Sharpe Shooter (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series Book 1)

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “Did you call the police?”

  “They said to let them know if he ever shows up again,” Richard said. “They had never heard of him before and couldn’t do anything since he hadn’t broken any laws.”

  Deena, still holding the business card, thought for a moment. “I really doubt you said anything that would cause any harm. Sounds like maybe he’s writing an article of some sort. Maybe he really does want to help find out who killed Matthew.” Deena hoped her positive tone would lessen the anxiety that clearly gripped the elderly couple. “Did you say anything to Mark about this?”

  “Oh yes,” Lucy said. “Our boy was the one who suggested we call you.”

  Deena hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you called, of course, but why me? What is it you want me to do?”

  Lucy and Richard exchanged knowing looks. “You have always been so clever, dear,” Lucy said. “Everyone says so. You won all those writing awards in college. Since you are retired and know all about this reporting stuff, we were hoping you would look in to this Galt fellow and into Matthew’s death for us and for Cora.”

  “What exactly do you want me to find out?”

  “We want to know who killed Matthew and why,” Richard said.

  Deena glanced back and forth between the two. Were they serious? She could not hide her look of disbelief. “You realize you are asking me to solve a forty-year-old crime. I really doubt I can do that—I doubt anyone can do that.” Not even Lois Lane, she thought.

  “We understand,” Richard said. “But if there is something important enough for this man from New York City to come all the way down here to Texas to find out, we want to know what it is. You may not find all the answers, but at least you could figure out what he wants.”

  “We could hire a stranger to investigate, but like Mark said, you never know who to trust,” Lucy added. “You are family, so we know we can trust you. We’d do it ourselves, but at our age…”

  “I understand,” Deena said. “Why didn’t you ask Mark? He’s retired, right?”

  “He volunteered, but we said no.” Frank sat back and folded his arms. “Let’s just say that Mark has a way of mucking stuff up. Just ask his two ex-wives. He’s not really good on the follow-through, if you know what I mean.”

  Deena stood up and walked to the window that looked out over the backyard. The more she thought about it, the more intrigued she became. This was just the kind of meaty story that could get Pryor’s attention. Better than writing about Labor Day. This was her chance to do some real reporting and show people what she was made of. “I can’t make any promises, but I will see what I can find out.”

  Relief washed over their faces, and Lucy stood up to hug Deena. “Thank you, dear. This means a lot to us. I know Cora will be happy to know someone is actually doing something to bring closure.”

  Richard walked over to the far side of the room. “Mark came by yesterday and helped me pull some boxes out of the attic. These are Cora’s papers and such.” Richard tried to scoot the cardboard boxes across the floor using his foot. At 88-years-old, his back wasn’t what it used to be. “Maybe there’s something in there that can help. Also, keep a list of your expenses. We’ll cover all your costs.”

  Deena shook her head and turned back to the window, thinking about the promise she had just made. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was just the kind of challenge she needed. She stared for a moment at the yard then asked Lucy, “How on earth do you get your roses to stay alive in this relentless heat?”

  Lucy answered. “Lots and lots of water.”

  *

  By the time she walked through the garage door to the house, Deena knew exactly what she wanted to do first. She walked straight to the den and sat down at the large oak desk she had bought at an auction. She had painted it white to match the country cottage feel of the room. Many times since, she wished she had left it the original warm brown color with all its former bumps and bruises. The older she got, the more she appreciated things in their natural state.

  The fatigue of the long drive melted away as she waited for her computer to wake up and get to work. She felt certain that an internet search for Leon Galt would spring forth a fountain of information. Rather than a fountain, though, she got a flood. Over 10 million results came back for that name. She added quotation marks around it and watched the results narrow to a few thousand. Scrolling through the first few pages, she could not find anyone who fit the description. She tried adding search terms such as “New York” and “Investigator” and “Journalist,” but she still came up empty. A dentist, a veterinarian, a plumbing service—obviously she would have to dig deeper to find this guy.

  “Hey,” Gary said as he entered the room.

  Deena jumped and caught her breath. “Geez, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in. Good thing I didn’t go all mad dog on you.”

  “Why are you working in the dark?” He flipped on the overhead light that Deena had been too anxious to bother with.

  “You are not going to believe this,” Deena said as she watched her husband settle into the easy chair next to the front window.

  “Aunt Lucy and Uncle Richard want me to investigate Matthew’s murder. Actually, they want me to solve it, but we all know the chances of that happening. They gave me some boxes of Aunt Cora’s things—which I need you to get out of the car for me—and they are covering my expenses.”

  “Deena Sharpe, P.I.” Gary laughed and crossed his legs.

  Actually, she loved the way that sounded. She pictured herself with binoculars and a walkie talkie peering out from behind the bushes at some seamy motel. “I agreed to do it because I think it will give me real investigative experience and make for a compelling story to show Pryor.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Besides, your relatives are really getting up there in age. I’d hate to think this is hanging around their necks.” He walked over and sat down on the corner of Deena’s desk. “But if you take on this project, who, my dear, is going to tell the world twenty-five facts about Labor Day?”

  Deena grimaced and smacked her husband on the leg. “Very funny. Now will you please go get those boxes?”

