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

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Do you want to come in for a minute to check out the Great Room you played a big part in renovating?"

  "Maybe some other time," I said. "I'd like to try to catch Ashley before she leaves the hairdresser, as I have some other errands to run."

  He peered at me. "Mind telling me why you're so keen about seeing Ashley? I was under the impression that you two weren't really friends."

  I wondered if she had given him that impression. "We've known each other for a while now and I just wanted to touch base with her about Brent, whom we both cared for at one time. As you noted, there was a lot of love for him. I was hoping to keep it alive in his memory. I'm sure you understand. Enjoy your afternoon, Dean."

  I could feel him staring as I walked away, making me wonder if there was a reason why he seemed less than enthusiastic about me talking to Ashley. Or was it just my imagination?

  * * *

  When I arrived at the hair salon, it reminded me that I was due for a trim. I would make an appointment for next week.

  Before I could go inside, Ashley had stepped outside. Her red hair was stylishly curlier. She had slipped on her sunglasses as I approached.

  "Riley. I'd almost forgotten we had the same hairdresser."

  "Actually, I came here to see you," I told her. "I was at your house and Dean told me where you were."

  "Did he now...?" She removed her glasses. "What did you want to see me about?"

  "Brent."

  "What about him?"

  I wasn't sure this was the appropriate place to talk. Gazing at the coffee shop across the street, I suggested we go there.

  Though hesitant, she agreed.

  We both ordered tea before I got to the point. "I'm sure you're aware that Brent's niece, Emily, and her friend, Tony, were arrested for Brent's murder."

  Ashley fluttered her lashes. "Who doesn't know by now? How tragic, all the way around. But what does this have to do with me?"

  "Luisa said that you visited him more than once before he died."

  "Yes, I admit it. After all, we were married once. Is it a crime to visit your ex-husband?"

  "Of course not," I said defensively. "But I do find it a bit peculiar that you would be spending time with your ex when you're remarried."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Not that it's any of your business, but Brent and I remained close even after the divorce. All of his ex-wives did. And even his ex-girlfriends, as you can attest to. I don't see what the big deal is."

  The tea came, allowing me to collect my thoughts. It was clear that Ashley was unnerved by my inquiry. Was there something more to her friendliness with Brent than she was letting on?

  "Here's the thing," I began, stirring milk into my tea. "I believe Emily and her friend are innocent of Brent's murder. If true, that means someone else killed him."

  Ashley's eyes widened. "You think I killed Brent...?"

  The thought had crossed my mind, but I responded, "Maybe Dean did, if he thought you were having an affair with Brent. Were you?"

  "No, I wasn't," she insisted, "and I resent the insinuation, as well as the suggestion that Dean could have murdered Brent. He wouldn't do that."

  "People do things we never thought was possible," I said calmly, "especially if they're driven by jealousy. I'm just saying..."

  "Well, you're way off base! Though we were no longer together, Brent and I just liked hanging out and we knew that doing so in public might cause people to draw the wrong conclusions."

  "You mean like Dean?"

  "I mean like Ivana," she countered. "Or for that matter, even his insecure previous girlfriend, Karla."

  "Did either of them know that you were spending time with Brent?"

  Ashley sipped her tea. "Not that I'm aware of. But who knows what they may have discovered through Luisa or whatever. In any event, if you want to point the finger, point it toward them or someone else. We're done here."

  Before I could utter another word, she had sprung up and walked out the door.

  I saw no reason to go after her, as she'd given me what I was looking for—a possible motive for Brent's death. Jealousy. Only now there was another possible suspect to go with Dean, Karla, and William Hendrickson.

  Brent's girlfriend, Ivana Croxley.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I arranged to meet Ivana Croxley at seven-thirty p.m. at a beachfront lounge called Smooth and Mellow. The name was reflected in the piano bar, which featured mostly jazz standards. I had been there several times, the last in which I had been accompanied by Brent. We came to enjoy the music and relax, while discussing each other's careers.

