A Denial of Death

by Gin Jones

  Martha came out from behind her desk to stand beside the sculpture. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  "I'm no expert, but it reminds me of the pieces in Angie's sister's collection. Hers were a lot smaller, though."

  "It's from her collection, actually," Martha said. "She offered it to me for a fraction of its value because she needed the cash. In its own way, it's as lovely as my Bentley, and unlike the car, I can keep it right here in my office where I can see it all the time."

  Helen could almost understand the appeal of the sculpture, seeing it here instead of in Charlene's gloomy home. "A sunroom is the perfect place to display it."

  "It really does seem to belong here, doesn't it? Like it wants to be in the sunlight," Martha said. "You probably think I'm crazy, believing a chunk of glass cares where it is. Angie certainly didn't think it belonged here. She got it into her head that I'd stolen it from her sister and demanded I return it or she'd report my supposed theft to my boss. She wouldn't listen to my explanations, and she was being so disruptive I had to have her escorted off the premises."

  "Did you talk to Charlene about it?"

  "I tried to call her when Angie was here, but I couldn't reach her. I'm sure Charlene sorted it all out later. At least I never heard from Angie about it again, and my boss never mentioned it."

  Unlike Angie's complaint about the sign-in policy, which wouldn't have left any sort of black mark, or even a pale gray one, on Martha's employment record, an accusation of theft could have had serious consequences. "If that was the same day as your argument over the sign-in policy, Angie might not have had time to go over your head. She disappeared the next day."

  "I didn't know that." Martha returned to her desk. "I just assumed she'd gotten over her snit. Most people do. One of the first things I learned in this job is that you can't make everyone happy. You need to prioritize. I try to look out for the patients first, their families second, and the staff third. Angie wasn't any of those, so I really didn't pay her much attention."

  Her explanation sounded plausible enough, but so did everyone else's reasons for not hating Angie enough to kill her. If only Charlene hadn't gone missing, Helen could ask her to confirm Martha's story about how she'd acquired the glass sculpture.

  "Charlene is missing now too," Helen said. "Jack's trying to find her, but no one's seen her since I talked to her on Sunday."

  Martha appeared genuinely surprised. "That's not like her at all. I'm assuming you've checked where she works. She practically lives at the store."

  "They haven't heard from her either."

  "Do the police think Ralph killed Charlene too?" Martha said. "I always heard there was some sort of feud going on between them."

  A feud Angie had manufactured and neither Ralph nor Charlene actually engaged in. "It wasn't anything more serious than Angie's complaints about the sign-in ledger here. Nothing worth killing over."

  "Ralph could have killed Charlene because she figured out he'd killed his wife. Charlene was always very close to Angie, so if she suspected Ralph she would have confronted him, trying to protect Angie, regardless of the risk to herself." Martha nodded at the sculpture. "When she sold me that piece, it was because she needed money, apparently quite desperately, but she didn't want to upset Angie by telling her about the debts."

  "We don't know that Charlene is dead. Or that Ralph killed anyone."

  "Don't you think he's guilty?"

  "I don't know what to believe anymore."

  "Subaru Foresters," Martha said, turning her attention back to her sleek laptop. "That's what you can believe in. Cars are much simpler than people."

  "You're probably right."

  As Helen made her way to the main entrance to see if Jack had returned, she tried not to let it bother her that, in all likelihood, she'd never know exactly what had happened to Angie. Just when she thought she'd found a sense of serene acceptance, it dawned on her that if Ralph was convicted of murder, Detective Peterson was never going to let her forget she'd been on the wrong side of this case. A condescending Hank Peterson was bad enough; a gloating one was bound to be much, much worse.

  * * *

  This time when Helen started down the front steps of the nursing home, she could see the mini-van approaching, with Jack at the wheel.

  While she was getting into the passenger seat, Jack said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Binney. I still can't find Charlene. Her house looks abandoned, and I swung by her store, and they said she hasn't shown up the last three days, and they're getting worried."

