The beer gut wasn’t even the worst of it. He’d long since traded in his dreams of being a personal trainer for a nine-to-five job selling life insurance. The man had hit more than just the actuarial tables hard, and all the drinking had taken its toll. Even more, despite the fact that anyone could see he was in rough shape, he didn’t show signs of improving anytime soon.
“Hope springs eternal,” he said.
Some things never changed. From the moment he met me back in high school and found out my name was Hope, he said that line to me every time he saw me.
“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” I replied.
He chuckled. “Yeah. I just wish it was true.”
I squinted. “What do you mean?”
He clarified his statement. “That hope really did spring eternal.”
“Oh.”
“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“I wanted to tell you I’m really sorry,” I said.
“About what?”
Just how drunk was he? Why did he even have to ask a question that ridiculous? Was he really going to make me spell it out for him?
“I know that your dad turned himself in to the police.”
“Yeah. That.”
He sighed then took a big swig of his beer. What he didn’t do was elaborate at all. He looked like he didn’t even want to say the word “murder,” like it was too painful. I didn’t blame him. At the same time, it brought an awkwardness to the conversation as a silence fell between us.
I waited for him to continue. When it seemed like he was going to leave me hanging, I opened my mouth to break the ice, but thankfully, he finally spoke up.
“I need another beer. Do you want to come in?” he asked.
I spoke too soon. Mistakenly, I thought he was going to make a comment about his father. None came. David left me at the door as he went inside to get another beer. As I had questions that I wanted answered, he didn’t leave me with much choice but to follow him inside.
David didn’t waste any time, immediately grabbing a new can of beer from his fridge. He cracked it open and threw it back.
I looked at him like he was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell of his former self. He saw me staring at both him and his beer and became a little self-conscious.
“Do you want one?” he asked.
I turned him down, politely. “No.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. More for me.”
Like with his mother before, there was no easy to get the answers I was looking for. I decided that, like tearing off a bandage, it was best to just do it quickly.
“I know it’s a bad time—” I started saying.
David cut me off. “You aren’t kidding about that. This is an awful time.”
As hard as he was making it for me, I pressed on. “That being said, I have to talk to you about something important.”
He saw my struggle to get the words out. “Just say it. It couldn’t be any worse than what I’m going through right now.”
“I talked to your father…in jail.”
It seemed like David had spoken too soon. He looked like he wanted to take his statement back. I saw a new level of sadness in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“I couldn’t believe it, that he was in jail, that he’d turned himself in, that he’d confessed to murder.”
David remained silent, deciding to take another chug of his beer rather than to reply.
“Can you believe it?” I continued.
“No,” he said.
David really wasn’t giving me much to go on here. I had to really work for every reply.
“Do you think he actually did it?” I asked.
He tensed up before exhaling long and hard. “No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. That’s why I’m so confused. Do you have any idea why he turned himself in for a crime he didn’t commit?”
David shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s what your mother said, too.”
“You talked to my mom?”
I nodded. “I wanted to make sure she was all right.”
“You have a really good heart, you know that?”
“I try. Just like I’m trying to piece this all together.”
He snickered. “It’s hard to piece things together that don’t make sense.”
David seemed to be short on answers, but I didn’t let that stop me. All I needed was one lead or one break. Either would do.
“Did your father come over here the night of the murder?” I asked.
He furrowed his brow. “No. Why?”
“Your mom told me he went out for a walk to get some air between eight and nine the night of the murder. I wondered if maybe he came here. If he did, it could prove he couldn’t have killed Walter.”
“I wish I could tell you he was here, but it was just me and my television here that night. Sorry.”
I grimaced. So much for that idea.
“Don’t apologize yet. Maybe you can still help me.”
“How?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea who might have really killed Walter?”
He shrugged his shoulders again. “It beats me. I don’t have any more idea about that than I do about why my dad would turn himself in when I know he’s not guilty.”
It was hard not to let the rapid succession of bad news get to me.
“I wish I had answers for you, but life isn’t making a whole lot of sense these days,” he added.
Realizing that I wasn’t going to get any useful information from David, I gave him a hug then reluctantly moved on.
Chapter Ten
After back-to-back conversation filled with plenty of grief but no answers, my mood had soured while my hunger had ramped up. I knew one stop that could solve both of my problems. My taste buds didn’t ever need much convincing, but they immediately jumped at the idea of grabbing a snack.
Dessert called and with it, hopefully, a much-needed boost in my spirits. I entered Home Sweet Home Cooking with a yen for a lemon bar. As timing would have it, I wasn’t the only one who was in the mood for a sweet treat. After I had said a quick hello to my boyfriend, I grabbed my snack and made my way to a table to savor every bite. That’s when I spotted another familiar face.
