Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) Page 3

  "Emily's always respected you, perhaps more than she does me," he said. "If she's in trouble, I want to be able to help her, while I still can."

  Though I wasn't convinced that Emily respected me all that much, I felt obliged to do what I could to help him as a friend. "I'll talk to her."

  He grinned. "Thanks, I owe you one."

  My mind started racing. "Actually, maybe you could return the favor..." I told him.

  "All you have to do is ask," he said coolly.

  "My book club meets every month. The last book we discussed was by your former research assistant and protégé, Pierce O'Shea."

  Brent smiled. "I'll be sure to pass that along to Pierce. I'm meeting with him tonight after we finish dinner. He'll be pleased to hear that he's reached book club status."

  "Not sure about that," I said. "Though we enjoyed breaking down the novel's strengths and weaknesses, everyone seemed to be on the same page, so to speak, that your writing was far superior."

  "I'm flattered, but I've also been writing longer. It doesn't happen overnight that you just put it all together and master your technique and storytelling ability."

  "True, but as I recall, you won high praise for your second novel and never looked back."

  Brent chuckled. "Actually, I always look back, remembering where I started to keep me on track for where I'm going. Now, of course, those memories are more important than ever." He lowered his eyes gloomily, and then smiled up at me. "Did you ever say how I could return the favor?"

  I dabbed a cloth napkin to my lips and considered whether or not it might appear insensitive to make this request to him. But then I decided it might be just what Brent needed to exercise his mind, while he was still pretty much in control of it. "If you could make an appearance at our next meeting, I'm sure the book club members would be thrilled to have you."

  He nodded. "I'd be happy to, but I can't promise to have all the answers they may seek. Just let me know when and where."

  I made a mental note to inform the members of this change of plans; sure they would be on board, even if it meant postponing the Daphne du Maurier discussion to the meeting the following month.

  We were silent for a moment or two, before I commented, "I appreciate your trust in asking me here to talk about the Alzheimer's. If there is anything at all that I can do for you—"

  "Actually, that's not why I invited you to dinner," Brent said, "though I am glad I was able to confide in someone about this." He paused. "I'd like to hire you as a consultant."

  "Oh..." I tasted my wine. "Tell me more."

  Brent sipped his wine. "I think my man cave needs a makeover."

  "You mean your recreation room," I gathered, having been to his house many times and knowing this was the room where he seemed most at home.

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "As I recall, it seems like a pretty nice, modern looking room," I told him.

  "That's the whole point," he said. "For years, I've pretty much catered to the whims of the women in my life when it came to home décor, including the man cave. Now that I'm on my own for the first time in a while, and with my mind still reasonably intact, I want something that's more my style and I'm hoping you can help me get there."

  "I'm certainly willing to try." Given his feelings on the subject and my area of expertise, it was the least I could do for an old friend.

  He smiled. "Excellent. So when can you come by?"

  I thought about my schedule for the next day, which included volunteer work at the Senior Center. "How about tomorrow night, say around seven?"

  "Perfect. I'll be waiting—and don't forget to have a word with Emily when you can. She likes to run on the beach and hang out at a place called The Train Stop."

  I was familiar with the club, though I had never been to it. Meeting on the beach would be even better, since that was where I liked to run. I was kind of surprised that we hadn't managed to run into each other there, but maybe she ran in the afternoon or evening. "I'll talk to her," I promised.

  We chatted a bit longer about things in town, politics, sports—basically trying to avoid mentioning his Alzheimer's and what it might mean to Brent's future. One could only hope that with medication and good luck, he could delay the full blown effects of it for as long as possible.

  In the meantime, I was only too happy to give him something to hold onto by helping to spruce up his man cave and turn it into something he could call his own and mean it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The following morning, I began my day as usual with a run on the beach. I had considered changing my time in the hope of running into Emily, but decided that it was best to stick to my routine. Perhaps I would catch her at the house this evening when I went to see Brent, and then Emily and I could talk afterward.

  No sooner had that thought left my mind, when I saw Emily heading toward me jogging leisurely. This seemed as good a time as any to have a word with her, assuming she was willing to talk.

  We stopped in front of each other.

  "Hey," she said, sucking in a deep breath.

  "Good morning, Emily," I told her, noting that she was wearing skimpy jogging attire and her hair was in a ponytail. "I see you're up bright and early."

  "Yeah, I had some time to kill before other things on my agenda, so thought I'd get in some exercise."

  I smiled. "Good idea." It occurred to me that perhaps sometime we could even run together, but decided against going there for the moment. Instead, I said, "I had dinner with Brent last night."

  She flashed a look of surprise. "Really?"

  "Yes, he invited me."

  "So are you two back together...or heading in that direction?" she asked.

  "Heavens no," I answered swiftly. "It was just a nice meal between longtime friends."

  Emily looked disappointed. Or was it relieved?

  "Well, that's cool," she said. "Did you happen to mention the possibility of him teaching at the college?"

  "As a matter of fact I did," I told her.

  "Did he say he might do it?"

