Murder.com

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

“Who else could it be?"

  “I don't know. It's just this crazy feeling I have."

  Ken remained silent.

  Angie sat down in the big leather chair. “Ken, did you know the strange woman who came to the party?"

  Sandy looked puzzled and glanced from one to the other. “What woman?"

  “She said her name was Melinda."

  At that moment, a crash sounded in the kitchen. Angie jumped up and stuck her head out the open door of the study. “Marty. You okay?"

  “Uh, sorry, Mrs. Nevers. I just dropped an empty pan. “Everything's fine."

  She went back to her chair.

  Sandy cocked her head. “Melinda who? I don't remember seeing any strange woman at the party."

  “She didn't actually get more than inside the door before Bud took her back out on the porch. I never learned her last name. In fact, I never got to talk to Bud about her at all because the bus accident happened the next day and™” Her gaze dropped to her clenched hands and she let out a soft sigh. “That's why I wondered if you knew her."

  Ken quickly responded. “No. I didn't see her and I don't recall anyone by ... what was her name?"

  Angie fought back the tears. “Melinda. I did so hope you knew her. Bud seemed so upset afterwards and didn't act himself all week."

  Ken put his glass on the bar. “I don't mean to be rude and change the subject. But do you think dinner might be ready? I have an early appointment in the morning and can't be out too late."

  * * * *

  That night, as Ken and Sandy lay in bed, Sandy put her arm across her husband's chest. “Why do I have this feeling you know Melinda?"

  Ken turned over, his back toward his wife. “Because, I do know who she is."

  Sandy raised up on her elbow. “Then why did you lie to Angie?"

  “Do you think it would have been a good time to tell her that Melinda is Bud's illegitimate child?"

  Sandy's mouth dropped open. “Oh my God!"

  Ken rolled to his back. “Keep your mouth shut for now and let's hope she keeps away from Angie."

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  After testifying in a drug-related trial, Tom walked out of the courthouse with the district attorney. “If that son-of-a-bitch gets off again with no more than a slap on the wrist, it's going to make me wonder about our court system."

  The district attorney nodded and waved a hand in the air. “We've done all we can. Let's hope the jury has the balls to nail him."

  The two men parted ways in the parking lot and Tom drove back to the station. A report from the Coroner's Office lay on his desk. He loosened his tie and sat down. A red stamp proclaiming, “Incomplete Report” sullied the top of the page. He fingered the corner of the paper as his eyes scanned past the technical information and settled on the neatly typed lines.

  With the use of dental and medical records, it has been determined that the burn victim in Case #40567 is Bud L. Nevers, the owner of said vehicle. Verification of the cause of death may take several days.

  Tom tapped the paper with his finger. Many times, in his line of work he'd had to relay bad news. But this time his stomach tightened and his breathing came in ragged spurts. Several things nagged at his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on any one of them just yet. Something just smelled fishy. He'd wait for the full report on Bud's death before he really dug in.

  He folded the report and slipped it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, next to his cigar. His first mission would be to visit Angie. She had it in her head that Bud wasn't the victim. How would she take this news? He might as well find out now.

  Angie managed to drag herself out of bed at ten o'clock. If it weren't for the tranquilizer, she wouldn't have slept at all. She hated taking pills with a passion, but knew she needed the rest. Even with a good night's sleep, she didn't want to wake up and face the day alone. She knew she couldn't allow herself to succumb to these feelings, so she showered and dressed.

  She felt better after eating and hauled the stack of mail that had been neglected for several days into the breakfast nook. The window overlooked the Santa Clara Valley, where a beautiful autumn day met her gaze. Dragging a small wastebasket over to the table, she started sorting through the mail, tossing advertising fliers and junk into the trash. She finally got it weeded down to bills and personal mail. A small white envelope, hand-addressed to Bud, caught her attention. No return address appeared on the outside, but the postmark indicated it had come from San Francisco. By habit she started to set it aside, since she and Bud never opened each other's private mail. Then she stopped, took a deep breath and picked it up. That didn't apply anymore. Reluctantly, she slit the edge with the letter opener. But just as she started to pull out the sheet of paper, the phone rang and Marty brought the cordless to her.

