Stocks & Blondes
11
Mr. Right and Ms. Wrong
WHAT DO YOU DO when you meet the love of your life and you are disguised to be someone twenty years older than he is? This was just one of ‘those’ days.
Pajamas and curlers
I got up this morning and in a very Peg Chester sort of way, I didn’t bother getting dressed right away. Oh, I touched up my makeup and made sure nothing that was only twenty-seven years old was showing, tugged my wig firmly into place, and pulled on a huge fluffy bathrobe over my flannels. I padded to the kitchen, made coffee and took a cup into the little office space. Definitely command central. I scoped out her equipment pretty thoroughly and decided the first thing I was going to do was disconnect her from the internet. Whatever is running on these computers, I don’t want to risk someone from outside looking in. Having them on an isolated local network, I should be able to worm my way into one computer and get access to all of them.
I learned a lot from Dag. I’ve seen him examine the outside of a computer for two hours before he was satisfied that he could plug it in and boot it up. I know if anyone got into our vault, moving a piece of equipment would instantly destroy the hard drives. And I was going to try to tap into these while they were still running. I got the impression Georgia knew what she was doing when it came to computers and I was looking forward to matching wits with her.
I was still in the kitchen office when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was after ten and I’d been sitting at this desk for two hours I was still in my bathrobe. Pesky neighbors, I thought to myself.
I got the shock of my life at the front door. Detective Handsome was standing there. For a minute I thought he had tracked me down and stopped to see how it was going. I opened the door, started to say hi, and then remembered that I was not the Deb Riley he knew. I about swallowed my tongue. In fact, literally choked and started a coughing fit before I spoke. He patiently waited, then while I looked up and him. He started in on his spiel.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Hanson. I handled the investigation of the death of Georgia McFearin. Am I correct in assuming that you are Ms. Margaret Chester?”
“Yes. Please, it’s Peg. Won’t you come in, Detective. I wasn’t expecting anyone so early.”
“We tend to start our days in the morning at the police department,” he said. Well, that was a little catty! “I just came by to remove the police tape from the door and to give you official clearance to occupy the house and clean things up. Mr. McFearin gave us the paperwork naming you his agent before he returned to Savannah.”
“Uncle Grover is terribly torn up about Georgia’s death,” I said, now fully recovered and realizing that having assessed my age and condition, Tom was not the least bit interested in engaging with me personally. I considered going to get clothes on, but decided this was an image I’d like him to remember. I’d keep the bathrobe.
“The body will also be released today,” Detective Hanson said. “Have you made arrangements for it?”
“I only got in late last night,” I answered. Might as well imply an excuse for my late-rising appearance. “Do you have a recommendation?”
“Will you be wanting to ship the body, bury it here, or cremate?” he asked. I remembered Angel’s funeral and definitely knew I was having Georgia cremated. I would take the ashes back to Savannah but not a body.
“Cremation,” I said.
“The morgue has a list of available sources but frankly I’ve heard good things about Thompson Elliott. Fortunately, I’ve never had to use their services but that’s where I’ve made my arrangements if anything should happen to me.” Now that’s a little morbid. He’s already arranged his own funeral?
“Is it common for policemen to be so well prepared?” I asked.
“We had a presentation when I was still a cadet,” he said. “I think it was intended to scare us with our own mortality, but for me, it was an opportunity to take control of things. I don’t want things left to chance. Unless you need anything else at the moment, I’ll leave you with this packet that contains a copy of the police findings and information on how to claim the body. My card is also in there. While we determined the cause of death to be suicide by strangulation, the circumstances were odd enough that I continue to be interested. Should you uncover evidence that there might have been something we missed in the investigation, please let me know. I’ll let you get back to your breakfast,” he said as he moved toward the door.
“Detective, when you say suicide by strangulation, you mean she hung herself, don’t you?” He paused and visibly shrank. He didn’t want to talk about this.
“The body was not hanging when we found it,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You can see the chalk marks here on the floor. The cord that was wrapped around her neck was fastened to the ceiling fan. The fan had finally come to a stop when it couldn’t twist any farther.” I staggered back and sat on the sofa staring at the chalk. OMG! How brutal. Why would anyone choose to strangle herself? He was patient while I came to grips with the horror of Georgia’s death. When I got up, he was solicitous, but I waved him off and thanked him. My voice was even more gravelly than I’d practiced for Peg.
“Thank you for the information, Detective,” I said. “I’ll certainly let you know if I find any evidence. Believe me.” I let him out and he stripped the tape from the door.
When he was gone, I turned back to the living room and the chalk mark. I went to the kitchen for a bucket of water and a scrub brush. That was definitely going to be my first clean-up task.
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