  I wished I could tell her about the Alzheimer's disease and Brent's concern about how it might affect his ability to teach a writing course, but I would never betray his trust. Not even to someone who had a right to know as Brent's only living relative. Not including his ex-wives.

  And so I told her in what amounted to a white lie with a grain of truth, along with good intentions, "I think Brent might be giving some thought to it, along with the other things he has on his plate."

  Emily started to jog in place. "At least he's keeping the possibility open. Thanks for talking to him about it."

  "It was nothing," I told her, while curious as to why she seemed so interested in him teaching at the college. I decided it was simply out of genuine affection for the uncle who took her in, wanting to see him share some of what he had achieved as an author with others. Since the moment seemed right, I thought it might be a good time to turn the conversation in a different direction. "So what's going on in your life these days, aside from school and jogging?" I asked her. From what I understood, she was not working at the moment. She'd had a few different jobs, but each one was of short duration, and Brent covered the majority of her expenses.

  As though she had read my mind, Emily said, "Actually, I have an interview today for a job. I think I have a pretty good shot at getting it, but you never know."

  "What type of job?" I asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

  "It's a clerical position at Klackston Industries."

  I was familiar with them. The tech company was one of the biggest employers in Cozy Pines, having relocated there from St. Louis ten years ago. "I'd be happy to give you a recommendation," I offered, realizing it would be based on character, though I didn't really know her that well. But I figured anything that could help her become more self-sufficient would help Brent too. At the same time, I knew that eventually he would have to let her in on his secret and decide how best to protect his assets.

&
nbsp; She grinned. "Would you?"

  "Sure. I don't know how much it will help, but I suppose it can't hurt."

  "I can text you the name and number of the woman in human resources I'll be meeting with this afternoon."

  I smiled while gazing at her and trying to determine if she was back on drugs. Though she seemed normal enough in her behavior, I agreed with Brent that something seemed a little off, though I couldn't put a finger on it.

  I decided to just come out with it. "Brent's a little worried about you."

  She cocked a razor thin brow. "About what?"

  "He thinks that you haven't been yourself lately."

  She rolled her eyes. "Who else would I be?"

  "Maybe someone who has had a relapse and is trying to hide it."

  She glared at me. "Is that what you and Brent think—that I'm back on drugs?"

  I held her irritated gaze. "Are you?"

  "No," she insisted. "I'm clean."

  I wasn't in a position to dispute it. "Okay. Maybe you should tell Brent that and give him some peace of mind."

  "I will," Emily said. "He doesn't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

  "I'm sure you can," I told her, while waiting to see that actually happen in all phases of her life, rather than those in which she saw fit. "Well, I'd better let you get back to your run and I'll get back to mine."

  She smiled. "Okay. See you later."

  I started to run again while she did the same in the opposite direction. I sincerely hoped that she was being straight with me in saying she was not on drugs again, while also hoping that applied to any other behavior that was self-destructive. Right now, Brent could use all the help he could get and he needed a niece he could truly depend on.

  * * *

  When I approached Annette's house, I saw her mowing the lawn with a self-propelled push mower. She stopped when she saw me.

  "Morning," she said, using the back of her hand to wipe sweat from her brow.

  "Good morning, Annette."

  "How was your run?"

  "Great for my limbs and heart," I told her.

  "I think the same is true for mowing the lawn," she said wearily.

  I smiled. "I wouldn't doubt it." The fact that I paid a local teenager to mow my lawn once a week didn't change my belief that it was hard work. It occurred to me that this was a great time to share some news with Annette about Brent ahead of the other book club members. "I got Brent London to agree to speak with us at our next book club meeting."

  "That's great," Annette said. "He's one of my favorite authors."

  "Mine too," I said.

  "And your ex-boyfriend," she reminded me, as if I had forgotten.

  "That was a long time ago," I told her, while trying to keep my feelings in check regarding the awful news Brent had shared with me last night.

  "But not so long ago that you couldn't twist his arm into meeting with us," she said.

  I grinned. "No arm twisting was necessary. Brent was only too happy to share a little bit of his time. I figured no one would complain about postponing the discussion on Daphne du Maurier's book until the following month."

  "I agree," Annette said. "I'm sure everyone will want to come up with some tough questions that only Brent can answer."

  "Just not too tough," I told her, mindful of his condition. "Brent wants to keep it lighthearted and fun, while providing answers in his own way."

  "Sounds fine to me."

  "I'll let the others know about the change of plans," I said.

  "Great," Annette said. "And I can talk about it further this afternoon with Meryl when I meet her for lunch."

  I smiled. "Perfect."

  "Well, I'd best get back to this lawn that sure isn't going to mow itself. And since Fred has a bad back, that puts the onus on me to do it."

  I wanted to recommend the young man who mowed my lawn, but figured that if she had wanted to hire someone, she would have. "I have to get ready for my volunteer work at the Senior Center," I told her instead.

  "Maybe I can volunteer one day when I have more time," she suggested.

  "Any time you like," I encouraged her. "They're always looking for more volunteers in various capacities."

