Manor of Death

by Holly Dey

  “Tran. What’s up?”

  He handed her a manila envelope. “Photos of Heather Micah’s personal effects. There are a few interesting things.”

  “Why are you giving me these?”

  Tran considered for a few moments. “Mind if I sit down?”

  PC unlocked the door.

  He got in and gave a glance toward the road. “We don’t get very many homicides. The few we do have, there’s usually a bar full of witnesses involved. I could use your help.”

  And I could stand to keep track of where this investigation is going.

  PC pulled out the prints. The first was of Heather’s suitcase, a carry-on sized roller bag.

  “Looks like she was traveling light.”

  A snapshot of the closet showed three dresses hanging there, with one pair of expensive shoes on the floor. The bathroom counter held some cosmetics and face cream, as well as a toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste.

  The next picture showed an apartment eviction notice, and another was of a receipt from a storage unit.

  Hiro tapped the photo. “Those looked like they’d been folded up and stuck in her luggage in a hurry. What if she got a cab straight from the storage locker to the airport?”

  “She gets booted out of her apartment for nonpayment. So, we can infer she’s got no money. Her things are in storage, so she either planned to go back to LA or send for them. Her sister doesn’t live here anymore, so why did she come to Possumwood?”

  “To get a job and make enough money to get her stuff?”

  “Then why bring only three outfits? She’s not really qualified to do anything, other than act. She’d be better off in Houston, or staying with her sister in Wichita Falls, if that was her plan. Seems like she thought she could come to Possumwood for a few days and go home with some cash.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Seems like a reasonable guess. Unless she had a chest full of doubloons buried in the woods somewhere. Or a safe deposit box… Did you find a return plane ticket?”

  Hiro shook his head. “No, no plane ticket.”

  “Could have been on her phone. Have you gotten it unlocked?”

  “Her phone’s missing.”

  “Of course, it is. Someone that she’s called or texted since she got here is probably the person who killed her.”

  PC pulled out the next photo. It was an old newspaper clipping. The edges of the paper had yellowed. A headline blared at the top of the page:

  BAND CARNIVAL EARNINGS DISAPPEAR

  SECRETARY FIRED

  Durelle Fennec’s mother. “Yes. The band had raised a bunch of money for a trip, but when it came time to set it up, there was no money in the account. It had never made it to the bank. They fired the admin who made the bank deposits, but the money never turned up, and she was never charged–no evidence.”

  Hiro nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps Heather knew who took the money.”

  The band theft wasn’t front-page news, and the clipping was about a fourth of the news sheet, as if someone had torn it along the creases. Underneath the band story was the continuation of what had definitely been a story from the front page.

  SECOND TRAGEDY IN TWO MONTHS STRIKES POSSUMWOOD (cont.)

  The second tragedy was Tom Able. The coach of the state-champion winning Possumwood Panthers football team had been killed in a car crash on the way home from the championships. Investigators had speculated that he’d gotten drowsy and run off the road into a tree.

  The first tragedy was Trey Donovan. PC’s father. He’d been murdered in an armed robbery at the family’s convenience store the month before. The night of Homecoming Dance. The clipping was like a punch in the stomach. She ran her hand over her face to try to focus on Heather Micah’s demise.

  “I wasn’t in band, but you can easily track down the people who were. The school should have a copy of the yearbook, or at least they’ll have all the student records.”

  “A lot of those yearbooks are digitized and online now.”

  “That makes it easy. If the Possumwood Panthers have been scanned.”

  “Well, we’ve got a warrant for Heather’s phone records, but sometimes that can take a while. I guess I’ll look through old yearbooks until they come back.”

  “Has the Medical Examiner finished the autopsy yet?”

  “Report’s in there. Cause of death was a broken neck, although she also had blunt force trauma to the back of the head.”

  “And they did fingernail scrapings and a rape kit?”

  “They didn’t find anything. I gotta get back on my beat. If anyone asks, you got a warning for a bad taillight.”

  Who’s going to ask? “Thanks for the update.”

  “How was your date, Primrose?” Rose burst into laughter.

