Detective Guttman pulled out of the parking lot in his unmarked police car as Deena turned on the street behind the station. He didn’t seem to notice her. She thought about honking to get him to pull over but knew that would set him off. She was hoping to find out where his officers were on identifying Rocky B., and his mood would dictate how much he would be willing to share. Maybe he was headed to the coffee shop, and she could offer to buy him one of those cinnamon bear claws he liked so much.
He drove fast and she had a hard time keeping up with him. It didn’t take long for her to realize he was headed to the south side of town and not to his favorite doughnut shop. Maybe he was going to the Pine Tree Motel or the Oak Street bridge to interview potential witnesses. She decided to hang back a little to see where he ended up.
Instead of turning right toward the motel, he took a left toward one of the older, more run-down neighborhoods in Maycroft. Deena knew it well from some of her prior investigations. A lot of elderly and working-class folks lived in this area, although a number of the properties were foreclosed on and vacant.
She waited at the corner for Guttman to get further down Borman Road before she followed him, but then she stopped when she saw Guttman pull up and park behind a black pickup. The door of the truck in front of Guttman opened and a man got out. Luckily, Deena’s distance vision was much better than her near vision, and she recognized the man as Officer Santos. He was in uniform and hurried to get into the passenger side of Guttman’s car.
Deena wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t just sit there at the corner because someone might pull up behind her and force her to drive past the police officers. She decided to back up, make a U-turn, and pull onto the next street over. She made the turn and drove down the street parallel to Borman, driving slowly to find just the right spot to park where she could sit in her car and still keep her eye on Guttman between the houses. She found just the right spot, but as luck would have it, a gray-haired man in overalls sat on his front porch with a dog the size of a Chevy lying at his feet. As soon as she slowed and pulled over to park, the dog raised his head, bared his teeth, and growled. The snarl from the monstrous beast sounded like the roar of an oncoming train.
Plan B. She kept on driving down the street and wound her way back to the previous spot at the corner.
Santos got out of Guttman’s car and back into the truck. He pulled away from the curb and headed down the street, turning at the next corner. Was he coming after her? She stared in her rearview mirror. It wasn’t like she’d done anything illegal. She waited, but Santos never came. Guttman stayed in his car. What was he doing?
Curiosity got the best of her, so she backed up and parked in front of a house that had a condemned notice on the front door. Now what? Should she just act like she was taking a stroll down the street and just happen to notice Guttman in the car, or should she slink into stealth mode and sneak up like a ninja? She was afraid the latter approach might get her shot. She considered leaving her purse in the car but thought better of it and hitched it up on her shoulder.
As she walked around the corner, she wondered, on a scale of one to ten, just how angry Guttman would be at seeing her there. She could see him through the rear window of the car, but he didn’t seem to notice her approaching. When she got close to his window, she realized why. He was staring off down the road through binoculars. She stayed an arm’s length away and reached out to tap lightly on his window.
The detective jumped and the binoculars hit his steering wheel and caused his car horn to honk. He glared at her, his face red and pinched, and then frantically motioned for her to get in the back seat.
When she shut the door, she could see him staring at her in the rearview mirror. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
She decided against the “taking a stroll” excuse and went with the truth. “I wanted to talk to you about Rocky B. and Kitty Cooper.”
He turned back to the front window and slinked down in his seat. “Get down!” he hissed. Deena threw herself down across the back seat, expecting to hear gunshots. Her mind reeled like the wheel on Edwin’s favorite game show. When it finally stopped, she’d figured out the puzzle. She whispered to Guttman, “Are you on a stakeout?”
“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” he whispered back, still hunched down in his seat.
Deena could only imagine how mad he would be if she’d blown his cover. She lay there quietly, feeling a muscle pulling in her right calf. She took a few deep breaths, hoping the pain wouldn’t turn into a full-on cramp.
Guttman pushed himself up, venturing a look out the front window. He let out a long sigh. “The coast is clear. You can sit up now. Just don’t make any noise.”
Deena couldn’t imagine what noise he thought she’d make by sitting up. Bones creaking, perhaps?
“What are you doing here?” They said it in unison.
“You first,” Guttman said, keeping his voice low and steady.
“Like I said, I wanted to find out if you’d identified Rocky B. yet, and to see if you could tell me who reported Kitty Cooper to Adult Protective Services.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to call or go to the station?”
“I did go to the station, but when I saw you pulling out, I decided to follow you. I thought you were getting doughnuts. That’s not a crime, is it?” She watched his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“I’m not sure, but I’ll check on it as soon as I get back to the station.”
She relaxed a little. How mad could he be if he was making jokes? It was a joke, wasn’t it?
He cleared his throat. “We’ve got a lead on Rocky. That’s all I can say for now. And I don’t know who reported the Cooper girl, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”
Deena desperately wanted to tell him about Kitty and Clay and the bank, but knew she’d promised Kitty she wouldn’t. She had hoped the police would have gotten the information on their own by now.
“And for your other question, see that house down there with smoke coming out of the chimney?”
“Yeah.”
“Notice anything suspicious?”
Deena stared at the well-worn wood-frame house that had probably been someone’s dream home in the forties. It looked like every other house on the street. “Not really.”
