Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (3 page)

“
What happened next?”

“
He grabbed his arm.”

“
Left arm?” Mac asked.

“
Yeah, he grabbed his left arm and then keeled over. He knocked over the table, the drinks and guacamole and everything went flying. Ken hit the floor.”

“
And then?” Mac pushed since Bridget seemed to be on autopilot.

“
The music stopped. Somebody yelled, ‘call 911’. Luckily, there were a couple of EMTs in the bar who pushed everyone out of the way and administered CPR, but it was too late.”

Bridget shuddered and swiped at her eyes. Mac handed her a tissue.

“Bridget, it sounds like this guy had a heart attack. Tell me I’m wrong. Ken Edelstein was 55 years old, 70 pounds overweight, ate fast food five out of seven days, and the only exercise he ever got was picking out the umbrellas in those fruity drinks. How close am I to describing this dead guy?”

The reporter shook her head emphatically.
“Ken was all those things, but he died after sipping my drink, one week after I got a lovely gift of a dead rat in the mail, one day after I got an email saying I was going to die.”

***

“Being dead is no excuse for not looking your best,” Rachel applied more blush to the radio host’s face, “although I do understand you have no control over the clothes your sister picked out for your viewing. If my assistant Carrie were here, she would have talked your sister into something else. Persuasion is not my strong suit…at least not lately. My son isn’t…. Well, you don’t want to hear about my problems. This brown dress is all wrong for your coloring. Since the tags were still on it, I’m guessing it wasn’t something you purchased for yourself.”

“
Are you talking to yourself or our client? And, more importantly, is she talking back?”

Startled, Rachel dropped the makeup brush on the tile floor.
“Why do you persist in sneaking up on me down here? I thought you had a meeting? Something about another buyout offer? How much was the latest?”

“
Not nearly enough.” Jeff O’Herlihy grinned, his appearance reminding Rachel of a middle-aged leprechaun wearing a three-piece suit and pretending to be a funeral home director. “And for your edification, I don’t sneak. I just walk very softly.” He picked up the makeup brush and handed it to her. “I have those Jell-O insoles in my shoes–the ones they advertise on television.”

“
They’re not….” Rachel almost took the bait, but in the short time she’d been working at the O’Herlihy Funeral Home, she’d learned the only thing Jeff liked better than teasing was practical jokes. Well, he liked money too. Making it and keeping it. He wasn’t going to be smiling much longer. “We’ve got a problem.”

“
Oh, I don’t know. The dress isn’t that bad.”

“
It’s not Martha Martinelli.”

“
Her sisters claim she is. And they should know.”

“
I’m not talking about her.”

“
Just talking to her?”

“
You sound like Mac Sullivan.”

“
He gets it from me, not the other way round. When was the last time you saw the legendary detective? Dating, are you?”

Rachel felt her face grow very warm. Ridiculous. She was too old to blush like a teenager with a crush on the football quarterback.

***

“
You want to stay in the car?”

The dog whined and refused to budge.

“Okay, if you insist, you big wuss. I’ll just roll down the window a little to give you some country air.” JJ reached for the handle.

Whiskey barked loudly.

“I know it stinks, but you can’t stay in a closed up car. Besides, some detective you are. Letting a little fresh air interfere with doing your job.”

Whiskey barked again.

“Okay, maybe it’s as fresh as O’Herlihy’s intake room.”

Whiskey woofed in agreement.

“But we’ve got a job to do so get your lazy canine butt out of the car right now.”

Whiskey reluctantly climbed down and followed JJ up the dirt path to the outbuildings. The dog snorted and sneezed, trying to clear the foul smell from her sinuses.

“Get it together will ya or I’m not taking you on any more stakeouts.”

Whiskey looked at her in disbelief and trotted into a scraggly bush about 10 feet from the barn door to do her business. JJ walked around the area, looking for a path that led up the hill towards the house. She paused when she heard voices coming from the direction of the barn.

