Murder at Naughton Pharms

CHAPTER 6 – Sunday Morning

  Sunday began hot and muggy, despite building clouds that portended rain. Kelly drove back to his mom's to work on the Delta 88. She wasn't home when he got there, but she showed up late morning, after church. She changed into an old blouse and blue jeans before joining him in the garage, where she sat on a stool by the workbench, nursing a cup of coffee.

  Kelly finished installing a fuse. "Okay, here's the test, Mom." He turned on the headlights.

  "They're both on," she called.

  "Here's the brights," he replied.

  "Yep. All good."

  The turn signals were also working, as were the brake lights. Kelly had finally found the worn headlight wire that was blowing fuses.

  "I remember when Dad bought that car."

  "His first new car ever," said Kelly with a smile. He knew the story well.

  "He saved up, but still had to borrow two thousand dollars. I was 14. We were pretty excited. That was a fancy car back then. Mom wanted the four-door, but Dad had his heart set on the two-door, and he was right. It does have nicer lines, and us kids didn't mind." Kelly closed the hood.

  "Does it still start funny?" she asked.

  "Yes. The wire I fixed wouldn't have anything to with the starting. You still need to push forward on the shifter while you turn the key."

  "That's awkward."

  Kelly chuckled. "Yeah, but I can live with it. Plenty of other things more urgent." Kelly stood back, regarding the car, trying to decide what to work on next.

  "When will you put those sharp new wheels on?"

  Kelly had scored a perfect set of rims at an auction for a fraction of their value. "I'll wait to put them on until it's painted. And to go with them, I'll get some nice, new whitewalls. It's going to look pretty sharp."

  Kelly grabbed a bucket from beneath the workbench and brought it to the sink.

  "They talked about you on the news last night."

  "Yeah, at five. I saw that."

  "No, at ten. All the stations."

  Kelly looked up, surprised. He and Jessica hadn't turned on the late news, or the lights for that matter. "What'd they say?"

  "They told about the police searching your truck and apartment."

  "Did they use my name?"

  "I don't think so, but I was switching back and forth. The paper mentioned you, too, but not by name."

  "Yeah, I saw the paper story. Did the TV stations have video?"

  "Only one showed your truck. Another had a shot of your apartment building. The third just had video at your company – shots of the building and the cop cars and stuff."

  Kelly grabbed some wet-dry sandpaper from a drawer. "I thought the police news conference made me old news."

  "They all started with that. The part about you was near the end."

  Kelly sat on a low stool by the front fender and started sanding a fresh patch of body putty. The continued coverage about him was worrying, but he hoped that would be the last of it.

  "Oh," said his mom, suddenly remembering. "Your date last night. How did it go?"

  "Good. We had spaghetti; I met her roommate. We had a nice time."

  "And?"

  Kelly recounted Jessica's mini-bio, dutifully ticking off what elements he could remember, delivering on his mom's appeal for details. "How's that?"

  "Much better," said his mom with a smile. "I'd like to see her glassware collection, but I could pass on hearing the bagpipes. Did she play them for you?"

  "Nope; no bagpipes. Today she's at the farm. If the rain holds off, they might combine wheat, in which case she'll be driving grain truck for that. If not, she and her mom are going to can tomatoes."

  "Speaking of tomatoes, I was thinking of BLTs for lunch. Hungry?"

  "Yes. A BLT sounds fab."

  After lunch, Kelly went to his apartment and got his exercise routine out of the way. He ran despite a thundershower that thoroughly soaked him. He found it somehow satisfying to be out in the rain, pounding through the puddles.

  He took the path along the old rail bed, again pausing at Doctor Naughton's building. It seemed as subdued as the rest of the town on this rainy Sunday. He left the path, walking around the building, trying to get a sense of the place. The garage was a ground-level add-on, necessary because the main floor was at a height designed for loading and unloading railcars and trucks. The roof of the place extended over a front porch on the street side.

  He wondered what secrets might lie within. He was tempted to climb the steps to the porch and peek in the window, try to see past the blinds, but instead he resumed his run.

  When he got home and checked his phone, he found a voicemail from Barb. "Kelly, lucky you. Mr. Pee wants to see you first thing on Monday."

  Typical of Potts, thought Kelly, to have Barb call rather than do it himself. Ordering an underling to do something, even if it was less efficient, had appeal for some people.

  Later that afternoon, Kelly put his saxophone in the back seat of Ted's Subaru, joining him for the drive to the monthly big-band jam at the Teamsters Club.

  "I have some good news," said Ted. "I don't think the Daily will pursue your story line any further. I had lunch today with Tony Rau, the news editor, and explained things. He seemed satisfied, but like Paula, he'd still be interested in an interview. As the guy who found both bodies, you're a good story."

  "Not interested."

  "That's what I told him. And he realizes the company has the employees on a gag order."

