by Lauren Carr
“I said nothing about us getting married,” Tracy said.
“Yeah, right.” Cameron laughed. “Take me to the morgue in East Liverpool. I want Tad to read this autopsy report.”
“Do you see anything interesting in there?”
“Yeah,” Cameron said. “I need Tad to confirm it, but I think Mrs. O’Reilly’s maternal instincts were right.”
Attorney Vince Rudolph’s assistant had been directed to request that Joshua Thornton and Sheriff Curt Sawyer wait in the reception area of his small office while he met with Hunter Gardner.
In contrast to the type of lawyer that a multi-millionaire would go to, Vince Rudolph had a tiny office in an old three-story office building in downtown New Cumberland. The walls were thin and the windows were leaky enough for a breeze to feel like it was blowing through the dusty walls.
His office reminded Joshua of something out of a film noir.
“What would you do?” Curt asked in a low voice.
“About what?” Joshua asked before realizing Curt’s question. “You mean if I found out that I was a inheriting a ton of money from someone I barely knew?”
“Yeah.”
A slow smile came to Joshua’s face. “I have a friend who that happened to. Mac Faraday. He lives in Deep Creek Lake. After twenty years of marriage, his wife left him. She didn’t like being married to an underpaid detective and decided to trade up. On the day their divorce became final, Mac inherited two hundred and seventy million dollars from his birth mother—”
“Yeah, that was big news a few years ago,” Curt said. “Turns out his mother was Robin Spencer—world famous author. She wrote those Mickey Forsythe movies.”
“Books,” Joshua corrected him. “The movies were made from the books.”
“You know Mickey Forsythe?”
“Mac Faraday.”
“But Mickey Forsythe was a homicide detective who came into a huge inheritance,” Curt said.
“I know,” Joshua said. “But Mickey Forsythe is a fictional character. Mac Faraday is a real guy who was a homicide detective who came into a huge inheritance.” Seeing the confusion on the sheriff’s face, he sighed. “It’s complicated. Point is, do you want to know what Mac Faraday does now that he’s rich and famous?”
“Living large I suppose?”
“He’s a detective with the police department in Spencer, Maryland.” Joshua shrugged his shoulders. “He doesn’t like golf, and he’s bad at tennis. He’s perfectly happy investigating murders. It’s who he is.”
“What would you do?”
“Pay for all of my kids’ colleges,” Joshua said, “and continue putting slimy killers behind bars. It’s who I am.”
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” They heard Hunter shout from inside the office.
“I think he just found out,” Curt said.
“I don’t understand,” Hunter yelled. “I don’t think I even met—you have to have the wrong guy. She must have left it to someone else. Why me? People don’t … how much?”
A sound of what appeared to be a scuffle came from inside the office before the door flew open and the attorney came out at a run. “Mary, can you get Mr. Gardner a glass of water please?” He rushed back inside.
Joshua and Curt followed him into the office to find Hunter sitting in a chair with his head between his knees.
“I think he’s in shock,” the lawyer whispered to them.
“This is a nightmare,” Hunter muttered.
“I think you misunderstood me,” Vince said. “It’s a good thing. Did you hear me say how many millions—”
Mary, the assistant, hurried in with a glass of water, which she handed to Hunter.
“You don’t understand,” Hunter said while taking the glass of water. “I found the body.”
“Actually, Josh found the body,” Curt said.
“But the murder victim is leaving everything to me,” Hunter said. “Do you know what that makes me? A person of interest. And Mr. Thornton is the county prosecutor. Like he’s going to let me marry his daughter when I’m a prime suspect in a murder.” He clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is terrible. This is a nightmare—an absolute nightmare.”
Joshua’s head was spinning. The last thing he had heard Hunter say was “marry his daughter.” After that, everything was jumbled. What?
“Wait a minute,” Curt said. “You’re dating Tracy?”
“How long have you been—” Joshua couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth. His throat felt tight.
Hunter shrugged. “A few years.”
“Years!”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Now everyone stay calm,” Vince said. “Hunter, once you get over the shock—”
“No, I’m going to be sick.” Hunter jumped to his feet and ran for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him.
“So am I.” Joshua sank down into a chair. “Where’s your other bathroom?”
“At least no one’s shooting at anyone,” Curt said.
“I would prefer that,” Vince said while watching Joshua put his head between his knees. “I only have one bathroom.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from the top of his bald head.
“Think of it this way, Josh,” Curt said with a chuckle, “you’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a rich son.”
Joshua lifted his head. Slowly, he turned to Vince. “Are you absolutely certain Hunter had no idea?”
Vince pointed to the bathroom door. “My reaction was the same as his when Dolly came in here last month and said she wanted Hunter Gardner to get it all. I was like, ‘What’s a Hunter Gardner?’”
“That was just last month?” Joshua asked.
Vince nodded his head. “She didn’t have a will up until then. I had been bugging her for years to get one, but she said the state could take it because she didn’t have any family. Then suddenly, out of the blue, she came in and wanted a will, wanted it all to go to Hunter, and wanted the will done ASAP.”
