Murder Is Where the Heart Is

by Maddie Cochere

  I shot her a look of surprise. “Kill his wife? What does that mean?”

  “They’ve been having problems for ages. When she went to Wyoming this past summer to visit relatives, the trip doubled as a trial separation. She wears the pants in the family, and Doug’s self-esteem is non-existent these days.”

  This was news to me. Doug was always so puffed up and full of himself, he was difficult to be around. It was hard to envision him as henpecked.

  “I had no idea,” I said. “No wonder he’s ready to snap now that Leslie is missing. But none of that matters right now, because all that’s on my plate today is finding out if Burt Chester is committing fraud.”

  We spent the next few minutes chatting about Alan’s telephone call and my displeasure at having to meet Bailey in a few hours to sign the deed.

  Jackie thought she smelled a rat. “I’m pretty sure Alan can’t force you to sign your share of his aunt’s house over to him. You should check with Matt before you sign anything.”

  I nodded and made a mental note to call him before going to see Bailey. Matt was Jackie’s husband and my attorney. He specialized in family law, but he could surely give me some guidance on the house situation.

  I pulled into Pepper’s driveway and saw the garage door was up. We walked through the garage to the door leading into the kitchen. I opened the door and called out, “Hello?”

  We stepped into the kitchen and saw Pepper standing at the dining room table. Blood was splattered everywhere. It was all over her, the ceiling, the curtains, and the carpet. She stood motionless.

  Jackie whispered, “I’m calling 911.”

  Keith came running around the corner from the living room and exclaimed, “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it. It was Mom’s fault.”

  Keith’s outburst drew my gaze from Pepper, and it quickly became obvious what had happened. I howled with laughter. Jackie was the polite one and offered Pepper a look of sympathy.

  In the center of the table was what was left of a homemade paper mache volcano. A cookie sheet under the volcano and a few sheets of newspaper on the table weren’t much help in protecting the wood table from the explosion.

  Kelly came running down the stairs. “I told Mom not to put the candy in there. I told her it would explode.”

  My laughter subsided, but my smile was still huge. “Sorry we barged in on you. Science class I presume?”

  Pepper shook her head in disgust. “There was a slight miscalculation.”

  Jackie addressed the kids, “Why aren’t you covered in goo like your mom?”

  “We made volcanoes in school last year,” Kelly said. “I knew Mom wasn’t doing it right, so we watched from the living room.”

  I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter and handed them to Pepper. “Baking soda and vinegar didn’t do this. What did you put in there?”

  Keith stuck his hand out and began ticking items off on his fingers. “A bunch of mint candies, a bottle of ketchup, dish soap, food coloring, baking soda, vinegar, and diet pop.”

  My mouth hung open. Before I could ask why, she said, “I found a recipe online. It was supposed to be better than what we did as kids. You know, not your father’s volcano.”

  Jackie was the one to burst into laughter now. Kelly and Keith followed suit, and soon Pepper was laughing, too. She laughed so hard she broke down and cried. I felt sorry for her. She was trying hard to do a good job teaching the kids, and I knew this wasn’t her first setback.

  I took charge of the situation and started barking out orders. “Kelly, get a bucket of soapy water. Keith, bring me a garbage bag.”

  Jackie gingerly put her arm around Pepper and said, “Go upstairs and take a shower. We’ll get this cleaned up.”

  With the four of us working together, we managed to have everything mostly back to normal by the time Pepper came down forty-five minutes later.

  “The curtains are in the dryer, and even though it looks like we got most of the goo out of the carpet, you might want to run your scrubber over it later,” I said.

  She had regained her composure and said with gratitude, “Thank you.” She turned to the kids. “Go to your rooms and do your reading for the day. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.” To Jackie and me she asked, “Why did you stop by? Can you stay for lunch?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. “We can’t stay. I’m supposed to be spying on Burt Chester. We stopped by so I could run upstairs and look out your windows. Maybe I can see into his back yard.”

  “Why are you spying on Burt?” she asked.

