The Reunion (11 page)

Meghan shifted in her seat. “A thief—a stranger who didn’t know either woman and just waited for an opportunity would have grabbed the jewelry and run. He wouldn’t have known it was fake.”

“So, it had to be someone who knew Suzanne.”

“Dave’s hit everyone up for bucks. He’s also wasted. Mistaken identity isn’t far off the radar scope with that. Maybe he attacked and actually said something that would give him away,” she speculated.

“Not too smart, but then drunks don’t think rationally.”

“Maybe he thought Suzanne wouldn’t turn him in—like for old time’s sake—and let him go. She could always claim the loss on her insurance.”

Zach drew his brows together. “Suzanne doesn’t strike me as being that helpful. Unless…” he paused for a long moment.

“Unless what?” Meghan prompted.

“Unless, she was in on it. They could be closer than just casual friends. Maybe they concocted a plan in Chicago—old friends attending a reunion in a small town among a lot of people they haven’t seen in twenty years. She claims robbery, he fences the items, and the insurance pays off.”

She shook her head. “Not logical. Why go to such an elaborate charade? Just jimmy the door lock, and scream, ‘I’ve been robbed’? Meanwhile, the jewels are hidden in the bottom of her suitcase. And if she’s doing it on her own, why involved Dave? Besides, she’s rich. Why do it at all?”

Zach sipped some scotch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re right. I’m logical about some things, but murder isn’t one of them. Okay, maybe she wasn’t in on it. Dave didn’t mean to kill Annabelle and panicked. Remember his reaction on the terrace when Suzanne showed up alive and well? He might not have realized it wasn’t Suzanne in the pond.”

“To be honest, I don’t see Dave Coryell having the guts to do it.” She also sipped from her glass. “On the other hand, Dan Masterson looked like he’d have had no problem killing Suzanne.”

Zach made a derisive face. “Dan? Now there’s someone with no guts. He’s all talk. How about another woman?”

His suggestion startled Meghan. “I never thought of that. But it doesn’t read like a woman’s crime.”

“Now who’s being sexist? Women kill, too.”

“Let’s assume the preliminaries are correct and someone held Annabelle’s head under water. That takes a lot of strength. A dying person puts up quite a fight.”

“Unless they’re incapacitated,” Zach reminded her.

“Like with a blow to the head. The sheriff didn’t say anything about a head wound.”

“Could be he’s not telling us.”

Meghan ran her hands up and down the condensation on her wine glass. An idea formed in her mind.

“Zach,” she said slowly. “What if we offered to help with the investigation? You know, in an unofficial way.”

“You mean play detective?”

“Why not? Ray Armstrong’s been sheriff for quite a while, but I doubt he’s seen that many murders, and the ones he has have probably been easy solves—drunks who live here in Grandview, domestic violence, people he’s known most of his life. Something tells me this is more involved. He may be out of his league.”

Zach leaned back and glanced at the doorway.

“Can’t hurt to ask. He just came in.”

Meghan turned. The sheriff stood at the door scanning the room. She waved him over. The conversation level dropped. Patrons stared as he sat in Suzanne’s vacated chair.

“How go the interrogations?” Zach asked.

“Less than half left. Most people didn’t talk to Mrs. Peterson or Mrs. Crocker, and some never even heard the commotion. A few questions and they go home. My deputies can handle the rest. I’m going to grab a cup of joe, and then see if I can make sense out of what I’ve been told.”

A waitress stopped by and the sheriff ordered coffee. Meghan played with her glass, and then lifted her gaze.

“Sheriff, how about Zach and I helping on this?”

“Helping how?”

“I was thinking we could ask people questions in a more casual setting, like this, and see if anyone might have remembered something.”

Sheriff Armstrong sighed and shook his head. “Just because you write mystery books, doesn’t make you an expert or a detective. This is not
Murder, She Wrote
. The crime isn’t solved at the end of an hour with the murderer revealed in the last two minutes. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know, but I do have some experience with police procedures. I research my books carefully. I talk to cops and have ridden with them on patrol. I understand how the system works. I like to think I understand human nature.”

