Appraisal for Murder (26 page)

“Hi, hon,” Honey said brightly. “Got your work cut out for you in here, don’t you?” She walked to the bed and began surveying the jewelry. “She sure liked rose and purple, didn’t she?”

“Pretty much.” I picked up the single earring that had been on the closet floor the other day and placed it in the drawer of the bedside table. No point wrapping it up; besides, I might yet find the other one.

“Larry,” I said, “I noticed some mahogany carved ducks in the den. Were they yours?”

He brightened. “I don’t think Michael will mind if I take them. Ruth gave them to me for Christmas a number of years ago.”

Honey seemed put out by that comment, so I put her to work packing the jewelry in tissue paper and placing it in shoe boxes that would go to the church thrift store.

I LEFT PROMPTLY AT 2:45, and Aunt Madge walked out with me. She had again bought the frozen bread loaves from the store, and I kidded her about becoming a lady of leisure. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll stop baking bread as long as my fingers can knead it. It’s a very satisfying feeling, having your hands in that soft dough.”

Lester had given me the key to the house the day before, so I didn’t need to stop by his office. However, he had asked that I drop it back there between 4 and 4:30 p.m. I sensed he was more interested in me than the key, and then chided myself about thinking I was some kind of glamour girl.

The two-story house on G Street was toward the south side of town in an area comprised almost totally of summer rentals. It was clean and furniture-free, so I worked quickly. I finished measuring all of the rooms on the ground floor and then opened the utility closet door in the kitchen to verify that the central air and furnace systems were as young as the owner indicated.

“Surprised?” Joe Pedone asked, as he grabbed my wrist.

He was so quick I didn’t even have time to scream. He swung me around and pressed my back to him, clapping his hand to my mouth.

“I was just trying to collect some money. Money rightfully due to my boss,” he squeezed harder as he said this, “and you had to go make it personal.”

When I tried to pull away he just pressed harder against my ribs, and within a few seconds I found it hard to breathe, even through my nose.
Think, think!
In a self-defense class in college the teacher said never to try to kick a man in the balls, because we were so programmed not to injure men in that area that we might hesitate. No worries there, but I wasn’t in a good position to do it.

“You had to go to the police,” he hissed in my ear. “You lost me my job. Boss doesn’t want troublemakers on the payroll.” He pushed my face against the refrigerator and held me there with one hand and a knee jammed in my back as he reached in a drawer next to it and pulled out a pre-cut piece of duct tape and forced it over my mouth. My heart was pounding so hard I wouldn’t have gotten out a scream even if I had the breath for it.

He threw me on the floor and reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of strips of cloth. When he reached down I sat up halfway and tried to push myself away.

“Bitch!” He grabbed my arm and reached for the other one. He may have been short, but he was really strong. As he bent over I kicked him hard in the knee, and when he yelled in pain I did it again. Suddenly he was on the floor, but the kitchen was narrow and he was blocking any escape route.

I tried to pull the duct tape off, but just barely had it loose when he lunged at me again. In an instant I went from overwhelmed with fear to angrier than I could remember feeling. This time I aimed my elbow at his eye and hit him with all the force I could muster.

“Ow! Aagh!” He covered his eye with both hands and I jumped up and ran past him. He was running after me in two seconds and I could hear him breathing hard. I’d never make it outside; it was too hard to breathe and I was winded.

I made a sharp left into the master bedroom and lunged into the bathroom. I almost had the door shut when he rammed it with his shoulder. I braced myself against it, the rubber soles of my shoes giving me traction on the tiled floor. I grabbed at the duct tape, finished yanking it off, and took a deep breath.

I still couldn’t scream. I pressed my shoes against the floor. I had to keep him out!
Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You bastard,” I gasped. And I yelled "help" with all my might.

He jumped back from the door and I pushed it shut, turned the bolt and sank to the floor with my head between my knees. I could hear him breathing hard. “Next time. There will be a next time.” I heard him run out, and I slumped to my side and began to sob.

It was several minutes before I could stop. If I hadn’t needed to wipe my nose on the toilet paper I probably would have lain there crying for twice as long.

Blearily I sat up and took stock. My purse with the mobile phone was in the kitchen, probably on the floor, but I wasn’t leaving this room. Pedone might be out there. The window was too high to climb out without standing on a chair, which I didn’t have, but I thought I could get it open and yell. For all the good it had done me a couple minutes ago. Almost all the nearby houses were closed for the season. Lucky for me, Pedone didn't know that, which I supposed was why he left.
Or did he really leave?

I stood and rubbed my ribs. The window was the old casement type with a lever to open it. I tugged for almost a minute and couldn’t get the lever to turn. Unfortunately, the window was frosted, so even when I stood on tiptoes and looked out the lower part of the glass I couldn’t tell if Pedone was just outside, maybe with a gun.
Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t the movies.
Maybe not, but he wasn’t rational, that’s for sure. I wished I’d had the presence of mind to listen for a car engine right after he left.

“Damn!” I tugged at the window but couldn’t force it. My ribs throbbed from him holding me tight. Finally, I realized that if I stayed here long enough, someone would come looking for me. I’d told Aunt Madge I’d probably be back by five; Lester wanted his key. I closed the lid to the toilet and sat on it and rested my head on the sink, and giggled. Thank goodness all the cottages in Ocean Alley now had indoor plumbing. My giggle turned to a sob and I cried for a few more minutes.

“OK, Jolie.” I blew my nose and continued talking aloud. “If you keep crying you’re going to look like hell when the police get here.”

