Chasing Shadows

  Chasing Shadows

  Lila Bruce

  Chasing Shadows

  Copyright © 2019, Lila Bruce

  About the Book You Have Purchased

  All rights reserved. Without reserving the rights under copyright, reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.

  Unauthorized reproduction of distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Chasing Shadows

  Copyright © 2019 Lila Bruce

  Publication Date: October 13, 2019

  Editing by Jennifer Griffin / Marked and Read

  Cover Design by Edie Keith

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or undead is strictly coincidental.

  The writing and publishing of a novel doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and rarely without help from others. I want to take a moment to thank all those who played their part along the way:

  Jackie and Mimi for things too numerous to list

  RJ for helping me to banish the witches

  Janie and Connie, beta readers extraordinaire

  Kim for always being there

  Chuck the Cat for keeping my keyboard warm, sometimes while it was actively being used

  Chapter One

  For a dead woman, Loralyn Baker looked pretty damned good.

  In life, she’d never been one to shy away from the make-up brush, and, as usual, Loralyn’s contouring was spot on that evening. The blush of her cheeks nicely accented the pink satin lining of her rosewood casket. However, as Detective Avery Smith admired the ornate bouquet of pink and red roses blossoming across Loralyn’s taffeta dress, she couldn’t help but notice a single lock of platinum hair, so strikingly out of place and falling across her forehead. Given that everything else about Loralyn was immaculate, Avery had a pretty good idea when the hair escaped Loralyn’s bouffant do.

  “In all my years as a funeral director, I have never… Ladies, I must say I am shocked and appalled at your behavior.”

  At the sound of the stern voice, Avery turned away from Loralyn to stare grimly at Rutherford Millican. His decades of dealing with bereaved families were legendary in Bethel Springs, Alabama. She watched him—his cheeks flushed and nostrils flaring—smooth a finger over an eyebrow before brushing what looked suspiciously like a tuft of carpet from the breast of his slightly wrinkled three-piece suit. Rutherford was obviously a man used to keeping his emotions firmly in check, but tonight he was perilously close to losing his aplomb.

  “I plead the fifth.”

  Avery flicked her eyes from Rutherford’s ruddy face to that of her grandmother’s, who was glaring obstinately at the funeral director of Millican and Sons’ Funeral Home. “I plead the fifth,” she repeated staunchly.

  “Really, Grandma?” The attempt to keep the anger out of her voice failed miserably.

  “Don’t sass me, young lady.”

  “Oh, we’re a long way past sass.” Avery shook her head. “Tell me that all of this is some enormous joke. A prank that got out of hand? Give me something to work with here, Grandma, because I’m stumped.”

  Mildred Smith stole a glance at Loralyn’s corpse before meeting her granddaughter’s eyes. She pursed her lips and then crossed her arms, the movement causing a pair of disposable powder blue gloves to fall out of the pocket of her sweater. Avery noticed for the first time that her grandmother—wearing a pair of too-big black jeans that looked suspiciously like a pair she had last seen in her own closet, along with a black hoodie over a black shirt—had apparently dressed for the occasion.

  “I plead the fifth,” she proclaimed again, quickly putting her foot over the glove.

  “For God’s sake, stop saying that.” Avery looked from her grandmother to the petite woman standing by her side, similarly dressed in black. “What about you, Miss Jane? Would you care to explain what on earth happened here tonight?”

  Jane Green had been the Bonnie to Mildred Smith’s Clyde for as long as Avery could remember. She, at least, was gracious enough to look guilty as she brushed a hand through her pinkish-blonde hair. She flushed a deep pink and waved an arthritic hand in the air. “Well, dear, you see…”

  “Dang it, Jane,” Mildred snapped with a quick scowl, “don’t you say another word. They can’t make you testify against yourself.”

  Avery took a threatening step forward. “She’s not testifying. And somebody better start talking before I ask about the two for one special here at Mr. Millican’s funeral home.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rutherford said, clearing his throat, “but we don’t have anything like that.”

  Seriously? Avery held back the urge to roll her eyes, closing them instead in tandem with a long sigh. “It’s an expression Mr. Millican. I realize that…just…never mind.” She took her grandmother by the arm, motioning for Jane to follow, and led them to the far side of the room. “All right, Grandma,” she growled, “give it up. What the hell went on here tonight? I thought you and Mrs. Baker were friends. What could possibly cause to you to do such a thing?”

  After a brief exchange of glances, Mildred gave a disgruntled shake of her head. “Go ahead and tell her, Jane, I can tell it’s killing you not to.”

  “Well, dear…” Jane drawled, her voice rising a few octaves higher than normal. “You know that your grandmother, along with Loralyn Baker and Pearl Moody, have entered the County bake-off every Fall for the past thirty-seven years and, for the last thirty-two of those years, Loralyn’s peach cobbler has won the blue ribbon. Every single year since 1985.”

  Unsure of where she was going with this, Avery nodded and motioned impatiently for her to continue. “Well, we’ve all been trying to get ahold of that recipe since Reagan was the president, but she keeps…” Jane darted her eyes to the casket on the other side of the room. “She kept it locked up tighter than Dick’s hatband. Tighter than Fort Knox. Tighter than a nun’s…”

  “I get it, Miss Jane,” Avery said, her lips tight. “Go on, please.”

