Murder in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

  Larger locked display cases formed a square in the middle of the room. They contained Civil War letters, diaries, stamps, bullets, military handguns, and more. Beyond the front room, a hall led to other rooms filled with more collectibles.

  I walked to the register and rang an engraved, antique desk bell several times. “Peter. Martha?” I called. I glanced back at the office and saw a paper-strewn desk, computer, printer, and bookshelves.

  “Hello,” Peter called from the back of the Emporium. “Coming.” I looked down the back hall and saw him approach in his slow, deliberate way. Peter was in his sixties. He stood 6’ tall, had a full head of long, white hair tied back in a ponytail, a mustache, and a wild, curly beard. Today, he wore a long-sleeved, blue plaid shirt that strained against his barrel chest, brown corduroy pants, and hiking boots.

  “Hi Peter,” I said, walking toward him. “I’m so sorry about Justin.” I opened my arms and hugged him. I smelled pipe smoke and coffee.

  “Thanks Lizzie. It was a shock,” Peter said. I stepped back and saw wet brown eyes behind his glasses. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  Martha Church followed Peter into the front room. She was a short, plump woman in her sixties. Gray, wavy hair framed her face. Her hazel eyes also glistened with tears. She wore a cinnamon red turtleneck sweater, black pants, and running shoes.

  “Oh Martha, I’m so sorry,” I said and pulled her into a hug. She started crying into my shoulder. I held her and patted her back.

  “Thanks, Liz.” She pulled back, removed her wire rim glasses, and blotted her eyes with Kleenex tissues. Martha shook her head. “I just can’t believe Justin is gone.”

  Sam shook hands with Peter and offered his condolences. “I’m so sorry,” he said to Martha who nodded.

  “When is the service?” I asked gently.

  “10:00 a.m. Tuesday at the Winberrie Funeral Home.” Peter said, putting his arm around Martha. They both leaned back against a glass display case.

  “It will be a memorial service,” Martha said softly. “Justin will be cremated tomorrow. But we wanted to have a service so that his friends could come together and celebrate his life. After the service, he’ll come home with us.”

  I reached out and squeezed Martha’s arm. “We’ll be there on Tuesday.”

  After a pause, Sam said, “Look we really hate to bother you at a time like this. But a client has hired us to investigate the case. We want to find out who hurt Justin.”

  “Ben Katz hired you?” Martha asked.

  “We can’t really say,” I said.

  Martha sighed. “Well please tell your mother I don’t think Ben did it. I’m sorry I shared his name. But Matt Durand asked about any altercations.”

  “Yes ma’am. Please don’t worry about it.” I said. “Do you mind if I record this? I take terrible notes.” Both Peter and Martha waved their hands. I got the recorder going and just held the cellphone in my hand.

  “Did Justin have any enemies?” Sam asked.

  Peter’s arm tightened around Martha’s shoulders. “Nobody that we knew of.”

  Sam nodded and looked down. “Had he received any threats?”

  Peter frowned. “No. Justin would debate issues with some people. However, nobody ever threatened him. He would have told us.”

  “I know these questions are hard, but they may help us figure out what happened,” I said. Peter and Martha both seemed to relax a bit.

  “We want to catch whoever did this,” Martha said and Peter nodded.

  “What was Justin’s mood lately?” I asked.

  Martha sniffled. “He was in a good mood. A lot of bad things were behind him.”

  “What bad things, Martha?” I asked.

  Martha glanced at Peter and back to me. “He had money problems because of some failed businesses. Then he lost the house when he and Maxine divorced. The little money he made after the sale and division of their assets went to pay some other debts. Justin had some dark moments, but they were all in the past. He was feeling much better about his own life and was upbeat.”

  “That’s true,” Peter agreed. “If anything, Justin worried more about us and the Emporium.”

  “Why was he worried?” asked Sam.

  Peter’s hand went to his beard. “We’ve been struggling with the Emporium. Sales have been dropping. We own the house and property, but we had to take out a loan a while ago. It’s been a struggle to cover the loan payments, taxes, and insurance.”

  “Justin knew about this?” I asked.

  Peter cleared his throat. “He did. We talked about selling out back in November. I thought Justin would be in favor of that, but he talked us out of it.”

  Martha nodded. “Justin was adamant that we shouldn’t sell. The past two months he’d been more happy and upbeat about the business.”

  “Why did you think Justin would want to sell the Emporium?” I asked.

  Martha sighed. “Last summer, he suggested selling out when we shared the financial problems with him. He was in a bad mood back then and thought selling the Emporium would solve all of our problems. Then, a few months ago, he was happy again and changed his mind about selling. I think he finally decided he liked working at the Emporium.”

  “He did like working here. He had some really good business ideas too,” Peter agreed. “He set up a website for us and we were starting to see results there. In fact, he thought it would be the future of the Emporium. We talked about using some of the online auction sites for selected smaller items. Justin also handled posting on social media for us.”

  “You said Justin had been happier lately. Was it the website?” I asked.

  Peter shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was the website.”

  Martha shook her head too. “When we were talking about selling in November, he said everything was going to be okay and we should wait. He said that God would provide for us in a big way and we wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. And he was happy.”

