Southern Sass and a Battered Bride Page 13

  I walked over to the table behind my sofa and opened the drawer. After extracting my spare set of keys, I handed it over to the detective without compunction. I had every intention of calling Harold’s hardware store and having him send over a locksmith to change the locks ASAP.

  He nodded and I forced my legs to carry me out the front door.

  Ten minutes later I sat in the little interview room. Everything had to be official and above reproach. No one could accuse Eddie of special treatment. At least from my point of view. Javy, like Eddie, had cautioned me to tell the truth but not to elaborate. Keeping my answers to the point wouldn’t be a problem. Obviously, I wouldn’t mention my and Javy’s conversation regarding a setup, or that we’d had to turn over the bottle of fentanyl. He was a protector by nature, and I wouldn’t betray anyone who stuck their neck out for me in any capacity. Loyal friends weren’t easy to come by. I’d given my statement for the second time and now we were in the questions portion of the interview. Sadly, this wasn’t my first time being questioned. I knew the drill.

  “Miss Brown, your account for your day leading up to the discovery of the body leaves a little to be desired. Could you expound upon what you told us?”

  “I’ll try. As I said, I’ve recently been released from the hospital and some of the time is foggy.”

  “Do your best.” He didn’t sound sympathetic in the slightest.

  “Well, when I got home, there wasn’t much food in the house. I met Betsy at the diner for a meal. We chatted with friends and neighbors.” I fiddled with the paper cup on the table marred with scratches.

  “This is when you and Mr. Fowler visited Gaskin Funeral Home and spoke with”—he glanced at his pad—“Theodore Gaskin, the island’s funeral director and coroner?”

  I nodded. “On the way to see him, I bumped into Paul. He decided to go along with me.”

  “What was the nature of your visit?”

  The detective’s meaty hands fiddled with the pen. His unexpressive eyes watched me with laser intensity. He gauged everything. I recalled the last statement he ever made to me before leaving the island. He’d been waiting for me outside the diner before he left, with an unpleasant gleam in his eyes. “Something is off about you. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” That day he’d watched me as if I was some caged exotic animal. I recalled the way my skin crawled.

  I rested my back against the metal backrest of the folding chair and met his steely gaze. Why was this man so hell-bent on being involved with our island? Of all the cases he could be working right this second, career-making cases, why this one?

  “I brought Teddy a baker’s dozen of turtle brownies,” I finally answered. “It’s his favorite.”

  “Theodore gave us a statement, Miss Brown. He claims you didn’t have a meeting scheduled. You and Mr. Fowler showed up with questions and accusations.”

  “Not accusations. I simply asked an old friend if, in a state of confusion and chaos, he could be certain the bride died. Nothing more than that.” I lifted the paper cup to my lips and was proud when my hand didn’t shake.

  This man rattled me more than any other.

  “Your father is dating Doctor Lindy Tatum.”

  I didn’t react, kept my posture relaxed, and waited for the question while taking another slow sip.

  “They’ve been together for about a year, and she is also your primary-care physician?”

  Placing the cup back on the table, I left my hands where he could see them. Steady and calm. “That’s right.”

  “She organizes the support group you are a part of for battered women.”

  “Doc Tatum has done a lot of good for the community, and she has taken over the role, but she didn’t organize the group. Her associate did. When she retired, Doc Tatum stepped up. And it isn’t just for battered women. It’s for everyone in all walks of life that have suffered abuse or oppression. Not that I mind discussing our support group, but I fail to see what is has to do with the body on my deck.”

  He clicked the back of the pen slowly several times. “Was Lucy part of your group?”

  I shook my head. “Should she have been?” I wondered what secrets Lucy kept that he was privy to. Had I misjudged her rudeness? Perhaps it’d been her survival tactic to keep people at arm’s length. Had she had a tragic past that scarred her and made her mistrust everyone? Or was this man trying to trip me up by playing with my nurturing side?

  “Miss Carmichael wasn’t one of your favorite people, was she?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, she was marrying your high school sweetheart and having his baby.” Click. Click. Click.

