What We Bury

by Carolyn Arnold

  Madison clenched her jaw. She’d learned the harsh truth that finding a faithful man was like sighting a unicorn. She wasn’t as emotionally charged around the topic as she used to be, but it had taken years to move forward after finding her fiancé in bed with another woman. She knew of a few men who didn’t stray. At least three—her father, Terry, and Troy—unless they had her fooled.

  “It takes two,” Terry said, responding in a far more diplomatic manner than she would have.

  “It does,” Bill said remorsefully. “I really do think part of what did us in was not being able to have children. It was like cancer killing us beneath the surface.”

  “I can appreciate that would have been difficult,” Terry—the good cop—said.

  “Is Stephanie here?” Madison asked.

  Bill’s gaze snapped to hers. “She’s at work.”

  “And where’s that?” Madison tossed back.

  “Stiles Insurance.” Bill glanced across the room, then back at Madison. “She was my boss.”

  That was a flip on the typical cliché that had the man falling in love with his female secretary.

  Bill went on. “It was a little tense around the office at the beginning.”

  As much fun as this trip down memory lane might have been for Bill, Madison had some other lines of inquiry to make. “Chantelle got a job at Southern Life not long after you two separated. Do you know if she was still working there? We haven’t had a chance to verify with the company.”

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t keep in touch. I’m sure you can understand that would be awkward.”

  “You were married for twenty-three years,” Madison countered, imagining that would afford some amicability. Then again, if Bill had cheated on Chantelle, Madison could understand if their connection completely fell apart, and it wasn’t like they had kids to bring them together.

  “We were, and the decision to stay out of each other’s lives was a tough one, but it made it much easier to move on.”

  For her or you? Madison thought, although it would seem Bill had already left before the marriage dissolved.

  “And I heard that she found someone,” Bill continued.

  Flapping jaws always followed in the wake of any breakup. “From whom?”

  “Steph. She just mentioned it in passing, but she goes to the same gym as Lana—that’s Lana Barrett, Chantelle’s best friend since public school.”

  What a horrible picture he was painting of his ex’s friend being buddies with his soon-to-be new wife. Talk about a spy in the ranks. “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Paul…I think.” Bill knotted up his face.

  “Paul. You think. We’ll need to talk to this guy. You sure you don’t know—”

  “I don’t, but Stephanie might. I don’t think he would have done anything to hurt Chantelle. From what I heard, Chantelle was happy.”

  “Would you be able to reach your wife right now and just ask her quickly for his name?” Madison asked. “It might help us.”

  “I’ll try her.” Bill pulled his phone from a pocket and placed the call. “Hey, Steph… Just a quick question… I’ll explain more when you get home. I know you’re busy. But do you remember Chantelle’s boyfriend’s name?” Time passed, and Bill’s face showcased shock and sadness, then landed on anger. “Told you, I’ll explain once you’re home.” With that, he put his phone away. “She couldn’t remember. And I’m in the doghouse because Steph has it in her head that I’m sitting here reminiscing.”

  “Do you do that often?” Madison latched on.

  “No. Anyway, I’ll straighten that out. But Lana would know the boyfriend’s name for sure.”

  “Okay, just another question before we leave,” Madison started. “You said you weren’t in contact with Chantelle, but do you happen to know of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”

  “No. I can’t imagine, honestly. Though she was what some might call a Goody Two-shoes. Always saw things black-and-white and made no secret of how she felt. It’s why she was good at her job for the brief time she was at Stiles Insurance. She had no problem rejecting applicants.”

  “Why would they be rejected?” Madison asked.

  “Well, when it comes to health or life insurance, a nurse goes out to a person’s home and conducts an interview. That information is then reviewed before it’s put through to different insurance companies. If a person’s score is low… Say, for example, an applicant is very obese and looking for disability or critical care coverage. Statistically, overweight people are more of a health risk. A black-and-white assessment, to be sure, but there have to be some sort of guidelines in place. Anyway, Chantelle never had a problem telling people how things were.”

  Madison inched forward on her chair. “So she’d tell people they were rejected because of their weight?”

  “Uh-huh. No qualms about it either.”

  “That must have made a lot of people angry.”

  “Absolutely. Some of them got out of control too. They really took it personally, but at the end of the day it wasn’t Chantelle rejecting them; she knew what the company would approve and reject.”

  “She stopped the application process before it got all the way through?” Terry asked.

  “That’s right, and that was part of the job.”

  “You said, ‘Some of them got out of control,’” Madison stated. “How’s that?”

  “Oh, threatening phone calls. They’d show up at the office with dead rats for her. It got pretty bad sometimes. I asked her to quit—we certainly didn’t need the money—but she stayed on a little longer. It wasn’t until one of the rejected applicants showed up at our door yelling for her, that I insisted she quit.”

  “Wow.” Some people really took rejection hard. “How long ago was this?”

  “Over twenty-some years ago.”

  Madison nodded. “One more thing. Do you have any idea what Chantelle might have meant by the letters GB?”

  “In what context?”

