“Morning. You find anything interesting?”
I smiled and shook my head. “You’re never going to believe this.”
“Try me.”
“Liza and Madelyn lived in Brightmoor at the same time. They were sixteen-year-olds, living less than a block from one another, and there’s a man who is listed as living at both of their addresses.”
“The same guy?”
“Yes! Can you believe that?”
“Oh, man! What do you think is going on?” Marty asked.
A tiny waitress with a smattering of freckles and thick, curly red hair pulled into a bun came to our table. She smiled and asked for our orders.
I ordered an eggbeater omelet with home fries and wheat toast, and Martin ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense. These two young girls from totally different worlds—inner city Detroit and Livonia—end up in the same place for one year. They have a man in common. Over the years, they seem to be friends, but twelve years later, one of them is murdered a few steps from where both of them lived.”
“But even if they had this man in common, and there was a love triangle, it obviously played out long before Liza’s murder. Liza was living the life in Northville and was married with kids. Madelyn is a counselor and yoga instructor, living in A2, and obviously successful. Maybe there had been some trouble in the past, but they seem like smart enough ladies to get over that, right?”
“Sure, but there’s one problem with that.”
“What?”
“Liza Stark is dead.”
“Well, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I think Madelyn should have been a little more emotional than she was when I went to talk with her about Liza. I know it’s been a while, but if my best friend had been murdered it would take me forever to get over it. Discussing it two years afterwards would still produce some emotion. That’s another reason I think Madelyn knows something or is connected somehow…I just don’t know how.”
“Yeah, death is so…permanent. It’s not something you get over. Especially since it seems they had known each other since they were pretty young.”
“Right. So, we need to find out more about what happened way back in Brightmoor.”
“You think that’s really connected?”
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, but we should check things out anyway.”
The waitress set down our plates. Martin’s stack of blueberry pancakes was as wide as the plate. My eggbeater omelet was stuffed full of veggies and cheese.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“No, we’re fine. Thanks,” I said.
Martin sawed off a hunk of pancake and soaked it in syrup. I stirred my omelet and home fries together before squirting ketchup on the mess.
“The brother was also weird. He was standoffish and a bit rude. I sensed some bad blood between the siblings, and no one dishes like a sibling scorned. He still seems bitter about the parents babying her.”
“It’s silly to still hold a grudge against a dead sibling…Petty and coldhearted,” Marty said.
Peter hadn’t shown any remorse or love when I had spoken to him about Liza. My brother had been missing since I was ten years old and there wasn’t a day that he didn’t cross my mind. I had been in a state of mourning for more than two decades, but Peter Abernathy didn’t show any signs of sadness over losing his sister.
“You have a point, but I don’t think he has a clear motive. There’s not much online about Peter—a couple of social media posts about his family and the weather, but nothing major. Run a background check on him; maybe talk with people from his job. I’m going to set up another interview with him next week and pay Carson a visit at home.”
“What’s the plan for Madelyn?” Marty asked.
Great question. There wasn’t any information on Madelyn Price on social media sites, and googling her name turned up very little. She owned a yoga studio and was a therapist. Normally, that would mean an online presence of some sort. It was strange that her name didn’t turn up anything.
“I think Madelyn is hiding something. The Brightmoor connection may be involved in the murder.”
“Do you really think that Liza’s death is the result of something that happened over a decade ago?”
No, I didn’t. But I didn’t really know where to start with this case. So far there wasn’t any proof that Liza was anything besides an upstanding woman at the time of her death. The fact that her good friend had once lived in the neighborhood her body was found in gave me pause. I didn’t know what the connection was, but something was off.
“What do you think this is all about?” I asked Marty.
“I think Liza Stark slept with some guy, he asked her for money or something, she refused, he killed her and dumped her in Brightmoor. Case closed. Sorry, Mr. Suburban Doctor Guy, your wife was sleeping around with some loser.”
“Is that some plot from one of those Wednesday night cop shows? Not the kind of answer I expect from my brilliant little sidekick,” I said, before throwing money on the table and getting up to leave.
“Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one.”
“True, but we don’t have much to support that theory. You find some evidence, and we’ll go down that rabbit hole.”
“Fair enough.”
Infidelity felt too easy. There had to be more to the story. I thought about my conversation with Madelyn. She had been a bit vague, but did she seem like Liza’s killer? Not really, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty—or maybe she just knew more than she’d told me. Either way, I needed to investigate.
“I need to know more about Carson and Madelyn. That would be the only way I could see Madelyn being the killer. She and Carson are close, but Peter also really likes her. Personally, she doesn’t seem that warm and fuzzy to me, but then again, I’m investigating her.”
“And you’re a woman. She probably charmed those guys.”
“True. Okay, how did it go at St. Bart’s?”
Martin handed me a file with Liza’s name. “Check out her personnel file.”
“How’d you get the file?”
“That’s classified,” Martin said, winking and letting out a giggle.
“Cheeky, cheeky,” I said, wagging my finger like a concerned mother.
