Be Mine, Dead Valentine, page 12
part #2 of Crescent Falls Series
Bob’s face was now flushed. “You leave my mother out of this.”
“Oh, but she’s already in it. She didn’t like Patty, did she? She made no secret of it, from what I’ve heard.”
Bob squirmed around in his chair. Obviously he hadn’t expected the questioning to go this way. Daniel continued. “Tell me about your relationship with Gayle Nelson, Bob. She was a neighbor too. She was single. Attractive. Did you maybe come on to her and she rebuffed you? So, you moved on to Patty. But, something went wrong, didn’t it? Was Patty getting tired of your relationship? Is that it? Rejection. Not good for the ego, is it?” He stopped. Bob’s face was almost purple, his green eyes blazing.
Abruptly Bob got up. “I came here to cooperate. I came here without a lawyer this time. That should prove something.” He glared down at Daniel.
“Sit down.” Daniel returned Bob’s gaze with what he hoped was one of equal intensity.
As quickly as the fury had come, it seemed to dissipate. Bob took a deep breath. His face lost its flush. But he didn’t sit down, Instead he turned and went to the door. “Am I being charged with anything?” He opened the door.
“Not yet.” Daniel turned off the recorder.
Bob walked out without further comment. Daniel watched him go. He wasn’t hurrying, just striding at a normal pace. But his posture was stiff and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
Bob’s trying to play it cool, but he’s got quite a temper. Maybe it’s time to dig into his past romances a little and see how he behaved.
* * * *
Adelaide entered the library via the back door at ten o’clock. Normally, since she lived only a block and a half away, she would have walked. But it was a little icy this morning, so she’d decided to drive which necessitated her parking in the lot behind the structure. The checkout desk was to her right, the children’s book section to her left. Straight ahead, across a roomy carpeted expanse that accommodated several round reading tables, was the front door. Adult books were in a section on the other side of the checkout desk. In a nearby corner were the computers. New books were on one side of the front door, CDs and DVs on the other side. The layout was simple and functional, thanks to Mary Ellen Oliver, who ran the library with great efficiency.
The girl behind the checkout desk was looking at her expectantly. “Pretty brisk out there this morning isn’t it Mrs. McBride?” the girl said.
Adelaide realized she’d been standing just inside the door, lost in thought, for several moments. Propelled into action by the girl’s question, she approached the counter. “It certainly is, Marie.” She knew that Marie worked only part-time and filled in when other employees were on vacation or out sick. “Is Mary Ellen around? I’d hoped to speak with her.”
Marie shook her head. “She’s taking a personal day. Something she hardly ever does.”
“She’s not ill, is she?” Adelaide scanned the corner where the computers were set up, noticing that another long desk had been added to accommodate the new ones recently purchased, although they had not been installed yet.
“Not sure. I just got here. She called in earlier, I think. Joan took the message.”
A patron approached the counter with an armful of books, so Adelaide stepped away. She walked across the room to the new books, gave them a cursory glance, then exited by the back door and got into her car.
Five minutes later she was on the front porch of Mary Ellen’s Queen-Anne-Style house, ringing the bell. She shifted from one foot to the other as an arctic-like breeze chilled her to the bone. She rang the bell three times before Mary Ellen answered.
“So sorry, Adelaide. I was in the basement, starting a load of wash and didn’t hear the bell,” Mary Ellen said. She stepped back so Adelaide could enter.
Adelaide quickly took off her gloves and rubbed her nearly numb hands together to warm them. “I went by the library and Marie said you took a personal day. You’re not sick, are you?” She assessed her friend’s appearance. She was dressed in a pair of gray wool slacks and turquoise sweater that brought out the vividness of her eyes. Then she realized that Mary Ellen was also wearing eye makeup, something that she rarely did.
