Take Stock in Murder (3 page)

harles and Carrie cherished their Sundays. It was a very special time for them to enjoy being home alone in their old farmhouse, located just outside the village of Nottingham, on the edge of Allwin County.

Charles and Carrie had fallen in love with the farmhouse the very first time they saw it. The two-story stone and wood structure had been built at the turn of the century. It was nestled in a grove of trees, with a long driveway from the main road adding additional privacy. Originally, the house had been the centerpiece of a two-hundred-acre farm, but the land had been sold off through the years for housing tracts as the TriCity boundaries had seeped into the surrounding counties.

When house hunting, the couple had originally looked at new construction, but found they preferred the charm of older homes. When they looked at this one, it was the large country kitchen, once the center of family life for both eating and staying warm that sold the property. The room housed a huge
fireplace that occupied an entire wall. It was so large that a fire needed to be started in the smaller bread oven to ensure there was enough draft in the chimney to carry the smoke away.

Even with all its charm, the structure needed many renovations. Carrie and Charles had started with the kitchen. They redid the floor, added a cooking island near the stove and of course updated all the appliances. A new addition was added to the first floor to create a study and a sun-room leading out onto a beautiful deck. A couple of the smaller bedrooms on the second floor were combined to make a master bedroom suite, complete with dressing room and modern bath. The third floor housed guest rooms, and they even installed an elevator for when Geraldine, Charles’s mother, visited. And finally, all of the plumbing and electrical systems were brought up to code. Even the old barn was converted into a garage with an apartment they thought Charles’s nephew Christopher might want to use at some point in the future.

When the couple sat on their deck in the evenings, watching the sun set over their duck pond and twenty-acre spread, they knew they’d made the right decision and that all the renovations had been worth the end result.

However, being together and enjoying their home shouldn’t imply that their Sundays were wasted away. They usually rose early to go to church and then returned home to share the Sunday paper, breakfast, each other, and sometimes an activity for the day. However, after last night’s dance, they were just a little off the normal schedule.

Carrie gently rolled over on her side of the bed. She smelled coffee and opened one eye to see a steaming cup on the
nightstand next to her. She rolled to the other side and saw the empty spot next to her. She smiled to herself and thought,
Bless his heart. He got up and made me coffee
.

She had barely finished the thought when Charles emerged from the master bathroom, wiping his face with a towel. For someone in his midfifties who sat at a desk most of the week, Charles’s body was lean and well toned. Perhaps all those golf games at the Club were good for him, because he sure looked good to Carrie. Maybe she should take up golf.

Carrie came back to reality, rearranged herself in bed, and sat up with her cup of coffee.

“Thank you, darling. I can’t tell you how good this coffee tastes.”

“You say that every Sunday.”

“I do?” she responded.

“You know you do. That’s why I get up every Sunday and make the coffee. I love to hear the praise again and again and again.”

“Well, come over here, and I’ll give you another form of praise.”

Charles wandered over and sat on the edge of the bed. Carrie put her coffee down and gave him several kisses.

“OK, OK, I’ll keep making the coffee. Come on now. Get up. I’ve already shaved, and I’m on my way down to make breakfast.” He grabbed his robe and headed out of the room.

Carrie drank her coffee slowly. She hated to gulp hot liquids. Besides, Charles enjoyed making a huge production of Sunday breakfast, which gave her time to linger. Thirty minutes later, she padded downstairs in her slippers and robe.

Breakfast was delicious. Charles had made Swedish pancakes along with Canadian bacon and more steaming-hot coffee. The pancakes were made in various shapes. Carrie preferred Mickey Mouse to all the other figures Charles had formed with the pancake batter.

“I noticed your pancakes took the form of little boats,” Carrie said as she helped dry the dishes.

“They did?” Charles pretended he knew nothing about the boat design.

“Yes, they did. Are you still thinking about buying a boat?”

“Who, me? Of course not, darling. It must have been a subconscious urge that came over me.” He smiled affectionately.

“Well, while you finish making more coffee, I’m heading to the study.”

When she entered the study, she found the Sunday paper turned to the section that advertised boats for sale. She laughed and said aloud, “What am I going to do with him?” She picked up Saturday’s unopened mail and headed for one of the two matching sofas. They had specifically bought two sofas for this part of their Sunday ritual. They each had a spot to stretch out, relax, and read the paper. They would each read in silence until one of them found something of interest to share.

Charles came in from the kitchen with fresh coffee and placed it on the sideboard near the bookcases. He poured two cups and handed one to Carrie.

“Here’s a letter from Christopher,” Carrie said.

Charles was Christopher’s guardian, and if Carrie and Charles had had a child of their own, they couldn’t have asked for a finer boy than him.

