Death by Association

by Paula Darnell

  Bessie sighed. “Maybe it’ll come back to me eventually.”

  “I’m sure it will,” I assured her. “You’ve been through a lot, but I can tell that you’re feeling better. Now, I should go and let you get some rest.”

  “Thanks for coming, Laurel, and thanks for the magazine and the cashews. Give my favorite dog a hug for me.”

  “I’ll do that. Too bad they don’t allow pets to visit.”

  We both waved as I exited Bessie’s room. I felt bad that Bessie had lost her self-confidence. Although she seemed to blame it on her advancing age, a younger person might feel just as helpless after suffering such an attack. It was chilling to think that Bessie might know her attacker. She’d said that there was something familiar about the person. Could it be someone living in Hawkeye Haven? And what about Victor’s murder? The shooting had happened well inside the community itself, not on the fringes where the backyards of the houses were just a wall away from city streets. I wondered again whether or not the same person was responsible for both attacks.

  When I arrived home, Bear greeted me at the door, bouncing around like a little kid, and I knew he was ready for some play time. I grabbed his hard rubber ball from the toy box in the den, and we went outside. I threw the ball across the backyard, and he chased after it, bringing it back to me and tossing it to me with a whip of his head. He fetched his ball again and again. It was fun watching him joyfully running back to me every time he retrieved his ball.

  Bear hadn’t tired of the game yet when we heard the doorbell ring, but he followed me back inside the house and trotted to the front door with me. Cautiously, I peered through the peephole. A man and a woman, neither of whom I recognized, were standing on the sidewalk outside. The woman reached into her voluminous black bag, and opened a wallet. As she opened it, I could see the metal star inside, and I realized that the pair must be Center City detectives. Beside me, leaning against me protectively, Bear stood alert as I opened the door.

  “Laurel McMillan?” the woman asked, flashing her badge.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Sergeant Smith, and this is Lieutenant Wesson. We’re detectives from Center City’s Robbery/Homicide Division. May we come in?”

  “It’s okay, Bear,” I assured my furry companion, and we both stepped back to allow the detectives to enter the living room. “Please have a seat,” I gestured toward the sofa, while I perched on a loveseat that faced them.

  “Smith and Wesson, huh?” I grinned, but Detective Smith made a face, and I supposed that she’d heard that joke one time too many, although Detective Wesson smiled.

  Looking for a friendly word, Bear wandered over to the sofa, and Detective Smith, a red-faced, plump woman with frizzy blonde hair, dressed in wrinkled white linen trousers and a too-tight white jacket, neither of which flattered her, shrank away in distaste.

  “No, Bear,” I said belatedly, as my big Lab brushed against the detective’s white pants, depositing some of his brown fur in the process.

  “Get away, doggie,” she said, shrinking from him and making frantic shooing motions.

  Detective Wesson patted his own leg and held out his hand to Bear, who promptly transferred his attention to the man. Wagging his tail, Bear flopped over on his back and held his front paws up. Wesson obliged him by rubbing his tummy.

  “He’s a handsome fellow,” Wesson said, seeming in no hurry to conduct business.

  His partner had other ideas, though. She had pulled a laptop from her bag and was poised to take notes. “Let’s get on with it. Mrs. McMillan, I understand that you were on scene this morning when Victor Eberhart was shot.”

  “No, I only came along afterwards. I saw all the emergency vehicles, and I wondered what was happening. And it’s Miss McMillan.” I’d kept my maiden name when I married, and since my husband’s death, calling myself Mrs. just didn’t seem right somehow. Why had I felt it necessary to correct her? I didn’t really know anything about the murder, and I doubted that I’d ever see these two again. I looked at both of them more closely. Beads of perspiration dotted Wesson’s forehead, and Smith’s face was even redder than it had been a minute earlier. Both of them looked uncomfortable. It was a hot afternoon, and suddenly I realized that I had forgotten to turn my air conditioner on after returning from the hospital.

