As a crime reporter, he probably hung out there. Gary had met him once when he and Deena were at a restaurant. He had been friendly enough, but Deena had been stand-offish. She said something about him bugged her. Gary wondered if maybe she were jealous of him and his accomplishments at the newspaper.
Carson walked over to the front desk and leaned on the counter to talk to the officer on duty. He must have said something funny or obscene or both because the woman cackled like a schoolgirl.
They talked a few minutes, and then Gary saw the officer motion in his direction.
Dan put his hand to his forehead and gave her a mock salute.
Gary remembered he had done the same thing at the restaurant. Must be his signature move. As Dan approached, Gary buried his nose deeper in the pages of Sports Illustrated.
Dan sat across from him and began talking as if they were old friends. “Crazy day. Am I right?”
Gary shrugged, not taking his eyes off the magazine.
“Deena is a real go-getter. Must be hard to keep up with her.”
Gary glanced up and offered a half smile. He felt his jaw tighten. Maybe if he ignored this guy, he would just go away. The last thing he wanted was to have his name end up in the newspaper. He was determined not to take the bait.
Dan began humming softly to himself. The knot on his navy blue tie was loose. He undid the top button of his shirt, and kicked off some of the dried mud stuck to his Tony Lama boots.
Gary tried to ignore him. Obviously, the guy was plotting his next move. What was he going to try next? Chinese water torture?
Dan leaned forward. “So, does your wife often go around breaking into strangers’ houses?”
That did it. Gary threw down the magazine. “Look Carson, you know darn well that she was working on a story. She’s a reporter. She—” He was tempted to say more but caught himself.
“Easy, man. I hear you.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “No need to go all Rambo on me.”
Gary stood up and walked over to the front window. He jammed his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the parking lot. The clouds were merging again and threatening to spew. It had been almost an hour since he and Deena had gotten there. What could be taking so long?
A door opened near the front desk, and Deena emerged. She looked unshaken.
Detective Evans was behind her. “Wait here a minute, and I’ll have an officer drive you home.”
“Actually, I need to get my car.”
He disappeared behind the door. Gary moved toward her. At least Carson had the decency to let him be the first to talk to his wife.
“I’m fine,” she said, anticipating his question. She looked past Gary to Dan. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, girl. I’m sure you know the routine,” Dan said. “I wanted to see if I could ask you a few questions.”
“You’re kidding. No comment.” She linked her arm through Gary’s and took a defiant pose.
“C’mon. Throw a fellow reporter a bone. What were you doing at the old lady’s house? Why did you break in?”
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.”
Dan made a note on his pad. “You were worried about her, so you went in. You must have known the victim, right?”
“No. Yes—.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know her. Yes, I was concerned about her.”
His eyes twinkled. “Why?”
Gary took a step forward. “That’s all, pal. No more comments.”
Dan smiled and closed his notepad. “I thought you were an accountant. You sound more like a lawyer.” He raised his hand and saluted Deena. “See you back at the office.” He waved toward the front desk and headed out the door.
“Thanks.” Deena sat down and let out a deep sigh. “It’s weird to be on the other side of things.”
A young, fresh-faced deputy came around the corner. “Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe? I’ll drive you home.”
“We need to go back to...the scene,” Gary said. “That’s where her car is.”
“You sure you want to go back there?”
The look of surprise on the officer’s face was unnerving. Gary was ready to get out of there. “Yes, I’m sure.”
As they exited the building, a flash of light caught them off guard.
“Sorry, Deena,” the photographer said. “You know how it is.”
Dan was leaning against his car and nodded as they passed by.
Gary walked faster and gnashed his teeth. “Since when is the hero of the story made out to be the bad guy?”
Deena ducked into the car. “In this business, it happens more than you think.”
DESPITE THE DREARY drizzle, the entrance to Butterfly Gardens was a welcome sight. It seemed like days since Deena left to get her hair done this morning. She never would have dreamed it would have led to her being involved in another murder case. Maycroft was such a quiet place...usually.
Hurley jumped up and performed a circus-dog twirl when they came through the door. His excitement calmed Deena’s nerves.
Gary opened the back door to let the dog outside. “You’re going to call Lloyd Pryor first thing, right?”
“Absolutely. I just need to catch my breath a second.” She hung her coat on the wall hook and dropped her keys on the entry table. Before she could even get to the bedroom, Lloyd was calling her on the phone again.
As she answered his questions and provided the missing details of the day’s events, Deena could see Gary pacing the floor in the den. Hurley was back inside and right on his heels.
By the time she hung up, the knot in her stomach had started to unwind.
Gary walked into the bedroom, obviously worried about what would hit the morning newspaper. “What’d he say?”
She walked out to the den and sat on the couch. “Lloyd agreed not to run that picture of me in the newspaper. He also said Dan didn’t write anything about me in his story except naming me as the person who found the body.”
“That’s a relief.” Gary sat down in his leather recliner. “I was afraid Carson was going to make you out to be a suspect.”
