by Laurel Dewey
“She’d always say, ‘Oh, darling . . .’ She loves to call people ‘darling.’” Even though Laura appeared well mannered and sweet, Jane heard that familiar cattiness that creeps out when women of all ages speak badly about other women. But it always sounded somewhat immature for a woman of Laura’s age. The cattiness resurrected as Laura adopted her version of what Carolyn sounded like. “’Oh, darling, don’t you worry one wit! I’ll have your money back to you as promised very soon. And we’ll all be celebrating and be so rich!’ She was just stringing them along. She was disingenuous to a fault.” Laura bowed her head sadly.
“Are you positive that’s what she said?”
Laura looked a little irritated at Jane for the first time. “Yes. That was her standard response to them all the time! So rehearsed, it seemed.”
“That must have made you feel uncomfortable?”
“Very much so, Detective,” Laura said with emphasis. “I tried to . . . gently . . . get through to her that she needed to pay these people back.”
“Gently?”
“You couldn’t be presumptuous with Carolyn. I’ve known her long enough to understand how she operates.”
“And her response to you was—?”
“’It’ll be taken care of, Laura!’ End of story after that.”
“So, what do you think? What did she do with these people’s money?”
“Look around this house, sweetheart. Do you see suffering ? Do you see poverty?”
Jane considered how much Carolyn probably suffered last night as she gasped for air and possibly stared into the eyes of her assailant seated in that single chair as she died. Suffering. Yes, that was part and parcel of the vibe behind this one, Jane mused. Look at what you have and what I don’t have, she figured the perp might have thought.
“How many people invested with her?”
Laura looked at Jane, seemingly frozen once again.
“Are you all right?” Jane asked her.
“Yes. Just tired.”
“Do you know how many people may have invested with her and gotten involved in her scam?”
“Oh, golly. I don’t know, dear.” Laura fidgeted with the sleeve of her pink dress.
“You said they called when you were visiting.”
“Yes. Right. I think it was about three.”
“Three?”
Laura appeared agitated as if she’d said too much. She let out a sigh. “I think so. Those are lovely cowboy boots you’re wearing. Where’d you get them?”
Jane’s boots were old, scruffy and far from “lovely.” This was the worst attempt at changing the subject she’d seen in years. It was time to vary the line of questioning. Jane glanced over to a framed photo on a nearby table. It was a picture of Carolyn standing in front of an enormous floral display of Oriental “Stargazer” lilies, like the ones Jane saw downstairs. In the photo, Carolyn looked vibrant and quite attractive for a woman in her early sixties. The decomposing body behind Jane belied the beautiful woman in that snapshot. “She liked Stargazers, eh?” Jane asked, motioning toward the picture.
“Yes. They were her favorite flower. No matter the cost, she liked to have them in her home year ‘round.” The cattiness reignited.
“It looks like she took care of herself.”
“Oh, Carolyn always made sure to take care of herself.”
“She believed in ‘me first,’ huh?”
“Oh, yes.” Laura’s eyes rolled. “Always has, ever since we were kids. I’ve known Carolyn since we were six years old.”
Laura almost sounded six years old when she said that. Jane had to take a moment to figure out how she was going to tactfully express the next sentence. “You’re the same age?”
“Yes. Well, I’m actually three months younger,” Laura said with a proud twinkle in her eyes.
Good God Almighty, Jane thought. She’d pegged Laura at around early seventies when she walked in the room. What kind of hard living had Laura endured to make her look that haggard?
“I saved her life once,” Laura offered with a kind of giddiness to her voice, tapping Jane’s knee lightly with her hand. “We were on the playground and she had her book bag strapped to her back and secured in front of her with another strap. We were playing on the slide. Carolyn always wanted to show off to the boys, even at a young age. Such a flirt! She was fooling around on the slide at the top and slipped. Her strap got caught around her neck and she hung over the slide, choking. None of the boys she was showing off to moved an inch.”
Jane pictured the freakish visual. “What’d you do?”
