After what seemed like hours, Detective Bronsen returned and climbed in behind the wheel. He shook his head. “A suicide.”
“Are you sure?” How could they know this soon that suicide was the manner of death? Maybe a note had been left behind; if not, it seemed a little early for that.
“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” he said. “I’ve never understood why someone would take her own life. I mean,” he pointed toward the house, “look at that place. A mansion. And the victim was behind the wheel of a Lamborghini.”
“Money doesn’t equal happiness,” I said, cringing as the cliché slipped past my lips.
He stared at me. “True,” he said, “but tell that to the rest of the citizens of this town.”
“Who was the victim?” I wondered if it was a name I would recognize.
“I can’t give you that information,” he said, “pending notification of her family.” The official language rolled off his tongue without thought.
“Then can you tell me who found her?”
“Her dog.”
“What?”
“Yep. The victim’s yellow Lab apparently smelled the fumes and ran to a neighbor’s house and barked its head off until it got the response it wanted. The neighbor is shook up, barely able to talk to us.” He sighed. “I’ll take you back to the station. It’s going to be a long night of paperwork.”
“Okay.” I rolled my window up. I wasn’t sure if my chills were due to thoughts of the victim or the night air.
My husband, David, greeted me when I returned home. I told him what little I knew about the suicide victim. “That’s all Detective Bronsen would say. It was hard to wait in the car. I might have noticed something the seasoned officers didn’t.”
David wrapped his arms around me. “Sweetheart, you don’t belong at a crime scene, not in your condition.”
“Dr. Francis said it was fine, as long as I didn’t exert myself.” Normally I welcomed his thoughtfulness, but coming on the heels of Detective Bronsen’s insistence that I stay in the car, it grated.
I sighed and let it go. David and I were both forty and had given up hope of ever having a baby. When we least expected it, I got pregnant.
“I have to clear the table for tomorrow’s workshop before I go to bed. The girls are always on time, eager to begin working on their glass projects. And I’m running out of supplies and need to order more.”
“Bella, maybe next year we can afford to open a glass shop in downtown Carmel,” David said. “Big enough for a few tables for classes and display cases for all your glass.”
I smiled, visualizing my future shop. “Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? I could hang stained glass projects in the windows to draw customers. It would be so much fun. And you could make cases large enough to hold whole sheets of glass in all colors.”
“I’d be happy to,” he said. “Don’t stay up too late. Expectant mothers need their sleep.”
~*~
Tuesday morning three of my stained glass students—Nan, Julie, and Laura—arrived promptly at eleven. I had coffee and cookies set out on one end of the kitchen counter.
My kitchen is only large enough to accommodate one worktable for four students. Fifteen minutes later, one place remained empty. I looked at my students. “I wonder where Fawn is.”
The women shook their heads and shrugged. “Didn’t she call?” Nan asked.
“No. She hasn’t missed a class in the three months she’s been coming.”
Fawn was the jokester of the group, always laughing or teasing, even making fun of her own glass mistakes.
Cutting glass and soldering can be hazardous if you’re not careful. That’s the reason I keep Band-Aids® handy. I also opened the windows and had a small fan to keep the air fresh.
After I found out I was pregnant, I quit soldering because of the fumes. “I’m sure Fawn will show, but we’ll go ahead without her. Let me see what you’ve done since the last class.”
I walked around the table, examining their work. Nan was working on a glass birdhouse, while Laura and Julie were cutting glass for small accent lamps. But my mind kept going to last night’s suicide victim, wondering who the woman was. I reached in my pocket for my cell phone and excused myself to call Detective Bronsen.
“Why am I not surprised to hear from you?” Detective Bronsen asked.
“You’d be surprised if I didn’t call,” I said. “Who was she, Detective?”
He hesitated. “I assume you’re referring to last night’s suicide victim. Her name was Fawn Daniels.”
My heart nearly stopped. I clutched my stomach and sat down on the nearest stool at the kitchen counter. “You’re mistaken. She’s...” I glanced at my three students at the opposite end of the kitchen, at the empty space at the table where Fawn usually worked, and then at the birdhouse she’d been working on.
“She’s what?” he asked.
“Are you positive it’s Fawn?” I placed a protective hand on my belly, as if to shield it from the harsh realities of life.
“Yes. Bella, if you knew her, do you have any idea why she would kill herself? Her husband said she’d been depressed.”
I’d never met Mark Daniels, but I knew he was running for an elected office in Monterey County.
“Fawn would never kill herself. She’d just finished chemo and was excited to resume her normal routine. She wouldn’t go through all that and then take her own life, no matter what her family situation was.”
“I’m sorry, Bella. Sometimes we don’t know someone as well as we think we do.”
Hard as it was to admit, I agreed with his sentiment. However, it didn’t square with what I knew of the woman. “But Fawn was one of my stained glass students. She was supposed to be here this morning. She was fun, beautiful, happy. Not someone thinking about killing herself.” I visualized Fawn as she was the last time class met, wearing beautiful silk scarves to cover her hair loss, and knew in my heart that she hadn’t chosen to end her life. “Was there a suicide note?”
