No Good Deed

by Ali Franklin

  Ryan turned and walked out of the bullpen. She allowed Gus to open the station’s front door, but rushed through as he moved to put a protective hand on the small of her back.

  “Got it—thanks,” she said.

  He frowned as he watched her go.

  Chapter 9

  Chase Arrington saw Ryan drive away as he pulled into the sheriff’s station, but he didn’t have the strength to wave. He wondered how many other members of the committee had already given their statements.

  The duty sergeant at the front desk looked up as the door opened. He recognized Chase from pictures in the newspaper and stories on the local news, but the normally-jovial man-about-town was almost unrecognizable this morning. His hair was lank and damp and he walked with his eyes on the ground. The sergeant asked him to wait.

  Chase sat and stared at the little patch of dirty linoleum between his feet. After a few minutes, Jack Prieto laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Arrington, thank you for coming down. We’re ready to take your statement.”

  Chase was grateful for Jack’s firm hand on his arm as they made their way into an interview room. He wasn’t sure how he’d driven to the station, or even how he’d showered that morning. His knee bumped against a chair and he sat. He stared at the puke-green walls while he waited.

  Another detective came into the room and introduced himself. Gus something. Chase murmured a few words he hoped were appropriate as he shook the man’s hand.

  For the second time that day, both detectives told Chase they were sorry for his loss. Then they clicked their pens and started writing in their little notebooks. Chase blinked. He felt like he was removed from his body, watching the scene from above.

  Jack’s first question made Chase focus.

  “Did you or your wife feel threatened in your home last night?”

  “Threatened?”

  The detectives’ faces remained passive. Chase continued.

  “No, of course not. There was just a disagreement.”

  The detectives exchanged a glance. Jack asked, “Did you sample the chili last night?”

  “We all did. It was supposed to get everyone excited about the FLH.”

  “We counted five kinds of chili,” said Gus. “That’s four from your guests and…one from you and Veronica?”

  Chase let out a half-hearted laugh. “I didn’t make any, if that’s what you’re asking. And Veronica hasn’t touched a stove in years. Maria made ours.”

  Gus pointed with his pen. “And when your guests left, you kept the leftovers. Were you going to eat some later?”

  Chase shook his head. “Probably not. I can’t remember the last time I ate chili outside of an FLH weekend. But Veronica was raised believing you shouldn’t waste food. It’s a hard habit to break, I guess.”

  “Mr. Arrington,” said Jack. “Who benefits from your wife’s death?”

  “Benefits?” He thought for a moment. “I guess Emerson and me.”

  “Have you seen your wife’s will?” asked Gus.

  “Not since we were first married. I think she updated it after Emerson was born, but I haven’t seen it. I can give you the name of our lawyer if you want to get a copy.”

  “How much was your wife worth?” asked Gus.

  “I’m not sure. She was always talking about the company’s financials, but we didn’t talk much about our own money. She handled all that.”

  Gus asked, “Is she the sole owner of her company?”

  “Yes. She’d been approached a few times by larger companies wanting to buy her out, but she liked being in charge.”

  Gus looked at Jack.

  “How did you find out your wife was dead, Mr. Arrington?” asked Jack.

  Chase closed his eyes. It took all his energy to recall the scene. “It was this morning. I heard Maria screaming. I yelled at her that I was still sleeping, but she just kept making this racket. I went across the hall to Veronica’s room, but she wasn’t there and her bed hadn’t been slept in. I went downstairs. She was in the kitchen. Just...lying there.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” asked Jack.

  “I don’t know. She was on the floor, and there was glass…” His words faded away.

  No one said anything for a moment.

  “Did you kill your wife, Mr. Arrington?” Gus’s question was abrupt.

  “What? No—I found her there. She was already gone.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Gus. “Are you sure you didn’t kill her and then go to bed like nothing had happened?”

  Chase shook his head.

  Gus continued. “Everyone knows Veronica was a—”

  “—Gus,” said Jack. “His wife just died.”

  Gus took a breath. “We know your wife could be…challenging. Maybe you’d finally had enough of her bossing people around.” He folded his hands together. “No one could blame you, Chase. We all have our breaking point. If you tell us what happened, we can help.”

  Chase forced the words out between clenched teeth. “I…didn’t…kill…my wife.”

  Jack picked up his pen and wrote something in his notebook. The room was quiet as he and Gus considered their next move. Finally, Jack spoke. “Mr. Arrington, we understand that your family’s money is all from Mrs. Arrington’s company. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct,” Chase answered through clenched teeth.

  “Do you have any money of your own?”

  Chase didn’t answer.

  “Tell us about the life insurance policy you took out on your wife six months ago,” said Gus with a sneer.

  Chase sighed. “I…she..I mean, she knew about it. It made sense, with her being the breadwinner. It was mostly for Emerson.”

  “How did that make you feel?” asked Gus. “Her being the one with money?”

  “It didn’t matter to me. We’re a team—were a team.”

  “You grew up in a wealthy family, didn’t you, Mr. Arrington?” asked Gus.