I opened the folder and flipped through the pages. Liza had been written up twice in the year she’d taught at St. Bart’s for having too many visitors at school. Both write-ups stated that a visitor had interrupted her class. Her personnel file also stated that she had not been invited back to teach the following year.
“So basically, she had too much company and didn’t stand out in other ways, so she was fired?”
“That’s the gist of it. Also, her coworkers weren’t that fond of her. No one seemed to have a grudge or anything, but they were a bit indifferent when I told them that she had been murdered.”
“What did they say about her?”
“Generally, she was late for work, not that reliable, and she couldn’t get along with students’ parents. It sounded like the year she spent there was rough. The principal didn’t want to talk to me, but there was this one lady, Mrs. Dawson, who gave me the dirt.”
“And the file.” I winked and smiled, watching Martin’s face fall.
“You always have to ruin my fun.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said, suppressing a giggle.
“What did she say?”
“Mrs. Dawson seems to be the only person who had any contact with Liza outside of work. She told me that Liza was only there to impress Carson. They had started dating the summer before. He’s a devout Catholic, ambitious, successful, etc., and she wanted to make him think she was a sweet deal. Mrs. Dawson told me that Liza never planned to stay there, so she didn’t mind her mother coming up to the school and interrupting her class on a regular basis.”
“What? Her mother?”
“Yeah. Apparently, Mom was a little overbearing. Mrs. Dawson told me that she worried about Liza because she wasn’t…How did she put it? ‘All there’.”
“You think this Mrs. Dawson was being straight with you?”
“Yeah. She’s probably beyond retirement age—loves teaching; a motherly sort. I could see her taking a new teacher under her wing. Sounds like Liza needed that.”
“I wonder what made Liza such a needy case?”
Carson Stark was a great catch. He could have had any woman he wanted. Why did he choose Liza?
“We need to find out more about Mom’s connection with Liza. Her showing up at her grown daughter’s job is weird. I’m heading over to talk with Mom and Dad tomorrow. Will you get some info on the parents?”
“Sure thing.”
“I can’t understand how Liza and Carson ended up together.”
“Yes, seems weird, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Well, I think it does matter. What if some other woman thought herself to be more deserving? Maybe it just took her a few years to work up the nerve to get revenge. Carson may seem nice enough, but he is part of the elite. Sometimes, things us commoners don’t flinch at cause irrevocable harm to the elite.”
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“That’s why I keep wondering how and why they were together. There might be something more to their marriage.”
“I’ll see if I can find any connections.”
“Okay. I’m going to continue looking up information. Maybe Liza left some hints if she was having some type of affair. Hey, I almost forgot to mention the gang activity that took place at Ali Mansu’s store. So, before Liza was murdered, Ali Mansu says that he experienced attacks from gangs. After Liza was murdered, there weren’t any other attacks.”
“So, you think this is a slumming case? Liza got mixed up with a gangster? But what does that have to do with the store owner?”
It didn’t make sense. What connection did Liza have to Ali Mansu and the store?
“We’re missing something. I wonder why the other detective quit?”
“Corruption? Does Liza have any connection to the police force?”
“Not that I know of, but we need to leave that possibility open.”
I remembered how much pressure was applied when a murder took place in Detroit and the victim was from one of the posh suburbs. The prostitutes, drug dealers, and Detroiters caught in gang crossfire were viewed as low priority, but a young, beautiful blonde was high. Or was she? Why hadn’t the police pursued the murder to a greater extent?
“The fact that the chief told them to let the infidelity rumor stick tells me that it wasn’t important to solve the crime. It was important to make the crime go away.”
“Why?”
“She’s different from the rest of the socialites from Northville Township, but still, she isn’t the type of person the media usually forgets about. She an attractive, upper middle-class white female. Why was she shoved out of the spotlight so soon?
“For some reason, she doesn’t fit into that society.”
We looked at each other and simultaneously asked, “Why?”
“Okay. You do some background searches on Liza and her family. I’ll keep my date with Liza’s parents.”
***
I took Prospect down to I-275 and headed for Livonia. During the drive, I thought about the information I’d found online about Liza’s parents. Ralph and Mary Abernathy were a middle-aged couple living out a typical, southeastern Michigan suburban existence. Both were retired school teachers, active in the Lutheran church that sat two blocks from their home, as well as world travelers, and well-known philanthropists. I had found several write-ups on them in their hometown newspaper. Peter had been featured a few times when he played high school football, and his parents seemed to make regular appearances in the paper. Liza had five entries. Her birth announcement, notices about the birth of her two children, an announcement about her marriage to Carson Stark, and her obituary.
It took me twenty-five minutes to get to Livonia. The Abernathys’ split-level colonial sat on Six Mile Road, just north of Newburgh. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed that the garage door was up and a snazzy red Corvette sparkled and shone in between an organized system of shelves and tools. A blue, late model Camry sat at the edge of the driveway. I pulled in beside the Camry and headed to the door.
