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Ten

Before Madison and Terry left Bill Carson, she confirmed with him that Chantelle used to have a life insurance policy and a will. Whether she still did, and as to the current beneficiary, he couldn’t say. Once in the car and heading to Lana Barrett’s place, Madison gave Terry a side-glance, then tapped the wheel. “Carson’s ex really didn’t seem all that broken up about her death.”

“I thought he was.”

“I would have expected a little more emotion, given they were married for so long. I know they broke up a couple years ago, but you’d think there’d be more feeling there.”

“Every relationship is different.”

“I think I missed seeing your PhD.” She flashed a quick smile at him.

“Ha-ha. I think he cared, but at the same time, the relationship was over, and people have to move on.”

“As he pointed out,” she mumbled as her thoughts went personal. What if what she had with Troy was over, washed up, played out? She had allowed herself to believe what she had with Troy was the real deal and would last. She’d even entertained marrying him, but— Her phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket and looked at the caller ID. Troy. She put it away without answering.

“Okay, now you have to talk to me.” Terry angled his body toward her.

“What? Why?”

He pointed at her phone, obviously referring her rejected caller. “You could have sent them to voicemail, but you didn’t—the thing’s still ringing—which tells me you don’t want whoever is calling to know you ignored their call. You just want them to think you couldn’t answer.”

She stopped at a red light, begging some greater being for this night to come to an end—or at least this conversation.

Terry went on. “It wasn’t your mother, because I’ve seen you put her straight to voicemail, so that leaves one other person— Oh.”

She glanced over at him. Is my circle so small he can narrow it down to one person so quickly? She took a deep breath as the last ring finished. Troy would be through to voicemail now.

“Everything all right with you and Troy?”

“All fine.”

“Oh.”

“Would you stop with the oh?” She pressed the gas, and they lurched forward through the intersection, nosing out the competition in the next lane.

“You guys fighting?”

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So…you are?”

She could have smacked herself in the forehead, but she glanced at him with narrowed eyes instead. “Just focus on the case. Bill Carson said that GB could stand for group benefits. Maybe she turned down some arrogant CEO who just couldn’t handle it.”

He leveled his gaze with hers, and she looked back out the windshield.

“I know you don’t want to talk—”

“I do. About the case.”

He muttered something as she turned into the lot for Barrett’s apartment building.

She just needed Troy to step up and follow through with what he was going to do weeks ago. At least she’d bet her money on him planning to propose. Yet, day after day passed without one word about it. It was infuriating. She gripped the wheel tightly, her knuckles going white. She’d promised herself a long time ago to love with her whole heart, but she’d said nothing about sticking around if she wasn’t getting the love she deserved in return.

Lana Barrett was a petite woman who could easily fit into a suitcase. It was probably a good thing other people couldn’t read Madison’s mind. Chalk her psyche up to a hazard of the job.

She and Terry were with Barrett in her living room, which was a modest space, decorated with a feminine touch. More throw pillows than a department store, and most were floral. Framed prints of Victorian-era houses in the middle of fields with white picket fences adorned the walls. There was a fresh bouquet of daisies on the coffee table in front of the couch. Their fragrance was potent. Madison pressed her lips tightly together, willing her stomach contents to calm.

“I can’t believe she’s dead. Murdered…” Barrett’s eyes were full of tears, but one had yet to fall. She sat on the couch, tucked into herself, small, grieving.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Madison asked, wanting to confirm what Bill had told them.

“Since kindergarten.” Barrett smiled, but the expression faltered.

“Such a blessing to meet your best friend that young.” The girls Madison had been friends with growing up weren’t in her life anymore. Most of them had moved away and gotten married. They all probably had a gaggle of kids by now.

“It was. We bonded over beating some boys.”

Madison angled her head, smirked. “With your fists?”

Barrett shook her head. Though a smile toyed with her lips, the expression never birthed. “We would make castles in the sandbox at school. It sort of became a bit of a competition between the girls and the boys. Mostly between Chantelle and me and three guys in particular—Leslie, Kelly, and Taylor. All unisex names too—what are the odds?” She paused and attempted a smile again. “Chantelle was also my maid of honor. I’m divorced now. Have been for ten years. But we were there for each other through all of life’s big events.”

“So you were there for her through her separation from her husband and eventual divorce?” Madison asked.