  “Well, Loralyn always said she would take the recipe with her to the grave, so some of us got to talking about what a shame that would be and well, one thing kind of led to another, and—”

  “Hold up.” Avery flashed a hand in the air. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that the two of you molested a corpse in some harebrained attempt to steal a peach cobbler recipe?”

  “Have you ever had her peach cobbler, dear?”

  Actually, she had, and it was pretty damn good, but this wasn’t the time to admit that to either Bonnie or Clyde.

  “Are you kidding me?” Hearing the sound of her voice echo through the near-empty room, Avery realized too late that she had yelled the words. “Are you fuc—” She took in a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder to see Rutherford very conspicuously not looking in their direction. Avery lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Are you kidding me? What the hell were the two of you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t just us,” Mildred scowled, crossing her arms. “Pearl Moody had the same idea we did and was climbing in the back window when we got here. In fact, she’s the reaso
n the casket tipped over in the first place. If she hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to make sure we didn’t find the recipe before she did, I wouldn’t have tripped over her and fell against it.”

  “So where’s Pearl Moody now? I haven’t seen any sign of her.”

  “Mrs. Moody’s daughter, uh, collected her just before you arrived,” Rutherford called out from across the room, destroying any notion Avery might have had that she was keeping her voice down.

  “And what a mood that one was in,” Mildred muttered.

  “I know!” Jane bobbed her head. “You wouldn’t believe how upset that girl was, all the carrying on she did. My stars.”

  “Oh, I can imagine.” Avery rubbed at the throb that had setup in her forehead. “Why don’t we continue this conversation at home?”

  “Yes, dear,” Mildred said sweetly, reaching out to pat her granddaughter’s hand. “You look awfully tired. You know, I’ve been telling Jane that you really don’t get enough rest.”

  Showing what she thought was great forbearance, Avery elected not to point out exactly who was behind her three a.m. trip to the local funeral home. Instead she sighed and nodded, just catching the quick glance that Mildred cut to Jane. The cop in her didn’t trust the look that passed between them, but she would have to deal with that later.

  Avery turned back to face Rutherford. “Sir, I can’t even begin to apologize for what’s happened here tonight. Obviously, my grandmother and Miss Green are overcome with grief from the loss of their very dear friend and acted extremely inappropriately. I assume,” she continued, mustering a conciliatory smile, “that based on the fact that Mrs. Moody has already been, er, released to her daughter, there’ll be no issue with us being on our way too. I’m sure I speak for all us when I say that we’d all like to just forget that this…unfortunate incident ever happened.”

  Based on his expression, Avery knew that Rutherford Millican was not likely to forget the night that two seventy-five year-old women dumped a corpse onto his funeral home floor anytime soon.

  “Well…” he stammered, his eyes darting repeatedly to the casket and back to Mildred, who was obviously trying—and not really pulling it off—to look like the innocent old lady Avery knew she most certainly was not. Rutherford teetered for a moment longer and then, moving toward Loralyn’s casket, nodded his head. “Yes, you do have a point.” Stopping just short of the rosewood box, he looked back in her direction. “As you say, Mrs. Moody has left with her daughter.” The side of his lip curled up in what appeared to be his attempt at a smile. “And I suppose they are technically being released into police custody.” He was obviously a man unaccustomed to the action and Avery found the end result was…well, creepy.

  “Thank you,” she said, more to the world at large than Rutherford Millican. For once, it seemed, there was going to be a quick and easy end to her grandmother’s antics. Avery glanced in her direction just in time to catch the triumphant twinkle in the old woman’s eyes.

  “Although, her family may.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Miss Baker’s family,” Rutherford repeated, as Mildred’s smile faltered. “So long as they don’t wish to…” He paused to clear his throat. “Press the issue.”

  Avery suppressed a groan. So much for quick and easy.

  “What family?” Jane said quickly in what Avery was sure she thought was a whisper. “I didn’t think Loralyn had any family.”

  “Don’t be stup—er, I mean,” Mildred began and then, flashing a saccharin smile in Rutherford’s direction, seemed to remember her act. “Of course, she had a family. Don’t you remember all those times we’d get together with Loralyn and, uh, quilt? Why, she would speak so fondly of them.”

  On the off chance that Loralyn was about to roll over in her casket and fall back out on the floor at that outrageous statement, Avery took an unnerved step away from the coffin. In thirty-four years, the closest she’d ever seen her grandmother come to sewing of any kind was the time Mildred had brought an oversized crochet needle at a yard sale to use as a combination wine-slash-beer bottle opener.

  From the look on his face, Avery had the feeling that Rutherford wasn’t buying the story either, but was either too polite—or possibly too scared—to call her grandmother out on it. “Miss Baker’s niece,” Rutherford said, as if that should explain everything.

  Avery gave him a confused glance. “I’m sorry. What about her niece?”

