Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Vero and I pulled into my driveway a few minutes before noon and found a small green Prius parked in front of Mrs. Haggerty’s house. The rear window was laden with stickers about sustainability and social justice. Vero squinted at the peace frog and the tiny dancing bears on the bumper. “I’m betting that’s not the plumber.”
I was guessing it wasn’t a mysterious deranged murderer either. “Maybe it’s someone from the insurance company. I’ll go see what they want.”
Vero hopped out of the van and headed inside while I walked across the street to Mrs. Haggerty’s house. Voices carried from her backyard. I ducked under the sagging police tape and opened the fence gate, announcing myself with a quick “Hello?”
Two figures whirled to face me, hands in the air, wearing matching expressions of panic.
“Riley? Max? What are you two doing here?” Their shoulders slumped with relief when they recognized me. I had first met Riley Bernbaum and Max Sievers at the citizen’s police academy a month ago. The college journalism students were self-proclaimed true-crime fanatics, and they’d launched an amateur podcast featuring local unsolved murders. Annoyingly persistent (and just sharp enough to be dangerous), Riley and Max had signed up for the citizens’ police academy, hoping to glean a few inside scoops. The last time Vero and I had seen them, they’d been hounding Nick for details about a missing person case involving a man from New Jersey named Ike Grindley. Ike had worked as hired muscle for an Atlantic City loan shark and had come to Virginia a month ago to collect a gambling debt from Vero. He’d cornered us in a scrapyard and demanded his boss’s money. When we’d explained we didn’t have it, he suffered an unfortunate accident while trying to murder us instead. Riley, Max, and the police had no idea what had happened to Ike that night, and if Vero and I had our way, no one ever would.
The two podcasters stood side by side in front of the gaping hole in Mrs. Haggerty’s yard. Riley held up his phone. The video indicator light was blinking.
The little shit was recording me.
“Hey!” he shouted as I reached for his phone. His cheeks turned as red as his hair as I played back their podcast footage. The camera had zoomed in on the hole where Gilford Dupree had been buried, then zoomed back out to capture Max. She swatted her windblown curls from her eyes as she somberly recounted the details of the gruesome discovery of Gilford’s remains.
I paused the clip when my face filled the screen. My hair was unwashed and I had no makeup on, and as far as I was concerned, that was all the justification I needed. Riley and Max both gasped as I deleted the entire thing. “Did Mrs. Haggerty give you permission to record here?” I asked.
“The police haven’t been out here for days,” Riley said, trying to steal back his phone.
“No one’s here!” Max argued. “We’re not bothering anyone.”
I powered the phone down before giving it back to them. “This is private property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Riley looked indignant as he took it from me. “This is an unsolved murder! The killer is still out there.”
“And there have been new developments in the case!” Max said stubbornly. “Things the police and TV news haven’t reported yet. Brendan Haggerty’s family owns this property. He’s running for public office, and the public deserves to know what happened here before they cast their votes.”
“And you know what happened here?” I asked sternly. I was only about ten years their senior, but somehow Riley and Max brought out my mom voice. “I’m ashamed of both of you,” I said when neither of them coughed up an answer. “If you know so much about the case, then you know Mrs. Haggerty was released because she’s no longer a suspect. And her grandson isn’t even a person of interest. You met them both, for crying out loud, and you’re exploiting them for the sake of your ratings.” I wanted to call their mothers and have the entitled brats yanked back to school. “You need to leave,” I said, pointing to the gate.
“Fine, we’ll go,” Riley huffed. “But you’re going to want to hear what we have to say. There’s more to this story than you realize. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
I watched from beside the open grave as they stomped back to their car. A moment later, two doors slammed and the Prius whined down the street.
I stared at the pit of muddy red clay, a wound left to fester, wondering what—if anything—Riley and Max did know about it. And, more important, why they’d felt a need to warn me.
I left Mrs. Haggerty’s yard and ran back across the street, hoping to take advantage of what little time remained before Steven arrived to do some snooping of my own. I scoured my nightstand, searching for the neighborhood watch diary that Nick had seen last night.
All I found was a collection of prescription medicine bottles and a golden-age mystery novel that still bore sticker residue on its spine. I fanned through the yellowing pages. A thick sheet of aged, lined card stock had been shoved between them like a bookmark. The card contained a list of phone numbers—the makeshift Rolodex of a woman who didn’t trust modern technology to remember her contacts for her.
I closed the book and dropped it back on the nightstand. She must have put her neighborhood watch diary in her handbag for safekeeping.
The front door slammed downstairs, followed by the thunder of tiny feet. I looked out the window and saw Steven’s truck in the driveway. I left my room just as the children crested the top of the stairs. Delia and Zach plowed into me for hugs. I scooped them up in turn, giving them each a kiss. Zach had his pants on and his Pull-Up felt dry through the fabric. I had just started to wonder how long that would last when I set him on his feet and he gleefully began stripping.
Steven was waiting for me in the kitchen when I came downstairs.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“Everything okay?” he asked as he turned on the water and checked the garbage disposal.
