by Kathi Daley
Chapter 14
While the trip out west had been a tough one in many ways, by the time Wednesday rolled around I was feeling downright gleeful. Okay, maybe gleeful is an overly positive word for what I was feeling, but I did have a sense of relief upon closing a door to the past that I would never again want to open.
“Good morning,” I said with a smile that felt only slightly forced that morning. “Another sunny day.”
“It does seem as if the rain is behind us,” Georgia agreed. “When I took Ramos out for his walk, I ran into the landscaper, who said he brought sample pavers for you to look at. He is working on leveling the ground in front of the house today and said you could stop by any time before three.”
“Thanks. I’ll walk over after I have my coffee and take a look. I want to stop by to talk to Colt this morning as well. He left a vague message about narrowing things down a bit and wanting to ask me a couple of questions about my memories of the day we went to look at Mr. Palmer’s house for the first time.”
“So it looks like Mr. Palmer was definitely poisoned?”
I nodded as I poured cream into my mug. “It looks that way. As of Saturday, which is the last time I spoke to Colt, he didn’t have any good leads as to who might have done the poisoning, but he had found some information about the bones in the trunk.”
“Yeah, I overheard Colt and Lonnie talking about the trunk on Saturday.” Georgia wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t understand why anyone would keep a body in a trunk for fifty years. Talk about creepy.”
I sat down at the dining table and looked out toward the sea. The sun glistened off the water; oh yeah, it was going to be a beautiful day. “I keep thinking that the trunk and the murder of Mr. Palmer could be related, although I don’t know how. Still, it is much too strange to be a coincidence.”
“Did Colt ever figure out the whole thing with the safety-deposit box?” Georgia asked.
“Not as of Saturday.”
“I’m going to run into town to pick up a few ingredients I need for the brownies I’m making for the art project tomorrow. Do you need anything from the market?”
“I think we might be running low on coffee. Otherwise, no. I did think I might post a notice about the kittens. They should be old enough to start going to new homes in a week or so. I figured we could start taking names. Maybe we could ask Velma to post one, and perhaps we could put another on the bulletin board at the market.”
“I’ll take a photo and make up a flyer.” Georgia refilled her own cup with the freshly brewed coffee and looked out the window. “I wonder if Tanner or Nikki know of anyone who might want one of the kittens. I’ll ask them. I want to be sure they go to homes where we either know the people or we have a chance to check them out.”
“I agree. Which is why I decided it wasn’t too early to ask around.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to head into the shower. Maybe we can do a salad for dinner. Something light. Now that the weather has warmed, I am starting to think of losing a few pounds before shorts weather really kicks in.”
“A salad sounds good to me. I’ll see what I can find.”
After I showered and dressed, I called Colt, who asked if I wanted to grab lunch in a couple of hours. I agreed that I would and then used the time in between to call the historian Bronson Holding had told me about. I introduced myself to her and then explained what I had and why I was interested in learning more about it.
“It would help if you could send me everything you have,” the woman said. “A photo of the mantel, the necklace, and the note would be a good starting place. Also the history you have already dug up would be helpful. I’ll use that information to do some digging on my own.”
“Okay. I can do that. I sort of doubt it is even possible to figure out who the necklace was meant for, but the more history I can gather, the more information I will have to share with my guests.”
“Of course. Keeping the oral tradition alive is always very important. Once I have your email, I’ll need a week or so to do my research, and then I’ll contact you with my findings.”
“Thanks. That sounds great.”
After I hung up and sent the photos by email, I went out to talk to the landscaper about the pavers. We decided to go with low, brick flowerbeds along the front drive and brick pavers in the roundabout. I was concerned about the snow and its impact on the pavers, but he seemed to think they would work fine. The beds along the drive would be colorful, with the low-growing shrubs and colorful flowers. We’d decided to fill in much of the surrounding acreage with larger shrubs and meandering walkways, but we both felt a splash of color as guests first drove up would provide a welcoming feel.
I asked about white trellises with a flowering vine for the entry, and he told me his research on the best sort of vine to provide flowers in the spring and summer and color in the autumn.
As for the patio in the back, we decided to go with an exposed aggregate with brick planter boxes and accents. The fireplace would be brick and the fountain granite. The area was going to be lovely. I couldn’t wait to see how it all turned out.
******
“I’ve always wanted to try this place,” I said as Colt slid out my chair for me. The café that Colt had chosen for our working lunch was casual yet it was lovely as well, given the fact that it was perched on the edge of the sea.
“Their specialty is lobster rolls and their clam chowder is the best you will find in this part of Maine,” he said. “If you aren’t in to seafood, they have a tri-tip sandwich that is one of my favorites. I don’t eat here all that often—I usually only take the time to grab something at Velma’s—but every now and then, I like to change things up a bit.”
“It looks like the special today is an seafood salad, which sounds wonderful.”
Once we’d ordered, I brought the conversation around to the point. “You said you had a few questions for me?”
