A Killer Read (4 page)

“Did they tell you anything, Bob?” Molly asked.

“That snotty-nosed punk of a chief told me to wait in here until he’s ready to question us. Me. I was a cop for fifteen years and spent another fifteen as chief. He doesn’t think I can help? Can’t believe they made him chief. Never did trust that kid.” Bob’s face had turned a bright shade of red during his rant.

Molly took a glass of tea over to him and ushered him to a chair. “Maybe he’s embarrassed to have your expertise involved. He’ll ask you when the time’s right, I’m sure. Do you think the fellow committed suicide?”

“Well, he had a gun in his hand… quite an old one, come to think of it.” He paused as if visualizing the scene. “Could have been suicide, I guess.”

Sally-Jo went over to pour herself a glass of tea. “I wonder what was so bad in his life that he killed himself. No
matter how tough things get, I can’t imagine suicide as an answer.”

Stephanie bolted out of her seat. “I’ve really got to get going. They can’t keep us here, can they? I need to go home. Now.”

“Just hold on, there,” Bob said. “They won’t let you leave, girl. Best to just sit tight and stay calm.”

“Look, you didn’t talk to the guy or know him, so I’m sure they won’t keep you long,” Lizzie added. She just wished they’d get started with the questioning.

Stephanie sank back into the chair, a dubious expression on her face, and pulled her knitting out of her bag. Just handling it seemed to calm her.

They heard voices in the hall, and a moment later the door opened and two police officers entered. Lizzie could hardly believe her eyes. Mark Dreyfus, her high school crush, in person. He’d been a short-lived but heart-wrenching obsession in her junior year. A small gasp escaped her lips when he removed his hat. He was totally bald. Gone was the curly black hair that went so well with his dark, intense eyes. Even still, he looked as delicious now as he had back then.

“I’m Mark Dreyfus, police chief. I’m sure Mr. Miller has already informed you about what happened, and I’m sorry we’re going to have to take your statements before you leave tonight,” he told the group. He spotted Lizzie and smiled. “We’ll talk to you all individually and then you’re free to go, although I’d like you to stop by the police station tomorrow morning and sign a statement. Ms. Mathews, are there a couple of rooms we could use?”

“Why, sure. The kitchen’s at the end of the hall and next to it is Claydon’s study. Would those do?”

Mark nodded. “Hank”—he turned to the other cop—“you can take Mr. Miller to start with. Ms. Mathews, perhaps you would come with me. We’ll take the kitchen.”

“Don’t you think you should be talking to me, Chief?”
Bob stood with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at the chief.

Mark barely glanced at him. “No. I think you’d be happier dealing with my deputy, Mr. Miller. And I need to speak to Ms. Mathews. It is her house, after all, and she may have been the last one to speak to the deceased.”

Bob grunted but continued to glower as he followed the deputy out of the room.

The first two interviews took the longest, and then the others were quickly dealt with. Lizzie was the last of them, and Mark talked to her in the library.

“Hey, Lizzie. It’s been a long time.”

Another shock. She thought he’d never even noticed her in school. “It has and I can’t believe you even remember my name,” she said.

He chuckled. “You weren’t hard to miss. You were always reading a book. In the cafeteria, on bus trips, at football games.”

She felt mildly annoyed. Not the way she’d hoped to be remembered. She, on the other hand, could still picture all six gorgeous feet of him in his A. C. Gators green and yellow football uniform, surrounded by a squad of perky, blonde cheerleaders. She was dying to ask why he shaved his head but wisely didn’t give in to the temptation. Instead, she said, “Football wasn’t my thing. Do you know who the dead man is?”

“According to his car registration, he’s from Carleton County. We’ll have to confirm his identity before releasing a name. You didn’t know him? I understand you and Ms. Mathews confronted him in the hall earlier in the evening.”

“I’d never seen him before, and he didn’t give his name. I was wondering if you found anything odd in his pockets? After all, he just invited himself in and was wandering around for who knows how long before we found him.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, stuff that didn’t belong there… maybe something he might have taken from Molly’s house?”

“Do you think his intention was to steal something? You didn’t buy his story about calling for a tow?”

“I’m not sure. He did just walk into the house. I’m sure we would have heard the doorbell if he’d bothered to ring it. Nobody just walks into the house of a complete stranger. Who knows what he was up to before Andie Mason walked in on him. He may even have been casing the place.”

Mark suppressed a smile. “Anything else make you question his story?”

“Well, we did overhear snatches of his conversation on the phone. Okay, we had our ears to the door but only managed to hear a few words. They sounded almost threatening.”

Mark had been writing in his small black notebook but paused to look at Lizzie. His eyes are still the same, she thought.

“Do you remember any of it?” he asked.

“Well, something about doing it his way or not at all and this being the end of it.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m a teacher, Mark. I remember things. What about his car? Was it disabled?”

“I can’t answer that. I’m having it towed to the station, and we’ll have it gone over there. Is there anything else you can think of… something he said or even just an impression you had?”

“Well, he didn’t seem menacing to us, not real friendly though, sort of abrupt, and he wouldn’t give his name. I found that a bit disturbing. And I know Bob Miller thought it suspicious.”

“I’m sure.”

“I have another question.”

“Shoot.” He grinned, then added, “So to speak.”

“Why didn’t we hear a shot? We were kind of loud at times, but shouldn’t we have heard it?”

“Not necessarily. That’s a long driveway, and if everyone was talking at once—”

“Okay. Did he leave a note?”

“A note? Why do you ask?”

“Well, don’t suicides usually leave a note behind?”

“I don’t expect to find one, Lizzie. It looks like he was murdered.”

