“Courtney seems to be holding up pretty well, considering what she’s been though the past week,” Cynthia said.
“I think so, too,” Amy agreed. “I’ll never be able to get that image of Victor lying dead in his own doorway out of my mind, and I doubt that Courtney will, either. I’ve had nightmares ever since it happened. It’s so scary to think about a killer running around loose in Hawkeye Haven. I lock up tight every night, and I’m really careful when I come into the house after I’ve been gone. I even had Cynthia come in with me and look around when we came home after dark the evening of the party for the security guard.” Amy shuddered as though the very thought of a murderer lurking in the community was too much for her to bear. “You’re lucky, Cynthia, you have Pete to take care of you, but my Jim’s gone.”
Tears rolled down Amy’s cheeks, and she dug through her purse, eventually pulling out a tissue to wipe them away. Cynthia put her arm around Amy while I patted Amy’s arm, but I doubted that we provided much comfort for her. I knew exactly how she felt. After a few minutes, Amy straightened. “I’ll be all right,” she whispered.
“I can run you home now, if you like,” Cynthia offered. We don’t have to go to the cemetery or the reception.”
“No, no, I think we should do what we came to do,” Amy protested. “After all, we’ve been the Eberharts’ neighbors for years, and I don’t want to let Courtney down. She needs all the support she can get at a time like this.”
“Are you sure, Amy?” I asked.
Amy nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Cynthia said and together the three of us walked across the parking lot, following the small crowd of attendees into Meadows Cemetery, where Victor’s body would be buried in a few minutes. I noticed that fewer people were gathered at the grave site than had been at Victor’s funeral, but there was still a sizeable group. After the casket had been set in place for the graveside service, the officiant offered brief remarks and prayers. The board members stood together in the back, and I noticed that Luis Cardoza, one of the board members Victor may have been coercing, crossed himself after the final prayer. He looked sad, although whether he felt sad about Victor’s passing or he felt sorrow for another reason, I didn’t know. Certainly, it wasn’t an unusual reaction. Even though I had attended the funeral to support Courtney, rather than to mourn her father, the pervasive reminder of death as life’s final destination that the cemetery represented was impossible to escape. Courtney wept at the sight of Victor’s casket being lowered into the ground, and Karl put his arm around her to comfort her. Other than Amy––the only other person crying––nobody seemed especially upset, not even Patty, and I was sure that Amy’s tears fell for her late husband, rather than for her unpopular neighbor.
As we turned from the grave to walk back to our cars and proceed to the reception, I saw Wesson’s partner, Smith, standing several yards away, surveying the crowd. She had been in back of us during the graveside service, so I hadn’t spotted her earlier. No way did I want to talk to Detective Smith, so I ignored her, hurried to my car, and headed back to Hawkeye Haven, where I was surprised to find out that the funeral reception was being held in the same meeting room where we’d held Bessie’s farewell party just two days earlier.
For Victor’s funeral reception, the room had been set up with an elaborate buffet luncheon presented artistically on long tables that ran almost the length of the room, surrounded by several round tables, where people could sit down to eat. At the end of the room, a drink station had been set up with wine, beer, coffee, tea, and bottled water. Servers wearing long, bright blue aprons bearing their catering service’s logo discreetly embroidered at the hem, bustled about the room. I knew that Pizzazz, a catering service owned by a celebrity chef, specialized in pricey delicacies. The catering for this event must have cost a small fortune, and I couldn’t help wondering whether Courtney was paying for it or whether Patty had authorized the payment to come from the Hawkeye Haven HOA. I suspected the latter, and it made me angry to think about Patty’s strenuous objections to Bessie’s party while she was probably planning a grand send-off for her cohort on the HOA’s dime. Edna Elkins would know whether or not the HOA was footing the bill. Despite our run-in at Bessie’s party, I thought about asking Edna, but she pointedly avoided me. When I walked to one side of the room, she made her way to the other, and when I started towards her, she retreated, so I gave up my attempts to intercept her when I saw that Cynthia was motioning for me to join her and Amy, who were sitting at a table with some other women who often took my DIY classes.
