Sharpe Wit

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Deena understood. The department had come under fire for several false arrests. “I have a feeling he’s not going to be in a very good mood when he gets here.”

  Hitchcock chuckled and his belly jiggled. “You mean because of that pizza bust? Yeah. He’ll catch heck from the guys for that one. But how did you know about it?”

  She hesitated. “I’m a reporter.”

  And as though he had a listening device on her, Dan called.

  Hitchcock walked out and back over to Edwin’s house as Deena answered the phone.

  “I guess you got your wish,” Dan said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The story. Now there’s a dead body. Major crime.”

  Deena felt a tightness in her chest to go along with her queasy stomach. “Are you kidding me?” She knew he wasn’t.

  “Okay, ‘wish’ might be a little strong, but it happened and now the story is yours again. The chatter on the scanner is that they’re waiting on Guttman to get there to call it a homicide. Are you on the scene? I’m sending a photographer.”

  Something in Deena snapped. This was a bridge too far. What she had perceived as a quest for justice suddenly seemed like exploitation. She had never felt that way when Lloyd Pryor was her editor. Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak.

  Finally, she was able to choke out two words: “I quit.”

  Chapter 20

  As soon as she’d hung up on Dan, Deena called Ian’s office. Paulette informed her that Ian was in court but should be breaking for lunch soon. Deena drove right over. She quietly entered the back of the district courtroom and found Ian talking to the judge and prosecutor up at the bench. The jury box was empty and the only other people in the room were an elderly woman who sat with her knitting in the gallery and the bailiff.

  Deena took a seat behind the bar and waited. When the conversation ended, Ian turned and nodded when he spotted her. She waited for him to pack his briefcase and for the prosecutor to leave before speaking. “Did you hear about Edwin Cooper?”

  “No, what happened?”

  Deena lowered her voice as though she were in church. “He died.”

  Ian’s face sank, as did his shoulders. “What happened?” He set his briefcase back down on the table.

  “The housekeeper found him. Officer Hitchcock thinks he might have been poisoned with antifreeze.”

  “By the housekeeper?”

  “No, not necessarily. He checked me out, for one.”

  “What did you tell him? Did you let him conduct a search without a warrant?”

  “Yes.” Deena saw her attorney’s jaw tighten. “It’s okay. He didn’t find anything. I mean, I didn’t do anything, so he didn’t find anything.”

  Ian crossed his arms and leaned back on the table. “What do you think happened? Are you writing the story for the paper?”

  “No, I quit my job.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow.

  She darted her eyes away from his. “It’s a long story. Anyway, if the situation really is as Hitchcock described it, yeah, I think he could have been murdered.”

  Ian’s chin dropped to his chest. After a moment, he asked, “Did he say anything about Kitty?”

  “I reminded him that she was in jail.” Here came the moment Deena had been dreading. “Are you the one who reported her to the authorities?”

  “No. Did someone say I did?” He glanced at his watch, then picked up the briefcase, motioning for Deena to follow him out the back of the courtroom.

  “It’s just that you are the only person I told about Kitty going to the bank and getting the money, so I assumed it had to be you.”

  “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I do, I just had to ask.”

  They were outside in the parking lot now. Ian stopped next to his car. “Is Kitty out on bond? I suppose she is the next of kin who will be in charge of Edwin’s estate.”

  “She couldn’t afford to pay the bond.”

  Ian blew out a long breath. “Considering the circumstances, her attorney should be able to get her out today. I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do.”

  “Thanks. And I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “No worries. And it’s the least I can do for poor Edwin.” He pressed the key fob to open his car door. “You don’t think Kitty had anything to do with this, do you? I understand she has a boyfriend who Edwin didn’t think much of.”

  Deena had wondered the same thing. “I really doubt she did. I’m not so sure about the boyfriend though. I may go talk to him.”

  Ian gave her a faint smile. “Always the investigator, right?”

  “I guess so.” As she watched Ian drive off, Deena chided herself as she made her way to her SUV. Just this one last interview, then I’m done.

  But really, what were the chances that she’d stick to her promise?

  * * *

  BEFORE LONG, DEENA found herself back at Freddy’s Tires. She scanned the service bays and didn’t see Clay. The area where he had been working the other day was clean and empty. Maybe he was on his lunch break. She went inside to ask.

  The same guy who had been working at the counter alongside Kitty previously was there by himself with a line of customers. Deena got behind them to wait. She studied the young man. He was probably in his mid-twenties, dark hair, tattoos on one arm. He had a slight build and weighed a lot less than she did. There was something familiar about him. Then it hit her.

  She bypassed the others in line and went straight to the counter. “Corey Collier? Is that you?”

  He looked up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Sharpe.”

  Corey had been in one of Deena’s photography classes. She hadn’t seen him since she was helping Guttman investigate the death of her sister-in-law’s chauffeur.

  “Quick question,” she said, looking apologetically at the woman in line at the counter. “Is Clay working today?” She didn’t know his last name.

  “Nope. He called in sick.”

  “Okay, thanks. Good to see you. Keep up the good work.” She apologized to the woman in line and left the store.

