November's Past (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 1)

by A. E. Howe

  Girding up my loins, whatever that means, I turned to Cara and, for once, she was looking at me and not Mauser.

  “Would you walk out with us?” I asked.

  She thought about it for second. “Sure, I don’t mind spending a few more minutes with the big guy.” Mauser leaned into her as she scratched his side. The receptionist said she’d bill Dad, and we headed for the door.

  My pulse was racing as I thought about having my ego slammed into the pavement and stepped on again. But I was determined to take the chance. “I know you turned me down last time, but I thought maybe dinner sometime?” Lamest move ever! I thought.

  “Actually… I’ve been in a kinda-sorta relationship with a guy.” That’s it. Shot down again. “But I finally broke it off with him this weekend. So… Sure, we could have dinner sometime.”

  I had a hard time understanding that she’d said yes. I almost asked her to repeat it, but I caught myself in time. Now I had to reorganize my thinking and come up with a response to yes.

  “Ummm, great, how about tomorrow?” Too soon. You’ve blown it again, my inner self-hater said.

  “Tomorrow? Sure, that’ll work.”

  I was suddenly infused with adrenaline. With shaking fingers, I entered her number in my phone’s contact list and we agreed I’d pick her up Thursday at seven.

  In the van headed back to Dad’s, I turned to Mauser. “Oh shit, now I have a date. What the hell am I going to do?” His panting looked an awful lot like laughing from where I was sitting.

  Once I was home, Ivy was no more sympathetic to my plight than Mauser. I fed her and grabbed dinner for myself. Then, when I should have been thinking about the murders, I was instead engrossed in plans for Thursday night. Where to go, what to wear and, lastly, what a fool I was. I texted Cara and asked if she’d like to go to Bella Bella, a romantic Italian restaurant in Tallahassee, even though I hated the idea of the long drive. It’s hard to have your first real conversation with a date when you’re driving, but you don’t want to sit there in silence either. I just hoped we didn’t end up spending the first half hour talking about Mauser.

  Thursday morning was bright and cool as I drove to the office. Once there I found more lab reports on Mark Kemper waiting for me. Bloodwork showed no alcohol or other common drugs in his system. He was in reasonable health. Nothing to point in a different direction than where we were headed.

  I caught up with Matt and got the low-down on Dell’s autopsy. Again nothing to point us in a new direction. Comparing the damage to Kemper’s face and Dell’s left Dr. Darzi ninety-five percent sure that a different object was used in the two killings. We’d searched a mile around the area where Mark’s body was found, all of the property around the warehouse and all that surrounded the motel and hadn’t come up with any blunt objects that could have caused the injuries on either body. Our killer was either hanging onto the weapons or he’d been able to dispose of them somewhere we hadn’t been able to find them.

  Hair and fiber had been collected from both bodies and crime scenes, but that wasn’t much good without something to compare them to. Nothing odd or rare had been found that would be a smoking gun leading us to the perpetrator. Matt was still determined to find something in the evidence that would lead us to a suspect, but he was now more willing to give credence to my approach of motive first.

  I talked to the Kempers again. They were flying back to Texas with their son’s body the next day, but they were willing to come back for one more interview that afternoon.

  Pete had found another person in the neighborhood who remembered the Danielses and would be willing to talk about them. I decided to re-interview Dad and see if I could get him to remember anything new about the different relationships within the group that he hung with.

  Dad surprised me by sitting next to me in one of the leather wingback chairs instead of behind his mammoth desk as we walked through everything one more time.

  “I’ve been trying to remember what all happened during the spring of that year. Because it really was just a couple of months that Mark Kemper was there when we were. He’d sort of hooked up with us after Christmas break. I think he was in study hall with Marget. He was pretty smart. Hung on Margret’s every word. I think I felt sorry for him. He was too mature for the kids that were his age and, of course, a little too young to be hanging out with us. I don’t think he was gay back then.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

  “You know what I mean. He wasn’t out or even very… ah… feminine. Just dressed a little too nice. And seemed more at home hanging out with the girls than with the guys. But at the time I probably just thought he was sweet on them.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Really, no. I went through a couple more yearbooks and there weren’t a lot of other kids that hung around the house. That neighborhood was isolated back in those days. People pretty much hung with the kids that lived around them. You know I was over there a lot because Gramps had a big piece of his land up against the neighborhood. I had to help him out after school some. And once I noticed the girls, there was another reason to hang out at the Daniels house. Don’t look at me like that. I was just a normal, red-blooded male. Nothing wrong with wanting to be around pretty girls.”

  An hour later I was sitting down with the Kempers. Grief had not brought them closer together. Mrs. Kemper asked if they could talk to me separately. I took her into the conference room where I’d talked to Dell and I left Mr. Kemper staring at the walls in the hallway.

  “Did the coroner’s office help you with the arrangements?”

  “Arrangements is a funny word,” was all she said.

  “I know your loss must be unbearable.”

