Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (17 page)

Though the deed could certainly be
accomplished within that time frame by a person intent on
committing murder, according to the medical examiner's report, the
estimated time of death was between six and seven p.m., meaning
that another person would have had ample time to kill Brent before
Tony or I even got to Brent's house.

I pondered this as I drove home, hungry for
supper. But I was just as eager to disprove the district attorney's
case against Emily and Tony, almost feeling as if I needed to do
this for Brent's peace of mind in the world after death.

* * *

The following morning, I completed my daily
run, before having breakfast and phoning all the members of the
book club about Pierce's book signing. They all voiced enthusiasm,
except Meryl.

"Thanks, but honestly, if the new book is
anything like the last one, I think I'll pass. I know you invited
him to our next meeting and I'm good with that, since it's on our
turf and he won't be surrounded by adoring fans who hang on his
every word."

I chuckled. "Why don't you tell me how you
really feel, Meryl," I joked.

"Seriously, you can tell me all about it,"
she said. "Besides, my husband and I are planning to take our boat
out that day, so..."

"Have fun boating," I told her and meant it.
"I'll speak to you soon."

By contrast, Judith Eckersley, who had missed
our last meeting, was practically giddy about attending the book
signing. "I wouldn't miss it," she uttered. "I love attending book
readings and collecting autographed books."

"In that case, you'll get the best of both
worlds, Judith."

She laughed. "That I will."

We talked briefly about her college age
daughter who was engaged to be married on New Year's Day, as well
as a trip Judith was planning this fall to Sweden.

In the afternoon, I drove to the address
listed on William Hendrickson's business card. It was at a strip
mall not far from downtown Cozy Pines.

I attempted to go inside, but the door was
locked. Peering through the window, I could see that it was
empty.

"If you're looking for Bill, you won't find
him," a voice said.

I turned to my left and saw a thirty
something woman standing there.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to Mr.
Hendrickson," I told her.

"I'm Diane Weaver. I own the nail salon next
door. I'm afraid Bill Hendrickson has vacated the premises."

I raised a brow. "When was that?"

"A couple of days ago," she said. "Seemed
like he was in a big hurry, too. Just packed up and left without
even saying goodbye."

I wondered why. Had he fled because he was a
killer, running from justice before it zeroed in on him?

"So you have no idea where he could have
gone?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Like I said, he
left without saying a word. If you ask me, he was running scared
for some reason."

"Any idea why?"

"Well, the nature of his business—a financial
advisor," she said. "I heard there were some complaints about his
business practices. Maybe it finally caught up to him."

I made a mental note as William Hendrickson
suddenly struck me as a serious suspect in Brent's murder. If he
had left town, that would only bolster the possibility, all things
considered.

"Are you a client of Bill's?" Diane asked
curiously.

"I'm a friend of a former client," I told
her, not expounding upon it.

"Well, sorry you wasted a trip."

"In fact, it was quite enlightening," I said,
though wishing I had been able to talk to him.

She handed me her card. "Hey, if you ever
need a manicure or pedicure, feel free to drop by."

I glanced at the card and smiled at her.
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

After getting back on the road, I drove over
to Ashley McGowan's home. I had been there once as a consultant
when she first married Dean McGowan and wanted advice on a Great
Room makeover. I was curious to know why Ashley had visited Brent
recently.

The white Victorian sat on the corner of a
tree lined street. There was a dark sedan parked in the driveway. I
parked behind it and walked past it, going up to the front
door.

I rang the bell and the door was opened by
Dean McGowan. He was in his fifties, tall, and solidly built, with
gray hair.

"Riley Reed," he said. "What a surprise."

"Hello Dean."

"What brings you our way?"

"I came to see Ashley."

"She's not here. Went to get her hair done.
You know Ashley, never a hair out of place."

I chuckled. "I think most women feel that
way."

He smiled. "Yeah, maybe you're right. So that
was some funeral for Brent London. The man had a lot of love in
Cozy Pines."

