Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (7 page)

"Yes, thanks," she said.

I nodded, thinking that any tidying of the
house would have to wait.

Within minutes, we were sitting in the
breakfast nook with tea and some leftover chocolate chip cookies
I'd made a couple of days ago.

"Do the police know who murdered Brent?"
Yvonne asked, nibbling on a cookie. "They really didn't have much
to say on the news."

"Not that I know of," I responded. "But the
investigation has only just begun."

Yvonne sipped the tea. "Do you have any idea
who could have killed him?"

I told her about the car that could have
contained a killer. "Other than that, I haven't a clue," I said.
"Brent never talked to me about being on someone's bad side."

"Well, obviously someone wanted him
dead."

I nodded. "It will be up to the police to
sort things out." After sipping tea thoughtfully, I said, "I've
invited Brent's niece, Emily, to stay with me until the police
finish their investigation at his house."

"That was nice of you." Yvonne looked around,
as if someone else might be in the room. "Is she here now?"

"No. She went to the library to see if that's
where she left her phone."

"Isn't she the one who had drug problems?"
Yvonne probed.

"At one point," I admitted. "But that's
apparently a thing of the past."

"You don't sound so convinced."

I sighed. "Brent wasn't convinced and he
asked me to talk to her about it."

"Did you?"

"Yes, and she promised me she was clean," I
said, truly hoping that was the case.

"A friend of mine said the same thing last
year," Yvonne said. "Unfortunately, she was only fooling
herself."

"Each case is different," I told her. Even if
Emily was using again, I didn't believe for a moment that it had
anything to do with Brent's death. She certainly seemed as broken
up about it as I was, and rightfully so, given the way he had
stepped up and taken her in when she most needed help.

I looked at Yvonne, my mind shifting to her
desire to have a child and her husband possibly standing in the way
of it, jeopardizing their marriage. I was about to bring it up,
when I heard the car in the driveway.

"That must be Emily," I said.

"Well, go let her in," Yvonne said, standing.
"I need to be going anyway. George and I are going out."

"Oh..." I gazed at her. "Like a date?"

"Like an opportunity to talk in a relaxed
setting. I'm not saying any more than that. I don't want to jinx
things."

"I understand," I told her, hoping that
things turned out the way she wanted them to.

I opened the door as Emily approached it.
"Hey," I said.

"Hey." She looked up at me. "Hope this isn't
a bad time to show up."

"Not at all. I was expecting you. My sister
was just leaving."

"Yes I was," Yvonne said, and introduced
herself.

"Actually, I think we already met," Emily
told her. "It was at a book signing party my uncle had a couple of
years ago."

Yvonne nodded. "I remember," she said and
looked at me. "You insisted I go with you."

I remembered. "Yes, I had to practically drag
you there, but you were glad you came by the time it was over."

"That's true," Yvonne said and paused as she
gazed at me. "So are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine," I assured her, and turned
toward Emily. "We both will."

"Okay," Yvonne said. "I'll call you
tomorrow."

Once Emily and I were alone, I asked, "Did
you find your cell phone?"

"Oh...yes," she said hurriedly. "It was just
where I left it."

"Good." There was a moment of awkwardness,
which I tried to break. "Can I get you some tea? I also have some
leftover chocolate chip cookies I made. They're pretty good."

"Thanks, but I already ate."

I got the feeling there was something on her
mind. I couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with
Brent. Or perhaps even Tony. I recalled that Brent thought he might
be supplying her with drugs, though she denied that she was using.
Then I remembered her job interview, for which I had given a
recommendation.

"How did the interview go?"

Emily gave me a dazed look. "Interview—?"

"The job at Klackston Industries," I reminded
her.

"Oh, that. Something came up and I had to
reschedule it for tomorrow."

"What came up that was more important than a
job interview?" I couldn't help but ask.

"I had to help a friend," she said
vaguely.

"You mean your friend Tony?"