“I think he was just yanking your chain at the police station.” She scratched Hurley’s soft fur. “Lloyd did scold me for not telling him about the story before I started investigating. He wants me to tell Dan everything I know about Marty Fisk, which isn’t much. Dan’s going to follow up on it.”
“Good. I’ll feel better knowing you aren’t any more involved than you already are.” He turned on the TV and found a basketball game to watch.
“But it’s my story,” she whined.
Gary shot her a look of dismay. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you’re worried about? This situation doesn’t just affect you. I have a reputation in this town. My job depends on people putting their trust in me.”
She hadn’t thought about that. Gary was her rock. Her Gibraltar. He was more dependable than a Maytag dryer. “You’re right. Sorry.”
He turned the sound back up on the game.
It was unusual for Gary to get upset with her. She didn’t like it. Still, she wished she could help with the murder investigation for the newspaper. Until the police caught the killer—or at least had some other suspects—she was the only one under suspicion. And that was the last place she wanted to be.
Chapter 9
“Can you let Hurley out?” Deena pulled the covers up under her chin. She waited, but the barking continued. When it finally stopped, she realized Gary wasn’t even in the bedroom. She could hear the shower running, and Hurley was still curled up at her feet.
Finally she realized that the barking sound was the ringtone on her phone. She couldn’t imagine who would be calling her this early in the morning. Prying one eye open, she picked up her phone and saw that the call had come from Sandra. She sat up and shook out the weeds growing in her head. Without even listening to the voicemail, she called back.
Sandra answered, not bothering with the usual niceties. “What on earth happened to yo
u yesterday? I can’t believe you didn’t call me! Ian is furious with you.”
“Good morning.” Deena yawned and stretched like a house cat. “How did you find out?”
“It’s in the newspaper. Your newspaper.”
She’d forgotten about that. “By the time I got home, I was exhausted. Let me grab the newspaper so I can read the article.” She put on her slippers and hurried to the front porch. A cold blast of air greeted her when she opened the door to pick up the paper. She quickly shut it and shuffled back to get under her warm blanket.
There it was on the front page. “Woman Found Murdered in South Maycroft Home.”
“Deena? Deena!” Sandra yelled to get her attention.
“Sorry. I’m back.” She skimmed through the article, spotting her name in the third paragraph. At least it wasn’t in the lead.
“Here. Ian wants to talk to you.”
“Deena? Why didn’t you call me when all this went down? I’m your attorney.”
She could hear genuine concern in his voice. “I didn’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The story says you entered the house and found the body. Sounds to me like you did something. You’re supposed to let me decide if it’s wrong or not. Did they take you in for questioning?”
“Well, yes. Gary too.”
“Gary? Why?”
She proceeded to explain some of the details, including the fact that Gary’s car was impounded. As she relayed the events, she realized they sounded pretty bad.
Ian bombarded her with questions. Why didn’t she tell her editor about the story? Why didn’t she let the woman at the store call Marty Fisk? Why did she enter a private residence? These sounded like the same questions the detective asked her.
Ian used his stern lawyerly voice. “Promise me you won’t talk to the police or the newspaper without calling me first. I’ll see what I can find out from the police. Maybe they have some suspects.”
She promised, and he seemed satisfied.
As she hung up the phone, Gary came in from the bathroom. “Who was that?”
“Ian. He’s not happy with me—us, for not calling him yesterday. We are not supposed to talk to the police or anyone from the newspaper without calling him first.”
“Sounds like good advice. I think you should lay low and stay home today. Besides, I have to take your car.”
Deena folded her arms. “I forgot about that. I could drive you to work.”
“Not a chance.” He sat on the side of the bed to put on his socks.
“Great. It’s like I’m in prison.”
Gary spun his head around and stared.
“Oops. Hope I didn’t jinx myself.”
SPRING IS A TIME OF renewal. A time to refresh. But spring cleaning was of little interest to Deena as she stared at her closet. Without a car to go anywhere, she debated the need to even get dressed. She compromised by pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Closing the door of the cluttered closet, she vowed to tackle it later. For now, she had a bigger job on her mind.
It had been ages since she had worked on restocking her booth at the Hidden Treasures Antique Mall. She occasionally stopped in for a quick dusting and visit with the owner, Janet. Being stuck in the house, she had no excuse to put the task off any longer. Like many resellers, she enjoyed buying more than selling and had accumulated a stockpile of goods to inventory, clean, and price.
Guided by a belly full of nervous energy, she opened the door to the guest bedroom where she kept all her purchases. Her reaction was mixed when she stared at the boxes, bags, and bundles she found inside. On the one hand, she dreaded the work ahead of her. But on the other, it was like shopping all over again as she spied some of the forgotten treasures.
Hurley brushed past her, anxious to explore all the new smells that waited for his curious nose.
“Let’s get to it.” She followed him in and pulled up an old wicker chair she had purchased in the fall. She picked up a box of breakables. American and English pottery were her specialty. Carefully, she pulled out several large vases and set them on an old card table.