  “These letters were present where she was found.” That’s all Madison was prepared to give him.

  “Well, in the world of insurance, GB would stand for group benefits.” Bill raised his brows. “Does that help?”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” Madison replied. Bill had discussed rejected personal applicants becoming enraged, but did someone behind a company have reason to want Chantelle Carson dead? It was a lead worth pursuing, but first, she and Terry would talk to the best friend and see what she had to say. Maybe they’d find out about the boyfriend while they were at it. In the least, he deserved to know what had happened to Chantelle. At most, he was the one that killed her. Both needed to be ruled out.

  -

  Ten

  Before Madison and Terry left Bill Carson, she confirmed with him that Chantelle used to have a life insurance policy and a will. Whether she still did, and as to the current beneficiary, he couldn’t say. Once in the car and heading to Lana Barrett’s place, Madison gave Terry a side-glance, then tapped the wheel. “Carson’s ex really didn’t seem all that broken up about her death.”

  “I thought he was.”

  “I would have expected a little more emotion, given they were married for so long. I know they broke up a couple years ago, but you’d think there’d be more feeling there.”

  “Every relationship is different.”

  “I think I missed seeing your PhD.” She flashed a quick smile at him.

  “Ha-ha. I think he cared, but at the same time, the relationship was over, and people have to move on.”

  “As he pointed out,” she mumbled as her thoughts went personal. What if what she had with Troy was over, washed up, played out? She had allowed herself to believe what she had with Troy was the real deal and would last. She’d even entertained marrying him, but— Her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket a
nd looked at the caller ID. Troy. She put it away without answering.

  “Okay, now you have to talk to me.” Terry angled his body toward her.

  “What? Why?”

  He pointed at her phone, obviously referring her rejected caller. “You could have sent them to voicemail, but you didn’t—the thing’s still ringing—which tells me you don’t want whoever is calling to know you ignored their call. You just want them to think you couldn’t answer.”

  She stopped at a red light, begging some greater being for this night to come to an end—or at least this conversation.

  Terry went on. “It wasn’t your mother, because I’ve seen you put her straight to voicemail, so that leaves one other person— Oh.”

  She glanced over at him. Is my circle so small he can narrow it down to one person so quickly? She took a deep breath as the last ring finished. Troy would be through to voicemail now.

  “Everything all right with you and Troy?”

  “All fine.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you stop with the oh?” She pressed the gas, and they lurched forward through the intersection, nosing out the competition in the next lane.

  “You guys fighting?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “So…you are?”

  She could have smacked herself in the forehead, but she glanced at him with narrowed eyes instead. “Just focus on the case. Bill Carson said that GB could stand for group benefits. Maybe she turned down some arrogant CEO who just couldn’t handle it.”

  He leveled his gaze with hers, and she looked back out the windshield.

  “I know you don’t want to talk—”

  “I do. About the case.”

  He muttered something as she turned into the lot for Barrett’s apartment building.

  She just needed Troy to step up and follow through with what he was going to do weeks ago. At least she’d bet her money on him planning to propose. Yet, day after day passed without one word about it. It was infuriating. She gripped the wheel tightly, her knuckles going white. She’d promised herself a long time ago to love with her whole heart, but she’d said nothing about sticking around if she wasn’t getting the love she deserved in return.

  Lana Barrett was a petite woman who could easily fit into a suitcase. It was probably a good thing other people couldn’t read Madison’s mind. Chalk her psyche up to a hazard of the job.

  She and Terry were with Barrett in her living room, which was a modest space, decorated with a feminine touch. More throw pillows than a department store, and most were floral. Framed prints of Victorian-era houses in the middle of fields with white picket fences adorned the walls. There was a fresh bouquet of daisies on the coffee table in front of the couch. Their fragrance was potent. Madison pressed her lips tightly together, willing her stomach contents to calm.

  “I can’t believe she’s dead. Murdered…” Barrett’s eyes were full of tears, but one had yet to fall. She sat on the couch, tucked into herself, small, grieving.

  “Have you been friends for a long time?” Madison asked, wanting to confirm what Bill had told them.

  “Since kindergarten.” Barrett smiled, but the expression faltered.

  “Such a blessing to meet your best friend that young.” The girls Madison had been friends with growing up weren’t in her life anymore. Most of them had moved away and gotten married. They all probably had a gaggle of kids by now.

  “It was. We bonded over beating some boys.”

  Madison angled her head, smirked. “With your fists?”

  Barrett shook her head. Though a smile toyed with her lips, the expression never birthed. “We would make castles in the sandbox at school. It sort of became a bit of a competition between the girls and the boys. Mostly between Chantelle and me and three guys in particular—Leslie, Kelly, and Taylor. All unisex names too—what are the odds?” She paused and attempted a smile again. “Chantelle was also my maid of honor. I’m divorced now. Have been for ten years. But we were there for each other through all of life’s big events.”

  “So you were there for her through her separation from her husband and eventual divorce?” Madison asked.

  “Yeah. She’s suffered a lot in recent years.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Chantelle dead?” Madison presented the textbook question.

