My Sister's Detective

by T. J. Jones

  Mrs. Jeffries had a glass of my wine, then she excused herself and disappeared into her bedroom. The big house had a bedroom on either end of the main floor, east for her, west for him. I'd never seen Angie's Mom go into her husband's bedroom, or him to hers. As far back as I could remember, they'd never shared a bedroom. The girls each had a room upstairs when they were kids, and it seemed like they did again. Rosa started clearing the table, refused Maggie's help, and we moved out onto the patio.

  Angie made small talk for a while, and I avoided talking about Davey. Finally, she brought up the funeral. "I was hoping you would make it back, Eric. I know you two weren't as close as when you were kids, but he still talked about you all the time. Besides, I wanted to see you, it was really a hard time."

  "Davey drove up here the day of my mother's funeral, but he had to turn right around and go back to Miami. That would have been a good time for the three of us to get together." It was a jab, but it had hurt when she didn't come to my Mom's funeral.

  "Charlie had just died a month before your Mom, remember? I was a mess, I just couldn't face another funeral." Maggie snorted into her wine glass, but didn't say anything. Angie cast a scathing look in her direction. "My sister never approved of my marriage, because of the age difference. But then, hers didn't work out that great either, did it Maggie?"

  "Richie and I were in love, at least for the first few years." The redhead replied.

  "Charlie understood me, and marriage isn't always about sex. He knew what I have to deal with."

  They stared at each other coldly and I broke in. "How about we all just get along? Angie, Maggie tells me you wanted to ask me for a favor of some kind. She said you don't believe Davey committed suicide?"

  "It might be that he did, but it seems to me like there was more to it." I had made the mistake of sitting on the couch next to her, and wearing shorts. She reached out and rested a warm hand on my leg, well above my knee. She leaned forward and looked deep into my eyes, exuding that warmth, pulling me in. "I was hoping you could check it out, ask some questions and maybe talk to his parents for me?"

  Maggie snorted again. "Jesus Angela. Just give him some money or something, don't pretend like you're going to sleep with him. My God Slater, you should know better by now."

  "Stop it Maggie!" Angie snapped. "Eric and I go back a long time, he's is a good friend."

  "Right, as long as you want something. You pull this with every guy that's ever taken a run at you. That's why you loved Davey, he actually cared about you without you having to pretend you might have sex him."

  I spoke up, bending the truth. "For what it's worth Maggie, I care about your sister as a friend. I gave up on us ever being more than that a long time ago." I stood up slowly. "Look, maybe you two should work this stuff out between you, then call me. I don't want to get in the middle of whatever this is. Besides, I can't imagine what good it would do to bother Davey's folks about it."

  "No, please, don't go!" Angie reached out and held onto my hand as tears started tumbling from those beautiful eyes. She looked back and forth between Maggie and I. "Maggie, I'm sorry, I don't want to fight. Please, get him to stay."

  Maggie looked at her sister sadly, then up at me. "Alright, I'm sorry Slater. Can you stay, please? It's just stupid sister drama; Mom always liked you best, you got all the cute boys, that kind of crap. We fight all the time and I get carried away sometimes."

  Angela laughed and smiled at her warmly, so I sat back down. She wiped her eyes with a delicate finger and Maggie handed her a couple of tissues, then held onto her free hand.

  "So why me?" I asked. "What makes you think I can figure out what happened? That's what the cops are for. They said it was a suicide, right?"

  "Isn't that what you did in the Navy? I thought you were an investigator of some kind after you washed out of the Seals?"

  Maggie laughed. "You actually tried to be a Seal?"

  That hurt a little. "I was a Seal, for a while anyway."

  "Didn't you get your butt kicked every other day in school? I heard all the stories you and Davey told when you were around. But I was ten and didn't have any tits, so I was pretty much invisible as far as you were concerned."

  It was actually kind of fun butting heads with her. "I get it now. You had a little girly crush on me, didn't you?"

  "Oh yeah, I was into carrot-topped losers at that age. Alright, I'll give you some credit. You put on a few pounds and you must've hit the gym. You're not completely repulsive these days."

  "Well thanks, and I have to say, your boobs came in nicely."

