Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery)

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Well there must be someone you spoke to who could vouch for you," I pressed, wanting to believe she was telling the truth and was not in any way responsible for Brent's murder.

  "Actually, there was a librarian who saw me afterward, I guess. She had my cell phone that I left on the table."

  "Did you get her name? She could provide the alibi you need."

  Emily shook her head. "I didn't think I'd need her name, rank, and serial number. But I can describe her. She was in her sixties, had short white hair, and walked with a slight limp."

  I made a mental note of this and eyed her. "Did you know that Brent had named you the beneficiary for his life insurance?"

  "No," Emily insisted, "not until his lawyer told me. I didn't even know he planned to leave me his house. We never talked about that type of thing. I wanted him to live to a ripe old age and deal with those issues later."

  She started to cry and my gut instincts told me they were real tears. If I had any doubts, I was convinced now that she was telling the truth and that the police and prosecutor were barking up the wrong tree. But without proof to the contrary, that wasn't likely to change. And since I wasn't a private investigator, I wasn't sure what could be done, other than her lawyer putting up a good defense.

  "I believe you," I told her. "But I'm afraid that you'll need more than that to convince the authorities."

  "I'm open to suggestions," she said. "Tony and I can use all the help we can get—especially since we both know the real killer is still out there, probably hoping we'll go down for the crime."

  "Just stay strong," I advised her, "and we'll find some way out of this."

  She wiped her eyes and thanked me for the support.

  After watching Emily being escorted away, I arranged for a brief meeting with Tony, hoping he would show.

  He did and, by the look on his face, he was clearly surprised to find me on the other side of the partition. Grabbing the phone, he held it to his ear and I did the same.

  "Ms. Reed—what are you doing here?"

  "I asked myself the same question," I told him. "I want to help Emily get out of this mess, meaning I need to help you, too."

  "I appreciate it, but I'm not sure what you can do."

  "Neither am I," I said. "But since Emily believes you're innocent, I guess I'd just like to hear your side of the story."

  "I am innocent of everything but stupidity," he claimed. "What do you want to know?"

  "I'd like to hear your account of exactly what happened when you arrived at Brent's house."

  "Okay."

  He pretty much backed up Emily's story word for word. "I should never have gone inside the house," he lamented. "I had told Emily earlier that I would drop by and she was down with it."

  "But wasn't her car gone when you got there?"

  "I thought it was in the garage, where she usually keeps it. I saw her bike outside, so I figured she was probably there."

  "Did you see anyone else inside or out?"

  "Not a soul. The moment I saw Brent lying there, I knew he was dead, but I checked for a pulse to be sure. There was none. Since he was famous and I was someone people probably thought was just sponging off his niece, I had a bad feeling that I would be blamed."

  "So you ran off?"

  "Yeah. I saw a car coming that I nearly hit."

  "It was my car," I admitted.

  His eyes expanded. "You...?"

  "Yes. But I didn't put the pieces together until the police showed me a picture of your car, which is now being held as evidence."

  "You told them you saw me?"

  "No, I just saw the car. The rest they figured out on their own, as they were able to match your tires with the skid marks you left when you sped off."

  Tony muttered something under his breath and slouched down in the chair. "So I'm screwed."

  "Maybe not," I tried to reassure him. "Where were you before you went to the house?"

  "I was hanging out at The Train Stop, having a drink."

  "Can anyone vouch for you?"

  "Yeah, my buddy Elliot Quail. He's a bartender there."

  "Did you tell the police everything you've told me?"

  "I tried, but they'd already made up their minds that Emily and I had dreamed up this conspiracy to murder her uncle for money."

  "That usually happens when someone is murdered and there is a large insurance policy," I said, "or points in that direction."

  "We didn't do it for money or anything else," he maintained.

  I looked him in the eye. "Brent thought that you were leading his niece down a dark path. Were you?"

  He held my gaze. "I know what he thought and the answer is I wasn't. The truth is Emily was leading me away from the dark. I'd never do anything to mess that up for either of us."

  I couldn't help but feel that he was being sincere, in spite of the belief of the police and prosecutor to the contrary. Proving it was another thing altogether.

  But Emily's future as well as Tony's depended on that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That afternoon, I had lunch with Yvonne at the Cozy Pines Fish Palace, a lovely seaside restaurant that specialized in seafood.

  "I can't believe Emily was behind Brent's death—and that she actually spent the night at your house," remarked Yvonne as she took a bite of crispy shrimp.

  "We don't know for sure that she's involved," I said, munching on scallops.

  Yvonne raised her left brow. "Are you defending her?"

  I realized I had to be careful when stating my opinion, given that I had few facts to back it up. But I did have my gut instinct, which usually served me well.

  "I'm not defending Emily, per se," I stated. "Everyone is presumed innocent till proven guilty. All I'm saying is that both Emily and Tony deserve to be given the benefit of the doubt right now."

  "Do you really think the police would arrest them if they didn't think they had the right suspects?" questioned Yvonne.

  I bit into an onion ring while saying, "I think it was a rush to judgment."

  "And you came to that conclusion how?"

  "I went to see them," I confessed.

