A Dash of Murder (4 page)

“
What do you see?” asked Maggie.

“A bunch of old whiskey bottles. Happy
hour for the ghosts, I guess.”

“More like happy hour for the workers here. Some of those bottles may be worth more than this tacky dresser. It was a marvelous hideaway. An orderly could climb in, take a nip, climb out, return the dresser to its place and
no one would know the better.”

There was dust dancing through the beam of my flashlight. This was probably a ventilation shaft in the building. I could see on one end of the room what looked like another tunnel leading somewhere else. There were exposed pipes and spider webs throughout the dusty hidden room. This was the inner structure of the building. I held in my breath and stepped through the hole until I stood completely in the makeshift hideaway. The stench was even more powerful, and I felt my stomach lurch. Quite possibly a rat and his entire family had come in here to die. As long as I didn’t breathe through my nose, I could stop the contents of my stomach from rising up. I explored with the light to the farthest point in the room. It looked as if there were an old suit balled up in the corner. As I bounced the light beam across it, there seemed to be much more than a suit. I stepped closer and felt something sticky under my feet. It was hard to believe that whiskey spilled in here decades ago would still be sticky. I edged closer to the pile of clothes as the odor seemed to be coming at me in waves. I covered my nose and mouth with my hand and stood in front of the discarded suit. As I looked at a tilted shoe, I saw a leg sticking in it. It was then I realized there was a man in the crumpled suit, and he was dead.

CHAPTER FIVE

An hour later, the quiet – if not slightly haunted – tuberculosis hospital was abuzz with activity. Aunt Maggie and I watched Art Rivera, the county coroner and my dad’s poker buddy, load the dead
man in the suit onto a gurney.

“Thanks, Art, we have all we need here. I’ll be down your way when you get the autopsy complete,” my dad said as he looked through the dead man’
s trifold brown leather wallet.

“Sure enough,” the coroner answered. Art moved up from Harris County in Houston looking forward to a lighter workload. He told my father he had seen way too many murders down in the Bayou City that he would rather forget. Now, having time to bait some hooks was a pretty decent remedy for all he had seen. Art’s wife had not been too crazy about moving, but when their grown children had spread out from Corpus Christi to San Antonio, Pecan Bayou then seemed like a great place to bring the grandkids. The police department was happy to have an experienc
ed coroner at the county level.

“We ought to have this one finished right before Halloween. That’ll
put you in the haunting mood.”

“Always does,” said my dad with a twinkle in his eye. He turned to Maggie and me, now sitting on the recently dusted windowsills. “So, ladies, it seems our dead ma
n was Oliver Canfield.”

“Oliver Canfield?” I stood up from the windowsill and took the wallet from my father. There smiling on the driver’s license was the one and only
partner of my missing husband.

“I thought he closed up the office and left town after
Barry disappeared,” I said.

“I’ll have to check it out. I didn’t know he w
as back in Pecan Bayou either.”

“Oh my,” Maggie clucked her tongue. She glanced at the driver’s license I was hol
ding up and bit her bottom lip.

“Well, what would he be doing out
here?” I asked.

“Maybe he was going to try to sell the place,” said Maggie. “Somebody with a lot of elbow grease could fix this place up and ma
ke it into a spa or something.”

I shook my head. “A lot of elbow grease and a lot of money. This place is falling apart, Maggie. It would be cheaper just to pull the whole building down and start again.” One thing I was proficient at was money – spendi
ng it, making it and saving it.

“I suppose you’re right. I can always count on you to find out how much a thing w
ould cost, Betsy,” she said.

“I would love it if someone would do something with this place,” said my dad. “Seems like we get a call to come out here about once a month because some group of juvenile delinquents is out here havin’ a party or smokin’ something funny. Just look at all the graffiti on these walls. This is years and years of nuisance calls. Last year I was called out on Halloween because someone was holding some sort of seance just down the hall. The year before that kids were drinkin’ and jumpin’ out of the second-story window. Don’t know what it is, but people get into this ol’ place and just
forget how to think straight.”

“You can’t deny the paranormal element surrounding us, Lieutenant Kelsey.” Howard spoke up from where he had been quietly standing against the back wall holding a white handkerchief up to his mouth. He was starting to look a little green. “Ther
e are malevolent spirits here.”

“The malevolence here is purely hum
an. A bad act by a bad person.”

