Candy Corn Murder (15 page)

“Oh, my,” she gasped, putting her hand over her nose.

“Yeah,” said Barney. “Pretty disgusting, but wait till you see the cellar.” He led the way and opened the cellar door, which had a ring of black grime around the knob, and flicked on the light. Lucy descended the stairs and discovered a clean, well-ordered growing room, equipped with bright lights. The room was well ventilated with an industrial fan, which limited the pungent scent given off by dozens of thriving marijuana plants.

“Wow,” she said, raising her camera and clicking away. “This is the last thing I expected.”

“You and me three,” said Barney. “I guess the crummy house and the slovenly appearance were just a disguise. Ev wasn't who we thought he was.”

“Bill said he was a kind of mechanical genius, and I laughed,” said Lucy. Just then an elaborate irrigation system went into action, distributing a fine spray of water on the plants. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Everybody underestimated him,” said Barney. “We thought he was having trouble making ends meet.”

This was a new idea to Lucy. “How much is all this worth?” she asked.

“A lot,” answered Barney. “This would make him a major player, producing tens of thousands of dollars' worth every eight to twelve weeks.”

“How long was he doing it?” asked Lucy.

“The crime-scene guys said it looks like it was going on for years, and one of the neighbors reported a truck coming at night every now and then. It upset her dog, she said.”

“Did she complain to him about it?” asked Lucy.

“Yeah, she did. He said he was sorry, but, funny thing, the dog died a few days later.”

“A coincidence?” she asked, hopefully.

“I don't think so.”

“But Ev wouldn't kill a dog,” protested Lucy, remembering how Ev had always been ready to play with Libby, and Patrick, too.

“I'm not saying he did it,” said Barney. “But he must've had some serious associates.”

“Organized crime?” asked Lucy.

Barney looked around the growing space, which was really a high-tech subterranean greenhouse. “What do you think?” he asked.

Lucy swallowed hard. She really didn't want to think about it at all.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hen Lucy got home that afternoon, she found Bill in the backyard, splitting firewood.

“It will be nice to use the fireplace again,” said Lucy, kicking some crinkly brown fallen leaves. The trees bordering the backyard were losing their leaves after a rather disappointing display of muted colors. The experts said it was due to the dry weather they'd had this year.

Bill took a break, resting the heavy maul against his leg and wiping his brow with a bandanna. “Yeah, the forecast is for frost tonight.”

Lucy smiled at him and buttoned up her jacket. “What is it they say about firewood? It warms you twice—once when you split it and again when you burn it.”

“Yeah, there's a nip in the air today,” said Bill, setting a log on the stump he used for splitting wood and bringing down the maul with a practiced swing of his arm. The log split in two with a crack.

“I took those photos of Ev's pot operation today,” said Lucy. “Want to see?”

“Sure,” he said, taking Lucy's digital camera and peering at the display. “Look at that irrigation system,” said Bill. “I told you he was a mechanical genius.”

This was not the reaction Lucy had expected. “Bill, this is dozens of plants, a huge operation. Barney says he must have been a major player, involved in organized crime.”

Bill shook his head. “He must have been a licensed grower, selling to legal dispensaries.”

“There's no evidence of that,” said Lucy. “A neighbor said trucks came at night, and when she complained, her dog died.”

“Ev loved dogs,” said Bill. “He would never hurt a dog.”

“I agree, but the people he's selling to might have wanted to send a message to the neighbor to mind her own business.”

“Lucy, I think you're going out on a limb here.”

Lucy bit her lip. She knew money had been tight since the financial collapse, and Bill hadn't had much work. And on top of that, they'd been paying those exorbitant day-care fees. She also knew that Bill, like a lot of people, had smoked pot in college and didn't think it should be illegal. She had to ask. “Just tell me one thing, Bill. Were you involved with Ev's cash crop?”

“Don't be crazy,” he said, looking up as an unmarked police car swung into the driveway. “Damn,” he growled, watching as DeGraw and Ferrick got out of the car. “They're back.”

“I'm calling Bob Goodman,” said Lucy, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Don't you tell them anything except name, rank, and serial number, okay?”

But Bill was already strolling across the lawn, hailing the two state cops with a raised arm. Listening anxiously to the rings of the phone, Lucy watched as the three men formed a little circle in the driveway.
Not voice mail, please,
she prayed and sighed with relief when she heard Bob's voice.

