by Ron Benrey
“An enormous one, I predict. Together, we’re two potential witnesses who have worthwhile insights about what actually happened to Richard Squires.”
She shrugged. “I still think that Rafe will ignore us, but after my performance this morning, I probably owe you a favor. If you want me to tag along when you talk to Rafe, I will.”
Sean and Ann spent most of their ten-minute stroll to police headquarters in silence. He enjoyed walking close to her and didn’t want to risk ruining the moment. She remained equally quiet, lost in her own thoughts.
“What’s your plan?” Ann finally said, as they turned right on Campbell Street. “Who does the talking?”
“Well, I suppose I should lay out my thinking. Then you can add your comments and observations.”
“Fine. I’ll try not to be my usual critical self.”
Sean gave their names to the sergeant at the visitor’s window who buzzed them through a door that led to the main bullpen. They found Rafe working at his desk. He seemed tired and wasn’t wearing a complete uniform. Sean guessed that the deputy chief had been working flat out since Gilda passed overhead and hadn’t had time to go home for a change of clothing. Rafe stood and welcomed them.
“I can give you five minutes, no longer. We’re an officer short this morning.” He gestured toward a pair of visitor’s chairs near his desk. “Now, what have you two cooked up?”
Sean waited until Ann had slid into one of the chairs and then he took the other. But before he had a chance to speak, she started explaining.
“We came to see you, Rafe, because Sean has a theory about what happened to Richard Squires on Monday night. I urge you to listen to what Sean has to say, even though it may sound a bit weird.”
Sean held his breath. So much for our plan.
But Rafe picked up a pen and slid a yellow notepad to his side of the desktop. “I’m all ears.”
Sean relaxed and told Rafe about Richard’s puzzling route through the parking lot, the unexpectedly neat position of his body under the rubble and the curious lack of damage to his face. “Taken together,” he concluded, “these things suggest that Richard’s death wasn’t an accident and that someone killed him.”
Rafe didn’t interrupt him, nor did he say anything when Sean finished. Instead, he reached into a desk drawer and retrieved another yellow notepad, this one covered with writing.
“Here,” he said. “Read my notes.”
Sean read just a paragraph of scrawly handwriting. He pushed Rafe’s notes toward Ann, stunned.
“Great minds think alike,” Rafe said. “I identified the three suspicious facts you did, plus I came up with a fourth. I’d love to know what happened to Richard’s hat that evening. Several people in the command center remember him wearing it that evening.”
“Richard’s hat!” Ann slapped her palm on the notepad. “I’d forgotten about it. He was wearing a funny-looking baseball cap when he fixed the generator. It was bright red with a broad white brim that covered his face. I never saw the logo on the front, but I remember thinking that it was a crazy hat to wear during a hurricane because it didn’t have a chin strap and the broad brim would catch the wind.” She added, “Gilda probably blew Richard’s hat halfway to Elizabeth City.”
“What about my conclusions?” Sean lowered his voice. “Do you also think that Richard might have been murdered?”
“It’s possible, though not probable,” Rafe answered, softly. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but the medical examiner’s report is ambiguous. It doesn’t say yes or no. All we really know for sure is that a blow to the back of the head killed Richard Squires. It’s possible that the falling steeple hit Richard and created the bizarre circumstances you observed. Strange things happen during storms.”
“Not that strange. It takes years of experience to become an expert on storm damage, but I’ve seen enough to recognize that someone gave Gilda the hurricane a helping hand, so to speak.”
Rafe sighed. “Glory’s leadership—our mayor, the chief of police and the director of emergency management—all accept that Richard Squires died in a freak accident. I’m not happy with that explanation—as we both know, too many of the details don’t fit. And so, I’ve been dragging my feet, keeping the investigation open.”
“Then you do agree with me,” Sean said.
