Beware False Profits (9 page)

My girls wake up early to get ready for school. Brownie Kefauver wakes up earlier. At least he did on Wednesday morning when his frantic pounding sent me toddling down the stairs in my fuzzy slippers and Ed’s plaid flannel bathrobe. I was yawning when I unlocked the door, and my mouth stayed open when I saw who was waiting on the other side.

“Well…hmmm…” Having just dispensed with the vocabulary I feel most comfortable with before seven
A.M.
, I opened the door wider and silently ushered him in.

By the time he sidled through the doorway, my brain was slowly cranking up. “Mr. Mayor.” I don’t think I’d ever called him that before. Maybe it was left over from an old episode of
Spin City
.

“Mrs. Wilcox, I need help.”

I nodded, because nodding is tough to screw up. I held a finger high, wordlessly asking him to wait, and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Ed.” Since that emerged as a croak, I tried again. “Ed!”

Ed came down to the landing. Somehow he’d had the presence of mind to throw on sweat pants and a T-shirt. Of course I was wearing
his
robe, and my peach chenille wouldn’t have suited him at all.

Although I guess it would have suited Joe Wagner.

“Brownie,” Ed said, coming down to join us. “What can I help you with?”

I figured Brownie must have come about Hazel’s funeral. The Kefauvers attend the Methodist church that nestles up to the Emerald Springs Oval, only a brief stroll from the parsonage. I knew the church was in the middle of a renovation project, and we had wondered if their sanctuary was ready for a funeral as large as Hazel’s. Now I guessed Brownie wanted to use our church instead. To be polite he might even ask Ed to say a prayer or lead a responsive reading.

But none of my foggy musings prepared me for his next words.

“It’s not you I’m here to see.” He turned to me, dismissing my husband. “Mrs. Wilcox, I need your help.”

I glanced at Ed, wondering how he was taking this. No hogger of the limelight, he merely looked intrigued. His expression changed as Brownie continued.

“Hazel was poisoned.”

I turned back to Brownie. Only then did I notice what he was wearing. Gone was the bow tie, perhaps because it was too early to insist that fingers tie or clip, but more likely because he was wearing a yellow polo shirt. With the buttons undone. I was surprised I’d recognized him.

“Poisoned?” Ed asked.

“That’s right!” He ran his hand through what hair was left. “And I know, at least I’m pretty sure, or almost sure at least, that the police suspect me.”

Silence thrummed through the parsonage. Even the clocks forgot to tick. I cleared my throat when it thrummed too long. “Why?”

“Because they always suspect the husband, that’s why!”

“Somebody told you this?”

“Please, Mrs. Wilcox, I know how they work. Plus they asked if they could look through the house, just to see if they could determine why somebody would want her dead. But they did more than look. They went through her things. They even carried away some of our household cleaners, some supplies from the pantry and garage—”

“Aggie. Call me Aggie. And let’s sit down.”

I led him to the sofa, and to his credit, he was still calm enough to remember that he had to bend his knees and lower his butt to the cushions. Once he did, he rested his head in his hands.

“Did you just find out?” I asked.

“Last night, and I haven’t had a wink of sleep.” He looked up, still a little, nondescript man, but now that he wasn’t dressed like Pee-wee Herman, he looked real and surprisingly vulnerable. I sympathized with all he had been through.

“Did they say how? What? When?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They refused. And I probably won’t know until they charge me with murder.”

“You don’t know that’s going to happen.”

“Hazel was a wealthy woman. And now every penny will come to me. Can you think of a better motive?”

Not really, but I could think of other possibilities. Hazel Kefauver was universally disliked. Perhaps not hated, but certainly not the first person anybody thought of inviting to a backyard barbecue. If indeed she’d been murdered, then somebody had been angry enough to dispatch her to wherever it is people like Hazel go.

“You need means, motive, and opportunity,” I told him, trying to help. But even as I said it, I realized the opportunity part was a done deal. I mean, Brownie
lived
with her. And means? Well, that depended on whatever poison killed her, and it sounded as if this was something the police were keeping to themselves.

“I saw the way Detective Roussos was looking at me when he came to tell me the autopsy results,” Brownie said.

Roussos. No surprise there. The police chief wouldn’t get within a hundred yards of this, not until everyone was sure Brownie was the murderer, and he rushed to take credit. No, for the moment, our chief would stay on the sidelines and turn this over to someone without political aspirations.

“Roussos always looks like that,” I said. “I bet he gazed accusingly at his mother from the cradle. She probably had to hire a nanny. Did he say somebody poisoned her? Or simply that she was poisoned? Can you remember?”

Ed spoke from across the room. “Aggie, may I see you a moment?”

I’d forgotten he was standing there. I patted Brownie’s hand. “I’ll be right back. Think about what Roussos said.”

Ed was waiting in the kitchen. And clearly he wasn’t here to make coffee. His arms were folded, his eyes narrowed.

“You’re helping him.”

“Well, sure.” I smiled innocently. “I mean, if he’d come to ask you if he could use the church for the funeral,
you
would have helped. Right? It’s the same thing.”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“What deal is that?”

“You said you were going to stay out of murder investigations. Stay out. Remember?”

“Oh…” I nodded, as if I finally understood. “I’m not investigating a murder. I’m just trying to see if I can help Brownie prove he’s not the murderer. Surely you can see the difference?”

“No.”

“This is our mayor, Ed. You don’t honestly think I should tell our mayor I can’t help him because my
husband
thinks it’s a bad idea. That’ll reinforce his value system. What kind of message is that?”

“An honest one. An intelligent one.”