  When she got to the car, it occurred to her she had no idea where Kitty and Clay lived. She didn’t want to go back inside to ask Corey since it would put him in an awkward position, expecting him to give out confidential employee information. Chances were good she could find an address on the internet.

  She looked at herself in the rearview mirror. What was she doing? This case or story or whatever was no longer her business. Maybe not being able to find Clay was a sign she should truly drop everything and go home and mind her own business. If she hurried, she might be able to catch Gary and Scott for lunch. She knew Gary would be relieved she had quit her job.

  But as she drove, she found herself steering her car toward home. And Edwin Cooper’s house. Maybe Guttman would be there by now and she would know if they were ruling the case a homicide or not. If not, the only mystery still to solve would be the identification of Rocky B.

  Sure enough, the two police cars were still there. Santos and Hitchcock must have been inside the house. The door was closed.

  Like déjà vu, Christy Ann came out of her house with the baby monitor again. Could she be drugging her child? Didn’t most mothers complain that their babies never slept? Deena didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Deena, wait,” Christy Ann called out again. “I need to talk to you.” The look on her neighbor’s face had changed. Annoyance had been replaced by fear.

  Deena could hear Hurley barking inside the house. “What now?”

  “Come over here,” she said and waved Deena across the street.

  Christy Ann pulled her inside and shut the door quietly. “Keep your voice down. I finally got the baby back to sleep.”

  How? By clubbing her over the head? “What’s wrong now? I don’t want to stand here and gossip.”

  Christy Ann did her famous hand-on-hip move again. She must have
learned it in cheerleading. “I’ll have you know that it’s not gossip if it happened to me.”

  “Okay. What happened to you?”

  “I was interviewed by the police. They think I might have murdered Mr. Cooper!” Christy Ann put her hand over her mouth to shoosh herself. She continued in a whisper. “They think I might have poisoned him.”

  Now Deena was interested. She pulled out a dining room chair and motioned for her neighbor to sit. She sat down next to her. “What exactly did they say?”

  Blinking back tears, the young woman looked at Deena pleadingly. “You don’t think I accidentally poisoned him, do you? With the chicken casserole? I checked the date on the package of meat. It was fresh. I don’t keep anything dangerous like rat poison in the kitchen. All the cabinets and drawers have child-proof locks on them.”

  “Is that what they asked you about? The casserole?”

  “Yes. And lemonade. That Officer Hitchcock looked all through my kitchen. Parker flew to Chicago today and I don’t know what to do.” She sniffed back tears. “Since you are always in trouble with the law, I thought maybe you could talk to them for me.”

  Deena huffed. “I’m not—”

  “Come on, Deena. People like you. They respect you. Except for being pushy and refusing to keep those gray roots colored, hardly anyone says unkind things about you behind your back.”

  Obviously, Christy Ann had mastered the fine art of flattery. “Look, he asked me questions too. It’s routine. But what did you say about the lemonade?”

  “I told him I didn’t have any and that I only let my kids drink one hundred percent real juice, nothing from a can or with artificial sweetener.”

  “I’m sure that convinced him,” Deena said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Did he look in your garage?”

  “Yes, but it’s such a mess back there he just opened the door, took one look, and then shut it again. Parker keeps promising he’ll clean it up. That man . . .”

  “How about this. I’ll go over there and see if Officer Hitchcock can tell me anything.”

  Christy Ann’s eyes grew wide. “Do they really think Mr. Cooper was murdered? Things like that don’t happen in Butterfly Gardens.”

  Just then, a squeak came out of the baby monitor. Before long, they could hear screaming in stereo.

  “I’m going to run home and have a quick sandwich, then I’ll go talk to the officers.”

  Christy Ann stood in the hallway, about to get the crying baby. “I can make you a sandwich here if you’d like. I have some chicken salad in the refrigerator.”

  Deena glanced out the front window toward Edwin’s house. “Um, thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I have to let Hurley out anyway.” She hurried across the street and into the comfort—and safety—of her own home.

  Chapter 21

  The refrigerator light flickered but then shined steadily as Deena perused her lunch options. She’d intended to buy groceries on Monday but was obviously preoccupied with the events of the day. Peanut butter and jelly was always a good standby, as long as the bread was fresh. Hurley sat near her expectantly, hoping against hope that something would fall out of the big black box and into his mouth.

  Dogs had such simple needs.

  She finally decided on grilled cheese and pulled the butter and cheese slices from the fridge. As she set about making the sandwich, her mind reeled with her new reality.

  I quit my job. I am once again unemployed. Honestly, she liked the way that sounded. It was as though a weight had been lifted and she was twenty pounds lighter. If only.

  She looked at the two slices of cheese and tore one in half to give to Hurley. A new chapter in her life was beginning, which obviously meant it was time to start a new diet. She placed the buttered bread in the skillet and layered on the slice and a half of cheese. As she added the top piece of bread, her mind returned to the scene at Edwin’s house with his empty plate and glass on the coffee table.