“Listen old man, I don’t have time for your Bible-thumping today. Take you and your sermon back down that road and go save somebody else. How the hell did you get here anyway? That scooter isn’t made for country roads.”

JJ decided perhaps it might be a good idea to do a little investigating before she introduced herself to the angry client.

“You better make the time or when you meet your maker, you’ll be staring down the short end of a trip to the fiery furnaces of,” a thin reedy voice broke into a symphony of snorts, gasps, and wheezes, finally ending with a throat-clearing spit.

“
Jesus, man, that was my shoe.…”

JJ walked into the barn.

“That’s nothing compared to the damnation you’re going to face if you don’t wise up.…”

“
Grandpa, what are you doing?” She moved quickly to the elderly man, who was balanced precariously on a motorized scooter. “It’s too cold for you out here. You’ll die of exposure,” she added, pulling up the loose-fitting parka that had fallen off the old man’s shoulder during the coughing fit. “I told you to wait for me at the nursing home.”

She turned to a man of about 45, who was holding a pitchfork and staring, mouth agape, at the two strangers who
‘d wandered into his barn. “Shut your mouth and get my grandfather some water before he hurls another loogie on your other boot. And a snack. He’s got low blood sugar and you don’t want him passing out in your barn.”

The old man nodded.
“A sandwich would be real helpful. You got turkey bologna?”

“
You people are certifiable. I’m not feeding you. I’m calling the cops if you don’t–”

JJ grinned and pulled a cell phone from her jacket.
“You do that. Then I’ll call my boss at the County Health Department about that load of bird poop you’ve got right next to the feed.” She pointed her phone towards a pile of stinking excrement piled next to canvas bags marked turkey feed.

“
Who the hell are you?” The farmer tightened his grip on the pitchfork. “I want to see some I.D.”

She considered confessing all, but something didn
‘t seem right about the guy. And where were all the turkeys? This was supposed to be a thriving turkey farm and so far she hadn’t seen a live bird. “I’m JJ Jarrett of the Landon County Health Department and my I.D. is in the car along with my citation book. You really want me to go get it?”

The farmer took a step back and shook his head.

“Good! Now get my grandfather some water and food or I’m shutting down your whole operation.”

The farmer nodded, and then hurried out of the barn.

JJ leaned closer to the old man’s wrinkled ear and whispered between clenched teeth. “What the hell are you doing here, Edgar? You were supposed to make phone calls.”

Edgar Freed batted her away.
“You never saw Magnum PI making phone calls instead of going to the scene of the crime,” he wheezed. “I needed to get the lay of the land with my own eyes so I can figure out what happened to the missing wife and dough.”

“
Magnum never needed to drag around an oxygen tank,” JJ insisted. “If you die at the scene of the crime, we’re going to lose this case to the cops. And I’ve got plans for my share of the commission. You know the guy you’re jerking around is the one who is supposed to pay us? And just how the hell are you getting back? For that matter, how’d you get here?”

“
You got lots of questions for a secretary. Maybe you should do more looking than talking. You see any oxygen tank, girlie? I’ve hardly needed it since we wrapped up that last case.”

“
I repeat, old man; how’d you get here?”

“
Church van, you twit. See my t-shirt.” He pulled open his coat, displaying the slogan on his chest–I Know the Big Man Personally. “Told the pastor I had a need to spread the word of the Lord.”

“
You’re certainly spreading something,” JJ answered. “It’s just hard to tell in here what’s yours and what’s the turkeys’.”

“
You gonna keep yammering or are you going to help me investigate. Since my need to evangelize came on me sudden like, the regular van driver was unavailable. The preacher let old Mrs. Filmore, the church organist, drive me instead. She was a friend of Elinor’s. She’s coming back for me after she gets her hair done. She doesn’t have much hair, so we don’t have much time.”

“
Time for what?”

“
Clues. We need to look for clues,” Edgar insisted. “You see the murder weapon?”

