Murder on the Bucket List (4 page)

four

Francine was grateful Jonathan
decided to walk her over to Alice's house. He'd been good with their own three boys and would know exactly how to handle Toby. When had Mary Ruth's grandson become so enterprising? He'd been freeloading in her basement for five years and going to the University of Indianapolis. So far he'd had four majors, showing no signs of graduating anytime soon. Francine couldn't remember when he worked last. Mary Ruth said his favorite thing to do was sit at home and play video games.

“It's a good thing Joy cautioned you about the traffic,” Jonathan said. He eyed the cars parked on both sides of the street. “This reminds me of race time in Speedway.”

She knew what he meant. Though she hadn't grown up in Speedway like he had, she'd been to enough races to know how tough it was to navigate the streets made narrow by densely packed cars parked along the curbs. Most residents didn't attempt to go in or out of Speedway on race days.

“They should have a policeman stationed at the subdivision en
trance.”

“I'm not sure they need to.” Jonathan pointed to the line of vehicles that ran all the way to the entry point. “I don't think anyone can get in now.”

They watched a small Hummer try to squeeze by the first few cars, finally giving up and backing out. The frustrated driver drove away.

“Case in point,” Jonathan said.

She laughed, even though at the moment her concern was how many people they'd find at Alice's house. Based on the number of cars, it had to be plenty. She put her arm in Jonathan's and leaned in to hug him. His presence always reassured her. He was smart and funny and solid, not just in physique but also in his common sense approach to life. And handsome. Charlotte said Jonathan was how James Garner would have turned out if he'd been an accountant instead of an actor.

When they were three houses down from Alice's, they came across the end of an orderly line of people. “Will you look at that?” Francine whispered. “It's like they're waiting to get into Disney World.”

“Hey, you,” a stern-looking woman about Francine's age exclaimed when they passed. “Don't think you're going to be able to cut in line when you get up there.” Francine recognized her from somewhere, maybe a homeowners' association meeting.

“I'm number fifty-five,” said the older woman in front of her, waving a cane. “That fat young man comes by every once in a while to take names and issue numbers. You just better get in line now.”

“Yeah,” said the first woman. “He'll just chase you back here. He's ruthless.”

Someone farther up the line turned around to see what the commotion was about. “Hey! I recognize you,” she said. “You're Francine McNamara, one of the skinny-dippers. Don't you ladies have any shame?”

The crowd began to murmur. “Maybe we'd better make a run for the house,” Jonathan whispered in her ear.

While she was grateful that they'd kept themselves in shape, a run was probably not a good plan, especially with the espadrilles she had on. “Let's just walk fast and cut across the lawns.”

Francine and Jonathan sped up, but as people began to take notice, they found themselves moving faster and faster to make it to Alice's yard before the crowd got any more unruly. They had barely reached the edge of Alice's property when they were accosted by Toby.

“The end of the line is back there,” he said, aiming a pen in that direction. He held a clipboard against his stomach. Francine hadn't seen Toby in some time and was surprised to discover he was not just overweight, but also mohawked and multi-tattooed. A ring pierced his left eyebrow. He looked like a bouncer at a biker bar.

She threw him a withering glance, taking a moment to catch her breath. “I'm not going to stand in line to get into Alice's house, Toby Burrows, and if I find out you're charging these people to see the scene of the crime …”

He took a step back. “I'm sorry, Mrs. McNamara, I didn't recognize you at first! Of course you don't need to wait in line. Let me get you into the house.”

“Are you charging admission?” Jonathan's voice held a great deal of disdain.

“No, sir. Alice—I mean Mrs. Jeffords—told me not to and I haven't. But she couldn't have people running all over the house and back yard, so I set up a system for entry. No more than five at a time.”

Toby ushered them through a gate in the privacy fence and closed it behind them. He started to guide them around the side yard.

Francine patted Toby's beefy forearm. “We know the way from here, dear. I think you'd best get back out front in case we've started a stampede.”

