by Dawn Dugle
"Good." Tripp replied. The only time Tripp ever talked in one word sentences was when things were definitely not good.
"So you have evidence to charge that business manager you have in custody?" Chief Dad turned his gaze fully onto Tripp, who squirmed in his seat.
"Not exactly," Tripp coughed.
"What's standing in the way?"
"We haven't located the crime scene yet. But we will, it's only a matter of time. There had to have been so much blood..."
"Tripp, not at the table," Denise warned.
"Sorry, Mom. I mean the crime scene will be hard to hide, due to the nature of the... situation," Tripp said.
"Do you have any other suspects at this time?" Chief Dad quizzed him.
"Not at this time."
"Because you haven't looked." It was not a question and Tripp's face was beet red. I was used to being put on the spot at the dinner table when I had done something wrong, but Tripp wasn't. I kind of felt bad for the guy. Kind of, but he had stolen my birthday cupcake, so he was on his own today.
"I think you could use a third and fourth set of hands on the case," Dad started.
"Now hold on a minute..."
"Starting Tuesday morning, Wysdom and Officer Davis will be reassigned to the investigation..."
"No way, Dad!"
"You and Diana will still be the lead detectives on the case, so what Tripp says goes, right Wysdom?"
Everyone looked at me.
"10-4 Chief Dad." I said quickly, taking a bite of my hamburger and praying to Oprah that I didn't throw up at the table.
"It's settled then," my dad dug into his potato salad and looked at Denise. "This is the best potato salad yet, what's in it?"
I didn't hear Denise's answer, because Tripp took that moment to get up from the table.
"We start at eight o'clock, don't be late," he slammed down his napkin and stormed inside.
Hope looked at me and sighed. "He's been under so much stress about this case. He won't say it to you, but I know you're going to be a big help to him."
"Thanks Sis."
Hey, just because Tripp hasn't locked it down, doesn't mean I can't count her as my family. I just hoped Tripp would simmer down before I reported for my new assignment, or it was going to be a long week.
∞∞∞
Chapter Twelve
TUESDAY
Because I did some Adulting 101 on Monday, and went to the grocery store, I had food in my fridge. I was just steaming the fresh milk for my latte when the doorbell rang. It was my amazing partner, who was dressed head to toe in Hugo Boss. He looked like he was going to a photo shoot, not a police precinct.
"Hurry up and come in before my partner sees you and gets jealous," I scooted him inside.
"Funny. I smell a latte, you making me one too?"
"Of course."
I went back to the kitchen to pour our dark nectar of the gods into travel mugs, when I caught Bodie looking me over.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Girlfriend. Is that what you're wearing?"
I looked down at my slacks and button up top. "What's wrong with it?"
"You look like you're starting a new career as a funeral director," he went into my bedroom.
"Now, wait a minute," I followed to find him pulling clothes out of my closet. "Stop that! You're making a mess!"
"I'm looking for a decent outfit that doesn't scream: embalming on table two."
He kept pulling and pulling until only two things were left in my closet: a navy suit and a pink silk tank top.
"Yes. That's it."
"I'm not wearing that."
"Why not? It will look fabulous on you!"
"I don't do pink. That was a gift from my eventual-sister-in-law."
"So what, you don't do pink. You don't do detective work either, and that's about to change today!" He pushed the outfit towards me. "Go change."
"Who died and made you the fashion police?"
"George Michael, honey. Now go!"
"Man, you queens are bitchy!"
"There's a reason behind those clichéd stereotypes. Stop stalling!" He pushed me again.
I grumbled and took the outfit into the bathroom. Bodie wasn't gay. He considers himself "omnisexual." When I asked him what that meant he said: "Honey, when you're this fabulous, you can't limit your lovers to one gender."
And that was that.
He was also right about the outfit. Adulting, two days in a row. I looked like I could interview as the CEO of a small company and Lean In at the next board meeting. I came out of the bathroom and did a twirl.
