Pushover (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 5)

by Dianne Emley

  Iris leaned her elbow against the arm of the chair and rubbed her forehead.

  Tracy returned clutching a wad of yellow tissues, composed but her eyes still teary. She sat on the couch again, her previous energy and good spirits displaced by weariness. “It’s funny. You don’t see someone for a long time or very often. Someone you know and love. But you get used to it. You learn to live knowing that they’re in the world and that becomes enough. It’s all you expect. The occasional phone call or card or visit and the knowledge that they’re in the world and happy…hopefully. Living, making their way, like anyone else.” She blew her nose. “Your relationship with that person begins to exist more in memories than in the real world, but it’s okay. You accept it. Then you hear they’re dead. Gone. And what’s changed really? What in my day-to-day life has changed? Nothing. But the world seems dimmer. It’s as if the person threw off a special light, a glow, and now the world is dimmer.”

  They sat in silence that spoke volumes, Tracy weeping and wiping her tears with yellow tissues and Iris chewing her thumb, holding her grisly secret, and staring at the blackened logs in the dead fireplace on the other side of the room. After Tracy’s weeping had subsided, Iris offered some information.

  “I heard from Davidovsky, the Russian police detective handling Todd’s case.”

  Tracy perked up.

  “They have a lead on the murderers. Someone recognized the two men who shot Todd from the motorcycle. They’re known criminals, professional assassins from Chechnya. Davidovsky said they’re bound to be long gone although the police are on the lookout for them. They also traced the phone calls Todd made on his cellular phone and were able to track them all down. None amounted to much, but there was one they couldn’t figure out. It was made ten minutes before Todd was shot to death. It was to a Dr. Hart in Visalia. An ophthalmologist. It was a short call, just a few minutes. No one at the doctor’s office recalls getting a call from Todd or even knew who he was. He’s wasn’t a patient.”

  Tracy frowned and twisted the tissues between her hands. “Dr. Hart? Visalia, you say?”

  “An ophthalmologist.”

  “I think that’s where Mona works.”

  “Mona?”

  “Mona Edgerton. She’s married to Todd’s best friend, Mike. Was Todd’s best friend. Mike lived two doors down from us. Todd and Mike grew up together. All through school, Mike was Todd’s only close friend. Todd knew lots of people. He was the personality kid. You probably knew that. But he didn’t get close to people easily.”

  Iris nodded ruefully.

  “That’s odd.” Tracy dropped the wad of tissues on the coffee table. “I wonder why Todd called Mona all the way from Russia.”

  “Why is it odd?”

  “I didn’t think Todd had been in touch with Mike and Mona. Course, I don’t know who he kept in touch with. I spoke with Mona…over a month ago. She didn’t mention Todd, but then she and Mike have been having their own problems.” Tracy fell quiet and Iris sensed she was holding something back. Her hand flew to her cheek. “They won’t know about Todd.” She grabbed her lower lip between her teeth. “I can’t tell them something like that over the phone.”

  “Visalia’s about an hour or so from here, isn’t it? I’d like to talk with Mike and Mona. Do you want to come with me?”

  Tracy glanced at her watch. “Two o’clock. Kids will be home soon.” She drummed her fingers against her cheek. “Sure. I’ll call the neighbor and ask if she’ll watch the kids. Our kids play together all the time anyway. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She stood. “I’d rather not be alone when I tell the Edgertons about Todd. I might lose my nerve otherwise.”

  While Tracy made arrangements for her children, Iris looked in the telephone book and found the listing for Albert Hart, M.D., in Visalia.

  Tracy reappeared with a brown paper lunch bag and a cardigan sweater. “I packed some snacks and drinks.” She shrugged, “Once a mom, always a mom.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Highway 99 from Bakersfield to Visalia cut flat miles through vast cultivated fields of America’s salad bowl. Tracy asked Iris to leave the top down on the Triumph. Iris gave her an extra scarf she kept in her glove compartment to tie over her hair and they drove mostly in silence as was demanded by the wind, the road, and the roar of the Triumph’s engine.

