Most notably, Julie Cambridge lived on this street. Her Spanish-style house happened to be only a few doors down from the corner I was standing on. While I’d been busy trying to organize my thoughts, had my subconscious decided to send me an undeniable message? Or was this God’s way of answering my prayers?
If anyone could explain Mark Cambridge’s confusing actions, surely it was his wife. Either way, I’d walked all the way to her street. It would be foolish not to pay her a visit.
As was to be expected, Julie was a wreck. The fifty-seven-year-old’s long, curly red hair was typically the physical detail that stood out the most about her. This time, it was Julie’s eyes that drew my attention. Her crystal-blue eyes were completely bloodshot. It looked like she’d recently been crying. Her mind had apparently been in such a state of disarray that she’d thrown on a sweater that was three sizes too big for her trim body.
It almost looked like she’d grabbed one of her husband’s sweaters by mistake but didn’t care enough to bother changing. Only Julie was the tidiest person I knew. She believed that there was a correct way to do things, and if you weren’t going to do it that way, it wasn’t worth doing at all.
I chalked it up to the emotional turmoil she was experiencing. That wasn’t the only point of confusion I saw with her behavior. I’d always known Julie as a firebrand—with opinions that stuck out as much as her hair did. Only right then, she was very subdued. None of this was like her. Her hurt was evident, yet she seemed to be trying to hold it all in. But why? She didn’t have to hide anything from me.
I wanted to reach my arms out and give her a hug, but she didn’t look receptive to one. She ended up inviting me in, more out of a sense of courtesy than anything. Julie clearly would have preferred to be left alone.
Given that, I didn’t want to hold her up long with this conversation.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Julie looked like she was ready to start crying again but managed to keep the tears at bay. She attempted to change the subject. “Hope, what are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to extend my sympathy and let you know I’m here for you if you need me.”
“Thank you.” The expression on her face changed from grief stricken to stern. “But I know there’s something else on your mind.”
That was more like the Julie I knew. She had very keen instincts, which made it hard to sneak anything by her.
I knew it wouldn’t do any good to dance around the topic. It was best just to launch into it. The problem was, this was a hard thing to talk about.
“This is a really sensitive topic, and I hate to bring it up, but it’s really been bothering me since I heard the news—”
Julie was growing impatient. “Hope, what is it?”
I finally came out with it. “Do you have any idea why your husband went into the station out of the blue and confessed to the murder?”
There. I’d said it. The next spot of trouble was dealing with Julie’s reaction. The conversation had a chance of going south very quickly.
Julie remained surprisingly subdued with her answer. “Over the years, I’ve learned that when my husband sets his mind to doing something, there’s no stopping him.”
That was a particularly vague and ominous answer. Was she implying that she believed he was guilty? If so, what did she know that I didn’t?
I needed some clarification. “Wait. Are you saying that you believe your husband actually killed Walter?”
She corrected me. “No. Of course not.”
Phew. That was a relief. At the same time, there was still some confusion that I needed to have cleared up.
“Good. But then what did you mean about not being able to stop your husband?” I asked.
“I tried to talk some sense into him. To tell him not to confess. To just stay quiet.”
Julie stopped herself as she wiped a tear from her eyes. I reached into my purse to hand her a tissue, but she declined to take it. She composed herself then continued.
“Needless to say, he didn’t listen. Like I said, when Mark’s mind is set on something, there’s no stopping him.”
Julie’s reply still didn’t answer one critical question.
“I don’t understand why he did this,” I said.
“If you want an answer to that, you’ll have to talk to him.”
“I did.”
That stopped her cold. She tensed up as she processed that news.
I finished my thought. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s Mark for you.”
I could see Julie beginning to close herself off. If I was going to get any information out of her, I needed to get her emotionally engaged again.
“For the record, I don’t think Mark is guilty either.”
She grimaced. “I wish our opinions mattered.”
“I was hoping maybe the truth would set him free,” I said.
“The truth? Yeah, I’m sure it would. The problem is, only one person knows the truth, and they aren’t talking.”
“Who is that?”
“The killer.”
I thought she had a name for me. Instead, she was just talking in the general sense. Seeing as how she’d never investigated a murder case, I forgave her for not knowing the other tricks to find out the truth.
I pointed her towards one. “True, but there’s also the process of elimination.”
She scrunched her nose. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if I can prove that your husband couldn’t have been the one to commit the murder, the police would have to let him go.”
“How would you do that?”
“It could be as simple as proving he was somewhere else at the time of the murder.”
Julie was still confused. “How would you prove that?”
“There’s a number of ways. To start, were you two together the other night between eight and eight-thirty?”
“No.”
