When a car pulled into the lot, I checked my watch and noticed it was barely eight in the morning. Connor exited his unmarked vehicle and trudged up the steps. “Kellan, are you inside?”
I called back to him and waited for him to reach me. “He's definitely gone. I'm not sure if he electrocuted himself or something else happened. Look,” I said, pointing to the calla lilies once he arrived. “That's unusual, don't you think?”
Connor climbed under the platform and confirmed the power was off at the external supply box, which made little sense based on the burns on Quint's hands. Had he still been alive after the first jolt, enabling him to turn off the power, and died from a secondary issue? While Connor notified the sheriff and coroner, I continued looking around the cable car. Quint's open toolbox sat on a blanket on a newly cushioned seat. At least he took caution not to scratch or tear anything in the car while working. I inspected the floor and saw a shiny red object underneath the bench nearest Quint's feet.
I bent down to catch a better view without disturbing any potential evidence, in case this was a crime scene. My mind was inclined to enter overdrive, but I wouldn't let myself get too concerned this early in the game about Quint's death being unnatural. I pointed to the shiny red object as Connor walked back in the car. “Is that a piece of jewelry?”
To my chagrin, Connor asked me to step outside while he inspected it. “Wait on the platform, please.”
I thought back to my conversation with Quint the prior morning. He'd been quick to dismiss me, noting he had work to do. Could Quint have discovered the thief coming back from another heist last night? Then again, Nana D told me they'd happened every nine days. The last one had occurred only three days ago. I gulped a large mouthful of coffee with a hope it'd alleviate my confusion. It didn't.
Connor stepped back on the platform and accepted the coffee I'd intended to give Quint. “I believe it's a ruby, but I don't want to touch anything until the forensics team arrives onsite. Did you notice anyone hanging around the cable car when you showed up? And what time was that exactly?”
I paused to mentally walk myself through every step I'd made after setting foot on campus, then grabbed The Big Beanery receipt from my pocket. “I paid for coffee at seven twenty-five. Takes less than five minutes to walk here, so I guess about seven thirty. Now that you mention it, I briefly noticed someone. At the time, I assumed it was a jogger out for a morning run. I never saw the person's face, just the silhouette of someone picking up a pair of gloves and continuing on his or her way.”
“Okay. His body is cool to the touch. Rigor has set in. The coroner will confirm, but he's been dead maybe six or eight hours.” Connor scratched his chin and shook his head. Something about the situation perturbed him too. “I took multiple photos of the crime scene before the team arrives.”
“What do you think happened?” Based on Connor's math, Quint had died around midnight.
Connor peered at Quint's body with speculation, focusing closely at the collar of his shirt. “I assumed he was electrocuted, but there are red marks on his neck which look suspicious.”
“I suppose they couldn't have been from the power of the voltage,” I said, hearing the sheriff's voice calling Connor's name from the platform steps. “Could he have been strangled?”
“Possibly; they do resemble distinct finger impressions. To be honest, the calla lilies and the ruby suggest this wasn't an accidental electrocution.” Connor nodded at April, who dipped her head before walking by us to enter the car.
“Gentlemen, not the best circumstances to be meeting one another this morning,” April began, raising her voice from inside the center section. “Kellan, I hoped we wouldn't have to do this again. Do you go on walkabout quests searching for dead bodies as one of your cherished hobbies? If you're that bored, maybe you could consider needlepoint or ballroom dancing.”
From the quick glance I'd stolen as she glided by, I'd originally surmised a calmer and more open-minded sheriff would be making an appearance today. I was wrong. “Your sarcasm knows no bounds. I purposely contacted Connor this time, hoping to avoid exactly this conversation—”
As she stepped out of the car, April covered my mouth with a gloved hand and guided me toward the end of the platform. “You finally did the right thing. It's bugged me for months why you insisted on contacting me instead of the detective I'd assigned to a case,” April interrupted and glanced down at her car.
