Southern Pecan Killer Page 3

  His question drew a venomous look from Rosemary, but Jeannie nodded. “Sure, I can do that. We could talk downstairs,” she gestured toward a doorway. “Just come down when you’re done here.”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Rosemary began.

  “Thanks, we’ll be with you soon,” Chas replied, ignoring her mother’s protest.

  “I really don’t know what Jeannie could possibly have to add,” Rosemary commented when Chas sat down again.

  “It’s always nice to talk with as many relatives as we can,” Chas replied. “So, you didn’t care for Mr. Lyndhurst?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. He was a poor provider and a lackluster husband and father. Dora deserved better, and I told her so.”

  “Do you know if your daughter had any disagreements with her husband recently, and what they might be about?”

  “Those two fought like cats and dogs. If she said the sky was blue, he would swear that it was green. He wasn’t educated like she was, and always tried to prove her wrong so that he could feel better about himself.”

  “When was the last time you saw or spoke with your daughter?”

  “The day that she…” Rosemary’s lower lip began to tremble, and she made a visible effort to squash the emotion. “The day that she passed. I told her that I was going to stop by later in the evening to drop off some clothing that I didn’t want any longer.”

  “How did she sound when you spoke with her?”

  “Same as always. She needed the clothes, so she was grateful. William worked nights, so I planned to visit with her when he wasn’t home.”

  “But you never stopped by?”

  “No. My bridge club ran long, so I just went straight home. I had no idea that anything was wrong until the social worker called me late last night.”

  “Do you still have the clothing that you were going to give your daughter?”

  “No, I dropped them off at a thrift store this morning.”

  “Do you remember which one?”

  “No, and why should it matter? It’s not like I pay attention to the names of those places.”

  A chime on Rosemary’s smart watch went off, and she stood.

  “I have to go take my conference call now. I’m sure you gentlemen can see yourselves out.”

  “We can indeed…right after we speak with Jeannie,” Chas replied mildly.

  Rosemary couldn’t quite hide her annoyance as she strode from the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  Chas and Spencer headed downstairs, through the door that Jeannie had indicated, and found that the lower level of Rosemary Conrad’s home was quite different than the pristine upper level. Brightly colored art decorated the walls, and there was a thick, lovely abstract rug on the floor, which was currently occupied by a hexagonal baby corral, and a handful of toys.

  “Hi,” Jeannie smiled up at them from her spot on the floor, where she and Kaylee had been rolling a ball back and forth. “I’m sorry that my mother can be…abrupt. We all grieve in our own way.”

  “I completely understand,” Chas smiled.

  He and Spencer took a seat on an overstuffed leather sofa that had the texture of a well-worn baseball glove.

  “Has she said anything?” Chas inclined his head subtly toward Kaylee.

  Jeannie shook her head. “Not about her m-a-m-a,” she spelled out the word so as not to upset the child. “She just shuts down if I ask questions.”

  Chas nodded. “I had the same experience. Do you have any idea about what could’ve prompted the…incident?”

  “No clue. I wish I did. I’d hunt down whoever did it myself,” Jeannie’s eyes welled with tears.

  “Had your sister mentioned anything strange or did she behave any differently recently?”

  “No. She never really complained about anything. My mother does enough complaining for all of us,” she said quietly, glancing up the stairs as though Rosemary might be standing at the top listening.

  “Did she and your sister get along?”

  “Oh definitely,” Jeannie nodded. “They almost never argued, other than when Mom tried to convince her to leave Billy.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she wanted something better for Dora, I guess,” Jeannie shrugged, seemingly lost in memories.

  “Was he abusive?”

  “Definitely not. They argued some, but Dora always got her way. Billy thought that the sun rose and set in my sister’s eyes,” her throat worked.

  Kaylee paged through a heavy cardboard book with ABC’s on the cover, ignoring the adults in the room.

  “Did your mother ever confront Mr. Lyndhurst directly?”

  “Every time she saw him, pretty much. She never cut Billy a break.”

  “Why did she dislike him so much?”

  “She just never thought he was good enough. He had a two year degree, rather than a four year, and he had a good job, but it wasn’t management, so she didn’t think he’d be able to move up and provide a better life for his family. He was a good guy though.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that your sister would’ve…hurt him, and then herself?” Chas asked delicately.

  “Anything is possible, I suppose. I just think it’s strange that she would do something like that with Kaylee in the house.”

  “Do we know for certain that she was in the house?”

  “No. I just assumed that because they swabbed her for blood and took her clothes and everything,” Jeannie lowered her voice so that the toddler wouldn’t pay attention.

  “Hopefully she’ll be able to talk about it soon. In the meantime, if you think of anything that might be helpful, please give us a call,” Chas handed her a card.

  “Thank you,” she took the card and slipped it into her pocket. “I know that my mother was less than gracious, but this has been really hard on us, and we’re grateful for your help, even if it didn’t seem like it.”

  “We’ll do everything that we can,” Chas assured her.

  **

  “Well, looks like Mom gets bumped up to the Persons of Interest list,” Spencer commented, once they were in the car and driving away.