  Yvonne's eyes widened. "You what?"

  "I wanted to hear Emily's side of the story—and Tony's by association."

  Yvonne snickered. "Well, of course they would deny having anything to do with it. What were you thinking?"

  I could feel my temperature starting to rise. "I was thinking that Brent was my friend and, since I had gotten to know his niece a little, I wasn't willing to throw her under the bus without just cause. I see some major discrepancies in the case against Emily and Tony."

  "Such as...?"

  I relayed to her what they had told me, while noting that there wasn't much to back up their stories as yet.

  "So if they didn't kill Brent, who did?" Yvonne asked intently.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "But since the police don't seem to be looking at anyone else right now—"

  "Please don't go looking for trouble, Riley."

  I batted my lashes innocently. "Who says I am?"

  "I'm serious. If there's a killer on the loose out there, the last thing you want is to go snooping around and put a target on your back."

  "Don't worry," I promised her, "I don't plan to do anything stupid. I just want to make sure that Brent can rest in peace, knowing that the right culprit or culprits for his murder are behind bars."

  Yvonne narrowed her eyes at me. "And what if they already are?"

  I paused, knowing that having an open mind worked both ways—meaning that my instincts regarding Emily could be wrong. I didn't believe that to be the case, though.

  "Then I will accept it," I finally said.

  I smartly changed the subject by asking Yvonne how things were going with her and George. Turned out she had taken my advice and not made any further waves about having a child. For now, she planned to wait for a while and let the idea hopefully grow on him. I honestly wondered if he would ever come around i
n that regard. If he didn't, would it create a divide that was too wide for them to overcome? Or was their love for each other strong enough to get past it?

  * * *

  After Yvonne and I left the restaurant in our own cars, I headed over to Jonathan Resnick's office. I'd Googled him earlier and determined that he was located in the same office complex as Brianna. I hoped to get his thoughts on Emily's case and the prospects for getting her out of what seemed like a pretty deep hole at the moment.

  Having phoned him ahead of time, Resnick was expecting me when I arrived, as his secretary sent me right into his office.

  He stood up from behind a massive desk. "Ms. Reed," he greeted me, extending his hand.

  I shook it. "Thanks for seeing me."

  "My pleasure," he said. "So I understand from Brianna it was your prompting that led her to contact me about Emily Peterson's case."

  "Yes, I wanted her to have competent representation," I stated, not meaning for it to be a slight against public defenders.

  "As she should," he said. "Please have a seat."

  I sat in one of two plush leather chairs.

  "Can I get you anything?"

  "No, I'm good," I told him.

  Jonathan Resnick sat beside me. "So what would you like to know?"

  "Well, for one, I was wondering if Emily will be able to make bail."

  His brow creased. "Not at this point, I'm afraid."

  "But with her assets—or soon to be—" I started.

  "Right now, Ms. Peterson has few assets to speak of," he said. "Her inheritance and insurance payout are still on hold, pending this criminal case. I will try to get the bail reduced, but no promises there."

  "I believe that Emily's innocent," I told him.

  "I gathered as much, since you asked Brianna for help."

  "And I think Tony's innocent of the crime, too."

  "Maybe," Resnick said, "but since he's not my client, I can't really take a position there, other than how it relates to Ms. Peterson's case."

  I told him about paying a visit to Emily and Tony in jail and relayed what they had to say.

  "Their stories certainly seem in sync—if not contradictory to the police investigation," the defense attorney noted. "We'll certainly check out everything we can to weaken, if not destroy, the State's case."

  "Maybe if they were pointed in another direction," I suggested.

  "That would be nice. Unfortunately, it's not likely unless they get some solid evidence to that effect. Right now, our best chance is to build as strong a defense as possible and hope that's enough at the end of the day."

  "But what if it isn't?" I asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

  Resnick sighed. "Let's not go there just yet. I prefer to think that we can prove Ms. Peterson's innocence, knowing what's at stake."

  I hated the thought of Emily being sent to prison for something I didn't believe she had done. I was well aware that there had been more than a few people who had been wrongly convicted of crimes. Some were eventually exonerated, while others remained incarcerated indefinitely.

  Brent would certainly not want his death to bring that type of misery to his niece, if she was innocent. Sadly, he was unable to point out the person who had used the pool stick to bludgeon him to death.

  * * *

  The following day, I went for my morning jog. Then I worked on my blog and made an appointment for the following week to see a client who was refurbishing her century old home and needed some advice.

  In the afternoon, I made arrangements with Luisa to drop by Brent's house to pick up the set of books he had left me in his will.

  I arrived at the house just after two and parked in the driveway behind Brent's Mercedes, now owned by Luisa. I could imagine Brent inside the house working on a new novel. Even if the notion of him writing a piece of fiction with a failing mind was difficult, it was certainly more welcome than thinking about him as the victim of foul play.

  Parked next to the Mercedes was a white Honda Civic that belonged to his ex-girlfriend Karla. I wondered what she was doing there, since Brent had apparently ended all ties between them in spite of her suggestion to the contrary.