“I ran up the slide from the bottom and released the hook on the strap which freed her.” Laura appeared to be back in time. “She fell to the ground and hurt her knee but she was alive, thanks to me!” She looked at Jane. “Carolyn got lots of attention from the boys with that scuffed knee.”
Again, with the catty commentary. This is why Jane didn’t like women in general. Even though she was a card-carrying member of the female persuasion, she hated the bitchy banter and backstabbing that women did to each other. It was even worse when it was shrouded in a sweet sandwich of “friendship,” since the claws seemed to scratch with more impunity.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Abernathy—”
“Oh, sweetie, call me Laura,” she said softly touching Jane’s hand, “All my friends do.”
Right. And I’m your new best friend, Jane mused. Jane deduced that this was how the trap was set between all women—cradle you in the disingenuous arms of familiarity and then hover until you become vulnerable. That is followed by the inevitable pounce and scratching of eyes. Jane tapped Laura’s hand. “Okay, Laura. Why were you and Carolyn friends?”
Laura gave Jane’s question adequate reflection. “She needed me,” Laura declared. “I was there in her life all these years so she could see manifested before her humility and grace ... and gratitude. You have to have an attitude of gratitude, don’t you know?”
Oh, shit, Jane thought as she forced a weary smile. She despised trite treacle like that. If this conversation continued in this vein, Jane would need an attitude of fortitude to get through it. “So, Carolyn called you last night and asked you to come over here, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What time did she call you?”
Laura sighed. The questions were starting to get to her. “Seven-ish. Right before my program was to start.”
“Well, you’re lucky you had that show. It appears that Carolyn died around 8:30. You could have been here when this went down.”
Her eyes fixated on Jane. “Dear God ...”
“That’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Quite ironic, Detective.”
“Tell me a little about your conversation with Carolyn.”
“Oh, we didn’t talk. When I saw it was Carolyn calling on my little caller ID thingy, I didn’t pick up. I wanted to see my program. I figured I’d just come over here this morning.”
“I see. So, there wasn’t urgency in Carolyn’s voice-mail message?”
She thought about the question, seemingly detached. “Yes, there was. Quite a lot of urgency actually.”
“But she didn’t tell you why she needed to talk to you?”
Laura’s eyes skirted the carpet as if she were memorizing the pattern in the nap. “No.”
“Is there any way I can come to your house and hear Carolyn’s message?”
“Oh, I erased it, dear. I erase all my messages the minute they come in. But it was a very simple message. She said, ‘I need you to come over here a.s.a.p.’ She liked to say ‘a.s.a.p.’ a lot.”
Jane knew the next question was probably pointless, but she went for it anyway. “Did you hear any other voices or sounds on the recording?”
“Voices? No. Why would I hear voices on her recording ? Oh, dear. I probably shouldn’t have erased it, should I? I’m sorry. But, you know, I wasn’t about to jump to attention with her like I usually do. I wanted to see my pr
ogram.”
Jump to attention. Interesting choice of words. “Right. Your program.”
“It was on the Family Channel. Do you watch that channel, Detective?”
Jane looked at the sweet, cherubic face of Mrs. Abernathy and wondered why in the fuck she would think that someone like Jane watched the Family Channel. “Not recently,” Jane replied.
“Oh, you should! It’s so uplifting to the spirit! This particular show was ‘Sharing of the Heart.’ It was all about people traveling the world finding what needs to be fixed or changed and making it happen! Very inspirational.”
Jesus Christ, Jane thought. Her oldest friend in the world is stiff as a board on a bed not twenty feet away and she’s yammering on about The Family Channel and people fixing the problems in this world. “Inspirational.”
“’Be the change you want to see in this world.’” Laura said with a soft smile, echoing a quote from Gandhi.
Be the fucking change, Jane mused. She needed to quickly change the subject before Laura tried to sign her up for a peace march. “So you came by this morning?”
“Yes,” Laura replied, her face shadowing with sadness.
“How did you get in the house?”
“I have a key. When Carolyn goes away, I come over and water her plants and pick up her mail. Sometimes I dust.”
