Who Killed My Boss? (Sam Darling Mystery #1)

by Jerilyn Dufresne

  The burial was strictly by the book. Almost everyone from the church was at the cemetery. I didn’t know if they were there out of respect for Dr. Burns or because murders were rare in Quincy.

  The priest said lots of familiar phrases. “Pillar of the community.” “Quincy’s loss.” “Sympathy to Mrs. Burns.” “Meet in heaven.” And so on. Heard it before.

  It was cold. The wind whipped around the tent and people huddled together, whether from grief or from the cold, I couldn’t tell. I snuggled down into my coat and thought about how Burns died. Sliced in the neck with a scalpel. It was an ignominious end for a doctor.

  The memory of Burns’ phone conversation while I was waiting in the hall for my interview suddenly surfaced and caused me to hit myself in the forehead. I grimaced as I made contact with a still-tender spot. “Shit!” Heads turned to stare at my outburst. “Sorry,” I whispered to no one in particular.

  I swear George chuckled. It was almost enough for me to call him B.H. again.

  My interview with Dr. Burns had interrupted a phone call. Who had he been talking to? He said, “I’ll have it for you next week.” After a few moments he’d blurted, “Leave me alone or you’ll be sorry.” That didn’t sound like something he would say to his wife.

  I was sure she killed him. Absolutely one hundred percent sure. But that didn’t mean she had done it alone. She could have had an accomplice. Maybe that’s who Burns had been talking to that morning. I’d mentioned this to George right after the murder, then promptly forgot about it. I wondered if he remembered. I’d bring it up again tomorrow night, after he gave me some tidbits.

  After the burial, George and I joined the many cars heading out to Burns’ house. The sedan seemed out of place amidst the Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, and Porsches. Earlier I’d thought that the nondescript car would be ideal for a stakeout. But not in this crowd. It stood out like a Darling at a Debutante Ball.

  We got to the house and went inside. I didn’t even hesitate as the butler took our coats and led us into the drawing room. I was getting used to this.

  George tried to take my arm. “No way. Remember our deal. I said you could come with me and we’d walk in together. We’re here now and you’re on your own. And I specifically said ‘no touching.’”

  “Sorry, Sam. Guess I forgot your rules.” Was he being sarcastic or sincere? I couldn’t tell and I didn’t care.

  I separated from George at the first opportunity and looked around for Michael. He and Carolyn Burns were conspicuous by their absence. I wanted to talk to him, and look at him, so I started nosing around. I had a cover story all prepared. If questioned, I’d say that I was looking for a bathroom. That wasn’t original, and perhaps I didn’t think it through very thoroughly, but I thought it would work. After all, we were at a wake and people certainly wouldn’t suspect me of any nefarious activity. So I ventured into the kitchen. No one there. I grabbed a few snacks off a silver tray and went up the back stairs.

  At the top of the stairs lay two small bedrooms. Probably servants’ rooms originally. One was made into a sewing room and the other contained a treadmill, stair stepper and weights. The far wall was covered with a floor-to-ceiling mirror. I bet Carolyn Burns spent hours staring at herself.

  Next was a bathroom. After that, two doors on either side of the hall led to two larger bedrooms, both a little too frou-frou for my taste. At the far end, past the front staircase, was a closed door. Probably the master suite. It looked like it took up the whole front of the house.

  As I stood there wondering if I should go inside, I heard voices. Those voices needed listening to, so I volunteered.

  No one was around so I pressed my ear against the door.

  “Listen, if you just keep your mouth shut, nothing will happen. There is no proof and there won’t be any proof. Just shut up and we won’t have any problems.” That sounded like Carolyn. Sure didn’t sound so refined and uppity now.

  “Mumble, mumble.”

  I’d heard that mumbling voice before. Who was it?

  “I beg your pardon, Ma’am. May I help you?”

  The butler.

  “Yes, I was looking for the bathroom.”

  “It’s down the hall, Madam. Would you like me to show you?”