“Good idea.” He turned away and reopened the gate to find a middle-aged woman with heavy makeup trying to push through with a camera. “Hey, get back in line,” he said. “I told you earlier, no special privileges for the press.” He nudged her back as he closed the gate.

“Let me know if you need help,” Jonathan called after him.

“Could you believe that woman's comment about having no shame?” Francine was still miffed by the hostility they'd encountered. “Like we're a bunch of out-of-control Internet strippers.”

“What's out of control is this situation,” he replied. “Look over there. Is Charlotte giving guided tours?”

She spun around. He seemed to be correct. Charlotte patrolled the crime scene tape, five people in tow. A policeman with the demeanor of a Buckingham Palace guard stood behind the tape, preventing access. Charlotte used her cane to point this way and that with great animation. Then she saw Francine.

“Thank God you're here!” she called, waving. “Stay right here,” she ordered her group. “I'll be back.”

Charlotte hurried over as quickly as she was able and pulled them into a huddle. “Can you finish up these five so I can go back and get the next group?” she asked Francine. “Maybe we could work as a team. I could start the tour and you could finish it. We need to process these suspects faster.”

“Suspects? What suspects?”

“All these people. The murderer always returns to the scene of the crime! I've got Toby taking their names, and this gives me a chance to question them while they're here. We've got to help Alice.”

“I don't think tours are the way to help Alice,” Jonathan said.

“Alice understands why we're doing this, even if it does creep her out to have people she doesn't know marching through her house. And if you have a better idea, let's hear it. I'm told the police will be here any minute to pick her up. Something about Friederich renting space from Larry.”

“Head on back to your group, Charlotte,” Francine said. “I'll help you out in a minute.” She waited until Charlotte was out of earshot. Jonathan was Larry's accountant, and this sounded ominous. “Do you know anything about this?” she asked him. “Is this something to worry about?”

“If I told you, it'd be breaking confidentiality.”

“But I'm your wife!”

“And you have a lot of cronies who will try to get it out of you. Better you know nothing, so you can say so in all honesty.”

She gritted her teeth. “Just tell me if Alice and Larry have anything to be concerned about.”

“There's one little thing that could be a problem,” he said, his face grim. “I don't think it will be, but, well, I don't think I should say any more.”

Francine was momentarily angry, but then she decided he was probably right to handle it as he was, at least for now. She was pretty sure she could get the information out of him later if she needed. “All right. I'm going to try to keep Charlotte out of trouble. You'd better go talk to Alice. If the police are coming over, they might try to get into Larry's business records. You should be there if they try.”

“I'll offer, but she doesn't have to accept my help.”

She gave him the sigh she usually reserved for Charlotte. “She will. We both know that. Now get.”

She turned her full attention to Charlotte and the tour group. Alice's lot was nearly an acre, more narrow than wide, with a good portion of it in the back yard. When Larry's real estate business boomed in the late '90s, he'd added the inground pool behind the house. The pool shed, where they'd found Friederich's body, was at the end of the long pool's concrete apron, beyond the deep end. Police tape surrounded the outbuilding, extending ten feet beyond the shed.

An elderly neighbor parked herself in the lounge chair outside the tape. Charlotte was busy coaxing them toward the house. “You can't just stop now, Cornelia,” she said, yanking on the woman's elbow, “we've got people waiting.”

Francine hustled to the chair. “I'll take care of her. You go get the next group.”

“Nope. Only five at a time in one area. We let too many people in and we'll have the same situation we had earlier, with people traipsing all over the yard and trampling any evidence.”

“If the police have opened up the yard, there's probably no evidence there. And I don't think Cornelia is going to be doing a lot of traipsing.”

Charlotte eyed the neighbor. “She better not.”

Cornelia struggled to get off the lounge. “My hips just aren't what they used to be.”

“Tell me about it,” said a younger woman in the group, smoothing the shorts that hugged her shapely hips. “It's called childbirth.”