  She stood up and cleared a space in the middle of the floor for the boxes. Sitting on the throw rug, she could sort through all the contents, hopefully finding clues. She felt like a doctor performing exploratory surgery, looking for anything that seemed suspicious.

  “What do you want to do about dinner?” Gary asked when he returned, his arms taunt with the first heavy load.

  “I’d like to start going through these right away. Could we just get a pizza delivered?”

  “Pizza it is,” he said, taking off his tie and heading to the bedroom. Deena followed him to get comfortable, knowing she would be sitting on the floor for a long while. She pulled on a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.

  “Want to look through the boxes with me?” she asked.

  “Not unless you need me. The Rangers are on tonight, and I need to proofread a report I have to send out tomorrow.”

  Deena anticipated that he would decline her offer. Just like when they were first married and she would ask him to help her grade papers, he would always have something else more pressing. It established an expectation that she did her teacher work and he did his financial business. Obviously, nothing had changed. And that was fine.

  Deena practically salivated with expectation as she removed the lid of the first box, not knowing what secrets might lay within. The odor of dust and musty old paper filled her nose and made her throat tickle. She felt like an archaeologist when first unveiling a hidden treasure. The inside of the box was jumbled and stacked full. She decided to separate the contents into piles of similar items.

  Photographs, mostly black and white, comprised the top layer of the box. She stared at the people in the pictures, her eyes squinted, mind intent, mood hopeful. So many of the faces seemed familiar—were probably relatives—but were unidentifiable to Deena.
She placed the photographs into two piles: with Matthew and without Matthew. She came across a few snapshots of her mother and father, lingering on these longer, drifting back in time. These particular pictures tugged at her heart, making her more melancholy than usually.

  The doorbell rang, and Gary went to pay for the pizza. Brian, one of her students from the past school year, stuck his head around the door to say hello.

  “Hi Brian. So you’re back delivering pizza again this summer?”

  “Yes ma’am. Last time, though, since I graduate next year.” He hesitated then added, “Mrs. Sharpe, is it true you retired?”

  Deena decided to let that word go this time. “Yes. I’m going to miss you guys, but I was just ready to graduate from high school myself. I wanted to try doing something different.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Well, see you around.” Gary closed the door behind Brian and then insisted Deena stop what she was doing to eat.

  “So what’s in the boxes?” Gary asked then chomped down on a slice of pepperoni.

  “From what I can tell by just glancing, there are pictures, old bills, letters, postcards—just a little bit of everything.” She filled two glasses with wine and sat down on the counter stool. “I don’t really know what I am looking for. Hopefully, I’ll recognize something important if I see it.”

  “Be sure to pay attention if you see a letter from Matthew that says ‘If I am found dead, here’s who did it and why.’”

  “More jokes, really?”

  “You know I’m just playing. I want to be supportive, but this seems like a wild goose chase.”

  Deena wiped the corner of her mouth and took a sip of wine. “I know. But I was thinking about this: What are the main reasons a person would kill another person?”

  “Well, let’s see. Anger…revenge…money…greed.”

  “Also, jealousy or to keep him quiet. I’m sure there’s more reasons, but that’s a good start. So, what might be in those boxes that could tie Matthew to one of those reasons?”

  Gary nodded. “I see where you are going with this. If you find something showing he owed someone a lot of money, you might have a motive.”

  “Right. Or a love letter from a girl who turns out to be married. You know, this is going to take a lot more digging than I thought.”

  “Unless, that is, you find that letter I first mentioned.”

  “Ha,” Deena scoffed. “By the way, is that lipstick on your collar?”

  “What? Where?” Gary anxiously tried to look down at his shirt collar.

  “Gotcha!” Deena ate and thought about her next move. “I think I’m going to call the Perry County Sheriff’s Office and make an appointment to meet with that deputy who worked this case. Maybe there is some additional info that can help me retrace what happened when Matthew disappeared.”

  “Do you need me to go with you? I’d have to reschedule—”

  “No,” Deena interrupted. “I’m a big girl. I can do this myself.” She ate a few more bites of pizza. Something gnawed at her, trying to make its way from the back of her mind to the front. A sense of foreboding came over her. “Have you ever heard of a man named Leon Galt?”

  *

  The next morning, Deena got up to tackle the boxes again. After pouring a cup of coffee, she returned to the den and her ever-growing stacks. Most of the pictures of Matthew were portraits taken when he was young. She loved the ones of him in short pants and a bow tie.

  After about an hour of looking through faded photos and greeting cards, Deena’s legs ached from sitting on the floor. She got up and went to her desk to call the sheriff’s office. A receptionist said she could meet with the deputy the next morning.

  Looking at the three boxes, she decided to change tactics since she was not making much progress. Pouring out the contents of all three boxes, she shuffled through the mounds of papers, looking for legal documents. Among the insurance policies and old report cards, she found papers related to Matthew’s military service. He received an honorable discharge from the U.S. Army in 1946 at the rank of TEC III. She made a note to look up what that meant.