Someone sat in the passenger seat, but I couldn't sneak a fully unobstructed look at him. Other than recognizing he was on the younger and taller side, I was perplexed. She didn't wear a wedding ring, yet I'd never seen her on a date before. Had April Montague been on a clandestine overnight jaunt with a boyfriend?
“Perhaps I just enjoy your company,” I said, shrugging and mentally slapping myself. Why did my mouth utter things I had no control over whenever April was around? “Or, I guess, I didn't know any of your other detectives before Connor joined the force.”
“Now that you know one, I think it's best if you consider him your primary contact in the future. We're already working together enough on your personal situation. Let's keep it that way.” April caught me gawking at the man in her car, but she didn't acknowledge him or offer any explanation.
“Sure, I'm hopeful I can walk away from this one after giving a formal statement.” I hardly knew Quint. Why would I need to stay involved in this investigation?
“Good. I assume that means you unintentionally found the body this morning and don't know who it is. I'll verify Connor has this under control, then I need to take my….” April looked back at her car. “Then, I have an errand to run. Try not to get into any more trouble this week, okay?”
Hmmm… I didn't want to lie to her. “You should know that I've been chatting with the victim almost every morning for the last ten days. I purposely stopped by to see him today.”
April's right hand slowly clenched. “I see. I'm confident Connor will take that into consideration. You're unfamiliar with his family or next of kin, right? Nothing to keep you here longer?”
“Oh, well… about that….”
“Little Ayrwick!” April's eyes burst open like a spring flower witnessing an unexpected flurry of snow and curling its frustrated petals.
“Hey, you said you'd stop calling me that!” I threw my hands in the air in pseudo-shock. “You also know someone in his family.” I mentioned that Quint was the son of Bertha Crawford, a witness she'd interviewed in the Paddington murder case. I also noted the woman's current bout with cancer.
“That poor soul. First, she gets sick. Then, her son is murdered.” April's lime-green eyes revealed a genuine sadness for Bertha. “That also makes the victim the nephew of the former sheriff.”
“Definitely murdered.” My ears tingled with curiosity about the calla lilies. What did they mean?
“Yes, I trust you'll keep that quiet. I'll wait for the coroner's report, but he was obviously strangled and electrocuted. Someone desperately wanted Quint Crawford out of the picture.”
The sheriff exchanged a few words with Connor and the team who'd begun cordoning off the area. After she left saying she'd call about our other case soon, Connor escorted me down the steps. “Other than Quint's mother, do you know whom we should notify of his death?”
“No, I hardly learned much about him. I hadn't even known Bertha was his mother until he told me a few days after construction started.” I'd volunteered to talk to the bid winner with Fern to flesh out the redesign timeline and details. We'd quickly learned that Quint was the type of guy who responded better to a male boss, despite Fern's stern warning and direct instructions. Rather than make a huge issue out of it, she asked me to monitor his progress. I found the whole redesign process fascinating and enjoyed my daily touch-base with Quint. “I don't know what company he's working for. Fern handled that part and just told me Quint was the primary point of contact.”
“Endicott Construction,” Connor replied, scrabbling his chin again. “I
've seen the truck around, and there was a jacket with the name and company logo at the other end of the cable car.”
I must've missed that on my initial scope of the space. “I could talk to Lindsey Endicott to find out if he owns the company.” Lindsey, a retired attorney who'd opened a brewery in the downtown district, was one of Nana D's closest friends. I assumed he had family in the area but wasn't certain.
“You wouldn't be trying to take over my job, buddy, would ya?” Connor cautioned and walked me to the bottom of the steps. “I'll handle it from here. Come by the sheriff's office tomorrow to review a formal statement with me. You might've seen someone else talking to him recently.”
Connor returned to the cable car, and I headed to my office to complete as much work as I could before picking up Emma for orientation at day camp. I updated Nana D, knowing she'd want to check on her friend, Bertha. My grandmother had taken the woman to chemotherapy in the early part of her diagnosis before Quint had gotten involved. Nana D planned to call on her friend later that afternoon, once she was certain someone had informed the woman of her son's death. I also called Gabriel, but he didn't pick up again, and his voicemail was still full. Something didn't feel right about his isolation.
