Real Murder (Lovers in Crime Mystery Book 2) (12 page)

Cameron and Tracy found Tad MacMillan asleep at his desk in the morgue.

“Is business slow?” Cameron tapped him on the shoulder on one side while standing on his other side.

When Tad woke up, he smiled as he saw Tracy. “How’s my girl?”

“I thought Jan was your girl.” Tracy greeted him with a hug.

“One of many.”

“I thought you gave that up.” She flashed him a naughty grin.

Casting a glance in Cameron’s direction, Tad asked, “I hope you aren’t letting her get you into trouble.”

“The doctor told Josh that I shouldn’t drive for a few more days,” Cameron said. “So that leaves us playing Thelma and Louise.”

“That’s not good,” Tad said.

“Tell me about it,” Cameron said.

“If you’re here to coerce the details of Ms. Houseman’s autopsy from me,” Tad said, “I’m not giving them to you.”

“That’s okay,” she replied while opening the case file she had under her arm. “Josh will tell me. I want your opinion about something.”

“What?” Tad glanced at Tracy, who responded with a shrug of her shoulders.

Cameron placed the case file in his hands. “Read the details of this autopsy report and tell me what you think happened to the victim.”

“Who is it?” Tad sat down at his desk.

“Just read the injuries and cause of death and tell me what you think.”

Tracy and Cameron exchanged glances while Tad read through the pages of the report. Even though he was aware of them looking at each other and then down at him while he read, he took his time leafing through the pages.

“Cause of death was massive internal injuries and hemorrhaging,” Tad said. “Broken back, ribs, legs, and pelvis. Consistent with being hit by a car.”

“Not drowning?” Cameron asked.

“No water in the lungs,” Tad said with a shake of his head. “He didn’t drown.”

“But he was found in a car at the bottom of Raccoon Creek,” Cameron said.

“Well if he was found in the bottom of the lake, he was dead before he hit the water,” Tad said. “Was he supposed to be driving?”

“Yep.”

“But most of the injuries are on the right side of the body,” Tad said. “If he was driving when he hit the lake, then he would have had injuries to the left side where he hit the door or got thrown from the car … supposedly. Who is this?” He went to the front of the report to read the name. “Douglas O’Reilly. I remember him. Everyone said he drove his car   into Raccoon Creek to commit suicide after his girlfriend got pregnant.”

“That was the legend.” Cameron took the report back. “As you can see, not all legends are true.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was almost dark when Tracy slowly drove her blue sedan up the long rut-filled driveway to the old farmhouse tucked back in the rural Pennsylvania woods. Before she could come to a stop, three large dogs darted out from around the  corner of the house and made straight for the car. Their  snarling barks announced the visitors’ arrival.

Afraid to open her door, Tracy peered out at the mud-covered dogs jumping on the side of her car. “Maybe we should have called first,” she told Cameron.

“This is not something that I want to discuss over the phone.” Seeing a woman with long salt and pepper colored hair dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt trotting toward them from the barn located further up the road, Cameron nodded her head. “She’ll take care of them.”

“If you’re selling cosmetics, I don’t need any,” the  woman called out to them above the barking while grabbing for dog collars. Based on the woman’s weathered face and  lack of attempt to pretty herself up, the reference to cosmetics appeared to be made in humor.

Stretching her arm across in front of Tracy, Cameron held up her police badge for the woman to see. “I’m Detective Cameron Gates. I’ve come to talk to Mrs. O’Reilly about the death of Douglas O’Reilly.”

At first, shock filled the woman’s face. Then, anger seeped in. “Now?
Now
you want to investigate my brother’s murder? Where have you people been for the last fifty years?”

“We got held up in traffic,” Cameron said while flashing a smile that was begging for forgiveness.

“Better late than never,” the woman grumbled while  dragging the largest of the three dogs away from the car. “Come inside.”

Seeing that the visitors were friends and not foes, the dogs allowed the two women to climb out of the car, but not  without sniffing their clothes.

