Abe had a lot of questions and worries, but right now, walking beside Gregory, he felt quite at peace about everything. The world was beautiful. He hadn't been able to enjoy being in the city in some time. Now, if someone he used to know should happen to see him, he felt smugly secure in the knowledge they'd think he was out with his boyfriend—and probably be envious of his good luck.
As they neared the place where Clarence had lived most recently, Abe gripped Gregory's arm. "Look, someone's coming out of the building carrying a little dog."
Gregory squinted. "My eyes aren't what they were, but that sure looks like the dog in the photos to me."
"That must be someone who knew Clarence! Quick, let's talk to him before he's gone." He was nervous about approaching a stranger, but braver because Gregory was there.
The man walked to a car parked along the street, a fancy Lexus, and unlocked it. The dog growled as Gregory and Abe approached, trying to peer round the man who was holding him. The man turned and looked at them, startled. "Yes? What is it?" he asked in a sharp voice.
He looked a lot like Clarence, but younger and less artificial. His hair was dirty blond, and there were a few lines on his face that hadn't been botoxed away. But he had the same sort of eyes and a similarly-shaped chin and build. He looked at them warily. Brother, thought Abe.
Gregory launched into a friendly introduction that didn't take the wariness from the man's eyes.
"My brother didn't owe you money, did he?" interrupted the man.
"No."
"Then I don't have to talk to you. I need to get out of here before one of his married girlfriends tries to corner me again."
"Out for blood, are they?" Gregory was still trying to be friends.
The man shuddered. "They all want to hear they were the only one." Dog still growling in his arms, he got into the car and shut the door quickly.
They watched as he drove away. At least someone was taking care of the dog.
WHEN GREGORY FIRST pulled over to the side of the road, Abe was far too distracted to notice.
They hadn't gotten anything else useful out of their visit to Clarence's last address, since the doorman hadn't wanted to let them in or answer any questions, and they hadn't run across any of these multiple girlfriends. Eventually they'd decided they had all they reasonably could expect to get from the place, and they headed home, Gregory driving.
When Abe looked up and found the car parked near a small farmer's roadside stand, he blinked in surprise. He'd been on the phone, trying to figure out why Ollie had given him his own address as the place Clarence used to live. It was messing with his head.
Did he really live in Clarence's old home? Or was Ollie mistaken? He'd never gotten around to giving Ollie his new address, since the few times a year they caught up, it was over the phone, through texts, or by meeting up in the city as they'd done today. Ollie wasn't particularly interested in the suburbs, visiting or living there, so it hadn't been a priority. It seemed unlikely he'd had Abe's address at all, much less gotten it confused with Clarence's old one.
Gregory unclicked his seatbelt. "I'll just be a sec." He gestured to the roadside stand. "Support your local farmer, you know."
Abe nodded vaguely. "If they have eggs, get me some." With all this cooking for Gregory, he'd need extra. He usually bought his at the farmer's market, from a talkative woman named Janice. He felt better about it, knowing where his eggs came from. But it seemed unlikely he'd get to the market this week.
He drummed his fingers on his knee as he waited for his real estate agent to get back to him. He knew very well Clarence wasn't the person he'd bought the house from—they were named Jones, he thought. Something with a J, anyway. But if Clarence had owned the property at one point, there should be a record somewhere, and he'd figured his real estate agent could find it more easily than he could.
But first, he'd had to get hold of her, wait his turn, then explain about the murder and why he wanted to know.
He watched Gregory walk away, distracted but not too preoccupied to notice his nice butt, broad shoulders, and the confident way he walked. He also didn't hide his excitement about stopping here. That was surprisingly charming. World-weary men who had seen it all or pretended to, who never got excited about anything anymore (really excited, that was), just didn't hold a candle to Gregory. Gregory, who was passionate about so many things...
"Ah. Here we go." She was back on the line, papers crackling somewhere close by. "Yes, it appears he lived in the home for approximately two years, a decade ago."