Colt nodded. “This may seem repetitive, but humor me.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“When we first arrived at Mr. Palmer’s house, what was the first thing you noticed?”
I wrinkled my nose at the memory. “The smell.”
“Describe the smell.”
I paused to think about it. “I don’t know. The only word that comes to mind is ‘horrific.’ There was food on the counter that had been there for a while, overflowing garbage cans, plus you did say the man had died in the house. I guess what I smelled was all of that.”
“Forget what you saw, forget what I told you to explain the smell; based only on the memory of what you smelled, was there anything distinctive?”
I paused again to really think about Colt’s question. “I don’t know that I can pick out a single smell. It was just so bad. I do remember smelling smoke. Or at least the lingering scent of smoke. Cigar smoke, rather than cigarette. The scent was strong and it stood out even with the conflicting odors of the garbage and rotting food. I have a feeling that many cigars had been smoked in that house, and fairly recently. Is that important?”
“It might be. I remembered the scent of cigar smoke as well. It didn’t register at first, and I have aired the place out since that first visit, but the memory did come to me later. I hoped you’d smelled it as well and would remember, so that I could verify my hunch.”
“I take it Mr. Palmer didn’t smoke?”
Colt shook his head. “As far as I know, he didn’t. The food delivery people are forbidden to smoke while in the homes they service.”
“So maybe the killer is the one with the smoking habit.”
Colt nodded. “Perhaps. I found very little evidence of smoking, but there were ashes in the cabinet under the sink where the garbage can would traditionally be kept and ashes in several places in the creases between the walls and the carpets where a vacuum might not get. If the killer did smoke while in the home, he or she was careful not to leave obvious evidence such as butts behind.”
“Ashes in a few pl
aces where the killer may not have thought to clean up is not a lot to go on, but it is something. All you need to do is find someone who smokes big, horrible-smelling cigars.”
“I’ve been looking into that very thing. So far, none of my suspects smoke cigars, but my gut tells me the ashes could be a clue and the smoky smell indicates that cigars were smoked in the house not all that long before Palmer’s death.”
The conversation stalled as our meals were delivered. After the waiter left, we picked up where we’d left off. “Any news about the skeleton in the trunk?” I asked. While ashes under the sink did make for a good clue, I’d brought things around to the thing that most intrigued me.
“Amazingly, yes. As it turns out, Grange Highlander did have a defining injury. He fractured his collarbone while playing football the year before his disappearance. In addition, Grange broke his arm when he fell off his bike when he was ten, and he broke his nose in a car accident when he was fourteen. If you take all three injuries into account, there is a very good chance that the skeleton belongs to Grange. I am going to go ahead with additional testing and we are looking for dental records, but I’d say we found the identity of the skeleton.”
I picked up a piece of lobster from my salad and popped it into my mouth. “So, do you think that someone connected to Grange killed Mr. Palmer?”
Colt shook his head, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Not really. Grange’s parents are both dead. He had a younger brother who lives in Portland these days who would seem to have motive to kill Palmer, but I don’t necessary think he is the guy. Harvey Highlander was just seven when Grange disappeared, although I could tell that it had affected him profoundly. He told me that after Grange disappeared, their mother had a nervous breakdown and had to be hospitalized, and his father took his anger and frustration out on everyone around him. A once-happy family died when Grange went missing and never again reappeared.”
“I suppose that one of the hardest things to deal with is having someone simply disappear, leaving you to never really know what happened to them.”
“The mother died from a drug overdose several years after Grange’s disappearance, and the father remained a bitter and angry man until the day he died a few years ago. Despite everything, Harvey seems to have learned to live with the heartache and regret that had become his life. He seemed regretful, but I didn’t pick up a violence vibe.”
“So you don’t think he killed Palmer?” I confirmed.
Colt shook his head. “When I explained what it appears Palmer had done, he was understandably angry, but he didn’t seem to have had any idea that it was Palmer who killed his brother until I told him, plus he seems to have an alibi. Between his wife, his employees at the bottled water distributorship he owns, and his best friend Todd, he should be able to account for all his time over the past month.”
“Do you know whether Grange had a girlfriend in high school? How about his best friend?” I asked. “Could someone other than a relative be out for revenge for his death?”
Colt set his sandwich on his plate. “Maybe. I’m going to continue to dig, but I don’t expect to find Palmer’s killer to be connected to a murder that occurred more than fifty years ago.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Probably not. Any news on Natalie Norris?”
“No, but I might be able to get a warrant to require the bank to open the safety-deposit box. There has been a murder and I have made a good-faith effort to find the person the contents of the box were left to.”
“What if Natalie Norris is another victim?”
Colt frowned. “You think there is a body in the safety-deposit box?”
“No. Of course not. But maybe there is a map to the location where Natalie Norris was buried.”
Colt raised a brow. “Interesting theory. And probably enough to get the warrant I need.”
