The Question of the Felonious Friend by E J Copperman

Author:E J Copperman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery book, aspbergers, asperger's, aspberger's, jeff cohen, aspergers mystery, mystery fiction, autism, autistic, question of felonious friend, mystery novel, question of the missing head, mystery, question of the phelonius friend, question of the missing husband, asperger's mystery, asperger's novel, e.j. copperman
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2016-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

“Richard Handy’s parents are divorced,” Ms. Washburn said. “His father is in Arizona, and his mother remarried and moved to Delaware. As far as I can tell, neither of them had been in touch with their son for at least a year.”

She was driving us toward the home of Dorothy Brewer, a woman who had been part of Richard’s Swords and Sorcerers group, according to the aunt she had called just after we’d left the police department. The aunt, whose name was Audrey Seldin, was not close but was the only relative dealing with Richard’s funeral. She did not have time to see us, she said. Perhaps in three days, which I thought would be after the question was answered. But Ms. Washburn took Audrey’s contact information and stored it in her cellular phone.

“How did you find out about his parents and locate his aunt?” I asked. “You didn’t seem to know this before we went inside.”

“I flirted a little with the officer who was in charge of the records.”

That struck me hard because the admission was so unexpected. I stammered a bit and said, “Ms. Washburn, you are a married woman, at least for the time being.”

She laughed. “It was just a little flirting, Samuel. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. You really do need to get a better sense of this sort of thing.”

I had recovered sufficiently, although far from completely, to ask, “When?”

“When do you need to get a better sense?”

“No. When did you … flirt with the officer?”

“You went in first to see Tyler when Mason and Sandy were walking in. I hung back a little bit because I could see how the guy behind the desk was looking at me and I figured I could use it.” She did not look at me, but I must have made a sound that indicated my stunned condition. “We needed some help, Samuel. It wasn’t a big deal, believe me.”

It is true that I do not understand the practice of flirting. It falls into a nebulous territory between mild notice and romantic interest that does not fully make sense. Either a person has some intent or he does not; the blend that is both and neither is very confusing for someone like me. My mother has often intimated that she believes I have some romantic interest in Ms. Washburn, although I do not believe that to be the case. Still, there must be some behavior I exhibit which gives Mother the mistaken impression. I do not see it myself.

“Is it crossing a line to ask how Simon would feel about you doing something like that for your job?” I asked.

Ms. Washburn’s crooked smile faded a bit. “That’s not relevant,” she said.

We did not speak again until we arrived at the home of Dorothy Brewer in a suburban area of Bound Brook, a town on the eastern end of Somerset County, not a long drive from where Richard Handy had lived in Franklin Township. The house was modest, likely a product of the 1980s, and exhibited no frills.

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