“You’re overreacting, David. Surely—”
His voice rose to a frantic pitch. “I threatened to kill the guy, Della. This whole town thinks I have an anger management issue. And to top it all off, Jeremy and I almost came to blows last night, and not twenty-four hours later, he’s dead.”
“Hold on. Jeremy was a swindler. He stole money from half the people in town. Trust me, you’re not the only person around here who had a reason to dislike the man.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He sounded only mildly reassured.
“The person you should talk to is Matthew. He knows how the police work. Maybe he can give you some advice.”
There was a long pause. “Is he there?”
“No. But wherever he is, he shouldn’t be long. Why don’t you come over?”
“If you don’t mind. I could use his advice.”
“Come on over. Just let yourself in. I’ll be in the kitchen.” I hung up, hobbled over to the front door and unlatched it.
I hopped around on one foot, making a fresh pot of coffee—perhaps not such a good idea for someone who was already shaky. A moment later there was a knock at the door, followed by the sound of it opening and closing. Jenny appeared, carrying a quart of milk.
“You’re just in time for coffee,” I said. “Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup?”
“I’d like to, but I really have to get back to the shop,” she said, tapping her wristwatch. “I’m already late.”
“You had to leave work to pick me up? You should have told me. I would have taken a cab.”
“Don’t worry. Franny was back from her appointment, and I was just about to go on break.” She turned to leave, but paused in the doorway and pointed to my forehead. “You really should ice that bruise.”
I picked up the bag from the counter, where I’d left it. “Already am.”
Jenny had no sooner left than David arrived. He opened the door and called out, “Hello-o.”
“I’m in the kitchen.”
Footsteps approached and a moment later he appeared. “You’re looking a bit green around the gills,” I said, in a weak attempt at humor. “It clashes with your burgundy bruises.”
“I know. I know. But you don’t look so great either.”
“Gee, thanks. You sure are a charmer when it comes to compliments.” He chuckled. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?” I held up my makeshift ice pack. “Frozen peas?”
“Thanks, but it’s too late for that,” he said. “Ice packs only work within the first few hours. But I sure could use a cup of coffee.”
“I just made a fresh pot.” I pointed to the crutches leaning against the wall. “You’ll have to help yourself, if you don’t mind.”
He stared at the crutches, and then bent down to peek under the table. “Damn. You really did hurt yourself. It’s not broken, is it?”
“No, just sprained. I think I also bruised some ribs in that tumble. It hurts like hell when I breathe too deeply.”
He rummaged around the cupboard and returned holding a mug. “Can I get you a cup too?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
He poured and carried the cups to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat, staring glumly into space.
I hated to see him so worried. “Hey. Right now, the police haven’t even started investigating. They’re probably still combing the murder scene. Matthew will tell you the same thing, trust me.” Somehow that didn’t seem to make him feel much better. I groped for something to cheer him up. “By the way”—the words spilled out—“I think I’ll make an offer on that building.”
I stopped. Why had I just said that, knowing that finding the body had put a damper on my earlier decision? Did I still want to live somewhere, knowing a murder had occurred there? I looked at David, wondering if maybe I should tell him that actually I still hadn’t quite made up my mind.
“That’s nice,” he replied vaguely, not having heard a word I’d just said. With his elbows on the table, he dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. If I was a cop, I’d suspect me too.” He groaned. “If it wasn’t for bad luck lately, I’d have no luck at all.” He sat there, looking miserable. I put down my ice pack and placed a sympathetic hand on his.
Suddenly, from behind me, I heard, “Oh, uh, sorry.” I turned in my seat in time to see Matthew leaving. From where he stood, he probably thought David and I—
“Matthew,” I called out. “Don’t go.” He spun around and his eyes stopped on David’s face. “Jesus, man, what the hell happened to you?” He didn’t even glance my way, never mind noticing the bump on my forehead, or the crutches leaning against the wall.
David gave a pained smile. “I wish I could tell you I creamed the other guy.” Then he retold his story, but didn’t mention anything about finding Jeremy’s body. I opened my mouth to say something, and then closed it again.
Matthew came closer, scowling. “Oh, man. You look awful. Do you have any idea who did this to you?”
“None.” He shook his head and grimaced, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Hell. Every little move hurts.”
“Would you like me to get you some Advil?” I offered. I could use a few myself at this point.
“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving. You should have something to eat too,” I said. “It’s nearly eleven and I bet you haven’t had anything to eat since last night, have you?” Without waiting for an answer, I struggled to my feet and reached for my crutches.
Matthew’s eyes widened. “What happened to you?”
“I decided to roll instead of walk down some stairs.” I shuffled to the refrigerator.
“You sit,” said Matthew. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
“I’d love a sandwich, if you don’t mind. I have some cheese and lettuce in the fridge, and some tomatoes on the window ledge,” I said, shuffling back to my seat. “But first, can you get me some Advil? It’s on top of the fridge.”
