The Root of Murder Read online

  “You are unbelievable, J.J.,” Heather said. “I can’t believe I ever even liked you, let alone loved you.”

  “Ah, man!” Aaron rose up from where he had been working under the desk. His eyes were wide while he took in the stand-off.

  “I’m sorry if you think I was betraying you by defending Derek, but I think someone used him as a patsy because he was so damn convenient,” J.J. said. “Can you think of any reason someone would have done that?”

  “No!” Heather said forcibly before going back into the office. “I need to go back to work.” She picked up her briefcase and slung it over her shoulder. “Maddie, I’m going to work on your profile tonight. I’ll text you when I’m finished so that you can take a look at it. Okay?”

  The two women hugged before Heather rushed out the door.

  “Profile?” Elizabeth asked. “What pro—”

  “My Instagram profile,” Madison said. “Heather’s redoing my profile for all of my social media accounts.”

  Elizabeth’s face fell. “I already did those.”

  “Heather’s revamping them to include more search engine key words to drive more traffic to my website. More traffic means more students.”

  “Well.” Muttering, Elizabeth dropped into her chair. “You’re the boss.”

  “Looks like you and Heather have struck up quite a working relationship,” J.J. said.

  “Heather and I reconnected on a social group for Miss Charlotte’s former dance students. I had just moved back to the area after being gone for six years. We met for coffee and realized we had been so immature back when we were fighting over you—and other things. We were jealous, and jealousy can be so toxic for everyone it touches. Heather works in marketing and I own a new business. She volunteered to donate her time to help me with free marketing to help get me started.”

  “What does she get for her time?” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry to sound so suspicious, but I remember. Heather never does anything when she doesn’t get something out of it.”

  “She gets free advertising,” Madison said. “A lot of our parents are small business owners—from cosmetics out of their home to Tupperware to construction companies. Heather wants to start her own marketing company. In exchange for helping me, I gave her permission to post an ad on my website and leave brochures here in the reception area.”

  “There’s no better advertising than word of mouth,” Aaron said from under the desk. “I’ve been doing the same thing—trying to start my own computer repair company. It’s tough for a small company to get started.”

  “Good thing the two of you reconnected and became friends when you did,” J.J. said. “Considering that you’ve both suffered trauma involving your father on the same day.”

  “Eerie,” Aaron said. “Kind of like Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.”

  “Huh?” Elizabeth said.

  “Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.” Aaron rose up onto his knees. “They signed the Declaration of Independence. They hated each other because one was conservative and the other was liberal. They both became president. Then, afterwards, they became good friends.”

  With a nod of his head, J.J. picked up the story. “Both of them died on July fourth. When John Adams died, his last words were, ‘At least Thomas Jefferson still lives.’ Thing was, Jefferson had died hours earlier.”

  “Like I said. Eerie.” Aaron dropped down behind the desk.

  “Heather and I are not Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. Is Cameron looking into that woman? Bea. Mom says she was stalking Dad.”

  J.J. shrugged his shoulders. “I really don’t know.”

  Hoping that Madison would fill the void of silence with useful information, J.J. waited. Madison stared at him while chewing on her bottom lip. He could see her mind working. He felt like she was about to say something more when Elizabeth announced that she had a lesson in five minutes.

  Madison uttered a visible sigh of relief.

  Inwardly, J.J. groaned.

  “Well, it was good to see you again, J.J.” Madison moved for the door.

  “Would you believe I forgot what we had come in for.” J.J. took Poppy’s hand. “We would like to schedule some private lessons. As you know, we’re getting married at the end of March and I hear a lot of couples have the first dance choreographed for them. I was hoping—” Taking Poppy into a bear hug, he flashed a wide toothy smile.

  “You brought your fiancé to your old girlfriend for dance lessons for your wedding?” Aaron asked from under the desk. “Dude! You’ve got more guts than I ever did.”

  Madison regarded the two of them for so long that J.J. feared she would refuse and usher them out of her studio with an order to never return. Finally, she asked, “What’s your song?”

  Unarmed with that information, J.J. paused while Poppy answered promptly, “We want to do the Viennese Waltz to ‘Endless Love.’”

  Madison took a step back. Slowly, she looked Poppy, dressed in jeans, riding boots, and a western hat in hand, up and down. “The Viennese Waltz?” Her lip curled up. “That’s not exactly for newbies. I’m sure J.J. could handle it but—”

  “I danced in the children’s company of the Rocky Mountain Ballet Theater for five years.” Poppy put on her hat and cocked her head to look at Madison out of the corner of her eye. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”

  Madison let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I misjudged—”

  “That’s okay.” Poppy winked at her. “You’re not the first one to underestimate me.”

  “Being underestimated is Poppy’s superpower,” J.J. said.

  “Let’s take a look at the calendar and get you two set up.” Madison led Poppy to the desk. “I can’t wait to hear about what it was like dancing with the Rocky Mountain Ballet.”

  “My schedule is more flexible than yours, darling,” J.J. said. “You decide when to schedule our lessons.”

