Manor of Death

by Holly Dey

  “We’ve met.”

  “Their nephew, Stuart, lived with them off and on while he was going to college. Vicki took up with him while she was waiting on Joshua to quit pining after Heather.”

  “Interesting. Seems a long time to hold a grudge, but…” PC shrugged.

  As Rocky had predicted, the judge didn’t grant bail at the arraignment. PC was keenly aware that if she didn’t solve this case, her brother might be facing life in prison, or worse–headed for the Polunsky Unit in Huntsville. Death Row.

  It was Tuesday afternoon before she could meet with Hiro Tran.

  “You’re not worried about someone noticing your car parked out in front of my Mama’s house?” PC asked when he knocked on the door.

  He laughed. “My girlfriend lives next door.”

  PC’s brow furrowed. “Nothing wrong with dating older women, but isn’t Mrs. Youn… married?”

  “Of course. But her daughter, Annie, isn’t.”

  “Ah. I’d never seen her.”

  “She’s one of the dispatchers–she sometimes works weird hours.”

  “That would explain it.” PC let out a breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Victoria Deen. I’m aware she showed up at the station on Sunday to give a statement about seeing Rocky at the nursing home. He’d just gotten a job there, so of course he’d be around. The thing is… Victoria wasn’t there. Mama noticed she was missing while everybody was taking their seats, and I never saw her after the DB turned up. If she wasn’t there, how did she see my brother?”

  “Good question. Although your mom’s not exactly an unbiased witness.”

  PC shrugged. “But she had no way of knowing that Heather was dead and Rocky was going to get blamed for it at the time.” She reached for a three-ring binder. “I did find out who Bernadette was.”

  “Yeah?”

  PC opened the binder and flipped through a few of the sheet protector-covered pages. “Her last name was Peyronel. She was in a lot of yearbook photos with Frank Smith, so they must have been close. Anyway, she left about halfway through senior year. Over the summer, she turned up dead on the side of the road just outside of Dallas, a victim of the I-35 Strangler. Although how this relates to Heather Micah, I have no idea.”

  “I had a conversation with Mr. Smith.”

  Irritated, PC closed the book. What else is he holding out on me? “And this didn’t seem noteworthy?”

  “No. He has an airtight alibi for the night of Heather’s murder. And he told me all about Bernadette. Right before mid-terms that year, Heather asked him to give her his pre-cal homework to copy, and he refused. Out of spite, Heather told Bernadette that she was pregnant with Frank’s baby. Distraught, Bernadette ran away from home, and ended up… well, you know what happened to her.”

  “Easy to see why Frank hated her.”

  “She didn’t seem to be very popular around here, that’s for sure.”

  “So why did she come back? She burned every bridge she ever crossed. Her mother died and her sister moved away. No one was welcoming her with open arms. So, why? I think if we can figure that one out, we’ll have all but solved this case.”

  Tran gave her a sardonic smile. “You got a Ouija board?”

  “If only it was that easy!” She frowned. “Just out of curiosity, has anybody filed a missing persons report on Durelle Fennec?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Something else you’re not telling me?

  He suddenly glanced at his chest, then took his phone out of his shirt pocket. “That’s Annie. She’s home.”

  PC waved as if to shoo him away. “Go.”

  “Just so you know–Chief Wilson is going to request help from the Texas Rangers with the investigation. They’ll probably be here by the end of the week.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.”

  She watched him walking toward the front door, trying to be careful and not knock over any of her mother’s knickknacks that crouched on low shelves and odd end tables with his duty belt.

  “Mama? Is there anything you need? I’m going out for a little bit.”

  “Could you bring back some cat food?”

  “Sure.”

  The detective got in the car and drove out to Azalea Manor. She had a hunch. No one had reported Fennec missing, so her employer probably knew where she was, even if that waspish lady in her office refused to say.

  When PC pulled into the parking lot, she noticed a woman sitting in her dusty car, putting on makeup. She got out and tapped on the window.