  “Certainly not.” I tried to “harrumph” but couldn’t quite pull it off. So I sashayed to the bathroom.

  TWELVE

  I avoided George but noticed he managed to speak to a lot of people and apparently didn’t ruffle any feathers. Being from Quincy had its advantages. He was “one of us” and could get away with being a guest—and a pest—without attracting undue attention.

  Once I found Gus, he made my visit palatable. We sat on a couch and he entertained me with stories about our fellow guests. He speculated on possible suspects and motives. I wasn’t ready to let him in on my absolute assurance that Carolyn did it, but I did want to know what he thought.

  “Who do you think killed Dr. Burns?” I tried to make the question sound innocent.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it and he wasn’t a very popular character. He’s been involved in some shady business deals and…”

  I interrupted, “Shady business deals? What kind?”

  Gus continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “…‌he’s treated lots of folks pretty badly. I’ve heard complaints about his therapy practice too, but for years he was the only game in town.” He moved on to another thought. “You told me you don’t think Gwen Schneider did it. Have you changed your opinion? Everyone’s talking about how she confessed to you.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t do it. For lots of reasons, including that she didn’t have a motive. She and the doctor were close. Very close.” I raised my eyebrows and elbowed Gus in the ribs so he would understand my meaning. “Also her brother Charlie confessed and I’m equally sure he didn’t do it.”

  Gus grinned at my hint, but then became serious when he asked, “Why are you so sure that Charlie Schneider didn’t do it?”

  “I’m just sure. Let’s talk about something else; what did you mean Burns was involved in shady business deals?”

  Gus bit into a mini-quiche, chewed for a moment, swallowed, and took a sip from his beer before answering. “Nothing in particular, just heard some things that told me he wasn’t on the up-and-up. Insider trading, prescriptions for friends without examining them, things like that.”

  That wasn’t worth waiting for. Then the conversation took a turn for the worse when he changed the subject to Carolyn Burns.

  “You’ve read her books, right?”

  “You know I don’t read trash.” I said it with a straight face, but Gus is not easily fooled by my fabrications.

  “You already told me you’ve read her books. And just because you don’t like her, doesn’t mean her books aren’t worthwhile.” He smiled at me as one does at a much-loved, but errant child.

  “Okay,” I grudgingly admitted, “I’ve read a few…”

  Gus stared at me, unbelieving and silent.

  “All right, I’ve read all of them. I didn’t like them much.”

  The maddening silence and stare continued.

  “God, Gus, stop with the third degree, will you? I read them all and I liked them all, but that was before I knew Felicia Greene is Carolyn Burns.” Blecch! I still shivered at the thought that Carolyn Burns wrote the books that had been scattered all over my house.

  An idea struck and I almost pounded on my fellow crime solver. “You know, one reason I like the books so much is that they’re realistic. I mean the criminal mind with its emotional disturbances…‌it’s almost as if the author was either a therapist, a criminal, or crazy herself.” Two out of three wasn’t bad.

  “You think she killed her husband?”

  Hesitantly I nodded, not sure of exactly what to say.

  “You think she’s crazy, Sam?” Gus’s raised eyebrows and squinted eyes showed he obviously didn’t.

  “Maybe not crazy, but she’s evil. She had to have an accom
plice and that accomplice must be a therapist or psychiatrist.”

  Gus didn’t bother to swallow his current canapé as he blurted, “An accomplice in writing the books? Or in murder?”

  I thought for a second before answering. “Maybe both. Someone had to help her with the details in the books. And she doesn’t have a medical background, so how did she know to slice the vein lengthwise?”

  Gus replied, “Hearing all that, it would seem more logical that she didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

  “You surprise me, Gus.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “Now, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just suggesting you keep your mind open to other possibilities.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But she did it. Really she did. She is just evil.”

  “Do your feelings about Carolyn Burns have anything to do with your young fellow?”

  I immediately and adroitly changed the subject again. Gus followed suit; after all he was my friend. He took my mind off Michael and Carolyn for a while. I sat and basked in his wit and warmth.

