Murder After Hours

by Rayna Morgan

  “What? Oh, yeah,” Lea said, without looking up. “See you later.”

  Maddy lowered herself into the chair, unable to leave without satisfying her curiosity. “What are you looking at?”

  “Tom spoke to Ian first. He asked what people were close to the victim.” She held up the paper.

  Maddy shook her head with disapproval. “You eavesdropped and wrote down the names?”

  “I couldn’t help listening. It gave me something to do while I waited.” She paused. “Would you like to hear the names?”

  “What makes you think I'm interested?” Maddy knew her sister was trying to draw her in.

  She had a hard time resisting. “Oh, all right. Let’s hear them.”

  “Ian gave Tom the names of the spouse, the other agent, and the victim’s best friend, Brooke Fields.”

  “I know Brooke,” Maddy said, getting Lea's attention. “She’s the weather anchor at the local TV station.”

  “How do you know a television celebrity?”

  “When she became popular at the network, they increased her salary. I helped redecorate her house. She couldn’t wait to replace the second-hand furniture.”

  “So, tell me," Lea demanded.

  “Tell you what?” Maddy asked. Her tone was a mixture of irritation and amusement.

  “I want to know what Brooke is like, up close and personal.”

  Maddy jumped up. “I know where you’re headed with that question. Stay out of it, Lea. Don’t get involved.”

  She ignored her sister’s crestfallen face and grabbed her purse.

  But on her way out, she leaned over and confided. “I will tell you one thing. She’s not who people think she is.”

  • • •

  After leaving the coffee shop, Maddy checked the fuel gauge.

  As usual, I’m running on fumes.

  She stopped to fill the nearly empty tank, wincing as the dollar amount increased rapidly on the meter.

  Diverting her attention to her sister’s question, she recalled the day she met Brooke Fields.

  • • •

  A striking blond woman browsed the living room section of the furniture store. Her short, tight dress showed off shapely legs and an hourglass figure.

  As the salesperson next up on the rotation, Maddy rose from a desk at the back of the store.

  One of the male associates grabbed Maddy’s elbow without taking his eyes off the woman.

  “I’ll buy you dinner if you trade places and let me take this customer,” Mike said.

  He looked at the woman’s see-through blouse.

  “Any five-star restaurant of your choice,” he added.

  “Is a woman’s figure all you men notice?” Maddy snorted.

  “Don’t you recognize her?” he asked.

  “No, should I?”

  “If you watched the evening news, you would. She’s the weather person. It’s the only part of the hour worth watching. All the rest is bad news. Her segment is so popular, she’s become the darling of the network.”

  “In that case, she’s out of your league. Step aside.”

  Applying an easy-going sales approach, Maddy offered a business card.“Anything in particular I could help you with?”

  The woman could barely contain her excitement. “My husband’s agreed to let me redecorate.”

  Up close, Maddy could see tiny wrinkles at the woman’s eyes, freckles smattered across her nose, and a cold sore above her lip. Still, it was easy to imagine how flawless her face would appear under the capable hands of makeup artists. She doubted it would dampen Mike’s enthusiasm.

  Brooke proved to be a match to Maddy’s outgoing personality and the women established quick rapport. The saleswoman pointed out furniture she felt resonated with Brooke’s light, airy nature.

  When they ended the tour of the showroom, Maddy asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks. I take mine black. No cream or sugar.” She blushed modestly. “Extra calories show up on camera.”

  It was the first mention of her occupation.

  She’s presumptuous in assuming I know who she is.

  “We have similar tastes,” Brooke said. “I like the things you showed me.”

  It was Maddy’s gift for reading people that helped her relate to customers.

  “I’m glad we found what suits you.”

  Brooke’s eyes circled the room.

  “I appreciate your help. I’m not good at this,” she admitted. “My folks didn’t have fancy stuff when I was growing up.”

  She pointed at a light oak Queen Anne bookcase.

  “My bookcase was a board between two stacks of bricks. Mom bought my water bed at a flea market. It sprung a leak and flooded our apartment. A week later, there were mushrooms growing in my closet.”

  The women laughed until their eyes watered.

  Brooke looked at her watch. “I should be going. Can we arrange a time for another look?”

  “Of course," Maddy said. “In the meantime, I’ll email photos of the pieces you liked. It will give you an idea of how they would look in your home.”

  Maddy opened her appointment book to write down contact information.

  Brooke noticed Mike staring at her. It was hard to tell if she disliked the attention, or if she hoped he’d ask for an autograph.

  She made Mike’s day by letting him open the door for her when she left.

  Did the water bed story illustrate a surprising willingness to be candid? Maddy wondered. Or false modesty, a disarming ploy in the hands of a beautiful woman who used it to her advantage.

  Since that first meeting, Brooke had visited the store numerous times. Maddy joined Brooke for cocktails on more than one occasion.

  • • •

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a clicking sound on the gas tank. She pulled off the receipt and drove to work.

  When she arrived, she stopped in the back room where a stock boy was wrapping a landscape painting.

  “I’m delivering the pictures to the Johnsons this afternoon,” he said. “Will they ask me to stay to hang them?”

