Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping

by Lia Farrell

  “Bethany, we know you’ve been in the house several times recently. What were you doing there?” The detective’s voice sounded like he was deliberately controlling his anger. “And don’t tell me you were finishing the space. You made several visits long after your space was completed. Mrs. Stackhouse said you signed off on your space over a week before.”

  Bethany Cooper took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Detective.”

  “What happened? If Tom Ferris attacked you and you defended yourself or if his death was an accident, that would reduce the amount of time you serve in prison.”

  “What? No. I didn’t kill him. I was in the house, you’re right, but I didn’t kill Tommy. I wouldn’t. He was my stepbrother.”

  Wayne sat back in his chair. Didn’t see that coming. He glanced at Rob, who looked equally stunned.

  “Tell me,” he said gently. He placed his big palms down on the table.

  Bethany straightened her shoulders and inhaled deeply. “Wade Rawlins, Miranda’s father, is also my father. I’m Miranda’s half-sister and Tommy’s stepsister. My mother and Wade Rawlins had an affair.” She looked away, coloring. “I never knew until I turned thirteen. Mother told me then that Wade Rawlins had fathered me. I was disgusted with her, with both of them.” Bethany’s lips curled down.

  “I see,” the detective said. “So what were you searching for in that house? Proof of paternity?”

  “Yes, exactly. My mother listed my father as ‘unknown’ on my birth certificate. She did it at Wade’s request. She said he later signed a Declaration of Paternity but never gave her the document. He told her it was in the house. I know he gave her money for my support. Probably money for groceries from time to time. He paid for me to have dancing lessons. Unfortunately, his support was always in cash, so there was no trace. My mother thought Wade would marry her when Irene died. It broke her heart when he married Joanna Ferris.”

  “Did Tom Ferris know about you being Rawlins’ daughter?

  “Yes, I finally found Tommy on Facebook and gave him my email. This was several months ago. I told him I was his stepsister. Miranda Stackhouse inherited almost a million dollars from the estate. I should have gotten something. I told Tommy he should sign the house over to me.”

  “Did he refuse? Is that what made you angry enough to kill him? ”

  “I didn’t kill Tommy. You have to believe me, Detective.” Bethany’s face was full of anguish, and her eyes were overly bright.

  Detective Nichols never took his eyes from hers as he said, “Bethany Cooper, you had the opportunity to kill Ferris. You were in the house at the time of his murder. You had a motive—his unwillingness to recognize you as a family member or sign over the house. That must have made you furious. Finally, you had the means. Ferris was killed with a Smith and Wesson pistol like your husband’s.”

  Bethany’s eyes were wide with terror. “No,” she whispered, “no.” She raised her hands to her face. Her cheeks were ashen.

  “Bethany Anne Cooper, you are under arrest for the murder of Thomas John Ferris. Anything you say can be written down and used as evidence against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.” The words rolled off his tongue, sonorous and damning.

  Bethany Cooper started to cry as Deputy Fuller stood up and asked her to stand.

  “I need to put the cuffs on you, Mrs. Cooper,” he said.

  “Please stop,” she begged. “Please, Detective. I didn’t tell you everything.”

  Wayne motioned to Rob, and they sat down again. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak. The deputy handed her a glass of water and she gulped it; her knuckles were white.

  “When I found out that I was Miranda’s half-sister, I wanted desperately to be a part of their family. My mother and I were just barely getting by. We lived in a small, grimy apartment. Mom worked so hard just to pay for my clothes, so I wouldn’t feel like the poor kid. She held Wade Rawlins responsible for our poverty. My life was so different from Miranda and Tommy’s. Whenever I saw them riding their bikes together, or walking in the park, I only wanted them to acknowledge me.” Bethany began to cry.

  “So it wasn’t about the money then?” The big detective frowned. “What did you want, Bethany?”

  “I just wanted to be part of their family. I wanted holidays and birthdays and I wanted to have a little brother. I wanted to play hide-and-go-seek with Tommy. I wanted to go clothes shopping with Miranda. So I went to see her and told her I was her sister.”