I’d think happy thoughts.
What happy thoughts?
Aloud, I said, “My husband lost all our money and I’m living with my aunt.” Aunt Madge’s kindly face came into my mind, and I told myself to breathe deeply. “You’ve got a job,” I said. “OK, it’s one where you find dead bodies and somebody tries to mug you.”
Or worse.
Harry’s thoughtful face came to mind and again I breathed deeply.

“At least you’re not accused of the murder. And you are alive.” That was a big plus. I wasn’t Ruth Riordan.

Who killed Ruth Riordan?
Even as disenchanted as I was with Michael, I couldn’t believe he did it. Darla had been in Europe. Maybe Darla paid someone to do it. That was pretty melodramatic. Would Paul Hammer really have killed his wife’s boss just to get her inheritance a little early? Would he have even known about it?
I bet he’d do it.

I got back on the floor to lie on my side and closed my eyes. Definitely better than the toilet seat. Who else saw Ruth a lot? Lots of people saw her at church and through its Social Services Committee. They seemed like unlikely candidates.

Mrs. Jasper had an incessant need to talk, but that didn’t make her a murderer.
Probably people want to kill her
. I smiled to myself for a second. I should feel sorry for her, she considered Mrs. Riordan her best friend.

Means, motive, and opportunity. Even Aunt Madge knew to think in those terms. I opened my eyes and stared at the beige tiled walls. I wished the prior owners had left a towel in here. I was getting cold. If I had Mrs. Riordan’s cash I’d start a fire in the bathtub.

I sat up. Mrs. Riordan’s money. What had that lawyer said about the will? Something like, “barring lawsuits from other people,” if Michael had killed her the three charities would get the money. And one of those charities was the First Presbyterian social services activity.
Mrs. Jasper?

“That’s ridiculous,” I said aloud. I put my head on the floor again and crossed my arms to stay warmer. Could Mrs. Jasper have done it? She said she hadn’t visited the night before I found Mrs. Riordan. But what if she had? Surely Ruth Riordan would not have gone to bed if Mrs. Jasper were there.

It was dark, and I fumbled for the door lock, forgetting that there was a light switch somewhere. The door opened and I nearly fell into Harry, who grabbed me and held me upright as Aunt Madge reached for me.

“He was here.” I was sobbing again. “Is he gone?”

“There’s no one here, Jolie.” Harry’s voice was calm, and it helped. When he turned on the light it helped even more.

Aunt Madge patted me on the back like a baby. I pulled back and looked at her, and read the anguish in her face. “I’m so sorry I worried you.”

She stroked my hair, tears on her cheeks. “I knew when you weren’t home…” Her lip trembled. “And Harry called Lester and he hadn’t seen you.”

I’d never seen her really cry, and this jarred me into calming down some more. “I’m okay. I kicked him.” I gave a short laugh. “And I elbowed him in the eye.”

“Come on,” Harry said. “Let’s get your purse and lock up and go to the police.”

I HAD SPENT MORE TIME in the Ocean Alley police station in the last couple weeks than I’d spent in all police stations I’d been in during my entire life combined. Sgt. Morehouse was at home, but someone called him. I figured I was probably at the top of his shit list.

At some point, someone called Lester. This did not make matters easier, but it did shed some light on why Pedone was in the house.

“Jeez, the guy showed me his bank statement. He had the money.” Lester was holding his unlit cigar, occasionally putting it between his teeth and then removing it.

“For sure, this guy?” Morehouse had a photo of Pedone, from the looks of it a mug shot from some previous pleasantry.

“Jeez Louise, that’s him.” Lester began to pace the small conference room. “He came in last week, said he was looking for a place to put some money he’d inherited, thought a rental property would be a good investment.”

“I can’t believe I suggested you go into appraisal work again,” Aunt Madge said.

“Aunt Madge, it’s Mother who’s the travel agent for guilt trips. Don’t send yourself. Besides,” I gave her what I hoped was a halfway cheerful grin. “It’s probably the safest occupation for me now. He’d never try that again.”

Finally, there was nothing more to do, and Morehouse said he would get the state police more involved in looking for Pedone and keep us informed. “I’ll call you every day,” he said to Aunt Madge.

We trooped out, with Lester still apologizing. “Relax, Lester,” I said. “You’re the one who lost the sale.” This did not cheer him up, but did silence him.

I REFUSED TO GO TO a doctor, insisting that if my sore ribs were broken it would hurt a lot more. My theory was that the fewer people who knew about Pedone attacking me the better. Good theory, but I hadn’t thought about the fact that reporters listen to the police scanner constantly and look at the police blotter each day.

“Local Appraiser Accosted in Vacant House,” read the morning headline. It was a short story, and quoted Morehouse saying that they thought I knew the suspect. It made it sound as if I hung around with people who regularly tried to beat me up. Elsie’s face came to mind, and I felt a guilty twinge that I had forgotten about her. I should have asked Morehouse if they picked up her husband.

My phone in Lakewood had not rung so much the morning that the article appeared about Robby embezzling from the bank. Some of the callers were Aunt Madge’s friends, but some were people I knew. Jennifer Stenner implied it would never happen to anyone from her firm, and I was tempted to tell her I’d hired someone to go after her. Joe Regan offered me free coffee for a week, and Mrs. Jasper wanted to stop by, but Aunt Madge told her I was lying down.

“I did for a bit. I should have realized he probably couldn’t organize all that.” I started to say that Scoobie was certainly as smart as we were, and realized it was pointless. We saw Scoobie very differently. “Listen,” he continued, “you aren’t going to do any more appraisals alone until they arrest this guy, are you?”