  "Well, thanks for setting him straight. Maybe you can be my agent … visit the TV and radio stations next."

  Ted laughed. "I don't think I'd have any standing with them."

  The Teamsters Club was just off West Main Avenue, a mixed-use part of town, an area where an apartment building might share a block with a sign company, a restaurant supply firm, or a fleet of lawn care fertilizer trucks.

  The "big-band" jam, despite its name, was rarely big. Typically, there'd be five to eight people on the riser and a few others rotating in. Ted sometimes played his accordion, sometimes piano, but he'd also spend time in the audience, occasionally taking to the dance floor along with another couple or two. It was mostly an audience of friends, relatives, a few music fans, and of course a smattering of Teamster regulars there for the one-dollar sloppy Joe special as much as the music.

  Kelly was a staple in the group, managing to chime in with his sax on most numbers, but today he was also a bit of a celebrity thanks to his employment at Naughton. Before today, where he worked hadn't been widely known among the other musicians, but word had spread, and the murders became a hot topic during the breaks. Reluctant to elaborate, Kelly didn't let on that he was there when the bodies were found, nor did he share anything about his conversations with the police. For all anyone knew, he was just another employee who didn't know a lot, and Ted was thoughtful enough not to out him.

  The Sunday jams ran three hours, 5 to 8, no pay, and they were winding down the last hour, playing "Stealin' Apples," when Kelly spotted Jessica. She took a seat at the bar and Kelly gave her a smile and wave as the clarinetist took a solo. He got Ted's attention and managed to convey the idea that the sharp blond with the black-framed glasses was the gal he'd been talking about. As Kelly resumed playing, he saw Ted, always the gallant gentleman, introduce himself and escort Jessica to the table they'd been sharing with a couple women Ted knew from the senior center.

  As the band rolled into a snappy rendition of "Paper Doll," Ted pulled a surprised, but beaming Jessica onto the dance floor, where she gamely held her own, managing to keep up with Ted's energetic lead. For the last song, Kelly stepped down and Ted took a turn at the piano for "Sentimental Journey."

  "What a nice surprise," said Kelly over the music.

  "Too wet to combine," said Jessica. "Otherwise we'd probably be at it 'til midnight. So instead, we did some canning."

  "I can't dance like Ted, but if you're up for it, I think I can handle this one."

  They joined a h
andful of other couples attracted by the slower tune.

  "You two looked pretty good out here," said Kelly.

  "Oh, I'm just glad I avoided stepping on Ted's toes. He's really good."

  A tap on Kelly's shoulder interrupted them. Detective Amundson.

  "Cutting in, Detective?"

  "Join me outside for a minute."

  "Sure."

  Kelly and Jessica shared a glance of concern as he escorted her back to the table. He wasn't sure what to expect from Amundson, but given the tone of their last encounter, Kelly wasn't looking forward to finding out.

  Amundson allowed Kelly to go ahead. A second detective, waiting by the entrance, opened the door for them.

  It was still light out, a warm and humid evening, almost steamy – the streets and sidewalks still wet from the earlier rain. They stepped away from the door, ensuring a little privacy as customers came and went.

  "Been trying to reach you," said Amundson.

  "Sorry. Pretty loud in there." Kelly pulled out his phone to check for missed calls.

  "That's all right. Don't worry about it." Amundson introduced his companion as Detective Fedde. Kelly remembered the name. He was the detective Ted had spoken to during the apartment search. Fedde had a shaved head and wore a windbreaker over a T-shirt, which hid his shoulder holster, but not the badge on his belt.

  "We should have asked you to keep us posted on your whereabouts," said Amundson.

  "Well, now you know."

  "Right. Been here long?"

  "Since five."

  "We won't keep you. We're just trying to stay on top of all the moving parts in this investigation, keep everybody's timeline straight. Can you give us a rundown on where you've been since we last spoke?"

  Kelly considered refusing, but decided not to let Amundson's pestering get the better of him. There was also the matter of his cooperation – or lack of it – affecting his application to join the department.

  Fedde took notes as Kelly briefly recounted his various stops. "And in the evening yesterday, I had dinner at a co-worker's house; stayed there 'til roughly midnight. Then I went home, and today I got up around eight or so. Went to my mom's around nine. Stayed there for a few hours." Came home early this afternoon, went for a run. Then Ted and I came over here just before five."

  "Okay, good," said Amundson. "How well do you know Dr. Jamie Padden?"

  "I know him. He's director of Scientific Affairs. He designs studies, writes up the reports." Kelly's heart rate picked as he imagined the possibility of Padden as the murderer.

  "How'd you get along with him?"

  "He's a prick. Unpleasant for no good reason. Thinks his shit doesn't stink. Tell me he's involved."

  Amundson studied Kelly's face for a moment. "Oh, he's involved all right. He's dead."