"Yes, he did."

"I'm glad they found the killers," he said.
"And I hope they put them away for a long time."

"I'm not sure they have the right
perpetrators," I told him.

He cocked a thick brow. "Oh...?"

"Or maybe they do," I offered, not wanting to
say anything I shouldn't. "I'm just saying sometimes the police and
prosecutors miss the mark."

"Yeah, I guess. But something tells me they
were right on the money in this instance."

I arched a brow. "Do you have inside
information as an editor? Or is that your own intuition?"

He chuckled. "Just common sense, combined
with the facts, as have been reported."

"I see," I responded thoughtfully, while
finding it somewhat odd that as an editor he wasn't keeping an open
mind that those in custody might be innocent, till proven otherwise
in a court of law.

"Do you want to come in for a minute to check
out the Great Room you played a big part in renovating?"

"Maybe some other time," I said. "I'd like to
try to catch Ashley before she leaves the hairdresser, as I have
some other errands to run."

He peered at me. "Mind telling me why you're
so keen about seeing Ashley? I was under the impression that you
two weren't really friends."

I wondered if she had given him that
impression. "We've known each other for a while now and I just
wanted to touch base with her about Brent, whom we both cared for
at one time. As you noted, there was a lot of love for him. I was
hoping to keep it alive in his memory. I'm sure you understand.
Enjoy your afternoon, Dean."

I could feel him staring as I walked away,
making me wonder if there was a reason why he seemed less than
enthusiastic about me talking to Ashley. Or was it just my
imagination?

* * *

When I arrived at the hair salon, it reminded
me that I was due for a trim. I would make an appointment for next
week.

Before I could go inside, Ashley had stepped
outside. Her red hair was stylishly curlier. She had slipped on her
sunglasses as I approached.

"Riley. I'd almost forgotten we had the same
hairdresser."

"Actually, I came here to see you," I told
her. "I was at your house and Dean told me where you were."

"Did he now...?" She removed her glasses.
"What did you want to see me about?"

"Brent."

"What about him?"

I wasn't sure this was the appropriate place
to talk. Gazing at the coffee shop across the street, I suggested
we go there.

Though hesitant, she agreed.

We both ordered tea before I got to the
point. "I'm sure you're aware that Brent's niece, Emily, and her
friend, Tony, were arrested for Brent's murder."

Ashley fluttered her lashes. "Who doesn't
know by now? How tragic, all the way around. But what does this
have to do with me?"

"Luisa said that you visited him more than
once before he died."

"Yes, I admit it. After all, we were married
once. Is it a crime to visit your ex-husband?"

"Of course not," I said defensively. "But I
do find it a bit peculiar that you would be spending time with your
ex when you're remarried."

Her eyes narrowed. "Not that it's any of
your
business, but Brent and I remained close even after the
divorce. All of his ex-wives did. And even his ex-girlfriends, as
you can attest to. I don't see what the big deal is."

The tea came, allowing me to collect my
thoughts. It was clear that Ashley was unnerved by my inquiry. Was
there something more to her friendliness with Brent than she was
letting on?

"Here's the thing," I began, stirring milk
into my tea. "I believe Emily and her friend are innocent of
Brent's murder. If true, that means someone else killed him."

Ashley's eyes widened. "You think I killed
Brent...?"

The thought had crossed my mind, but I
responded, "Maybe Dean did, if he thought you were having an affair
with Brent. Were you?"

"No, I wasn't," she insisted, "and I resent
the insinuation, as well as the suggestion that Dean could have
murdered Brent. He wouldn't do that."

"People do things we never thought was
possible," I said calmly, "especially if they're driven by
jealousy. I'm just saying..."

"Well, you're way off base! Though we were no
longer together, Brent and I just liked hanging out and we knew
that doing so in public might cause people to draw the wrong
conclusions."

"You mean like Dean?"

"I mean like Ivana," she countered. "Or for
that matter, even his insecure previous girlfriend, Karla."