  The driver’s face came into view as the window retreated into the door. “Can we do this another time?” asked Director Fennec. She looked even more sad and tired than usual.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Rocky’s been arrested, and he’s being held on suspicion of murder. You can corroborate his alibi–he needs all the help he can get right now.”

  Fennec sighed. “I just got back from my auntie’s funeral. I need some peace.”

  “I understand that, ma’am. But if anybody could use a second, or third chance right now, it’s Rocky. All the evidence against him is circumstantial, but it looks pretty bad.”

  Fennec closed her eyes and sighed again, a long, slow exhalation that rattled in her chest. “Fine. I’ll go see him in the morning. Is he in county?”

  “No, city jail.”

  “Okay. And I’ll have a word with the chief while I’m there. Make a statement.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Sure, sure. Why don’t you get outta here and let me get on with my day, mkay?”

  “Of course.” PC stepped backward. “But there’s just one more thing. Do you remember seeing Victoria Deen here on the night of the murder?”

  Fennec thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, no. But I was busy doing other things.”

  PC took the long way around to Marberger’s Grocery. Driving the back roads would help her focus on what pieces of evidence she had. She was glad that Durelle Fennec didn’t seem to be involved.

  Who had motive to kill Heather Micah? Might be easier to count people who didn’t.

  Means? Heather had probably been shoved, and she fell and hit her head on the metal bedrail. Doesn’t rule out many.

  Opportunity. Who was there at Azalea Manor on Thursday night? Rocky, of course. But he had no motive. Durelle Fennec? If she’d killed Heather, she probably wouldn’t have come back to Possumwood from her aunt’s funeral. Pastor Deen? If he had a motive, PC wasn’t aware of it. It was entirely possible that someone else there for the sermon had an unknown motive, but Victoria Deen had been going to a lot of effort to pin the murder on Rocky. Was it that she just didn’t like him, and her prejudice convinced her he was guilty? Was she covering up for someone else whom she knew or believed to be guilty? Or was she trying to deflect suspicion from herself? The only problem is that no one had seen her at the nursing home that night.

  Now that the cavalry was coming, perhaps this case would get a move on. She had worked with several of the DPS investigators. They were top notch, but would they be able to dig up any more evidence than Possumwood PD already had?

  The detective sighed as she pulled into a parking slot. It was still early enough that the store wouldn’t be filled with shoppers stopping by to grab dinner ingredients on the way home from work, but not for much longer.

  Her mother needed cat food, and Cordite was out of dental chews. She could make a targeted strike on the pet aisle and be done.

  “PC! Are you still in town?”

  She turned. Joshua Deen bore down on her from the housewares aisle with a box of lightbulbs in his hand.

  “Yes. Helping Mama while she’s getting over her hip surgery.”

  He tucked the box under one arm and took her hand in both of his, squeezing uncomfortably hard. PC flinched.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother.” He released her hand.

  “What have you heard?”

  “That he killed that woman. That’s why
he’s locked up, right?” His laser-whitened teeth gleamed behind a fake sympathetic smile.

  PC bristled. “By ‘that woman,’ do you mean Heather Micah, your ex-girlfriend?”

  “Heather was a troubled soul.” His eyes narrowed. “We broke up a long time ago. I owe her a debt of gratitude, though. That breakup is what inspired me to go to seminary school. It changed my life.” He looked at his right shoe.

  “Did you see her while she was in town?”

  He shifted his weight and changed his stance a little. “No. Not until the incident at Azalea Manor.”

  PC noticed a small dot of blood, about the size of an M&M, on Deen’s oatmeal-heather thermal shirt, about level with his armpit and just above his left nipple. “What did you do to yourself? You’re bleeding.”

  He looked down at his chest and swallowed. “Oh… we have the orneriest shrubs in town. I tried trimming off a wayward branch, but the bush won.” Another fake smile. “I should probably go and get that in the laundry. It was nice to see you.”

  She watched him hurry out of the supermarket. He’d kept up his workout routine–still looked like a football player. She picked up the pet supplies and was on her way back to the car when her phone rang.

