This Old Homicide (3 page)

“He won’t thank me for this,” I muttered, but my decision was made.

Years ago, after a house down the street caught on fire, my father and a few of our neighbors had exchanged house keys to use in case of future emergencies. Dad kept them all on a key ring in the kitchen “junk drawer.” Even though he had moved out of the house and into his RV five years ago, I’d never cleaned out that drawer. It was impossible to throw some of those things away because you just never knew.

Pushing aside a stack of yellowed appliance catalogs, an old tape measure, and a dried-up tube of superglue—okay, I definitely needed to clean out this drawer—I found the key ring. Happily most of the keys had small, round descriptive tags attached, so I checked until I found the key that was tagged J
ESSE’S PLACE
.

I jogged back to his house and unlocked the front door, feeling a momentary pang of guilt for invading his privacy. I knew he would hate having anyone walk into his house without his permission, but what could I do?

“It’s for your own good,” I said under my breath. Later, I planned to lecture him on keeping in better touch with his neighbors.

The house was dark and quiet. It was musty, too, from being closed up for a while. I was tempted to open some windows, but I figured that would be going a little too far.

“Hello, Jesse? Are you here?”

There was no response, and to be honest, I didn’t feel his presence in the house. So maybe he’d gone away for the week. But he’d always told me when he was going anywhere for any length of time so I’d be sure to keep an eye on his house.

Even though I didn’t feel his presence—and didn’t that make me sound like some psychic nut job?—I was still determined to check all the rooms. If he wasn’t home, fine. But what if he’d fallen and couldn’t get up? I needed to make sure.

From the foyer, I turned left and tiptoed down the hall to the last room on the right, which I knew was his bedroom. On the way, I took a quick peek inside the other two bedrooms—one of which was his office—to check for him. By the time I reached his bedroom, I was sorry I’d been so eager to find him. Every room was a mess, with dresser drawers opened and clothing tossed everywhere. Even the sheets on the bed had been dragged off and were lying on the floor.

His office was a disaster, too, with the rug pushed back against the wall and the contents of his desk drawers emptied onto the hardwood floor. I had to watch where I stepped to avoid slipping on something. Had he been searching for something? He must’ve been in one heck of a hurry to leave things scattered everywhere without picking it all up.

I’d visited him countless times over the years and I’d never seen anything like this. Jesse was like an uncle to me and he was one of my father’s closest friends. We used to get together all the time for barbecues and neighborhood parties. He didn’t go in for grilling much; he generally left that manly chore to my dad. But whenever it got cold and damp, Jesse would whip up a batch of his world-famous chili or, on the rare occasion, a big, rich chicken stew. Both were his specialties, and he’d invite the whole block over for a bowlful, served with his delicious corn bread muffins.

On those occasions, his rooms were as neat and clean as could be. Jesse had spent much of his adult life in the navy until he retired almost twenty years ago, so to say he kept things shipshape around here was an understatement.

But as I looked around now, the only ship this place brought to mind was the
Titanic
. I didn’t realize what a slob he’d turned into.

I felt instantly guilty for thinking those thoughts. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Maybe he’d grown depressed lately. That possibility broke my heart, but it could explain the mess. I made a mental note to call Jane as soon as I got home to see if there was some way to help him get through this bad patch.

I returned to the foyer and turned left to go to the kitchen. “Jesse? Are you here?”

He wasn’t. But there was more of the same disarray in this room, with drawers pulled open and utensils and kitchen gadgets strewn across the counters and the floor. Cupboard doors were open, the contents shoved to the side or swept haphazardly onto the floor.

I scowled at the mess. Something was really wrong. If this was a sign of depression, Jesse needed help immediately.

But Jesse wasn’t depressed; I knew it in my gut. It wasn’t in his nature. No, this mess looked more like a desperate hunt to find something and he didn’t care if he left a disaster in his wake.

“Jesse?” I called again, more urgently this time. I headed for the small den off the kitchen, where he liked to watch television. And that was where I found him. He was sound asleep on the couch with one arm dangling over the edge.

“Jesse!” I hurried across the room, so filled with relief that I forgot about the mess and everything else. “Thank goodness you’re here. Don’t be mad that I came into your house, but I was worried.”

There was no reaction. The man could sleep like the dead, I thought. The way he’d torn his home apart, I had to wonder if he was simply exhausted. Old people could do some weird things sometimes. I recalled my grandmother going off on all sorts of oddball tangents before she’d died, once tearing up a scrapbook filled with old photographs, and another time bingeing on jars of jalapeño pickles.