“Let’s just say that the circumstantial evidence can be interpreted to suggest that Richard met with foul play.” Rafe heaved another sigh. “But none of that makes any difference, because we don’t have—”
“A motive,” Ann interrupted. “There’s no reason for anyone to kill Richard. I explained that to Sean, but he doesn’t believe me.”
Rafe leaned back in his chair. “Believe her, Sean. She’s right. Without a good motive for murder I can’t take the next step.”
“What if I could find a legitimate motive?”
“You won’t,” Ann said. “Everyone loved Richard. He had no enemies.”
“Yep,” Sean said. “And the longer he’s gone, the more popular he’ll get.”
Ann frowned. “That’s a remarkably cynical attitude.”
“I’ve never met Richard Squires,” Sean said, “but I’m positive that he didn’t die by accident. He may have been Glory’s favorite son, but someone had a reason for wanting him dead.”
Rafe leaned closer to Sean.
“I certainly can’t encourage you to get involved,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “and I can’t do anything to help you. But if you bring me even a puny motive suggesting why Richard might have been murdered, then I’ll launch a full-scale investigation, no matter what the chief or anyone else in this town thinks.”
Sean watched a look of astonishment spread across Ann’s face. She was as surprised as he was that Rafe had given him a green light—of sorts.
“Please keep one caveat in mind,” Rafe continued. “Dabbling with murder can be dangerous. If someone did kill Richard, that person won’t have many qualms about killing you, should you become a perceived threat.”
“Fortunately, he won’t be working alone,” Ann announced.
Sean immediately realized what Ann meant.
“No!” he said to her. “This is my project. I don’t need any help.”
Ann shook her head. “He doesn’t know me very well,” she said to Rafe.
“I guess not,” Rafe replied with a laugh.
“Well, we’ll let you get back to work.” She held up the tactical police radio that dangled from the lanyard around her neck. “Do you want this back?”
“No. You’d better hang on to it. I’m always on the other end.”
Sean asked himself how he’d lost control of the conversation. Actually, he’d never had it—Ann had taken charge and that was that. He rose without protest when she stood up, then followed her out of the bullpen. Sean looked back at Rafe, who shrugged and winked.
He wanted to talk with Ann about her intentions to work with him, but then he glanced at her face. The embarrassment he’d seen earlier was gone, leaving nothing but certitude and resolve.
That’s a good thing, isn’t it?
SEVEN
Ann left police headquarters startled at what she’d said and done. Why had she insisted on helping Sean? More to the point, when would she find the time to do it?
She’d made an open-ended commitment to work with Sean, but how much time did he intend to spend on his quest? He had nothing else to do for the next three days while waiting for his van to be repaired. But every minute she spent with him would take valuable time away from her responsibilities at Glory Community Church. How would she manage to search for Richard’s killer and fight for her job at the same time? Had she taken on more than she should? Did she really have a choice?
Ann looked at her watch and groaned softly. She could almost feel all of Wednesday slipping away from her. It was a little past one o’clock. She’d planned to spend the afternoon at the church. Daniel hadn’t ordered her back to work, but she knew that he needed her
support. There were a thousand things that had to be done, from arranging for the plywood panels to be taken off the windows, to making sure the rehearsal room was ready for this evening’s choir practice, to accommodating the dozens of organizations that routinely held meetings at the church, to organizing Richard Squires’s funeral, which was scheduled for Friday, to preparing a list of local folks who might need a helping hand with their recovery efforts…the list was endless.
I have problems, but so do hundreds of other people in Glory.
And then Ann remembered her mother. Her brother Alan planned to drive Mom back to Glory on Thursday. In other words, tomorrow! That created a new round of tasks for her. She’d need to put clean sheets on her mother’s bed and the guest-room bed. And because they’d both be tired and hungry after the six-hour drive from Asheville, she’d have to find the time to get a hot supper ready for them. Before that, she’d need to restock the fridge, which she’d all but cleaned out in anticipation of Gilda causing a power outage.
Ann heard her stomach rumble.
