Dead in the Doorway

by Diane Kelly

  I tucked the pamphlet into my purse and took the receipt from the woman working the payment window. “Thanks.”

  She didn’t even wait for me to step away before calling out, “Next!”

  My property-management duties done for the time being, I hopped back into my car and headed downtown to the Davidson County Courthouse. Lawyers in business suits and their nervous clients walked the halls, some of them waiting on benches. I meandered the main foyer for a few seconds before spotting a directory posted on the far wall between two elevators. After consulting the board, I headed to the office for the probate-court clerk.

  Working the counter was a middle-aged man with a slight paunch under his cable-knit sweater. He was the epitome of efficiency, answering questions quickly and sorting and stamping paperwork like a robotic machine on an assembly line.

  I had to wait in line for a few minutes before it was my turn. As a woman walked away, I stepped up to the counter and exchanged a cordial greeting. “Are wills public record?”

  “If they’ve been filed for probate, they are. Got the name of the testator?”

  “Lillian Walsh. She died a few weeks ago.”

  “You can run a search there.” He motioned with his arm, directing my gaze to a trio of computers at a table on the side of the room. Two were already in use. “The screen will tell you what to do. It’s pretty self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, let me know. It’s twenty-five cents per page for copies, an extra dollar if you want the copy certified.”

  I thanked the man and walked over to the table, taking a seat at the available computer in the center. As promised, the system was easy to use. I typed Lillian’s first and last names when prompted, and up came a list of the documents in her file. A petition. An inventory. Something called Letters Testamentary. I had no idea what the latter was, but because it had a word akin to testament in its title, I tried it first. The document popped up on the screen and I read through it. Turned out to be the order appointing Andy Walsh as the executor of his mother’s estate. Not what I’m looking for.

  I backed out of the document and clicked on the petition. Here we go. The will was attached to the petition for probate. My pulse throbbing in my ears, I leaned in to take a look and scrolled through it. It’s a different will! Sure enough, unlike the will I’d discovered under the stair, this will bequeathed equal shares of Lillian’s estate to Wayne and Andy. Could the revised will have given Wayne Walsh a motive for killing Nelda Dolan?

  I scrolled down to the final page. Nelda had witnessed this will as well. But this time I recognized the name of the second witness. Roxanne Donnelly. This will was dated a dozen years ago. The fact that it didn’t mention Lillian’s husband told me Lillian had drafted this particular will after he’d already passed.

  I clicked on the button to print the document, exited the computer file, and returned to the counter to pay for the printout, splurging on a certified copy so the detective would know it was legitimate. After thanking the clerk, I tucked the document into the manila envelope with the other will, slid the envelope into my purse, and returned to my car.

  Whipping out my phone, I googled the name of the second witness on the more recent will I’d found under the stairs. Although various links popped up, none of them related to the recent death of a person with that name in the Nashville area. Ditto for the notary. Good. Looks like they haven’t been targeted. Not yet, at least. If the newer will did indeed have something to do with Nelda’s death, could the other witness and the notary be next on the killer’s list?

  It was straight-up noon when I closed the web search and placed a call to Detective Flynn. “I found something interesting I want to show you.”

  “I’ve got some things to discuss with you, too. I’m on my way out to lunch. Why don’t you meet me?”

  We arranged to join up at a quiet café in twenty minutes. I drove over and found him already seated in a booth in a back corner, perusing the menu.

  I slipped into the other side of the booth. I reached into my purse, retrieved the manila envelope, and slid it across the table. “The certified copy is the will Andy Walsh filed with the probate court. It was drafted over a decade ago and splits the property equally between him and his brother. The other will is more recent. It leaves everything to Andy. It was in a secret compartment under a stair in Lillian’s house.”

  “A secret compartment?” He arched a brow. “Where was it and how’d you find it?”

  “I didn’t. Sawdust did. He was rubbing himself along the steps and the bottom one moved. I’d noticed the stair creaked and had planned to fix it, but I had no idea there was a storage area underneath.”

  “Maybe your cat should become a detective. He’s got a knack for digging up evidence.”

  It was true. The first piece of evidence he’d ever dug up was a dead body, though. I wish he had a knack for finding buried treasure instead.

  The server came by to take our drink orders. While I drank iced tea in the warmer months, today was a hot tea kind of day.

  “Coffee for me,” Collin told the server before turning back to me. “I’ve been surviving on caffeine and Chinese takeout for the last month. With that new DNA technology, the chief’s assigned each of us some cold cases to follow up on. Got a lot on my plate right now.”

  “It’s nice to know we taxpayers are getting our money’s worth.”

  “With all the hours I’ve put in, I’d have made more money flipping burgers.” He pulled the documents from the envelope and looked them over, his head bobbing as he confirmed the information I’d told him. When he finished reading the wills, he set them back on the table and met my gaze. “Assuming the will you found under the stair is the only copy, Wayne Walsh would have a motive for killing Nelda Dolan. Whether he had the opportunity is another question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For him to be the killer, he would have had to be in the house the night Nelda was killed. It’s possible he was, but I’ll have to talk with him, see if he has an alibi for that night. It’s also possible that his son took care of this problem for him.”

