Death Changes Everything

by Linda Crowder

  Matt had little experience with relationships. He was thirty-five years old and hadn’t dated since high school. All of his energy had been devoted to becoming a cop. Every minute of time since he put on the uniform had been dedicated to moving up. He was now Senior Detective, with no further advancement possible until there was movement in the ranks above him. Since the Chief had just been reelected and both Captains were only in their fifties, Matt knew he was in for a long wait.

  For the most part, it suited him. He was in no hurry to give up active duty for life behind a desk. He loved his work and he wasn’t sure any other job would appeal to him. He loved solving puzzles and trying to get one step ahead of thieves, rapists, and killers. Not that there were many rapists or thieves in Casper, but there had been too many killers.

  During his last evaluation, Captain Danning had praised Matt’s abilities, but bemoaned his lack of what the human resources department was calling “work–life balance.” Matt had dismissed the idea as new-age nonsense, but with Kristy in his life, he was beginning to think about putting a little less time into the job. It was proving to be tougher than he thought. The Department might preach balance, but they rewarded excess.

  “Detective Joyner? How can I help you?” Matt jumped at the sound of his name and turned toward Hill, who was eyeing him like a man who wasn’t used to having his time wasted. Since persuading his father to step down from the family business two years ago, Hill had become the sort of man who viewed every minute wasted as money left on the table.

  “Were you able to reach your parents to find out what else may be missing, sir?”

  “Not yet. I sent them a cable. I didn’t even know they had cables anymore. You’d think email would have killed the business. Still, I can’t raise them on their satellite phone and since their email won’t knock on their cabin door and hand them the message, I resorted to sending a cable.”

  Matt smiled. Hill had a sense of humor, perhaps because it had been his parents’ home that had been violated, not his own. “What can you tell me about the alarm code that was used?”

  “I called the alarm company right after the police. That code should have expired after it was used and nobody seems to know why that failed to happen. They’re looking into it, but perhaps you will get further with them than I have.”

  “Do you know who had the code?”

  “Pool service. They have a code that works for the pool house but they needed access to the electrical panel. Dad was having them install new equipment now that they’ve drained the pool for the winter. My wife was unable to meet them at the house, so I gave them what was supposed to be a temporary code from the alarm company.”

  “Is it a new pool company?”

  “My father’s been with them for years. They’re a father and son operation. They have seasonal staff in the summer, but by now I expect it’s just them.”

  “When did they come? Could they have forgotten to put the alarm back on?”

  Hill shook his head. “I called them after I spoke with the alarm company. They were here on Wednesday, as scheduled. They came around ten, finished up at one. They swear they put the alarm on when they left. They told me they called the company to be sure it was active since they knew no one was going to be here.”

  Matt made a note to verify this with the alarm company. He looked at the list of missing items again. “Were all of these items in plain sight?”

  “Some of it. Other things I don’t suppose would have taken much to find.”

  “What about the safe? How many people knew about it?”

  “You’d have to ask my father. Family knew, of course, because that’s where they kept their wills. I told Dad he should put them in a safe deposit box, but he said their lawyer has the originals. His were just copies.”

  “Who knew the combination?”

  “I have it. My sister has it. Other than that, you’d have to ask Dad.”

  “Who’s your father’s attorney?”

  “Jake Rand.”

  Matt looked up from his notes in surprise. “I thought Mr. Rand only handled juvenile cases.”

  “Jake’s been my father’s attorney for years, and his father before him. He’d been our family’s attorney since the dawn of time. Dad doesn’t trust many people.”

  “When you speak with your father, could you ask him to give Mr. Rand permission to talk to me about anything that might pertain to this investigation?”

  “I can do that, though I can’t imagine what that would be.”

  “I can’t either, but I’ve found with lawyers, it’s better safe than sorry. Do your parents have pictures of the items for insurance purposes? Copies can help us track them down.”

  “I’ll check on that for you, Detective.”

  Hill gave Matt his contact information, the contact information for his parents, and then he left the police to finish their work. Matt walked through the house room by room, puzzled by the lack of destruction, until he located the lab crew chief, Cam Elmwood.

  “Nothing to write home about, Matt,” said Elmwood when he spotted the detective. “Some prints, but not many, and not in areas where items are missing so they probably aren’t our guy. No prints on the safe. Looks like the door was wiped down.”

  “Why wipe down the door if you’re wearing gloves?”

  “I’ll show ya.” Elmwood led Matt to the closet. The safe was about four inches tall and nine inches wide. It was typical of many dressing room safes, which were built to hold small items, like jewelry and important documents. “Dial would’ve been a bear wearing gloves.”

  “Thanks, Cam. Let me know if you find anything exciting.”

  “Will do.” Elmwood returned to his team and Matt went to consult with Officer Luis Altrez, who led the team that had canvassed the neighborhood.

  “Anybody see anything, Luis?”

  “Nope.” Altrez was leaning against his squad car, typing on a laptop computer. “Everybody’s up in arms about it. ‘Nobody’s safe anymore, We’ll all be murdered in our beds one of these days.’ Same old, same old.”

  “I’m going to go have a chat with the alarm company.”