  The door was partially open and I stepped inside. Walking through the house, I saw no sign of Karla or Luisa. An eerie feeling crept over me that something was wrong. Part of me wanted to turn around and get out of there as quickly as I could. But the greater part of me felt that I had to see this through, whatever may happen.

  I heard a sound coming from the recreation room. Moving toward it cautiously, I stepped into the entrance and saw Karla take something out of a cabinet and put it in a pillowcase she was holding.

  "What are you doing?" I blurted out.

  She jumped and turned around to face me. "You scared me half to death!"

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I was just collecting a knickknack I bought when Brent and I were together. Since he no longer has any use for it—"

  I frowned. "Where's Luisa?" I hadn't seen or heard her anywhere and wondered if I should be worried, since we were supposed to meet at this time.

  "She left a note saying she stepped out for a few minutes."

  "How did you get in here?" I asked. I was pretty sure Luisa would have locked the door when she left.

  "I still have the key Brent gave me," Karla responded smoothly. "He never asked me to return it, probably because he had every intention of us getting back together after a cooling off period."

  "Brent had already moved on to someone else," I pointed out.

  She shrugged. "It wouldn't have lasted. We were good together. He knew it and I knew it."

  I stepped closer to her. "What you've done is called breaking and entering. I suggest you put everything in that pillowcase back where you found it and leave this house."

  Karla flashed me an angry look. "And I suggest you mind your own business. I have every right to collect what belongs to me and not you or anyone else can stand in my way."

  She marched past me, and then stopped, turning to look at me. "By the way, Riley, seriously, you need to get a life. It's time to let go of Brent. I have."

  I glanced around his man cave, imagining it being refurbished to his specifications, and then followed Karla as she headed down the hall and out the front door. I thought about trying to stop her, but realized it wasn't my place. Whether I liked it or not, with Emily in jail accused of murdering Brent, there was no one left to mind the store, so to speak.

  Luisa couldn't be expected to guard the premises of looters, and neither could I. As I listened to Karla's car drive off, I couldn't help but wonder if she may have been more than just a thief. Possessing a key would have given her access to the house that could have allowed her to catch Brent off guard when attacking him with a pool cue.

  As I pondered that disturbing notion, the front door opened and Luisa walked inside. She was wearing her work uniform and holding a bag.

  "Hello, Riley."

  "Hi, Luisa."

  "Sorry you had to wait for me. I decided to walk to the store to pick up a couple of items."

  "No worries. I haven't been here long."

  "That's good," Luisa said. "Did I see Miss Terrell driving off?"

  "Yes, she was here when I arrived. She let herself in with a key she never returned to Brent."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Did she take anything?"

  "A pillowcase full of items," I responded. "She claimed they belonged to her."

  Luisa frowned. "Mr. London would be disgusted with her for coming in here and taking stuff she could have taken when he was alive—if it really belonged to her."

  "I agree," I told her. "Hopefully, she won't show up for anything else."

  "It won't happen when I'm here," Luisa said resolutely.

  I was still wondering just how far Karla may have been willing to go to get back at Brent for moving on to another woman. "Anyway, I'd better get those books now."

  "They are in Mr. London's stu
dy," Luisa said. "I can help you load them."

  I smiled. "Thanks."

  She wrinkled her nose. "I'm so sorry to hear about Emily's arrest for Mr. London's murder. I kept saying to myself, I can't believe she'd do such a thing."

  "Neither can I," I told her.

  Luisa made a face. "But what do we really know about anyone? People do crazy things when you least expect it—like with Miss Terrell."

  "I agree. But it doesn't mean that was the case with Emily."

  "I hope that's true," Luisa said emotionally. "Mr. London really loved her. He just wanted the best for his niece."

  "Did Brent have any other visitors recently?" I tossed out casually.

  Luisa gazed at me thoughtfully. "Well, his girlfriend Miss Croxley, and Miss Terrell also came by. Oh, and Mr. O'Shea, of course."

  "Anyone else you can think of?"

  "Yes, a business partner—Mr. Hendrickson. And Mr. London was also visited a couple of times by one of his ex-wives, Mrs. McGowan."

  "Ashley?" I said out loud.

  "Yes, apparently they kept in touch after they broke up, just as you and Mr. London did."

  I found that interesting. I couldn't help but wonder how Ashley's current husband, Dean McGowan, felt about it. Could he have been jealous to the point of murder?

  I also wondered about this Mr. Hendrickson. What type of business was he involved in with Brent?

  "Do you happen to have a phone number or anything for Mr. Hendrickson?" I asked Luisa.

  "Yes, I'm sure that Mr. London kept it in his office. I can check." She looked at me. "Do you think Mr. Hendrickson could have had something to do with Brent's death?"

  "I don't know, but the police might be interested in checking him out, if they haven't already, as an alternative possibility to the ones they have in custody."

  "Of course," she agreed, "you're right. After I put this bag in the kitchen, I'll look for that information."

  "Okay and I'll start loading the books in my car."

  By the time I finished the task—and was looking forward to reading them all again—Luisa had come outside holding a card.

  "I found this inside a drawer in Mr. London's desk—"

  I looked at the business card from William Hendrickson. It said he was a financial advisor and included his address and phone number.