What We Bury

by Carolyn Arnold

  “I know.” She tapped the steering wheel.

  “And we could be going down the wrong path entirely here,” Terry said. “Abbott might have screwed Carson over, but it doesn’t mean he killed her.”

  She took her muffin out of the paper bag and dug in.

  “Southern Life next?” Terry asked.

  She nodded with a mouthful, swallowed, then spoke. “We should notify them that Chantelle Carson is dead. And while we’re there, we can try to figure out what problems she had at work, with her boss in particular.”

  “There’s also the possibility that one of the applicants she rejected took it all too personally.”

  “That too.” She swallowed a large chunk of muffin.

  “You look like a snake eating a rat.”

  “Hmph.” She finished her treat and tossed the bag into the back seat.

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  She pulled out of the bank’s parking lot, not inclined to respond to Terry.

  “You’re not going to defend yourself?” he said. “You’re a pig.”

  She slammed the brakes at a red light.

  “Whoa!” He gripped the dash.

  “Has your wife not taught you that women detest being called pigs?”

  “Okay, you’re worse than a pig. They are actually rather clean animals so—” He silenced under her stare.

  “I’ll get the bag later. Right now, I don’t want it underfoot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She growled and gunned the gas when the light changed green. Her partner didn’t have a clue sometimes. Or maybe she could expand that and generalize it as men didn’t have a clue.

  -

  Twenty-Eight

  Southern Life was housed in an industrial plaza in the south end of Stiles near the highway that stretched across most of the state from east to west. The building was a single-story with smoky-tinted glass.

  The receptionist, a petite redhead about Madison’s age, smiled at Madison and Terry when they entered.

  Madison flashed her badge and gave a brief introduction, then said, “We’d like to speak with Chantelle Carson’s boss.”

  The redhead’s eyes beaded with tears. “Did something happen to her? I just felt it when she didn’t show up this morning. I tried calling her but had to leave a message.”

  Someone other than Claws thinks they’re clairvoyant…

  “It would be best if we could speak with someone in management,” Madison said.

  The woman nodded and picked up her phone. “Mr. Rossi, I know you told me not to disturb you, but two detectives are here to speak with you.” She spoke the latter part slowly, as if coming to grips with the implication of their presence. “No, I haven’t heard from her.… Yes… Okay.” She met Madison’s gaze as she replaced the receiver to its cradle. Her hand was shaking the entire way. “Mr. Rossi will be out soon.”

  “Thank you.” Madison wanted to ask her about Carson and the type of person she had been, but Rossi should hear about his employee before she rattled off inquiries. “What’s Mr. Rossi’s full name?”

  The receptionist opened her mouth to answer, but it was a man’s voice that interjected.

  “Dean Franklin Rossi.” A man swaggered toward them in a well-tailored suit. Designer label, if Madison were to guess. “You can follow me.” He led them to a conference room that was fashionably appointed. While the exterior of the building didn’t look like much, the furnishings were high-end and somewhat luxurious. The leather chairs around the table had thick cushions. Madison dropped into one, as did Terry and Rossi.

  “My girl told me you are Stiles police detectives,” Rossi said.

  Madison took slight offense to him referring to the receptionist as “my girl,” as if they’d suddenly fallen into the 1950s. Rossi was a good-looking man, about fifty, graying around his temples but in a graceful, charming way. He probably wasn’t used to women rejecting him, and she pegged him as a womanizer, despite the fact he wore a wedding band. Maybe it was his chauvinistic nature that Carson had a problem with.

  “I’m Detective Knight.” Madison gestured to Terry. “He’s Detective Grant.”

  Rossi butted his head toward Terry, returned his gaze to Madison.

  There would be no more putting off the necessary conversation. She told him that Carson had been murdered over the weekend. He stared at her, his mouth slightly hanging open for a moment, then snapping shut. He rubbed his jaw. “I guess that’s a good reason for not showing up to work.”

  Madison resisted her inclination to respond with something sharp. She’d seen all sorts of reactions to death and murder during her time as a cop. Rossi’s was one she was familiar with—the shock that led to deflecting through humor.

  “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?” Madison asked.

  Rossi shook his head. “I don’t.”

  If he was going to reply with short snippets for their entire conversation, the interaction was going to be painful. “What about any clients who might have had an issue with her?”

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “She sometimes had to reject applicants though, I assume?” Terry said.

  “Of course.”

  Madison reclaimed the lead. “I’m sure some people wouldn’t take too kindly to that.”

  “There are a few nutcases that arise from time to time.”

  “Any recently for Ms. Carson?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “And did she work any files for group benefits—setting them up or processing claims?” Madison’s mind was on GB, the letters in blood.

  “She didn’t get into business accounts. Strictly handled individual applications.”

  GB might not have anything to do with group benefits, but it could still refer to a person’s name or initials. “We’d like to get a copy of the files she was working recently, mostly interested in applicants she rejected,” Madison requested.

