Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (8 page)

She didn’t answer, just shook her head. Standing, she tucked her hair behind her ears and left the room.

“What was that about?” Rob Fuller asked. “You made me look like a jerk. I told her she was free to go and then you asked her another question.”

“I made you look like a nice guy. I made myself look like a jerk. I wanted her off balance.” Wayne pulled the sheriff’s note from his pocket and spread it on the table so the deputy could see it. Ben had reminded Wayne to ask Bethany about the nature of her relationship with Tom Ferris. She apparently was the first person who knew he was back in town. They still didn’t know why.

“Well, now I feel like a jerk,” Rob mumbled.

“It’s all right. I didn’t have time to let you know beforehand. You were fine. We’ll be talking to Mrs. Cooper again.”

Bethany Cooper was just leaving the building as the men entered Dory’s area.

When the office door closed behind Bethany, Wayne said, “Dory, take a look at Mrs. Cooper, will you?”

Dory stood up and watched Bethany Cooper walk out to her car.

“Do you think Bethany was the person we saw on the video leaving the Mansion on the evening of the murder?”

“She could have been. She walks like a dancer. Let’s look at the disc again.”

They could see the woman in the hooded jacket entering the house at 5:30 on August second and leaving at 5:59. After reviewing it several times, they were sure. It was Bethany Cooper
, and she had been in the house for almost twenty minutes, much longer than she had admitted.

“I need to talk with her husband, Dan Cooper,” Wayne said.

“How come?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Miss Clarkson. No doubt you opened Ben’s note to me,” he said, looking sternly at her.

“Not a doubt in the world,” she said cheerfully, not looking in the least abashed or impressed with his deductive powers.

“You’re incorrigible. I want to find out whether Bethany told her husband that Tom Ferris was in town. There’s something funny about her demeanor
, and I don’t think it’s because she and Ferris were in a relationship. Either she’s holding something back or she’s protecting someone, maybe her husband. And I’d like to talk with July’s husband, Fred Powell. Today if possible.”

“It’s getting late. I was about to leave,” Dory said, but at his flat stare, she called Fred Powell on the phone and handed the receiver to Wayne.

“Hello, Detective,” Fred said. “I understand you talked to July yesterday. My wife is still pretty upset about your visit. Furthermore, she said you might need to talk to her again.” His voice hovered on the edge of anger.

“I may.” Wayne paused. “I’d like to talk to you too. Do you have time to answer some questions?”

“On the phone or do you want to come over here?”

“I’ll come on over to your office.”

“Okay,” he said. Dory wrote on a pad of paper that Fred worked at IT Fixes Now—a business located in a large office building just off the highway between Rosedale and Nashville.

“Sheriff, I’m going to go talk to Fred Powell,” Wayne called as he walked by the sheriff’s office. “I just spoke with him on the phone.”

“I already got a search warrant for their house, so I’ll get George and Rob to start the search while you’re talking to him,” Wayne’s young boss said.

When Wayne got into his car, he noticed that the temperature display on the building read 92 degrees. High temperatures made him short
-tempered.
Watch yourself, Wayne Nichols. Keep your cool.
Solving this one would take every ounce of his mind and ability—until they nabbed the killer, or moved it to the cold case file where it would be a reproach to him for the rest of his life.

Fred Powell met him in the entrance to the large building saying, “I thought I’d watch for you. You probably haven’t been here before, have you? I’d be happy to show you around.”

“Do you have a conference room where we could talk?” Detective Nichols asked.

“Sure,” he said. “What’s this about?”

Wayne just looked at him,
irked that Fred would offer him a tour of the building. Fred Powell knew perfectly well why the detective was there. The man was playing games. Fred kept his expression impassive. The two men walked down the marble tile floored corridor to the impressively furnished conference room. As they sat down, Fred gestured to the sideboard that was loaded with a variety of coffee machines and an urn filled with coffee. It smelled burned; clearly it was the last coffee of the day. Wayne shook his head.

“Mr. Powell, what time did you get home on August second?”

“I got an earlier flight, flew standby. The conference I was attending ended a little early and I wanted to get home. I never sleep well when I’m not in my own bed.”

“What time did you get to the Nashville airport?”

“It was right about three-thirty.”

“So did you call someone to pick you up?”

“July was supposed to, but I knew she had to finish up her project, so I took a cab. I did send her a text, but I never got a response, so I don’t think she saw it.”

“
Did you go straight home?”

“No, I came here to the office. I didn’t get home until about seven-thirty. That’s when I found out about Tom Ferris’ murder. July was still at her parents’ house.”

