Scared Stiff mwm-2

by Annelise Ryan

  “Can you tell us how they died?” Aaron asks.

  “It appears they both died of injuries sustained in the motor vehicle crash. That’s only a preliminary finding, however, as we still have some test results we are waiting on.”

  “Were they killed instantly?” Katrina asks. Sarah shoots her an evil look that impresses me. That stare could melt icebergs.

  “It doesn’t appear so,” Izzy says carefully. “There was evidence to suggest they both survived the initial crash, but I can’t be sure how long at this point.”

  The evil stepsiblings all exchange pointed looks and then Grace fires away with another question. “Can you tell which of them died first?”

  Izzy takes a deep breath before answering. “Perhaps we can once we analyze all the evidence a bit more. But at this point I can’t answer that question.”

  “Well, when can you?” Grace asks, sounding impatient. “We need to know.”

  “It will probably take a few days at least,” Izzy says. “Maybe longer. We need to analyze certain fluids and examine, um, the insect activity.”

  If anyone has any concerns that the idea of bugs munching on the dead bodies of their parents would bother anyone in this group, we are quickly enlightened.

  “Well, get on it then,” Grace says irritably, and the others all nod. “Do whatever you need to do with what you’ve got and get us an answer.”

  Izzy looks like he wants to snap back at the woman but to his credit he manages to maintain his composure. “May I ask why this information is so important to you?” he asks.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Grace says, rolling her eyes and placing her perfectly manicured hands on her hips. Aaron holds one hand up to shush her and smiles at Izzy.

  “It seems there are some issues with the wills,” he explains. “As you may or may not know, Bitsy wasn’t my father’s first wife. I think he knew some of us didn’t approve of her or their arrangement so when he married her he changed his will. Now it says that if he dies before Bitsy, she inherits the bulk of his money. But if Bitsy precedes him in death, the money goes to us, Gerald’s children.

  “Bitsy had a will as well, and it states that her entire estate will go to her children, Sarah and Tom.” He gestures toward the two-some as he says their names, then sighs heavily. “There are millions of dollars at stake here,” he says, turning his gaze on me. “And where that money goes will be determined by who died first. If Bitsy survived the crash longer than my father did, then she inherits his money and it all goes to Sarah and Tom. But if my father survived longer, it goes to us. You see our dilemma here?” He bestows that charming smile of his on me again and I find myself smiling back before I know what hit me. To add to my delight, Hurley sees it and his scowl deepens.

  Izzy says, “I can’t promise you that we’ll be able to distinguish the times of death with the degree of accuracy you need. Often the best we can do is narrow it down to a chunk of hours.”

  Sarah is the one to roll her eyes this time and she stomps her foot in anger. “Goddamned spoiled rich brats!” she mutters. “You don’t need the money. The trust fund your father set up already gives each of you an annual income that’s greater than most people will see in a lifetime. You’re just being greedy.”

  Katrina glares at Sarah and grits her teeth. Grace says, “It’s not your money to begin with, you stupid bitch. Your mother was nothing but a cheap gold-digging whore who bewitched my father so she could get her hands on his money.”

  “My mother is not a whore!” Sarah screams.

  “You’re right,” Grace says, smiling smugly and catching Sarah off guard. “At least not anymore. All she is now is worm food.”

  “Fuck you!” Sarah screams. She launches herself at Grace, grabbing a chunk of that dyed-perfect hair. Katrina jumps to her sister’s defense, which forces Tom to abandon Easton and join the fray to assist his outnumbered sister. Easton watches for a second, shrugs, and then joins the melee.

  The air fills with shrieks of anger and a cacophony of cuss words. Within seconds the group becomes a blur of swinging hands, kicking feet, ripped clothing, and flying chunks of hair. The two uniform cops do their best to break it up and regain control but it’s clear they have their work cut out for them. Then one of them heightens the interest by taking out his Taser.

