by Kate Young
“No, it ain’t normal. The woman never married. Never even dated, I heard. She could’ve killed him. Maybe she’s just been biding her time.”
Edna looked older than Gran and didn’t look strong enough to kill a fly. “Please don’t go around saying things like that.”
“Hush. I’m being quiet. Or”—Gran glanced around as if in search of someone—“well, I don’t see him here, but his son should be a suspect.”
I sighed. “Why should Leonard’s son be considered a suspect?”
“Well, I hate to be a gossip”—Gran loved to gossip—“but what happened to Leonard made me think about it, something I heard the other day. Sally Anne said that Leonard’s only son has a thing for Harper. And the way she heard it, they sneak off for a pickle-tickle from time to time.”
“Eww, Gran.”
She shrugged. “Just what I heard.”
“This is not the time.”
“Okay, okay. I just thought since we needed to talk about everything while it’s fresh, it might be a good idea to explore options.” Gran pulled a napkin from her purse and began eating a truffle. She hadn’t been so shaken up that she didn’t sneak back and grab another handful of her favorite treats and hide them in her bag.
She held it out to me. There was no way I could eat anything at the moment. “No, thanks.” My head swam with thoughts. I couldn’t get what Harper had said to the person over the phone out of my head. “Don’t you dare. You’ll be sorry.” I wondered if she’d been speaking to her husband then, and that’s one of the things she’d referenced regretting. I couldn’t imagine her pain.
“Too bad your honey isn’t here.” Gran ate her truffle. “He’d sure be a help to us.”
“He’s working on a big case at the moment. I won’t see him until date night at the Klein’s with Mel and her new fella.” Brad, “my honey” as Gran referred to him, was deep into a case. Both our jobs kept us busy, and the fact that we both understood how important the other’s work was gave our relationship stability. Neither of us was in any hurry to speed things along, and Brad respected my choices and career. That my parents and Gran seemed to genuinely like Brad made the relationship all the better. Honestly, it was difficult not to like Brad when he set his mind to winning you over. Gran was right, though; Brad would find it difficult to stand idly. I was eager to discuss this with him.
“Oh, who’s little Mel seeing these days?” Gran sounded keenly interested. She loved hearing about who “her girls,” as she referred to Mel and me, were having fun with.
“Mel is going out with Wyatt Hanson.”
Gran waggled her penciled-in eyebrows. “Oh … he’s a looker. Just like his father was before he lost his hair and gained all that weight.”
“Gran!” I shook my head at my grandmother in a chastising fashion.
Quinn waved in my direction, and I started to walk toward him. “No. I need Mrs. Moody.” I gave Gran’s hand a squeeze as Quinn nodded toward the detective who had joined us.
“Mrs. Moody, this is Detective Battle—if you wouldn’t mind going with him.” Quinn made the introductions.
Detective Battle extended a hand toward Gran and gently shook hers as he smiled. “I just have a few questions for you.”
“Sure.” Gran nodded her head but swallowed. She looked nervous, and I felt helpless.
“I’ll accompany her.” I took her hand when he released his grip.
“No.” Detective Battle said.
I met his gaze, indignation filling my body. “Why?”
Before he could utter another word, in stalked my daddy with his longtime attorney, William Greene. “Chief Daniels, my mother and the rest of the Moody family will be glad to sit down with you and the detective here with our family attorney present.”
“Chief.” Mr. Greene nodded to Quinn. “Detective,” he said by way of greeting to Detective Battle. “Which would you care to begin with? Perhaps, in the interest of time, we could all sit down together. I could even bring in the lady of the house, and we could get this whole thing wrapped up in a nice bow for you.”
Detective Battle stared at Mr. Greene and then focused on Daddy. “Is there a reason you believe your family needs representation?”
“Yes,” Daddy answered firmly. “When it comes to dealing with law enforcement, it always benefits everyone involved to have someone in the field of law mediate.” My daddy was a firm believer in utilizing his right to have an attorney present no matter the circumstances.