“I’m fine. Just needed to catch up on some things, that’s all. You need to thaw out. I’m going to get us some herbal tea. I got this new flavor the other day. It has a hint of cinnamon. I think you’ll like it.” She took Adelaide’s coat and draped it over the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. As they left the foyer and walked down the short hallway to the kitchen, Mary Ellen pushed shut the basement door on their left. Adelaide took a seat at the kitchen table. Almost immediately Mary Ellen’s two cats, both Russian Blues, came to greet her. She leaned down to pet them, one with each hand. “I think I finally have them figured out. Ashley is the one on my right and Misty is on my left,” Adelaide said.
Mary Ellen turned from the stove where she was putting the kettle on to boil and smiled. “You are correct. You know, I thought of getting them collars with their names on them, to clear up any confusion, but…well, I don’t get that many visitors here at the house, so why bother?”
Adelaide didn’t miss the wistful quality in Mary Ellen’s voice. “Do you mind it very much? Not having someone else living here?”
Mary Ellen got two china mugs from the cupboard and two tea bags from a canister on the granite counter. “You mean not having a man in my life?”
Adelaide knew how lonely living alone could be, now that Albert was gone. Yet, she had adjusted and actually treasured the solitude sometimes. “I’ve been a widow for a few years, Mary Ellen. But I spent most of my life married to Albert. I still have times when I think the quietness will drive me crazy.”
The kettle sang and Mary Ellen made the tea then brought the mugs to the table. She sat down across from Adelaide. “People assume because I live alone, I’m lonely. That’s not true. At least…not anymore.”
Adelaide inhaled the rich aroma of the tea. There was, indeed, cinnamon, along with the tang of berries. She took a sip. It was delicious. “This is magnificent. Where did you get it?”
“A little specialty shop in Rosewood. It’s called Berry Fusion. The tea, not the shop.”
Adelaide studied the woman across the table. “I must say, Mary Ellen, there’s been quite a change in you since Christmas. The new hairdo, new wardrobe. So, anything you want to tell me?”
Mary Ellen’s smile faded slowly, her expression growing serious. “I just decided to make some personal improvements. You know me, Adelaide. I’ve always been so…predictable. And so…unsure of myself socially. So, why did you go to the library looking for me?”
“I wanted to run something by you. I was thinking it might be a good idea for the library to sponsor some computer classes for those of us who are technically challenged. I’m one of those, as you know. I might be tempted to get a computer if I knew how to use it. What do you think of the idea?”
Mary Ellen got up from the table and took both of their empty mugs to the sink. She didn’t ask Adelaide if she wanted anymore tea. “I can’t make any promises. You know this sort of thing must be presented to the library board. I’m sure Carl Henshaw will go along, as well as Howard Purcell and Tina Engler. Especially if they know it is your idea. As for Lloyd Fletcher and Rita Nelson…well, I’m sure Lloyd will want to know where the money for such a course would come from. As a non-profit, we really can’t charge a fee if we’re the ones giving the lessons.” She turned and faced Adelaide.
“But there’s nothing to keep the library from asking for donations is there?” Adelaide got up. “You didn’t say how you think Rita Nelson will vote.”
Mary Ellen’s expression was hard to read. “I rather imagine she has enough on her mind right now, don’t you?”
Adelaide followed her hostess into the foyer. “Gayle’s funeral is Saturday at eleven.” She put on her coat.
Mary Ellen opened the door. “I realize that. I’m a member of the same church, as you know. Listen, if you’re serious about these computer classes, why don’t you come speak to the board on February twenty-sixth? That’s the next meeting.”
Adelaide stepped out onto the porch. “If you think it will help, of course.”
“Good,” Mary Ellen said then shut the door.
Adelaide’s next stop was the pharmacy, where she was greeted warmly by one of their most reliable employees, Anne Hinderman, who had been a clerk there for twenty years. After exchanging pleasantries, Adelaide headed for the back of the store where Vernon was working. There were no customers waiting on medication, but she could see him behind the elevated counter, filling out paperwork. “Hard at work as always,” she said as she approached.
He looked up at her but didn’t smile. In fact, his expression was rather bland. “So, what brings you here, Adelaide?”