  Chase narrowed his eyes. His words were soft. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Jack leaned closer to Chase. “Anyone would understand if you were tired of being dependent on your wife. No one would blame you for wanting to be independent.”

  “I didn’t do anything to her.” Chase looked from one detective to the other. “I wasn’t even there.”

  “Oh, now you weren’t there?” asked Gus. “That’s convenient.”

  “I left right after everybody else did. I was gone for a few hours. I came home early this morning.”

  “Where’d you go?” asked Jack.

  “I’d rather not say until I’ve talked to the woman I was with.”

  Gus asked, “You were having an affair?”

  “Yes.” The detectives waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

  “Did Veronica know?” asked Jack.

  “I think so.”

  “So you decided to knock her off before she made trouble for you, didn’t you?” asked Gus. “You decided it was easier to get rid of her.”

  Chase’s chin dropped to his chest. He was too exhausted to hold up his head any longer.

  Gus looked at Jack and jerked his chin toward the door. Jack nodded.

  “Jack,” said Gus, “I’m going to get some coffee. Want some?”

  Jack nodded and Chase looked up hopefully. Gus left the room.

  Jack looked at Chase. “Listen, if you’ve got an alibi for the time your wife was killed, you should make that known. Do you understand that?”

  “Of course. I’ll talk with…with her. Then I’ll tell you where I was.”

  Gus came back into the room with two mugs of coffee. Chase watched as Gus sipped from his cup. Then Jack pushed his mug across the table to Chase.

  “I want to make one thing clear, Chase,” said Jack. “We’re going to investigate this case until we bring someone to justice. If you know of any other suspects we should be looking into, you need to tell us.”

  Chase stared at him over the table. “
I understand.”

  Ryan woke Wednesday morning with a sense of dread. She’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about Veronica. And poison. And chili. Was it true that someone had used chili to kill her? The thought was almost too much for Ryan to comprehend. She needed to move, to think, to sort it out.

  She let the facts roll through her mind during her morning run. It wasn’t hard to compile a list of people who had disliked Veronica. After all, the socialite had been pushing her way onto committees ever since she moved to Haverwood. The philanthropies had been her “in” to Haverwood society. And ever since that first committee assignment, Veronica had been pissing off the people around her.

  So why had she been murdered now? Ryan hated to admit it, but the timing of the murder made the FLH committee members the most likely suspects. And every one of them had something against the dead woman.

  She reached her turn-around spot and doubled back toward her house. As her feet hit the pavement in rhythmic succession, Ryan considered the committee members one by one. Did any of them have the will to commit murder?

  Father Paul seemed like a non-starter as far as suspects went. The man was a priest, for goodness’ sake. But he had reacted strongly to Veronica’s reversal on the matter of the gym for the orphanage. Danielle Nunez had seemed the most angry at Veronica the night of the meeting, but she’d also calmed down after the group talked through the problem. Would she put her daughter’s future in danger by risking prison? And Emma Sullivan. Was she willing to commit murder over a change in the menu?

  Was there something Ryan didn’t know about? Some other reason Veronica had to die?

  Ryan returned home and jumped in the shower, still deep in thought. She did some of her best thinking under the spray. She replayed her interview at the sheriff’s station the previous morning. As far as she could tell, Jack and Gus hadn’t given away any new information about the case. But something about that visit nagged at her.

  She thought about the questions Jack and Gus asked. There was nothing unusual there. She remembered seeing Emma coming out of her own interview. The usually well-put-together woman had looked haggard. Her beautiful face was pale without makeup and her eyes hid deep inside dark circles.

  Ryan considered Jack’s phone call, when he’d asked her to come give a statement. There it was again. That feeling that something was “off.” She retraced her mental steps.

  With a start, she realized there was something unusual about seeing Emma. What was it? She replayed the one-minute exchange in her mind: Emma and Jack had come out of the interview room. Ryan had started to go to her, but Emma broke eye contact and looked at the floor. She turned away from Ryan as she left the bullpen.

  She continued to think about Emma and the detectives—and Veronica—all morning at work. Helen put up with the distraction most of the morning. By eleven o’clock, though, the assistant had had enough.

  “Ryan, you’ve obviously got something on your mind. Is it Veronica?”

  Ryan looked up from her computer. She’d been reading the same email for ten minutes and still didn’t know what it was about.

  “I just want to know why it happened now. Veronica had been making enemies in Haverwood for years. What was it that finally pushed someone over the edge?”

  “We might never know. She was so demanding and unpleasant. Maybe someone just snapped.”

  “I hope it wasn’t someone from the committee.” Ryan stood and walked around her desk. She leaned against it and looked at her assistant. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why don’t you take an early lunch, get off campus? You can clear your mind and think about what you want to do about the FLH.”

  Ryan exhaled. “The FLH. I’ve been so worried about the committee members that I forgot about the event.”

  “Did you have breakfast?” asked Helen.

  “I don’t think I did.”

  “You can tackle the FLH later. Go get some lunch and try to think about something else.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Ryan. “I’m not thinking straight.”

