Bright New Murder (12 page)

16

Oswego Valley Memorial Gardens had fit Michelle Smith’s funeral in on New Year’s Eve Day to accommodate the next of kin—Michelle’s son Doug’s—travel schedule.

Jane shivered in her black raincoat. The wind whipped her hair and the rain fell in freezing sheets. She hung to the back of the crowd of grievers as they made their way to the graveside. The frosted grass crunched under her feet. The roads would be dangerous after the freezing rain, but Jane tried not to worry about it.

Michelle’s mortal remains were being buried, and a hundred or so of her friends, old church members, and families from her school had gathered to say goodbye. Carrie, the assistant Jane had met a couple of days ago, wept into the end of her brown plaid scarf. Sasha Henry held a white handkerchief to her nose, and her eyes were painfully red. Michelle Smith’s son Doug choked up during his speech. He couldn’t finish what he had to say about his mom, who had just retired to see her grandkids grow up.

Jane squeezed Jake’s hand. New Year’s Eve Day promised treacherous driving for the night, and the tangible grief in the crowd made it obvious none of those present would be ringing in the New Year with good cheer. Jane wanted nothing more than to get back inside—and take some pictures of the guest book.

With a crowd almost as big as the one at the charity event, she and Jake had their work cut out for them, if they really intended to check each name against the other list. Jane took a deep, strengthening breath. It was the most detectivey thing she could think of, and she had to start doing some real detective work. She couldn’t let this murder get solved by chance, or worse yet, by the regular police.

“They’re praying,” Jake whispered.

Jane bowed her head.

From the back of the crowd they could sneak back into the funeral home before everyone else—but only by a minute or two.

The pastor of Michelle’s old church finished the prayer and began a song. It was thirty degrees, wet, and December thirty-first, but the crowd sang about dancing on streets that were golden. Jane gave Jake’s hand a little tug, ready to turn back, but Jake just pulled her arm closer as he sang.

When the last lines of the last time through the bridge died down, a new song rose up, but this time from the back. Gruff but emotional voices, quiet at first, but growing stronger, started in on “Apples and Bananas.”

Jane swung around. Forty or more Helpers, with Rose of Sharon in the middle, held hands in a semicircle, almost like an embrace around the mourners. Their faces turned up to the steely, cold sky, their cheeks tearstained. They sang the silly camp song almost reverently, then stopped.

Jane recognized Yuri at the tail end of the crowd, shuffling his feet. Yuri had come…to make it clear he wasn’t the murderer? He had hung around towards the unlikely end of her suspects list for a long time…his appearance at the funeral shot him up a few notches.

She’d have to watch him a little closer.

“May I say a few words?” Rose of Sharon’s voice cracked, and she was hard to hear, even from where Jane stood. The pastor didn’t hear her at all and dismissed the crowd, asking them to return to the reception inside.

Jane led the crowd inside, passing a confused and distraught-looking Rose of Sharon as she went.

Jane stopped in the foyer and watched the mourners go into the reception. Many peeled away and went to the parking lot instead, but a solid fifty or more stayed for the potluck. As she expected, they grouped together around tables and didn’t intermingle. “Could you go in and sort of meet people?” Jane nodded towards the door. “Maybe go table to table finding out who all is staying.”

“Sure.” Jake focused on a loud table near the front. “I’ll case the joint while you take pictures of the guest book.”

They parted, but Jane still hung back. The Helpers were lined up to sign the guest book. Jane spotted Valeria with her husband and, almost too good to be true, she saw Del and Beth with Rose of Sharon and two other girls…perhaps the daughters Clove and Isis.

Rose of Sharon had said that her girls went to Trillium Montessori. They looked to be teenagers, so perhaps they were a second family of sorts. Much younger than Del, the thirty-two-year-old security guard.

Jane stepped quietly across the deep rug and joined the Willis group. “I’m glad you all were able to make it.” She kept her voice low.

Rose of Sharon gave her a side hug. “We tried to be on time, but it was difficult on the bridge today.”

“I’m hungry.” The shorter of the two girls sounded like a child, though she was clearly in her late teen years. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus well, and she sort of slumped against Del’s arm.

“Shush. We’ll eat in a minute.” Del patted her arm in a brotherly fashion. Beth stood with the other Willis girl, who was taller and had an appealing look of curiosity on her face.

“Let’s say hello to Doug, and then we can leave.” Rose of Sharon took the hungry girl’s arm from Del and went into the reception.

Jane tapped Beth’s shoulder. “Do you think Del told Rose of Sharon about our event so she could protest it?”

Beth frowned. “He loves his stepmom to death, but he has never been a protester. Not even after Isis’s accident.” Beth hurried after her boyfriend.

Jane kept up with her. “What accident?”

Beth checked out where Rose of Sharon was in the room and then stopped. “She’s got a peanut allergy and almost died from it. When she came home, they realized she had permanent brain damage.”

“Oh my gosh! That’s awful!” Jane swallowed.

“Del was devastated. He loves his baby sisters like they’re his own. He was really angry about it for a long time, but he thought Rose of Sharon dealt with it wrong.”

“What did Del think she should have done?”

Beth chewed on her bottom lip.

“You can tell me.”

Beth shook her head.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Over Beth’s shoulder, Jane saw Rose of Sharon embrace Doug Smith. Doug held onto her in a tight embrace, his head rested on her shoulder.

“Michelle was a very, very good friend of Rose’s, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” Beth paused. “Del thought…well, I mean, he doesn’t think it anymore, but at the time, he was young—just seventeen—and he thought his dad should have sued the school. Everyone knew about Isis’s allergies.”

Jane’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Miter might have owed Smith a lot of money, but this Del kid had a serious, long-term grudge against Michelle Smith. And he had been out of his office during the murder and had gotten rid of the murder weapon.

