by V. M. Burns
“Did you know him well?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘well.’ He started doing my books about six months ago.”
“And …?”
“And what?
“Mama B said you had suspicions.”
“Mama B?” She stopped and stared at me.
“Mrs. Ella Bethany. You do her hair. She’s my godmother.”
“Oh, of course. I knew that. I just hadn’t heard her called Mama B. Well, I have, ah, had suspicions.”
“Would you like to elaborate?”
“Not really. But I suppose I’ll have to, just not here.” She removed her gloves. “I’ve got to get out of this room. The fumes are getting to me. Would you like some tea?”
Taking my agreement for granted, she headed off to what I could only assume was the kitchen. I followed the sounds toward the back of the house.
Along the way, I noticed the interior. Some rooms were totally renovated, while others were still works in progress. The kitchen, however, was completely done. Paris’ kitchen was a totally new space, tastefully designed to look old—from the farmhouse sink, bay windows, built-in window seat and brick fireplace to the reproduction vintage stove, which must have cost a small fortune. Hardwood floors, marble counters, and a butcher-block island were all functional as well as beautiful. I took a seat at the large farmhouse table and watched as she prepared the tea.
There was a comforting smell of cinnamon and music piped in from somewhere, which made for an extremely peaceful and inviting atmosphere.
“Is that Diana Krall?”
“No. Actually, it’s an artist I’ve just discovered named Kitt Lough. Isn’t she great? I love her voice. She reminds me of … I don’t know. It’s like a different time.”
“You like jazz? I’ve never heard of her, but I like her voice. I love jazz. It’s so pure, so unique. I know when I get to heaven, the angel blowing the horn of welcome will sound something like Duke Ellington or maybe Najee.” I felt awkward sharing so much with a perfect stranger, but she smiled, and the awkwardness disappeared.
The tea kettle whistled, and she finished the preparations.
“Is there some place I can wash my hands?”
“The powder room is just around that corner.”
The powder room was renovated to include a pedestal sink, hexagonal black and white floor tiles, a small toilet, and not much else. The décor was tasteful and subtle but not overdone. I hate it when people buy an old house and spend a fortune turning it into a modern one. I liked how this one-hundred-fifty-year-old house felt like a home. From the imperfect plaster walls to the scuffed-up molding and radiators layered in paint, this was a home. People lived and loved here.
“Give my compliments to your decorator,” I said as I returned to the table.
“My sister will be happy to know you approve.”
“Your sister’s an interior decorator?”
“Actually, she’s got a master’s degree in electrical engineering, but she’s working on completing her associate’s degree in interior design. She’s always been good with decorating and sewing. She says that when she’s ready to retire, she’s going to move someplace warm and sunny and open an interior-decorating business. She’s great with finding period pieces in second-hand stores. Plus, she fits my budget.”
Teas, cookies, cinnamon rolls, and other goodies filled the table.
“That’s some spread.”
“One of the things I loved when I traveled to England was high tea. It’s a tradition that’s going out of style there, but I think it’s great. My sister and I just about lived on scones and clotted cream when we went to London a few months ago. I try to continue the tradition as often as I can. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about me. You were asking about Thomas Warrendale.”
“You said you had suspicions.”
She poured tea and passed the tray. I felt remarkably relaxed. This kitchen was definitely a comfortable retreat.
“I own two salons, and he approached me about doing the books.”
“How did he know you?”
“Church.”
“You go to First Baptist? I don’t remember you.”
“It’s a big church.”
“Not that big. I would have remembered you.”
She smiled, and I think I blushed. Not an easy task for a police officer, and even harder for an African-American.
“I just mean I’m a highly trained professional,” I said with a smile and a wink. “Plus, I’ve gone to First Baptist Church my entire life.”
“I’ve only been going for about eight months, and I usually go to the early service. Unless you attend the early service, we would miss each other. I sing in the choir and that’s how we met. Anyway, when he heard I had a couple of salons, he offered to do my books. I was doing the books myself until I opened the second salon. Between the new salon, house renovations and … well, life in general, I was overworked. At first I was double-checking everything he did, but I got busy and didn’t check for a while. About a month ago, I got a call from the president of my bank.”
“Wow, the bank president. Business must be good.”
“Not that good. They wanted to change my account. My account was overdrawn, and my overdraft protection was low.”
“So, business wasn’t going well?”
“My first salon was doing very well, but I’d sunk almost all my profits into opening the second one. I don’t make a fortune, but I try to live within my means. No way should my account have been overdrawn. That call got my attention. So, for the last three weeks, I’ve been going over my books with a fine-toothed comb. I may not be a CPA, but I have an MBA. And when it comes to my business, I watch over each penny very carefully.”
“You have less money than you should? How much less?”
“I don’t even know yet. Warrendale was supposed to be some kind of a financial genius. He set up accounts and transferred funds and did things I haven’t even figured out yet. My guess is I lost close to twenty thousand—maybe a little more.”