I studied Jesse’s face and wondered if maybe he was sick after all, because he looked pale, almost gray.

“Jesse?” I knelt down beside the couch and touched his forehead to make sure he wasn’t feverish.

On the contrary, his skin was cool. And no wonder, since the poor guy was wearing a pair of tidy white cotton boxer shorts and nothing else.

“Come on, Jesse, wake up.” I reached for the afghan draped over the back of the couch and covered him up to give him a little dignity. I lifted his arm onto the couch and tucked the edges of the blanket under him to warm him up.

“Jesse,” I said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Can I get you some soup or something?”

His arm slid off the couch again. And I suddenly realized why.

“Oh, jeez!” I scooted backward, away from him, scrambling to my feet as I shouted his name over and over again. “Jesse! Oh my God! Jesse!”

It didn’t do any good. He wasn’t going to wake up.

Jesse Hennessey was dead.

I huddled outside on the porch, shaking my head and trembling in disbelief and sadness, not only because Jesse was dead, but also because I’d stupidly approached him as though he were merely sleeping or passed out. I should’ve known something was horribly wrong when I first saw the disarray throughout his house.

Jesse was gone. My eyes filled with tears and I sank into an old chair by the front door, rocking back and forth with my arms wrapped around my stomach. So many emotions were coursing through me, I couldn’t think straight. I was sad, of course. Numb. Shocked. He’d been my next-door neighbor for my entire life, and even if I didn’t see him every day, it was comforting to know that I had someone dependable and brave right next door when I needed him. He was raunchy sometimes and terribly corny. He told the world’s worst jokes. Jane and I used to laugh and groan at the same time when he would start in on his puns. I could still picture him a few months ago, standing in his front yard with weeds growing all around him.

“What are you doing, Jesse?” I’d asked.

“I’m out standing in my field.”

I frowned at him.

“Get it?” he’d said, grinning like an idiot.

Staring at him on the couch a few minutes ago, I’d started to laugh despite the tears rolling down my cheeks. “Oh, Jesse,” I whispered. “What happened to you?”

Jane would be here any minute. Would she blame me for his death? Not that I’d caused it or anything, but maybe I could’ve prevented it if I’d been a better neighbor.

I buried my head in my hands. Oh God, I was a horrible neighbor. I should’ve checked in on him every day. He wasn’t getting any younger and old people had a tendency to, you know, get old.

Okay, I needed to stop beating myself up. Jesse had always been fiercely independent and had never appreciated anyone hovering over him or worrying about him. Even Jane, his only living relative and the one person he loved most in the world, had been lectured more than once.
“Don’t worry about me,”
he often told her when she tried to coddle him a little.
“I’m going to live to be a hundred because only the good die young.”

I should’ve ignored his gruff words and gone ahead and paid more attention to his health and his lifestyle. If I’d been more diligent, made sure he was safe and in good physical shape, he might still be alive.

I heard a siren blast from several blocks away, reminding me that I’d called the police right after talking to Jane. What else could I do? Once I realized that Jesse was dead, I’d immediately wondered about that mess in there. I knew it wasn’t normal for Jesse to tear his house apart like that. I wondered if someone else had broken in and done it. The police would be able to determine that, I hoped.

The thought of someone breaking into Jesse’s house to rob him after he was dead made me shudder with revulsion. But even worse, what if someone had broken in while he was still alive and scared him to death?

Could something like that have taken place right next door to me without my even knowing about it? I’d like to think I’d hear something or get some kind of strong vibe about it, seeing as how I had gone through such a horrible time a few short months ago.

Maybe that was why my mind was suddenly spinning with thoughts of murder. But there was no way Jesse could’ve been murdered, because… well, just because.

Because things like that didn’t happen in Lighthouse Cove. Okay, maybe that one bizarre stretch a few months back, but not on a regular basis. It was crazy to even consider.

Burglaries, yes. We had our share of them, every once in a great while. But why would anyone want to burglarize Jesse’s home? He owned nothing of real value. He’d lived nicely on Social Security and his military pension for the last ten years. Everyone in Lighthouse Cove knew it. Not that I would ever accuse one of my own townspeople. No, it must have been a stranger. But really? A stranger just happened to be passing through town and picked Jesse’s home to break into? What were the chances?

“Slim to none,” I murmured.

