Birthday Cake and a Murder Read online

  He hesitated before answering. “Sure,” he finally said. “Ask away.”

  “What happened to Silas’s parents? Are they still around?” My new neighbor had already told me about Silas’s parents, but I wanted to see what Charlie knew.

  “His mother passed quite a few years ago with cancer. We don’t know who his father was. Well, the official family version is that we don’t know. But the truth is, I think it’s Harry.” He nodded with a knowing smirk.

  “Harry? The grumpy guy that works at the paper?”

  He nodded again. “Exactly. When I was growing up there were always whispers and some of the family wanted nothing to do with Silas. Now, I wouldn’t blame them if they were going on the fact that Silas was a slimy character, but it wasn’t that. It was because he was born out of wedlock and the older folk couldn’t accept that.”

  “Really? I guess things were different years ago. That kind of thing wasn’t as common and was looked down on.”

  “That’s exactly right. Things are different these days.”

  “But why do you think Harry is his father?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I overheard a conversation or two.” He was trying to be coy now, and it really didn’t work for him.

  “What was said?” I looked over my shoulder to see what the boys were doing, but they were still busily looking at comic books and action figures.

  “Harry and Silas were arguing. Silas said he wanted nothing to do with Harry, then Harry said he was sorry for the trouble he had caused. At first, I thought the two had had some kind of disagreement, but then—” he stopped when two teenagers came into the shop. We waited for them to head to the comics and I turned back to him. He looked at me blankly.

  “You were saying you thought at first that there was a disagreement between the two of them?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. But then Silas said his mother deserved better, and he was sorry she ever got mixed up with him. I put it together that Harry was his father, but Silas didn’t want anything to do with him.”

  “Do you think Harry could have killed Silas? If he was sorry for something and taking the blame for it, I wouldn’t think he planned to kill him.”

  “Yes, but things got ugly from there. One day Silas shoved the old man down a couple of steps and as Harry lay on the floor, Silas laughed at him and walked away. From then on, they fought terribly.”

  “Wow. How awful,” I said. Harry was elderly and a fall like that could easily have seriously injured him.

  He nodded knowingly. “I helped Harry up and made sure he wasn’t hurt and he told me he would pay Silas back. He said he would make him sorry he was ever born.”

  “That’s incredibly sad,” I said. “If Harry is Silas’s father, that’s a whole lot of bitterness there.”

  “That was Silas for you. He was a cruel person. He enjoyed humiliating people. I’m not sorry he’s dead. I tried to be, but I can’t. It would be lying. I just hope that whoever did it, gets away with it.”

  I wasn’t surprised that Charlie felt that way. He hadn’t tried to cover up how he felt about Silas, but it made me feel a little sick, seeing a family fight that way. I didn’t understand it, but I was glad that I didn’t. Sometimes families paid a price just to be around one another. If Harry was capable of killing Silas, it might explain the tarp covering his body and tucked beneath him where he lay. I would think that Harry would ultimately have feelings for Silas, regardless of how he behaved toward him near the end.

  “Well, I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one,” I said. “I hope whoever killed Silas is caught and put away for a very long time. Whether you liked the victim or not is not a reason for the killer to go free.”

  The smile left his face. “I suppose you think I’m a monster.”

  “No. I don’t understand you, but I don’t think you’re a monster.”

  “You might want to remember Karen and what I told you earlier about her. She needs to be checked out. If anyone had a reason to kill Silas, it was her. He strung her along for all those years and then cheated on her. She knows about it and you know that has to hurt.”

  “I’m sure the police are speaking to everyone that knew Silas. The killer won’t get away. Not with Cade working on the case,” I assured him. “Tell me, Charlie. Did you kill Silas? You have so much hatred in your heart for him.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I did not. But I would have loved to see him suffer. Just a bit. Just so he could feel some of what he did to me.”