“Maybe Canfield was looking at the property and met up with a crazy person or something,” I said, now looking again at Canfield’s ID. The face was familiar, but I remembered it with less around the jowls. Seven years ago I had listened daily to Barry’s plans ,always centered around the business he was doing with Canfield Investments. To me, Oliver Canfield was the guy who had led Barry into all the crummy deals he made and that the idea that living above your means was a perfectly natural thing. He advocated the style of living that I had to pay off after Barry skipped town. What a despicable man he was. I didn’t even know this guy anymore, and even I had a motive for killing him. I could remember sitting at the dinner table with him and Barry and hearing all of their dreams and schemes for hitting it big. They were going to be rich. Rich, as long as it involved other people’s money.

Aunt Maggie gently touched my arm. She could pretty well feel where my mind was going. “He must have met up with someone out here. Still pushin’ those great
investment deals.”

George Beckman, another officer on the Pecan Bayou police force, had been working behind us and now handed my father a folded piece of paper with a spot of blood on the bottom of it. George was a burly man who scared most of the Texas country boys in town right up until he spoke in an uncharacteristically high voice. “Tak
e a look at this,” he squeaked.

Dad carefully unfolded the paper and adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose as he read. “It seems Mr. Canfield here had an agreement with Benny Mason, the owner of Benny’s Barbecue. Canfield was about to take 50 percent of the profit startin’ the first of November.” I remembered the picture in Benny’s. Now I recognized who was helping him cu
t the ribbon – Oliver Canfield.

“Why would
he do that?” I asked.

“According to the contract, it’s to pay back a loan
made between the two parties.”

“Benny?” I said. “You’re kidding me. That can’t be right. I don’t know what kind of trouble he’s gotten himself into, but he surely wouldn’t go murde
ring anyone.”

“You never know, darlin’. I’ve seen all kinds of people end up doing crimes you’d never expect. Benny certainly had a motive, but I’ll also check around to see if anyone reports seeing any vagrants out here. You know the new hospital is right down the road. Maybe someone saw something or someone who didn’t belo
ng over here,” my father added.

“He riled somebody up,
that’s for sure,” Maggie said.

“Well, until I get this all figured out, I think this room and possibly the entire hospital needs
to be shut down to outsiders.”

Howard’s bushy silver eyebrows lifted. “Outsiders not
meaning us, correct, Sheriff?”

“Outsiders me
aning everyone but the police.”

“Judd,” Maggie pleaded. She put her hands on her hips and faced him. I knew not having access to the hospital by her little brother wasn’t flying with her. “This is the biggest event the paranormal society has ever done. We have planned it for over a yea
r. You just can’t stop it now.”

“Maggie.” My father’s voice edged with aggravation. “I can, and I will. This place could be dangerous, and if there is a killer walking around, I certainly am not goi
ng to have my family out here.”

Maggie’s face clouded. I knew, even more than my father, how important this investigation was to her. I had been over to her house and seen the television on endless ghost hunting programs. She had become interested in the paranormal after my Uncle Jeeter died and would be utterly crushed if she couldn’t do this thing. Maggie didn’t ask much out of us. She had always been there for me and Zach. I knew if I could figure out what was going on out here myself, I might be able to give back a little.

I walked back to the hole in the wall as my father and aunt and Howard continued arguing over the use of the hospital. George Beckman had left the room, probably to get more evidence bags. My father could be pigheaded sometimes, and I knew he would get a strange little joy out of keeping his ol
der sister out of his business.

“Betsy, stay away from that area. It’s a crime scene.” I jumped at his command, amazed he knew I
had decided to play Nancy Drew.

“I didn’t touch anything, Dad,” I answered. Lying here on the floor had been the one man who could have solved my own mystery. What did he know about Barry? Did he know where he went? Did he have something to do with his disappearance? Had he killed him and left his body somewhere? It seemed so unfair that I finally had a lead on my own husband’s disappearance and it seemed to be
slipping out of my grasp.

He shook his head. “Thank you for not touching anything, and that is all the more reason I’m cl
earing you people out of here.”

“Judd!” Maggie was getting mad. “We will do our investigation with or without your blessing. This is a big building, and there are other areas we could use without tro
mping across your crime scene.”

“That is correct, sir,” Howard said. “When there is a crime in an apartment building, they don’t exactly tell all
of the other tenants to move.”

He had my dad on that one.

“Well, for right now, I’m telling you
all to move.”

