Death of a Dumb Bunny Read online

  I started with the why. Why shoot the Easter Bunny? The past can be a burden, a weight brought to bear that leads to criminal acts— especially crimes of passion. Revenge is a number one favorite for that.

  Though many crimes are born out of wrongful past acts, the future can also be strong incentives for criminal behavior. I wondered what we were looking at. Frankly, we seemed short of past acts that could lead to murder. Maybe it was time to explore future events for a motive. What might Thaddeus be about to do that would bring a killer out of the woodwork?

  Gain— that was a favorite of mine. Cold blooded murder for money was a classic. Did it fit though? I needed to know more about Thaddeus’s finances. I wondered who handled his accounts. We didn’t have that many CPAs in town.

  “Have some chocolate,” Alex said.

  The cold deepened quickly and by full dark snowflakes began to fall. In the orange of the streetlamp, they looked a bit like cornflakes. I was happy to turn my back on them and watch the fire instead.

  We retired early but I woke just after twelve. The stillness outside, the kind that came only with deep snow, was my second clue that spring had lost a last skirmish with winter. The first was my cold nose and overheated body. The animals had joined us on the bed during the night and both cats were using me as a cushion. The calendar insisted it was springtime; the weather suggested otherwise.

  This might have depressed me on another occasion, but until the streets were plowed, I was on holiday. I couldn’t give anyone parking tickets if there was nobody out parking. Alex and I could give our full attention to Thaddeus and his finances. That was fortunate, because I had the feeling that time was running out.

  A good place to start would be to invite Thaddeus and his friends to dinner, maybe after the funeral. Why not try and get things from the horse’s mouth? Many things could be discovered through social discourse that wouldn’t necessarily come up during an official inquiry where plying witnesses and suspects with wine was frowned upon.

  This seemed a particularly good idea after I heard from The Chief the next morning. Daryl and Frank had tried making a run into town for donuts and had piled into a ditch. They claimed the brakes had failed on their car.

  The mechanic had taken a look and determined that the brake-line was cut.

  Chapter 9

  “I’m glad you don’t think intelligence is a handicap,” I said to Alex as I laid out the Scrabble tiles and got a triple word score.

  “Yeah because you would be the head cripple.” He grinned as he added the total. “But you know me. Any ambulatory female will do as long as she can cook.”

  I threw a pillow at him. Blue jumped up and woofed, thinking we were about to play a game that she could be involved in.

  “See what you’ve done? You’ve upset my dog.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll bribe her with cookies,” Alex said, heading for the kitchen. “So what’s next? I know you’ve been thinking all day.”

  “A dinner party. And I suppose that I need to find out when the funeral is, though I don’t want to go.”

  “You’ll call Thaddeus?”

  “Yes, but Mom first.” My mind made up, I went to the kitchen to place the call.

  “H-h-hachoo! I mean, hello.”

  “Hi, Mom. Bless you,” I said, recognizing her by her sneezing. Aunt Dot is a blaster. Mom squeaks. “Allergies?”

  “Yes. I’ve been cleaning the linen cupboard. What can I do for you, dear?”

  “Two things. I am calling to find out about the funeral for Brutus.”

  “Tomorrow at ten, dear. At the Episcopal church. Don’t worry, the garden club has arranged for flowers.”

  “Oh good. Thanks, the club’s arrangements are always so pretty.”

  “Yes, and more personal.” Mom was right to be proud.

  “So, I was thinking of inviting Thaddeus and his two friends to dinner tomorrow night. Frank and Dennis are really nice. The funeral is bound to be depressing and I was thinking that maybe a small gathering away from the house would cheer them up. Or at least make them feel less lonely.” Especially with all the attention and questions I planned to ask. “The weather has kind of trapped them out at the farm.”

  “That is very sweet, dear! What can I bring?”

  “I was going to do spaghetti Bolognese and marinara— Thaddeus is a vegetarian— bread and salad. So maybe a nice red wine?”