  “Unwrap them and leave them where Mrs. Johnson indicates. She needs time to decide. I’ll let you know when you can return to hang the pictures.”

  • • •

  Lea tapped her nails on the table, idly watching the line of people ordering coffee. She could no longer put off calling Paul to let him know what happened.

  As expected, he expressed concern about her involvement.

  “Will the police need you for anything further?” he asked cautiously.

  She told him only a single visit to the station was required.

  With an audible sigh of relief he asked, “How’s Ian taking it?”

  “He was plenty shook up at the scene. He’ll be at the station tomorrow. Hopefully, he’s processed it by then.”

  “How about you? Are you able to put it behind you?”

  “I will, as soon as I give my statement.” She understood his concern. “I have no reason to be involved. I barely knew Sandra. Ian won’t need help. I’m sure he has nothing to worry about.”

  “Family, work associates, and friends are always suspects,” Paul reminded her.

  “Unless I’m losing my ability to read people, Ian wasn’t faking his shocked reaction.”

  She changed the subject. “Sandra’s husband is a landscaper. Have you done business with him?”

  As a commercial real estate consultant, Paul covered all aspects of land development including acquisition, leasing, and management. One service he provided for his clients was recommending or hiring independent contractors.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Henry Dade.”

  “The name sounds familiar. I may have a card.”

  After a momentary pause, Paul continued.

  “I found it. Dade Landscaping. Bringing beauty to your home and office.”

  “Catchy phrase. Forgive the pun, but it sounds a little flowery for a commer
cial landscaper.”

  “As I recall, most of his business is residential. He’s trying to expand into commercial work. He dropped by my office one day to make a pitch. He seems like a nice guy. Outgoing, full of energy. But his company is too small for my clients.”

  His voice became wary. “Why are you asking?”

  “Idle curiosity. Wondering what kind of person he is. How he might react to his wife’s murder.”

  “I imagine he’ll react the way any man would. With disbelief and outrage.”

  Unless he’s responsible for his wife’s death.

  Oops, can’t let my thoughts go there.

  “Lea, you aren’t thinking of contacting him, are you?”

  “Don’t worry. I only want to put this tragedy behind me. Got to go, babe.”

  She disconnected quickly.

  Easier said than done.

  I found a person I know lying lifeless on the floor.

  That’s not something anyone, especially the daughter of Warren Conley, leaves behind.

  She smiled when she pulled the keys from her purse. On the bottom of the bag was the signed addendum.

  Looks like I need to go back to the insurance agency tomorrow. Paul can’t fault me for that.

  Chapter Four

  Neither officer spoke as they drove to the husband’s business address. Informing loved ones was the worst part of their job, bringing news which changed people’s lives forever. It was the single task Tom never assigned to anyone in his unit.

  He glanced at Pat. He knew she wasn’t eager to be a witness.

  Still, an extra pair of eyes was needed. They would both watch for physical or emotional tells. A tic of the eye. A hidden smile. Any knee jerk reaction that provided a hint of guilty knowledge in those emotionally charged moments.

  While he attended the recipient of the unfortunate news, Pat would roam the immediate area in search of clues.

  Their destination was an industrial building which housed a machine shop, an auto repair business, and a sign company. The landscaper was in the end unit, Suite D.

  The detectives entered the office at the front. Pat rang a bell on the counter.

  When no one responded, they walked around the building. The truck Ian described was parked in the back lot.

  A tattooed muscular man with a shaved head unloaded bags of fertilizer and carried them into a warehouse. Another man, tall, slim, and good-looking, puttered with a lawn mower.

  “I hope this thing doesn’t need a new part,” the one matching the husband’s description complained. A strand of short brown hair stuck out from under his baseball cap. Three-day stubble offset his boyish looks.

  He pulled a sweat-stained T-shirt over his head, threw it aside, and leaned over the mower.

  Pat admired the chiseled abs before she received a signal to move to the other man.

  The lieutenant showed his badge as he approached. “Mr. Dade? Tom Elliot, Buena Viaje Police. I need to speak with you.”

  The man turned. He put down the wrench he was holding and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  He noticed the second officer standing in the shadows beside the warehouse. “What’s going on?”

  “Can we move inside?”

  Tom wanted the man out of the sun where he would remove his sunglasses. The detective wanted to see his eyes when he heard the news.

  “Yeah, okay.” He waved toward a small office, yelling at his helper. “Shorty, we’re going inside.”

  Tom followed Henry inside a building containing a single office and a restroom. “Shorty?”

  “Alvin Duncan. Everyone calls him Shorty.”

  “The nickname doesn’t suit him.”

  “He got his growth late. Defending his short size was the reason he became a muscle builder. The nickname stuck after he grew up and filled out.”

  When they walked into the room, Henry pointed at a coffeepot on a warmer. “Can I offer you a cup?”

  “No, thanks.” Tom took a seat and pointed to the chair behind the desk. “Sit down, Mr. Dade. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  Henry didn’t move. He asked again. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry to inform you that your wife is dead.”

  Henry collapsed onto a metal chair behind the desk. His jaw dropped, but he was speechless.

