Groundwork for Murder

by Marilyn Baron

  “Everything will be all right, girls,” Alex said gently, but more to convince herself. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  How much did the girls really understand about the concept of death? Would anything she said right now make sense to them, or would they think she was just feeding them false, empty words to reassure them? Not if she believed what she was saying, and she did.

  “I know this is very hard for you, and we need to be strong for each other,” Alex began. “I know your dad misses you girls, but he’s really not gone. I mean look around you at this beautiful day and this peaceful place. He’s right here with us. Just look for the signs.”

  Right now, the pastor was looking to her for the sign that it was okay to proceed with the service. She nodded.

  “Okay, girls, let’s go send Daddy to God now.” She kissed each one of the girls lightly on their foreheads as their daddy always did. And, for that one moment, she wasn’t angry at Mark. He had given her these most precious gifts, more precious than diamonds. And that would get her through the hard times, like today and the dark days ahead.

  At the funeral, Mark was thus transformed as the girls continued to cling to her like survivors to a life raft. The policeman stood a respectful distance away. Alex had done her best to explain the death of their father without making him out to be the liar and cheater he had become. In fairness, Mark hadn’t been that way most of their lives, and Alex tried to remember the good times, hoping they would crowd out the events of the past week. The girls had enough grief and sorrow to deal with. It would do them no good to hear any of the sordid details.

  But she couldn’t shield them from the news stories or mean-spirited people who were spreading rumors like honey on hot toast. The stickier the situation got, the more those busybody-nothing-better-to-do beach ladies stuck their noses into Alex’s business. Vicky was doing her best to run interference and protect the girls from rumors that their mother was a murderer, but she was a lone voice against a rising tide. It was like shouting into the wind. Even now she could see the photographers furiously shooting pictures of her and her girls for public consumption. This story had legs.

  When she couldn’t get the money together to post bail, Red Cross, who was quite a remarkable man, had come to the rescue again. He had looked into her bank accounts, and just as he’d predicted, Mark had practically bled them dry.

  When she’d tried to write a check to post bail, she’d discovered the checking account, the savings accounts, their money market accounts, and the girls’ college funds were all gone. Mark had drained everything from the family’s savings and mortgaged their house to the hilt. And he’d gone on a spending binge that put her forays at Blossom’s to shame. And yes, it turned out he had indeed footed the bill for Bitsy’s breast implants. She hoped they were worth it.

  She hadn’t wanted the girls to attend the funeral without her there to support them. Even though Vicky and the colonel and some of their friends would be there, as well as their grandmother, she was the one they’d need.

  So Red had pulled some strings and arranged for her to get out of jail in time for the service and the burial. And, of course, he was right here by her side, shielding her from the media. That was going way above and beyond.

  Red Cross also had negotiated some time for her to explain to the girls why she was forced to wear an ankle monitor and have a police escort, which was less than comfortable both physically and emotionally. She didn’t know where the police thought she was going to run off to.

  The girls had been frightened to see her that way, but she thought she had calmed them down by promising she would be home with them soon. That was turning out to be a more difficult commitment than she had imagined.

  Near the conclusion of the service, Vicky and the colonel stood apart from the mourners, as few of them as there were.

  “That box Mark is in is way too extravagant, considering the financial burden Mark left Alex and the girls in, don’t you think?” Vicky whispered to her husband.

  “I agree, but the girls adored their father and letting them select the casket for their daddy probably helped give them some sense of control of the situation. And you know Alex wasn’t about to say no to anything they wanted right now,” he answered.

  “You’re always so levelheaded.”

  “That’s why you love me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, dear,” Vicky agreed, raising her voice. “And I love those Newborn girls. Although I was horrified when you first suggested carting them to the funeral home to order the casket. I thought it was morbid. But you turned out to be right, as usual. Those poor dears probably picked that one because it had angels carved out on each corner and they think those winged cherubs will fly their daddy right up to heaven.