T
hree miles was not going to do it. But Lizzie had run out of time. Her three-mile running circuit took her down Broward past the old Carnegie Library, now a Civil War museum, across the town square, and over to the bike path along Sawmill Creek; then, cutting through the park, she headed back along Madison and right on Sidcup, to the eighty-year-old two-story white clapboard house with the wraparound porch and two-bedroom addition that she called home.

Her landlord, Nathaniel Creely, had built the cramped but sunny quarters as an extra income unit when he retired. After his wife died a year later, he rented it out anyway, more to hear the occasional cough and slamming of doors than anything else, Lizzie suspected. She liked the coziness of the place, and being five blocks from the center of town was an added bonus. Creely had readily agreed to put in a paved driveway, paint the place in a cream color she loved
and even plant a row of hibiscus by the front window. She’d immediately signed on the dotted line.

She delighted in the fact that every second morning, when she ran in the opposite direction, it took her along Cavendish Road and past the blue Cape Cod house she’d grown up in. Her earliest memories had her in the bottom left corner kitchen cabinets, the ones her daddy had removed the turntable shelves from and transformed into a playhouse. She’d spend hours sprawled on the cushions he’d added, playing school with her two favorite dolls, Becky with red hair and the blonde bombshell Barbie, surrounded by the sounds of her mama humming as she worked in the kitchen.

She’d outgrown her special place by the day the humming stopped. That shattering day when just before dinner, Chief Bob Miller had shown up at the door to tell them her daddy wasn’t coming home again. He’d been killed in a traffic accident out on Broward Hill. It took another six months before her mama noticed ten-year-old Lizzie needed new shoes; another couple of years before she once again smiled. But the smile never reached her eyes. It still didn’t, although Lizzie hadn’t given up hoping.

A quick shower was followed by a breakfast of veggie protein drink with a banana chaser, and she was back on track. Her Siamese cats, Edam and Brie, had wolfed down the canned food she’d given them for breakfast and now awaited the usual dried food top-ups. She filled each of their bowls, giving the head-butting male Chocolate point, Edam, a few rubs under the chin. Brie, the more regal and older of the two, demanded a rub between the ears. Lizzie promised to brush them both when she got home from school.

The phone rang as Lizzie was pulling on a tangerine leather jacket. She answered, her free hand smoothing stray hairs back in place.

“Hello, Lizzie, honey. I’m sure glad I caught you.”

“Molly, what’s the matter? You sound upset.”

“I surely am, honey. The police were just here, and it appears the gun used to kill that man last night was mine. Or rather, Claydon’s.” Molly let out a deep sigh.

“What? I don’t understand, Molly.”

“Neither do I, and I can tell you, I’m rightly frazzled. The police say it was murder and the gun used is an old antique. Everyone knows about Claydon’s collection, so I checked in his study and there’s a gun missing from the gun case. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Did the police say anything else?”

“Yes. She told me not to leave town, and you know that’s what they say in all our mysteries. They must think I’m the prime suspect.” Molly choked on what sounded like an intended laugh.

Lizzie looked at her watch. She could stop briefly at Molly’s on the way to school. A hug was definitely in order.

“Look, Molly, I’m sure they don’t think that. They know you, after all. I can stop by for a couple of minutes before school, if you’d like. Maybe have a quick cup of coffee?”

“Would you mind, honey? I’d surely appreciate it.”

Lizzie grabbed her large tote bag, called out good-bye to the cats and left. On the drive over to Molly’s, her thoughts were a jumble of questions about the murder, so she tried to simply concentrate on the scenery. She loved this time of year, still early enough in fall for the autumn cherry trees to be in full bloom, their white flowers a bright contrast to the deeper-colored maple leaves.

She made a left on Sequoia and drove past the freshly painted Federal-style, two-story house belonging to the parents of her childhood friend Cindy Blake. How different the paths they’d chosen: Cindy, now a cardiac surgeon at a hospital in Atlanta, and married with two children; Lizzie, back in their hometown after five years away at college, a short stint working in Montgomery and more schooling— and she was still single.

Not that she regretted any of it. She loved her job, singing
in the community choir was a passion, and she had many friends, old and new. Ashton Corners would always be home. She liked knowing she’d bump into someone she knew each time she went downtown, that memories of growing up could be sparked by a photo in the daily newspaper, and yet, the town had grown to offer enough variety so she could do something different every evening of the week if she so wanted.

Molly had two cups of coffee in china mugs and a plate of warm cinnamon buns on the kitchen table when Lizzie arrived. Lizzie sat on a stool at the counter that divided the kitchen work area from the banquette. After some tentative sips of the hot brew, a taste test of the buns and yet another pledge to herself to run longer the next day, Lizzie got to the point.

“Do you have any idea how the gun went missing?” She had her own idea, which started and ended with the deceased.

“I’m not sure how long it’s been gone. I’ve not had a reason to check the display case.” Molly smoothed an unruly strand of gray that had worked its way out of the red bow anchoring her hair at the base of her neck. She tucked it behind her right ear. The bow matched the red in her striped linen blouse, which looked snappy with her khaki pants. “It could have been taken months ago, for all I know. Or last night. Do you think maybe the stranger took it before Andie found him?”

“I’d bet on it. It’s the simplest scenario, and that’s usually the right one. The study is right next to the front door, after all. And we don’t know how long he was in the house alone. Did you mention it to Chief Dreyfus?”

“No. It was Officer Amber Craig who came by. She said she’s investigating the case.”

That surprised Lizzie. Wasn’t it important enough for the chief to stay involved? If Molly was being implicated, the case should be at the top of his priority list. Maybe she should talk to him. Or maybe she should butt out. For now.

“What’s she like?” Lizzie asked.

“She’s pretty new in town, so we hadn’t met before. She seems efficient but not overly friendly. Like she must walk around with her teeth gritted all the time.”