Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (8 page)

"He said they need me to help figure out if
anything is missing from the house. Just routine stuff."

I agreed, but wanted to talk to Detective
Whitmore myself about the case and where things stood at the
moment. "Do you mind if I go with you?"

"Of course not," Emily said, tasting her
coffee. "I think I could use a friend right now."

I appreciated that, considering we weren't
really friends. But I understood that she was operating under
duress. "Thanks. I could use one too," I told her, though I had
what seemed like more than my fair share of friends.

Right now, getting through this ordeal of
losing a dear friend was the most important thing. And that
included befriending his only living relative for as long as she
needed me to.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Nearing Brent's house, Emily drove past a
neighbor who seemed to stare us down. Or perhaps that was only my
imagination. I recognized her from previous visits, but we had
never met formally. She was around my age and slightly heavier with
short brunette hair. Though Brent was friendly enough to his
neighbors, he had always valued his privacy, especially when at
home.

As though reading my mind, Emily said, "Miss
Nosey Posey aka Mrs. Potter. She lives a couple of doors down and
is always getting into other people's business."

I smiled. "I think we all have neighbors like
that." Annette came to mind. "They're usually pretty harmless for
the most part," I said.

"Whatever," Emily muttered distractedly as we
arrived at Brent's house.

There were several other vehicles present,
including police cruisers. It was obviously still an active crime
scene, making the idea of returning to it that much more
unsettling.

Emily was of the same mind. "It's kind of
weird going back in there with Uncle Brent gone."

"I know," I told her. "We don't have to stay
long. I'm sure the detective won't have too many follow-up
questions for you."

At least I hoped not, though I was fully
aware that the state of the investigation often dictated where it
was headed.

We left the car and were escorted inside by
an officer.

I saw Detective Whitmore talking to Luisa,
the housekeeper, in the Great Room. They stopped talking when they
spotted us.

Luisa was in her mid-forties, petite, and had
black hair that hung down to her shoulders. She ran toward Emily
and said with an accent, "I'm so sorry about Mr. London."

"I know you are," Emily said. "I can't
believe he's dead—"

Luisa gave her a hug. "You'll get through
this. Mr. London would have wanted that."

Emily dabbed her eyes. "Easier said than
done."

"Hello, Luisa," I said.

"Ms. Reed. I'm sorry you had to find Mr.
London that way."

"So am I," I responded. "I'm glad you had the
day off. Otherwise, you might have been a victim too."

"Or maybe I could have scared off whoever did
this," she suggested.

I had my doubts about that, given her size,
and said, "Do you know if Brent was expecting anyone other than
me?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "He never
told me about any guests."

I realized that wasn't the same thing as
saying Brent hadn't made plans to meet someone who may have killed
him.

Whitmore, who had joined us and waited
patiently, nodded at me. "Ms. Reed."

I nodded back. "Detective."

He faced Emily. "Thanks for coming."

"I'll do whatever you need to help solve this
case."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Whitmore
glanced over at Luisa and back to Emily. "Your uncle's laptop is
missing. Do you know anything about that?"

"If you're asking if I took it, the answer is
no. Uncle Brent was pretty protective of his laptop, which he used
for his books. I would never have taken it."

"I wasn't accusing you of anything, Ms.
Peterson. Odds are that whoever killed London probably took the
computer as a secondary thing, hoping it might be valuable enough
to sell on eBay or Craig's List. Anyway, Luisa has gone through the
house and doesn't think anything else is missing. Perhaps you could
take a look around and see if you notice anything gone or out of
place."

"Yes, I can do that," she responded.

"Good. An officer will accompany you—and open
any doors or drawers with gloves, so you don't taint any potential
evidence."

Whitmore signaled for the same officer who
had walked us in to go with Emily, leaving me alone with the
detective and Luisa.

"You can go now," Whitmore told Luisa. "We
expect to wrap up our work here by this afternoon. You're free
then, if you like, to come back and resume your duties, assuming
you'll still be staying on to work for Ms. Peterson."

"I think so," she said tentatively. "We'll
see what she wants me to do."

"Goodbye, Luisa," I told her.

"Goodbye, Ms. Reed." She paused and added,
"Mr. London told me you were going to help him redo his man
cave."

"That was the plan," I said. "But things went
horribly wrong."

"Maybe you can finish what you hoped to start
in his honor," she suggested.

"I'll have to think about that," I told her.
Though it certainly sounded noble, without Brent around to see it
for himself, it seemed like a waste. Especially without knowing
what plans he had made for the house upon his death.

Luisa nodded and left the room.

I turned to Detective Whitmore. "Did you find
out anything about the car I saw speeding down the street?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," he said. "A car
matching that description belongs to a neighbor of Mr. London. This
person claimed to have left the street around that time and
admitted to being late for an appointment."

"Which would explain driving above the speed
limit," I said, feeling a bit disappointed. Maybe I'd been watching
too many crime shows on television.

"It was a good try," he said. "You never know
when such information might come in handy."

"Did you learn anything else about the
identity of the killer?" I asked curiously.

He paused. "Nothing I'm at liberty to say at
the moment. I can tell you, however, that we are making progress
and hope to have someone in custody soon."

"That's good to know. The sooner, the better,
so Brent can rest in peace."

"I hope so," Whitmore said.

I met his eyes. "Do you happen to know when
his body will be released? I'll be helping Emily make the funeral
plans."

"Later today I would imagine, as the medical
examiner will be releasing his official findings this
afternoon."

"Okay," I said, trying not to think about the
grim task of doing an autopsy on my friend, but understanding its
necessity.

Just then, we heard people talking and I
watched as Pierce O'Shea walked into the room with another
detective, having come down the hall from the recreation room where
Brent had apparently breathed his last breath.