  “It sickens me to think of what Alex paid for that casket just to stick it in the ground and bury it. What a waste of money. It’s right up there with that diamond bracelet and the boob job Mark bought for Bitsy Diamond. I say Alex should have picked a nice pine crate from the produce stand at the farmers market, shoved him into it, and buried him in the backyard next to their old dog, the two goldfish, the turtle, and the bird the girls tried to save when it fell from its nest.”

  “Death is a part of life, and the sooner those girls learn that lesson, the better off they’ll be,” said the colonel.

  “But you can’t treat them like they’re your raw recruits, dear.”

  “I’ll treat them like they’re my own daughters for as long as we have them. And things are going to change now that I’m in charge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the girls’ godmother, and I take that responsibility very seriously. From now on, they’re under my command. And that includes their mother, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vicky said, saluting her husband, and this time she did it with respect.

  “You know that girl isn’t thinking straight right now.”

  “Alex?”

  “Yes. If she were, she wouldn’t have taken up with that lawn man.”

  “He’s not a lawn man. He was her college art professor. And he is or was a very respected artist. And she didn’t take up with him, as you put it. At least not from what I can tell. I think he may be in love with her. And she with him, although she won’t admit it even to herself.”

  “A real man doesn’t desert the woman he loves.”

  “He’s a suspect in Mark’s murder, so I don’t think he can come back,” Vicky said. “Wasn’t that memorial service pathetic? I mean, practically no one was there to pay their respects. There were more media than mourners. The pallbearers slipped and almost dropped the casket trying to take it out of the back of the hearse. The pastor kept calling him Mike. If Mark would have gone to church with his family every now and then, maybe the pastor would have known his name. Mark’s former boss couldn’t even string two nice sentences together about him. Mark’s mother was just bawling and blabbering on about her perfect son and berating Alex for letting this happen. As if it were her fault Mark cheated on her.”

  “My God, Veronica, calm down,” said the colonel in disbelief. “Here come Alex and the girls. If you can’t stop ranting and raving, at least whisper, would you?”

  “I can’t help it. I’m disgusted, and I feel so sorry for Alex.”

  Vicky rushed over and took Alex’s hands. Alex’s mother stepped over to them to kiss her daughter and then put her arms protectively around her grandchildren.

  “What can we do for you, Alex?” Vicky asked.

  “Just keep looking after the girls as you have been,” Alex whispered. “My mother just can’t handle it. She’s already overwhelmed dealing with the thought that her daughter is in jail. I really appreciate all that you and the colonel have done for me.”

  Alex began to sob.

  “You know I’d do anything for you. And my husband is half in love with you himself. But for heaven’s sake, stop blubbering. Someone’s liable to think you’re broken up about Mark’s death.”
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br />   “I am. No matter what he did to me, I still love him, loved him.”

  “He was a snake in the grass, and he doesn’t deserve even one of your tears.”

  “Well, I’m crying for my fatherless girls, too.” Alex sniffled. “Their mother’s in jail, accused of murder, and their father’s dead. They don’t deserve that.”

  “Of course they don’t,” Vicky soothed. “And neither do you. I guess I can turn on the faucet and see if I can’t work up a little anguish—for the girls’ sake.”

  As everyone gathered by the gravesite, the final words were spoken.

  “… as we lay to rest Mike Newborn.”

  “Mark Newborn,” his mother barked.

  “Mark Newborn. Yes, Mark Newborn, loving father to Ella and Emory, devoted husband to Alexandra…”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Vicky blurted out.

  All heads turned toward her. The colonel put pressure on his wife’s forearm.

  “I mean, for heaven’s sake, please, God, take this man straight into your loving arms and do whatever it is that you do…” Vicky said, intoning a preacher’s reverence and stretching her arms out to the sky, “…with men like this.” A few of Alex’s friends quietly chuckled.

  “Now where was I?” asked Pastor Wilson.