  “Dakota?”

  Collin nodded. “Maybe Nelda mentioned the will to Dakota, and Dakota realized she could cause his father to lose his inheritance. Dakota clearly had an opportunity to kill Mrs. Dolan, and now he’s got a potential motive, too.” He ran a frustrated hand over his head. “I’d just crossed him off my list of suspects, too. Guess I’ll have to put him back on it.”

  “You crossed him off? Why?”

  “He surfaced yesterday evening at his parents’ place. I went by and talked to him. He said he’d lost his old cell phone and bought a new one. He didn’t port his old number over. That’s why we couldn’t reach him at the number we had. He’s been crashing at various friends’ places the past few days. He told me he found the peacock necklace when he was scrounging around in the sofa for loose change. My guess is that it fell off Mrs. Dolan’s neck when the clasp broke, and slipped between the cushions. Dakota said he had no idea it had belonged to Mrs. Dolan.”

  “What about the other jewelry he pawned?”

  “I thought he might have stolen it from his grandmother, but he said she asked him to pawn pieces for her a few times when money was especially tight. She told him that because she didn’t have a daughter or granddaughter to leave her jewelry to, she might as well sell it off. She told him she’d pawned a few pieces herself before, but that she was afraid the neighbors would see her going into the pawnshop and gossip about it. She swore Dakota to secrecy. She didn’t want Wayne and Andy to know, either. She didn’t want them to worry, and she didn’t want Andy to bail her out or Wayne to feel guilty for borrowing from her.”

  “Did Dakota’s story check out?”

  “It did. I contacted the pawnshop this morning. Their records show Lillian pawned three pieces of jewelry herself prior to the first time Dakota pawned anything there.”

  “He told the truth, then.”

  “About th
e jewelry, anyway,” Collin said. “That doesn’t mean he’s been honest about everything. This will gives me pause. Any chance it was in some kind of box when you found it?”

  “No. It was in that envelope.” In other words, it wasn’t the thing that was taken from underneath Nelda. I supposed if the will had been under Nelda and was the reason she’d been killed, the killer would have destroyed the document and I never would have found it in the first place. It seemed far more likely she’d merely referenced the will in conversation with her killer.

  Flynn drummed anxious fingers on the table. “I wonder if Wayne and Dakota were aware of the secret compartment. If they were, it seems they would have realized Lillian might have stashed a copy of her will there, and they would have removed it. Any chance I can interview them at the house? I’d like to mention it, see where their eyes go when I ask. Their body language might clue me in as to what they know.”

  “Of course,” I said. “We found a box of Wayne’s inventory in the attic. Silver polish. I can return it to him at the same time.”

  Collin said he’d get in touch with the two and let me know when they’d be coming by. The server swung by our table to deliver our drinks and take our food orders.

  As I looked through the selection of hot teas the server had left, I asked Collin whether he’d spoken with Andy about the life-insurance policy Carl Dolan had taken out on his wife.

  “Spoke to him this morning,” Collin said. “He confirmed that the policy had been taken out decades ago, when he first opened his insurance agency. He said all the couples on the circle bought policies that expired when the insured reached seventy-five, though the policy Carl purchased on Nelda was worth double what the others bought and he was the only one who’d added a child as a beneficiary. That said, the value remained the same over all that time. He never raised it.”

  I dunked the teabag in the hot water, the brew steeping as I mulled over what he’d just told me. “So there’s no smoking gun, like Carl recently increasing the amount he and Becky would be paid if Nelda passed away.”

  “Right. But the policy could still be a motive for killing her. The fact that her birthday was approaching might have reminded him, or Becky, that the policy would soon be worthless and that they better make a move quick if they wanted to collect on it.”

  “What about Roxanne?” I asked. “Have you talked to her?”

  “She finally returned my call this morning, but she had nothing to offer.”

  “You sure about that? She could have Nelda Dolan’s DNA under her fingernails.” I held up my hands, curling my fingers like claws.

  “Could be,” he acknowledged, “but there’s not enough evidence to support the search warrant I’d need to find out. Besides, it’s been over a week now. Any skin cells she might have had under her fingernails would have long since been washed away.”

  “What about Luis Bautista?”

  “My gut is still squirming a little,” he admitted, “but my brain keeps telling me he’s the least likely suspect and not to waste my time running down a rabbit trail.” With nothing left to say about the investigation, Collin inquired about the remodel. “Things moving along?”

  “It’s picking up. The materials have been delivered. Buck and I will install the new kitchen appliances and tile this week, start on the painting. A plumber’s coming to install pipe for the new shower stall in the master bath.”

  “Y’all don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “Don’t have any extra time to waste,” I said. “I got a credit card for the home-improvement store and we’d like to get it paid off as soon as possible.” I gave him a pointed look. “Once word gets out that Nelda Dolan’s death wasn’t an accident, we may have trouble selling the house.”

  “I’ll keep things as quiet as I can,” Collin promised. “For what it’s worth, the media doesn’t seem to pay much attention when an everyday person dies, unless it’s particularly gruesome.”

