Dirty Laundry Read online

  Ahh, iced tea. The South’s get-well elixir. I didn’t remember Carl all that well from high school. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him if we’d passed on the street. He was well over six-feet and solid in size. He looked like he belonged on a construction site. His jeans were worn and comfortable looking and his blue T-shirt was untucked and frayed around the hem. His feet were bare and he hadn’t shaved.

  We followed him into a spacious kitchen with a big central island. It had distressed white cabinets, lots of glass, and exposed beams.

  “I’ve got to say I’m in love with your house,” I said.

  He turned and beamed at me. “Thanks. A lot of love, sweat, and tears went into this place. It was falling down when we bought it a few years ago. It brought the value of the whole neighborhood down. The former owner had neglected it pretty badly. And Robert loves Chip and Joanna Gaines, so it seemed like it was a match made in heaven.”

  Robert was already sitting at the kitchen table that looked like it had been built from old barn wood. He was a slighter man, maybe five-ten or eleven, and he had a bookish appearance about him. He was also considerably younger than Carl. His blond hair was parted to the left and swooped low over his forehead, and he wore tortoise shell glasses.

  He stood when we approached the table, and he wore khakis and a blue button-down shirt. “I’m Robert Planter,” he said, holding out a hand for introduction.

  “Jack Lawson.” Jack shook his hand and then said, “This is Doctor Graves. She’s the coroner for the county.”

  “I’ve read all about you in the paper,” Robert said, and then he looked at me with pity and I realized he’d also read all about me in the King George Tattler. Apparently the KGT was becoming the news source of choice.

  “Y’all have a seat,” Carl said, sitting in the chair next to Robert.

  “Your garden is beautiful,” I said, looking through the bank of windows at the back. “It was similar to Rosalyn McGowen’s garden, but a little more masculine. An arbor and bridge had been built and was covered with ivy and yellow flowers, and there was a gazebo with a hanging lantern and built-in seating. Flowers were in full bloom, and there was a stack of potting soil bags in a wheelbarrow parked to the side.

  “It’s my pride and Joy,” Robert said, his face beaming. “I’ve ordered a couple of rare rosebushes from England to come in. I’ve already dedicated the space for them.” He pointed to a bed that space had carefully been carved out of. “It’s not as easy to order plants from other countries as one might think. They should be in at any time, and then the garden will be perfect.”

  “Until you see something else on Pinterest you want me to build,” Carl said, good-naturedly.

  “We decided to move back to Bloody Mary about five years ago, but I keep pretty busy with projects, and Robert isn’t from here originally so he’s still integrating himself in the community. You know how it is. If your family hasn’t lived here two hundred years then it’s hard to be accepted.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s what it is and not the fact that we’re probably the only married gay couple in Bloody Mary,” Robert said dryly and patted Carl on the hand. “Your naiveté is very attractive, my love.”

  He said it with such good humor that I couldn’t help but smile. He smiled back at me and said, “I work from home, so when we first moved here I wanted to join the quilting club over at The Closet Quilter so I didn’t lose my mind staring at walls and a computer screen all day. Plus, the construction going on here was insane. I mean, I figured it was a sign from God with a name like The Closet Quilter. But the blue hairs there were very adamant about me keeping my quilting squares in the closet, if you get my drift. I found a book and wine club I like much better. I haven’t read a book yet, but the wine and company is fantastic.”

  “That must be Crystal Coates’ group,” I said, leaning my elbows in the table. “I saw her in the grocery store one day and she said they got kicked out of the library because someone had passed out behind the stacks.”

  “Well, that and the fact that we weren’t supposed to have wine in the library.”

  We all laughed and I asked, “What do you do?”

  “I do medical coding for insurance companies, but I do some freelance writing on the side. I’ve written for several magazines.”

  “He’s working on a book,” Carl said proudly. “It’s going to be amazing. A bestseller to be sure.”

  Robert’s cheeks pinkened in embarrassment, but I could tell he was encouraged by the praise. They were a good couple and fun to talk to.