So maybe the mess really had been caused by Jesse himself. Maybe he had lost something important and gone on a tear. Or maybe some medication he’d been taking got screwed up and he’d gone a little crazy. Anything could’ve happened. It would be up to the police to figure it all out. They might find fingerprints that would lead them to conclude that a burglary had taken place.

I swept those thoughts away and concentrated on Jesse himself. It was hard to believe he was dead. I’d known him all my life and all of a sudden he was gone? It didn’t seem fair. He might’ve been getting old, but he’d had plenty of good years left.

I pictured myself talking to him a few minutes ago, tucking that afghan blanket over him, worried that he might have a fever. Then realizing he was dead.

I groaned out loud.

“What a twit you are.” Jane would laugh her ass off when I got around to telling her. That wouldn’t be anytime soon, of course. I imagined she wouldn’t be ready to laugh for a while yet. And I wasn’t too anxious to reveal what a major bozo I could be, even to my best pal.

But it wasn’t about me, I reminded myself sternly. Jesse was gone and poor Jane would be grieving. Okay, I was, too, but it was time to brush my feelings aside and concentrate on Jane. She would need every ounce of help and support I could give her to get through this.

I sat back in the old wicker chair to wait for everyone to arrive. I thought of Jesse again and how he’d looked so peaceful, lying there on the couch. Was it any wonder why I didn’t figure it out right away? He must’ve died recently, too. Otherwise there would’ve been some sort of… well, deterioration, to put it nicely. But other than that slightly gray pall to his skin, he really did look as if he’d been sleeping. I hated to think what might’ve happened if I hadn’t found him for another week.

I grimaced and rubbed my stomach. I really didn’t need to focus on what he might’ve looked like after a few more days.

The police siren wailed again, interrupting my odd thoughts, thank goodness. Within seconds, the police chief’s black-and-white SUV screeched to a stop in front of Jesse’s house just as Jane pulled up in her car and parked across the street. I could tell she was crying as she slammed the car door behind her. In seconds, she was up the front stairs, and I was standing up to grab her in a tight hug.

“It can’t be true,” she said, sobbing. “I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, rubbing her back. Jane and Jesse had been really close. Each had been the other’s only family. But Jane had me, too, and I’d remind her of that soon. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” she asked, swiping at the river of tears coursing down her cheeks.

“I don’t know. I was concerned that I hadn’t seen him around, so I decided to check on him. He didn’t answer the door, so I used our emergency key and let myself in. I found him in the back den.”

She let out a little sob. “That’s where he always watches TV.”

“I know, sweetie.” I realized that the TV hadn’t been on when I found him.

Jane buried her face against my shoulder and I held her fiercely. Jesse was Jane’s last living relative and now he was gone. I felt my own tears well up again as I contemplated what I would do if I lost my dad or Uncle Pete. It was too awful to think about.

“Jane,” a husky voice said from behind us. I opened my eyes and saw Police Chief Eric Jensen standing on the steps leading to the porch. Despite the horrid circumstances, I felt a weight lift from my chest at seeing him. He was a good guy to have around. Solid.

I let go of Jane and she turned. “Oh, Eric.”

He stepped onto the porch and held out his arms, and I felt more of my own tears erupt as Jane rushed into his embrace.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Over Jane’s shoulder, Eric’s straightforward gaze met mine. I watched his jaw clench and could only imagine what he was thinking. Something along the lines of
Why does Shannon Hammer keep finding dead bodies in my town?

Funny, I was asking myself that same question. It hadn’t been long ago that I discovered that body in the basement of the old Victorian home I’d been working on. At the time, Eric had been new in town and his first inclination was to arrest me for murder, simply because I’d been overheard threatening the dead guy only a few days before his body was found. It was a dumb thing to do—threaten him, I mean—but anyone who knew me would know that I hadn’t meant it literally. Unfortunately Eric didn’t know me back then.

He knew me now, though, and I considered him a good friend. I wanted him to like me. I prayed he wouldn’t jump to that same conclusion this time around. And why would he? Jesse appeared to have succumbed to a heart attack or something equally benign—if a cause of death could ever be considered benign. There was no reason for anyone to assume anything else—except for the minor fact that I’d spent the last twenty minutes
assuming
that very thing. That foul play might have occurred and Jesse’s death had been the result.