  When they reached Visalia, they made a few wrong turns but finally reached a complex of one-story medical offices.

  “Aren’t you going to put the top up?” Tracy asked, concerned about the Triumph.

  “If anyone wants to steal it, they can slit the canvas top.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Tracy began walking toward the low brown buildings without waiting for Iris to finish untying her scarf. Tracy was halfway across the parking lot before she turned to wait for Iris. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little scatterbrained today.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Dr. Hart’s office was in a corner suite. He shared it with an optician and another ophthalmologist whose brass placards were on the door beneath his. The waiting room was decorated in soothing pastels with Impressionist prints on the walls. Tracy approached the reception window behind which several women were at work. A tall, slender man with thinning hair and gold-framed glasses was leaning against the counter, writing on a patient chart.

  “Can I help you?” asked a woman seated closest to the window. A plastic name tag on her pink jacket identified her as Chris.

  “I’m here to see Mona Edgerton,” Tracy said brightly, perhaps trying to disguise any hint of foreboding in her voice.

  The doctor looked up from his notes and the other two women stopped what they were doing to glance at one another. Chris turned to the doctor, as if for assistance. He circled the counter, opened the door, and walked into the waiting room.

  “I’m Dr. Hart. Are you a friend of Mona’s?” he asked Tracy.

  “Yes.” She took a step back. “Is something wrong?”

  He frowned. “Mona Edgerton was murdered over the weekend.”

  Tracy gasped and reached out in Iris’s direction. Iris put her arm around her.

  The doctor explained what had happened. “When she and Mike didn’t show up for dinner Sunday evening as planned, Mona’s parents went over to the house. They found her on the bedroom floor. She’d been strangled.”

  “What about Mike?” Iris asked.

  Dr. Hart shook his head. “Gone. Mona had told her parents he was taking a backpacking trip in the Sierras for a couple of weeks. He was due to return last Saturday.”

  Tracy moved away from Iris and went to a chair where she slowly sat down.

  Two of the office staff began weeping. One of them rose from her desk and left the area.

  Iris pressed for more details. “Do the police have a suspect? Were Mike and Mona having problems?”

  “They had their problems like anyone else,” Chris volunteered. “They’d had financial difficulties lately. Mike’s been unemployed for about five months. He was an account representative for a business machines company in town and he got downsized. Mona told me he was getting pretty depressed. Then about three weeks ago, she came to work all smiles, and told me Mike was going backpacking in the Sierras by himself for two weeks. She was glad that he’d decided to do something, anything. She was happier than I’d seen her in a long time.”

  “Did Mike frequently go backpacking?” Iris wondered if her questions sounded overly direct.

  “He used to,” Chris replied. “He was a big outdoorsman. But with the job and everything, he didn’t have time to take long trips. Mona could care less about it. They did some camping in tents and stuff, but not way out in the backwoods, like Mike used to do. Mona was looking forward to having time apart. Things had been tense at their house. Mona had been trying to get pregnant for ages. Before Mike got laid off, they’d started fertility treatments, which cost a fortune. They really wanted a baby. Then he lost his job and—”

  “Mike couldn’t have killed
Mona.”

  Everyone looked at Tracy who previously had been sitting quietly with her hands clasped in her lap. She now clutched the chair arms, her knuckles white. “I practically raised that kid. He was my brother’s best friend all through school. I knew him. He couldn’t have murdered his wife. He adored Mona and she adored him. It couldn’t have happened that way.”

  The doctor opened the door, went into the front office, and began searching the counter. Finding what he was looking for, he wrote on a pad and held the note paper through the open window. “If you have information that might help the police in their investigation, I know they’d love to talk to you. A detective named Russ Proctor is handling the case. Here’s his phone number.”

  Iris took the paper from him.

  “The police station’s less than a mile from here if you want to go by."

  “Thank you. I think that would be a good idea.”

  Tracy was chewing her fingernails. “Let’s do that. Somebody’s got to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m so sorry to have been the bearer of bad news,” the doctor said. “Everyone in town knows about Mona. You must not be from around here.”