  “I can get that information for you. With a warrant.”

  “Consider it done.” Madison leaned back in her chair. “What was Carson like?”

  “Nice girl. Hard worker. She always did as I asked.”

  Again, with the word girl to describe a grown woman. At least he hadn’t called her “my girl” like he had his receptionist. “You never had any problems with her? Disagreements?”

  Rossi tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket.

  “Mr. Rossi?” she prompted.

  “Yeah? No. We worked well together.”

  Madison held her gaze on him, and he touched a hand to his left temple. He was nervous and uncomfortable. “You’re sure you never—”

  Rossi’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, maybe we didn’t always see things the same way.”

  Madison studied him and his awkward body language. Rossi was hiding something. “Where were you Friday night from nine o’clock until two Saturday morning?”

  “Where was—” Rossi gulped. “You think that I…that I…”

  “We’re just crossing it off our list,” she said. “We have certain procedures to follow and questions we need to ask.”

  “That was when she, uh…died?”

  “Uh-huh,” Madison said.

  “Well, I had no reason to kill her.”

  “As I said, just procedure,” she tossed out nonchalantly.

  His eyes darted to Terry. “I was here.”

  “All that time?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been working on putting together an insurance package for a large corporation in town.”

  “Who?” she said.

  “I’d rather not say if I don’t have to.”

  She held his gaze and remained quiet.

  Rossi continued. “Randall Investments.”

  She sank back in her chair.
The city of Stiles was too small sometimes. Randall Investments was owned by Marcus Randall, Jonathan Wright’s employer. “Is there anyone who can verify you were working Friday night through to Saturday morning?”

  “Josie Hart.”

  “And who is Ms. Hart?” Madison asked.

  “She’s an intern here.”

  “Was it just the two of you here?”

  “It was.” Color rose in his cheeks, and he twisted the gold band on his wedding finger.

  His body language confirmed the affair. At least he had the decency to feel shame. “You were sleeping with Ms. Hart on Friday night.” Not a question.

  “It’s nothing. Just a brief tryst.”

  “Is that how your wife would describe it?” she fired back.

  He grimaced. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  What was it with men and their seeming inability to keep it in their pants? Maybe marriage wasn’t the path she wanted to go down. Possibly not even engagement. Just vows looming on the horizon had her ex-fiancé screwing another woman. Maybe men weren’t meant for monogamy, and the prospect of settling down caused something to snap in them. If so, things with her and Troy really were fine as they stood. They were exclusive, but if it went up in flames, there was a lot less legal mess to sort out. But when she thought of her future, she couldn’t imagine it without Troy next to her. God, she was in deep. She cleared her throat. “We’re going to need to speak with Ms. Hart.”

  “Josie’s here today.” He reached toward a phone in the center of the table. “Should I get her in here?”

  “We’ll want to speak with her, but alone,” Madison said. “First, though, I’d like to know what sort of things you and Carson didn’t agree on.” She straightened her shoulders and locked eye contact with Rossi.

  “Oh, okay.” Rossi resettled back in his chair and sighed. “Where to start?”

  -

  Twenty-Nine

  Madison watched Rossi for any tells of deception as he went on to explain that Carson was stubborn and opinionated and thought she knew more than he did. “Obviously, that bothered you?” she said.

  “Damn right it did. I’m her boss. I’m actually the owner here.” As he said that, pride inflated his chest. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “She questioned your work?” Terry leaned back.

  “She didn’t outright, but it was just…”

  “Just?” Madison prompted.

  “I caught her double-checking my work.”

  He had a way of saying a lot while saying nothing. “Specifically?”

  Rossi drew his fingertip in circles on the table. “Claims I’d filed.”

  “Was it part of her job to review them, to ensure accuracy?” Madison inquired.

  “Sure, when I asked her to,” he said. “A second set of eyes never hurt.” It was the slight twitch of his lips that said the opposite.

  There was something about this guy Madison didn’t trust, and it wasn’t just the fact that he was a cheating scumbag. “I think we’re ready to speak with Ms. Hart, if you could send her in?” Madison glanced at the door, giving further indication that this conversation was over.

  “Ah, sure.” Rossi tapped the table before getting up and leaving the room.

  Madison looked at Terry. “I can see what Carson didn’t like.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  A few minutes later, a woman came into the room. She was mousy with dirty-blond hair and brown eyes, but they sparked with life. She wore stylish glasses that complemented the shape of her face. She had a sexy-librarian vibe coming off her. She probably swatted men away much like Cynthia had before settling down with Lou.

  “Mr. Rossi said that you wanted to speak with me?”

  “We do. Please.” Madison gestured to a chair across from her, and Josie Hart acquiesced, but her movements were stiff and jerky, uncomfortable.