  “Fine, Mama.”

  She glared at her brother, who sat on the couch with his stocking feet propped on the coffee table. Cordite lay next to him. Rocky fed him a piece of popcorn. The dog’s tail thumped as he looked at his owner, but he continued loafing.

  “How long is she going to be like this? And if you make my dog sick giving him people food, you’re cleaning it up.”

  “Chill, sis. Mama’ll be back to her usual self by morning. Cordie and me are just watching some wrasslin’. Why don cha take a load off and hang out?”

  “I’m going to have a quick check on the animals. I’ll take Cordite out to pee while I’m there.” She looked around for the leash.

  Rose cackled. “You said pee!”

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 10

  PC had just stepped out of the shower and was blotting her hair. The beasties were fed, and their pen scooped. Now she was deodorized and could get on with her day.

  “Primrose!”

  She wrapped her towel around her wet body and ran into the living room. “What is it, Mama? Are you okay?”

  “Of course, I am. Just really hungry, and there’s not much food in the house. You wanna go get something to eat?”

  PC glanced at her FlitBit. “It’s only ten. A little early for lunch.”

  “Would you believe there are places here in town that also serve breakfast? You can call it brunch if that suits you better.”

  “Fine, Mama. Where do you want to go?”

  “I have a hankerin’ for The Brisk Rib. Best barbecue in town.”

  Probably the only barbecue in town. “Sure. Give me a few minutes to get dressed. Rocky coming?”

  “No. He’s working. Took my car.”

  “Good.”

  A copper cowbell on the front door clattered as they entered. The Brisk Rib had gotten their money’s worth from their decorator. The restaurant looked like the inside of an old wooden barn. Rough-hewn posts supported the ceiling, and the ordering queue was fenced in with a split rail barrier. Red and white checked vinyl tablecloths brightened the tables. The place was in the heart of downtown Possumwood, and PC hoped no city employees were also having brunch. At least not a certain Chief of Police, anyway.

  “Miss Rose! It’s so wonderful to see you.” The woman behind the counter waved at them. She looked to be on the young side of middle age and wore a red bandana, Rosie the Riveter style, on her bottle blonde hair.

  “Sadie! It’s good to see you, too, hon. I’ll have my usual, but I don’t know what my daughter here wants.”

  Sadie tapped on the tablet in front of her, then smiled expectantly at PC. A man in a white apron came out of the kitchen carrying a basket of towels.

  “Miz Donovan! I heard you were back from the hospital. Glad to see you this morning.”

  “Oh, thank you, Frank. It’s so good to be home. Had to get my barbecue fix!”

  “Welcome back!” He grinned and nodded toward PC before going out the side door with the laundry.

  Did I go to school with him? He looks vaguely familiar. PC scanned the huge menu on the wall. “I’ll have the… Brisk Tater #3.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Ya’ll want drinks?”

 
“Sure.”

  Rose hobbled off to find a table. PC paid and took the waxed paper cups to the soda fountain to fill them with iced tea.

  Her mother smiled when PC set down the drinks. “I’m so glad Durelle didn’t fire Rocky, after all. I always said that girl had a good heart. It’s a real shame the owners of that nursing home don’t give her nearly enough money to run the place the way it should be.”

  “It is shabby.”

  Rose took a sip of her tea and almost spat it out. “What is this?”

  “Tea, Mama.”

  “Go dump this raw tea and get me some sweet tea.”

  PC picked up her mother’s drink and took it back to the beverage station. The cowbell jangled, and she heard Sadie say, “Hey, Chief.”

  “Hey, Sadie.”

  Hiding behind the soda machine, the detective filled the cup with sweet tea. Not now. She hoped he’d get his order to go. She examined the lids and straws.

  Then Woody’s voice again. “Mornin’, Frank.”

  “You found the killer yet, Elwood?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  “Yeah? Well, you call me as soon as you do. I’ve already got the parade route planned–just need to get the permit.”

  “A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

  “Whoever offed her deserves a medal. Don’t look at me like that.”