The aloofness in his voice was very obvious. “Well, we haven’t spoken in a few days, so I thought I’d drop by and make sure you’re still coming for Saturday night dinner. Cabbage rolls, don’t forget.”
“Yes, I believe the last time we saw each other or spoke was at the meeting Monday night at my house.” His tone was decidedly chilly.
“Are you all right, Vernon?” Adelaide felt a spike of concern course through her.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Adelaide didn’t care for his evasive answer. Something was definitely wrong. “All right, out with it. What is bothering you? And don’t try to tell me it is nothing. Is there something wrong here at the pharmacy? Is it money? I know we’ve had to stretch it thin because of our decision to let the former L&C employees slide on their co-pays if they don’t have it, but that check from Harold Purcell in December should be enough to carry us for at least six months.”
Vernon eyed her for a moment before responding. “It’s not the pharmacy. Things here are fine.”
Adelaide was at a loss. “Then what is it?”
“I’d rather not discuss it right now, Addy.” He nodded towards something over her shoulder. Adelaide turned to see a customer approaching.
“We’ll discuss it Saturday night,” he told her.
His dismissive tone cut a little and she wanted to press the issue, but didn’t dare with a customer at the counter. “See you at seven on Saturday, then,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
* * * *
“Not a damned thing. Nada. Zilch,” Luke Fagan said with disgust after he’d come into Daniel’s office and closed the door. “Nothing in the car, either. No ice picks stored in the closet. No old Valentine cards stuffed under the bed. We tore his place apart, including the car. Nothing there to connect him to those murders. I sent his dirty laundry to the lab in Rosewood. Maybe they’ll find something to connect him to the crimes. But even if they find something that connects him to the parking lot at the bar or the Dumpster area at the apartment, so what? He works at the bar and lives at the apartment complex. Say his shoes have the same kind of gravel and dirt as that in the bar parking lot or the grime and grit around the Dumpster at the apartment. Again, so what? He walks through that parking lot at Marty’s every day and he takes out his trash at home. It’s a dead end.”
“I don’t think he did it,” Daniel said.
“Based on?”
“Cop’s intuition. I got him pretty riled up when he was in here earlier and he’s got a temper, for sure. But these weren’t crimes of passion, in spite of the little gift left with each body. Our killer is methodical and has researched the victims, maybe for weeks, at the very least for days. The only reason we looked at Bob to begin with, other than the fact he lived in the same apartment complex as both women and found both bodies, is that our killer obviously has knowledge of the human anatomy. But do you have to be in the medical field to get that knowledge? Anyone of average intelligence can get on the Internet and learn all they need to know about the subject.”
“So how do we widen the net? Thousands of people around here get on the Internet every day.”
Daniel shook his head “That’s not the approach, either. I’m just bringing it up to prove a point. No, I think our killer has an agenda.”
“And that is?”
“Not sure. Your earlier theory might be right. Maybe one of the murders is a red herring, just to throw us off of the fact that the other victim was the real target.” Daniel felt frustration well up inside of him again.
“Theories aside, we have to go with what we’ve got. I’ll have Ken Lafferty talk to Marty at the pub and some of the paramedics Bob works with. See if we can’t get some names of women Bob has dated.” He got up. “By the way, I’ve got several off duty officers from Rosewood who owe me favors tailing Julie Simpson. They’re taking shifts. Sooner or later she’s bound to meet up with her source and when she does, we’ll have our mole.”
“Do cops all over the state owe you favors, Luke?
Luke smiled. “Only the ones I know.” He gave Daniel a mini salute and left the office.
* * * *
Adelaide entered the one story red brick building on Birch Avenue that housed the Crescent Fall Tribune and hesitated just inside the doorway. To her left was a wide, arched reception desk. Against the front wall was some well-worn furniture that served as a waiting area for those who wished to see either a reporter or the editor. Inside a glassed-in office to the left of the reception area, she could see newspaper editor, Rick Blanchard sitting behind a sturdy looking metal desk talking on the phone.