Perplexed, Joshua shook his head.
“How is it that Dolly Houseman made so much money?” Curt Sawyer asked. “Ten thousand dollars a month is an awful lot of dough for an old woman who doesn’t appear to have any means of employment.”
“If she wasn’t a little old lady, we’d be assuming that it was money gained illegally,” Joshua said while directing his gaze at Vince.
Holding up his hands, Vince shook his head. “I have no idea where she got it and I didn’t want to know.”
“You had to suspect,” Curt said.
“Of course, I suspected,” Vince said. “My mother didn’t raise any dummies.”
“She had to have told you—” Joshua started to say.
“All she told me was that the money was a return from investments she and her father had made throughout the years.”
“Investments throughout the years.” Joshua looked up at Curt. “Tad told me that Dolly’s was known as a place for movers and shakers in business and politics to have secret meetings.”
“Sounds like the makings for extortion to me,” Curt said.
“Dolly gave Cameron a bunch of stuff from the cathouse. I bet we can find something in there.” Joshua stood up as Hunter came out of the bathroom.
“Mr. Thornton,” Hunter said, “I guess you want to talk to me.”
“Not right now, kid,” Joshua said. “Congratulations on your inheritance.” He stopped at the door and turned back to him. “Oh, and you’re paying for the wedding.”
Cameron and Tracy found Tad MacMillan asleep at his desk in the morgue.
“Is business slow?” Cameron tapped him on the shoulder on one side while standing on his other side.
When Tad woke up, he smiled as he saw Tracy. “How’s my girl?”
“I thought Jan was your gir
l.” Tracy greeted him with a hug.
“One of many.”
“I thought you gave that up.” She flashed him a naughty grin.
Casting a glance in Cameron’s direction, Tad asked, “I hope you aren’t letting her get you into trouble.”
“The doctor told Josh that I shouldn’t drive for a few more days,” Cameron said. “So that leaves us playing Thelma and Louise.”
“That’s not good,” Tad said.
“Tell me about it,” Cameron said.
“If you’re here to coerce the details of Ms. Houseman’s autopsy from me,” Tad said, “I’m not giving them to you.”
“That’s okay,” she replied while opening the case file she had under her arm. “Josh will tell me. I want your opinion about something.”
“What?” Tad glanced at Tracy, who responded with a shrug of her shoulders.
Cameron placed the case file in his hands. “Read the details of this autopsy report and tell me what you think happened to the victim.”
“Who is it?” Tad sat down at his desk.
“Just read the injuries and cause of death and tell me what you think.”
Tracy and Cameron exchanged glances while Tad read through the pages of the report. Even though he was aware of them looking at each other and then down at him while he read, he took his time leafing through the pages.
“Cause of death was massive internal injuries and hemorrhaging,” Tad said. “Broken back, ribs, legs, and pelvis. Consistent with being hit by a car.”
“Not drowning?” Cameron asked.
“No water in the lungs,” Tad said with a shake of his head. “He didn’t drown.”
“But he was found in a car at the bottom of Raccoon Creek,” Cameron said.
“Well if he was found in the bottom of the lake, he was dead before he hit the water,” Tad said. “Was he supposed to be driving?”
“Yep.”
“But most of the injuries are on the right side of the body,” Tad said. “If he was driving when he hit the lake, then he would have had injuries to the left side where he hit the door or got thrown from the car … supposedly. Who is this?” He went to the front of the report to read the name. “Douglas O’Reilly. I remember him. Everyone said he drove his car into Raccoon Creek to commit suicide after his girlfriend got pregnant.”
“That was the legend.” Cameron took the report back. “As you can see, not all legends are true.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was almost dark when Tracy slowly drove her blue sedan up the long rut-filled driveway to the old farmhouse tucked back in the rural Pennsylvania woods. Before she could come to a stop, three large dogs darted out from around the corner of the house and made straight for the car. Their snarling barks announced the visitors’ arrival.
Afraid to open her door, Tracy peered out at the mud-covered dogs jumping on the side of her car. “Maybe we should have called first,” she told Cameron.
“This is not something that I want to discuss over the phone.” Seeing a woman with long salt and pepper colored hair dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt trotting toward them from the barn located further up the road, Cameron nodded her head. “She’ll take care of them.”
“If you’re selling cosmetics, I don’t need any,” the woman called out to them above the barking while grabbing for dog collars. Based on the woman’s weathered face and lack of attempt to pretty herself up, the reference to cosmetics appeared to be made in humor.
Stretching her arm across in front of Tracy, Cameron held up her police badge for the woman to see. “I’m Detective Cameron Gates. I’ve come to talk to Mrs. O’Reilly about the death of Douglas O’Reilly.”
At first, shock filled the woman’s face. Then, anger seeped in. “Now? Now you want to investigate my brother’s murder? Where have you people been for the last fifty years?”
“We got held up in traffic,” Cameron said while flashing a smile that was begging for forgiveness.
