Murder Most Lovely

by Hank Edwards

  “Won’t you be coming with us?” Ezra said, looking disappointed.

  “No, Jazz and I need to give statements down at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Oh? Is everything all right?”

  “Much better, actually. It looks like the people responsible for Dylan Roberts’s murder have been arrested.”

  Shoving his glasses up his nose with his index finger, Ezra widened his eyes. “Did you help arrest them?”

  “Jazz and I both did. So we need to give the sheriff our statements of what happened.”

  “I didn’t realize mortuary science could be so exciting.”

  Michael chuckled at the awe in his apprentice’s tone. “It’s usually not like this, trust me. This case was quite unique. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I’d be out this morning.”

  “Don’t we have an appointment with the Atwood family this morning?”

  “Oh, yes.” Michael had been so caught up with the murder, Jazz, and Mr. Pickles’s kidnapping, he’d all but forgotten. Thankfully his life would be getting back to its humdrum normal after today.

  He smiled. Well, not so humdrum with Jazz in it.

  Michael could tell Musgrave he had to work this morning, but Jazz didn’t have appointments until three o’clock, and Michael had hoped they could have a nice long lunch after they gave their statements. Ezra was a calm young man and well trained. He could handle the family’s visit. After all, what was the point of taking an apprentice if Michael didn’t get an occasional break and Ezra never got a chance to prove himself? Michael had been so distracted with worry over Mr. Pickles the day before that Ezra had done most of the work preparing Mrs. Atwood, and his work had been impeccable.

  “Ezra, would you mind meeting with Mrs. Atwood’s family? Kitty will be here if you have any questions. She usually assists with picking out caskets and some of the more personal touches. But I think you can handle it on your own.”

  Ezra’s eyes widened like he’d just been presented with a new kitten. “Really? You’d trust me with that, sir?”

  Michael patted the enthusiastic man’s shoulder, chest swelling with a little pride at the almost hero-worship he saw in Ezra’s eyes. He’d never been a mentor before, and he was starting to like it. “Yes, Ezra. You’re fine at your job. And Kitty will be here if you need anything. You can fill me in on everything when I get back after lunch, okay?”

  Nodding quickly, Ezra grew serious. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t.”

  “After I speak with the Atwoods, I’ll make sure the entire preparation room is clean and ready for Mrs. Goldfarb. I’ll find someone to sit with her while I’m with the Atwoods too. Perhaps Steve?”

  “Sounds good.” Per Jewish tradition, Mrs. Goldfarb’s interment would happen quickly, and her arrangements had already been made years ago. It was a shame her body had been unattended for however long, but Michael was glad Ezra was so thoughtful about wanting to follow shemira—sitting and watching a body before burial—for their elderly client.

  Ezra smiled, and his gaze flicked to Michael’s hair. “Did you change your hairstyle?”

  Michael ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious about his unkempt appearance. “Oh, not knowingly. I was rushing this morning and forgot to comb it.”

  Ezra nodded. “I see. That’s good. I like how you normally wear it, though.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks. That’s nice to hear. I’ll leave you to it, then, Ezra.”

  “That sounds lovely, Michael. Thank you.”

  Michael returned to the main level where Kitty was scheduling Jazz to take care of Rachel Atwood’s final preparations for her funeral. It would most likely be this weekend sometime.

  “I know you’ll make her look amazing,” Kitty said, scratching notes in her day planner.

  “She’ll be an angel,” Jazz said. “Thanks again. I appreciate the opportunity to style my ladies one last time.”

  Michael paused in the doorway to watch Jazz, his belly fluttering as he recalled the beautiful sentiments Jazz had shared on the first day they met under his umbrella in the rain. I don’t know where they’re going in the next life, but I’ll be damned if any of my clients get to the other side with their hair a wreck.

  Had that only been a few days ago?

  My how quickly he was falling for the man.

  “Well, we appreciate willing assistance for our clients,” Kitty said, then leaned in over her desk and lowered her voice dramatically. “Misty never liked coming over here. The job totally creeped her out.”

  “A lot of things creep Misty out,” Jazz said, his voice lowered to match Kitty’s. “She has a thing against sports mascots too. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Mascots?”