Francine threw an annoyed look at Darla Baggesen, the forty-year-old divorcee whose house bordered the Jeffords's. She'd been the one who'd announced what time it was last night when everyone screamed. In addition to being the homeowners' association president, she was also flighty and self-absorbed. Francine was certain the mention of her hips had only been designed to attract attention to them.

“Cornelia is well past childbirth and what it does to hips, Darla. But since you're so concerned, why don't you help her to the door?”

Darla shook her shoulder-length, sunny blond hair that Francine knew was a dye job. She sniffed. “I was just about to offer.”

Charlotte and Francine ambled along with the group as it traversed the length of the pool, the patio, and through the French doors that led into the house. They entered into the family room with its two-story ceiling, bathed in sunlight through the massive Palladian window. Cornelia stopped to stare along with Darla. Summer Ridge was a subdivision of custom built, all-brick homes, most of them Colonial, but the Jeffords's house was the most ex
pensive and everyone knew it. Charlotte had to nudge the rubberneckers past the staircase into the foyer. Toby had the next five people waiting there, s
o he escorted them into the front room to let Cornelia's group out.

“What does the line look like, Toby?” Charlotte asked when he returned.

“Still long. It's going to take us more than an hour to get all these people through. And that's if nobody else gets in line.”

“Go get another five. Francine here will take that group. That'll double our coverage.”

“Coverage?” Francine put her hands on her hips. “These people are the curious and the gawkers, not suspects.”

“Shows what you know,” Charlotte said, pulling her in close. “Cornelia Brown packs heat.”

“Her purse?” asked Toby.

“That bag's a treasure trove of torture devices, truth be known.”

“Stop it, Charlotte,” Francine said. “Stop it right now before I go out and tell all these people to go home. Cornelia is not a criminal.”

“I wouldn't put anything past Darla Baggesen, though,” Toby whispered. “She's a cougar. She scares me.”

From up the stairs, Joy's shrill voice rang out. “Reuters is on the line, Alice! They want to know if you'd make a statement.”

Alice stuck her head out of the first upstairs room and shouted back down the hall. “Who's Reuters? Oh, never mind, it doesn't matter. No statements.”

The doorbell rang. Toby went to the door and jerked it open. “I told you, only five at a—oh, hello, officers.”

He backed up to let a disheveled Detective Judson and a uniformed policeman step into the foyer. Francine noticed dark circles under Jud's eyes.

“Is Alice here?”

“I'm here.” She came down the stairs, Jonathan behind her. “The study looks out onto the street. I saw you pull up.”

“Hi, Jud,” Jonathan said. “I'm glad you're on the case.”

Jud smiled. “Thanks. I'm sorry you and Francine got mixed up in this. I'm sorry it happened at all. But we get need to get to the bottom of things. Alice, did you locate the keys to the building?”

“They were right where Larry said they were.”

“Good. Then let's go take a look.”

She indicated Jonathan. “Do you mind if Jonathan comes with us, since Larry's not here? He's our accountant.”

“I've been in the building from time to time, so I'm familiar with it,” Jonathan said. “I'd like to be there in case I can help.”

“It's kind of irregular, but it's your building, Alice,” Jud said, but he was clearly not happy.

“Where is this place you're going to?” Charlotte asked.

He glanced at the tour group of five standing nearby. “I'm not at liberty to say.”

“It's on Adams Street between US 136 and College,” Alice answered. “Friederich was renting a garage from Larry. The police want to look through it. I'm sure it's nothing.”

“Can I come, too?” Charlotte asked.

“No, you can't,” Toby said. “I'm not gonna get stuck with a bunch of unhappy people who don't get tours when you said they would.”

“He's right,” Francine said. “You need to stay and process the suspects.” She turned to Jud. “Charlotte thinks that the murderer always returns to the scene of the crime. She's making a list of all the people who've come through to gape at the pool shed where we found the body.”