by J A Whiting
Nicole put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry things were so hard for you.”
Claire gave a half-smile. “You’re a good friend. I’m lucky to have you. Everything that happened in the past led me to Boston, to you, to Ian, to Tony, to my sweet Corgis. I’m happy. My life is good. Talking to Jenny brought a lot of old feelings back. It was a difficult time to go through … but it brought me here, and I’m very grateful.”
“So am I.” Nicole squeezed Claire’s shoulders.
Darkness covered the city while they walked a few more blocks.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nicole asked. “The closer we get, the more nervous I feel.”
“You’ve been there before,” Claire reminded.
“Yeah, in daylight, and not after a dead body was found in there.”
“We’ll just look through the gates. We probably can’t get in at this time of evening anyway. The gates might be locked.”
“What are we looking for anyway?”
“I only want to look around the area at night. I’ve walked past here plenty of times, but I need to look at the place with a different mindset.” Claire smiled. “It’s hard to explain.”
“I actually understand,” Nicole said. “But I was thinking maybe you might be able to sense more if you go by yourself.”
Claire turned to her friend with a stunned expression.
“I’m joking. Sort of.” Nicole chuckled. “I wouldn’t let you go by yourself, and you know it.”
When they approached the Granary gates, Claire’s heart sped up.
The Granary was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and two Egyptian-revival-style iron gates. The land had once been part of the Boston Common until the city took it to establish the cemetery. Headstones stood in rows and some of the older ones leaned to the side, and the trees and the buildings on the periphery cast long, dark menacing shadows over the ground.
Claire glanced around trying to understand how someone could carry a body into the burial ground without being seen.
“It doesn’t matter if the gates were locked or not that night. The killer could have climbed over the wrought-iron fence,” Nicole observed. “It’s not very high. It would be easy to do.”
“But carrying a body?” Claire asked.
Nicole chose her words carefully. “That would be hard to do, and I hate to say this, but he could have … sort of tossed the body over the fence. Grace was already dead. Then he climbed over and carried her to the back of the cemetery.”
“That could have happened.” Claire’s eyes roved over the scene. “Could he have come out of one of the buildings? They surround three sides of the burial ground. Are these office spaces or residences? If they’re only business buildings, most people would have gone home by then.”
“People work late though. Someone could have seen the person carrying the body. Why would he take that chance? He must have had Grace in his car. So what did he do? He took a body out of his car in the middle of Boston and carried her into the cemetery? Why didn’t he drive out of the city and go someplace secluded?”
“Maybe he panicked. Maybe he wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible,” Claire offered. “Maybe he wasn’t thinking anything through.”
Nicole made a face. “I’d guess that was probably right.”
“Did Grace know the killer?” Claire asked. “Or was she the victim of chance?”
“The killer could have seen her walking around the city and followed her home,” Nicole surmised. “He might have been the one buzzing the door trying to get Grace to let him in.”
“What about the gun? Did he have it on him? Was it in his car? When Grace wouldn’t let him in, did he leave and go somewhere to get his gun?”
“It’s a chilling thought.” Nicole wrapped her arms around her body. “This guy wasn’t dissuaded by anything. He couldn’t get inside Grace’s building so he decided to get his gun. He was obsessed. Why didn’t he look for someone easier to get his hands on?”
Claire turned and looked her friend in the eyes. “That makes me think it was personal.”
“Then he knew Grace? It was Grace he had to kill? Not some random stranger?”
“That’s the feeling I’m getting.” Claire closed her eyes and took in a long breath.
After a few minutes passed, Nicole asked, “Can we get out of here? Are you done trying to pick up on things? Do you need to stay longer? How about we go get some dinner?”
“Okay. I’m done. I want to ask Ian about the buildings around the Granary. Are they residential? Are the doors locked after hours? Are there security cameras around here? I also want to talk to him about my feelings that this wasn’t a random crime. The killer knew Grace, or was at least familiar with her. I’d bet money on it.” A chill rode over Claire’s skin when she said the words.
Claire and Nicole took a booth in the corner of a cozy pub they’d never been to and as they were looking over the menus, someone came over to stand next to them.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a man said.
The young women glanced up to see Bob Cooney smiling at them like a Cheshire cat.
“What are you doing here?” Claire asked. “This isn’t your usual stomping grounds.”
“I’m increasing my territory.”
Nicole groaned.
“Good evening to you, too,” Cooney said to her. In his mid to late fifties, the man was thin, fit, and wiry, with jet black hair that Claire was sure was dyed, and dark brown eyes. Always impeccably dressed, Cooney was a former private investigator who now was known for his lucrative, but shady dealings. He knew just about everything that went on in the city or knew someone who did. Several times, he’d given Claire some helpful information about a crime she was looking into … for which she’d had to pay him a hefty sum.
“What brings you two to this part of town?” Cooney held a glass tumbler and took a sip of the liquid.
“We heard this place was good so we thought we’d try it,” Claire told him.
“Don’t ask me to join you. I’m too busy.”
