Murder After Hours

by Rayna Morgan

  She slipped the envelope into her purse.

  “Even though Ida is sometimes forgetful, make no mistake. That woman doesn’t miss a thing. She’s our neighborhood watch dog. If you need information about anything on our block, she’s the person to go to.”

  Ian laughed. “The other expression for watch dog is snoop, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He walked Lea to the front entrance.

  She glanced toward Henry’s truck. He was watching them from his rear-view mirror.

  He’s waiting for me to leave. I’d love to be a fly on Ian’s wall.

  Her mind raced with questions.

  Why is Henry so angry with Ian? What does Ian know that he isn’t telling?

  Chapter Seven

  At the furniture store, Maddy was arranging a new living room collection when she received a call from Alberta Johnson.

  “I’m trying to decide how to hang the paintings. George isn’t much help. I would like your opinion. Can you come over around one o’clock? I’ll have the cook fix salmon salad for lunch.”

  “Sounds yummy. See you then.”

  Maddy put down the phone. She crinkled her nose.

  Not as good as burger and fries, but Lea would approve.

  Her cell rang again.

  “Maddy, it’s Brooke. I'm coming to your store tomorrow. Football season is here. My husband wants a comfortable recliner to watch the games. Will you have time when we're finished to grab a bite at the health food restaurant?”

  Is the universe sending a message about my eating habits?

  She confirmed a time before calling her sister.

  “You’ll be proud of me. I’m going to eat healthy at least twice this week.”

  “Wonders never cease,” Lea said. “Who twisted your arm? That can’t be a choice you made on your own.”

  “Mrs. Johnson to hang pictures today. Brooke Fields to buy a recliner tomorrow.”

  “I would love a chance to meet Brooke to ask some questions.”

  “What are you up to?” Maddy asked. “You promised you wouldn’t get involved.”

  “I tried, but I can’t walk away from Sandra’s murder.”

  “Oh, no. Don't quote me your ‘victims deserve justice’ nonsense,” Maddy moaned.

  “Bringing a guilty person to justice is hardly nonsense,” Lea argued.

  “You’re echoing Tom and Dad. It’s your compulsive need to solve a mystery. Can’t you find a different hobby?”

  Lea ignored the disparaging remark. “Does it ever occur to anyone that detective work is what I’m meant to do?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A French playwright said vocations we want to pursue, but don't, bleed like colors on the whole of our existence.”

  “That sounds profound, except the blood in police work is the human kind. Have you forgotten you can’t stand the sight of it? You nearly fainted at the annual blood drive. When Jon cracked his head open and needed stitches, you hyperventilated in the emergency room.”

  “There are famous detectives who could hardly look at a corpse. It didn’t stop them from solving crime.”

  “You aren’t in their league. Stick to what you do well,” Maddy advised. “Which reminds me, when are you starting your new project?”

  “The brochure for Alexander Insurance? I talked with Ian earlier. He wants to wait until Sandra’s case is resolved. My problem is I have questions for Ian now which have nothing to do with a brochure.”

  “Our super sleuth senses something amiss!” Maddy's voice was thick with sarcasm. “Could it be the fact there was a dead body on his floor less than forty-eight hours ago?”

  “Whatever it is, I intend to find out. As you suggest, the brochure gives me reason to return for answers.”

  “I see no one will stop you, but leave me out. I enjoy being in Tom’s good graces for a change.”

  “Agreed, but may I ask one small favor?”

  “How small?”

  Lea explained what information she needed. “Will you talk to some of your clients?”

  Maddy sighed. “What part of saying I don’t want to be involved was unclear?”

  “Let me know what time you and Brooke are meeting for lunch.”

  “I haven’t agreed yet,” Maddy snapped. “If I do, you’re buying.”

  • • •

  After giving her name to the guard, Maddy drove through the gated entrance of Rolling Hills Estates. Every house in the luxury development boasted spectacular views of the valley and ocean.

  A beautiful place to live, except the only people I see are an occasional gardener or maid. No young mothers pushing their baby in a pram, walking a dog, or leaning over a neighbor’s fence to chat. Probably too busy earning money to pay for their house.

  I wonder if residents here even know their neighbors. It’s not like Seagate where I live. Everyone there knows people for blocks around.

  On the other hand, these estate grounds provide more privacy than small lots looking into each other’s kitchen.

  The Johnsons’ residence was nestled near the top of a quiet cul-de-sac. After driving past an entry with a cascading waterfall, she parked in the circular driveway.

  An olive-skinned woman wearing an apron opened the door of the Mediterranean-style home. She led Maddy past a spiral staircase, a formal dining area, and a gourmet kitchen to a living room with chic white furnishings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a pool.

  A plump woman with a double chin and flabby arms stood at the window. She was dressed in a pink and purple caftan and wore a floral headband.

  Alberta Johnson dismissed the maid with a slight nod of her head. She hugged Maddy, making her guest feel comfortable.

  The room was as welcoming as the hostess with the exception of a dark, edgy painting above the stone fireplace.

  Alberta followed Maddy's gaze. “George purchased that atrocity at an expensive art gallery as a gift to me. I didn't have the heart to tell him how awful it is.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Come see what I’ve done with the colorful pictures you and I selected.”