  “I see how ya are,” Altrez chided with a grin. “Show up, get in good with the family, then leave the dirty work to us uniforms.”

  “The privilege of rank, my friend, the privilege of rank.” He gave Altrez a good-natured punch on the shoulder and climbed back into his car. He radioed the dispatcher to get an address for the alarm company, then headed out to their warehouse near the airport.

  3

  Jake stood in the middle of the stream, casting and recasting his fly line, hoping to tempt an unwary fish. Dressed in thigh-high waders and a long-sleeve shirt to guard against the mosquitoes, he was the picture of contentment. A floppy hat shielded his face from the sun and held extra flies.

  Jake and his father had spent many happy hours in the stream behind the cabin, catching trout that his mother cooked over an open fire in the clearing behind the tiny kitchen. Standing in that stream, cold water rushing all around them, he and his dad had talked about everything from baseball to philosophy to women. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all, happy to just be together as they patiently waited for the fish to bite.

  His father had never pressured him to follow in his footsteps, but when he chose pre-law over engineering, his dad had nearly burst with pride. There was never a question that Jake would join his father’s practice and until his father’s death, they worked side by side in adjoining offices in the Odessa Oil Building.

  Jake had inherited his father’s nine-foot bamboo fly rod, along with the cabin and the house he now shared with Emma. His parents had bought the house while Jake was away at college and he’d lived in town until after his parents died. It was at the cabin that he felt the light, loving spirit of his mother and the steady, calming spirit of his dad.

  The line jerked. Jake gave it a yank and began the slow dance that set fly fishing apart from other forms of the sport. Jake was using
a special line made for catching river trout and a fly he’d tied himself that morning. He alternated between giving the fish more line so it would tire itself and slowly reeling it closer.

  When it was within ten feet of the end of the pole, Jake carefully unhooked the net that floated in the water next to him and pulled up and back with the rod. With a last burst of energy, the fish flipped out of the water, biting through the line and making its escape. Jake fell backwards, flailing his arms in an unsuccessful attempt to remain upright. Submerged in the fast-moving stream, he twisted to get his feet beneath him and came up sputtering.

  The initial shock faded and Jake found himself laughing and coughing up water in equal measure. His father would have gotten a kick out of that, Jake thought, remembering a time when a fish had done the same to his dad and Jake had nearly dropped his pole laughing at him.

  He shook the water out of his hair and waded toward the bank. Dropping his gear by the back door of the cabin, Jake sat down on the concrete slab to pull off his waders. Going inside, he stripped off his soaking clothes and stepped into the welcome warmth of the shower.

  Memories of years of trips taken as a boy flitted past him as he sat on the bed, tying his shoes. His thoughts settled on his father. They’d fished and hunted. They’d played horseshoes and threw around baseballs and footballs. His sleeves rolled up, he’d taught Jake how to chop wood and start a campfire even when the wood was damp from a short summer rain.

  Jake had loved their times at the cabin. It was the only time he could spend with his father, unbroken by the intrusive ring of the telephone, which always seemed to drag his father back to the office when they were home. At the cabin, there was no phone, so the family could enjoy a few days of uninterrupted time together.

  As a teenager, Jake hadn’t wanted to join his parents for long weekends and holidays in the cabin. Like many teens, he’d preferred the company of his friends. After school, he had played baseball and, in the summers, spent his time lifeguarding at the local pool.

  In college, he’d gone to the cabin on his own for a week or two every summer. His mother was gone by then, and his father didn’t seem to have a heart for the cabin without her. After graduating from law school, Jake had worked hard to build up a client list of businessmen and ranchers, not paying much attention to the clients his father managed.

  Going over client files after his father died, Jake had been stunned by his dealings with the Hills. He could see nothing illegal in what his father or the Hills had done, but it was on the edge of being ethical. He’d agreed to represent Roger Hill, but Jake had made it clear to him that there were lines he would not cross.

  He wondered whether enough time had passed that this skeleton could finally come out of the closet. He would have to speak to Roger about it. He hated to bother him while they were on their cruise, but he couldn’t wait for them to return. If Roger was agreeable, he would run. If he wasn’t, well, Jake would cross that bridge if he came to it.

  He looked up as he heard someone coming through the woods. “See any?”

  “Trails. Scat,” answered Jeb, who had been doing a little recognizance while Jake was fishing. “I scouted out a couple of places that look promising. Catch anything?”

  “Let’s just say we’re not having fish for dinner.”

  “No worries. A bad day fishing beats a good day in the office, right?”

  “Every day of the week,” agreed Jake, getting up and reaching for his rifle. “But a great day hunting beats just about everything else. Let’s go see if we can scare up an elk.”

  ***

  Matt, tired after working his first swing shift on top of the day he’d had investigating the Hill breakin, pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. It was going to be a long week. “Oh come on.” A white Camaro was parked in his space again. He didn’t know who owned the car, but it had been parked in his space twice before and Matt was done trying to be nice about it.

  He’d let it go the first time. The second time, he’d left a note on the windshield asking the driver not to park in his space again. This time, his muscles already ached from tackling a two-hundred-eighty pound drunk who’d decided to resist arrest. Having to park at the far end of the lot and trudge all the way back was stepping on his last nerve.