  Finally my patience was rewarded and Michael approached me.

  “Hi, Sam. Gus.”

  Gus echoed my hello.

  Michael’s look made me smile. “Can we talk for a minute?” I nodded. “We can go in the kitchen.”

  Of course, I’m sure Carolyn never goes in there. “Sure, Michael. Gus, I’ll see you at home.” I winked at Gus as I walked away.

  Michael led me into the kitchen. So far, so good. I was only feeling a slight dizziness. And except for ingesting a couple slugs of pink stomach-soother, I hadn’t eaten anything except the snacks I grabbed on my reconnaissance mission.

  Michael turned as he spoke. “I know you have a lot of questions. And I do too. Can you hold them until dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But this time, we’re going to dinner even if I’m in a cast from head to toe.”

  “I agree. It certainly appears that the fates are conspiring against us. How about if we go for an early meal? I’ll follow you home from here and pick you up right away. That way there’ll be no chance of anything new happening to you.”

  “Sounds good to me. By the way, where’ve you been the last hour or so? I looked for you.”

  “Oh, you did?” He grinned as if he found that thought appealing. “I was around. We’ve just installed a new security system and I was checking it out, plus I was meeting with one of my associates about taking over for me tonight.”

  “Oh, I thought you might have been with Carolyn.”

  “No, in fact I haven’t seen much of her since we got back from the cemetery.” He stepped aside as a bejeweled and bewigged matron passed by. “Why did you think I’d be with her?”

  “Dunno. Just thought, since you’re her bodyguard that you’d be with her.” I moved as the woman realized she was in the kitchen of all places and beat a hasty exit.

  “Well, we decided she’d be safe here. I think she wasn’t feeling well and went up to her room.”

  “Is that the big room at the front of the house?” I gestured in the general direction.

  “Yeah, it’s the master suite, why?”

  “Just curious.” I promptly changed the subject, because I didn’t want to discuss my nefarious activities with him.

  While Michael continued talking about the wonders of the new security system, I was thinking about those voices coming from the bedroom. The talker was Carolyn, I was pretty sure of that. She didn’t give me any hard evidence that she was the murderer, but she did talk about someone keeping their mouth shut and “proof.” I still couldn’t figure out who the mumbler was. Did I actually think it might have been Michael? Impossible. He was a nice guy and I had no reason to suspect him. Any guy who liked me couldn’t be all bad. Besides, he was too gorgeous to be a crook.

  “Are you ready to go? You don’t seem too interested in hearing about my work.”

  I tuned back in. “I’m interested; just getting hungry. I haven’t eaten much today. And yes, I’m ready, but I did want to express my condolences to Mrs. Burns. Why don’t you get our coats and I’ll see if she’s available?”

  He agreed and went off in search of the butler.

  I climbed upstairs, as fast as I could, intent upon checking Carolyn’s bedroom. The door was opened slightly. There was no one else in sight and hopefully Mr. Stiff Upper Lip Butler was busy getting our coats.

  I accidentally nudged the door with my foot. At least I hoped it looked accidental, in case anyone was watching. As I peeked around the corner, I gained confidence. After all, this wasn’t a movie or TV. This was real life and no one would hurt me. George had assured me that my car wreck was an accident and the jury was still out on the gas leak. So I felt pretty safe.

  The huge bedroom was too opulent for my taste. And almost as big as my carriage house. Off to the left was the bathroom. I didn’t see or hear anyone, so I stepped inside.

  The ornate and fussy furniture looked like it was lifted directly from Buckingham Palace. I smirked as I pictured Carolyn lounging on the brocade-covered furniture in an overly dramatic pose. The red velvet was cloying and I almost choked at the ostentatious décor of the room.

  I took a few more steps inside. The room was obsessively neat. Mine would be neat too if I had the servants she had. There didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary—at least for that house.