  Jazz chuckled. “Yeah, once when the bakery next door had Percy the Pirate parrot from the high school football team there for an event, Misty just disappeared. Soon as she heard a parrot pirate mascot was there, she high-tailed it out of the salon, got in her car, and went home. Left us all with her clients.”

  Kitty laughed, a deep sultry sound. “You’re kidding?”

  Jazz made a Boy Scout salute. “If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.”

  Clearing his throat, Michael announced his presence and Kitty and Jazz turned. Kitty looked guilty at being caught gossiping, but Jazz beamed at him. “All ready, sweetie?”

  Kitty arched her brows at the endearment, but Michael ignored her teasing smile. “Yes,” he answered, then addressed Kitty. “Ezra will be handling the meeting with the Atwood family this morning while I’m out. Can you make sure you’re available to assist him if he needs it?”

  “Of course, but….” Her face creased in disapproval. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s not….”

  “He’s not what?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought about it, still frowning, then put her hands firmly on her hips. “He’s not you, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t want our families… well? I don’t want him to make them uncomfortable.”

  Michael smiled at her. “I know he’s young and that might surprise the family, but I assure you, Ezra will do just fine.”

  “If you say so.” But Kitty didn’t look convinced. “I’ll make sure my schedule is clear so I can meet the family with him.”

  Not exactly giving Ezra a full shot, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. If Kitty wanted to be overly protective of their clients, well, that was a good thing, he supposed.

  They said their see-you-laters and headed out. Dark clouds were rolling in fast from over Lake Michigan, so they decided to drive the six blocks to the sheriff’s. Michael found an angled spot right outside the doors, and they entered the building.

  Deputy Tanner—Greg—told them to take a seat and someone would be with them shortly. Michael fidgeted a bit on the uncomfortable bench and Jazz put a hand on his knee.

  “Relax,” Jazz said. “It’s almost done.”

  “I know. I’m just nervous. I never know what Musgrave will say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  MICHAEL TWISTED right and left to stretch his back. They’d been waiting about twenty minutes, and he was getting restless.

  “I think Musgrave wants us to squirm a little,” Jazz whispered. “Maybe it’s part of his interrogation tactic. Make us sweat so we confess.”

  “If we’d been in any real trouble, we would’ve been arrested last night.”

  Jazz grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Think we would have been cellmates?”

  Michael grinned back. “Do I detect a prison fetish?”

  Before Jazz could respond, the door opened and a big man in a suit years out of style gave them a bored look. “Mr. Dilworth?”

  Jazz stood up. “That’s me.”

  “I’m Detective Bishop. Come on back and I’ll take your statement.”

  “Oh.” Jazz glanced down at Michael. “We’re not giving them together?”

  “Nope. Let’s go.”

  Jazz flashed Mi
chael a quick and nervous smile before he disappeared through the door. The man interviewing Jazz had a Musgrave-esque vibe, and Michael didn’t recognize him. He hoped Jazz wasn’t being given an unnecessary hard time. Five minutes later, a woman called Michael back. He vaguely recognized her.

  “I’m Sandra Clark, assistant prosecutor for the seventh district,” the woman said as she led the way to a tiny, windowless conference room.

  “Oh, yes, I thought I recognized you.” He’d had telephone conferences with Leo Cramden, her boss, and had seen her in their offices in Harbor Junction over the years.

  “Yes, don’t get much action like this in your jurisdiction, do we?”

  “And I’m glad for it.”

  Sandra agreed, then explained what information she needed from Michael. “I’ll be making a recording of your statement about the events last night.”

  Once she had everything situated, Michael explained what happened, and Sandra asked a few questions for clarification. Less than thirty minutes later, she switched off the recorder and pushed to her feet.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fleishman. I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions and if or when we may require your testimony for trial. When all the lab results are in, will you have copies forwarded to my office?” She held out a card.

  “Of course. Some of the preliminaries came yesterday. I’ll email them to you.”

  “Perfect.”

  They parted ways, and Michael found Jazz on the bench in the waiting area.

  “All good?” Jazz asked as he stood up.

