Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake

A Sullivan Investigations Mystery

Murder
with a Whiskey Chaser

Murder
Takes the Cake

Evelyn David

Book
Two, Third Edition

Copyright ©2007 Evelyn David

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Prologue

As usual the newspaper was filled with little of substance, but reading it helped pass the time. It had taken four hours, but the body on the bed was finally unmoving. The label on the box clearly claimed the consumer of the product would eagerly eat their fill, then crawl away to die in some out-of-the-way corner. It hadn
‘t happened that way. The ‘no odor’ guarantee would be irrelevant under the circumstances.

The nosebleed was unfortunate, but perhaps not unexpected. Not with the aspirin mixed in with the warfarin and the history of stomach ulcers and heart problems. Still, next time maybe a mixture of warfarin and nitroglycerin might be just as effective and raise fewer suspicions. So many choices. It was difficult to balance performance and efficiency. One had to consider both.

For instance most would use scissors to clip the interesting bit from the newspaper, but a finely honed knife was more aesthetically pleasing. The feel of the carved handle, the shine of the steel, made the knife a more attractive choice, even if the blade tore the paper a little. Two sets of parallel slices and the clipping was lifted from the page, then folded and tucked away for future use. Ghosts from the past could always be exorcised.

Chapter 1

“
Now that’s certainly odd. Somebody’s got a casket for sale. Doesn’t say if it’s new or used. Last night I also saw a couple advertised online. Why do you suppose that all these–”

“
Odd or not–should you be here? I thought you had a doctor’s appointment.” Mac Sullivan started to set the box of Xerox paper he was carrying down on the newly refinished hardwood floor of his office reception area, but thought better of it when he saw his secretary’s steely glare.

Julianna Jarrett, aka JJ, stared at him, but continued cutting holes in his newspaper, wielding the large scissors in her hand so fast he stayed a few feet back from her desk. Mac knew she
‘d accumulated quite a pile of clippings over the last six weeks since Sullivan and Company had solved three murders associated with a nearby college campus. Some of the clippings were about the murders; some were leads on possible detective jobs for the fledgling agency.

“
The doctor’s appointment was yesterday and don’t put that box down in here.” JJ waved the scissors at him and then pointed towards his office. “This room is almost perfect and I don’t want a raggedy cardboard box ruining the effect. Put it in the other room for now and I’ll shelve the paper in the storage cabinet later.”

Mac hid a smile, happy she was recovered enough from her gunshot wound to be back at work and ordering him around. The
‘Campus Killer’ had almost had four victims instead of three. The bullet had only broken a couple of JJ’s ribs, but the young assistant had ended up spending almost a week in the hospital after an infection set in.

“
I’ll unpack the box. I can’t afford any more medical bills.” He continued talking as he proceeded into the back room that served as his private office. Dropping, the heavy box, he added, “You’re not supposed to be lifting anything.”

“
That was just until my ribs healed. They’re healed.”

“
Still, I’ll unpack the paper.” He walked back into the reception area. “But first I need to pick up Whiskey at the kennel. Do you want me to swing through the Golden Arches on my way back? Whiskey will probably demand a Happy Meal or two anyway for putting up with the grooming.”

“
Sure. But make mine a salad.” She grinned. “I’ll eat Whiskey’s fries. They’re not good for dogs.”

Mac chuckled and headed for the door.
“Okay, but you’ll have to explain that to Whiskey yourself.”

“
Hey, you didn’t say anything about the new ceiling fan.”

Mac turned and looked up. With its large dark wooden blades and ornate brass hardware, the fixture looked like something right out of
Casablanca. He had to admit that JJ had, almost single-handedly and without any cash to speak of, managed to turn his dilapidated office into something striking. Stark white walls, dark wooden floors, black metal furniture that looked better than it had in the 1940s when it was new, and a large green leafy something in the corner by the window. Any moment he expected her to start making him wear a fedora and trench coat.

“
Almost perfect?” He remembered her earlier words and took another glance at the ceiling fan, wondering what was coming next. Twenty-four years old, about five-foot-five with short black hair, and a drill sergeant attitude, JJ was very good at bartering his services for goods and supplies she deemed vital to getting his new office up to her standards. He hadn’t minded the missing person’s case and the security system analysis jobs he’d done in exchange for paint and refinishing work, but he’d hated the courier job that had provided them with new fixtures for the small bathroom in back. He’d worried the plumber’s mob connections meant he was going to be transporting stolen goods or drug money. Instead he’d had to drive a pair of six-year-old twin boys from D.C. to Miami and deliver them safely to the plumber’s ex-wife. He’d have been better off being a drug mule. Besides being spoiled, the boys had a tendency to get carsick every 100 miles or so. Even his Irish wolfhound, Whiskey, had been the victim of projectile vomiting back-splash. When he and his four-footed partner had finally dragged themselves and his friend Jeff’s ‘much worse-for-the-wear’ cab back into town, Mac had warned JJ–no more jobs involving anyone under five feet tall. Some work just wasn’t dignified enough for an ex-D.C. police detective.

“
It’s November, we don’t really need a fan,” he protested, hoping to avoid whatever barter she’d committed him to.

JJ gave him an incredulous look, the same kind Whiskey gave him when he drove by her favorite fast food place without stopping.

“What am I going to have to do to pay for that fan?”

“
No barter this time. A real detective job.” JJ smiled. “How do you feel about tracking down some runaway turkeys?”

***

“So your Thanksgiving dinner is also an engagement party?” Rachel balanced the receiver between her head and shoulder while she thumbed through the O’Herlihy funeral home invoices with her left hand and worked the electronic adding machine with her right hand.