  Walking by the car on the way to his apartment, Matt took out his notebook and jotted down the make, model, and license plate number. He unlocked his door and flipped on the light. Looking around the apartment, a visitor might think it was vacant. Matt never entertained here, so he’d never seen the need to buy much furniture.

  He pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, which was empty except for the rest of a six-pack, a carton of eggs of dubious age, and a pizza box with two slices left over. He could cook, as Kristy had bragged, but he rarely took the time. He leaned against the counter and took a long drink, letting the beer cool his anger.

  He flipped open his cell phone and called the building manager. He left a message about the car and asked the manager to have it towed if it was still in his spot when she opened the office in the morning.

  Feeling better, he checked the time and decided it wasn’t too late to call Kristy. His call went straight to voice mail so he left her a message. He dropped his phone on the counter and took his beer into the bedroom. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. There was enough filtering in from the living room.

  His bedroom was as starkly furnished as the rest of his apartment. A full-sized mattress sat on a box spring, resting directly on the floor. His parents had bought it for him when he was in high school. It was getting a little lumpy and the fabric covering the mattress had become threadbare and had torn in a few spots, letting batting ooze out.

  As he pulled off his shoes, Matt debated getting a new mattress, but the thought was fleeting. His mother always bought him new sheets at the annual white sale, knowing he was unlikely to remember to buy them for himself, and the sheets covered the ugly mattress. As for comfort, Matt had spent too many nights in a patrol car to notice whether the bed was comfortable.

  Matt stood up with effort, knowing the sore spots would be purple in the morning. He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet. He dumped his clothes into a hamper, another gift from his mother. He pulled on a faded blue t-shirt with the Casper PD logo over his boxers and went back into the living room.

  Draining the last of his beer, he put the empty bottle on the floor next to his overflowing recycle bin and made a mental note to dump it in the morning. Since the bin was next to where he’d had to park his car, at least it would be easy enough to remember.

  ***

  Kristy rolled over and looked at her cell phone when it rang. Seeing Matt’s number, she reached for the phone, then stopped and let it ring. She stared up at the exposed pipes and ducts that were part of the industrial charm. She’d kept her furnishings and décor simple, with warm colors and soft cushions that made what could have been an austere interior feel welcoming.

  Matt would assume she was sleeping, as she had been trying to do for the last forty minutes. She’d gone to bed worn out from emotion and second-guessing her feelings and his. She’d had dinner with her friend, Cheri Jackson, who was president of the Casper Greeters and Vice President of a local bank.

  They’d met at The Cornucopia, a soup and salad bar on the east side of town. A serpentine buffet offered a bewildering array of fruit, vegetables, and prepared salads. At the end of the buffet was an equally impressive variety of soups, breads, and desserts displayed along the walls, with plates, utensils, and drinks in the middle.

  “So how are things going with that handsome police detective of yours?” asked Cheri, once they had filled their plates and settled in a quiet corner.

  “I don’t know that he’s mine, exactly. It’s only been a few months.”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Kristy had blushed and changed the subject but now, lying in her darkened bedroom, she wondered why she hadn’t answered Matt’s call
. Throwing off the quilt, she got out of bed and padded to the living room. Picking up the book she’d been reading, she flopped down on the sofa and thought about Matt. A smile crept over her face, only to be replaced almost in the next moment with a frown.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Kristy tossed the book onto the coffee table and stomped back into the bedroom. “Stop acting like a kid with a crush. Just talk to the man!”

  Her mind made up, she climbed into bed. Picking up her cell phone, she texted Matt. Lunch tomorrow?

  She waited until he texted back. I’ll pick you up at noon.

  Kristy smiled and put the phone back on the bedside table. Satisfied, she burrowed down under her quilt and went to sleep.

  4

  Emma was kneeling on a gardening pad, digging up a bulb bed she’d put in the first year she had come to Casper. Bulbs lasted many seasons, but they did eventually need to be replaced in order to keep the bed vibrant. She’d chosen a base of tulips in a wide range of colors, with grape hyacinth and crocus planted only a few inches deep.

  Grace sat on a sunshine yellow Adirondack chair, one of many that ringed the fire pit area nearby. Emma had painted each of the bare wooden chairs a different color. The high, desert climate in which Casper was located brought vibrant springs. The wild rush of blooms was welcome after months of bleak and bare winters, but the dry days of summer quickly turned the landscape brown again. Emma compensated with bright colors in her outdoor pots, planters, and furniture.

  Emma sat back and surveyed her work with a satisfied smile. Then she spread a layer of chicken wire across the fresh dirt, covering it with a thick layer of mulch. Gathering her hand tools, she set them on a shelf in the gardening shed Jake had built for her at the far edge of the yard, and took a robin’s egg blue chair next to Grace.

  “I almost didn’t make it,” she said, putting her feet up on the stone rim of the fire pit.

  “Didn’t make it?”

  “Before the ground froze. You have to get bulbs into the ground at least a few weeks before it freezes or they’ll just rot in the ground.”