  Clearly, he wasn’t poisoned by anything Christy Ann prepared, although she’d feel better if the police tested the food. But what about the beverage? Could it have been poisoned as Hitchcock hypothesized? She trusted him about as much as she trusted herself to stick to a diet for more than twenty-four hours.

  As she pressed down on the bread with her spatula, the butter sizzled and the aroma of baking bread soothed her. Maybe Edwin had died from natural causes; after all, the housekeeper had said he’d been acting funny when she got there, and he hadn’t eaten anything before that.

  Or had he?

  Smoke rising from the skillet shook her from her thoughts and she quickly scooped up the sandwich and flipped it over. Burnt. What else was new? Cooking required concentration, and she often got caught up in her own head while performing menial tasks. Like the time she was vacuuming and almost sucked up Hurley’s tail.

  She mashed on the bread one more time, then put it on a plate. Waste not, want not. Besides, if she started over on a fresh one, she’d probably end up doing the same thing. She sat at the kitchen table and shared little pieces of cheese with Hurley as she ate. Just as she finished up, she heard a car door slam and went to the window to see what was up. Kitty Cooper hurried from her car to Edwin’s house.

  Deena rushed to the back of the house to brush the burnt crumbs out of her teeth and then hurried across the yard. Kitty was already inside by the time she got there, and the door was closed. She knocked and waited.

  Officer Santos opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  It was an odd greeting coming from a cop. “I saw that Kitty was here and wanted to talk to her.”

  Santos glanced back over his shoulder. “She’s busy talking to Officer Hitchcock. I’ll tell her you came by.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait. Is this a crime scene?”

  “Not officially,” Santos said and licked his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

  “Well then, I’d like to talk to my neighbor’s granddaughter if you don’t mind.” She took a step toward the door, and the officer reluctantly stepped back.

  Kitty stood protectively next to the sofa where a sunken spot in the cushion marked where her grandfather spent many waking hours. Her eyes were red and moist as Hitchcock told her about the suspicious drink and Edwin’s behavior. She shot a glance at the housekeeper, who stood impatiently across the room.

  “Lillian,” Kitty said as Hitchcock finished laying out his theory, “what do you think happened to Granddad? You were the last person to see him alive.”

  “I wish I knew,” Lillian said, shaking her head slowly. “I think he might have been sick when I saw him in the morning. He was acting so strange. I should have called the doctor or something.” She wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her face. “Maybe he would still be alive.”

  Both officers’ radios blared, and they listened to a message that sounded like gibberish to Deena.

  “Finally. Detective Guttman is on his way,” Hitchcock announced.

  “Does that mean I can leave soon?” Lillian asked. “I haven’t had lunch and I don’t feel so good.”

  All eyes turned to her. Were they all thinking the same thing? Could whatever struck down Edwin be affecting her too?

  Kitty reached her first. “Here. Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.” She guided the woman to a chair.

  “I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich,” Deena offered.

  “No, I just want to go home. And I’ve already been sitting a long time.”

  “No one goes in the kitchen,” Hitchcock said. “We may have evidence to preserve.”

  Kitty folded her arms and stood next to Lillian as though she were an armed guard. “If you think someone actually killed Granddad, then you must have a suspect in mind.” She directed the question to Hitchcock.

  “Well,” he said, reaching up under his big hat to scratch his head, “most of the time it’s a family member or someone close to the victim. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Sharpe? You’ve helped solved a fistful of murders, what d
o you think?”

  “Follow the money,” she said without giving herself a second to think of the implication of her statement.

  Kitty cocked her head toward Deena. “I was in jail, as you well know.”

  “Oh, I know. That’s just something detectives say. Obviously, it doesn’t apply in this case.” She felt her face flush. The front door opened. “Speaking of detectives, here’s one now.”

  Guttman strolled in and made a slow sweep of the scene. “What’s going on in here? It looks like one of those murder mystery parties.”

  Kitty let out a huffing sound and Guttman turned toward her.

  “Sorry, Miss Cooper. Didn’t mean to sound disrespectful.” He looked back at Hitchcock. “I know the basics, but why don’t you fill me in.”

  The officer walked Guttman through the details starting with the housekeeper’s story, the 9-1-1 call, and his suspicions about the poisoned drink. “I’ve also conducted two interviews of neighbors.”

  Guttman looked at Deena. “I suppose you are one of those neighbors.”

  She nodded.

  “And why are you involved, other than being a reporter?”

  “Ex-reporter,” Deena said.

  Guttman’s jaw dropped slightly, but he snapped it closed.

  Deena waved toward the sofa. “Like I told Officer Hitchcock, I came over to check on Mr. Cooper yesterday morning and found him to be fine. Today when I heard he was, um, had passed, I came over to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “I checked her house,” Hitchcock said. “She’s clean.”

  “Terrific. Then if you have statements from these ladies, I think we should let them leave.” He motioned toward the door.

  “I haven’t really asked Miss Cooper any questions yet,” Hitchcock protested.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary at this time. We know she’ll be around and where to find her.”

  Kitty shook her head. “This is my grandfather’s house and I’m his executive.”