Gone crazy, p.8
Gone Crazy, page 8
Rory tried to stay clear and not impede their progress. “I had a look at the foliage in the garden earlier,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m qualified, but several species looked poisonous to me. They warrant a second opinion. And there’s a potting shed in the back gardens.”
“Gardens?” asked Lloyd. “How many gardens?”
“Enough that Phoebe employed a gardener. And the possibility that this job is going to take a while. You might want to call in more help.”
Lloyd huffed and reached for another canister. “How does anyone live with this mess?”
Rory found his way to the only chair, sat, pushed his hat back on his head. “One man’s mess is another man’s treasure.”
Hansen sent Black to retrieve more evidence bags from the cruiser. “I hope no one is eating food from this kitchen.”
Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Rory didn’t answer. Then he remembered they’d had the tea. “The dog sitter fixed us a drink when we arrived.”
They stopped and stared at him. Finally, Lloyd asked, “You know Sheehan was poisoned?”
Yeah, he knew about the poison. The thought never occurred to him that they were in danger. He felt fine, no dizziness, no nausea. What did Petey say—two to twenty hours. Nah, Nina had a cup with them.
Lloyd moved to a cupboard, kicking a box in the process. “Gee.” He straightened the box and shoved another to make room to get where he wanted to be. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to be here, Naysmith.”
Rory shot his arms into the air. “I’m just watching.”
“Chief wants to question everyone that attended the literary awards ceremony last night. That’d include you. And several witnesses already testify Ms. Mullins gave Ms. Sheehan a drink before she collapsed.” He raised one brow at Rory.
“We were on our way to the station when you arrived.” Rory lowered his arms and knocked an envelope to the floor. “Ms. Mullins doesn’t have a motive; she barely knew Sheehan.” How many times had he repeated that?
Lloyd made a noise. Rory wasn’t sure if he was dismissing the statement or agreeing with him. Maybe Lloyd was right; he shouldn’t be in the area while they collected the samples. No reason to do something that could be questioned later. They didn’t need his help to do the job right. His eyes raked across the paper stacks and landed on the pile Black had knocked to the floor earlier. One envelope caught his attention. He picked it up. Printed in fancy script letters across the front were the words Last Will and Testiment of Phoebe Orla Sheehan.
He glanced at Lloyd and found he was preoccupied with collecting, as were the other men. Rory slid the document from the envelope. It was a will, all right, drawn by an attorney and dated two years earlier. He flipped to the last page. The record was notarized, signed, and witnessed. Except for Phoebe, he didn’t know the signees. He went back to the first page and began to read.
On page one, Phoebe Sheehan named Esther Mullins as the independent executrix.
His heart sank.
He’d found a motive to commit murder.
Chapter Twelve
Rory closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. Tangled in jumps and starts, he couldn’t wrap his head around Esther being named as Executrix to the estate. It didn’t make sense. And boy, oh boy, did it complicate the situation. Maybe he didn’t know her the way he’d thought. He stood abruptly, shoved the document into the envelope and back into the pile.
After clearing his throat, he addressed the room at large, “I’m on my way to deliver Esther Mullins to the police station. If you fellows don’t need my help, I think we’ll be on our way.”
Lloyd grunted. Hansen stuck his head out from the pantry. “Ms. Mullins is on Chief Mansfield’s suspect list. It wouldn’t hurt to clear her before the chief works up a full head of steam.” Rory grimaced, Hansen added, “He mentioned turning the case over to the Sheriff’s department, her being a friend and all.” The officer blushed. “Not that I believe she could be involved.”
“She’s not. All the same, I need to beat Mansfield to the punch.”
Lloyd said, “Don’t expect to see us any time soon. We’ll be here a while, and then we’ll need to deliver the samples to the lab at the courthouse.”
Rory went out through the mudroom and found Esther sitting on the stoop. Out by the gazebo, he saw Nina with Rosco at her heels. The gardener was nowhere in sight.