  “Please excuse me for just a moment. I’m going to crank up the air conditioner. Would either of you like an iced tea?”

  “That would be great,” Wesson said enthusiastically.

  Smith looked irritated. “No, thanks,” she growled.

  I stepped into the kitchen, flipped the switch to turn on the air conditioner, and then filled two glasses with iced tea, adding a slice of lemon to each, before returning to the living room, carrying one of the glasses and a small sugar bowl. After I set the tea and sugar on the oak end table next to Wesson, I retrieved my own glass from the kitchen and rejoined the detectives. My brief absence seemed to annoy Smith even more.

  “Now can we get on with it?” she asked, glaring at me. Clearly, the question was merely rhetorical. “You say that you arrived at the scene of the shooting only after seeing the emergency vehicles?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you happen to notice anybody fleeing the scene?”

  “No, but there was already a crowd of neighbors standing around when I got there.”

  “So you’re really not a witness to anything?”

  “I never said that I was,” I replied.

  Smith started to stand, but Wesson restrained her with a pat on her arm, and she sat down again.

  “Miss McMillan, did you know Victor Eberhart?” Wesson asked.

  “No, I didn’t know him personally. I knew who he was, though.”

  “Because he was president of the homeowners’ association?”

  “Yes, that and…” Uh, oh. Maybe I was on the verge of saying more than I should, I thought.

  “Something else?”

  “Well, one of my students mentioned him.”

  “In what context?”

  “It was a personal situation.”

  “Go on.”

  “She told me something in confidence.”

  Smith sighed loudly. “You’re not a lawyer or a priest, are you? Just what is it you do anyway?” she asked sarcastically.

  Although I was taken aback by Smith’s tone, I explained my career as the DIY Diva and told her about the classes I taught at the community center. Smith sneered and shook her head.

  “Please tell us what your student said about Mr. Eberhart,” Wesson prodded gently.

  “Okay.” I knew Sonya wouldn’t appreciate it, but I felt obliged to pass along what she had told me. “She and her husband have been having a very serious dispute with the homeowners’ association, one that’s probably going to cost them a small fortune. She indicated that Victor was responsible for the problem.”

  “Did she indicate that she harbored any ill will towards him?” Wesson continued.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What did she say, exactly?”

  “She said that she could kill him. Actually, she said that she could kill him and Patty, the manager of the HOA, but, honestly, I don’t think she meant it literally. She was probably just blowing off steam.”

  Smith tapped on the keyboard of her laptop as I related the details of Sonya’s story. I was sure Sonya would never forgive me for pointing the detectives her way, but, on the other hand, I knew that I should report what she’d said and let the police sort things out. I didn’t believe for a moment that Sonya had sought revenge against Victor, but, then again, I really didn’t know her very well. Maybe she had been serious. She was certainly furious with both Victor and Patty, and she blamed Victor for the problems she and Tommy were having, including his threat to divorce her. Come to think of it, her husband was every bit as angry as Sonya at Victor, so angry that maybe he’d wanted to kill Victor himself.

  “Are you aware of anyone else who may have had a grudge ag
ainst Mr. Eberhart?” Detective Wesson continued.

  “Probably everybody who’d received a citation from the association since he took over as president. He was an unreasonable man. Still, I can’t imagine any of the residents here at Hawkeye Haven resorting to violence because of that.”

  “Have you received any citations?” Smith queried in an insinuating manner. The woman really went out of her way to be unpleasant, and she obviously didn’t care for me. I couldn’t think of any reason for her behavior other than Bear’s unwanted deposit of fur on her white linen pants.

  “No, I haven’t. You can check the association records if you don’t believe me,” I snapped, out of patience with her. I’d had just about enough of this woman and her snotty attitude.

  “You can be sure we’ll do that, Miss McMillan,” Smith said.

  Wesson shot Smith a warning glance. It had occurred to me that maybe the two detectives had been playing good-cop, bad-cop all along, but when I saw the way Wesson frowned at Smith, I decided it was more of a what-you-see-is-what-you-get situation. Wesson seemed to be a genuinely nice guy, but his partner would never be a candidate for Miss Congeniality.

