidewalk. “Well?” He held up his hands.

  Every instinct Deena had told her not to make a move without calling Ian. Not only did he represent Edwin, he was Deena and Gary’s personal attorney. She knew better than to trust the police, but she also knew innocent people didn’t lawyer up. It was a sure sign they had something to hide.

  She headed across the yard to her house and unlocked the door. She scooped up Hurley and waited for Hitchcock to enter.

  “Nice house,” he said as he looked around. He went straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator with a gloved hand. Apparently seeing nothing suspicious, he opened the pantry and then looked under the sink at the trash can. “Hmm. Looks clean.”

  “Thanks,” Deena said automatically without thinking.

  “I need to look in your garage.”

  “At the trash?” Deena shook her head. “Yesterday was trash pick-up, so there’s probably nothing in the can.”

  Hitchcock held on to the end of the toothpick and just stared at her.

  She led the way to the garage and watched as he examined the shelves of plastic bins, each neatly labeled with masking tape and Sharpie. He seemed to admire the tool shelf and pegboard.

  Hitchcock whistled. “This place looks more like a store than a garage. You do all this?”

  “No. My husband. He’s kind of a neat freak.”

  Hitchcock went back inside the house. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted the old guy dead?” He pulled off the plastic glove and shoved it in his pocket.

  “Mr. Cooper has a granddaughter, as you well know, but she’s locked up in jail. I can’t imagine he has enemies.” Crossing her arms, she said, “Officer Hitchcock, can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  He stopped near the front door. “I’m trying to figure that out. The housekeeper said she came by earlier this morning and Cooper was acting odd, as though he was drunk, but there’s no alcohol in the house. He just had a glass of what she thought was lemonade. She didn’t think he’d eaten, so she tried to fix him oatmeal, but he said he wanted casserole, the one his neighbor brought over. Are you that neighbor?”

  “No. That would be Christy Ann across the street.” She motioned across the street and noticed Christy Ann was no longer outside.

  Hitchcock wrote down the name. “Anyway, the housekeeper said she gave him a big helping and a glass of water and then left to go to the market.”

  “Maybe he had a stroke or something,” Deena said. “He has—had—been under a lot of stress since his arrest at the funeral home.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the head scratcher. When the housekeeper got back, she said she found him keeled over and there was that glass of pink stuff on the table. She couldn’t identify it as anything that came from the house. Guttman and I went to a training last fall on recognizing poisons. I only went ’cuz it was in Nashville and I wanted to see a Dolly Parton show. Anyway, one of the poisons looked just like that. It was antifreeze. I took a lick of the stuff in the glass, and it tasted just the same.”

  “Should you have don
e that? Won’t it make you sick?”

  “Nah. Not just a lick. Besides, I’ve got an iron gut.” He patted his sizable paunch. “I didn’t want to sound the alarm that this could be a homicide just yet. I want Guttman to make the call. That way if we’re wrong, it’s his drawers in the vice, not mine.”

  Deena understood. The department had come under fire for several false arrests. “I have a feeling he’s not going to be in a very good mood when he gets here.”

  Hitchcock chuckled and his belly jiggled. “You mean because of that pizza bust? Yeah. He’ll catch heck from the guys for that one. But how did you know about it?”

  She hesitated. “I’m a reporter.”

  And as though he had a listening device on her, Dan called.

  Hitchcock walked out and back over to Edwin’s house as Deena answered the phone.

  “I guess you got your wish,” Dan said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The story. Now there’s a dead body. Major crime.”

  Deena felt a tightness in her chest to go along with her queasy stomach. “Are you kidding me?” She knew he wasn’t.

  “Okay, ‘wish’ might be a little strong, but it happened and now the story is yours again. The chatter on the scanner is that they’re waiting on Guttman to get there to call it a homicide. Are you on the scene? I’m sending a photographer.”

  Something in Deena snapped. This was a bridge too far. What she had perceived as a quest for justice suddenly seemed like exploitation. She had never felt that way when Lloyd Pryor was her editor. Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak.

  Finally, she was able to choke out two words: “I quit.”

  Chapter 20

  As soon as she’d hung up on Dan, Deena called Ian’s office. Paulette informed her that Ian was in court but should be breaking for lunch soon. Deena drove right over. She quietly entered the back of the district courtroom and found Ian talking to the judge and prosecutor up at the bench. The jury box was empty and the only other people in the room were an elderly woman who sat with her knitting in the gallery and the bailiff.

  Deena took a seat behind the bar and waited. When the conversation ended, Ian turned and nodded when he spotted her. She waited for him to pack his briefcase and for the prosecutor to leave before speaking. “Did you hear about Edwin Cooper?”

  “No, what happened?”

  Deena lowered her voice as though she were in church. “He died.”

  Ian’s face sank, as did his shoulders. “What happened?” He set his briefcase back down on the table.

  “The housekeeper found him. Officer Hitchcock thinks he might have been poisoned with antifreeze.”

  “By the housekeeper?”

  “No, not necessarily. He checked me out, for one.”

  “What did you tell him? Did you let him conduct a search without a warrant?”

  “Yes.” Deena saw her attorney’s jaw tighten. “It’s okay. He didn’t find anything. I mean, I didn’t do anything, so he didn’t find anything.”

  Ian crossed his arms and leaned back on the table. “What do you think happened? Are you writing the story for the paper?”

  “No, I quit my job.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow.

  She darted her eyes away from his. “It’s a long story. Anyway, if the situation really is as Hitchcock described it, yeah, I think he could have been murdered.”