  Carl sighed. “I guess we know why you’re here. I stayed home from work today, and we’ve been trying to have a normal day, pretending I didn’t walk in that house and see that this morning. But I’m not going to lie, I think I’ll be seeing it every time I close my eyes.”

  “I read your statement from Officer Chen, but can you walk us through it?” Jack asked. “What made you check on her?”

  “I’m a commercial project manager for different construction companies, and I started a big project this week. A new high-rise condo in Richmond. I usually leave around five in the morning, but I’ve been working a lot of hours this week and decided to go in a couple of hours late. I normally wouldn’t have seen her mail because it’s so dark when I leave, but I noticed the mailbox was partially opened and stuffed full. That’s not like her at all.

  “When I get home at four o’clock, she’s almost always out getting her mail for the day. She likes to look at the magazines,” he said, smiling wistfully. “I’ve never seen it like that, so I gathered it up and took it to the door. I’d been so busy this week I realized I hadn’t seen her and thought she might have gotten sick or something.”

  “Rosie is always taking care of us,” Robert cut in. “She’s like a mother for the whole neighborhood. If you’re sick, she’s going to bring you something to make you better.”

  “I felt terrible,” Carl said, “because Robert’s right. She was always the first to come knocking when someone was sick, and we should’ve been there to do the same for her. I used my key to open the door. She gave me one in case of emergencies. And she’s gone away for a couple of days at a time and asked us to feed the cats. I’m allergic to them, so Robert takes care of that chore when she’s away. I do the outside stuff, like making sure the lawn is mowed and her garden is watered.

  “I could smell something was off when I rang the doorbell. I thought maybe a raccoon or one of the cats had died under the house. Then when I opened the door and saw…” He shook his head and closed his eyes and Robert squeezed his hand.

  “Take your time,” Robert said, and pushed the tea glass toward him. Carl took it and drank deeply.

  “You know how when you see something, but your brain can’t process what you’re seeing?”

  “I do,” Jack said, nodding.

  “That’s exactly what happened. I probably stood there a good five minutes before things started making sense. The smell almost knocked me over, and there was blood everywhere. The cats were running around, obviously distressed. They looked like they’d gotten into the catnip, they were practically bouncing off the walls.

  “I don’t know why I called out to her,” he said. “But I did. I knew she wouldn’t have let the house get like that unless she wasn’t able. I just pulled the door closed, got out my phone, and called 9-1-1. They arrived just a few minutes later.”

  “Katie said you helped Mrs. McGowen deliver banana bread on Sunday,” I said.

  “I did. She was always trying to do things herself. Never would ask for help. I was sitting out on the porch when I saw her stacking a box on her walker. She never used the walker unless she had to carry something heavy. She got around very well for someone her age. We started at Katie’s house and went down to the end of the street. Then across and back up and around the cul-de-sac. We didn’t stay and visit anywhere.”

  “You walked her back to the door when you were finished?”

  “I did. It w
as still daylight outside. Maybe six o’clock or a little after. She liked to be in bed early, but she said she had some work to do.”

  “Work?” I asked. “More baking?”

  “No, no,” Carl said. “She was always working on recipes. She had a little laptop. Carried that thing everywhere she went. She said her whole life was on that laptop, and she didn’t want anyone getting hold of it.”

  “Laptop?” Jack asked. “How big?”

  “It was a nice one,” he said. “Standard size. She probably spent a couple grand on that thing. She had a case cover on it with a bunch of cupcakes.”

  Robert jumped in and said, “She said she’d protected her recipes for half a century, and that bigger corporations had been trying to get hold of them for years, especially when her shop became so profitable and she started doing online orders. She said the big corporations wanted to copyright the recipes and make their own cookbooks, and then she wouldn’t be able to sell them anymore. And they weren’t above stealing them to get what they wanted.”

  “Katie said Mrs. McGowen was an early riser,” Jack said. “Do you remember noticing if she was up Monday morning when you left for work?”