“
Nobody’s dead, yet, although it smells like it. Just a missing wife, some turkeys, and the money.”

“
I figure he might have murdered his wife. Googled the guy. If I found the right Crager, he’s been in trouble with the law before.”

JJ stared at him in amazement.
“You did what?”

“
Damn kids, don’t know anything. There’s this search program on–”

“
I know what Google is, old man. I’m just surprised you even know what a computer is.”

“
Bought one right after I joined up with Mac’s outfit. Unlike present company, I’m serious about my job. I’m not just in it for the glamour.”

“
Right, glamour.” She wandered around the dilapidated barn, which was mostly empty except for heaps of turkey droppings. “How can you stand the smell?”

“
Don’t you watch any of them crime-fighting shows on television? Vicks VapoRub is part of my crime kit.” He patted his backpack. “A little up your nose and you can’t smell the difference between turkey poop and hot apple pie.” Edgar started to cackle, which quickly turned into another coughing fit.

“
Slow down, old man, and give me some of that goop for my nose.”

Chapter 3

“
The first thing I noticed was the smell.”

“
But you opened the package anyway.” Mac shook his head in disbelief. “Why?”

Bridget shrugged.
“I wasn’t thinking. It was late and I was trying to get my final draft emailed to my editor. There was a knock on my apartment door. I answered it. No one was there. The package was just laying there–my name and address on it. I thought it was another engagement gift.”

“
And you unwrapped the package, found the dead rat, backed away from the box, saved the wrappings, and immediately called the police.”

“
Not exactly.”

“
What part of that didn’t you do?” Mac stared at the young woman he’d known since she was two hours old. He’d only missed that much of her life because he’d been tied up at the police station, booking a murder suspect when he’d gotten the message that his best friend Jeff was about to be a father for the second time.

Bridget sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Everything after the part about finding the rat. I know, I know–but I figured it was a sick joke made by someone unhappy about the police corruption story. And after I over-reacted with that vampire thing.… Besides, I didn’t want to miss–”

“
Your deadline.”

“
Right.” She gave him a weak smile. “Then a week later I got the email.”

Mac waited patiently, but Bridget just stared into space. He reached over, grabbed her hand, and gave it a squeeze.
“What did it say?”

She shifted her gaze towards him and whispered,
“That I was a slut who’d never live to see my wedding day. Not your normal Hallmark greeting.”

“
Who was it from?” He didn’t quite know how to deal with a scared Bridget. Even from the start, Bridget had been the tough nut to crack. The faded scar on her chin was a reminder of eight-year old Bridget’s determination to play midget ice hockey, the only girl on the team. All of her mother’s plaintive offers of figure skating or ballet lessons had been firmly, and then loudly, rejected. Mac had spent many dawns at the ice rink with his goddaughter while she enthusiastically body-checked boys with 30 pounds and three inches on her. The hockey team soon learned what her godfather had discovered when the squalling newborn was put in his arms; nobody messed with Bridget O’Herlihy. Even when the vampires had had her spooked, she hadn’t run. She’d hung her garlic and wrote the story.

“
It was sent from Maura’s address. That’s why I opened it. The subject line was ‘bridesmaids’ dresses’. We’d been talking about them a couple of days before and I figured she’d done some research… We were thinking of going with something untraditional. Maybe red?”

“
Forget the dresses. Did you save the email? I can have JJ run a…I don’t know what you call it, but she can trace the origin of the email.”

“
Don’t bother. I had one of the tech guys at the paper run an ISP check. The email bounced through so many sites that it could have come from the computer out there in your reception room…trust me this psycho left no breadcrumbs.”

“
Send me the email anyway. JJ is in a whole other league.” Mac rose from the corner of his desk and moved back into his desk chair. “So we’ve got a dead rat and a threatening email. That still doesn’t add up to murder, especially Murder by Passion Fruit Margarita. Trust me, Bridget, darling, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar or, in this case, just another girly drink. I’m voting for unfortunate coincidence.” He paused, then added, “Although in general I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Bridget looked unconvinced. Mac tried another tack.
“Did they do an autopsy? Did anyone test the contents of the drinks?”

