Bad Reputation, A (16 page)

“Well, good. Thank you.”

He put his arm around me and pulled me in close. “I forgive you for suspecting me.”

I gave him a long kiss. “It ain't over yet, bud.”

Chapter Seventeen

Austin came over on Saturday morning, and after breakfast, Jerry convinced him there was more to life than Wow, so the two of them went out in the back yard to toss a football and tackle each other. I called Nell to ask about repairing my office window and then spent an unsuccessful hour searching through all the Thomas Rileys and Ryan Hendersons, and then decided to call Flora. I wanted to give her an update on the case, and if confronted, maybe she'd tell me which Thomas and which Ryan I needed to talk to.

I was a little surprised when she offered to come over to my house.

“The police need to ask me some more questions, Madeline, and then I'll stop by.”

We sat on the front porch. I told her my investigation was coming along slowly, and I then asked her what she planned to do once Wendall's murder was solved.

She was wearing a powder blue suit, a white blouse, and several gold necklaces. She smoothed her silky blue skirt. “Some people aren't happy about it, but it's no secret Wendall left everything to me. I'm going to take some of that money and buy myself a place in Palm Beach. I've always wanted to live there. I'm not moving right away, of course. I'm not going anywhere until I find out who killed Wendall. It wouldn't look very good for me to leave town so soon, anyway. I know some people here think I did it.”

“That's true,” I said. “Why did you lie about having a sister?”

I thought this might catch her off guard, but as I'd recently learned from Jerry, she had a story ready. “I wanted to be alone, and that was the easiest way to make you feel more comfortable.”

“I'd also like to know about your ex-husband, Stan Bailey.”

“There's not much to tell. He and I had different ideas about our marriage.”

“What about Thomas Riley and Ryan Henderson and Phillipe DuCoeur?”

She kept her expression neutral. “How did you find out about them?”

“I have connections. And during the course of my investigations, I found out you have a reputation. You also have another name. Should I call you Flora or Lizzie?”

She sat silent for a few moments. “It was a game at first, like all the others, but then I truly fell in love with Wendall. I can't explain why I loved him. I'll admit I was attracted to his wealth and power, but he was also a wonderful man.”

“I imagine your other husbands were wonderful men, too.”

She shrugged. “Not really. They were rich. They were convenient. I suppose you'll want to talk to them.”

“I found Phillipe. I'd like to talk to the other two, if you know where they are.”

“Thomas is Thomas Allan Riley. He's in Philadelphia. Ryan's in Texas. Dallas, I think. Ryan Peter Henderson.”

Her lack of emotion regarding these men puzzled me. “I'm trying to understand. You don't feel any remorse about tricking them?” I'd run into this same problem with Jerry. He was feeling remorse now, but only because he'd been caught.

“Wendall was going to be the last. It was only a matter of time before my luck ran out.”

I'd heard Jerry tell Honor this same thing. The smart con artists were the ones who knew when to get out. “You don't have an alibi for Wednesday night.”

“No, I don't. But I don't have a motive, either.”

“Wendall might have been onto you. He might have threatened to expose you.”

“I'll tell you something, Madeline.” She leaned toward me. “For a long time, I was worried that he would find out about me and divorce me, but I honestly think he knew and didn't care.”

“How do you think he knew?”

She gave a laugh that was more a sob. “He found one of my wigs in the closet and asked me what it was for. He always liked my blond hair, and this wig was bright red. I said Stan had preferred me as a redhead. He said, ‘Stan couldn't afford you, could he?' What else could I say but no, he couldn't? Then Wendall said, ‘No one can afford you but me, Baby. You don't need any disguises or tricks. I'll take care of you.' He knew, all right, or at least had some suspicions.”

“Coming back to Celosia didn't spark old flames with Larissa?”

“She might have thought so, but he told me he felt nothing for her but pity. When they were married, he tried to give her all his wealth and attention, and she rejected it. He had nothing else to give her.”

“Did he mention having problems with anyone else in town?”

