Lady on the Edge

by Ray Flynt

  “I don’t know what—” Denton started to say, before Cooley grabbed his arm to silence him.

  “On that Saturday morning, Linda visited Dana, most likely with the pretext of helping him with trigonometry. It’s possible that during that visit Dana unwittingly asked for Linda’s help on breaking off his relationship with Kathy. If you read Dana’s alleged suicide note in this context, it’s easy to see Linda suggesting just such language.”

  Brad surveyed the room. Amanda and Denton were now exchanging periodic glances, while Cooley’s jaw hung open.

  Brad turned to the judge. “Your honor, I don’t know how much Linda pre-planned. Life with a struggling art student wouldn’t give her much economic security. In discussing this case with Detective Miller, in the context of the facts we know, Linda probably thought up an excuse to borrow the car keys. She disconnected the rope from the automatic garage door opener before starting the car in the garage. Then she lured Dana into garage, locked the entry door into the house, and turned off the master power to disable the automatic garage door.”

  “How’d you figure all of this out, Mr. Frame?” Denton asked.

  “I didn’t piece the motive together until Amanda showed me an old photo album. A photo of Dana when he was four years old looked identical to the little boy I’d met at the Kepner’s. At lunchtime today, after Linda got desperate and tried to point the blame for Kathy Westin’s murder in the direction of her husband, I called Bob Kepner to confirm when he’d learned of Linda’s pregnancy. I asked about the call that Kathy placed to him on the day she was killed and learned she was asking similar questions. Kathy also tried calling Craig Simmons but never reached him.”

  “So Kathy knew that Linda had murdered Dana?” Sharon asked.

  “She’d begun putting the pieces together, and it cost her life. When we first met with Linda someone else was in the house—you saw fingers separating the slats of an upstairs window blind.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Sharon said.

  “At first I suspected it was Bob, but it must have been Kathy. In the end, Kathy probably alerted Linda to what she’d found out, and that sealed her fate.”

  As Brad looked on, Denton Carothers reached over and squeezed his mother’s hand. Amanda returned his gesture with a smile. Brad felt that any hostility generated between them as a result of the case had disappeared.

  Bob Kepner’s voice trembled as he pleaded with Amanda, “I had no idea about any of this. Please believe me, I never imagined Linda doing anything to hurt Dana.”

  Brad resumed his seat. Judge Lindsey took a moment to study the participants in her chambers.

  “Mr. Frame,” the judge intoned, “You have presented a very effective case, and as I look around the room,” she said, smiling in the direction of Amanda and Denton Carothers Jr., “I don’t believe there is further need for these proceedings. Without objection from counsel for the plaintiff, this case against Amanda Carothers and L. Bradford Frame will be dismissed.”

  “No objection, your Honor,” Cooley said.

  Back in the anteroom, Brad clasped Ben Slatpin’s hand and thanked him for his help.

  “I believe you did most of the work,” Ben offered.

  “You’re underestimating your contribution,” Brad said. “If I can ever assist you, let me know.”

  “You might hear from me sooner than you expect,” Slatpin said. They walked side by side into the hallway.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A couple of days later, Brad, along with Beth and Sharon, visited Amanda’s home for a small gathering of friends and family held in their honor.

  Brad found Amanda seated in the same recliner where she first pleaded with Brad to take her case. On her knee sat young Bobby Kepner, looking a bit bewildered by all the attention. Amanda beamed as she greeted her guests and pampered her newly found grandchild.

  Nothing could bring her son back. From the beginning Amanda made it clear that her objective was restoring her own sanity and taking away the stain on her son’s memory. Brad felt he’d accomplished both.

  But Brad took even more satisfaction in seeing the estrangement between a mother and her son ended. Denton Jr. sat on the arm of Amanda’s recliner, hovering protectively near his mother and new nephew. He joined in the laughter and conversation and showed no remnant of rancor from the courtroom battle of a few days earlier.

