Justice Buried

by Patricia Bradley

  Brad looked truly puzzled, and she tried to find an answer he would accept. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad for the protection. But I don’t want to put someone else in danger.” She thought of her tiny apartment. “And, the thought of being under someone’s eye all the time makes me antsy, and I don’t know where I’d put them.”

  “Let them worry about that,” he said. “Are you going home from here?”

  She picked up her purse. “No. My mom called and wants me to come by the house.”

  Brad stood as well. “I’m on my way there, so I’ll have your back for now.”

  Surely he wasn’t applying for the job as her bodyguard, but before she could protest, Maggie spoke up.

  “Good,” she said. “Maybe Sam will have the security detail in place when you get there.”

  Maggie’s phone buzzed, and she answered it. “If you two will excuse me a minute, I have to see Shawna before she leaves.”

  “We’ll walk out with you,” Brad said.

  In the elevator Kelsey asked, “Why are you going to my parents’ house?”

  “I want to ask your mom a few questions about your dad.”

  “Sam?” What kind of questions could he have about her stepfather?

  “No, Paul Carter. Do you think she’ll mind?”

  She hadn’t expected that, and all argument left her as she realized her father’s investigation would involve the rest of her family. Like so many other things in her life, she hadn’t thought this through. “I-I don’t know.”

  “Do you talk to your mom about him often?”

  “How about never? I was so young when they divorced. After he left when I was seven, I just wanted to forget about him, especially after a classmate accused me of being a thief when his lunch money came up missing.” She shrugged. “I never stole the kid’s lunch money, but I was still ashamed. What kind of questions are you going to ask her?”

  “Just a couple of general questions. Once I have the facts I need, I’ll share what I’ve learned.”

  She started to quiz him again, but the set of his jaw told her it’d do no good.

  Traffic had thinned on Poplar, and soon Kelsey turned into her parents’ drive, with Brad right behind her. As far as she could tell, no one had followed them. She keyed the code in for the automatic gate and stared through the ornate bars while she waited for it to open. Her mother and Sam’s house sat at the end of a circle drive, and she wondered what Brad thought about the antebellum house she’d grown up in.

  A cross between the Federal and Greek Revival styles, it had top and bottom porches that wrapped three quarters of the way around the house. When the gate opened, she pulled through and parked in the circle near the front door. Brad parked next to her.

  “This is nice,” he said as he climbed out of his car. “Almost homey for something so grand.”

  “I guess.” She scanned the house and yard, trying to see it through Brad’s eyes. The house did have an inviting appeal, maybe because it looked as though someone actually lived in it and sat in the swing and rocking chairs on the front porch. “Mom and Sam enjoy sitting out here in the evening.”

  “Who tends the roses?” Brad bent over to sniff the flowers.

  “Mom. The azaleas too.” No gardener for her. The fresh scent of mowed grass tickled Kelsey’s nose. “She mows too, all two acres.” A picture of her mother flying around the yard in her zero-turn mower made Kelsey smile as she climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. “Come on in.”

  Behind her, Brad whistled as they stepped into the marble entry hall. “So this is how the other half lives.”

  Once again, she tried to see through his eyes, and realized just how much she took Sam’s wealth for granted. Crystal chandeliers hung in all the downstairs rooms, and expensive antiques in keeping with the style of the house filled every room. How did she explain that she and Sabra were raised to do chores, some they were paid for and some were just-because chores? And they were expected to save part of their small allowance. Not only that, but as teens, they’d been expected to find a place to volunteer every summer. From as far back as she could remember, her parents’ mantra had been “with wealth comes responsibility.”

  “Kelsey, I didn’t know you were here,” her mother said as she came from the back of the house. “And you brought a friend?”

  “You remember Brad,” she said. Her mother should after setting them up Saturday night.

  “Of course. I just couldn’t tell who it was with the light behind him.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to our home.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Allen.”

  “Please, call me Cynthia.”

  “He’s actually here on police business and wants to talk to you. Is Sam home?”

  “Business?” Cynthia tilted her head, confusion crossing her brown eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Kelsey. “Do you mind if I talk with your mother privately?”

  Privately? Why didn’t he want her in the room with them? She searched his face for answers and decided he’d make a good poker player. “Uh, sure. I’ll go hang out with Sam.”

  22

  THE SCENT OF BASIL AND OREGANO in the entryway followed Brad as Mrs. Allen led the way to a small study off the hall.

  “How is this?” she asked.

  “Good.” Like the rest of the house, the study was magazine-worthy. His shoes squeaked as he crossed the hardwood floors to the gold-and-white-striped sofa. He sat down and took out a notepad and pen while she pulled out the desk chair from the antique secretary and sat opposite him with her hands in her lap.

  “What do you want to speak to me about? Does it have anything to do with the murder Saturday night at the museum?”

  He’d been looking for a way to explain his questions without involving Kelsey. “It may. But first, could I get your cell phone number in case I have more questions down the road?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you.” He entered the number she gave him to his phone contacts and then looked up at her. “The reason I’m here is to find out a little about your first husband, Paul Carter.”