  “Oh, sure,” Carl said. “We both noticed because we could smell her cinnamon rolls as we left the house.”

  “I’m part of the neighborhood running club,” Robert said. “We meet Monday, Wednesday and Friday across the street at that house with the For Sale sign in it,” he said, pointing out the front window. “We get there a little early to warm up, but soles hit the pavement at five-thirty sharp.

  “Those cinnamon rolls are like torture. Rosie doesn’t like to run her AC unless it’s too hot to stand it, so she’ll open the windows and turn on her fans. You can smell cinnamon rolls all over the neighborhood. It’s one of the reasons we run,” he said, grinning. “Sometimes we’ll come back from our three miles and she’ll have them waiting for us out on the porch.”

  “What time did you get back from your run?” Jack asked.

  “I was back a little before seven, but everyone’s time varies depending on what speed they run or walk. Usually by the mile mark everyone has kind of separated into their groups. I did notice she’d closed the windows by the time I got home because I was looking to see if she was waiting on the porch for us. I won’t lie. I was pretty disappointed she wasn’t there. I really needed a cinnamon roll.”

  “Who else is in the running club?” Jack asked.

  “Umm…let’s see,” he said, and then he paused in thought. “Me, of course. And Janet Selby. She’s in the house kind of cattycorner from us. She usually runs about the same pace I do.” He was holding up fingers every time he named someone. “Abby Clearwater is also in our group. She’s directly across the street. Harrison Taylor. He’s two down from us, but he’s one of those who takes off on his own.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Harrison thinks a lot of himself. It’s not like he’s going to the Olympics, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by talking to him. He’s always finished long before the rest of us get back. Then there’s Jenson Davis. He lives next door to Abby. Quiet guy, but he’s nice.

  “I blew a tire a couple of months ago, and he stopped and helped me change it. He and Monica Middleton are usually the stragglers. He likes a slower pace and she usually has to cut out a little early so she can make it to the hospital on time, so it works for them. And I think Jenson started hanging back with her because Harrison was making her uncomfortable. It’s the same reason Abby sticks close to our group. She’s much faster than the rest of us, but doesn’t want to get alone with Harrison.”

  “You didn’t see Mrs. McGowen any other time this week?” Jack asked both of them.

  They shook their heads and Carl said, “It just sickens me to think that she could have been laying there for hours or days, needing help…”

  “You’ll torture yourself if you keep thinking like that,” Robert said.

  “He’s right,” Jack assured him. “There’s nothing anyone could’ve done. Mrs. McGowen was murdered.”

  Chapter Six

  After we left Carl and Robert’s house, we moved next door to Frank and Edna Bright. According to Katie, they were retired, spent most of their time at home, and weren’t the most pleasant of people. I’d never heard of the Brights and neither had Jack, which meant they were transplants from somewhere.

  But Katie had been right, Frank and Edna were two of the most unpleasant people I’d ever met. They were both a few a couple of inches over five feet and comfortably plump. They both had white tufts of hair, mean eyes, and they were dressed similarly in Bermuda shorts and socks with their sandals. I’d always heard that people who’d been married a long time started looking like each other, but this was the most obvious example I’d ever witnessed.

  “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead,” Frank said. He and Edna were sitting on their porch swing, moving it back and forth lazily. Edna was using a paper fan, waving it in front of her face. “But Roselyn lived the kind of lifestyle where you could expect something like this to happen. An old lady doesn’t get murdered for no reason. She wasn’t wealthy, living in some mansion with expensive things. She didn’t even drive a fancy car. Nah, you mark my words. Roselyn McGowen wasn’t what she seemed.” Gleeful spite shone in his eyes.

  They hadn’t invited us into their cottage-style home. Instead, Jack and I stood on the front porch in the heat.

  “What kind of lifestyle is that?” Jack asked.

  “A life of secrets,” Frank said. “Something seedy. Could’ve been drugs.”

