At ninety-one, Pat Morrissey was the oldest resident of Cape Advantage by four or five years but twice a day, he shuffled his walker down to the cul de sac at my end of the street, around the circular park with the oak tree in the middle, and home again. ***<\/p>\n That very night, early morning actually, my phone buzzed me awake. The green digital numbers on the bedside clock read two-thirteen. My first thought was Nicole, who was on the West Coast for a conference. She\u2019d had a minor heart problem the year before and been fitted for a pacemaker. ***<\/p>\n Nicole came home the next morning. She\u2019d been traveling more for work lately, to more and more distant cities. When she looked out the kitchen window and saw Pat circumnavigating the cul de sac, solo, she jumped up. Diamond earrings I didn\u2019t remember buying her sparked in the sun. [Image Credit : Photo by Dana Ward<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a>]<\/p>\n Richard Cass is the author of the Elder Darrow jazz mystery series. The first book in the series won the 2018 Maine Literary Award for Crime Fiction. The fifth, Sweetie Bogan\u2019s Sorrow<\/i>, won the Nancy Pearl Librarians\u2019 Prize for Genre Fiction. Dick has also published a thriller called The Last Altruist<\/i> and a book of short stories entitled Gleam of Bone<\/i>.
+++++<\/span>He\u2019d been a welder in the Portland Shipyard during World War II and lived in a squat green house at the other end of Waterford Street for seventy-some years. He\u2019d lost his wife Doris long enough ago that he didn\u2019t talk about her any more. Our neighborhood perpetrated a loose conspiracy, keeping an eye on him as much as his pride, and ours, allowed.
+++++<\/span>From the window of my office that morning, I saw a man walking alongside him, an aide and not one of Pat\u2019s mostly-absent children. He was middle-aged, with long thin gray hair tied back and a body like a bag of potatoes mounted on stiff stick legs. He wore dark blue scrubs.
+++++<\/span>I bustled downstairs\u2014I wasn\u2019t getting any writing done, anyway\u2014and walked out to the street.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPat. Good morning.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Shoulders curved in by the weight of his age, he propped himself on the walker with his left hand and held out his right. His eyes were pale, bleached blue, and rheumy.
+++++<\/span>\u201cDaniel. It\u2019s a beautiful morning to be upright, is it not?\u201d
+++++<\/span>The bones of his hand were fragile as a sparrow\u2019s. I was careful not to squeeze too hard.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIt is indeed, Pat. How are you keeping?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThis isn\u2019t for the faint of heart, my friend. You know that.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I turned and offered my hand to the aide, who stared and nodded, his face expressive as a drystone wall.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou have the MRI appointment at ten, Mr. Morrissey,\u201d he said. \u201cWe can\u2019t be late again.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Pat made a face, the wrinkles moving like veins. He squared himself on the walker and lifted its tennis-ball feet.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNeeds must, Daniel. Maybe you and your lovely bride will come up for a cocktail one night.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The offer surprised me\u2014I didn\u2019t know he\u2019d met Nicole. And it pleased me. It had been a long time since we lived in a neighborhood where people socialized.
+++++<\/span>The aide frowned, as if Pat had offered me money. His money.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOne night,\u201d I said. \u201cCertainly.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cHello?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDaniel.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The voice was low and gravelly, but unmistakable.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPat. What\u2019s wrong?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCan you help me, my friend?\u201d He sounded weak and drained, bereft.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOf course. Do you need a doctor? An ambulance?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNo, no. It\u2019s too late for that. Just come. Please.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The request held an element of command.
+++++<\/span>My heart thudding, I jogged up the road, using the flashlight on my phone to see. There were no streetlights at our end and no lights on in Pat\u2019s house, inside or out. The front door was open a foot.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPat?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I swept the beam into the house. I\u2019d never been inside, but it was a standard configuration for the neighborhood, four square rooms on the ground floor, a daylight basement.
+++++<\/span>\u201cKitchen.\u201d Pat hacked, as if something were caught in his throat. \u201cArmando turned the power off at the breaker.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I walked into the house. This wasn\u2019t a medical emergency for Pat. My flashlight bled over the hunched form at his feet, the aide with the dark blue scrubs, three circular black patches in the middle of his back.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPanel\u2019s in the garage.\u201d He cleared his throat and spit into a handkerchief.
+++++<\/span>Only then did I see the pistol in his other hand.
+++++<\/span>\u201cJesus, Pat.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He waved the handkerchief, coughed again.