Jane scanned the room for Jake. He had his arm around a grey-haired woman who was laughing, even though tears rolled down her cheeks.

“They did a craft with peanut shells. It was too much for her and she went into anaphylactic shock. By the time she was revived at the hospital, she had been without oxygen for too long.”

“How could Rose of Sharon find it in her heart to forgive Michelle for this?”

“How does anyone forgive? Rose of Sharon loves Jesus. Plus, Michelle was at a conference that week. She couldn’t have stopped the tragedy. Rose of Sharon understands that. And of course, Del gets it now. But back then, he was deeply angry.”

“Please, if you could just answer one more question…why does Del have a criminal record?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, don’t worry. He just smuggled a lot of weed in from Canada. It wasn’t a violent crime.” Beth gave Jane’s arm a squeeze and then joined Rose of Sharon.

Jane made her way to Jake, one eye on Del.

At the family table, Doug grasped Del’s hand in a two-fisted shake and pulled him in for a hug. Did Doug have any clue that Del had just murdered his mother?

Jane dragged Jake away from his hobnobbing and found a quiet spot in the corner of the foyer. She relayed everything she had learned from Beth and then took a deep breath. “Well? What do you think?”

“If that had happened to Phoebe, I’d be mad too.”

“Should we watch him, though? What if he tries something here? Maybe to the teacher in charge that day or something?”

“I’d be mad, Jane, but then I’d grow up, like Del did. And I wouldn’t kill someone.” Jake put his arm around Jane’s waist. “But great detective skills.”

“I think Del just became the number one suspect in a major way. No one-hundred-thousand-dollar judgment could compare with a sister who was permanently disabled.” Jane shivered.

“You can say that because you’ve never owed anyone one hundred thousand dollars.”

“If money was such a problem, how could he leave such a big donation at the event?”

“Maybe his money problems are over.” Jake had an eye on the reception hall while they talked.

“Then why kill Michelle? I don’t think Jason Miter did it.” Jane chewed her lip.

“Any other reasonable suspects?”

“Do you know anything about Yuri Bean?”

“Is that a hipster band?”

“Nope, he’s a Helper I met at the event. His wife was a nervous wreck and he acted very suspiciously. Plus, he’s here at the funeral.” Jane tried to spot him the crowd but couldn’t.

“Do you have a motive for him?”

“Not yet.”

Jake shrugged. “Then let’s get back in there and get chatting. I’ve learned more about Lake Oswego’s Montessori school set than I ever guessed there was to know.”

“Did you learn anything to the point?”

“I learned that the table just behind the door there is shocked that Jason Miter and his wife would dare show up at this funeral. If I were you, I’d avoid that table. Once they get started, they don’t stop.” Jake directed Jane to an almost empty table in the back. “And I learned from Tammy Miter, Jason’s wife, that they are appealing the judgment. She said that they have paid all of their back bills now—sold some property at the beach to do it—and she’s hoping to get the rest of the fees tossed out, especially as the plaintiff is dead.”

“Whoa.”

“Exactly. Owing a person a lot of money seems like a possible motive. But if you throw in the death as a reason to get the judgment reversed, you go from could-be to really hot motive.”

Though they whispered, the man in the brown suit sitting on the other side of the long rectangle lifted his eyebrow. “Think you know who did it?”

Jane blushed.

Jake smiled. “Maybe.”

“So do I.” The stranger moved to a closer chair. “See that woman over there?” He pointed at a short, round blonde woman.

“That’s Tammy Miter,” Jake said.

“Keep an eye on her. She’s acting very guilty.”

“And who are you?” Jane whispered.

“Detective Benedict.” He offered his hand. “I hate to say it, since you’re both so young, and seem to not understand how far whispers carry, but you have done a pretty good job in a very short time.”

Jane grinned.

“Can I see your ID?” Jake asked.

Detective Benedict pulled out his wallet and showed his police ID.

“Were you teasing us about Tammy Miter?” Jane scrunched her mouth.

“I might have been. But I have to say, you guys have made a lot of valid points throughout the whole funeral. It has been worth it to me to shadow you.”

Jane scratched her head. “So, I’m a criminal justice student at Portland State, and I’m planning on going into private detection. What do I do now? I mean, if I have a strong theory and decent evidence, what am I supposed to do with it?”

“A private investigator, eh? You put it in a manila envelope and exchange it for a check in a dark alley.”

Jane inhaled sharply. “Not like that. More like a…consulting detective.”

“Like Sherlock, huh? That’s a good show.”

Jake shook his head, subtly. The detective was mostly making fun of them, but Jane wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “Listen, I just want to know what’s the best way of getting any information to the police. Is there a certain office that likes to take tips? A particular rank of cop I should ask for? I don’t want to do this wrong.”

Detective Benedict smiled, but just with his lips. “If it’s a case we are actively working on, you’re already doing it wrong. But feel free to call the main phone line and pass off any info you gather.” He left the table, hands in his pockets. Smug.

“He’s not going to be my insider, I guess.” Jane rested her chin on her hands.

“Guess not.”

“And I guess I need some proper evidence before I call in with a tip, since Detective Benedict all but said he had listened in to both of our theories.” Jane scanned the room again for Yuri Bean. “We don’t have any advantage over the police now.”

“Never did.”

“Probably true. But we need to get the advantage, so let’s see if we can bring the crisis to a head.”

“Like bait the suspects into a confession?”

“Got a better idea?”

“Nope.” Jake stood up. “Who first?”

The Willis clan were seated with a dozen slightly threatening-looking protester types. The Miters—just Jason and Tammy—were alone. “Let’s go thank Mr. and Mrs. Miter for their generous donation, yes?” Jane took Jake’s arm.