  “Do you? Mark was really the only thing in my life that meant anything. It was such a shock when he told us he was gay. It took me a year to accept what he was saying. But, gradually, I realized that he was my boy. He’d always be my son. And I wanted to be a part of his life and to love him for who he was. I know now that it was a great act of faith and love for him to tell me that he was gay. ’Cause he loved me too. And he was betting on me being a good mother. The type of mother who doesn’t abandon her children because they are different.”

  I knew that she needed to talk, so I let her keep going. I couldn’t imagine how alone she must have felt being with her husband who was cold as ice and hard as granite.

  “Bill,” she spat his name, “he could never bend. Never give an inch. God help me, I hate him. I thought he’d come around someday. Not him. Now there’s no more somedays.” She trailed off.

  “Mrs. Kemper, we are going to do everything we can to catch his killer. We think this person killed someone else on Monday night.”

  This surprised her and she looked straight at me for the first time. “This Monday night? Who?”

  “A woman named Dell McDonnell. Her maiden name was Daniels.”

  “Dell Daniels,” she said thoughtfully. “Something…”

  “She used to live here. In fact, in the same neighborhood as your family did.” I didn’t want to give her too much information. The idea was to learn what she knew. Anything I told her, she might incorporate as part of her memories.

  “Yes, there was a Daniels family… They lived a street over from us.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mark was friends with their girls. I can’t quite remember their names. But Dell sounds right. The other was Maggie or Marge… no, Margret, that’s right. I didn’t like her very much.”

  That was interesting. “Why didn’t you like her?”

  “I don’t know. Well, that’s not true, now that I think about it. She was mean to Mark.”

  “How was she mean to him?”

  “He really liked her. Funny now that I think about it. I thought he was… you know… interested in her. He must have just liked her. But she treated him like dirt.” I could see that it still made her mad to think about. “Marget’d make a date with him and b
e an hour late or not show up at all. Poor Mark would be so hurt. He’d mope about for hours or even days. I don’t know what he saw in her. One time he saved up money from a small job he had at a garage detailing cars to buy her a birthday present. He came home from her party and cried for an hour. She’d told him that the pendant and earrings were junk jewelry. I almost went over there and said something, but he begged me not to. Then, all of a sudden, he didn’t want to see her anymore.”

  “When was that?”

  “This was sooo long ago. I guess his ‘crush’ went on for almost a year. So it would have been his sophomore year in high school.”

  “Did he tell you why he stopped seeing her?”

  “I figured he got tired of the abuse. But I never thought about it much. I was just glad that he’d stopped going around that horrible girl. But you said it was her sister that got killed?”

  “That’s right. It was Dell, not Margret. Margret is still very much alive and I can tell you she hasn’t improved with age.” The last part almost got a smile from Mary.

  “I don’t really remember Dell. I guess she was around, and Mark might have talked about her. But I can’t remember anything about her.”

  After a few more questions I escorted her out and ushered Bill Kemper in. He remembered less than his wife, but he had a slightly different take on Margret.

  “I was happy that he’d found a girl. I guess I already sensed that there was something wrong with Mark.”

  I wanted to correct him on the part about something wrong, but I needed to keep the interview focused on getting as much information as possible. “Did you meet her?”

  “Yeah, I did. She was quite a package. I was really proud of the boy for getting a pretty girl like that to go out with him. Of course things didn’t go very smoothly. Guess we now know why. Shame, I thought she might make a man out of him. I swear they were pretty close. He let me down. Dropping her was a big mistake. That’s pretty much when everything started going to shit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His grades and everything started going downhill after they broke up. At first I thought it was just the usual ‘Dear John’ blues, but they never picked up again. Stopped playing baseball, grades went from A’s to C’s. Never failed anything, but never reached his potential. Must have found out he was queer. That’d mess you up for sure.”

  I was about done listening to this homophobe. I asked a few more general questions, then escorted both the Kempers outside.

  I held the door for Mrs. Kemper. She turned to me and handed me a card with a number on it. “That’s my cell phone number; you can reach me there anytime. Don’t bother calling the house. I won’t be there.”

  “I’ll call. Good luck,” I told her.

  Heading back to my desk, I looked at my watch and realized I needed to finish up and get out of there if I was going to be ready for my date with Cara.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I drove slowly down the street, looking for Cara’s duplex. It was a cute little brick house that looked like it had been meant as a duplex rather than converted later. I double-checked to make sure I had the right address before knocking.

  “Be right there.” When the door opened, Cara pushed a small black nose back from the door and asked me in.

  Cara looked beautiful in a green sweater and black jeans. I realized I’d never seen her wearing anything but vet tech scrubs. Staring at me from the floor was a stout little Pug giving me the once over. He moved forward and sniffed my legs, then backed up again and resumed staring up at me.

  “This is Alvin. He was abandoned at the vet with a thousand-dollar bill for a broken leg.”

  “I hope you got a discount.”

  “I did, but he’d have been worth it either way. Besides being the perfect roommate, he has impeccable taste in men. If I had listened to him when he barked at the last guy, I could have saved myself six months with a jerk.”

  “Do you think I pass the test?” Alvin and I stared at one another.

  “At least he’s not barking.” She smiled.