Charles’s brother, Jamie, had been murdered. It was after solving this murder that Carrie and Charles had been married. They’d started their married lives living with Geraldine Faraday and Christopher in the family home in TriCity. But it wasn’t long before Geraldine announced she’d decided to sell the house and move to Florida, where the climate was warmer. She felt it was time for the couple to establish a home of their own and start their own memories. They followed her advice and found the farmhouse. Of course, Christopher moved in with them and helped with the remodeling between his classes.

Then, when it was time for high school, Christopher asked to live with his grandmother in Florida. At first they’d thought he was making this decision to give Charles and Carrie more time alone at the start of their marriage. Carrie protested and wanted him to stay, but Christopher defended his decision. He’d found a high school near his grandmother’s home that offered a precollege program in forensic science. Courses were offered in conjunction with the county medical examiner’s office, and Christopher wanted to pursue this career in college. He seemed quite happy with his schooling and constantly told them about his program in his frequent letters, e-mails, and phone calls.

“What does young Christopher have to say?” Charles said.

“He says he’s going on a field trip to the morgue as part of his studies.”

“Education is certainly changing from when I went to school.”

“Don’t worry. He says there won’t be any bodies; it’s just a tour, and then they can ask the medical examiner questions. He also joined the staff of the school newspaper.”

“Ah, so he’s following in the family’s media footsteps. Does he ask if you finished your mystery book yet?”

It was sort of a standing family joke that Carrie was always working on a mystery book. She was writing a novel but never seemed to have the time to finish it.

“He mentions my book briefly.” Carrie made a face at Charles. “He says he’s one of the newspaper’s photographers.”

Charles looked up from his cup of coffee. “Does he say anything about enjoying water sports?”

“You mean like sailing?”

“A sailboat would be a great way to teach Christopher teamwork, and it would be a fun activity for him this summer.”

“I suppose you would like to have our activity today include a drive past the marina,” Carrie said.

“Why, darling, what a wonderful idea! It’s such a beautiful fall day for a drive by the water.”

“My idea? I suppose you don’t know how the paper flipped open to the ‘boats for sale’ section.”

“What a coincidence! Did it really? Let me see.”

He laughed as he sat down next to Carrie and collected a kiss. Then they both laughed, and he gently pushed her back on the sofa. For just a brief second, Carrie stiffened beneath him.

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” Charles said.

An unpleasant memory from last night briefly passed through Carrie’s mind, but with Charles’s soothing voice, she relaxed and said, “No, darling, you haven’t told me that since early last evening. I’m beginning to feel neglected.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He began kissing her mouth, moving slowly down the side of her neck. They were both just
deciding whether to stay on the sofa or perhaps return to the bedroom when the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Charles asked.

“Not on a Sunday morning, I’m not.”

“Well, it’s actually Sunday afternoon. We didn’t make any plans to meet friends for tennis, lunch, or maybe even sailing,” Charles said as he stood up and straightened his robe. He headed for the door.

“No, I’m sure we didn’t, because we knew the dance would run late. Of course I can vouch only for the tennis and lunch engagements.” Then she added, “You’ll have to answer if you invited someone to go sailing.” Charles smiled at Carrie and then she added, “Charles, wait. Don’t go! Pretend we’re not at home.” She was very serious with her suggestion.

“I’ll pretend I’m the butler and tell whoever it is that the Faradays are not at home. Then we can get back to our Sunday in peace.” He blew her a kiss.

“Right, as if anyone would believe you were the butler, dressed in your pajamas and robe at noon,” she called after him.

Charles answered the door to find two strange men standing on his porch. For a split second, they reminded him of two traveling salesmen, but the driveway that led to their home was too far off the main road to attract salespeople. Besides, it was a Sunday. Before Charles had a chance to pursue his salesman theory, the older of the two men spoke.

“Mr. Charles Faraday?”

The man wore a subtle, gray glen-plaid suit, nicely pressed, but not expensive. He was tall, with the first traces of gray showing at the temples of his black hair. Behind him was a younger, smaller man. He was dressed in dark slacks with a multigray sports coat and a knit tie.

Salesmen
, Charles thought.
They look more like policemen
.

“Are you Mr. Faraday?” the man asked again.

Charles decided these two wouldn’t take kindly to his butler routine. He decided to play it straight. “Yes, I’m Charles Faraday, and who might you—”

“I’m Detective Jenco, and this is Detective McCall,” the older man responded to Charles’s unfinished question. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but we would like to ask you and Mrs. Faraday a few questions.”

“Mrs. Faraday?” The request took Charles by surprise. “Sorry, gentlemen, but before I let two strangers into my home, might I see some—”

Once again Charles was unable to finish before both men pulled out police identifications. Charles looked at the IDs, matching the pictures with the men’s faces. “Mrs. Faraday and I are both in the study. It’s right this way.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Detective McCall said.

Charles led the visitors through the entrance area, past the stairway and down the hallway. Then, opposite the dining room, he turned left into the study.