“Better late than never,” the woman grumbled while dragging the largest of the three dogs away from the car. “Come inside.”
Seeing that the visitors were friends and not foes, the dogs allowed the two women to climb out of the car, but not without sniffing their clothes.
“Mother’s inside,” the woman said over her shoulder while leading the way around the corner of the house to where a wooden porch stretched across the length of the two-story farmhouse. She kept hold of the huge shaggy dog’s collar. Up on the porch, she yanked open the screen door and held it for Cameron and Tracy to step inside to a big old country kitchen that appeared as worn as the farm woman. Once inside, she released the dog after closing the door.
“Mother, we have visitors,” she hollered.
The dog galloped out of the room and up the flight of stairs to the second floor.
Cameron introduced herself and Tracy to their host. “And you are …” She offered her hand.
“Flo,” she gave Cameron’s hand a firm shake. “Flo O’Reilly. Doug was my big brother. My mother is Eleanor.” Her tough demeanor lifted for an instant. “We were all very proud of him—getting into West Point and all. He was going to see the world, and …” She looked around at the worn-out kitchen and her surroundings. “He was going to make our family proud and take care of us. After he died, I tried to pick up where he left off. I became an army nurse and ended up in Vietnam. Eventually, I came back here to take care of my folks. Pa died twenty years ago. He never got over …” She stopped to swallow. “Since Mother’s stroke a couple of years ago, I’ve been taking care of the farm all by myself.”
She led them up the staircase to a bedroom on the second floor. At the end of the hallway, she opened the door to a spacious bedroom. Sitting in a wheelchair by the window, a tiny elderly woman was gazing at the farmland and countryside.
“She used to love sitting out on the porch and admiring her rose garden,” Flo said.
“Why not anymore?” Tracy asked.
“I can’t carry her downstairs,” Flo said in a low voice. “It was all we could do to get one wheelchair. So she has to stay up here.”
Cameron tapped Tracy’s arm to point out the dinner dishes on the bed tray that rested on the table by the window.
“Mom, we have visitors.” Flo ushered them across the room. “She can hear okay and understand, but it’s hard for her to talk since her stroke.”
The elderly woman peered up at Cameron, who pulled up a chair to sit close to her.
The detective clutched the case file in her lap “Mrs. O’Reilly, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Detective Cameron Gates with the Pennsylvania State Police. You came to see me several years ago about the death of your son, Douglas.”
Cameron saw hope come to the elderly woman’s eyes. “I remember,” she said in a low voice. She nodded her head to show Cameron that she understood.
“I decided to take a good look at your son’s file,” Cameron said, “and I believe you were right. He did not commit suicide.”
“Someone did murder him?” Flo asked in an anxious tone.
Cameron didn’t want to give away too much of her findings. “I took the autopsy report to another medical examiner, and he believes the injuries are consistent with Douglas being struck by a car. When I looked at the inventory of what was inside the car that they pulled up from the bottom of the lake, the Mustang had a new tire on the front driver’s side, but there was no spare in the trunk. Also, the jack was missing.” She turned her attention to the old woman. “Mrs. O’Reilly, I believe your son got a flat tire that evening. He was changing it on the side of the road. It was a Friday night. Dark. Someone hit him with their car.”
“They were probably drunk,” Flo said with anger.
“Could be,” Cameron said with a nod of her head, “or they just plain panicked. Whatever happened, they decided to cover it up by d
umping Douglas and his car in the lake. They probably intended for it to look like an accident. But when the police found out about Douglas’ circumstances, they assumed he had committed suicide.” She touched the elderly woman’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Reilly. Someone should have taken the time to read the file before. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m going to do everything I can to find out who did this.”
“You think it was an accident?” Flo asked. “What about Ava? Couldn’t she have killed him when he dumped her after she got herself pregnant?”
“Do you know for a fact that Douglas was going to dump her?”
“We don’t,” Eleanor O’Reilly said. “Douglas refused … to tell us what … he was going to do.”
“She swore she didn’t see him,” Flo said. “I always thought she was lying.”
“Do you know where she is?” Tracy asked. “Now that we know he didn’t commit suicide, we should certainly question her. If he dumped her, then she had motive to kill him.”
“She’s dead,” Flo said before Cameron had a chance to respond.
Playing dumb, Cameron asked, “How long ago did she die?”
Flo shrugged. “Decades ago. I don’t know the details. People talk. Someone—I don’t even remember who—told me that Ava had given the baby up for adoption and then started turning tricks. One of her johns throttled her to death. She probably deserved it. Her last name was Tucker. Ava Tucker. I’m sure your people should be able to find out what happened.” She sighed. “Doug’s baby would be grown up by now. In his late forties. Wish I knew how he turned out.” She went to the end table next to the bed and took a tissue from the box to blow her nose.
“We’ll find out what happened to Ava as we dig deeper into this case,” Cameron said. “I’ll see to it personally. Can you think about anything that happened about that time? Strange phone calls or letters. Very often, in a circumstance like this—”
“Like money?” Flo asked.
“What about money?”