“You have a lot of people here, Detective. That’s an awful lot of interviews to conduct. I’m only here to streamline things and be helpful.” Mr. Greene met the detective’s stare with unwavering self-assurance. How I envied that ability.
“I’m aware of how to conduct an investigation. I’ll begin with Mrs. Moody.” Apparently, Detective Battle didn’t care to be told how to do his job. He’d all but glowered at Mr. Greene. But we were drawing attention, and the detective relented, “Mr. Moody may accompany her.”
“Very well. I believe Mr. Moody has agreed to make his office available for interviews.”
After I watched my father lead the way to his office, I stood there, staring up into Quinn’s frustrated face. “Daddy is only trying to protect his family.”
Quinn kept his tone low. “I understand that, and I’m trying to find out what happened to Leonard Richardson.”
“You sound irritated. This detective seemed upset when I described the scene.”
“What do you mean?” His cool blue eyes narrowed. “He said nothing to me.”
I shrugged. Obviously I was mistaken. “Nothing. I guess I’m just not accustomed to dealing with someone like him.”
“He’s good at his job, and he knows it.” His lip curled ever so slightly, and I wondered why he’d called the guy in if he had misgivings about him. So, the man’s prowess wasn’t exactly in question. Quinn had problems with the size of his ego.
I glanced around, feeling much better knowing I’d been mistaken about my concerns with the candlestick. I cleared my throat as I spied Piper Sanchez with her phone to her ear, and that tall, thin man next to her doing the same. “Um, Quinn?”
He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah?”
He tensed slightly when I took his arm and leaned in closer. From his open expression, I assumed it was more out of surprise than apprehension to my closeness. “I don’t want to start anything, and if you’re seeing Piper, I think that’s great. But have the two of you discussed how you’ll handle the conflict of your jobs?”
“What?” Quinn’s eyes narrowed again.
I briefly pointed in Piper’s direction. “She might be on the phone with her editor as we speak. The story will be everywhere in the morning.”
His head whipped around just in time to see Piper slip out the front door.
“Oh hell, and that writer is with her.” He started to bolt, but I kept my hand on his arm; he glanced down at me. His eyes were hot with anger, not directed toward me, I could tell.
Mother had been right. “What kind of writer?”
“Mystery, I think. He blew into town last week. He’s been pestering people all over about town secrets for a book he’s writing.” He scowled. “I told Piper not to bring him. He came into the police station twice, chatting up Sergeant Landry.” Quinn’s lips thinned into a white line. “I’ve got to go.”
“What book?” I dropped my hand as he rushed after Piper. I wondered why Rosa hadn’t mentioned him before the book club meeting. I bet that guy was glad he decided to show up here. He had some new material now. Small-town murder. He could spin this so many ways.
Mother sidled up to me, and I jumped. “Where’s Quinn going?” She sounded weary.
I put my hand over my thumping heart. “To make a faulty attempt at stopping Piper from running a story.” I turned to her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. Her emerald-green eyes were bloodshot as she tucked a caramel-brown curl behind her ear. “Have you seen your father?”
“He went with Gran and Mr. Greene. She’s being interviewed.”
“They’re letting your father stay with her?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Mr. Greene is a powerful force.”
“That’s good. I need to speak with you alone.” She leaned in. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
She took my hand, guiding me to the upstairs hallway and away from the prying eyes of others.
“Lyla, honey, listen to me. We don’t have much time. I’m so sorry you found that man.”
I search my mother’s big, round eyes. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t help it. Something like this …” She hugged me close and rubbed my back in a soothing fashion. I froze. My mother wasn’t the most affectionate person. She’d never showered me with lots of hugs in my childhood. In fact, she detested effusive behavior and said so. She loved me—I knew that—but she wanted me strong, and for some reason she felt too much coddling resulted in the opposite effect.