“Mother’s inside,” the woman said over her shoulder while leading the way around the corner of the house to where a wooden porch stretched across the length of the two-story farmhouse. She kept hold of the huge shaggy dog’s collar.  Up on the porch, she yanked open the screen door and held it for Cameron and Tracy to step inside to a big old country kitchen that appeared as worn as the farm woman. Once inside, she released the dog after closing the door.

“Mother, we have visitors,” she hollered.

The dog galloped out of the room and up the flight of stairs to the second floor.

Cameron introduced herself and Tracy to their host. “And you are …” She offered her hand.

“Flo,” she gave Cameron’s hand a firm shake. “Flo O’Reilly. Doug was my big brother. My mother is Eleanor.” Her tough demeanor lifted for an instant. “We were all very proud of him—getting into West Point and all. He was going to see the world, and …” She looked around at the worn-out kitchen and her surroundings. “He was going to make our family proud and take care of us. After he died, I tried to pick up where he left off. I became an army nurse and ended up in Vietnam. Eventually, I came back here to take care of my folks. Pa died twenty years ago. He never got over …” She stopped to swallow. “Since Mother’s stroke a couple of years ago, I’ve been taking care of the farm all by myself.”

She led them up the staircase to a bedroom on the second floor. At the end of the hallway, she opened the door to a  spacious bedroom. Sitting in a wheelchair by the window, a tiny elderly woman was gazing at the farmland and countryside.

“She used to love sitting out on the porch and admiring her rose garden,” Flo said.

“Why not anymore?” Tracy asked.

“I can’t carry her downstairs,” Flo said in a low voice. “It was all we could do to get one wheelchair. So she has to stay up here.”

Cameron tapped Tracy’s arm to point out the dinner dishes on the bed tray that rested on the table by the window.

“Mom, we have visitors.” Flo ushered them across the room. “She can hear okay and understand, but it’s hard for her to talk since her stroke.”

The elderly woman peered up at Cameron, who pulled up a chair to sit close to her.

The detective clutched the case file in her lap “Mrs. O’Reilly, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Detective Cameron Gates with the Pennsylvania State Police. You came to see me several years ago about the death of your son, Douglas.”

Cameron saw hope come to the elderly woman’s eyes. “I remember,” she said in a low voice. She nodded her head to show Cameron that she understood.

“I decided to take a good look at your son’s file,” Cameron said, “and I believe you were right. He did not commit suicide.”

“Someone did murder him?” Flo asked in an anxious tone.

Cameron didn’t want to give away too much of her  findings. “I took the autopsy report to another medical  examiner, and he believes the injuries are consistent with Douglas being struck by a car. When I looked at the inventory of what was inside the car that they pulled up from the bottom of the lake, the Mustang had a new tire on the front driver’s side, but there was no spare in the trunk. Also, the jack was missing.” She turned her attention to the old woman. “Mrs. O’Reilly, I believe your son got a flat tire that evening. He was changing it on the side of the road. It was a Friday night. Dark. Someone hit him with their car.”

“They were probably drunk,” Flo said with anger.

“Could be,” Cameron said with a nod of her head, “or they just plain panicked. Whatever happened, they decided to cover it up by dumping Douglas and his car in the lake. They probably intended for it to look like an accident. But when the police found out about Douglas’ circumstances, they  assumed he had committed suicide.” She touched the elderly woman’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Reilly. Someone should have taken the time to read the file before. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m going to do everything I can to find out who did this.”

“You think it was an accident?” Flo asked. “What about Ava? Couldn’t she have killed him when he dumped her  after she got herself pregnant?”

“Do you know for a fact that Douglas was going to dump her?”

“We don’t,” Eleanor O’Reilly said. “Douglas refused … to tell us what … he was going to do.”

“She swore she didn’t see him,” Flo said. “I always thought she was lying.”

“Do you know where she is?” Tracy asked. “Now that we know he didn’t commit suicide, we should certainly question her. If he dumped her, then she had motive to kill him.”

“She’s dead,” Flo said before Cameron had a chance to respond.

