Guidebook to Murder (3 page)

“I will.” I realized she hadn't waited for my response. I'd been talking to the prerecorded Lawrence Welk–era hold music.

“Jill. I'm glad you called.” Detective King's voice came over the line, warm and husky. “I just finished a meeting with the mayor, and I'm supposed to tell you that you're allowed to return to Miss Emily's house anytime. And you've been cleared as a suspect.”

“I was a suspect?” I stopped fiddling with my pen.

“You were on the scene when I got there.”

“I called the police.” I couldn't believe this.

“I know, but it's standard procedure.” Detective King sounded like he was kicking his toe in the dirt while he talked to me. “Doc Ames says he'll have the preliminary report back to me this afternoon. The tox screens will have to be sent to the county lab, so we probably won't see any results for two weeks.”

“I suppose we can't do anything before that, like a funeral or anything?” I didn't want to sound totally stupid, but I was treading deep water here and I needed some sort of a lifeboat.

“There's nothing holding you back from doing all the arrangements. I haven't found any record of next-of-kin, so I guess you're the one responsible.” The sound of pages being flipped came over the phone, and I realized he had me on speaker. Not a good time to read out my list of suspects.

“I'd planned on stopping by the house this morning to find information about her son. Do you want me to call if I find something?” If I did find something, then the detective could call him and not me.

“That would be great. Well, if there's nothing else, I've got a pile of weekend reports to go through.”

I thought again about telling him about my suspicions, but he'd already written Miss Emily's death off as just one of those things. I'd wait until I had something solid to give him. “No, that's about it.”

I remembered something when I started to hang up. “Wait.”

“Yes, Jill?”

“Have you heard anything about a new development here in South Cove?” He'd just had breakfast with the mayor; maybe they had talked about Bambi's boyfriend's development.

“Nothing new. A request came in for a rezoning from residential to commercial at the last council meeting, but I think that's a glass blower starting up her own shop. Why?”

“I'd heard a rumor down at the coffee shop.”

“I'll let you know if I hear anything. Take care.” The phone went dead.

After talking with Detective King, I wasn't able to think of anyone else for my list of suspects even after finishing my pot of coffee. Instead of donning my usual summer outfit, I pulled on a sundress. I'd never planned a funeral before, so I wasn't sure about proper attire, but I was sure cutoff jeans, a worn tank top, and Hello Kitty flip-flops would be frowned upon. Pulling my dark curly hair into a ponytail, I swiped on mascara as my homage to the makeup gods. I hoped the tears I hadn't shed for Miss Emily wouldn't come and give me raccoon eyes for the day.

Grabbing the keys to my Jeep, I drove over to the house, even though I could have walked or biked the three blocks faster. I didn't want to have to come back for the Jeep in order to make my appointment with Doc Ames. From my parking spot in front, the house looked empty and unloved. Strands of yellow police tape flapped around the fence, reminders of the tragedy that had played out yesterday. The grass on the lawn was long enough to wave in the wind. I would have to pull out my mower tomorrow night. As I glanced around the yard, the size of the chore overwhelmed me.

At least now the council should put off any rush to condemn the house since Miss Emily was gone. They had gotten their wish. Not the most Christian thought, I'll admit, but they caused this mess.

Unlocking the door, I walked in the living room. The house felt cool, the windows open to let in the ocean breeze that floated over the town at night. I went around shutting the windows against the afternoon summer heat. I half-expected Miss Emily to walk up and ask if I'd had breakfast.

I went to her bedroom first. Doc Ames had asked me to bring clothes. When I opened the closet, I found a line of the cotton dresses Miss Emily wore every day. Clean and ironed. Who irons nowadays? A black garment bag was shoved in the back of the closet. The word
funeral
had been written in Miss Emily's shaky hand on a strip of masking tape stuck on the outside. I pulled out the bag and laid it on the bed. I opened the bag and found a dress, shoes, underwear, and a note. I sat down to read the note.

Oh Miss Emily. I examined the blue paisley silk dress she had never worn, kept for this special occasion. Tears filled my eyes as I felt the softness of the fabric.

My cell rang.

Sniff. I dug the phone out of my purse and grabbed a handful of tissues from Miss Emily's nightstand.

“Hello?” Blowing my nose, I dabbed the tears from my face. I knew mascara had been a mistake. I'd be sporting raccoon eyes all day.

“Jill? Are you all right?” Amy's voice was sharp. “I'm at your apartment right now. Answer the door.”

