“I know LaTisha. Good woman who got caught up in a bad situation,” said Lou. “So we’ve got Mrs. Wentworth accusing Cara of killing her husband?”
“She insinuated that Honora, Cara, and Dick might have been working as a team. One distracting, one poisoning, and one showing up later to make sure the job was done.”
“What would their motive have been?”
Davidson shifted his weight and leaned back in his chair. His brow creased in concentration. “Evidently, Dick’s wife, Josephina, died forty-some years ago this week when her car was hit by a train. It happened at a busy crossing here in Stuart. At the VIP Event, shortly after we left, Dick accused Josiah Wentworth of taking money from the rail companies, payback for not holding them more accountable. Cara dragged her grandfather away, but not before Dick made a scene.”
Lou shook his head. “Dick Potter is a piece of work.”
“But is he a murderer?” asked Davidson.
“A lot of Dick’s military record is classified,” said Lou, “but he served his country honorably. If he wanted to kill someone, he wouldn’t have resorted to poison—and he wouldn’t have shown up on their doorstep. Besides, the timeframe is all wrong. He waits forty-two years? Then commits murder right after causing a scene at his granddaughter’s store? Dick might be hot-headed, but he isn’t stupid. No matter how angry Dick was, an overnight think would have given him time to cool down. Make a plan.”
“Poison is a woman’s weapon,” said Davidson. “But it doesn’t make sense that Cara would have dragged Honora into it. Or vice versa. And there’s no motive. What’s the payoff for Cara? Killing a man for a death that occurred before she was born? That’s ridiculous.”
Lou agreed. It didn’t make sense. On the other hand, they couldn’t dismiss the accusation out of hand. “Where does that leave us? What do you want me to do? How are we going to handle the Kathy Simmons case?”
“Don’t worry about getting into her computer. Let me take care of that. We need to pay a visit to Cooper Rivers. Tell him how Kathy threatened Cara. See how he reacts. He doesn’t need to know that we can’t get into Kathy Simmons files, does he?”
“No,” agreed Lou. “Are you coming with to talk to him?”
Davidson stared down at the ink pen. He picked it up and examined it carefully. “I think that would be a mistake. Under the circumstances.”
Lou waited. He had the sense Davidson would say more, and he did.
“I was once involved with Jodi Wireka.”
56
~ Lou~
6 p.m. on Saturday
Cooper Rivers Design office in Downtown Stuart
Although it was after-hours, Lou found Cooper Rivers’ Escalade still parked behind the building where he had his office. The architect had long ago given Lou a phone number that went directly to his cell in case of a crisis, like the broken window in Cara’s store. He’d explained, “Since I have responsibility for every aspect of construction, I have the manpower and resources to handle almost any job.”
Standing on the sidewalk, Lou dialed that number. When Cooper answered, Lou said, “I need to talk with you. It’s urgent.”
Cooper hesitated and then said, “Sure. Where are you?”
Once inside, Cooper led Lou to his office. “I just put on a fresh pot of coffee. Want a cup?”
“I never turn down fresh coffee,” said Lou.
With mugs in hand, the men took seats in Cooper’s office. The architect sat under a landscape of the St. Lucie River, a dreamy primordial scene in blues and greens. Instead of a signature, Will Daniels had scratched his name into the paint. As the popularity of the Highwaymen grew, many tried to emulate their style. You could fake a signature, but a name scratched in paint was indelible.
“What’s up?” asked Cooper.
“I was wondering if you could help me with an investigation.”
“Into what? Vandalism? Theft of building materials?”
“No,” and Lou, unbuttoned his jacket so that his shoulder holster could be seen. A subtle reminder that he was armed. “A murder.”
Cooper’s face went from curious to serious. “Who? Where?”
“Kathy Simmons. She was a reporter for the Shoreline News. Ever run into her?”
“No. Not to my knowledge.” Cooper sat back in his seat. His face closed down, that look that Lou had seen so often when questioning someone. A natural defensive posture. Indicative of very little.
“Could she have called you? Interviewed you for a story?”
“Not that I know of.” Cooper hesitated. “Lou, I get a lot of calls from a lot of people for a lot of reasons. Martha, my secretary, fields most of them. If you’d like, I can have her go through her telephone message book.”
“That would be helpful.” Lou let the silence build. Most people, even those who are innocent, abhor the tension created when talking ceases. It is our nature to rush to fill it. Our attempts can be insightful, comical, or even pitiful. Once in a while, we share more than we should in an effort to win over our listener. Lou hoped that would happen now.
But Cooper refused to do his part. Lou could almost see the man’s conscious effort to relax. He waited the way a cat does while watching for movement. Alert, coiled, ready to pounce.
“Have you seen Cara lately?”
“Jodi, Philomena, and I attended the VIP Open House. Phil had good news to share about Dick’s leaking gas tanks.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Cooper’s hands rested in his lap. Lou watched the muscles in his forearms flex, as the man clenched his fists and released them.
“She still cares about you.”
Cooper’s head jerked up. “What?”