  Helen was convinced Charlene knew about Angie's secret career and also why Angie kept her writing a secret from Ralph. Had he found out the morning she'd disappeared, and that was what they'd argued about? Would he have been upset about the subject matter of her books, or possibly just about the way she'd kept secrets from him, hiding her work and money from him? Would it have made him angry enough to kill? Charlene was the missing link in the case against Ralph, and her disappearance only made his situation look worse.

  "Did someone from the store call the police?"

  He nodded. "The cops weren't staking out her house, though. Maybe they know where she is."

  "I hope so." Whether Charlene incriminated Ralph or not, she needed to be found. She might even know something that would help him. If so, and the real killer knew Charlene could exonerate Ralph, it would have made her a target.

  What could Charlene have known about that would help Ralph, but that he didn't know about?

  The secret bank account.

  That was the answer. Those bank records could exonerate Ralph.

  "Charlene has access to a bank account Angie kept secret from Ralph, and there were withdrawals from that account after the check-out time at the casino. They couldn't have been made by Angie, though, because she was underneath the gazebo's foundation before then. Tate can use the bank records to prove Ralph wasn't anywhere near the ATMs at the relevant times. That would mean someone else must have made those withdrawals to make it look like Angie was still alive. It might be enough for reasonable doubt."

  "Has Tate agreed to represent Ralph?"

  "Not yet," Helen said.

  "The exotic wood warehouse is next on your itinerary then, I assume."

  Helen shook her head. "He'll just have to trust me to get whatever he wants as his retainer."

  Jack put the mini-van in gear. "Don't forget I need to take tomorrow off to finish up some pottery pieces. If there's anything else you need to do to help Ralph, we should do it today. I can work as late as you need me tonight."

  "Let's stop by Ralph's insurance agency on the way home then," Helen said. "I want to be sure Samantha is really over her crush on Ralph. After that, there's nothing much I can do until Charlene returns, except for pestering Tate to represent Ralph, and I can do that without a car."

  * * *

  Helen prepared a story about having forgotten what she needed to bring for an insurance quote, although she hated the way it made her sound like she was on the verge of dementia. The story turned out to be unnecessary, since Samantha was out of the office, reassuring some of the agency's commercial clients that Ralph's arrest was just a big misunderstanding.

  The young, blonde co-worker who'd been left alone in the insurance agency today was more than happy to gossip with a prospective client when her boss wasn't here looking over her shoulder. The woman confirmed Samantha used to have a crush on Ralph, but it had faded once she met her current boyfriend. They were engaged now, and everyone who'd seen them together was convinced they were deeply in love with no reservations.

  That was one more unlikely suspect completely crossed off her list, Helen thought as she returned to the mini-van. It had taken so little time to get the information that she actually caught Jack unprepared for once. She got to the passenger door before he looked up from the gaming console. He scrambled out of the back and into the driver's seat. "Sorry, Ms. Binney. Just testing out the options."

  "Did the gaming console change your mind abo
ut driving mini-vans?"

  He chuckled. "Not really. The screen's a lot bigger than my smartphone, though."

  "Maybe Ed can install something similar in whatever vehicle we get."

  "Anything you want, Ms. Binney."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Helen sent Jack to return the mini-van, reassuring him she wouldn't need a ride anywhere tonight or tomorrow.

  Tate's car was parked in its usual spot. Inside the garage, the floor fan had been moved to within two feet of where Tate was hand-sanding yet another lamp stem. He was working by feel, the way Betty and Josie could do their needlework without looking at their hands. Tate stared across the workbench at the shelves where his exotic wood collection was stored. He didn't acknowledge her presence, even as she noisily dragged the ragged, sawdust-covered director's chair over near where he was working.

  He ought to know by now that ignoring her wouldn't make her go away. She'd become far too accustomed to being overlooked since her divorce to let it deter her now. "How's Ralph?"