“The cops are here to question Bill again,” she began. “Can you come over?”

“I'm on my way,” he said. “Tell him to say he wants to cooperate but will answer questions only if his lawyer is present.”

“Right,” said Lucy, ending the call and hurrying across the yard. Bill, she could see, was already chatting away with the two cops, as if they were old friends.

“Yup, getting ready for winter,” he was saying when she joined them.

“Bill, Bob Goodman is on his way over.” She turned to the two cops. “He's our lawyer. He wants to be present when you talk to Bill.”

“That's not necessary,” said Bill. “I was Ev's friend, and I want to do everything I can to help nail whoever did this.”

Ferrick and DeGraw exchanged a glance, and DeGraw pulled out a notebook with a leather cover. “We appreciate your cooperation,” he said, flipping the notebook open. “Right now it looks like you were the last person to see Wickes alive.”

“Except for the person who killed him,” said Bill.

“Uh, right,” grunted DeGraw.

“How did you spend Friday night, the night before the catapult hurl?” asked Ferrick, wrinkling his nose and sniffing.

“I worked on some plans upstairs, in my office,” said Bill, furrowing his brow. “Then I came downstairs and flipped channels awhile.”

Ferrick turned to Lucy. “Can you corroborate that, ma'am?”

Damn, Bill,
thought Lucy. Why couldn't he just shut up? “Actually, no,” she said. “I was at a Halloween party with our grandson.”

“And was your husband home then, when you got home?”

“Of course,” said Lucy.

“You saw him?”

Where was Bob? What was taking him so long? “I'd really rather not say any more,” said Lucy.

Bill turned to her. “C'mon, Lucy. You know I was home. You must've heard the TV.”

“So you were in the family room, watching TV, right?” asked DeGraw.

“Yeah, that's what I told you,” replied Bill, sounding tired of repeating himself.

“But you didn't actually see your wife and grandson?” asked Ferrick. “As I recall, there's a hall and a bath between the kitchen and the TV room, right?”

“That's right. I heard them in the kitchen, and then they went upstairs. Lucy had to get Patrick ready for bed.”

“And then your wife came down and joined you in the TV room?” continued Ferrick.

“No. I heard the water running. I assumed she was taking a bath. She usually does before she goes to bed.”

“And after the bath, she came down and you two shared a snack?” asked DeGraw in a helpful tone.

Playing good cop,
thought Lucy as Bill tumbled down the slippery slope. “She must've gone to bed. She goes to bed pretty early, but I stayed up. The Bruins game went into overtime. You can check on it.”

“So it was pretty late when you got to bed?” asked DeGraw.

“Yeah, getting on to midnight, I suppose,” admitted Bill.

“And all that time you claim you were at home, nobody actually saw you,” said Ferrick. “I mean, the TV could've been on in an empty room. You could've been anywhere, right?”

“In theory, yes,” said Bill in a hurt voice. “But why would I want to kill Ev? We were buddies, partners, even. We were both looking forward to the catapult hurl.”

“Interesting choice of words,” said DeGraw. “So you two were partners?”

Lucy knew where this was going, and she grabbed Bill's arm, attempting to caution him, but he ignored her. “Yeah. The catapult was a joint project. We worked together on it.”

“You were aware that Wickes had another project, the marijuana he was growing in the basement?” asked Ferrick.

“I just learned about that today, from my wife. She's a reporter for the local paper.”

“So you weren't partners in the pot business?” DeGraw sounded somewhat mournful, as if Bill had missed out on a great opportunity.

“No way!”

“And I suppose you didn't know your partner had nearly seventeen thousand dollars stashed in his mattress,” suggested DeGraw.

“No, I didn't. I think I told you yesterday that I felt sorry for Ev. I thought he needed money, and I insisted on paying him a lousy fifteen dollars an hour. I wanted to help him.”

“But if you'd known about the money, that would've been a pretty big, seventeen-thousand-dollar motive for murder,” suggested Ferrick.

“I suppose it would,” acknowledged Bill, watching as Bob zipped into the driveway in his little BMW. “But I didn't do it, and while you're wasting time questioning me, the real killer is out there, getting away with murder.”

“I'm attorney Bob Goodman,” said Bob, joining the group. “I'm representing Mr. Stone. And you are?” he asked, indicating the cops.