“That’s a lot of money. What happened after you realized it was gone? Did you confront Warrendale?”
“You better believe I confronted him. I told him in no uncertain terms exactly what I thought of him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He denied everything, of course.”
“When did this all take place?” I sipped my tea. This was beginning to sound like a motive, and I didn’t want to arouse suspicion I was interested in anything other than finding out about Warrendale’s embezzlement.
“Friday night, just after choir rehearsal.”
“That would be one day before he died?”
After a pause, a light came on in her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not accusing you of killing him. I’m just listening. But if it makes you feel better, you do have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used in a court of law. You also have a right to talk to an attorney.” I said it as casually as possible, trying not to raise alarm.
“Why do I need an attorney?” Her pitch rose. “I didn’t kill him.”
“Wait a minute, hold on,” I said jokingly and held up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t say you needed an attorney. I’m just letting you know you have the right to an attorney.”
After taking a moment to consider, she relaxed, and I knew my reassurance had worked. She was going to keep talking because she felt she had nothing to hide. And I’d managed to read her rights without raising any red flags.
Paris took a drink of tea. “I didn’t kill him. So, I might as well tell you.”
“You confronted him on Friday, right?” I took out my notebook. “You don’t mind if I take a few notes, do you?”
She shook her head.
“It must have been around seven o’clock.”
“Why did you wait until after choir rehearsal was over before you confronted him?”
; “I didn’t wait. I worked late. I was actually on my way to a hair show in Indy that night. I was heading out of town when I drove by the church and saw choir rehearsal was just letting out. I decided to stop.”
“So, you went in the church and saw Warrendale, and then what?”
“He denied everything. He said my bank must be mistaken, but I told him I wanted all my money back or else I’d ….”
I waited. She stalled and took a sip of her tea before the silence became too much for her.
“All right, I might have threatened to make his life a living hell.” She paused before adding hurriedly, “And I might have suggested a few changes to his anatomy. I might even have mentioned the police, the FBI, and possibly the media, but that was about it. Just words, nothing more.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. After a moment, she joined in.
“So, after these threats, then what happened?”
“Nothing. I stomped out and left for Indy. I’d already opened a new bank account he couldn’t access, and my employees were told not to turn any money or checks over to him, so I thought I was safe.”
“Was anyone there in the church when this transpired?”
“I don’t remember seeing anyone. But honestly, I was too mad to notice. I think everyone had left.”
“And this hair show you attended, where was it?”
She got up, rummaged through a purse on the counter, and pulled out a brochure, which she handed to me.
“When did you get back to St. Joe?”
“Not until late Monday night. I was supposed to get back Sunday, but I was so tired I stayed over an extra night.”
That’s when the light dawned. “Were you supposed to do Mama B’s hair yesterday?”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I know she doesn’t like to switch stylists, but I was sure Nichole would do an excellent job.”
Now I understood why Mama B had been so upset yesterday when I picked her up from the beauty shop. She’d planned to introduce me to Paris, and her matchmaking plans were foiled. Despite my best intentions, I laughed again.
“What’s so funny?”
Maybe I’d let her in on the joke someday. “Oh, nothing.” I held up the brochure. “Mind if I take this?”
She shook her head, and I pocketed the brochure. It looked like Paris Williams had a really good motive and the possible opportunity to kill Warrendale. Indianapolis was only three hours from St. Joe. I would have Harley verify her alibi, but Ms. Williams was looking like a good suspect. That should have made me more excited. Instead, I felt a bit depressed.
I had a lot to think about on my drive home, and not all of it was related to the murder. One side of my brain wondered what Thomas Warrendale was up to. The other side was focused on Paris Williams, and it had absolutely nothing to do with this case. I had a lot of questions, and I had a feeling I knew where I might be able to get some answers—Mama B.
The mayor wanted to be briefed on our progress. Bright and early the next day, I made my way to the top of city hall, which in St. Joe meant the twelfth floor of the County-City Building. Chief Mike was already there. Harley arrived the same time I did. I’ve only been in the mayor’s office a handful of times, but each one left an impression. The combination of plush carpeting, large mahogany furniture, and two full walls of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city was impressive, even for a cynic like me. The room was large enough for a conference table and ten chairs.
Not surprisingly, the mayor was on a tight schedule. Mayor Charles Longbow was an elegant lawyer turned politician. He was a sharp dresser and smart as a whip. He wore handmade French shirts, custom-tailored suits, and expensive Italian shoes. Mama B said he was as slick as a greased pig. Despite this not-so-flattering description, she liked him. She’d voted for him. He was Native-American, and a classic example of a man who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps. He’d worked his way through college and law school by cutting grass, shoveling snow, waiting on tables, and doing any odd job he could. He’d started his political career on the School Board, then progressed to the City Council, the Indiana General Assembly as part of the Indiana Senate, and finally the Mayor’s Office. He’d moved up the ladder “faster than a scalded dog,” another of Mama B’s phrases. And a ton of people were discussing the possibility of a run for U.S. Senate or even governor. Mayor Longbow was first and foremost a politician, but he seemed to be the rarest of politicians—an honest one.