* * *
“As much as I'll miss Nana D while I'm at camp, she's way too famous to worry about being a babysitter, right?” Emma asked as we entered the Woodland Warriors summer program for noon orientation.
I would've preferred to enroll her in Braxton's camp facility, but they were renovating the building this summer. Woodland College had an early childhood center for their students majoring in education, and during summers, they offered a local student teaching program for children from kindergarten through third grade. Emma had only just finished second grade and was eligible for this final year. It also helped that the bus would pick her up every morning at eight and drop her off every evening at five or seven on the Braxton College campus.
“You could say that. As mayor, she'll be busy babysitting an entire staff of county workers hoping to improve citizens' lives. You'll still see her at night.” I dropped Emma's hand to let her buzz the entrance bell, which suggested the facility had dependable security. The structure was a typical two-story, red-brick school building with blue-tinted windows and an enclosed playground area containing a basketball court, resurfaced blacktop, and grassy field. Old and slightly chipped ceramic tiles covered the floor, and children's art projects and posters festooned the off-white-beige walls. It was in decent shape but in need of a makeover. Luckily, the technology, talent, and curriculum were top notch.
“I want to be like Nana D when I grow up,” Emma declared while we walked to the main reception office. “She's more awesome than Wonder Woman!”
Francesca had forced Emma to watch all sorts of superhero shows with positive female role models. I supported the decision but sometimes thought it'd gone a little too far. My daughter had even higher expectations for herself than I'd developed at her age, and that scared me. Managing through the disappointment a harsh reality could deliver was never easy, but she'd taken it in stride thus far.
When we entered the head office, Helena Roarke, drenched in an overly sweet perfume, greeted us. Helena was the younger sister of Maggie Roarke, my former college girlfriend, and had gotten herself into some trouble the previous month when she was found standing over a dead body and holding a knife. What was she doing at Woodland Warriors?
“It's going to be a fantastic summer,” Helena exclaimed, stretching her agile yet voluptuous body on the walk toward us. Blessed with huge thick hair, she often teased it to the point she couldn't fit through narrow doorways without brushing against the molding. Nonetheless, her feminine facial features and sultry disposition always made her the girl people wanted to know and converse with. “I'm one of two assistant teachers in Emma's classroom.”
I rolled my eyes hoping they'd shoot lasers for once. Don't get me wrong; she was a fun girl and smarter than most people had acknowledged, but she was also inconsistent and flighty. Helena explained that she'd studied early childhood education during her years at Braxton but hadn't finished her student teaching. She was taking a final class this summer and would obtain her degree in the fall.
“How are you going to handle classes, teaching students, cleaning rooms in your parents' bed and breakfast, and working at the catering facility?” I asked, recalling she'd been all over the place trying to get her life in order the last time we chatted.
“Ugh! The Stoddards fired me when I broke up with their son, Cheney. He wanted to get serious, and I wasn't ready for that. Gosh, I'm only twenty-eight. I have ten years before I want to get married.” Helena grabbed Emma's hand and mine, then led us to the classroom. “Walk with me. I'll introduce you to the head teacher.”
After we arrived, I covered the basics with Emma's instructor, Jane O'Malley, granddaughter of the previous Braxton librarian whom Maggie had succeeded. Miss O'Malley wanted to chat with Emma for a few minutes to get to know one another. Helena and I sat at an art table in the corner of the room while Emma explained all about Danby Landing to her new favorite person. At least my daughter was open-minded and friendly when trying new things. She didn't inherit that from me.
“I take it Cheney wasn't happy. Did he push his parents to fire you?” I asked. Helena and Cheney weren't a proper fit, especially since he had a less-than-perfect background and spent time in prison.