“You sound as hungry as I feel,” Sean said, his eyes bright with amusement.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I have noisy innards and I was thinking about food shopping.”
“Why don’t we stop for lunch before we go motive-hunting?”
“I really don’t have the time for—” she began, but then her stomach rumbled again.
“You and your innards seem to have different opinions about your hunger.”
“Trust me. I’ll survive until dinner. I ate breakfast this morning, followed by two chocolate truffles.”
“Even so, it won’t take long to visit one of Glory’s fast-food restaurants. Sharon, my nurse at the hospital, spoke glowingly about Snacks of Glory. She said that I had to try a SOGgy Burger before I left Glory.”
Ann wanted to argue, but Sean’s mention of a SOGgy Burger sent another undeniable hunger pang through her midriff. In fact, her breakfast had been quick and meager—one small, frozen breakfast sandwich she’d nuked in her microwave.
“I’ll be pleased to accompany you to Snacks of Glory,” she said, “which is definitely one of Glory’s special places. The SOGgy Burgers they serve are famous throughout the Carolinas. But let’s not meander around town on foot. We’ll hoof it to my house and pick up my car.”
Ann led the way. They stopped at the intersection of Queen Street and Stuart Lane to allow a convoy of support trucks owned by the local cable TV company to pass. Ann considered the departing trucks one more sign of progress after the storm. The repair crews were leaving Glory, which meant that at least one downtown utility was back in service.
Ann chuckled to herself as she realized that Sean had taken on a similar mission of repair and recovery. There was only one way to get Phil Meade off her case. If Rafe could prove that Richard hadn’t died accidentally, everything she had done—or not done—during that awful evening would become irrelevant. The first step on her road to redemption was to identify a potential motive for murder.
A new thought took over Ann’s mind. Finding a motive was so important to her future that she didn’t trust Sean to do it by himself. That’s why she had insisted on coming along.
Here we are walking side by side like we’re best buddies, but Sean doesn’t know much about me, and I know even less about him. In fact, I haven’t the vaguest idea why he’s offered to help me. I mean, aside from the fact that he seems to like me. Not romantically, though. Or am I wrong about that? He’s certainly been attentive.
When they reached Ann’s house, Sean asked, “Wasn’t your car inside your garage?”
“Yes, but the falling branch left my car unscathed—more’s the pity.” She laughed. “It’s old, small and underpowered. I keep hoping for a reason to replace it, but it always starts and seems to run forever.”
They climbed inside and she started the engine. “A quick lunch and then we hunt for a motive.”
“Sounds like a strategy,” Sean said.
“You haven’t explained what you intend to do this afternoon. How does one look for a reason to kill another person? I have no idea.” She slipped the car in gear. “Did that textbook you browsed through provide any guidance?”
“As a matter of fact, it did. There are four leading motives for murder. Greed—murder prompted by love of money or a related form of covetousness; jealousy—murder driven by possessiveness; revenge—murder to get even; and self-protection—murder to prevent the revelation of past acts or deeds.”
“That’s a nasty list,” Ann said, “but none of those items fit the Richard Squires I knew.”
“You’re focused on the wrong thing, Ann. Even though Richard was an all-around nice guy, someone else in Glory may have been jealous of him, fearful of him, committed to getting even with him or determined to separate him from his money. To figure out why Richard was murdered, we need to understand his life, his relationships, and his business dealings.”
Ann had to admit that his reasoning rang true. “So where do we begin?”
“If I say ‘Richard Squires,’ what leaps into your mind?”
“Squires’ Place, of course,” Ann answered.
“So let’s start there. Then we tug on any threads that might lead to more useful information.”
“That seems easier in theory than practice,” she said. “I wish we knew more about detecting than what you’ve read in a textbook.”
“We’ll learn as we go.”
“If you say so, Sherlock.”
“I do, Watson. Trust me.”
Less than five minutes later, Ann parked her venerable compact sedan on Oliver Street, next to Snacks of Glory.