  Detective Nichols felt his whole body start to unclench. He remembered that day, so long ago, that he had left his foster family. A face flashed in front of him—the face of his small foster-brother, begging him to stay. He knew about wanting a family, wanting a little brother.

  “When was this?”

  “Around the time I got my assigned space for the Booth Mansion project. I showed up on Miranda’s doorstep and asked if I could come in. She took me into the kitchen and offered me a cup of coffee. When I told her Wade Rawlins was my father, she called me a money-hungry bitch. She said her father would never have had a relationship with a woman like my mother. She called my mother a whore. It was just awful.” Harsh sobs shook Bethany’s entire body.

  “There’s a way we could prove you’re Wade’s child,” Deputy Fuller jumped in, excitedly. “If we got a cheek swab from you and from Miranda, we could find out if you have the same father.”

  Wayne gave the young deputy such a fierce look that he sat back as if he had been struck.

  “I already thought of that,” Bethany said, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I asked Miranda about it. I thought she would want to be certain, but she said she would never take a DNA test. It was terribly awkward working with her after that.”

  “Wait here a moment, Mrs. Cooper,” Detective Nichols said. Rising to his feet, he left the room.

  Once outside he said flatly, “I don’t think she did it.” The sheriff, Deputy Phelps, and Dory waited for him to continue. “All that the woman wanted was a family—a sister and a little brother. Obviously, we’ll wait for the tests on her husband’s gun, but she didn’t shoot Tom Ferris in the back. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “I agree,” Ben said, “pending the lab’s report, of course.”

  Detective Nichols walked back into the conference room and told Bethany Cooper she was free to go. Mentally, he crossed her off his list. Unless something turned up on Dan Cooper’s gun or on Fred Powell, they had reached a dead end in the Ferris case. He shook his head at the sharp pang of memory, wishing he’d taken his little brother with him on that fateful morning he had left their foster home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sheriff Ben Bradley

  By the time the sheriff arrived at his office the following morning he was already exhausted. His air conditioning had conked out the night before. He had hardly slept, what with the heat and obsessing over the quarrel with Mae and sifting through what they had learned so far about the Ferris murder. He started the coffee machine and stood beside it, taking in the delicious scent of the first cup of the day.

  The front door opened and Dory walked in.

  “Good Morning, Dory.”

  “Good morning, Sheriff.” Dory was fresh as a daisy. Apparently her air conditioner was working just fine.

  “I got a list of the men who lived at Sigma Chi from Detective Pascoe. We need to start working through it.”

  He and Dory discussed how to obtain the phone numbers, and she offered to call the University Alumni Office and get current contact information. She said it might take a few days.

  “We don’t have a few days. Go ahead and request that information, Dory, but while we’re waiting, I’d like the deputies to see what they can find.”

  As soon as Deputy Phelps and Deputy Fuller arrived, Sheriff Bradley handed them the lists and said, “Once you have a phone number, I want you to make contact with the person and ask where he was on Au
gust second.”

  “Can’t we just eliminate the ones who don’t live in Tennessee?” Deputy George Phelps asked. Where’s that “no whining” button? I’d like to glue it to George’s forehead.

  “No, George. I want to be sure. Get started and remember that you could be talking to a murderer. If you find someone who makes you uneasy or curious, jot down the name. People travel and it could even be someone from out of state. Whoever killed him wanted Tom Ferris dead very badly. He could easily have flown in to pursue him.”

  Ben returned to his office. A few minutes later Dory stuck her head in.

  “You’ll be happy to hear that Tom Ferris’ attorney is coming in this morning. She called yesterday to see if you’d be available.”

  Half an hour later, Ben was looking out his office window when he saw a slim black woman walk toward the door to the station. She looked to be in her late forties, but like many women of color, her face was unlined. She wore a tan linen suit and high heels. The suit jacket was unbuttoned and beneath it she wore a silky blouse in a café au lait color. She wore dangling amber earrings. Despite the heat she looked cool and fresh. He opened the door from his office to the waiting room and was about to walk out to greet her when he got a text. He stopped to read it. It wasn’t from Mae, as he had hoped, but from Wayne, saying they were processing the materials from July and Fred’s house but coming up empty.

