Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set

by Meredith Potts

  My brother tried to cut through the haze of confusion. “Are you saying you didn’t know that your boss had been murdered?”

  That drew an interesting set of reactions from Landon. His eyes immediately darted open at the mention of the word “murder.” Such a candid facial expression made me believe this truly was the first he had heard of it. My opinion began to shift as he hesitated in responding.

  The longer it took for a reply to come from his mouth, the more I questioned what was causing the delay. It definitely wasn’t grief. That emotion was completely absent from his face.

  Finally, Landon answered my brother’s question. “No. This is the first I have heard of it.”

  If I hadn’t been suspicious of him before, my concerns were only heightened now. He had taken an awfully long time to come up with such a short response. Why were the gears turning so slowly in his brain?

  From there on out, I had a hard time taking Landon at his word.

  My brother played things straight and carried on as if Landon had been telling the truth.

  “Benjamin was murdered last night at his house,” Joe said.

  “That’s crazy, man. How did it happen?” Landon asked.

  By that point, I had the sneaking suspicion that Landon was trying to pull the wool over our eyes.

  It was time to set things straight. “We’re the ones asking the questions here.”

  “All right. Whatever you say, dude,” Landon replied.

  It really boiled my blood to be called that again. I wasn’t going to put up with that. “Don’t call me that. I’m a woman, not a dude.”

  “There’s no need to freak out on me. Just chill,” Landon replied.

  That only spurred me on even more. I don’t know, but this guy really had a way of pushing my buttons.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I said.

  Joe didn’t like where things were headed. He could tell the conversation was getting dangerously close to going off the rails and made an effort to reel us back in.

  “Can we get back to the matter at hand?” my brother asked.

  “Right. Of course,” I replied.

  Landon acted just as dumbstruck as ever. “I still don’t know why you’re here talking to me.”

  “Your boss was just murdered, and the killer is still out there,” Joe said.

  Landon looked at us, blank faced. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with me?”

  Joe didn’t let Landon’s dimwitted answers throw him off his game. “That’s what we’re here to find out. Did you and Benjamin get along?”

  Landon nodded. “Oh yeah. Really well.”

  “So you two didn’t have any disagreements or disputes of any kind?”

  Landon shook his head. “Nope.”

  The suspect had managed to do an abrupt one-eighty. A few moments ago, he had been slow and deliberate with his answers. Now he was quick, concise, and seemingly in a hurry to change the subject.

  That only served to stoke my suspicion even more. I would have liked to consult another source, but unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. Landon was Benjamin’s only employee, so there was no way to get independent verification or repudiation of Landon’s answers. Clearly, Landon knew that and was using that fact to his advantage.

  Luckily, there were a number of other questions to ask him.

  “Where were you last night between nine and ten o’clock?” Joe said.

  “I was here, man,” Landon replied.

  “Doing what?”

  “Nothing much. Just chilling out in front of the TV.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Why unfortunately?”

  “I was hoping to have a date with this super-hot surfer chick, but she turned me down cold,” Landon said.

  I had a follow-up for Landon. “Back to the TV. What were you watching?”

  “This surfing documentary called Waves Of Paradise. It was really rad. You should check it out,” Landon replied.

  “I’ll pass,” I replied.

  Once again, Landon had found a way to push the conversation off topic.

  Joe got things back in line in a hurry. “So if you were watching TV alone, that means you have no one to verify where you were at the time of the murder.”

  “I just told you where I was—parked in front of my TV,” Landon replied.

  “It turns out your word is only as good as my ability to verify it,” Joe said.

  “No, man, you’ve got this all wrong,” Landon insisted.

  “Do I?”

  Landon nodded. “Yeah. I’m a laid-back dude living a chill life. Why would I murder someone?”

  “There’s a whole host of reasons people get murdered,” Joe said.

  “Except, like I told you, I don’t have a reason. Ben and I were cool,” Landon replied. “Not everyone in his life can say that.”

  Landon kept insisting that he wasn’t a suspect in this case, but he was sure acting like one. Maybe he didn’t realize it, but in my years of investigating, I had learned the most common deflection tactic that a suspect used was to try to point the finger of blame at others. While his not-so-subtle dig begged following up on, it was also important for me to not lose sight of the fact that he was using a diversionary tactic.

  “When you say that not everyone in his life was as cool with him as you were, who are you referring to?” I asked.

  “Pretty much everyone else in his life,” Landon replied.

  That was frustratingly vague. “Give me some names.”

  “You can start with his girlfriend, Andrea Fogerty,” Landon revealed.

  “What problems was Benjamin having with his girlfriend?”

  “Two very big problems—Teresa Loomis and Michelle Dillon.”

  “Why were they problems?” I asked.

  “Because Benjamin was sleeping with both of them behind Andrea’s back,” Landon said.

  Joe stopped him. “Wait a minute. Are you saying Benjamin was carrying on two different affairs?”

  Landon nodded. “He was, until yesterday.”

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “They all found out about each other.”

  “And let me guess, things got explosive,” Joe said.