  “Detective Hoffman would like to speak to you."

  She dropped the envelope onto the table and took the phone. When Marty didn't move away, Angie glanced up and noticed her staring at the table. “Is something wrong?"

  Marty shook her head and stepped back. “Uh, no. Sorry, I've just got a lot of things on my mind.” She turned on her heel and hurried from the room.

  After speaking with Tom, Angie crossed into the kitchen where she punched the button on the controls that opened the gate. She dashed up the stairs to freshen her face and hair. She called to Marty. “Mr. Hoffman is on his way. I've already opened the gate."

  A dustcloth in her hand, Marty poked her head out of the study. “I'll put on some fresh coffee.” Out of the corner of her eye, Angie saw a blur as Marty hurried into the kitchen.

  Marty quickly put on the fresh pot, glanced up the stairwell, then went into the breakfast nook where the mail still lay strewn across the table. She glanced nervously over her shoulder while slipping the small white envelope into her apron pocket, then shuffled the rest of the mail around on the table.

  Within minutes, Tom Hoffman's dark-blue Buick crested the hill. Angie led him into the study, followed by Marty carrying a tray with a carafe of coffee and two mugs, which she placed on the large oak coffee table. After Marty left the room, Angie sensed Tom's uneasiness and her stomach churned as she sat down in the big leather chair and watched him pull a folded white sheet of paper from his pocket. She sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clenched tightly together.

  He stood looking down at her, his expression solemn. “Maybe you should have Marty stay."

  Fear filled her. “No, Tom. Whatever it is you have to tell me, I'll be able to handle it."

  He sat down on the couch opposite her and cleared his throat. “I received this preliminary report from the coroner's today. Do you want me to read it to you or do you want to read it in private?"

  She felt the blood leaving her face. “No, you go ahead."

  After he finished, he placed the paper on the coffee table. “This is the hardest thing in the world for me to say, Angie. Bud's dead."

  She stood, placing both hands over her ears. The room spun as Tom's voice echoed through the air. “No! No! It can't be. It wasn't him.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Tom grabbed her before she fell, and called out. “Marty, get in here. I need you at once."

  Marty dashed into the room and helped Tom get Angie situated on the couch. “I'll call Dr. Parker.” She turned to leave the room, but Angie grabbed her hand.

  “No. I'm going to be all right,” she sobbed. “Just give me a few minutes."

  Tom stood next to Marty as Angie collected herself, dabbing her eyes and smoothing back her hair. She glanced up at them. “I think I knew all along.” Her voice caught. “I just didn't want to admit it."

  Marty knelt beside her, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Nevers, I'm so sorry."

  Leaving them in privacy, Tom went to the kitchen as the two women embraced. He rummaged the cabinet until he found another coffee mug and poured himself some coffee from the urn. He pulled his cigar from his breast pocket and started to step
outside just as Marty came into the kitchen wiping her cheeks.

  “Mrs. Nevers wants to see you."

  He pushed the cigar back into his pocket and hurried into the study where he sat down beside Angie.

  She held the report in trembling hands. “Tom, the coroner said it would take a while to find the cause of death."

  “Yes, that's true."

  She ducked her head and whispered. “What do they mean? Didn't he just burn up?"

  “It appears that way. But they will check to make sure."

  Angie stared at him wide-eyed. “You think there could have been foul play?"

  Not meeting her stare, he stood and turned away. “Anything's possible."

  “Tom, there's something wrong about this. Bud knew that road like the back of his hand. That's why I felt it couldn't have been him inside that car."

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he sat in the chair opposite her. “Angie, I don't know what to think. If he'd been drinking, his judgment could have been impaired."

  She shook her head. “I've never known Bud to drink and drive."