“Sit here, Laurel,” Cynthia said, patting the chair next to her. “We saved you a seat.”
“Laurel, dear, don’t you want to get something to eat? This is a real good feed,” Alice Sandstrom, who sat across the table from me, observed.
“Hi, Mrs. Sandstrom; yes, everything looks good. I’ll go through the buffet line as soon as it thins out a little.” I was surprised to find Alice at the reception. I hadn’t seen her at the funeral or the cemetery, and, as far as I knew, she wasn’t acquainted with Victor. Since she lived several blocks away from his house, she was his neighbor only in the loosest sense. Curious, I asked, “Did you know Victor well?”
“Oh, I didn’t know him at all, dear, but I saw his daughter last Saturday at class, and the poor girl seemed so upset that I thought I should come. But then I got turned around and couldn’t find the funeral home, so I came back here. Made it just in time, too.”
“Uh, Alice, you drove yourself?” Cynthia asked.
“I did,” the ninety-year-old admitted. “I know what you’re thinking, Cynthia. An old lady like me shouldn’t be driving at all, and you’re right. My neighbor Amber’s been giving me rides all week, but she had a doctor’s appointment this morning, so I decided to drive myself. I really can’t see too well, though. I guess I shouldn’t have done it.”
“I’d be happy to give you a ride home, Alice,” Cynthia volunteered, “and Amy could drive your car to your house for you, couldn’t you, Amy?”
“Sure, and please give me a call when you need a ride, Alice. Since Jim passed away, I have nothing but time on my hands,” Amy said.
Poor Amy. Her husband’s death had been a devastating blow to her, and she was looking for ways to fill the void, just as I had when my husband Tim had died.
“I’m going back to the buffet,” Cynthia said. “Alice, may I bring you some dessert?”
“Oh, yes,” Alice said enthusiastically. “I’ll have a couple of those little bar cookies—the ones with the pink frosting and the raspberry on top—and some carrot cake. Oh, and maybe a slice of chocolate meringue pie.” Obviously, Alice had a sweet tooth and had surveyed the desserts earlier. Although the oldster’s request took Amy aback for a moment, she quickly recovered her composure and nodded.
Jumping up, I said, “I’ll go with you, Amy.” I couldn’t help smiling. At least, Alice was enjoying herself.
As Amy and I approached the buffet tables, I saw Luis Cardoza detaching himself from a group of people and heading for the buffet. “Be back in a few minutes, Amy,” I whispered and intercepted him before he had a chance to reach the food.
“Mr. Cardoza?” Puzzled, he looked at me, and I could tell that he was trying to figure out who I was. “Hi, I’m Laurel McMillan. I teach some classes here at the community center.”
“Miss McMillan? How can I help you?” he asked politely.
“I wonder if I could speak to you for a moment.”
“Certainly. I’ve heard good things about your classes.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” This was going to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. I didn’t know this man, and there was no reason he should answer any of my questions. “My neighbors here in Hawkeye Haven are really quite concerned that Victor’s murder hasn’t been solved yet. Frankly, we’re frightened.”
“That’s understandable. We’re all concerned.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t know Victor mys
elf. The only time I ever saw him was at the HOA meeting last week, but from what several of my students and other residents have told me, he wasn’t very popular.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Luis agreed. He had yet to give me some kind of an opening.
“Maybe someone who had a grudge against him killed him.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you know anyone who could have hated him enough to shoot him?”
“Hard to say.”
This was like pulling teeth. Luis wasn’t giving an inch.
“Did you hate him, Mr. Cardoza?”
“Just what is it you want, Miss McMillan? Out with it.”
“Okay,” I murmured. “I understand that Victor influenced the votes of some of the board members by means of blackmail—threatening to reveal something he knew about them that they wouldn’t want known publicly. Is that true?”
