Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping Page 9

  “Why did you think Ferris left town?” Ben asked.

  “I think he saw something incriminating. Someone must have warned him off and he got the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Sounds about right,” Ben said. “Any idea who?”

  Detective Pascoe handed Ben a list of the names of the thirty-five college men living in the Fraternity. “One of these guys is a murderer,” he rasped out.

  “And now he’s struck again,” Ben said. “Ferris’ murder was done to silence him.”

  “Yup,” Pascoe said. “Hope you can find a connection between the guys on this list and the people in the house when Tom Ferris died.”

  “That’s my intention,” Ben said. “You’ve been very helpful. Thanks for all this.”

  “I want to be there when you get him,” Detective Pascoe said. “I could die a happy man if you solve it. I haven’t got long.” He ran a jerky hand through his hair. He had a distant, empty stare.

  “Are you sick, Detective?”

  “Prostate cancer. I’ll be dead before the year is over.”

  “Sorry to hear that, sir.”

  PD nodded his head. “Just get this solved.”

  Driving back down the twisting washboard driveway, Ben felt something starting to give in this case. They had dismissed the Powells as suspects. There was no gun in July and Fred’s house and no blood or gunshot residue had been found on any of Fred Powell’s clothing. Fred’s semi-automatic had been locked in the shooting club when Ferris was killed. The lab was processing the materials, but it looked like he was in the clear.

  Miranda Stackhouse had also been eliminated as a suspect almost immediately. She was on her way to dinner with her husband and friends when Ferris was shot. Wayne had talked with George Stackhouse, thinking he might have resented his wife pouring out thousands of dollars in a fruitless search to find Tom Ferris and get him to sign over the house. However, the man was completely under the thumb of his wife, Miranda. Plus he still felt guilty that her inheritance had paid to start up his business. He figured he owed his wife, and if private detectives made her happy, he was content to pay for them. Both Miranda and her husband had been crossed off the list.

  His remaining suspect, Bethany Cooper, had been in the Booth Showhouse the day before Tom Ferris was killed and again on the day of his murder. They still didn’t know why, but Wayne was pushing on her hard. She would crack soon and tell them the reason she was there, but neither he nor Wayne felt she was a likely killer. They still had to talk with her husband, Dan.

  Thanks to Detective Pascoe, Ben now had a new direction. Somebody in that fraternity fifteen years ago was connected to someone in the Booth Showhouse. Maybe the man was married to one of the designers. A tiny hunter’s grin lifted one corner of Ben’s mouth. He was getting closer. It would be a distinct pleasure to inform Captain Paula of their “solve.”

  Now if he could only get back into Mae’s good graces. He dialed her number and left a long message. After he’d helped her clean up the puppy messes, they hadn’t discussed the search of her sister’s home. She’d been very short with him all evening, so after Matthew was in bed, Ben went home. Mae wouldn’t give him a good-bye kiss and she hadn’t answered his calls today. Hopefully she and Matty were having fun, he thought, and headed back toward the office. He wanted to be there for the second interview with Bethany Cooper.

  Chapter Seventeen

  July Powell

  After cleaning the lake house and starting a load of laundry, July called her mother.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Suzanne’s warm voice flooded her daughter with remorse.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have called you earlier. How’s Livy doing today?”

  “She’s good. How are you?”

  July closed her eyes. “I’ve been better. Could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “I’m out at the lake house. Can you pick Nate and Parker up from the Beckwith’s and bring them out here with Livy? I’d need you to go by my place and pack some clothes for them, too. My housekeeper, JoBeth, is there cleaning this morning. I assume Fred’s at work.”

  “No problem. I’ll go get their things together now. Can you call and let Carol Ann know I’m coming?”

  “Thank you so much, Mama. I’ll call her as soon as I’m off the phone.”

  “Hang in there, sweetheart. See you in a couple hours.”

