Domestic Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mystery)

by Lane Stone

  “Girl, you were giving him down the country!”

  She gave me an air kiss and whispered, “It was Charles Asher. Now he’s saying he’s in love with me.”

  “Asher Charles,” Detective Kent said as he walked by.

  I took one last look back at the funeral home. “Good-night, Pop Tart, wherever you are.” Then I got in the cah with my husband.

  CHAPTER 7

  Continuation of statement by Leigh Reed. Jack and I drove east on Highway 20 toward Hartfield Hills’ brand new downtown area to one of my favorite restaurants, Deegan’s. Female diners wearing black pants are offered black napkins, rather than white. There is some civilization left in the world.

  My telephone signaled that I had a new text message. My husband was leaning over and ran his hand down my thigh while I read it. “Ten and two, General. It’s Victoria. Bea seems to be okay and they’re just a couple of minutes behind us.”

  Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulder. We had stopped at the red light at Highway 20 and Suwanee Dam Road. He said, “I enjoyed our day on the river yesterday––just you and me and Abby. I was thinking….” My phone rang and I straightened up and answered it.

  It was Victoria. “We know him. I have Tara conferenced in.”

  “Yeah, Thomas Chestnut.” I looked in the rear view mirror and Tara and Paul, along with their new best friend, were right behind us.

  “No!”

  “We know him? Who’s dead now?”

  My husband gave me a surprised look when I said this and I deserved it. I was getting careless.

  “No! Look at that guy on that billboard,” Victoria said.

  “Bennett? The guy running for office?”

  “He’s a state senator and he’s running for Congress. Everyone knows him,” Jack said.

  “We met him a few months ago.” Then Vic’s meaning hit me. We knew him because his wife had hired us to follow him.

  None of us could speak plainly. Finally, Vic thought of something she could say in front of Shorty. “Did you hear his wife is divorcing him and the trial might turn ugly?”

  “Let’s talk at the restaurant.” I knew where this was going. One of us was going to have to testify, which I will run a mile in stilettos to avoid. First, by the time a divorce comes to trial we have handled dozens of other cases. We keep copious notes, thank goodness. Second, giving salacious details to perfect strangers is un-Southern. The last I heard about this case, he was lying through his teeth denying what we’d caught him doing.

  Victoria agreed, but I hadn’t heard from Tara so I didn’t hang up. I could hear Paul talking in the background. Next she was interjecting questions into that conversation while trying to relay to us what had transpired. It seemed Thomas Chestnut’s body had been returned. “But only the body,” Tara passed on to us. Then to Paul, “They didn’t find the coffin?”

  After imparting this to her husband, Vic expressed her shock. “Coffins are so expensive! What do you mean…?”

  “He came back in his coffin.” Then to Paul, “What did you mean by ‘only the body’?” Then to Paige, “Is this upsetting for you to hear, Sweetie?”

  Then something Paul said left her speechless. Do you need me to repeat that? Nothing shocks Tara. She’s the shocker. She’s never the shockee. Until that night.

  I couldn’t stand it. “What’s happening?”

  “They stole his clothes. He was returned in his coffin––in his birthday suit.”

  “Returned? He’s not a library book.” Vic harrumphed.

  “His coffin was found in the rear parking lot of the funeral home.” Tara was keeping a tight rein on her voice.

  “Vic, when you walked Bea to her car, did you see the casket out there?” I forgot I hadn’t bothered to keep Jack in the loop. I filled him in as quickly as I could and he just about ran off the road.

  “Damn, Baby.” He shook his head and gave a half grunt, half exhale. You see, for my husband that’s rolling on the floor, knee slapping, hysterical laughter.

  “I can say with complete certainty that there was no coffin sitting in the parking lot of the funeral home at that time.”

  “He’ll need clothes. Jack, what size are you?”

  “No.”

  “Paul will take something over there tomorrow before the funeral.”