  I worked hard not to focus on the pen. “Alex and I haven’t been together for over a year. Lucy and I weren’t besties, and we were never going to be. She had a different idea of how to treat folks.”

  “Meaning . . .” Click.

  “Meaning, she was the self-centered type. Everything revolved around her. Like I said, we weren’t going to be best friends. But I was kind to her. I catered her wedding, after all.”

  “A wedding she was murdered at.” Click. Click. Click.

  “Allegedly murdered at. And if she was murdered, I certainly didn’t kill her.” I slid my hands onto my lap and discreetly wiped them on my shorts.

  “Can you explain the fentanyl in your cabinet?” He kept clicking that stupid pen.

  My fear gave way to anger. I’d been more than cooperative, and I’d had enough.

  “You’ve already asked me that twice, and I’ve answered each time, no, I can’t.” I finished off the last of the water. “Detective, you once told me you’ve worked cases in a lot of small towns.”

  He put his pen down on the pad and folded his hands on the table. “Yes. And most towns are the same. Some are better at keeping secrets than others. Instinct, whether wise or not, causes people to protect their own. Eventually, everyone cracks, though. I just have to find the right weakened spot and apply the appropriate amount of pressure. I’m good at my job, Miss Brown.”

  “Uh-huh.” I folded my arms. “And all those years of experience taught you anyone is capable of anything. I can understand that. People never cease to amaze me either. Let’s lay this case out, shall we.” I unfolded my arms and opened my hand and held it out for his pen, “May I?”

  An intrigued expression floated across his hard features. “By all means.” He handed me the pen, flipped the page, then passed the pad over to me. Probably thinking I’d hang myself if given enough rope.

  “A woman that most people disliked is allegedly murdered at her wedding.” I jotted down a timeline like I would if I were putting this up on the whiteboard at home. It’s something I did to work out a case when a deceased needed my help. “A wedding which she orchestrated so she could be the victim in her own murder-mystery-themed reception. Then she vanished into thin air. Later that day the caterer and her employee are nearly killed in an accident involving foul play. The person in charge of the murder mystery reception’s van is also tampered with. Then—and here’s where it gets really exciting—after the caterer is discharged from the hospital, the body suddenly appears at her house, along with an alleged murder weapon. Wow. If that isn’t riveting entertainment, I don’t know what is. The problem is, most murders like this one would be considered a crime of passion. Yes?”

  He nodded.

  “This is not such a case. This one has been meticulously planned.” I passed the pad back over to him.

  He studied it for a moment before glancing back at me. “Looks like you’ve had some practice.”

  “I grew up with a father in law enforcement.” I scooted my chair back and stood. “I plan to hold you to your word that you’re good at your job. Because you and I both are aware of how absurd this is.” I pointed to the pad on the table, still open to the page I’d written on. “I didn’t kill her, nor did I put her body on my back porch, if that is indeed her body. Someone is trying to frame me, and I expect you to find out who.�
�� I smoothed out my shirt that had wrinkled from sitting so long. “I’m through here. If you plan to charge me, go ahead and do it. If not, I’m leaving.”

  The detective stood and allowed me to register his size. He towered over me. I tilted my chin back and met him glare for glare. We stood there in silence for a few long heartbeats, and for a couple of those, I almost expected my hands to be put in cuffs. Instead, he reached around me and opened the door. “Before you go, can I ask one more question?”

  I nodded and folded my arms in front of me.

  “Do you have a lot of visitors? Men sleeping over, perhaps?”

  I scratched the back of my right hand and glanced behind him at the old-fashioned two-way glass, where I knew Javy stood. His question made me uneasy. On one hand he could be attempting to defame my character, and on the other, perhaps the detective didn’t think I was guilty or he wanted me to believe he didn’t. I refocused on the detective. “I have visitors. My family and friends.”

  “Betsy Myers frequents your cottage?”