  “What did he do to you to make you hate him so much?” I asked. “I know he wrote that article, but you’re carrying an awful lot of hatred in your heart for him.”

  He stood up straighter, his face going pink. “After he wrote that article, I got fired from my job at the bookstore. Yes, fired. I lied about being laid off. They didn’t want someone working there that might have been involved in illegal activities. I tried to convince them that Silas was lying, but they wouldn’t listen. Apparently Silas went to my boss and told him things about me. After that, I lost my house and my wife left me. Silas had the gall to talk to her, too. With no proof!” As he spoke, his face went from pink to a deep red and his hands gripped the edge of the counter.

  “Why would they listen if he had no proof?” I asked.

  “Because Silas was also having an affair with my wife. And my boss didn’t like me before all this happened and this just gave him reason to fire me.”

  I nodded. If anyone had reason to kill Silas, it was Charlie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was two more days before I could get free to stop by the boardinghouse. I had begun painting the living room in my house and I hated to leave it, especially since Cade had been stopping by in the evenings to help out. I still hadn’t heard back from Karen about the job, but I was hopeful. She had said she wanted me for the job and that was enough for me. Though I did wonder how awkward it might be if she were arrested for murder and I was newly hired on and dating the lead investigator.

  The paint on the exterior of the boardinghouse was peeling and a window shutter on the front of the house hung slightly askew. The house had once been painted bright white, but the color had faded to a dingy gray. The shutters had faded from dark green to a dark shade of gray. Knee-high weeds chocked out the lawn and the rose bushes that once graced the front of the house were now dried up twigs. The porch ran the length of the front of the house and wrapped halfway around the side. On the side of the porch, the porch wall and railing was missing, adding to the rundown look of the place.

  Karen had said the house was open and you could just walk in, so I headed up the creaking steps. The second step from the top bowed beneath my weight, startling me. Thankfully it held, and I continued on. Tentatively, I pushed open the huge front door and the smell of something old and musty hit me and I hesitated. The carpet was worn bare in spots and a small end table sat against one wall. I went to it. There was a business card holder with dust-covered cards in it. I picked one up. It had Sue’s name and address on it with a line about rooms for rent. A staircase faced the foyer, and I looked up it, wondering if I should continue. Karen had said Silas’s room was number six. Would that be upstairs? There were doors down the hallway, so I went toward the first one. In the middle of the door was a small brass plate with the number one on it.

  I continued down the hallway. There were three rooms on each side, with number six being the last on the right-hand side. It made me wonder how many rooms this place had if there were six on the bottom floor.

  I hesitated in front of the door, and glanced right and left, before taking hold of the corroded brass doorknob and giving it a turn. It stuck for a moment but then gave way. I inhaled the stale odor of the room and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

  There was a double bed with its steel frame headboard against the center of one wall. A single pillow bulged beneath a thin blue bedspread and the mattress sagged in the middle. A pair of brown leather lace-up shoes were tucked
half-way beneath the bed. The closet door was open about six inches and hanging clothing could be seen through the crack. An old Smith-Corona typewriter sat on a small wooden table and a straight back wooden chair was pushed in beneath the table.

  I went to the closet and carefully pulled the sliding door open wider. Shirts and pants folded cross-wise over the hanger hung in the closet with a pair of worn and holey sneakers on the bottom of the closet. Like Cade said, Silas didn’t seem to own much. That surprised me since he had lived here for so long. I moved the clothing around, hoping something of interest was tucked behind them, but I was disappointed. I slid the door closed and tried the other side of the closet, but it looked much the same as the other did.

  Next, I went to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. There was a handful of change, three pens, some business cards, and a half-empty pack of Spearmint gum. I closed the drawer. Had someone gotten to the bedroom before I had, or did Silas really not own anything of any significance? He had lived here for more than ten years and I couldn’t imagine him not owning more items. Even if he didn’t buy much for himself, there were birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries where others would buy presents for him. I looked around again. No laptop or computer? While Silas didn’t seem to be the type that was into electronics, he had to have known how to use a computer since he worked at the newspaper.