  Aaron, Hurley, and I step back toward the desk out of the way seconds before the Taser fires. The prongs fly out and bite home accompanied by the electrical static noise of 50,000 volts of electricity. Someone screams—it’s a low, male sound—and falls to the floor. The ploy is successful; the group immediately grows quiet and breaks up, distancing themselves from the victim.

  I hear Hurley mumble “dumbass” under his breath just before the group parts enough for me to see who got fried. There on the floor, his body rigid with agony, is Taser cop’s uniformed partner.

  Chapter 24

  An hour later we have managed to clear out the various members of the Heinrich-Conklin debacle and I’m sitting in the office library with Izzy, Hurley, and Bjorn, who has just made it onto my hit list by finding and eating the pint of Ben & Jerry’s I had hidden in the break room freezer.

  “I’ve got all the insect evidence from the bodies collected,” Izzy tells us, “but the only forensic entomologist in the state is on vacation and won’t be back for another four days. I can try to find someone else but I’m not sure how long it will take so it may be a while before we can get any data.”

  “Great,” I say. “Somehow I don’t think patience is a strong suit for anyone on either side of that family. I don’t understand why they can’t just work it out between themselves. Hell, there’s plenty of money to go around. Why not just split it up evenly between all six of them?”

  “Because that would make too much sense,” Izzy says. “The more money these rich people have, the more they want.”

  “Frigging spoiled rich people,” Hurley mutters. “I hate them.”

  His comment cheers me at first because I suspect it might be driven by his jealousy toward Aaron. Then I remember the rumors I’ve heard about Hurley’s past. Prior to coming here he worked as a homicide detective in Chicago. But a brusque run-in with a well-connected, rich man whom Hurley suspected of killing his wife cost Hurley his job, even though the man was later arrested and convicted of the crime.

  “Well, I’m ready to switch gears and get back to focusing on Shannon’s case,” I tell the group.

  “Speaking of which,” Hurley says, pulling a slip of paper from his jeans pocket. “That shrink gave me a list of names for the patients who had appointments on the day of Shannon’s murder. They all agreed to talk to me as long as they wouldn’t have to testify.” He unfolds the sheet and shows it to us. I recognize five of the names, including Jackie’s, and note that Hurley has made checkmarks beside all but one of them.

  “What do the checkmarks mean?” I ask.

  “It means I’ve spoken with them and verified their appointments. The only one I couldn’t reach was the noon appointment, this woman named Catherine Miller,” he explains, tapping a finger next to the name. “But since we know Shannon was killed sometime after noon, I don’t think it matters. The shrink’s alibi is looking pretty solid. So we’re back to the husband.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, frowning.

  “I hear your brother-in-law is representing him,” Hurley says.

  “Yes, I asked him to.”

  “You’re that convinced he’s innocent?”

  “Not one hundred percent, but I can’t see him doing it. And so far the evidence is still circumstantial, isn’t it?”

  Hurley gives me a conceding nod. “It is, but there’s a lot of it. We dumped the calls from Shannon’s cell phone.”

  “And?” Izzy and I say at the same time.

  “It’s mostly calls to her mother in Tennessee, a sister in California, and some local calls to friends, work, and such. There was one call to Erik on the day he showed up at Dairy Airs and argued with her. But there w
as also an incoming call from him at five forty-five on the day of her murder. He conveniently forgot to tell us about that.”

  “See,” Bjorn tosses in. “I told you the husband did it. It’s always the spouse.”

  Hurley gives me a self-satisfied smile.

  I try to recall what Erik told us about his whereabouts and activities the day of the murder. “Wasn’t that when he said he was having dinner with Jacob Darner?” I ask Hurley.

  “It was, and while he did have dinner like he said, Mr. Darner says he left the restaurant around five-forty, meaning Erik was on his own when he made the call and, as far as we know, for the rest of the night.”

  “You say he called Shannon, but did he talk to her?” I ask.

  “The call only lasted thirty seconds so I’m guessing he got her voice mail.” I open my mouth to ask the next obvious question but Hurley beats me to it. “And no, he didn’t leave a message.”