  “Insurance fraud. He might be faking a back injury.”

  “I saw him at the Y last week,” she said. “He was swimming laps. Are you guys going to sign up soon? We can swim laps together.”

  I frowned and said emphatically, “There is no way I’m swimming at the Y. I’m not wearing a bathing suit in front of people.”

  Pepper frowned right back. “You need to stop being so self-conscious, Jo. You look great. Besides, during the day, the swimmers are the old people. They don’t care what you look like, and it’s just the kind of exercise you need.”

  With the frown still furrowing my eyebrows, I said, “I’ll think about it.”

  I left Pepper and Jackie to talk about the benefits of our local YMCA while I dashed upstairs to look out the windows.

  Kelly was sprawled out on her bed. Her foot tapped the headboard as she kept time to whatever music she was listening to on her mp3 player. The book she was reading didn’t look like something assigned by Pepper for school. The cover was pink and featured a blonde woman carrying shopping bags.

  She looked up, and I pointed to the window. She nodded and went back to her music and reading.

  The view out her window wasn’t helpful. The houses were all the same style and color, and I wasn’t sure if any of them belonged to Burt.

  I walked down the hallway to Keith’s room. He was playing a video game on an old Nintendo system that had been his dad’s as a youngster.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be reading?” I asked.

  “I am reading. When the people in the village talk, I have to read their words.”

  I smiled. Both of these kids knew how to bend the rules to their advantage.

  “Do you know Burt Chester?”

  He scowled before answering. “Yeah. He’s the grouch that lives behind us on Waterloo.”

  “Why is he a grouch?”

  “Jimmy Faust delivers his newspaper. If he puts the paper anywhere other than beside the door on his porch, Mr. Chester waits for him the next time he comes and yells at him. He even calls the newspaper and complains. Jimmy always puts the paper on the porch, but if it’s not beside the door, the man goes crazy.”

  Jimmy Faust. He was my paper carrier, too. Burt Chester was lucky to get his newspaper on his porch at all. Jimmy had never managed to pitch a newspaper onto my porch.

  “Can you see his house from your window?”

  Keith jumped up from the floor and dashed to the window to pull the blinds up. He pointed to a house three doors down. “It’s the one with the big grill.”

  The neighbor’s trees obscured most of the yard, but a patio area just outside sliding glass doors was in plain view. Two lawn chairs sat next to a huge stainless steel barbeque grill. “Big is an understatement,” I said. “He could cook for an army on that thing.”

  “Jimmy and I looked inside it last week.”

  I laughed. “You did? Why?”

  “His car was gone, so we knew he wasn’t home. We cut through his property to come to my house. Jimmy thought it looked cool, so he opened it. It’s brand new inside – not all black and greasy like ours.”

  The grill was most likely purchased with insurance money. With the high monthly dollar amount Burt’s policy provided, it would be easy for him to buy the best.

  Keith and I stood at the window for another minute, staring at the property. I turned to leave the room, but was drawn back by Keith’s yel
p.

  “Wow, Aunt Jo. Look at that.”

  I looked out the window to see Burt Chester approaching his patio from the back end of his yard. He carried a huge pumpkin in his arms. I had carved enough pumpkins in my lifetime to know one that size had to weigh close to a hundred pounds. His bent knees and manner of walking indicated he was struggling to carry it.

  “Keith,” I said excitedly. “Where’s your cell phone? Quick! I need to get a picture of this.”

  He gave me an exaggerated frown and said, “I’m eight years old. I’m not allowed to have a cell phone. Mom says I have to be ten before I can have one. Will you talk to her about that?”

  I glanced around the room. “Do you have a camera?”

  “No.”

  I looked out the window to see Burt setting the pumpkin down on his patio. He entered his house through the sliding glass doors.

  I told Keith, “Mr. Chester is defrauding his insurance company by claiming he has a back injury. If he really had an injury, he wouldn’t be able to lift that pumpkin. You saw him, so I need you to write a report. You can be my witness.”