  Beth pointed at Amanda’s cat, Nicholas Nickleby, and they enjoyed his antics as he paraded around the room, tail aloft, rubbing his face against the legs of the partygoers. He’d dip his head and raise his furry rump for any eager visitor who wanted to scratch him.

  “My dad loved cats,” Beth said, adding, “maybe we should get one.”

  As Brad watched Amanda’s cat reward each loving gesture with muted purring, he thought why not?

  Josh Miller approached, saying, “I’m serious, Brad. I’d like to talk to the sheriff about having you conduct a training session on physical evidence the next time you’re in the area.”

  “You’ve got good criminalists near here,” Brad replied. “There’s Andy Patterson in Atlanta, Evelyn Lowe in Miami and even Gene Fenwick in Charleston. You don’t need me.”

  “I’ve heard all those others,” Josh said. “You’re the best practitioner/teacher I know. When you teach it, they’ll remember. Just look what happened to me.”

  “How could I forget,” Brad said, and smiled noncommittally at Josh’s offer.

  “When do you head back to Philadelphia?” Josh inquired.

  “Sunday. I promised Sharon at least forty-eight hours more of uninterrupted vacation.”

  “Speaking of Sharon,” Brad said, turning to Beth, “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

  They stopped by the buffet table first and fixed a plate of munchies and then spotted Sharon chatting with Amanda’s assistant, Peter Gibson. Sharon listened patiently, no doubt a learned skill from her days as a juvenile probation officer, as the young man showed off a ceramic vase that he’d recently completed. Sharon’s warm smile seemed to help overcome his shyness, and his words flowed more confidently as their conversation progressed.

  “How do you decide which colors to use?” Sharon asked.

  “That’s where the artistic,” Peter’s voice caught on the three syllable word, “part comes in. You have to plan colors out ahead of time, balancing the light and dark ones.”

  “Does Amanda help you?” Sharon asked.

  “Uh huh,” he said, adding, “With advice. I… ha… have to do the work myself.”

  Beth traded places with Sharon and began asking her own questions about the piece Peter had made.

  Sharon stood next to Brad and said, “I have a couple questions about this case which I don’t quite understand. How did you know the call from the Westin’s home to Bob Kepner was made by Kathy and not Linda?”

  “When I pushed the re-dial button on the Westin’s kitchen phone, the receptionist answered with ‘Bailey and Fry Architects.’ But the other day when we met with Bob Kepner, his wife called in on a private line, avoiding the receptionist. Remember when he said, ‘I have to get this,’ and it turned out to be from Linda. That’s how I knew.”

  “Okay.” Sharon pursed her lips. “Let me stump you with this one. How did Dana’s keys get in his left pants pocket? Did Linda go back in the garage after he died?”

  “I believe Linda hurried into the garage to drop the alleged ‘suicide note.’ Remember, Westin admitted he’d found the note on the floor and shoved it in Dana’s pocket. The keys are a different story. Linda probably slipped them in his pocket just before luring him into the garage. If the keys were in her right hand as she faced him, she would naturally reach toward his left pocket.”

  “What’s going to happen to Linda Kepner?” Sharon asked.

  “The prosecution has a strong first-degree murder charge against her. Her only hope of escaping death by lethal injection is to negotiate a plea in exchange for a life sentence.”

  Sharon held up her
index finger. “One more question. What’s going on with Bob Kepner? His kid is here, but not him.”

  “He’s having a very rough time of it right now,” Brad explained. “I called him this morning. Bob told me that even though he didn’t do anything wrong, his employers have suggested he look elsewhere for work. He’s trying to line up an attorney to help Linda and is still coping with the bombshell of Bobby not being his own child. I suggested he offer visitation rights for Bobby with Amanda. He hadn’t thought of that, and decided it could help make amends for what happened to Dana.

  “If you’re done with the inquisition, I have information for Amanda.” He motioned for Sharon to join him, and then called out to Beth for her to come along as well. To Peter Gibson, Brad said, “I could use your help.”