"Good girl. That's much better. Now, let's talk about those shoes," He put his hand on his hip.
∞∞∞
We would have been a half an hour early to work, if I hadn't had to try on three different pairs of shoes with my outfit. I wanted to wear running shoes, but Queer Eye for the Straight Gal wasn't having it, so I ended up wearing loafers with microfiber lining that felt like runners. I thought they were comfortable, but Bodie said it looked like something the Golden Girls would wear and washed his hands of me.
We walked into the precinct at the same time as Diana.
"Tripp is waiting for us in the conference room," she said.
The conference room was crowded. A huge 12-person table took up most of the room, and it was surrounded by white boards. Boards that were covered with notes and pictures. One of the boards was devoted entirely to evidence against Luke Nelson. My heart sank a little.
I tried to lighten the mood with a joke. "Gee, all you're missing is a little yarn and some thumbtacks and this will look like an episode of Criminal Minds."
No one laughed. Fine. Adulting sucks.
Tripp pointed to three boxes full of paperwork on the table. "Diana and I are running down some leads on Mr. Nelson this morning. Wys, you and Bodie go through those three boxes there and look for clues."
"Anything in particular you're looking for, Detective Ward?" Bodie asked.
"Yeah. Clues." Tripp shook his head and walked out of the room with Diana on his heels.
"I'm not really sure he's related to me, but maybe you can distract him while I pull a hair sample for DNA," I smiled at Bodie.
We made quick work of sorting through the paperwork in the boxes, separating them by legal documents, eyewitness accounts, and miscellaneous items.
"You take the eyewitnesses, I'll look through legal," I told Bodie. "Anything you think sounds off, even the slightest bit, speak up. And anything or anyone we need to follow up with, we'll make a list. Sound good?"
Bodie nodded and we began reading.
Around 11 o'clock, there was a knock at the door and an officer brought in a box from the evidence lockup.
"Tripp thought you might like to go through this stuff. It's already been processed for prints and DNA," he sat down the box and left.
I had just opened the top of the box when there was another knock at the door. Uncle Dixon was standing there with a drink holder, and four cups of coffee from his bar.
"Coffee delivery," he said, entering the room. "Non-fat latte for you and a cappuccino for Bodie."
"Who are the other two cups for," I asked, eyeing his shirt from The Princess Bride that said: As You Wish.
"Nun'ya and Beeswax," he slapped my hand away from the extra cups.
With a wink, he was gone. I turned back to the box of evidence and found a cell phone at the top of the box. I assumed it was Claire's. It was out of juice and there was no charger in the box. I might have an extra one at home that would fit and made a note to bring it with me the next time I came to work.
"Listen to this," Bodie said. "On January 9th Claire Rousseau was seen arguing loudly with a woman at the Flamingo Cove Country Club."
"What were they arguing about?"
"Doesn't say, but the witness is the club manager," Bodie replied.
"Write his name down on the list and set that eyewitness account aside in the second check pile."
The charm bracelet was the next thing in the evidence box. It was silver, and looking closer, I realized it was real sterling silver. The charms were all about art - a paintbrush, a canvas with a diamond in it, an easel and some small tools that I couldn't really tell what they were.
"Hand me that magnifying glass," I asked Bodie.
With the glass, I looked closer at one of the tools that looked like a very tiny knife. It was hard to see the shape of the blade, and I'm guessing it would be easier to figure out if we had a real-life version to look at.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my stomach started doing that flip flop thing. I put the bracelet back in its evidence bag and went back to my pile of legal paperwork, thumbing through it until I found what I was looking for.
I gasped.
"What is that?" Bodie asked.
"The pre-nuptial agreement between Cathy Reddy, a.k.a. Claire Rousseau, and Vern Reddy," I explained. "There's a lot of legal mumbo jumbo in here but the gist is this: in the event of a divorce, Vern gets nothing. None of the millions of dollars Claire had made off of her artwork or online course sales."