  She nodded and went back to mowing the lawn.

  I jogged down to my house and went inside. After showering, I grabbed a bite to eat, did a little work on the blog, and headed out.

  * * *

  The Cozy Pines Senior Center was near downtown on Venice Avenue. The old Victorian had been converted into the center fifteen years ago, responding to the needs of individuals fifty-five and older, including offering classes on many subjects, tours, trips, exercise, and hot meals daily.

  Inside, I chatted briefly with the center manager, Julie Gable, a widow who had endured watching her husband spend the last two years of his life under hospice care. Then I went into the dining hall where the kitchen coordinator, Lynda Menounos, was already barking orders. She was a single mother in her thirties and had worked there for two years. Her mother, age seventy-five, was a regular at the center.

  Lynda turned her attention to me. "I see you made it," she said tartly.

  "I always do," I reminded her, "and right on time."

  Her features softened. "That's great, because we have some hungry seniors this afternoon and we're one server short. Meaning everyone else will have to pick up the slack."

  "I'm ready and more than willing to do my part to make sure everyone is served lunch," I assured her.

  "In that case, I won't keep you from heading into the kitchen."

  I smiled briefly, realizing she was under pressure to keep up with the demand, as were others involved with the center. The task could be monumental at times, but well worth the effort, given the needs of those who depended on the services.

  In the kitchen, I slipped on an apron and hairnet, washed up, put on gloves, and took my place at the serving counter alongside another volunteer named Rachel Schroeder. She was my age and had been doing this since her father died of cancer last year. According to Rachel, this was her way of honoring his memory.

  "Hey," she said to me. "Hope Lynda didn't give you a mouthful just being her ornery self."

  "I'm used to it," I told her.

  "Still, she needs to learn to chill," Rachel complained, making it obvious that she too had apparently experienced Lynda's testiness.

  "All in an afternoon's work," I said. "The important thing is that we remember why we're here in the first place and not allow anything or anyone to get to us."

  "Well put—and you're right, of course."

  I flashed a smile, happy to ease the tension. Soon we were serving meals. The menu for today was tossed salad, roasted chicken, carrots, mashed potatoes, gravy, and chocolate cake for dessert.

  At one point, Rachel asked, "Do you like kittens?"

  "I love kittens," I made the mistake of saying.

  "My cat just had six kittens. If you'd like one, you can have one."

  I was sure if I told her I'd had cat allergies since childhood, it would sound lame. So I had to think of something else.

  "Thanks for the offer, but with my busy schedule, including my volunteer work here, I wouldn't be able to give a kitten the proper time it deserves."

  "I understand," she said, sounding disappointed. "But I had to put it out there."

  A thought suddenly popped in my head. "I can ask some of my friends if they would be interested in taking a kitten."

  Rachel grinned. "Oh, would you?"

  "Not a problem."

  Now I could only hope that I could actually come through. I could think of a few people who might be interested, starting with Kelli from the book club and my sister Yvonne. I called them when I got home that afternoon.

  "Sure, why not?" Kelli said. "It will give my cat, Belle, someone to play with."

  "Great. I'll be sure to pass that along to Rachel."

  "Do I need to go somewhere to pick up the kitten?"

  I gave her Ra
chel's number so they could work out the details between them. "Hey, while I have you on the line," I said, "there's been a slight change in plans for our next book club meeting."

  "Oh? Don't tell me that Rebecca has been taken off the table without a vote of the entire membership?"

  I chuckled. "Nothing so drastic, I can assure you." I explained to her that Brent had agreed to meet with us and talk about his books.

  "Wow, that's fantastic!" Kelli declared. "How did you arrange that?"

  "It wasn't very difficult." I told her we were old friends, not elaborating any more than that.

  "So you have friends in high places? Good for you."

  "Actually, Brent's pretty down to earth," I said, and meant it. In spite of the critical praise he'd received throughout his writing career, he never seemed to let it go to his head. That certainly wasn't the case when we were dating, which I'd always considered one of his better qualities.

  "Well, I can't wait to meet him," she gushed.

  "I'm afraid you'll have to—since the meeting is still a few weeks away." I considered that we could move up the book club meeting, but then that might throw everyone off from whatever plans they had, so I snuffed out the idea.

  After we finished talking, I called Yvonne, who was enthusiastic about taking one of the kittens.

  "I could use the company when George is out of town," she said.

  I was glad to hear that and suddenly remembered our last conversation. "And what about having a baby?"

  Yvonne sighed. "I haven't brought it up to him yet."

  "What are you waiting for?"

  "The right time," she said shakily.

  "Isn't the right time now while you have the fever?"

  "It's not that simple."

  "You mean you don't think he's on the same page with you on the subject?" I asked bluntly and perceptively.

  Yvonne paused. "Not exactly," she said. "But I'm sure once he realizes how important this is to me...to our marriage, he'll come around."

  "I hope so," I told her, wondering if she would actually threaten to divorce George if he balked at having a child. Maybe counseling would be a better answer. I decided not to go there—at least not until she had a chance to discuss it with her husband.