I was already mentally lining up my alibis and excuses for being inside Jesse’s house. Inwardly I winced. I couldn’t help it. The thought of being interrogated by Eric again gave me shivers, and not in a good way. I shook my head briskly, hoping to fling those fears away. The only thing the police needed to know about me and Jesse was that he had been my neighbor since I was a little girl and we’d been great friends. I was devastated by his death.

Still, I had been the one who found his body. If Eric could prove that Jesse had died through some kind of foul play, didn’t that make me the most likely suspect in his eyes?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I whispered. I was letting my imagination run out of control. It was time to wrestle it back into line.

Eric stepped away from Jane but kindly held her arms to steady her until she regained her equilibrium. I almost sighed out loud. He was a nice guy, and pretty darn gorgeous, if you liked that tall, hunky, muscular Nordic god sort of look. And who didn’t? I’d been mentally calling him Thor ever since we met. The name suited him, but he probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing it.

“Shannon,” Eric said, nodding at me.

“Hello, Eric.”

“What happened here?”

“I was checking on Jesse. Nobody’s seen him around in a few days and I thought he might be sick. He didn’t answer his door so I went inside to look for him and found him… you know.”

“How’d you get inside?”

“We all have keys to each other’s houses,” I explained in a rush. “My neighbors, I mean. In case there’s an emergency. See, a long time ago, we saw smoke coming from the Robertsons’ upstairs bedroom and Dad broke down their front door to make sure they were okay. Well, it turned out they were fine, but after that we all decided to swap keys with each other to avoid having to break down doors. I keep the keys in my kitchen drawer, the one by the window. And oh my God, that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

I stopped talking abruptly. He didn’t need to know where the stupid junk drawer was. I tended to blather on and on when I was nervous. And I had no reason to be nervous, did I?

Eric coughed, probably to keep from laughing out loud at my idiotic chattering.

“Hey, Chief,” someone shouted from the sidewalk. It was Tommy Gallagher, my old high school boyfriend and the newly promoted deputy chief of police.

He jogged up the walkway and bounded up the steps to join us.

“Hey, Shannon,” he said heartily, and grabbed me in a quick hug.

“Hi, Tommy.” I’d known him forever and still thought he was pretty cute, but that wasn’t the only reason why I hugged him. No, he was happily married to Whitney Reid, the very same woman who had made my life hell all through high school and continued to do so on the Festival Committee. It was for her sake that I always gave Tommy a nice big hug and a kiss on the cheek when I saw him. I knew it was immature, especially at a moment like this, but it amazed me to know that her spying girlfriends liked to report back to her whenever they caught me anywhere near Tommy. According to Whitney’s girlfriends, I showed clear warning signs that I was out to steal him back from her. That couldn’t be further from the truth, of course, but Whitney still didn’t seem to realize that.

I figured it was Whitney’s own guilty conscience that made her so distrustful. Since she herself had stolen Tommy from me back in high school, it figured that I must be lying in wait, biding my time for the chance to take my revenge. It was laughable really. I’d gotten over Tommy’s betrayal ages ago and we were good friends now, much to Whitney’s disgust.

When he saw Jane, Tommy’s ever-present grin dimmed slightly. “Aw, hey, Jane. I’m really sorry to hear about Jesse. What a total bummer. If there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” Jane said, giving him a light hug.

Eric took my arm and pulled me aside, out of Jane’s earshot. He leaned over and spoke quietly. “Where did you find Mr. Hennessey’s body?”

“In the room off the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s where he watched TV.”

“Did you call his doctor?”

“Not yet. I called Jane first and then decided to call the police because of what else I found in the house.”

His eyes narrowed. “What else did you find?”

“It’s probably easier if I show you.”

He stared at me for a long moment before he nodded toward the front door. “Okay, let’s see what you’re talking about.”

He turned and caught Tommy’s gaze. “You mind waiting out here with Jane?”

Jane looked affronted. “I appreciate your wanting to protect me, Eric, but it’s not necessary. I’m coming inside with you.”

Eric glanced at me as if it was my decision.

“He’s her uncle,” I said, frowning at him. “She’ll have to see him sometime.”

“Hello?” Jane said. “I’m standing right here.”

I smiled ruefully. “Sorry.”

She turned to the police chief. “And frankly, Eric, while I’m glad to see you, I’m not sure why Shannon called you anyway. I’m perfectly capable of contacting Uncle Jesse’s doctor to have him write out a death certificate.”

She started for the door, but I stepped in front of her, holding up my hand when she began to protest.