That was not the answer I was hoping to hear. If the answer had been “yes,” this whole case would have been flipped on its head. Had Julie and Mark been together during that time frame, there would be no way for Mark to have committed the murder, and there would have been an ironclad alibi to prove his innocence.
By answering “no,” she opened up a whole new can of worms.
I was incredulous. “You weren’t together?”
She shook her head.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“I was here.”
“Where was he?”
“He’d just gone out for a walk.”
“How long was he out?”
“I’d say an hour.”
Oh, dear. An hour was plenty of time to head over to Walter Clayton’s house, kill him, and then come back. The other problem was that unless Mark ran into anyone on this walk of his, there would be no way to prove that he’d taken a walk at all. Grr.
“Why didn’t you go with him on this walk?”
“He was all worked up about Walter’s acquittal. He said he just needed to get some air—alone.”
“What about you? Were you just here by yourself?”
She nodded. “I went in the back and watered my plants. Going out in the garden always calms me down.”
Suddenly, both of their true whereabouts were put into question. Mark could have gone anywhere on that walk. He might not have even taken a walk at all. By that same token, Julie may not have truly gone back into her garden. What if she’d left the house during that hour as well…and perhaps had gone to Walter’s house? I hated that my mind even drifted into that depressing territory, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Like her husband, she had a motive for murder as well. It was her daughter that had been murdered by Walter. Had she sought out revenge? I stopped myself and tried to turn off the investigative part of my brain.
Did I really believe she could have committed murder? As I thought it over, my mind came up with a quick answer—no.
While I was
lost in thought, Julie was becoming increasingly distressed. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help, but this is all too much for me to handle right now.”
I could see her emotions boiling over once again and decided to ease up on her.
“I understand,” I said.
“Besides, it doesn’t change anything. Mark turned himself in. Even though I don’t understand it, he must have had a reason for doing it.”
“He didn’t tell you what it was?”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. If he did, maybe I could make sense of this all.”
“I’m hoping that we’ll all be able to make sense of this soon.”
“I’m not going to get my hopes up.”
I didn’t want to take up too much more of her time, especially since she was in such emotional shambles. “Before I go, I just have one more question for you.”
“What is it?”
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
Julie shrugged her shoulders. “I wish I knew.”
That was pretty much what I expected. But Julie didn’t stop there.
“I’d like to thank them,” she added.
What a chilling statement to make. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Had I been wrong about dismissing her as a suspect?
Then again, Walter was hardly an innocent victim. He’d killed Julie’s daughter. If I were in her position, I would not have sympathy for a man like that either.
I gave Julie a hug then went on my way. As I left her house, I tried to make sense of the roller coaster ride I’d just been on. Her emotions were so raw and unpredictable. It was practically unthinkable, but I couldn’t keep the idea from entering my brain anyway—was Julie’s comment about wanting to thank Walter’s killer just a combination of grief and stress, or was it her own guilt seeping through?
Chapter Nine
Unfortunately, talking with Julie Cambridge had only provided me with more questions. I still needed answers. There was another potential place I could get them—by talking to her son, David. Would he be able to shed some light on the situation?
It was worth giving him a try. I headed back to the police station, jumped in my car, then drove across town to see David Cambridge. It didn’t take him long to answer his door as I stood on the front step of his brown stucco bungalow.
He was making quick work of a beer as he swung the door open then leaned against it. I’d like to be able to tell you it was his first beer of the afternoon, but that appeared to be far from the case. David’s whole face was red. Sobriety looked like a distant memory to him.
From the chest up, the thirty-nine-year-old was just like I’d always remembered him. He had short brown hair, hazel eyes, a round face, and muscular biceps. The beer gut was a more recent, unwelcome addition, making him look particularly pear shaped. For a guy who used to want to be a personal trainer, that was not a welcome sign.
The beer gut wasn’t even the worst of it. He’d long since traded in his dreams of being a personal trainer for a nine-to-five job selling life insurance. The man had hit more than just the actuarial tables hard, and all the drinking had taken its toll. Even more, despite the fact that anyone could see he was in rough shape, he didn’t show signs of improving anytime soon.
“Hope springs eternal,” he said.
Some things never changed. From the moment he met me back in high school and found out my name was Hope, he said that line to me every time he saw me.
“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” I replied.
He chuckled. “Yeah. I just wish it was true.”
I squinted. “What do you mean?”
He clarified his statement. “That hope really did spring eternal.”
“Oh.”
“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“I wanted to tell you I’m really sorry,” I said.
“About what?”
Just how drunk was he? Why did he even have to ask a question that ridiculous? Was he really going to make me spell it out for him?
“I know that your dad turned himself in to the police.”
“Yeah. That.”