  “So it would seem. If Dora didn’t commit murder and suicide, Rosemary seems a likely candidate. Let’s have Ringo look into Dora’s family, particularly Rosemary. I think there’s a story there.”

  “Once he gets information on William’s employment, I’d like to go talk to his boss and coworkers. See if I can get a feel for what kind of person he actually was. Jeannie didn’t seem to think badly of him.”

  “Good idea. Let’s check and see if Dora worked as well. We need to get as much background on her as possible,” Chas directed.

  “Stop for a bag of burgers at a drive-thru. Ringo works better on a full stomach,” Spencer grinned wryly.

  “I never thought I’d be paying an employee with fast food,” Chas rolled his eyes.

  “Whatever works,” Spencer shrugged.

  **

  “I mean, I wouldn’t check out because of it, but it looks like your murder/suicide girl didn’t have the happiest life in the world,” Ringo said, his mouth full of potato chips.

  “How so?” Chas looked at the other chair in the technology room and refrained from sitting in it, after seeing smudges of what looked like cheese sauce on the back of the seat.

  “She had a part-time job as a telemarketer for storm windows, which had to suck, but I mean, it’s money, right?” Ringo consulted his screen. “Her bank statement shows that almost all her money went to pay for daycare at Wee Ones. Seems kinda crazy. The kid goes to daycare so that you can go to work, but the only thing that your work pays for is the daycare. Vicious cycle, man,” the hacker commented.

  “Studies have shown that daycare kids can be more socialized and confident,” Spencer remarked, his eyes on the screen. “You hacked into her bank statement?”

  “Officially, no,” Ringo hit a key on the computer and the rec
ords disappeared from the screen. “But let’s just say that from a financial standpoint, I can tell you anything that you want to know.”

  “Did you find anything important, financially?” Chas asked.

  “All their money magically disappeared. The dude worked for a pool supply company and made a decent salary, but they went negative in their checking account almost every month, and their credit cards were maxed out.”

  “Are there any trends that you picked up on that might explain that?”

  “Maybe,” Ringo nodded, opening a bottle of doubly-caffeinated soda.

  “How does your stomach survive?” Spencer shook his head in wonder.

  “Years of practice, dude. So, I noticed that whenever our man wasn’t at work, he spent a ton of time at this address,” Ringo handed Chas a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it.

  “What’s at that address?” Spencer asked.

  “One of those electronic poker places,” the hacker replied, after chugging half the bottle of soda. “I never knew anyone actually went to those places.”

  “Of course people go there, how else would they survive?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

  “Money laundering,” Ringo shrugged, reaching for his potato chip bag. “Most of those places are used to clean up drug cash and make it seem legit.”

  “Check out that angle, see if William Lyndhurst was involved with anyone who is suspected of money laundering or drug connections,” Chas directed. “Then run background on all family and known associates of both Dora and her husband.”

  “Already got the programs running, boss man, I should have something to toss your way this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “Good,” Chas nodded. “Need anything from me?”

  “I wouldn’t turn down a Senor Taco Special meal. They deliver now.”

  “Put it on the expense account,” Chas replied on his way out the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  Missy and Beulah stood on Rosemary Conrad’s doorstep with a pink striped box of cupcakes. The two had wanted to check in on little Kaylee, so when Echo volunteered to man the counter at Cupcakes in Paradise, they boxed up a delicious assortment and headed out.

  “Hello,” a young woman who looked a lot like Kaylee smiled at them curiously.

  “Hi,” Missy greeted her, while Beulah stood further back, fanning herself in the heat. “My name is Melissa Beckett, and this is Beulah. Beulah is little Kaylee’s neighbor.

  “Oh my goodness,” light dawned on the woman in front of them. “You’re the kind soul who found Kaylee,” she looked past Missy to Beulah, her eyes filled with gratitude. “I’m Kaylee’s aunt, Jeannie. Won’t you please come in? The only word that Kaylee seems to say these days is Beulah.”

  “How is the child?” Beulah asked, as they followed Jeannie inside the immaculate home.

  “Scared, quiet,” Jeannie admitted, her eyes sad. “I read to her a lot. It seems to take her mind off of things. Please, come with me, I know she’ll be glad to see you.”

  Missy and Beulah exchanged a glance as Jeannie led them through the pristine living room and down the stairs to where Kaylee sat inside the hexagonal enclosure, watching a video on a tablet.

  “It keeps her busy while I make lunch,” Jeannie explained apologetically.

  “Oh, we don’t want to interrupt her lunch,” Missy commented, gazing down at the child, who finally realized that she was no longer alone and looked up.

  “Buwa!” she exclaimed, and held her arms up toward the elderly woman. “Buwa!”

  “Hello little peanut,” Beulah grinned and picked the lovely child up.

  Kaylee burrowed her face in Beulah’s ample neck, arms holding the woman tight, legs wrapped around her waist.

  “How you doin’ peanut?” Beulah cooed, rocking back and forth with Kaylee clinging to her.

  Kaylee leaned back and put a tiny hand on each of Beulah’s cheeks, then leaned her forehead against the elderly woman’s wrinkled one.