  As they approached Amanda’s chair, Brad stood a few steps back until one of the other guests finished her conversation.

  Denton standing nearby and dressed in civilian clothes snapped to his best military bearing.

  “I want to apologize, Mr. Frame.” Denton reached out to clasp his hand. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. And I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for our family.”

  Brad firmly shook the Major’s hand.

  “Let me echo all of that, Brad,” Amanda began, her eyes glistening. “You’ve brought us back together again, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” She reached for her purse. “I have my checkbook here, and I want to help defray—”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Brad interrupted, holding up his hand. “In fact, I’d like to give you something.” He handed her an envelope. “I’ve been in touch with a friend of mine, Dr. Aaron Strasberg, at the Phoenix Medical Center. He’s a specialist in auditory disorders.”

  Brad moved next to Peter Gibson and grasped the young man’s shoulders. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Strasberg about Peter’s condition. There are new medical techniques which might be able to restore even more of Peter’s hearing. I’ve arranged for an initial consultation and testing for him in Phoenix. You’ll accompany him, and his parents of course, and I’ll take care of all the expenses. That envelope has all of the information you’ll need.”

  Tears streamed down Amanda’s face as she stood and kissed Brad on the cheek. She tried to speak but couldn’t.

  Amanda looked at Peter, and communicated with him in sign language. Peter signed back and disappeared down the hallway.

  Amanda Carothers wiped her eyes, and then took charge of the ceremonies.

  “Listen everyone,” she called out, gaining their attention. “Thank you all for coming. I want to publicly thank Brad Frame for all he’s done on behalf of our family, and give him a gift which, I hope,” she said, looking admiringly at Brad, “will speak for itself. Okay Peter,” she shouted. “You can bring it out now.”

  Amanda’s assistant entered the room carrying a magnificent ceramic raku, nearly as large as the one he and Beth had purchased. There, etched and glazed on the fire hardened clay Brad saw his own image. He leaned forward, his thumb and forefinger holding his chin, and studied the artwork. He wondered how, in the turmoil of the last week, she’d had time to make it.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Brad hugged Amanda, who didn’t seem to want to let go.

  Over Amanda’s shoulder Brad could see Beth with tears welling in her eyes. He could tell that she was proud of what he’d done, and while she might never be comfortable with his life as a detective Beth could see in all the smiling faces gathered in the room what it meant for a troubled family to find justice and closure.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  The cover image is of a ceramic raku that Rebecca and I purchased for our 10th wedding anniversary by artists Susan and Steven Kemenyffy. I found mystery in the image of the woman depicted on the artwork, and over time concocting an answer to that mystery inspired this story. The artwork is titled Lady on the Edge of Spring, which prompted the title of the book.

  But the event which drove this story even more was the suicide of my brother Doug. There was no question that his 1982 death was a suicide. The events associated with hearing the news and gathering with family for his funeral are seared in my memory. The details of his death don’t mirror those of Dana Carothers, nor did any of our family resort to drug use or file lawsuits in the aftermath. But writing LADY ON THE EDGE provided a cathartic experience in exploring the ways in which the suicide of a loved one can affect surviving family members.

  _______

  Ray Flynt is the author of Brad Frame mysteries, as well as KISSES OF AN ENEMY, a political thriller. A native of Pennsylvania, he is currently working on FINAL JUROR, the fifth novel in the Brad Frame series. The opening chapter follows. Ray has also written a one-man play based on the life of Ben Franklin and is available for performances of the play. Ray is a member of Mystery Writers of America.

  FINAL JUROR

  A Brad Frame Mystery

  by

  Ray Flynt

  1

  Rachel Tetlow’s tan, gray and green camouflage bore the insignia of a corporal, with tapes at each breast identifying her as TETLOW and US ARMY. Rachel perched across from Brad Frame, on one of the leather sofas in his office, her long brown hair pulled back in a pin curl twist. She had a pretty freckled face, but the uniform robbed her of a distinctive shape.