“Not even the smoke coming out of the chimney?”
“Oh, that. Yeah. Why would they have a fire going in spring?”
“Exactly. Neighbors said two men have been going in with bags of groceries and burning a fire for several days now. You know what that probably means?”
“A meth lab!”
“Shhh. Hold it down.” Guttman raised his binoculars. “Look. A guy’s coming out with one of those pizza-warming bags.” They watched as the man got in his car.
“Don’t a lot of drug dealers disguise themselves as pizza delivery guys? I saw that on TV.”
Guttman picked up the radio receiver and pushed the button. “Santos. The yellow bird is flying.” He looked back at Deena. “Where’s your car?”
“Back around the corner.”
“Look, I want you to stay down. This guy may be armed.”
Deena did as instructed, her pulse rate zooming up to top speed.
Guttman radioed again. “Santos. You take the lead. I’ve got a civi on board.” They pulled out and drove down the street at a normal pace. But once Guttman turned the corner, he hit the gas. Within seconds, he screeched to a halt. “Stay down,” he yelled again as he got out of the car.
Deena closed her eyes and held her breath. She had her cell phone in her hand and was ready to dial 9-1-1 at the first sign of trouble. She could hear voices but couldn’t make out what they said. No one was yelling, and no one was shooting.
Deena waited until she could wait no more. She raised her head just enough to get a peek at the action.
The man with the pizza box was sitting on the ground, his arms handcuffed behind him. He was leaning against the yellow sedan he’d been d
riving. The red insulated bag was unzipped and a pizza box lay next to it, lid open. From Deena’s angle, she couldn’t see what was in the box. Sirens grew louder and two cars raced down the road past them, apparently going to the meth house.
Guttman turned and caught her peeking over the back seat. She lay back down on her side and waited. It wasn’t long before Officer Santos pulled his car next to her, got out, and opened her door. “Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you back to your vehicle.”
Deena noticed Guttman kept his back to her now. She got in the police car and told Santos where her car was parked. They drove past the house with two police cars parked out front. One officer stood on the porch. She assumed the others were inside. She wondered how long it would be before Dan would have a reporter on the scene.
“So did the guy have meth on him?” Deena didn’t know if the rookie would tell her anything or not.
Santos sat silent as he pulled up next to her car. Just as she was about to get out, a voice crackled over the radio. “Hey, fellas, can we bust these guys for making wood-fire pizza out of their house? That’s what they’re doing.”
Santos stared straight ahead, his face the color of marinara.
She got out. “Thank you, Officer Santos,” she said. “Have a nice day.”
She could only imagine the grief Guttman would get for this. She started up her SUV and remembered the only way out of the neighborhood was by driving past the pizza-man bust. She didn’t dare stop and razz him now. There’d be time for that another day. But to her surprise, the detective actually flagged her down as she drove past. She rolled down her window. “I won’t say anything about the crust bust. The pie spy. The—”
“It’s not that,” Guttman said, a serious look molding his face. “I just got a call that your neighbor Edwin Cooper has been found dead in his home.”
Chapter 19
Tears slid down Deena’s cheeks as she drove back home. Her suburban neighborhood of Butterfly Gardens was her refuge, the place where she felt safe and sound—well, mostly sound. Sometimes her neighbors could be a little annoying when they got too competitive in fundraising for Little League sports or decorating for holidays, but mostly life there was serene and quiet.
Poor Edwin. She wondered if the stress of the past few days had just taken its toll on him. After all, he was in his eighties and didn’t seem to get out much except to play bingo, according to Tiny and Darlene. They said he would go with a “crazy-looking lady.” She made a mental note to ask Darlene who the woman was.
Deena wondered if Kitty had been informed about her grandfather’s death. How would this affect her case? Hopefully, they would drop the charges or at least release her from jail so she could arrange for burial. The whole thing was just too upsetting.
As she turned onto Cricket Lane, Deena saw the ambulance and police car in front of Edwin’s house. Neither had their lights flashing—not a good sign. That usually meant they weren’t in a hurry to get the patient to the hospital for treatment. Edwin was indeed gone.
She wiped the tears from her cheek, feeling guilty that she hadn’t gone over that morning to check on him. But if she had, she might have been the one to go to the door, get no answer, and call the police. She shivered at the thought. It was one thing to investigate the death of people she had barely met; it was another to learn someone you know had passed.
Today was Wednesday, which meant Edwin’s housekeeper was expected. She must have been the one to find him. Deena recognized the car in the driveway. Although she’d never met the housekeeper, she had occasionally spotted her coming and going. Deena braced herself as she pulled into her driveway. As she got out of the car, Christy Ann barreled across the street holding the receiver for her baby monitor, as she often did. She stopped at the edge of Deena’s yard, which was as far as the signal would reach.
“My lands, Deena! What is going on over there? I’ve been waiting for someone to come out but haven’t seen a soul since the ambulance got there. Is he dead?”
“I think so,” Deena said, glad her neighbor was on a short leash. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Christy Ann put a hand on her hip. “Well, let me know asap. I need to know if I should bake another casserole.”