  Suzanne pulled into the lake house driveway just after lunch. July watched from the kitchen window as her lanky, dark-haired twins exited the car, followed by their six-year-old blonde sister. Nate and Parker had turned nine in June. Lately they both seemed to grow an inch a week. The two boys jostled each other and ignored their little sister, as usual.

  “Where’re the dogs?” Nate called out.

  “Where’s Dad?” Parker asked, in an even louder voice.

  Olivia and her grandmother walked in, each carrying a suitcase. “I’m helping, Mommy,” Olivia announced.

  “Hi Livy, I can see that.” July smiled at her youngest. “Boys, go get the rest of the bags out of Zana’s trunk please.” She turned to her mother. “Any problems?”

  “Of course not. Your housekeeper was very helpful. She said the place was a disaster when she got there this morning, though.” Suzanne raised her eyebrows and looked questioningly at her oldest daughter. “Anything I need to know?”

  July nodded. She cringed inside but knew she couldn’t keep her mother in the dark. “Let me get the kids settled in. Do you have to go back right away?”

  “I turned my column in yesterday. Your father’s on a fishing trip, and I asked my neighbor’s teenage daughter to take care of my dogs this afternoon. I can stay as long as you want.”

  The boys came back in with the rest of the bags. There was a loud crack of thunder and then a sudden summer downpour. Rain blew in through the half-open door.

  “Close that, Parker. Please take your stuff to your bedrooms. I’ll start a movie for you downstairs, okay?”

  “Okay, but where are Daddy and the dogs?” Nate looked confused. He bit his lower lip.

  “Your dogs are at Aunt Mae’s, and your father’s at the office, sweetie. I thought we’d come out here for one last time before school starts, that’s all.” Three pairs of eyes, the twins’ dark and Olivia’s light blue, regarded her with confusion.

  Suzanne shooed them away. “Go on—all of you,” she said with a smile. “I’ll make you some popcorn.”

  After her three kids were settled in front of the basement television with popcorn and juice boxes, July looked around the room. She was glad they’d left the lake house as it was when they bought it—aside from some fresh paint and new carpet for the basement. The basement was a walkout, and through the rain she could see their dock and a little bit of the cove.

  In contrast to their palatial house in town, the lake house was small and rustic, with the only TV in the basement. There were no videogames here, so the focus was on outdoor activities. The kitchen was original to the forty-year-old house, and there were only two bathrooms, as compared to six in their Rosedale house. July always found it restful at the lake.

  She walked back up the narrow, pine-paneled staircase to her waiting mother. “Let’s go sit on the porch and watch the storm. I need to talk to you.”

  Suzanne grabbed a bottle of white wine out of the refrigerator and opened it. Filling two generous glasses, she handed one to July. “It’s a bit early in the day, I know, but you look like you could use a drink. I’m right behind you.”

  It was cooler on the screened porch. The pouring rain had already lowered the temperature to a much more comfortable level. It was still coming down at a steady clip. July sat on the old glider and cleared her throat. She took a long swallow of her wine and looked at her mother. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing herself in the future. Like July, Suzanne had dark eyes and smooth, dark hair. Suzanne’s was cut shorter and just starting to show gray at the temples.

  “Wh
at’s wrong, July?”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Are you and Fred having problems?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the reason I wanted you to come out here.”

  “Is it about Tommy?” Suzanne looked intently at her daughter. Then, in one of her characteristic flashes of intuition, she asked, “Did he say anything to you before he died, honey?” July didn’t answer. “You can tell me if he did. I won’t tell anyone, you know.”

  July sucked in her breath. “He said he was sorry and that he’d written me a letter.”

  “Did you ever get a letter from him?”

  “No, I never did. Mama, you know I thought we were going to get married. We slept together, right before we both went back to school. And I never saw him again,” tears sprang to her eyes, “until I found him dying on the floor.”

  Her mother was looking at her with such pity in her eyes.

  It was hard enough to tell her that we slept together. I can’t stop now. “I hadn’t heard from Tommy in almost six weeks when I found out I was pregnant. His parents had died. I had no way to get in touch with him. He’d disappeared. I didn’t know what to do. I waited a few more weeks, and then I started bleeding. One of my friends took me to a doctor, and he said I’d lost the baby.”