Detective Nichols set his hands on the table, palms down. His voice trembled with repressed fury. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Powell. We know you took a cab to the Booth Showhouse.” Fred’s eyes darted sideways. “You arrived there around four-thirty. The victim died of a gunshot wound at five fifty-seven. Do you own a gun?” Wayne watched his face carefully. He knew the answer to this one and wanted to see if Fred would confess to owning a semi-automatic.

“A gun? For hunting, you mean?”

“For any reason.”

“Surely you aren’t suspecting me of this murder, are you?”

“We have to get the whereabouts of everyone who may have been involved. Your wife found the victim dying, and she and Ferris were very close at one time, as I’m sure you know.”

S
ilence. Fred looked at Detective Nichols and he looked back. Neither of them blinked.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I own a gun, but I keep it locked at the Rosedale Gun Club. I resent you even asking me that question.”

“Did you know Tom Ferris?”

“No.”
Obviously Fred had decided that he was going to reply in single syllables.

“Never met him?”

“No.”

“You were aware that he and July dated in high school and college?” the detective asked, hoping to detect Fred’s level of jealousy
, if it indeed existed. “I understand it was a serious relationship and that July expected it would culminate in marriage.”

“I’m aware of that, Detective.” The pupils in Fred’s ice-blue eyes contracted to pin dots. “It was before she and I met.”

“Did either of you have any contact with him since that time? He left the area about fifteen years ago, in January of ’98.”

“I didn’t. July may have.”

“Did you think she was in touch with him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, exhaling sharply. “With all this damn Facebook, Twitter and all, you can find just about anyone these days.”

“Why did you go to the Booth Mansion when you returned from the conference?”

Fred took a deep breath. “The truth is
, I was checking up on July. She’d seemed distant lately. I even wondered if she could be having an affair.” He exhaled slowly; it was a big admission.

“You must have seen her car in the parking lot of the Booth Showhouse and known she was there,” Detective Nichols said.

“Yeah, I did. The only other car in the lot was a rental. It was unlocked, so I looked in the glove box and saw it had been rented by Tom Ferris the previous day. I waited a while for July to come out. Another woman showed up in a little green car and went in the front door. After she left, around six, all hell started breaking loose and an ambulance roared in. Two guys ran inside and another one stayed in the car. I talked with the driver and asked him why they were there. He said there’d been a shooting. A few minutes later, they brought a guy down on a stretcher. I asked who it was and he said the man’s name was Ferris.”

“That must have shaken you up.”

“Definitely. I probably should have gone inside to see if July was okay, but I knew she’d be furious, thinking I was checking up on her. I called a cab, went back to the office and then later called another cab to take me home.”

“I’ll have to check your story, Mr. Powell,” the detective told him. “We’ll be in touch. Just don’t leave town.”

Fred Powell nodded. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

A
t three o’clock on August fourth, Katie Hudson pulled into Mae’s driveway. She was bending over Matthew’s car seat to release the harness when Mae walked down her front steps to greet Katie and her son.

“Hi, Miss Mae.” Matthew’s voice was deep and husky for a little boy
of only four. With his light brown curly hair and bright blue eyes, he was Ben in miniature—with chubby cheeks.

“Hi Matthew. Hello Katie.”

Katie pulled the harness over Matthew’s head and hoisted him down.

“Hello, Mae
,” she said, straightening up. “Thanks for agreeing to keep him this weekend. I’ve got plans that I didn’t want to change.”

Katie was looking thin and stylish. Her short brown hair was sleek and straight, even in the heat and humidity of a summer afternoon. Her hazel eyes looked almost golden in the sun.
Her rear-end and her hair are both half the size of mine
.

“You’re welcome. Can I help you carry anything in?”

Matthew crawled into the driver’s seat and grabbed a small suitcase decorated with dinosaurs from the passenger side. He dragged it across the seat and out onto the driveway, where it flipped onto its side.

“I need to unhook his car seat and put it in your car,” Katie said. “He can get his backpack and bring that in.”

Matthew dove into the backseat again, emerging with a backpack that looked like a small, green brontosaurus.

Katie looked down, smiling at her son. “Are you sensing a theme here?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. I’m betting there are some dinosaur jammies in that suitcase.”

“And T-Rex underpants!” Matthew began unzipping his suitcase to demonstrate.

“Let’s do that inside, okay, Matthew?” Mae picked his suitcase up and walked up the porch steps. “Come with me and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping this weekend.” She turned to Katie. “Do you want to set the car seat inside? It’s awfully hot out here. I can put it in my car later on.”

“Okay. Or Ben can do it when he gets here. He called to say he’d be here soon. They’re hard to install if you aren’t used to doing it.” Katie grabbed the car seat with her well-manicured hands. Mae noticed that she had muscular arms for such a thin woman and guessed it was probably from carrying that solid little guy of hers around.