  That shut her up long enough for her sister to talk. "Weren't you an MP or something? You told me you were an investigator of some sort the last time you were home. Were you just trying to impress me?"

  "I was an MA, kind of the same thing. I worked Naval Intelligence for the last few years. We handled some criminal cases, when our guys got involved in civilian crimes and vice versa. The last two years I worked with NCIS, as kind of a liaison, because the politicians didn't trust the Navy to investigate our own. Like everyone in Washington is so honest."

  "So maybe you can ask around? I think somebody killed Davey, I really do." Angie said tearing up. "Can you see what you can find out? His parents don't like me, because of Daddy I guess, but they'll talk to you. The police never even looked into it. You know sure as hell they just figured he was depressed, another queer kills himself. That's the way that crap always goes."

  "Gay or not, people kill themselves Angie. Usually the simplest answer is the right one."

  "But he wasn't depressed. I mean, he was always intense, but he never would have killed himself."

  "And you would know." Maggie said quietly.

  "Yeah Eric, I don't know if you heard, but a couple of times I drank too much and took too many sleeping pills. Honestly, it was an accident. I was too drunk or tired to remember taking them. But hanging yourself is different. Once you kick that chair over, there's no coming back. Davey didn't have that in him. If it was that bad, he would have called me."

  "If it wasn't suicide, then what? Why would anybody kill him?"

  "I don't know, but he said something that started me wondering the last time he was home."

  "Like what?"

  "He told me to go away, move. He said take Mom and Maggie, sell the house and go. Said he didn't think it was safe here."

  "And your Dad? What about him?"

  "Davey didn't like Daddy much, you remember what it was like when we were kids. Daddy is old school, and you know how he can be. He pretended Davey didn't exist because he was gay. Anyway, Davey said that about us moving one night when we were both shitfaced, about a month before he died."

  "Maybe you get shitfaced more than you should Angie." I offered. Maggie nodded her agreement.

  Angie glared at her sister again. "You drink as much I do."

  "No, not really. A cold beer now and then is one thing, I don't use Crown to wash down sleeping pills."

  Angie ignored the comment. "What do you think, Eric? Can you at least ask around a little bit? Everybody said he got dumped and that's why he did it, but he wasn't even seeing anyone. Ask his friends, nobody believed he would kill himself. If you don't find anything, I'll give it up." She choked up. "Maybe he did, maybe I missed something." She was sobbing suddenly and collapsed into my arms, shaking and rambling incoherently as Maggie looked on glumly. I sat there and held her, overwhelmed by the smell of her hair and the depth of her grief.

  I left half an hour later after agreeing to see what I could find out. Beautiful as Angela still was, I didn't feel thirteen anymore, I just felt sad.

  Chapter Three

  What all the locals called Point Road didn't follow anyone's definition of a point. It roughly paralleled the Saint Johns River on the south end of Jacksonville. A normal city and we would have been a good distance out in the suburbs, but Jacksonville covered a lot of ground and collected a lot of taxes from the residents along that shoreline. The neighborhood th
at we considered the Point ran about five miles and was crowded with houses that regular people called Estates. Davey and I tried to calculate the number of millionaires that inhabited that stretch of road when we were kids on our bikes. We counted over a hundred, then gave up.

  The millionaires weren't all on the water. Some of the older estates were tucked back into the woods on the other side of Point Road with barns and fields that had once been full of tobacco and cotton. They had long winding driveways with Live Oak trees dripping moss that squeezed moisture from the air and stayed wet and acrid even when it hadn't rained in a week, which was hardly ever.

  The Templeton's driveway was a quarter mile long, bordered by a half high rock wall on both sides that had been built with slave labor. Tough to grow tobacco or cotton in rock. First you had to dig all the rocks out, then you had to put them somewhere. Might as well build a wall. Every plantation had a wall, but nobody called them plantations anymore.

  I called Edith Templeton to ask if it was alright to go over and pay my respects, since I was an asshole and had missed the funeral. I didn't put it to her like that, but that's how I felt. Mrs. Templeton had always been the best of the people my mother worked for, and the most cheerful. Not so now. She answered the door herself, shorter, bent, and a lot older than I remembered. Her smile was gone and she looked haggard; the wrinkles and lines tracing a roadmap of despair across her face. Finding your son dangling by his neck in the barn can do that to you.