  Tracy abruptly left the office without another word.

  “No,” Iris responded, watching her leave.

  “Poor woman,” Dr. Hart commented. “It’s a big loss. Everyone loved Mona.”

  “One thing happened that was strange, that I keep thinking about,” Chris said. “The last time I saw Mona was Friday. She’d taken half a day’s vacation and left the office early. Late in the afternoon, she came by to pick up something she’d forgotten and she was dressed to the nines. She had on this very expensive-looking silk dress and heels. I knew she didn’t buy them in Visalia. Our little stores around here don’t carry clothes like that. So I asked her where she got the fabulous outfit. She got this big smile on her face and told me she’d ordered it from the Saks Fifth Avenue catalogue. I didn’t say anything, but I thought it was odd, them trying to make ends meet on her salary alone and her coming in here like that. I mean, she had new shoes, purse, jewelry, everything. Mona must have known what I was thinking because she said, ‘Don’t look so concerned, Chris. Things are going to be different for me from now on. You’ll see.’ And then she left.”

  Chris touched the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t tell the police. I wonder if I should.” She looked at Dr. Hart who was standing next to her.

  “It couldn’t hurt,” he said. “Maybe she just went a little nuts and maxed out her credit cards.”

  “Thank you again,” Iris said. “I’d better see to my friend.”

  Iris found Tracy sitting on the edge of a cement planter outside the door.

  “What’s happening, Iris? What’s going on?”

  Iris gently pulled Tracy’s arm. “Let’s go talk to this detective.”

  Detective Russ Proctor brought Iris and Tracy back to his desk where they’d interrupted his late lunch of a tuna salad sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a soft drink from a Subway sandwich shop. The women urged him to finish his meal.

  Proctor wiped his moustache with a paper napkin. “Busy day. Had a gang shooting on the south side. Two down.”

  Iris was surprised. “You have gang problems here?”

  “Gangs are everywhere now. But we’ve had gangs for a long time. Mostly Latino. Recently, Eighteenth Street, the big L.A-based gang, has been trying to carve out a territory.” He was tall and well-built with curly brown hair that he attempted to wear smooth. His bright blue eyes were incisive and watchful. “What information do you have about the Mona Edgerton murder?”

  Tracy sat on the edge of a wooden chair. “I’ve known Mike and Mona Edgerton for years. My brother Todd grew up with Mike. They were best friends. They were roommates at Cal State Fresno. That’s where Mike and Mona met. I can tell you without any doubt that Mike did not murder his wife. He doesn’t have it in him to do anything like that. He’s a very gentle person. Kind and giving.” She clenched her fist. “He couldn’t have murdered Mona. He just couldn’t have.”

  Proctor listened without reaction, carefully dragging the napkin down his moustache after each bite of the sandwich. He popped the last corner into his mouth and balled up the wrapping. “Do you know Mike Edgerton’s whereabouts last Saturday night or since?”

  “No, I haven’t seen him for…it must be two months,” Tracy said.

  “What about your brother? Do you know the last time he saw Mike?”

  “No, I don’t. I haven’t been in contact with my brother much over the past few years. But I know he called Mona’s work last…” Tracy looked at Iris.

  “Monday. Two Mondays ago.”

  “Do you know what they talked about?”

  “No,” Tracy responded.

  “I’d like to talk to your brother. You say his name is Todd. Same last name as yours?”

  Iris was about to tell the detective the critical missing detail that Tracy seemed unable to reveal when she spoke up. “My brother is dead. He was murdered the same night he called Mona.”

  Proctor raised his eyebrows, the most emotion he’d displayed since the women had arrived. “Where?”

  “In Moscow,” Tracy explained. “He was living there.”

  Proctor jammed the straw into the ice at the bottom of his jumbo-sized drink. “What happened?”

  When Tracy hesitated, Iris jumped in. “Mafia. That’s what the Russian police think. Todd was in business there. The Russian Mafia’s a real problem for businessmen.”