The two produced their IDs, which Bob took care to photograph with his smartphone. “Saves a lot of time,” he explained with a grin. “I used to have to copy all your information by hand.”

“We've got plenty of time,” said DeGraw.

“Yeah, no problem,” added Ferrick.

“Well, I guess if you want to continue interviewing my client, we can go inside and I'll set up a recorder. . . .”

“No, that's okay,” said DeGraw.

“Yeah, we're finished,” said Ferrick. “For now.”

“Right,” agreed DeGraw. “But I think you should warn your client here that he'd better not leave town.”

“I don't think Mr. Stone has any immediate travel plans, do you, Bill?” coached Bob.

“Uh, no,” said Bill.

“Good,” said DeGraw.

“Yeah, we'll be seeing you,” said Ferrick.

The three watched the cops amble to their car, where they took their time getting settled into their seats before finally departing.

“Bill, I could kill you,” said Lucy. Her fists were clenched tight, and she pounded them against her thighs. “You should've kept your mouth shut.”

“How bad was the damage?” asked Bob.

“They got Bill to admit he doesn't have an alibi for Friday night. He could've been anywhere,” said Lucy.

“I was only trying to help,” said Bill defensively. “I want them to get whoever killed Ev, that's all.”

“Why should they look for anybody else when you're so willing to implicate yourself?” demanded Lucy.

“She's got a point,” said Bob, looking serious. “They're looking for somebody with means, motive, and opportunity, and you've got all three.”

Bill swallowed hard. “I didn't think . . .”

“Well, from now on let me do the thinking,” said Bob. “Whatever you do, don't talk to the cops unless I'm present, okay?”

“Won't that make me look guilty?” asked Bill.

Lucy shook her head in frustration. “Listen to him!” she exclaimed. “Bob wants to protect you.”

“That's right,” said Bob. “So promise me you won't talk to the cops unless I'm there.”

“Okay,” agreed Bill.

“Now, where's that grandchild of yours that Rachel is always telling me about?” asked Bob. “I've got some of Richie's old
Star Wars
toys for him.”

Lucy glanced at her watch, discovering it was already five minutes to six. “Ohmigod, Little Prodigies closes at six! I've got to get him!”

“Don't break any speed limits,” advised Bob as he and Bill headed for his car to get the toys.

Lucy didn't exceed the speed limit, but she went as fast as she legally could, driven by guilt. How could she forget Patrick? Though, to be honest, she had been pretty busy, tied up as she was with the police investigation of Bill. Not exactly something she wanted to share with Heidi, however.

Much to her surprise, Heidi wasn't waiting in the doorway and tapping her foot. Instead, she was on her hands and knees, organizing a low cupboard, while Patrick was busy assembling a puzzle.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” began Lucy in an apologetic tone. “Something important came up.”

“A breaking story?” suggested Heidi, with a smile, as she rose to her feet.

“I hope not,” said Lucy, wondering how she could keep Bill's involvement out of the media spotlight, and realizing that would probably violate journalistic ethics. If there were such things, which she frequently doubted.

Heidi was looking at her with a puzzled expression, and Lucy hastened to come up with an explanation. “Time just got away from me,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “Come on, Patrick. It's time to go home.”

“I haven't finished the puzzle,” he said.

“I'll help,” said Lucy, looking over his shoulder. “Just two more pieces. I'll do one, and you do one.”

“Okay.” With the puzzle completed, and then replaced in its box, Patrick was finally ready to go. “Bye,” he said as Lucy helped him into his jacket.

“See you tomorrow,” said Heidi, going back to the cupboard, where she turned to Lucy. “You know, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I wasn't aware of the situation.” She shrugged. “I just want to say that Patrick's doing fine, especially when you consider the parental absence. He's coping very well.”

Lucy broke into a big smile. “Thanks,” she said, giving Patrick's shoulder a squeeze. “I'm rather proud of him myself.”

“I know it's not easy, as grandparents, to become full-time caregivers for a grandchild, but you seem to be doing very well.”

“Well, I'm trying,” said Lucy, taking Patrick by the hand. If she only knew, thought Lucy as they left the building and walked out to the car. The perfect grandparents who did all the right things for their grandson were currently under police investigation. She could see the headline now:
GRANDFATHER INDICTED FOR MURDER
.