Southern Pecan Killer Read online

  “It’s okay honey, ain’t nobody gonna hurt you. You just tell me all about it, okay?” Beulah hugged her.

  “Meanie,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Her aunt frowned. “Oh sweetie, that’s not possible,” she said kindly.

  “Who’s meanie?” Chas asked in a low voice.

  “Well, this is a bit embarrassing, but…that’s the name that she made up for my mother. I think at some point, Dora must’ve said something about grandma being a meanie,” she blushed furiously.

  “Did your mother and sister get along?” Chas asked gently.

  “Well, mostly, yes. As well as anyone can get along with Mother, I suppose. They had their ups and downs, but nothing serious. Mother could never be involved in something like this,” she shook her head vehemently.

  “Did your sister have any enemies that you know of?”

  “Absolutely not. Everyone loved Dora. She’s led a charmed life since birth. You’d never meet a sweeter person.”

  “You two were close?”

  “Like twins,” she smiled sadly. “Dora always watched out for me.”

  “Well, I’m going to do the best that I can to find out who is responsible for this,” Chas assured her.

  “And where were you when mama got hurt?” Beulah continued the conversation, asking the questions that Chas had coached her about.

  “In ma woom.”

  “In your room?”

  Kaylee nodded.

  “Did you hear something?”

  “Bump!”

  “You heard a bump?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you go see what made the bump?”

  “No,” she shook her head, her chocolate curls bouncing.

  “How come?”

  “I wa seepin.”

  “Sleeping?” Beulah translated. “You were sleeping?”

  “Wa my nap.”

  “It was your nap time?” Apparently Beulah was fluent in toddler language.

  “Yuh-huh.”

  “What a good girl, staying in bed for your nap,” Beulah encouraged the tot. “What happened when you woke up?”

  Kaylee rubbed her eyes and her lower lip trembled. “Mama wunt get up.”

  “Okay honey, it’s okay,” Beulah pulled her close. “You want to get some ice cream?” she pointed at a vendor across the park.

  “Umm…she’s really not supposed to have sugar…” Jeannie said tentatively.

  “Why? She diabetic?” Beulah challenged.

  “No.”

  “Then we’re gonna get the child some ice cream. This baby has been through a lot and it ain’t gonna do her no harm to have a little treat,” Beulah gave Jeannie a stern look over the top of her glasses.

  “She might get really messy,” her aunt worried.

  “I got wipes in my purse,” Beulah stood firm.

  **

  “So, the little girl was in her room, supposed to be taking her nap when her mother was killed?” Spencer summed up after Chas recounted the conversation between Beulah and Kaylee.

  “Right.”

  “Which means that potentially, the killer knew when the child’s nap time would be, and made certain to take care of the murder when the little girl wouldn’t be awake to witness it.”

  “…and a grandmother would know when a child’s nap time would be,” Chas finished the thought.

  “Which would explain why the mom and dad were killed, but the child wasn’t. Whatever feud that Rosemary had with the parents, she probably couldn’t justify killing the little girl.”

  “Makes sense,” Chas nodded.

  “What’s our next move?”

  “While you’re out checking her alibi, I’m going to pay Kaylee’s grandmother a visit.”

  “Without an appointment?” Spencer rolled his eyes.

  “I think Antonio will let me through.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  “Well good morning!” Antonio, Rosemary Conrad’s assistant greeted Chas cheerfully. “Change your mind about making an appointment?”

  “No, but I do need to speak with Ms. Conrad right away,” Chas replied.

  Antonio’s face fell, but he recovered quickly and put his professionally charming mask on. “We’ve been over this,” he waggled his finger at Chas playfully. “No appointment, no visit.”

  Chas moved closer and leaned over the desk, as though confiding in the well-dressed young man. “Just between you and me,” he said in a low voice. “She’s going to want to talk to me, because the alternative is bringing her down to the police station to discuss murder charges,” he gave Antonio a direct look, and the assistant blanched.

  “Murder?” he whispered, his eyes wide.

  “Murder,” Chas nodded, never breaking eye contact.

  “I could totally see that,” Antonio pursed his lips. “You just wait right here, Mr…?”

  “Beckett,” Chas supplied.

  “Mr. Beckett. Can I get you an espresso on the way back?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks, Antonio.”

  “Yes, you are, Mr. Beckett. That is a fact,” the assistant tossed over his shoulder as he sashayed down the hall toward Rosemary Conrad’s inner sanctum.

  Antonio returned, moments later, pale and with a light sheen of sweat glistening over his upper lip.

  “She’ll see you now,” he said, sounding a bit shaky. “But seriously, are you sure you want to go in there?” he made a face.

  “Want to? No. But there are some answers that I need to get and I can’t get them without going in there.”

  “Can I get you anything before you go in, because…and I’m just going to be frank here, I’m not entering that office for a very long time. Ms. Conrad can be rather…strident when she’s not pleased.”

  “I’m aware,” Chas replied grimly. “But no, thanks, I don’t need anything.”

  “Last door on the left at the end of the hall. Good luck to you,” Antonio pointed toward Rosemary’s office.