"Did either of them know that you were
spending time with Brent?"

Ashley sipped her tea. "Not that I'm aware
of. But who knows what they may have discovered through Luisa or
whatever. In any event, if you want to point the finger, point it
toward them or someone else. We're done here."

Before I could utter another word, she had
sprung up and walked out the door.

I saw no reason to go after her, as she'd
given me what I was looking for—a possible motive for Brent's
death. Jealousy. Only now there was another possible suspect to go
with Dean, Karla, and William Hendrickson.

Brent's girlfriend, Ivana Croxley.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

I arranged to meet Ivana Croxley at
seven-thirty p.m. at a beachfront lounge called Smooth and Mellow.
The name was reflected in the piano bar, which featured mostly jazz
standards. I had been there several times, the last in which I had
been accompanied by Brent. We came to enjoy the music and relax,
while discussing each other's careers.

I had already gotten us a table when Ivana
arrived. She wore a sleeveless, V-neck black dress and high heels.
Her long hair hung down loose.

I stood to greet her. "Thank you for
coming."

"Not a problem," she said. "I love jazz and
had been looking for an excuse to come here."

We both sat down.

"What would you like to drink?" I asked.

"Red wine, thank you."

I signaled the waitress and ordered two
glasses of red wine.

As I sized up Ivana, I wondered if she was
capable of murdering Brent or having someone else do the job.

The wine came and we both took sips as the
pianist began to play.

"So I was surprised you contacted me,"
remarked Ivana. "Is this like a get-together of Brent's former
girlfriends—minus Karla?"

I smiled. "I suppose you could say that," I
answered appropriately.

She twisted her lips pensively. "I wish I had
known Brent was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. I would have
done whatever I could to try to delay the progression, be it
through mind exercises or whatever."

"I suppose he wanted to wait a bit before
sharing it with you to give himself some time to come to terms with
it," I suggested.

"I'm sure you're right and he would have let
me in sooner than later."

I felt a little guilty that Brent had chosen
to tell me rather than his current girlfriend. I could only assume
he had his reasons, none of which seemed very important at the
moment.

On that thought, it seemed like a good time
to get to the purpose of the meeting. "Were you aware that Ashley
McGowan was spending time with him just before he died?"

"Yes, I was," she admitted. "From the start
of our relationship, Brent was quite candid with me that he was
still close to many of his ex-wives and girlfriends. He said if I
had a problem with that, like his last girlfriend did, things
probably wouldn't work for us. I assured him that I had no issues
with jealousy or insecurity. Everything was good from that point
on."

"That's nice to know," I told her
sincerely.

She raised a thin brow. "Why do you ask?"

I shared my findings with her regarding
Emily's and Tony's alibis and others who might have had a beef with
Brent, including Ashley's husband, and how she had suggested that
perhaps it was one of Brent's last two girlfriends who wanted him
out of the picture due to jealousy.

Ivana laughed humorlessly. "I certainly can't
speak for Karla, but I'm definitely not a killer. I was starting to
fall in love with Brent and would never have felt I was better off
without him simply because he chose to befriend Ashley—or even you,
for that matter."

I sipped wine. My gut instincts told me she
was telling the truth and she had not murdered Brent or was not
involved in his death in any way, in spite of Ashley's insinuations
to the contrary. Perhaps Ashley had been trying to cover for Dean,
assuming she was aware of his actions if he had killed Brent due to
jealousy.

I honed in on Ivana, who had been quite
gracious, under the circumstances. "I'm sorry for putting you on
the spot," I told her.

"It's okay," she assured me. "I know you're
just trying to help find out who killed Brent, if it wasn't Emily
and her friend. Since you don't even know me, you have every right
to question anyone who was close to him, even if it was prompted by
Ashley."

I thanked her for that, glad to have some
support for doing what was really out of my depth in trying to
track down a killer. In the process, I think I may have found a new
friend, appreciating some of the qualities Brent had seen in
her.