He sighed then took a big swig of his beer. What he didn’t do was elaborate at all. He looked like he didn’t even want to say the word “murder,” like it was too painful. I didn’t blame him. At the same time, it brought an awkwardness to the conversation as a silence fell between us.
I waited for him to continue. When it seemed like he was going to leave me hanging, I opened my mouth to break the ice, but thankfully, he finally spoke up.
“I need another beer. Do you want to come in?” he asked.
I spoke too soon. Mistakenly, I thought he was going to make a comment about his father. None came. David left me at the door as he went inside to get another beer. As I had questions that I wanted answered, he didn’t leave me with much choice but to follow him inside.
David didn’t waste any time, immediately grabbing a new can of beer from his fridge. He cracked it open and threw it back.
I looked at him like he was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell of his former self. He saw me staring at both him and his beer and became a little self-conscious.
“Do you want one?” he asked.
I turned him down, politely. “No.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. More for me.”
Like with his mother before, there was no easy to get the answers I was looking for. I decided that, like tearing off a bandage, it was best to just do it quickly.
“I know it’s a bad time—” I started saying.
David cut me off. “You aren’t kidding about that. This is an awful time.”
As hard as he was making it for me, I pressed on. “That being said, I have to talk to you about something important.”
He saw my struggle to get the words out. “Just say it. It couldn’t be any worse than what I’m going through right now.”
“I talked to your father…in jail.”
It seemed like David had spoken too soon. He looked like he wanted to take his statement back. I saw a new level of sadness in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“I couldn’t believe it, that he was in jail, that he’d turned himself in, that he’d confessed to murder.”
David remained silent, deciding to take another chug of his beer rather than to reply.
“Can you believe it?” I continued.
“No,” he said.
David really wasn’t giving me much to go on here. I had to really work for every reply.
“Do you think he actually did it?” I asked.
He tensed up before exhaling long and hard. “No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. That’s why I’m so confused. Do you have any idea why he turned himself in for a crime he didn’t commit?”
David shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s what your mother said, too.”
“You talked to my mom?”
I nodded. “I wanted to make sure she was all right.”
“You have a really good heart, you know that?”
“I try. Just like I’m trying to piece this all together.”
He snickered. “It’s hard to piece things together that don’t make sense.”
David seemed to be short on answers, but I didn’t let that stop me. All I needed was one lead or one break. Either would do.
“Did your father come over here the night of the murder?” I asked.
He furrowed his brow. “No. Why?”
“Your mom told me he went out for a walk to get some air between eight and nine the night of the murder. I wondered if maybe he came here. If he did, it could prove he couldn’t have killed Walter.”
“I wish I could tell you he was here, but it was just me and my television here that night. Sorry.”
I grimaced. So much for that idea.
“Don’t apologize yet. Maybe you can still help me.”
“How?” he asked.<
br />
“Do you have any idea who might have really killed Walter?”
He shrugged his shoulders again. “It beats me. I don’t have any more idea about that than I do about why my dad would turn himself in when I know he’s not guilty.”
It was hard not to let the rapid succession of bad news get to me.
“I wish I had answers for you, but life isn’t making a whole lot of sense these days,” he added.
Realizing that I wasn’t going to get any useful information from David, I gave him a hug then reluctantly moved on.
Chapter Ten
After back-to-back conversation filled with plenty of grief but no answers, my mood had soured while my hunger had ramped up. I knew one stop that could solve both of my problems. My taste buds didn’t ever need much convincing, but they immediately jumped at the idea of grabbing a snack.
Dessert called and with it, hopefully, a much-needed boost in my spirits. I entered Home Sweet Home Cooking with a yen for a lemon bar. As timing would have it, I wasn’t the only one who was in the mood for a sweet treat. After I had said a quick hello to my boyfriend, I grabbed my snack and made my way to a table to savor every bite. That’s when I spotted another familiar face.
It was Adam Leary, Sadie’s old fiancé. Unlike David Cambridge, Adam hadn’t let his body go. Although, if he had a few too many lemon bars, his waistline would not thank him. The thirty-nine-year-old graphic designer had a trim body, shoulder-length black hair, glasses, and a full beard. He was also going after that lemon bar on his plate like there was no tomorrow.
“Adam,” I said.
Adam reluctantly pulled himself away from his snack and turned to me, immediately noticing that I had a dessert of my own.
“Hope. You needed a snack too, huh?” he replied.
I nodded.
“I know the feeling,” he continued.
Did he ever. It had been a rough few days for Adam. Like the Cambridge family, he’d expected Walter Clayton to get convicted of murder. So when he didn’t, no doubt he’d taken the acquittal hard. The question was, how hard?
Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set Page 58
