Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5)

by Jerilyn Dufresne

  “Of course he did. How could he not.” I beamed at her as if in shared pride. I thought the Academy Award would soon be on my mantel. If I actually had a mantel.

  “So for a while, that’s what I did. No problem at all. I slipped the warehouse supervisor a few bucks to help me, and that was that. Then Cash started working in the warehouse, and everything changed. He watched me as if I were going to steal his precious factory. It wasn’t his. It was his father’s. But Cash already had him dead and buried, with him as the sole heir.”

  She shifted a little, which jolted me out of my relaxed state, and I raised the gun again. It was important not to forget that this smooth talking water mogul was a murderer.

  “By then I’d become overwhelmed, absolutely overwhelmed with the amount of work it took to sell my water. I’d brought on associates and they were selling it. Business was booming, as they say. Right before Cash started working there, I’d decided to cut a few corners. I mean, everyone does it.”

  She looked at me for my agreement, so I gave it to her with a nod.

  “I began using tap water instead of carting down the water from the springs. I didn’t think people would notice. Anyway, by the time I’d finished purifying the spring water, it was no different than tap water anyway. Right?”

  “Right,” I said, nodding again.

  “My water sold so well that it easily outstripped the sales of the urns. I needed more and more warehouse space, but I didn’t really want Jonah to know, so I made sure the pallets of water were stored toward the center of the building. I paid the warehouse guy even more money to help me. I had plenty of money.” Her self-satisfied grin irked me, but I held my tongue. “With the water in the center, the urns were what everyone saw unless they were actually looking for something else.”

  “So now would be a good time to tell me about how Cash died. Accidentally.”

  “I went to the warehouse on a Friday, knowing no one else would be there because we were in the middle of Henderson Days. I was running low on inventory and had a huge, I mean huge, order due in a few days. As I was checking out my inventory, in the center of the warehouse, Cash surprised me by showing up.”

  “That wasn’t very nice of him.” I wanted to keep encouraging her.

  “It was almost like he was spying on me. How dare he do that to me?” The “me” was emphasized and I knew then that her narcissism was more like megalomania.

  “How could he do that to you? His aunt.”

  Her look changed to suspicion immediately and I thought I’d gone too far. Then she shook her head and said, “I loved Cash. I really did.”

  “I know you did. But he was spying on you. Actually spying.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You really understand.”

  I gave her my best social worker look, including a furrowed brow.

  She continued, “So he yelled me. At me! For no reason. He said I was using up valuable resources of the plant. That he knew I was putting water from the spigot into the bottles. That I was defrauding my customers.” Tears came to her eye. “Me. Defrauding people. I would never do that.”

  “Of course not,” I said, reinforcing her flow of words. “Then what happened?”

  “He got really angry. He called me names. He pointed a finger at me. He threatened to expose me. He said he would tell Jonah everything. I couldn’t have that.” She seemed as if she were talking to herself now instead of to me. “I couldn’t have that at all.”

  She was sitting by now, but I didn’t object. Her eyes got hard and she focused on her hands. “I pushed him after he threatened me. I pushed him hard. And do you know what he did?” She looked at me as she asked the question.

  I just shook my head.

  “He laughed at me, Samantha. He actually laughed at me.” She shook her head from side to side. “I was so angry, and hurt. How could he laugh at me? I was his aunt. Plus I was making a lot of money. I was not a joke.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I backed away and said he was right.” She had entered a world of her own by then. Nothing I could say or do would deter her from finishing her narrative. “I apologized and said I would make this right. He relaxed. I asked if we could move from the center of the building as I was getting claustrophobic, surrounded by stacks of boxed water. So he led the way to the perimeter of the building. We walked past some urns, and I grabbed one, and got right up behind him as he walked and hit him over the head. It was an accident. He didn’t fall down, but turned around and looked at me. He was mad, so I hit him again. I didn’t mean to do it. You have to believe me.”