  Landon’s eyes opened as wide as saucers again. “Oh, yeah. It was a regular fireworks show of crazy yesterday. Although of all the people who lost their minds, Hank Dillon was probably the one to take the news the harshest.”

  “When you say Hank Dillon, you mean Michelle Dillon’s husband, right?”

  Landon nodded. “For now. I’m not sure how much longer those two will stay married.”

  I had to hand it to Landon: he didn’t just point the finger of blame elsewhere. He had unleashed a hurricane of gossip. But as it was currently nothing more than wild speculation in my mind, one pointed question couldn’t help but pop into my brain.

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  “Andrea, Michelle, and Teresa are all pool-cleaning clients of ours. Needless to say, yesterday was a pretty messy day at work,” Landon said.

  “I’ll bet,” Joe replied.

  Landon had certainly given us a number of leads to follow up on. Whether any of them would pan out was yet to be determined. Conversely, while Landon was content in thinking that he had successfully deflected the conversation from himself, I wanted to remind him that he wasn’t exactly out of the woods when it came to this investigation, either. I still had my eyes on him.

  “At the same time, none of what you just told us proves that you’re innocent,” I said.

  Landon didn’t give up. “Come on. Don’t you realize by now that you’re wasting your time with me?”

  “That’s your word against ours,” Joe replied.

  “Hey, if you’ve got something on me, I’d like to hear it. Otherwise, I’d like to go back to waxing my board here, man,” David said.

  We could have pushed him further, but he clearly wasn’t about to divulge any
more information to us.

  Joe decided to give him one last warning before we made our exit.

  “All right. We’re done for now. But don’t even think about leaving town on us. Understand?”

  Chapter Seven

  After the tip from Landon, Joe and I headed over to Andrea Fogerty’s place next. Unfortunately, Benjamin’s girlfriend wasn’t home. We knocked a number of times on the door to her beige bungalow and received no answer. After going around back and hitting another dead end, we peered into the window of her garage doorway and spotted no car inside.

  It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t home. What remained a mystery was where she had gone and when or even if she would return. We could have stuck around for a while, but that could eat up a lot of time.

  Instead, Joe called a patrol car to keep watch on the place until Andrea returned home. To be safe, he also put out on all-points bulletin in case she had tried to leave town.

  Twenty minutes later, when the patrol car was in place, my brother and I tackled the next suspect on our list—Teresa Loomis.

  Unlike Andrea, Teresa was easy to track down. She was a local real estate agent who worked for Hollywood Top Star Realty. Fortuitously, she was holding an open house at a green ranch-style house on Oakford Circle. Joe and I drove over to the house and were relieved to discover that Teresa was having a slow day.

  As we entered the living room of the open house, Teresa greeted us with a flyer describing the property. She was a pretty woman in her late thirties wearing a black blazer and skirt that complemented her trim figure. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a bun, which made her chocolate-colored eyes stand out.

  “Welcome. My name is Teresa Loomis. Let me tell you a little about the place,” she said.

  I was happy that Joe hadn’t immediately flashed his police badge and that Teresa had mistakenly taken us for prospective buyers, but I was in no mood to hear her entire sales pitch.

  “We’re mostly interested in the pool,” I replied.

  Teresa was taken back by my abruptness but didn’t let that throw her off of her sales game. “You’re in luck, then. This house has a very nice pool.”

  “Do you have any good pool cleaners that you can recommend?” I asked.

  Teresa looked startled by my question. She tried her best to handle it in stride. “That’s, uh, not really my area of expertise.”

  “Really? You don’t have any experience with pool cleaners?” I asked.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I kept peppering her with questions. “How about Benjamin Norton?”

  I could see her muscles tense up, but she tried to shrug my question off nonchalantly. “What about him?”

  “Would you recommend him?” I asked.

  Teresa finally grew tired of my badgering and called me out. “I’m sorry. What’s with all these questions about Benjamin Norton?”

  Joe pulled out his police badge and held it up for Teresa.

  “Joe Hadley, Hollywood Police Department. We have to ask you some questions about the murder of Benjamin Norton.”

  It was an interesting study in contrasts to see how quickly Teresa’s demeanor turned sour.

  “Are you sure you’re in the right place? I don’t know why you’d want to talk to me about that,” Teresa replied.

  My brother’s tolerance for putting up with people’s lies was at an all-time low. He cut right to the chase. “Don’t play dumb. We know you were sleeping with Benjamin.”

  Teresa averted her eyes. Refreshingly, she didn’t try to deny Joe’s statement. At the same time, she did try to downplay the significance of her and Benjamin’s relationship.

  “Yeah, I was. So what? That doesn’t mean I killed him,” she replied.

  “No, but it does give you a motive,” Joe said.

  “That’s what you say,” Teresa replied.

  My brother corrected her. “That’s what anyone would say. Especially after finding out that he was also sleeping with Andrea Fogerty and Michelle Dillon.”

  “What do you want me to say, that it made me crazed to find out that Benjamin was a two-timing jerk?” Teresa asked.

  I corrected her. “Three-timing jerk, technically.”