  “After the, uh, incident,” Rutherford explained, glancing down at Loralyn one last time before closing the lid on her casket. “I felt compelled to call Miss Baker’s family. Her niece—great-niece, actually—is on the way right now.” Plucking another piece of carpet fiber from the sleeve of his jacket as he stepped away from the casket, he continued, “So long as Miss Baker’s niece doesn’t object, then I think we should be able to put this…this…whatever this is behind us.”

  “So long as I don’t object to what?”

  Avery turned in the direction of the throaty voice to see a crisply-dressed woman standing in the doorway. In her black pencil skirt and gray poplin blouse, she might’ve just stepped out of a board meeting of a Fortune 500 company. Or maybe off a New York runway. Unfortunately, Avery thought, she looked to be the type who not only knew she looked good, but used it to her advantage.

  “Oh, Ms. Reinhart,” Rutherford took a step forward. “I apologize for calling you out like this. I know you’d much rather be with family during this time than dealing with this.”

  Loralyn’s great-niece gave a curt nod as she surveyed the scene. “I’m still not exactly sure what this is. You were rather vague on the phone.”

  I bet he was. Even though Avery had pretty much seen it all from her grandmother over the last…hell, her whole life, Avery had to admit Mildred had outdone herself this time.

  Avery heard a quick whisper from behind and then her grandmother was bounding forward, nearly bowling Rutherford over as she pushed past him with lightning speed, Jane hot on her heels. “Oh, sugar, I am so sorry about your aunt,” she crooned, placing a hand on the woman’s arm. “I can only imagine what you’re going through right now. Loralyn’s death is a great loss to us all.”

  One penciled eyebrow arched as the woman looked down at the hand. “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Smith. Mildred Smith. Your aunt was a dear, dear friend.”

  “Very dear,” Jane piped in, rising on her tiptoes to look over Mildred’s shoulder.

  “I see.” Her slow nod told Avery that Loralyn’s great-niece, thankfully, very much did not see what was going on.

  “Oh yes, sugar, and I’m afraid that’s what happened here tonight.”

  Avery held back a grin. Well, this is going to be good.

  “Mmhmm. See, well…I’m actually embarrassed to say this.”

  “Oh please, Grandma, I’m sure we’d all love to hear what you have to say,” Avery drawled, crossing her arms.

  The woman darted her gaze in Avery’s direction, her eyes narrowing, as though just noticing her presence. Avery found herself feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious under the scrutinizing regard of the attractive redhead and shifted from one foot to the other. Having just stepped out of the shower when she’d gotten Rutherford’s call, Avery had literally thrown on the first thing she’d come to before running out of the house. She was sure that she looked more than a little out of place standing there in a faded Tragic City Rollers t-shirt and cut-off sweats, her still-damp hair falling in tawny spirals around her shoulders.

  The comment also earned Avery a glare from her grandmother.

  “Well, Jane and I have been beside ourselves with grief and just had to pay our last respects to Loralyn.”

  The woman turned her attention back to Mildred and Jane. “I don’t understand. At this time of night? The funeral is in the morning.”

  “So it is…” Undaunted, Mildred continued on, “…but, um, Jane here has a touch of dementia.”

  “I do?” A frowning Jane
cocked her head to one side.

  With a slow shake of her head, Mildred patted Jane on the shoulder. “You see? The poor thing gets confused so easily.”

  “I’m sorry,” Loralyn’s great-niece said, looking more than a little confused herself. “I’m really not following you. What does this have to do with your being here at the funeral home?”

  “Oh sugar, you see, Jane sometimes has, um, spells. Especially early in the evening. I had the darndest time getting her here and when we finally arrived, the visitation had already ended. I made a quick stop by the ladies’ room, and, while I was in there, Jane got lost in the funeral home and set off some alarms. Mr. Millican found her and was nice enough to let us come to the back room here to say our goodbyes to Loralyn.”

  Rutherford’s eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “I was?”

  “Yes, you were,” Mildred answered with a nod and a look that verged on threatening. “Anyway…in all the confusion I misplaced my car keys and, when I told Mr. Millican that I needed to call family for a ride home, he mistakenly called you instead of my granddaughter. I’m so sorry to have bothered you, especially at such a trying time as this.”

  “You do realize it’s three o’clock in the morning?”

  Mildred’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “Is it? My goodness, how time does fly.”

  Loralyn’s great-niece blinked at Mildred a few times and then, Avery was somewhat surprised to see, nodded politely. Avery wondered if she recognized the story for the complete bullshit it was? If she did, Avery didn’t see any sign of it. The woman stared at Mildred, her expression blank, before saying, “I’m sure my aunt would have appreciated your visit tonight.” She turned back to face Rutherford. “Well, if you don’t mind, Mr. Millican, I have several things to attend to before the funeral tomorrow, so I really do need to be going.”

  Like getting some sleep maybe? Avery could see she was obviously eager to be done with the entire incident. Having the good sense not to argue with the explanation, however farfetched, that Mildred had given to Loralyn’s great-niece, Rutherford began to usher everyone out of the room, turning off the lights as he shut—and locked—the door behind them. “Of course, of course. I’m so sorry to have bothered you this evening over something so…” He glanced at Mildred and once again cleared his throat. “…trivial.”