“No. No liquor bottle or prescription drugs. The car simply ran out of gas by the time the neighbor found her. Her husband was distressed enough to need medical attention when he heard what happened.”
“Where was he when she allegedly killed herself?”
“At a board meeting, but we haven’t confirmed that yet.”
I felt eyes on me and looked up to see my students watching. I turned my back on them and whispered, “I’m in the middle of class. How am I supposed to tell them Fawn is dead?”
“There is no easy way, Bella. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. I have to go.” I hung up, my heart heavy. Poor Fawn. Was all her fun and laughter a cover-up for something bad that was going on in her life?
Chapter 2
I returned to my students, my eyes going to the birdhouse Fawn had been working on, a green schoolhouse with a brown roof and orange door. There was only the tiny bell left to solder above the door to finish the project, and then a little effort to clean it up. She’d said she couldn’t take her projects home to work on because there wasn’t enough space. After seeing Fawn’s house last night, I realized that was a lie. What other lies had she told?
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I have bad news. Fawn won’t be returning to class. She passed away last night.”
Shock spread around the table. Nan squealed in pain when her hot soldering iron slipped, almost burning her finger. “Oh no. That’s not possible,” she said. “She was fine last week—excited that she could end her chemo. What happened?”
That was a logical question to ask. Because Detective Bronsen hadn’t said I couldn’t tell them how Fawn had died, I replied, “Suicide.” That created a volley of responses.
“Never!”
“There’s no way she’d kill herself!”
“You’re mistaken. Fawn was one of the happiest people I know!”
How quickly we spoke in past tense. Glasscutters were set aside and shards of glass brushed away as the g
irls continued to ask questions I didn’t have answers to.
“How did you hear about Fawn? Because you’re a police volunteer?” Laura asked.
“I was on a ride-along with Detective Bronsen last night when the call came in. I didn’t know where Fawn lived, and I wasn’t allowed near the garage where she was found. Allegedly, she killed herself.” Shocked silence made my voice seem loud, and I said quietly, “Detective Bronsen wouldn’t tell me her name at the time because her family hadn’t been notified. That’s why I called him now, to find out who she was.”
“You must be on good terms with the police,” Julie said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Julie had always been curious about my relationships at the police department.
There was no mystery about it. I graduated from the Citizens Police Academy, passed a comprehensive background check, and became a volunteer at the station. I tag abandoned vehicles, help out at the wine festivals and other events. I enjoy the friendships I’ve acquired with the police officers and the other volunteers.
Julie shrugged. “I’m surprised your detective friend would tell you what happened to Fawn while it’s an ongoing investigation. Isn’t that breaking the law or something?”
“He wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been riding with him when the call came in. And I wouldn’t have told all of you, but we saw Fawn every week in class. We need to share what we know about her, if only to prove she didn’t kill herself. If there’s anything you know, or something Fawn said that might help with the police investigation, I’ll pass it on to Detective Bronsen.”
There was another reason I encouraged them to share, and it wasn’t something that I was willing to mention while we were mourning our friend’s death. This wasn’t the first time I’d been accidentally involved in deaths of a suspicious nature, but it was the first and hopefully the last, involving someone I knew. Some officers teased me about having psychic insight or intuitive premonition, like a medium or palm reader, while others were skeptical about what value I bring to the table. David and I laugh about it, but sometimes what I’ve sensed about certain police investigations has frightened me. I can’t explain it, but I can’t ignore it either.
“How did Fawn die?” Nan asked.
“Carbon monoxide poisoning.” I explained about the dog and the neighbor who called 911. “I guess there wasn’t anything to make the police think it wasn’t suicide, but I still don’t believe that Fawn took her own life.”
They chorused their agreement.
“Maybe the husband did it,” Julie said. “Isn’t the spouse the usual suspect in an unexpected death like this?”
“Mark wasn’t home,” I said. “Detective Bronsen said he was attending a meeting.”
“Didn’t Fawn say he’s running for some political office?” Nan asked.
“State Representative or Assembly Person,” I said. “Fawn wasn’t happy about it. She didn’t want to be a political wife whose husband spent his time in Sacramento.”
Laura nodded. “It wouldn’t fit her personality. Fawn was too nice for that, but I do remember her saying it only required part-time attention, with occasional visits to the Statehouse for voting and other government business.”
“It’s sad to look at the birdhouse she was making for Mark,” Julie said. “She thought it would be fun to leave love notes inside for each other. It was going to be her Thanksgiving gift to him.”
Hmmm. After class several weeks ago, Fawn had mentioned to me in confidence that her baldness embarrassed Mark, and that he’d had a difficult time accepting her condition. But her mention of love notes the next session had convinced me she and he had patched up their relationship. Did she have a change of heart? Had their marriage taken a turn for the worse?
My gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a question.
“Bella? Do you think we should send flowers to Mark?” Laura asked. “Or take Fawn’s birdhouse to him and tell him she was making it for him as a surprise for Thanksgiving? We could drop by as a group and offer our sympathy.”
I smiled. What a great group of girls. “I like the idea of taking the birdhouse to him, but let’s wait a day or so. I’ll ask Detective Bronsen what he thinks.”