Mrs. Abernathy opened the door before I could knock. Liza’s mother looked to be five foot seven, about 125 pounds, and resembled an aging Barbie doll. She had the stereotypical blonde hair and blue eyes, and her body was sleek and toned. However, her face was worn, with wrinkled folds of skin, and she bore the same faint hardness that I’d noticed in Liza’s photographs. She forced a smile, revealing deep crow’s feet around her eyes.
“Hello, Mrs. Abernathy. I’m—”
“Sylvia Wilcox. Yes, I know. Please come in.”
Mrs. Abernathy led me to a white leather couch in the living room through a long hallway lined with family portraits and individual headshots of Peter. Brown plush carpet crushed underneath my boots, making me feel like I was walking on clouds. Pictures of the family were also clustered on the mantle. There was Peter in a football jersey during younger, happier times. Liza was pictured with the kids—minus Carson—smiling that blank smirk. Her eyes appeared just as empty as they did in the picture I had of her.
“So, Carson has hired someone to try to find out who killed his wife. Well, it’s about time.”
Strange choice of words: his wife, not their daughter.
“Yes, he is dedicated to finding Liza’s killer, and I am determined to help him get justice for her.”
Mrs. Abernathy let out a hard, angry chuckle.
“Mrs. Wilcox, I admire your determination, but you and Carson can’t have the same goal.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he killed my Liza!”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s a doctor, with money, power, and looks. There’s no way he would have chosen Liza over all the other girls that wanted him—unless he had a plan. He profited from her death. He’s happy she’s gone.”
Not the most refined interpretation of the crime, but she was a mother grieving her child. Contrary to Mrs. Abernathy’s interpretation, Carson hadn’t profited from Liza’s death. The couple had forgone life insurance because they had a trust, and a great deal of wealth generated from the Starks’ empire.
“I would like to learn more about Liza. What makes you think that Liza and Carson weren’t a good match?”
“Liza was…different. She wasn’t like your average girl. Early on, we knew she had some trouble processing information, and she struggled in school. It was odd because she loved school, but she was never successful. Teachers enjoyed having her in class, but Liza was lucky to get Cs. Peter has always been the smart one.”
I considered inquiring about Mr. Abernathy, Liza’s father, but decided to wait for Mrs. Abernathy to reveal whether or not he would be present for the meeting.
“We always thought she would end up with some nice boy: Protestant, factory worker, liked beer and football…You know, a blue-collar dreamboat—know what I mean?”
My stomach churned. Categories bothered me.
“So, you thought Carson was out of Liza’s league?”
Mrs. Abernathy let out an uncomfortable laugh, threw her head back in sarcastic amusement, and placed a strong, steady hand on my knee.
“Mrs. Wilcox, you think this is some story of a nice lady shot in a bad neighborhood; a random thing. But I’ll tell you…this was some type of revenge plot. Carson caught Liza cheating on him and made her pay the ultimate price. See, Liza had a craving for…well, there’s no other way to put it…black men.” Mrs. Abernathy’s voice had decreased to a whisper, as if she were revealing a dirty secret.
“Do you have any evidence that Liza was having an affair?”
“No, but I know she was. Liz
a was very sneaky.”
Not exactly the portrait most mothers would paint of their daughters. I felt a tinge of sadness for Liza. Her family did not seem to think that her murder was a great injustice. Her brother and mother seemed to blame her. I was also getting tired of people being so sure of Liza’s infidelity. There was nothing that pointed to her being unfaithful, and yet even her own mother was ready to accuse her of infidelity.
“My assistant visited St. Bart’s and it turns out that Liza’s file contained write-ups for her having too many visitors. Do you know anything about that?”
“It was her first real job. I knew that she would need help, so I took her lunch a few times. Those people made a big deal of it, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Then again, that’s what you get with Catholics: rules, rules, and more senseless rules.”
I tried to imagine my mother bringing me lunch at my first “real” job. I worked hard to suppress a chuckle.
“Did Liza like teaching?”
“Well, like I told you, she wasn’t smart, but she loved school. She liked being in the school, but she wasn’t a good teacher. Carson married her before it mattered, but she wasn’t going to be asked back the next year. Teaching wasn’t for her.”
“Is that why she became a CNA?”
“No. That was all for Carson, and she’d dabbled in that before taking the sub job at the school. She was determined to get him, and by golly she got him all right—and look what happened…He made her pay.”
I wondered why Mrs. Abernathy disliked Carson so much. He was a great catch by most standards, and he honestly seemed to be grieving the loss of his wife. Sure, he was a little arrogant, but by all accounts, he appeared to have loved Liza. I decided to change the subject.
“Do you know Madelyn Price?”
“Of course, we know Maddie. She’s a wonderful woman; she really helped Liza become a better person. She was the one bright light in Liza’s group of friends, but she kept her distance. She’s a smarty-pants—always doing something brilliant.”
“Liza was on her way to meet Madelyn the day she was murdered, but she never made it for coffee. Do you think it is possible that Madelyn could be involved?”
Who She Was Page 10
