Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (5 page)

“
Where do you think you’re going?” He stepped in front of her.

She smiled and stepped around him, picking up her keys and a knit cap from the small table by the door. For a detective he was kind of slow on the uptake.

“With you, of course, Mac. Remember, I grew up down there. I’ll take you the back way and it’ll cut off 20 minutes. Besides, I don’t know what old heap you’re driving now, but at least in my car we’ll actually get there and back tonight.” Rachel pulled the cap down over her unruly curls. “Come on, let’s go already.”

Bridget stood up and buttoned her leather jacket.
“Yeah, come on Uncle Mac. You don’t want to keep JJ waiting; she hasn’t been out of the hospital all that long.”

Mac sighed and headed for the door Rachel was holding open.
“I’m telling you right now, ladies, you’re sitting in the car while I get my dog, assistant, and whatever the heck Edgar is, and then we’re heading right back to D.C. I don’t need any more junior G-men on the team.”

“
Of course,” Rachel answered with a reassuring smile.

“
Yeah, right,” Bridget muttered, “and that’s G-women, buddy.”

***

At least his dog still loved him. Mac braced himself against Rachel’s empty Jeep as Whiskey leaned more than stood next to him. He didn’t know why he’d ever expected them to follow his lead. He was a lousy dancer and according to the comment Rachel had made back at her house, his dating skills left something to be desired. They had been at the turkey farm all of two minutes, before he’d lost control of the situation.

Bridget had pulled a press pass out of her jacket pocket and managed to talk her way into the farmhouse before the dazzled deputy could remember why he was supposed to keep the crime scene secure.

And Rachel, well Rachel was in a clinch with the sheriff. Obviously, Rachel knew him very well.

“
Rachel Thayer!”

“
It’s Rachel Brenner now.”

“
How long has it been?”

“
Not nearly long enough,” Mac muttered, watching the reunion. Putting his jealousy aside–yes he could acknowledge to himself that he felt a twinge of it–he couldn’t help but sense there was something a little off about the guy.

There was something a little off about his dog. Mac leaned down and took a whiff.
“I spent $70 getting you a wash and blow dry this morning. What in the world have you been rolling in out here–turkey droppings?”

Whiskey whined, turning her head away.

“What? You want me to ignore how bad you smell?”

The dog shifted her weight and stood upright. Without a backwards glance, she walked over and stood next to Rachel.

Okay, it was time to get to work–or at least time to mark some territory. Mac put what he hoped passed for a smile on his face, took a half dozen steps forward, and introduced himself to the sheriff.

***

“He was my client.” Mac had already explained this to the sheriff once. He knew JJ and Edgar had told him too. The man was playing games.

“
But you never met him, never spoke to him, and never signed a contract.”

“
That’s right.” In his mind he added a few choice words about the sheriff’s origins.

“
So what proof can you offer that any of what you and your ragtag crew are saying is the truth? Why would Brian Crager hire you to find anything? His wife died last year after a long illness. He sold all his birds last month, most of the money going to pay off medical bills. Everyone around here knows that.” The sheriff tipped back his hat and waited.

“
I’m not from around here.”

“
Exactly.”

“
What does that mean?” Mac realized the sheriff had no intentions of cooperating with him. The sheriff didn’t like him anymore than he liked the sheriff.

“
Even if Brian wanted to hire a detective, which I doubt, why choose you? Like you said, you’re not from around here.”

“
Someone wanted me here.” Mac could tell the sheriff found that thought incomprehensible.

“
Why? Looks to me like Brian died of natural causes.”

“
JJ, my assistant, said there was a lot of blood. What’s natural about that?”

“
Didn’t see any wounds and Brian had a bleeding ulcer. A bad one. Not to mention his bad heart.”

“
Are you the medical examiner too?”

The sheriff smiled, but it didn
‘t reach his eyes. “No, but I’ve seen a lot of bodies. The county doesn’t have a medical examiner. We’ve got a coroner. He’ll be here in another hour or so. When the call came in he was off fishing and I had to send a deputy into the mountains after him. Cell phone reception is spotty.”

“
So we’ve got some time. What would it hurt to show me around while you’re waiting?”

“
It’s a crime scene, Mr. Sullivan. I don’t let strangers into my crime scenes.”

Mac refrained from pointing out that a reporter was wandering the crime scene as they spoke. If he couldn
‘t get in, maybe Bridget would see something useful. He took another tack with the sheriff. “What crime scene? According to you, it’s just the house of a sick old man who died alone in his bed.”