  Our three cars in a row turned onto Broad Street then pulled up to the valet stand. When I got out, I looked for, but didn’t see, Al. Ditto as we walked in single file to a large round table in a back corner. A bottle of chardonnay nestled in a bucket, chilling. Red wine was on the table, breathing. All because Deegan’s keeps a record of wine preferences of regular patrons. The crystal stemware and silver place settings sparkled. Hell, we sparkled. Did I have a right to feel as happy as I did in that moment? My husband was returning to a war zone. Make no mistake, a worn out, used up war zone can be just as dangerous as one that’s brand new. But that war was winding down. He wouldn’t have to go back too many more times. He was retiring. Detective Kent or someone else on the Gwinnett County police force would find out who had murdered, then borrowed, then replaced Thomas Chestnut.

  Paige Ford scanned the table, then under her breathe she said, “Eight chairs.”

  I have ears like a dog and I picked up on this. Eight chairs for eight people. Thanks, Rain Man. What a lucky coincidence. Was she expecting someone else?

  “Leigh?” My husband was trying to get my attention. When he had it, he motioned to a waiter who had been asking if I wanted white or red wine.

  “Chardonnay, please.”

  Paul told him we were expecting one more person. Then he raised his glass. “To Thomas Chestnut.” I waited for a little jam on the bread, but it didn’t come. At least not from him.

  “To the best dad in the world.” After Paige spoke, we did clink our glasses.

  I leaned nearer to her. “Does your mother live nearby?”

  “She passed away three years ago.”

  Paul’s head jerked back. “I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry.”

  Sometimes I amaze myself. I had a flash of genius. “Do you think you’ll stay in touch with Beatrice Englund?” The first bird to be killed with that stone was finding out if anyone in the family had a problem with the white Thomas Chestnut marrying the black Beatrice Englund. Next, Paige looked like she could use some loving care and Bea was all about that. When we first met Bea, she had seemed cross and tough. That was just the mode she went into when her daughter needed protection. She’s nurturing and constant.

  “I would like that very much.” Or at least that’s what it sounded like Paige said. She was speaking into her wine glass.

  The jazz trio started their cover of Day Too Soon by Sia and we turned around to face them. Why do people do that? I was just wondering.

  Paul pulled Tara closer. “Want to dance?”

  “There’s no dance floor.”

  “Sure there is.” He led her to a square of tile beside the band and they danced.

  Shorty started to laugh and then, seeing the look on Victoria’s face, thought better of it. He surprised us by standing and taking her hand. They walked to the other side and bracketed the musicians. Last year their marriage was on life support, but Shorty sensed a change in Victoria and made time to talk to her about it. To hear her talk, she’s still not entirely happy, but it’s better than before and they plug along.

  Jack was about to follow suit and I cut him off with a look at Paige. “We can’t leave her sitting by herself.”

  Before Paige could say, ‘Oh, it’s okay, go on,’ Al walked up behind her. The song ended and the others returned to the table, to the cheerful applause of the other diners. Tara curtsied while Victoria glanced at Shorty and then walked back to us with short, quick steps.

  A nearby waiter passed out menus amid the hi’s, did you have any trouble finding the place, and no none at all. All four men ordered steaks and all four women ordered fish. Salads and appetizers included Caesar, caprese, calamari and other creative ch
oices.

  “I’d like a wedge of lemon, instead of salad dressing.” Here Shorty chuckled. “I don’t want to hate myself in the morning.”

  I get bored when people equate food with sin, especially while eating and I was happy for the diversion I got next.

  Paige giggled. “You are tooo funny.”

  What? Too funny? No more wine for her. Shorty isn’t even funny enough.

  “It’d take more than salad dressing to make me hate myself in the morning, but whatever floats your boat.” Jack raised his glass to Shorty.

  “Depends on what you do with the salad dressing,” Tara said.

  I did laugh at that. Everyone did but the expert on what’s funny and what wasn’t, Paige. Then I realized she was flirting with Shorty and I laughed again.