The last entry in her inventory book was dated in December. That was after she and Sandra had gone to the flea market in Canton. She looked over on the shelf near the window. The sight of the two Southwestern vases made her shiver. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had investigated Carolyn Fitzhugh’s murder. She thought about her brother Russell and wished he’d return soon from Hawaii.
She recorded the amount she paid for the two pieces and removed their price tags. These two were clean inside so she didn’t need to wash them. She grabbed a baby wipe that she used to remove surface dust and goo.
From experience, she had a good idea of the value of the vases. She filled in the inventory numbers and prices on her handmade tags and tied them on with raffia. Two down, a bunch to go. She really needed to do a better job of staying on top of this.
As she continued working, she thought about the previous day’s events. What if she hadn’t gone to Mrs. Wilde’s house? What if she had gone to Millie Canfield’s house instead? Mrs. Wilde might still be sitting in that chair waiting to be found. Bless her heart.
Deena believed that things tended to work out as they should. Maybe she was meant to show up there to find Mrs. Wilde. But the big question remained. Who would murder an old woman in her home? The story Dan wrote said the preliminary finding showed no evidence of a break in. They had contacted the victim’s granddaughter who lived in town. She had verified that nothing appeared missing from the house.
The police would be looking at friends and family for a possible motive as was usual in this type of case. Maybe the woman had money. Greed is too often the motive for murder.
Was it a coincidence that the murdered woman lived in the exact neighborhood Marty Fisk wanted to re-zone? What was he going to do? Kill off the residents one by one? She shuddered at the thought.
A clap of thunder pulled her mind back before it had travelled too far down the road of suspicion.
As she looked around at the progress she had made, her thoughts turned to the piles of vintage items and who might have owned them before her. Had they been passed down from family members who had no interest in owning their relatives’ old junk? After all, she did buy a lot of her inventory from estate sales. The sales were always a bit depressing, watching someone’s memories redistributed piece by piece.
But like Gary always said about her business, it was the circle of life.
The doorbell rang and startled her and Hurley. He ran from the room barking. He might be small, but he was loud. He made a good watchdog.
Deena peeked through the hole, fully expecting to see her neighbor Christy Ann there to get the scoop on Maycroft’s latest mystery. Instead, it was Dan Carson.
She opened the door and asked him in. “Where’s your umbrella?” She took his wet jacket und hung it on the hall tree next to hers.
“Real men don’t use umbrellas.”
Deena rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Wipe your feet.”
He stamped his boots on the mat and dried his wet hands on his jeans. Lloyd Pryor was an old-fashioned editor and required his male reporters to wear a tie. Dan’s always seemed to hang loose around his collar. He followed her to the den. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” She motioned to the sofa and sat down across from him. “I’m not supposed to talk to you about the murder case, you know.”
“I figured. Pryor told me to get the information you have about Marty Fisk. That’s the reason you were at that old lady’s house, right?”
“Yep. I’ll get my notes. Do you want some coffee?”
“Always.” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. “By the way, I know you didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”
Deena looked back over her shoulder. “Okay.” Was she supposed to be relieved? She didn’t need his absolution. She picked up her notebook from the desk and walked back to the kitchen to get two cups of co
ffee. When she walked back into the den, Dan was checking messages on his phone.
He took the cup. “So, what have you got?”
She flipped through her notes. “Marty Fisk has a plan to re-zone an area on the south side of town. He wants to make it commercial property. It’s the neighborhood...I was in yesterday. He’s made the proposal three times to the city council, and all three times it’s been voted down.”
“If the city re-zones, the few remaining residences would likely have to move.” Dan scribbled some notes.
“I would assume so. Brad Thornhill is definitely against the plan.”
Dan gulped the hot coffee like it were cool lemonade on a summer’s day. “I don’t know why he would be. That area is practically a wasteland anyway.”
Deena looked up from her notes. “There are people who live there. People who have lived there their whole lives. You can’t just run them off their property because you want to build a shopping mall or office complex.”
Dan shrugged. “Seems like a conflict of interest if he’s trying to use his position on the city council to his own benefit.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” She picked up the cup and blew steam toward Dan. “I checked the records at the clerk’s office and this is the only issue he has proposed since getting elected last May. Seems pretty determined.”
“Has anyone voted with him?”
Deena flipped to another page. “In June, Councilman Dwyer did. Since then, he has voted against it.”
Dan rubbed his chin. His scruffy beard showed the same hint of gray as his hair. “I’d be surprised if Fisk had the kind of money needed for that sort of development. I know he has some rental houses and owns the pawn shop, but developing a large property like that takes some major bucks.”
“Maybe he has investors. Anyway, I was going to check with the residents to see if he had made them offers on their property or if they were aware of his plans.” Deena took a sip of her hot coffee, wondering how Dan could withstand the heat.
“How badly do you think Fisk wants this re-zoning to happen?” He put his pen back in his pocket. “Bad enough to kill?”
Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread Page 5