  “Maybe she does, but I don’t. It was no accident.” It was the voice of my beloved George as he came around the stack of boxes, nodding and looking unsurprised at her revelation.

  George’s voice was welcome, and I happily handed the gun to him as soon as he appeared. At the same time I heard sirens approaching and knew that Louise Shannon was caught in a snare of her own making.

  “How long were you there?” I asked my hero.

  “Long enough to hear that it was not involuntary manslaughter, but most likely murder in the second degree. Not premeditated, but certainly no accident. Good job, Sam.”

  “I’m not done though,” Louise whined. Her narcissism was a pain in the neck, but if she wanted to talk some more, we would be willing listeners. “And it wasn’t murder, it was an accident,” she said directly to George.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Well, I didn’t know what to do with a dead body. All I knew was I needed someone to help me. I couldn’t tell Jonah. He’d be shocked and would think badly of me. I couldn’t have that. He looks up to me. So I called the warehouse foreman. He’d been taking payments from me, and helping me out all along. He was the only one I could think of. So he came and said he’d take care of the body, after I told him I’d expose his criminal activities if he didn’t.” She stopped for a breath, and looked up at me with a crocodile-tear-stained face. “I thought he’d bury it or burn it. I had no idea he put it on a train. Anyway, I stayed here and cleaned up the blood, and now you know everything. You can see it was totally an accident.” She was ignoring George by now and only talking to me.

  “Your accomplice also drew a few pictures of urns on the boxcar. Guess he wanted you to get caught after all.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “He did not.” She seemed appalled. “People love me. He wouldn’t want me to get in trouble.”

  At that I laughed. “I think we have enough information now to get her tried for murder,” I said to George.

  “Yeah, but…” Louise sputtered. “Yeah, but you said you would testify for me.”

  “Oh, about that,” I said. “I lied.”

  I think Clancy chuckled.

  EIGHTEEN

  I leaned my head back in the passenger seat of George’s car and sighed.

  “That was a big sigh,” he said.

  “I’m tired. But I’m so happy I just have a moderate sprain. I’ll be fine for the wedding. I’ll still get to walk down the aisle, and will be able to dance with my husband afterward.” Husband. That thought made me happy too. Another thought intruded. “Is our new best friend Nibby still behind us?”

  George looked in the rear view mirror and said, “Yes. But even if we get separated, he has a GPS. He’ll find Quincy soon enough.”

  “Thanks for putting him up at your house, honey. I think my carriage house will have enough activity without the wedding planner staying there.”

  George laughed. We then rode in silence for several miles. Finally I said, “It’s too bad the warehouse guy helped Louise put Cash’s body on the train. What will he be charged with?”

  “Concealing a homicide or something like that. He’ll be out of prison a lot quicker than Louise Shannon—if she ever gets out at all.”

  “Wonder what will happen to the plant,” I said.

  “Probably nothing really. Jonah was running it for Caleb and will probably continue to do so. He had nothing t
o do with the murder, so I think everything will go on as before. If Jonah dies before Caleb, some other relative will inherit when Caleb dies,” George said, expertly executing a lane change when traffic got heavy near St. Louis. “Besides, now that we know Louise knocked Jonah out with another urn while we were in there trying to find our way out, we know why he didn’t turn the lights back on. Further proof he had nothing to do with the murder or the attempted murders.”

  We were quiet again until I laughed as I thought of Nibby’s reaction when we told him we went through part of Missouri to get to our home in Illinois. It wasn’t until we showed him a map that he understood. My thoughts quickly returned to the case.

  “It’s amazing that Louise was so narcissistic that she thought I was going to be on her side.”

  “Some people are delusional,” said my chauffeur and soon-to-be husband.

  “Yep, but I’m not delusional when I think that in a very short time I’ll be your wife. How cool will that be?” I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s what I’ve wanted for a very long time,” George said as he glanced over at me. His eyes soon returned to the road, and my mind returned to fantasizing about our small, intimate wedding.