  “Dale and Althea brought me a bottle for Christmas that I have been saving for a special occasion.” Mom loathes red wine. I was surprised that she hadn’t found a special occasion to dump it before this one. Maybe it was really expensive wine.

  “That sounds perfect. I’ll have some white here too.” In case Thaddeus also loathed red wine. The closed-mouth Easter Bunny needed to relax. In the right frame of mind I might be able to convince him that Mrs. Graves should take over his investments. Then I would know everything about his finances.

  “Do you want me to call your father and invite him?”

  Mom and Dad are still separated, but this was a party given by their daughter so the family should be together. That was okay with me. I wanted my dad there.

  “Chloe, I have been thinking about your questions. About Thaddeus’s wife.”

  “Yes?”

  “Almost no one kills a spouse, even to get out a bad marriage these days,” Mom explained, though she sounded troubled. “And they certainly don’t kill their ex after a decade, no matter how bitter the break up. Otherwise, she would be the perfect suspect for you. She really was a nasty avaricious person.”

  “Hm?” Something was buzzing at the back of my brain.

  “I mean, from what I hear, the woman was a plastic surgery addict. New nose, new chin, new breasts— and all to show off for other men in those horrible strip clubs. She might look like anyone today. But, as I said, hardly anyone would kill over a marriage gone bad, especially ten years down the road. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “But they might kill to stay in one,” I said slowly. “At least long enough to claim an inheritance as a grieving widow rather than an ex-wife with dubious claims.”

  The idea was crazy, but the crime was insane too. And I needn’t take things that far. Thaddeus and Shelly needn’t still be married for her to inherit. What was the law? It varied from state to state, but I was sure that in Washington even if a couple divorced and there were children with a previous claim, if the official document weren’t altered, the former spouse would inherit— no matter how ugly the divorce or how many biological heirs were in line. Of course, there were no kids in this case, which made things simpler.

  Had Shelly Brookes somehow discovered that she was still a beneficiary in Thaddeus’s old will? I needed to see an older copy of Thaddeus’s will or living trust and discover if the ex did in fact have a financial motive for this crime. The how of it could come later. Hopefully Mary could find one for me. It was hard to believe that Thaddeus could have overlooked a detail like changing his will, but on the other hand, he wasn’t an old man and no one likes to have dealings with lawyers. Especially David Cooper. He might have let the matter slide.

  “Thaddeus has money?” Mom asked. I didn’t blame her for being surprised. I didn’t think of him as being well off. Farmers rarely were. But what might seem like a small amount to us might be a fortune to someone else, like an aging stripper.

  As though anticipating my question, Alex exhaled loudly and waved a hand.

  “Thaddeus has about a million-five in cash, plus the property,” Alex said softly, looking up from his computer. “Unless he has spent his inheritance in the last six years. That’s what he inherited from his father.” Seeing my question he added: “Wills are public after they are probated.”

  “And he just inherited some money from an uncle in Ohio, I think. Mom, did you hear that?”

  “Yes. I am very surprised because he lives so modestly. Though Thaddeus is one of the main contributors to the food pantry and that can’t be inexpensive to run.”


  “No, it can’t be. I’ll see you around six, okay?” I said to Mom, wanting to get off the phone.

  “And at the funeral?” she pressed.

  “I’ll try. Jeffrey is out of town though so I may not be able to get time off.” Especially since I didn’t want to go to a funeral anyway. “I need to get on the phone and call Thaddeus and Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves about dinner. And grocery shop,” I added.

  “Okay, dear. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I did love my mother. And I didn’t love Rosemary.

  I looked at Alex and considered the politics of not inviting Bob and Rosemary to this dinner party and decided that I would have to suffer the consequences later. I needed to concentrate on Thaddeus and figuring out who was trying to kill him.

  “It’s okay,” Alex said. “I know this is part of the investigation, not a real party. Anyway, Mom and Dad may not even hear about it.”

  “They’ll hear. But I’ve just remembered that they joined the bowling league and will be busy tomorrow night.”