Mae led them inside. Depositing the car seat in the entryway, Katie took Matthew by the hand.

“Did your Daddy tell you about the Tater?” Mae asked him.

He nodded his head.

“She’s in the kitchen
. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

Nervous about Katie seeing her house, Mae had cleaned most of the day. Her remodeled one
-hundred-year-old farmhouse was looking its best. Katie followed Mae and Matthew into the kitchen without comment. Mae released the Tater from her crate and the fluffy, gold and white corgi bounded out. Her oversized ears stood up straight and her stubby bottom wagged, taking her entire body along with it.

“That might be the cutest puppy I’ve ever seen,” Katie said.

“That’s not a puppy, Mommy.” Matthew sat on the wide-plank pine floor and the Tater swarmed into his lap. She planted her front paws on Matthew’s chest and began to lick his face. Giggling, he lay back. “It’s a fox. Or a teddy-bear.”

Mae looked up from the gleeful pair and into Katie’s eyes, which looked
too bright, as if she was about to cry.

“Your mom’s right, Matty, she’s a puppy. A corgi puppy. She does look like a chubby little fox, doesn’t she? Katie, can I get you a glass of water?”

“Yes, please.” Katie sniffled. “Could I use your bathroom?”

Mae nodded. “It’s down the hall to your right.”

When Katie emerged from the bathroom with a red nose and less eye makeup, Mae handed her a glass of ice water. Katie pointed to the large painting that hung above Mae’s kitchen table.

“That’s beautiful. Is Malone a local artist?”

“Thank you. Malone is very local.” Mae smiled. “Malone is me; it’s my middle name.”

“Oh, I thought you were a dog breeder, not an artist.”

“Well, I’m both. I took a hiatus from painting for about a year. Ben talked me into picking my brushes up again a month or so ago. I really missed it.”

Katie walked closer to the painting. “You’re very talented.”
She looked down at Matthew and the Tater, who were rolling around on the floor.

Mae cleared her throat. “Thanks. If you have a minute
, I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the house.”

Katie took a big gulp from her ice water and nodded her head. “I’d like that. Can you show me where Matthew will be sleeping?” Her eyes suddenly teared up and her voice quavered.

“Sure. Or maybe we should go sit down on the porch for a minute and talk.”

“I’m sure your porch is beautiful too,” Katie said, with a pitiful attempt at a smile.

Mae indicated her screened porch with a wave of her left hand, wondering where the heck Ben was. “After you.”

Katie sat down on the red cushioned glider facing the doorway. She set her glass of water down on the small iron and glass end table and looked at Mae. Her chin was trembling
as she reached into her purse for tissues.

“This is harder than I thought it would be—leaving my son with Ben’s girlfriend. You seem like your life is so together. Mine is such a mess right now.”

“Katie, my life’s not nearly as together as it seems. I cleaned all day before you got here because I thought you’d judge me for my messy house.”

She smiled, sniffing and wiping her nose. “Your house may not always be this clean, but it’s really something. Matty and I live in a tiny condo right now, and it’s pretty cruddy. Anyway, I love this porch. Did you design all this yourself?”

If she was trying to lighten the atmosphere, Mae was fine with that.

“Most of it. My sister is a designer and she gave me some ideas for the porch. She told me to use the black and white cowhide as a tablecloth and go with a distressed look to play it up. I was going to do something more traditional out here, but I think she was right.”

Mae’s cellphone buzzed in her shorts pocket. “Excuse me, Katie.” She stepped into the hallway.

“Hi, July, I was just talking about you.”

July’s loud, agitated voice poured out. “Your boyfriend sent his deputies to my house with a search warrant. Did you know he was doing that?”

“I had no idea. Were the kids at home?”

“No, thank God. Fred’s at work, Olivia’s with Mama, and the boys are at sports camp. I’m here by myself watching them tear my house apart.”

“I’m so sorry. He didn’t say anything about it to me. He should be here soon. Believe me, I’ll ask him about it.”

Matthew materialized at her side, holding the Tater. Mae sighed.

“July, I’ve got to go. I have his mini-me here beside me.”

“Matthew’s there?”

“And his mother.”

“And they’re both listening to you right now?”

“That’s right. Oh, hell!” The Tater was slipping out of Matthew’s hands. “I’ll call you back when I can.”

Matthew’s eyes were wider than usual. The puppy was squirming against his chest, about to fall.

“Daddy says that word too, but Mommy doesn’t
,” Matthew informed her.

Of course she doesn’t.
“Can I have the puppy, please, Matty?” Mae relieved Ben’s little boy of his wiggling burden. “Why don’t you go out on the porch with your mom, okay? I need to take the Tater outside for a minute.”