  Teresa didn’t skip a beat. “The world is filled with jerks. That’s why wine coolers were invented.”

  Joe had a hard time taking her at her word. “Really? You can just brush aside being cheated on with two other women that easily?”

  “Trust me, nothing about the way things ended with Benjamin has been easy to take, but it’s also not something worth killing over. There are other men out there—better men.”

  Teresa was giving us little to work with.

  My brother grew frustrated and tried tackling this interview from a different angle.

  “Where were you between nine and ten last night?” Joe asked.

  “I was at work,” she replied.

  “At that hour?”

  “Real estate agents don’t have set hours. I’ve put in a lot of late nights over the years.”

  “Were you the only one putting in a late night?” Joe wondered.

  Teresa nodded. “Yes. I had the office to myself.”

  “So you don’t have anyone to verify your alibi, then?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t need anyone to verify it. I just told you where I was,” Teresa said.

  “You’re a murder suspect. You don’t really just expect us to take your word for it, do you?” Joe replied.

  “All I can tell you is the truth. It’s up to you to believe it,” Teresa said.

  “It would be a lot easier to believe you if you gave us more to work with,” Joe replied.

  “Like I already told you, I was at work. That’s all there is to it,” Teresa said.

  Joe was about to press her again. Unfortunately, a husband, wife, and their two small children then entered the front door of the house.

  “Hi. We’re here for the open house,” the curly-haired wife said.

  Teresa immediately switched back into sales mode. “Yes. Welcome. I’ll be right there.”

  Ugh. What horrible timing. I couldn’t believe our awful luck.

  Teresa turned back to us and put an end to the questioning. “Excuse me, but I have a job to do.”

  Before Joe had a chance to reply, Teresa walked away and began talking with the family that had walked in.

  Joe could have made a scene in front of the family but knew that wouldn’t result in us getting more answers from Teresa. If anything, it would have only made her shut down. Instead of forcing the issue, my brother and I left Teresa to her open house and moved on to question the next suspect on our list.

  Chapter Eight

  Joe drove over to Michelle Dillon’s chocolate-colored Spanish-style house on Breakwater Lane. As we knocked on the front door, we expected Michelle to answer. Instead, it was her husband, Hank Dillon, who came to the door.

  “Mr. Dillon?” Joe asked.

  Hank was a handsome, forty-two-year-old pharmaceutical sales rep. He spent a lot of time on the road, but his muscular body didn’t look like it had much wear and tear on it. He wore a pair of black sweatpants and a T-shirt with his favorite football team’s logo emblazoned on it. His short brown hair had a certain bedhead look to it. I noticed some stubble growing on his face as he gave us a confused look.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “We need to talk to both you and your wife,” Joe said.

  Hank squinted as he stared at my brother. “I’m sorry. What’s this regarding?”

  Joe flashed his police badge. “The murder of Benjamin Norton. Now, where’s your wife?”

  “Uh, she’s not here,” Hank replied.

  “Is she at work?” Joe asked.

  Hank strained as he tried to come up with an answer. He could only muster one word. “Um—”

  “You don’t know where she is, do you?” Joe said.

  Hank stammered as he answered. “Uh, at this ex
act moment, I don’t know.”

  “Why is that? Is it because you kicked her out?” Joe asked.

  Hank opened his mouth to reply.

  My brother stopped him before he did. “Don’t lie to us, Mr. Dillon.”

  Hank’s eyes opened wide. “How did you know that I kicked her out?”

  “I’m a detective. It’s my job to know those things,” Joe replied.

  “You must have been really angry when you found out about your wife’s affair to kick her out of the house so quickly,” I speculated.

  Hank got squirmy. “I don’t like where this is going. What do you want from me?”

  “The truth,” I said.

  “Yes, I kicked her out. I already told you that. Now, are we done?” Hank replied.

  “Far from it. Where were you last night between nine and ten o’clock?” Joe asked.

  Hank stepped back. “Wait a minute. Are you implying what I think you are?”

  “Just answer the question,” Joe said.

  “You don’t actually think I might have killed Benjamin, do you?” Hank asked.

  “Why aren’t you answering the question? What’s the matter? Do you have something to hide?” Joe said.

  Hank became defensive. “No.”

  “Then answer the question.”

  Hank stopped for a moment to think. “Fine. Between nine and ten o’clock, I was watching the game.”

  “Here?” Joe asked.

  Hank nodded.

  “Alone?”

  “Well,” Hank started saying. He hesitated as if he didn’t want to finish his sentence. “Yeah.”

  “Which means you have no one to corroborate your alibi,” Joe said.

  “Corroborate? I was watching the game. Ask me what happened. I can tell you what happened in every quarter,” Hank replied.

  “So could a box score. Nice try,” Joe said.

  “I didn’t kill Benjamin. You have to believe me,” Hank pleaded.

  “We don’t have to believe anything. You don’t have anyone to corroborate your alibi. Not to mention, with you finding out about your wife’s affair, you have a serious motive,” I said.

  “This isn’t what it looks like. Really, you have this all wrong,” Hank replied.

  “Do I? Or is that just what you want me to believe?” I asked.