  For the next hour, they went from room to room placing pictures in spots where sunlight hit them.

  Then, over a tasty lunch of salmon croquettes, romaine salad, and French bread, the women chatted about local news, including the town’s historic pier.

  “I’m on the City’s committee to raise money to repair damage caused by the recent storm,” Alberta said. “We’re meeting tomorrow to plan a fund-raiser. I guess we’ll be short a member with the terrible thing that happened at Ian Alexander’s office.”

  Despite telling Lea she wouldn’t be involved, Maddy’s interest was piqued. “You must be talking about Sandra Dade.”

  Alberta laid her napkin across her plate. “Shall we have coffee in the sunroom?”

  Maddy followed Alberta to a pleasant room filled with wicker furniture, an overhead skylight, and tinted windows.

  After filling cups from a pot on a glass-topped table, Alberta continued.

  “Ian is active on the committee. He and his son used to fish off the pier when the boy was young. Even though the son is grown, Ian wants the structure preserved for future grandchildren.”

  “I applaud your efforts,” Maddy told her. “The pier means a lot to the community.”

  “Ian’s mind won’t be on storm damage today.” Alberta looked sad as she wrung her hands. “It’s frightening to realize he might have been a second victim.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “The committee was scheduled to meet last night. Ian had to work late. We postponed our meeting. He may have barely escaped being in the office when the attack occurred.”

  • • •

  “It’s time for me to return to the store,” Maddy said. “Thank you for lunch.”

  “I appreciate your help with the pictures. I’m sure George will be pleased.”

  Alberta accompanied Maddy to the door. As they stood in the entry
, Maddy pointed to a blank spot on the wall.

  “We haven’t filled that space. Should one of your new additions go here?”

  “I’m still hoping the painting that hung there will be found,” Alberta said.

  Maddy giggled. “Has it gone missing?”

  “It was stolen.”

  “Oh, goodness! How did that happen?”

  “George and I were at a dinner party. We got home late and went straight to bed. It wasn’t until the next morning, we realized the painting was gone. The maid led me to this wall where she showed me the empty space. The poor thing looked frightened, afraid she would be blamed.

  “My husband had left for his office. When I called him, he was surprised. He’d walked right past without noticing the picture was missing. That’s not surprising. My husband is so accustomed to the beauty surrounding him, he’s stopped taking notice.”

  Maddy chewed her nail. “I suppose we do that with people as well. Take them for granted. Stop giving them the attention they deserve.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  “Was the piece insured?”

  “Thankfully, yes. It would have been an expensive loss. Even more than I realized until we had it appraised.”

  “Were you thinking of selling it?” Maddy asked.

  “Heavens, no! George loves that painting. The appraisal was done for insurance purposes. Our broker saw the painting at one of our parties and suggested we increase the coverage for our artwork.”

  “Were other pieces taken?”

  “Only that one. It’s the most valuable one, by far. Worth over twelve million dollars.”

  Maddy gasped. She wondered if struggling artists she knew would ever work their way to that level.

  “Fortunately, the insurance was more than enough to cover our loss. As it turned out, we were over insured.”

  “Over insured?”

  “I contacted the gallery where we bought the painting to find a replacement. I told them we’d pay the sum reimbursed by insurance. The owner of the gallery was delighted. He said the appraised value was overstated. For that amount, he could sell us two comparable paintings.”

  “Kudos to your broker.”

  “Oh, yes. I highly recommend him if you need an agent.”

  Maddy laughed. “That’s one worry I don’t have. Most of the pictures in my house come from garage sales. But my clients ask about insurers. If you give me his name, I’ll add him to my list of referrals.”

  “I’ll get his contact information.”

  When Alberta returned, Maddy was startled by the name on the business card. She made no comment, but pointed at the wall.

  “Why haven’t you replaced the painting?”

  “I found something I liked. When I told George, he said the painting was irreplaceable as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want to buy another. It upset me after the time and effort I spent.”

  Alberta frowned, recalling the incident. “Sometimes that man makes my blood boil. Several weeks earlier, I was at Saks where I picked out five new dresses. At the cashier, my credit card was declined.”

  Maddy nodded her head. “That happens to me. I know how embarrassing it feels.”

  “I was mortified! It turned out to be nothing, of course. Simply George forgetting to pay the bill. My husband is careless with money. Once he took care of it, I got my dresses.”

  She looked at the empty spot and sighed. “But we never replaced the painting.”

  I’ve met her husband.He’s an arrogant snob. I’m surprised he didn’t replace it with a Picasso.

  “I’ll send Tommy to hang the pictures. Thanks again for a delightful lunch.”

  She tucked the business card in her purse and left, feeling drawn to Lea’s case like a moth to a flame.

  Chapter Eight

  Lea and Maddy arrived at the downtown parking structure at the same time. They walked together to meet the men for dinner.

  Every stool at the sports bar was taken. Paul and Tom stood to one side holding bottles of beer, glancing at big screen TVs over their heads.

  “Our table's ready. If you two are drinking beer, I'll order a pitcher,” Paul said, and both women nodded.