“I'm fine but I'm not there. I'm over at Miss Emily's getting clothes.” I closed my eyes. “God, Amy, she had them all picked out with a note to me pinned to the front. She's planned the whole thing. All I have to do is put it in motion.” The tears welled up again.

“You aren't doing this alone. I've taken the day off. You should have called me Sunday.”

I zipped up the garment bag and took it into the living room. “I didn't want to ruin your weekend.”

“I know, sweetie. I'll be right there.”

I hung up the phone and contemplated the living room. I still hadn't given up hope she had a son somewhere to take over this nightmare. Even if Miss Emily said I was all she had, that just couldn't be right. How does someone die without anyone caring?

I went over to her desk and started shuffling things around. Checkbook, bills, advertisements where Miss Emily had circled the deals for groceries and household items, a lot of paper. She had been planning a trip to Bakerstown this week to shop, not someone who thought her days were numbered. She hadn't even said anything about feeling off the last time we talked.

A door slammed and I jumped. “Amy? That was quick.”

No one answered. The house sat quiet. Too quiet. The hair on the back of my neck flared as I remembered Esmeralda's words: “Sometimes they hang around.” I stood and walked into the kitchen. “Amy?”

The back door stood open, the screen door to the porch unlatched. I walked over to latch the door, and the screen door flew open before I could touch the hook-and-eye lock. The door banged three times. Then sat still.

I had to be seeing things. Esmeralda just had me on edge, that was all. I reached again, and the screen flew open again.

“Okay, I get it. You don't want me to lock the door. What do you want?” I held my breath, wondering how I'd get my answer. I should have let Esmeralda come by; she knew how to talk to these things.

“Who says I want anything?”

I screamed and turned to face Amy, who'd come in the front door. Amy's eyes widened.

“Are you okay?”

I collapsed into the wooden kitchen chair and pointed to the door. “It's open.”

Amy frowned and walked over to the screen. She pulled it closed and put the hook into the eye to keep the door shut before closing the outside door and turning the lock. “The wind's really kicking up out there. We should go around and make sure all the windows are closed before we leave, too.”

The wind. All it had been was the wind. “I guess I got spooked.”

Amy sat next to me and rubbed my arm. “You've had a bad week. You're entitled to a case of the jitters.”

I took a few deep breaths and smiled. “I guess.”

“We don't have to do this today. We could just go find an all-you-can-eat buffet that serves alcohol.” Amy's tone was light, but I knew she worried.

“Come help me look for an address book or something.” I stood and nodded to the living room. “She has to have some relatives, somewhere.”

The desk had a drawer for folders on the side. Pulling open the drawer, I flipped through the files. Each month had its own folder for receipts, bills paid, etc. Then there was a thick file labeled Council.

I smiled at Amy and pulled the file out. Years of letters from the council and copies of her responses stapled to the front of each letter spilled out. Miss Emily's handwriting got shakier throughout the years and her responses, shorter. The last one just said “Mowed!” with her signature. And as her letters shortened, the council letters lengthened. I read the last letter from the council, sitting on top. The letter gave her thirty days to clean up the property with an attached list of infractions or else further action would occur.

A letter sat on top of the desk. The letter Miss Emily had told me about. But this one was on different stationery. I pulled out my notebook and wrote down the lawyer's name and phone number from the top of the letter. I'd have a talk with him right after I called the mayor. “Amy? Who's this lawyer? Why is the council using out-of-town lawyers?”

“They don't. We have a Bakerstown lawyer on retainer. It's a lot cheaper. Why?”

I handed her the letter. “This guy's out of San Francisco. If they have a lawyer on retainer, why wouldn't they use him to send a property infraction letter?”

Amy studied the letter. “This isn't right. The council has the item up on the agenda to discuss her property, but they aren't at this level, not yet. You know they take forever to make any decisions.” She fingered through the other letters from the file.

“This is the only one from this attorney. All the other ones are from the council. I know, because I typed them.”

“So why would an out-of-town lawyer be sending Miss Emily a letter threatening to condemn her property?” I sat back in my chair. “This just doesn't make any sense.”

“I'll check the council's list of approved attorneys handling their legal matters tomorrow. Maybe they didn't send this through me because of my relationship with you. But I swear, the last meeting they were just grumbling about the weeds and the fence. Nothing like this.” Amy pulled out a receipt from a gas station and wrote down the lawyer's name and address.