The sheriff rubbed his temples. “Miss Donahue, I appreciate the offer, but most criminals are stupid. Their crimes are often committed on impulse or without logic. They make mistakes. Sooner or later, we’ll get this guy.”

“You know, Sheriff, Meghan does have a point. She’s got eight books to her credit. She knows how to conduct an interview, not…”

“Are you saying I don’t?” Ray Armstrong cut in.

“Of course not. I was going to say she knows how to talk to the average person. A police officer asks questions and people have a natural tendency to clam up, whether from fear or not wanting to get involved in an official capacity. But Meghan and I making conversation is another ball game. We’d be one of them. They might give up information without knowing it.”

His coffee arrived. The sheriff blew on the hot brew before taking a sip. “You could have a point. I take it you’ve been discussing the case. You both strike me as being intelligent and unemotional concerning the deceased. Have any theories?”

Meghan wasn’t sure she liked the unemotional comment. It made them sound like robots or that they didn’t care Annabelle was dead. Maybe what he meant was not emotionally involved. She sipped her wine while Zach told him about their conversation.

“I agree with Ms. Donahue. Mrs. Crocker wouldn’t steal her own jewelry to help out Dave Coryell.”

“Call me Meghan. This is Zach. Have you found out anything from your interrogation?”

He smiled. “I’m Ray. Not too much. I’m going with the stranger in the garden theory. The killer may have been one of the waiters or a delivery person who saw Mrs. Crocker leave the room and took a chance.”

“And then didn’t take the goodies? Why?” Meghan questioned.

“And why kill?” Zach added. “It’s damned dark in that garden. Why assume either Annabelle or Suzanne could see well enough to identify him?”

“The sad truth is, a lot of people in this world just don’t give a rat’s ass. Taking a human life means nothing to them.” Ray shook his head, and then paused to gulp half his coffee. “All right, you can talk to people, but any information you pry out of them is passed on directly to me. Is that understood? No chasing clues on your own.”

Zach held his hands up. “Think of us as minions who do your bidding.”

“Uh, there is one other thing, Ray,” Meghan murmured.

“What?”

“Would it be possible for us to see the crime scene?”

“I’ve already seen it,” Zach inserted.

“But I haven’t.”

“Forensics hasn’t released the site yet. It’s still taped off. They’ll be back in the morning to search further. I can’t let you in. You might inadvertently trample something important,” Ray told her.

“I’ll be careful. Like I said, I’ve been with police on cases as an observer before. I know not to touch or remove anything,” Meghan begged.

Ray frowned and stared at the two of them.

“Aw, I guess it won’t hurt for you to stand just outside the perimeter. Come on. It’ll have to be quick. I have work to do.” He drained his cup.

Zach waved down the waitress. She brought the bill and he charged it to his room, then the three of them left the bar for the koi pond.

****

“Dave, I want to apologize for the things I said earlier,” Suzanne stated, sliding onto the stool next to him. “I was upset.”

She batted her eyes and slid her fingers up and down his arm. She still had no idea what Zach wanted her to ask.

“Yeah, right. I suppose you told the sheriff everything about tonight,” he replied with a sneer.

“Well, if I didn’t, someone else would have. I mean, a lot of people saw me sitting alone. Where did you go?”

“Want me to tell you so you can go running to the cops?”

She shrugged and pretended to sip her drink. “I’m just curious. I know you didn’t kill Annabelle, for Pete’s sake. And I think you’re right about it being some opportunist who realized the jewelry was fake.”

Dave removed his suit coat and slung it over the back of his barstool. Sweat dribbled from his temple to his cheek.

If he took a break to snort, the high’s wearing off. I need to get him drunker. Drunks and addicts love to talk when they’re fully loaded
.

“Bartender, another round for us, okay?” She turned to Dave. “I’m buying. So, did you go into the garden?”

“Why would you think that?”

“For starters, you looked totally shocked to see me alive. What
did
you see?”

Dave drained his glass as the bartender set a new drink in front of him.

“I was really pissed at you. I needed to take a walk before I did something stupid.”

“Like kill me.”

“Maybe. At any rate, I went out to the car just like I told the sheriff.”

Suzanne ignored her fresh drink. She knew damned good and well he hadn’t retrieved any half-assed papers. She sneaked a glance toward Zach. He and that prissy Meghan had their heads close together.

