by Leslie Caine
“Where is this syringe now?” the officer asked Mark.
“It’s in my glove box. I have a two-year old daughter. I didn’t want her to find it.”
“So now your fingerprints are all over it,” Steve said. “That’s convenient.”
“No, they aren’t. I used a handkerchief to pick it up. The handkerchief was Drew’s, too. He’d dropped that on my porch, too.”
Officer Kirkwood motioned to his partner. “Can we look inside your glove compartment? We’re going to need to collect those items as evidence.”
“No problem.” He glowered at Steve. “They’ll probably be chock full of Drew’s germs and fingerprints, since they belonged to him.” He shifted his attention back to the policemen. “Like I was saying, Drew was muttering incoherently, pretty much the whole time I was driving.”
“What was he saying?” Officer Kirkwood asked.
“Stupid nonsense about this guy that works for him…Lucas Somebody-or-other, and needing to talk to my wife, Michelle. And her crazy sister, Amelia. And by ‘crazy,’ I mean literally. She’s loony tunes.”
“Maybe he wanted to warn my sisters about you,” Steve grumbled, clearly having a hard time keeping his emotions in check.
I started crying from anger at Mark and empathy for the love of my life. I felt like such a helpless fool. I wanted to insist that we be allowed to leave, but it was worth enduring this conference with the police if our presence encouraged Mark to incriminate himself.
“He didn’t even know who I was,” Mark whined. “He called me Fitz a couple of times.” He snorted. “The guy passes out on my porch, I’m giving him a ride home in my car, and he can’t remember me.”
“You didn’t take him home,” I pointed out. “He was living in Steve’s and my guest room, but you drove him to our office.”
“Oh, that’s right. Hadn’t thought about that. I just automatically brought him here, figuring that’s where you’d be.” He looked at the policemen. “I’d like to go home now.”
“That won’t be possible, sir,” Officer Kirkwood replied. “We’re going to need to interview you as a witness.”
“My wife is upset and needs me,” Mark replied. “I did the decent thing. I got Drew back in Crestview to where he’s staying. Instead of kicking him off my porch, like most people would have done.” He headed down the sidewalk with his phone on his ear.
“You can’t let him go home,” Steve said. “I’m afraid for my sister’s well-being.”
“Denver’s out of my jurisdiction. I can have you file a report and have him held in custody until we get the DPD to talk to your sister in person. But I have to tell you, she was pretty convincing that you overreacted to an accidental injury she’d sustained.”
“She’s a good actress. She’s been acting happy with the creep she married for almost three years.” His eyes were looking wild. I had never seen this expression on his face. He was losing control. “I want him arrested,” Steve said, pointing at Mark. “He treats my sister like dirt, and he either poisoned my best friend outright, or he allowed him to die by not seeking medical attention.”
“Steve, Drew could still pull through,” I said. “There’s still reason to be hopeful.”
Steve hadn’t answered his phone when I called him a half an hour after he insisted that I leave. Nor my second call ten minutes after that. Nor a half hour after the second call. I was sitting on my bed at Audrey’s place and holding my phone, trying to decide if I should try to reach him a fourth time. He called me. I answered, “Hi!”
“We’re going to have to cancel the wedding,” Steve said. “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“He’s dead, Erin. My best friend is dead. They said it was an overdose. Cocaine. I should have listened to you. Maybe then he’d still be alive.”
Chapter 19
That night, it took me over half an hour to cry myself out. My tears were driven by my empathy for Steve, but also by my guilt at not liking Drew very much.
During our three-year relationship, Steve and I had experienced more than our fair share of atrocious luck. I’d seen Steve through some bad times, as he had for me. At what I’d thought was his nadir, Steve had been under Detective O’Reilly’s all-encompassing cloud of suspicion when the woman who’d broken his heart and stolen all of his money came back into town.
Now, however, he was totally inconsolable. I had told him that I was going to move back to our home and would be there in a few minutes. He’d insisted that he wanted to be alone. His wishes had made me all the sadder.
