Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie by Merry Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

to know when I would have a funeral parlor pick it up.

    Becky offered to stay the night, but I couldn’t let her. She’d done enough, needed her own time. And, sooner or later, I had to face being in my house by myself again. And, truly, by the time everyone left, I was grateful for the quiet. I hadn’t been alone for days. Needed stillness and solitude. Time to settle.
    And I had phone calls to return. My voice mail was overloaded. I’d put off answering for four days, but now there was no excuse. Charlie’s partner, Derek Morris, had called repeatedly. As had many of Charlie’s colleagues, clients, and acquaintances. I had to respond. And Lord. I had to get in touch with his mother, Florence, his brother, Ted, and sister, Emma. They’d have seen the news, read the papers. But I had to tell them personally what had happened.
    I made a list and, Johnny Black in hand, I made the calls, one by one, repeating the same words. Yes, it was horrible and shocking. No, the police had no idea who did it or why. No, Ihadn’t seen anything. Yes, I’d be fine. Yes, I would let them know if there was anything they could do, and when the funeral would be.
    Derek, as usual, was frantic, aggressive. Intense. He barraged me with questions. “What time did you find him? Did he say anything before he died? Did he have anything on him that would explain what happened? Were things messed up? Was anything missing from your house? How did the killer get in? Who knew Charlie would be in your house?” He was worse than the police. No, not worse. But as bad. And he wanted to come over right away, help me go over details. I said I was exhausted. He kept pushing. Obnoxiously. Until I told him that he needed to back off and that I’d talk to him later. Intending not to.
    After Derek, the only people I had to call were Charlie’s family. As his undivorced wife, I was still next of kin. It fell upon me to contact them. These calls would be the most difficult, so I’d saved them for last. I called his mother first, but spoke to Tina, her caretaker. Charlie’s mother, Florence, lived nearby, in Center City. She was eighty-one years old, a widow who suffered from severe dementia, had no short-term memory whatsoever. There was no point in telling her that her son was dead, she wouldn’t remember it. But Tina needed to hear what the other callers had. There were no suspects yet. I hadn’t seen anyone. I’d let her know about the funeral.
    Next call was to Ted, Charlie’s brother. Ted was fifteen years younger than Charlie, lived in Virginia Beach, hadn’t seen Charlie in years, but contacted him often to borrow money. I thought he gave water-skiing lessons and did body piercing, suspected he sold drugs and used more than he sold, needed the money to pay for them.
    Ted answered on the first ring. His voice was a croak. “Ch-Charlie?”
    Charlie? Why would he think it was—oh, of course—caller ID. He’d recognized the number on his cell phone screen.
    “Is it you?” He sounded incredulous.
    “No, Ted. It’s Elle.”
    “Elle?” I could hear his burned-out brain whirring, probably trying to figure out who ‘Elle’ was. He sounded stoned. Shaky.
    “Charlie’s wife.” Ten years earlier, at our wedding, Ted had been the best man.
    “Okay. Right. But technically—no offense—you’re not his wife any more. I mean you guys split up.”
    “That’s right.” I bristled, decided not to react. There was no point. “We split up, but we weren’t divorced yet—”
    “What are you talking about? Of course you were—he called you his ‘ex.’”
    He did? “Well, I am his ‘ex.’ But legally, I’m still his wife. Divorce takes time.” Why were we talking about the status of my marriage?
    “Oh, man.” Ted sounded wasted. And disappointed. But not even a little curious about why I was calling. “Damn it—Charlie said he was single.”
    “Ted.” I interrupted, not sure why he cared about Charlie’s marital status. “I have