  “You were talking about what a devoted husband Mark Newborn was to his wife,” the colonel said sarcastically and unexpectedly. Vicky was so proud of him she decided right then and there she’d reward him with a little something extra special that night.

  As Pastor Wilson continued to spin his web of overstatements and lies about how wonderful “Mike” Newborn was, eyes were rolling like dice on a crap table. And just when Alex thought it just couldn’t get any worse, her arch nemesis pulled up in her fancy sports car. Elizabeth Diamond slowly exposed one leg at a time—sans ankle monitor—as she oozed out of the driver’s seat. She was not dressed in a tasteful black funeral dress. Instead, she had poured herself into a low-cut, sexy black evening dress snug enough to accentuate the slight bulge in her belly.

  Alex broke out in a fresh eruption of tears. Not because she was burying her husband, but because she was certain the woman had come just to humiliate her. Why wasn’t Elizabeth wearing an ankle monitor? She was ultimately the one responsible for Mark’s death. Even though Alex was enraged at Mark, she would never wish him such a horrible fate.

  Elizabeth must have sweet-talked the detectives, the prosecutors, and any other weak-kneed male who crossed her path. She could just imagine Baby Face Nelson taking one look at Bitsy Diamond and coming to the conclusion she was too perfect to have committed murder.

  “Who is that lady?” Ella asked her mom.

  “Oh, just an old friend of your dad’s,” she replied, sniffling.

  “She’s pretty.”

  Alex cried even harder.

  “Not as pretty as you,” Emory corrected, rubbing her mother’s arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll all get through this.”

  “Of course we will. We’re Newborns. We’ll get through it together.”

  After all the men were done gawking and staring at Elizabeth Diamond, especially Pastor Wilson, who continued to butcher Mark’s name, the service, mercifully, came to an end. Alex and the girls each placed a red rose on the casket. After a few friends and family members said their final farewells to Mark, Elizabeth walked over and kissed the casket and laid a large bouquet of white roses on top of the other three roses, one-upping Alex yet again. The idea that Elizabeth was carrying white roses made her stomach roil. The only thing pure about that woman was evil.

  Alex kissed and hugged the girls and her mother goodbye, thanked Red Cross, Vicky, and the colonel, and stepped into the police car that would deliver her back to her cramped nine-by-nine cell. Elizabeth was free to return to the comfort of her luxurious oceanfront home.

  Where was the justice?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Free as a Jailbird

  “Mrs. Newborn, you’re free to go.”

  Alex looked up in a daze, wondering whether the guard was talking about someone else. She wasn’t Mrs. Newborn anymore. How could she be, if there was no more Mr. Newborn?

  She’d been in this holding cell for less than two weeks, and she’d had a lot of time to think. Mark had been unfaithful. He’d lied to her about a lot of things, but she’d still loved him. She hadn’t given up on their marriage. She remembered the boy she’d fallen in love with in college, the man who’d made her happy for many years, who had given her a good life and two beautiful children.

  She recalled the day Mark had held the twins, in a football carry, tucked into his elbows, one on each arm. He had looked scared as hell. They both were. Twins? Their family was growing exponentially. They had no idea what they were doing. But they had learned together.

  Mark had been proud, like he’d single-handedly produced these miracles, without any help from her. Alex thought she might have been able to reach that man he’d once been. Elizabeth had just been a fling. A woman like that couldn’t make him happy in the long run. But now she’d never know what could have been.

  Alex had a lot of reasons to despise Mark, but she didn’t. He’d lost his job and lost his way, and that explained a lot about his actions. Why couldn’t he have just confided in her? She would have understood. She would have forgiven him for betraying her, eventually.

  “Did you say I was free to go?”

  “Free as a bird.”

  A jailbird. At least they hadn’t locked up her sense of humor. She was going to need it as a single mother, raising two girls alone, with no job and no prospects. If she lost the house, she’d be homeless, just like Nick. She wondered where he was.