  Michael shrugged. “I guess so.”

  The door to the street opened, and Sheriff Musgrave walked in. He saw the two of them and stopped.

  “Waiting to give your statements?” Musgrave asked.

  “Just finished,” Michael said. “Thank you again for working with us on this.”

  “Glad we could prove to you that we do manage to get results here,” Musgrave said. “And we found some text messages on the woman’s phone that tie her to Dylan Roberts, so we can charge them with more than catnapping.”

  “She and Dylan talked before he died?” Jazz asked.

  “He agreed to be her mule and deliver the drugs to some guy from Milwaukee named Marcus that she met on Snapchat. What the hell is a Snapchat?”

  “It’s a social network,” Jazz said. “All the kids are doing it these days.”

  “Not my daughter,” Musgrave muttered. “Anyway, we’ve got Veronica for possession with intent to sell along with murder.”

  “Why would she ask him to be a mule, then murder him?” Michael said. “And leave the drugs behind?”

  “Who knows? Maybe this Chattersnap guy convinced her to do it.”

  “Snapchat,” Jazz said.

  The sheriff waved his correction away. “From the statements we’ve managed to take from her, in between cursing us out and screaming about her daddy being in trouble, she did admit to asking Dylan Roberts to carry the drugs, but insists she didn’t kill him. But if she did kill him, she might have been interrupted before she could go fingering around up there to get them back. What we do have is a message from her telling Dylan to go to the Dune Harbor Marina and meet up with this guy from Snapchat.” Musgrave glared at Jazz as he emphasized the word.

  That perked Michael’s interest. “Did you ever locate the man we saw arguing with Mr. Withingham? Perhaps he’s Marcus from Snapchat?”

  “Maybe but unlikely. Christy said no one with that description rented a slip. None of the other boaters saw him either.”

  “What did Russell have to say about his identity?” Jazz asked with a frown.

  Musgrave frowned at Jazz. “Not that it’s your business, Dilworth, but the man was a disgruntled fan. Didn’t like the fact that Russell killed off Trudy. Had Tanner in a tizzy, thinking Trudy was another vic, but turns out she’s a character in the books.”

  “That was upsetting to fans, and Russell even received death threats over it,” Michael admitted, feeling disappointed at his detective skills and that the man arguing with Russell had been a dead end.

  Looks like you’re not the Brock Hammer you wish you were.

  But when he caught Jazz’s gaze, his chest swelled a bit.

  At least Jazz thinks I’m a badass.

  “Waiting on Judge Meyer to get my search warrant drawn up so I can get a team to go through the cottage where our perps were staying,” Musgrave went on, obviously pleased. “So there’s our case, all in a nice neat bow.”

  “How did Dylan’s body end up on Hardscrabble Beach, though?” Michael asked, not as appeased as Musgrave. “Didn’t you say the drug transfer was supposed to be at Dune Harbor Marina? But that’s way north of town. With the current, wouldn’t his remains have been discovered in Ottawa County?”

  Musgrave gave him a withering look. “It’s a lake with boats that move all around. Doubt they’d dump him in the same marina they were dealing drugs from. Must’ve headed south. Got all hands on deck searching Dune Harbor Marina now.”

  “Do you think she will confess to the murder?” Michael asked. He didn’t appreciate the sheriff’s arrogance, but there were some holes in the evidence that didn’t fit into Musgrave’s nice neat bow.

  “Of course not. That’s not how killers work. She’s denying it, as are Rocko, her muscle man, and her little pink-haired tagalong.”

  “Rocko?” Michael smirked. “His name is actually Rocko?”

  “Yeah. He’s a quiet one. All he’s said is he doesn’t know anything about a murder, and he wants a lawyer.”

  “Did you let Russell know you’ve caught Dylan’s killer?” Jazz asked.

  “No. I’ll get around to it. Prolly have to question him again, iron out the details of Dylan’s final hours. I don’t want to miss anything and risk a technicality getting any of these three off.”

  “Indeed,” Michael agreed.