  Several hours passed and she still had not discovered even one piece of information that would bring her closer to learning about Matthew’s death or the mysterious Leon Galt. Then she had an idea. In her address book, she found the phone number she was looking for. She dialed one of her former journalism students who was currently working for a publisher in New York City.

  She was connected to Paula Reynolds and proceeded with the usual chitchat. After a few minutes, Deena explained her reason for calling. “Have you ever heard of Leon Galt?”

  “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. Why? Who is he?”

  “He claims to be an investigative journalist out of New York, but I haven’t been able to find anything out about him. It’s a long story, but I was hoping you might know who he is.”

  “The division I work for publishes mainly technical books and manuals, but I’ll ask around and see if I come up with anything.” Paula promised to call within a few days, and they said their goodbyes.

  Deena considered calling Galt directly, but she first wanted to get the scoop on him. She looked back at the growing mess in the middle of the floor. The piles mocked her, or at least that’s how it felt. Something, anything she thought. And just like that, a clue found her. It was a photograph of Matthew with a pretty blond woman, and it appeared they were more than just friends.

  Chapter Five

  Deputy Simms had warned Deena over the phone that there was not much more information he could offer beyond the articles in the newspaper, but he would be glad to meet with her anyway. The news article was a follow-up story explaining the details of Matthew’s identification, including quotes from Sheriff Lowry. It stated that the case remained an open investigation.

  She arrived at the sheriff’s office expecting the inside of the building to look like the police departments on television, complete with officers sitting out in the open at their cluttered desks surrounded by stacks of folders and paperwork, ringing rotary dial telephones, and surly perps in handcuffs. She was disappointed to walk in and see just a counter with a receptionist. The place could have passed for a dentist office. After signing in, she was escorted down a long hallway to Deputy Simms’s office. She had expected to be frisked or at least scanned with a hand-held metal detector. She waited in the doorway while Simms finished his phone call, observing that the inside of his office looked a lot like Jake’s, the loan officer at her bank. The desk was tidy, the file cabinets were lined up in neat rows, nothing screamed “Criminals Beware!” She took solace, though, when she saw a half-eaten donut on the side of his desk. Not a total let down, she thought.

  Simms hung up the phone and walked around his desk to greet her. He offered coffee and water, which she declined. Good manners, she noted of the attractive young deputy.

  “Mrs. Sharpe, I have your uncle’s file right here.” He opened the inch-thick manila folder. “We located the missing person’s report and have notes on the investigation. We have now combined that with the file on the recovery and identification of the body.”

  “So are you the one who found the skeleton in the closet?” That had been the headline in the Dallas newspaper.

  “Yes ma’am. But it was Sheriff Lowry who made the decision to try to make an identification.” He obviously knew where his bread was buttered.

  She pulled a legal pad out of her black satchel and flipped it over to a fresh page. “Any information you can give me would be helpful.” She clicked her pen and sat poised ready to take notes like a 1960s stenographer, wishing she knew shorthand.

  “Besides the information that was in the newspaper, we have the name of the restaurant where Mr. Meade ate with friends on the evening he disappeared: 4 October 1963.”

  This was just the kind of juicy nugget Deena was dying to chomp on.

  “He had dinner with two work colleagues, Gene, that’s g-e-n-e Collins and Donna Morr
ison, usual spelling. They ate at the Park Street Café in Maycroft, which, as you probably know, is no longer there.”

  “Were they interviewed? Do you have any notes of what they said?” Deena anxiously clicked her pen.

  “It just states that they ate dinner and then all left around 6:30 p.m. Neither saw anything suspicious.” Simms cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the file. “People from his work and a few neighbors were questioned, but no one had seen or heard anything suspicious.”

  “Was there any other evidence taken?”

  “Yes ma’am. The lab took some fingerprints from the car, but they all belonged to Mr. Meade. Two former army buddies who were living in the area at the time were interviewed. Their names were not listed in the report.”

  Deena noticed the deputy’s face turning a blush red. She wondered why he felt uncomfortable.

  “There is a note, though, that both gentlemen commented they were surprised there were glasses found in Mr. Meade’s car.”

  “Is that because he couldn’t see anything without his glasses?” Deena asked, anticipating his response.

  “No ma’am. They didn’t think Mr. Meade wore glasses. They said he had been a sharpshooter in the army and had perfect vision.”

  Deena made a note on her paper and put a star next to it. “So the day after he disappeared, his car was found with his keys in the ignition, his wallet on the seat, and his glasses on the dashboard. Was anything else found in the car?”

  “That’s it. Also, you probably know that his parents searched his apartment along with a deputy and found nothing suspicious.”

  Deena had not known that. She leaned back in her chair. “Matthew’s mother, Cora, told me once about hiring a private detective.”

  “The file has no information about that. From what I can tell, there was no evidence of a crime, so the investigation was minimal. It was treated like a missing person case. Seems like some people just thought he took off.”

  Deena scribbled some notes, but knew they would be useless.

  “There is one last thing I thought you might be interested in seeing.” He walked over to the shelves that lined one side of the office and gently took down a small plastic container. He brought it over and set it on his desk. “This is the scrap of clothing found with your uncle’s body.” He looked at Deena before removing the lid. “Not everyone has the stomach for this kind of evidence.”