  “What is it, Mama? Did you need something else from Marberger’s?”

  “No, honey. I need you to come home and help me. Guinevere’s out again!”

  Chapter 14

  PC tossed the grocery bag into the car. “Again? Alright, I’m just getting in the car. I’ll stop by the Parker’s on the way home.”

  “You do that. I’m gonna call Daisy and see if her boys can come help.”

  “See you soon.”

  Since Mr. Parker had told her he’d never hurt Gwen, well, not seriously, she felt less urgency than the first time. But still. It was not very neighborly to let your donkey chow down on someone else’s prize roses.

  She headed straight for the Parkers’.

  To her dismay, the rose bushes had been heavily pruned, and there was not so much as a leaf or orange hip to attract a hungry burro.

  Damn.

  PC decided to take the cat food home and gather some donkey-wrangling supplies, namely molasses treats and a halter and lead, before she set out again. Also, a flashlight and a jacket would be handy.

  Cordite was desperate to go outside, so she left the pet groceries on the table and snapped on his leash. As she followed his weaving around the yard, looking for the perfect place on the perfect tree, she wondered if he remembered anything from the nose work classes she’d taken him to. They hadn’t practiced in… well, she couldn’t remember the last time. But he had been an enthusiastic learner.

  After he selected the prime spot and did his doo diligence, she took him inside and put the safety orange reflecting harness on him.

  “Honey, what are you doin’? Now’s not the time to walk your dog!”

  “Mama, he’s been to scent work class. Maybe he’ll remember something and be able to track her. ‘Cause I have no idea where to look. Mr. Parker’s pruned his roses, so there’s nothing for her there.”

  Rose smiled at Cordite, although she was a bit too unsteady to lean over and give him a pat. “You be a good boy and find my Guinevere. There’s some chicken jerky in it for you if you do.”

  There would be chicken jerky, regardless. “Are you really trying to bribe my dog?” PC shook her head. “I’m going to get Gwen’s halter and some cookies. Hopefully, we’ll be back soon.”

  “Be careful. It’s gettin’ dark.”

  PC waved the Maglite as she dashed out the door, Cordite leading the way.

  After she retrieved a feed bucket and tossed a handful of horse cookies into it, she had to hand over some treats to Arthur, the half-blind donkey, and Hazel, the tripod goat, since they made such a fuss the moment they heard the crinkle of the plastic bag. PC knelt down to give Cordite a good sniff of Gwen’s halter.

  “Find it!”

  Cordite immediately began snuffling the ground, running in circles. He almost slid to a stop in front of one of the flowerbeds, then started digging in the azaleas.

  “Cordite! Stop that!”

  He snatched at something in the dirt before she pulled him away. It took PC a minute to figure out that it was an old, half-chewed pig’s ear dog treat.

  “I told her not to give you those. Drop it.”

  The dog lowered his head, disappointed. The decomposing ear tumbled to the ground.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get something better when we get back.” She held the halter for him again and said, “Find it!”

  Cordite put his sniffer to the grass and started following a zig-zag path. He bolted for the edge of the yard and PC jogged to keep up, not wanting to hinder his progress. The dog stopped under the big white oak tree and raised his head, sniffing. Then he raised his leg and peed on the tree.

  “I guess you don’t really remember much of scent work training after all.”

  The terrier put his nose down and tugged at the leash. She let him lead her down the street, not having much hope that he’d find Guinevere. But what else was she going to do? It wouldn’t be any worse than her walking around with the flashlight and shaking the feed bucket.

  Cordite didn’t even slow down as he passed the Parkers’ house. He paused at a crossroad and PC started to wonder if he was onto something. The dog chose a street and trotted off, PC jogging at the end of the lead heading towards downtown.

  It was dark enough now that PC turned on the flashlight. She could see the lights of the Biersal Brewpub on the right a few blocks away, and a lighted gate on the other side of the street from it.

  She shook the bucket. “Guinevere! Gwenny!”