“They never liked me. I doubt Cheney asked. He still sends flirty messages and pictures of his—”
I cut her off not wanting to know where that lurid statement was going. Knowing Helena, it was going exactly where I expected it to go. “That's great. It's nice to remain special friends with someone when you break up. So, they axed you, and you needed a new job?”
“Pretty much.” She shamelessly grabbed my wrist. “After that whole ordeal of discovering the body and spending a weekend in jail, I kinda had a wake-up call. I decided to focus on getting my teaching degree and educating the kids in Wharton County.”
Why hadn't Maggie told me her sister was working at Woodland Warriors? We'd just shared lunch the previous week and talked about Emma spending her summer here. Maggie must not have known; she and her sister weren't the closest—although, their relationship had seemed to improve lately. “Congratulations. It's wonderful to hear some positive news about the future. It's been a rough morning.” I disentangled my hand from her unrelenting clasp and sat on it to prevent another attempt.
“Poor Quint. I can't believe he electrocuted himself to death.” Helena fluffed her blonde hair and stretched her neck from side to side. “I'm gonna miss him.”
How did they know each other? “Who told you he was dead? I just found him this morning.”
“Seriously? This is Wharton County. Jane O'Malley, Emma's teacher, heard it from Calliope Nickels. Calliope works as a waitress at the Pick-Me-Up Diner for your sister. She overheard two cops mention it as they were gobbling down Chef Manny's fresh apple-cinnamon waffles at breakfast. They call you The Unlikely Death Locator.” Helena's hands gestured like two gossipy sock puppets divulging secrets about small town citizens.
That was not a name to be known by! I'd have to inform Connor his colleagues were talking too freely in the diner. Just as Helena ceased chatting, my mobile phone vibrated. It was my sister.
Eleanor: Did you really find Quint Crawford's body this morning? Calliope Nickels said he was naked.
Me: No. You've got your information messed up as usual.
Eleanor: Umm, so he is alive? But his body was painted like the American flag for the 4th of July?
How did shocking news travel and change so quickly? This was worse than a child's game of telephone. The whole town had forgotten how to be respectful. A man had died, and while we didn't know the cause, freak accident or murder, this wasn't the time to start fabricating rumors.
Me: Ugh! I'll call you later. He IS dead. He was NOT naked. There was NO body paint. You ARE ridiculous.
Eleanor: Apparently, you're a divining rod for locating dead bodies. Makes sense, I'm psychic.
Me: Crazy does run in our family. Did you coin my new nickname as The Unlikely Death Locator?
Eleanor: Don't shoot the messenger. At least you got to see April, right? Hugs and kisses, Romeo.
Me: Mind your own business. Search your broken crystal ball for answers next time. Goodbye.
And that was lucky reason number thirteen why I never should've come back home to Hooterville. I hid my phone away and focused on Helena. “Did you know Quint well?”
“Yep, we went to school together. There was a core group of eight of us who used to hang out all the time. He was the athlete in our group, always showing off how agile he was.” Helena fastened a button that had popped open on her blouse as she shifted in her seat. She'd soon realize her wardrobe wasn't suited to working in a summer camp. “Quint and I were going to grab a drink this week, but we never picked a time.” Helena's smile faded as she accepted her friend was truly gone forever.
“I'm sorry for your loss. I met Quint about seven or eight times in the last ten days. He was working on the cable car redesign.” I patted her hand, hoping she didn't take it the wrong way.
“Oh, right. I forgot Nicky had hired him on that project.”
“Nicky?” My eyebrows arched like a pyramid, highlighting my confusion.
“Nicholas Endicott. Lindsey's son, you know, the kid he had kinda late in life.” Helena explained that Nicky was one of the four guys in their core group. When Nicky had graduated from college, his father had just turned seventy and retired from his law practice. Lindsey had sold it to Finnigan Masters and gone into the brewery business. “Nicky helped him choose the beers, but he always wanted to run his own company separate from his dad. That's when he opened Endicott Construction.”
Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4) Page 6
