Last Licks

“I reject any culpability for my uncle’s death.” Alfred drew himself to his full height. He might have looked impressive, if he’d been dressed better and his belly didn’t jiggle. “But if—if—someone hurried his demise along, it stopped him from wasting money on that overgrown home for the senile.” He glared at Will. “Just as his stroke stopped him from throwing money away on a high school he’d barely thought of in the last fifty years or so. When you called yesterday, I knew I recognized your name—so I looked in Uncle Gardner’s papers to find the connection. What did you do to get his money, sing the school song?” Alfred put his hand over his heart and croaked, “‘Saxon, Saxon, onward, upward,’” his expression looking as if he wanted to spit. “Oh, yes, I went there, too. A few years before you did. Family tradition, sending the males to that ridiculous place. And I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Fund-raiser, but they won’t get one thin dime from me.”

He finally led them into the house from the doorway, along a hallway toward the living room. “I was from the same family as Uncle Gardner, went to the same stupid schools. But for my entire life, he lorded it over me, mocked me, belittled me. Well, he’s not so superior now.”

Alfred pointed at the coffee table, which held a waxed cardboard box with a metal handle, the sort of thing that might accompany a large order of take-out Chinese food. “It’s just like that old joke he liked to tell—all men are cremated equal.”

8

A slow, red tide crept up Will’s neck to his face. “You wasted our time when you’d already cremated your uncle?”

“I wanted to find out what your investigation had turned up,” Alfred coolly replied. “From what I heard, I have nothing to worry about.”

“You mean, worrying about a murder charge?” Sunny asked. She figured it was worth one last chance to try and shake up Scatterwell a little. “Maybe you could tell us where you were between, say, ten p.m. and four a.m.?”

“I was home, alone, watching a DVD and then sleeping in bed.” He smiled. “The sound sleep of the innocent.” From his mocking tone, Alfred might as well have been channeling his uncle’s nasty side. “Good luck to you. I’d say you’ll need it.”

Sunny watched Will’s hands slowly close into fists at his sides.

We’d better get out of here before Alfred winds up adding another assault complaint to his record. She put a hand on Will’s elbow. “No use wasting any more time,” she said. “Let’s go.”

It was a long walk back to the street, especially when they heard Alfred chuckling behind them. “I’d love to shove that laugh back down that smug jerk’s throat,” Will muttered. “Along with a couple of teeth.”

“Getting mad isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Sunny warned, then smiled. “Getting even might. You know, it’s amazing. I had my doubts about this investigation. But all of a sudden, I wouldn’t mind proving that Gardner’s death was a murder, especially if it meant taking down some smug jerk for the crime.”

They climbed into Will’s pickup. “Now that you’ve had a moment to cool down, do you really think Alfred is a suspect?” Sunny asked Will.

He stabbed his key into the ignition aggressively. “Well, he destroyed any possible evidence of foul play by cremating Gardner’s body. I wonder if he was already arranging that when I called him yesterday morning.”

Sunny nodded. “That’s definitely a mark on the suspect side of the ledger.” She glanced at him. “Do you think Alfred actually committed the crime?”

“If I were Gardner, I certainly wouldn’t take a drink from him in the middle of the night.” Will frowned, chewing on that for a moment. Then he said, “Of course, from what you’ve told me about Gardner Scatterwell, maybe he didn’t think that Alfred had the stones to try and kill him.” Will continued to think it over. “Of course, Alfred didn’t have to be the actual doer. He could have paid to have it done.”

Sunny blinked. “You mean that now you’re agreeing with what Ollie suggested? That somebody at Bridgewater Hall could’ve been tempted by money?”

Sunny suddenly remembered Rafe Warner’s frayed shirt and went silent.

“The one thing I keep hearing about the wonderful world of health care is the low salaries—especially the farther down the ladder you go with the caregivers,” Will continued. “Alfred seems to have at least a piece of the Scatterwell fortune. I think he might be able to offer a price that someone on the staff couldn’t refuse.” He shook his head. “I wish we could look into where Alfred’s money’s been going, but I don’t think we could talk Nesbit into doing some forensic accounting.”