  I locked my emotions down. “Betsy didn’t do this. Alex is her cousin. She likes to spout off, but she loves deeply. She would never, ever hurt a family member and, as you know, this is ripping Alex apart. Besides, Betsy isn’t proficient in bomb making.” I half snorted. “And she certainly wouldn’t be framing me.”

  “Do you know anyone who is proficient in bomb making?”

  “No.”

  “Alex claims Lucy was frightened of the two of you, and, like you say, you grew up with a parent in law enforcement. This does appear to be an obvious setup, and you would know that.”

  I gave a bark of laughter; I couldn’t help myself. My nerves were frazzled, and my resolve wavered. “You give me far too much credit. Not to mention there’s no way I’d attempt to blow myself up. Over an ex-boyfriend, no less.”

  I took a step toward the open door.

  “Your boyfriend, Paul Fowler, ever stay the night?”

  I paused midstep and tried to read what he was thinking. The man gave nothing away.

  “Paul and I have only been seeing each other a little while. He’s never slept over. Though he was in my house the day . . .” I hadn’t meant to allow my thoughts to trail off. This man had me suspecting the man I’d chosen because he was so different from all the others I’d dated. Paul rarely even raised his voice. Now I worried he might be involved.

  “What do you know about Mr. Fowler?”

  “I know he’s kind, and if it wasn’t for him, Betsy and I would probably be dead.” Yes, that didn’t make sense. Why would he save us if he’d intended to kill us? Unless he hadn’t meant to kill us. I chewed on my bottom lip.

  “Yes, Miss Brown, you see why we have to look at everyone. People always surprise us. We may need to speak to you again.”

  “I expect you will. Goodbye, Detective Thornton.” I walked out of the room and into the little hallway and mumbled, “Everyone is a suspect.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The diner was in the lull between the lunch and dinner rush when I arrived. There were a couple of people in the back booth, but other than them, the place was empty.

  Betsy sat at the counter eating a California BLT and fries. “Marygene!” My friend rose from the counter and rushed to embrace me. She whispered, “Sweet Lord, I’ve been worried sick. Aunt Vi has been waiting to see if we need to get that attorney to represent you too.”

  I hugged her back. “Eddie has already called one for me. We can’t talk here. Let’s meet at my house after work. It’s time to get out the whiteboard. Someone is trying to frame me.”

  Betsy released me and her eyes went as wide as saucers. “The nerve! First me and now you. They have no idea who they’re messing with.” It was good to see Betsy with all the color back in her cheeks. Our island bred survivors, for sure, and I had the urge to sing out the chorus of a Destiny’s Child song.

  “Is that you, Marygene?” Sam peeked through the service window. “You all right? Want something to eat?”

  “I’m okay. I’ve got to get in the back and help Hannah out. She’s probably overwhelmed with the added workload.”

  “Gotcha. Stop back here before you start work.” Sam reminded me of Eddie. He wasn’t a softy or anything, but he had become mighty protective of me lately. He was a good brother.

  Betsy and I parted, and I paused next to the grill line, where my brother was cleaning up the work area in prep for the dinner rush, on my way to the bakery side of the kitchen. He turned to face me, securing his favorite American flag bandana in place on his head. “Why didn’t you call me first? Or Dad?” His gray-blue glare told me of the anger brewing beneath the surface.

  I blinked. “Hey, don’t get all snippy with me. It all happened so fast. I called Javier because he lives the closest to me.”

  He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Marygene, do you need reminding how this family sticks together? If you’d called Dad or me, maybe we could have done something. Prevented this BS from hurting you.”

  Aww, my brother loves me.

  I fought tears and put my hand on his shoulder. “Whoever dumped the body had already called in an anonymous tip. If we’d moved the evidence or tried to cover it up and missed anything, I’d be locked up right now. Not that I don’t appreciate you’d get rid of a body for me.”

  Betsy hollered, “Ticket, Sam!”

  Sam moved to the window and grabbed the ticket and placed it on the clip above the grill line as he shook his head. He poured batter for three pancakes on the griddle and put the cast-iron steak press over three strips of extra-thick slices of applewood smoked bacon. He seemed to come to his senses. “It was really her then? Lucy, I mean?”

