Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  She scanned the papers on top of the desk for anything of interest. Then she opened the desk drawer. Right in front were a couple of file folders. The first one was labeled with Wendy Fairmont’s name. Bingo! This was just what she was looking for.

  She picked up the folders and peeked inside the first one. She couldn’t believe what she saw. There were about a dozen snapshots of Wendy posing topless. Deena blushed and quickly closed the folder. Her hands shook and her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest.

  The next folder was scrawled with Reverend Abbott’s name. A creaking noise on the porch warned her someone was coming. She had to see what was in the second folder. Inside was a piece of notebook paper scribbled with dates and numbers. What was this about? The screen door opened just as she was putting the folders back in the drawer.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” the uniformed officer asked.

  Deena sneezed. Her throat was so dry that she couldn’t croak out an answer. She knew she’d been caught.

  “Come out here,” the officer commanded and put his hand on top of his holster.

  She went out to the front porch.

  Sandra walked by with a pet carrier containing a crying feline.

  “Detective Guttman,” the officer called out. “I caught this woman snooping through Brewster’s desk.”

  Guttman turned around and marched back toward the house.

  Just then, Sandra stopped. “Deena, were you able to find any records?”

  Deena stared back at her sheepishly.

  “Records?” Guttman scowled as he climbed the porch.

  “Yes,” Sandra said. “I asked her to look in the house to see if there were any veterinarian records for these animals. That way we could determine if any were up to date on their shots.” She looked back at Deena. “Any luck?”

  “Nope.” Deena jumped off the side of the porch and followed Sandra back to the van.

  When they were safely out of earshot, she whispered to Sandra, “Do you think he bought it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m the wife of a defense attorney. He knows better than to mess with me.” She put the carrier in the back of the van and took out an empty one. “Here. Go rescue an animal. Alan will help you. It will be good karma.”

  Deena breathed a sigh of relief and walked off to find Alan around the back of the house. All she could think about were those risqué pictures of Wendy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ray must have been blackmailing her. She would tell Ian, and they could decide what to do with the information. Who knows, maybe Guttman would find the folders and come to the same conclusion.

  The backyard looked like a doggie daycare. Happy, healthy-looking dogs yapped and jumped playfully at Alan. She handed him the empty carrier, and he pointed to a different one sitting in the shade under a tree.

  “You can take that one to Sandra,” he said and used a long metal pole to try to lasso a beagle mix.

  Leaning down, Deena looked inside the carrier at a black blob of fur. The blob turned its head and stared back at her with soulful brown eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she thought she was staring at her own little dog, Hurley.

  She cooed at the pup as she carefully carried it to the van. Suddenly, she was struck by the thought of Sylvia. Oh, good grief. I hope she hasn’t gotten into any more mischief while I’ve been gone. That’s all I need today.

  DEENA RODE BACK TO the shelter with Sandra and Alan. They had rounded up a total of eight dogs and seven cats. Sandra said she was hopeful they could all be re-homed.

  Ian was as anxious for an update as Deena was to give it to him. She headed straight to his office.

  As she sat across the desk from him, she wondered if she smelled like wet dog. “Sorry for the odor,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m used to it with Sandra and her work with the shelter. Good thing the thrift shop is closed on Mondays and that she was called by the shelter to go out there.”

  Ian seemed more relaxed than this morning. Deena wasn’t sure how he would react to her news. “I think your hunch paid off,” she said. “Wendy is definitely guilty of killing Ray Brewster.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure after just one day of looking into the matter?”

  Deena proceeded to tell him about her talk with Wendy, her visit to the church, and the photographs she found in Ray’s house. “Looks like a clear case of blackmail with dire results,” she said in summary.

  “Hmm.” Ian began to swivel in his chair. “It’s one thing to assume blackmail, but it seems like a big leap to conclude Wendy committed murder because of it. Sounds like a rush to judgment.”

  It was Deena’s turn to squint her eyes. She’d expected a standing ovation, but instead Ian seemed dissatisfied. “What do you mean? You said you thought she was guilty this morning. What I found out just confirms it.”

  Ian shook his head. “No, I said I thought she might be guilty. That’s a big difference. It sounds to me like you started this investigation with your mind already made up. That’s the worst thing you can do.”

  Deena started to protest. She felt a gnawing in her stomach.

  “Remember,” he said, “we always start with an assumption of innocence. We set out to see where the facts lead us. If you assume guilt, you’ll never see anything else.”

  Deena’s back was up like a cornered cat. “Regardless, the facts speak for themselves. Wendy had the means, the motive, and the opportunity.”

  “I’ll give you motive and opportunity, but what about means? Did you find any hypodermic needles? Any poison?”

  “No.” Deena debated telling him about seeing the allergy pens in Darlene’s drawer but thought that bit of information would just weaken her argument.

  Ian leaned forward. “You have to go into an investigation with an open mind. Ask yourself if there could be any other suspects.”

  Deena felt a headache coming on. She rubbed her temple. “Are you just saying this because Wendy is a client and you’re thinking about her defense?”

  “Of course not. Although, you definitely don’t have enough evidence to prove guilt. Not by a long shot.”