“We weren’t going to.” Nicole had no use for the man’s sleazy dealings and wished Claire wouldn’t ask him for help.
“What’s wrong with her?” Cooney asked Claire as he crooked his thumb towards Nicole.
“I have standards.” Nicole kept her nose in the menu hoping the man would disappear.
“Good thing your friend doesn’t have any. I’ve helped her out more than a few times.” Cooney raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of which … why are you out having a good time instead of working on that case?”
“Which case would that be?” Claire asked, narrowing her eyes.
“You know very well which case it is.” Cooney leaned against the edge of the booth. “I hear your boyfriend is one of the chief investigators.”
Claire sighed wondering how on earth news traveled so fast. “No comment.”
“Shall I say the same to you when you come looking for information?”
“I believe you have said that to me when I’ve asked you some questions in the past.”
“You know I’m just trying to build your skills, Rollins. Things can’t be handed to you on a silver platter. You need to use your brain, put two and two together. Use your intuition.”
When she heard the word intuition, Claire startled and stared at the man afraid he’d somehow discovered she had some unusual skills. From the look on Cooney’s face she didn’t think he was referring to anything paranormal.
“What’s the matter with you?” Cooney eyed the young woman’s reaction. “You see a ghost or something?”
Attempting to shift the man’s attention away from her, she asked, “Do you have any information you’d like to share?”
“Why would I?”
“Do you know anything about Grace Dylan’s murder?” Claire asked.
Nicole peeked over her menu to look at Cooney.
“How would I know anything?” Cooney shifted his gaz
e to the bar looking for attractive women he might a buy a drink.
“Because you know most things going on in town.” Claire sipped from her water glass.
“What have you learned so far?” Cooney asked.
“I’m not biting,” Claire said. “You’re fishing for information.”
“Since when is that a bad thing?” The man shifted his weight. “Here’s what I think. It’s early in the investigation so I don’t think you know much. Yet. But I have faith in you. Keep looking for answers.” He tapped his head. “Use your noggin. Remember what I always tell you. Think like the criminal. Why would someone want Grace dead? Who had motivation? Who had access and opportunity?”
“So it wasn’t a random killing?” Claire asked.
“Maybe not.” A smile spread over Cooney’s face when he saw three good-looking women walk over to the bar. He leaned down. “Here’s my tip for the day. No payment needed. Use your head, but listen to your feelings, your intuition. Don’t trust what people tell you. And when fortune knocks, open the door.” The man headed to the bar. “I’ll be seeing you, Rollins. You know where to find me when you need a hand.”
Cooney joined the women at the bar.
“I just can’t stand that man.” Nicole had a look of distaste on her face.
“Yeah,” Claire agreed. “But sometimes, I need what he knows.”
9
“We’re very sorry about your daughter.” Claire and Nicole sat on a cream-colored sofa in the beautifully-decorated home of Grace’s parents. The living room had light taupe walls, a fireplace with a carved mantel, and large windows overlooking the garden. Three sofas had been placed in front of the fireplace, wood and glass tables had been set here and there next to some of the furniture, plush rugs were scattered in the room, and expensive-looking fixtures and lamps completed the impression of wealth and ease.
Grace’s father, Dr. Jeffrey Dylan, was a medical researcher, and her mother, Dr. Kyla George-Dylan, was an anesthesiologist. Both in their mid-sixties, Jeffrey wore gray dress slacks and a pressed white shirt and Kyla had on a dress of different shades of blue. They were slim and fit. Both of their faces looked strained and their demeanor seemed sapped of energy.
“The past few days have been very demanding.” Jeffrey was trying to put on a brave front. “Our hearts are broken. We’ll never be the same.”
Kyla nodded, her chin trembling. “Our lives have been shattered.”
“Is there any news on the investigation?” Jeffrey asked.
Claire explained that they only did interviews and research for the police and that the law enforcement officers kept the details of the investigation to themselves. “Our hope is that we can gather information that will be useful to the police.”
“Can you tell us about Grace?” Nicole asked.
Jeffrey took in a deep breath trying to control his emotions. “She was twenty-five. She was enrolled to earn her master’s degree to become a nurse practitioner. Grace was smart, ambitious. She loved nursing. She was a joy to be around. She was a ray of sunshine.”
“We heard that Grace had been dating Harry Parker for several years and that they’d recently broken up.”
“Yes. We liked Harry. We’d hoped they might marry one day, but Grace spoke with us prior to breaking off the relationship. She felt something was missing between them and thought it best to end things and move on. When we heard her thoughts we understood that Grace and Harry probably weren’t the right match.”
Kyla spoke up. “Honestly? I didn’t think Harry was right for Grace. He was a little rigid, not as playful or fun as Grace. He seemed to have ideas about how she should behave that didn’t match up with the way our daughter wanted to live and enjoy life.”
Jeffrey said, “Harry got very serious about Grace early in the relationship. Grace wasn’t ready for marriage. They were too young. She had goals she wanted to achieve before committing to married life.”
“Grace wanted a partner,” Kyla told them. “She thought Harry would be too bossy, too domineering. That wasn’t the kind of husband she wanted.”