  He raised his hands palms up. “I don't know. We'll have to wait for the coroner's final report."

  Marty brought in another hot carafe of coffee.

  Angie's knuckles turned white as she clasped her fingers around the cup. She waited until Marty left the room, then glanced at Tom. “I want you to be honest with me."

  He took a sip of the hot brew, then blew across the cup. “Okay."

  “What are the chances that Bud was murdered?"

  Shifting in his seat, he adjusted his jacket. “Why would anyone want to murder him?"

  Her gaze met his. “There's one thing I didn't tell you, because I wanted to speak to Ken first."

  His interest piqued, he leaned forward. “What's that?"

  “At our anniversary party, a young woman came to our door, apologized for being late and asked for Bud. I'd never seen her before in my life and knew she hadn't been invited."

  “So, what did you do?

  “I asked her name, then had her stand inside the door while I got Bud."

  “Did he know her?"

  “He seemed taken aback when I mentioned her name was Melinda. He hurried to the door and took her out onto the porch. When he didn't come back inside for several minutes, I went outside and found him standing alone, staring into the darkness. I asked where she'd gone and he told me she'd left."

  “He didn't give you some hint of what she wanted?"

  Angie shook her head. “He hustled me back in the house to take care of the guests. Then the next day, the school bus accident happened and the whole week turned chaotic.” She sucked in her breath. “When I noticed his changed attitude, I decided to talk to him about her the following Saturday."

  Tom glanced up at her. “Melinda who?"

  “She didn't give me her last name."

  “You talked to Ken?"

  “Yes, but he didn't know her either."

  He took a small notebook from his pocket. “Give me a description."

  “Beautiful, early twenties. Long blond hair, body like a goddess and the most unusual green eyes I've ever seen. And I think they were real. Not contacts. They were so piercing, they sent shivers down my spine."

  Tom's forehead wrinkled in thought. “Interesting. And you haven't seen or heard from her since?"

  “No, but Bud's mood changed drastically and he seemed agitated all week."

  “Do you think the interval between the time he left the golf course and the accident had something to do with this woman, or do you think it might have involved the work problems you mentioned?"

  Angie picked up her cup, but trembled so badly she had to hold it with both hands. “I wish I knew the answer to that one. It's hard to know what might have been the cause of his frustration."

  “Do you think Bud was suicidal?"

  She shot a look at him. “Dear God, no. He loved living too much to take his own life."

  Tom finished his coffee, folded the report and stuck it back into his pocket. “I'd like to think this was an accident, but some of the things you've said raise doubts in my mind. I'd like permission to go through Bud's files at work."

  Angie felt her heart skip a beat and placed a hand on her throat. “You have to get my permission for that?"

  “It would certainly make things easier if I didn't have to get a warrant. And since you're his next of kin, you can grant me permission."

  “What do I need to do?"

  “Call the office, let them know I'm coming and that it's okay with you."

  When Tom left, Angie picked up the phone and called Ken Weber's office.

  “Hello, Ken. This is Angie. I called to tell you that Tom will be there in a few minutes. He has my permission to go through Bud's files.” Her insides trembled. She felt awkward and strange giving this type of consent. Bud had always taken care of the business.

  “What's going on?"

  “Tom got a preliminary Coroner's report.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It was Bud in the car.” Then she managed to choke out. “But they still haven't determined the cause of death."

  “That should be easy enough to guess."

  Ken's cold response befuddled her. He sounded so insensitive. “They have to run more tests,” she whispered.

  “I'm sorry, Angie. I apologize for that cruel statement. It's just all so hard to believe. I feel like I'm in some horrible nightmare."

  “Yes, I know."

  * * * *

  Tom knew this ordeal must be eating away at Angie. On the outside, she appeared to be holding together fairly well. But those normally sparkling blue eyes were dull and glazed.