  “Was Justin always religious?” I asked.

  “Not in the past, but he did embrace religion lately. He started reading an old Bible and quoting scripture. He seemed excited about the future,” said Peter.

  “Did he go to church?” Sam asked.

  Peter and Martha exchanged a questioning look and both shrugged. “Not that he ever mentioned,” Peter said. ”He just started carrying the Bible around, reading it, and quoting Scripture.”

  “Okay, where would the money come from?” I asked.

  Peter shook his head. “He never said. I asked him many times. He finally said I’d had to have faith and trust him. I told him he’d better not think of doing anything illegal.”

  “How did he react?” I asked.

  “He swore he’d never do anything illegal and I believed him. He was always a good boy,” Peter said, taking off his glasses, and rubbing his eyes.

  “Any chance we could see the Bible?” asked Sam.

  Martha brought a hand to her mouth and frowned. “I don’t remember seeing it since…”

  Peter tightened his arm around her again.

  “I’m going to check his room,” Martha said and hurried to the back of the house. I heard her going upstairs.

  “Do you remember Justin having the Bible the last time you saw him?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” Peter replied. “He quoted the story about the Prodigal Son and we had a good talk about that.”

  “Had he met anyone who stimulated his interest in religion?” asked Sam.

  Peter shook his head. “No, not that I know of. I think Justin would have mentioned it.”

  Martha returned looking dejected. “It’s not in his room. Could the killer have taken it?”

  “Was it valuable?” I asked.

  Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “You know, I never examined the book closely. I remember Justin said it was an 1850 edition published by the American Bible Society. It wasn’t a pocket version. It was a larger edition with the Old and New Testaments.”

  �
�Valuable?” I asked again.

  “It might have been worth around a hundred dollars. A motivated buyer would probably pay more, but not much,” he replied.

  “So not valuable enough to steal,” I said.

  Peter shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “I’ll keep looking for the Bible,” Martha said firmly.

  “We heard that you have security cameras on the second floor. I don’t suppose you have cameras in your residence?” Sam asked.

  “Oh no. We value our privacy too much for that,” Martha said.

  “I understand,” Sam said and paused. “Who were Justin’s friends? It would help us to talk to them.”

  Martha looked surprised. “Oh my, Justin had a lot of friends from high school, college, and after he got married. I think his closest friend was Eddie Klein. Justin and Eddie went to grade school, high school, and college together. They’ve been friends for decades. Justin sometimes called him Eddie Spaghetti, although I don’t know why. Jimmy Dietz was another friend. I think Justin met Jimmy through Eddie and they hit it off.” She pulled her cellphone from a pocket and gave Eddie and Jimmy’s telephone numbers to Sam. As an afterthought, she added, “I’ll have to call them about the memorial.”

  “Martha, do us a favor and don’t call them. We’ll let them know,” Sam said.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, doubt in her voice.

  “It would help our investigation,” he said softly and she nodded.

  “Mark Sweet wasn’t a friend?” I asked.

  “Mark Sweet? No,” Peter said and made a sour face. “Mark Sweet came in once or twice a year with offers to buy the Emporium. We always declined. When we were batting around the idea of selling, we briefly thought about calling Sweet. Then we decided against it”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “We just don’t like the man and decided if we did sell, it wouldn’t be to him,” Peter replied.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I don’t trust him. He’d level the house and try to build one of those pseudo historical vertical malls. We couldn’t stand that,” Peter said.

  “But the Village Board would never approve that in the historic district,” I said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” said Peter. “We won’t risk it.”

  Martha chimed in, “I know that Justin didn’t like Mark Sweet either. The last time Sweet was here, Justin watched him leave and called him a bad name under his breath.”

  “They both supported land development, though,” I said.

  Peter’s face turned red. “Justin supported land development that fit into the environment and was limited. He didn’t want to see a bunch of tin can malls and office buildings go up. Sweet would be happy to tear down all the historic buildings here and put up modern monstrosities. They were very different.”

  “Sorry, Peter. We didn’t mean to upset you or Martha,” I said.

  He took a deep breath. “I know, Liz. Is there anything else we can help with?”

  Could we see Justin’s room?” Sam asked. Peter and Martha exchanged a look and Peter nodded. I turned off the voice recorder app and pocketed my cellphone.

  Martha led us upstairs to Justin’s room on the third floor and left. While I methodically searched the bed, drawers, a closet, and bookshelves, Sam targeted Justin’s computer.

  “I’m surprised the police didn’t take Justin’s computer into evidence,” he said, sitting down at the small desk. He turned on the desktop computer. While it booted up, he went through the desk drawers. Then he returned to the computer.

  “We’re in luck, Justin didn’t use password protection,” Sam said. After looking at the applications, bookmarks, search history, and email, he sat back.

  “Not much here. He received newsletters about online auctions and website development. He visited auction websites, researched different sports teams, and was in fantasy sports leagues.”

  “That’s more than I got,” I said. “Was he gambling on sports?”

  “Not that I can tell,” Sam replied. “But you can make money with fantasy sports leagues, if you’re good.”

