I didn’t have anything new to ask the Holpurns … yet. But of all the possibilities, I still believed Mike was the most likely suspect, notwithstanding his still-unexplained early parole from prison for the prior murder.
Dinah had also conducted other research about the Holpurns in her hours not working at my shops, and she kept me informed. For one thing, brothers Bill and Johnny had apparently lived nearby, in the town of Lake Arrowhead, way back when Mike did his remodeling work for Mayor Flora, and they’d moved down the mountains to San Bernardino when Mike went to prison.
But they were back in town, at least for now. All three of them. And if Henry Schulzer had killed his wife, did that give one or more of them a motive to have—
“Hi, Carrie,” called a voice from behind me. Well, speak of the devil. Or angel. It was the very person I’d been thinking about. The one who’d bring me up to date on her research, maybe right now while we finished baking.
I turned to face Dinah. She looked good, which made me happy. No news, then. She apparently hadn’t been confronted by the detectives, and neither had I.
“Hi, Dinah. Good to see you. Ready to get to work?”
She came farther inside, washed her hands, and put on one of our special aprons over her Icing on the Cake T-shirt and jeans. “I’m always working,” she reminded me.
“Of course. Now help me finish the biscuits for the Barkery—and tell me what you’ve most recently found in your research.”
She had nothing new to tell me, though. Nor did I learn anything helpful later when I took a coffee break at Cuppa-Joe’s, or at my shift at the vet clinic or a visit to Mountaintop Rescue.
It was a normal day, just like one when no murder had been recently committed.
So were the next few. I did spend several evenings with Reed, of course, and a couple of nights as well.
Then Sunday arrived—the day of Henry Schulzer’s memorial service at the Knobcone House of Celebration. Apparently Henry and Flora’s now-adult children had worked things out with the coroner and a nearby cemetery, and would be in attendance.
Fortunately, Frida and Vicky agreed to watch the stores while I went to the memorial for Henry. Reed was accompanying me, and Neal and Janelle were going, too.
So was Dinah. A good idea? Yes, for her research—maybe. But would it look suspicious if she was at a memorial held to celebrate the life of Henry Schulzer?
The life that the police might believe she ended?
The day before, I’d told her she could have Sunday off but probably shouldn’t come to the memorial. Her response was a good one: Would the memorial be an opportunity to research? Yes, maybe a little.
“But I also want to pay my respects,” she’d said. “Partly to show I didn’t kill Henry and partly because it’s the right thing to do.”
I had to agree with that. Not that I could have prevented Dinah from coming anyway, but her motives were good.
And her motive for possibly killing Henry? I couldn’t think of a good one and was glad about that. The public arguments they’d had certainly didn’t rise to that level, thank goodness.
So now the five of us from my shops joined the crowd waiting to enter the Knobcone House of Celebration. Crowd? Yes. I was kind of surprised at how many people there were, considering that Henry hadn’t been living in town for very long—this time round. But he had, after all, been married to one of the town’s former mayors.
The Knobcone House of Celebration was along Knobcone Lake, about a half mile from the resort. I wasn’t sure of its architectural style but it was attractive, a streamlined structure on the outside that appeared to be a couple of stories high. Not counting the office in the back, there was only one large room, which could be divided into several spaces depending on what was going on inside.
As the crowd milled around, I saw people I knew, such as quite a few of my customers. I waved to those who caught my eye.
Standing nearest to the door was what I believed to be the entire City Council. At least Billi was there, and so was Les Ethman. They were all dressed up and talking to others whom I didn’t know well but nevertheless recognized from the media as being part of city government.
Then there was the current mayor, Sybill Gabbon. And some other Ethmans, including Neal’s bosses, owners of the Knobcone Heights Resort.
Wandering among them all was Silas Perring. He was holding his microphone and interviewing one after the other, perhaps recording them for an upcoming broadcast, since I suspected the interviews weren’t appearing immediately on live TV. His cameraman Wilbur the Wise was filming it all.
Silas wasn’t the only journalist there, either. Francine Metz was also walking around talking to people. She was the editor of the Knobcone News, and I knew her because she was pet-friendly and sometimes came to the adoption events at my Barkery.
Quite a few people I knew or recognized there had pets that they brought to the Barkery or to the vet clinic, and some of those pets had been adopted from Mountaintop Rescue. But it wasn’t a surprise that none of the people brought their pets to this sad event.
Then there were also people I’d met over the past week or two because they knew Henry: Mysha Jorgens, the dog walker, and Kris and Paul Banner, his neighbors at the resort hotel, who all stood together talking. Mysha was crying. She must really have cared a lot for Henry. Or his dogs, who were no longer in her care.
There was something about Mysha, though … or was I just hoping to zero in on someone at the service as Henry’s killer? The young woman wasn’t very large, but she certainly could have grabbed a knife in the resort suite’s kitchen and used it …
Okay. Enough.
We stood around for quite a while, and I talked to the members of my small group about the upcoming pet adoption event Billi and I were planning for the Barkery, and other things totally unrelated to our reason for being here.