  Our wine glasses were kept at the half way point with what seemed like mathematical precision on the part of the wait staff.

  Paige was first to put her hand over her glass. “I’m working a half day tomorrow.”

  “Where do you work?” Victoria, Tara, and I asked at the same time.

  “She works at Polytechnic Institute of New York University,” Al said.

  Problem was at the same time, she said, “I work for the state of Georgia.” We looked from one to the other waiting for somebody, anybody, to make this add up. “I’m the Cyberterrorism Liaison at Georgia Department for Natural Resources. I work for Poly but I’m on loan to DNR.”

  Me on the inside, “And you’re married to him?” Me on the outside, “Wow. That’s interesting.”

  “So you’re here in Atlanta temporarily?” Victoria took a break from her beloved Merlot to sip water.

  “Yes, we’re renting a house in Cumming.”

  “What did your father teach at Georgia Tech?” I reached for my wine glass, then thought better of it. I’d better wait until I had some food in me.

  “Internet security, and he did a good bit of consulting for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.”

  We stopped talking when a group of waiters surrounded our table, and simultaneously lowered our appetizers. Victoria leaned forward in her chair. “So CDC has gone from handling viruses that people contract to computer viruses?” Paul and Shorty, being doctors, were listening with both ears by this time.

  “With cyberterrorism, one can lead to another.” My husband’s fork stopped when Paige got to this part. “For example, if our water supply suffers a cyber attack, public health would certainly be compromised.”

  I could tell Jack was still listening, but he had leaned nearer to me. If he got any closer we’d be told to get a room. “Are you getting this?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.” I was listening but at the same time I was thinking about Thomas Chestnut repeating SCIF as he died. And Manager thinking he was cussing. He hadn’t been saying damn SCIF, he was saying Dam SCIF as in Buford Dam. I was thinking about Gwinnett County’s surface water supply coming from Lake Lanier and about the water intakes located in coves near the dam. Yeah, I was listening.

  Jack asked Paige, “Do you think Lake Lanier is adequately protected?”

  “I don’t think adequate is good enough. We don’t have the resources for the computing capacity we need. My, uh, our” with a glance at Paul, “father was arranging meetings for me with his contacts at the National Science Foundation to apply for grant money for a pilot project on computer intelligence to protect infrastructure.”

  Paige gave Jack a smile. “Are you familiar with NYU Poly?”

  “Oh, yes. They’ve made important contributions in electronic warfare. The Air Force and Navy are bigger customers than the Army. I’m Army.” The General was using his Army officer voice, impersonal and miles away.

  “Oh, then I bet you’re quite familiar with us.” Jack pretended he hadn’t heard her cooing and looked at his watch.

  Paul leaned in and put his elbows on the table, chin on his fist. Then Paige rearranged herself to do the same. Oh no, she wasn’t. Yes, she was. Mirroring was used as flirting back in the days when my hair smelled like Dippity-Do and my face like Noxzema. And there was another problem. Even though Paul and she had neither mother nor father in common, I’m sorry, flirting with him was just plain wrong.

  Paul had requested bottles of still and sparkling water and the waiter refilled my glass with the former. It was nice and cold. Me on the outside, “Mmm, ice water.” Me on the inside, “Like what’s running through Paige’s veins.” Her father was murdered and his body removed from the funeral home, and this is how she was acting? Why had she invited herself to come to dinner, in the first place?

  Hell, nothing ventured. “Did you insert the wetware chip into your father?”

  Before she could answer, Al jumped in. “Paige, what is this I’m eating?”

  She looked flustered so I answered him. “It’s a salad skewer with spinach, goat cheese, and blueberries.”

  Did Al know or care that the rest of the table had ignored him? Tiara Investigations had a whole lot to cover when we convened our next staff meeting.

  Tara stood up. “Anybody know where the ladies’ room is? Anyone want to join me?”