Dammit, I’m over here pumping this jerk off for information, while she’s beating my time.

“And?” she prompted, bringing her attention back onto Dave.

“All right, I took a walk in the garden to cool down. Then I saw a sign for the fish pond and followed the trail. I stopped at the edge of the pond and noticed something in the water. I saw the blue dress and long hair, and figured it was you.”

“You found Annabelle? Why didn’t you do something?” Suzanne demanded.

“I was going to pull you out, but decided too many people may have seen us argue and think I’d done it, so I just walked away. I hid out in my room for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then made my appearance on the terrace. It’s the truth. I swear it.”

She couldn’t see Dave Coryell in the role of a cold-blooded killer. Accidental, perhaps, but not deliberate.

“Oddly enough, I believe you. You might feel like killing me, but you wouldn’t. I don’t suppose you saw anyone else.” She wasn’t convinced she believed her own words.

Dave shook his head and finished his drink in one gulp. Suzanne signaled the bartender for another.

“No, but for a moment, I thought I heard footsteps.”

“Like someone running away?”

“No, like someone walking. In a hurry.”

Suzanne mentally chewed on that. The killer had no reason to think he might have been seen or heard, so why draw attention to himself by running? It made sense.

“You gonna tell the cops?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t see or hear anything that can be identified or even useful, so I don’t see what purpose it serves.”

She spared another glance toward Zach. Damn, now the sheriff was sitting with them. No way would she make it a foursome. The bartender arrived with Dave’s drink.

“Good. Let’s discuss you and your money again. I’ve come clean. Doesn’t that deserve a reward?” Dave quaffed half the contents in his glass.

“I’ll think about it.”

“If you’ve had me investigated then you know my time is short. I need an answer now.” His voice turned rough.

Suzanne’s lips touched the rim of her glass, faking a sip. “I can’t very well conjure up the money in Grandview, Indiana, on a weekend. Wait until I get home.”

“Then how about we go to my room and you prove to me that you’re still as good a lay like you bragged,” he proposed, his words slurring.

“Dave, I think I made it perfectly clear before we left Chicago that I would not sleep with you.”

She tried and almost succeeded in keeping the disgust from her voice. Luckily, Dave was too drunk to notice.

“Who said anything about sleep?” He bellowed with laughter, and then hiccupped.

Before she could answer, Glory Ecklund stumbled into Dave, jostling his arm and then dropping her purse. She bent to retrieve it, rising with a flush on her face. Tom leaned down at the same time and stumbled against Dave’s barstool

“Sorry. Guess I’ve had a little too much to drink,” he apologized.

“I’m so tired, my legs refuse to work. Did I spill your drink?” his wife asked.

“Just a little, but who cares? The party’s over,” Dave replied, wiping at the liquor stain on his shirt.

“Yes, I guess it is. I feel so bad. Everyone was having a good time, too. Eileen and Dan are canceling the picnic. I just can’t imagine what poor Eric’s going to do. I mean, how do you tell your children their mother’s been murdered?” She shuddered.

Suzanne didn’t want to listen to Glory’s prattle, but it beat having to listen to drunken propositions from her former boyfriend.

Tom swayed and took a deep breath as though to stabilize his body.

“Oh, honey, you’re practically out on your feet. Let’s go up to the room.” Glory sighed. “Poor man. You’ve been such a rock, so supportive during the last year while I worked on the reunion details. It took a long time to track down some of his classmates, although he helped with that. Said two heads were better than one—or rather two computers.” She laughed lightly. “Did you know Mary Ellen Whitehall is a nun?”

“No kidding?” Suzanne replied. Who the hell was Mary Ellen Whitehall?

“She’s known as Sister Mary Benedict now. Eddie was hard to find, too. Luckily, Tom had a client who supplied information.” She looked at her watch. “Gosh, I didn’t realize it was so late. We’d better get to bed. Thanks for coming. Let us know if you move.”

Glory took her husband’s arm and steered him toward the door, bumping into another woman before sidling through and disappearing into the lobby.

What a combination—graceful as an elephant and dumber than a brick. What does Tom see in her?