Playing dumb, Cameron asked, “How long ago did she die?”

Flo shrugged. “Decades ago. I don’t know the details. People talk. Someone—I don’t even remember who—told me that Ava had given the baby up for adoption and then started turning tricks. One of her johns throttled her to death. She probably deserved it. Her last name was Tucker. Ava Tucker. I’m sure your people should be able to find out what  happened.” She sighed. “Doug’s baby would be grown up by now. In his late forties. Wish I knew how he turned out.” She went to the end table next to the bed and took a tissue from the box to blow her nose.

“We’ll find out what happened to Ava as we dig deeper into this case,” Cameron said. “I’ll see to it personally. Can you think about anything that happened about that time? Strange phone calls or letters. Very often, in a circumstance like this—”

“Like money?” Flo asked.

“What about money?”

Flo rubbed her face with a hand that was filthy from her work in the barn. “A long time ago. It started years after Douglas died. For a while, by the third or fourth of the month, we would get an envelope with cash in it. A couple of hundred dollars. This went on for years.”

“No,” the elderly woman mumbled in a slurred voice. “Blood money. You shouldn’t …”

“We needed it, Mother,” Flo said.

“Was there a letter with it?” Cameron asked Flo.

“There was always a card saying that they were very sorry,” Flo said. “Nothing else. No signature. Just cash inside.”

“I don’t suppose you kept the envelopes and cards,” Tracy asked.

“Those are long gone,” Flo said. “We kind of figured that it was from whoever had killed Doug. We thought that if the police weren’t going to investigate that we should go ahead and make him pay this way.”

“Are you still getting that money?” Cameron asked.

“It only went on for a few years,” Flo said. “Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped coming.”

“Do you remember when it started?” Cameron asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Blood money.” The elderly woman banged her wrinkled hand on the arm of her wheelchair.

“Let me see.” Flo rubbed her fingers through her long gray hair. “I was fifteen—just started the ninth grade when Doug was killed that September second. He was nineteen. It was right after I graduated from high school that we got the first envelope,” she said with a grin at being able to remember. “Then, it stopped in the spring before the bicentennial. Nineteen seventy-six.”

“How do you remember that?” Tracy was impressed.

“Because that winter the roof caved in on the barn,” Flo said, “after a major snow storm. So Dad and I counted on the money the next month to make the deposit for the contractor to rebuild it, but the money never came. Dad and I ended up building that roof ourselves—the two of us. We were  working on it during the bicentennial Fourth of July. So I know exactly when it stopped coming. After the blizzard in nineteen seventy-six. No more money came after that.”

“So something happened to make the person stop sending it, which we can assume he was doing out of guilt for killing Doug,” Cameron said.

“That’s a big assumption,” Tracy said.

“It’s all we’ve got right now.” Cameron patted Eleanor’s hand. “But it’s enough to get started. You take care of yourself, Eleanor. I’ll be back, and we’re going to have answers for you.”

Tracy waited for them to climb into the car before she asked Cameron. “How can you possibly get answers for them? They have no copies of the envelopes. I doubt if the car is still around after fifty years.”

“We have pictures of Doug O’Reilly’s body and his car,” Cameron said. “Plus, I have a hunch about why the money stopped coming.”

“Why?”

“Doug’s killer got murdered.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Looks like we have a full house,” Cameron said when Tracy turned her car into the driveway to find it filled with vehicles. In addition to Joshua’s SUV and Donny’s truck, the sheriff’s cruiser and Hunter’s red Mustang were lined  up around the cobblestone circle. Tracy had to park at the  end of the line near the street.

“I hope you have enough food to feed everyone,” Cameron said.

“Sheriff Sawyer’s stomach is a bottomless pit.” Tracy grinned. “It will be a contest between him, Donny, and Hunter as to who can eat the most.”

“It’s not their stomachs,” Cameron said. “It’s your cooking.”

“You know what they say,” she replied while stepping out of the car, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Is that really true?”

“It was my chicken marsala that won Hunter’s heart for me.”