  I had already gotten us a table when Ivana arrived. She wore a sleeveless, V-neck black dress and high heels. Her long hair hung down loose.

  I stood to greet her. "Thank you for coming."

  "Not a problem," she said. "I love jazz and had been looking for an excuse to come here."

  We both sat down.

  "What would you like to drink?" I asked.

  "Red wine, thank you."

  I signaled the waitress and ordered two glasses of red wine.

  As I sized up Ivana, I wondered if she was capable of murdering Brent or having someone else do the job.

  The wine came and we both took sips as the pianist began to play.

  "So I was surprised you contacted me," remarked Ivana. "Is this like a get-together of Brent's former girlfriends—minus Karla?"

  I smiled. "I suppose you could say that," I answered appropriately.

  She twisted her lips pensively. "I wish I had known Brent was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. I would have done whatever I could to try to delay the progression, be it through mind exercises or whatever."

  "I suppose he wanted to wait a bit before sharing it with you to give himself some time to come to terms with it," I suggested.

  "I'm sure you're right and he would have let me in sooner than later."

  I felt a little guilty that Brent had chosen to tell me rather than his current girlfriend. I could only assume he had his reasons, none of which seemed very important at the moment.

  On that thought, it seemed like a good time to get to the purpose of the meeting. "Were you aware that Ashley McGowan was spending time with him just before he died?"

  "Yes, I was," she admitted. "From the start of our relationship, Brent was quite candid with me that he was still close to many of his ex-wives and girlfriends. He said if I had a problem with that, like his last girlfriend did, things probably wouldn't work for us. I assured him that I had no issues with jealousy or insecurity. Everything was good from that point on."

  "That's nice to know," I told her sincerely.

  She raised a thin brow. "Why do you ask?"

  I shared my findings with her regarding Emily's and Tony's alibis and others who might have had a beef with Brent, including Ashley's husband, and how she had suggested that perhaps it was one of Brent's last two girlfriends who wanted him out of the picture due to jealousy.

  Ivana laughed humorlessly. "I certainly can't speak for Karla, but I'm definitely not a killer. I was starting to fall in love with Brent and would never have felt I was better off without him simply because he chose to befriend Ashley—or even you, for that matter."

  I sipped wine. My gut instincts told me she was telling the truth and she had not murdered Brent or was not involved in his death in any way, in spite of Ashley's insinuations to the contrary. Perhaps Ashley had been trying to cover for Dean, assuming she was aware of his actions if he had killed Brent due to jealousy.

  I honed in on Ivana, who had been quite gracious, under the circumstances. "I'm sorry for putting you on the spot," I told her.

  "It's okay," she assured me. "I know you're just trying to help find out who killed Brent, if it wasn't Emily and her friend. Since you don't even know me, you have every right to question anyone who was close to him, even if it was prompted by Ashley."

  I thanked her for that, glad to have some support for doing what was really out of my depth in trying to
track down a killer. In the process, I think I may have found a new friend, appreciating some of the qualities Brent had seen in her.

  "Have you gone to the police with any of this?" Ivana asked.

  "I intend to do that first thing in the morning," I answered, "though I'm not sure if they will take it seriously enough to reopen the investigation."

  "Well, if the time line for Emily's and Tony's whereabouts can be vouched for, at the very least it should warrant them taking a second look—if not dropping the charges altogether."

  "That would certainly be the ideal response," I said. "I hate the thought of Emily having to spend another day in jail for something she had no part in."

  "I feel the same way, if that is the case," Ivana said. "I didn't know her all that well, but I know that Brent loved her like a daughter and wouldn't want her in jail falsely accused of his murder."

  I raised my glass. "We can certainly agree on that."

  She raised her glass in toast with a smile. "As Brent's girlfriends—former and current—we definitely need to stick together."

