Murder at Moonshiner Days

by Michelle Goff

  “Although I tried to push it from my mind, it remained on the edge of my thoughts. I went back to the neighborhood and again saw a ragged lawn, at least three weeks’ worth of newspapers lying about, and mail bursting out of the mailbox.”

  Phil paused and touched the timeline. “It was summer. School was out, so that accounted for his co-workers not contacting him. But surely he had friends and family. Right? I broke into the house again. There were no messages waiting for him on his answering machine. I brought in his mail and the newspapers. There were no letters from concerned friends and family. I avoided the room in which he remained and spent some more time going through his papers. I found his journal. He was unmarried and unattached romantically. He was the only child of deceased parents. His father had died young of heart disease and, apparently, he had suffered a similar fate. He was only thirty-eight. He had moved to the area a short time before and had not made any friends to speak of. He had worked at the school for only a year.”

  Maggie had so many questions bouncing around in her mind, but before she could ask any of them, Phil said, “I hadn’t done well in school, but I was smart. I always thought I could have made something of myself if things had been different, if I had been given the opportunity. I stayed in Phil Wainwright’s house all that night and through the next day. By the time night fell on the second day, I knew an opportunity had presented itself. And I was prepared to take it. Of course, there were a few problems. For starters, I was twelve years younger than him. The more I thought about that, the more I realized that was a minor issue that could be explained away by good genes. A bigger problem was my lack of an education. He had earned his advanced degrees and was a vice principal, so if everything worked out for me, I wouldn’t have to worry about going back to school or teaching in the classroom. I have had to update my certifications, but while not easy, it wasn’t worth all the time I wasted worrying about it. He kept meticulous journals. Reading them helped me learn to speak like him. I had always been a reader, but I became a voracious reader. His background was in history, specifically early American history, and I read everything about the subject I could find. Actually, I read everything I could find about any subject. I educated myself for my new life.”

  When he finished speaking, Maggie asked, “What did you do with him? With Phil Wainwright?”

  “I buried him in his basement. I expected that would be my downfall, if it occurred. I imagined an enterprising homeowner finding him and calling the authorities.”

  “You just said he didn’t have a wife. When we met, you told me you were a widower.”

  “There was no wife. I used that as a cover story to explain why I never married. I worried about that, too. That somebody from his past would show up in my life and learn about this fictional wife. That didn’t happen so, again, it wasn’t worth my worry.”

  “But why did you invent a wife?”

  “I couldn’t allow myself to get too close to anybody. It wouldn’t have been fair to my potential wife. She would have been living a lie, too. So, I fabricated a reason for my bachelorhood. I was still so in love with my wife and so heartbroken by her early death, that I could never love another. It had the added benefit of making me more sympathetic.”

  “What about the story about you ripping your jacket when you went back to work after her death?”

  “It was one fabricated story in two decades’ worth of fabricated stories. Throwing little anecdotes into conversation made everything seem more real. Since I tended to fall back on the same stories, I didn’t have to worry about keeping my stories straight. After some time, I almost came to believe the lies I told. ”

  “How did Jennifer find out the truth?”

  “She contacted my former school –”

  “Your former school?”

  Phil smiled. “His former school. She tracked down the old principal, Bob Smith. He’s retired now and living in Florida. Of course, I didn’t know that until the night at dinner when Jennifer said his name. He told her that Phil Wainwright had served as his vice principal for a year before resigning abruptly during the summer. That he was a quiet, well-spoken man who kept to himself and that nobody really knew him, but yes, he had an old yearbook that contained a photo of Phil Wainwright. Why, yes, he would be happy to send her a copy of the photo. There were actually two video chats with Bob Smith. It was the second one that bothered Jennifer. It was during that chat that she told him he must be mistaken, that the photo looked nothing like Phil Wainwright. By the time the chat ended, she had begun to piece together the, well, not the truth, but a version of it. She told Bob Smith that the more she looked at the photo, the more she realized that it was the Phil Wainwright she knew, minus twenty years.”

  “But she knew otherwise.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “This happened months before she died. Why did you wait so long to kill her?”