“Yeah. She’s suffered a lot in recent years.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Chantelle dead?” Madison presented the textbook question.

Barrett shook her head. “Can’t think of anyone off the top.”

“What about the letters GB?” Madison said. “Do they mean anything to you?”

Barrett’s forehead wrinkled in thought. Seconds later, she said, “Not that I can think of.”

Madison said, “We understand that Chantelle was dating someone. A Paul somebody?”

“Saul Abbott, a while back, but that’s been over for months. And, thank God. I thought he was scum from the start, but he seemed to make Chantelle happy. Turns out I was right—not that I wanted to be. There was no telling Chantelle, though. She fell hard and fast.”

“Do you have his number, by chance?” Terry had his pen poised over his notepad.

“Nah, I don’t, and I don’t know where he went after moving out of Chantelle’s house.”

The back of Madison’s neck tightened. “He lived with her?”

“Yep. The weasel wormed his way in, destroyed her life.”

Madison had figured Barrett referred to the change in accommodation when she’d mentioned Carson suffered a lot in the past few years. Now it would seem she meant there was more. “When were they together? For how long?”

“Around the time of her divorce, and they were together a total of maybe five months. He moved into her house within their first month together. And can you believe she actually considered marrying him?”

Madison assembled the timeline in her head. Divorced eight months ago, together with Abbot for five, so they broke up three months ago. Two months ago, she moved into the east-end apartment. Madison had a feeling she knew where this was going but asked anyhow. “You said he destroyed her life. How?”

Barrett shook her head. “You know what? Forget scum. He was a shit. Plain and simple. He convinced her to add him to her bank accounts, credit card, and even to the mortgage on her house in Rosedale. He took out a second mortgage, emptied her accounts, racked up her credit card, and ran with the cash. He broke her heart, and he also destroyed her life. Literally. She had to sell her house in a buyer’s marker. She still owed money on a place where she no longer lived.” A few tears snaked down Barrett’s cheeks, and she wiped them. “I offered for her to stay here, but she would prattle on about making her bed and needing to lie in it.”

Madison hated that her suspicions had been right. “Guy sounds like a typical con artist. Did she report what he’d done?”

“No. She was embarrassed and devastated. And I tried to get her to file a police report, but she was so broken. She just wanted to move on and put it behind her. At least she didn’t marry him, and apparently, he had it all set up too.”

“All set up?” Terry asked. “The venue, the priest?”

Barrett snuffed out a bitter laugh. “Venue, yes. But that’s a no to the priest. Saul didn’t have a religious bone. Wow. Surprise. You know, I did try to warn her. I told her that guys like him don’t fall for women like us. We’re not old biddies, but we’re not exactly cougars either.”

“He’s super good-looking?” Madison guessed.

“He is…and young. Twenty-five, or so he said. That’s if anything he said was true. Blond, blue eyes. Speaking of…he was always holding eye contact to the point of it being uncomfortable.”

“Lack of eye contact communicates a shadiness, but con men tend to overcompensate by peering into a person’s eyes. They think it makes them seem more credible.” The same applied to guilty suspects. “How tall was he?”

“I’d say about six feet.”

“What about build?” Terry inquired.

“Fit. He definitely hit the weight room at the gym. Actually—” Barrett jumped up and went into another room, returning a moment later with a picture in a frame. “I keep meaning to put something new in here, but I’ve had it stuffed in my closet for a while now. Chantelle gave this to me.” She handed the photo to Madison.

It showed Barrett and Carson with an attractive man. Madison pointed at him and glanced at Barrett.

“Yeah, that’s Saul.”

“Could I take this with us?” Madison asked.

“Sure. You don’t think he ended up killing her?” Barrett’s brow wrinkled.

“It’s far too early to conclude anything,” Madison replied. She was sure, though, that when she and Terry looked in the system, they wouldn’t find Saul Abbott. Con men often used aliases. It might be beneficial to get what information they could from Barrett while they were here. “I’d like to revisit the marriage part. You said that Saul had arranged the venue. Where did he want the wedding to take place?”

“Just in a room at a local community center. He said he had a buddy, some guy named Carl Long, who could perform the ceremony. Supposedly, he obtained his marriage officiant license online.”

Terry scribbled in his notepad.

