The Breakfast Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  “Looking for a roommate?” I asked.

  “Definitely. One or two in fact,” he said. “It’s not like what I do covers all the expenses. I’m just counting on the finishing bonus from my last job covering me for the month.”

  “Oh? What do you do for a living?” I asked.

  “I work in retail. I was transferred here from Logan’s Rest. See, they’ve got a new department store opening here soon, and I’m going to be on the team.” He puffed out his chest.

  “A department store? That’s a big move for this town.”

  “Big move for me too. Just glad I met Nelly to help me get by,” he said, but his expression grew dark. “I just hate seeing what’s going on with her.”

  “The murder?”

  He nodded, glumly. “And the way she lets people take advantage of her good nature.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s such a kind soul,” he said. “But she’s always willing to give, give, give when she should look after herself instead. She keeps helping that good for nothing brother of hers, even though he treats her like trash.”

  That was a strong way of putting it.

  “Just the other day,” he said, “I went over to visit her and found him there, lazing around on the sofa. He’d made a huge mess of the place and wouldn’t clean up after himself. Said the maid could get it. Worse than that, he’s pushing Nelly to sell. He wants his share of the money to go do whatever it is that men like him do. You seen what the guy wears?”

  I nodded.

  “All black, with that stringy hair. Excuse for a human if you ask me.”

  Now, that was a bit over the top.

  “But Nelly still wants to help him. Other day when I got there? This dude’s work vehicle had broken down, and he couldn’t go out and deliver pizzas because of it,” Donovan said. “I was the one who had to help him out. Trust me, the last thing I wanted to do was spend the rest of my night, that I planned on spending at dinner with my girlfriend, driving around in the car with that greaser.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, and glanced over my shoulder at the front of the house.

  Grizzy hadn’t emerged yet, but I needed an out. It was one thing to do some gossiping, but this dude was on a roll, and I had suddenly become his personal therapist.

  “Can’t believe I let him take advantage of me like that. It grinds my gears. Nelly’s all sweet and nice, but that’s not me. I don’t let people walk all over me.”

  That would explain the gun-buying.

  “And I don’t let people hurt the folks I care about,” he said.

  “Well, I’m sorry to—”

  “And when we were on our evening together, him stinking up the car with hair gel and that weird cologne he wears, and earrings! Earrings, for Pete’s sake. He was so unprofessional. At one point, he stopped at someone’s house just for a ‘chat.’ I had to threaten him to get him back in the car.”

  I perked up but tried not to make it obvious. “Oh yeah? Which house did you stop at?”

  “I don’t know the guy’s name. He was some tall guy with gray hair. They had an argument in the front yard that drew people out onto the street to stare and point.” Donovan shuddered at the humiliation.

  Tall and gray hair. Not exactly defining features, but could it have been Mr. Richard Huxley? “What were they arguing about?”

  “I tried not to overhear. Why should I care about what that greaseball does or says?” Donovan paused. “But I think it was to do with a girl. He mentioned ‘Janine’ several times, and every time he did, the tall guy got increasingly frustrated. Eventually, the idiot came back to the car and got in, and I had to take him back to the restaurant to get his next order.”

  So, definitely Mr. Huxley then. What were they arguing about? Huxley clearly didn’t want Grayson near his daughter. Or, perhaps, it had been more involved than that?

  The front door clapped behind me, and I nearly jumped. Grizzy had finally appeared, carrying her bag and Curly’s carrier. Black kitty paws peeked out of the gate and swatted at the air. Curly hated being in the carrier, even though it was state-of-the-art as cat carriers went.

  “There,” Grizzy called. “Ready.”

  I went over to help her with the bags, opting not to get myself scratched by raging Curly Fries.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked, nodding toward the fence.

  Donovan had already headed back inside. He’d had his cathartic moment and called it quits right after.

  “The new neighbor,” I said, and left it at that.