  “Paul?” A faint flush colored her cheeks. “Why?”

  “After the murder Saturday night, we’re looking at anything that involved previous crimes committed at the museum.”

  “I see.” She rested her fingertips on the side of her face. “How could Paul’s case be related to the murder?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to determine—if it even is.”

  “What exactly do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Do you remember if your husband was acting strangely just before he disappeared?”

  “Ex-husband,” she said. “And yes, he did seem troubled, and after he left, I regretted not asking if anything was wrong,” she said. “But you have to understand that Sam and I were talking about getting married, and I was paying attention to him, not to what Paul was doing. The day before he left, Kelsey spent the day with him at the Pink Palace. The next day she had a soccer game, and when he didn’t show up, I knew something was terribly wrong. He never missed one of her games.”

  “Do you have any idea what he was troubled about?”

  She clasped her hands together and stared at the floor. After a minute, she took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “He never talked business with me, not when we were married and certainly not after we divorced.”

  Brad made a few notes. He hadn’t meant to distress her. He paused his writing and looked up. “I noticed his full name was not in any of the records.”

  “Paul was his middle name. John Paul Carter. His father went by John, so my ex-husband was called Paul all his life.” She looked away. “Of course, I have no idea what he’s going by now.”

  Brad nodded. “And he obtained his doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do—”

  “I’m just double-checking what’s in the records. Can you tell me if he collected anythin
g?”

  She looked at him strangely. “Indeed he did—he had a whole museum of things he’d collected.”

  “I meant a personal collection.”

  “Oh, good grief, no. Everything he owned is locked up in a shed on Snowden Avenue. He took nothing with him except the clothes on his back.”

  “I see.” He tried to think of a way to ask the next question and finally decided straight out was the best way. “Do you believe he stole the artifacts he’s been accused of taking?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “At first I didn’t, but nothing else explains him just walking away from Kelsey and his job. He loved both of them.”

  “Did he have any enemies?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would you ask that?”

  Brad softened his voice as he said, “Just trying to get a feel for his life.”

  “Do you think something might have happened to him?” Cynthia twisted the handkerchief. “I never even considered that . . .” She looked at him, her eyes wide. “But that would mean someone . . .”

  “I know.” He tapped the pen on his leg. “I noticed in the report you and Sam married not long after Paul left.”

  “Yes. Paul and I were divorced almost four years when my friendship with Sam blossomed into something deeper.” She smoothed the fabric of her skirt. “I divorced Paul because he was married to his fieldwork. Sure, he came home because I insisted, but he resented it. We argued all the time, and when he informed me he’d put in for a six-month sabbatical so he could go on a dig back in Egypt, I’d had it. I filed for divorce.”

  “But he didn’t go,” Brad said. “Or at least, I haven’t found any record of him leaving after he became director of the museum.”

  “He didn’t. When he saw how serious I was about it, he canceled the trip, thinking I would cancel the divorce.” She looked down at her hands, where she’d twisted the fabric into a knot. “But I knew nothing had changed. His first love was still working the digs in Egypt. When he took the museum directorship, it was with the condition that he have the option of a sabbatical every two years. Paul would have come to despise me in the end for making him give it up. I imagine that’s where he is now. Off somewhere digging for relics.”

  “How was your relationship after the divorce?”

  “Better than it ever had been.” She smiled. “Paul always lived in his own little world, and the responsibilities of marriage were too much for him. He never should have married in the first place. But he really loved Kelsey.”

  It would seem there were no real villains in the divorce. “And then you married Sam.”

  “Yes. About a year before Paul left town, my friendship with Sam turned into romantic love. We were seeing each other, and he wanted me to marry him. But . . . I wasn’t ready. Then when Paul left and it came out that he’d been stealing artifacts, Sam was so wonderful, not only to me but to Kelsey as well. We married soon afterward . . . and here we are.”

  “Yes.” Brad put his pad away. “Thank you. I have a better picture of your ex-husband now.” He stood. “I guess I’d better find Kelsey and say my good-byes. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “She’s probably in the den with Sam. I’ll show you the way.” She stopped at the door. “Would you like to join us for dinner? We’re having spaghetti.”

  So that was what that tantalizing aroma was. He hoped she hadn’t heard his stomach growl. “No, I won’t bother you any further.”

  “No bother at all. I’ll tell Dru to set another plate.” She pointed down the hall. “And you should find Kelsey in that room.”

  He walked to the room she pointed out. Kelsey and her stepfather appeared to be in a heavy discussion, and he backpedaled out of the room until she looked his way.

  Kelsey motioned him in. “The bodyguard question is all settled.”

  “Bodyguard? Whatever for?” Cynthia said behind him.

  Kelsey flinched. Evidently she hadn’t seen her mother behind him. “It’s nothing,” she said, her eyes imploring him to back her up.

  So a bodyguard was what they were discussing. As headstrong as Kelsey was, he pitied the poor soul who got that job. Just then a soft gong sounded and was followed by a very British voice at the door. Brad turned as a tiny woman in a black uniform informed them dinner was ready.

  “Thank you, Dru. We’ll be there shortly,” Cynthia said and turned to Kelsey. “I want to know more about this business of you needing a bodyguard.”

