by Libby Howard
Throughout it all, I felt as if I knew David. I felt as if I’d seen him grow from infant to young man. I’d seen him in his graduation cap, seen him fishing and playing in the sand, seen him in a tux going to prom, heading off in a dilapidated Honda to college, seen him hugging his mother, his eyes haunted and sad.
I paged back to the early days, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that might stir my intuition and point me to Mary’s killer, but there was nothing. Paging back further, I found myself entranced by the pictures of DeLanie before she’d had David. The woman was roughly my age, and I felt a stab of nostalgia seeing her clothing and hairstyle, so close to what I would have worn at that time. And her parents…they reminded me a lot of my parents that I missed so much. I wish my mom were still here to talk to about Eli’s loss, about things that were going on in my life. I wished that my father were here to gather me in his arms and tell me that everything in the world was going to turn out right.
I ran a finger over the page, pausing at a close-up of DeLanie’s mother with her hand up against her cheek. The woman’s wedding band and engagement ring were clear as could be in this picture, and I admired the pretty old-fashioned cluster of small diamonds and the white-gold band. Back before people shelled out insane amounts of money for Hope-diamond sized solitaires, many an engagement ring was this sort of cluster, or even of semi-precious stones. DeLanie’s mother’s ring was beautiful and well-crafted even if it might not have had the highest quality stones.
And it felt oddly familiar.
I thought about the engagement ring—this very engagement ring that had been on Mary’s finger. I’d been envisioning the killer taking it off her finger, but perhaps she’d done that herself before her murder? Maybe after the funeral, she’d gone home and with a sense of bitterness and grief, had taken off the ring?
But then I looked at the picture of DeLanie’s mother in the album, the ring glittering on her finger. Then I looked down at my own left hand where I still wore my wedding band as well as the diamond solitaire Eli had given me.
No, Mary wouldn’t have taken it off. Not immediately after her fiancé’s funeral, anyway.
Chapter 16
I parked outside the Lutheran church, walked up to the door, then hesitated. After dinner, I’d told the judge where I was going. He noted down the exact location and time of the meeting, making me promise that I’d text him promptly at eight to let him know I was still alive and what time to expect me home, making it clear that if I were more than two minutes late, he was calling the police. I had every intention of talking to Rudy and maybe a few of the other attendees about David and Mary, but now that I was actually here, I was having second thoughts.
Watching everyone enter, I felt as if I were intruding on something private. These people were here to share their struggles with addiction in a safe space. A non-addict showing up to ask questions seemed really disrespectful.
A man appeared at the doorway. He looked to be in his forties with a bald freckled pate and a bushy reddish-blonde beard. His blue eyes were kind, as was his smile. “Session starts soon. Come on inside.”
“I’ll just wait here,” I told him, thinking it might be better to pop in when I thought their meeting was ending, to ask questions later. People socialized after these things, didn’t they? Drank coffee and chatted before heading back home?
“You can’t do it alone, you know. No matter how hard you try, you can’t do it alone. No one in there is going to judge you, and you don’t even have to share if you don’t want. Just come in. Take this one step, and the next one will be easier.”
Oh, no. I completely felt like a fraud now. “I just…there’s someone I was hoping to talk to,” I told him. “I’m not an addict.”
“Admitting is supposed to be the first step, but you don’t need to admit anything to be welcome here. Come inside. Just this once, then you can decide what to do next.”
More guilt. “I’m really not an addict. I’m a friend of David Driver’s cousin and his mother. I had some questions about David and Mary. His mother said this was his favorite meeting—this and the Thursday night one. He spoke highly of Rudy.”
The man took a step back, eyeing me uncertainly. “You’re the police?”
“No, a friend of the family. I do work for Pierson Investigation and Recovery Services, though.” I could see him wavering. “DeLanie, David’s mother, was so upset to find out Mary was dead, and the circumstances…she was there when they uncovered Mary’s remains. She’d met Mary at the funeral, knew that Mary and her son were engaged. This is personal to her. It will help put her mind at ease, help her grieve, if she knows what happened.”
“No one here knows what happened,” he insisted.
“But you all did know David and Mary, and maybe something that helps us find out what happened—friends they hung out with, problems they were having with certain people, anything that might shed a light on what happened to Mary and why someone went to the effort to bury her in the same grave as David.”
He hesitated. “Let me ask the others. I’ll be right back.”
I waited and it wasn’t long until his head popped back out the door. “We voted, and you can come in to join us. Please treat everything you hear inside as confidential, unless someone gives you permission to share their story. And I appreciate your being honest with me.” He opened the door wider, ushering me in and extending his hand. “I’m Rudy, by the way.”
I shook his hand. “Kay Carrera.”
I followed him down a hall and into a room that held six people of varying ages and ethnicity, all hovering around a coffee machine and a bowl of those mini chocolate bars.
“Help yourself,” Rudy told me. “Fresh coffee, and Lottie brought chocolates. We usually just have those mints, so get the good candy before it’s all gone.”