Sometimes I dust? Jesus! The relationship was now clearly defined for Jane. Laura was Carolyn’s dependable doormat. “And you saw nothing out of place?”
“No. Nothing.” She leaned to the side to catch another glimpse of Carolyn’s dead body. “Until I got . . .up here ...”
Jane moved her chair once again to block Laura’s view. “Was the alarm set?”
Laura settled back in her chair, fatigue beginning to show. “Excuse me?”
“The security system? Was it set?”
“Yes. I know the code. I have one minute from the time I enter to get to the keypad and punch in the five numbers that disable it. Same thing in reverse when I leave. Punch in the code and I have one minute to leave.”
“What are those numbers?” Jane asked.
“I can’t remember. It’s based on a word. That’s how Carolyn set it up.”
“And what’s that word, Laura?”
She seemed embarrassed as she leaned forward and quietly revealed the answer. “M-O-N-E-Y.”
The rest of the interview, Laura fretted that someone needed to contact Carolyn’s only next of kin—her forty-year-old nephew, Joe Harvey—who was out of town in California “talking to a charity.” Jane found his phone number in Carolyn’s Rolodex and made the call. It was another facet of her job that she didn’t excel in. But what was unusual about her quick chat with Joe Harvey was that she got the impression Carolyn’s nephew wasn’t surprised by the news. “I’m in California on business, but I’ll get a plane out today,” he told her, sounding rather inconvenienced by his aunt’s murder.
Laura was fingerprinted to exclude any prints of hers in the house. She seemed to like the attention she was getting from one of the cops. After her prints were taken, she asked the “nice policeman” who had patiently stood by her side to please take her home. Another cop would follow behind in Laura’s old car. Jane thought how Laura looked like a playful pixie as she exited the room, her arm hooked under the “nice policeman’s” elbow.
Jane sidled up to Weyler who was talking quietly with a crime scene tech. “Where are the security tapes?”
“They’re working on that downstairs,” Weyler replied. Jane stared at Carolyn as a tech took close-up shots of the urine stain and feces next to her body. How far can a person fall to end up like this—having their piss and shit photographed? Fucking humiliating, Jane thought.
But that was all part of this ritualistic murder scene. Humiliation. Revenge. Shock. Suffering. Karma. People may not remember how you live, but they sure as hell remember how you died if your death was graphic. She turned to Weyler. “Have them copy as much as possible from the tapes that goes beyond last night. I want to see if she’s had any visitors.”
Jane wrapped up what she could in the bedroom and walked downstairs. She needed a smoke badly. But before she exited the house, she ducked into a small alcove just off the entryway by the table that displayed the odoriferous lilies. One of the techno wizards from DH was reviewing the tapes. “Nothing so far,” he offered Jane with a shake of his head. She was about to head out when she noticed a small digital clock on the security panel that housed the two video screens. It displayed 2:00 AM. Jane checked her cell phone. It was 9:30 AM.
“Shouldn’t this be the current time?” Jane asked.
The techie agreed, suggesting that there might have been a power glitch since the video he viewed so far showed the correct marker time on the screen. “Once the power goes back on, this clock is set up to start back at 12:00 until it’s manually reset.”
Jane meandered into the large, chic kitchen and checked the digital time on the stylish oven. It read the current time. Searching further in the house, Jane found another digital clock on a table in dining area. Again, there was the current time. The S.O.S. Security System seemed to be the only unit in the house that had a timing glitch. How convenient.
CHAPTER 3
Jane knew it would take at least a couple days before the Medical Examiner would determine Carolyn’s C.O.D. and what was in her system at the time of death. But Jane wasn’t about to wait for the M.E.’s report. She needed the names of the investors Carolyn had seemingly conned and the person who might be able to enlighten her was Joe Harvey. After talking to him again on her cell that day, they arranged to meet at his office the next morning.