  “Jennifer’s death was not premeditated. It was an accident. But I’ll get to that in a minute. She made me wait two more weeks after she mentioned Bob Smith’s name before she came to me. We were having dinner at her house. I was trying to pretend nothing was wrong. I was trying to carry on like I didn’t suspect she knew at least part of the truth. We were having carrot cake and coffee. She had made the cake especially for me. She knew it was my favorite. As she sliced another piece of cake for me, she said, ‘This is how it’s going to be. I know how much you made as principal of the elementary school and how much you make as principal of the high school. You’re going to give me the difference in pay every month. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Not if you consider what you would lose if copies of the picture of Phil Wainwright found their way to the newspaper and to the superintendent and the board of education. Not to mention the police.’

  “Although it broke my heart that Jennifer, my best friend, was blackmailing me, I couldn’t disagree with her. I’d much rather part with the money than my freedom or my reputation. So every month I gave her an envelope filled with cash. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Our relationship didn’t change all that much. Not until last March. Not until she demanded more. Not until she decided to remodel her kitchen.”

  Phil quit speaking and cast his eyes downward. “What happened the night she died?” Maggie asked.

  “Once she demanded that I fund her home improvement project, I started begging her to reconsider. I thought I could appeal to her better angels. I reminded her of all we had been through. I reminded her that I had been there for her when Mel died. She refused to listen to reason. She said our entire friendship had been based on lies. That night at dinner, she showed us designs for her kitchen. When she told us that she had decided on a window seat design for the kitchen nook and that meant it was going to take more money than she originally thought, I knew she was going to demand that I pay for that window seat. I knew it would never end. After the kitchen, she would find something else she wanted me to pay for. So, I went back to the house to try to reason with her one more time. I asked why she couldn’t use the money from the sale of Mel’s property to remodel her kitchen. She said she was having trouble finding a buyer and that, besides, she would have to apply some of that money toward her credit card debt. I suggested she file bankruptcy, and she let me know there was no way she would suffer that humiliation. I pleaded with her. I told her I wasn’t made of money. When she suggested I get a job teaching night classes at the community college or working as a janitor, I, well, I guess you could say I lost my mind. I grabbed the meat thermometer before I knew what I was doing.”

  “Delphene’s prints were the only ones on the meat thermometer. Why weren’t yours on there?”

  “You know, I was surprised when I heard that. But after thinking about it, I remembered grabbing the part of the thermometer that shows the temperature and that’s the only part I wiped clean. I guess Delphene’s fingerprints were found on an area that I didn’t wipe.”

  “If it was an accident, why didn’t you call the police?”

/>   Phil looked at Maggie as if he had never considered that idea. “And risk everything? No. Don’t get me wrong. I mourned Jennifer. Well, the Jennifer I had known prior to the blackmail. And my heart aches for Blake. But I’ve come to the conclusion that Blake is better off without her.”

  Maggie grunted. “That’s not for you to say.”

  “I’ll bet Jeff Little and Didi Barnes agree with me.”

  “Maybe so, but what about Delphene Fugate?”

  “That situation gave me considerable heartburn. If the police had ever charged her, I would have been faced with a moral dilemma. I’m lucky, and I guess she is, too, that that never happened.”

  “Did you rob Jennifer’s house?”

  “I did. I knew she might have some incriminating evidence on her laptop and tablets, so I grabbed them. And the TVs. I didn’t want to take Blake’s video game systems, but I thought it would be too suspicious to leave them behind.”

  Recalling her and Seth’s spirited debate on how the murder/robbery took place, Maggie asked, “How did you transport everything to your car?”

  “In a garbage bag I took from Jennifer’s laundry room. I didn’t plan to sell the merchandise, so I wasn’t worrying about damaging anything. During my previous life as a professional thief, I would never have tossed a TV in a bag with other electronics without wrapping it in several layers.”

  “Are you responsible for the recent robbery on Fifth Street?”

  “Yes. The lady who watches their house also takes care of my cats when I’m gone. I always leave a key for her under the rug on my front porch. I took a chance that she had a similar arrangement with the owners of the other house. She did. I felt bad for breaking in, but I only took a few items. I’ve kept them and, obviously, I’ll return them. But it was a perfect opportunity that I couldn’t pass up. Another house broken into on Fifth Street? During Moonshiner Days? Perfect.” With a lift of one shoulder, he said, “Or so I thought.”

  “There’s one other thing. Did you take Jennifer’s engagement ring?”

  “Yes. That was,” he shuddered, “almost worse than killing her. But I couldn’t leave it. I did leave Blake’s piggy bank. I told you. I’m not a heartless man. Leaving that ring would have telegraphed to the police that the robbery was a cover-up of the real crime. I used a magnet to wipe her computer and other devices, and then I took them and the TVs and video game stuff with me on vacation. I threw them in a river. But I held onto the ring. I always imagined this day would come, so I kept it. I kept it for Blake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Maggie sat in the Dinner Bucket Diner picking at her pork chops and potato salad.