  Gulping the rest of his iced tea, Wesson pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through its pages.

  “I believe there’s something else I need to check with you,” he said, continuing to leaf through the notebook. “Let’s see.” Smith stared at him impatiently. “Oh, yes, here it is. I thought I remembered seeing your name. According to our reports, you discovered one of the community’s security guards after she had been attacked a couple of days ago.”

  “That’s right. She was unconscious when I found her, and her gun had been stolen.”

  “How do you know it had been stolen?” Smith asked sharply.

  “I guess I made the assumption since it wasn’t in her holster. She’s not in the habit of leaving her weapon lying around.”

  “Did you notice anyone in the vicinity of the guardhouse?” Wesson queried.

  “No, it was early in the morning, and it was pretty quiet. I didn’t see anyone.”

  Wesson closed the notebook, patted Bear, and stood. Thank goodness the interview was over, I thought.

  “Well, thank you for your cooperation, Miss McMillan. If you think of anything else that might be of interest to us, please give me a call.” He handed me his card, and I nodded. “And thank you for the iced tea. It’s always good on a hot day.”

  “You’re welcome.” With Bear trailing behind me, I followed the detectives to the front door and closed it behind them before heading down the hallway to the front bedroom, which I used as my project room.

  I was startled to hear the detectives’ voices, seeming to come from the bedroom, before I realized that I’d left the front windows open earlier.

  “Thank you so much for the iced tea, Miss Priss. It’s soooo mahhhvelous,” Smith mimicked.

  I shrank back behind the curtain so that the detectives couldn’t see me, but I could certainly hear them.

  “Knock it off, Felicia.”

  “I thought your eyeballs were going to pop right out of your head when you looked at that woman.”

  “Hey, nothing says I can’t appreciate a beautiful redhead.”

  “Oh, come on, Wes. Beautiful? With that mop of garish red hair? Give me a break! And that dog of hers was disgusting, wiping his fur all over my new white pants.”

  “Get over it, Felicia.”

  Their voices drifted away as they walked farther down the sidewalk until I couldn’t hear what they were saying any longer.

  During the interview, I’d been so intent on answering the detectives’ questions that I really hadn’t noticed Wesson staring at me, and even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d almost felt like a criminal myself, being questioned by the police. It was a nerve-wracking experience for me and one that I hoped I’d never have again. That the detective thought I was beautiful was a surprise to me. My cousin Tracey always said that I was totally clueless when it came to men, and I knew that she was right. The only man I’d ever been totally comfortable with had been my husband Tim.

  Since Tim’s death, I’d been on only a handful of first dates, none of which had led to a second date. Tracey was constantly trying to set me up with single men she knew from work, but so far, I’d been able to resist her attempts at matchmaking. Maybe my interest should be piqued by Wesson’s compliment, even though he hadn’t said it to me. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and the tall detective wasn’t hard on the eyes himself with his neat, black hair, which was just beginning to turn gray at the temples, and his muscular physique. Oh, well. I’d probably never see him again, anyway, and I wasn’t sure that I cared.

  Chapter 6

  After what was beginning to seem like a very long day, I planned on a quiet evening at home. I tossed a salad together for a quick dinner, fed Bear, settled on the sofa, and picked up the novel my book club had designated as the topic of discussion at our next monthly meeting, but after reading the first few pages and not remembering a thing I’d read, I dozed. The phone was ringing when I felt the book drop onto my lap, and I awoke with a start, feeling a bit disoriented. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and picked up my cell phone. Liz was calling to invite me to have a glass of wine with her, and she suggested that I bring Bear along so that he could swim in her backyard pool. I checked on the time and told Liz we’d be over in half an hour. I wanted to wait at least an hour after Bear ate before letting him swim. Sometimes dogs, especially big dogs like Bear, suffer from a life-threatening condition called bloat, and my vet had recommended that Bear not exercise for at least an hour both before and after eating.