  I nodded, then shrugged. “Looks like it. She’s wearing the wedding dress. Although, it was hard for me to make a positive identification with the, um, condition of the body.” I shivered, thinking back to the condition of the heavily decomposed remains.

  He flipped the bubbling pancakes. “You think something else is going on? Lucy’s not really dead?” Sam edged a little closer to keep his voice down. “You know the credit union she worked for was just robbed.”

  My mouth dropped open. Eddie wouldn’t want the news made public. “How’d you know that?”

  “Trixie and her friend Cindy came in for lunch. They closed the bank early for the investigation. The way they tell it, a few of their larger customers called in with disturbing news that their accounts had suspicious activity on them. Massive amounts were requested for withdrawal and to be rerouted to another bank in the Cayman Islands.”

  “Wow. Whose accounts was it? Can they trace it? Did Trixie know?”

  “Not that they told me. But the point to all this is maybe Lucy was the inside person on the job and whoever was in on it with her took her out so they wouldn’t have to share and could flee with millions. Or maybe she’s still alive and planted an unrecognizable body in her place. One forensics can’t ID.” Sam looked both pleased and disturbed by his theory.

  “I don’t know. That would take a lot of planning, plus I’m not sure anybody would be able to pass it off as her. Besides, she’d have to be stupid to think they’d get away with that. And you’d think whoever she trusted would be someone close to her. She didn’t have all that many friends other than Trixie.” I drummed my fingers on the work top.

  “That we know of. Peach Cove Credit Union hasn’t ever been robbed. This outsider comes along and wreaks havoc on the lives of folks, lays in wait for the perfect patsy to use, i.e. Alex, and then puts her plan into action.”

  “I know you don’t like Alex, and right now he isn’t my favorite person on the planet. Still, I have a hard time seeing him being used like that. And you can’t possibly believe he’d rob a bank.”

  Sam shrugged. “You never know. He’s been moaning a lot about not making enough money to keep up with what Lucy envisioned as their lives together.” Trixie’s words came back to me. I guess Alex got an earful on how she deserved beach-front prope
rty. I wondered if she’d ever mentioned a David.

  “He’s been moaning to you?” Alex and Sam weren’t exactly getting along these days.

  “Yeah, he’s been moaning to everyone. Ask around.”

  The Alex I knew felt content with his life. He was happy in his modest brick home his father left him. It was nearly paid for by now and he had money to burn on things he enjoyed. Like football and baseball games. No wonder he’d looked so downtrodden when he came by my place before the wedding.

  I contemplated his words. “Even so, that’s ludicrous. Alex—”

  Sam cut me off. “Think about it objectively. I mean, this is real Ocean’s Eleven kind of stuff here. You know I’ve seen those movies a thousand times. If I really wanted to rob the bank, I could’ve done it.”

  “Uh-huh. And you think Alex is George Clooney good?”

  “Not a chance. That’s why he botched it.” Sam snatched another ticket from the wheel and hung it.

  I fought an eye roll. This theory verged on fairy-tale status. However, seeing my brother really get into this had lightened my mood considerably.

  He threw a couple of burgers on the grill. “You know I’ve never been a fan of the guy. I mean, he certainly isn’t the one I’d choose to join our family. But besides that, he hasn’t been himself lately. And he would have knowledge of how a robbery would be investigated. Time frames and all that. Plus, he came in here a little while ago. He was asking customers a lot of questions and stirring junk up. He and Betsy almost got into it. Jena Lynn got upset, and I politely asked him to leave.” Sam’s emphasis on the word politely gave me a picture of what went down.

  “I’m not saying I buy any of this. It’s as far-fetched as a theory gets, but I’ll play along. What kinds of questions?”

  He plated up the pancakes and bacon and put the plate under the ticket in the service window. “He asked the staff who worked the wedding about their whereabouts, and what they witnessed when Lucy went into the tent to set up for the murder mystery. He had the nerve to even question me. I laughed in his face and told him he could take his questions and shove them where the sun don’t shine.”