"So, what about if she dies? Who gets the money then?" Bodie asked.
My pulse was racing as I dug through the paperwork to find a copy of Claire's will and scanned it for the beneficiary. My heart was thumping and my stomach started fluttering. "Vern inherits everything. All of the money and future sales of her artwork, in perpetuity. Where are the interviews or eyewitness statements from the husband?"
"Vern Reddy... Vern Reddy..." He flipped through the paperwork. "Right here."
"Where was he on the night of the murder?"
"He was working late."
"Anyone verify that?"
"His assistant, Monica."
"Monica, huh? Working late on a Thursday night with 'The Assistant'? Sounds fishy to me. And it also sounds like motive, doesn't it?" I grabbed the jacket I had hung over the back of my chair and put it on.
"I'm guessing we're going to pay the grieving widower a visit?" Bodie asked, standing up.
"Indeed we are.”
∞∞∞
Chapter Thirteen
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a two-story, oversized house on a tiny lot. It was all glass and steel and all I could think of is why in the world would you have so many windows, and not one set of curtains or blinds?
The housekeeper opened the door and led us into the living room that had two-story, floor to ceiling windows with a view of the Gulf. The lot had a slight turn to it, so it wasn't a complete view of the Gulf, not like mine was. I sat back on the couch a little more smugly.
Vern Reddy was a short and stocky bald guy whose cheeks looked to be permanently rosy. I wasn't sure if that was from sun exposure or too many drinks, but my money was on the drinks. His eyes were red too. Maybe from crying or smoking marijuana. It always looked the same to me.
"Mr. Reddy, thank you for agreeing to talk to us. I'm Sergeant Ward and this is Officer Davis. We're assisting in the search for your wife's killer," I stood up and shook his hand.
"I'm so glad you're here. The other guy won't tell me anything," Vern pulled a soggy tissue out of his pocket and dabbed his eyes. Crying then, not smoking pot. "Have they caught the killer yet?"
"Not yet, Mr. Reddy," I stated.
"Vern. Call me Vern. How can I help?"
"We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay," I pulled out my notebook.
"Sure," he dabbed his eyes again.
"Where were you on the night of your wife's murder, between midnight and 1 a.m.?" I asked.
"Well, get right to it, don't you?" More dabbing with the tissue. "I was working in my office, right here at home. When you do a lot of business with companies in Japan, you work weird hours. Midnight here is afternoon in Tokyo."
"I see. And your assistant can verify that?"
"Sure. Monica doesn't come in until about six at night, but I can give you her address if you need to speak to her. She's got the evening off."
"Thank you. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your wife," I asked, leaning forward.
"Well, she fought with her business manager the day of the murder, but then, that was nothing new. He was always yelling at her to take better care of her business, and that it was a good thing he was around for her," Vern sniffed. "He seemed a little too concerned with her well-being, if you ask me."
A chill went down my spine. "Why do you say that?"
"I think they were having an affair," Vern shrugged.
"You seem to be pretty calm about that, Vern." Bodie leaned in.
Vern nodded. "We had a pretty... flexible marriage."
"I see. And were you flexible with your assistant?" I asked.
"Goodness no!" He laughed. "She's not my type. But Claire was okay with the occasional dalliance, as long as I was discreet. We didn't need any bad publicity surrounding her art or the business. She was beloved!"
"About Mr. Nelson, why would you think he would try to harm her?" I asked, bracing for the answer.
"I think she was trying to break it off with him," Vern waved his hand in the air as if trying to swat a fly.
"Did you ask her about it?"
"Yes, but she said it was strictly her business and I needed to mind mine," Vern sniffed again.
"Mr. Reddy, I want to ask you about the pre-nuptial agreement between you and your wife," I started.
"Vern, I told you - call me Vern."
"Okay, Vern. I want to ask you about the prenup agreement that showed if your marriage broke up, you got nothing in the divorce," I looked at him, watching for his reaction.
Vern laughed. "Oh good Lord. That prenup was my idea."