Esther looked up at him. “It’s peaceful out here. No wonder Nina likes it so well.”
He held out a hand to help her up. “Did she tell you that?”
“Not in so many words. She did tell me that before the incident that led to her Janus Chances placement as live-in dog sitter, she shared a trailer with her parents.”
“Out on the Winnebago lands?”
“She described it as small and cramped. Never a moment’s peace with relatives moving through the place at all hours. Her parents work at the Bingo Hall.”
He wasn’t surprised. A good many tribal members worked at the Winnebago Casino in one capacity or another. He was more interested in how her Janus Chances placement came about. But first things, first. “We need to head back to town. There is an item that I’d like to discuss with you before we go to the station for your interview.”
“Okay.” She wiped her palms down her thighs, squinted at him, but didn’t ask.
As they walked along the house to the front drive he said, “Did you see what Nina used to make the tea?”
“No. Does it matter?”
He shook his head and thumbed his fedora up. When they hit the city limits, he said, “Are you familiar with the Krebs and Smith law firm?”
“Not really. They’ve had offices on Main Street by the courthouse for years. I know they handle probate and civil law, but I’ve never been in their office. Grandma had a holistic will and I handled that myself. So, if you’re asking do I know about probating a will, then my answer is yes.”
“I think it’s time we introduce ourselves to a probate lawyer.”
“I thought we were going to the police station to answer questions about last night’s awards ceremony.”
“After.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Rory?” He grinned at the windshield. She leaned toward him. “Is this about James Sheehan?”
They parked by the police station. Rory waved at Sunny through the plate glass window, ignored the parking meter, and led Esther down the street to the Krebs and Smith, Family Law office. A bell tinkled over the door as they entered. A young girl in a severe navy suit greeted them from behind a mahogany counter. Rory thought she looked about twelve years old.
He took out his shield and laid it on the counter. She lifted her chin, smiled sweetly, her eyes never leaving the computer screen on the desk. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I’d like some information. Krebs or Smith will do.”
“I’m afraid neither is in. If you’ll leave your name…” She didn’t finish the request, instead looked at the shield for the first time. “Oh, you are the new detective. Sweet. I’m Millie Krebs. Perhaps I can help. Are you looking to draw up a will?” She pulled out a drawer and fingered the folders. She found the form she was after and pulled it out. “Just fill this out and I will have Mr. Smith contact you.”
“Are you related to Mr. Krebs, Attorney at Law?”
“My dad.” Her face lit with a cheerleader smile; head tilted—no pom poms waved.
Using his warm and amiable voice, the one he reserved for children, he said, “I have some general questions.”
“Awesome. That’s my department.” She ticked up the charm wattage. He wasn’t sure she was old enough to work in a law office, even if she was related to the boss.
“This is Ms. Mullins. I believe her friend Phoebe Sheehan had a will done by this firm.”
When Esther opened her mouth to object, he raised a hand to silence her.
Millie beamed at Esther. “How nice.” Her head tilted in Esther’s direction.
“So, my general question is”—he paused to capture her full attention—“do you keep a will copy here or is it recorded at the courthouse?”
The question seemed to confuse her. She batted her eyelashes. A dainty, pink tongue slipped out between perfectly glossed lips. “I believe the will is returned to the client. It’s their responsibility to produce the will for probate.” She grinned like she had answered the winning Quiz Bowl question.
Rory smiled. “And your position with this firm would give you the ability to verify that Ms. Sheehan was a client.”
“Naturally.”
“Would you check to see if there is a client record for Phoebe Sheehan? And at the same time verify if Michael Sheehan did business with your firm? I’d be interested to know in what year.”
His shield still lay open on the counter. She ripped off a post-it and stuck it to the brass. “Would you write those names down for me?”
When Millie left them alone in the reception area, with a promise to return as soon as she had the requested records, Esther scowled at him. “What are you after? I hope you’re not duping that dear child.”