The others chuckled at his comments, making way for me at the coffee machine and eyeing me with a sort of wary curiosity. I filled a cup, adding powdered creamer and a packet of sugar, then took two of the chocolates before heading over to a circle of metal folding chairs.
The others came and sat, a woman I assumed to be Lottie bringing the bowl of candy with her to pass around during the meeting. I unwrapped a candy and popped it in my mouth, taking a sip of my coffee and trying to look supportive but unobtrusive. How did that Melanie at the cemetery manage this sort of demeanor day in and day out? It was hard to appear the right mix of caring but somewhat detached, a sympathetic onlooker who could remain in the background but be available if needed.
I sat off to the side and listened as the meeting progressed, moved by the struggles these people faced each day to keep their fragile hold on recovery. When they were done, Rudy announced that anyone who wanted to speak to me about David or Mary should feel free to do so.
A few attendees expressed how much they missed David and Mary, how upset they were at David’s death, and how shocked they were about the recent news of Mary’s murder. Every one of them shook their heads sadly and said they’d thought David was going to make it, that he’d been under a lot of stress, but happy and in love, and of all the recovering addicts they knew, they never expected to hear that he’d started using again. Equally, they were convinced that Mary had also seemed not at risk for relapse, although when David had died and she’d stopped coming to meetings, they’d assumed the worst. And now they felt guilty that the whole time they’d been thinking she was using, she’d been killed and buried in David’s grave.
None of them knew anyone who would want to harm Mary. She was sweet, kind, and caring and didn’t seem to have an enemy in the world. They all liked David as well, but several admitted pragmatically that someone who’d just put aside his habit might have more than one unsavory character in his recent past.
It made me wonder if instead of Mary contributing to David’s death, he’d contributed to hers. Maybe instead of looking at Mary and the couple’s current group of friends, I should be looking a bit back—back before David went into rehab
this last time.
As everyone filtered out of the room, I helped Rudy put up the chairs and clean up the coffee cups. He turned out the lights, then we walked together to the parking lot behind the church.
“Mary’s been coming for a long time,” he finally told me as he walked to a blue Honda parked under a tree. “She had some trouble right out of high school. Got arrested. Didn’t serve much time, but it definitely was a wake-up call. Seven years that woman’s been straight from what I could see. She was solid. Regular meeting attendance. Absolutely dedicated to helping others recover. That’s how she met David.” A smile ghosted across his face. “At one of my meetings, actually. That’s where they met. Made me feel like I was some sort of Cupid.”
His words surprised me. I’d been expecting Mary to be a woman who struggled with her addiction, one who might have been on shaky ground and the bad influence that DeLanie and Ford had thought she might be.
Rudy leaned against his passenger door and continued. “They met this past winter. David came to a meeting out of the blue—first time I ever met him. He said he’d used that morning, but was leaving for rehab the next day and needed a connection, needed to know people were rooting for him while he was gone. He was scared, down, feeling like this trip was going to be a waste of money. I’ve seen people like that before. Sometimes they can pull themselves out of the hole, and sometimes they can’t. Looking at David that night, I wasn’t giving him good odds, but we were all there for him.”
Rudy took a breath and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking up at the tree. “Mary talked to him after the meeting. Evidently, she left with him and they stayed up all night. She was with him every minute until he was on his way to rehab. And when he got back, she was there, too. She pulled him through that, gave him a rope to hold onto when he felt like he was falling. That first meeting after he got back, I could see the change in him. And I knew seeing the two together that they were in love.”
I smiled, thinking what a wonderful love story this was. If only it hadn’t ended so tragically.
“A few months later, she was wearing his ring. I know they had some tough times. There was some reason they were keeping their engagement quiet, and whatever that reason was, it was stressful to both of them. I thought maybe it was a racial thing or something—that one of their parents wouldn’t have approved. Or maybe their family would have had a problem with it because both of them were recovering addicts. The reason wasn’t something they shared, even in meetings.”
“Did David ever talk about his father? Or any of his family?”
Rudy thought for a moment. “I know he was very proud of his mom for raising him. He had cousins he liked a lot. Some older guy, an uncle maybe, who’d kinda taken David under his wing when he was young. I remember David saying he paid for the rehab and that he was worried he was wasting this man’s money, that he’d just disappoint him.”
“How about Mary? Any family she mentioned?”
He shook his head. “Her parents were out of state. They moved about five years ago, and she’d stayed because she had a good job and felt secure here.”
“Any particular people you know who were good friends of theirs?”
He chuckled. “The regulars all know each other, but most of them don’t socialize outside of meetings unless they’re helping one another through a rough spot. I was Mary’s sponsor, and I can pass along your information to David’s sponsor and ask if he’d like to contact you. Other than that, I can’t say anyone at the meetings was more than just a fellow recovering addict on the same journey.”
“Was there anyone they mentioned having a problem with?” I prodded. “I know people come to these meetings to talk about stressful situations that make them feel the urge to use again. Did Mary or David mention any of those? Problems on the job? With neighbors? Friends they’d needed to sever ties with?”