"Did he own it? He doesn't seem to have done anything with the garden."
"The next owners may have changed anything he did."
"How odd that he lived there and no one told me."
"Perhaps the police didn't want to give anything away. Was there anything else?"
"No. Thank you."
"Let me know how it all works out."
They said their goodbyes and hung up. He knew he'd interrupted her day. Hoped the information was worth it.
Gregory returned to the car with an armful of fruits and veggies and a triumphant grin. "No eggs, sorry. You'll need to hold these. I don't want them rolling around in the back and spoiling the supper you're going to make me by getting bruised."
Abe arched a brow. "Oh? Am I cooking supper for you? I just treated you to lunch!"
"Yes, and now I'm treating you to vegetables—which you can use to cook for me."
Abe laughed. "All right. Hand them here." He accepted the burdens and spent the next few minutes looking through the reused plastic bags to examine everything while Gregory drove them back home.
He explained about the agent's information as he held up a zucchini that was perfectly formed and not lumpen. It was going to be excellent.
"It's weird that nobody said anything about him living there," Gregory said. "Surely, the turnover's not that great."
"I don't know. Sometimes people are gone all day. It can be like a zombie neighborhood." Abe hesitated, not sure if he should have admitted it was sometimes strange and lonely to feel like he was the only one home in a huge neighborhood with matching lawns and empty homes. "Everyone's paying for their mortgages, I suppose, but I'm sure there are neighbors I've never met. And it was nearly ten years ago."
"The Lockwoods would have known."
"Yes, they would have."
"So, why didn't they say something? Why didn't he?"
"He wanted to hurt Lorraine by calling her roses common and cheap. And maybe she didn't mention it because she was embarrassed? But it's not like she would have confided in either of us anything at all. Let's be real, here."
"No, we're not her favorite people." Gregory glanced at Abe. "Do you think it is them, then? Really?"
"I don't know. How awful to think of them murdering him and dragging him into my backyard!" Abe shuddered.
Gregory drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Why didn't he tell you he'd lived there? I'm sure he could have made a meal of that—how much better it looked when he lived there, and so on."
"I don't know. Perhaps he was embarrassed to admit he'd lived in the suburbs? Though I don't think there's anything embarrassing about it. His star has risen rather far since. He seems like he'd put a lot of stock in status, you know?"
"This is really it. It could really be them." Gregory sounded appalled. "I mean, I don't like them, but..."
"Maybe it had something to do with my house?" guessed Abe, still looking for excuses.
"So, he went back to do some impromptu gardening—without taking his car—then tripped, knocked his head over something from behind, and dragged himself into his old garden so he could expire in peace on some zinnias?" Gregory snorted.
"All right. Point taken."
"Do the police know all of this? Will we have to tell them? It seems wimpy to just let justice take its course, if we actually know something."
"But what do we know? That he used to live in my house. I'm sure they have all sorts of cross-r
eferences to go by. They know—they must know. It'll all be in their files."
"But will they know which neighbors would have known him back then?"
"How could they not?" argued Abe. "They'll have talked with everyone at least once. And I'm sure they have all sorts of information about who lives where and for how long."
"Then, why haven't they made an arrest? Or at least questioned the Lockwoods more closely?"
"Maybe they have. We've been gone most of the day."
"That's true." Gregory drummed his fingers again. "I still feel like we should tell someone something about this. I just don't know."
"Me, either. I suppose we have to eliminate Winnie first. Find out how long she's been in the neighborhood. One of us can ask Mary. She'll know."
"You go. She likes you."
"Everyone likes me," said Abe, trying to lighten the mood with a silly comment.
"Yes. They do." Gregory smiled at him.
AS HE WALKED OVER TO Mary's, Abe wondered if he'd gotten the wrong end of the stick somehow. The fact that Clarence had once lived in his home was, well, creepy, but it could also give someone a powerful motive to drag the dead man farther than if he'd had no connection to the spot. Suppose you killed a neighbor you had once hated. If one was mad enough to do that, surely dragging him a bit farther than necessary, far enough to deposit him back at his old home, wouldn't be too much.