  I already had new information to digest. Huxley and Grayson knew each other. Was it possible Huxley wanted the Boggs boy to stay away from Janine out of fear for her life?

  14

  “Thanks for coming,” Nelly said, and opened the door of her grand mansion for us. She wore her same old cardigan and glasses, but her hair had been done up on top of her head. It was a giant, leaning tower of curls.

  “You look lovely,” Grizzy said.

  I held back my opinion. Nelly was a sweetheart, but the curls didn’t do her justice. Also, they made her look ready to topple over.

  “Thank you.” Nelly stepped back, and we entered, our footsteps echoing in the vast entry hall. “You know, I’ve just been so upset about what happened, Christie. We’re friends, and I think I overreacted the last time we spoke.”

  I paused. “Nelly, I understand why you were upset.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. There’s no need to apologize or anything like that. I think we should just put it behind us. Water under the bridge?”

  “Sure,” I replied, though I wouldn’t be putting my suspicions behind us, under the bridge or anywhere else. “You mentioned being afraid?”

  “Yes.” Nelly shut the door and latched it, hastily. “I don’t know what it is, but I keep hearing noises in the house, and I know that Grayson isn’t here. Neither are Milly and Roger.”

  “And they are?” I asked, as we carried the foil covered lasagna tray and bowl of homemade salad through to the kitchen.

  “Oh, the maid and the butler. There are some other staff members too, but I haven’t officially met them yet. And they don’t usually sleep in the servant’s quarters on the premises.”

  “So, no one’s home,” I said, looking around the massive kitchen. It glistened, with white marble countertops and a silver overhang above the kitchen island, bearing pots and pans. The windows gave a view of the vast back yard, a path wandering through it flanked by glowing garden lights.

  “No one.”

  “Does anyone have a key, Nelly?” Griz asked, and set down the lasagna. She peeled the foil back, and the delicious smells I’d been treated to earlier drifted up again.

  “Well, yes. Grayson has a key and has had since my mom bought the place. So have I. She said that we should be able to come see her and talk to her whenever we like. And he does, technically, own half the place, but he doesn’t sleep here that often. His room’s upstairs and it’s empty.”

  I took in the information.

  “Plates?” Grizzy prompted.

  Nelly pointed out the relevant cupboards, and we set about preparing ourselves for the meal. The plates were laid, the lasagna reheated, the salad dished up. Finally, we were all seated around the small kitchen table off to one side. It was better than having to shout across the table in the dining hall, at least.

  “Oh wow, this is delicious Grizzy,” Nelly said, as she ate a bite. “You have a real talent for cooking.”

  “I have a question, Nelly.” It had been brewing for quite some time. “Sorry.” That was for Grizzy, who had been about to thank our friend for the compliment. “Where were you keeping your gun before Martha was murdered?”

  Nelly had been in the process of chewing a bite of lasagna, but choked on it, now. She grabbed her glass of water and drank some. “Sorry.” She coughed. “What was the question?”

  I repeated it.

  “Oh, I kept it here at the mansion. It was brand new.
I’d never even practiced with it at the shooting range or anything. When my mom heard that Donny had bought me a gun for my protection, she suggested I keep it here.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Oh, because I didn’t have a gun safe at my apartment, and she had one here. It’s upstairs in the master bedroom.”

  “Which is where?” I asked. “In relation to the crime scene, I mean.”

  Nelly pressed her lips together and released them slowly. “Well, it’s right down the hall, actually. Two doors down.”

  Now, that was interesting. So the murder weapon hadn’t been brought to the scene, at all. It had been here, right for the taking. And that meant that the murder had to have known where it was. Or that Martha might’ve had it on her person when the murderer had first entered the house.

  I had no idea whether Martha’s fingerprints had been on the gun or not, though. That would have at least given me some idea as to the proceedings. Just how many people had handled that gun? Nelly hadn’t been arrested—did that mean her fingerprints hadn’t been on the weapon? Perhaps, it had been wiped down?