“Would you like a sandwich too, David?” he asked.
“That’d be great.”
Matthew picked up the loaf of bread and dropped two slices in the toaster. He turned to David. “I bet the last thing you had was a few drinks too many. Am I right?”
“Well, I did have a few bourbons. And you’re right—a few too many.” At last he brought the conversation around to the events. “Something else happened this morning that I should tell you about.”
“Er, actually, Matthew, I hope you don’t mind, but it was my suggestion that David come and talk to you. You might be able to give him some advice.”
“Talk to me about what?” Matthew glanced from him to me and back again.
David told him about finding Jeremy Fox’s body, concluding with, “And now the police think I killed him.”
“Much as I believe you had nothing to do with it, what do you think I can do?”
Misery washed over David’s face again. “You’ve helped the police on a lot of cases. I was hoping you might have some advice.”
Matthew looked thoughtful. “Why don’t we have a bite first? Meanwhile, I’ll give it some thought.” He set the platter of sandwiches on the table, throwing me a reproachful look. The message was clear. I should have minded my own business. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Got any bourbon?” David asked. His attempt at grinning succeeded in a lopsided grimace. “Just joking—I’ll have a glass of water.”
Matthew set it in front of him. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He plopped into a chair. He picked up a sandwich and glanced at me at last. “Now tell me about you. How did you manage to fall down the stairs?”
“Well, my story isn’t nearly as dramatic as David’s. Nobody hit me over the head. I was just in a bit of a rush to
get out of the building, and I took a tumble.”
“You were wearing those elevator shoes of yours, weren’t you?”
I smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
“Jesus, kiddo, you could have really hurt yourself.”
“Trust me, I have plenty of bruises to drive the point home.”
Matthew turned back to David. “Why don’t you tell me again exactly what happened? I want all the details.”
David set his sandwich down and shrugged, saying, “It must have been, what, seven thirty?” He looked at me for confirmation.
“That’s right.” I nodded at Matthew. “You were here. That’s when I came in, remember?”
“After I dropped Della off, I went straight to Bottoms Up,” David continued, naming the local restaurant and bar.
Matthew wrinkled his forehead. “That’s where I picked up the Japanese food last night. I didn’t see you when I was there.”
David shrugged, but I couldn’t help noticing the flush that appeared on his face. “I was probably in the washroom. By the time I headed home, I’d had about half a dozen drinks, so I left my car there and walked back to my place, around, er, eleven, I think.” He avoided Matthew’s eyes as he said this, just as he had Mike’s, earlier. Was it my imagination, or was David hiding something? Or maybe, after so many drinks, he simply wasn’t sure of the facts. God knows, if I’d consumed anywhere near the amount of alcohol he had, I wouldn’t even recall my own name.
He said, “The last thing I remember is turning onto the walk to my front door. I heard some rustling in the bushes, but before I could see who it was—wham!—something hit me in the back of the head. Next thing I knew, it was daylight, and I was lying on the sidewalk, feeling like Rocky after the fight. I went inside, called a cab, and went straight to the hospital. And that’s where I was—under observation in the ER—until I met up with Della.”
Matthew crossed his arms. “I hate to say this, but knowing the police, they can just claim you caused those injuries yourself, hoping to create an alibi. Will the doctor who treated you confirm you were attacked?”
“Hell, if the cops want proof, all they have to do is feel the back of my head. Go ahead. Feel it. I’ve got a lump the size of an egg.”
Matthew pushed back his chair and walked around to David.
“Right here,” said David, guiding his hand.
Matthew’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not joking. You must have been hit pretty hard to get a bump like that.”
“That’s why they kept me under observation so long—in case I had a concussion.”
I cleared my throat. “I think we all might be worrying for nothing. It isn’t as if Jeremy didn’t have a lot of enemies in town.” I looked at Matthew. “You told me yourself that Jeremy swindled dozens of people. I imagine a few of them might have liked to see him dead.”
David helped himself to another sandwich from the platter. “Until I saw him lying there, I was sure he was the one who clobbered me. I can’t think of anyone else who would want to hurt me.”
Matthew was pouring me a second cup of coffee when the thought flashed through my mind. “You both know what we should do?” They looked at me. “Investigate this murder ourselves.” There was a stunned silence.
Matthew found his voice first. “That is ridiculous.”
I shook my head. “No, think about it. The police already suspect David. They won’t look any further. What I can’t figure out is why anybody would attack David.” I turned to him. “You don’t have any enemies, do you?”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Haven’t you heard? I knocked him off.”
“Not funny.” I smiled crookedly. “I think we should start by making a list of all the people with reason to hate Jeremy Fox.”
They looked at me as if I had just sprouted an extra head.
“What?” I crossed my arms. “Why is it that men never want to consider a woman’s opinion? You give as much credence to our sixth sense as you do to Bigfoot and flying saucers—” I stopped, shocked. Holy crap, I had just expressed belief in women’s sixth sense. I was turning into Jenny.