It was Adam Leary, Sadie’s old fiancé. Unlike David Cambridge, Adam hadn’t let his body go. Although, if he had a few too many lemon bars, his waistline would not thank him. The thirty-nine-year-old graphic designer had a trim body, shoulder-length black hair, glasses, and a full beard. He was also going after that lemon bar on his plate like there was no tomorrow.
“Adam,” I said.
Adam reluctantly pulled himself away from his snack and turned to me, immediately noticing that I had a dessert of my own.
“Hope. You needed a snack too, huh?” he replied.
I nodded.
“I know the feeling,” he continued.
Did he ever. It had been a rough few days for Adam. Like the Cambridge family, he’d expected Walter Clayton to get convicted of murder. So when he didn’t, no doubt he’d taken the acquittal hard. The question was, how hard?
He had ample motive of his own. Sadie was his fiancé. They had the wedding date all picked out. He was madly in love with her. Then, in one instant, Walter Clayton changed everything. In the year since Sadie’s death, Adam hadn’t fully recovered from the loss.
I had heard that he hadn’t gone on a single date with a new woman, nor did he have plans to. The grief of losing his fiancé was still too much for him to deal with. His focus was trying to get through the mourning process. He was too busy wrestling with grief to think about starting a new relationship. These were all things I’d heard before Walter had been acquitted then subsequently murdered. With all that had happened in the last few days, no doubt he had an all-new set of emotions to grapple with.
“Some days it’s dessert or bust,” I said.
“Unfortunately, desser
t can only do so much. A lot of the time, it’s just enough to get me through the day,” Adam replied.
“Adam, if there’s anything I can do—”
He stopped me. “Hope, I know you mean well, but there’s nothing anyone can do. That’s the problem. After all this time, I can’t make any sense of this—Sadie’s murder, or…how Walter could have been acquitted.”
Adam was choked up. There was something else he wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Finally, he let out a deep exhale, then finished.
“Can you make sense of this?” he asked.
I shook my head. All I could think of were platitudes, which would do no good in a situation like this.
“No. Actually, with Walter’s murder, I’m more confused than ever.”
He disagreed. “I don’t know. That’s the one thing lately that’s actually made me feel better.”
I stared him down. What a brazen thing to say. He felt better with Walter having been murdered? Most people wanted Walter behind bars, not six feet underground.
I didn’t know exactly how to respond to that. Suddenly, I found myself wrestling with a few different answers. As Adam’s words hung in the air, he became self-conscious and made an attempt to revise his previous statement.
“That came out wrong.”
“How did you mean it to come out?” I asked.
“Obviously, I would have preferred if the jury had made the right decision and put him behind bars for life. But, seeing as how they didn’t, I’m glad justice has at least been served.”
He said “obviously,” but his statements were anything but. His revision was only mildly better. It made me wonder if his first statement had not been a mistake at all but rather a Freudian slip.
My expectation for this conversation had been completely turned on its head. I’d come into the restaurant for a snack, but it looked like some questions about the murder were begging to be asked. I just had to figure out how to broach the topic. After all, Adam wasn’t exactly emotionally stable.
After thinking it over, I believed I had the right approach to go with. “Yeah. It’s a crazy world we live in. I don’t know about you, but I was livid when I heard the jury read the verdict.”
His eyes lit up with rage. “I’m right with you there. They were going to let him get away with murder.”
“I spent the whole night with my boyfriend ranting about their decision. How about you? What did you do that night?”
“I just stayed home, trying to make sense of it all.”
“Did you have anyone with you to comfort you at least?”
He shook his head.
I did not like those answers. Adam had been home alone with no one to corroborate his alibi, trying to work through his anger about Walter’s acquittal. At least, those were his words. What if he wasn’t able to work through his anger and had gone over to Walter’s place to seek revenge? After all, my brother had originally thought that Adam was the prime suspect in this case. Had his hunch been correct all along?
I continued the conversation with an eye towards the investigation. “Did you know that Mark Cambridge turned himself in for the murder?”
Adam nodded.
“It’s pretty crazy, huh? I mean, who could believe he’d do something like that?” I asked.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I know him. A man like Mark, he’d never do anything like that.”
“You two were really close, weren’t you?”
That was more of a rhetorical question than anything. Before her death, Sadie had told me how happy she was that her father and fiancé got along so well. Everyone had heard the horror stories about future in-laws that hated each other. If anything, Mark and Adam were just the opposite. There was no drama between them.
Adam opened up to me. “Mark never officially became my father-in-law, but I always kind of feel like he was the father I never had.”
In a lot of ways, that made perfect sense. Adam was raised by a single mother. His biological father had never really been in his life. He’d left Adam’s mom when Adam was just a toddler. Adam didn’t have any memories of the man. When a man grew up without any fatherly influence, he often looked for that paternal influence elsewhere. Apparently, Mark Cambridge had filled that void.