Rachel, who
‘d stepped aside to talk with Edgar and JJ, returned. “Have you figured out why Mr. Crager hired you?”

Mac shrugged.
“I’m not sure he did. Someone wanted Sullivan Investigations involved. Maybe that guy who took a pitchfork to JJ’s tires. Anyway, I’m hoping your friend here will let me look through the house.”

Rachel shifted her gaze towards her old friend, laying one hand on his arm.
“Mr. Sullivan is a very good detective, Neil. He was a big help earlier this fall when my brother was falsely accused of embezzlement and murder.”

“
I heard something about that, and I’m sorry for your troubles.” The sheriff patted her hand. “But I don’t like the idea of just anyone gawking at the body, it’s not respectful. Brian Crager was a friend of mine. Yours too. And I don’t believe for one moment that he hired Mr. Sullivan.”

“
Then I imagine as his friends, you’ll both want to know the truth. Even if the guy died in his sleep, someone stole his identity. Something fishy is going on.” Mac knew the guy was considering it, if for no other reason than to please Rachel. “Let me look around the scene, maybe whoever set this up left me a message.”

The sheriff laughed.
“You mean like a message in a bottle. Or wait … Maybe a note taped to the body–an envelope with your name on it? Is that how D.C. detectives solve cases? Us country boys have to do it the hard way.”

Mac had about had enough of the man
‘s sarcasm. It was probably past time to leave the Landon sheriff to his own devices; let him figure out what was going on. “Listen, you–”

“
Neil, does your mother still live in that little house across from the Landon library?”

“
Huh?”

That was a sharp turn in the conversation. Mac was sure he was looking as confused as the sheriff.

Rachel smiled. “I’ve missed chatting with her. I think maybe I should stop by on my way home; talk about old times. Think she’d be interested in knowing who wrecked her prized pink Cadillac that summer you were dating Joanne Fields? I’m not sure how much makeup she had to sell to win that car, but it was a lot. At least a couple of years of part-time work in addition to her regular job. I can’t imagine she ever got over it. Such a shame. It was a unique car.”

Mac and the sheriff stared at each other and then Rachel.

Rachel grinned. “I can probably think of a few more youthful indiscretions.”

The sheriff chuckled.
“My momma always liked you better than Joanne. Heck, she liked you better than me.” He turned back to Mac. “Twenty minutes or until the coroner gets here. Whichever is sooner. And if you touch anything I’ll shoot you.”

Mac nodded.
“Fair enough.” He wanted to add, “The same goes for you,” but held his tongue.

Chapter 5

While Rachel entertained the sheriff with tales from their teenaged years, Mac searched the house. It was a typical two story, clapboard structure. He guessed it had been built in the late 1950s. The front door opened into a small entrance hall with a living room on one side and a dining room on the other. Wide center staircase. He could see Bridget in the living room, chatting with the deputy. He could tell she was barely listening to the young man, as she moved around the room, her eyes scanning the bookshelves and the overflowing desk in one corner.

“This is the man I was telling you about,” Bridget announced, gesturing for him to come meet the deputy. “Mac Sullivan is the best private detective in D.C.”

“
Actually I’m number 11 or 12,” Mac joked, remembering his earlier conversation with Bridget.

“
That’s cool,” the deputy answered. He shook Mac’s hand and added, “Is there actually a list, with the rankings and everything?”

“
Sure,” Bridget said. “Published once a year. They use a bunch of statistics to get the number. Top ten get their photo taken with the mayor.”

The deputy nodded.
“Sorry. Maybe next year.”

“
It’s okay. Gotta have a goal in life, son. Something to strive for.” Mac put his arm around the deputy’s shoulder, leading him towards the hallway. “Have you been upstairs?”

He saw Bridget out of the corner of his eye, going through the papers on the desk.

“Yes, sir. When I arrived I had to check to see if Mr. Crager…well, I needed to know if he needed an ambulance or not.” The deputy’s face whitened at the memory. “He didn’t.”

“
I need to go upstairs. View the body. Can you escort me?”

“
Sure thing.” He paused. “The sheriff was okay with–”

Mac nodded and moved them closer to the stairs.
“Oh yeah. The sheriff is one of my biggest fans. Begged me to take a peek. But to keep everything professional-like, he wanted you to take me up.”

The deputy preceded him up the wooden stairs. Mac looked back and saw Bridget sit down at the desk and power up a computer.

***

Mac shoved Edgar
‘s scooter in the back, then slammed the cargo door shut with a little more force than was probably necessary. The touching farewell scene between Rachel and Sheriff Andy Taylor, aka Wonderboy, was giving Mac indigestion.