  **

  “What nonsense are you spouting to my assistant?” Rosemary Conrad demanded, the moment Chas entered her swanky office. “I could sue for slander you know.”

  “Tell me about your daughter,” Chas ignored the threat and took a seat across the spotless black lacquer desk.

  “That should be my question to you, should it not? You’ve been “consulting” on Dora’s case for days now, and you’ve turned up nothing? Why are you wasting your time talking to me when you should be out looking for the criminal who did this?”

  “Where did you learn to fire a gun, Ms. Conrad?” Chas asked casually.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never handled a firearm in my life. They’re barbaric tools of destruction,” Rosemary glared at him.

  “Did you have a good relationship with your daughter?” Chas changed the subject, hoping to catch her off guard.

  Her jaw clenched briefly, and her eyes glittered as she gave him an icy stare. “My daughter meant the world to me, and it’s offensive that you would even ask such a thing. How dare you come here and accuse me while I’m grieving the loss of my child?” she challenged.

  “Did you even take a day off of work after her death, Ms. Conrad?”

  Her eyes shot daggers across the desk.

  “My work sustains me, Mr. Beckett,” she uttered through clenched teeth.

  Chas stared at her, letting her stew for a moment before reaching into his pocket and bringing out a plastic baggie that he’d checked out of the police evidence room, after clearing it with the Chief. He held the baggie up so that Rosemary could see the gold bangle that glittered within it, and she gasped.

  “Recognize this?” he asked.

  “Where did you get that? Are you in the habit of stealing jewelry from victim’s homes?” she was clearly seething.

  “Is this yours?”

  “No, it’s not mine. It’s Dora’s. If you had bothered to look at the inscription, you would know that.”

&n
bsp; “I did look at the inscription. I assumed it was your daughter’s, which really made me wonder what it was doing in your trash,” Chas shot back.

  Rosemary’s reaction was telling. For once, she didn’t seem to be in control of a situation, as she sat stunned and silent.

  “What kind of pillows do you sleep on, Ms. Conrad?” he asked abruptly.

  “What a ridiculous question,” she recovered her typical haughty manner quickly. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

  “It’s important,” Chas was unwavering in the face of her ire.

  “I have no idea what brand my pillows are, you’d have to speak with my decorator, I don’t shop for such things.”

  “I don’t need the brand, just the type. I bet you get the memory foam, hypoallergenic ones,” he led her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The only pillows I’ve ever slept on are of the finest goose down.”

  “Of course they are.”

  **

  “Oh, please, Mr. Bengal, call me Mavis,” the bejeweled woman in front of Spencer cooed.

  He’d been interviewing Rosemary Conrad’s bridge-playing crowd all morning, and had gotten the same story out of all of them. Mavis Connor, however, might have a different slant on things. According to the other ladies in the group, she and Rosemary weren’t exactly the best of friends.

  “Thank you, Mavis,” Spencer smiled, hoping to charm the woman into telling him the truth. All he’d gotten out of the other ladies was that Rosemary had indeed been playing bridge with them the night of her daughter’s death, and as far as they knew, she’d gone directly home.

  “Can I get you some refreshments?” she asked, and without waiting for his response, summoned her housekeeper with a crook of her finger. “Marla, please bring Mr. Bengal and me some refreshments,” she waved the housekeeper away and turned her smile back to Spencer.

  “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “As you know, the daughter of one of your fellow bridge ladies passed recently,” he began.

  “Oh yes, tragic,” Mavis shook her head. “Dora was such a quiet little thing. I’m sure Rosemary was devastated.”

  “Have you spoken with her since that night?”

  “No, I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t. Let me be frank with you, Mr. Bengal…Rosemary and I aren’t exactly the best of friends. She’s a very difficult woman to be close to. I honestly wouldn’t know what to say, because she isn’t the type who requires nurturing,” Mavis shrugged.

  “What happened between you two? Was there something that created division?” Spencer probed.

  “I think she knows that I see through her, and she’s afraid that I’ll shatter her carefully constructed façade by calling her out in front of the other ladies.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Because I’ve done it before. Her husband was a kind, dear man, who married the wrong woman. Rosemary was abusive to the poor soul and I told her so. She only complained about her husband in front of me once, because I slapped her down for it, and rightfully so.”

  “Was she at bridge on the night of her daughter’s death?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Did she behave differently, or act as though something might be wrong?”

  Mavis shook her head. “No, she was as cool as a cucumber, like always. She loves to have the other gals fawning over her. I refuse. She puts her pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us.”

  “Did she leave early?”

  “No, in fact, we ended late that night, and she stayed until the end.”

  “Would it have been characteristic for her to stop by her daughter’s house unannounced at that hour?”

  “Very. She wouldn’t go out of her way for anyone, and she has very strict boundaries about the amount of sleep that she gets.”

  “I see,” Spencer nodded. “Have you ever seen her wear a gold bracelet? Was she wearing one at bridge?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Rosemary thinks gold looks tacky and outdated. She hasn’t worn gold in years, but she’s usually dripping in platinum.”

  “Mavis, thank you for your time,” he shook her hand and stood to go.