I eventually saw Chief Loretta Jonas and my two detective contacts arrive. Did they think someone would confess to killing Henry during his memorial? Or had they just come to pay their respects? Perhaps it was a combination, but I wasn’t about to ask. They saw me too, though. We traded glances, and Wayne nodded toward me before turning away.
Finally the doors opened and we all walked through the tall, wide front entrance. I hadn’t been at the House of Celebration often, but I clearly remembered the silvery, matte metal walls with the many windows. The gleaming wood floors were as I recalled as well, as were the rows of chairs, all facing the large, raised stage area.
The people filing in filled the seats closest to the stage first. We ended up sitting about halfway back and near the end of our row, which worked well as far as I was concerned. Not that I had any intention of sneaking away, but I still preferred having the flexibility to edge my way out of the service if I chose to.
Dinah wound up sitting in the aisle seat, which concerned me a bit. Would she be the one to sneak out—or get up and start questioning people for her research?
Or, if anyone suggested that she was a murder suspect, would she dash out of here?
But this was a memorial to celebrate Henry Schulzer’s life, not to solve his murder.
I heard noise from behind us as the crowd seemed to talk louder. When I turned, I saw why.
Mike Holpurn and his brothers had just walked in. They immediately grabbed seats at the back, but I wondered why they’d come. To rub it in that Henry was dead now, too, and not just Flora?
I also saw where both Silas Perring and Francine Metz were sitting—next to each other, as it turned out, and also near the back of the room, probably so they could see everything and everyone better than if they disappeared into the rows of mourners. Both stood and looked at the Holpurns, but neither was unprofessional enough to go interview them now.
I figured they would later, though, when the service was over.
We didn’t have to sit
there long before two people climbed onto the stage, a man and woman who appeared to be in their mid-twenties. Henry’s kids?
My guess proved to be right. “Hi, everyone,” the man said into the microphone at the right side of the stage. It was too loud at first, and I cringed as a casually dressed guy, presumably someone who worked there, came onto the stage and adjusted microphone.
“Hi, everyone,” the speaker said again, and this time the tone sounded normal. “I’m Henry Schulzer, Jr. Just call me HS. This is my sister, Mabel.” He gestured toward the woman at his left. “Just call her Mabe.”
I didn’t see a resemblance in either of them to their tall, scruffy, gray-haired father, which was the way I remembered him. HS was tall but appeared to have some bulk beneath his black suit, and his hair was light brown. His sister, Mabe, was shorter than him despite her stiletto heels, and her long, straight hair, decorating her short-sleeved black dress, was a similar shade of brown.
HS went on to talk about his parents, and their family living in Knobcone Heights years ago. How his mother had been the mayor —and how she’d died here. How they’d left the area and his father had moved on with his life. “And I suppose,” HS said, “that the biggest mistake of his life was coming back here.”
A murmur of agreement moved through the room, and I saw Mabe raise a tissue to her eyes.
My eyes were drawn, then, to the area of the room just below the stage, on the right side, where I believed all of the City Council now sat. There was no way of picking Billi out now, but I wondered if she’d spoken with the Schulzer children yet about Henry’s two dogs, now sheltered at Mountaintop Rescue. My first impression of HS and Mabe was positive enough for me to think one or both of them might make a good guardian for the now-orphaned Duke and Prince.
I thought so even more after HS finished his sad speech and turned the microphone over to his sister. Mabe said she missed both her parents fiercely and then went on to talk a bit personally about herself, saying that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to marry or have kids because she’d seen what the loss of someone so beloved had done to her father.
I thought that was a bit off, since why not marry and enjoy the time you had together? And this somehow caused me to glance sideways toward Reed.
He glanced at me the same way, which caused a little shiver to run through me. We were always saying we needed to discuss our relationship, and we sometimes did, but we didn’t really delve into its possible future much.
I made myself concentrate on Mabe once more. She was describing her memories of growing up in Knobcone Heights while her mother was mayor. Her father often acted as if he was both parents since their mom was so busy. Henry, being in real estate, had also been busy, but his hours were a bit more flexible.
Mabe kept talking for a while, and I felt so sorry for her and her brother, and her mother and father, and the dogs, too.
She wound up introducing her aunt, Tula Schulzer, who’d just joined them on the stage—their father’s sister. I wondered if they had any other close family members at the service or if they were otherwise alone, but that wasn’t really my business.
When Tula was done talking about her brother, HS took the microphone back. “I know our father didn’t live here very long this time, and most of you probably don’t remember him from before, but would anyone else like to come up here and say something about him?”
A few hands went up, but not many. Mysha waved vehemently, and HS told her to come up to the stage.
Mysha sweetly described the dogs and how much she had enjoyed helping to take care of them, but she also described what a good doggy-dad Henry had been. She was sobbing by the time she ceded the microphone back to HS.
“Yes, we all love dogs,” HS said sadly. “Our mom raised the spaniels who were the forerunners of the two dogs our dad had when he died. Thanks for helping him, Mysha.”