  At the appointed time, I called Liz so that she could unlock the gate to her backyard for us. All the backyards in Hawkeye Haven are walled, and Liz and I share a common wall between our properties. Whenever I take Bear to Liz’s house, we always stay outside on the patio, never entering the house. I’d made that almost-fatal mistake the first time I’d visited Liz, and she had innocently invited both me and Bear to come into her home. Unfortunately, her fluffy Persian cat, Miss Muffet, wasn’t nearly as hospitable as her mistress, and Bear was hardly the ideal house guest. Bear had taken one look at Miss Muffet before lunging forward, pulling his leash right out of my hand, and tearing down the hallway in pursuit of the terrified cat. Once cornered at the end of the hall, Miss Muffet had yowled piercingly, turned around, and raked one of her front claws across Bear’s nose. Startled, he had yelped in pain and jumped back, allowing Miss Muffet to escape. Running past Bear to her kitty haven, she’d climbed out of the big dog’s reach. Both Liz and I had stumbled all over ourselves, offering profuse apologies for our animals’ bad behavior, but we had learned our lesson. Ever since that day, whenever I brought Bear with me to Liz’s house, we stayed strictly outside. We’d often see Miss Muffet watching us warily from her side of the sliding glass patio door, but, thankfully, the glass panel effectively separated the cat from the dog.

  Knocking on her backyard gate to alert Liz that we were entering her yard, I opened the gate, keeping a grip on Bear’s leash until we were inside, and then I removed the leash along with his collar so that he could jump into the pool. Bear paused a moment to allow Liz to pet him and then ran to the pool, splashed into the water, and began paddling around. Bear loved to swim, and since I didn’t have a pool, I appreciated Liz’s generosity in allowing him to use hers often. Sometimes I played in the water with Bear, but since I’d come to chat with Liz, Bear had the pool all to himself.

  Wearing full make-up as usual, Liz greeted me with air kisses before handing me a glass of Chardonnay. She wore a bright yellow crinkle cotton caftan embellished with crystal beads on its wide neckband, and I noticed that she was wearing a birthday present I had given her—crystal earrings that I had made especially to coordinate with her yellow caftan.

  “Liz, you look terrific!” I pronounced, acutely aware that my own preparation for the evening had consist
ed of nothing more than swiping on some lip gloss and brushing my hair. “No wonder you have an admirer.”

  “The colonel?”

  “Of course, the colonel, unless there’s somebody else you’ve been keeping hidden away.” I teased.

  “I really like Bobby,” she admitted. “He’s taking me to Chez Alsace for dinner tomorrow evening,” she confided.

  “Wow. I hear it’s the best French restaurant in town. I wonder how he managed to get a reservation on a Saturday night.”

  Liz gave me an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and shrugged. She might have known more than she told me, but she enjoyed a little mystery.

  Changing the subject, she said, “Can you believe that it was only last night when we saw Victor at the meeting, and now he’s dead? And you know something, I’m ashamed to say this, but I really don’t care that he’s gone. He was a real jerk, and he caused a lot of problems for a lot of people, and I don’t mean just since he became president of the HOA either. His wife was such a good friend to me, and it was just awful the heartless way he treated her and poor Courtney. I heard Courtney was the one who found him.”

  “Yes, she did. That’s what Amy told me. She and Karl Meyer both heard Courtney screaming and rushed over to Victor’s house to find out what was wrong.”

  “I hope Courtney’s not a suspect.”

  “Why do you think she might be?”

  “She’s never gotten along with her father, not that anyone can blame her for that. After her mom died, she used to visit me fairly often. Sometimes she’d even stay overnight. Victor didn’t seem to mind. I think it gave him more time to work and to play golf. Those are the only things he ever acted like he really cared about anyway. I’m worried, though, because Courtney’s never made a secret of the way she felt about her father. She’s told me on more than one occasion that she wished he were dead, and I’m not the only one she’s expressed that wish to.”