“Everything’s fine… here,” I clarified. “But I was hoping you could take a look at Mrs. Haggerty’s house. The power and water are still turned off since her basement flooded. She’s staying with us until the damage can be fixed.”
Steven’s eyes went wide. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“She was here when you came over last night.”
“My hands were a little full,” he said curtly.
“I’m sorry. I probably should have said something.”
“You’re damn right, you should have said something. I thought the woman was in jail!”
“She didn’t do it,” I said, lowering my voice so the children wouldn’t hear. “She was released last night. It was all over the news.”
Worry lines cut into Steven’s brow. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe I should stay here with you and the kids, just to be safe.”
“Absolutely not. I have too many people sleeping in my house already. The sooner I can get Mrs. Haggerty’s power and water back on, the sooner I can get her out of my room.”
He sighed. “I guess I can take a quick look at the place.”
He grabbed his Maglite from the cab of his truck and followed me across the street. I checked Mrs. Haggerty’s mailbox on my way to the front door, tucking the handful of bills and circulars under my arm as I sifted through the keys on her key ring. The door creaked as I unlocked it and pushed it open. The house smelled musty, the air dense with a damp, pervasive chill. Diffuse gray light seeped through the closed curtains. The shadows they cast left a pall over the house. Steven’s wary expression suggested he was as uncomfortable here as I was.
“The electrical panel is probably in the basement. I’ll go take a look.” He flipped on his flashlight. The beam wobbled as his boots thumped through the kitchen and down the basement steps.
While he went to inspect the damage, I checked out the rest of the house. Dried mud and footprints tracked a path through the hallway to the living room. It smelled like old furniture and faintly like damp wool. A pile of knitted throws sat in a basket beside the hearth. The fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The log holder was empty and the firebox was clean, the whole of it probably too much trouble for an elderly widow to bother with. The mantel was crowded with framed photos and keepsakes. A fancy wooden cigar box was engraved with her husband’s initials. Every surface in the room was filled with collectible ceramics, candy dishes, and stacks of old golden-age mystery books, some still carrying bright stickers with handwritten prices, as if they’d been purchased from a library clearance sale.
I ran a finger over Mrs. Haggerty’s shelves on my way to the kitchen. It came away with a layer of dust. I made a mental note to mention it to Brendan. He’d need to hire a cleaner once the repairs were finished. The house had been sitting without power for nearly two weeks, and the fridge and freezer would need a good scouring, too. The smell would be awful once they were finally opened, and I knew better than to disturb things that had been left in a freezer to rot.
I sorted Mrs. Haggerty’s mail into piles on the counter, tossed the junk in the trash can, and sifted through the bills. A thick envelope from State Farm was among them. I skimmed the packet of renewal forms inside it. A declarations page was attached, listing her various policies. Her late husband’s 1979 Lincoln Mark V was due for renewal next month, but her homeowner’s coverage was (thankfully) up to date. I found a copy of the policy in the packet as well. That would be helpful to have handy if any contractors came.
I was gathering up the pages when I noticed something odd…
Two life insurance policies had been listed on the last page—one for Margaret Haggerty and one for her husband, both of them due for their annual renewal.
Which wouldn’t have been strange at all if Owen Haggerty hadn’t been dead for five years.
Why continue paying seventy-five dollars per month to insure her deceased husband? Mrs. Haggerty’s Social Security checks were nowhere near enough to live on, especially in this area. Why hadn’t she cashed in Owen’s life insurance yet?
Steven’s boots thudded back up the steps. I tucked the insurance forms in my coat pocket as he entered the kitchen. He turned off his flashlight and tapped the handle against his palm. “I’m not qualified to handle a job this big, Finn. I made a few calls, but the soonest anyone can get here is Monday—”
A throat cleared behind us. Steven and I both turned to find two plainclothes police officers standing in the living room, their badges displayed on their hips and a uniformed officer behind them.
Steven paled.
“We’re not trespassing,” I said, holding up the key ring Brendan had given me. “The owner of the house is staying with me. I live right across the—”
“I know who you are, Mrs. Donovan.” The plainclothes officer wasn’t looking at me. His thumbs were hitched in his belt, his stony gaze locked on Steven. “I’d like to know what your ex-husband is doing here.”
My stomach tightened as I caught the flash of blue lights through the front window. Three police cars were parked outside; one blocked Steven’s truck in my driveway, the other two blocked both sides of the street. “I asked him to help me with Mrs. Haggerty’s repairs. Is there a problem, Officer?”
“My name is Detective Tran. This is my partner, Detective Consuelo,” he said, gesturing to the woman beside him. “We’d like a word with Steven, if you’d like to step outside.” The detective’s name was familiar. Mike Tran was the name on the business card Brendan had given me, the one he’d said was handling Mrs. Haggerty’s case.
I thought about reaching for my phone to call my sister, but something in the officers’ postures told me that wouldn’t be a wise idea.
“What the hell is this about?” Steven asked, glaring at both of them.
“We’d like you to come with us to the station,” Detective Tran suggested casually. “We have some questions for you about the victim who was found on this property.”