  "Eric, it's so nice to see you again." She leaned into a hug, the top of her head well below my chin and kind of snuggled against me. I just stood there, awkward like, and squeezed her as hard as I dared. She finally backed away, her eyes a little wet. "David always said you were his best friend, because you didn't pay any mind to him liking boys, you know."

  "He was a great guy. I didn't get to see a lot of him the last few years, he was always working or I was. I'm really, really sorry I couldn't get back here for the funeral."

  "It's okay, I got your flowers and card. You being good to him when he was alive was more important than anything you could do after."

  "How are you doing? And Edward?"

  "He took it hard, of course. He and David had made their peace finally. Eddy has always been the macho shithead type, excuse my French, bit of a redneck I guess you could say. But it seemed like they were in a good place the last few years."

  "That's a great thing, right? Mr. Templeton was a lot of help when my Mom died, getting the house off the market right away and stuff. She figured she'd need the money for doctor bills, but the cancer took her really fast."

  "He was glad to do it Eric. He wasn't about to hold you to a real estate contract your mother signed. Most of his deals are commercial anyway. I was glad you decided to keep it and come back here." She pulled the refrigerator open and poured us both a glass of sweet tea.

  "Where's Claire? You're not in this big old house alone, are you?" I asked.

  "She has the day off, went to see her sister up on the north end. Much as Eddy's gone, I'd be a crazy person if she wasn't here. Cookies?" She put a small plate in front of me. I bit into one and she sat down across from me, watching me solemnly. Finally, she said what was on her mind. "Angela Jeffries called me this morning."

  I played dumb. "Yeah? What did she have to say?"

  "Sounded half-drunk. Nine-thirty in the morning is pretty early to be tipping it."

  "I know she's had a hard time with Davey's passing, but I'm not sure she needs an excuse to hit the bottle if what Maggie says is true."

  "She rambled on about how she liked me and everything, about how we shouldn't be feuding just because her Daddy and Eddy don't get along."

  "Yeah?" I chewed on my cookie, trying for thoughtful. "Well that makes sense."

  "I never had a problem with her or Maggie. Maggie's a spitfire, and she has a lot more gumption than her sister. Who the hell knows about their mother? Possibly the most boring woman I've ever met."

  I couldn't help snickering. "She was always nice to Davey and I when we hung around over there. Angie was here quite a bit too as I remember."

  "Like I said, there was never any feud as far as I was concerned. Eddy and Frank had their share of trouble, but that was because of business. Angie just likes drama. It was always that way with her and David. He was as bad as she is, always making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe that's why he did it, I don't know."

  "Hell of a thing. Never thought he'd… you know."

  "You can say it, kill himself. Angie doesn't think he did, right? Did she send you?"

  "She kind of twisted my arm, asked me to look into it."

  Edith shook her head and chuckled a little, which was nice to hear. "If that girl said shit, you'd ask her how much and what color. Still crazy about her after all this time?"

  "Crazy is a good word, considering. But I couldn't say no. She has the idea maybe I can find something out if it wasn't a suicide. I was an investigator in the Navy, but I doubt I can come up with anything if the cops didn't. I wanted to come anyway, to see how you were doing."

  "If I were you, I'd forget about Angie Jeffries, Maggie's the one you ought to have your eye on." She gave me a knowing look.

  I squirmed and may have blushed a little. "Yeah, she's nice, and normal far as I can tell. But really, is there any doubt in your mind that Davey killed himself? If this is too hard for you, I'll forget the whole thing."

  "Nobody wants to think they missed the signs. But he worked in Miami, Eric. He wasn't here that often, and when he was, he seemed fine. Stressed a little maybe, said work was running him ragged. He was always a moody kid, but never actually depressed. Everybody has ups and downs, but as far as any signs of real depression, I don't think so. He was perfectly comfortable with his sexuality, I'm sure it wasn't about that."

  I thought she might get emotional, but she held it together better than I would've in her place. One thing was bothering me. "Why the barn? Why would he do it there when he had to know you would be the one who found him? He absolutely worshipped you."