  We both smiled at this happy bit of serendipity.

  “Okay, Thaddeus is next. This is a pointless exercise if he isn’t able to be here.”

  But Thaddeus was happy to accept an invitation and sounding much better. I was glad the flu was passing. He had seemed impossibly fragile on Easter morning. Of course, that could have been shock too. I had been stunned, and it wasn’t my cousin lying dead in my place.

  Chapter 10

  Mary Grady called me right after I stuck my pound cake in the oven. I had to pick up the phone with a towel because I was covered in flour.

  “Chloe, there never was a divorce! Thaddeus is still married! David only started the divorce proceedings today.”

  “And the wife is named as a beneficiary in the old will?” I guessed.

  “Rochelle Brookes is the sole beneficiary,” she confirmed.

  Rochelle. Not Shelly. I thought of the woman at the Morningside Inn. Could it be? Was she that bold, that certain that no one would recognize her? And who and what was Robert Golightly? Accomplice? Protective coloring?

  “Holy cow. Thanks, Mary. I owe you some banana bread,” I said and then hung up so I could tell Alex what Mary had said.

  Now we knew exactly what to look for. Proof shouldn’t be that hard to find. And once we had even semi-solid evidence in hand, I would call The Chief and warn him. This case could get a lot of publicity. The Easter Bunny murders would get a lot attention from the sensational press. That could maybe be turned to our advantage.

  I would even help with the arrest, if The Chief wanted me there, though there was nothing I wanted less and didn’t see how I could be a help this time since I didn’t know the suspects. Many officers feel vindicated, rewarded for their work when they make an arrest. I don’t. It just makes me sad. And I was an effective weapon because no one suspected how much actual investigating I did.

  Blue woofed at me and I pet her head and said soothing things which relaxed me as much as her.

  Alex hunted the internet and I paced the floor. Usually I have some sympathy for people who do wrong. I can understand why they would do something illegal when their backs were to the wall and all other options were gone, but compassion for Thaddeus’s wife wouldn’t come. I have never been financially besieged. Mostly because I’ve been lucky and don’t live beyond my means— and don’t let nasty, greedy men run my life, which I suspected was the case with Rochelle. But if I ever was in trouble, I wouldn’t kill to remedy my problems.

  That isn’t to say that I can’t be driven to the ultimate act of self-defense— I have been. And I would kill or die to defend Alex or Blue or my family. But not for money. Never for money. They were right, the ones who said that the love of money was the root of all evil. Out of this desire for wealth came envy, wrath, gluttony— all the sins of virtue except perhaps sloth.

  You don’t kill the Easter Bunny because you are short on cash.

  “I’ve got them!” Alex said a while later. “Call The Chief.”

  * * *

  The dinner table was lovely, but I had decided against flowers. There would have been enough of them at the funeral and the scent might evoke unhappy thoughts. Candles went better with Italian food anyway.

  I was feeling oddly calm after my talk with The Chief. Usually entertaining holds at least minor anxiety, but other events had overwhelmed mere hostess jitters.

  The Chief said he didn’t want me at the arrest and I was pleased. I like figuring things out, searching for the tentacles that grow out of some evil act and hunting them down, one by one. But picking up the messy pieces after the arrest requires more stamina than I have.

  Greed, hate, envy, the emotions that lead people to cruelty and crime, these are not one time events that we experience for a set period and then just forget again at some appointed hour. We don’t covet from nine to five, hate from eight to four and then go home and be normal. For most of us, these terrible emotions are a passage from one state of mind to another.

  But some people just get lost along the way. They wander into some dark alley of vengeance and hate, and they never find their way out again. They become their worst emotions and make decisions that enforce the bad things in their lives. And people, innocent bystanders, get hurt.

  “Have some sherry,” Alex said sympathetically. He doesn’t like the messy side of law enforcement either. It’s why he does cybercrime and not homicide. “I’ll do the salad tonight. You just rest.”