  “Her body was found at the insurance office early this morning.”

  “Sandra, dead? I don’t believe it. An accident at work, how could that happen?”

  “It was no accident. Your wife was murdered.”

  Shock registered on Henry’s face. He cupped his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening.”

  Neither person spoke for several moments.

  Finally, Tom asked, “When did you last speak to your wife?”

  “What?” He lowered his hands. “At bedtime, I guess. No, that’s not right. We’d gone out for drinks. She returned to her office to help Donna, the woman she works with. Her boss and I grabbed a burger. Then I came home, had a couple of beers watching a football game, and went to bed. She wasn’t home when I fell asleep. When I got up this morning, her car was gone. I assumed she’d left for work.”

  “Didn't you notice she hadn’t slept in your bed?”

  “When she works late, she sometimes sleeps in the second bedroom.”

  He stared down at clutched hands, avoiding Tom’s eyes.

  “Mr. Dade?”

  “I offered to take her to dinner, but she had work to finish. She knew I’d go home to watch a game and probably drink too much. I tend to get rowdy, especially if my team is losing. Sandra says I’m obnoxious. She avoids me and sleeps in the other room.”

  “Did you speak to her before you went to bed?”

  “I called her office, but got the answering service. She does that when she doesn’t want distractions. I thought no more about it.”

  “You didn’t wait up for her?”

  “I was in no condition to do that, Lieutenant.” He smiled loosely, but his tone was apologetic. “I’m afraid it was a pattern repeated far too often.”

  “And you didn’t look in on her the rest of the night to make sure she was home safely?”

  The judgmental inflection in Tom’s voice was intentional, meant to elicit a reaction.

  Henry’s mouth twisted in an unattractive manner.

  “No, I wasn’t concerned for my wife’s welfare.”

  He stood and paced. “I see now I should have been.”

  Tom folded his arms across his chest. He watched silently as the man crossed the room, turned, and crossed again.

  When Henry finally stopped, his voice turned cold. “Where is Sandra? I want to see her.”

  “At the coroner’s office. He’s expecting you. I told him to hold the autopsy until you’ve seen her.”

  A guttural moan rose from Henry’s throat as Tom stood.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Dade. We’ll need to talk further. I’ll be in touch.”

  As he walked out, the short man rushed past.

  “Dang, Henry. The officer told me what happened to Sandra. Did she-”

  The door closed. The detective heard no more of the conversation.

  • • •

  Tom walked to where Pat stood in the yard.

  “What did you find out?”

  “The guy with the tattoos is Duncan.” She looked at her notes. “First name is Alvin.”

  “I got that. Henry says everyone calls him Shorty.”

  “Hardly fits a guy who looks like he could go a couple rounds in a weightlifting contest.”

  “My sentiments exactly. What did you get out of him?”

  “He’s been working for Henry more than a year. Before that, mostly construction. With the housing slowdown, he's picked up work with subcontractors. His last job was painting houses, now landscaping.”

  “How is Henry to work for?”

  “No complaints. Says his employer is easy-going. Not strict about showing up on time unless they have an appointment
with a homeowner. He does the heavy lifting around here. His boss designs the landscape and accompanies customers to the nursery to pick out plants. Shorty digs holes, spreads fertilizer, and does the mowing.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “Yeah. The news surprised him enough he choked on his gum. I worried I'd have to apply Heimlich. Thankfully, he coughed it up. I’m not sure I could get my arms around him, or even want to. He’s a little ripe from working in the sun.”

  “Good thing you decided to be a cop instead of a paramedic.”

  “His boss is another matter. I wouldn’t object to applying Heimlich on Henry.”

  Tom suppressed a grin. “Show some respect. The man just lost his wife.”

  “I was inspecting his abs in an official capacity, sir. It doesn’t look like he was involved in an altercation or spent the night killing Sandra.”

  “On the other hand, depending on time of death which the coroner will confirm, Dade had time to go home, clean up, come to work, and wait for us to bring the bad news.” Tom turned toward the car. “Let’s get back to the office.”

  “One thing before we go, boss.”

  She led the way to the warehouse where they blinked, adjusting their eyes to the dark interior.

  The building was filled with bags of soil, hoses hanging on the wall, and pots of various sizes. One wall contained a tool-board with pruners, shovels, and rakes. Empty spray bottles, gloves, and packets of seeds were scattered on a table.

  Pat pointed to large rolls of bubble wrap in the far corner of the room.

  “What use does a landscaper have for those?” she asked.

  “Good question,” Tom said. “Run Shorty through the system to see if he has any priors. While you’re at it, run Henry’s name.”

  “You think he’s been in trouble?”

  “You never know.”

  As they walked through the yard, Tom pointed at a beat-up Dodge beside Henry’s truck. The back window was covered with race car stickers.

  “And, run those plates. I haven’t put my finger on it yet, but there's something here.”

  “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ll find it.”

  Chapter Five

  Early the next morning, Lea entered the one-story brick building and looked around.

  She was one of few people who felt comfortable in a police station. She took a moment to absorb the energy before approaching the front desk.