When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  "Um. . . not until ten, if that's okay." Stephanie gathered her equipment and started for the door.

  Joe grunted his approval.

  After saying their good-byes, Helen asked Joe again about coffee.

  "Sounds good. How about a latte? Double. Use soymilk instead of regular."

  Helen grimaced. "Soy?"

  "Hey, don't knock it. Annie's been working with me on my diet. I'm gaining weight. My blood pressure's up, and cholesterol's not doing so great either. She's turning me into a vegetarian."

  Helen chuckled. "You two must be getting serious."

  "Oh yeah." He looked up at her and grinned. "I'll tell you about it sometime. Now hurry up with that latte."

  "Sorry. I'm making coffee. Straight up. I have no idea how to work the cappuccino machine and have no intention of learning the trade. How about if I put some milk in yours?"

  "Whatever."

  Joe seemed intent on the papers he was examining, so Helen made her way to the espresso bar. She scooped the Starbucks coffee grains into the filter and pushed it into its slot on the coffee maker, then filled the reservoir with water and plugged it in. Within a few seconds it began steaming and dripping into the glass carafe. While she waited, Helen pulled out a box of soymilk.

  Helen felt at odds, waiting and watching Joe. She thought about her job with the Portland Bureau and for a moment wondered if she'd made a mistake in retiring. Of course she'd kept her fingers in all these years, but it wasn't the same.

  She'd been a driven woman back then. At times too much so. She'd heard that passion diminishes with age. But that hadn't been the case for her, neither in her relationship with J.B., nor in her work. The yearning and restlessness returned full force as she paced the floor behind the counter. Maybe she should take a full-time job again. The sheriff’s department could certainly use another deputy. In the end, she came full circle. She loved her freedom. Loved her writing career and loved being married to J.B.. Most of the time.

  The coffee machine sputtered, signaling an end to its perk. Helen poured coffee into the two mugs and took one to Joe. As she handed it off, the door opened. Chimes tinkled wildly as the rain and wind hit them.

  "They got him," Stephanie panted. "Tom's putting him in the car. It's Alex Jordan."

  "Good." Joe grabbed his hat and headed outside.

  Helen followed, stopping short when she saw Jordan's face.

  The dome light in the squad car revealed his features all too clearly. His dark, thick hair curled slightly and dripped water onto his forehead. For an instant his pleading blue eyes met hers. Where had she seen that face before? Of course she'd seen him at her house that very morning. But that wasn't the only place. She remembered a younger face.

  Then she put the two together. Alex Jordan and the young man whose photo sat on the bureau in Rosie's bedroom were one and the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  I didn't do anything." Alex Jordan looked from Joe to Helen. "Please, you have to believe me."

  "You'll have a chance to make your statement." Joe turned to Tom. "Where did you find him?"

  Tom closed the car door, shutting his prisoner inside. "We caught him out on the rocks. The guy nearly killed himself trying to get away."

  Jordan buried his face in his hands, a look of anguish on his face.

  "Found this in his pocket." Tom handed Joe a slip of paper and opened the driver's side. "It has Mayor Crane's name, address, and phone numbers for his house and office."

  Joe held it to the light. Turning to Helen, he asked, "Is this the guy you saw run out of here?"

  "I'm not sure. I didn't see his face." Though Helen couldn't say for certain, she had a hunch Jordan was the man she'd seen leaving Rosie's. He had changed his clothes since she'd seen him earlier in the day. He still wore jeans, but instead of the flannel shirt, he had on a navy sweater and turtleneck with a lightweight black jacket. The photo upstairs showed an obvious connection to Rosie. If he knew Rosie and hadn't broken in, why wasn't he offering any sort of explanation?

  "Book him," Joe told Tom. "I'll be in as soon as I finish up here."

  "Jones." He nodded in the deputy's direction. "I thought you were on your way home."

  "I'm going."

  Turning to Helen, Joe said, "You may as well go home too. I'm nearly finished here."

  "In a minute. There's something you need to see first."

  Joe rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't it wait?"