He explained about finding Phoebe’s Last Will and Testament. “But that’s crazy,” she said, sinking into an antique chair in the waiting area. “I don’t even know her, why would she name me as the Executor to her will?”
“Executrix.”
“Whatever. I tell you, my only contact with her was filing her taxes last year and the year before. She didn’t even bring the information to me. She sent it to the house by courier after Marilyn Beauregard hooked us up. I took the forms out to the estate for a signature once they were ready, but I didn’t get beyond the front hall. Honestly, I talked more to her at the restaurant last night than I ever had.” She paused, then added, “If it’s true, wouldn’t she have notified me?”
The door opened, the bell tinkled, a distinguished gentleman in his forties and wearing a stylish trench coat, entered. He seemed confused to find them sitting in the reception area. He held out a hand to Rory. “Roger Krebs. Do we have an appointment?”
“Detective Rory Naysmith, WPD.” Krebs glanced around. Rory imagined he was looking for his daughter and added, “Miss Krebs stepped into the filing room.”
The lawyer slipped off his coat, revealing a three-piece suit, ivy-league tie knotted at his throat. He tossed the overcoat onto the counter. “What can I do for you, detective?”
“I believe you did some work for Phoebe Sheehan. She passed away early this morning. This is Esther Mullins; she is the executrix stipulated in the will.”
“Do you have the will with you?”
“No, but I’ve seen the will. Unfortunately, its existence may create a problem.”
“Why don’t we step into my office.” He led the way, motioning for them to take seats, while he went to search for documents. Or more likely his daughter.
****
Clarence Thacker chewed the inside of his cheek. He had run a search on James Sheehan, but the man hadn’t shown up to discuss the results. No outstanding warrants under James, Jamey, or Jim. No conceal and carry license issued. He felt there should be more to find than IRS and DMV records. So, what were Sheehan’s secrets? He wished he could talk with Rory.
Sitting at the patrolmen’s shared workstation, he was concerned that Rory hadn’t come in or called him back. It had been hours since he’d given the detective a heads-up on Chief Mansfield’s orders to pick up Esther. She needed to come in and clear the air about her involvement in Phoebe Sheehan’s demise. Or, more likely, her lack of involvement.
He had a hard time accepting that the death was murder, especially if Esther was involved. And doubly concerned since the death involved the landlord and current employer for Nina Mahala, the girl he’d just started seeing. The thought made his collar feel tight. She was different from anyone he’d ever dated. Older, otherworldly, mysterious, and somewhat exotic. That, and the beautiful thoughts she shared when they were together.
Not only hadn’t Rory brought Esther in, but the boys collecting the foodstuffs from the estate hadn’t returned either. He checked the clock; it was almost two. Extracting every possible piece of evidence took time. He knew that, but today it seemed time stood still. Shortly, the guys coming off patrol would want the workstation to file their reports. He crossed to the window, looked out at the street, and then glanced at the dispatcher. “Is that our city car?”
Sunny spun to face the window. “Sure is. That’s the one Detective Naysmith is driving. It’s been there almost an hour.”
Sergeant Powell stepped behind him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “He and Miss Mullins went over to the courthouse.”
Courthouse? That didn’t seem right. “Did you see him go into the building?”
Sunny answered, “Esther’s with him. I doubt he’d be checking on a nasty autopsy with her in tow. ‘Course, he has his own ideas about courtship.”
Thacker smiled. Naysmith certainly did. But who was he to judge? “Maybe they went on down the street.”
Sunny clicked the computer mouse; her social media feed came up on the monitor, and a kitten video danced across the screen. “Maybe he took her on down to Bailey’s Jewelry, and they’re pickin’ out wedding rings. And tomorrow we’ll see a double rainbow and find a wee laddie.”
Behind them, Sergeant Powell gave a throaty laugh. “Right. Does that sound like our detective? My money is on them walking the long way around the block while getting their stories straight. That’s more Naysmith’s style.”
Sunny gave him the evil eye. “We can’t all be wild romantics like you, Dicky.”