The albums that Dolly had given to Cameron the day before were spread out across Joshua’s study. Donny was  laying on his stomach on the floor with Admiral stretched out in front of him. Donny used the dog’s midsection  for an easel on which to prop up the album he was  examining. Stretched out along the length of Donny’s back, Irving appeared to be reading the album from over his broad shoulders. Curt was sitting on the sofa with several albums opened up. Joshua was behind his desk with Hunter sitting at the corner. The two of them had their heads next to each other while they studied each page in one of the albums.

“I take it Hunter has been cleared of suspicion since you have included him in the investigation,” Cameron said with her hands on her hips.

All four of them were startled.

Hunter turned toward Tracy, and then, thinking better of it, stopped and glanced over his shoulder back at Joshua.

“Go ahead and kiss her,” Joshua said with a sigh.

With a wide grin, Hunter hurried across the room to take Tracy into his arms and kiss her on the mouth.

“You told him?” Tracy asked Hunter.

“Kind of.”

“You’re okay with this?” Tracy asked Joshua.

“Do I have a choice?” Joshua replied. “As long as Hunter pays for the wedding and doesn’t break your heart …”

Reminded of his inheritance, Hunter grasped Tracy by the shoulders. “Did you know that Dolly Houseman was a multi-millionaire?”

“I did hear—”

“She left me all of it,” Hunter said. “Do you know what that means? We can start that catering business you’ve always dreamed about.”

“But she didn’t leave it to me—”

“It will be ours when we get married.” Hunter grasped her hands in both of his. “That’s what we talked about. After I graduate from the academy and you finish with the CIA, then we’ll come back here. Ms. Houseman left me the house, too. While we’re finishing with school, we’ll renovate it and put in a commercial kitchen and get you a catering van. I’ll  be a deputy and you’ll be the biggest caterer in the Ohio  Valley and I’ll get fat eating your food but you won’t mind because we love each other.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Curt said.

Cameron grabbed Joshua’s arm. “Are they moving in across the street?” The specks in her eyes turned into flashing green sparks.

“Did Hunter just ask Tracy to marry him?” Donny asked Joshua. “Shouldn’t he take her out on a date first to see what she’s really like?”

“What do you say, Tracy?” Hunter asked her. “We’ll have a big wedding next summer after you graduate.”

Tracy squealed and jumped into his arms. Laughing, Hunter whirled her around in a circle.

“Great,” Donny said, “with Tracy across the street, I’ll never go hungry again.”

Joshua felt Cameron’s elbow stab him in the ribs. “I’m on it,” he muttered before casually crossing the study to the couple enthralled in loving bliss. “Excuse me.”

Suddenly aware of the others in the room, Hunter and Tracy parted.

Seeing tears of joy in his daughter’s eyes, Joshua’s heart skipped a beat. He swallowed before saying in a raspy voice, “I’m thrilled for you two.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she blubbered before throwing her arms around his neck, “I’m so happy you approve.”

“So I can see,” he said while hugging her back and kissing her on the cheek. He cleared his throat. “I hate to be a spoiled sport by bringing in the voice of reason here, but …” He eased her arms from around his neck and took her hands into his. “About Dolly’s house …”

“What about it?” Tracy asked.

“You know Tad and I have been helping Dolly out,” he said. “So I am familiar with that house. It’s over seventy-five years old. It seems like once a week, Tad or I or both of us  have to go over there to fix something. The plumbing  needs to be replaced …”

“So we’ll renovate it,” Hunter said.

“The kitchen is very small,” Cameron said. “If you’re  going to run a catering business, you’ll need a lot more room for a commercial kitchen with big modern appliances.”

“Plus, the house only has one bathroom and two bedrooms,” Joshua said. “Nowadays, a young couple needs more room for a growing family.” He draped his arms around  both of their shoulders. “For what it’s worth, here’s what I suggest. Tracy,” he kissed her on top of her head, “you have one more year of school in New York. Hunter, you’re going away to the police academy. While you’re both gone, sell this house across the street as-is to a realtor looking for a property to fix up and flip and invest in some acreage out in the country.”