Adelaide glanced to her right into the glass-walled area that housed the reporters and ad staff. She spotted Julie Buckner Simpson entering the first cubicle.
Adelaide approached the counter. Sasha Banks, who had been Rick’s receptionist for several years, smiled widely. The petite African-American woman was, as usual, dressed in a professional manner. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. McBride? If you’re here to place an ad for something, I think Todd is free.”
“No ad today, Shasha. I want to see Rick.” Adelaide noted that he’d just hung up the phone and was sitting with a scowl on his face.
“Oh, I’m not sure he has time. I think—”
Just then Rick got up and opened his office door. When he spotted Adelaide, the scowl deepened.
Adelaide stepped around the receptionist’s station and approached Rick. “I’d like a word with you.” Without waiting for a response, which she was sure would have been negative, she stepped around him and into his office.
She seated herself in the hard plastic chair across from his desk. In her opinion, the entire interior of the building needed an overhaul. The carpet was worn, the walls dingy, the furniture outdated. In fact, much of it had already been there when Rick bought the paper in 2007 after moving to Crescent Falls from Marietta. But she wasn’t here to talk about decorating tips.
Rick closed the office door. Walking slowly around his desk, he sat down in an ancient looking wooden swivel chair. It made a loud cracking noise, which he ignored.
Rick wasn’t a bad looking man. His brown eyes were a little close set, but he had a nice smile, when he chose to display it. His black hair was close cropped and was beginning to show just a hint of gray at the temples. She wasn’t sure of his age, but guessed he was in his early forties. He obviously worked out, as evidenced by his athletic build.
“What can I do for you, Adelaide?” Rick finally asked.
“I’m here to appeal to you, Rick. You know inside information regarding the ongoing murder investigation that the police wanted kept secret has shown up in articles written by your reporter, Julie Simpson.”
Rick shook his head and held up a hand to stop her words. “If you’re here to try and find out who Julie’s source is, you can forget it. And I’m not going to censor what goes in her articles. The people have a right to know. It’s the first amendment to the constitution, in case you’ve forgotten. Freedom of the press. It’s sacred.”
“I’m not here to trample on the first amendment, Rick. I’m just asking you to consider the harm it can do if information the police are holding back for a good reason is suddenly out there for all to read, including the killer.” Adelaide knew she was on thin ice right now. She believed in the first amendment, but also realized that in some cases reticence was necessary. “Letting the killer know certain things could hamper the investigation and could even make it impossible to catch the guilty party.”
Rick’s expression hardened. “That’s bunk. I’m running a newspaper here. I print the truth. It’s what our readers expect.” All at once his eyes narrowed and his look turned to one of suspicion. “Did your son send you here?”
Adelaide felt the anger she’d been holding in fly to the surface. She could tell her cheeks were red because they suddenly felt hot. “No. Daniel doesn’t need me to plead his case, Rick. I am here as a concerned citizen. I thought maybe you’d be willing to cooperate in order to catch a vicious murderer. I guess I was wrong.” She stood up. “You know, Rick, the last few times I’ve encountered your star reporter, Julie Buckner Simpson, she’s seemed a little…well, quite frankly...high. Several other people around town have mentioned it to me also. Tell me, do you do random drug testing of your employees? Maybe you should. I mean, if your star reporter has a problem, it’s only a matter of time until it starts to show in her work. In my opinion, it already has.” She saw his eyes widen and his face lose a little of its color. Immediately she felt guilty for her harsh words. On the other hand, she knew something had to be done about the situation.
Rick stood abruptly. “I have an appointment.”
Adelaide turned and opened the door. Then she turned around to face him again. “Please consider what I said, Rick. You’ve been in Crescent Falls long enough to know how things work in a small town. Reputation is everything. I’d hate to see you dragged down by someone else’s greed and poor judgment.” With that she left the office, closing the door softly behind her.