  Jeannie’s hands went to her mouth. “She used to do that with my sister,” she whispered.

  Missy put an arm around the teary-eyed aunt, and they all sat down to visit. Beulah kept Kaylee in her lap the entire time and the little girl clutched at “Buwa’s” beaded necklace as though it was a lifeline.

  “What’s going on down here?” a strident voice demanded, as Rosemary descended the steps to the basement.

  “These ladies brought us some cupcakes. Miss Beulah is the one who found Kaylee…after.”

  “We don’t eat carbs,” Rosemary commented, gazing coldly at Missy and Beulah. “Jeannie, I’m appalled that you brought company into this filthy basement.”

  Missy and Beulah sat in stunned silence as Jeannie rose apologetically, clearly expecting them to leave. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she murmured, holding out her hands for Kaylee, who shook her head no and burrowed into Beulah.

  “Oh stop that nonsense this minute,” Rosemary commanded, coming to a halt in front of Beulah and Missy, who were now standing as well. “Give me the child.”

  Kaylee began to cry, breaking the heart of everyone in the room, with the exception of her grandmother, it seemed. Snatching the child from Beulah, she plunked her down in the center of the enclosure. Her little arms stretched out and she cried, “Buwa! Buwa!” as Jeannie led them upstairs.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, handing the box of cupcakes back to Missy. “My mother means well, she really does,” her face flushed scarlet.

  Beulah took off the necklace that she’d been wearing and handed it to Jeannie. “You make sure she gets this and tell her it’s from her Buwa, hear?” she said quietly, tucking it into the woman’s palm.

  Jeannie nodded. “I will. I’m so sorry.”

  She led them to the door and showed them out, apologizing over and over.

  “Something in that house ain’t right,” Beulah pursed her lips and shook her head once they were on their way back to the shop. “They’re keeping that precious baby in a basement with hardly no toys. It wasn’t filthy down there, not even close.”

  “Oh Beulah, I feel so bad for Kaylee. Her grandmother seemed to be very unpleasant, but her aunt was nice.”

  “Her aunt ain’t nice enough until she grows a backbone and tells that witchy woman to back off and be sweet to that grandbaby,” Beulah huffed.

  “I just wish there was something we could do,” Missy mused.

  “There is something that you can do. You can tell that clever hunk of a man you got at home that something ain’t right in that house and let him figure it out,” she crossed her arms and stared at Missy.

  “I think you’re right Beulah,” she agreed. “Do you want to take these cupcakes home with you?”

  “Yes ma’am, I surely do.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  “How may I help you?” the harried receptionist at Eye of the Storm Windows asked Spencer.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Marshall Foster,” the investigator gave her his most charming smile and it managed to melt her just a bit.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she looked confused.

  “Uh, no. I spoke with him on the phone earlier and he said to just drop by.”

  That raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think Marshall has ever told anyone to just drop by before,” she blinked.

  “He was quite courteous on the phone.”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Marshall Foster?” she snickered. “Alright, hang on, handsome.”

  In between answering calls on a switchboard that seemed to be constantly hopping, she pushed a button and spoke into an intercom. “Marshall, come up here, you got company.” Then she turned back to Spencer briefly. “That’ll get him up here. He’ll think it’s pizza delivery or something. Have a good day,” she dismissed him and picked up a call from a client who was so angry that Spencer could hear him shouting into the phone on the other end.

  “Wo
w,” Spencer shook his head and wandered around the lobby of the building.

  A thin, balding man who looked like he mainlined caffeine burst through the doors of the inner sanctum impatiently.

  “Marshall Foster?” Spencer pounced.

  “Yeah, who are you,” he eyed him suspiciously.

  “Spencer Bengal, we spoke on the phone earlier,” Spencer reached out his hand and Marshall shook it, more out of reflex than intent.

  “I told you that I’m a very busy man,” he turned to go, but Spencer didn’t release his grip.

  “And I told you that it would be well worth your while to talk to me,” the Marine loomed over him, speaking in a low voice.

  “It had better be,” Marshall shot back lamely. “Come with me.”

  The hive of droning voices that Marshall led Spencer through to get to his tiny, glass-encased cubicle was enough to drive anyone over the edge, and it gave the Marine some insight as to why the telemarketing supervisor was a tad bit surly.

  “Whaddya want, I don’t have all day,” Marshall flopped into an ancient desk chair covered in worn burgundy fabric.

  “Anxious to get back out there?” Spencer looked out toward the sales floor and raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s how I make my living, yes.”

  “So you don’t actually get on the phone and make people angry in the middle of their dinner, you just crack the whip over the people who do, does that about sum it up?”

  “Basically. Now tell me why you’re wasting my time.”

  “You had a gal working for you named Dora Lyndhurst…” Spencer began.

  “Do you know how many people I hire and fire over the course of a week? I don’t have any idea who you’re talking about,” Marshall waved him off impatiently.

  “She murdered her husband and killed herself,” Spencer dropped all pretense of subtlety.

  Marshall paled. “Wow. What was her name again?” he asked, clearly stunned.