  “I think she was a madam,” Edna chimed in. “You’d think that laptop was sewn to her skin the way she always carried it around. I think it was a list of her girls she was pimping out. I went down to borrow some brown sugar one afternoon and she had her windows open. Well, I could see right in, couldn’t I? She was sitting at her little desk, typing away at that computer. When I rang the doorbell you would’ve thought she’d gotten caught with her pants down. Slammed the lid shut and didn’t even invite me in when she got the sugar. And the way she was coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Pfft…” Edna flicked her hand like we were supposed to fill in the blanks.

  But that statement piqued my interest because Katie had mentioned that Mrs. McGowen sometimes left the house in the middle of the night. She’d thought she’d been meeting a man.

  “You’d see her leave at night?” Jack asked.

  “Sure. Edna and I are members of the Astronomical Society. When there’s a clear night, we’ll head over to the area by Gryphon Falls and stargaze. Had a meteor shower last week. There’s a great view from the falls. We were just getting in the car when we saw Roselyn pull out of her driveway. Didn’t even have her lights on. She took a right at the stop sign. I tried to see where she was going, but she vanished.”

  “Did you notice anyone hanging around her home early Monday morning? Maybe a strange car in the area?”

  “Hell, no,” he scoffed. “We don’t keep the same hours as the rest of the nutcases on this street. Everybody up before the crack of dawn like they’ve got to prove something. People running and saying hi to each other like they didn’t just say it the day before. Neighborhood barbecues and picnics. Kids riding their bikes all over the damned street. Harrison Taylor next door tries to rule us all like he’s President of the United States instead of president of the neighborhood crime watch. He creeps the hell out of me, but he knows not to come around here. I’ve got a permit to carry. But I’m telling you, someone killed Roz McGowen for a reason. Everyone on this street has secrets.”

  “What kind of secrets?” Jack asked.

  Frank’s grin was oil slick. “Not my place to gossip, but pay attention. You seem like an observant fellow.”

  “We need to find that laptop,” Jack said as we made our way next door to the Taylors’. “We searched every inch of that house. There was no laptop. I want to do another walk-through when we’re finished. If she was that secretive about her recipes, maybe sh
e had a hidey-hole.”

  The three houses on the cul-de-sac at the end of Foxglove Court were new additions to the street. They were more than double the size of the other houses and traditionally Georgian in style. The Taylors’ was a white two-story with black shutters and an immaculate yard.

  Everyone seemed to agree that Harrison Taylor was a prick. I didn’t remember him from school, but we hadn’t exactly been in the same social circle, which wasn’t surprising since he was a few years older.

  He’d married JoAnn Godfrey—head cheerleader and student body president. Even then, I’d known she was the kind of person who would never grow out of being a high school cheerleader. She seemed like the type of woman who would marry a prick. But I’d decided to reserve judgment until I could see for myself.

  We caught JoAnn as she was loading three teenagers into her Cadillac Escalade. She’d not changed too much since high school other than putting on about twenty pounds, but the weight had given her a voluptuous appearance in all the right places. Her hair was still white blonde and it was pulled into a high ponytail. And I could understand what Katie meant about modesty. She wore skin tight workout pants with a sheer panel up each leg and a black sports bra with the same sheer paneling. It showed just about everything but her nipples. It was obvious she worked hard for her body, but I wasn’t sure if she was going to the gym or about to walk down the Victoria’s Secret runway.

  “Can we take a minute of your time, JoAnn?” Jack asked as we came around the Escalade.

  I saw the annoyance on her face before she looked up and realized who had asked the question.

  “Well, well, well,” she purred, the voltage of her smile going up a few thousand watts. “If it isn’t King George’s top cop.” She put her hand on a cocked hip and shut the car door so her kids were closed inside. Her nails were freshly manicured and painted bright coral, and her teeth looked especially white against tanned skin.

  “I’ve been keeping up with you,” she said. “Who would’ve thought that Hanover High’s Most Likely to Succeed would show up in my driveway. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She drew out the word pleasure and left her lips puckered at the end of the word just a little too long.