She hesitated. "Yeah."

I frowned. "Is he into drugs? Are you?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what?" I pressed, as if I had a right
to. "I just want to help, if I can." I wondered if I was just
trying to take my mind off Brent's death by focusing on Emily's
situation.

"You can't help!" she snapped. "Maybe I can't
either..." She sighed. "He's a gambling addict. I've been trying to
help him, but it's really hard for him to break away from it."

"I think he needs professional help," I told
her, while feeling relieved that she hadn't turned to drugs
again.

"You're right," Emily said, running a hand
through her hair. "Look I need a shower and then I'm going to bed.
It's been a really tough day."

I could hardly argue with her there, all
things considered. I walked Emily upstairs and showed her to her
room and then handed her some towels for the guest bathroom.

Heading to my room, I could only wonder what
the investigation would turn up regarding Brent's murder. No one
deserved to die that way, especially someone who had so much to
live for, even if he was losing his mind with each passing day.

* * *

The next morning, I was up bright and early
for my run after a difficult night sleeping. I dreamt about Brent
being clubbed to death with his own pool cue, which I witnessed.
Needless to say, it was horrible. Unfortunately, the dream did not
show me Brent's killer, as if I could trust a manifestation of my
mind in that regard.

Though I would have welcomed running with
Emily, a peek in her room found her sound asleep, snoring lightly.
I saw no reason to disrupt that after the tragedy she'd had to
endure last night. Having lost her parents early in life, and now
Brent, seemed almost too much to bear for a young woman.

I slipped out the house and was about to head
to the beach when I ran into Annette walking her dog. She'd left a
couple of messages on my cell phone, which I had yet to respond
to.

"I got your messages," I told her. "I was
going to call and—"

"I'm so glad to see you're all right," she
interrupted, "after what you went through finding Brent London dead
like that. I saw it on the news."

"Yes, I'm fine," I assured her.

"I wanted to drop by, but I noticed that your
sister was there and another guest. Fred said I should give you
some space."

I was ready to start running, but gave her
the courtesy of another minute or two. "Brent's niece, Emily is
staying with me while the police complete their investigation."

"Who could do such a terrible thing to
someone who was loved as much as Brent London was, especially in
Cozy Pines?" Annette asked, while allowing Mama to do her
business.

"I've asked myself the same thing," I
admitted. "I honestly don't know. I'm sure the police will figure
it out."

She frowned. "Everyone was so looking forward
to having Brent as our guest at the next book club meeting."

"He was looking forward to it, too," I told
her, even if I suspected that Brent was a little nervous that he
might somehow be tripped up by the Alzheimer's. "So I suppose that
Daphne du Maurier's
Rebecca
is back on as our reading selection."

"I guess it is," Annette said. Mama suddenly
whimpered, indicating she was ready to leave.

It gave me a good excuse to move on. "Well,
I'd better start my run now."

"And I'd better go before Mama gets too
restless."

"I'll see you later," I told her and started
to jog down the sidewalk.

Annette called out to me, as if she had a
sixth sense, "Be careful."

"I will," I promised, though I had no reason
to be concerned for my safety. Cozy Pines was a fairly safe place
to live and certainly to jog. I assumed she was referring to
Brent's murder and me being a witness after the fact. Since I had
not seen the killer and had no clue who it might be, I doubted I
was a target.

I picked up the pace and made it to the
beach. Aside from a few ripples, the ocean was calm this morning
and did wonders to help me take my mind off of Brent.

* * *

At home, I found Emily dressed and in the
kitchen.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully.

"Morning."

"I figured since you put me up for the night,
the least I could do was make you breakfast. I hope you don't mind
me helping myself to your kitchen and food?"

Though I was usually possessive of my
kitchen, in this case I really did want Emily to feel at home for
as long as she was there. I smiled. "Not at all. Knock yourself
out. I'll just go freshen up."

She grinned. "Okay, see you in a bit."