  July’s mother came over and sat next to her daughter. Putting her arms around her, she said, “We always wondered what happened, July. You were so thin and pale when you came home that spring. You never wanted to talk about Tommy, and we didn’t want to force the issue. We thought you were still grieving over him disappearing. You wouldn’t go back to Ole Miss in the fall, and you were just so quiet until you met Fred.”

  “And now Fred’s a suspect in Tommy’s murder,” July blurted out. “Our house was trashed by people Ben sent from the sheriff’s department. They had a warrant. They were looking for blood stains on Fred’s clothing.”

  “Oh my God! That’s why it was such a disaster when your housekeeper got there.”

  July nodded. “When Fred got home last night we had a huge fight, and I left and came out here.” Her mother released her, and July leaned back into the faded cushions with a green ivy design. They were both in tears.

  “Oh, Mama, what do you think I should do?”

  “Do you believe Fred could be involved in Tommy’s murder?”

  “No, but he’s been acting strange for a while. I caught him going through my email a few weeks ago, and he keeps asking me questions. It’s like he doesn’t trust me anymore.” July sniffled. “I’m going to get a box of tissues.”

  When July came back to the porch her mother hadn’t moved. She was staring out the window at the sheets of rain streaming down, her glass of wine untouched on the table in front of her. July set the tissue box down in front of her mother, picked up her own glass and took another gulp, without really tasting it.

  “How long will you stay here, July?”

  “The kids’ school doesn’t start until the sixteenth, so we can stay at least a week, maybe a little longer.”

  “What about Fred?”

  July frowned. “I’m here to get a break from Fred. He knows that.”

  Suzanne tilted her head. “Do the kids need a break from him too?”

  “Of course not, but he’s at work every day. Now that I’m done with the project at the Booth Mansion, I don’t have another design job until after Labor Day.” She was silenced by a vehement head shake from her mother.

  “I don’t think it’s fair to your husband not to give him a chance to work things out with you or see his children. You need to remember how you felt when Tommy disappeared. Is that how you want Fred to feel?”

  July stared at her mother in shocked disbelief. “You can’t possibly compare the two situations, Mama. I still don’t know why Tommy left, or where he went. Fred knows perfectly well why I came out here, and I told him where I was going.”

  “All right,” Suzanne held her hands up. “Just tell me you’ll call him soon and give him a chance to explain himself.”

  July sighed. “I’ll think about it. That’s really all I can promise right now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Detective Wayne Nichols

  Dory buzzed Detective Nichols’ intercom.

  “Detective, Dan Cooper is here to talk to you.”

  “On my way,” he said. He opened his office door to take a look at the man walking down the hall toward him. Dan Cooper was slender and wore his light brown hair in a military cut. He was dressed in a suit and tie, looking every inch the executive.

  “My wife, Bethany, said you wanted to talk to me,” he said. Wayne thought his manner verged on belligerence.

  “Yes. I did. Thank you for coming in, Mr. Cooper. Let’s go into the conference room. Would you like a coffee?” Wayne flipped on the audio system.

  Dan Cooper shook his head.

  “Please be seated. As you know, Mr. Cooper, we’re investigating Tom Ferris’ murder three days ago. Ferris left this town fifteen years ago and came back on August first. He visited his parents’ old home and was shot to death in the house on August second. Your wife was apparently the only person who knew Ferris was returning to Rosedale. Do you know anything about that?”

  His response was short. “She told me they were Facebook friends.”

  “Had they known each other from Rosedale before he left?” Wayne was feeling his way.

  “I don’t know,” Dan said. Again the detective found his responses curt to the point of rudeness.

  “We consider your wife a suspect in his murder.”

  Dan frowned, but waved a hand, seeming to totally dismiss the detective’s suspicions.