“Yeah, out in the country,” Cameron said, “away from town.”

“Build your own dream house,” Joshua said. “With a big yard, garage, state-of-the-art–commercial-grade kitchen, plenty of bedrooms, and modern appliances.”

“You could even build a loading dock with the driveway going right up to the back deck off the commercial kitchen,” Curt said.

“And you have the beauty of the time,” Joshua said, “plus the funds, so you can build the perfect home and have it ready to move right inside as soon as you come back from your honeymoon.”

“I like that idea,” Hunter said. “I’ve always wanted to live in the country. We could get a couple of horses.”

“And build my own custom kitchen,” Tracy gushed through tears of happiness. “That would be a dream come true.” She threw her arms around Joshua’s neck again. “Thank you, Dad. You always were so smart.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He smiled at the thumbs up that Cameron shot in his direction.

While Tracy and Hunter hurried away to the kitchen to make plans, Curt and Donny laughed at Joshua’s brilliant maneuvering.

“Damn, you’re good,” Cameron said with awe in her tone.

Joshua chuckled. “I aced manipulation one-oh-one in law school.”

“Why don’t you want Tracy living across the street?” Donny asked. “I could start eating my meals over there.”

“If they get a place out toward New Cumberland, I’ll be able to drop in for lunch,” Curt said. “Maybe Tracy will hire me to be a taste tester.”

“I’m her brother,” Donny said. “Only right she should give that job to me.” He turned back to Joshua. “Don’t you like Hunter, Dad?”

“Nothing against Hunter or Tracy,” Joshua said. “But the place for grown children is out of the nest where they can keep their personal business and fights private. I can see it now. Every time she has a fight with her new husband, which she will because all newlyweds fight—”

“You and Cameron don’t fight,” Donny said.

“You haven’t been paying attention,” Joshua said.

“I prefer to call them marital moments,” Cameron said. “If Tracy and Hunter lived across the street, one of them would be over here crying every time they had one of those moments.” She shook her head. “Too close. They need a place all their own—out in the country—away from Daddy’s nest.”

“I wasn’t just manipulating them.” Joshua went back to the albums. “I was telling them the truth. That house is a wreck. For what it would cost to get it to pass inspection they  could build a new one twice as big with a huge front and backyard.”

“Is this the Ava we were looking for?” Cameron pointed to an eight-by-ten glossy picture at the front of the album on top. The photograph was of a red-haired young woman clad  in a rose colored teddy, posed provocatively on a bed filled with pillows. Her long hair was thick and wavy and fell down past her shoulders with locks tickling her abundant breasts. The name written in calligraphy under the photo read “Ava.”

“The only Ava in the albums.” Joshua turned several  pages back to show her pages of news clippings about the double murder at the private club in Newell, West Virginia. “These articles confirm that she was the Ava in question. They say she was a hostess at a private gentleman’s club.”

“Considering who the sheriff was at the time, her real profession was kept hush hush.” Curt held up his hand and rubbed his fingers together to signify a payoff from Dolly’s to the late sheriff had kept them in business. “Over the years as those in the know passed away, her real profession was  completely forgotten … at least until Mike Gardner picked up on the case.”

Uttering a sigh filled with remorse, Cameron closed the album. “He was trying to find out who killed his mother.”

“And got killed himself looking into it,” Donny said. “He must have gotten too close.”

“I wish we had his notes,” Joshua said. “If his notebook was in the cruiser, it would have become fish food more than a decade ago.”

“And you’re certain that his widow had no idea?” Curt asked.

Joshua shook his head. “Every time I have talked to Belle she claimed she didn’t. All Hunter knows is from eavesdropping on grownups when he was a kid.”

“That’s the best way to find out family secrets,” Donny said with a grin. “You’d be surprised what I’ve overheard.”

“Maybe now that Mike’s mother has admitted to the  family secret,” Cameron said, “Belle may be more open about what she knew and didn’t know and when she knew it.”  She set the album aside and opened the one underneath it, which had a similar photograph on the first page.