“I have paper.”

“This is fine. That way I recycle the receipt. I hate to have it only be used once.”

Amy collected cans and paper for the county recycling program. She picked up trash on her morning runs. She only used her 1970 Datsun pickup for trips to the beach and walked to work and around town. I think the truck only had fifty thousand miles on it. If one person could save the world through recycling, she'd be the one to do it.

Amy tucked the receipt and her pen back into her purse. “How are you doing?”

“I told you, I'm fine.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” She reached up and rubbed a spot under my eye. “I have mascara if you want to try again.”

I'd forgotten about the raccoon eyes. “I think I'll just wash this off and leave it.” I headed to the bathroom.

I heard Amy fiddling through the rest of the files. “Find anything?” I asked when I walked back into the room.

“Did you know Miss Emily had the property surveyed last year? There's a receipt here for the cost but no report. That's strange.”

“Maybe she put the report somewhere else. Did you find an address book or anything listing relatives?” I still hoped for a long-lost cousin or anything, even though Miss Emily's note made it pretty clear it was down to me.

My cell rang.

“Hello?” I couldn't think of who it could be since Amy was the only person who called me and she sat next to me digging through Miss Emily's desk.

“This is Detective King. I need you to come to the funeral home.”

“I'm supposed to meet Doc Ames at two o'clock.”

“I need you here now. We found something during the autopsy.” He paused. “You might be right. Miss Emily could have been murdered.”

P
eople crowded Doc Ames's office when Amy and I arrived twenty minutes later. The ride over had been quiet. I had known Miss Emily hadn't gone peacefully in her sleep, but I couldn't wrap my head around who would have actually wanted to kill her. Even with the list of suspects I had drawn up that morning, I felt clueless.

“I'm glad you made it early. I have a few questions for you before Jimmy reads the will.” Detective King looked like he hadn't slept much in the last twenty-four hours. I almost felt sorry for him.

“From your call, it seemed like kind of a command performance.” I scanned the room for a familiar face but came up empty except for Pastor Bill, Doc Ames, and Detective King. “Jimmy Marcum's here?”

“How do you know Jimmy?”

“I don't.”

“Then how did you know his last name was Marcum?” Detective King challenged.

“I found this with Miss Emily's funeral clothes.” I thrust the note into his hands and walked toward the front of the chapel. “I need to give these to Doc Ames.”

Doc Ames met me and gently took the bag. “Thanks for bringing these. I know going back into the house must have been hard.”

“She had them all ready. I'm supposed to tell you no panty hose and no jewelry.” I bit my lip. I was not going to cry. Not in front of all these people.

Doc Ames laughed. “Sounds like Miss Emily. She told me the same thing when she came in last year to make her arrangements. I guess she didn't think I listened close enough.” He reached in his jacket pocket for a small plastic bag, handing it to me. “Here's her wedding ring and the cross she'd been wearing when she came in.”

Coming up behind me, Detective King took the bag out of my hand. “Doc, you know there's an open investigation, that's evidence.” He scowled at Doc Ames.

“Whatever.” Holding her jewelry just made it too real for me. King could have it. I didn't care. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Not here. Let's go into the chapel for some privacy.” He nodded at Doc Ames. “We'll be right back.”

He held my elbow as he guided me to the chapel. Amy tried to follow, but he held his hand up like a stop sign and she relented, sitting in the office to wait.

We sat down in the pew closest to the door, closed for privacy. Too bad this chat was all business. Detective King looked hot in a big-muscle, sandy-brown-hair, baby-blue-eyes kind of way. I've always been a sucker for a man in uniform. He'd never paid this much attention to me before.

“What did you want to talk about?” He wasn't here to ask me out. My emotions must be all twisted with losing Miss Emily.

Detective King pulled a little notebook out of his front pocket. “I just need to clarify a few things about your relationship with the deceased.”

“You mean Miss Emily. You don't have to act like you didn't know her.” Now he'd made me mad. If I were a cartoon character, steam would be rolling out of my ears.

“Sorry, Miss Emily.” Detective King examined his notes. “Now, would you please tell me again what happened the morning you found Miss Emily?”

“I told you, I went over Sunday about ten to talk to her about getting her lawn mowed. Amy had told me the council had mentioned taking Miss Emily to court regarding the condition of the house.” I didn't mention the letter from the attorney Amy and I had found in Miss Emily's desk. I could drop it off at the police station later; if Amy couldn't find out anything, then I'd let the professionals handle it.