Harvey owned a downtown Denver consulting firm in a two-story building that incorporated the industrial design that was so popular lately. To Jane, the steel columns and grey-themed palette reminded her of a prison complex. But when she was greeted by the soft splash of water emitting from the indoor koi pond in the lobby and later by the hiss of a handsome cappuccino machine, the prison motif was quickly eradicated. Across the walls of the lobby were more than two-dozen plaques and embossed commendations to Harvey, all pertaining to charitable groups he either directly helped or aided through people who consulted with him. The groups ranged from Veterans associations and hospitals to Habitat for Humanity building programs. Above the plaques were the words BRINGING PEOPLE IN NEED TOGETHER in block letters. Carolyn’s only next of kin looked like the ultimate networking kingpin.
Harvey greeted Jane in a rushed manner and led her back to his small office. He was all business and seemed like a man with far too much on his plate, mumbling about how he was waiting for a conference call and he hadn’t had much sleep. She sat down and offered her usual line to open up the communication.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Harvey.”
“Call me Joe. And don’t be sorry.” That was the second time Jane’s rote statement had been summarily shunned. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude or insensitive but my aunt was a despicable human being.” He sat down, fuming under the surface. “She lived like a queen off the sweat of her four, wealthy ex-husbands. Going without was not something Aunt Carolyn was into. She never gave a dime to help another human being, no matter how desperate they were. Entitlement was her goddamn birthright. She expected everyone to do for her, but she wouldn’t do for them! So, excuse me, but her death is no loss to me.”
“In other words, you crossed her off your Christmas card list?”
Joe was taken aback by Jane’s acerbic retort. “Yes. Very much so.”
Jane quickly sized up Joe. He was a tightly wound, intense, no nonsense guy who found his redemption in helping other people. You don’t sport the theme-statement, BRINGING PEOPLE IN NEED TOGETHER, in your lobby for shits and grins. But he also had no sense of humor, Jane surmised. His intensity of purpose prevented wit from shading his life. It was a common side effect she’d noticed of those who dedicated their life to service. It was as though they believed laughter would take away from th
e seriousness of their endeavors. “So, let’s cut to the chase, Joe. Do you know who killed your aunt?”
Joe shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure a lot of people would want to bump her off !”
“Right. People she owed money to. Do you have those names?”
Joe turned his head to the left and let out a sigh. He absentmindedly fiddled with a red envelope on his cluttered desk. “I have no idea.”
Laura Abernathy seemed to have a better bead on Carolyn’s unpaid investors than her nephew. “Laura Abernathy said there were three individuals. All in for fifty thousand?”
He looked at Jane somewhat surprised, tension lacing his lips. “Is that right? Three? Fifty thousand?” He leaned back. “Well, I guess my aunt disclosed more to her—”
“Have you and Mrs. Abernathy talked?”
“No. I saw her briefly at Aunt Carolyn’s house a couple months ago—”
“She got a voicemail from your aunt the night before the murder. Laura said Carolyn’s voice sounded ‘urgent.’ You have any idea what that might be about?”
He tapped his pencil against the desk. “Knowing my Aunt Carolyn, it could be anything from a stubbed toe to a dripping faucet.”
“Which one did you usually respond to?”
Joe looked at Jane, slightly appalled. “Her faucet had to be busted before I’d show up. I learned my lesson well, Detective. That woman never figured out that the world didn’t exist for her amusement or needs!”
“I need the investors’ names. Based on the way your aunt was found, it looks like an unhappy investor was involved in her demise.”
Joe pinched the skin between his nostrils. “Yeah, yeah. I heard.” He looked like he was trying to shake the image from his head. “Graphic, wasn’t it?”
Jane watched him closely. “So, Joe. Do you have those names?”
As if on cue, Joe turned his head again to the left, exactly as he had done when Jane asked him the same question not thirty seconds before. And then, like clockwork, he touched the same red envelope on his desk. Tells. The body gives us all away with those physical and sometimes verbal tells. Jane casually glanced to the wall where Joe’s attention seemed to be leaning. There were four photos. Two photos featured grade-school children. Another showed Joe shaking hands with a road-ravaged Vietnam Vet and, in the other, a thin gentleman in his fifties who was on crutches.