“Mary had some issues with her job, but I don’t think it was with any co-workers. I seem to recall it being more of mandatory overtime and busy-season thing. She was the shipping supervisor at Formidable Printing.” He frowned. “She worked there for seven years. I wonder what they thought when she just didn’t show up one day. Probably the same thing we did. Her fiancé dies, and she loses herself in the needle.”
I winced. Did everyone just assume she’d started using? Did everyone simply write off her disappearance as a woman who’d turned back to drugs? Her parents had filled out that missing person’s report, but no one else seemed to bother and that was a tragedy, not just the fact that her promising life was cut short.
“What about David? He worked for his family’s company, but maybe there was someone there he wasn’t getting along with? Someone who didn’t like a family member getting a job he thought he should have gotten?”
“No. I do know Mary had an ex-boyfriend—someone she’d broken up with a month or two before she met David. I remember her talking about that. And now that I think about it, I remember her mentioning a few weeks before David died that there was an ex who was being a problem.”
Bingo. “Do you recall anything about him? Name? Where he lived? Or worked? How did Mary say he took their breakup?”
“I really don’t know. I know there was a boyfriend late last fall, and she mentioned a breakup—which I think she initiated. Then nothing else until this past spring when she said in passing that there was a problem with an ex.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Sometimes people get very specific in their stories, but Mary and David didn’t—probably because they had each other to confide in.”
I fished a few cards out of my purse and handed them to him. “Please call me if you can think of anything. And can you pass one of my cards along to David’s sponsor? And anyone else who you think might be able to help?”
He nodded, then turned to open his car door. “I will. I can’t believe someone would have killed Mary. And this seems a bit personal, doesn’t it? Being put in David’s grave? It’s not like some random mugger or rapist would do that. I hope they catch whoever did it because she was a nice person and didn’t deserve this. Not that anyone deserves to get murdered, you know.”
“I know.” I thanked him again and headed toward my car, texting Judge Beck for the second time that evening that I was alive and safe, and this time was on my way home. As I drove, I thought about what Rudy had said. An ex-boyfriend.
I’d reached the end of the road here as far as checking family, friends, and those who had access to David’s grave, but as I pulled in my driveway, I realized I’d made an incredibly stupid mistake. I’d gotten my investigator’s license and jumped into this case like an old-fashioned gumshoe. That wasn’t a bad thing, but I’d completely ignored the one thing I was really good at—and the one thing that might just help me find a solid lead to Mary’s killer.
The internet.
Chapter 17
I moistened a paper towel and wiped the coffee from around the lip of my mug.
“Something wrong?” Judge Beck asked. He was fully dressed and ready for work in spite of the sleep still hovering around the corners of his eyes. From the noise coming from upstairs, Madison and Henry were still getting their clothes on.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” I lied. The dishwasher decision had been pushed into the background behind the far more pressing investigation, but I really needed to stop procrastinating and figure out what I was going to do because handwashing dishes for two weeks wasn’t remotely an ideal solution.
And if I was finding old coffee on supposedly clean coffee cups, I was very concerned what was still left on the plates and silverware.
The judge eyed his own mug. “I need to have a word with the kids about their dishwashing skills.”
No, I needed to replace the darned dishwasher.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’ll call the repair place today and tell them I’m replacing it instead. Maybe we can get a new one in by the weekend.”
If I went with rusty-and-dented, or obnoxiously red, then we would definitely
have it by the weekend. I mentally thought of my savings account, trying to decide which was the better option.
“Don’t make a rash decision because my children seem to be unable to effectively wash dishes,” he protested. “I’ll talk to them. This is ridiculous. I grew up washing dishes by hand. Our parents washed dishes by hand. Centuries of humans have washed dishes by hand. It’s not rocket science. They just need to be more thorough, to check when they’re drying and putting them away.”
“They have enough to do with homework and their sports after school. It’s been almost three weeks. I’ll just buy a new one.”
The judge stared intently down into his coffee. “I meant what I said earlier, Kay. Let me just put it on my credit card, and you can pay me later.”
“No.” I tried to make that word firm, but not too firm, because although I’d turned the furnace on this morning and everything appeared to be working fine, I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t need to take Judge Beck up on his offer at a later time for some other major, emergency home repair. “No, I went out and looked at dishwashers during lunch on Monday. I figured it was going to come down to this, and I’ve got a couple I’m interested in. I just need to decide which. I’ll do it today. Promise.”
Judge Beck took the kids off to school, and I headed into the office only to find I had two urgent skip traces that needed a priority rush job. Credicorp was paying extra for these, so I sat the Driver case aside and got to work. They were both difficult cases, and I ended up working through my lunch, not even having time to make a decision and a purchase on the dishwasher, let alone to do my internet research on Mary Allen.
Finally done with the rush skip traces, I looked at the clock and barely had time to download a state case search as well as credit reports before racing out the door. Dinner was a rushed affair. While the kids were doing the dishes, I looked over the case searches, noting that neither Mary nor David had taken out any protection orders or filed a no-trespass charge against anyone. A quick glance at their credit histories didn’t reveal anything shocking, but I’d have to take a more thorough look tomorrow morning. Right now, I had a viewing to attend.