  "I don't think so. When I was looking around upstairs earlier, I found something that might shed some light on why Alex was here—if he was here."

  "And you're only just now telling me about it?"

  "I didn't make the connection until just now. Apparently Rosie knows Alex Jordan. She has a photo of him in her bedroom." Once inside, Helen showed him the graduation photo she'd found earlier. "I realized as soon as I saw him it was the same guy. He may not have broken into Rosie's at all, Joe. I think he may be some sort of relative, a nephew or something." She cringed as Joe's gaze traveled over to the picture of Rosie and Ethan on their prom night.

  "Much as I hate to say it, Helen, this connection, Rosie to Jordan and Jordan having Ethan's name and number. .He shook his head. "She's in this up to her neck."

  "I'll admit the photo links them together, but that doesn't mean Rosie or Alex had anything to do with Ethan's death."

  "Maybe not, but it gives us a place to start." Heading for the stairs, Joe asked, "Find anything else I should know about?"

  "Nothing." Helen frowned. "Except that Alex Jordan saved my life. I have a hard time seeing him or Rosie as killers."

  Joe didn't comment.

  When they reached the first floor, Helen headed for the coffee bar to unplug the coffee maker. "I take it you still haven't found Rosie."

  "Still working on it." Joe opened the door, sending the chimes into motion.

  "I'll talk to Adele in the morning." Helen paused to scoop up and pet the orange tabby, who'd jumped off the back of the sofa and onto the counter. She settled the cat back on the chair, then straightened and rubbed a sore spot in her back. "Joe? Did you ever find Ethan's car?"

  "No trace of it. My hunch is that his killer ditched it after he killed him."

  "Hm. Or Ethan may have driven it somewhere after his meeting with Alex."

  "Want a ride home?" Joe offered.

  "No thanks. I need to get my things out of the dryer. You go ahead. I can close up."

  "Are you sure? It's getting late."

  "Thanks, but no. The walk will do me good."

  "Suit yourself." Joe closed the door behind him. Seconds later headlights flashed through the windows as he backed around.

  Helen finished cleaning up the espresso bar and turned out the lights as she made her way back upstairs. Her clothes were toasty warm from the dryer. Once she got them on, she thought seriously about curling up in one of Rosie's outrageously comfortable chairs with a good book. With any luck at all, Rosie would come back. Then again, maybe she wouldn't. Quite possibly she'd sent Alex Jordan to get something for her.

  Helen dismissed the idea of staying. She needed to be home in case J.B. called. More than that, she needed some sleep.

  Before leaving, she put a piece of cardboard over the hole she'd made in the glass, then let herself out. Helen buttoned her jacket and pulled the hat over her ears. She then walked from the porch around front to make certain she'd locked the door. Heading around to the back of the house again, she remembered seeing the intruder drop a piece of paper as he escaped.

  She searched the area, finding nothing but an old gum wrapper. Perhaps the deputies had picked it up. The only paper they'd mentioned was one they'd found in Jordan's pocket.

  There was another possibility. The wind had been and still was blowing toward the house, which meant the paper could be tucked in the shrubbery. Helen fumbled in her pocket for her penlight and hunkered down to examine the thick green border of leafy plants. Her penlight revealed a light piece of paper slapped up
against the trunk of a large rhododendron. On closer inspection, her heart took a dive. It was a canceled check from Past Times, made out to Alex Jordan in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.

  Helen let out a long, soft whistle. "Oh, Rosie. What in the world is going on?" Slipping the check into her pocket, she ran all the way home.

  Morning brought sunshine and a smile to her lips. She reached across the queen-sized bed to snuggle with J.B. Cold sheets greeted her empty arms. Memories of the day before tumbled back onto her sleep-dulled brain like angry waves on the rocks. The mystery caller. Their argument. The possibility of a health problem. The other woman.

  Helen shot out of bed, forcing her suspicions back into the dark, musty corner from which they'd come. She wouldn't, couldn't let herself think of J.B. cheating on her. He was gone and she needed to trust him. He'd be back. He always came back. She desperately wanted to believe that. Only this trip hadn't been like the others. There had been no "I love you." No lingering kiss good-bye.

