Bury Me When I'm Dead by Cheryl A Head Page A

some of whom wore suits and ties, some casual clothes and others bearingthe disheveled clothing common to the homeless. All were so intent on their screens they barely looked up as Charlie searched for an empty computer terminal, with no luck. Her task was to scan back issues of the Birmingham News looking for either Joyce or Paul Stringer’s name in crime reports, real estate transactions or legal notices. Finally she asked for help, and a librarian directed her to a work station on the second floor. After two hours and the perusal of six weeks of archives, she got a hit. Charlie looked at her watch, it was now four-thirty. The library closed in a half hour and she needed to be back at the motel by six. She flipped opened her phone and called Don using her library whisper to ask his whereabouts.
    â€œI’m still at police headquarters,” Don said. “Where are you?”
    â€œI’m at the central library on Park Place. Can you pick me up? Are you almost done?”
    â€œYeah and I’ve got some news.”
    â€œSo do I.”

    It turned out they had the same news: Paul Stringer was dead. He, and the cousin who sent the letter, had been murdered in early July.
    â€œThe detective I spoke to said it appeared to be a professional job. Hands tied at the back, feet bound and both shot in the face. They still had their cash and personal belongings, so it wasn’t a robbery.”
    â€œDon, what’s going on here? I thought Paul was just a chronic loser who couldn’t hold a job and needed his sister to rescue him from time to time. Apparently, he was into something bigger.”
    â€œThe police don’t have a clue about motive. But, here’s something else, they have seen Joyce.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œJoyce was listed as next of kin on Paul’s employee records at the beverage company. The police reached her on the number listed and she came to the morgue to make the ID.” Don checked his notes. “A couple of days later the owner of the Freeman Funeral Home, with a signed affidavit from Joyce, arrived at the morgue to claim the body.”
    â€œDo they know where she is now?”
    â€œNope. And the phone number they had for her is disconnected.”
    â€œWhat about the cousin?”
    â€œHis name is Andrew Meadows. He had a sheet, but only petty stuff. They had the same address as the one we have from the letter. I tried pushing for more but it’s still an active case and the detectives got a little squirrelly when I kept asking questions. I did assure the lead detective that if we found out anything that might be helpful, we’d pass it on.”
    Charlie thought about it for a moment. Of course, they’d cooperate with the Birmingham police, but she wasn’t forgetting her promise to Abrams to notify him before they turned Joyce in to the authorities.
    â€œI guess the first order of business is to go to the cousin’s house,” Don said, merging into the heavy flow of traffic leading away from Birmingham’s central core.
    â€œLet’s do that tomorrow, Don. From what I’ve seen and heard that neighborhood is dangerous and we should probably visit in daylight.”
    â€œI have my gun.”
    â€œYou were right to bring it,” Charlie conceded. “Karate and mace are no matches for professional killers. But we should tread carefully. The fact that Paul has been murdered puts a whole new spin on things. Let’s get some food, take it back to the motel and get a plan for tomorrow.”
    Don mastered Birmingham’s rush hour, showing the locals what Detroit drivers were made of, while Charlie checked in with the office. She activated her phone’s speaker function and Judy immediately put Gil on the line.
    â€œI spoke with a clerk at the Haldeman Mortgage Company who was unwilling to provide any information about the company’s relationship with Joyce Stringer except to admit they had one,”