Steven’s eyes flashed. “You can ask me right here.”
“If that’s what you’d prefer.”
The detective’s indulgent tone set off warning bells inside me. I took Steven’s arm to keep him from saying anything else. The number of officers who’d arrived to provide backup for this conversation told me this meeting was far from casual. “Maybe you should call a lawyer,” I urged him in a low voice.
“I don’t need a lawyer! I don’t know anything about the guy.”
“Are you sure about that?” Detective Tran asked. He carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned detective, the silver at his temples and crow’s feet around his eyes suggesting he had all the time in the world to make this uncomfortable for both of us. “Let me jog your memory,” he said, pulling a few photographs from his breast pocket. He held one of them up. “This is Gilford Dupree. His body was found two weeks ago behind this house, under a rose garden that was installed five years ago, the same week Gilford’s wife reported him missing.” Detective Tran sauntered closer, his eyes never leaving Steven’s.
Steven’s hands clenched at his sides. A muscle worked in his jaw as he glanced at the photo. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
“I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to find a tie between Mr. Dupree and this house,” the detective said. “I investigated all the neighbors. I checked into every possible connection between Dupree and the Haggerty family, and you know what I came up with?” He waited a breath. “Nothing. But I did find something else—a receipt for a landscaping project with your name on it.” He wagged a finger at Steven as his temple began to glisten with sweat. “That receipt got me thinking about people who work in the dirt for a living—about how convenient it might be for someone like that to bury a body. Someone strong. Someone with the tools to do it. Like an excavator. Or a landscaper. Or even a farmer,” he said, looking Steven dead in the eyes.
My blood went cold. Detective Tran didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. The subtext was clear: Steven owned a sod farm—the same farm where five bodies had been exhumed last fall. Steven had been cleared of any suspicion in that case, but Detective Tran didn’t appear convinced of that.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re talking about.” Steven seethed, pointing a hard finger toward the backyard. “Sure, I installed their damn rose garden. But I never killed anyone. I never even met that Dupree guy.”
Detective Tran held up another photo. “Maybe you knew his wife.”
I didn’t think Steven could get any paler than he was when the detectives first walked through that door, but now he looked ill.
“What is he talking about?” I asked him in a low voice.
Steven and Detective Tran exchanged a look so long it felt like a dare. “You sure you wouldn’t prefer to have the rest of this conversation at the station?” the detective asked him.
“Do I have a choice?”
“I’ll give you two a minute,” Detective Tran said to Steven. “When you’re ready to go, we’ll be waiting right outside.”
The officers filed out, hovering close to the house. Radios squawked in the driveway. I whirled to my ex-husband as they watched us through the windows. “Jesus, Steven! Did you sleep with Gilford Dupree’s wife?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why are they taking you in?”
“I don’t know!” He dragged a hand through his sweating hairline as he paced. “I might have delivered some mulch to her house a few years ago, but I swear to god I didn’t sleep with her, Finn!”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, careful to keep my voice down. “Don’t say a word to anyone. I’ll call a lawyer.” I had no idea if Steven was telling the truth, but now wasn’t the time to take any chances.
“Call Guy. Tell him to meet me at the station.”
Guy had been Steven’s fraternity brother in college and, more recently, the ruthless family law attorney who had handled Steven’s side of our divorce. He was a shark when it came to custody agreements and weaseling his clients out of child support, but he definitely was not qualified to handle a situation like this. “Guy specializes in divorces, Steven. He doesn’t do criminal law.”
“Doesn’t matter, because I’m not a criminal.”
“I’ll ask him for a referral.”
“I don’t want a referral. Guy can represent me.”
“He’s too close to be objective. I’ll find you someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else! I want Guy to do it!”
Detective Tran opened the door, his gaze sweeping over us as if he’d been drawn by our raised voices. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”
Steven handed me his truck keys as the uniformed officer escorted him out. I followed them to the door, freezing at what I saw waiting on the other side of it. A crowd of neighbors had gathered along the street and in their yards, gaping at the police cars and lights. Stacey was huddled with a group of the neighborhood moms, all of them whispering behind their hands, but I was sure that wouldn’t keep the gaggle of kids they’d brought along from hearing them.
Riley and Max stood front and center of the crowd, their phones held up in the air, recording Steven as he was escorted from the house. The words affair and murder rolled like a wave through the crowd.
The door of my house opened across the street. Vero appeared on my front stoop. She held Zach on her hip, and Delia clutched her leg. One of Delia’s friends called out to her in a high child’s voice. “Delia, why are the police taking your daddy? Did he do something bad?”
Delia’s eyes welled with tears. My heart cracked as her lower lip began to tremble. She buried her face in Vero’s sweater as her father was led down the driveway by a procession of cops. Steven clenched his jaw and stared at the pavement, unable to look at our children as the whispers of the crowd grew louder.
Vero must have read the horror on my face. She ushered Zach and Delia quickly into the house.
Detective Tran opened the back door of a police cruiser. A few of the spectators applauded as Steven was escorted inside. Engines started and blue lights swirled as the police cars left Mrs. Haggerty’s house, one by one.