A (candy-coated) Halloween homicide
“Wow, is there a new department dress code?” Detective Frank Desmond ribbed his partner, Detective Raven Mercer, as she pulled up at a crime scene in a hooded robe and face paint. It was 8: 00 pm, and she’d been at a Halloween party.
“Har, har, Frank. But, hey, I’ve been wondering: Do you have insurance? Those shirt buttons might fly off any minute and blind somebody.”
“Good one,” Desmond grinned, patting his belly.
Tess Weaver, Evan Barclay’s assistant who lived above his garage, had found her 55-yearold employer on his kitchen floor, fatally stabbed.
Evan and his brother, Michael, had built a fortune in real estate.
“Time of death between 4 and 6 pm.
No sign of the weapon,” the ME said.
“Meaning no prints,” Desmond said.
“There’s a missing knife here,” Tess said, pointing to the knife block, where a slew of unopened bags of candy lined the counter. “Other than overturned chairs, nothing looks disturbed, including his wallet, which rules out robbery,” Mercer said.
“What can you tell us, Ms. Weaver?” Desmond asked.
“After lunch, he sent me for three more bags of Halloween candy—he didn’t think nine were enough. He remembered kitty litter, so at 4, I made another trip. At 6, I used the garage entrance to carry the litter to the basement, then went up the back stairs to my apartment. Just before 7: 00, I came down for my shawl in the kitchen and…found him,” she said, swallowing hard. “Kitty litter?” Mercer said. “For Sheba, a friend’s cat he sits for.” Just then, a yowl came from the basement. “That’s her. She hasn’t come upstairs since I got back.” “Anything else?”
“He planned to retire. Since his brother’s death, his nieces have been fighting over who will manage things.”
Evan Barclay had never married. His three nieces, Anna, Belinda and Chloe, were his only family.
“Wouldn’t they share responsibilities?” Desmond asked innocently.
“Never. They don’t get along, but because he wanted the business to remain a family affair, he declared only one niece would take over…a decision that fanned the flames.” “Who did he choose?” “He refused to divulge until he was closer to retirement.”
“It’s late. We’ll get statements tomorrow,” Desmond said as Sheba wailed again.
The next morning, they were in Professor Anna Barclay’s office when the campus tower clock struck 10. When asked to account for her whereabouts, she stiffened.
“My students arrived at 5:30 for a one-hour class. I suggest you ask Belinda about quarrels she and Uncle Evan had over her boyfriend, Luke, a shameless gold digger.”
The noonday news was on the TV when Belinda, red-eyed with flushed skin, answered the door in pajamas.
“Anna called,” she wheezed, clearly congested. “Sure, we argued over Luke, but really, my uncle was unfair. Wouldn’t invest in Luke’s business, but thinks nothing of wasting money on 12 bags of candy. But I didn’t kill him,” she said, reaching for more tissues.
Their last stop was Dandy Candy, the shop Chloe managed. “Where was I? Are my sisters accusing me of murder? This is the most popular stop during the merchants’ Halloween handouts. My staff and I were preparing treat bags until 6, when we closed.”
“No sister love in that trio,” Mercer said back in the car.
Suddenly, she smacked her forehead. “I know whose Halloween costume will have prison stripes. Let’s cuff our culprit.” — Loretta Martin