I've got to expand the suspect list. Before, there was no real reason for anyone to leave him there. Now, there's every reason.
He was thinking about wheelbarrows and the logistics of delivering a body at night when he reached Mary's and knocked.
When she answered the door, Mary looked uncharacteristically flushed and distracted. "Oh. Hello, Abe." She didn't invite him in, which was unusual for her. She always wanted to visit, if only briefly.
"Hello, Mary. I hope you're well?"
"Yes. Very." There was an odd gleam in her eyes, but she looked happy. Not quite present, but happy. "I want to thank you for your advice the other day. I've decided it's definitely not too late to start living my life the way I want to."
"Oh, I'm glad. Let me know when it's a good time for me and Gregory to come over and start on your garden."
"Garden?" She stared at him. "Oh, yes, the garden." Her laugh was slightly awkward—very unusual for Mary. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Oh. Uh, do you recall when Winnie and her husband moved into the neighborhood? I know she's been here longer than me, but was it many years?"
"Let's see. I believe it was eleven years ago. Difficult to believe, with how young she looks, isn't it? But she married very young. I think before she knew her own mind." She looked as though she could have said more on the subject but was restraining herself.
"Really?" He looked at her closely. She didn't believe the rumors, did she? That the woman had murdered her spouse because he'd cheated on her?
She looked around, rather guiltily, then leaned forward and said in a low voice, "He was really rather a terrible husband. She always wore heavy makeup, do you know that? Until after he died so unexpectedly. Then she barely wore makeup at all. I had thought it was just her style, but, you know...sometimes, heavy makeup covers heavy bruising."
"Why, Mary! You think..."
She put a finger to her lips. "I haven't said a word. And I won't. I'm glad she's happy now, that's all."
Yes. He felt much the same. Since she clearly wanted him gone, he left, feeling guilty all the while. Winnie had been here long enough to know Clarence as a neighbor. And if her husband had beaten her around, she'd definitely had a motive to do him in, even if he hadn't cheated on her.
That might or might not mean anything about Clarence. But it upset his belief that she could never kill anyone. Desperate people did all sorts of things. Like Mary, it was difficult for him to not want the best for Winnie. He couldn't help liking her, even when she lorded the gardener over him. He didn't want to turn police eyes back in her direction. But finding this out was enough to throw doubt on their entire theory about the Lockwoods.
Then there was the odd way Mary was acting. He didn't like it. It made him nervous, suspicious, and he didn't want to be. He really didn't.
Perhaps Gregory had been right. He would make a terrible detective, even of the amateur type. He really didn't want to suspect anyone.
He returned to Gregory's home and knocked at the door. "Come in!" called Gregory cheerfully from his kitchen. "I was just washing up the veg. What are you going to make tonight?"
"I don't care. I've simply got to tell you what just happened," said Abe, keeping his voice low. He felt so guilty.
Gregory gave him an alarmed look. "What?"
Abe waved his hands. "Oh, it—it might be Winnie after all! Oh, dear. I hope not. Make me a coffee, okay?"
"Not sure caffeine is what you need right now, but okay."
Gregory moved around the kitchen efficiently while Abe spilled the beans: the odd way Mary had acted, the suspicions of Winnie as an inexperienced young bride with an abusive spouse. Perhaps she'd had no way to escape; perhaps she'd felt pushed to the point of desperation, "It's him or me." It was still a dreadful thing. He didn't want to suspect her of it. And even if she'd killed one person out of desperation (putting the nicest possible explanation to it), if she'd done in Clarence, she'd still killed someone else who hadn't harmed her at all, assuming she was the culprit.