  “My pleasure. Won’t you stay for some tea?” she asked, as the housekeeper came in with a tray of goodies.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I do have to run,” Spencer headed for the door and she showed him out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  “I have your report on my desk, but just give me a quick rundown of what you found in the trash,” Chas told Spencer, taking a seat across from him.

  Spencer leaned back, the leather of his executive chair creaking.

  “The pillow definitely had been used as a silencer, there was residue all over it, and the blood on the bracelet was a match for the victim, Dora.”

  “Okay,” Chas nodded. “What about the clothing at the thrift store?”

  “Negative. No trace of blood, residue or anything helpful.”

  “Did you find anything else in the trash bag?”

  “Interestingly, yes. Do you remember the photo that Timothy Eckels showed us of the bruising on William Lyndhurst’s side?”

  “Yes, broken ribs, right?”

  “Exactly. I found a baseball bat in the trash bag too. The business end of it had DNA from William Lyndhurst. The other end of it had fingerprints that matched the fingerprints we found on the bracelet.”

  “Which makes perfect sense. Any hits on them in the system?”

  “Not yet, Eckels is still running them through for us.”

  “Hey boss man,” Ringo interrupted, his hair sticking out in all directions as though he’d just woken up from a nap. “I got something here that you might be interested in.”

  He plonked his laptop down on Spencer’s desk, wiped a smear of jelly off the side of the screen, and pointed to a document that was open on the screen.

  “I hacked into Dora Lyndhurst’s email…people should really be way more careful about their passwords, and found some really nasty cat fights on here.”

  Spencer and Chas scanned the page, then exchanged a glance.

  “Ringo, I need these printed out immediately,” Chas directed.

  “You got it, dude,” Ringo picked up his laptop and headed back to the technology center.

  “Well, now the motive makes sense,” Spencer mused. “That was the one missing puzzle piece.”

  “And now, unfortunately, I have to call Solinsky to make the arrest,” Chas sighed.

  “Not necessarily,” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

  “You have another plan?”

  “I think this one might just work better, and it might give Solinsky enough rope to finally hang himself with, as far as the Chief is concerned.”

  Spencer explained his idea and Chas nodded.

  **

  “This is preposterous,” Rosemary Conrad fumed, sitting across from Chas and Spencer in the interrogation room, with Solinsky lurking behind them. “There had better be a darned good explanation for all of this, or heads will roll, gentlemen,” she threatened.

  “Was that a threat toward a law enforcement official, Ms. Conrad?” Chas asked calmly.

  “That was a promise, Mr. Beckett,” she growled.

  “Come on, Beckett,” Solinsky butted in. “You know she wasn’t threatening you.”

  A muscle in Chas’s jaw worked for a moment, then relaxed.

  “Ms. Conrad, when I spoke with you yesterday, you told me that the bracelet that I showed you belonged to your daughter, Dora. It had an inscription that read, To My Darling Girl.”

  “Yes, what’s your point?”

  “Did you give Jeannie a matching bracelet?”

  “No, that bracelet was custom made, it was one of a kind. Dora wore it all the time. Why you took it from her cold, dead wrist was beyond me,” Rosemary accused, while Solinsky looked confused. He hadn’t checked the evidence in the case for a couple of days, so he didn’t even know that the bracelet
existed.

  “The bracelet wasn’t taken off your deceased daughter’s wrist by me. It was taken from your daughter’s wrist before her death, by her killer, whose fingerprints were left on it.”

  Rosemary paled and looked uncertain. “You’ve found the killer? My baby didn’t kill herself?” she whispered.

  “The same fingerprints that were found on the bracelet were also found on a baseball bat that was used to break your son-in-law’s ribs.”

  “So you’ve caught the killer? Who is it? Who did this heinous thing?” Rosemary’s voice was shaky for the first time.

  “I think you know that as well as I do,” Chas stared at her gravely.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  **

  Beulah was hanging out her laundry when she heard a sound that she hadn’t heard in a while, a child singing. Hoisting herself up to peek over the top of the fence, she saw Kaylee, sitting under a tree near the fence, singing to her doll.

  “Hey Kaylee girl,” she called out softly, a chill running up and down her spine. “Whatchu doing down there, peanut?”

  Kaylee’s smile was like the sunshine and she waved happily.

  “You stay right there, child. Miss Beulah will be right over.”

  Kaylee nodded with great enthusiasm and went back to singing to her dolly. Beulah hurried to her back gate and opened it quietly. The police tape was still up around the property, so she knew that she shouldn’t be trespassing on a crime scene, but she was worried about why Kaylee was sitting out in the back yard alone.

  “Hey peanut,” she picked up the tot when she came running over.

  “Buwa!” Kaylee was delighted.

  “How come you’re out here by yourself? Where’s your Aunt Jeannie?” the elderly woman asked, shifting the child over onto her hip.

  Kaylee pointed toward the house. “Meanie,” she said.

  Beulah paled. “Aunt Jeannie is in the house?”

  “Meanie,” Kaylee nodded.

  Jeannie had lied. “Meanie” wasn’t Kaylee’s word for her grandmother, it was simply the way that she pronounced her aunt’s name.