  Had he killed Mark, like he’d threatened to do, and made it look like an accident? Had Elizabeth done it and gotten away with it? Had Mark killed himself, or had it really been an accident? The only thing she knew for certain was that she hadn’t done it.

  The colonel and Vicky were there to meet her at the police station when she was released. They embraced her when she walked out into the sunlight.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Why are they letting me go?”

  “Red told me the results of the autopsy came in and the coroner ruled the cause of death accidental drowning,” said the colonel. “The report showed evidence of blunt force trauma to the side of his head, heavy bruising, and drowning. Mark had cuts and gashes and was weak from loss of blood, but he also sustained massive injuries from being hit by some flying object before he drowned. Apparently he was pretty inebriated, and he must have lost his footing. Then, when he tried to stand up, the force of a wave must have slapped him and broken his neck. Due to the circumstances, the weather conditions and all, they’ve ruled you out as a suspect.”

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “Well, apparently your lawn man dropped off some drawings in front of your house the morning after the storm that explained a lot of things to the authorities and corroborated Elizabeth’s story,” said the colonel. “No one noticed them because they were drawn on paper towels. He had secured them under a large rock. The police must have thought they were pieces of trash that had blown into your yard after the storm. Vicky found them later when she came to pick up your mail, and she brought them to the detectives.”

  “The first drawing was of Elizabeth defending herself against a knife-wielding Mark,” said Vicky. “The drawing shows that she’s pregnant.”

  Alex frowned. “Red told me.”

  “Even though she may have injured him, the second drawing showed Mark walking into the sea and drowning,” Vicky continued. “Both drawings were signed by Nick Anselmo. The drawings and the autopsy report helped exonerate you both.”

  “After testing the gashes the edger blade made in Mark’s body, the police found that they didn’t match the tools in your studio,” explained the colonel. “They apparently thought you had murdered Mark and that the red paint on the tools was his blood. But what they thought was Mark’s bloo
d on your nightshirt and in your studio turned out to be your blood and the red paint you used to distress that table.”

  “I told them that from the beginning. I can’t believe it took them so long to distinguish between blood and paint.”

  “Jacksonville Beach is a small town,” said the colonel. “The wheels of justice turn pretty slowly here, which means that nothing gets done. They probably had to send the sample to an outside lab.”

  “In Nick’s second drawing, the words under the picture said, ‘I’m sorry.’” Vicky added. “Sorry for what was unclear. Sorry it happened? Sorry he left town? Sorry he was there and didn’t try to save your husband? He’s gone, and now we’ll never know.”

  “What about Nick? Is he still under suspicion?”

  “The police have officially stopped looking for him as a person of interest or a suspect,” acknowledged the colonel. “And you shouldn’t be looking for him now that you’re out. Vicky told me you have feelings for this man. He’s a vagrant, Alex. He’s caused you nothing but trouble since he came on the scene.”

  Then why can’t I stop thinking about him?

  “Thanks for coming to pick me up. And thank you for handling everything. I can’t wait to see my girls. I appreciate your getting them from the university, bringing them to the funeral, and taking care of them for me—and for fixing up the house.”

  “What are friends for?” Vicky said. “You’ll see them soon enough. Your mom is there watching them, singing them some of the old Woodstock songs. We’re heading home, and we’ll be watching out for all of you from now on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When Can I Start?

  Nick sat in the lobby of the art department at Sarasota College of Art. He was as anxious about this interview with the dean of the art department as he was during his first interview right out of college. He adjusted his shirt and tie and pulled at his pant cuffs. He itched beneath his undershirt. He had taken a real bath, but he’d probably never get the feeling of stink off his body. A shelter benefactor who admired his work had arranged for this new set of clothes, a brand-new pair of polished shoes, and clean, starchy socks. The shelter director had treated him to a full breakfast at Denny’s and dropped him off at the college, sending him on his way with a pat on the back and repeated good-luck wishes. Nick was determined to succeed, if for nothing else than to repay the man’s faith in him.