Laura stood and picked up the board that held the pattern for her lamp and the pieces of glass she’d already cut. “I’m all for taking the birdhouse to Mark, the sooner the better. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve lost interest in working on my lamp. I can’t concentrate, thinking about Fawn and why she might kill herself. Would it be okay if we ended the class early?”
I was disappointed, but understood when the others agreed they weren’t in the mood to continue working either. Everyone started gathering their supplies.
I hoped we would be able to talk about Fawn and come up with something to help with the police investigation. Usually the class was fun, but Fawn’s death made our efforts seem out of place.
“Bella, I’m sorry you had to be the bearer of such tragic news,” Nan said. “It must have been awful for you to learn it was Fawn’s house you were at last night. Will you let us know when we can deliver her birdhouse to Mark?”
“Of course I will. I’ll solder the school bell in place and polish the birdhouse.”
Nan said, “I’ll do it if you like.” She knew I’d stopped soldering as soon as I’d found out about the baby.
“Thank you anyway, but just that little bit of solder will be fine.” I thought for a moment before continuing. “After I talk to Mark, I’ll contact you. I’ll pick everyone up and drive us to their house since I know where he lives.”
It was almost one o’clock by the time my students left. I straightened the worktable, unplugged the soldering irons, and brushed stray pieces of glass into a wastebasket. After a lingering look at Fawn’s birdhouse, I went into the family room and curled up on the sofa. I wasn’t in the mood to read or work on my own glass project, and I never watched daytime TV.
Why do bad things happen to good people? And why does such a tragedy seem even worse during the holidays? That reminded me…with Thanksgiving just around the corner and both our parents coming for dinner, I should be planning the menu and making a shopping list.
Instead, my thoughts drifted back to Mark being alone in that big house in Charing Cross. Did he have family nearby? Would it be proper to invite him for Thanksgiving dinner with my family? I had more questions than answers but I also had difficulty keeping my eyes open.
Someone was gently shaking my shoulder.
“Bella, wake up.”
I opened my eyes to see David smiling down at me. “Honey, you’re home early.” I got up with his help, clamping my hand over my mouth to hide a yawn.
He laughed. “I had to see a contractor in the area and decided to come home instead of going back to the office. It’s four o’clock.”
“What? No way. The girls...” I grabbed his wrist and checked his new Apple watch. “You weren’t kidding.”
“You sleep more now that you’re pregnant.”
I grinned. “I know. She’s going to be a beautiful baby.”
“He sure will. What’s for dinner? Want to go out?”
“No, there’s leftover stew, but it’s too early to eat.” Then it all came back to me. “David! Fawn is dead!”
“What? Fawn Daniels?”
“Yes. She was the victim I told you about last night. I talked to Detective Bronsen this morning. You said you’ve met Mark, Fawn’s husband. Do you think he’s capable of killing her?”
David rolled his eyes and said, “Hold on, Bella. Please tell me you’re not getting involved in another crime.”
“No, of course not. But the police say Fawn killed herself. They’re wrong, David. Why would she kill herself after just finishing chemo? That doesn’t make sense. She made a birdhouse for Mark for Thanksgiving, and she’d already picked out glass for a window on their stairway. Don’t you see? She obviously had plans. Killing herself was not one of them.”
I felt desperat
e to explain why suicide was not an explanation for Fawn’s sudden death, and I rattled on, “Who would do such a thing? Not the dog. Not the neighbor, because he called the police when he found her. Who would kill her?”
David took hold of my shoulders. “Whoa, slow down,” he said. “Let’s think this through. Was the garage unlocked? How did the neighbor get inside? Did the dog let him in?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No, I’m being practical. Do the Daniels have a maid?” He slid his hands down my arms and held my hands. I felt his love wrap around me, and I leaned against him.
“Not that I know of. I didn’t even know what neighborhood Fawn lived in.” I explained that Fawn had said Mark was unhappy about her hair loss after chemo—and how he was having trouble accepting it. “That doesn’t sound like a perfect picture of wedded bliss.”
“I don’t know Mark well, but he’s likeable and friendly. He always looks like he walked off the cover of some fashion magazine.” David hugged me.
“So appearances matter to him.”
“I guess. Look. He’s the last person I would consider a suspect. I remember him saying how proud he was of Fawn and how well she managed her illness. I think you’re wrong, Bella.”
I stared at David. He had a different take on Mark than I did. Even though I never met him, Fawn’s comments had left me with a less flattering impression.
~*~
Later that evening while I was filling the dishwasher with dinner dishes, my cell phone rang. I reached in my jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. Surprised to see it was Detective Bronsen, I said, “Have you found out who killed Fawn?”
“Bella, her death was suicide, not homicide. Her family is in town and they’ve accepted that she was depressed and that she killed herself. Why can’t you? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m familiar with your reputation, and I can’t fault you for what you sense is wrong in this case. I’m calling because the family wants to meet you.”
“Me? Why?” I wiped the counter with a dish towel.
“Fawn’s parents think she may have talked to you during class about problems she had. I guess they think it might have been like complaining to a hairdresser. Does that make sense to you?”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 7