“Oh, I found out quite a few things about his good old school chums. Pamela Finch used to date a very shady character, and then Bea comes along with all these false claims about her son. I know a con when I see one, and I wasn't about to let her get her hands on any part of Wendall's fortune.”

She didn't say, “That was all for me.” She didn't have to.

“That dustup you had with her over the bracelet. What was that all about?”

“I found the bracelet in Wendall's things. He told me it was a sample of Bea's work. She made jewelry and was always pestering him to put in a good word for her with the Television Shopping Network, as if he had some magical pull with them, which he didn't. I decided to wear it and see if she noticed.”

This was a far cry from the sweet Bambi-eyed Flora I'd first met. “She noticed in a big way.”

“Oh, I wanted her to. I wanted her to see she couldn't manipulate Wendall.”

“That's my job,” went unsaid. These little flashes of menace made me wonder if Flora had a hand in Wendall's murder. She had easily seen through Larissa's neediness and Bea's rampant greed. Could she have played one against the other, all the while retreating to her guise of sweet little trophy wife when things got too hot?

“What about Wendall's cell phone?” I asked.

“His cell phone?”

I couldn't very well tell her Jerry and I had broken into her house while she was still at Wendall's funeral. “It might have some useful messages the police need to see.”

“They asked me about it. I packed it away somewhere. I'll have to find it.”

“Why didn't Wendall take it with him when he went to the gallery Wednesday night?”

“He left it with me. Mine was broken, and he didn't want to leave me alone without a phone. He was coming right back, so he said he didn't need it.” Her voice caught. “He was always thinking of me. Excuse me.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I can't seem to stop crying.”

I wished Jerry was here to tell me if her tears were genuine.

***

After Flora left, I went back to my computer. My search was a lot easier knowing full names and last known locations. I was able to find both Riley and Henderson, and their stories, as I'd guessed, were very similar to Phillipe DuCoeur's and Stan Bailey's. It would be easy to expose Flora as the con woman she was, but her willingness to help me made me hesitate before calling Chief Brenner. Wouldn't she have skipped town as quickly as she could? Wouldn't she already be in disguise and flirting with potential husband number six? Maybe I was an idiot, but I wanted to believe she was truly in love with Wendall and had nothing to do with his death.

However, I'd seen a cruel and calculating side to Flora Bailey Clarke. If her con had gone too far, it was time for me to call Chief Brenner.

“We have already looked into Ms. Clarke's background,” he said. “I'd like to hear your take on her.”

“I have mixed feelings. On one hand, she's very sweet and seems to have honestly been in love with Wendall, but on the other, she's got quite a scheme going. I've spoken with her ex-husbands. Their only complaint is she was too expensive to keep, so they divorced her, not realizing this was her plan all along.”

“Well, I want to make certain her plan did not include murder. The ex-husbands are all still alive, which is a point in her favor—a very tiny point. The next time you see her, remind her to stay in town. Anything else you can tell me?”

I told him about finding the gold button behind the gallery and how that clue fizzled out, and I told him about my search for the dark blue Honda.

“I can tell you that one,” he said. “Bea Ricter drives a dark blue Honda.”

“I thought she had a gray VW.”

“That's her son's. He's been driving her around while the Honda's in the shop. Any particular reason you need to know about that car?”

But when did it go into the shop? I'd save that question for now. “I'm trying to establish who was at the gallery. That clears that up, thanks.”

“I don't have any leads on who threw that brick in your window, Madeline. I hope you're taking my advice.”

“I'm at home and Jerry's with me.”

“Good. Stay in touch.” He hung up.

Next, I called Nell. “Nell, what can you tell me about Daniel Richards?”

“Owns half of downtown,” she said.

“Did he sell the store to Wendall?”

“Yep. Well, actually, his son did. Old Mr. Richards hasn't been himself for a couple of years now.”

“Daniel Junior has power of attorney?”

“Yeah, he handles everything.”

“Did anyone else want the building? I know Pamela did, but she couldn't afford it.”

“You'd have to ask Daniel Junior. His number should be in the book.”

It was. When I reached Daniels Richards Junior, I first asked if he knew about a letter his father had written to Pamela Finch regarding renovations to her dress shop.

