This Old Homicide (29 page)

“He’s the police chief and he didn’t look happy. I worry.”

“I’m right here. I won’t let him arrest you.” Mac wrapped his hand around mine and held it all the way to the station. It helped.

Five minutes later, Eric arrived and ushered us into his office. Once we were seated, he pulled a file off a small stack at the side of his desk, opened it, and turned it around so we could see what was inside. There were a number of dull color photographs that had been copied onto shiny paper.

“They’re awfully grainy,” I said. “Can you tell what they are?”

Mac grabbed one of the sheets to examine it more closely. “It’s us.”

“What?” I said, frowning as I tried to make out the two objects in the frame. The photograph had been taken inside at night with almost no lighting and no flash.

“It’s you and me, inside Jesse’s house.” Mac looked at Eric. “Where’d you get these?”

He pressed his lips together, his tension palpable. “They were in Andrew Braxton’s smart phone.”

“What?” I was repeating myself, but I couldn’t help it. “That’s crazy.” I grabbed the photo again and stared at it long and hard. Finally I looked up and saw Mac and Eric watching me closely. “I recognize the sweatshirt I’m wearing. This was taken a few weeks ago, the first time we went inside the house.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “That was the night I snuck up and scared you.”

“Right,” I said. “So Andrew Braxton was hiding inside Jesse’s house almost two weeks before he ever showed up to check into Jane’s hotel.”

After leaving the police station, I decided to clear my head by taking an afternoon run along the beach. I got home and called both of my foremen to make sure the work on all our sites was going smoothly. It was, thank goodness, so I told them I’d see them tomorrow and changed into my sweatpants, long-sleeved T-shirt, and running shoes.

I locked up the house and jogged out to the sidewalk.

“Yoo-hoo! Shannon, dear,” Mrs. Higgins cried from where she knelt next to a rosebush in her garden across the street.

I gave one brief thought to building myself an escape tunnel from my house so I could come and go without being hailed by neighbors. But that wasn’t fair. Mrs. Higgins was a sweet lady. I was just feeling ragged and befuddled from seeing those creepy pictures of me and Mac inside Jesse’s house. I still couldn’t believe that Andrew Braxton had been hiding in the closet, snapping photographs. Why? We would probably never know. Had he killed Jesse? I doubted it, seeing as how he ended up dead himself.

Besides the shots of Mac and me inside Jesse’s house, there were two photos of Jane taken at Jesse’s memorial service a few days before that. I didn’t remember seeing Andrew there. Had he been wearing a disguise? I had no idea what it all meant. Who was he? And why was he dead?

“Hi, Mrs. Higgins,” I said, snapping out of my twisted reverie. “Your roses look beautiful.”

“Don’t they? They make me so happy.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and stood. “I’m glad I caught you. I want to show you something. Come with me.”

I followed her to the backyard, where her gargantuan fountain was madly humming and spewing water.

“See?” She pointed to the water at the base of the fountain where a small yellow plastic boat bobbed along the surface. “I decided the birds might enjoy a bath toy, so I bought this little boat for them.”

“Isn’t that fun?” I murmured.

“I think so. The birds love it.”

I stared at the plastic boat being pelted with water spurting from the dolphin’s mouth. If I were a bird and saw this colossal jumble of water-spitting statuary, I might fly in the opposite direction. But that was just me.

She tugged at my sleeve. “The little boat reminded me of something you asked me a while ago.”

I smiled patiently. “And what was that?”

“About Jesse, remember? I told you he was in a good mood. And I just remembered why.” She tugged a little harder. “He told me why he was so happy.”

I gently peeled her hand away from my sleeve. “What did he say?”

“He said…” She moved closer and whispered, “He finally met a woman who loved the same thing he did.”

I almost sighed out loud, it was such a bittersweet sentiment. Poor Jesse, I thought. And poor Althea, too.

“Boats!” she cried. Without warning, she yanked the yellow plastic boat out of the water and shook it in front of my face to make her point. “They like boats! I never knew Jesse liked boats. Did you?” She thought about that. “But wait. He was in the navy, so it makes sense.”

“It sure does.” I smiled as I wiped droplets of water off my face.

“Boats,” she muttered, tossing the child’s bath toy back into the water. “Did Jesse leave on a boat?”

She looked up at me then, and appeared a little lost. I wasn’t sure if she’d forgotten her train of thought or if she was missing her old pal. Either way, it was a little heartbreaking.

“Thanks for that information. I really appreciate it.” I patted her shoulder gently. “Let’s go around and see your rose garden, Mrs. Higgins.”