  She let out a deep sigh like a deflating balloon.

  “Remember when I first offered you a job?” Ian asked. “We talked about justice. About finding the truth. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  Staring down at her hands, Deena nodded. “Got it.”

  “Look,” Ian said, “it’s been a long day. Get some rest, and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She managed a weak smile.

  As Deena walked out to her car, she raised her head and pulled back her shoulders. She was more determined than ever to solve this case. If an open mind was what she needed, she’d work on it, even though she still thought Wendy was guilty.

  Then she remembered something Sandra had once told her: Ian thought everyone was innocent. Maybe he needed her help in protecting himself and his reputation.

  She would make a plan. Interview more witnesses. She’d prove to Ian—and to herself—that her instinct was right.

  She wasn’t about to be fooled by a murderer again.

  Chapter 10

  When Deena came through the front door, Sylvia was standing in the kitchen wearing a bright orange pantsuit with a green scarf tied around her neck. “Happy Halloween,” she said, greeting Deena as though the morning’s kerfuffle had never happened.

  “Happy Halloween to you, too,” Deena said, wondering what had come over her mother-in-law. “I see you’ve dressed up as ‘The Great Pumpkin.’”

  Sylvia’s smile slipped off her face and she puckered her mouth. “What on earth do you mean, child?”

  Deena’s face flushed. “I just thought—I mean, your outfit—”

  “Spit it out. Are you drunk or something?”

  “Never mind,” Deena said and headed toward the bedroom.

  Sylvia called after her, “Don’t forge
t that I’m handing out candy at Christy Ann’s house tonight.”

  Perfect. An evening alone with Gary was exactly what Deena needed. She could tell him all about her investigation and Sylvia’s fight with Edwin Cooper. She could use the quiet time to plan her next move toward bringing Wendy to justice.

  Apparently, Sylvia had other ideas.

  When Gary came home, he fired up the grill. Sylvia hobbled around with her cane insisting she should help cook supper even though her foot was “hurting like the dickens.” Deena finally got her to sit down while she cooked wild rice and broccoli to go with the grilled chicken.

  There was an eerie silence around the dinner table as they ate. Deena waited to see if Sylvia would bring up her run-in with the law. Gary finally filled the gap by talking about his fantasy football team and the Cowboys. Deena acted as interested as humanly possible.

  As Deena cleared away the plates, Sylvia asked Gary to help her up from the table. Of course, she hadn’t needed help when she was in the yard spraying the neighbor with the hose. Deena held her tongue. She would be able to tell Gary about it soon enough.

  “Gary,” Sylvia said, “I hate to break my promise to Christy Ann. She’s such a dear girl. But I don’t know how I’ll manage alone at her house having to get up and down every time a child rings the bell. Do you mind coming with me?”

  Deena knew exactly what Gary was thinking. Monday night football was on. He hated Halloween. He would graciously decline.

  “No problem,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetie?”

  Traitor. She was hoping for a quiet night together. She was planning to give handfuls of candy to the first four or five treat-beggars and then turn off the porch lights and pretend not to be home. She dropped the plates in the sink. “That’s fine. I guess I can manage all alone here by myself.”

  “Great,” Gary said, oblivious to her sarcasm. “I’ll get our jackets, and we can head on over.”

  Deena watched out the window as they crossed the street. “Just wait, you old crab. Two can play at this game.”

  THE FIRST FEW GROUPS of kids to come to the door turned Deena’s spirits around. The smiling faces of children tended to do that. However, the third ring of the bell was not what she expected.

  She opened the door to see a tall, mustached man in his mid-fifties staring down at her. She did a double take, making sure this wasn’t a new costume from some TV show she didn’t watch.

  “Mrs. Sharpe, I’m Julius Dunbar.” He handed her his card. “I’m an associate of Terrance O’Malley from Dallas.”

  By the sound of his voice and the seriousness of his tone, the man meant business. His height alone was intimidating. He had to be about six-and-a-half-feet tall and sported a gray goatee. Deena stared at the card. O’Malley. Where had she heard that name?

  “My employer is the father of David O’Malley, Wendy Fairmont’s fiancé. I’m here to ask for your help with the matter of Ray Brewster.”

  Deena’s mind took a tumble. Was this a trick or a treat? “Won’t you come in,” she said, before realizing she was home alone and inviting a total stranger into her house. Coming up the walk behind him was a flock of children. She smiled and emptied her candy bowl into their bags then waited until they had skipped back down to the sidewalk before turning off the porch light and shutting the door.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, the stranger got right to it. “I am here to see what can be done to keep Wendy Fairmont from being connected to this unfortunate incident with Mr. Brewster. As you may know, Mr. O’Malley and his companies are high profile and highly respected. News that his son might be marrying a criminal would not bode well for the family.”

  The way he said “the family” made Deena think of Italian mobsters. In this case, though, she assumed the O’Malleys were Irish or Scottish. Did they have a mob? She shook the rabbits she was chasing out of her head.

  “First off, how did you get my name?” she asked. “What connection do you think I have to this...situation?”