“
No one thought to save the drinks and Ken was Jewish. His family didn’t want an autopsy because it’s against Jewish law. His wife said he had,” her voice dropped and Mac struggled to hear, “said he had a history of cardiac problems and his death wasn’t a surprise. I tried to tell the police that something else was going on, but after the police corruption story I did, you can guess how well that went. They wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“
Give me a name. Which cop seemed to be the most upset with you about the story?”

“
I don’t know. I’d have to take a poll. There were the cops who went to jail, their families, and the cops in their squad…. I don’t really.…”

“
Anyone go out of their way to approach you? More than name calling and phone threats? Give me a name. Pick one.”

“
Scott Merrell. A narc with the Boston P.D. He was sitting on my car…waiting for me one night after I got off work. When I asked what he wanted, he just glared at me, and then hopped down. Next day I noticed a long scratch in the paint on the passenger side. I think he was responsible, but I don’t have any proof.”

Mac made a note of the name.
“Only the one incident with him?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Did you report it to the police?”

“
No. Like I said, I had no proof and I.…”

“
Didn’t want to start any more fires.” Mac nodded. “Okay, you’re right, it was probably nothing. But it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

“
Right.” She shrugged. “I guess some fires never go out.”

“
Bridget, what makes you so sure someone is trying to kill you? Doesn’t sound like you have any hard evidence to back up your suspicions. What aren’t you telling me?”

Bridget got to her feet and walked towards the window. She stared out. Mac knew it wasn
‘t the view of the abandoned dry cleaners next door holding her interest. He sat without speaking and waited for her to gather her thoughts.

Finally she turned and faced him.
“Okay, don’t freak out, but today, before I left Boston, a car tried to run me down. The windows were tinted and the license tag was missing. This wasn’t an accident or any kind of a coincidence. If you don’t help me, Uncle Mac, I’m never going to make it to my wedding day.”

***

“Rachel, are you sure we received the caskets in the first place? I’ve been buying more than usual–bulking up for the holiday season. You know people drop like flies during the holidays.” Jeff paced back and forth in Rachel’s office. “Maybe one of the orders was never delivered; just the invoice. I’m sure the paperwork here is a little more complex than what you were used to at Franklin’s.”

“
Not really.” Rachel looked back down at the file in her hand, dreading what was coming. It wasn’t the paperwork that was more complex; it was her boss. Although O’Herlihy’s had a reputation for excellent customer service, the chaos behind the scenes was incredible. Jeff had a dozen deals going on at any one time. Half the time she had no idea where he was. “We signed for them.”

“
We? Who exactly signed for them?”

“
Well…” Rachel took a deep breath. “These caskets were in a shipment that arrived the Friday I was off. The day I went to visit Sam at college.” That was also the day her son announced he was taking the money his father had sent him for his birthday and going skiing with his girlfriend instead of spending Thanksgiving with her. She worried that Sam was upset she was seeing Mac Sullivan and this was his way of voicing his displeasure. Not that she’d seen much of Mac. Lunch a few times and then a dinner date he’d had to break at the last minute. They had a date planned for that night; dinner at a very nice restaurant and then a late movie. Of course the way her day was going, she might be the one doing the canceling this time.

“
Let me see that.” Jeff snatched up the file, rifling through the pages. He paused and then flipped back to the first page.

Rachel knew he was seeing what she
‘d just seen: his signature on the shipping receipt.

“
That’s strange.” Jeff held the page next to her desk lamp, letting the light shine through the paper.

“
You think it’s a forgery?”