She grabbed hold of my arm for support and we walked slowly back to her front yard. We talked about the roses for another two or three minutes, and then I left her there and headed for the beach a block away down Main Street.

I crossed the wide expanse of sand and when I reached the water’s edge, I turned south. The wet, hard-packed sand provided good support and I began to jog, dodging the puddles of water and remnants of waves that made it onto shore and into my path.

I breathed deeply as I increased my pace. I loved this place. The town, the beach, the water, the air. My friends. I couldn’t imagine a better place to grow up than one block away from the beach at Lighthouse Cove. I’d spent my summers lying in the sun, dodging the waves, and swimming out to the old buoy that used to mark the boundary between safety and the murky depths of the outer bay.

Over the years, the pier and boardwalk had grown more upscale with chic restaurants and fashionable shops. But the old arcade continued to cater to kids and teens, and there was still a designated fishing rail at the end of the pier for a die-hard fisherman to catch a meal or two.

I slowed down when I reached the Lighthouse Cove Marina at the opposite end of the strand from the pier. Speedboats, sailboats, and power cruisers bobbed on the water, reminding me of the tiny yellow boat in Mrs. Higgins’s fountain. And that reminded me of her words a few minutes ago. I thought of how happy Jesse must’ve been to finally find a woman who shared his enjoyment of boats—at least according to Mrs. Higgins. I assumed she knew what she was talking about in that moment, even though she occasionally dipped into sad little bouts of dementia.

Recently my father had told me that he’d talked to Mrs. Higgins’s daughter, who was thinking of selling Mrs. Higgins’s house and moving the older woman in with her and her husband. I wasn’t sure what Mrs. Higgins would do without her rose garden and her behemoth bird fountain, but I supposed it would be good for my neighbor to live with someone who cared for her.

But it was still a little depressing. I picked up speed and concentrated on my breathing instead of on the sad fact that some of the people I’d known my whole life were growing old and would be moving away or dying—if they hadn’t already. I was a pretty upbeat person most of the time, but once in a while, I could get bogged down by the unfairness of it all. Like now, when death was all around me. I hated that feeling. So I ran faster and focused instead on the sound of my feet hitting the damp sand, the feel of the briny breeze brushing across my face, the echoing of a halyard wire pinging against a sailboat mast in the marina nearby.

Boats.

And just like that, I was back where I’d started with Jesse and Althea and the thought of what might have been. If only.

I remembered that Jesse had owned a small powerboat ten or fifteen years ago and my dad and some of the other guys used to go fishing with him once in a while. But he sold it eventually and I wasn’t sure why. With a sigh, I wondered if he might’ve considered buying a new boat after he met Althea. Or maybe she owned her own. I would have to remember to ask her.

Or did Jesse have a boat that I didn’t know about? I made a mental note to ask Jane.

I slowed down and finally came to a stop. I rubbed my stomach and realized I was getting hungry. I had leftover pizza at home and couldn’t wait to bite into it. That would teach me to go running on a completely empty stomach.

After a few minutes of stretching to cool down, I didn’t have the energy to retrace my steps along the shore and all the way back to Main Street. Instead I took my old shortcut, going east two blocks to my street and then a quick three and a half blocks back to my house.

While I was showering, my thoughts were a jumbled mix, from Mrs. Higgins and fountains and boats, to Jesse and Althea and shortcuts and pizza. There was always pizza.

And traffic cameras, suspect lists, and stealthy photographs taken in the dark. Why couldn’t the mystery of Jesse’s death come together like a neatly arranged jigsaw puzzle? There weren’t that many puzzle pieces: a priceless necklace, two suspicious drug overdoses, an enigmatic visitor who’d committed suicide—according to the police—and who actually might’ve been hiding here in Lighthouse Cove all along.

I poured myself a glass of wine and ate my leftover pizza dinner with only Robbie and Tiger for company. They took advantage of my melancholy by rubbing up against my calves, earning bits of cheese as a reward for their sympathy. I studied my suspect list spreadsheet and wondered again why Althea’s comings and goings from Lighthouse Cove weren’t recorded by any of the traffic cameras.

I’d forgotten to check whether she’d been married before or if her car was registered under a different name. I realized it was possible that she’d borrowed someone else’s car. And if that was the case, then it was also possible that Stephen or Ned or any of the other suspects might’ve done the same thing. Anyone could’ve borrowed a car to get here.

I started a list of all the issues I needed to revisit. Borrowed cars. Different names. And where in the world had Andrew Braxton been hiding before he officially checked into the Inn on Main Street? Who was he?