  “Good morning. Are you Ms. Bontemps?” Ben heard Dory ask.

  “Please call me Evangeline,” he heard the woman reply. “You must be Dory Clarkson. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I’m not going to ask what you’ve heard. It’s probably all lies anyway,” Dory chuckled. “So is Bontemps your married name?”

  “I’m married, but I didn’t take his name. Hate to give a man that much power. Besides, Bontemps means good times. My parents were from New Orleans and we sure had lots of good times when I was a kid.”

  “I’ll show you into the conference room,” Dory said. “Let’s get some coffee. I sent our detective out for donuts. You’re welcome to have some with your coffee when he gets back.”

  Ben trailed after the two women. As they neared the conference room, Evangeline looked over her shoulder at him. Still talking to Dory she said, “I like a woman who can boss around an armed man.” She grinned, showing a beautiful smile.

  Dory ushered Miss Bontemps into the room and flicked on the light. She acknowledged Ben with a tiny nod.

  “By chance do you like blueberry donuts, Miss Evangeline?”

  “Why, yes I do. They’re my absolute favorite.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “I’m Sheriff Bradley.” He held his hand out. “Thank you for coming in today, Ms. Bontemps. It’s good to meet you.”

  “It’s good to meet you too, Sheriff.”

  “Please have a seat,” Dory said, as Wayne walked in. He held the donut box out like a peace offering.

  “Extra blueberry donuts, as requested.” He set them on the conference table. Dory favored him with a gracious smile.

  “Evangeline, I’d like to introduce you to Wayne Nichols, our chief detective. Wayne, this is Ms. Bontemps, Tom Ferris’ attorney.”

  “Ma’am.” Wayne nodded his head. He looked at Ben. “I’ve got some things to do, boss. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Dory opened the box of donuts and bustled around with plates and coffee cups as long as she could, but Ben finally prevailed and evicted his office manager.

  Sitting across from Evangeline Bontemps at the conference table, he said, “I understand you were Tom Ferris’ attorney.”

  “Yes, I was. I read about his death in the paper. He was a nice young man. I was the attorney for his parents too—Joanna Ferris and Wade Rawlings. The accident that caused their deaths was a tragedy. As it happened, I saw Tom Ferris on the day he died.”

  “Did he have an appointment?”

  “Yes, he called last week, told my secretary that he was returning to Rosedale and requested an appointment. I met with him at ten a.m. on August second for a little over an hour.”

  “What was the reason for the appointment?”

  “He wanted to clear up a few things that still remained from his parent’s estate, but when he came in, he seemed off-kilter. He was pale, but I assumed that was due to his illness. He jumped from topic to topic, as if he was distracted. I had a hard time even getting him to sit down and tell me what he came to see me about.”

  “So you knew he had cancer, Ms. Bontemps?”

  “Please call me Evangeline, Sheriff.” She tilted her head, smiling.

  Oh, she’s good. Not answering my question, though. “Then I insist you call me Ben. How long was he ill, do you know?”

  “He had lymphoma for at least eleven years.” She looked down at the table and cleared her throat. “He came to see me right after he was diagnosed. It was really sad. He was so young, and he’d already been through so much. He wouldn’t let me tell Miranda he was in town, or that he was sick. He needed money for his treatment, so I suggested he sell the Booth Mansion, but he refused.”

  “Why wouldn’t he sell?” Ben asked. “He wasn’t going to live there.”

  Evangeline nodded. “You’re right, he wasn’t. He wanted to keep it in the family, so he asked me to find a lease-management company and rent the house. I have his power of attorney, so the lease-management firm has sent me the rental income every month, minus expenses, and I’ve put the money into Tom’s account.”

  “Who rented the house, Evangeline?” The sheriff leaned forward in his chair.