  After a quick look beneath the bed, I decided I was out of luck if I expected to find a clue to Silas’s death in his room. I headed back to the door and listened a moment, then quietly pushed the door open. I nearly screamed when I saw Harry on the other side of the door.

  “Hey! What are you doing in there?” he said, his bushy gray eyebrows coming together to form one long eyebrow.

  “Um, I think I got lost,” I said and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me. “I really don’t know my way around here, I’m afraid.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t belong here. What do you want?”

  “Oh, I was just stopping in to see how much it cost to rent a room here,” I said. It was the first thing that popped into my head and I decided to go with it.

  He seemed to consider this. “You got no business in there. Sue’s gone to the market. She’ll be back later and you can ask her about a room.”

  I nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll certainly contact Sue about it.” I really hoped to get out of there before Sue got back. I didn’t want her to become suspicious of why I was here.

  He stood in front of me, looking me over. “You don’t look like the kind of person to live here,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and I didn’t want to ask. “It’s for my father. He’s on his own these days and I thought it might be nice for him since I heard Sue served meals here.” My father had passed away years ago, and I hoped he didn’t mind me volunteering him to live here. Not that I would do that to him, not even in his dead state would I want him to live here. This place was depressing.

  He nodded slowly. “He won’t want to live here. This is a bad place.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “What do you mean?” I didn’t think he remembered me from the newspaper office, but if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it.

  He snorted. “Sue don’t run a clean place, you can see that. She means well. Except when she’s murdering people. I don’t think she means well then.”

  I stared at him. “Murdering people?”

  He nodded. “She killed Silas,” he said and his voice cracked just a bit on Silas’s name. “She wanted him to marry her, but he didn’t want anything to do with her. She was too old for him.”

  “Do you really think she murdered him?” I asked.

  “Of course!” he said and swayed just a little on his feet. “She has a terrible temper. There’s fighting going on here all the time. Mostly it’s because of Sue. She can’t stay out of people’s business and people get mad. Then everyone’s fighting with each other.” He shook his head. “No, your father is better off someplace else. Any place else.”

  “It seems hard for me to believe Sue could have killed someone,” I said. “She seems like such a sweet woman. I work over at Sam’s Diner and she comes in there sometimes.” I hoped he would elaborate on the things going on here.

  “Tell that to Silas. He’s dead of a steak knife to his chest because of her,” he said. “But, suit yourself. If you aren’t going to worry about your father, there’s nothing I can do about it. You know, you need to treat your father with more respect. He’s the only one you’ve got and once he’s gone, he’s gone.”

  I sighed and almost agreed with him. Mine was gone, and I missed him terribly, but I was pretty sure he was speaking of Silas and himself. “I’ll take your advice, then. I’ll see if I can find something else for him. But, you didn’t happen to see or hear anything the night Silas was killed, did you?”

  “No. I was asleep. I go to bed early these days. I just can’t seem to get over being tired all the time. But, when I got up the next day, Sue was mopping the kitchen floor. And if you knew Sue, you’d know there’s something suspicious about that. All you could smell was pine cleaner throughout the whole house. Like she used a whole bottle.”

  “Sue doesn’t do the floors much?”

  He snorted again. “Sue doesn’t do much at all. Those home-cooked meals she likes to brag on are frozen meals she heats up. You should see the kitchen. This place is a mess. Just look at it.”

  I glanced around me. The dust was thick on every surface and there was lint and grains of sand on the threadbare carpet. He had a point. “Well, that’s very good to know before I went and rented a room for my father from her.”

  He hawked phlegm and nodded. “If you got any sense, you’ll look elsewhere.”

  “I appreciate the tip,” I said. He turned and staggered down the hall. Harry had been drinking. Was he just angry and bitter about Silas not accepting him as his father, or did he really know something about what happened the night Silas was killed?