“Judd!” My aunt
was not letting go of this one.

“Okay, Maggie. We’ll compromise. I’ll post George here at the crime scene until after Halloween, and you can have the run
of the hospital. That suit ya?”

“Suits me fine.” Maggie smiled and crossed her arms.

CHAPTER SIX

That evening, as I sat in Zach’s Texas Scout meeting, I was surprised to see Benny, ever faithful, leading his Scout troop. I knew he had spent a couple of hours in my father’s office that afternoon, a fate I wouldn’t wish on anybody. Other than a slightly worried look and his request I not tell the Scouts about the interview, he seemed normal. Hearing that it might be Benny Mason who killed Oliver Canfield just wasn’t ringing true with me. If I had to pick the town murderer, it never would have been him. Every time I was in the barbecue place there were other customers coming and going. It seemed to be a profitable business. I was thankful for Benny’s male influence in Zach’s life and the fact that he would let Zach be a part of his crew when the Scouts scheduled the many father/son campouts. Was this another lesson life had for m
e in trusting the wrong person?

I was sitting in a folding chair crowded in with the rest of the parents as I watched my son playing a relay game with the other Scouts. Zach, who was smaller than many of the boys, was running as fast as his little legs would take him. He was laughing as he and his friends attempted to beat the other team. I worried about him knocking his arm in the cast Dr. Mac had put on, but he didn’t even seem to notice it. The din of t
he boyhood yells was deafening.

Zach was now second in line to run the relay. In front of him stood a stocky kid that I hadn’t seen before in a crisp new Scout uniform. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair to push it out of his eyes. Was he from the older group of boys? Why was he competing with Zach’s group of skinnier, less coordinated boys? It’s like when Zach would get in one of those inflatable bounce houses and a whopping big kid would get in and jump all over him. The boy in front of Zach burst out from the line and ran across the open area. On his way back, he began to wobble and couldn’t stop. He plowed into Zach, who was at the front of the line, flattening him onto the tile floor. I saw the cast hit the floor and just hoped we wouldn’t be running
to the emergency room tonight.

I raced toward them, seeing Benny hurrying over from the other side. Zach scrambled up, stood on his tiptoes and pushed the boy on the shoulder. The big kid pushed him right back, causing Zach to lose his footing. He pulled himself back up and began exchanging words, although I couldn’t tell what. Benny and I made it over just in time to hear the other boy yell, “Oh, right. S
o where is your dad? Huh? Huh?”

Benny grabbed both boys by the scruff of the neck. Zach was hanging from his Scoutmaster’s hold, his little fist swinging at the larger boy. The other boy was probably fifty pounds heavier than Zach, and no doubt he could pound my little guy to the ground in nothing flat. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to matter to Zach. He was really, really mad at the kid. He reminded me
of Aunt Maggie fighting my dad.

“I said t
hat’s enough!” commanded Benny.

“Zach!” I said. “Settle down!”

“Mom, this boy knocked me down and said bad stuff about Dad.” I had never seen this kid before until tonight. How could he know about our history with my absent husband? It was unreal how fast gossip traveled in this town and just who heard it. I looked over at the boy, who now shifted his eyes down but still h
eld onto a chuckle and a smirk.

“Tyler!”

I jumped as it seemed from out of nowhere another man joined us. He was tall, about six feet, and lanky
. “What is going on here, son?”

The boy glanced at Zach and then quietly yet defiantly
said, “Nothing.”

“You were about to hit this bo
y, Tyler. It can’t be nothing.”

Zach piped up to the stranger, ready to defend his case. “He was
saying bad stuff about my dad.”

“Is that true, Tyler?”

“No sir,” Tyler
answered like a marine recruit.

“That’
s not true!” Zach screamed out.

“Tyler, did you say some
thing about this boy’s father?”

“His dad took a powder years ago, and everyone knows it. What’s the matter –
need your daddy?” Tyler mocked.

“Excuse me,” I couldn’t take this any more. This kid was outrageous. The tall m
an’s glance shifted towards me.

“Ma’am.” He nodded.

“I am Zacha
ry’s mother. Is this your son?”

“Uh, yes it is. Tyler here was just about to apologi
ze for insulting your husband.”

“Zachary’s father is … not in the picture … but I will listen to the apology.” I struggled to get the words out. It’s one thing for the town to talk about me and my lack of a husband, but to go afte
r a little kid was unthinkable.