  “The Shacklefords, L.J. and his wife Nancy. They love the place, raised five kids there.” She smiled, “It’s a big house, as you know. L.J. and Nancy really wanted to buy it. They’ve got plenty of money, but Tom would never agree.”

  “So the Shacklefords moved out for the fundraiser?”

  Evangeline gave her head a brisk shake. “No. They gave up after twelve years of renting and built their own house. That’s when Miranda contacted me on behalf of the Junior League and asked if they could use the Booth Mansion for their 2013 fund-raiser.”

  “So you were the go-between, then, between Tom and Miranda?”

  “Yes, I encouraged Tom to let them use the house for the event.” She rolled her shoulders and leaned back in her chair.

  Ben was confused. “Why? He wouldn’t get any rental income, right? Did the Junior League pay him for the use of the house?”

  “Not exactly, but they take ownership for a year and use their connections, get contractors to donate time or give them deals for all the repairs and upgrades to the house.” She widened her eyes. “It’s a big, old house. Very expensive to maintain. Once the contractors are finished with plumbing, electrical, etcetera, all the designers have three months to put on the finishing touches, and then people pay twenty-five dollars a ticket to tour it, so they raise a lot of money. Afterward, the house is in great shape.” Evangeline glanced at her watch.

  “I won’t take much more of your time, but did you ever get to the business he wanted to deal with?”

  “Yes. He said his doctors told him to get his affairs in order. He made his Last Will and Testament.”

  “Can you tell me about the will?”

  “Not yet. Once it goes through probate, it’ll be available.”

  “You aren’t bound by confidentiality now, are you? Ferris is dead.”

  “There are a series of steps I’m required to complete before I can provide the will to probate court. The funeral takes precedence and we haven’t had that yet. All heirs must be located and notified and I need to obtain a certified copy of the death certificate.” She paused. “My policy is to respect the wishes of my client above all. Tom wanted me to wait until after the tours of the mansion were over before discussing the estate with his heirs. He was quite specific on that point.” Evangeline’s voice was gentle, but firm. “So, I’m sorry, Ben. You’ll get it soon, but not yet.”

  “I wondered if there was something in t
he will that might provide a clue to his killer,” he said. “If there is, you really need to tell me.”

  She pursed her lips. “I don’t believe so. I would tell you if I had any inkling that the disposal of Tom Ferris’ personal property had a bearing on the case. I just wanted you to know that he was on edge. Maybe he even saw his killer on his way in to my office. I sensed some fear, but he almost looked resigned, as if something he had expected for a long time was about to happen.”

  “That’s interesting. What building is your office in?”

  “It’s that old two-story brick building at 3448 Main Street. I think it was built in 1890.”

  “Besides your office, what other businesses have offices there?”

  “There’s another law office—the Osbourne, Townsend, Phillips and Coniglio firm. There’s also a commercial insurance agency and the Rosedale credit union.”

  “We’ll definitely look into who Mr. Ferris may have encountered. One other thing. Miranda Booth Stackhouse, the judge’s only granddaughter, didn’t inherit her grandparents’ house. Do you know why the house went to Tom Ferris, instead of to Miranda?”

  “Yes, the transfer of ownership was legally complex. Wade and Joanna Rawlings were killed in a car accident. The money from the Booth family estate came to Miranda upon Wade’s death, but the house wasn’t included in the trust. Miranda’s mother, Irene, left the house to her husband Wade, outright. Wade died instantly in the accident, but Joanna outlived Wade by several hours. Wade’s will gave the house to Joanna. Because Joanna lived longer than Wade, she owned the house at that point. When she died, she left everything to her son, so Tom inherited the house from his mother. I understand Miranda didn’t take it well.”

  “Apparently not,” Ben said, deep in thought. “Thank you, Evangeline. Call me if you think of anything else that would shed some light on this.”

  “I certainly will.” She stood up and gathered her purse and attaché case.

  Ben showed her out of the conference room and watched her walk back into the reception area. She stopped by Dory’s desk.