  “What she did to Bernadette was awful. I agree with you there. But Heather didn’t murder her.”

  “Maybe not with her own hands. But it’s 100% her fault. I’ve got to go show the delivery truck where to unload. New driver. You catch that killer. I want to shake his hand.”

  PC returned to the table, her back to Woody. She pretended not to notice he was there.

  “Where did you go to get that tea? China?”

  “Is there enough ice for you, Mama?”

  Rose stabbed at the liquid with a tea spoon. “Looks fine.”

  PC cast a glance over her shoulder. “What was that was about?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What Frank and Woody were talking about. Bernadette.”

  Rose toyed with the container of sugar packets. “If I knew anything about her, I’ve forgotten it.”

  Have you? Or you just don’t want to tell me? “Okay.”

  Sadie brought their food. PC’s spud was a mutant colossus that looked half as big as Cordite. At least I’ve got lunch for tomorrow, too. And the next day. She probed it tentatively with her fork.

  Rose grinned over a brisket sandwich. “I’ve missed this place so much!”

  “You know what? You’re right, Mama.”

  Rose paused, a forkful of coleslaw almost to her lips. “About what?”

  “Well, Possumwood. It’s really changed a lot since I left.”

  “I told you! We’ve got all sorts of amenities. Without all the big city traffic.”

  “Yeah. Seems like a lot of people either stayed here or came back after college and started businesses.” But I can’t wait to get out of here.

  “Like Frank Smith. Possumwood wouldn’t be the same without the Brisk Rib.”

  I wonder how Tran’s doing with those old yearbooks. Are the Possumwood Panthers online? If I can find Frank Smith, maybe I can find Bernadette, or at least, how she died. “I’m sure you’re right, Mama.”

  Rose prattled on about how she would be keeping her resolutions this year. New Year, new you! PC nodded and mumbled the occasional “Mmhum.” She was turning over puzzle pieces in her head. Seemed like half the town had a reason to hate Heather Micah–revenge can be a powerful motive. But how many of them had means and opportunity?

  Felix Jorgensen had a very public altercation with the victim, but he was working at his restaurant at the time of the murder.

  Drew Berlusconi lost a lot of money because of Heather’s interference. But there wasn’t any evidence that he was ever at the nursing home.

  Victoria Deen, who was conspicuously absent from the Thursday night sermon, thought Heather might be trying to hook up with the good reverend. She clearly doesn’t trust her husband. Jealousy kills.

  Durelle Fennec despised Heather. She was working at Azalea Manor when the murder happened. Motive and opportunity. Did she have the means? It’s plausible. Heather died of a broken neck, with blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Could be she fell. After she was shoved.

  Frank Smith blamed her for the death of Bernadette. Sister? Girlfriend? Pet? For all I know, she ran over his dog. Accidentally, of course. Need more information.

  “Primrose? Honey, are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Don’t you like your potato? You’ve hardly touched it.”

  PC set her naked fork on the edge of her plate. “It’s fine. Just not as hungry as I thought. I’ll get a to-go box.”

  A bottom crust of bread and a pool of coleslaw dressing were all that remained on Rose’s plate. PC smiled at the dish. It was good to see her mother getting back to her usual self. The detective got up to ask Sadie for a box and was handed a cardboard container.

  “Now, ma’am just so you know, that box’s got seeds in it. If you put it out in your flowerbed, you can grow you some basil and stuff.”

  “How about that? Thanks.”

  Is this even going to hold that monster spud? She frowned at the potato on her plate. While she was dissecting her leftovers and Tetris-ing the pieces into the container, the cowbell clanged, and suddenly Hiro Tran was at their table.

  “I saw your car out front and thought you’d want to know–your brother’s just been arrested for the murder of Heather Micah.”

  Chapter 11

  “What?” Rose grabbed the edges of the table to steady herself.

  PC reached out to touch her mother’s hands. “What’s going on? Why was he arrested?”

  Tran sat down in one of the empty chairs. “Two of the victim’s hairs were found on his clothes. There were a few drops of blood on the floor–someone tried to wipe them up but missed a spot–that belonged to a male. DNA’s not back on it yet. Your brother’s hands had several scratches.”

