Читать книгу Claws of Death - Linda Reilly - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Lara was shaking by the time the police had arrived. Even from several feet away, she’d known the man was beyond help.

The heat of the July sun did nothing to warm her icy limbs. She hugged herself tightly, as if she could ward off the horror.

She’d recognized the victim. He was the man who’d approached Deanna at the welcome event the day before. The one Deanna had had words with, and who Evelyn Conley had banished from the party. A sharp object jutted from his neck, and blood pooled around his head. White flowers had been strewn haphazardly around his body. Lara thought she’d recognized the type of flower, but couldn’t think what they were called.

Chief Whitley had zoomed onto the property four minutes after Aunt Fran’s call, only a few seconds behind the ambulance. After that, everything had happened in a whirlwind of activity. State and local police cars had swarmed onto the property, parking their vehicles wherever they could squeeze them among the cemetery markers.

It wasn’t until four hours later that she and Aunt Fran had been permitted to leave. They’d each been interviewed separately, but had to promise to go to the police station within twenty-four hours to give a written statement.

Deanna’s statement had been taken by two state police detectives in the privacy of her home. The privilege of fame, Lara thought. As for the housekeeper, Lara hadn’t seen her since their arrival with the kittens. She assumed the police had caught up with her somewhere inside the mansion.

Lara had wanted to take the kittens back to the shelter, at least for the time being. Deanna, however, had begged her to leave them with her. “I promise, they’ll receive all the love and attention they deserve. This…horrible murder won’t affect their care. I give you my word.”

Aunt Fran had given her consent, and Lara had reluctantly followed suit.

“But please let us know if you need help in any way,” Lara told Deanna. “I can be here in a flash.”

“I will.” Deanna hugged each of them. “Please don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

When they were finally allowed to leave, Lara swung the Saturn out of the driveway. They passed a sea of police cars, both marked and unmarked.

Then Lara noticed a state trooper, his hand wrapped around Nancy Sherman’s arm, walking the housekeeper toward his vehicle. Lara caught a glimpse of Nancy’s face as they drove past. She looked ghostly white, and a bit unsteady on her feet. From her expression, she might have been going to the gallows.

* * * *

The chief, concerned about Aunt Fran, Lara suspected, stopped at the house late that afternoon to give them a limited update. Sitting in one of the padded chairs at the Formica kitchen table, he stretched out his long legs to the side.

“His name is Donald Waitt,” Chief Whitley said, consulting his notes. “Seventy-four years old, retired gym teacher. He lives—lived—in Ossipee. Also owned an auto dealership with his brother.”

“Did Deanna tell you he’s the same guy who crashed her party yesterday?” Lara asked him.

Whitley looked sternly at her. “You know I can’t discuss that, Lara. Ms. Daltry’s statement is confidential, as are yours and Fran’s.”

Lara sagged in frustration. How could this have happened?

“Jerry,” Aunt Fran said, “did you talk to the housekeeper, Nancy Sherman? We thought it odd that she disappeared right after we brought the kittens over.”

Lara gaped at her aunt. It wasn’t like Aunt Fran to point fingers, if that’s what she was doing. Nancy Sherman’s brusque demeanor must have really gotten under her skin.

“Again, Fran,” Jerry said, more gently this time. “I can’t reveal any details that aren’t being disclosed to the public. Unless,” he added pointedly, “I feel it’s something either of you can use to help us pinpoint any unknown facts.”

“The fact is,” Aunt Fran said, “that Ms. Sherman made herself scarce moments after we arrived. We had no idea where she disappeared to. Come to think of it, we never saw her again.”

Lara shot a look at her aunt. Hadn’t she noticed Nancy Sherman being led to a state police car by a trooper? Or had she been looking in a different direction?

Whitley tapped a finger against his notepad. “The medical examiner has estimated the TOD—time of death—to be around five a.m. this morning. Ms. Sherman…disappearing, as you say, would seem to have no bearing. That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have killed the man.”

“Five a.m.,” Lara repeated. “Why did Mr. Waitt go there so early? Surely he didn’t have an appointment with Deanna at that hour.”

Whitley took in a long breath. “As I said—”

“I know, I know. You can’t reveal the details.”

“I’m sorry, Lara. You know the rules.”

“Can you at least tell us what the murder weapon was? It looked like a knife of some sort, but—”

“Sorry, Lara. No can do. And not to change the subject, but the media vultures have already begun to arrive. Two network trucks rolled through town early this afternoon, and I’m sure more are on their way. Ms. Daltry has assured me she’ll hire private security if need be. In the meantime, I urge you both not to talk to any reporters. If they figure out who you are they’ll probably hound you, so just be aware, okay?”

“I hear you, Chief.” Lara slumped in her chair.

Darn! Lara wished now that she’d paid more attention at the crime scene. She’d gotten so rattled at finding the poor man’s body that she hadn’t taken in as much detail as she should have.

Those flowers. What were they? They’d reminded her of something used in bouquets, but she still couldn’t grasp what they were called.

“Chief, I have one more question. Did anyone mention the flowers? They were scattered around the, you know, the body.”

Whitley shifted his long legs, crossing one over the other. “That’s one of the details, Lara, that we are not disclosing to the public. And no, I have no idea what they were. My horticultural skills are limited to deadheading the pansies in my flower boxes every summer.”

Lara decided not to press it. Something told her the flowers were symbolic of whatever the reason was for Waitt’s murder. If she could identify the variety, she could begin doing some research. She was sure good old Google would be glad to help.

“I understand,” Lara said. “My lips are sealed.”

Smiling at the chief, Aunt Fran reached over and squeezed his large hand. “Jerry, you’ve known me long enough to be assured that I would never reveal confidential police info.”

Whitley flushed to the roots of his thick white hair. “I know you wouldn’t, Fran.” He snapped his notebook closed. “Remember, you both need to come down to the station in the morning to give a written statement. I won’t be there. You’ll be talking to one of the state police detectives.”

“Understood,” Aunt Fran said, lowering her head.

Lara would’ve sworn her aunt had winked at him. She knew the two had been having occasional dinners together, but that seemed to be the extent of it. Or was it? The chief wasn’t overly enamored of cats, at least not in multiple numbers. But he cared deeply for Aunt Fran. Of that much, Lara was sure.

“Chief, I just thought of something. When we arrived this morning, I didn’t see any other cars there. Where did the…you know, victim, park his?”

“Not that it’s your business, but we found a vehicle parked about a half mile down the road. It’s registered to Waitt. That’s all I can say.”

“Has his family been notified?” Aunt Fran asked him.

“They have, and they’re in shock. I’m glad I didn’t have to break the news to them.”

A buzzer sounded at the back of the house, making Lara jump.

“Someone’s at the shelter door,” Lara said. “I wonder— Oh, good grief, Aunt Fran. We forgot about Kayla! We’re supposed to be interviewing her today.”

Kayla Ramirez was a student who’d called about a part-time job at the shelter. Lara had set up an appointment to chat with her at five that afternoon.

Aunt Fran looked suddenly flustered. “You’re right. In all the confusion, it slipped my mind. You’ll have to excuse us, Jerry. I’m afraid duty calls.”

The chief nodded. “If it’s something to do with cats, I’m outta here. I’ll call you tomorrow, Fran.” He rose and headed for the kitchen door, then turned and looked directly at Lara. “Not to pick on you, Lara, but remember that old saying about loose lips…” He let the thought dangle.

“I know. They sink ships.” Lara squelched a smile.

They also reveal secrets about people, Lara thought.

Secrets that might lead to a killer.