+++++<\/span>\u201cGet the lights turned on. I\u2019ll tell you everything.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I flipped the main breaker back on. The lights were up in the kitchen by the time I returned, Pat in his wheelchair.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe need to call someone, Pat.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He laughed, a liquid huff.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNot a chance.\u201d He lifted the gun off his lap. \u201cI know what I\u2019m doing. He cannot be found in here. None of this happened inside the house.\u201d
+++++<\/span>In the overhead yellow light, Pat\u2019s face was hard and determined, without the old man vagueness.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPat. You killed someone.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSelf-defense.\u201d His smile was feral. \u201cA burglar breaking into the house of an old man in the middle of the night?\u201d
+++++<\/span>His shoulders straightened up as we talked.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAll the more reason to call the police. No one will blame you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Something was wrong. What was he doing out of bed at two in the morning? With a gun in his hand? And what was the aide doing here at this hour? Stealing from him?
+++++<\/span>\u201cArmando can\u2019t be found in the house,\u201d he repeated. \u201cYou have to help me out.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Statement more than a question. I couldn\u2019t say no, though I should have.
+++++<\/span>\u201cDrop him out back in the yard.\u201d Pat handed me the pistol. \u201cAnd leave that with him. Behind the trees.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Armando was heavy, but out in the garage I humped him up onto a mechanic\u2019s creeper and wheeled it down the driveway, around the cul de sac, and up the Reynolds\u2019 drive to the back of Pat\u2019s property. The wheels squeaked, but no lights came on.
+++++<\/span>I rolled the body off into the pines over the stone wall, wiped down the gun, and tossed it into the shadows where it landed with a thud. Then I carried the creeper back to Pat\u2019s garage and knocked on the connecting door. It was locked.
+++++<\/span>\u201cPat. We need to talk.\u201d
+++++<\/span>No answer. I tried once more, then turned and walked up the street to my house in the dark.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cOh. I have something for him.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Curious. I didn\u2019t think she\u2019d ever talked to the man.
+++++<\/span>She jogged out the driveway, carrying a white envelope. Pat straightened up off his walker with a beatific smile, which widened as he accepted the envelope in both hands. From the way he riffled his thumb over the contents, the envelope held money. Why would Nicole be paying him for anything?
+++++<\/span>He beckoned her closer and kissed her on the mouth, not a friendly peck but a full-on smooch. Nicole did not pull away.
+++++<\/span>My head spun. I\u2019d abetted a killing for him and she was paying him off. In more than one way, it seemed.
+++++<\/span>She looked at me with respect when she came back into the house.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou want to tell me what that was all about?\u201d I said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou proved you could be trusted. Didn\u2019t Pat read you in?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cRead me into what?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat he and I have been doing? How do you think I\u2019ve kept the household going this last year? Why do you think I\u2019ve been traveling so much? You haven\u2019t been contributing much to the pot.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Yes, I was having a lousy stretch. The book I\u2019d spent three years on had published to utter indifference, and sales of my backlist, even the one novel that won awards, were declining.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou knew from the start how the writer\u2019s life goes. Sometimes. It will get better.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSometimes? Most of the time. I had to do something.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She frowned, then decided she did trust me.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNobody looks very hard at an old man in a wheelchair,\u201d she said. \u201cWe go to jewelry stores. Museums. Antique shops.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201c\u2019We.\u2019\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMe and my grandpa, my father, my sugar daddy. Whatever fits the narrative. People make up their own stories. I sell what we take, in other cities.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHow long has this been going on?\u201d It didn\u2019t explain the kiss.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou did a good thing last night. Keeping the cops from coming. His house is full of . . . items.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe killed someone, Nicole.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She threw her hands in the air.
+++++<\/span>\u201cArmando was stealing from him. You can\u2019t think a man like Pat would let that happen?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Apparently I didn\u2019t know either one of them as well as I thought.
+++++<\/span>The police showed up later that morning. From my office, where I was struggling to get my next book off the ground, I saw a box truck and two squad cars in front of Pat\u2019s house. They must have found Armando\u2019s body.
+++++<\/span>I wasn\u2019t getting anything done, so it was almost a relief when a plain sedan pulled into my driveway. A minute later, the doorbell rang.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYes?\u201d
+++++<\/span>The detective, Ima Johnson from her ID, was Black, a rarity in our suburb, but otherwise unimpressive. Her hair dandelioned out in a sloppy Afro and her black windbreaker had unidentifiable stains down the front. The black polyester slacks were wide-legged, like clown pants. Her only bits of color were the dangling gold earrings in the shape of leaping dolphins.