  “Is something wrong with your food?” Seth asked.

  “No,” Maggie answered. “As my mom would say, I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Actually, she had lost her appetite the moment she realized there were only two other customers in the restaurant. Although she was pleased that the diner wasn’t crowded, she had hoped they would be surrounded by a few more patrons. As it were, she felt self-conscious and as if the other diners and the diner staff were listening in on their conversation.

  Taking a bite of his club sandwich, Seth said, “Thankfully, my eyes and my stomach are as big as this sandwich.” He sipped his soda and asked, “How’s Edie?”

  “She’s good. She’s not had any more trouble. And she’s taking full advantage of her situation. When I was at her house the other day, Ben was painting her toenails. The next few weeks are going to seem like an eternity for him.” Maggie forced herself to eat a bite of her pork chop before frowning and washing it down with water. “What are your colleagues at the station saying about Phil? Well, the man who was living as Phil Wainwright?”

  “That he’s going to spend a long time in jail. They’ll probably plead the first-degree murder charge down, but he’s facing charges for stealing the real Phil Wainwright’s identity. That he took a life is receiving the most attention. And it should. But he conned the school system and the town for two decades.”

  “Tyler talked to several townsfolk who are supporting him. They still think he’s a good guy.”

  “We’ve received dozens of calls from his supporters.”

  “Are your colleagues saying anything about me?”

  Smiling, Seth said, “Some of them are lamenting the fact that, once again, you solved one of our cases.”

  “They shouldn’t feel too bad. I’ve only solved two city police cases. The other two were state police cases.”

  Holding up a finger as he chewed a fry, Seth said, “I pointed that out and told them we’re even. I guess we’ll have to wait on you to break the tie.”

  Maggie had sworn off sleuthing before and knew better than to do so again, but as she twirled a fork in the potato salad, she couldn’t imagine ever mustering the energy to work another case. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “Why not? You’re good at this.”

  “You didn’t always think that.”

  Shrugging, Seth said, “It’s the truth. Besides, you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

  “I know, but …”

  “What?”

  “Except for Mac Honaker’s murderer, I’ve felt sorry for the –”

  “Killers?”

  “I was going to say culprits.”

  “That’s because you’re a good person, Maggie Morgan.” Seth dropped his napkin into his empty plate. “You get to know them as people. For us, for cops, we just know them as suspects. The fact that you do relate to them is another reason you’re good at solving their crimes.”

  “I do empathize with them. Not just Phil.” She rolled her eyes. “Fake Phil. But also Todd and Traci and even Jennifer. They can’t – or couldn’t – face the truth about their lives.” Before she had time to reconsider, she added, “They’ve made me realize I haven’t been facing the truth about my life, either.”

  “What truth is that?”

  Meeting his eyes, she said, “That I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  Seth rested his folded arms on the table. “What does this mean?”

  Furrowing her brows, Maggie said, “I thought it was obvious.”

  “Does it mean, ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, and I guess I’ll see you around’ or ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, and I want to be with you.’”

  “The former. No, wait, the latter. I think. I’m not sure if it’s former or latter, so we’ll go with the last one.”

  “The one about wanting to be with me?”

  “You just want me to keep saying it.”

  “Eh, maybe.”

  The sight of Seth’s crooked smile released the tension Maggie had carried around in her chest for days. “There’s still the issue of why we broke up. I love my nephews. I already love Edie’s little girl, but I don’t want children of my own.”

  “You’ve come to the right man. If my short-lived marriage taught me anything, it’s that I can’t have kids. And that I still love you, too.”

  “But you could adopt –”

  Seth reached over the table and ran his fingers across Maggie’s hand. “You exasperate me and I have a feeling you don’t always share the full truth of your suspects’ criminal activity. Don’t give me that innocent look. I’ve learned to live with this because I know you’d fess up if you caught wind of them doing something really bad or dangerous. But I love you, and I’ve waited for this conversation, I’ve waited to hear these words from you, since that day you came to my office to talk about the Mac Honaker case.”

  Maggie wrapped her fingers around his hand and stared into his green eyes. “Now what?”

  “Now, we order dessert.”

 

 

 
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