Or had he? If there was one thing Clarence knew how to do, it was to hurt people. Him with his barbed words, affairs with married women, and cold heart. If he'd known, even suspected, he could have twisted a knife in her but good. Settled into her cozy life as a widow with a "friend," how complacent she must seem to him. How he would have gotten a charge out of riling her up, letting her know that he suspected her of murder and could make her life a living hell. Perhaps he'd frightened her more badly than he'd realized. Perhaps he hadn't realized the danger he'd been in, that if you pushed a murderer into a corner, you'd better watch out...
"It's all going round and round in my head." Abe pushed his fingers back through his hair, wondered if he was thinning it further, and stopped. "So, it could be her, or the Lockwoods, or someone else entirely. The killer did have a motive to drop him off in my backyard, no matter where he was killed. Because he used to live there. Oh, the suspect list keeps growing wider!"
"I'm not sure," began Gregory cautiously. "I'm not sure we've got the right end of the stick. I feel like we're missing something."
"Yes. I'm quite sure you're right. But what?"
"Maybe it will come to us if we get our minds off it for a bit."
He sat down beside Abe and looked at him.
Abe took a sip of coffee, which was very good, and then set the mug down. "What were you suggesting?" For some reason, his heart started to pound.
Gregory opened his mouth, then closed it. "Perhaps a nice supper?" He tried to grin.
Abe rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling a little. "Yes, all right. I'll cook for you again. But at my place, all right? Your hotplate is not going to work for me."
At home, he made baked patty pan squash, a light stir-fry, and hearty baked salmon. The produce from the stand was very fresh. Gregory offered to help, but although he chopped half an onion and cleaned up some of the waste (claiming it for his compost pile, of course), mostly they talked while Abe worked. They talked about a variety of things, trying to keep it light. When they sat down to eat, everything was delicious.
Gregory sighed happily. "Local foods always taste so much fresher. And they were a good price, too."
They were just finishing up the last of the meal when there was a knock at the door. Abe rose to answer it, leaving Gregory to finish his meal. He was really enjoying the time with Gregory, almost enough to put the worries about murder from his head entirely—at least for a little bit. So, it came as a surprise to see a big solid detective on the front step, holding up his badge in a weary sort of manner.
"Mr. Arnett?
"
"Yes, that's me." He stood holding the door, staring. "What is it?"
"Do you happen to know where—?" The cop looked past him and said, "Ah, there you are, Mr. Gallop. I'm afraid I need you to follow me. Something's been discovered on your property."
Abe and Gregory cast one another alarmed looks. Gregory pulled his cloth napkin off and left it balled up on the table. "Something on my property?" he guessed, following the cop. Abe followed as well. Try to tear him away!
At the back shed, there was yellow tape and another couple of cops milling around, looking bored and grumpy. "Someone called in a tip. And sure enough, there's a bloody shovel in there. Dried blood. Might match the victim's."
Gregory stared at him like it was a bad dream. "Do you really think I'd murder him and leave the murder weapon mixed in with my own things?"
The officer sighed. "No. This shed was searched after the body was discovered. It was obviously planted at a later date. Do you see anything out of the ordinary? Anything different from how you left it?"
"Other than the crime scene tape?" Gregory said, and looked around carefully, gaze roving all over. "No," he said at last, more hesitantly than Abe liked. Gregory was supposed to be confident, not frightened. It hurt to see him so off-balance. "Not sure I like murderers wandering into my shed, though," managed Gregory with a semblance of calm.
"Nor do we. Perhaps a lock."
Gregory nodded, still looking dazed.
"We'll need to go over everything, so you can't touch a thing till we're done. We'll also need your fingerprints to compare to any we find."
"Okay."
"That's all. You can go back to your evening...gentlemen." The man looked between them, speculation in his gaze.
Back at his place, Abe wished very much there was something he could do to fix it, but all he could do was offer Gregory some store-bought cookies for dessert. They sat down to watch a little television together to take their minds off the day, but were both too distracted to enjoy it. Eventually, Gregory took his leave.
The Body in the Backyard Page 10