  Ian’s chin dropped to his chest. After a moment, he asked, “Did he say anything about Kitty?”

  “I reminded him that she was in jail.” Here came the moment Deena had been dreading. “Are you the one who reported her to the authorities?”

  “No. Did someone say I did?” He glanced at his watch, then picked up the briefcase, motioning for Deena to follow him out the back of the courtroom.

  “It’s just that you are the only person I told about Kitty going to the bank and getting the money, so I assumed it had to be you.”

  “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I do, I just had to ask.”

  They were outside in the parking lot now. Ian stopped next to his car. “Is Kitty out on bond? I suppose she is the next of kin who will be in charge of Edwin’s estate.”

  “She couldn’t afford to pay the bond.”

  Ian blew out a long breath. “Considering the circumstances, her attorney should be able to get her out today. I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do.”

  “Thanks. And I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “No worries. And it’s the least I can do for poor Edwin.” He pressed the key fob to open his car door. “You don’t think Kitty had anything to do with this, do you? I understand she has a boyfriend who Edwin didn’t think much of.”

  Deena had wondered the same thing. “I really doubt she did. I’m not so sure about the boyfriend though. I may go talk to him.”

  Ian gave her a faint smile. “Always the investigator, right?”

  “I guess so.” As she watched Ian drive off, Deena chided herself as she made her way to her SUV. Just this one last interview, then I’m done.

  But really, what were the chances that she’d stick to her promise?

  * * *

  BEFORE LONG, DEENA found herself back at Freddy’s Tires. She scanned the service bays and didn’t see Clay. The area where he had been working the other day was clean and empty. Maybe he was on his lunch break. She went inside to ask.

  The same guy who had been working at the counter alongside Kitty previously was there by himself with a line of customers. Deena got behind them to wait. She studied the young man. He was probably in his mid-twenties, dark hair, tattoos on one arm. He had a slight build and weighed a lot less than she did. There was something familiar about him. Then it hit her.

  She bypassed the others in line and went straight to the counter. “Corey Collier? Is that you?”

  He looked up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Sharpe.”

  Corey had been in one of Deena’s photography classes. She hadn’t seen him since she was helping Guttman investigate the death of her sister-in-law’s chauffeur.

  “Quick question,” she said, looking apologetically at the woman in line at the counter. “Is Clay working today?” She didn’t know his last name.

  “Nope. He called in sick.”

  “Okay, thanks. Good to see you. Keep up the good work.” She apologized to the woman in line and left the store.

  When she got to the car, it occurred to her she had no idea where Kitty and Clay lived. She didn’t want to go back inside to ask Corey since it would put him in an awkward position, expecting him to give out confidential employee information. Chances were good she could find an address on the internet.

  She looked at herself in the rearview mirror. What was she doing? This case or story or whatever was no longer her business. Maybe not being able to find Clay was a sign she should truly drop everything and go home and mind her own business. If she hurried, she might be able to catch Gary and Scott for lunch. She knew Gary would be relieved she had quit her job.

  But as she drove, she found herself steering her car toward home. And Edwin Cooper’s house. Maybe Guttman would be there by now and she would know if they were ruling the case a homicide or not. If not, the only mystery still to solve would be the identification of Rocky B.

  Sure enough, the two police cars were still there. Santos and Hitchcock must have been inside the house. The door was closed.

  Like déjà vu, Christy Ann came out of her house with the baby monitor again. Could she be drugging her child? Didn’t most mothers complain that their babies never slept? Deena didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Deena, wait,” Christy Ann called out again. “I need to talk to you.” The look on her neighbor’s face had changed. Annoyance had been replaced by fear.

  Deena could hear Hurley barking inside the house. “What now?”

  “Come over here,” she said and waved Deena across the street.

 
Christy Ann pulled her inside and shut the door quietly. “Keep your voice down. I finally got the baby back to sleep.”

  How? By clubbing her over the head? “What’s wrong now? I don’t want to stand here and gossip.”

  Christy Ann did her famous hand-on-hip move again. She must have learned it in cheerleading. “I’ll have you know that it’s not gossip if it happened to me.”

  “Okay. What happened to you?”

  “I was interviewed by the police. They think I might have murdered Mr. Cooper!” Christy Ann put her hand over her mouth to shoosh herself. She continued in a whisper. “They think I might have poisoned him.”

  Now Deena was interested. She pulled out a dining room chair and motioned for her neighbor to sit. She sat down next to her. “What exactly did they say?”

  Blinking back tears, the young woman looked at Deena pleadingly. “You don’t think I accidentally poisoned him, do you? With the chicken casserole? I checked the date on the package of meat. It was fresh. I don’t keep anything dangerous like rat poison in the kitchen. All the cabinets and drawers have child-proof locks on them.”

  “Is that what they asked you about? The casserole?”

  “Yes. And lemonade. That Officer Hitchcock looked all through my kitchen. Parker flew to Chicago today and I don’t know what to do.” She sniffed back tears. “Since you are always in trouble with the law, I thought maybe you could talk to them for me.”

  Deena huffed. “I’m not—”

  “Come on, Deena. People like you. They respect you. Except for being pushy and refusing to keep those gray roots colored, hardly anyone says unkind things about you behind your back.”

  Obviously, Christy Ann had mastered the fine art of flattery. “Look, he asked me questions too. It’s routine. But what did you say about the lemonade?”

  “I told him I didn’t have any and that I only let my kids drink one hundred percent real juice, nothing from a can or with artificial sweetener.”

  “I’m sure that convinced him,” Deena said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Did he look in your garage?”