Chief Mike had briefed him on the details we’d discovered to date, which wasn’t much.
“I want this case solved quickly,” Mayor Longbow said. “It doesn’t look good to have murder and arson in my neighborhood, especially in an election year. Do you have any suspects?”
“Not yet, sir,” Harley said. When Harley was nervous, his Southern accent was more pronounced than ever. Despite his family’s connections, Harley was awed by the mayor. He was always afraid of talking too much—afraid he’d make a fool of himself. He rarely said more than a couple of words whenever he was around Mayor Longbow.
Mayor Longbow leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what’s not in the report.”
Harley squirmed. Chief Mike was normally unshakeable, but for some reason, even he looked a little rattled. All eyes turned to me. Not sleeping afforded me a lot of time to think, and last night I’d had several hours to mull things over. I’d developed a speck of an idea, but it wasn’t ready to be spoken out loud. Another reason I was reluctant to verbalize it: I hadn’t had a chance to talk things over with Harley or Chief Mike first. But someone had to say something.
“I think Thomas Warrendale’s murder may be tied to his past,” I said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. But we need to dig more.”
“What about his past?” Mayor Longbow asked.
“For nine months, Tye Warren, aka Thomas Warrendale, lived in St. Joe pretending to be someone else. He stole money from the members of the congregation, and there is a possibility he was stealing from the church too. Why was he hiding? Who was he hiding from? He left his wife, his job, and all his connections for a job as a choir director at a church? I think we need to find out what he was hiding from.”
I expected the mayor to badger me. Based on the shocked expressions on Chief Mike’s and Harley’s faces, they were expecting the same. I hadn’t intended to keep my partner and boss in the dark, but my nightmares made sleep a fleeting visitor. I didn’t think either of them would have appreciated a call in the wee hours of the morning. The silence that followed lasted about thirty seconds but felt like an hour. Mayor Longbow gave me a long look, sizing me up, and stood. Just as he was about to speak, his phone buzzed and his secretary’s voice rang out over the intercom.
“The governor’s on line two.”
Mayor Longbow sat back down and picked up the phone.
“Keep me posted on what you find out.”
And just like that, the meeting was over and we were dismissed.
Chapter Five
City hall was two blocks away from the police station, if you didn’t use the tunnel. Harley and Chief Mike pumped me for details the moment we got outside.
“What was that?” Chief Mike said. “Do you really have something or were you just faking?” He was incensed, and rightly so. I should have briefed him before going into that meeting. No excuses.
“I think Thomas Warrendale—or Tyrone Warren—may have been involved in some illegal activities in Cleveland.”
It took the entire walk back to the precinct and ten additional minutes sitting in Chief Mike’s office to fill him and Harley in on what had puzzled me in the early hours of the morning.
“So Warrendale was swindling the church and this salon owner?” Chief Mike said aloud as he pondered the information.
“I wonder who else he was stealing from,” Harley said.
“Exactly.” Chief Mike was warming up to this idea. “Maybe someone caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, and they didn’t like it.”
&nbs
p; “I can’t think of any other reason why he would leave Cleveland and hide out in St. Joe under an assumed name,” I said, “unless he was hiding from someone.”
“There might be something in those rumors about a scorned lover too,” Harley said.
Chief Mike paced his small office. “Love and money are two powerful motives for murder. You two need to investigate both angles.”
“A leopard doesn’t change his spots,” Harley said with a little more confidence. “If he was stealing from the church and at least one other person we know of, how many other people was he stealing from?”
“I want you two to talk to Mrs. Warren and to some of those women from the church. Find out if there was anything there. It could still turn out to be a jilted lover or jealous spouse. And keep investigating the money angle. See if you can find out if there were any other people Warrendale was stealing money from.” Chief Mike picked up the phone to notify the Cleveland police that Harley and I would be coming and to arrange for cooperation.
By the time I was back at my desk, Detective Mari Lawrence was waiting for me.
“You’re working that arson/murder that took place in the mayor’s backyard,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
At five-foot nothing and one hundred pounds dripping wet, Detective Mari Lawrence looked like a lightweight, but looks can be deceiving. With black belts in judo, karate, and a couple of other martial arts, she was someone you wouldn’t want to surprise in a dark alley.
“That’s right. Why? What’s up?”
“Got a call on a break-in at Starling and Schuck. Accounting firm downtown.”
“That’s the CPA firm Thomas Warrendale worked for.”
“Yep. Thought you might be interested.”
“Definitely. Anything taken?”
“That’s the suspicious thing. They’ve had several break-ins downtown, probably kids doing a snatch and grab. Brick through the window and grab a laptop off the desk. This time there was no brick. And no laptops were stolen. Just ransacked the office and left.”
“Any idea if anything was taken?”