When I’d pulled myself together enough to go downstairs and tell Audrey, she slumped into the nearest chair. “We were just talking to Drew this morning at the service,” she said. “What happened? Did he die of an overdose?”
“Yes. Or at least, that’s what one of the ER doctors said it was. They won’t know for certain until the autopsy results are back from the lab.”
“How’s Steve handling this?”
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “He was so upset at first that he wanted to cancel our wedding.”
“Cancel it?” Audrey repeated in horror.
I nodded. “He wants us to just get married by a justice at the courthouse. I think I convinced him to wait another day or two before making the final decision.”
“Can’t we just postpone the wedding for a month or so?”
“Not really,” I said, still having to battle to keep my voice even. I felt annoyed at my emotions. I’d already had enough time to think this all through, and, I thought, to accept Steve’s decision, whichever way he went. All I cared about now was that we got married. And that we could get through all of this unbearable sadness together.
“It’s too short notice for the venue to reschedule,” I explained. “We’d have to forfeit our deposits. And the earliest we can rebook our venue is three months, so we’d be booking in the off-season, during mid-January. We’d rather have a simple civil-service ceremony, followed by a quiet reception, attended by just a few friends and family members.”
“Okay. We’ll make this work. We can have the ceremony here, keep the caterers, keep the guest list the same, and—”
“That’s just it, Audrey. Steve doesn’t want a big wedding and reception, now that his best friend is dead. Especially now that he’s blaming himself for the death.”
“Why is he blaming himself?”
“Steve didn’t believe me when I warned him that Drew seemed to be high on coke at the wedding shower. As it turned out, the coroner discovered lots of fresh needle marks on his body, including between his toes. The guy at the morgue showed them to Steve. Now he has an awful image in his head to remind him forever that he should have acted sooner and gotten help.”
“Steve is wrong to blame himself. Drew was solely responsible for his own bad decisions, and nothing—”
“Be that as it may, Audrey, that’s how Steve feels right now, and I understand and respect that.”
She pursed her lips. We were silent for several seconds. Part of me just felt numb. Separate from the pain I felt for Steve having to endure the loss of his good friend, I felt guilty for grieving the loss of the wedding of my dreams. I had another, deeper, underlying fear—that Steve was going to change his mind about marrying me. Maybe he should, considering how wrapped up I was in a stupid ceremony. I should be thinking exclusively about poor Drew.
“I’m sorry for his loss,” Audrey said. “I hope he changes his mind about the wedding. Even if we’re simply talking about the size of your guest list. The two of you deserve and should have a big, official send off, witnessed by all of us who want to celebrate the start of your marriage.”
“We can’t always get what we want and deserve,” I said quietly. “Life isn’t always fair.”
“True.” Audrey rose and gave me a hug. “At least, in the big picture, you two have found each other. And you’ll still be getting married a week from today. That’s all that really matters.”
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“Precisely,” I said, and I’d never said a truer word. Even so, it was lucky that Audrey couldn’t see my face. I didn’t deserve Steve. I’d let him down. Maybe he’d realize that I wasn’t worthy of being his soul mate.
We released our embrace, and Audrey turned and walked away. “Besides,” she said cheerfully over her shoulder, “I’ll throw you a surprise reception on your first anniversary that will knock your socks off.”
“It’s nice to know we have that option,” I told her honestly. “Although, what I really want is to have the police find the murderer and get a full confession, and Steve to decide that we should have our wedding just like we’d planned.”
“Do the police think there could have been foul play in Drew’s death?” Audrey asked.
“I’m not sure. I doubt it. Drew was fine when he left the memorial service. Nobody knew he was going to Michelle’s house. Except for Mark and Michelle, everyone we know who was in the vicinity was still at the service.”
“Well, that isn’t counting Aunt Bea. Or Steve’s parents. They both left maybe five minutes after you did. And George said that it was only a ten-minute drive to their house.”