I cleared my plate from the dining table and took it to the sink. Gazing out the kitchen window, I saw Mac’s door open. My heart fluttered foolishly and I was about to run outside to say hello when a tall, stunning woman backed out of his doorway. Her arms were wrapped around Mac’s neck and she was kissing the living daylights out of him. She was supermodel thin yet sexy, with long, wavy blond hair tumbling down her back.

I couldn’t help it. I cracked the window open to hear their conversation.

Mac detached her arms from his neck. “Good night, Vivi.”

“But—”

“Go now.”

“I want to stay.”

“I have to work.”

She rubbed against him. “Sure I can’t convince you?”

He chuckled. “Go.”

She giggled and jogged away, clambering down the stairs and disappearing from sight.

It was stupid to feel this shattered. I’d known all along that Mac Sullivan had dated supermodels and sports figures and anchorwomen. His name had been linked to dozens of those ultrafabulous types.

I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I took a few deep breaths, pointedly ignored the ache in my chest, and went back to work. In my office, I got my laptop and brought it out to the dining room table to give myself more space. I wanted to check the online version of our town newspaper to see if Palmer had obtained more information on Andrew Braxton. The fact that a stranger had been spying on Mac and me inside Jesse’s house that night was deeply disturbing. The fact that he’d been murdered was even worse, but why? Had he been caught photographing someone who made him pay the ultimate price?

I scrolled down the search results for Andrew Braxton and decided to read his hometown obituary first. He was raised in Long Beach, California, outside Los Angeles. He attributed his success in life to his father, who was his hero growing up. They quoted a few lines from Andrew’s touching eulogy at his father’s funeral. I wanted to read more, so I clicked the link to Andrew’s father, Harold Braxton, to see if I could learn more about him and his family.

An hour later, I rubbed my computer-weary eyes. I’d fallen down a Google-created rabbit hole, following one link after another, and another, but eventually I unearthed some chilling results.

It turned out that Harold Braxton had been a respected physician who patented a lifesaving product and made a ton of money. His wife, Joan, died when his boys were young and he remained a widower for almost twenty years until he met and married “the woman of my dreams,” as one source quoted him saying.

That woman’s name was Althea Mulligan.

“Wait. No.” I shoved my chair back from the table to catch my breath. “Hold on a minute.” I began to pace back and forth across the dining room. I needed to figure this out.

Andrew Braxton’s father, Harold, had married a woman named Althea. Did that mean that our Althea was Andrew Braxton’s stepmother?

I knew there were other women named Althea out there in the world, but this had to be the same Althea who’d been dating Jesse. I’d stopped believing in coincidences halfway through playing the Scooby-Doo game with Mac.

“Wow.” I shook my head and sat down again. And wondered. Had Andrew Braxton killed Jesse because the old guy had been dating his stepmother? He’d somehow gained access to Jesse’s house and had been spying on me and Mac and Jane and God only knew who else all this time. Why? Had Althea told him about the necklace? Or was he jealous of any other man making a life with Althea other than his own father?

Despite my burning eyeballs, I spent another hour searching more names and checking more backgrounds. When I was finally ready to shut down my laptop, I had to ask myself whether the police knew any of this. Because if they did, there might have been an arrest made days ago and maybe a life could’ve been saved.

It was almost midnight. All the lights were off in Mac’s upstairs apartment—not that I would disturb him. Not after seeing him with Vivi. He’d told her he had to work, but maybe he’d been too tired. Maybe she’d worn him out.

“Shut up,” I muttered, pulling my hair back from my face. I shoved the image of Mac and Vivi away and tried to figure out what to do with the information I’d found. It was too late to call Eric. Instead I wrote all the information out in a document and sent it to his police e-mail address. I would contact him tomorrow morning, right after I checked on one more detail.

*   *   *

The next morning, I drove down the coast and discovered exactly what I was hoping to find. On my trip back to town, I called Eric to tell him what I’d just learned, but he wasn’t answering his cell, so I left him a hurried message. I’d been afraid to mention anything earlier for fear that he would think I was so off base it was laughable. But now I was bubbling with excitement.

I called Jane and asked her to meet me at Jesse’s house.

“You sound happy.”

“I will be when this is over,” I said. “Can you meet me at Jesse’s house for a few minutes?”

“Why?” she asked. “I’d really rather not go back to Jesse’s house. It’s just too sad.”

With infinite patience, I said, “I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’d rather tell you in person.” I tried not to grit my teeth. I wasn’t about to announce who had killed her uncle on the phone. “Please, Jane. It’s important. I just need a few minutes.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

*   *   *