“
I’ll be down in Warrenton the week before Christmas and will probably stay through the New Year,” she’d answered in response to the sheriff’s question about when Rachel would be returning to the area. “Aunt Ella is opening up the old farmhouse for the holiday season. She’s thinking of remaining through the winter.”

Wonderboy immediately pounced.
“Give me your number. We’ll catch up that week. My kids will be with my ex–at her folks’ down in North Carolina. I was planning to take off some time anyway.” The guy had the eagerness of a new puppy being let out of the whelping basket for the first time. Mac expected him to trip over his own feet as he ran to grab Rachel’s business card on which she’d written her cell phone number.

The private detective was more than a little miffed at Ms. Brenner. Picking up another guy while on a date was plain tacky. His head hurt as he tried to figure out the number of etiquette rules she
‘d broken.

On the other hand, he was reluctant to admit, investigating a potential murder scene wasn
‘t much of a first date. There hadn’t even been any food. No wonder she was interested in the guy from Mayberry. Mac looked on as the two lovebirds finished their conversation. The sheriff settled into the patrol car and drove off.

Whiskey nudged his leg, but the rank smell of his dog was enough to make him hot under the collar all over again.

“You’re riding in the back, with the window open,” he told his hairy companion. “And when we get home, you’re getting a tomato juice bath.”

Whiskey whined in protest.

“Nobody told you to roll around in the barn. Don’t you ever look where you’re doing your business?”

Whiskey marched over to Bridget who immediately began scratching behind the dog
‘s ears.

“
Okay, listen up everybody. Here’s how it’s going to work.”

All eyes were trained on the pissed-off detective.

Mac opened the doors to the Jeep Commander. “Whiskey, get in the third seat. You too Bridget, since Whiskey’s smell doesn’t seem to bother you.”

The dog and reporter reluctantly hopped in the back of the car.

“Edgar and JJ are in the second seat.” Mac’s tone invited no discussion.

He continued,
“Rachel–”

“
Owns the vehicle and is driving, thank you.”

Rachel Brenner primly climbed behind the wheel and stared pointedly at Mac. The detective scrambled into the passenger seat.

He shifted around, trying to find a comfortable spot. Even with all the windows open, Whiskey’s adventure with turkey droppings was pungent.

“
Usually you have to turn the key in the ignition if you want the Jeep to start,” Mac muttered.

Rachel stared at the detective, her keys dangling from her fingers.
“I don’t drive unless everyone is belted in.”

“
Oh for crying out loud.” Mac snapped his seatbelt and stared out into the darkness as they bumped along the farm’s dirt driveway.

“
Edgar, stop leaning on me.” JJ’s voice echoed off the Jeep’s interior. “I’m drawing a line down the middle of the seat. Old man, you stay on your side.…”

“
Listen, Missy. You don’t get to draw no lines in this vehicle. Miz Brenner is my neighbor and I’ve known her a lot longer than you have. I can sit anywhere I want, ain’t that right, Miz Brenner?”

“
I don’t care if you live in a tree in her backyard and play with her squirrels; I’m telling you, in this Jeep, you have to stay on your side of–”

“
Hey, you two,” Mac snapped. “If I have to stop this vehicle…uh, have Rachel stop this vehicle, you’re going to regret it.”

Silence prevailed until a small voice from the back asked,
“What are you going to do, Uncle Mac? Send them to their rooms with no supper. Cut their allowance?”

Bridget started giggling. Soon even JJ, Edgar, and finally Rachel were joining in.

“Ha, ha.” Mac settled down even further in his seat. He was finding very little about the day to laugh about. How had everything gotten so out of control? He’d spent all day on two cases that weren’t going to earn him a nickel. His employees had gone rogue on him. His best friend was going to hit the roof when he found out Bridget had brought her problem to him first. Speaking of Bridget, he needed to talk to her privately about what she’d seen in the Crager house; find out if she’d been able to log onto Crager’s computer. His dog needed to go to the groomers again and who the hell knew what they’d charge to get rid of the dead turkey odor. And there was the other thing he had to figure out and time was getting short. Rachel! Would Rachel let him walk her to her door when the evening was over? Or was he expected to go inside? It had been a long time since he’d dated anyone, and according to Jeff, the rules had changed. Of course, this evening might not even count as a date.

***

“Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow, but for now, just say good night, Edgar.”

“
Good night, Edgar,” came the falsetto voice from the scooter.