“Wasn’t Aunt Bea with you?”
“Not the entire time, no. She told Eleanor and George about Michelle’s black eye and Michelle’s explanation. Right after the Sullivans left, Aunt Bea left as well for about forty minutes; I kept checking my watch. She told me she’d left a sympathy card for Fitz’s family in my car and needed my keys. When she returned, she said she realized she’d left it at home and had to go to a store to replace it.”
“That’s…odd.”
“You’re being too gracious, Erin. It’s not just odd. It’s suspicious. The Crestview police investigations are working on Fitz’s poisoning, but if it turns out that Drew was also poisoned, that apparently took place at Michelle’s house. The Denver Police will have to investigate, starting from scratch. Who knows how well the two departments will work together. If they get territorial and are unwilling to share evidence and witness statements, these murders might never get solved.”
“Or maybe Drew’s murder—if it wasn’t an accidental overdose—will get solved quickly with a large, experienced homicide division in charge. Which in turn means that Steve and I might be able to get married without an albatross flying directly overhead.”
“That’s just wishful thinking,” Audrey said. “You and I were witnesses. We have insiders’ knowledge of everyone’s relationships. You’ve got a deadline of wanting to have your wedding without bodyguards and police officers on active duty. All things considered, I think the best thing we can do right now is to solve the cases ourselves.”
“Audrey. We can’t simply decide to solve the murders on our own! We’d only be lousing up the police’s investigations. So, no. We are not going to pair up to solve crimes like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.”
“Would you rather pair up like Scooby Doo and his nerdy owner?”
“No,” I said, somewhat testily, “I’d rather let the police do their thing, while I’m being supportive of my fiancé in his time of need.”
“Which can start with your calling Eleanor and George to let them know about their son’s boyhood friend’s passing.”
“Fine. I can do that.” I turned and started up the stairs for the privacy of my bedroom.
“We’ll go talk to Aunt Bea tomorrow,” Audrey called after me.
Audrey was slipping into her demanding-mother role, which made me a little uncomfortable. She had made a good point, though, when she said that I needed to call Steve’s parents. With Drew’s parents having passed away a few years ago and Steve so despondent, they might otherwise not hear about it until tonight’s newscast.
Needing to regain my equanimity, I sat on my bed, soaking in the serenity of this room. I’d chosen a lavender tint for the wall paint that was only noticeable due to its contrast with the white trim and my delicate, cream-colored curtains. The bedroom had a softness to even the case-furniture pieces; my dresser front featured a gentle curve, as did the end tables. My color palate was serene in its white-flower-petal hues, but I’d used burnt-orange and sage-green accents sparingly—a glass vase, the painted mirror frame, a small pillow. I loved this room. And I prayed that I would be moving out of it next Saturday.
After a minute or two of breathing in my peaceful surroundings, I dialed the Sullivans’ house. Belatedly, I remembered while already listening to the ring tone that Amelia lived there, too, and that, with the death occurring on Michelle’s porch in the immediate neighborhood, it was very unlikely that they hadn’t already heard my sad news.
Steve’s mother answered.
“Hi, Eleanor. It’s Erin.”
“Oh, Erin. The police just left a minute ago. How’s Steve handling this? He didn’t answer his phone. Is he all right?”
Indeed, I was not delivering news. “He’s really upset. He wants to be alone. I feel like I need to honor that.”
There was a pause. “I suppose that’s true. But I wish you wouldn’t, Erin. I’d feel better knowing his loved one was there with him.”
Once again, my eyes filled with tears, mostly out of gratitude for Eleanor’s affirming the action that I longed to take. “Maybe I’ll go over to the house and tell him I’ll sleep on the sofa and stay out his way.”
“That sounds like a much better idea.”
“It does to me, too. Thank you for supporting me.”
“Don’t mention it, Erin.” Another pause. “You…didn’t talk to him about me yet, did you?”
“No, but…I have to soon. At some point.”