  “Damn.” Proctor gave his head a quick shake. “Why would he call Mona Edgerton? Were they having an affair?”

  “No.” Tracy looked at the ground and added, “I don’t think so.”

  “Had they had one in the past?”

  The question made Tracy uncomfortable. She shifted her position in the chair and re-crossed her legs. Iris waited for Tracy to reveal the piece of the Mona, Mike, and Todd story she’d left out earlier.

  Tracy took a deep breath. “I hate to even tell you about it because I know how it’s going to look. I’ll never in a million years believe that Mike Edgerton murdered Mona.”

  Proctor leaned back in his wooden swivel chair that creaked under the pressure and patiently regarded Tracy. He seemed prepared to wait as long as necessary. “Mona Edgerton was strangled in her bedroom apparently by someone she knew. There was no evidence of a forced entry or a struggle. If you have any information that might help us solve this case, her family would be very appreciative.”

  Tracy’s face looked drawn and pale. “My brother Todd transferred from USC to Cal State Fresno at the beginning of his sophomore year. He moved in with Mike who’d started at Fresno out of high school. Todd is…was a real charmer. Good-looking, lots of girls, lots of buddies. Mike was different. He was a good-looking guy too, but he was kind of shy and quiet. They made a good match, the two of them. Mike was a leveling influence on Todd and Todd got Mike out of the house.” Tracy paused and picked a string off her pants.

  “Todd met Mona at a party and they started dating. Mike hardly ever had any dates, so Todd and Mona would sometimes take him with them when they went out. Todd told Mona he loved her, but he had a funny way of showing it.” She gave a weak smile. “Mona said she thought he was mad at her half the time. He’d be loving and sweet, then he’d turn around and be distant and cold. Sometimes he’d disappear for days.”

  Iris reflected on her similar experiences with Todd in Paris.

  “One day, Todd came home from class and found Mike and Mona in bed together. They told him they hadn’t been seeing each other romantically for very long and were going to tell him about it soon. Without a word, Todd loaded everything he could into his Mercury Cougar and left. None of us heard from him for weeks. We notified the police and everything. No word. We were terrified. After three weeks, Todd called. He’d driven across the country, roaming around, sleeping in his car on the side of the road, and ended up in New York City.” She sighed sadly. “This was a
kid who’d never been out of California until then.”

  Iris thought to herself that Todd had never stopped running.

  Tracy brightened when talking about her brother’s adventures. “In New York, he started doing photography. He’d always been interested in it. He got involved in the club scene there and took pictures of celebrities, which he sold for a lot of money. His photography took him all over the world. He ended up in Moscow.” The last word hung in the air like a discordant musical tone. She twisted her wedding ring.

  Proctor concocted an ending to the story. “Mike and Mona get married. Years go by. They eke out a modest living. As you said, Mike was a soft, likeable guy. Not a go-getter. He loses his job. Can’t find another one. She can’t get pregnant and now can’t afford the fertility treatments either. She gets in touch with her old boyfriend Todd who’s leading this glamorous life. They have an affair, maybe Mona flaunts it to Mike, and it tips him over. I think your brother’s murder in Moscow was a coincidence. I know how you feel about Mike, but he remains our main suspect in Mona’s murder.”

  Tracy clutched her arms and leaned forward against her crossed legs as if she was in pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore. It’s like the world’s been turned on its head.”

  Iris rose to get a closer look at a bulletin board on the wall next to Proctor’s desk. Pinned to it was a color photograph of a man and woman wearing bright sweaters standing in front of a Christmas tree. “Is this Mike and Mona?”

  Tracy turned to see. “That’s the Christmas photo they sent last year.” Her face puckered and she quickly looked away.

  Proctor took a box of tissue from a desk drawer and set it near the edge of his desk.

  Iris studied the photograph. Mona was an attractive blonde with long, straight hair that fell past her shoulders and a big smile. Mike was considerably taller than his wife, broad-shouldered and lean. He wore a full beard. “How tall is Mike Edgerton?”

  “He’s six-foot-one,” Proctor answered.

  “Brown eyes?”