Mausoleum by Justin Scott Read Free Book Online

person.”
    â€œSo you didn’t like him?”
    â€œI’d have been surprised if we became friends. On the other hand, people change. He did bail out of California real estate to make a home in Newbury.”
    â€œQuite a change.”
    â€œOf course, once he got here he started throwing his weight around, more like a California condo macher than a country gent.”
    â€œMaybe he thought Connecticut had entered the 21st Century?”
    â€œActually, I take that back. Brian was less macher than hyperactive. He did do the right thing after tangling with the Forest Association—you know about that?”
    She nodded.
    â€œThough not, from what I hear, with the Cemetery Association—you know about that?”
    She nodded, again. Of course. And she had probably spoken with some if not all the trustees, including the possible gossiples.
    I said, “I found it hard to believe he had retired. He was high energy. And very smooth—getting himself invited into the Cemetery Association, which is not usually open to outsiders.”
    â€œWho is it open to? Just old families?”
    â€œAnd committed volunteers. You know, people who serve on commissions and join Rotary, but not the same year they arrive. Somehow, he charmed the old crowd. Though I must say, Gerard Botsford was no fool. He must have seen something solid in Brian to invite him onto the board.”
    â€œSo maybe you could have become friends?”
    â€œI don’t think so. Not after railroading that mausoleum into the burying ground. Plus,” I said, shifting what had become an interview (cop talk for interrogation) toward an issue I considered more important, “I thought that pressing charges against the cemetery groundsman for backing into his Audi was harsh.”
    â€œIt wasn’t your bashed-in Audi. Or your punch in the eye.”
    â€œDoes that make Donny Butler a suspect?”
    â€œStupid question.” She opened her menu and perused.
    â€œEven though you know that a fracas like that doesn’t usually escalate to shooting somebody months later in cold blood?”
    â€œPrisons are full of people who didn’t usually do what they were convicted for doing.”
    â€œDoes Donny have an alibi?” I asked, afraid that poor Donny had wound up in a jam he wouldn’t understand until they threw away the key. I knew that he could be hot-tempered with a couple of beers in him and that he owned some guns. And if I really pushed it I could imagine him shooting Grose in the middle of an argument. But I found it harder to imagine Donny shooting Grose in the back. Not to mention pumping a double coup de grâce into the man’s head.
    â€œDoes he?”
    Marian was gauging my reaction.
    I repeated, “Does he?”
    â€œYour friend has a fairly decent alibi.”
    â€œHow decent?”
    â€œFairly.”
    â€œSo who shot Mr. Grose?”
    â€œWho do you think?”
    â€œWell he pissed off everyone in the Cemetery Association. But I don’t see any of them shooting him for it. In fact, I can’t see any of them even owning a handgun.”
    â€œHow about a rifle?”
    â€œInside the mausoleum? I doubt it. It’s big on the outside, but kind of cramped inside. Besides, would he have turned his back on a guy with a rifle?”
    â€œYou think he got shot in the back?”
    â€œIf that wasn’t an exit wound in his chest, you should be looking for the owner of a cannon.”
    â€œTwo head shots,” she said, still gauging.
    â€œI can’t imagine shooting a guy in the back after two head shots. Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t know of anyone in town mad enough to shoot him. Including—especially—the guy with the ‘fairly decent’ alibi.”
    â€œSo why did the Cemetery Association hire you?”
    â€œI tried to talk them out of it,” I said, telling myself that was more a fib than a lie. I did try to