  I turned to leave before Sue got back from the Market.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Before I could get to the front door, it swung open and Sue stood there, a look of surprise on her face at seeing me here. I tried to come up with something to say, but instead, I stood there, dumbly staring with my mouth open.

  “Rainey,” she said. A frown slipped across her face. “I didn’t expect to see you here. What can I do for you?”

  I forced myself to smile and stepped forward to relieve her of a couple of the bags of groceries she carried. “Let me help you with those groceries. I thought I’d stop by and see if you had a room for rent.” I glanced over my shoulder at Harry, who had turned around at the appearance of Sue and was moving in closer to hear what was being said.

  “Oh? I thought your mother said you just bought a house?” she asked, tilting her head. I managed to get two of the grocery bags off her arm, but she was standing there with the others still on her arm, looking at me.

  “Oh, I did. It’s a lovely little cottage on the other side of town. The room isn’t for me. Let me help you into the kitchen with these.”

  She nodded, still looking confused and led the way down the hall in the direction I had just come from. “Who is the room for?” she asked looking back over her shoulder.

  Did she know my father was dead? Probably so. “For my uncle. He’s considering a move to Sparrow, and I was just checking out rooms and apartments. He’s on a fixed income and I told him I would look around for him.”

  “Eh?” Harry said from behind me. He had turned again and begun following us toward the kitchen. We passed the six rooms in the hall on our way to the kitchen. “I thought you said it was for your father.”

  Oh, Harry, go away, I thought. “Yes, this uncle has been like a father to me since my own father passed away. We’re very close,” I said as we entered the kitchen. Harry wasn’t kidding about the kitchen. It needed a good cleaning. There was grease-stained wallpaper that looked to be at
least from the 1950s and the stainless steel counters had smears, spills, crumbs, and a dried out half-eaten sandwich on the countertop.

  “Oh, that would be so sweet to have him live so close to you then,” Sue said, setting the two bags she held onto a counter. “Harry, would you be a dear and fetch the last two bags of groceries from my car?”

  Harry grumbled but didn’t refuse to do as she asked. His sliding footsteps echoed down the hall as he made his way to the car. I set the two grocery bags I held next to the ones she had put down.

  Sue smiled again. “Now, will he want meals with his room? There’s a different price for that. And if he doesn’t want to buy the meals, you must tell him that under no circumstance is he allowed a hot plate in his room. He may have a small microwave and a mini-fridge, but no hotplate. Those things are dangerous.”

  “Do many of your boarders take their meals here?” I asked, leaning on a clean patch of the kitchen counter.

  “About half of them do. The others just eat frozen meals in their rooms, mostly. Unless of course, they can’t resist something I’m cooking. I’m a wonderful cook, not that I like to brag. But I can accommodate at least some of my boarders on a meal-by-meal basis. I just add it to their rent.”

  “That might be a good idea for my uncle. Then at least he can have a home cooked meal a couple of times a week.”

  She nodded. “That’s what many do. But he’ll have to let me know early in the day, otherwise, there’s a good chance I won‘t have made enough. I heard you were writing another cookbook, Rainey. I know you’re a good cook too, and you understand how much pride I take in my cooking.”

  “I do understand taking pride in your cooking. I’m hoping my new cookbook will be finished early next year,” I said. I could smell stale onions as we talked, along with a slight undertone of pine cleaner.

  She nodded and removed a package of shredded cheese and a gallon of milk from a shopping bag and headed to a scratched and dented commercial sized refrigerator. “You know, I’ve thought about writing a cookbook myself. I would hate for my family recipes to slip away with me. I don’t have any family anymore. That’s why I started the boardinghouse. My renters are like family. Most of them don’t have any family of their own anymore, either.” She jerked open the refrigerator door and the jars of condiments on the door-shelves rattled. She set the gallon of milk and cheese inside. “That door sticks sometimes.”