Benny helped out. “Mrs. Livingston is one of our single parents in the Sc
out troop.”

The tall man then took his burly son and held him in front of him, a gentle yet sturdy restraint of the big boy. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Livingston.” Tyler mut
tered an apology after his dad.

I looked at him in amazement. Was he sorry I was a single parent and that my husband took a powder, or was he sorry that his meathead of a son had just bashed mine b
oth physically and emotionally?

He realized how that had sounded. “I mean … well … I’m sorry for Tyler’s behavior towards your son. My name is Leo Fitzpatrick, and we are new in town. Actually we’re new at everything. Tyler has just come to live with me. His mother was raising him, but …”

He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden and paused as if in thought but then continued. “She has remarried and asked me to take Tyler for a while. That being said, discipline is an issu
e we are presently working on.”

“Da-ad,” Tyler looked up and whined a bit. “What I said was just what the guys were saying. They said this kid’s dad was missing and that his mom found
him at the old hospital today.”

Zach gasped and looked at me his eyes n
ow wide. “You found Dad today?”

“Zach …” I stuttered. I hadn’t intended on telling him anything about what had ha
ppened out at the old hospital.

“You found Dad? Was he … Did he have … cough drops with him?” Tyler exploded into giggles and met the eyes of several of the other b
oys, who also started laughing.

“Zach.” I knelt down to his level. “Zach, I did find a man today who … had passed on. The man I found was not your dad. It wa
s a man named Oliver Canfield.”

Zach’s eyes searched me for reassurance. “You promise? It wasn’t Da
d? You wouldn’t just say that?”

“No, if it had been Dad, I would have told you right away.” I put my arm around him and sat him in a folding chair. His bottom lip puckered out, and
he put his elbows on his knees.

“I really wish you
’d found my dad today … alive.”

“I know you did,
but I promise, it wasn’t him.”

Zach’s shoulders slumped. I could see tears attempting to escape from his eyes. Tyler, whose father had his hand on his shoulder started to pull away from him. M
r. Fitzpatrick pulled him back.

“No
more fighting, do you hear me?”

Tyler’s reply was soft but laced with
underlying rage. “I hear you.”

This kid was even a bully to his own father. I would not want to see him in a few years when the hormones hit and teenage rebellion came in full force. He snapped away from his father and became aware of my watchful presence. Tyler looked over at Zach in tears and then smiled, still enjoying his pain. He ran off to the other Scouts who had now restarted the relay. His father, Fitzpatrick, put his hands in his pockets and ambled over to Zac
h and me sitting in the chairs.

“Sorry about that,” he said.
“Did you say Oliver Canfield?”

“Yes, I didn’t know it was him at first, but then my dad, who is on the police force,
let me have a look at his ID.”

“Oliver
Canfield, the investment guy?”

“That’s
the one. Why, do you know him?”

“I met him briefly out on the grounds of that old hospital. I was out there doing some scouting for an investor I represent from Dallas. We were thinking of doing something with the property. What a wreck that old place is. Anyway, I was out there walking around, and I heard someone clear their throat. It nearly scared me to death. I turned around, and there was Mr. Canfield.” He paused, debating whether or not to say his next comment. He leaned in closer to me. “I think that guy was just a little bit … s
hady, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I’d have to agree with you on that. When did
you run into him?”

He sighed and lightly tugged at the collar of his steam-pressed shirt. He looked like the kind of guy who drops his shirts off at the laundry rather than ironing them at home. “I don’t know, maybe Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. That place is really creepy. To be honest, when I first saw him, I thought I was seeing a ghost or something. We, uh, laughed a
bout it,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said.

“Was the
re anyone else there with him?”

“No, I didn’t see anybody. He did seem a little nervous about being there. I guess that old place had him jumpy. There are so many rooms; a person could get lost without a map
. How long has it been vacant?”

“Um … I guess it’s been abou
t thirty or forty years or so.”

“I can’t believe someone hasn’t tried to develop the si
te before this.”

“This is a small town, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Not like Dallas. A commercial investment like a mall or a sports complex would require
lots of people to keep going.”

He looked around the room at the scattering of Scouts and parents. “Yes, I see
what you mean.”

“Well, welcome to Pecan Bayou.”

“Thank you, but now that I know there’s been a murder out at the hospital, I don’t think your Chamber of Commerce wants to advertise there are some real nuts along with the pecans residing here.”