  We returned downstairs. “Find anything useful?” Peter asked. Martha looked up from an item she was examining.

  “Not sure. Did Justin like sports?” Sam asked.

  “Did he ever! He loved professional and college football, baseball, and basketball. He was a Packers fan, of course. But he followed all the other sports teams too. Ever since he was little, he could remember player stats. I don’t know how he kept the numbers in his head,” Peter replied and smiled.

  “Did he ever talk about fantasy sports leagues?” Sam asked.

  “He did play in some fantasy leagues,” Peter agreed.

  “Did he talk about winning?”

  “No, it was more the opposite,” Peter replied. “He said he didn’t do very well. But he loved it and didn’t spend a lot of money at it.”

  “Okay, good. And did Justin ever gamble on real games?” asked Sam.

  “Gamble? No, Justin never bet on actual games. He did play poker with Jimmy Dietz and some other guys,” said Peter. “It was for small stakes, though.”

  “Okay. So he used the money that he earned working here to play poker with his friends?” I asked.

  “Oh no, we weren’t paying him,” Peter said. Sam and I must have both looked confused.

  “He worked for free?” asked Sam.

  Martha came up to stand next to Peter. “Both Justin and his sister received a small, monthly payment from a trust my parents set up for them,” she explained.

  “May I ask how much Justin got?” I asked.

  “One thousand dollars a month. We gave him free room and board and he helped out in the Emporium. Originally, we were really giving him time to decide what he wanted to do next,” Martha explained.

  Peter nodded. “Then he settled in here and liked the work. Martha and I recently decided that we’d try to find a way to pay him a small salary. One thought was to use a portion of the profits from our online sales for that,” Peter said.

  “Okay, I understand now,” Sam said.

  “Did Justin have an office downstairs?” I asked.

  “In there,” Peter said, hooking a thumb at the office door behind him. “The desk on the left.”

  “Does he have a computer down here?” Sam asked.

  “We just have one shared computer in the office. Justin uses...used that for the website work,” Peter said. “Then there’s a second computer that’s connected to the security cameras on the second floor.”

  “Did Justin set up the security cameras for you?” asked Sam.

  “Oh no,” Peter replied. “We had a security firm come in about four years ago. They installed a better network and security system, including the cameras. The cameras on the second floor are motion activated. The company also provided software that lets us see the camera views on the computer. It records the camera footage to the computer too.”

  “But you don’t have cameras on the first floor?” I asked.

  “No, we didn’t see the need,” Martha replied.

  “Do you get a lot of theft?” Sam asked.

  “Back before the cameras, we did. Now, not any to speak of. We also have small signs that let customers know we have video surveillance. It really helped at Christmas time, which is our busiest time of the year.”

  Sam nodded and thanked Peter. We went into the office and looked at Justin’s desk. The only interesting thing we found was a brochure comparing exotic sports cars.

  Sam clicked on the computer keyboard and the screen sprang to life. After five minutes, Sam muttered, “Clean as a whistle.”

  “Nothing here either,” I said. We went back out to the sales area.

  “Was Justin planning on buying a new car?” Sam asked, bringing the brochure out to show Peter.

  Martha smiled. “Oh he liked to look, but he was saving his money. When he needed a car, he used ours.” Then the tears came again and she looked away.

&nbs
p; “Peter, could we see the parlor, please?” Sam asked. Peter nodded and walked us back to the first door on the right along the long hallway. Someone had taped a hand-lettered sign that said “Do Not Enter” on the closed door. There was no crime scene tape.

  Peter opened the door. “We plan to take out the rug and do a complete clean-up. I’m still checking to see if insurance will cover it. I can’t go in there again. Just shut the door when you’re done,” he said and turned away.

  Sam and I stood inside the doorway. We both knew that crime scene investigators had already combed through the room. In addition to photographing everything, they had bagged and tagged evidence and dusted for fingerprints.

  “Seeing the scene will give us a feel for what happened to Justin,” Sam said, his eyes narrowed.

  It was a large parlor with cream-colored walls, dark wood trim, and three seating areas with different, faded Kirman rugs for each. Antique chandeliers with four round glass balls provided lighting for each area. Floor to ceiling gold, black, and beige drapes decorated the four windows on the east wall across from us. Sashes tied back the drapes on the last window to the right, revealing a peach-colored shade.

  I took a deep breath of musty air and tried to slow down my racing brain. I scanned the room from left to right. In the first seating area, a large portrait of a bearded, Church family ancestor hung over a fireplace on the north wall. A small, antique desk sat in the corner to the right of the fireplace. Two, long, pink couches were perpendicular to the fireplace. They faced each other with a long, glass, coffee table in between them. Two smaller armchairs were on each side of the fireplace.

  In the second seating area in front of us, two leather chairs sat across from two more leather chairs. A low, wooden table rested in between them. Small antique tables and cabinets flanked the windows on the east wall, behind the chairs.

  The third seating area to our right included a large floral couch, three white, tufted armchairs, and a large wooden coffee table. On the south wall to the right stood a serving table with a single-serve coffee maker, mugs, and a selection of coffee and tea.