“Remind me to take a picture of that neon sign.” Sean pointed at the glowing hamburger—mostly red and yellow—hanging in the front window. “It’s so delightfully tasteless.”
“Do you enjoy being a snob?” Ann asked, smiling.
“You’re the one who was impressed by Carlo Vaughn!”
“Okay.” Ann laughed. “We’re both snobs. Please don’t mention him again.”
Ann guided Sean inside. More than half of the dozen or so tables were occupied, but Ann’s favorite table—a round two-seater tucked into the back corner—was vacant.
“Hi, Ann,” a waitress called from the middle of the dining area. “Do you need a menu today?”
“Not today, not ever. We’ll each have a Deluxe SOGgy Burger and a sweet tea.”
The waitress gave a mock salute. “On the way!”
“Hmm. You’re sure about that iced tea thing?” Sean said. “Up north, we usually drink soda with our burgers.”
“Unthinkable! You’re in North Carolina now. A SOGgy Burger without sweet tea is like a day without sunshine.”
A grin crossed his face. “In that case, thank you for preventing a gullible Yankee from committing a cultural crime. Speaking of crime,” he said, “tell me about Rafe Neilson. He seems more…uh, sophisticated than other small-town cops I’ve met.”
“Rafe is as sharp as they come. He used to be a special investigator with the New York State Police. Daniel says that Glory is lucky to have him.”
His smile became thoughtful. “Yeah, but is he protective of the locals? Is he likely to shy away from conducting an investigation that might implicate a leading Glory resident?”
“I trust Rafe. If he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it, even if it means rocking Glory’s boat.”
Ann moved her silverware to one side as the waitress arrived with two overflowing plates and two vast glasses of sweet tea.
“That’s got to be the biggest burger in all Creation,” Sean said.
“Not even close.” The waitress scooped up a few fries that had slipped off the plates. “Our Humongous SOGgy Burger is twice as large.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He waited until the waitress left and then asked Ann, “Shall I give the blessing?”
“Uh…great!” Ann said, startled by the question.
Sean took her hand
. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for the fellowship around this table and Your provision of these delicious SOGgy Burgers. Please bless them to our use and us to Your service. And help us both make wise choices in the days ahead. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Ann repeated, trying to keep the astonishment she felt out of her voice. She hadn’t expected Sean to be openly Christian—or be able to pray so confidently.
Her own Christian walk had developed a pothole or two in recent years. God had allowed things to happen that bewildered her. She could still talk a good game about her faith, but her doubts had increased, although she’d never admit that to anyone. A big reason for taking her job at Glory Community Church had been to reconnect with God.
I know You’re out there, but something is wrong with our relationship.
“Pardon me!” Sean said, hastily releasing her hand and lunging for the ketchup. Only then did she become aware that he had continued to hold her hand for several seconds after finishing the blessing. Even more surprising, she’d enjoyed the touch of his fingers on hers.
She saw a blush travel up Sean’s cheeks. Moreover, his flurry of activity with his SOGgy Burger seemed more designed to hide his embarrassment than to eat lunch.
Ann swallowed a laugh. Something was going on here, but neither of them was saying anything. They both had lots to learn about candor.
Maybe we both need to speak our minds.
A sermon Daniel had recently preached sprung to mind. “God knows your hearts,” Daniel had said. “And he knows what you’re thinking.” Ann dug her cell phone out of her purse.
“I hate people who make calls in a restaurant,” she said to Sean, “but since we have our own quiet corner, I want to call Daniel and tell him what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry about me—I’m busy,” he said, after he polished off a big bite of his burger.
She pressed the D-for-Daniel speed-dial key. “Daniel. It’s Ann.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Much, but I won’t be back at church until three o’clock. I’m sorry, but—”
“No need to explain. I had lunch with Rafe. I approve of what you and Sean are doing. Rafe’s impressed with him, says that he’s a good man to have on your side.”