  Kelsey clasped her hands together. “And be late for dinner? It’s not worth Dru’s wrath.”

  “Honey, it can wait until after dinner,” Sam said.

  Dru must be formidable in spite of her size.

  Cynthia Allen looked from her husband to her daughter and sighed. “Very well.”

  Brad followed the others to the dining room, where true to Sam’s words, the subject of a bodyguard didn’t come up until they had finished a wonderful meal of spaghetti and rolls that melted in his mouth.

  Cynthia placed her napkin on her plate. “Now can we discuss the matter at hand?”

  “Mom, it’s nothing,” Kelsey said.

  “It is something,” Sam said. “Someone fired shots at her today when she came out of the museum.”

  Her mother gasped and turned to Kelsey. “That person was shooting at you?”

  “We don’t know, and that’s why she is going to have a security detail.” He turned to Brad. “Any chance of you taking it on until I can get someone in place?”

  23

  THE DINING ROOM BECAME EERILY QUIET, and Kelsey stared at her stepfather. Surely Sam wasn’t serious. From the stunned look on Brad’s face, he agreed with her.

  “No!” Kelsey said to Sam. “He has a full-time job.”

  “That’s the only reason I’m not offering him the job permanently. I’m only talking about for tonight until you get home. Rutherford Security will have a man at your apartment by nine.” Sam turned to Brad. “How about it?”

  “I can manage tonight, but I won’t accept pay.”

  Sam chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Can’t say as I blame you, and I doubt I have that much money anyway.”

  She swore she heard a “You don’t” in Brad’s return chuckle. “He can escort me home and then leave. I’m not going anywhere the rest of the night.”

  “Good,” Cynthia said. “By the way, I hope you can go by the house on Snowden and go through the boxes in the shed sometime this week.”

  Her Grandmother Carter’s house, where they’d lived before her parents’ divorce. She hadn’t been there in years. She turned to her mother. “Why?”

  “I’m selling the house and the shed has to be emptied. Sam said a couple of his employees can deliver what you want and take everything else to the dump.”

  “You sold the house? I thought it belonged to my father.”

  “Your grandmother had planned to leave it to him, but Paul didn’t want the responsibility of keeping it up, so at his suggestion, she left it to me. Of course, he lived there until . . .” She raised her eyebrows. “I have an appointment to show it Friday. The shed needs to be emptied before then.”

  Did everything in her life have to upend at the same time? Her dad had stayed on in the house after the divorce because the house belonged to his mother, and going there on weekends had been like going home. One of her favorite rooms was the bright yellow kitchen.

  “Kelsey, watch me double-flip your flapjack.” He’d double-flipped it all right, right onto the black-and-white tile floor, where her puppy gobbled it down. He’d grinned and called for a do-over. The puppy had a good breakfast that morning.

  It was the last weekend she’d spent with her dad.

  Her mom leaned toward her. “I never thought to ask if you wanted it . . .”

  The distress on her face prompted Kelsey to assure her she didn’t. “It’s too big for me,” she said, remembering the ugly brown brick house. “But what’s in the shed?”

  “Your dad’s papers are there, and I saw a box labeled ‘museu
m papers’—”

  Sam leaned forward. “He had files from the museum at the house?”

  “I suppose, but I’m not sure what’s in them,” her mother said and turned her attention back to Kelsey. “There’s a desk that I thought you might like, and a few boxes with mementos of our years there, and a few other things. I have what I want to keep, and whatever you don’t want, I’ll discard.”

  “I’ll go by there tonight and see what needs to be done.”

  “Great. I’ll get the key.”

  Kelsey pushed her chair back and glanced toward Brad. “I should have asked if you have time.”

  “I have nothing planned. But if you’re coming back this way, we could go in my car and pick yours up later.”

  “Sure. Sabra’s house is around the corner.” When he looked puzzled, she said, “I live in her backyard in the garage apartment.”

  They drove to the house on Snowden in comfortable silence with the GPS giving directions. “I’m sorry that Sam wrangled you into this.”

  “No problem. I enjoyed dinner. And I like your folks.”

  “Me too.” She smiled. “Sam has been good to me. Treats me like his own.”

  “How about your biological dad? What do you remember about him?”

  “I have a few good memories. I was three when he and Mom divorced, and he was so busy we didn’t spend a lot of time together—he was often tied up on the weekends I was supposed to be with him. But when I did get to spend time with him, he treated me like a princess.”

  She gazed out the passenger window at the tree-lined sidewalks. At the light, a father lifted his son onto his shoulders. “I think that made it harder for me to understand why he left. But then, if I think about it much, it’s hard to understand now, so why would I expect a seven-year-old to? How about you and your parents?”

  He cocked his head toward her. “I didn’t know how lucky I was until I started school and found out most of the kids lived in blended or single-parent families. Not that we didn’t have problems. I don’t know if you remember my older sister, Stephanie?”

  “No, but Andi talked a lot about her sister in our mentoring sessions during my senior year,” she said and glanced up at him. “I assume Andi is doing well from what I see on television.”