  “How is the DNA back on the hair, but not the blood?”

  “There wasn’t a root, but they’re trying for mitochondrial DNA. They did a microscopic hair strand comparison to Heather’s, though.”

  “You are aware that’s been mostly debunked, right?”

  “Not my call.”

  “So far, everything you have is circumstantial.”

  “Not everything.”

  PC shifted in her chair. “Go on.”

  “Rocky’s phone was found under the blanket with Heather’s body.”

  Rose started taking rapid, shallow breaths. “What are you sayin’?”

  “Mama, focus on your breathing. You hyperventilating and passing out isn’t going to do anybody any good.”

  She turned to Tran. “You’re investigating my brother, but you’re feeding me information and asking for my help. Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  Tran fiddled with the silverware packet at his seat. “Well…”

  Hesitation. You’re hiding something, are you? “Do you think the investigation’s being botched?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  But you think it. “I’m sure you realize your boss won’t be happy if he finds out you’ve been talking to me about the case.”

  “I know. I…”

  PC’s heart nearly broke when she saw tears streaming down her mother’s face. “Mama, we’re going to do everything we can. It’s going to be okay.”

  Tran looked miserably down at the table. “Mrs. Donovan? When you sold the ShopStop to my grandparents, they were so incredibly grateful for a chance at the American Dream. Bà thought the world of you.”

  “Your grandmother was a genuinely nice lady. I felt lucky I was able to sell the place so quickly after… what happened.”

  The plastic tumbler clunked on the table when PC set it down. There would be time for emo
tions later. Now, they would just get in the way. “Hiro. Thank you for helping. We really appreciate it.” Now go.

  Rose blotted her eyes with her napkin. “I know it looks bad for Rocky, but he didn’t do this. Lord knows he’s wandered far off the straight and narrow, but a murderer?” She shook her head. “No. That’s just not him.”

  You might be surprised what people are capable of, Mama. PC patted her mother’s hands. “If we’re going to prove Rocky didn’t kill Heather, we need to find out who did. In the meantime, I need you to call Uncle Raymond and get a lawyer over to the jail.”

  “Durelle.” Rose smacked the table with the flat of her hand. “Why don’t you just ask her–I’m sure she can tell you where Rocky was that evening.”

  Tran shook his head. “We tried that, but no one knows where she is.”

  Very convenient, if you happen to be the killer, Ms. Fennec. “So what you’re saying is that someone who had motive, means, and opportunity to kill Heather has skipped town, but you’re arresting Rocky, who has absolutely no motive? He could have dropped his phone, or set it down somewhere, and anyone could have picked it up and placed it with the body. Especially someone who wanted to frame him to take the heat off themselves. Were there any fingerprints?”

  “Just Rocky’s.”

  “They could have worn gloves. It’s a nursing home - people use gloves constantly.”

  Hiro shook his head slightly. “That may be true, but I don’t have any gloves. Only the phone. There are trashcans full of gloves–what would it prove to check them all for DNA? You said yourself that everybody there uses them.”

  Rose sniffled and got up to make her phone call outside. PC watched her hobble through the double doors and into the pale sun.

  “This is the last thing Mama needs while she’s trying to recover from her operation.”

  “I’m sorry. But I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m sorry if it doesn’t come out that way.”

  “Understood. I’ve got to get back to the station.”

  Flight is probably the surest sign of guilt. Where did you fly to, Ms. Fennec? PC tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel, a tic she’d developed when deep in thought. She’d just left Rose at the city jail with her Uncle Raymond, in hopes of getting Rocky bailed out of the slammer. But given that he was being held on suspicion of murder, there was a good chance that wouldn’t happen. She nearly missed the driveway for Azalea Manor. She had to look around for herself–she didn’t trust Woody to do a proper investigation. When the most common crime a department deals with on a regular basis is the high school kids getting drunk under the bridge… they didn’t handle many–any–homicides, did they? It wasn’t their fault they had no experience. And lucky them.