  Everyone arrived on time. We were convivial but a bit restrained because this was the funeral meal and good taste said we shouldn’t be boisterous or jolly.

  Alex had built a fire and poured out wine which he offered around. Mr. Jackman had a tray of lovely antipasto for us. We settled in, comfortable and perhaps ready to talk about things that had been ignored for years.

  I hadn’t said anything to Thaddeus or his friends about my reasons for dinner or about the arrests that The Chief had made that afternoon, but our Easter Bunny was not stupid and after we had settled in around the dining table, he drank to my health and then asked me what I had found out.

  I looked at the faces gathered around the table, most well-known and dear, and felt myself relax. The news I had to share was surprising and unpleasant, but the worst was over. And if such things must be talked about, where better than at a table with food and friends? Hoping that it didn’t put anyone off dinner with my story, I decided to go ahead and explain what we had discovered about Rochelle and Robert Golightly.

  “Murder is usually committed because of some act in the past, some happening that leads a person to feel that they must have revenge for a wrong done them. Sometimes, less often, murder is done to influence the future. In this case, killing Brutus Brookes was both.”

  “But Brutus Brookes wasn’t the intended victim, was he?” Dad asked.

  “No. It was meant to be Thaddeus. And the two people who planned this horrible deed are Thaddeus’s supposed wife and her husband. Or brother— depends who you ask” I took a swallow of wine. “The Golightlys have been arrested though, so we needn’t worry anymore about what they’ll do. The law will sort it out.”

  “Supposed wife?” Mrs. Graves asked.

  “Yes. There is a child involved, too, but she isn’t Thaddeus’s daughter. Though I have no doubt that Rochelle has told people otherwise and there may be some gossip,” I said apologetically and began passing the bread basket. The nine grain rolls smelled wonderful but I hated airing people’s dirty laundry and it ruined my appetite. “I think, if there is ever a DNA test, the child will prove to belong to Robert Golightly. But maybe not. Rochelle is not a discriminating woman and there have been other men, along with some arrests for prostitution.”

  There were gasps.

  “The brother’s child!” Mom was horrified.

  “Robert is not Rochelle’s biological brother,” I hastened to explain. “He is her adoptive brother and first husband. Her only law
ful husband. They married in ninety-eight. Rochelle’s marriage to Thaddeus wasn’t legal since she never divorced Robert Golightly.”

  I waited a moment to see if Thaddeus wanted to say anything, but he was communing with the butter dish and didn’t look up. It was hard to tell in the candlelight but I think he was blushing.

  “Things might have gone along without incident, but Robert took some risky loans and found himself in need of money. Quickly. He turned to his on-again, off-again wife. And, as Fate would have it, there was an obituary in the Reno paper. Thaddeus’s uncle, a rather well-to-do uncle who had business interests in Nevada, had passed away. The obit said that Benjamin Brookes was survived by his nephews, Thaddeus and Brutus Brookes.”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Graves said. She writes mysteries and I figured that she had guessed the rest.

  “Naturally, given the nature of the beast, Rochelle contacted Thaddeus, trying to palm off Robert’s daughter as being Thaddeus’s child, but Thaddeus knew that she wasn’t his and refused to pay back child-support or set up a trust fund or anything like that. Right, Thaddeus? You knew she wasn’t yours and you told Rochelle to go pound sand.”

  This time I forced an answer before going on.

  “I had mumps as a teen,” Thaddeus confirmed with a blush. “The girl couldn’t be mine. When Shelly got nasty, I told her to call my attorney and set up a DNA test. Knew she wouldn’t do it. I planned to help with the kid’s college even if she wasn’t mine, poor thing, but I didn’t say that to Shelly. After all, the wages of sin shouldn’t be visited on the children— even when they aren’t mine. I’m thinking of maybe offering to keep her if no one else steps forward.”

  “And you were thinking it was the worst of sins that Rochelle had committed, right? Because you caught Rochelle with her ‘brother’ all those years ago, and that’s why you told her to leave but never said why to anyone else?”