Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (22 page)

“I understand. What I don’t understand is why Vanessa would
tell you that Creighton loves you? Robert is easy-he trusts you and wants you to sympathize with his position. But Vanessa’s behavior
is puzzling. You’re the mystery writer, Marjorie. What possible reason could she have had for telling you that her intended husband is
in love with you?”

Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know, Mrs. Patterson. I don’t
know who or what to believe anymore. I just want…”

“You want to know if it’s true,” the other woman filled in the
blank. “And what if it is? What if Creighton does love you? What will
you do?”

Marjorie shrugged; she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. “I have
no idea.”

“Then that’s the real question, isn’t it? You ask me if Creighton loves you, but you can easily find the answer to that. Just open
your eyes. Men don’t say things the way women do. They don’t act
the way women do, but when they care, you can see it in their eyes.
No, Marjorie, what you really want to know is whether or not you
love Creighton.”

The young woman leaned her elbows on the table and rested
her head in her hands. Perhaps that was what she was asking, after
all. “I’m just so confused. I’m not certain if what I’m feeling is cold
feet because I’m getting married or if it’s something more serious.
Oh, Mrs. Patterson, what should I do?” she pleaded. “Should I forget about these feelings and hope they go away? Should I marry
Robert? Or should I break off the engagement, even though what
I feel for Creighton might be nothing more than a crush? Should I
let him break off his engagement with Vanessa?” She let her hands
drop to the table. “What should I do?”

Mrs. Patterson patted her hand. “There, there, Marjorie. You’re
letting your thoughts run away with you. You don’t need to make a decision tonight. You and Robert haven’t set a wedding date yet.
Take a few days to think about it and the answer will come to you.

“What if it doesn’t? What do I do then?”

The elderly woman smiled. “Then you do what I did before I
married Mr. Patterson. I had cold feet before our wedding. Very cold
feet. So cold, in fact, that I nearly called the whole thing off. Well, my
mother gave me some wonderful advice. She told me to picture my
life without Frank in it, and that would help me make up my mind.”

“Apparently it did. You and Mr. Patterson were married more
than forty years.”

“Yes, but you see, her advice worked because it failed.”

Marjorie pulled a face. “What?”

Mrs. Patterson explained, “For days I tried to do what my
mother had told me, but I just couldn’t. Finally, out of frustration,
I went to her and said `Mother, I’ve tried to heed your advice, but I
just can’t imagine my life without Frank’ My mother looked at me
and smiled, and I realized what I had said. She hugged me. ‘Emily,’ she said, `that’s exactly the way you should feel about the man
you’re about to marry.”’

Marjorie frowned; it was a pleasant little story but she wasn’t
sure how it would help her in her present situation. “So I should
picture my life without Robert and if I can’t, that means I should
marry him,” she rejoined skeptically.

“Not just Robert. You should try it with Creighton, too.”

“What if I can’t imagine life without either of them? How will I
know what to do then?”

Mrs. Patterson began pouring out the tea. “You’ll know, dear.
You’ll know.”

MARJORIE AWOKE THE NEXT morning to the sound of someone
knocking on her front cottage door. Still wooly eyed, she staggered
out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown, and made her way into
the living room. She swung open the door to find Robert standing
on the front stoop.

He gave her a kiss upon entering. “Morning. What are you still
doing in bed? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she rubbed her eyes and stretched.

“How’s the ankle?”

“A lot better”

“I’m glad. I was worried about you last night. You looked like
you were in a lot of pain.”

“Yes, I was. Silly cobblestone streets,” she replied. “What time
is it?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“I guess I was tired,” she replied. Tired was an understatement. In
truth, she had been exhausted. “I’ll put some coffee on,” she offered.

“None for me, thanks,” he declined. “I had some at headquarters.”

Deciding not to make any for herself, Marjorie sat down on the
chintz-covered sofa. Sam, her mottled-gray tomcat, rubbed against
her leg. “How are things in police land?”

“Busy.” He eased into a floral printed armchair. “Dr. Heller’s report was on my desk this morning. It confirms that curare poisoning killed Nussbaum and that the wound on his neck matches the
dart that you found.”

“That was a foregone conclusion by now, wasn’t it?” Marjorie
picked up the cat and placed him on her lap. Sam, having nothing
of this display of affection, wriggled free and jumped to the ground
with a small meow.

“Yeah, but it’s nice to know that the lab work backed up our theory-otherwise we would have had to start all over.” He removed
his hat. “By the way, Dr. Heller also released Nussbaum’s body.”

“Oh? And which Mrs. Nussbaum is the lucky winner?”

“Bernice. As we speak, Alfred’s on his way back to Boston.”

Boston, Marjorie remembered. Boston and Creighton. “Just as
well,” she commented, “since Josie’s in the lock-up.”

“Yeah, although her lawyer sent a request that she be released
for two hours, under police supervision, for the funeral.”

“Released?”

“Yeah, Logan has to play chaperone,” he explained. “Speaking of
Logan, he’s sending over those mug shots of Murphy and his friends
so we can show them around to everyone at the fair. I should have
them by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yes,” she replied distractedly.

“Noonan’s checking out Nussbaum’s financial records. I want
to see exactly what kind of arrangement he had with Josie. I know
Saporito admitted that they were trying to fleece the guy, but if we
can prove there was a life insurance policy, it just strengthens our
case. Noonan’s also checking with bus companies to see if anyone
answering to Natalie’s or Bernice’s description bought a ticket to
Ridgebury or Hartford on Friday or Saturday. Like I said, it was the
easiest and cheapest way for them to have made the trip.”