  NINETEEN

  My daughter Sarah seemed even more excited about my wedding day than I was. “Hurry up, Mom. Get your shower, get on your fancy undies, and let’s get going.”

  “I’m enjoying my last cup of coffee before I become Mrs…, well, before I become a married Sam Darling.”

  “You never told me you were keeping your name,” Sarah exclaimed in her exuberance. “How does George feel about that?”

  “Umm… I don’t know if we talked about it. I mean, I think he’d expect it from me. Maybe. I don’t know.” Now I was getting a little nervous. I’d already thought about how a newly married couple would typically be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. George Lansing. That was tradition. The officiant was my brother, Pete, and he’d do what I wanted, so I could ask him to say George Lansing and Samantha Darling. Or maybe I’d have him say Sam Darling so it would sound like two men getting married in a Catholic church. That would be hilarious.

  “Mom!” Sarah said, snapping me out of my meandering thoughts. Her hand was on my shoulder.

  “Don’t spill my coffee,” I said. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. I don’t think I’ve talked to George about the name thing. Would you mind doing that when you take off—so I can get started on the getting-ready process?” At her hesitation, I added, “He won’t care. I’m pretty sure of it.”

  She said okay, but I could tell it was done grudgingly. I took one last big swig of my coffee, took the mug to the sink, then walked with Clancy into my bedroom. I looked around the room, thinking how happy I was to be living here.

  “Crap,” I said aloud. Clancy was the only one there and she stared at me. I looked at her too, and said, “Well, at least I didn’t say the other word. Give me a break.” As I was appreciating my lovely carriage house home, it suddenly hit me that there was something else George and I hadn’t talked about—where we were going to live. I needed to talk to him ASAP. I remembered that it was considered bad luck for us to see each other before the wedding, and God knew I didn’t need any more of that.

  “There’s nothing wrong with talking though,” I said to Clancy. She seemed to agree.

  First I texted Sarah to tell her she didn’t need to talk to George after all, then I called my soon-to-be husband.

  “Lansing.” That’s how he always answered the phone.

  “Good morning, my love,” I said.

  “What a nice surprise! Didn’t think we’d be talking before the wedding.”

  “Me either, but there are a few things we need to talk about before we get married.”

  “Okay, shoot,” he said, probably not a good word to use considering we’d both been shot before.

  “Well,” I began, a little scared to bring it up, “we haven’t talked about some things. First, I wanted to tell you that I’d like to keep my name, just like I did before.”

  “Of course,” he said, “I expected it. You kept your name when you were married to Joe, so no surprise here.”

  “Thank you, darling.” I’d gotten the answer I expected, but knew the second issue was going to be a little different.

  “Something else we haven’t talked about, George, is um… um…”

  “This isn’t like you, Sam. Spit it out.”

  “Okay. We haven’t talked about where we’re going to live.”

  “Well, we’re going to live at my house. It’s where I grew up, a few houses from where you grew up, and most importantly, it’s paid for. I don’t think there’s anything to discuss.”

  The last line was probably the wrong thing to say to me. “Of course there’s something to discuss. My carriage house is perfect. Just perfect.”

  “For one, it was perfect. For two, not perfect.”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “It will still be perfect. There’s an empty part of the carriage house where they used to keep the horses. I’m sure Gus and Georgianne will let us convert it into your workshop, and—”

  “…and I’m not going to sell my house, Sam. That is final.”

  “You can rent it out.”

  “I’m going to end this conversation while I still want to get married,” he said. And then there was nothing.

  “Guess he really was done talking,” I said to Clancy. Then I started crying. Clancy came over and rubbed her head against my leg, giving me comfort. “Thanks, girl. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Do you think he loves his house more than he loves me?”

  She looked me directly in the eyes, which dogs normally don’t do and I felt her words. “I know you’re right, Clance. I’m overreacting like I usually do. This was a big thing to spring on him right before the wedding. It was something we should have talked about before now.” But ever since we started dating again, we’d been involved in one murder after another, and time seemed to fly by. “I’m just going to get ready and concentrate on being happy. I’ll worry about our house later.”