“I said Cara still cares about you. A lot.”
“How do you know? What makes you say that?”
Lou leaned forward, resting his arms on Cooper’s desk. “Let me tell you a little story. Not to leave this room. Kathy Simmons wanted something from Cara. Cara didn’t want to sell it. Kathy tells Cara she’s done a little research. Your name comes up. Guess what happens next?”
Cooper swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“You should know. It matters that you know. Cara gave in. For your sake. She protected you. People overheard the conversation. We have witnesses.”
He said nothing, but Cooper looked miserable. Absolutely, totally miserable.
“Cara put herself on the line for you, pal. Next thing you know, Kathy Simmons is dead. And just like that—” Lou snapped his fingers “—Cara’s a suspect in a murder case.”
A vein pulsed in Cooper’s forehead, but still he didn’t say a word.
“That leaves me wondering. What did you do? How did you drive her away? What did Kathy Simmons have on you?”
Nothing moved. Time stood still. Lou could hear water dripping from the gutters outside. The rain must have started again. Cooper stared past Lou, his face a study in forced neutrality.
“You got anything to tell me?” Lou asked.
“No,” said Cooper. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
57
~ Cara~
6 p.m. on Saturday
The Treasure Chest
“Still hard at work? Don’t you ever take a break?” asked Captain Davidson, as he relaxed back into the chair opposite my desk.
MJ had rushed out the door promptly at five because she had a date. EveLynn had pulled up out front and honked—actually laid on the horn—to pick up her mother. (“I’ll speak to her about that,” said Honora with a sigh.) Sid had raced off on his bicycle, after sharing details about the new Wolverine movie he planned to see. Skye had called to say she would be working late because several of the servers had sick kids.
I had felt a twinge of loneliness, so I had turned to my new best friend: Pinterest. With the expectation of spending many happy hours fantasizing over clothes and crafts and food, I’d poured myself a glass of red wine and settled in.
Seeing Davidson at the back do
or had rattled me. I had expected to be questioned about my visit to the Wentworth’s house, but not so soon.
Even more surprising, Davidson didn’t act like he had come on official business. He passed on my offer of wine, but happily helped himself to a cold Busch beer, before pulling up a chair.
I started to answer his question about taking a break when Luna came out from under my feet and launched herself into his lap.
“I hope you like cats,” I said.
“I like all kinds of animals. In fact, I can’t think of a single animal I don’t like.” His grin crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Snakes? Lizards? Crocodiles?”
“Snakes and lizards eat bugs. Crocodiles have walked this earth longer than we have, so I find them fascinating. Maybe ‘like’ is too inclusive. How’s this? ‘I can’t think of an animal that doesn’t intrigue me.’” He paused to tickle Luna under her chin. “If I wasn’t a policeman, I would have happily become a vet.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I discovered the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and I was hooked. Sherlock Holmes and his methodology intrigued me. It was like being hit by lightning. One book and I knew that I wanted to solve mysteries for the rest of my life.”
“Ah. So it’s not about justice? Or serving and protecting?”
“Hmm, there is that. But mainly I loved the idea of using my mind, outwitting bad guys. I still do like that part of my job the best. That and interacting with people. Getting to know what makes them tick.”
I took a deep breath and looked away from him. “Are you here to find out what makes me tick? To grill me about my visit to the Wentworths’ house?”
It took him forever to answer. When he did, it wasn’t what I expected. Davidson said, “I think I know what makes you tick. Presumptuous as that sounds. Yes, I’d like to hear about your visit with the Wentworths. Yes, I have a couple of questions, but how about if we talk over dinner? I’m starving. It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten. I’ve had a lousy day. I can almost taste one of those Kobe beef steaks over at the Riverwalk Café.”
“A steak,” I said. The idea appealed to me. I’d been craving red meat all day. “Sure, why not.”
58
~Cara~
Saturday night
Riverwalk Café in downtown Stuart
The Riverwalk Café is narrow and elegant, with an old world feeling. We were directed to a small table in the back. Had I not known I was going to be fielding questions about a dead man, I would have thought the location very romantic.
After we placed our orders and agreed to call each other by first names, Nathan Davidson asked, “Do you mind telling me about your visit to the Wentworths’ house? And about the discussion your grandfather had with them at your VIP event?”
“Okay, but first, what progress have you made on the burglar who broke into my store.”
“No progress so far. Only a small percentage of burglaries are ever solved.“Since we can’t trace a painting or a collectible that came from your store, this is even harder for us than usual. We’ve run the partial print through all our databases. I have an officer comparing the modus operandi with other burglaries. We’re trying to find witnesses who might have seen someone lingering around your building,” he said.
I was disappointed in his report.
“Sorry I can’t offer you good news,” said Nathan. “It’s frustrating. We’ll certainly keep at it. Do you mind if we talk about your visit to the Wentworths? I’d like to get that out of the way so we can enjoy our meal.”
I told him about Poppy’s encounter with Senator Wentworth during the VIP event.
“How would you describe the Senator’s state of mind? Did he seem healthy to you?” Nathan asked.