She whispered, “I’m going to ask you to do something for me, and it’s going to sound insane.”
My stomach lurched, but I said, “Of course.”
“Don’t mention anything you overhead Harper say at the public library.”
“What?” My blood ran cold.
“She told me she approached you about locating a family member and that perhaps you overhead her having a rather heated discussion on the phone.”
Okay. Harper had suspected I might have caught bits of a sensitive conversation. “You’ll be sorry.”
“Lyla.”
I pulled back, shaking my head. “I hear you but don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“You need to understand that her marriage with Leonard Richardson was a situation the police would never be able to understand.”
“What do you mean?” A shiver traveled up my spine. “Mother, lots of people get stuck in bad marriages.”
My mother emphatically shook her head. “No. Not like this.”
“I can’t withhold information. It’ll come out anyway. And I’m sure if Harper just tells the detective how unhappy she was, and is honest, he’ll clear her as a suspect.” Even as the words left my lips, I knew she believed me to be naive. Still, I always thought the truth would prevail. I had to believe it would.
“Honey, you know that isn’t true. You of all people know that sometimes things don’t work out.”
Me of all people? What in God’s name was going on here? Harper’s declaration of a troubled marriage, her rage at the library, some writer poking around, a murder, and now Mother’s request had my head spinning. Why would she be behaving this way if she doesn’t know something? I had to ask. I whispered so low I could barely hear the words: “Did Harper kill him?”
“Frances, Lyla, are you both up here?” Daddy called from the stairs, unable to see Mother and me tucked away in the shadow.
Mother’s tone, barely above a whisper, matched mine as she replied, “Do you honestly believe that young woman could hurt anyone, let alone kill them?”
“No.”
Mother grabbed my forearms and her gaze bore holes through mine. Her tone dripped with contempt when she spoke next. “That man doesn’t deserve our sympathy.” My bones chilled. I’d never seen this side of my mother before.
“But—”
Mother leaned her forehead against mine. “Do I have your word?”
Terror gripped me. “Yes …” I cleared my throat. “Yes, Mother.”
She dropped her arms and squared her shoulders. “We’re in here, James.”
Who are you? I stared at her back.
Chapter Five
Close to eleven, the rest of the guests gave their contact information to the officers and were sent home. I, being the one who had discovered the body, had been asked to stay. Now, I sat across from the detective in the dining room. William Green sat next to me. I’d already given my statement more than once on the record, answering the questions regarding where I’d been before reaching my parents’ house, whom I’d seen at the library, and everywhere I’d gone afterward. I’d told him how Harper had seemed before she left for the day. I didn’t lie. Couldn’t. I told them she’d been upset about a staff member not showing up for work. And how she seemed stressed with having to perform two jobs. However, I did omit the overheard conversation. I walked him back again through my discovery and felt positive both Gran’s and the caterer’s versions would corroborate mine. I repressed my need to ask questions regarding their statements.
“What made you venture into that part of the house, Miss Moody?” Detective Battle asked again.
“Miss Moody has already answered that question, Detective Battle.” Mr. Greene leaned back in the high back chair. “And it’s getting late.”
“I realize the late hour, and I’m affording the Moodys a courtesy by giving their statements here. I could easily move this to the police department.”
How disappointed Gran must be with his decision to keep us all here. “It’s fine.” I shivered despite the warmth in the house—the aftereffects of shock, which I’d become accustomed to quickly. “I don’t mind answering again. Like I said, before our club meeting, Harper mentioned that Gran had incurred some late fees for overdue library books. Gran mentioned to me that she’d left the books in the new addition. Plus, I’d been eager to see the finished product. The event was still underway, but we didn’t dress for the occasion, and it became clear we were in the way of the caterer’s, so I decided to check it out.”
“That’s when you saw him?”