“Shucks, Sunny. You know my wife would never let me hear the end… I didn’t… Oh, you’re just…” He gripped Thacker’s shoulder. “Oh, mind your own business.” He dropped his hand and, red-faced, went back to the day sergeant’s desk.
Even Thacker knew Powell took fresh flowers home every payday. He thought it was sweet. Like something his dad would have done for his mom if he could have managed. Thacker thought relationships should complement the parties, each finding a quiet way to complete the other. Rory and Esther were two parts making a whole. And he wondered when Rory would figure out how he really felt about Miss Mullins.
He returned to the workstation and began packing his papers. He had almost decided to call Nina for an update on what was going on at the mansion when Sunny held up a ruby lacquered nail. “In-coming.”
Through the plate-glass window, he watched the detective and the bookkeeper cross the street. A tall, blond man stepped into their path before they reached the curb on the station side.
“Uh-huh,” sang Sunny. “Ya got trouble, my friend. And that starts with T”—both arms swayed above her head, her ample, jean-clad backside wiggled to the beat—“and that rhymes with P, and that stands for Powell—”
Mansfield’s voice boomed through the intercom, “Ms. Gomez, when you are finished entertaining the troops, I suggest you locate Naysmith.”
Thacker’s gaze went to the six security monitors on the wall over the civilian pass-through window. Chief Mansfield’s face stretched from edge to edge on the center screen. Distorted by his proximity to the camera, flared nostrils dominated his icy expression. He was not happy.
Thacker shook his head. Uh-huh. Thanks, Sunny, for planting that show tune in my brain. Slumping back in the chair, he mumbled, “Trouble in River City? They don’t know what trouble is.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’ve been patient, Detective.” James Sheehan stepped between Rory and the door leading to the station house. “If you two think you can join ranks to shut me out, you’re mistaken.”
“Please, step aside.” Rory glanced quickly at Esther before taking her elbow. He didn’t know if James had heard the rumors. News traveled fast in Winterset, and by this time, everyone might know that she was a person of interest in his aunt’s murder. He wasn’t going to discount James’ ingenuity, either. “No ranks. Your concern is noted.”
“Since my arrival in this godforsaken place, I’ve been given the run around. What is this place?” He looked directly at Esther. “What did you have on my aunt? How did you weasel your way into her trust?”
Esther bristled. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. It’s easy to mislead an elderly woman, especially one desperate for acceptance.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll find out, you know. You won’t be able to hide.”
Rory stepped forward, deliberately moving into the younger man’s personal space. “Mr. Sheehan, I suggest you move aside and let us pass.”
“Oh, I’ll let you pass, but don’t think I don’t know why you’re blocking my every move.”
Esther, eyes as wide as saucers, faltered. “But I… I didn’t even know her.”
Rory tightened his grip on her elbow. “Step aside. Now.” He shouldered his way past James, but as he and Esther made their way toward the station, Sheehan stayed close at their heels.
“Sure,” he called after them. “Good story. In this one-horse town, I imagine everyone knows everyone. People will talk, you know.”
The station door opened and Esther’s neighbor, Axel Barrow, stepped out, greasy hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, washed-out jeans slung low on his hips, with the lingering scent of cigarettes in his wake. He raised his chin in greeting. “Hey, Constable. Miss Mullins. Is this fellow bothering you?” His bushy uni-brow dipped, and steel gray eyes bore into James Sheehan.
“Thanks, Axel, but I think Mr. Sheehan has said what he had to say. Haven’t you, Mr. Sheehan?”
“For now.”
“Go on in, folks,” said Axel. “I’ll escort this hombre to his car.”
Esther mumbled her thanks as they slipped past Axel and into the station. “I hope he doesn’t do anything crazy,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at the street.
“I hope he does.”
She glared at him. “Rory.”
Through the vestibule window Rory could see Sunny at the dispatch desk. “Hopefully, Mansfield is still in. Let’s get this thing over with.”