  In the shower, Helen forced concerns about J.B. into the background and drew out the circumstances surrounding Ethan's death. Strangely, the murder investigation seemed easier to deal with. She dressed in her usual beach attire, jeans, a purple turtleneck, and baggy white cotton sweater, and then went downstairs to make breakfast.

  Helen wasn't especially hungry and so settled on a bagel with cream cheese, tea, and orange juice. Sipping at her tea, she spread open the Oregonian on the table in front of her. They'd given Ethan's death a slot on the front page under a story about another murder, one involving a property dispute. She read it first. The dispute had turned ugly after one neighbor had dumped a load of concrete into the other neighbor's garden, which he claimed infringed upon his property by two feet.

  Helen shook her head. At least that killing, senseless as it was, would be an easy one to solve. There had been a number of witnesses and the neighbor, a seventy-year-old man, had been taken into custody.

  Helen drained her cup and perused the article about Ethan. It was short and to the point: Mayor of Bay Village found dead on the beach near Lincoln City. Local resident finds body. Apparently the sheriff’s office hadn't given the press her name. Thank goodness for that. Helen set the paper aside, cleared the table, and rinsed the dishes.

  The doorbell rang as she was putting on her jacket.

  "Mrs. Bradley. Good morning."

  "Stephanie. What a nice surprise. Would you like to come in?" Helen opened the door wider and stepped back.

  "No thanks. This will only take a minute. Joe wanted me to come by and pick up that check you found last night at Rosie's."

  "I'll get it." Helen had left a message for Joe the night before as she was getting ready for bed. She picked up the envelope she'd slipped it into off the small table in the entryway and handed it to the deputy.

  "Thanks. Oh, Joe also said to let you know that we found Jordan's prints all over Rosie's place. You were taking a big chance going there last night. I mean, if you'd gotten there a few minutes earlier, or we hadn't shown up when we did, he might have killed you."

  Helen didn't think that was likely but didn't say so.

  "Joe's charging him with murder."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  Helen ran a hand through her hair. "He has enough evidence to make a case?"

  Stephanie shrugged. "Tom found a set of keys in Jordan's van that go to the mayor's Jaguar. Mrs. Crane identified them this morning."

  Helen opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She finally managed to say, "I can't believe it."

  "I couldn't either, Mrs. Bradley." Stephanie looked as disappointed as Helen felt. "I don't think we have much choice. He just confessed."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Helen stepped back. She didn't know what to say. When Stephanie made no move to go, Helen asked, "Are you sure you don't want something to drink? Tea? Juice?"

  Stephanie hesitated, then agreed. Following Helen through the living room and into the kitchen, she said, "Tea does sound pretty good about now. Had a hard time sleeping last night."

  Helen nodded at a chair and told Stephanie to make herself at home. While Helen set the teakettle on, she asked Stephanie about her position with the sheriff’s department in Multnomah County.

  The young officer began to relax as she talked about her job. "Portland is just too big a town. When my husband was offered a position in Lincoln City, I applied."

  "So you like being in law enforcement?"

  "Yeah, it's challenging and every day is different."

  "That it is." Helen briefly told her about her past jobs.

  "How long were you a cop?" Stephanie rested her arms on the table.

  "About sixteen years."

  "That seems like a long time," Stephanie said. "No wonder you can't get it out of your system. Do you miss it?"

  "Not really, but then I haven't entirely given up the part I liked best, tracking down the bad guys." She gave Stephanie a wry smile. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to stop getting involved. As long as I remain in good health, I'll probably keep dipping my fingers into an investigation now and again, especially those cases with people I care about."

  "And you cared about Ethan."

  "Very much so."

  Stephanie stared at her hands for a moment before raising her eyes to meet Helen's. "So what's your take on the mayor's murder? I noticed you didn't seem too happy about Jordan's arrest last night."

  "That's true enough. We seem to be missing an important element here, motive. When he confessed, did he happen to say why he killed Ethan?"