  I opened the gigantic walk-in closet. My bedroom could easily fit in it. Women’s clothing, shoes, hats, bags and general “stuff” filled the entire area. I wondered where Dr. Burns’ clothes were. Surely Carolyn hadn’t disposed of them already. I didn’t see another closet, but perhaps he’d used one in another bedroom.

  “Ms. Darling, may I help you?”

  Carolyn Burns poked her head around the corner and seemed happy that she caught me off guard and red-handed.

  “I was just looking for the bathroom. Is this the only one up here?”

  “Come now, Ms. Darling. Isn’t it just possible that you were snooping? Isn’t that a bit rude? To be snooping through the bedroom of a grieving widow?”

  I knew I was right. Carolyn Burns was a smart-ass. Maybe that wasn’t incontrovertible evidence that she was a murderer, but it sure helped point the finger.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Burns. I wasn’t snooping. I just have a lousy sense of direction.” It was a clever line and it was delivered with no eye contact.

  “Then I apologize. I’ll be happy to show you to the other powder room.”

  “No need. I don’t have to go anymore. So I think I’ll go home. I have a date with Michael, you know.” I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rub it in.

  Carolyn looked uncomfortable and a mite jealous. Of course, I was delighted with that.

  I exited, with a lot more aplomb than I felt. This woman made me sick—figuratively and literally. I felt so dizzy that I almost needed the use of her chaise lounge myself. These vibes of mine were a pain in the ass. They’d never been this bad before. Maybe that was because I’d never met a murderer before Carolyn. The room spun around every time I was near her and only slightly less so around Michael. It made no sense to me that I felt the same way around Michael as I did around Carolyn. There’s no way he was involved in the crime; I just knew it. I wondered why I felt so unsteady around him.

  Rather than dwell on that, I chose to ignore it and concentrate on clearing my head. Despite telling Carolyn I didn’t need the bathroom, I found it and did a mirror talk.

  “Listen, Sam, don’t be a wimp. You know Carolyn is the murderer because of your physical reaction toward her. Go with those instincts. Believe them. Now stop being a dizzy blonde.” That made me laugh and I suddenly realized that I was making a lot of noise and quickly flushed the toilet, hoping that would cover my indiscretion.

  “And yes, she’s beautiful…‌but Michael likes you. She’s just a business arrangement to him.” I batted my baby blues at myself and felt more confident.

  Well, enough i
ntrospection. It was time to let Michael follow me home and for us to finally go on our date.

  Gus was already gone, so there was no one else I needed to speak to. I garnered my coat from Michael and we started out the door. I had the feeling I was forgetting something, but couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Hi ya, Sam. Forget something?” George grinned.

  I glowered. “Go get in the car.”

  I turned to the guy who mattered. “Michael, I need to drop George off at the church. That’s where he left his car. I’ll meet you at my house in about fifteen minutes. Okay?” My glower turned to a glow.

  “Sure. See you in a few minutes. Bye, Detective. Good to see you.”

  “Yeah, you too, O’Dear.”

  After Michael turned away George spoke again, “By the way, O’Dear, I’d like to get together with you tomorrow and talk about the case. I heard you tell Sam that Mrs. Burns hired you to protect her and also to investigate the murder. I want to hear what you know.”

  Michael turned back toward us. “Sure, Detective, I’d be happy to meet with you. Maybe you can help me too.”

  I really didn’t want to talk to George during the trip back to the parking lot, but I wanted to get information from him. Short of giving him mind-altering drugs, the only way I could milk his brain was to talk to him.

  “So, George,” I turned and smiled, “did you find out anything?”

  “WATCH OUT!”

  I swerved, missing the car in front of us by inches. My smile disappeared.

  “So, did you find out anything?” My eyes were glued to the road; my hands gripped the steering wheel.

  “I found out that Dr. and Mrs. Burns didn’t share the master bedroom. He used one of the guest rooms.”

  “Oh, I knew that. His clothes weren’t in the closet in the master suite.” I didn’t care that I sounded smug and self-satisfied.