  He started and dropped both the lamp stem and his sandpaper. "Landlords aren't allowed to enter their tenants' premises without notice, you know. You should at least knock."

  "I did," Helen said. "You didn't tell me to go away, so I took your silence as an invitation."

  "I was thinking."

  "About Ralph's case?"

  "Among other things." Tate picked up the lamp stem and dabbed at a dent with the sandpaper. "Have you solved the case yet?"

  "I'm working on it. Have you signed on to represent Ralph?"

  "That's what I was thinking about. Ralph is in shock, and he couldn't tell me anything useful."

  "So you still think the police are right and it's a routine domestic assault, not worth your time."

  "Convince me otherwise." He looked at her but resumed sanding as if it helped him formulate his questions. "What do you know that the police don't? They've got the date she disappeared, a five-day window when she could have been killed before the foundation was poured, and the body in a hole that Ralph controlled. Plus, there's the life insurance policy he's the beneficiary of. Even the seventy-five thousand dollars that Angie was keeping a secret, if that's ever found, could be used against him. The fact that she was keeping it secret might be viewed as an indication she was stockpiling resources in order to leave Ralph, which is yet another possible motive for Ralph to kill her." Tate put the lamp stem and sandpaper down again and dropped into the second director's chair to give her his full attention. "So, what have you got in Ralph's defense?"

  "Not much." It was refreshing, being able to tell Tate everything without keeping back any doubts or reservations. Her role with her ex-husband had always been a hybrid of both adviser and cheerleader. He'd relied on her advice, but he'd expected it to be presented exclusively in positive terms. She hadn't minded at the time, but in retrospect it would have been nice to be able to share everything with him, even her occasional lack of confidence in their plans. "If we could find Charlene, she has access to the secret bank account. I was thinking you might be able to get the records and prove someone other than Ralph was using the ATM card after Angie died."

  "Which would suggest this other person killed Angie for the money. That might be enough to create reasonable doubt for a jury." He nodded. "I like it, but it's not exactly a guaranteed win. What else have you got?"

  "Mostly just people who might have wanted Angie dead but aren't credible suspects, even for reasonable doubt purposes. Samantha is over her crush on Ralph, Terri Green was out of town—"

  "Terri Greene?" Tate said. "You suspected the town's favorite high school coach of murder?"

  "I was being thorough, like you yourself suggested I should be," Helen said, indignant. "Unlike Hank Peterson, I'm considering everyone, not making rash assumptions. I would have thought you'd appreciate that."

  "I do, but how could you possibly have suspected a woman who has selflessly dedicated her entire life to teaching, coaching, and literacy?"

  "You have to admit she had the means to kill Angie. Have you ever taken a close look at Terri's hands? They're huge and strong, and Angie was short and not particularly athletic looking. I bet Terri could have killed Angie with one finger."

  "If you're trying to convince me to represent Ralph, it's not working," Tate said. "There's no way I'm standing up in front of a jury of his peers and suggesting that Terri Greene killed Angie. If there was ever a case for jury nullification, that would be it. No one in this town would ever convict Terri of murder even if she confessed in gory detail on the witness stand. They might even convict Ralph, just to punish him for dragging Terri into the case."

  "Don't worry," Helen said. "I've ruled Terri out already. She has an alibi."

  "I'm almost afraid to ask who else you suspect."

  "No one and everyone. Angie was threatening Martha Waddell's job, she was bullying a disabled neighbor, and she stiffed the cabbie who took her to Charlene's. Those are just the people we know she mistreated, but she did the same sorts of things to everyone, so pretty much everyone in town is a suspect."

  "At least you've abandoned the money laundering theory."

  "Unless you think a jury would go for it," Helen said hopefully.

  He shook his head.

  "That's what I thought," Helen said. "Now that we know SLP is a publisher, not some sort of criminal enterprise, it doesn't seem likely they were also laundering money. And I can't see any reason why Angie's publisher would want to kill her. She was making money for them, after all. Enough money to make it worth overlooking her rotten personality."