  She shook her head. "Joe says he'll find one. Right now he has enough physical evidence to hang the guy."

  "That's what worries me. He just might." Chuck Daniels' face flashed through her mind. Helen leaned against the counter and studied the scattering of fall leaves on the wet grass beyond her kitchen window. She would have to get outside one of these days and rake them. "Frankly, I'm not sure what to think about Alex Jordan. A confession is hard to argue against. I suppose you have to go along with him, at least for now."

  "But you don't."

  Helen shook her head. "Part of me says I read the guy wrong and he's guilty as sin. After all, he ransacked Rosie's office, and we know he had contact with Ethan the night of his death. An­other part tells me my instincts couldn't be that wrong."

  "Yes, but no one we've talked to saw the mayor after his dinner with Jordan."

  "Anything could've happened during the time between that dinner and Ethan's getting murdered."

  "Right," Stephanie said, "but why did Jordan have the mayor's car keys?"

  Helen massaged the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulder, then poured out two cups of tea from the kettle. Setting the cups on the table, she said, "Time will tell and, hopefully, so will the evidence."

  "Um. . . Mrs. Bradley, if it's any consolation, I don't think Jordan did it either."

  "Really?" Now that surprised her. Stephanie had seemed pleased about the department's success in apprehending the suspect so quickly, and Helen told her so.

  Stephanie flushed with apparent embarrassment. "I thought we had our guy, but after watching Joe interrogate him and hearing his responses. . ., I don't know. At first he denied everything. Then when Joe told him about Ethan's murder, he looked surprised. He covered his face with his hands and asked how it had happened. Joe said, 'You know how it happened. You did it.'" Stephanie blew on her tea and took a tentative sip. "When Joe showed him the weapon and Ethan's keys, the guy went white. Maybe it was then I knew he hadn't done it. A few minutes later, boom. He confesses and asks for a lawyer. I'm sitting there thinking, 'no way.' "

  "Was there anything specific in what he said or did to make you think that?"

  "Not really." She pressed her fist to her midsection. "I just felt it."

  "Mm. Unfortunately, feelings don't hold up in court." Helen stared at the handmade doily in the center of her table. "I've been forced to back off a number of cases be
cause the evidence didn't bear out my suspicions." Helen sighed. "There was one case in particular. Happened about a year before I retired. I never did resolve it. Haunts me to this day."

  "That must be tough."

  Helen nodded. “It happens all too often. The case never went to trial. In fact, we couldn't even get enough to arrest him."

  "What happened?"

  "This couple had been rock climbing. He was experienced, his wife a novice. She'd supposedly fallen while trying to negotiate a sheer rock wall. Not the sort of place you'd take a beginner. I felt certain he'd killed her, but we couldn't prove it. He seemed pretty broken up about it at the time. Said he tried to talk her out of making that climb, but she insisted. I never did believe him. A few months later he married his wife's sister." Helen frowned at the reflection in her tea and set the cup down. "But that's ancient history. We were talking about Ethan's sup­posed killer. Did you tell Joe about your concerns?"

  "No. I'm a coward. Don't tell anyone I said so, though. I'd rather gloat over being right than say something and then be proved wrong."

  "Your secret is safe with me, Stephanie. Though I'd personally like to see you stand behind your convictions."

  "I might do that when I'm more sure of myself. The last thing I need is for these guys to think I'm a sympathetic flake. They're already talking about how Jordan snowed you and Lynn Daniels."

  "Lynn?" It took a moment for Helen to make the connection. "Of course, Joe would have questioned her about Alex."

  "Actually she came in to file a missing person's report on her husband. I guess he never did come home, and none of his friends have seen him since he was at Bagley's Tavern night be­fore last. When Joe told Lynn they'd arrested Alex, she broke down and cried. Looks like something was going on between her and Alex. The guys are saying he's the kind of man who can get a woman to agree to just about anything."

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Helen wanted to reassure the deputy, tell her to trust her instincts, but how could she? At the moment she wasn't even sure she trusted her own.