  Once in the car I was determined to keep the conversation light and airy.

  “You’re a cop?” was her first question.

  “Yeah, sort of. I’m a deputy with the sheriff’s department.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Yeah. Well… cops work for cities. Deputies work for the sheriff.” I didn’t think this was a great way to start a romantic evening.

  “Oh, okay. But they pretty much do the same thing?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” Round one to Cara.

  Should I turn on music? No, then I’d have to decide on what type of music. “Where are you from?” I decided to go with a simple question.

  “Wherever I am,” she said, laughing lightly. That’s the sort of answer a crazy person gives, I thought.

  “Do you carry a gun?” she asked next. What the hell? That’s the next question a crazy person would ask, my mind screamed. “I haven’t been around guns much,” she added. Probably a good thing, my inner voice responded.

  This wasn’t going very well. I had no idea what to say. I had a beautiful woman in my car, but she seemed to be determined to put me on the defensive.

  “Your father’s the sheriff. How’d that happen?” What kind of question was that?

  “He ran for office almost eight years ago and won. He’s never had a serious challenger since.” I glanced over and she was nodding her head.

  “So you work for your dad?” Her voice was light, but it was hard not to hear the question as an accusation.

  “I’m sorry if you have a problem with my job.” If the idea was to put me on the defensive, she’d succeeded.

  “No, not really. I just never went out with a cop.” Deputy, I’m a deputy, I wanted to scream. Fifteen minutes into the date and I wasn’t sure that I could get through it with my sanity intact.

  “I don’t really like being a deputy, if that makes you feel any better,” I said.

  “That’s interesting. You can’t find other work?”

  “I’m pretty sure I could find something else to do. I just… I… It’s hard to explain.”

  “I don’t mind listening.”

  Oh, God, should I really go into all of it? At this point, what do I have to lose? “Okay, but the story is long and probably not that interesting to anyone who isn’t me.” I sighed, glancing over to see her looking at me with interest.

  “I was almost finished with my second year of college—this was ten years ago—and my mom suffered an aneurysm. It was sudden, no indications of any kind. One minute she was walking from the kitchen to the living room and the next second she was lying on the floor. Dad was right there. The ambulance showed up in ten minutes. She was at the hospital forty minutes after she hit the floor, but she never regained consciousness. I came home as soon as Dad called me. For almost a month we sat by her bedside. Dad grabbed for every shred of hope he could find. Nothing. For all practical purposes, she was dead before the ambulance arrived. We faced the reality only when we had no choice. Taking her off of life support nearly killed my dad. He could accept that she couldn’t live, but to have to make the decision that led to her passing from this world was almost too much for him.

  “I couldn’t go back to school. At least not until I saw my dad through the grief. I’m the one that suggested he run for sheriff. I said it because Mom had always kidded him about running. It was a regular joke. When she wanted to get him out of a grumpy mood she’d call him Sheriff Macklin and it always made him smile. He’d risen to captain within the department and the current sheriff was retiring. So I told him that Mom would find it the perfect joke if he ran for sheriff. I didn’t think he’d do it. Then one day he looked at me and said, ‘I bet it would make her smile.’ But he said if he ran he wanted me to join the department as a deputy. I told him that if he’d take his campaign for sheriff seriously, then I’d go to the academy. He won and I became a deputy.”

  “That’s actu
ally a beautiful story,” Cara said.

  We were almost to Tallahassee. I wondered what had just happened. I hadn’t ever told anyone that story. Our friends knew parts of it, but I’d never told anyone the whole thing. I looked over at Cara. She was humming softly to herself. She might really be a witch, I thought with a smile.

  Stepping out of the car, the cool crisp autumn air felt refreshing. I touched her hand and she let me take it in mine.

  While we waited for our food, I was determined to learn something about this interesting nymph. After the waiter brought our wine, I said, “You were a bit evasive when I asked where you’re from.”

  “Is this the way you interrogate suspects?” she asked, but smiled sweetly. “Okay, I’ll confess. I was born in a car somewhere in Louisiana. My parents were never real clear on where. Honestly, my parents are seldom clear on anything. The first real home I remember was in Kentucky. My father worked for a horse farm until he learned what they did to the horses to make them race, even if they weren’t physically fit to run. But we stayed in Kentucky for a while. Dad went to work for some guys who thought they could build a sustainable community in the hill country. It worked for a while, but my parents were the only ones who took it seriously. Everyone else just used it as a place to crash while scoring whatever drugs they could find. We left and headed down here to Gainesville. That hippy town was made for my parents. Mom grows and sells herbs. Dad taught gardening, animal husbandry and blacksmithing when we first moved there. Now he manages the co-op they live in. I came up here five years ago because I needed a little space from them.” She leaned forward. “You’re good. You got my whole life history in five minutes.”

  “I thought we’d be talking about what bands we like or which movies are the best,” I said after the waiter brought our food.

  “I couldn’t care less what bands a guy likes. I want to know who he is. Tastes change, the fundamentals of character don’t,” she said just before diving into her eggplant rollatini. I started on my capellini marinara. The food was excellent and we ate in companionable silence.