“Was the door unlocked when you got there?” Detective King stared at me. What was he looking for?

I thought back to yesterday morning. I had been dreading the conversation with Miss Emily since Wednesday. I'd walked into the yard mentally measuring the length of the grass and how whomever I got to mow would have to rake up the clippings, as well.

“The door was unlocked. I didn't think about it at the time. I was surprised she wasn't up yet. Honestly, I was worried she'd fallen in the bathroom or backyard.”

“You went into the house?”

“I knocked and then went in. I headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and called out to her. When no one answered, I started getting nervous.”

“Did anything seem out of place in the house?”

I stopped and thought back for a moment. “Not really. I mean, I've never been in her bedroom before that day. The rest of the house looked normal. Miss Emily collected everything, so there were always piles of newspapers, magazines, and more.”

“The mayor insists you're not to be considered a suspect.” Detective King narrowed his eyes and stared. “Are you related to the Honorable Mayor?”

“Mayor Bird, I mean Baylor?” Everyone called him Mayor Bird around town. He chirped instead of talked, his tone high-pitched and his words clipped. “I'm not related to him or anyone else in this town.”

“So, what brought you to South Cove? I heard you had a pretty nice gig in San Francisco.”

“If you call dealing with battered women and the men who love to hit them a nice gig, then yes.”

Who was this guy? I was getting pretty tired of the questions. Like I'd moved here five years ago as part of my evil plan to kill Miss Emily on Sunday.

“I heard you were an attorney and married to some stockbroker or something.” Detective King glanced up at me.

“Well, the rumor mill got part of it right. I was married to a stockbroker and I was an attorney. I practiced family law, which means I worked more hours than the other associates and made half as much.”

“You didn't know anyone here when you moved?”

“Only Miss Emily. All it took was talking to her one weekend, and she'd convinced me to pull up stakes and move here. I spent an afternoon with her drinking iced tea when I stayed for a short vacation at Madison's Bed-and-Breakfast. She got me.” I started to tear up.

He checked his list. “Well, that's about it. Let's go back into the office.”

“What did Doc Ames find? How did she die?” My mind wandered back over the scene from Doc Ames's office. Who were those people? “And what's happening in the office?”

“I can't go over the specifics of the investigation with you. As a former attorney, you should know that. We need to go back to the office for the reading of the will.” Detective King peered back at me. “I've been told you are going to be very happy.”

Happy? What the heck was he talking about? Miss Emily lived off her small pension check, using coupons to afford her groceries.

“Whatever she left me, I'm sure it will be more sentimental than financial.”

“I guess you could call the inheritance sentimental.”

I followed Detective King back into Doc Ames's office. Looking around, I spied Amy, who patted the chair next to her when she saw me.

“What did he want?” Amy whispered.

I kept an eye on Detective King to see if he was listening. He headed toward the front, but it seemed like he was going to talk to the tall, skinny guy with Doc Ames. The three of them spoke in low tones and kept glancing over at me. The guy was a royal jerk. “He just wanted to get my story about when I found Miss Emily.”

“Are you a suspect?” Amy grabbed my hand. “That's just dumb, you loved that old lady.”

“No, for some reason, Mayor Baylor has taken me out of the suspect pool.” I watched Amy for any reaction. “What's up with that, do you think?”

“How should I know? He's crazy.” Amy started to dig in her purse for something, avoiding eye contact.

“Amy? Did you ask Mayor Baylor to tell Detective King to keep me out of this?” I pressed my friend, who continued to focus on the bottom of her purse.

“Why would I do that? And more to the point, why would he listen to me? The man hates me.” Amy's voice sounded muffled from the purse.

I suspected Amy knew more than what she was saying, but if my friend had kept my name out of the investigation, more power to her. I didn't kill Miss Emily, and it would be pretty hard to find out who did from the inside of South Cove's makeshift jail. I'd have to think about taking Mayor Baylor's name off my list, quid pro quo, but not until I talked to him. “Hey, what time does he come into the office tomorrow?”

“Mayor Baylor? Not until nine-thirty, ten. Why?” Amy regarded me from her excursion into her purse. She offered me a peppermint Life Saver from a half-gone roll. My stomach growled. I took the Life Saver.

“I wanted to talk to him about Bambi's developer boyfriend. Have you found out anything?” I hoped this reading would start soon. I realized I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Maybe Amy would be up to a stop at Tuscany Garden before we left town to head home.