  Seeing that the two of them were hitting it off, he eased back to angle himself for a view into Madison’s office. It was too chancy for him to step inside with Elizabeth at her desk only a few feet away. He wasn’t sure what he would be looking for. It was too much to ask for an Internet map up on her computer screen showing the directions to Bishop Moore’s apartment.

  “I love your red hair,” Madison said while daring to touch the ends of Poppy’s brilliant red locks.

  “Your freckles are adorable,” Elizabeth said.

  “Ashburn?” Madison said. “That’s English isn’t it. But your red hair and freckles—”

  “Scottish,” Poppy said. “My grandmother on my father’s side immigrated from Scotland, or so I’m told. She died before I was born. I’ve seen pictures of her. She’s definitely who I inherited my red hair from.”

  “You have to be more than one quarter Scottish,” Madison said. “Have you ever considered sending your DNA to one of those genealogy sites? You’ll be surprised by what you find out. My mother told me that I had Native American in me. I sent in my DNA and found out that I had none. I’m more than half Swedish.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. What site did you use?”

  Madison grabbed a stickie note and wrote down the website address. Excitedly, she explained the cost of the kit, how to collect her DNA, and how long it would take to get the results, which would break down the percentage of her country of origins.

  After several minutes of what J.J. considered to be girl talk, Madison’s students arrived. They were an elderly couple training for a tango dance competition.

  J.J. slipped his arm around Poppy’s waist. “Thank you so much for your time, Maddie. If I hear anything from Cameron about your dad, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Thank you, J.J.” She gave him a quick hug and whispered into his ear. “I always knew you’d marry a dancer. I just thought she’d be me.”

  O
ut on the street, J.J. flashed Poppy a grin. “Thank you for being a good sport in there. Rocky Mountain Ballet company? Was that the truth?”

  Poppy adjusted her hat. “I don’t lie. I told you Daddy wanted a ballerina.”

  They stopped on the corner to wait for the light to cross to the next block.

  “Well, hopefully, we’ll learn a little bit more than the Viennese Waltz,” J.J. said.

  “We’ve already learned a truckload.”

  “Yes, but nothing conclusive.” He led her by her hand across the street. “Maddie and Heather claim they reconnected on social media and Heather is helping her with promotion. That doesn’t prove that they know they’re half-sisters and told their mothers, which would give them motive to kill their father.”

  “Oh, but they do know.” Poppy took the post-it note from her vest pocket. “Maddie got her DNA tested at this website.”

  J.J. stopped. He took the note from her. “I heard her tell you that. She got it tested for her genealogy.”

  “Do you know what else those websites do?”

  His eyes met hers.

  “They put your DNA into their database and then they do a search for familial matches with other customers. Then, they send you a list of everyone whose DNA matches yours. Now, you only get their site username and a calculation of how closely they are related to you. Second cousin. Third cousin.”

  “Sibling.”

  She nodded her head. “Maddie got a DNA test with this site. If Heather did, too, then they would have gotten notices that they had siblings listed in the website’s database.”

  “Now, if I did a DNA test on one of these sites and I got an email telling me I had a sibling I didn’t know about, I’d be all over that.” He shook his head. “They didn’t reconnect over any Miss Charlotte social media group.” He smiled. “I guess I owe you.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lifted her face to his. “I think so.”

  “Dinner?”

  “I bust your case wide open and all you can offer me is dinner?” She pushed him away only for him to pull her back into his arms.

  “You’re right. How about if I offer to marry you.”

  She pressed her lips against his for a long lingering kiss.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  In her many years of law enforcement, Cameron had dealt with victims, suspects, and criminal types across the whole spectrum. In doing so, she had learned that different people handle grief or trauma in different ways. Kathleen Davis seemed to handle her grief by burying herself in her work.

  At least, that’s what Cameron concluded when she arrived at the Davis home after Derek Ellison had been released from police custody. Phone to her ear, Kathleen Davis directed the investigator to the sofa in the living room and took off for the study. After completing a conference call, she went on to another.

  Alone in the living room, Cameron examined the array of photographs scattered about. Many were the standard studio shots of the perfect family. Decades old wedding picture of Kathleen in her white gown and John in a tuxedo. Group photo of the entire family, father, mother, and four children, two boys and two girls. The children appeared to be teenagers. The Davis sons were older than their sisters.

  Cameron squinted at the girls. Heather and her younger sister Lindsay looked almost like twins with their dark hair and eyes. She recalled J.J. saying that they were only a year apart. How weird, really, it is that two girls from the same family with the same parents and upbringing could turn out so different. One a successful college graduate. The other a high school drop-out and addict who seemingly ended up devoid of hope.

  Cameron was startled out of her thoughts by what felt like a pin prick on her ankle. With a jump, she looked down to find Munster, the shaggy little dog, peering up at her. He wagged his tail. “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was bark.”

  Munster rolled a small black ball in her direction and barked a demand.

  Doubtful that Munster was allowed to play catch in the house, Cameron gave the ball a soft toss, only about a foot off the ground. Monster caught it and scurried out of the room.