  "Totally," I said, sipping wine. "So what are your plans now?" I couldn't help but ask as I tried to move the conversation in a more positive direction.

  She sighed. "I just plan to move on with my life. It's what Brent would want."

  "Yes, he would want that—for both of us," I said.

  "It will probably be a while until I start dating again," Ivana said. "Brent was a hard act to follow."

  I chucked. "He was at that."

  She gazed at me. "Are you seeing anyone right now?"

  "I wish." I rolled my eyes, feeling a bit defensive that I was on my own, but still hopeful. "There is a possibility," I said, thinking about Josh and our tentative plans to go out for a drink. "But I'm still waiting for him to call."

  Ivana smiled. "We can grow old waiting for guys to call. Sometimes we have to make the first move."

  I grinned uneasily. I was old-fashioned when it came to a man pursuing me rather than the other way around. "Perhaps I will," I suggested, as Josh did seem like a nice man, and he was handsome too.

  "Good for you."

  Just as we slipped into our own thoughts, I heard someone say, "Well, look who we have here—"

  I looked up and saw Karla Terrell hovering over us.

  "...looks like Brent London's girlfriend club," she continued.

  In gazing at her, it was clear to me that Karla had had too much to drink. "This isn't the time," I told her.

  "Really? I think it's a great time," Karla countered. "The three of us are all in the same boat—we lost someone that we really cared about."

  "Maybe it's time for you let go of Brent," Ivana told her sternly. "Haven't you done enough already?"

  She peered at Ivana. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You tell me."

  "I only did what any scorned woman would do," Karla said, sneering. "Men can be such jerks sometimes. Especially writers—they're so full of themselves."

  "For heaven's sake, Karla," I said, forgetting for just a moment that she could be a killer. "Brent's dead. Why don't you just let him rest in peace and move on with your life?"

  She glared at me. "Is that what you're doing? You call snooping and trying to dig up dirt getting on with your life?"

  I couldn't help but wonder if she had been talking to Ashley. Perhaps they were working together and killed Brent. Or maybe they were covering up for Dean or someone else.

  "I just want to make sure the wrong people aren't in jail for killing Brent," I said defensively.

  "Since when did you become an amateur sleuth? Or are you two trying to figure out a way to pin this on me?"

  "If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to worry about," Ivana told her.

  Karla stared at her words thoughtfully. "We all have things to hide—some of us are just better at it than others." She suddenly lurched forward. "Ugh, I think I'm going to puke."

  "Maybe you should go to the bathroom," I suggested.

  Heeding my advice, she staggered away and out of sight.

  "Should we go after her and make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face?" Ivana asked.

  I thought about it, before responding, "Something tells me that Karla can take care of herself, in spite of her pity party. The real question is how far was she willing to go to get back at Brent for dumping her and choosing you?"

  It was a question we both pondered as we sipped wine.

  * * *

  The following morning was overcast. I went jogging on the beach, but found myself distracted by Brent's murder and the various people I now felt were viable suspects. I considered that the killer could be someone else altogether that I had missed or overlooked. The one thing I was sure about was that Emily and Tony were innocent of the crime. But would I be able to convince the police of that?

  When I got back home, I waved at Annette, who was in front of her house with her dog while talking on her cell phone. I was grateful for that, as I didn't have time at the moment to engage in a long chat with her.

  I went in and freshened up, before dressing and having a quick bite to eat.

  I decided to pay Emily a visit prior to sharing my information with Detective Whitmore, in case she could shed any further light on anyone else who might have wanted Brent dead.

  As before, I went through the standard security procedures before being allowed to see Emily. I sat and waited for her to come through the door on the other side of the window.

  When she did, she looked tired but physically fine. She sat down and put the phone to her ear, as I did the same.

  "How are you?" I asked.

  "Okay, but I hate being in here."

  "You may not have to be for much longer."

  Her eyes lit up. "Did you find out something?"