I love my husband. I know he’s reasonable, not controlling, and that he has my interests at heart on those rare occasions when he tries to talk me out of something. He knows the same thing about me. But this time I had to set him straight.

“I’m going to hear what he has to say. Then if I think I can help, I’m going to. But I’m not going to put myself in danger to protect Brownie Kefauver, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’ve learned that lesson.”

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t had a chance to make up anything, not even our bed.” This time
I
narrowed my eyes. “But you have to trust me. Apparently I’ve found something I’m good at doing, and within limits, I plan to continue. You’ve been fine with me looking into Joe’s disappearance. This isn’t that different.”

“Joe wasn’t murdered.”

“We don’t know that.” There, I’d said it, and I saw from his expression that Ed was worried about this possibility, too.

I went on before he could respond. “I don’t want to have a fight with you every time I leave the house. I’ll be careful, and I’ll be smart. Give me some credit.”

Since it was clear he was going to mull over at least some part of what I’d said before he answered, I went back into the living room and took my seat again.

I’m not sure Brownie realized I’d been gone. He spoke as soon as I was seated. “Roussos said she’d been poisoned. That’s all he said. Nothing else.”

“There are accidental poisonings. It would help if we knew with what.” I decided to check with my detective nemesis to see if he would at least tell me if the police suspected foul play or carelessness. But I was guessing the first. Roussos would probably have told Brownie if Hazel’s death seemed accidental.

“Were you and Hazel together all day Sunday, before she…”

“I wasn’t out of her sight.” He said this as if it hadn’t been his choice.

“What about the day before?”

“Saturday? She was away for part of the week visiting her sister. She came home Friday evening. On Saturday we did some shopping, then a little yard work. She went to the library, and I took a nap until she got home.”

I pictured Hazel rousing her husband from a sound sleep. Perhaps insisting on callisthenics or a round of tofu smoothies to get his blood flowing vigorously.

“And then?” I prompted.

“Dinner with friends. An early night. Sunday we went to church.”

“I noticed Hazel’s color wasn’t good when I saw her at Mayday!” Now I wished I’d said something. Would she have listened? Would she have asked the medics to look her over? Would she have slugged me?

“I guess I wasn’t paying much attention,” Brownie said. “She just looked like Hazel to me.”

I could see he wasn’t going to be any help figuring out when the poisoning occurred. Hazel was lucky he noticed when she fell on the ground.

If you can call dying luck.

I touched his arm. “Just a couple of other things. Will anybody have reason…Let me rephrase. Have you given anybody reason to think that you might have done away with Hazel yourself?” I flinched at my slang. “I mean, have you been seen in public fighting? Have you confided to anyone that you wished you had a way to get Hazel out of your life?”

He didn’t deny the possibility, which surprised me. In fact he squirmed, which was answer enough. “I’ll think about that.”

“And the last thing?” I waited until he was looking at me. “Why me? I mean, you have all the money you need to hire a real detective. So why did you come to me? I’m nothing but an amateur.”

“I’ve heard you’re nosy, and know how to find things out. And you discovered who killed Gelsey Falowell.”

“Yes, well…” I didn’t like the nosy part. “But why not a professional?”

“Because the police will find out if I hire somebody. And maybe I’ll look even more guilty, like I’m pretending to get them off my case. Besides, I’m the mayor. What would it say about our city if I act like I don’t trust the police enough to let them do their job? I can’t throw money at this. I can’t ask a pro to get on board. For now, you’re all I’ve got.”

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but I guess it had to do. It even made a weird kind of sense. Hiring a detective might look like Brownie didn’t trust the cops. And that really wouldn’t be good for the local morale. Hiring me? Who would take that seriously?

“I’ll give this some thought.” I stood, and he followed a moment later. “I’ll be back in touch,” I said.

He didn’t add anything until we got to the door. Then he turned to face me. “I didn’t kill my wife. And I don’t know anybody else who disliked her enough to want her dead.”

Anybody
else
?

“I hope you’ll help me.” He held out his hand. Shaking it was a little like cleaning a fish. But at least Brownie’s eyes were just worried, not staring blindly into forever.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” I promised as I closed the door.

Ed spoke from behind me. “Do you really think Joe was murdered?”

I turned warily. He didn’t look spitting mad. “Coffee?”

“It’s brewing.”

I followed him to the kitchen and plunked down at the long table that bisects the room. Our parsonage is a hulking Dutch Colonial. The rooms that should be large are not, and the ones that should be smaller for efficiency—like the kitchen—are large enough to hold Sunday services. The house has character, though, and we’re learning to feel at home here.

Outside I could hear the plunk of our morning newspaper as it bounced off the sidewalk before merrily playing hide-and-seek in the bushes. Moonpie, our silver tabby, jumped up to the chair beside me, gauging my mood before he tried for the table. I narrowed my eyes, and with feline disdain he began to lick himself, waiting to leap, I’m sure, the moment I looked away.

“I don’t know if Joe was murdered,” I said, keeping my eyes on the cat. “But doesn’t this open up a nasty possibility? The last time anybody saw him, he looked pale and ill, remember? And Hazel looked like death warmed over before, well, you know. They’re both connected to Helping Hands. What if he succumbed to the same poison, and he’s just lying somewhere unclaimed or unnoticed?”

“I’m afraid somebody will notice soon. Mother Nature will make sure of it.”

I fished around in the drawer of the phone table behind me. I could just reach it if I tilted my chair on its hind legs, something the girls are repeatedly warned not to do. Out for revenge, Moonpie jumped on my lap and both of us nearly went over. I set him on the ground more gently than he deserved and got up to find what I was looking for.

“Maura gave me this.” I waved Joe’s photo at Ed, before I set it on the table.