The line would have been funnier if Edgar hadn
‘t laughed so hard that he started coughing. He wheezed like a cheap whistle. The old man was one slip away from a nursing home and really had no business trekking around on turkey farms. Mac wondered if he should stay with him awhile, make sure he was going to be alright.

“
I’m fine, I’m fine,” Edgar insisted, unlocking the door. “I don’t need a babysitter. Go take care of your girlfriend.”

“
She’s not–”

“
If she isn’t, then it’s your own damn fault. Believe me, you’re wasting time you’ll never get back.”

Mac put a hand on the old man
‘s bony shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your wife, I know–”

“
Don’t.” Edgar gave him a wry smile. “Elinor and I had almost 60 years together. It was time for a break.”

Mac stared at him. What could he say to that? Surely, the old man didn
‘t mean–

“
You should see your face!” Edgar let out a cackle that had him coughing again. “Sorry, but there’s only so much sympathy a man can take. I loved Elinor, but I’m not going to waste the little time I have left looking backward. You should do the same.”

As Edgar went inside, Mac looked across the street and was disappointed when he didn
‘t see Rachel’s Jeep. She must have gotten tired of waiting for him and taken her vehicle around the corner, down the alley, and parked it in her garage. He debated whether or not to rap on the door to say goodnight. It was late and he’d already left an exhausted Whiskey asleep in his car, dreaming about her turkey farm adventure.

Jingling his keys, he slowly walked across the street, delaying the moment when he
‘d have to make a decision. Edgar was right about wasting time. He’d gotten very skilled at postponing any changes to his personal life. Not that he hadn’t had relationships in the past, but they had all ended badly. He knew at least a half dozen women in the D.C. area he had to actively avoid. Usually they had expected more from him than he had to give. Or maybe wanted to give. Even if he couldn’t change the past, he figured he should at least start being honest with himself. He was alone because that’s the way he’d wanted it. Now, maybe…He just wasn’t sure she felt the same way.

When he saw Rachel
‘s porch light go on, he figured it was as good an invitation as he was going to get that evening.

She answered on the first knock.

“You want some coffee? Decaf of course.”

Mac nodded and followed Rachel into the kitchen.

He liked the room. Rachel was a baker so there was always a fresh smell to the place. The walls were covered with colorful vintage advertising posters taken from old fruit crates. The original oak cabinets had the warm patina of age, but were still sturdy. The round oak table and chairs combined to make the place seem like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

He realized she
‘d just said something to him. “What?”

“
I said, do you think it was safe to leave Bridget with her friend Sarah? I know she was determined not to go to her parents, but maybe you should have insisted she stay at your place?”

Mac laughed. The first real laugh he
‘d had all day.

“
Nobody, and I mean nobody including the Lord himself, makes Bridget O’Herlihy do anything she doesn’t want to do. I think her comment that she’d rather sleep on a bench in Farragut Square than on my, how did she so delicately describe it, ‘lumpy, sorry excuse for a couch that even Whiskey won’t sit on,’ pretty much summed up the alternatives she was offering me. Besides I’m not sure she’s in any real danger anyhow. Even if something funny is going on in Boston, she’s here now and out of harm’s way.”

Rachel slid a steaming mug across the table, then grabbed a box of Special K out of the cupboard.
“You want a bowl of cereal? We never did eat dinner.”

Mac looked sheepish.
“Sorry about that. You really eat that stuff?”

Rachel blushed. She poured herself a bowl and added milk and bananas. She lifted her chin and sat down primly at the table.
“What were you planning to eat at 11 at night? Taco Bell again? Do you have their number on speed dial?”

Mac held up his hand in defense.
“Okay, okay. Pass me some of that sawdust. Sheesh, next you’ll be asking me if I want a bran muffin.”

They ate in companionable silence.

“What’s the story on Bridget’s fiancée?” Rachel asked.

Mac poured himself a second bowl of cereal.
“Of course, I’m only hearing Jeff’s opinions, but this guy isn’t in the running for son-in-law of the year, for sure. Rich family. Only child. Spoiled. Today, Bridget herself told me Josh thinks she’s crazy, which isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of his judgment. The saying it part. Thinking it is another thing.”

“
Do you think she’s crazy?”

Mac paused, trying to figure out exactly what he did believe.
“I know Bridget does tend to get carried away at times, but fundamentally she’s got a good head on her shoulders and she’s smart as a whip. I don’t know if somebody is actually trying to kill her, but certainly they’re trying to scare her.”

“
Boston cops?”

“
Probably. What I can’t figure out is why she’s marrying this guy when he’s such a loser. For a smart girl, why him?”