“Yes,” he said. “I told Ms. Finch if she had proof my dad gave her permission, then I'd abide by that proof. Dad owned a lot of property in town, and he was notorious for making promises and deals he forgot about even before the Alzheimer's set in.”

“Did you or your father sell a building to Wendall Clarke to use for an art gallery?”

“Yes, the old Arrow Insurance building.”

“Was anyone else interested in purchasing that building?”

“I'd have to check my records. Can I get back to you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I should have that information for you by this afternoon.”

I hung up and went to see how the football game was progressing. It was a good thing there were plenty of leaves on the ground because at one point, Austin made a daring move, tripped Jerry, and Jerry ended up flat on his back. He laughed and raised his arms over his head in mock terror.

“Truce! Don't hit a man when he's down!”

“Yah! Die!” Austin said and made a wrestling leap. Jerry rolled out of the way, jumped up, and kicked Austin in the rear.

“You die!”

“Faker!”

“Sucker!”

As long as no one broke anything, I usually ignored all the rough housing, but something tickled my brain. I'd been supposing that someone tall hit Wendall on the forehead, causing him to fall. What if Wendall was already on the ground when the murderer delivered the final blow? What if he'd been tripped or pushed and then killed?

I gave Chief Brenner another call and asked if the medical examiner's report was complete. He was able to tell me Wendall Clarke had died as a result of the blow to the forehead, and there were other bruises and marks on the back of his head from the fall. But the examiner had admitted it would be difficult to tell which came first. I thanked the chief and hung up. I'd suspected Larissa and Pamela because both women were tall enough to hit Wendall's forehead. I'd dismissed both Flora and Bea as too short. Could Flora be the killer? Bea had the strength to throw a brick hard enough to smash a window, so could she topple Wendall?

I turned my attention back to Jerry and Austin. Jerry was taller, but Austin had more bulk. On the alert for Austin's moves, Jerry could easily evade him. If Bea took Wendall by surprise and cannonballed out of the dark, Wendall might not have had a chance to defend himself.

Now I needed proof that Bea was at the gallery that night and had somehow avoided being seen by Larissa, Pamela, Jerry, Nell, and myself. Ginger Alverez had said she and Bea were together from six until almost eleven that night. A visit to Ginger was in order.

I stepped out the kitchen door. “Jerry, I'm going into town. Do we need anything?”

Austin roared and charged. “Death move two thousand!”

“Uno minuto, Señora,” Jerry said and side stepped, toreador style. As Austin whizzed past, he gave him another kick. “Ole!”

“Ow! How do you do that?”

“Middle child, two brothers.” He turned to me. “Don't forget the tires.”

With everything that was going on, I had completely forgotten I'd told Jerry I would get the tires for the Mazda. “Okay, I'll stop by Fred's on my way. Anything else?”

“Austin's going to need a new rear end.”

“Ha, ha.” Austin charged again.

***

Fred's Garage was down a twisty little country road. One bent metal sign pointed toward the garage while another pointed toward a junkyard filled with scraps of cars, trucks, buses, and even an old fire truck. Fred came out to meet me, a dark little man with grease in every wrinkle. He wiped his hands on his overalls.

“What can I do for you, Madeline?”

“Jerry said you had some tires on sale. We need two.”

“I can fix you up right away. Come on in. Dennis! Take care of Mrs. Fairweather's car. Won't be but a minute, Madeline.”

I gave the keys to the eager young man who trotted up and followed Fred into his shop. The waiting room consisted of cracked leather chairs, an ancient gumball machine, two chipped end tables covered with old hunting and fishing magazines, and a neon sign advertising Laney's Bar and Grill. I noticed the other cars Fred's employees were working on. One was a white station wagon, one was a maroon-colored Buick, and the other was a dark blue Honda.

“Whose car is that?” I asked.

“The Honda? Belongs to Bea Ricter. Got an oil leak.”

“When did she bring it in?”

Fred screwed up his face in thought. “Lemme see. Thursday it was. Told her I couldn't get to it till today. Had to find a part.” His phone rang, and he went to the counter to answer it.