  Dunbar pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped through several pages. “Deena Sharpe. Former journalism teacher at Maycroft High School, newspaper reporter at the Northeast Texas Tribune, and now investigator for the law firm of Ian Davis. Your name was in the newspaper today as having found Mr. Brewster on the event of his death.” He put the pad back in his pocket. “Did I get anything wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “Why do you think Wendy is involved? That wasn’t in the newspaper.”

  “Sources,” he said. “You must know how that works, right?”

  “Assuming what you say is true, what is it you want from me?” She knew better than to trust him, but at this point, she was curious.

  “As I said, Mr. O’Malley wants to see Miss Fairmont’s name kept out of the media. The best way to do that is to make sure her alibi is solid. The article in the newspaper mentioned two high school students who were present at the time the body was found. I was hoping maybe you could tell me their names so I could interview them myself.”

  Deena stood up and paced between the table and the kitchen. That was a lot to ask. Could she reveal their names? “The article in the newspaper had a byline. Why didn’t you ask Dan Carson for that information?”

  “I couldn’t very well do that and hope to keep Miss Fairmont’s possible involvement secret, now could I?”

  Made sense. “What do you want to ask them?” She had a pretty good idea but wanted to hear it from him.

  “I just want to know the circumstances. Did they see Miss Fairmont? Did they talk to her? What was her demeanor like?”

  Sounded legit. Typical investigator questions. But more than that, they were the same questions she wanted to ask Charlie and Stephanie herself. Maybe this was the break she needed. She could get information from the witnesses and show Ian she was being open-minded. What would Ian think? She decided to call him. “Excuse me,” she said, “I have to consult with my—associate.”

  She walked into the living room and called Ian on her cell phone. She explained the situation. He said that he didn’t think it would be a problem as long as Charlie and Stephanie agreed to talk to him, especially since Dunbar was trying to help Wendy. Since Deena was there on the scene, Ian told her it was her choice to do what she wanted.

  When she returned from the den, Dunbar was looking at messages on his cell phone. “Well, will you help me?”

  Deena had a feeling this man was going to find out the information he wanted one way or another, so she might as well make the most of it. She took her jacket off the hall tree. “I’ll take you to them. If they agree to speak to you, I’ll let you talk to them.”

  “Excellent. I’ll follow you.”

  SINCE IT WAS HALLOWEEN and Charlie Abbott was president of the National Honor Society, Deena knew exactly where he’d be. She drove over to the elementary school where the PTA was hosting Trunk-or-Treat. It was a new event that sprang out of the awareness of stranger danger. Parents would pull their cars into the school parking lot and kids would go down the rows getting candy from them.

  Kind of lame, but definitely safe. The high school kids helped patrol the parking lot and got to add the project as credit toward their community service hours. Deena parked on the street, and Dunbar pulled in behind her. “Wait here,” she told him.

  As she headed into the parking lot entrance, she wondered what she would say to Charlie and Stephanie.

  Several parents stood at the gate and greeted her. “Where’s your car?” one woman asked.

  “I’m Deena Sharpe. I used to teach at the high school. I’m looking for Charlie Abbott. Is he here?”

  The woman eyed Deena suspiciously and then pushed the button on her radio. “Charlie Abbott, come in. Over.”

  It was amazing how much power one could derive from a walkie-talkie.

  “I’m here,” a voice answered.

  “There’s a Mrs. Sharpe here. Says she knows you. Wants to talk to you. Over.”

  “Sure.
I’ll be right there.”

  Deena tried not to let her smile say, “I told you so.” She stepped aside as another SUV packed with kids pulled in. She looked around to make sure Dunbar hadn’t followed her. He was still in his car.

  “Hey, Mrs. Sharpe,” Charlie said. He had two other boys at his side.

  “Do you mind if I talk to you alone?” She had made up her mind not to bring Dunbar in on the conversation. She could relay the information to him herself.

  “Sure.” He tossed a look at his friends. “I’ll be there in a minute.” They walked off.

  “Thanks,” Deena said. “I have some questions about Saturday night. Do you mind talking about it?”

  “I guess not. I’ve already told the police everything I know. What’s this for anyway? The newspaper? I thought you quit working there.”

  “I did. This is for me.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, she told herself. “What time did you get to the church on Saturday?”

  “There was a group of us who came in the morning to set everything up. We got there around nine. Wendy had all the stuff in a big van. We unloaded it and set it all up.”

  “What time did you finish?”

  “Around one o’clock, I’d say.”

  “When did you come back?”

  “I got there right at five.”

  Deena did some quick calculations. There was a four-hour window between there where someone could have killed Ray.

  “Did you see Ray there in the morning?”

  “Yeah. He unlocked the building when we first got there. Like I told the police, he came around a couple of times, but he didn’t help. It didn’t seem like Wendy wanted him there.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They seemed to be arguing about something. I don’t know what it was.”

  Deena’s ears pricked up. “When you left, were Ray and Wendy still there?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I know Wendy was. Stephanie had a hard time getting into my car because Wendy’s van was parked so close.”

  “When you returned at five, did you and Stephanie come together?”