Les Ethman then got up to speak, since he had known the Schulzers when Flora had been mayor. He eulogized both of them, though admitting he hadn’t known Henry well recently.
A few other people also got up to talk, but things seemed to be winding down.
Yet before saying goodbye, HS, holding the microphone, seemed to look over the large room for an entire minute before his gaze stopped somewhere in the back.
He then said, “Mr. Holpurn, would you like to come up here and say something? Preferably something nice about our late mother, whom you admitted to murdering? And I wouldn’t be surprised, since you’re out of prison and back in town, if you’re the one who killed our dad, too. Care to admit it now?”
A loud murmur exploded through the mourners now, and I stood and turned quickly to try to catch Mike’s reaction. He was already standing, but he didn’t make any attempt to head toward the stage.
Instead he yelled, loudly enough to be heard over the noisy crowd, “Don’t make accusations without substance, Mr. Schulzer! There was a good reason for me to be paroled, and I didn’t kill your father. But I’ve also good reason to believe that the real murderer is here today. Your father wasn’t a very nice man, and he liked to fight. He exchanged some pretty bad words with someone the night he died. Twice. My opinion? That person was the one who stabbed him. Who is it? I think the police know.”
With that, Mike Holpurn and his brothers stomped out of the House of Celebration, which now felt like a house not just of mourning but of malevolence.
Had Holpurn spoken that way to deflect accusations from himself, despite being convicted of the crime? Or did he really believe he knew who the killer was, and that the person was here at the service?
He said he had seen some of the people at Dinah’s party have “bad words” with Henry—which included Dinah. Had Mike just accused Dinah?
And, as I’d feared, did the police believe my dear assistant had been the one to stab Henry?
Sixteen
If so, the police didn’t do anything about it during the memorial, such as get up and speak to the crowd or make any accusations against Dinah or anyone else. But all three—Chief Loretta and detectives Bridget and Wayne—waited outside the House of Celebration afterward, greeting the mourners just like Henry’s relatives were, as if they were somehow hosts.
Most likely, the police were doing that for a reason—perhaps seeing who’d been interested enough to attend, or even in hopes that HS’s request at the end of his speech—that the guilty person step up now and admit it—would still cause someone to confess.
I didn’t see or hear any sort of confession.
But the silence on this topic didn’t seem to make a difference to the police, who remained on the walkway outside the House of Celebration, across from the grieving family members and a little farther toward the parking lot.
“Let’s go say hi to the cops,” I said to Reed.
“Why?” he asked, looking at me as if I’d gone crazy. “Do you think they’re going to tell you whatever’s on their minds?”
“No, but I want to at least let them know I’m here—although they probably noticed me. And if Dinah will join us—well, I’d really like to see how they act around her now. Let’s go offer our condolences to Henry’s family first, though.”
I turned to let Neal, Janelle, and Dinah know the plan. “Good idea,” Neal said, nodding. Janelle seemed to agree, too.
And Dinah? Her smile was sad but her eyes were wide, as if she was prepared to watch while she listened and, hopefully, learned something for her research. Something that would also wind up clearing her from suspicion.
And talk to the cops? She was apparently willing to do it.
We got into the line along the paved walkway to meet with the family, with about ten people in front of us. The line moved quickly, since we were all supposed to just introduce ourselves and convey our sympathy. Henry hadn’t been my favorite person, but as I’d thought often, I also hadn’t wished for him to die—let alone be
murdered.
We were eventually next. But before we could take those final steps, Silas Perring and his buddy Wilbur the Wise butted in front of us, microphone and camera clearly ready to roll.
“Hello, Schulzer family.” Silas then introduced himself and Wilbur. “We were at the service and heard your very touching presentations. And now we would like you to tell our viewers what you think, how you feel.” Without waiting for their consent, Silas announced, “Let’s begin.” He held the microphone to his own face and told his audience who these people were. Then he faced them and held out the mic. “I saw you, HS, ask for whoever killed your father to come forward now and confess. Has anyone done that?”
“No,” HS snapped, then calmed a bit. “But we’re ready to hear it. Maybe it wasn’t someone at the service, but they may be watching your show. It’s not too late. Come forward and tell the police now,” he said to the camera.
Silas then did the same with the other two family members, then returned to HS. “Do you happen to know of a motive anyone might have had to harm your father that way?”
“None at all,” Mabe said sadly, stepping in front of her brother and looking straight into the camera. “It was so hard to lose our mother all those years ago, right in this town. And now our father, too … it’s terrible. We’d never visit again, but we’re going to have our father buried next to our mother, and she’s here.”
“I understand,” Silas said. “Are you working with the police to try to get some answers?”
“We’re cooperating,” HS said. “But we don’t have any answers. You were there when we were talking before. Like you said, I asked for the guilty person to come forward, and now—” He turned back toward the camera. “Let me repeat that I’m still asking this, and for anyone who knows anything to go talk to the cops. There are a couple of really good detectives working on this case. They’ve spoken with us, and I think maybe a clue or two would really help them.”
For a Good Paws Page 14