  I realized the detective was trying to make me feel better, but in an odd way it made me feel worse. The only person who seemed to care much about Nelda Dolan was her killer, and the killer had wanted her out of the picture. But I suppose there was nobody to blame for that but Nelda herself. After all, you reap what you sow.

  CHAPTER 24

  TAKING STOCK

  WHITNEY

  I woke Tuesday morning, pleased to discover upon checking my computer that the tins I’d listed on eBay had sold. I decided the fair thing to do was split the proceeds three ways, with Buck, Colette, and me each getting an equal share. Though Buck and I technically owned the tins, we wouldn’t have realized they had any value if not for my roommate mentioning it. I retrieved some cash from my wallet and left it with a note on the kitchen counter where I knew Colette would find it later. It wasn’t a lot of money, but she could apply it toward that air fryer she’d been thinking about.

  On my drive to the flip house that morning, I was overcome by both hunger and curiosity and I found myself turning into the parking lot at the grocery store where I’d seen Carl Dolan speaking with the bakery clerk, Dulce, last week. I wasn’t sure if Dulce was working today, but either way it wouldn’t be a total waste of my time. Colette was working on locating nectarines for the peach pies she planned to bake on Friday, but I needed to shop for the other ingredients.

  Mother Nature had taken pity on Nashville today. While the temperature remained frigid, she’d at least turned on the sun, the early rays providing little in the way of warmth but promising better days just around the corner. Mother Nature can be such a tease.

  I rounded up a cart at the front of the store and rolled it inside, aiming for the bakery department. Country music played softly over the store’s sound system, and I found myself improvising a two-step as I made my way. One glance behind the counter told me that Dulce was indeed working today. Working hard, as a matter of fact. A line of no less than seven customers waited at the bakery counter while she and a tall, thin young man scurried about, boxing up donuts, bear claws, and éclairs. Rather than spend unnecessary time waiting in line, I decided to go in search of the ingredients for the peach pie first. Maybe the rush would be over by the time I returned.

  Looking up at the signs posted over the aisles, I scanned them until I spotted the one that read BAKING SUPPLIES. Off I went.

  Lillian had been precise in her recipes, not only with her measurements but with her preferred brands of ingredients. She’d specified which brands of sugar to use, as well as which brands of extract, flour, cinnamon, and maple syrup. She hadn’t made it easy to find her award-winning peach-pie recipe, but she’d made it easy as pie to follow.

  Once I’d filled my cart with the ingredients, I ventured back to the bakery department. The scent of yeast and cinnamon enveloped me. Someone must be baking in the back.

  Only one person stood in line now, a young mother with a fussy, toothless baby on her hip. She ordered a blueberry scone. When Dulce handed it to her, the woman opened the bag, broke a piece off the scone, and handed it to the baby. The fussing ceased immediately and the drooling began as the baby gummed the treat.

  Dulce smiled at me over the glass display case. “Can I help you?”

  I gestured back to the baby. “I’ll have what she’s having. Make it a half dozen.” Buck would happily devour a couple of the scones, and I’d save at least one for Detective Flynn. He’d texted me late yesterday evening. He, Wayne, and Dakota were scheduled to come by the house at half past ten this morning.

  Dulce grabbed a piece of waxed paper and a bag, and bent over to round up the scones.

  I did my best to sound and appear casual. “You’re a friend of Carl Dolan’s, aren’t you?”

  She glanced up at me through the glass of the case, her expression surprised and wary. “He comes in here quite a bit,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “He’s got a donut addiction.”

  “Is that all?” I said. “I was hoping it was more than that.”

  She tucked the scones into
the bag and stood up, confronting me straight on. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a very nice man. I just hoped he wasn’t lonely, is all.” I extended my hand over the counter. “I’m Whitney, by the way. I bought the house next door to Carl. My cousin and I are fixing it up to sell.”

  Looking more relaxed now, she took my hand and gave it a friendly shake.

  I laid it on as thick as the cream-cheese frosting on the carrot cake on the bottom shelf below. “Carl’s planning some updates to his place, too. He asked for our input on paint.”

  “He mentioned that he was thinking of painting his house.”

  I took a chance. “Was that over steaks last Friday night?” I tempered my question with a knowing but non-accusatory smile and a coy tilt of my head, hoping not to alarm her.

  She blushed and curled her fingers over the top of the case, leaning toward me. “You know about us?” she whispered.

  A-ha! I knew Carl had been lying about going to the VFW Friday night. “He didn’t say anything to me,” I replied, “but he didn’t have to. He came home with a grin on his face and lots of giddy-up in his gait.” I shot her a wink.

  She blushed even redder, but smiled. “I had a good time, too. We’re going back this Friday.”

  I wondered how long Carl and Dulce had been dating, whether Dulce knew Nelda had passed less than two weeks prior. I was trying to come up with a way to ask her without being obvious when the customer behind me cleared his throat. “I hate to butt in, but I need four dozen donuts for a meeting that’s starting in half an hour, and if I’m late my boss will chew me out.”

  I took my bag of scones, raised my hands, and backed away from the counter. “Sorry! Don’t want you getting chewed out on my account.” I offered Dulce a smile in the way of goodbye, grabbed my cart, and headed to the checkout.