The name on that album was Bianca. Like Ava, she was a redhead. Her look was more sophisticated, and she wore a royal blue teddy and thigh-high stockings with garters.

Working her way through the albums, Cameron read the name of each one of Dolly’s girls and flipped through a few pages of the pictures before moving on to the next album. After Bianca, there was a Bambi, who had doe-like eyes. Morgan was a petite buxom brunette. There were also Farrah, Sabrina, and Jaclyn.

The bottom album was devoted to a hard-looking  woman with long straight silver hair down to her shoulders. Her light blue eyes were penetrating. She was clad in a black leather and lace teddy. Her expression, lacking sensuality, was hard and intimidating.

Where’s the whip?
Narrowing her eyes, Cameron cocked her head to look more closely at the face.

The name underneath was Rachel.

Where have I seen her before?

Just as she was about to mentally put her finger on what was familiar about the woman in the picture, Curt’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID. “It’s the forensics lab.” He pressed the phone to his ear and hurried out into the hallway.

“Not your common used-up hookers, huh?” Joshua  whispered into her ear.

Cameron glanced at him from over her shoulder. Looking at the picture of the scantily clad silver-haired vixen, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Her stomach lurched.

She never thought of Joshua as the type to go for gorgeous women with “perky” breasts, as Dolly had referred to them. “All boys are naughty,” the elderly madam had said.

Just how naughty? Certainly not my Josh.

“See something?” Joshua’s question broke through her thoughts.

“Not sure.” Slipping her fingers in between the pages of the album to look further, she turned her attention back to the album.

“There’s over a dozen of these,” Joshua told her. “A few seem to be memorabilia of the club and the girls who worked there throughout the years. Then, she has eight albums dedicated to specific girls. They even have news clippings about them. Some have marriage announcements. I guess these albums are for girls she considered special.”

“Like daughters to her.” Cameron was about to turn the page when Admiral’s low pitch bark interrupted them. They could hear the huge dog galloping from the living room and into the foyer. She slapped the album shut.

“Hey, buddy, how are you doing?” they heard Tad greet the dog before coming into the study where he stopped in the doorway to admire the albums strewn across the floor. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a murder investigation,” Donny said.

In response to Tad’s questioning expression, Joshua  explained, “We have concluded that our retired madam changed careers to extortion. She was making regular deposits of ten thousand dollars in cash to her bank account every month. So we’re searching these books that she gave to Cam to see if we can find evidence of who she was blackmailing and over what. Ten thousand dollars a month in blackmail is a big motive.”

“When I was talking to Dolly, she insinuated that a lot of different secret meetings took place at Dolly’s,” Cameron said. “So we could have more than one blackmail victim. That ten thousand didn’t necessarily all come from the same  source.”

“That’s true.” Joshua turned to Tad, who was practically being pinned down in his chair by Admiral, who had climbed up for a petting. “Admiral, down! Donny, help Tad.”

Donny jumped to his feet to pull Admiral off Tad.

“Were there any surprises in Dolly’s autopsy?” Joshua asked him.

“Yes and no. She was stabbed in the neck and bled out.” Tad straightened his clothes, now covered in dog hair and droll. “Whoever did it was very angry. It was a crime of passion. I counted forty-five stab wounds. Three in the neck. Some in the chest, and then in the back. Her jugular was practically cut all the way through. Massive blood loss was the cause of death.”

“Certainly not a suicide,” Donny said.

“We got lucky, though,” Tad said. “Your killer got cut.”

“Dolly fought back?” Donny asked.

“Not necessarily,” Tad said. “You see, usually in these types of attacks, where this is so much blood, the knife will get slippery and the killer’s hand will slip down onto the blade, causing him to cut himself. Forensics told me that they picked up a second blood type at the scene and that they think they have enough for a DNA comparison. The crime lab is working it up and will be calling you. If you’re really lucky, they’ll have someone in the national database to match it to.”