  His eyes lit up. “Will I get to go to court and get on the stand and tell how he’s lying about his back and how mean he is to Jimmy about the paper?”

  I suppressed a laugh. “No, but you can put it all in your report. Add pictures, too, if you want. Your mom can mark it down as English and Art and give you a couple of extra A’s for it.”

  Jackie yelled up the stairs, “Are you ready to go?”

  Keith was already pulling a pen, paper, and markers out of his desk. I took another glance out the window. The pumpkin was still on the patio. There was no sign of Burt.

  “Ok, Keith, I’m leaving. Thanks for helping me. I’ll stop by tomorrow and pick up your report.”

  Chapter Six

  Alan’s house was a beautiful, two-story home with red roof tiles, stucco siding, arches, specialty windows, and an exquisitely carved front door in a light salmon color. I remembered him bragging it was a Neo-Mediterranean design. He was right. It did give the feel of the Mediterranean. The landscaping was just as beautiful with interesting trees and bushes around the front of the property.

  I had been sitting in the driveway for nearly ten minutes now. There were no signs of life around the house, and I dreaded knocking on the door and facing Bailey. For some reason, when I was in her presence, I was at my most kluztastic. I didn’t know if it was her youth or her air of sophistication that unhinged me, but I always managed to do something embarrassing around her. Knocking over a bottle of red wine onto a white linen tablecloth at Mrs. Murgatroyd’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party last year was the latest debacle.

  I stalled getting out of the car by reading my pamphlet from the YMCA for a third time.

  After leaving Pepper’s, Jackie and I drove over to park in front of Burt’s house. Half an hour later, and no sign of Burt, we decided to leave.

  “Want to grab some lunch?” Jackie asked. “Then we can run over and check out the Y.”

  I agreed and started the car to head downtown.

  We both had Cobb salads at Parker’s Tavern. As was becoming the norm, the salad was a good choice and had hit the spot. Besides, I didn’t want to feel stuffed or bloated when I went to see Bailey.

  After lunch, we stopped at the Y. There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, and the interior was just as empty. I didn’t have a good feeling as I looked around. This was an old building with ceramic tile walls and some type of faded linoleum flooring. It felt more like an old high school than a fitness establishment.

  The weight room was visible from the lobby. The lighting in the room was dim. The only occupants were two paunchy old men who walked on treadmills set to a snail’s pace. We stood at the front counter and waited for someone to assist us.

  Jackie finished sending a text and said, “I love this place. I used to come here for summer day camp when I was a kid. The smell in here reminds me of my childhood.”

  We were obviously at different ends of the spectrum with our feelings.

  A man stepped out from an office behind the counter. He wore a white t-shirt and khaki slacks. A whistle hung on a cord around his neck. He reminded me of my old high school gym coach. His appearance didn’t help to change my first impression of the facility.

  “Afternoon ladies. How can I help you?”

  “We’d like to join,” Jackie said.

  At the same time, I asked, “Do you have a one-month trial membership?”

  “We have several memberships,” he said with a smile. “I’m Bill. How about a tour?”

  Jackie agreed enthusiastically. I grunted my affirmative.

  By the time we heard about free childcare, youth programs, and family nights, I was no longer walking upright. I was slogging through the hallways behind the two of them. My shoulders drooped. Nothing about the Y interested me. We had already told Bill we didn’t have children, neither of us was pregnant, and the family-oriented activities wouldn’t be on our radar. Well, maybe Jackie didn’t, but I did – numerous times.

  The locker room had a stale smell of foot odor. The thought of changing clothes in the room made my skin crawl. I wasn’t taking my clothes off in front of strangers anyway. If I went swimming at all, I’d put my clothes on over my wet suit and go home.

  When we walked into the weight room, the two old men were walking even slower. Bill made it a point to look at me, not Jackie, when he told us about the one-on-one assistance from a personal trainer. I gave him my best furrowed-eyebrow frown. I didn’t want a personal trainer. I could manage just fine on my own.