“Oh, I see where you’re leading.” The sad look returned to Luis’s face. “You think he blackmailed me.”
“Did he?”
“He tried,” Luis sighed.
“Did he succeed?”
“No, as a matter of fact, he didn’t. My fiancé took her own life after I told her I didn’t think we should get married. I blame myself for her death. I knew she was upset, but when she said she was going to kill herself if I left her, I didn’t believe her at first. By the time I checked on her, it was too late. She’d taken an entire bottle of sleeping pills. It was my fault. If I’d taken her threat seriously, she’d still be alive today. My priest says God has forgiven me, but I’ve never forgiven myself. I’m not proud of what happened, but give in to blackmail? Never.”
“What about the other board members? Do you think Victor succeeded in coercing any of them?”
“I don’t know. I can’t speak for anyone else.”
“But you have your suspicions?”
“As do you, Miss McMillan.”
“Well, thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Cardoza.”
“Just a minute. You didn’t seem surprised by what I told you. You must have known about it already. How did you know?”
“I didn’t know for sure until you confirmed it. I came across some information purely by accident. I felt duty-bound to tell the police, but don’t worry. I have no intention of spreading rumors. I know how far and fast the rumor mill at Hawkeye Haven goes. As I said before, I’m concerned about the residents’ reaction to Victor’s murder. We don’t feel safe in our own homes anymore.”
“Be careful, Miss McMillan. Whoever shot Victor won’t appreciate knowing that you’re nosing around. It could be dangerous.”
“I suppose so.”
It was interesting that Luis Cardoza had warned me not to “nose around,” as he put it. Had he been threatening me under the guise of concern for my welfare? If he truly hadn’t been influenced to change his vote by Victor’s threats to expose his indiscretion and guilt over his girlfriend’s suicide, then maybe he really thought that I could be in danger. Frankly, I didn’t believe that I had anything to worry about. After all, I’d only spoken to a few people, and I thought I had been discreet. I looked around for Peter Harvey, the board member who had been suspected of involvement in a building’s collapse when he’d worked as a construction company manager, but I no longer saw him in the room and wondered whether he’d already left. If so, I might not have another chance to talk to him. I decided to stay at the reception for a while in case he returned.
As long as I intended to hang around, I decided I might as well have lunch. I wandered over to the buffet and helped myself to a lovely spinach salad and some asparagus quiche that looked inviting. As I picked up a setting of silverware wrapped in a large white linen napkin, I heard a strident voice coming from across the buffet table. Although I’d heard her speak on only two occasions, I’d know that voice anywhere. It was Wes’s partner, Sergeant Smith, the one person in attendance whom I’d wanted to avoid. Holding a plate piled high with a lavish lunch, she stood glaring at me from the other side of the buffet table.
“Surprised to see you here, Red,” the detective said.
If there was anything I hated, it was being called Red, not that I minded having red hair, but, for some reason, the nickname had always irritated me. It also irritated me that Smith acted as though she knew me, which she most assuredly did not.
“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone.
“Thought you told us you didn’t know Eberhart.” Here we go with another ridiculous interrogation, I thought. Crazy the way the detectives could twist my words. I felt sure it was a deliberate technique that they’d picked up at some Detective-Daring-Do training session.
“That’s right. I said that I didn’t know him personally, and I didn’t. I do know his daughter, however.”
“Uh, huh,” Smith said sarcastically. What had I done to this woman that she disliked me so much? Her reaction to me, which at first I’d attributed to Bear’s unwanted deposit of fur on her clothing, seemed altogether out of proportion with the dog’s unintended offense. Too bad Smith had shown up at the funeral, instead of Wes. Simultaneously, I wished that he’d call me, and I wished that he’d get a different partner, one who could qualify as half-human, at least. Not in the mood to tangle with Smith, I left her standing there and, without another word, I retreated to friendlier territory, rejoining Cynthia, Amy, and the others, who were all now enjoying their desserts.