  “Have you asked him about the call?”

  Hurley shakes his head. “I planned to interview him at the station this afternoon but I got tied up checking into some other stuff and then the fracas here started.”

  “So all you really have is more circumstantial evidence.”

  “For now, but give me time.”

  Izzy gets up and tucks his chair in under the table. “Well, while you two battle things out here I’ve got a ton of paperwork to finish. Let me know if anything of interest comes up.”

  Taking my cue from Izzy, I also get up and push my chair in. “I have some things I want to follow up on. I still want to go back to Shannon’s house and look around. I have a feeling there’s something there I’m missing.”

  Hurley says, “We can do that tonight if you like.”

  “That would be great.” I’m delighted at the prospect of spending more time with Hurley, even if it is at a murder scene. Sometimes you take what you can get. “Unfortunately my only set of wheels at the moment is Bjorn here and I need to get him back to the cab garage. Would you be willing to be my chauffeur?”

  He glances at his watch. “I’m meeting with Luke Nelson in ten minutes and expect it to take a half hour or so but I can pick you up somewhere after that.”

  Bjorn, having finished off my Ben & Jerry’s, says to me, “I got a bulge here in my pants that needs tending to.”

  Hurley’s eyebrows shoot up halfway to his hairline. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Don’t. It’s better not to know some things.” I turn to Bjorn. “Don’t worry, Bjorn. I’ll take care of it.”

  Hurley grins wickedly and says, “Anything I can help with?”

  Though I’m pretty sure he means it as a joke, Bjorn is under no such illusion. “Hell, no, you can’t help,” he says irritably. “I don’t want another man having anything to do with my wanker.” Just in case Hurley might be dense enough to miss the meaning, Bjorn grabs his crotch and gives it a jiggle.

  Hurley, barely containing his laughter, says to me, “How about if I meet you at the cab garage at six-thirty? That way you and Bjorn here can have some private time together.”

  Bjorn and I pull up to the cab garage a little after six. The place is dark and looks deserted. Bjorn has trouble finding his personal car in the lot in part because it’s a moonless night. Fortunately there is only one car in the lot that can be his and as I’m steering him toward it, he looks at me with a frown and asks, “Who are you again?” He scans the parking lot with a bewildered expression. “Are we going somewhere? And where’s Beatrice?”

  Uh-oh. Beatrice is his wife, who’s been dead for some ten years now. I’m beginning to suspect Bjorn is a sundowner, an affectionate term those of us in healthcare use for people whose confusion worsens after dark.

  I take Bjorn’s keys and open his car, letting him sit on the passenger side to keep him from trying to drive off somewhere in his confusion. We settle in and wait for Hurley, who pulls up a short time later. Leaving Bjorn for a minute, I walk over to Hurley’s car and tap on the driver’s side window. He lowers it, smiling at me.

  “Do you and Bjorn need a little more time together?” he asks.

  “As a matter of fact, we do. Would you mind following me to his place? He can’t see well enough in the dark to drive and he’s gotten a little disoriented now that the sun has gone down.”

  He grins wickedly at me but says nothing. I head back to Bjorn and drive him home with Hurley following. I help Bjorn into his house and then spend ten minutes in the bathroom with him removing his leg bag and connecting him to his nighttime bag, one that hangs at the bedside. As I steer him to his bedroom with him carrying the urine bag in one hand like a pocketbook, he stops for a moment and stares at his feet.

  “I really should try to get some shoes to match this bag, don’t you think?” he says.

  After making sure Bjorn is tucked in and his door is locked, I walk over to Hurley’s car and climb in the passenger seat. He pulls out, not saying a word but smiling from ear to ear. Five silent minutes later we are standing at Shannon’s front door and Hurley cuts the crime scene tape. When he opens the door, goose bumps race down my arms and the carnal odor of stale blood makes my stomach lurch.