“He seemed to be slipping a cog. Talking about the past. Jenny Beth interrupted him several times to get him on track. I guess he looked healthy enough. It’s hard to tell, you know? With older people, that is.”
“How about when you visited him at home? Did he seem well?”
“He was in la-la land. Poppy said he acted that way when he visited, too.”
“Did you bring anything? A gift of any sort? I know you were there to apologize.”
“I picked up a bouquet of flowers at Publix.”
“Prior to the event at your store, did you know how your grandmother died? Did your grandfather ever talk about it?”
“No. It was all news to me. On the way to Jupiter Island, Honora told me that I favor my grandmother. She seems to think that was one of the reasons that Poppy got so emotional. Honora thinks it was a triple whammy. Seeing me, the fact I’m almost the same age as my grandmother when she died, and the anniversary of her death coming up.”
Ethan opened his hands in a “what gives” sort of gesture. “So it wasn’t like your family harbored this grudge against the Wentworths for decades. This isn’t a Hatfield and McCoy sort of vendetta.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Just so you know, Poppy dropped by the store right after we got word that the Senator had died. When Honora told Poppy what had happened, I thought my grandfather was going to have a heart attack. He was stunned to hear that the Senator had died. Poppy might be a lot of things, but he's no actor.”
I added, "You have to remember that my grandfather went to their place to apologize. For a man like him, that doesn't come easily. He didn't go to make trouble."
"Had you ever met the Wentworths before they came to your VIP event?"
"No. I'd never even heard of them. As a matter of fact, they crashed my event. They didn't bother to call and RSVP. I know that because we made name tags for everyone who had phoned in."
“When did Honora join your staff?" Nathan asked.
"The day before the VIP event."
"Is it possible that she invited the Wentworths?"
I hadn't thought of that. "Maybe."
How well did I know Honora? After all, she was the person who suggested that we drop by the Wentworths' house.
Suddenly, I didn't feel much like eating.
59
~Lou~
Saturday night
The morgue in Fort Pierce, Florida
What Lou learned at post-mortems often helped him in his investigation. A chance remark by the medical examiner could spur a question that when followed to its conclusion led to a resolution of a case.
Tonight, however, his presence seemed pointless. After leaving Davidson’s office, Lou felt exhaustion creep up on him. His stomach was still queasy from the cheeseburger. The vending machine snacks hadn’t helped. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Skye.
Their Saturday night meetings had been the high point of his week. The fact that she was angry with him preyed upon him. Try as he might to compartmentalize his distress, he couldn’t. Thoughts of her snuck up on him. He could still see her angry expression as she poured the water on his lap. Worst of all, he knew he’d hurt her deeply, and that caused an ache in his throat.
It also rattled him.
“You’re in love, stupid,” said Showalter.
“Not likely,” said Lou.
It was almost as if someone had reached in and squeezed his guts, hard. The pain only grew in intensity. Worst of all, he wasn’t sure what to do next. How could he dial everything back? Make amends without admitting he was wrong?
“But I’m not wrong. I have a job to do,” he mumbled to himself as he reached into the locker at the morgue. Stepping into the white Tyvek suit gave him a sense of purpose, even if the motion was merely habitual, without the benefit of thought.
He tried to make his mind a blank, a receptive clean slate, as he walked into the room where Josiah Wentworth, or his mortal remains, rested on a soulless metal table. The cool lighting emphasized the waxy tone of the Senator’s skin. The man had lived much of his life in the limelight. Now the harsh glare of the overhead fixtures robbed him of his last shreds of dignity. Every skin tag, age spot, wrinkle, and gnarled hair see
med to signal surrender.
“Let’s do this thing,” said Faraday. But before he started, he turned to Lou and gave him a cold stare over the top of his surgical mask. “By the way. I know you complained to your boss about me. Next time, be man enough to tell me to my face instead of running around my back.”
Lou felt like a schoolboy being called out by the teacher. He was glad his white mask hid his expression. Faraday was right. Lou owed him the professional courtesy of confronting him, man to man, rather than whining to Davidson.
Whining, or was it whinging, as Adrian Green had said?
“Whatever,” chimed in Showalter. “You didn’t handle that right and you know it.”
The rest of the hour crawled by. Josiah had lived a long life, and if looks were any clue, a hard one. The flaccid muscles and lumpy purple veins made a mockery of the once powerful senator. He'd seen pictures of the young Josiah, fresh-faced and goofy, but tall and lean. This thing, this carcass, this empty cocoon, was shrunken. Tired. Depleted.
A great reason to die young, thought Lou.
Lou tried to stay focused on what Faraday said as he peeled, plucked, weighed, and measured. The thick lumps of flesh reminded Lou of the giblets his mother removed from the turkey when preparing their Thanksgiving dinner. Really, what are we but animals? He mused. Bigger, smarter, and more cunning, but for all that, not so very different. Not when reduced by death to our elemental nature.
“In the end, we take everything with us, and yet we have nothing,” said Showalter. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 111