“If he’ll answer his phone, I can arrange to talk with him tomorrow. Just…not tonight, Erin. Please.”
“I won’t say a word about you and Fitz tonight. Under any circumstances.” Even though I wanted to be both respectful and mindful that investigating suspicious deaths was the job of the police, I also dearly wanted to know how Drew had wound up on Mark and Michelle’s porch. “Audrey said that you and George left the service shortly after I did. Did you happen to see Drew, or his car, in your neighborhood?”
“No, and Bea told us about Michelle’s black eye, so we drove directly there. We didn’t see Drew’s car. But the police told us his car was parked around the corner, so it’s possible we just didn’t notice it there.”
“That would explain why Mark told us he’d never seen Drew’s car. Drew must have initially parked where he could keep an eye on the comings and goings of the house, without being spotted.”
“Oh, yes. That makes sense,” Eleanor replied. “He was probably waiting to speak to Mark alone, without Zoey, or maybe to Michelle.”
“According to Mark, Drew was drunk, and tried to confront Mark, but wanted to speak with Michelle in person before he left. Mark just went back inside and locked the door.”
“Oh, dear. How dreadful.”
“Did you talk to Michelle when you and George arrived at her house?”
“She wasn’t home yet. Mark answered the door, all smiles, holding Zoey and saying she’d just gotten up from her nap. I did what any grandmother would do. Zoey reached for me, and I took her, and insisted that we take her to our house to brighten our day, after the heaviness of the funeral service. And…that’s precisely what Zoey did, for the short time she was here.”
I honestly didn’t know what any grandmother would do when confronted with the possibility that her daughter was being abused. “Michelle picked her up from you to go grocery shopping?”
“Yes. Well, no, after she’d returned from the store.”
“That’s a little odd. Steve called her as soon as we got back to Crestview, and she’d told him she got Zoey from Mark, and that she and Zoey were shopping.”
“That’s what I meant,” Eleanor said. “Michelle went to two stores. When she picked up Zoey, she said that she was taking Zoey to her favorite store, and that she’d seen Mark. She reassured us that everything was reasonably okay. But then, a little while
later, she called to tell us about the call from the Crestview police, and she was badly shaken. She and Drew were the It couple in high school. She was devastated to learn that Drew had OD’ed. Then police came here to interview us and take our statements. It’s just been…a nightmare.”
“It’s been a nightmare here, too.” I told myself not to say another word, but I started crying in spite of myself. “Steve wants to cancel the wedding. He doesn’t want to get married without his best friend standing beside him.”
“Oh, dear. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying, Erin. Don’t let him talk you into that. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him. I’ve been a lousy mother sometimes. I’ve made mistakes. I think my biggest one was never telling him how concerned we were about Drew Benson’s influence.”
“You didn’t like Drew?”
“Painful as this is to admit, no. I didn’t. He was like Eddie Haskell on ‘Leave it to Beaver,’ a show that was before your time. Drew’s poor parents tried hard, and they did the best they could. But he had an attitude all his life that the world owed him….” She stopped. “I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead.”
“I’m so glad you did, Eleanor. I’m relieved to hear you say the same things that I’ve been thinking for months now.”
“We’re more alike than either of us realize,” Eleanor said with genuine warmth in her voice.
Even while I knew that, if Audrey could hear me, she’d feel triumphant at my hypocrisy about my investigating, I asked, “Have you gotten the chance to ask Michelle if she saw Drew at her house?”
“Yes, I’ve talked with her on the phone a couple of times today about Drew. She never saw him. She didn’t even know he was there until the Crestview police called. She’s…really upset. His death hit her hard.”
I pictured the scene in my head. It would have been possible to go in and out of their garage without noticing someone slumped on one of the Adirondack chairs on their front porch. And passersby might have assumed he was a Halloween gag—the body in the chair. “Well, I’d better let you go, Eleanor. I’m so sorry about this dreadful news.”