  As if sensing my hesitancy, Hurley places a hand at the small of my back and says, “It’s always hard to come back to these places. The initial horror wears off but it gets replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness.” He sighs and his breath is warm and oddly reassuring on my neck. “It’s truly disheartening to see the horrors that human beings are capable of inflicting on one another.”

  I’m surprised at the level of emotion in his voice. I’ve developed an impression of him as a hardened, tough guy and this unexpected peek at his soft underbelly is both surprising and erotic. The air around us feels charged, and when I look up at his face he gazes down at me with a warmth I’ve never seen there before. The pressure of his hand at my back increases slightly and when he lowers his head I realize he is about to kiss me. A sensation like warm molten wax courses through my body, centering in my groin area. Then I remember where we are and know in an instant that this is the wrong place and time.

  Reluctantly I pull back from him and sigh. “Not here.”

  He holds me tight a second longer before the pressure of his hand lightens. “You’re right,” he says, matching my sigh. “Let’s get back to business.”

  We enter the house and I wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale death. We pause a moment in the living room to look around and don some gloves. My gut is telling me to head back to the bedroom, that there’s something in there I missed. But I hold off and walk through the rest of the house first.

  Nothing strikes me as odd until I reach the kitchen and start examining Shannon’s food stocks. Her monthly grocery bill must have been huge. There is enough here to feed a family of six and at least a quarter of it is designed to satisfy someone with a hellacious sweet tooth. There are four different flavors of Dairy Airs ice cream in the freezer, dozens of packages of cookies and cakes stashed in the pantry, and a wide assortment of candies in the cupboards.

  Hurley, who followed me to the kitchen but stopped in the doorway, is leaning with one shoulder against the doorjamb, his hands in his pockets, his eyes watching my every move. I’m not sure if his close scrutiny is because he’s worried I might somehow contaminate the crime scene or if he’s reflecting on the moment we had on the porch.

  I finish examining the kitchen and head for the bedroom, but Hurley won’t step aside to let me by. I stop inches in front of him and we look at each other for several seconds before his face breaks into a smile.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’ve taken to your new job pretty quickly. And you seem to have good investigative instincts.”

  “It comes from being nosy, which is a survival tool in a small town like this. And it’s come in handy during my nursing career, too. The ability to read the small clues can really help when you’re trying to size someone up and get a grasp of their lifestyle.”

&n
bsp; Hurley nods. “Whatever the reasons, I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re doing a good job so far despite your tendency to get naked under the oddest of circumstances.”

  My face flushes hot at his words and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Desperate to escape that penetrating gaze of his I tell him, “I’d like to move into the bedroom now.” His eyebrows arch and his smile broadens as I realize what I’ve said. “To look at Shannon’s stuff,” I add quickly. He doesn’t move at first and I tag on a beseeching, “Please?”

  He finally steps aside and I hurry past him, hoping he won’t follow me. The idea of being in a bedroom with him after the sexually charged moments we just shared makes me nervous. Perhaps sensing my level of discomfort, he wanders off into the living room and starts rummaging through a corner desk instead.

  Once again I am struck by the level of femininity in Shannon’s bedroom. It’s a very girly room—too girly for me—and I imagine it would prove uncomfortably girly to any man who may have entered. That gets me to wondering about the intimate moments she shared with Luke Nelson. Did they take place here, his place, or somewhere else that offered a more neutral setting? Somehow I sense that this room was something of a sanctuary for Shannon, a place where no man was welcome.

  As I look at the bedside tables I remember the letters I found in there and holler out to Hurley, “Hey, I forgot to tell you that I read those letters from Erik to Shannon.” He doesn’t answer me and I assume he didn’t hear so I move closer to the door to try again. I look out into the living room and see him seated at a corner desk, his face frowning as he examines some papers.

  Curious, I walk over to him. “Find something?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t know if it’s all that significant but Shannon had quite a bit of credit card debt. On this one card alone she owed over ten thousand dollars and there are two other bills here I haven’t gotten to yet.”