  Brad studied his client. Rachel wasn’t what he’d expected based on their brief phone conversation. He decided the uniform was the reason. She seemed composed, except for the constant fidgeting with her cap.

  Sharon Porter, seated next to Brad, also hovered on the edge of her seat, gazing intently at the young woman who had come to them for help. Sharon had worked in his detective business for several years. When it came to analyzing cases, they often thought alike, so it was no surprise to Brad when Sharon said, “Seventeen years is a long time. I’m not sure what we’ll be able to find.”

  Rachel sighed. “I know. It might take a miracle. My whole life has been filled with questions. I need to know who killed my dad.”

  Sharon glanced at Brad before she added, “My concern is that a lot of witnesses will be dead or moved away from the area, which will make the investigation very expensive.”

  “I don’t care about the cost.” Rachel sounded determined. “I recently got a bonus for re-enlisting. There’s that money, and there’ll be my mother’s estate.”

  Brad detested the idea of her using her service bonus to pay for his services.

  “I never thought about hiring a private detective,” Rachel said. “But I took a few days off to get Mother’s house ready to put on the market. While I was there, I heard a story on KYW News about the Alex Nagel case.”

  Alex Nagel was a young veteran of the Afghan war who returned to Philadelphia after his third tour of duty in the war zone, found his wife in bed with a city councilman and shot them both. Archibald “Archie” Greer, Philadelphia’s most famous criminal defense attorney, had asked Brad to investigate the background of the woman’s lover, at-large councilman Calvin Morrissey Jr.

  “The reporter mentioned that you’d become a private detective because of the murder of your mother and sister,” Rachel continued, “and I figured you were the type of person who would understand what I’ve been going through all these years.”

  Sharon shot Brad a pointed look. Cpl. Tetlow had just tugged at Brad’s emotional core, and he knew from that look that Sharon understood he’d be taking the case.

  “Let’s not worry about money right now,” Brad said.

  Sharon heaved a sigh as she leaned back in her seat. He knew she’d complain later—after the client left—about how he was turning the detective agency into a charitable endeavor by refusing to accept fees for his services. Brad had sufficient wealth that he didn’t care; justice is what mattered most to him. If she weren’t so valuable to his work, Brad would happily tell Sharon that she could open her own agency and charge whatever she wanted.

  Brad gave Sharon a knowing s
mile, before turning to Rachel. “Over the phone, you told me that your mother lived in Manayunk. Is that the same house where you grew up?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Brad pointed to the pile of yellowed newsprint on the table next to him. “Aside from the newspaper clippings you brought, what do you remember about his death? You were only nine-years-old at the time.”

  Rachel laid the well-crumpled cap on the seat next to her. “I’ve thought about this a lot, as you can tell. I’m not sure what my actual memories are, or what might be something my mother said or that I’ve read about. I’ll do my best. It was summer, because I wasn’t in school—July 1995. My parents took turns reading me bedtime stories, and the night before his death my dad read from A Celery Stalks at Midnight. That’s the third book in a series about a vampire bunny, and I loved them. A few years later, when Mother got me a kitten, I named it Chester after the cat in the stories.”

  “I remember Bunnicula,” Sharon said, and the two women shared a laugh. Brad wasn’t familiar with the stories.

  “I didn’t sleep very well that night,” Rachel said. “At one point I heard a crash. Sounded like the lid had blown off the garbage can. My dad had taken the garbage out after supper.”

  “What night of the week was that?” Brad asked.

  “It was a Monday. Shortly after I heard the noise, my dad came into my bedroom. I pretended to be asleep, but I saw him walk over to the window and make sure it was locked.”

  “Did you live in a one or two-story house?” Sharon asked.

  “Two-story.”

  A gust of wind shook the windows in Brad’s office, and outside mini-tornadoes of fallen leaves swirled on the cobblestone drive. About half of the leaves still remained on the beech tree and they glowed golden yellow in the sunshine.