Deena was already halfway across the yard when she rolled her eyes at the remark. Walking tentatively up the steps, she looked inside the open door to see Officer Hitchcock talking to the paramedics who had already placed Edwin’s body on a gurney and covered it with a sheet.
Hitchcock spotted her and waved her in. “Mrs. Sharpe, you live next door, right?”
Deena nodded as she took in the scene. Lillian, the housekeeper, sat in a straight-back chair next to the old television that was tuned to a game show but muted. Her ashen face confirmed that she was indeed the person who found Edwin dead. A plate with what looked like the remnants of chicken casserole and a nearly empty glass of something pink sat on the coffee table across from Edwin’s favorite spot on the sofa. Had he choked to death while eating?
“When was the last time you saw him?” Hitchcock had his notepad out.
She glanced at the gurney.
“Alive,” Hitchcock said.
She had to think. Was that really just yesterday? So much had happened since then. “Yesterday morning. I came to check on him. He seemed fine—physically, that is.”
“Have you seen anyone else come to the house since then?”
“No. But I was out most of the day, and I just got back from . . . um, running errands this morning.” She wondered why he was asking. “Is something going on, Officer Hitchcock? Are you thinking there might have been foul play?”
The officer grabbed a toothpick from parts unknown and stuck it in his mouth. “Why would you say that? Do you know something?”
Deena realized they all had their eyes on her. Even the paramedic who had been writing notes on a clipboard had stopped to stare.
“I don’t know anything. Why? How did he die?”
Hitchcock nodded at the paramedics and they wheeled the gurney out the front door to the ambulance. He glanced over his shoulder at Lillian. “Stay here.” He took Deena by the arm and led her to the front porch. “You probably know that anytime a person dies unattended, there can be an investigation.”
Deena nodded. “Right.”
“So I have a question for you. Did you make pink lemonade for Mr. Cooper?”
“Pink—what? Are you thinking he was poisoned?” Deena took a step back.
“I’m not saying anything. Would you mind if I look in your refrigerator?”
Another police car pulled up and Officer Santos got out.
“Wait here,” Hitchcock ordered and walked over to talk to Santos. Before long, Santos walked past her into the house and Hitchcock stood on the sidewalk. “Well?” He held up his hands.
Every instinct Deena had told her not to make a move without calling Ian. Not only did he represent Edwin, he was Deena and Gary’s personal attorney. She knew better than to trust the police, but she also knew innocent people didn’t lawyer up. It was a sure sign they had something to hide.
She headed across the yard to her house and unlocked the door. She scooped up Hurley and waited for Hitchcock to enter.
“Nice house,” he said as he looked around. He went straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator with a gloved hand. Apparently seeing nothing suspicious, he opened the pantry and then looked under the sink at the trash can. “Hmm. Looks clean.”
“Thanks,” Deena said automatically without thinking.
“I need to look in your garage.”
“At the trash?” Deena shook her head. “Yesterday was trash pick-up, so there’s probably nothing in the can.”
Hitchcock held on to the end of the toothpick and just stared at her.
She led the way to the garage and watched as he examined the shelves of plastic bins, each neatly labeled with masking tape and Sharpie. He seemed to admire the tool shelf and pegboard.
Hitchcock
whistled. “This place looks more like a store than a garage. You do all this?”
“No. My husband. He’s kind of a neat freak.”
Hitchcock went back inside the house. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted the old guy dead?” He pulled off the plastic glove and shoved it in his pocket.
“Mr. Cooper has a granddaughter, as you well know, but she’s locked up in jail. I can’t imagine he has enemies.” Crossing her arms, she said, “Officer Hitchcock, can you please tell me what’s going on?”
He stopped near the front door. “I’m trying to figure that out. The housekeeper said she came by earlier this morning and Cooper was acting odd, as though he was drunk, but there’s no alcohol in the house. He just had a glass of what she thought was lemonade. She didn’t think he’d eaten, so she tried to fix him oatmeal, but he said he wanted casserole, the one his neighbor brought over. Are you that neighbor?”
“No. That would be Christy Ann across the street.” She motioned across the street and noticed Christy Ann was no longer outside.
Hitchcock wrote down the name. “Anyway, the housekeeper said she gave him a big helping and a glass of water and then left to go to the market.”
“Maybe he had a stroke or something,” Deena said. “He has—had—been under a lot of stress since his arrest at the funeral home.”
“Yeah, but here’s the head scratcher. When the housekeeper got back, she said she found him keeled over and there was that glass of pink stuff on the table. She couldn’t identify it as anything that came from the house. Guttman and I went to a training last fall on recognizing poisons. I only went ’cuz it was in Nashville and I wanted to see a Dolly Parton show. Anyway, one of the poisons looked just like that. It was antifreeze. I took a lick of the stuff in the glass, and it tasted just the same.”
“Should you have done that? Won’t it make you sick?”
“Nah. Not just a lick. Besides, I’ve got an iron gut.” He patted his sizable paunch. “I didn’t want to sound the alarm that this could be a homicide just yet. I want Guttman to make the call. That way if we’re wrong, it’s his drawers in the vice, not mine.”
Sharpe Wit Page 10