"Your idea?" I sat up straighter.
"Yes. I have more money than God, what do I need with her little painting money?"
"So you insisted on having a prenup?"
"Yes."
"Did you know you are her sole heir in her will?" I asked and Vern started crying.
"The lawyer called me today about it. I had told Claire to leave that money to some orphans or widows or something, but she was really stubborn. She told the lawyer to leave it all to me because I'd do something good with it," Vern sobbed. "I miss her so much."
Bodie kept looking at Vern's shoes, but kept quiet.
"Vern, can we see Claire's studio?" I asked.
"Absolutely, right this way."
Vern led us down a long hallway to the far end of the house, a wing that was built on an angle. There were floor to ceiling windows on three sides and the light just spilled in everywhere you looked.
"I'm surprised it's not hotter in here with all those windows," I commented.
"If the sun gets too hot, Claire would shut the automatic blinds that were built into the windows. We have them all over the house. And we had a special HVAC system installed so it's always sunny and 72 degrees in here. The perfect temperature to paint in, Claire says... used to say," Vern started crying again.
I looked at Bodie, and he put his arm around the man's shoulders and led him out of the room.
The studio was quiet and had wall to wall laminate flooring. There were easels set up with canvas drop cloths down around them. Even with the drop cloths, there were still splatters of paint throughout the room. On the wall closest to the house, there were huge eye bolts sticking out of the wall. Only one eyebolt had anything hanging from it. A four foot square canvas with a work in progress.
I found the button for the built-in blinds and closed them. The room was plunged into near darkness, and I flicked on the flashlight from my phone and a tiny blacklight I had in my purse. I made my way over every inch of the floor and countertops, but the light didn't show any indications of blood, blood splatter or big spots of bleach from cleaning up any blood.
When I got back to the doorway, I reopened the blinds and was about to leave when something made me pause and take another look around. I slowly turned, taking in the room. Sunlight glinting o
ff of something on the workbench caught my eye. I walked over to see a set of five shiny tools on the bench that were about as long as my hand. They had wooden handles and stainless steel blades of varying lengths and shapes.
I picked up the one with an asymmetrical blade that was about three inches long, and tested the flexibility of the blade itself.
“Bendy… just like Gumby."
I snapped a photo of it and texted it to Faith, then walked out to the living room where Bodie had his arm around a distraught Vern.
"Vern, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have one more question for you."
"Sure," he said, without looking up.
I showed him a picture of the tool. "Can you tell me what this is?"
"That's a palette knife," Vern said. "But that's about all I know about it. Claire and her cousin were the art gurus in the family, not me."
"Claire's cousin?" I asked.
"Seth Campbell. He runs the Campbell Gallery Downtown. He's hosting a memorial service for our Claire tonight at seven, if you'd like to join us," Vern dabbed his eyes.
"That sounds lovely, thank you for the invitation."
Vern looked me over and frowned. "It's cocktail attire."
"Sounds great," I gritted my teeth. "Seven o’clock."
∞∞∞
"You know he's gay, right?" Bodie asked when we were safely back in the car.
"Yes. I picked up on that, long before you were checking out his thousand dollar shoes," I elbowed him in the ribs. "He really drove it home when he critiqued my outfit. I thought you said this was a great outfit."
"No. I said it was a decent outfit compared to what you already had in your closet. We need to go shopping."
"Can't. We need to grab a bite to eat and bring Tripp up to speed before we head over to the memorial service. It's getting late," I gave him the side eye. "You just love any excuse to go shopping."
"Stereotypes, darling. Stereotypes."
In the end it was Tripp who ordered me to go get a dress, so I could blend in at the wake. Bodie directed me to a trendy boutique that I had no idea had opened in Downtown Flamingo Cove. And I had absolutely zero say in what I bought either. Bodie brought me a black sheath dress that looked fairly plain on the hanger, but when I tried it on, I realized it was form-fitting in all the right places.