The two men walked up to us.

"This is Detective Gifford," Whitmore
introduced him. "And this is Riley Reed."

He was younger than Detective Whitmore, tall,
thin, and bald with a long forehead. "You're the one who found the
body?" he said more than asked.

"Yes," I confirmed.

Gifford furrowed his brow. "Sorry you had to
go through that."

"No more than I am," I told him.

I turned to Pierce as Whitmore was saying,
"This is Pierce O'Shea. He's a mystery author and a good friend of
Brent London's as well as the police."

I wasn't too surprised about that last part,
as I knew that mystery authors often hobnobbed with law enforcement
for research purposes, including Brent, who had quite a few stories
he shared with me in that regard. Clearly, Pierce had followed in
his footsteps in more ways than one.

"Actually, Ms. Reed and I already know one
another," Pierce said before I could say the same. "As mutual
friends of Brent, we've run into each other from time to time."

"Hello, Pierce," I said, gazing at his
tanned, handsome face. He was in his late thirties, trim, and about
the same height as Detective Gifford. But, unlike the bald
detective, Pierce had wavy, sandy colored hair and crystal blue
eyes.

"Nice to see you again," he said, "though I
wish it were under better circumstances."

"You and me both," I assured him.

He frowned. "It's terrible that such a
tragedy prevented you from meeting with Brent."

I wondered how much he knew about it, while
imagining that Detective Gifford had filled him in. "Murder does
have a way of disrupting anyone's plans," I said sadly.

"Something we can all relate to," Whitmore
said. "I can think of much better things to do with my time than
investigate a murder. But this is what life throws at you."

I met his eyes. "Whoever killed Brent
obviously gave no thought as to what it would do to his friends or
the police handling the investigation."

"Speaking of, Pierce was just telling me that
Brent often took his laptop with him to restaurants and other
places he went to work on his books," Gifford said. "And he was
known to have misplaced it every now and then—seemingly more
lately."

I had never known that to happen when I was
with Brent. But then we weren't out that much in recent times. I
couldn't help but wonder if the Alzheimer's disease had played a
role in him leaving his laptop somewhere absentmindedly.

"So you're saying that Brent's laptop may not
have been stolen?" I asked Detective Whitmore.

"The answer to that is still under
investigation," he said, "but it certainly raises the possibility
that the missing laptop has nothing to do with his death."

I had no reason to believe otherwise, but had
no desire to see the investigation unnecessarily thrown off
track.

"Well, if you two will excuse us," Whitmore
said, "we have to get back to work. I'm sure you can find your way
out."

"I think we can manage," Pierce said, winking
at me. He stuck out his hand and shook hands with both detectives.
"Again, if there's anything I can do to help with the
investigation, I'm happy to do so."

"Same here," I felt obliged to say, even if I
doubted there was much I could lend to the investigation that I
hadn't already contributed with seemingly little results.

"We'll keep that in mind," said Whitmore.

"I'll walk you out," Pierce said.

Though I came with Emily, who was still
apparently checking the house for signs of anything missing, I had
no problem stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.

"What a nightmare," remarked Pierce,
furrowing his brow.

"Yes, it is," I said. "Brent didn't deserve
this."

"No, he didn't."

"Do you know of anyone who would have wanted
him dead?" I asked, feeling that if anyone did know, it was
probably Brent's longtime protégé.

Pierce shook his head. "The man had no
enemies that I knew of. Certainly none who would take things to
this extreme. But Brent was a private man, even among those who
knew him well, so it's entirely possible that there was something
going on that he kept to himself."

I thought about the Alzheimer's disease.
Brent had indicated that I was the first person he told about it.
As far as I could tell, no one else knew about his condition, aside
from his doctor, at the time of his death. But since I couldn't
believe this was associated in any way with his death, I assumed
Pierce was referring to something else.

"I'm sure the police will get to the bottom
of it," I said.

"I'm sure they will. I know several of the
detectives and they seem pretty competent when it comes to getting
the job done."

"That's good to know."

I glanced at the house and wondered if Emily
would be coming soon, as I had a few other things to do this
morning, including working on the funeral arrangements.

"I'd love to catch up on things with you,"
Pierce said, cutting into my thoughts. "Any chance I can buy you
lunch today?"

I met his eyes, somewhat surprised at the
invitation. Though we had been cordial when we saw one another
every so often, we were hardly true acquaintances. But then death
did have a way of strengthening ties among the living.

"Sounds like a good idea," I responded, while
thinking about his novel that the book club had just read with
mixed results. I wondered if he might consider visiting our next
meeting, since Brent was no longer able to.

"Splendid," he said, grinning. "How does one
work for you?"

"It works just fine."

"Do I pick you up or—?"

"I can meet you there," I told him, adding,
"I have a little business in town, so that would be the most
convenient."

"Very well." He smiled again. "Do you know
the Crystal Club?"

"Yes." I had never been to the swank
restaurant, but Brent had and told me about it.

"Then I'll see you there at one."

"I look forward to it," I said.

We both turned to watch a white Honda Civic
pull into the driveway. A tall, model thin, well dressed woman in
her early twenties, with mounds of blonde hair, climbed out. It was
Brent's ex-girlfriend, Karla Terrell. I had met her once when I
bumped into Brent at a restaurant as he proceeded to show off his
young trophy girlfriend.

She was about to scoot past us without even
uttering hello, before Pierce grabbed her arm and said tautly,
"Just where do you think you're going?"

Karla glared at him. "Hello to you too,
Pierce. Now let go of my arm."

He did so reluctantly. I imagined that they
knew each other through Brent, who had no qualms connecting the
various people in and out of his life with one another.

"If you must know, I'm going to collect some
things I left when Brent and I broke up," she explained.