  Wayne smacked his hands down on the table hard. “Are you listening to me, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Suspecting my wife is ridiculous.” Dan Cooper’s face flushed. “Bethany wouldn’t kill anybody. You’re way off, Detective.”

  “Where were you between five and six p.m. on August second?”

  “I was at work. I’m in charge of Quality Control for Pharma. It’s in Murfreesboro. There are ten people who can vouch for my whereabouts.”

  “We’ll need to check that out, Mr. Cooper. Wait here. I’ll place a call.”

  Wayne walked out to the front office and asked Dory to check Cooper’s alibi.

  Returning to the conference room, Wayne said, “Your wife says you have a gun.”

  “I do. It’s registered. I keep it under lock and key in a cabinet in my home office.”

  “We’ll want to see that gun.” They continued talking for a few more minutes until Dory knocked on the door and Wayne said, “Come in.”

  “Alibi checks,” Dory said quietly.

  “Mr. Cooper, I’m going to have a deputy escort you to your house and pick up your gun.”

  Dan Cooper looked irritated, but nodded.

  An hour later, Wayne got a call from Deputy Rob Fuller. He had obtained the Cooper gun and dropped it off with Emma Peters, their CSI Tech in the lab, who had said it didn’t smell as if it had been fired recently.

  “Thanks for the update, Rob. Mrs. Bethany Cooper is coming in again shortly. I’d like you here for that.”

  Wayne walked down to Ben’s office. He had just gotten back from his road trip to see the old detective who had been lead on the Gentry case. They discussed the upcoming interview with Bethany Cooper and agreed that Wayne and Rob Fuller should be the ones to question her. Ben, Dory, and George would watch through the one-way view mirror. They could see and hear the conversation, but Bethany could not see them.

  Ten minutes later Dory buzzed Wayne to say she was bringing Bethany Cooper to the conference room. Both Detective Wayne Nichols and Deputy Rob Fuller were waiting when she came in.

  “Thank you for coming back in, Mrs. Cooper,” Deputy Fuller said cordially. He pushed the button to turn on the audio equipment. “We’ll be taping this interview,” he said. “Would you care for coffee or water?”

  “No thank you,” Bethany said quie
tly. She wore her hair in a ponytail today. It was still very hot outside and she had chosen to wear a brightly patterned red and blue sundress and sandals. She looked pretty and innocent.

  “Detective Nichols and Deputy Fuller interviewing Bethany Cooper, August fifth,” Wayne said for the recording. “I want to show you something, Bethany. It’s a video from the closed circuit television cameras at the Booth Showhouse the day Tom Ferris was murdered. Before I start the tape, I want you to know that we’re treating his death as a felony murder. That carries an automatic life sentence in Tennessee.” Wayne’s voice was deep with veiled threat. Bethany’s eyes widened.

  Deputy Fuller opened the laptop in front of him. He turned the screen so Bethany could see it and punched a button. The front door of the Booth Showhouse, gabled in climbing yellow roses, filled the screen. A woman dressed in a rain-jacket and jeans walked up to it. Looking around furtively, she pulled out a separate key, opened the door and walked in. The door closed behind her.

  “That’s you, isn’t it? Please note the time, Mrs. Cooper,” the deputy said, pointing out a strip at the bottom of the screen where the time showed. It was 5:29 p.m. “Where did you get the key to the house?”

  “It was my mother’s.” Bethany jammed her hands into her armpits. Her lips and chin were trembling. Her face looked stricken as she turned toward Detective Nichols.

  “You lied to me, Mrs. Cooper,” the detective said, looking at her intently. “You were in the Booth Showhouse from 5:29 until you left at 6:03. That encompasses the time in which Mr. Ferris was shot dead. Why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t,” she said. “I know it looks bad.”

  “Where’s the gun?” The detective’s eyes penetrated hers. The tape continued to play, showing only the closed door and the windblown climbing roses as the minutes ticked by.

  “Honestly, Detective. I didn’t kill him. My husband has a gun, but I don’t even know how to use it. You have to believe me.” Her voice was high and pleading.