  There was no response. Cordite veered hard to the left.

  Glad there’s no traffic! Crazy dog.

  She followed him. He was loping along on his short little legs, but he stopped suddenly from time to time to sniff at random things, nearly sending PC sprawling more than once. She could now read the sign in front of the lighted gate.

  Happily Ever Afters.

  Of course! They have that huge rosebush hedge.

  “Gwenny! Guinevere! C’mon girl!” She shook the feed bucket. This time, she was answered by a snort and a loud Eeeyaw!

  PC shone the flashlight along the hedge. About thirty yards away, she could see most of Guinevere protruding from the shrubbery.

  “Get out of there, you nut!” She rattled the feed bucket again.

  Gwen withdrew her head, chewing languidly. PC was dismayed at the size of the hole the donkey had made. Something was stuck in her thick forelock. At first PC thought it was a stick, but realized it was a bamboo knitting needle. Sparkles caught her eye, and she trained the flashlight along the bottom of the hedge. A trail of broken glass. Another ten feet or so down from where Guinevere had attempted to tunnel into the wedding venue, PC found a cellphone in the bushes. What was left of one, anyway. Someone had smashed it up pretty good.

  She had no gloves or evidence bags, so she called Hiro Tran. Gwen enjoyed her cookies, as PC doled them out one at a time, while she waited for the officer.

  Annie, the dispatcher, was in the car with him when he arrived ten minutes later.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening–I realize you’re off duty–but I think I found Heather’s phone.”

  The donkey brayed loudly. Eeyaweeyaweeyaw!

  “Okay, technically, Guinevere found it.”

  “Isn’t that your mother’s burro?” Annie asked.

  “Yes. She got out, looking for roses to devour, and found the phone, and Cordite found her. There’s a knitting needle stuck in her forelock. You might want to take that in as well. And test it for blood.”

  “Blood? Okay, then. I hope it is Heather’s phone. Still haven’t gotten her records from the phone company.”

  “With any luck, the SIM will still be readable.” PC scratched Gwen’s shoulder. “Um, if you could keep my name out of this, I’d appreciate it.”

>   “Why?” asked Annie.

  “Woody–Chief Wilson–and I have… some history. It’ll just make him mad, and I don’t want him to take it out on Tran. Or take it up with me. Just better that way.”

  “The killer’s number has got to be on that phone. You don’t want any credit for closing the case?” Tran asked.

  PC smiled. “No. I’m retired, remember? Anyway, I’ve got to get Guinevere home. C’mon Cordite. Let’s go get that chicken jerky Mama promised you.”

  Besides, I’m pretty sure I know who the killer is.

  Chapter 15

  PC was certain she knew who, how, and when. She just didn’t know why Heather was killed. She pulled out the manila folder that Tran had given her containing the photos of Heather’s personal effects and spread the pictures out on her bed.

  A carry-on roller bag.

  Three outfits. All designer. All expensive.

  Makeup, moisturizer, a toothbrush, and a tiny tube of toothpaste.

  The eviction notice.

  The storage rental receipt.

  The newspaper clipping from forty years ago. Article about band funds being stolen. Continuation of the story about her father’s murder and Coach Able’s fatal car accident.

  Heather had run out of money. She thought a quick trip to Possumwood would remedy that situation. The stolen band money couldn’t have been more than a couple of thousand dollars, if that much. If she knew where that money was after all this time, or who had taken it, she wasn’t likely to do more than break even, after the plane ticket and hotel. No, she was expecting a big payoff. And fast. Someone she knew would pay, perhaps because she’d blackmailed them before? Who had she made a point of visiting when she arrived?

  She’d been kicked out of Truffles!, the Jorgensen’s restaurant.

  PC had witnessed her getting booted from Drew’s art gallery.

  Woody had picked Heather up from the gallery and taken her back to her hotel.

  She’d gone to the Thursday evening service at the nursing home, so that could include any number of people. But no, there was one person Heather knew would be there, the one who ended up killing her. Someone with a deep, dark secret.