They looked at each other.
“You think I’m a little crazy, don’t you?” I asked Matthew.
There was a long pause before he shook his head. “No.”
“You had to think about it?” I blurted, offended.
“Hey, you said a little crazy.”
David and Matthew laughed.
“Not funny,” I said, struggling to keep the corners of my mouth from twitching. But a second later I was laughing along with them. “Ouch, ouch! Don’t make me laugh. It hurts!” I winced, holding my ribs, which only made them laugh all the harder.
When the laughter quieted down, we returned to our sandwiches, and Matthew said, “Let’s forget this nonsense about playing detective.” He turned to David. “By the way, Della wants to put an offer on that building you showed her yesterday.”
Matthew outlined his idea of making an offer for a lease-to-own, and David nodded cautiously, rubbing the back of his head again—poor guy.
“How about I come by and fill out the forms later, say around four or so?” he asked, looking in better spirits.
The whole murder thing had dampened my excitement for the building, but not enough to change my mind. “Okay.”
He turned back to Matthew. “About the police—what am I supposed to do? Do I just sit around and wait for them to arrest me?”
“I think you should get yourself a criminal lawyer.”
I gasped. “Won’t that make him look guilty?”
Matthew shook his head. “Who cares how it looks? Anybody would be a fool to let the police question them without a lawyer present.”
David suddenly looked exhausted. “I guess I can call the lawyer who’s taking care of my divorce.”
Matthew shook his head. “What you need is a criminal lawyer, not a divorce lawyer. I know a good one—John Pattullo. His practice is in Charlotte, but he lives about twenty minutes from here, in Belmont. He works from home, unless he has to be in court. Give him a call. If he’s there now, maybe he can see you right away.”
“Er, my car is in the shop. I got a flat tire this morning.” It occurred to me that I hadn’t noticed his car when I went to meet him. But if he was on foot, when did he pick up his car? Again I got that niggling feeling that he was hiding something.
Matthew pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number and handed it to him. “If he’s available now, I’ll drive you myself.”
• • •
After arranging to meet with the lawyer in half an hour, the men left. I couldn’t help noticing that they didn’t ask me to join them. Not that I wanted to go, but it might have been nice to feel included. As it was, I was still shaky from finding Jeremy’s body, and I hated being alone.
I helped myself to yet another cup of coffee and threw the bag of now mushy peas in the garbage. The bump on my forehead had all but disappeared, but my ankle and my ribs still killed. I got the bottle of Advil and took a second tablet, gulping it down with a mouthful of coffee. I returned to the table and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples.
Of course, the first thing that flashed through my mind was the image of Jeremy’s body.
Here I was, miles away from Charlotte, in what I’d believed would be a safe little town, and I’d stumbled upon a murder. As awful as I felt, I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I had last year when I’d stumbled upon the evidence of my boss’s embezzling. Of course, the victim here was not someone I knew, and I was not considered a suspect—or at least I didn’t think I was. The point was that I felt stronger these days. Strangely, it had taken this shattering event for me to notice that the burnout, or depression, or whatever it was I’d been going through, was gone. I was my old self again.
Welcome back, Della.
Chapter 18
I had been sitting quietly for about twenty minutes and the second pill was just starting to do its job when the phone rang.
“Hello, dear.”
Oh, God, just the person I didn’t need to talk to right now. “Hi, Mom,” I said, hoping my voice sounded cheerier than I felt.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, dear. I was just talking to June, and she announced that Matthew is back in Briar Hollow”—I cringed, imagining that conversation between my mother and his. Sure enough, the pitch of her voice rose to that of a lottery winner—“and living with you,” she concluded excitedly.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mom. We’re living in the same house, not living together. There’s a big difference.”
“Still, Della, if you play your cards right—”
“I’ll only be here a few more weeks at most—until I get a place of my own, which, by the way, I’ve already found.”
There was silence at the other end, and I imagined her biting her lips, trying to come up with an argument.
“How is June?” I asked, hoping to steer her away from the subject.
“She’s well. Of course she’s disappointed that Matthew left town. She loved having him live so close for a few months.” It occurred to me that living farther away from June might have been an added enticement to Matthew’s decision to move back here. His mother and mine were two of a kind.
“Are you sure you want to move out? I was thinking that maybe—”
“I know what you were thinking. It’s not going to happen.” If my meddling mother had her way, she’d probably wheedle him into marrying me.
“I don’t understand why you won’t at least try. You and he would make such a nice—”
“Mom, stop it.”
I heard the disappointment in her voice. “Oh, all right,” she said, giving up the battle if not the war. “About your condo—now that Matthew’s moved out, what are you planning to do with it? Maybe you should try to rent it furnished. I was speaking to Mrs. Johnson—you remember her—she was—”
Looming Murder Page 11