Claire’s internal alarm bells began to sound. She didn’t like hearing that Harry could be a domineering person. “Did Harry take the breakup hard?”
“At first, he did, but over a few weeks, he became more accepting.” Kyla adjusted her posture to sit straighter. “He told Grace he understood, and although it was hard to part ways with her, Harry came to believe it was the best thing for both of them.”
“They kept in touch?” Nicole asked.
“They seemed to. They hoped to remain friends.”
“Grace had a roommate that she’d known for a long time.” Claire looked from the father to the mother. “They had a good relationship?”
“Grace and Jenny met in elementary school, first grade, I believe.” Jeffrey glanced to his wife for confirmation. “They’d been in classes together for years. They were good friends.”
One of Kyla’s hands rested on the side of her neck. “Jenny and Grace weren’t getting along as well as they used to. Jenny didn’t like her job. She’d met a new man a couple of months ago, but she was disappointed that he didn’t make a lot of time to be with her. I got the impression that Jenny was frustrated with aspects of her life and complained that everything was going so well for Grace.”
Kyla sighed and went on. “Sometimes, they argued. Grace was planning to move out and get her own place. She didn’t like the drama and she thought if they weren’t living together, then maybe her and Jenny’s friendship would go back to the way it used to be.”
“Had Grace told Jenny about her plan to move out?” Claire felt a prickly sensation jumping against her skin. When they’d spoken with the young woman, Jenny hadn’t revealed any issues between her and Grace.
“Grace told us she’d brought it up casually,” Jeffrey said. “Jenny wasn’t too happy about the idea.”
“Was Grace enjoying her studies?” Nicole asked.
“She was, definitely.” Jeffrey’s shoulders went back and he appeared very proud of his daughter. “She was very intelligent. She devoured the work. She would have done the profession proud.”
Claire smiled at the man’s words. “With her parents as role models, why didn’t Grace decide to pursue a medical degree? Had Grace considered going to medical school?”
Kyla answered the question. “Grace certainly considered it, but she thought our jobs took too much out of us. She hoped to teach nursing one day. She wanted a family, lots of children. She thought that being a doctor would take too much away from the time she wanted to give to her kids.” The woman gave a wistful smile. “Grace was a planner. She was very organized. She gave her life a lot of thought. She spent time considering the future, and what she needed to do to live the life she wanted.” Kyla lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “I guess fate doesn’t care what we want.”
Claire’s heart contracted with sadness. She knew very well that without warning, fate could knock you flat.
Nicole changed the subject. “Was there anyone who Grace had an interest in? Had she met someone who caught her eye?”
“She told us there were two men in her program that were really nice. She liked them. If she had a romantic interest in either of them, she didn’t confide that to us,” Jeffrey said. “Perhaps it was too early to tell.”
“Did Grace have a negative interaction with anyone recently?” Nicole questioned. “An argument? An altercation of some kind?”
A look of surprise crossed Jeffrey’s face. “Not at all. Grace didn’t tell us anything like that.”
Kyla looked down and shook her head slowly. “Nothing that I can recall.”
“Did you speak to your daughter on the day of the incident?” Claire asked.
Kyla said, “I did. Twice, in fact. Grace called me in the morning. One of her instructors was ill and the class was canceled so she called to chat. She called again later, after she left school for the day. She was walking to her yoga class, but she told me
her muscles were sore and maybe she wouldn’t go. She’d done well on an exam and wanted to share the news.” The woman’s eyes welled up with tears.
“Did you hear from Grace later that evening?”
“No,” Jeffrey said. “We were at a gala at the hospital. A charity event. Grace knew we had plans to attend.”
Kyla closed her eyes for a moment, and when she spoke, it was a struggle for her to get the words out. “The police told us that someone had been buzzing Grace’s apartment that night. They told us that someone fired a gunshot into her apartment and the bullet was embedded in the wall. Why would someone do such a thing? Why was someone trying to hurt Grace?”
“The police are looking into it,” Claire said hopefully. “They’ll find the answers.”
“Grace should have called us.” Jeffrey shook his head sadly. “We would have left the gala in a heartbeat. She should have called us … or the police.”
A thought popped into Claire’s head. “Did you take some things from Grace’s room?”
Kyla blinked. “Her jewelry. Some pictures. A book we’d given her for a birthday.” She looked to her husband. “Was that all?”
“The painting she had hanging on her wall.”
“What about sheets or blankets or her quilt from the bed?” Claire asked.
“I thought the police took those things,” Kyla said.
“Maybe they did.” Claire knew that law enforcement hadn’t removed those things from the room, but she didn’t want to make a big deal of it with the parents. “Is there anyone else who knew Grace well that we should speak with?”
Kyla said, “She made friends with a woman at the yoga studio. Grace said her name was Alison. They’d gone running together, met for drinks and dinner a few times. Grace liked her. She said they had a lot in common and they got along great.”
“We’ll get in touch with her,” Nicole said. “We’ll see if she can shed some light on the days leading up to Grace’s death. Grace may have confided something in the woman.”