  Heavens, it was frustrating trying to figure this out.

  “Are you all right, Chris?” Grizzy asked, as she speared a tomato slice on the end of her fork.

  “Hmm? Yeah, fine. Nelly, did anyone else know the codes to the safe, apart from you and your mother?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you don’t know for sure?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t know if my mom told the numbers to anyone else,” Nelly said. “She might have, I just can’t say 100%.”

  Which meant there was a possibility, however sparse, that Grayson had had access to the gun. Or, perhaps, one of Grayson’s friends. The more I thought about it, the more suspicious he became. He’d fought with Nelly, he’d had clear motivation to murder his mother as he had clearly been down on his luck, working in the pizzeria.

  The meal continued, and Grizzy engaged Nelly in idle chatter. My mind picked over the pieces, even as I shoveled a second helping of lasagna down my gullet. It was that good, and I was past being lady-like.

  I needed to fuel my brain so I could work this out, once and for all.

  The plates were cleared away, and we retired to the downstairs living room with coffees and a box of chocolates Nelly had bought for the evening. “They’re Belgian,” she said.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said,. The last bit of chocolate she’d given me had literally left a bad taste in my mouth. I sipped my coffee and sat on the sofa, peering around at the grand decorations, the chandelier in the center of the room, the rich wood paneled walls and the maroon carpeting.

  Nelly took a seat by the fireplace, though it was empty, now. “This is much better. Thank you so much for coming, ladies. The house is all quiet now that you’re here. I’ll admit, it’s such a big place that it does creep me out a little. I’ve gone from living in a tiny one bedroom apartment over the florist’s to staying in a mansion that I get lost in. Not that I’m complaining or anything, it’s just … a bit big.”

  “I understand,” Grizzy said, and sat across from her. “It must be difficult to adapt.”

  “How often does Grayson stay here?” I asked, and the women turned toward me, raising their eyebrows. I was so not good at small talk or at transitioning from one topic to the other.

  “Oh, he comes and goes. Maybe once every two days?”

  “Does he have an apartment in town?” I asked. “That he stays at when he’s not here?”

  “Not that I know of,” Nelly replied. “But, well, I’m not exactly talking to Grayson at the moment, so I wouldn’t know. I did hear through the grapevine that he left his job at the pizzeria. He’s telling everyone how big he’s made it because of the will.” She pulled a face. “I didn’t know my mother very well, but at least I didn’t celebrate her death. It’s horrible.”

  “Oh, Nelly, I wish we could help you get—”

  “And where was he staying after your mother had bought the mansion?” I asked, offering Grizzy a quick and silent ‘sorry’ for my interruption. This was important. I might’ve been onto something.

  “He stayed here, of course. In the house with my mother.” Nelly shrugged. “She’s been supporting him ever since he lost his job back in Washington.”

  “Interesting,” I said, tapping my bottom lip.

  A crash rang out from the kitchen, and we all jumped in our seats.

  “What was that?” Grizzy asked.

  “See what I mean? I keep hearing these noises. What if there’s someone else here?” Nelly whispered.

  “Then we’ll confront them,” I said, and rose from my seat.

  15

  A second bang came from the hall, and I set off moving toward the doorway, forcing myself to remain calm. Likely, it was nothing but a window banging in the wind. Except, there wasn’t so much as a breeze tonight.

  “Chris, wait.” Grizzy hurried up next to me and grasped my forearm. “Shouldn’t we call the police? What if it’s … you know.”

  “It might be nothing,” I said. “It’s better to check first before we worry the police.”

  “I don’t know.” But Griz let go of my arm.

  “You guys stay here.”

  Nelly hadn’t moved from her chair—she’d gone white as a ghost and trembled on the spot, her eyes round. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

  I exited into the hallway, the light from the kitchen spilling out across the floor further along. The entrance was nearer the staircase that led up to the second floor. Nothing moved, as far as I could make out, no shadows shifting along the walls to indicate an intruder.

