A Justified Murder Read online

  Kate leaned back against the couch. “Why are you home so early?”

  “Let’s see. Two people came by the job site to ask if the Morris house was haunted. Four people arrived with cameras to ask me what Mrs. Beeson’s body looked like. That girl Britney showed up and tried to put her hand inside my shirt. And, oh yeah, Gil shot himself in the foot with a nail gun. I had to rush him to the hospital. And before you ask, he’s fine. His ego is more hurt than his foot.”

  Kate gave him a look of sympathy. “Anyone at the hospital ask you questions?”

  “No. They just took turns telling me what a wonderful person Mrs. Beeson was. She sorted out one doctor’s entire accounting system—for free. He sent her five pots of white orchids in thanks.”

  “I guess we can cross him off the suspect list as having done something awful to her. How many people are still a possibility?”

  “None,” Sara said. She’d left her writing room and sat down by her niece. “I talked to Heather. She spent the day doing deep research. She had her hair done at Best Day, looked at a Tiffany lamp at Out of the Attic, had tea at Mitfords, and... Ivy is going to kill her for this, but your mother spent an hour browsing at Caroleena’s Bridal Salon. And somewhere in there, Heather had a cozy, chatty lunch with the owner of Kendal Place Inn.”

  Jack gave a low whistle. “Those are the gossip centers of this town. I owe her an oil change.”

  “I sent your mom flowers as thanks and in sympathy.”

  “Did anyone have anything bad to say about Janet?” Kate asked.

  “Not a word. Just the opposite. She seems to have helped a lot of people. She was even nice to Eric Yates.”

  Jack groaned.

  “Tell me all,” Kate said.

  “He’s the local Lothario,” Sara said. “Late sixties but thinks he’s twenty. Flirts with all the females who come into his drugstore. He told Heather he felt bad because when Janet first came to town, she thought he was serious when he suggested they go out together. She showed up on a Saturday night at seven, dressed up in a red suit and high heels.”

  “Poor thing,” Kate said.

  “Jerk!” Sara muttered. “He did that to me when I got back, only I was repulsed. You should see him! Cigarette-stained teeth, cheap toupee, a little belly that curves down like a sack of flour resting on his belt.”

  Kate smiled. “That’s a vivid image. I hope Janet got angry and told him off.”

  “Nope. Heather called a woman Eric said had been a witness. She said that when Janet found out his invitation was a joke, she was gracious. But Eric did say that Janet never returned to his store.”

  “I don’t blame her.” Kate slipped off her shoes and put her bare feet on the coffee table. “What do you think Sheriff Flynn is doing now?”

  “Talking on the phone,” Jack said.

  “And you know this how?” Sara asked.

  “One of the nurses at the hospital is a friend of Bea’s.”

  “Who is Daryl’s right-hand man,” Sara told Kate.

  “She runs the office,” Jack said. “She said Flynn is at his desk, no visitors, but he’s on the phone a lot. Not doing much of anything.”

  “Which is probably why everyone is coming to us!” Kate said.

  “Seems so,” Sara said. “How do we stop it?”

  Jack looked across at the two women sitting side by side. “You mean other than by solving the crime? I don’t know and I don’t want to attempt it.”

  They looked at Sara.

  “I agree. It’s just that...”

  “What?”

  “I’m beginning to identify with Janet Beeson. Older people are all assumed to be senile and—gag me with a spoon—cute. I hate cute! Last week I called to make an appointment and the girl asked for my birth date. When I told her, she gasped. Then she started talking to me in slow baby talk because I’m—you know—on the verge of dementia. And someone my age has never used a computer. Certainly can’t work a cell phone. I wanted to—” Sara took a breath. “I just feel sorry for Janet, that’s all. No one seems to have seen her as a person, just an old woman—which of course means she was sweet.”

  Jack stood up and held out his hand to Sara. “Come on and let’s have dinner. I vote that we send all that we have to ol’ Flynn and never think about any of this ever again.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Kate looked at her aunt. “Where did you get those blue pajamas?”

  “A company called PJ Harlow. I have a pair that I haven’t shortened the legs on. Want them?”

  “Ooooh yes,” Kate said as they walked to the kitchen.

  Behind them, Jack was smiling in fondness.

  Five

  THE DOORBELL BEGAN ringing at ten minutes after 1:00 a.m. Kate woke, pulled the cover over her head, and tried to block out the sound. Jack will deal with it, she thought. And why hadn’t the security men stopped whoever it was?

  Last night they’d taken big platters of food out to the guards. At the far end of the property was a shed that Jack had remodeled into a little guesthouse. It had a living room/kitchen, bedroom/bath so the men could use that while they watched over the place.

  The doorbell didn’t stop. It wasn’t frantic or hysterical, but slow and steady. Beeep, beeep, then pause and repeat.

  Kate threw the covers off. “Please stop,” she whispered, then cursed Jack for having the house wired so the bell could be heard everywhere. “Why aren’t they getting that?”

  The answer came to her immediately. “Because they’re waiting for me,” she muttered as she got out of bed. “One for all, all for one. No matter what time it is.”

  She snatched up a robe Aunt Sara had bought in China and lent her—dark blue with pale blue peonies—slipped it over the slinky pajamas, and left her suite. Sure enough, Aunt Sara and Jack were standing in front of the closed door, just waiting.

  “It’s the sheriff,” Sara said. “Thought you’d want to hear what he has to say.”

  The doorbell was still going off as Jack looked the women in their silky jammies up and down. “Sure you two are well dressed enough to receive guests? I could wait while you do your hair. Or maybe your nails?”

  “I could use some new polish,” Kate said.

  Smiling, Sara nodded at Jack and he opened the door. Sheriff Flynn stood there in jeans and a blue cotton shirt. There were dark circles under his eyes and the lines radiating out the side of his face were deeper.

  Jack stepped back and made an exaggerated gesture of entrance.

  “Sorry for the late hour,” the sheriff said, “but I’m being watched closely. Not officially, but still... I sneaked out a second-story window to get here.” He held out his left hand, which was covered in blood.

  Sara took over. She led him into the kitchen and held his hand under a stream of cold water. “Bandages are in the—”

  “I know,” Jack said as he motioned for Kate to follow him. They went across the foyer to Sara’s bathroom. “What took you so long to get to the door?”

  “The desire for sleep. And I thought you two could handle whatever it was.”

  Sara’s bathroom was octagon shaped, holding two sink counters with lots of drawers beneath. A large glass-walled shower was at the end. To the left, a toilet and bidet were in their own room. On the right was a tub that had windows to a private garden.

  Jack went to the drawer that held first aid supplies.

  “What do you think he wants?” she asked.

  “To tell us he loves us and misses us. The same as the others wanted us to know.”

  She just looked at him, waiting for him to answer her question.

  Jack handed her tape and gauze. “Flynn is going to do a sob story to try to get you and Sara on his side. He’ll do his best to drag us into this, but I don’t want us to have anything to do with it.”

  “But he...” Kate began t