  Another photograph caught Cameron’s eyes. This one was a candid portrait of the two Davis girls posing on either side of their father, who was dressed in a suit. He had an arm around both Heather and Lindsay. The setting appeared to be a restaurant.

  Maybe a birthday party?

  The Davis sisters were older in this picture. Heather was strikingly beautiful in a green faux leather suit. She wore a gold chain from which hung half a heart around her throat.

  On John’s other side, Lindsay, clad in torn jeans and oversized top, had a vacant, almost dead, look in her eyes. She wore a similar necklace around her neck—with what appeared to be the second half of the heart.

  With a soft grin, Cameron realized that Heather and Lindsay wore sister necklaces. Also called friendship necklaces, they had become popular among best girlfriends and sisters. Izzy, Tracy, and Sarah, Joshua’s third daughter, shared similar necklaces in which each held one third of a heart with a diamond—illustrating a bond of sisterhood. Izzy and Tracy never took theirs off. Not wanting hers to get broken during military activities, Sarah wore hers when she could.

  Cameron wondered how long after this picture had Lindsay passed away.

  As she returned the picture to the shelf, she noticed Munster standing on the loveseat. His tail wagged while he held the ball in his mouth. “Okay, only one more.” She took the ball and bounced it off the floor. Munster gave chase.

  Coffee mug in hand, Kathleen hurried out of the study with her cell phone to her ear. Cameron fell in step behind her. Oblivious to the detective on her heels, she breezed into the kitchen.

  “Okay, give me a call as soon as you get that done.” Kathleen disconnected the call to fill a fresh mug of coffee.

  “Ms. Davis, can I have just a few minutes of your time?” Cameron asked. “It’s about your husband’s murder.”

  “If J.J. wants to make a deal, I’m not interested.” Kathleen brushed past her to hurry into the living room, where she spun around so fast that she almost collided with the detective. “I can’t believe J.J, who John and I welcomed into our home when he was dating our Heather, would defend that monster. I really should have known. He blatantly two-timed our daughter. I said at the time that he deserved to be slapped alongside the head, but John kept defending him. He seemed to think J.J. was an honorable young man since he was upfront about being a common hound. And now, how can you, the lead investigator in this case, allow your stepson to—”

  “I don’t allow anything,” Cameron said. “J.J. is a grown man. He makes his own decisions.”

  “What about Joshua?”

  “He makes his own decisions, too. The fact is—”

  The phone buzzed in Kathleen’s hand. Her thumb flew across the screen to answer.

  Cameron snatched it from her hand. “She’s in a meeting.” She disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the loveseat next to Munster who had returned to chew on the ball.

  “You have no right!” Kathleen dove for the phone only to have Cameron push her back.

  “Call a cop! Listen, I have news about your husband’s murder case. Now, if you cared one ounce about him, then you’ll want to know what we’ve uncovered. If you don’t, then you can go back to work, and I can move your name up on my suspect list.”

  “How dare you!”

  “How dare you! Your husband of over thirty years was brutally murdered Friday night and here you’re acting like nothing’s happened.” Cameron pointed in the direction of the state line. “The arraignment for the man accused of murdering him, your grandson’s father, was yesterday. Where were you? Probably at a staff meeting.”

  “You have no right to judge me,” Kathleen said in a low voice.
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  “Do you know why the first suspect we look at when there’s a murder is the spouse?” Cameron asked. “Because more often than not, that’s who did it. It’s sad, but it’s the truth.”

  “Well, good thing you caught Derek with the murder weapon, huh?” Brushing her aside, Kathleen reached for her phone, only to have Munster run off with it.

  “Too bad for you that Derek didn’t do it.”

  Before Kathleen could chase after the phone, she spun around to face Cameron.

  “It is standard procedure to examine and photograph a suspect and his clothes when he’s arrested,” Cameron said. “Derek had been on a major bender—”

  “He’s on a constant unending bender.”

  “He hadn’t bathed or changed his clothes in days at the time of his arrest,” Cameron said. “You could tell by looking and smelling him. Your husband’s murder was brutally violent. His murderer would have been covered in blood. Derek had no blood on him or his clothes.” She added, “He didn’t kill your husband, Ms. Davis. Someone else killed him and planted the knife in Derek’s trailer to implicate him.”

  Kathleen lowered herself onto the sofa. “Does that mean the police have released Derek?”

  Cameron sat across from her. “Josh and his cousin, Dr. Tad MacMillan, are driving him to a rehab center in Cleveland. It’s a residential facility. He’ll be there for at least thirty days.”

  “Who’s paying for that?”

  “Tad made arrangements,” Cameron said. “These types of places always receive donations from benefactors to help guests in dire need of treatment who can’t afford it. Derek can stay as long as he needs to in order to get well.”

  Shaking her head, Kathleen narrowed her eyes. “He’ll never change. Leopards can’t change their spots.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Cameron shrugged her shoulders. “Tad used to be the town drunk. Now he’s the county’s medical examiner.”