  He drove toward the Nevers Computer Technology building thinking about the information Angie had just dropped. In their close-knit circle of friends, it seemed strange that no one knew this Melinda. Was her visit coincidental or did this woman have something to do with Bud's death?

  He parked and scanned the area as he walked toward the Nevers building. When he stepped inside, the receptionist glanced up. “May I help you sir?"

  “Tom Hoffman. To see Ken Weber. I'm expected."

  She checked her appointment book. “Oh yes. Just a moment.” After punching a button and speaking softly into the small headset clipped around her hair, she turned to him. “Mr. Weber will be right out."

  Tom shifted from one foot to the other until Ken approached with a ring of credit card-like keys in his hand and motioned for him to follow. He unlocked the door to Bud's office and threw it open, waving Tom inside. “It's all yours. Let me know when you're through and I'll lock it up."

  “Thanks."

  After Ken disappeared down the hall, Tom shut the door and locked it from the inside, not wanting to be disturbed. He shed his jacket, hung it over the chair, then sat down at Bud's desk. Tom's tingling sense usually alerted him, and it was going off. Something definitely didn't feel right.

  He glanced at the top of the oak desk. It looked different. You could tell a lot about a person from his office. Then it hit him. He'd never seen the top of Bud's desk. But today it had been wiped clean of clutter and glistened with new wax.

  He stood and ran his finger across the top of the file cabinet. “Damn, it's been dusted,” he muttered. Maybe the cleaning crew never got the word. Although no cleaning crew would touch the top of an executive's desk.

  Tom sat down and turned on the computer. As it booted up, he opened the long front drawer that contained the usual: paper clips, pens, name tags, stapler and the like. No surprises here. He proceeded through all the desk drawers and cubby-holes, finding nothing out of the ordinary, except for the orderliness.

  He then concentrated on the computer and worked until after five o'clock, searching through Bud's files for anything that might give him a clue. He couldn't open many of the folders in the computer, but that didn't surprise him. Every executive had locked files. However, they'd have to be opened if the Coroner proved foul play. He had his suspic
ions, but hoped in this case they'd be proven wrong.

  He thought back over his conversation with Angie and had to agree that Bud knew the roads around here like he'd made the map. And he knew for a fact that Bud never drove when he drank. He'd take a cab first or hail a ride with a sober friend. So drunken driving had to be ruled out.

  He stood, rubbed his hands across his face, then stretched his arms above his head. “Dammit,” he mumbled. “I need the rest of the Coroner's report."

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  After speaking with Ken, Angie wandered into the kitchen nook where a breeze from the partially opened patio door had scattered the mail across the floor. She halfheartedly gathered up the envelopes and put them in a stack.

  Aware that she couldn't concentrate, especially on bills, she put on a sweater and went outside. The air felt chilly, but invigorating. She walked up to the crest. The view from here took her breath away. Bud had worked so hard for all of this. Then her gaze traveled to the gate. Surely this is just some horrible nightmare and Bud will come driving up that driveway right now. How her heart would leap. Then all this pain and anguish would go away.

  But the gates didn't open. The wind whipped her hair around and caught in the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart felt like a piece of lead in her chest. She raised her face and whispered to the wind. “How will I live without you?"

  Her vision blurred as she wrapped her sweater tightly around herself. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she hurried back toward the house.

  * * * *

  A few days later, Tom sat in his office, deeply remorseful about his friend's death. It just didn't make sense. He leaned back in his chair, locked his hands behind his head and stared out the window. His mind drifted back to the years he'd shared with the Nevers'. Good friends, always there when you needed them.

  His thoughts were interrupted when his partner, Cliff Maxhimer, walked in and dropped a file on the desk. At first glance, Cliff could pass for a homeless man. One of those guys that couldn't look neat if you bought him the most expensive suit in the store. He always kept his long baby-fine hair covered with some sort of hat. Tom couldn't even hide his grin, as today it happened to be a fedora. Wisps of brown and gray hair popped out in half-curls all around the outer edge, refusing to stay inside the brim.