  I hung up my robe on the back of the bathroom door, turned on the shower and waited for it to heat up. I started singing every song that had “wedding” or “marry” in it, so the time in the shower seemed to fly by. After drying off, I blew my hair dry using a curved brush. Normally I just let it air dry, but today was special enough to take a few extra minutes. Nibby had arranged for my stylist, Kristopher, to make a house call to finish the preparation of my mane for the occasion. He was due in a half-hour, so I felt no need to rush. A friend from the theatre, Danielle, volunteered to do my makeup. She was going to work on my face immediately following Kristopher. So again, no rush.

  I walked into the bedroom where I’d laid out all my underthings—new bra and panties, and a lycra/spandex/stretchy contraption to hold in my belly. I’d never worn one of them before but had been assured by my daughter, sisters, and sister-in-law that everyone wore them, and they were extremely helpful at holding in places that needed holding in. I put on my blush pink panties, then worked on the bra. I hadn’t worn a push-up bra since I was much younger, and now “the girls” needed much more pushing up. But it appeared I’d bought the right one.

  Then I moved to the new piece of underwear. I’d bought a size smaller than I needed, confident that with its help I’d look as though I had no bumps or lumps. I took the shaper out of its packaging and put my hands inside it to stretch it out a little.

  “Oh, my,” I told Clancy. “This is awful tiny. Sure hope my bod will fit in it.” I bravely put my arms over my head and put them in the armholes of the thing that looked like a small slip. Doing a dance that I was sure had never been seen anywhere on God’s green earth prior to that moment, I shimmied and shook as I attempted to get the slip down my arms to my shoulders.

  I don’t know how long it was before I realized I was irretrievably stuck, but I was. My head was inside the slip/girdle. I couldn’t see anything through its light
weight, but thick, material. Until that moment I’d never felt real claustrophobia, but now I knew how it felt. Sweat poured off of my freshly-washed body. I wriggled as best I could, but by then all the blood had rushed out of my hands and arms and they were numb.

  Finally I gave one more big push and… thud… I landed on the hardwood floor. “Omigod! I have broken bones. Clancy, help! Help, Clancy!” Where was my faithful companion?

  While I’d been in the shower she’d settled herself in for a nice nap on the bed, so I imagined she was still close by. I was on the floor when I felt her nose on the top of my head. She’d stuck her own head inside the slip to find me.

  “Don’t you get stuck too, Clancy.” It was like the gravitational pull of a black hole. Once you went in, you never came out. “Help me,” I pleaded. Although how she could do it was beyond the limits of my thinking.

  Without warning, I started crying. Then I felt something with my hand. Clancy had my phone in her mouth. She handed it to me. I was grateful for my sweet pooch.

  “How do I unlock it when I can’t see the numbers?” I said out loud. I fooled around with it for a few minutes, but all I got was more frustrated. Then I thought, “This is an emergency, Clancy. I can dial 911 without unlocking the blasted thing.”

  Because I couldn’t see the phone and because my hands were numb I poked and pushed several times before I remembered Siri. I pushed and held the button until I heard her sweet voice ask what I wanted. “Call 9-1-1,” I yelled. I half expected her to rebuke me because she could be a smart Alec sometimes.

  She complied after I answered “yes” to her question, “Call 9-1-1. Is that correct?”

  “911. What is your emergency?” The woman answered after one ring.

  “I need help fast. I’m getting married in two hours and I’m stuck in my slip.”

  “Please speak up. You sound like you’re far away from your phone. It sounded like you said you’re stuck in your slip.”

  “I am far away from my phone. I’m stuck in my slip,” I yelled. “Yes, I’m stuck in my slip. I need help! I need it fast. I can’t breathe.” Of course I meant I was having a panic attack, but “I can’t breathe” was all the woman needed to hear.