After Adam’s big reveal, he looked like he was about to tear up. The situation became too much for him to bear. “Anyway, I’m getting really emotional. I’m going to head home.”
“Okay. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” I said.
Adam got up from the table and left the restaurant, but my suspicion remained behind, growing larger the more I thought about it. After all, Adam had both a motive and an unverifiable alibi. That was not a recipe for unmistakable innocence. At the same time, were those the necessary ingredients to point to his guilt?
Chapter Eleven
The cemetery where Sadie was buried was on the way home from the restaurant. Normally, I tried to avoid going by there. Every time I did, I got teary. This time, my mind was so wrapped up in thinking about why Mark Cambridge had turned himself in that I’d forgotten to find a detour around the cemetery.
As expected, as I went by, my eyes welled up. Only unlike other times, I decided to embrace my feelings. To let them pour out. Maybe it would ease some tension to let it all out.
After all, it was an emotional day. There was no way of closing myself off on an afternoon like this. So I didn’t shy away from my feelings and let the tears flow.
That wasn’t all. Since I was already there, I decided to pay her gravesite a visit. I knew it was only her body that was buried here and that her soul was up in heaven, but this was a tangible way to visit her and pay my respects one more time.
Sadie’s headstone was dark gray and about three feet tall. It wasn’t flashy at all, like some of those other gaudy cemetery plots were sometimes. That kind of ostentatiousness didn’t suit her. She’d always been humble in life, so why would she be flashy in death?
When I arrived at her grave, my focus shifted elsewhere. A bouquet of flowers was on the grass in front of the headstone. Someone had been here recently. But who? There was no way to tell. It could have been anyone. Still, it would have been nice to know.
Before I could fully contemplate who had brought the flowers, I realized that I had unexpected company. Patsy Davidson, a retired septuagenarian math teacher who I’d once had for arithmetic, was kneeling at the adjacent tombstone. Whenever I thought of Patsy, one quote always came to my mind—“Even when life didn’t add up, math always did.” She used to say that all the time in class.
I hadn’t seen Patsy in years. This was hardly the best place to reconnect. She didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk anyway.
Patsy was praying hard in front of the gravestone. The timing of us running into each other was quite odd. There we were, in this big cemetery, with no one else around. Not even a gardener in sight. Yet we just happened to come visit grave sites that were right beside each other.
I got ready to close my eyes and pray silently to Sadie. Before the words came to me, Patsy spoke up.
“Hope?”
Apparently I was wrong. Patsy was looking for a conversation. It turned out that prayer would have to wait. I turned to Patsy. She appeared to be trying to hold back tears.
“Hi, Mrs. Davidson.”
She preferred that I took a less formal approach. “You can call me Patsy.”
“Of course. Sorry, Mrs. Davidson.” So much for heeding her advice. I corrected myself. “I mean, Patsy. Calling you Mrs. Davidson is just a force of habit from my school days.”
“It’s quite all right.”
Now that we’d sorted out the technicalities of how to address her, it was time to get down to more important matters.
“You look like you could use a hug,” I said.
“I suppose I do,” she replied.
I leaned in and gave her a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I was confused. If there was one place where an apology wasn’t necessary, it was at a cemetery. After all, who didn’t have a sad story to tell here?
“What do you have to be sorry about?” I asked.
“I didn’t realize I’d still get so emotional after all this time.”
Patsy’s story was a tragic one. Two years ago, her only daughter had lost her battle with lung cancer at the all-too-young age of forty-three. Emily Davidson had been nobly fighting the disease for thirty-eight months before tragically passing away. Like that, the once-promising pharmacist, not to mention pride and joy of her mother, was gone.
As was to be expected, Patsy took the loss hard. The only real surprise was how long the grieving process had lasted. Even now, a full two years after her passing, Patsy was as broken up as ever. When I looked into her eyes, I doubted that she’d ever be the same again.
I turned a sympathetic eye to her. “After losing your daughter, how could you not get emotional?”
It was more than that. Patsy had the look of someone who hadn’t made the least bit of progress in moving on. Like she was incapable of it. As if she was resigned to spending the rest of her life in various stages of grief. Raw emotions began pouring out of her. “They say that time heals all wounds, but this one still feels like there’s salt in it.”
There was a new tug at my heartstrings each time she responded with such sorrow.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said.
I wished that I could come up with something better, but words betrayed me. All I could think to do was just extend my sympathy and give her a shoulder to cry on if she wanted one.
She continued letting her emotions spill out. “To this day, I still ask how this could have happened. It just doesn’t add up.”
Hope Hadley Eight Book Cozy Mystery Set Page 33