  "Yes," I said, trying to restrain my enthusiasm. "I talked to the librarian who found your cell phone. She told me she saw you at the library and also saw you when you left—meaning she can vouch that you were there at the time of Brent's death."

  "Wow!" Emily said, switching the phone to her other ear. "Did you tell the police or the prosecutor?"

  "No, I was on my way to do that, but wanted to see you first to touch base and fill you in with what I discovered."

  "What about Tony?" she asked. "He didn't kill Uncle Brent either."

  "I believe you," I told her. "His bartender friend, Elliot Quail, can validate the time he left The Train Stop to go to Brent's house—giving him very little time to kill Brent and leave before I arrived."

  "Do you think the police will buy that?" Emily asked.

  Though I wasn't overly confident they would, I responded, "They may have no other choice when coupled with some other strong possibilities about the killer that they may have overlooked."

  "Such as?"

  I ran the names of my suspects and their respective possible motivations by her, adding, "I think Detective Whitmore will find it hard to dismiss these suspects out of hand, considering every one of them had reason to want Brent dead—at least in theory."

  Emily sucked in a deep breath. "I never knew much about Uncle Brent's dealings with William Hendrickson, but I wouldn't put anything past Karla. As for Ashley's husband, he was a real piece of work. One time he came to the house looking for Ashley. She wasn't there, but Uncle Brent was, and confronted him. He accused Uncle Brent of sleeping with his wife, which he denied. Ashley's husband left after that, but he was clearly pissed and made sure Uncle Brent knew it."

  Which gives Dean McGowan a clear motive for murder, I mused. But did he really take his jealousy and suspicions that far?

  "Can you think of anyone else who may have wanted Brent dead?" I asked.

  Emily shook her head. "Not really. He told me that he had some obsessive fans and it scared him sometimes, but I never witnessed anything like that."

  "You never know if one of them may have gone too far," I said thoughtfully. "But the names I have should give the police something to
work with."

  "I hope so," Emily said. "Thanks so much for everything you've done for me—and Tony."

  "I haven't really done much of anything, thus far," I told her modestly, "since you're still in here."

  She seemed to concur with this, in effect, before she went back to her cell. I headed for the police department on a mission to see to it that a miscarriage of justice did not take place in their desire to hold Emily and Tony accountable for Brent's death.

  * * *

  It was just after eleven a.m. when I headed to Detective Whitmore's office, having been given permission to do so by the desk sergeant. I saw Detective Gifford talking to two other detectives. He nodded at me with interest and I nodded back, wondering if he would step in on the conversation.

  Whitmore was seated at his desk when I walked into the office. "Ms. Reed," he said evenly, "didn't expect to see you again."

  "Sorry to disappoint you," I said half-joking.

  "Do you have something more to add to the investigation regarding Brent London's death?" Whitmore asked.

  "As a matter of fact, I do," I told him.

  He surveyed me curiously. "Sit."

  I sat in front of his desk and gathered my thoughts before looking him squarely in the eye. "I think you have the wrong people in custody."

  He frowned. "I believe we've already gone over this—"

  "But not the part where Emily's alibi can be vouched for," I broke in.

  He cocked a brow. "Oh really? By who, you?"

  "Phyllis Bledsoe. She's a librarian at the college who remembers seeing Emily in the library during the estimated time frame when Brent was murdered."

  "And she remembers this how?"

  "She noticed Emily left her cell phone on the table, so she took it, knowing she would come back for it. So, you see, Emily couldn't have murdered Brent."

  Whitmore let out a noisy breath. "Even if she didn't swing the pool cue directly, conspiring to kill her uncle is just as damaging."

  "Tony didn't kill Brent either," I said with conviction. I relayed the details about his time spent at The Train Stop, which Elliot Quail would attest to, and my own drive to Brent's house and the time frame in relation to the time of death. "So you see, Detective, this would have left just a tiny sliver of the estimated time of death for Tony to have killed Brent by the time I arrived at the house."