“I’m glad I could help.” I bit my lower lip. “Of course, even if that turns out to be true, it still won’t tell us who killed Bruce Palmer. If the killer turns out not to be connected to any of the items mentioned in the will despite their total weirdness, then who?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to follow up with Natalie Norris and the safety-deposit box and I’m going take another stab at the neighbors, although I feel like I have exhausted them as suspects or witnesses. Still, it’s all I can think of to do at this point. If nothing else, maybe someone saw a man or woman smoking a cigar.”
Our conversation paused naturally and we finished our meal in silence. After we were done, I asked Colt if he’d found anything more about the internal affairs investigation he’d been poking around in on my behalf. Since finding my storage unit trashed, I had to admit I was beginning to get just a tiny bit nervous.
“As I told you, I found that Frank Ribaldie is being investigated, along with Gray Denver, Ben, and Ben’s partner, Logan Field. I don’t know why, but it looks as if Frank, Gray, and Logan have all been assigned desk duty until the investigation is complete. I don’t want to alert anyone to the fact that I am poking around because that would mean nothing but trouble for you, but I did hear from a source that there was an unconfirmed rumor that the four men were accused of accepting bribes in exchange for looking the other way when it came to illegal activities by certain high-ranking gang members.”
“Ben would never do that.”
“I’m not saying he did. I’m not saying any of them did. I’m just passing along what I heard. It occurs to me, however, that if Ribaldie is looking for a file he believes Ben had, maybe Ben actually did have it. I know you brought his files back with you when you went to San Francisco when we were looking into Karen Stinson’s death. I think we should look through them again. We were looking for specific information relating to Karen, but we might have missed something else. Something important.”
I leaned forward slightly. “I meant to go through the files again, but there has been so much going on that I just haven’t gotten to it. I’ll do it this evening.”
“Would you like some help?”
“Are you offering?”
“I think I am.”
“Okay. Come by after you get off work. If you don’t mind a light dinner, Georgia said something about a salad.”
Chapter 15
Colt arrived that evening with two bottles of chilled wine, which I opened and poured. Georgia walked into the room shortly after I had spread out the files we brought back from the storage unit the first time we visited on the table. Now she told us she was going over to visit with Tanner and Nikki but had a big salad prepared and in the refrigerator. I thanked her and told her that Colt and I would eat after we’d worked a bit. She offered to stay and help, but I told her to go ahead and keep her plans with the neighbors.
“So what are we looking for?” I asked Colt when we’d gotten settled.
“Anything to do with a case that is dated within the last five years.” Colt set a file aside. “A lot of these have to do with very old cases, which could turn out to be relevant, but I think we are looking for something a bit more recent.”
I picked up a file. “I’m not sure we will find anything more recent than five years. Ben liked to poke around in cold cases. It was a hobby of sorts. As far as I know, the only files he copied and brought home were old ones he was working on. I don’t remember him bringing home files from current cases he was investigating for the department, with the exception of the one involving Mark’s murder.”
“Which is why separating out any recent case files is a good first step.” Colt held one up. “Here one is from four years ago. A woman named Jessica Thurston was shot in the head while walking from her apartment to her car. Ms. Thurston worked for the district attorney’s office as a paid intern. Her killer was never found, but it was determined that the shooting was not associated with a robbery because her purse and jewelry were left at the scene.”
“Maybe the killer was interrupted and had to flee before he or she could grab the loot,” I suggested.
“Perhaps. But
Ms. Thurston was very good at her job and had been assisting on several high-profile cases. According to the investigating officer, her death was more likely related to something she knew rather than something she had.”
I picked up the file. “The murder took place in Richmond.” I frowned. “Ben wouldn’t have been involved in the investigation. I don’t know why he had this file. From the information in the file, while the case was never solved, it also wasn’t closed. At least not as of the point when Ben copied the file.” I looked at Colt. “Do you think this is the file Ribaldie was looking for?”
Colt shrugged. “I don’t know. While it is interesting that Ben had a copy of the case file, nothing jumps out as being related to whatever might be going on with the internal affairs investigation. None of the four men under investigation are mentioned in this file, though the case does interest me. I’m going to set it aside and take a closer look at it later, but let’s keep looking for now.”
Colt and I dug through the files for an hour and then broke for dinner. Georgia had left crusty French bread to heat and serve with the salad, which looked fabulous. The dining table was covered with files, so we ate at the kitchen counter.
“Ben would have started work as a homicide detective shortly before the Thurston murder took place,” I said as my mind continued to noodle. “It wasn’t his case, nor was it even the case of anyone in his district, but I can see how it might have caught the attention of an enthusiastic young detective. I wonder if the reason he made a copy of the file was simply because it had caught his interest. I do remember the murder of a young intern was a pretty big deal at the time.”
“I suppose that is as good an explanation as any. Still, I think I’ll do some research into the matter when I have the time. Do you remember Ben talking about any of the cases he was working on at the time of his death? I mean current ones, not cold cases.”