  "So, to sum up," Tate said, "you want me to establish reasonable doubt by blaming the victim: she was such a jerk that only her husband could stand her, and just about anyone else in town could have been tempted, at some point, to kill her."

  "Anyone except Barry, the stiffed cabbie," Helen said. "He would never be tempted to kill anyone. He's practically a saint. Went on a three-day silent retreat to atone for just being angry with Angie. Can you imagine what he'd have done for penance if he'd killed someone?"

  "Ruling out suspects is supposed to be the prosecution's job, not the defense's," Tate said. "You're not giving me anything to work with here."

  "But think of what a challenge it would be to represent Ralph. You've got to admit it's not a typical, boring case with obvious suspects and motives," Helen said. She didn’t buy Detective Peterson’s theory about a serial killer, but she needed something to intrigue Tate. "And don't forget Charlene's disappearance. There may not be just one murder, but two. The first-ever serial murder case in Wharton."

  Tate picked up the abandoned lamp stem and ran his fingers over it while he stared at his exotic wood collection again for a couple minutes. Finally, he returned his gaze to Helen. "All right. I do like a challenge. I've got admit, you and your cases are never boring. But you owe me now. I'll have Adam draw up the representation agreement so I can go see Ralph first thing tomorrow morning."

  * * *

  After Tate left, Helen went into the cottage for a light dinner since it was too hot to cook, and a check-in with her nieces via internet videoconferencing. Laura was still bubbling over with excitement about her pregnancy, and all the things she was doing to make sure the baby had the best possible nutrition and environment for development. From time to time, she even held up books, opened to particularly informative charts.

  Laura never completely ran out of baby-related small talk, but eventually Lily was able to change the subject, asking Helen, "When were you going to tell us the police found Angie Decker's body and arrested her husband?"

  "After I found out who's been spying on me for you."

  "We're worried about you, Aunt Helen," Laura said soothingly. "It's not good for the baby if I'm stressed out. You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to your grand-niece or -nephew, would you?"

  "Of course not." If a large family made her niece happy, then Helen wished her the best with it. "That's why I keep telling you I
'm fine and you can stop hovering."

  "It's not like we're asking for a minute-by-minute report of your day," Lily said. "The last thing we knew, you were looking for a missing person, and now she's dead, and the person you'd befriended was arrested for the murder. It's not unreasonable for us to be worried about you."

  "Ralph didn't do it," Helen said.

  Lily wasn't that easily distracted from her point. "That's not exactly reassuring. If you're right, the killer is still loose, and he probably knows you're looking for him."

  "I'm perfectly safe. Jack is with me whenever I'm away from home, and Tate is here most of the daytime, working in the garage." Helen neglected to volunteer that Tate might be away from his studio for long stretches of time, working on Ralph's defense until the real killer was caught. "And don't forget the state-of-the-art security system you insisted I get."

  "Is it activated?" Lily said.

  Helen glanced over her shoulder at where the unlit keypad, visible behind her on the computer screen, signaled its inactive status. "I forgot."

  "Oh, Aunt Helen," Laura said with a sigh. "Please take better care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for us and our children."

  Helen crossed the room to activate the alarm and then returned to her computer. "There. It's set. You saw me do it. Now let's talk about something more interesting than my shortfallings."

  Lily glanced down at a notepad on her desk. "I learned something today that you might find interesting. I was curious about that publisher Angie wrote for, and I did some more research. You wouldn't believe how cut-throat the publishing world can be. Some authors are generous with their time and advice, but others seem to think it's an author-eat-author world. If you could get Angie's pen name, I might be able to find out if Angie was having a feud with any other authors."

  Great, Helen thought. More vague and unlikely suspects to consider. Tate was going to have to amend his theory of the case from everyone in town had a reason to kill the victim, to everyone in the world who knew her, in person or even virtually, had a reason to kill the victim. Still, she'd have to tell Tate about the possibility of widening the pool of suspects, just in case it was useful.