  Helen’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her sudden smile.

  Ryan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I heard it.” She appreciated the break in the tension.

  The dean left the office and headed toward the east parking lot. She looked around the campus as she walked.

  The grass was still on the brown side, but that didn’t diminish the beauty of the overall scene. The grounds crew made sure there were always flowers around the pond. And no matter what time of year it was, the campus was alive with students. They rushed around between classes, caught some sun in the green spaces, and generally horsed around wherever they were. It reminded Ryan of her own undergraduate days, before she’d become consumed with her music education and career.

  Ryan loved overseeing the students at the campus, whether they were being recognized for their academic achievements or being disciplined for honor code violations. She knew she made a difference in the students’ lives, and it gave her own life a meaning bigger than just herself.

  She reached the parking lot and got into her car. Ryan hadn’t yet gotten used to the sounds—and non-sounds—of the all-electric sedan she’d bought a few months before. She pushed the start button, then craned her neck to see if the green light on the dash came on to alert her that the engine was indeed on.

  Ryan sat for a moment considering where she should go to clear her head. She looked in the rear-view mirror and sighed. She would drive until something caught her eye. Before long, she noticed the sign for Emma’s restaurant, The Garden Grove.

  Suddenly, Ryan realized what had been bothering her all morning. It was the fact that Emma had been at the sheriff’s station before Ryan. Had Jack called Emma first? If so, why? Ryan turned into the parking lot.

  Inside the restaurant, Ryan smiled at the hostess who seated her. She asked the young woman to let Emma know she was there. Ryan would like to talk with Emma for a few minutes, if she wasn’t too busy. Ryan saw the hostess’ smile become a little more forced before she disappeared to find the owner.

  A few minutes later, Emma slid into the chair across from Ryan. The restaurateur’s appearance was markedly better than it had been the previous morning—at least on the surface. The attractive woman’s white-blond hair was elegantly styled and she wore her usual makeup. Her well-cut clothes accentuated her lithe frame. But her blue eyes were rimmed with red and her hands shook.

  “Emma, are you all right?”

  Emma stared at the tablecloth. “Ryan, I don’t think it’s good for the customers to see me like this. Would you mind coming back into my office?”

  “No problem,” said Ryan.

  They walked through the kitchen. Ryan was almost overwhelmed by the level of activity, the noise, and the variety of aromas. Emma stopped to talk with a white-jacketed man with a handlebar mustache. He nodded and flicked a glance toward Ryan, then looked back at Emma with raised eyebrows. Emma patted him on the arm and turned back to her guest.

  “The office is in here.” She pointed to a doorway.

  Ryan walked in to find a brightly-lit office with a desk and desk chair on one side. The other side held a small table with four chairs. Three tall metal filing cabinets stood against one wall. A large swatch of industrial-grade gray carpet covered the majority of the floor. The space was excruciatingly neat.

  Emma gestured toward one of the chairs at the little table. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Thanks. I haven’t eaten all day, and I suddenly realized I’m starving.”

  Emma smiled weakly. “Walking into a kitchen during a meal service tends to do that. Did you have anything in mind?”

  “No. Whatever’s handy.”

  Emma disappeared for a minute, then came in with two steaming plates of grilled shrimp and vegetables.

  “This is the lunch special. It’s a crowd favorite.”

  Ryan leaned over the plate and let her senses go wild. It smelled and looked delic
ious. As soon as Emma sat, Ryan dug in. She was enjoying the food so much that she almost didn’t notice Emma pushing the food around on her own plate. Ryan spoke.

  “Emma, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ryan watched as Emma attempted to spear a piece of zucchini with her fork. She kept missing the little rectangle. She finally captured it. As she raised it to her mouth, her shaking hand caused it to fall from the utensil.

  “Emma, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’m okay, really. The restaurateur set down her fork and swallowed. “It’s all so terrible—Veronica’s death, being called in to talk to the detectives...”

  “It’s surreal to think that we’re all suspects,” said Ryan. “But I can’t imagine anyone on our committee being capable—”

  “—People are capable of all sorts of things,” snapped Emma.

  The dean sensed that Emma was now talking about something other than Veronica’s death. Her stomach did a little flop as her subconscious considered the likelihood that Emma was the murderer.

  “People hurt each other all the time,” said Emma dreamily. “They consider other people’s lives as their playthings. They get satisfaction from watching people squirm.”

  Ryan waited a beat before speaking. “What are you talking about, Emma? Who’s making people squirm?”

  Emma’s far-off stare snapped back to her immediate surroundings.

  “What’s that?”

  “You said someone’s making people squirm,” said Ryan. “Who are you talking about?”

  Emma let out a half-snort. She looked around the office, then rose from the table. She picked up a sheet of paper from her desk and handed it to Ryan.

  “This came in the mail this morning.”

  Ryan looked at the precise handwriting that marched across the page in even lines:

  Emma,

  I know what you did. You killed

  that girl in New York with your

  carelessness. You shouldn’t be

  allowed to own a restaurant.

  I’ll keep my mouth shut as long