Barrett went on. “Can you believe that Saul actually pitched it to Chantelle as an affordable way to tie the knot? Said they didn’t need some big pompous ceremony with a bunch of people. Chantelle thought it sounded great. She never loved large gatherings.”

Madison noted the discrepancy between what Barrett was telling them and the fact Bill Carson said Chantelle had organized large functions. Then again, she could have just stayed behind the scenes.

“He probably wanted it small because con men like to separate their marks from friends and loved ones,” Terry pointed out.

“He’s right,” Madison said. “It makes their mark easier to control.”

Barrett winced. “I hate to hear Chantelle referred to that way, but I know that’s what she was to him. As you said—” she flicked a finger toward Terry “—he did like to separate her, at least keep an eye on her. We’d still get together, but always at her place where he would come into the room from time to time.”

“But Chantelle never married him,” Madison said. “What happened to break his spell?”

“She saw him kissing another woman, and she wouldn’t hear any of his excuses. Around that time, she had credit problems rearing up.”

“Did Chantelle start dating any other men more recently or have any disagreements with people? Maybe problems at work?” Madison asked.

“She swore off dating. She said men were nothing but trouble. And, yes, she was having problems at work. What they were exactly she wouldn’t tell me much, other than she didn’t trust her boss.”

“Do you know anything about her having disgruntled customers?” Madison asked, her mind not far removed from GB—group benefits.

“Don’t know.”

“What’s her boss’s name?” Madison volleyed back.

“I can’t remember right now.”

“But she was still working at Southern Life?”

“She was.” She let out a puff of air and wiped her cheeks. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Madison offered and stood, loathing what she had to say next. “We’ll need to you to identify Chantelle’s body.” With Carson being divorced from Bill and their lives being separate, it would be more suitable for Barrett to handle this task.

“Wait, you don’t know if—”

“We’re quite certain it’s her, but she wasn’t found with her ID,” Madison said. “It’s just for the record.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Madison handed her card to Barrett. “I’ll have Cole Richards—he’s the medical examiner— reach out to you to arrange a time. It will probably happen within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Okay.” A tear snaked down her cheek.

Madison and Terry saw themselves out. She keyed a quick text to Richards with Barrett’s contact information and noted for a formal ID, as she walked back to the car. Once inside, she said to Terry, “We’ve got to find this Saul Abbott, whoever he is.”

“You think this con man guy killed her? I mean, I can see motive for Chantelle to kill him after what he put her through.”

Madison gave Terry’s words thought and came up with one possibility. “Take a leap with me—”

“When don’t I?”

“Ha-ha. But what if Carson ended up confronting him, and the situation got out of hand?”

“You’re right. That’s a leap.”

“Don’t make me hit you.” She smirked. “Is it really, though? If she was going to turn him into the police and expose him, he could have felt threatened and reacted to protect himself.”

“Sure, but Barrett said Carson was broken.”

“Only made her more desperate. Might not have wanted to get others involved, but that didn’t mean she let it go. She wasn’t afraid to reject people’s insurance applications. That’s what her ex told us. So she had a backbone in there.”

“Several years ago anyway. Though, I guess a confrontation could have gotten out of hand. And maybe the purse was taken to make it look like a mugging.”

She searched Saul Abbott on the laptop and had confirmation of her earlier fear. “No Saul Abbotts in Stiles. It’s a fake name.”

“Or he moved out of the area.”

She locked eye contact with him. “Really? If he was in the area any length of time, which we know he was, I should be seeing something on him. A driver’s license, a local address, but there’s nothing. I’m confident that Saul Abbott isn’t his real name. But we might be able to find him if we hunt down that guy who was going to marry them. Carl…what was it?”

Terry flipped through his notebook. “Carl Long.”

“Assuming that name’s not a work of fiction.” She typed in the name. “There are a few. We’ll just leave him for later. Right now, let’s go by Carson’s apartment and see what we can find.”

“Works for me.”

“We also have this.” Madison held up the framed photo. “I’ll get Cyn to run it through facial recognition software. If Saul Abbott has a record, we’ll find him.”

“Sounds good.”

She started them out in the direction of Carson’s apartment. The clock on the dash read 9:30 PM. Carl would need to wait until tomorrow, because by the time she and Terry finished running through Carson’s apartment and talking to her landlord, she’d need to call it a night. She had something else to take care of.