“
I know it’s a forgery. I wasn’t here that day either. In fact no one was. Myrna Byrd had a dental emergency, Carrie was out studying for some college test, and…heck, I don’t remember where everyone else was. The point is they weren’t here. I got a tip about Senator Claxton’s funeral, so I locked the place up and put the phones on night ring. Lately, the competition is getting serious about edging us out of the really big funerals. I’ve had to put in some personal appearances where before a phone pitch would have been enough. I remember that day in particular because Kathleen got stuck fielding the calls at our house during one of her bridge parties. She said the calls ruined the mood of the party, whatever that was. I was awarded three days of Kathleen’s best silent treatment for that decision. Didn’t matter that I secured a lucrative job which helped pay for–”

She interrupted him mid-rant,
“So someone broke into the funeral home, took delivery of the caskets by forging your signature, neatly filed the paperwork, and then stole the caskets?” Rachel rubbed the spot over her left temple that had just started throbbing. “That’s not possible, is it? And if it is, why go to so much trouble to hide what they’d done?”

Jeff resumed pacing, the shipping receipt still in his hand.
“That’s the question isn’t it? Besides the obvious, who question I mean. Why try to hide it? The cops are going to think it’s an inside job.”

Rachel opened her mouth to voice a protest, but Jeff kept talking.

“Of course it’s not an inside job. No one here could have known ahead of time that I’d get the call about the Senator’s funeral. They couldn’t have known no one would be here when the delivery truck arrived.”

“
Why don’t I call the casket company? See if they know anything?”

“
Okay, but don’t make a big deal out of it. Keep it casual; like we’re trying to fix a data entry error or something. I don’t want Dalton finding out we’ve got a problem.”

“
Dalton Funeral Homes?”

“
Don’t forget the ‘Inc.’ on that name. Those guys are determined to buy me out or turn me into a satellite operation. Fletcher Dalton wasn’t happy with my lack of enthusiasm for his grand plans. I don’t want them to smell any blood in the water about this missing casket thing.”

“
You seriously think they have spies at our casket supplier?” Rachel laughed. “Surely, they’re not that crooked.”

“
Think pretzel and add another twist.”

“
Fine.” She sighed. “I’ll try to quiz the casket company about four caskets they delivered without letting them know there’s a problem. They’ll think I’m nuts.”

“
They probably think that anyway.” Jeff chuckled. “You work for O’Herlihys. Okay, for the moment, forget who stole the caskets. Let’s talk about why they hid the theft.”

“
They work here and wanted to keep their job…and the merchandise?” Rachel ventured, knowing she was the logical suspect. Lord knows, she needed money for Sam’s tuition since his father had failed to come though on his promise to help. She had another payment due in a week and didn’t have a clue where the money was going to come from.

“
The only ones smart enough to make it work would have been you and me, and since you’re the one telling me about it, I can’t see you being the thief.”

“
Thanks.”

Jeff stopped pacing and turned to look at her.
“Unless you’re very clever and this is part of an elaborate scheme you’ve worked out to first confuse me, and then throw me off the scent.”

“
I can prove I was in Philadelphia,” she squeaked. “Football game, thousands of people saw me.”

Jeff grinned.
“Right. That leaves me then. Maybe I set this all up to collect the insurance money. I’m having an affair and needed the extra cash for a clandestine trip to Hawaii or Mexico.”

“
They’re insured?” Rachel let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know that.”

“
Except they’re not.” He lost his grin. “If I can’t prove I took possession, then my insurance won’t cover them.”

Rachel rubbed her head again. The throbbing had turned into a full-fledged headache.
“So you wouldn’t have had a reason to steal them.”

“
You didn’t buy the affair?”

“
You’re head over heels in love with Kathleen. No sane person would believe you’re having an affair. Plus if Kathleen found out, she would kill you and bury you in one of those caskets.”

Jeff nodded.
“Yep. My darling wife does have a temper. So if neither of us did it; you didn’t have the opportunity and I didn’t have the motivation, that means a stranger went to a lot of trouble to delay discovery of his or her crime. If you hadn’t been so good at your job, it could have been months before we knew the caskets were missing. Why did it matter to them? Why did they care?”