As I washed my face, I wondered if she had
truly come to terms with Brent's death and what she would do
now.

When I came back downstairs, Emily was seated
at the table in the breakfast nook. She had made coffee, toast, and
oatmeal.

"Looks great," I told her.

"I just worked with what I had."

I flushed, thinking I should have stocked the
refrigerator with more food, but I didn't know I was going to have
a guest.

"I didn't put any sugar in your coffee," she
said.

"Thanks, I take my coffee black," I told
her.

We ate in silence for a moment, both caught
up in our thoughts, before Emily asked curiously, "So why were you
at my uncle's house yesterday?"

"He wanted my advice on redecorating his man
cave."

"Oh, yeah," she mumbled thoughtfully. "He's
been talking about doing something like that for a while." She
paused. "Now this happens..."

I felt her pain as much as anyone could as
someone who was close to him though not a family member.
Unfortunately, there would be more pain to come. I felt she had a
right to know what Brent was going through before he was
murdered.

"Brent was in the early stages of Alzheimer's
disease," I told her.

"What?" Emily nearly choked on her
oatmeal.

I repeated myself. "I just found out a couple
of days ago."

She frowned. "And he didn't tell me?"

I really wished he had, so I wouldn't be left
to shoulder the burden. "He wanted to hold off for as long as
possible, so you didn't consider him to be a burden," I told
her.

"I wouldn't have," she insisted, biting off a
piece of toast.

"I'm sure that was the case, but Brent just
wanted to make sure you were strong enough to be able to deal with
it."

"You mean because of my past drug use?" She
regarded me as though she could read my mind.

I chose not to confirm it. "Brent has always
been a strong man, physically and mentally. The thought of you
seeing him decline so soon after you lost your parents scared
him."

"If he had just told me, I could have helped
make his life easier," Emily said. "He shouldn't have gone through
that alone—before telling you."

"I agree," I told her. "Now that you know,
I'm sure Brent would have wanted that."

"Hope so." She bit off more toast. "I'm glad
that it hadn't gone full blown at the end for him."

"Yes, that is one good thing," I admitted,
while wishing he'd had longer to deal with it and perhaps take
medication to slow down the progress. Over the rim of my mug, I
regarded Emily and asked, "Have you thought about making funeral
plans?"

She held my gaze as if in a trance. "I'm
sorry, but I hadn't gone there yet, with this just happening and
now learning about the Alzheimer's—"

"I understand." I paused appropriately. "It's
probably a good idea if you start to look into it. I'm sure the
medical examiner won't take too long to release his body."

"After my parents died, I prayed I'd never go
through something like this again."

I placed a comforting hand on hers. "If you
want, I can help with the funeral arrangements."

"Would you?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course. I'll call the funeral home today
and run everything by you before any final decisions are made."

Emily nodded. "I have no idea about Uncle
Brent's—it feels too weird to just call him Brent now—finances or
anything, like burial costs. We never talked about it."

"I'm sure Brent made provisions for all of
that," I told her confidently. This seemed especially true to me in
light of his diagnosis. Knowing him, he would have wanted to update
his will, insurance, and the like, while he was able to do it of
relatively sound mind. "We have the same attorney," I said. "I'll
contact her and get the specifics."

"Okay." Emily swirled her spoon in the
oatmeal. "I just can't believe he was here yesterday and now...he's
gone."

"I know," I admitted, sipping coffee.
"Unfortunately, that's how it goes, painful as it is."

We were interrupted when her cell phone rang.
She grabbed it off the table, glanced at the caller, and
answered.

"Hello." She paused and looked at me.
"Detective Whitmore, how can I help you?"

Emily listened to him and I watched curiously
as her expression changed.

"Right now?" she asked him, pausing again.
"Uh, I understand. Okay. Goodbye."

"What is it?"

"He wants me to come to the house to answer a
few more questions."

"What other questions could he have?" I
asked, wondering if she was a suspect.