The Question of the Dead Mistress by E. J. Copperman

Author:E. J. Copperman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: CVR01052018;mystery;mystery fiction;mystery novel;mystery book;e.j. copperman;jeff cohen;aspberger's;aspbergers;autism;autistic;question of the missing husband;question of the missing head;asperger's;asperger's novel;asperger's mystery;aspergers mystery;question of the phelonius friend;question of felonious friend;question of absentee father;absent father;question of the absent father;question of absent father
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2018-08-17T14:35:41+00:00

nineteen

“Where in the cemetery?” Mike the taxicab driver asked. “The place is over a hundred acres. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“One hundred and twenty-five acres,” I said, having done some research on the facility before calling Mike to ask if he could drive me to the spot. “And I believe I know where to look. Melanie Mason’s grave is on the eastern side of the cemetery.”

There was no explanation of the initials MM on the green note I had discovered in my stack. Of course I did not believe Melanie Mason herself had left the note, but clearly someone wanted me to believe she had done so, possibly to deflect suspicion. It would be interesting to find out who, if anyone, would meet me at the designated spot.

Mike had initially been reluctant to make the thirty-minute drive to Scotch Plains after a full day of driving the taxicab and I was about to call Ms. Washburn to ask her to fill in. But when he heard I was intending to have a rendezvous with a mysterious figure claiming to be a dead woman, he said I should ask no one but him for transportation. The bulge in his jacket indicated he had thought to bring his handgun with him. I knew there was a shotgun well concealed in the cargo area of the Prius he had converted into a taxicab.

I was especially glad he had decided to accompany me because the cemetery officially closed to public visitation at four thirty p.m. This led me to wonder why the person who had left the mysterious note in my packet would have chosen a much later hour for our meeting. Mike, luckily, knew of a back entrance he said was used for delivery of equipment and supplies that would be open at night. Funerals tend to take place in the morning, so many such deliveries are made during off-hours to prepare for the next day’s events. Mike had turned off the headlights on his taxicab and we had driven through the open gate without incident. Then he had maneuvered us, according to an interior map I had downloaded, toward the area of Melanie Mason’s grave.

“I’ll head in that direction, but do you have a more specific area in mind?” Mike asked.

“Yes. I have the plot number. I can guide you once we are in the area.”

It had taken us approximately six minutes to find the correct area. Once there we looked at the plot but the car path was too far from the graves to make out any names carved into the headstones. Mike turned off the engine but switched on the headlights to illuminate the immediate area. There were no lights on in the cemetery itself.

I wondered why Ms. Washburn and her friends had thought such a place was an appropriate spot to enjoy themselves as teenagers but no obvious advantages came to mind.

“What do you think?” he asked me.

“I don’t see anyone standing at any of the graves,” I answered.

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