“
We’re going to have a more formal party next month. This is sort of a get-to-know the in-laws kind of thing. Bridget is supposed to drive down from Boston tomorrow. Joshua and his parents are going to arrive a day later and stay through Thanksgiving Day.”

“
How many are you cooking for?” Rachel continued working as she listened to her boss’s wife, Kathleen O’Herlihy, chatter on about her holiday plans and her daughter Bridget’s upcoming wedding. Kathleen had invited her to Thanksgiving, but Rachel was holding out hope that her own son, Sam, would change his mind and forgo a skiing trip to Aspen with his new girlfriend to spend the holiday at home with his mom.

“
Besides my four kids and Jeff, there’s the Lasky family–Joshua, his father and new wife, and an uncle. Not sure the uncle is coming. I’ve also invited Mac Sullivan and JJ Jarrett. Not sure either of those two is coming. JJ gave me a maybe, which has gotten my baby boy Sean talking about new clothes and a haircut, thank God. Mac made some noise that could be taken for a yes, but I think maybe he’s upset I asked him to leave Whiskey at home. I can’t have an Irish wolfhound wandering around here with all those strangers. And Joshua claims to have this dog allergy.…”

“
So that’s twenty. I’m missing four. Damn!” Rachel stared at the adding machine tape.

“
What? I don’t think it’s that many. Fifteen or sixteen tops. No, wait! You’re right. I forgot. The best man may show up, along with a couple of bridesmaids. And I don’t care what you say; I’m setting places for you and Sam. I need to buy another turkey and maybe a ham. But the Laskys don’t eat ham. Maybe fish. What kind of fish do you think?”

“
Salmon? Kathleen, I wasn’t–”

“
That’s okay. I know you’re busy. Thanks for listening to me. I’ve got to make another run to the grocery store.”

Rachel shook her head, accidently dislodging the phone receiver. It dropped to the desk, clipping the edge of the adding machine as it bounced towards the floor. She grabbed it in mid-air.
“Wait, Kathleen. I can’t come and I didn’t mean.…”

The sound of a dial tone stopped her from offering an explanation about the headcount. She wasn
‘t commenting on Kathleen’s guest list, but on Jeff O’Herlihy’s casket inventory. At least four top-of-the-line caskets were missing. Value? She checked her numbers again. About $20,000. Jeff was not going to be happy about the missing caskets or the growing number of guests crowded around his Thanksgiving table.

***

“Live turkeys or frozen ones?” Mac frowned at JJ. It didn’t sound like much of a case. “Have I mentioned we should be aiming for jobs that pay actual cash?”

“
Live turkeys. And there’s money with this one.”

There were a lot of turkeys in the nation
‘s capital, but very few with actual feathers. “Live turkeys? Are you sure? In D.C.?”

“
They were the backup team for the guys headed to the White House to get pardons.”

“
Why would someone pay to find them?” He laughed. “Especially, if they were the second string. My fee would be more than what they are worth.”

“
It’s not only turkeys that are missing.”

“
JJ, do you want those fries some time today? Let’s hear the whole story, but make it quick.”

“
The turkey farmer’s employee, stock truck, and wife are all missing.”

“
And?”

“
And the contents of his savings account–$400,000 and change. He’d just sold some land. Needed the money to invest in some spin-off business.”

“
A turkey spin-off business? What? Gobbles in a Can?”

JJ narrowed her eyes and remained silent.

“Okay. Missing employee, truck, wife, turkeys, and money. What’s our client the most interested in finding?”

JJ grinned.
“The money of course. And the turkeys…but only if you find them before Thanksgiving, which means a rush job. He didn’t seem too broken-up about the wife or the truck.”

“
Must have been an old truck.” Mac sighed. “Okay. We’ll do it. Give Edgar a call. He’s been wanting to get his hands dirty on a job. He won’t admit it, but I think since Elinor’s sudden death, he’s been lonely. Tell him to interview the farmer, neighbors, anyone who knew the wife, and any acquaintances of the hired hand. He can do it over the phone.”

“
So we’re officially taking the case? He’s offering a turkey and 5% of whatever we recover.”

“
Yeah, we’ll take it. The cash, not the turkey. Something already smells funny.”

“
You’re still thinking about the turkeys.”

Mac chuckled.
“Besides them. If you’re running off with the boss’s wife and a whole lot of money, why bother to haul around a load of smelly birds? Tell Edgar to make sure the two disappearances aren’t just a coincidence. And get the farmer to sign a contract.”

They both turned as the bells on the office door jingled.

A tall woman with red hair and an even redder leather bomber jacket walked in.

“
Uncle Mac! Surprise!”

“
Bridget!” Mac wasn’t too surprised to see his goddaughter. He knew she was coming home this week for the holiday and to work on wedding plans. Plus, Jeff had mentioned the Thanksgiving dinner invitation again to him the day before, trying to get him to humor Kathleen and leave Whiskey at a kennel for the occasion. Now it appeared Bridget had been given the mission. The issue of abandoning his dog for the day aside, he’d really rather stay home with a six-pack of beer, take-out from his favorite pizza place, and a football game on his new flat screen television. “Whiskey and I are a team. I’m not leaving her behind even for a plateful of your mother’s candied sweet potatoes.”

“
Good to see you too.” Bridget gave him a hug. “You don’t have to come to dinner. I’ll eat your share of sweet potatoes. And pumpkin pie. But I do need something from you.”

“
What?”

“
You can’t tell my father.”

“
I already don’t like the sound of this.”

“
Someone is trying to kill me.”