  That was too much, she grabbed a napkin and wiped away some stray tears. "Thank you for saying that, we were always very close. Yeah, if there is one thing that would make me wonder if Angie's right, it's that. It sounds macabre, but he was just too considerate to do that to me. Even if something snapped, I think he would have found another place just so he wouldn't hurt me. I really believe that."

  "Did the cops find anything out of the ordinary?"

  "How could they, they weren't here long enough. They didn't investigate shit, just said it was obvious. And Eddy didn't help matters any, he went right along with them. He was more worried about people talking than Davey being dead."

  "I'm sorry to ask you this, but can you tell me any of the details?"

  "I was the one that found him, I can tell you all the details." She took a breath. "He said he had a meeting in town and drove off. Then later on, an hour, maybe an hour and a half, he drove through the yard and back out to the barn. I didn't think much about it at first, but then it got dark and he never came back, so I walked out there. It was raining like crazy and I didn't think to grab a coat. His car was sitting there running with the lights on and I found him in one of the old horse stalls. There are those railings that hold up the big doors and there's an old table and four chairs in the tack room for when the workers used to take their breaks. Of course, there haven't been horses for years and years, or workers, but the damn chairs were still there.

  I guess the haying rope was too stiff, because he used his belt. It must not have been long enough, he kind of looped it over the railing, tied it together with twine-string and used the buckle as a noose. One of the old chairs was lying there on its back." Her voice broke and she dropped her face into her hands for a moment, then mopped at her eyes with a tissue.

  I reached out and covered her hand with mine. "I'm so sorry Edith, the last thing I want is to bring it all back. Would it be okay if I walk out there?"

  "D
o you think there's any chance that it wasn't suicide?"

  "I think it's like we said, no matter how messed up he was he wouldn't have done it here where it was you that might find him, and Angie said some things that make me wonder. Let me go look. He worked in Miami, but how often did he come home?"

  "Once every couple of months, sometimes a little longer. His room is just like he left it. I locked the door and I haven't been in there since. You should take a look up there too if you think it will help. Maybe you could throw his stuff in some boxes for me."

  "Let me walk down to the barn, then I'll see what's in his room and box it up for you. Are you sure this is all okay, me snooping around?"

  "Eric, you were one of his closest friends. He didn't keep much stuff here, but I don't know that I'll ever have the strength to dig through it, and it would be just as hard for Claire. You'd be doing me a favor."

  ***

  The walk to the barn was slightly less than the length of the driveway. The barn was in remarkably good condition considering that it was seldom used for anything. A vintage Ford tracker and a small hay wagon sat gathering rust near the horse stalls. I took the time to look things over pretty carefully. There were marks on the back of the hay wagon, like someone may have climbed up on it and judged the distance to the railings. The hitch pin that held it to the tractor had fresh scratches on it, visible through the rust. Someone might have unhooked the wagon at some point and stood on it, but after a month, anyone could have made those marks. I walked around scratching my head for a while. The four chairs and table were still there, miscellaneous hand tools, and the heavy rope we had swung on as kids, too heavy to tie into a noose.

  I finally had a thought and pulled my belt off. The railings that held the stall doors that Davey had supposedly used to tie his belt to were pretty high, probably nine feet. I pulled the closest chair over from the break room and climbed up on it. It was pretty short, and wobbly.

  The gangly thirteen-year old that Davey Templeton had welcomed into his home had grown some. I was on the high side of six two now in my socks, about six inches taller than Davey had been. I double checked my measurement and subtracted a couple of inches because I was a little thick around the middle, then made a noose with my belt and looped it around my neck. I stood up and lifted the remainder of the belt up. It was two inches short of reaching the rail. I took the belt off my neck and flipped the end over the railing, trying to imagine how Davey could have secured it. Even standing on my toes, I couldn't quite reach the rail, and securing the belt with twine would be almost impossible for someone five eight. There was an outside chance that he had used the wagon when he tied the belt to the rail, moved it back, then climbed up on the back of a chair, balanced somehow, and more or less jumped through the noose. Good way to kill yourself even if you weren't trying. The wagon would have been high enough to get the belt around his neck, but Edith had said he used a chair.