  Though Sandra hadn’t treated Michael like a backwoods hick, half of their county was agricultural—asparagus farms and cherry orchards—the other half state park or the preserve run by the US Forest Service. They had fewer than ten thousand residents in their county, and a good portion of them lived on boats or at the Bluffs at Lake View. So neither Michael nor Musgrave were in their comfort zone, so to speak, with a murder. The reputations of their offices were on the line, so no mistakes could be made.

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to get back to it.” Musgrave offered them a nod. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Gladly,” Jazz said and turned on his heels to escape the building.

  Michael followed Jazz out the door. The wind had picked up, and the air smelled of approaching rain. A glance toward the lake showed white caps crashing in the wind, big swells bursting up from the breakers and onto the boardwalk. The town would most likely close the boardwalk for safety.

  The wind whipped over them, and Michael shivered and pulled out his keys. “I think Musgrave’s missing something.”

  “Like what? Humility? A brain? A sense of humor?”

  Michael chuckled, but Jazz wasn’t laughing. They got in the car, and Michael looked at Jazz’s profile. His lips were pursed and long tendrils of hair had been torn loose from his hair tie by the wind.

  “You doing okay?” Michael asked. He reached over to brush Jazz’s hair back, but Jazz was staring out the windshield and used both of his hands to push his hair back into place. Michael awkwardly dropped his hand, wishing he’d been able to do it instead.

  Jazz gave him a quick smile. “Yeah, just thinking about everything. I know Russell’s an asshole, but he really did seem to care for Dylan. I think he’d want to know Dylan’s killers have been caught.”

  “Oh?” Michael tried hard to keep the jealous edge out of his voice as he concentrated on starting his car. Things were over between Jazz and Russell. There was no need for him to feel threatened.

  But there was no need for him to let Jazz visit Russell on his own either.

  “Since neither of us
have to be to work until after lunch,” Michael said. “Why don’t we go see Russell together?”

  Jazz gave him a grateful look. “You don’t mind?”

  Well, I’m not letting you go by yourself. He wasn’t proud of this sudden jealous streak, but he couldn’t help it. Jazz was out of his league, and he feared… no. Jazz liked Michael. Last night, he’d been desperate to be with him, turned on by Michael. This morning he’d wanted to get their statements over with so “we can move forward too.”

  Tamping down his jealousy, though he feared it might resurface, Michael said, “Of course I don’t mind.”

  Jazz let out a whooshing breath. “Thanks, sweetie. I didn’t want to go over there by myself.”

  Michael smiled at the endearment. “You know where he’s staying, right?”

  “Yeah, the same cottage he always rents.”

  “He’d probably appreciate hearing the news from you rather than Musgrave. And it might give him some incentive to hurry up the divorce,” he added without thinking.

  Jazz grinned. “You seem eager to get me divorced.”

  “Do I?” Michael fidgeted with the gear shift, then grinned back. “Where’s the cottage?”

  “It’s one out in Arrowhead Acres off Lake Shore Drive. All those old fishing shacks are Airbnb gold to the owners now.”

  “Those shacks are more like mini-mansions. I can see why. Let’s go.”

  Michael drove south out of town as thunder rumbled out over the lake, booming and ominous. He suppressed another shiver at the sudden turn in the weather. Lake Shore Drive rose in elevation to the higher bluffs south of Lacetown, and Michael was grateful for the guardrail with the rising wind. He took a right and pointed his Camry toward Arrowhead Acres, the little neighborhood of fishing shacks turned glamorous, and slowly cruised along the double lane asphalt past impeccable cottages, all built upward to two- and three-story buildings because zoning didn’t allow horizontal expansion. To Michael, they resembled little towers, or perhaps houses stretched up in a funhouse mirror.

  The rain started about the time Jazz pointed out the cottage he and Russell used to rent. It was one of the fancier ones right on the water. White pines and bushes made the street feel secluded, and the “cottage” had a carport off the back, the front facing the water with a sweeping deck and an outdoor spiral staircase going down to a possible second lower deck with a boat dock. The bluff was roughly two or three stories at its height where the Bluffs at Lake View built the adult housing several years back. The houses in this area were the only ones on the county water service, so the owners expanded their living areas both up and down, directly into the stone face.