We chatted for several minutes before Cynthia and Amy departed with Alice Sandstrom in tow. I hoped that Alice would leave the driving to Amber or Amy from now on. I remembered how grateful Alice had been the first time Amber had volunteered to drive her car the day that Bessie had been attacked, and she hadn’t objected today when Cynthia offered to drive her home and Amy had volunteered to take her wherever she needed to go if Amber wasn’t available to drive.
As I waved to my friends, I decided it was time for me to leave, too. I looked around to make sure that Detective Smith had gone. No way did I want to have another encounter with the pugnacious investigator. Aware that courtesy demanded that I stop to say a few words to Courtney before departing, I approached her as she stood by the door with Karl and her out-of-town relatives.
“So sorry for your loss,” I murmured as I gently touched Courtney’s arm and nodded to Victor’s cousins and their wives.
“Thank you for coming, Laurel,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek with a soggy tissue. “It means a lot to me.”
“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I said, although I realized that Courtney was unlikely to ask me for any help; nevertheless, I believed that I should make the offer.
“That’s nice of you, but I think I can manage. I’d been planning to move in with my friend Mia who has a condo on the east side of town, anyway, so I’m going ahead with the move tomorrow. I’ve taken advantage of Karl and Eva’s hospitality too long.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Karl said. “We’re happy to have you stay with us.” Karl put his arm around Courtney’s shoulders in a protective gesture. I remembered that he’d been afraid that the police might target Courtney as a suspect. “There’s no need to be in a rush.”
“I appreciate everything you and Eva are doing for me; really I do, but I can’t bear to stay right across the street from the house where my father was murdered any longer. I keep having nightmares about finding him there in the doorway,” Courtney shuddered at the memory of her grisly discovery. Although Karl looked as though he wanted to protest, he didn’t say anything. I left quietly, glad that he hadn’t insisted that Courtney continue to stay with him and his wife. I could certainly understand why she seemed eager to move away from Hawkeye Haven and the scene of her father’s shooting.
Before I left the community center, I stopped at the mail room next to the administrative offices where small cubby holes, each marked with the recipient’s name on a peel-and-stick label, served as mail boxes for the instructors and other employees of Hawkeye Hav
en. Usually the mail consisted of nothing more than flyers promoting community activities, sundry advertisements, and the HOA’s newsletter. I quickly leafed through my mail, tossing everything into the trash can except a long, business envelope with my name neatly printed on the front.
Occasionally, my reimbursement checks for class supplies were left there, so I ripped open the sealed envelope, expecting to find a payment for the materials I’d used in last month’s classes. Instead, I found a sheet of standard-sized, white printer paper with letters, obviously cut from a magazine, pasted onto the page, spelling out a message: BACK OFF OR U WILL B SORRY. However, the message had the opposite effect on me than its author likely expected. I almost laughed because I knew exactly who had put the message there, and I wasn’t one bit afraid of her. It had to be Edna Elkins. She and Luis Cardoza were the only people I’d questioned about their backgrounds, and even if Luis Cardoza had wanted to send me another message—I remembered that he had already warned me to be careful—he wouldn’t have had time to put this cut-and-paste-DIY-project-gone-wrong together. Although I found Edna’s attempt to frighten me rather amusing and definitely pathetic, I also felt annoyed at the retired nurse, who probably feared that I’d share her secret with the entire community, although I had no intention of doing so. I returned the message to its envelope and stuffed it into my handbag, unsure whether I’d confront Edna about it or just ignore her feeble attempt to scare me.
The sound of chimes startled me for a moment until I remembered that I’d been playing with the ring tone on my smartphone and had reset it. Digging into my purse, I grabbed the phone and answered it, although I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID display.
“Laurel McMillan,” I said in a formal tone, aware that it could be a business call.
“Hi, gorgeous,” came a voice that I immediately recognized. “It’s Wes,” he added as if I didn’t know.
“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I said, pleased with the compliment. I’d never thought of myself as gorgeous, but if Wes thought so, it was fine with me.
Death by Association Page 18