  Barrett shook her head. “Can’t think of anyone off the top.”

  “What about the letters GB?” Madison said. “Do they mean anything to you?”

  Barrett’s forehead wrinkled in thought. Seconds later, she said, “Not that I can think of.”

  Madison said, “We understand that Chantelle was dating someone. A Paul somebody?”

  “Saul Abbott, a while back, but that’s been over for months. And, thank God. I thought he was scum from the start, but he seemed to make Chantelle happy. Turns out I was right—not that I wanted to be. There was no telling Chantelle, though. She fell hard and fast.”

  “Do you have his number, by chance?” Terry had his pen poised over his notepad.

  “Nah, I don’t, and I don’t know where he went after moving out of Chantelle’s house.”

  The back of Madison’s neck tightened. “He lived with her?”

  “Yep. The weasel wormed his way in, destroyed her life.”

  Madison had figured Barrett referred to the change in accommodation when she’d mentioned Carson suffered a lot in the past few years. Now it would seem she meant there was more. “When were they together? For how long?”

  “Around the time of her divorce, and they were together a total of maybe five months. He moved into her house within their first month together. And can you believe she actually considered marrying him?”

  Madison assembled the timeline in her head. Divorced eight months ago, together with Abbot for five, so they broke up three months ago. Two months ago, she moved into the east-end apartment. Madison had a feeling she knew where this was going but asked anyhow. “You said he destroyed her life. How?”

  Barrett shook her head. “You know what? Forget scum. He was a shit. Plain and simple. He convinced her to add him to her bank accounts, credit card, and even to the mortgage on her house in Rosedale. He took out a second mortgage, emptied her accounts, racked up her credit card, and ran with the cash. He broke her heart, and he also destroyed her life. Literally. She had to sell her house in a buyer’s marker. She still owed money on a place where she no longer lived.” A few tears snaked down Barrett’s cheeks, and she wiped them. “I offered for her to stay here, but she would prattle on about making her bed and needing to lie in it.”

  Madison hated that her suspicions had been right. “Guy sounds like a typical con artist. Did she report what he’d done?”

  “No. She was embarrassed and devastated. And I tried to get her to file a police report, but she was so broken. She just wanted to move on and put it behind her. At least she didn’t marry him, and apparently, he had it all set up too.”

  “All set up?” Terry asked. “The venue, the priest?”

  Barrett snuffed out a bitter laugh. “Venue, yes. But that’s a no to the priest. Saul didn’t have a religious bone. Wow. Surprise. You know, I did try to warn her. I told her that guys like him don’t fall for women like us. We’re not old biddies, but we’re not exactly cougars either.”

  “He’s super good-looking?” Madison guessed.

  “He is…and young. Twenty-five, or so he said. That’s if anything he said was true. Blond, blue eyes. Speaking of…he was always holding eye contact to the point of it being uncomfortable.”

  “Lack of eye contact communicates a shadiness, but con men tend to overcompensate by peering into a person’s eyes. They think it makes them seem more credible.” The same applied to guilty suspects. “How tall was he?”

  “I’d say about six feet.”
>
  “What about build?” Terry inquired.

  “Fit. He definitely hit the weight room at the gym. Actually—” Barrett jumped up and went into another room, returning a moment later with a picture in a frame. “I keep meaning to put something new in here, but I’ve had it stuffed in my closet for a while now. Chantelle gave this to me.” She handed the photo to Madison.

  It showed Barrett and Carson with an attractive man. Madison pointed at him and glanced at Barrett.

  “Yeah, that’s Saul.”

  “Could I take this with us?” Madison asked.

  “Sure. You don’t think he ended up killing her?” Barrett’s brow wrinkled.

  “It’s far too early to conclude anything,” Madison replied. She was sure, though, that when she and Terry looked in the system, they wouldn’t find Saul Abbott. Con men often used aliases. It might be beneficial to get what information they could from Barrett while they were here. “I’d like to revisit the marriage part. You said that Saul had arranged the venue. Where did he want the wedding to take place?”

  “Just in a room at a local community center. He said he had a buddy, some guy named Carl Long, who could perform the ceremony. Supposedly, he obtained his marriage officiant license online.”

  Terry scribbled in his notepad.

  Barrett went on. “Can you believe that Saul actually pitched it to Chantelle as an affordable way to tie the knot? Said they didn’t need some big pompous ceremony with a bunch of people. Chantelle thought it sounded great. She never loved large gatherings.”

  Madison noted the discrepancy between what Barrett was telling them and the fact Bill Carson said Chantelle had organized large functions. Then again, she could have just stayed behind the scenes.

  “He probably wanted it small because con men like to separate their marks from friends and loved ones,” Terry pointed out.

  “He’s right,” Madison said. “It makes their mark easier to control.”

  Barrett winced. “I hate to hear Chantelle referred to that way, but I know that’s what she was to him. As you said—” she flicked a finger toward Terry “—he did like to separate her, at least keep an eye on her. We’d still get together, but always at her place where he would come into the room from time to time.”