  “He told me it’s about last Friday night,” Hart said.

  “It is.” Madison found it interesting that either Rossi hadn’t mentioned Carson’s murder or Hart was more focused on her affair with a married man. “Did he tell you why?”

  Hart nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear. So it was the latter.

  Not a single expression of sorrow over Carson’s demise. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Six months.”

  “Did you know Ms. Carson very well?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you work with her on anything?”

  “A little here and there. Mostly photocopying and whatnot that she needed done. Mostly I work alongside Mr. Rossi.”

  “I see.”

  Hart blushed.

  Madison went on. “And what’s the nature of your relationship with Mr. Rossi?”

  “I’m pretty sure he told you.”

  Madison shrugged. “I’d like to hear your side.”

  “I’m sleeping with him and have been for a while.”

  She nodded, not quite able to find it in herself to point out their relationship meant nothing to Rossi. It didn’t stop her from saying, “From what we’ve been told, Ms. Carson took issue with Mr. Rossi. Did it have something to do with the fact he’s a married man but sleeping with his intern?”

  Terry nudged his shoe against the side of hers. Her partner had a way of attempting to corral her when he thought she was being too blunt.

  Hart jutted out her chin. “I wouldn’t know what her issue was—or even if she had one. It’s not like we spoke.”

  “Where were you last Friday night until two the next morning?” Madison asked, ignoring the snideness in the intern’s voice.

  “Here with Mr. Rossi working on an insurance proposal for Randall Investments.”

  Her reply came out as if it had been rehearsed. “Is that what Mr. Rossi told you to say?”

  “No,” she shot out. “I was here.”

  “And you worked on that proposal all night?” Madison pushed.

  Hart’s gaze flicked to Terry, back to Madison. “For most of it. And I see how you’re looking at me, but he’s an amazing man. His wife doesn’t get him. She’s always doing her own thing. Probably cheating on him.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Madison said.

  Hart narrowed her eyes but didn’t dispute Madison’s allegation. “Neither of us had anything to do with Carson’s death. We were both here.”

  Madison scanned the intern’s face. An arrogant pride coated her features. She’d probably be a mistress all her life. This woman was everything Madison couldn’t stand. “Stay in town, Ms. Hart.” Madison stood.

  “Whatever.” Hart crossed her arms, giving the full image of a petulant child.

  Before leaving Southern Life, Madison and Terry spoke with the redhead from the front desk. She described Carson as a gentle soul who didn’t deserve to be screwed over and murdered. They also inquired as to the beneficiary noted on her life insurance and was told it was Saul Abbott. The address on file was for the house Carson had shared with him.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t update her life insurance policy when they split,” Madison said as she got into the department car.

  “She must have overlooked it with everything else that happened.”

  “I can’t believe it wasn’t one of the first things she would have taken care of.” Madison started the vehicle. “Anyway, all I know is whenever we catch up with Abbott, I’m going to strangle him. Carson had people who liked her, and she just thought she’d found Mr. Right. Look how that turned out.” Somehow murder was always made worse when the victim had been a kind person. At least she felt even more responsible for making things right when that was the case. “We’ll get the warrant paperwork started for Southern Life so we can see what Carson had been working on, but I also want to try Jerrod Stevens again. Maybe we’ll fin
d the landlord at home.”

  -

  Thirty

  It was two in the afternoon when Madison and Terry were getting out of the car at Jerrod Stevens’s house. In a couple hours, she had two back-to-back appointments. She wasn’t looking forward to either one and had considered canceling the one with her general practitioner. After all, her stomach hadn’t kicked the muffin back out.

  She knocked once, and footsteps headed toward the door.

  A man stuck his head out and grimaced. “Cops or religion?”

  He wasn’t the first person to ask that question, but every time it happened, Madison wondered what it was about her and Terry that had people thinking they were on some sort of religious mission.

  In response, both she and Terry held up their badges.

  “Are you Jerrod Stevens?” Madison asked.

  “The one and only, and thank God, because the world can only handle one of me.” Stevens grinned and winked at her. “Come on in.”

  “We’re Detectives Knight and Grant,” she said, thinking she should record those words and simply hit play for the number of times she had to say it during an investigation. “We have some questions for you about a former tenant.”

  “Shoot.”

  She gave him the address in question. “Saul Abbott. We believe he rented from you before Mary Smith, who took over in November.”

  “All right, well, that’s my property, but—” he scratched the back of his head with the fervor of a dog going after a flea “—I don’t know that name.”

  She pulled up his picture on her phone and showed it to him.

  “Nope, never seen him before. Doesn’t mean he didn’t drop around. I used to rent that place to a young woman. Maybe he was a friend of hers?”

  “Do you know her name?” Madison asked.

  “I’d have to go look at the records. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”

  “We’ll wait,” Madison assured him.

  “All right…” He left them in the entry and headed toward the back of the home.