+++++<\/span>She carried an iPhone in a plastic bag. My gut curled.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAre you Mr. Carney?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI am.\u201d I couldn\u2019t take my eye off the phone.
+++++<\/span>\u201cMay I come in? A few questions?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Her tone was deferential, which I did not expect. I led her to the living room, my pulse throbbing.
+++++<\/span>\u201cSomething going on up the street? Is Pat all right?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou know Mr. Morrissey, then?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She lay the evidence bag on the coffee table.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe\u2019re neighbors. Is he OK?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s fine. He called in to report a body in his backyard.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I didn\u2019t want to overplay my surprise.
+++++<\/span>\u201cMy god. Someone\u2019s dead?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She pulled her lips together.
+++++<\/span>\u201cShot. Not natural causes.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDamn. Are we safe?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She picked up the bag.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m going up and down the street. Do you recognize this?\u201d
+++++<\/span>It would be stupid to deny it. Evidence of ownership was embedded in its contents.
+++++<\/span>\u201cLooks like mine. Where did you find it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She stretched the plastic bag tight over the face.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWould you type in your pass code? Just to verify?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Felling as if I were digging my own grave, I complied. The home screen glowed.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t use it much. We have a landline.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHuh. Any idea why this would be underneath the victim?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNone.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Johnson looked incredulous, which I understood. Most people couldn\u2019t sit still the length of a stop light without checking their messages. She stood up.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThen you won\u2019t need it back right away?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I wanted it out of her hands, but I couldn\u2019t say that.
+++++<\/span>\u201cLike I said, I don\u2019t use it much.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The next morning, Nicole and I ate breakfast in the kitchen nook that looked out onto the bird feeders. A cardinal pecked listlessly at a suet ball.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat is it?\u201d I asked.
+++++<\/span>She\u2019d been cold since Ima Johnson had been here.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t know how I feel about living with a killer.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI didn\u2019t . . Pat was the one who fired the gun.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She nodded.
+++++<\/span>\u201cOf course. You blame it on him, they wouldn\u2019t bother an old man defending his home. While you, for example\u2026\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNicole. I did not shoot that man. I don\u2019t think they suspect Pat, either.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m not counting on that, Daniel. But you stick to your story. If it comes to that.\u201d
+++++<\/span>That afternoon, I came down from the office to find her drinking a cup of tea.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou going to work? You\u2019re all dressed up.\u201d
+++++<\/span>She stared at me over the rim of the teacup.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m taking Pat to the museum today. Exhibition of pre-Columbian artifacts.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Small, valuable, portable. I wondered how long they\u2019d been doing this and why she hadn\u2019t told me about it until now.
+++++<\/span>\u201cIsn\u2019t that dangerous? So soon after the body in his yard?\u201d
+++++<\/span>The cup chimed in its saucer.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou still don\u2019t get it, do you? No one believes a ninety year old could be a thief.\u201d
+++++<\/span>A car door slammed out in the driveway. Nicole walked out to answer the door, admitting Ima Johnson, a brawny patrol cop at her side.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI had an interesting conversation with Mr. Morrissey this morning,\u201d Johnson said. \u201cHe said he saw you prowling his backyard the other night. I have a warrant for your arrest, for the murder of Armando Bywater.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Nicole pulled on her coat.
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t say anything until the lawyer gets there, darling.\u201d She kissed me hard. \u201cGood thing we can afford one, isn\u2019t it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>She started for the garage.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNicole,\u201d I said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI won\u2019t wait up,\u201d she said over her shoulder.
+++++<\/span>Johnson closed the cuffs around my wrists, secure behind my back. They were heavier than lead. I guess no one believed a ninety year old man could be a murderer, either.
+++++<\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s a cool one,\u201d the patrol cop said.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou have no idea. Cold, even.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"Facebook\"](\"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/plugins\/social-media-feather\/synved-social\/image\/social\/regular\/48x48\/facebook.png\"\/ "\\"Share")
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\nHe holds a graduate degree in writing from the University of New Hampshire, where he studied with Thomas Williams, Jr. He’s also studied with Ernest Hebert, Ursula K. LeGuin, and Molly Gloss. His short fiction and nonfiction have appeared in Playboy, Gray\u2019s Sporting Journal, ZZYZVA, Tough, Shotgun Honey and Best Short Stories of the American West. He blogs with the Maine Crime Writers at mainecrimewriters.com. He lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, USA, with his wife Anne.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n\t\t<\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n