File M For Murder

“Howdy, everyone,” he drawled. “How nice of you all to be here to greet me.” He grinned. “So what kind of family confab are you having?”

Sean spoke first. “We’re waiting for that reporter, Ray Appleby. He’s on his way over.”

“Dante, calm down,” Stewart said as his eyes glinted with interest. The poodle was still barking at Diesel, who was studiously ignoring him. At Stewart’s command, however, the dog shut up and trotted over to his master. “Good boy. Now, what’s Ray coming here for?” He pulled out a chair next to Laura and sat, and Dante hopped into his lap and snuggled down.

I explained the situation to him as briefly as I could. The doorbell rang as I was finishing. Sean went to answer it.

He walked into the kitchen with our visitor moments later. He introduced Laura and was about to introduce Stewart, when Stewart interrupted him.

“Oh, Ray and I go way back, don’t we, Ray?” Stewart arched one eyebrow as he regarded the reporter.

Appleby, who appeared to be about my age, reddened slightly at Stewart’s flirtatious tone. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Now, Ray, is that any way to talk about me?” Stewart grinned.

This was intriguing. From Stewart’s behavior I gathered that he and Appleby knew each other in a way I hadn’t expected. Laura and I exchanged bemused glances. Stewart rarely spoke about the men he dated, at least to me, and here was one in the flesh.

“You’re a pain in the derriere, Stewart, and you know it.” The reporter flashed a quick grin. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Stewart said.

Appleby glanced at Sean and back again at Stewart, and the meaning of his gesture was obvious. Stewart laughed. “I only wish,” he said. “No, I’m a boarder, plain and simple.”

“Nothing plain and simple about you,” Appleby retorted.

“Why, Ray, what a sweet thing to say.” Stewart batted his eyelashes, and Laura and Sean burst out laughing. I had to join in.

Appleby rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drop everything and come over here to rake up the past with you.” He turned to me. “What is it you have to tell me about Connor Lawton, Mr. Harris?”

“Have a seat, why don’t you?” I gestured to an empty chair across from Laura and Stewart.

Appleby complied as Sean resumed his own seat.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” I asked.

The reporter shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.” He was clearly impatient for me to get on with it. He kept darting glances across the table at Stewart, but I pretended not to notice.

“This is all related to the death of Connor Lawton,” I began. “But we think the roots of it may go back to 1984.”

Appleby appeared intrigued. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What happened in 1984 that’s possibly relevant?”

“The death of former mayor Hubert Norris.” I paused to gauge the effect. Appleby was definitely surprised.

“How are the two connected?” he asked.

“Connor was born here in Athena, Mr. Appleby,” Laura said. “He lived here with his parents until he was about five, I think. That would have been in 1984.”

“Call me Ray.” Appleby nodded. “Yeah, I knew Lawton was born here, but I still don’t see the connection.”

“The Lawtons lived next door to the Norris family,” Sean said.

“Okay,” Appleby said. “But what’s the connection?”

I realized then that I had never fully articulated my idea. Mainly because there was a piece still missing, one last, vital link that needed to be uncovered. But what was it? There was something I wasn’t getting. But what?

Then I had it. The kitchen cabinet.

But Appleby and the others were staring at me, waiting for an answer to the question.

“I’ll get to that,” I said. “First, let me ask you some questions, Mr. Appleby.”

“Ray,” he said. “Shoot.”

“Okay, Ray.” I nodded. “You covered Hubert Norris’s death and the investigation into it for the Register.”

“Yeah, it was my first big assignment,” the reporter said. “I’d been with the paper about a year then.”

“Why did the investigation drag on for three months?” I asked. “It sounded pretty straightforward to me. Accidental death of an elderly man in his bathtub.”

“On the surface, that’s exactly what it seemed like.” Ray nodded. “Old man Norris was a pretty heavy drinker, and his wife swore up and down that he liked to soak in the tub and drink.”

“That much was in the paper, more or less.” I said. “Is there more to it, then?”

“I always thought so. Norris had a lot of money, and he was notoriously tightfisted with it. There was a son, a teenager. Yeah, Levi, that’s his name. Anyway, he was always in trouble of some kind. Shoplifting, joyriding, you name it, and the old man was always paying someone off to keep the brat out of jail.” The reporter paused. “A couple of weeks before Norris died, Levi had finally landed in jail. A hit-and-run in which a child was badly injured. Norris refused to post bail, from what I recall.”

“What happened to his money when he died?” Sean asked.