  After being seated and placing an order for garlic sticks and pizza, Paul turned to his wife. “How was your day?”

  Lea glanced in Tom’s direction. “After my visit to the police station, it was fairly uneventful.”

  “You did a good job,” Tom acknowledged. “Your eye for detail is useful.”

  “Speaking of details, did Donna tell you about the missing note?”

  “She called and told Pat,” Tom said. “Thanks for telling her to keep us in the loop.”

  Paul’s eyes jumped from the TV screen to his wife’s face. “What’s this about you being in the loop?”

  “I went to the insurance office to deliver the amendment to our policy. Donna and I chatted until Ian arrived.” She reached for a garlic stick. “I hope I gave her some comfort. She was pretty shook up.”

  “That’s understandable,” Paul said.

  He was satisfied with Lea’s explanation, but Tom wanted to hear more.

  “Did she divulge anything else?” he asked Lea.

  Should I tell Tom about Henry’s abuse, or would that cast undue suspicion? Lea wondered. It could be a vital piece in a picture of the victim and a reason for her murder. Besides, I think Donna shared the information hoping I’d pass it to the police. She doesn’t want to be blamed for falsely accusing her friend’s husband.

  She repeated her earlier conversation with Donna.

  “That’s interesting,” Tom said when she finished. “From most accounts, Henry’s a nice guy. Hard-working, well-liked, easy-going. From Donna’s point of view, he’s a mean drunk and a wife abuser.”

  “Is it true that abusers are usually seen by other people as nice guys?” Maddy asked.

  “I hear the story over and over,” Tom said. “If you met him, you wouldn’t believe he could do this, the victims tell me.”

  He pulled a slice of pizza from the platter.

  “These men start out charming, loving, and charismatic. They know how to draw women in. Then slowly, the pattern emerges. Mixed in with the charm are subtle putdowns, possessiveness, and isolation.”

  A feeling of dread surged through Lea. “How dangerous is the situation?”

  “If the wife doesn’t leave or get help, it can continue until she’s dead.”

  Lea shivered as the sisters looked at each other.

  “An abuser’s jealousy is often ill-founded,” Tom continued. “But sometimes, an abused woman finds a man. A friend who gives her relief from a tense domestic relationship. The friendship develops into an affair. An already volatile situation becomes deadly.”

  Lea's face expressed the shock she felt. “How terrible!”

  Tom noted her reaction. “Do you think that happened in this case? Alcohol and jealousy can be a deadly combination.”

  The detective was jumping to conclusions, exactly what Lea was afraid of.

  “According to Donna, the couple returned to the office after a single glass of wine. Henry wasn’t drunk,” she reasoned. “What did he say his actions were after he left Sandra?”

  “He went home, turned a football game on TV, then fell asleep. He claims he didn’t realize she never returned.”

  “Was he drinking while he watched the game?”

  “He mentioned he threw back a few shots.”

  Tom finished another slice before wiping his hands on his napkin.

  “If he’s lying and Sandra did go home, that’s the reason her night didn’t end well.”

  “Don’t forget she was killed at the office,” Maddy argued.

  “That's where the victim was found,” Tom responded. “He may have killed her at the house, then transported the body to divert suspicion. Or, he returned to her office in a drunken state where they argued and he killed her. He has no one to back up his alibi of being home the rest of the night.�
��

  Lea frowned. “There’s also the matter of the answering service.”

  “What about it?” Tom asked. “When Henry called Sandra’s office to ask when she’d be finished, he got the service. Apparently, she did that after hours so she wouldn’t be interrupted.”

  “Except I learned from Donna the phones weren't switched to answering service which means she would have answered the phone. Either Henry lied about talking to his wife—”

  “Or, he never made that call because he already knew Sandra couldn’t answer.”

  • • •

  “There’s one more slice,” Tom said.

  He pointed to the remaining pizza and looked at the women.

  “Either of you want this?”

  “Go ahead,” Maddy said, patting her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  She rubbed a hand across her forehead trying to recall bits of a conversation.

  Pushing back her chair, she glanced at the TV. The sound was muted because the game was over, replaced by the nightly news. Pictures of the damaged pier flashed across the screen.

  She turned to Tom. “What did you say about Ian’s alibi?”

  He pushed the empty pizza platter to the edge of the table. “He was attending a meeting at City Hall.”

  “The committee for repairs on the pier?” Maddy asked.

  “I don’t recall he got that specific. I could check the case notes.”

  Tom threw his wadded napkin on his plate and turned in her direction. “Why are you asking?”

  “If that meeting was for pier repairs, he’s lying. After telling the committee he had to work late, they rescheduled for Thursday night.”

  “Why would he deliberately lie to the police?” Paul asked. “He knows the truth will come out eventually.”

  “Maybe he panicked and forgot,” Maddy replied.

  “Are you saying he experienced brain fog?” Tom asked.

  “It happens to people exposed to trauma,” Lea offered.

  “I experience brain fog without experiencing trauma,” Maddy said.

  Tom grinned, then became serious. “He may not have been killing Sandra, but he needed a cover for something. It’s time for me to question Mr. Alexander again.”