  Victoria and I stood and when we looked at Paige, she stood too. Off we went.

  I reapplied Coral Crush to my lips. “Was your father apprehensive about water security at Lake Lanier?”

  “He was concerned; actually it was more like an obsession, about security at Buford Dam.”

  Obsession? The word that came to my mind was paranoia, but, hey, who am I?

  I’m so used to snooping that I eavesdrop without meaning to most of the time I’m in public, but I wasn’t listening when we approached the table. I noticed my husband, Shorty, and Paul panicking, shaking their heads, looking at Al, then at us, unh-unh-ing. Basically, doing everything they could think of to shut him up.

  I heard Al say, “I’m telling you that girl can suck a tennis ball through a garden hose.”

  Well, that was awkward. The look on my face said I was repulsed and the expression on Jack’s changed to “I’ve never seen the guy before in my life.” He, Paul, and Shorty stood and a beat later, Al did too. Being Southern we pretended we didn’t hear what Al had said about his wife, assuming he was referring to her talents. Had Paige heard him? The agenda for that staff meeting was getting longer and longer. We had a lot to chew on.

  The next course was served and we tucked in. The conversation lightened up and I was glad of it.

  I dabbed the corner of my mouth. “Al, what kind of work do you do?”

  “I design and build secure rooms for the feds.”

  “SCIFs?” I asked. My husband’s reaction to my question was understated to say the least. He was too busy getting a reading on our new friends.

  “Which locations have you designed?” Jack asked. He performs these one-person informal background checks on anyone who is new to our circle.

  He needn’t have bothered. I didn’t intend to see either of them again after Thomas Chestnut’s funeral.

  “I worked on three at the Capitol and at a handful of military installations, domestic and abroad. The SCIFs at the Capitol were rooms, and the others were trailers.”

  Paige added, “The company has a facility in North Carolina where he goes to test any new design.”

  “Oh?” Jack tuned back in and addressed Al.

  “We check to be sure the walls can withstand a blast. And to be sure no signal is escaping.”

  Jack nodded.

  Then it was time for dessert. The waiters handed out engraved cards with our choices on the front side and the aperitifs were listed on the reverse.

  I leaned closer to Tara and Paul to have a quick moment of private conversation. “The funeral will be held tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Yes, at five o’clock,” Paul said. “We thought that time would be alright, since there’s no graveside service. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “I will be, but Jack flies out in the morning.”

  Paige turned to Jack. “
Where are you going?”

  “Business,” he mumbled.

  When we were about finished, there was some rearranging around the little stage. Two musicians tuned their guitars. “Good evening. I’m Mike and this is my wife, Marisa. I wrote this first song for her. It’s called ‘A Love Worth Waiting For.’”

  “This time we are dancing.” My husband stood and reached for my hand. I placed my napkin on my chair and we were off. Tara and Paul and Victoria and Shorty followed us to our two makeshift dance floors. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, so I burrowed into my husband’s neck.

  Here’s to a love worth waiting for,

  Here’s to a lane stretching out ahead,

  Here’s to a life of more and more,

  Here’s to us happily wed.

  When the song ended, we snaked though the other tables. Paul was first in line and stopped short. “Paige and Al are gone. Didn’t they know I was picking up the check?”

  I looked around the room to see just how gone they were. “Shake my tree, till I drop my peaches,” was all I could say. I saw my phone vibrating across the table and walked around Paul to answer it. “That was Kelly. Beatrice hasn’t made it home.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Continuation of statement by Leigh Reed. Before Paul could ring the doorbell at the Fords’ home in Cumming, Victoria reached around him and tried the knob. We had taken the war into the enemy’s country. First, Al had showed up at the restaurant late, and second, the couple had disappeared after dinner, without saying a word. We figured paying them a visit was as good a starting point as any. The door wasn’t locked so we walked into the modest house. I knew Paul and Shorty and my husband were giving each other looks, but that was too bad.