  “I’m only looking to ride an exercise bike and walk on a treadmill,” I said. “I might do some swimming, too.”

  “We can take a spinning class,” Jackie said with enthusiasm. “I’ve always thought they looked like fun.”

  “It’s still just riding an exercise bike,” I said without enthusiasm.

  Bill looked at his clipboard and said, “Spinning classes are on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s a lot more than riding a bike. You’ll burn five hundred calories during a one-hour class. That’s an entire meal.”

  Now that might interest me. I would give the spinning classes some thought.

  We moved on to the pool area. There were a couple of older women sitting on the edge of the pool while they chatted. Their dangling feet continually moved through the water, and they never took their eyes from a man swimming laps.

  Bill told us about the Y’s exclusive Water Fit program. It sounded like synchronized swimming to me, and I started to laugh. Nothing about the place seemed right for us, yet Pepper and the kids loved it, and Jackie wanted to love it again. I couldn’t understand any of them.

  The man in the pool finished his laps at the end nearest us. He directed his attention to the women at the side.

  “How many today, Burt?” one of the women asked.

  “Did you break your record of fifteen?” the other asked.

  “Twenty-one laps today,” he said. “I’ll be trying out for the Olympics in no time.”

  I shoved my elbow into Jackie’s side and whispered, “That’s Burt Chester. Get your camera out and film him.”

  “I can’t just start filming him. It would be an invasion of privacy.”

  “Tell him you’re from the paper, and you want some footage.”

  Jackie smiled at the absurdity of the statement.

  “Just do it,” I said. “He won’t even give it a thought that the newspaper won’t use it.”

  She grabbed her lanyard out of her purse and slipped it over her neck. She pulled out the camcorder and moved to the edge of the pool. I half turned my back to them and tried to hide a bit behind Bill. I didn’t want Burt to recognize me. I wasn’t sure if he had seen me snooping around his house or not.

  “Hi,” Jackie said. “Did I hear you say you just swam twenty-one laps?”

  Burt beamed and said, “I sure did.”

  “That’s impressive. I’m
Jackie Ryder with the Buxley Beacon. I’m doing a report on the Y, and I’d love to have some footage of you in action.”

  A bigger smile crossed his face. “Sure, no problem.”

  He pushed off the wall and performed a strong butterfly stroke down the pool lane. Jackie ran along beside him, filming his strong back as it rose and fell with each stroke. When he reached the end of the pool, he hopped out and said, “Be sure to get this.” He then proceeded to climb the ladder to the high dive. Jackie gave me a thumbs up and a huge grin.

  Burt executed a perfect full gainer off the board. The women clapped with glee. He jumped out of the pool and walked with full swagger over to Jackie. He did everything but put his thumbs in his Speedo. She asked him for his name and address, which he promptly gave to her. She had recorded everything we needed.

  “Tell her about your trophies,” one of the women called out.

  Burt pretended to be embarrassed, but said loudly, “I was a diving champion at Penn State.” He went on to tell Jackie of his Olympic dreams and how they were dashed by a broken leg when he was in a car accident.

  I slipped out of the building and waited for Jackie in the car. Ten minutes later, she jumped into the passenger seat and broke out into laughter. She held up the camera and said, “This should be enough evidence for you to prove Burt doesn’t have a back injury. I’ll send it to your email later.”

  I dropped her off at the coffee shop and made my way to Alan’s.

  It was time now to stop dawdling and face Bailey. I shoved the brochure from the Y into my purse, marched up to the front door, and rang the doorbell.

  There was no answer.

  I rang again. I could hear the sound echoing inside.

  Bailey knew I was coming at two o’clock. It was only five minutes after. Surely, she was here somewhere. I didn’t want to come back for the papers. I tried the handle. The door opened.

  I stepped into the foyer and immediately felt a wave of jealously wash over me. The view into a spacious, beautifully decorated living room was awe-inspiring. To my right, a sweeping staircase ascended to the second floor. The wide hallway ahead of me led to a large, open kitchen.