“Sounds like you have all your bases covered,” she casually remarked, disappointed that there wasn’t some bit of police work that
would help her get her mind off things.

“Not all of them. I’m going to check out Cullen Chemicals today. Nussbaum was employed there before he worked for Alchemy.
I thought I’d see if he had any enemies: coworkers he didn’t get
along with, bosses who didn’t like the way he looked, that sort of
thing.”

Marjorie raised an eyebrow; perhaps here was a distraction. “Cullen Chemicals in Hartford? They closed a few months ago didn’t
they?”

Robert nodded. “I called the Cullen brothers directly. Temporary shut down is how they described it, but it doesn’t sound like
they’re bouncing back too quickly. They sold their estate and rented
a couple of rooms at their men’s club. I got the club’s address and
told them I’d stop by later”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me about it. Aren’t you afraid I’ll
try to tag along?”

“Not this time.”

“Oh? Confident that the fact you’re meeting in a men’s club
will keep me at bay?”

“Actually, we’re meeting on a nearby golf course. Women are
allowed there.” Jameson smiled. “No, the reason I’m not afraid of
you tagging along is I’m inviting you.”

“Inviting me,” she repeated. “Two days in a row? Are you sure
you’re not the one who’s sick?”

“I’m not sick. I’m just heeding the advice of a friend;” he explained.

Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “Advice of a friend, eh? What precisely was this advice?”

“That I shouldn’t try to break the spirit of an independent
woman.

“Hmm, very wise man. I like him already. Is he married?” Marjorie asked.

“No, he isn’t.” Robert frowned.

“You’d better be careful then,” she teased before heading off to
the bedroom to change. “If I meet him, I might just be swept off
my feet.”

The Cullen brothers, Charles and Kenneth, were playing the sixth
hole on the Grouse Hollow Golf Course when Marjorie and Jameson
arrived, by cart, to speak with them. The men were fortyish and, apart
from the bright knickers and tams they wore, were virtually nondescript in appearance, with plain, even features and mousy brown
hair. In fact, the brothers blended with their surroundings and each
other so harmoniously that the only way Marjorie could differentiate
between the two was by the pince-nez clipped to the end of Charles’
nose.

Kenneth requested the number one wood from the caddy and
approached the tee. “So good of you to meet us here, Detective
Jameson,” he stated appreciatively. “I would’ve hated to have to cancel our golf game. Getting a tee time on this course is confoundedly
difficult. Sometimes we have to make a reservation a week in advance.

“My pleasure, Mr. Cullen,” Jameson replied. “I’m glad we have
an opportunity to talk. You and your brother might be able to shed
some light on this case.”

There was silence as Kenneth addressed the ball and drove it
about two hundred and fifty yards down the fairway. “Nice one,”
Charles commented enthusiastically. Then returning his attention
to the matter at hand: “Yes, I couldn’t believe the news when you
told me, Detective. What exactly happened to Nussbaum? A botched
robbery attempt?”

“No, a simple case of murder.”

“Murder? But Nussbaum was such a placid man; I can’t imagine him provoking anyone into taking such drastic measures. Are
you sure it wasn’t a robbery?”

“Positive. Nussbaum’s wallet hadn’t even been touched.”

“Forget about it being touched,” Kenneth eagerly followed up.
“Was there any money in it?”

Jameson hesitated. “No. Just some change. Why?”

“Because Nussbaum hardly ever carried cash in his wallet. It was
a trick he learned from years of being on the road. A pickpocket, he
said, will automatically go for a man’s wallet. That’s why he usually
kept his cash in a separate pocket. Now, did you find cash anywhere
else?”

Nussbaum had been wearing a white shirt and a pair of navy
blue trousers, and the only items they had found in those pockets
were his wallet, a few coins and the number-laden piece of paper.

“No, we didn’t, but how much cash could a salesman have on
him anyway? Not enough to kill for, certainly.” He eyed the brothers suspiciously. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask the questions for a change.”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” Charles shot Kenneth a warning glance.
“My brother sometimes fancies himself an amateur sleuth. Go ahead
and ask whatever you like. Although I don’t know how much we can
help you. It’s been months since we’ve seen Alfred Nussbaum.”

“I realize that, but perhaps you can tell me about the time he
spent as your employee.”

The caddy placed a second ball on the tee and handed Charles
the driver.

“There’s not much to tell, Detective,” Kenneth interjected. “Like
my brother said, Nussbaum was a quiet fellow. Kept to himself.”

“He didn’t socialize with any of his coworkers?”

“He didn’t have an opportunity. He was a traveling salesman,
you know.” Kenneth held up a hand for silence, while his brother
took his swing. The ball flew into the rough.

“Damn it!” Charles shouted and hurled the club to the ground
in disgust.

“Quite a temper you have there, Mr. Cullen,” Marjorie remarked.
“You should try to keep it in check. It’s not good for the blood pres„
sure.

Charles glared at her over the top of his wire-framed spectacles.

“You were saying,” Jameson continued, “that Alfred Nussbaum
didn’t have time to make friends at your company. Does that mean
he also didn’t have time to make enemies?”

The caddy packed up the clubs and the Cullen brothers proceeded to the green. “That’s precisely what it means,” Charles
brusquely averred.