I nodded and swallowed as the image raced back to my mind’s eye. “Yes. Gran didn’t look well standing right outside the door of the library, and when I discovered that she indeed hadn’t had a stroke, I turned to investigate what had freaked her out.” I took a breath. “And because I was concerned that he might only be injured and needing help; I went inside to see if there was anything I could do. I’m CPR trained.” My shoulders slumped forward as the weight of fatigue settled into my weary bones.
“You went inside the room before or after you instructed the caterer to dial nine-one-one?” Detective Battle asked.
“After.”
“Were any of the catering staff missing at that time? Did anyone seem unusually nervous or behave strangely beforehand?”
I furrowed my brow at the new questions he’d just thrown my way. “How would I know if anyone would be missing? Ask the head chef. And the only disruptive behavior I witnessed was when the head chef chewed out one of the servers for breaking a crystal glass.”
He scribbled down something onto his little pad.
“After you went inside the room, did you immediately recognize the victim as your friend’s husband?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I hadn’t spent that much time around Mr. Richardson. And it was only when I”—I paused, swallowing a sip of water—“got closer that I managed an identification. His, um, profile had been altered.”
He maintained eye contact while I exhaled.
“You say you haven’t spent much time with Mr. Richardson. What about his wife, Harper?”
I let out a weary sigh. “Yes. She’s a friend of our group. Harper recently joined the Jane Does.” When his eyebrows rose to his nonexistent hairline, I explained, “The Jane Does is a book club. We read true crime, mystery, and thrillers. Harper joined a few months ago, but her attendance is sporadic at best. Before that, I saw her whenever our group would meet at the library.”
“Has she ever mentioned trouble with her husband to you or anyone in your club?”
Warning bells. I cocked my head to the side as if I really needed to ponder the question.
“In my experience, ladies tend to talk a lot when they’re in large groups,” he pressed.
“Excuse me, Detective Battle,” Mr. Greene rose. “I need to use the facilities. We’ll pause the interview.”
Detective Battle tapped the recording app on his phone.
“I don’t know what to think. You mentioned earlier that you saw a”—he glanced down at his pad—“brass candlestick. It’s funny, because no one else seems to recall the item being in the room.”
I sat up straighter. “What?”
He opened his mouth and then paused, moving his hands together in a praying fashion before tapping his index fingers to his lips. “We should wait for your attorney before discussing this any further.”
I put my hand on the table. “Hold on. You mean Quinn and the other uniformed officers didn’t see it? Or just the other eyewitnesses?”
“You want to continue without your attorney?”
“I want to discuss this now. You can turn your little recorder on after he gets back.” I patted the table with my fingertips.
“Very well.” He glanced back down at his pad. “It seems either you imagined the candlestick—”
My eyes went wide. “I didn’t.”
“Well, we don’t have it in evidence, and I don’t have another single statement that mentions it being in the room or missing from it.”
Suddenly, my bravado vanished and was replaced with confusion and fear. Had someone snuck into the room and removed it from the crime scene? Perhaps the guilty party? Mother’s words came back to me: “That man doesn’t deserve our sympathy.” I didn’t believe for a single minute that my mother could be involved. But would she interfere for the sake of what she perceived as justice?
“Do you have a theory?” he said, baiting me.
I couldn’t sit here silently for very long or he’d ask more questions. Questions that I feared might lead to my conversation with my mother. It wasn’t completely outlandish to believe we might’ve been overheard. I didn’t think we had been. Still, it wasn’t worth the risk. I sat up a little straighter and glanced around. “Not a theory. I have my observations.”
He folded his big hands together and placed them on the table. “Such as?”
“I have no explanations regarding the candlestick. And I could almost swear that I saw it. Now you’ve given me pause.” I chewed on my bottom lip and wished to God I hadn’t opened my mouth without Mr. Greene. I was such an idiot. I persevered. “I understand your need to press me now. The amount of blood around the body would rule out a lot of potential suspects, and a desire for a speedy apprehension forces such behavior on your part.”