“Not a word. Of course I didn't see His Honor before I left today, so I'll see what I can find out tomorrow. You have to open the shop tomorrow, don't you?”

I thought about my crowded Tuesday. I had to order supplies and new books to get the shop ready for the weekend. How would I run the shop, plan a funeral, and figure out who killed my friend? Maybe I could find an extra eight hours a day by not sleeping.

“Good afternoon. I'm happy you could all join us.” Doc Ames addressed the small crowd of seven in his office. “Jimmy Marcum”—he nodded toward the tall man at the front—“has asked for the will to be read before the funeral as a final request from Miss Emily. Although this is an unusual request, it's not totally without precedent. Detective King has asked to sit in on the reading. Jimmy?”

The tall man stood by Doc Ames's desk. “Thanks for allowing us to use your chapel, Fred.” He nodded to Doc Ames. I'd never heard anyone call Doc Ames Fred before. “I guess you know why we are all here.”

Jimmy Marcum pulled out a file from a briefcase sitting on Doc Ames's desk. He scanned the people gathered. I felt his glance fall on me. “Let's introduce ourselves. Miss Gardner? Will you start?”

“I'm Jill Gardner. I run Coffee, Books, and More over in South Cove. Miss Emily and I were friends.” I turned toward Amy and sat back in my chair, passing her the invisible introduction torch.

Amy didn't stand. “I'm Amy Newman, South Cove's city developer and Jill's friend.” She turned toward the redheaded woman in the pew across the aisle.

“I'm Sabrina Jones and this is my husband, George.” She pointed to the slender man perched next to her. “He's Miss Emily's nephew and only living relative.”

Sabrina glared at me. “I don't know why we are even having this hearing. We should get all her stuff.”

“As I've told you, this isn't a hearing. It's the reading of the will, not a court case. These are Miss Emily's final wishes and the disposition of her estate.” The attorney took back control of the room. “Of course, everyone knows Detective King and Doc Ames. Now, if we are ready?” He glared across the room that had suddenly gone quiet.

I peeked over at the unknown George, Miss Emily's nephew. I tried to remember if Miss Emily had ever talked about a nephew. Nothing came to mind. Then I realized Jimmy Marcum had already started talking and I was traipsing down memory lane.

“. . . my last will and testament. To my nephew, George Jones, my only living relative and heir, I leave the family Bible and a photo album with our family history, which is in Mr. Marcum's care so George and Sabrina don't have to be burdened with the long twenty-mile drive to South Cove after the reading of the will. Since you were unable to visit me during my lifetime, I'm sure you won't mind staying the hell out of my house now that I'm gone.”

Jimmy Marcum stopped reading and pulled a large Bible from his briefcase and a blue picture album. He walked over to George and handed him the books. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

I wasn't sure if Jimmy referenced George losing Miss Emily or her earthly treasures.

Sabrina glared at Jimmy Marcum. “Two old books? That's it? She didn't have anything else? No money, no stocks? What about the house?” Sabrina's voice got louder as she listed off the items George wasn't getting.

Jimmy returned to the front. “Please, let me continue. To my friend, Jill Gardner, first, I leave you my thanks. You befriended a lonely old woman who didn't have anything better to do than annoy the council with my lawn.”

Amy started laughing. Jimmy stopped talking. Amy pulled out a tissue from her purse. “If I could continue.”

He started again. “You put up with my ramblings, my stories, and my complaints with grace and love. I may not have had a daughter of my blood, but thanks to you, I had a daughter in my old age. I'm sorry I put you through so much bother.”

Amy handed me the tissue as tears started to fall on my cheeks. Miss Emily had been the one who always believed in me.

“For your love, I leave to you my house, the entire contents of the house, my car, and the funds from my bank accounts, life insurance, and stock. My accountant assures me at least in liquid assets I'm rather quite wealthy, and now dear, so are you. My only request is that you move into the house and live there. Oh, and you need to get a dog. That's it. Have a good life, my dear. I'll miss you.”

Jimmy set the will down on the table. “That's all, folks. Miss Gardner? I'll make time for you to meet with me and go over the specifics of the bequest next week after the funeral. I understand your store is closed on Mondays? Can you be at my office about one o'clock?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I took the card he offered and put it in my purse. Get a dog. The woman left me her house. And she wanted me to get a dog.