  Grizzy appeared behind me, her jaw set. “I’m not staying behind.”

  “Nelly needs your help. She looks ready to throw up.”

  “Well, she’s go about twenty maids to clean it if that does happen, so no. I’m not staying. I’m coming with you. Besides, you’ll need my help even more if there is an intruder.”

  I appreciated the gesture, but having Grizzy with me would only worry me more. She wasn’t trained to handle high pressure situations, unless they involved burgers and Mona’s constant complaining. “It would be better if you stayed back, Griz.”

  “We’re not going to argue about this. I’m coming with you.”

  I grunted—there was nothing else I could do—and kept on the path down the hall toward the kitchen. The closer I got, the more I tensed, but I brought my shoulders down, eased my muscles, just in case there was someone inside, waiting to pounce.

  Grizzy gulped.

  I turned the corner into the kitchen, checking left and right first. The lights were on, and our dishes had been placed on the counters, neatly stacked, as we’d left them. The room was empty, the tiles glistening, the countertops with their marble-white sheen. But the back door, which led out into the vast rolling grounds and down to the pool house, was open.

  I frowned, coming forward.

  “Careful,” Grizzy whispered.

  I reached the door. It was undamaged, and the short path outside was empty as well. No broken glass or mysterious stranger waiting in the darkness. “Weird,” I muttered, and shut the door. I latched it this time—couldn’t be sure if it had been unlocked before—and turned to Grizzy. “Looks like the coast is—”

  Footsteps thumped overhead.

  “I don’t think that’s Nelly,” Grizzy whispered.

  We tiptoed to the kitchen doorway.

  Nelly stood outside the downstairs living room, shaking and gripping her arms to herself.

  Yeah, it definitely wasn’t her. The thumping continued, followed by a muffled yelp.

  “What on earth?” This wasn’t typical intruder behavior. The idea was to be quiet as possible to achieve one’s aims. Maybe it was Grayson, who’d come home to sleep in his bedroom. That would make sense but for the yelping and bumping.

  “Stay here,” I said, putting out my hands to both of them. “Call the cops.”

 
; “Christie.”

  But I was already off up the stairs. I reached the landing, turned, and continued down the hall toward the source of the noise. Except it was quiet, now. I checked each room as I went, turning on the lights and finding them empty. The upstairs living room, the study, and then…

  I stopped in front of the shut door to the guestroom—I assumed this had to be Grayson’s bedroom according to Nelly—and hesitated. I pressed my ear to the door, listening.

  A click rang out, and I jerked back. There was definitely someone in there. Could it be Grayson? But what would he have been yelling and thumping around for? If it was him, this would be my perfect opportunity to talk to the guy. He was my main suspect, and I hadn’t yet spoken to him about the murder or his arrival in Sleepy Creek.

  Come on, Christie. You know what to do.

  I placed my palm to the doorknob and turned it. The door creaked open.

  My jaw dropped.

  Not again. No way.

  The room was filled with the usual trappings of a young man’s life. A desk in the corner, posters on the walls depicting bands I didn’t care to identify, and a bed in one corner, the sheets rumpled and the pillow creased. The cupboards were open, clothes spilling out, and there were empty cups and an overturned ashtray beneath the open window opposite, curtains hanging white and still.

  What didn’t fit, however, was the dead body on the floor.

  Grayson Boggs, lying face down. He’d been stabbed with what looked like an ornate letter-opener. In one hand, he grasped a golden hoop earring.

  I took a breath, walked over to him, careful not to ruin any evidence, bent and pressed my fingers to his throat. No pulse.

  “No!” Grizzy cried from the doorway. “Oh no, not again.”

  I backed away from Grayson’s body and exited into the hall, trying to keep an eye on every part of the house at once, the open window—my suspicion was that the killer had escaped through it—as well as the other rooms, some of their doorways in darkness.

  “This is terrible.” Grizzy shook her head.