Cross-Stitch Before Dying (20 page)

“Vera’s right,” I said. “Too much has been invested in this movie for it to be abandoned altogether. Let’s look at other angles . . . like the fact that Henry had just learned prior to casting Babushka in the role that he was her biological father.”

Vera’s and Paul’s almost-identical reactions were comical. Their lower jaws nearly bounced off the picnic table.

I laughed. “Close your mouths, guys, before a mother bird comes and feeds one of you a worm.”

Vera was the first to sputter back to life. “Is that true? Says who? When did you find that out? Were you holding out on me?”

“I didn’t find it out until yesterday morning when Henry told me,” I said. “I went to his hotel room because Mom was so upset because she thought he was having an affair with Babs. He said he wasn’t having an affair with her and that she was his biological daughter. Mita Trublonski had told him a few months ago.”

“Well, this changes everything,” Paul said. “How did Babs feel about Henry being her father?”

“She didn’t know,” I said. “Henry said that he and Mita had decided to keep it from Babs at least until the movie was finished. They didn’t want her to think Henry had given her the part because she was his daughter.”

“How did Henry’s wife feel about his having a daughter?” Vera asked.

“He said she’d been hurt at first, but that she quickly adapted to the news,” I said. “They’d been unable to have children of their own. Henry seemed to cling to Babs as if she were some sort of miracle, and I believe he hoped Eileen would come to feel the same way.”

Vera snorted. “Fat chance.”

“Speaking of Eileen, she was supposed to be coming in today,” I said. “Surely, after the police called her with the news of Henry’s death yesterday, she decided not to come.”

“Or she might be coming to take his body back home,” Ted said.

“I should check and see,” I said. “Maybe she didn’t get over those hurt feelings as easily as Henry had thought. She could’ve slipped something into his shaving kit that he hadn’t used until this morning. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Anything’s possible,” Ted said.

O
nce everyone had left to give Mom and me some time alone on Saturday evening, I put on soft classical music and made us mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Mom added a splash of Irish crème to hers. Then we sank onto the sofa in the living room.

“So, how are you?” I asked. Before she could answer something flippant, I added, “I know it’s rather like asking Mary Todd Lincoln, ‘Other than that, how was the play?’ but, seriously, how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling overwhelmed,” she answered. “And scared . . . no, make that terrified . . . and sad. Henry had been a close friend for so long. . . . You know, when I first stepped into that room, I never dreamed he’d been murdered. I was thinking heart attack, aneurysm . . . anything but murder.”

“And yet you knew not to touch anything even before Ted warned you not to, didn’t you?”

“I haven’t been in the movie business for as long as I have without picking up something from police procedurals.” She sipped her chocolate. “Everyone liked Henry. He was good to cast and crew members. He was thoughtful. I can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead. Babushka, yes. I understand why someone would want to push her off a ledge or bash her head in. But Henry? No.”

“Mom! I’m surprised at you. That’s a horrible thing to say about Babs.”

“You asked me how I’m feeling,” she said. “I thought you wanted me to be honest.”

“I do,” I said. “I’m sorry. I know Babs treated everyone horribly. But if Henry really was her father, then there must’ve been something good about her . . . even if it was buried way below the surface . . . right?”

“I guess.” She sighed. “I feel so sorry for Eileen.”

“Do you think she’ll come to Tallulah Falls, or do you expect her to have Henry’s body sent home with a police escort?” I asked.

“Knowing Eileen, she’ll be here, if she isn’t already. She’ll want to talk with the police and determine exactly what happened to Henry. And she won’t go back home until they release the body to her.” She studied her mug for a second. “I’ll call her cell tomorrow. If she’s in town, maybe I can offer her a meal . . . a shoulder to cry on . . . my condolences.”

I patted Mom’s arm. “Just keep in mind I’m here for you in case you need a shoulder.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“What do you think you’ll do when you get home?” I asked. “Will you want to take some time off before taking on a new project, or do you want to dive right back in?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Whether I’m arrested or not, if a cloud of suspicion is hanging over my head, I doubt anyone will want to hire me.”

“You know that’s not going to happen,” I said. “You did nothing wrong, and you’re going to be exonerated.”

“Yeah . . . I hope so.”

“Vera is afraid this nightmare will put you off costuming forever,” I said lightly. “She thinks that if it does, you should start your own clothing line.”

“Does she now?” She took a drink of her chocolate and licked the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. “Creating my own clothing line, huh? That does sound intriguing.”

•   •   •

The next morning, I got up early and made a double batch of oatmeal raisin muffins. I packed up half the muffins and put the rest under a lidded cake plate. I kissed Angus’s nose and left Mom a note telling her I had to run an errand and would be back as soon as possible.

I was on my way to the hotel to see Sonny Carlisle to determine what I could learn about his visit to Henry yesterday morning. I felt he was a more viable suspect than anyone else who’d been in Henry’s hotel room, but I wasn’t sure he’d killed Henry either. I had my cover story worked out, and I called Sonny from the lobby to ask if he could see me. I said I had muffins but that if it was too early for a social call, I’d leave them for him at the front desk. He told me to bring them up.

Sonny was dressed and looked as if he’d been up for a while when he opened the door. He had on a tracksuit, and I guessed he’d been in the fitness room.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” I asked.

“Just a glass of OJ on the way to walk on the treadmill for two miles,” he said. “Those smell awfully good. What kind are they?”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“I love oatmeal raisin! Come on in and have a seat,” he said.

I knew he liked oatmeal raisin cookies because I’d seen him taking some from the food cart once when I visited Mom on set. I was hoping that meant he liked oatmeal raisin muffins too.

We sat down at the table. Sonny had opened the curtains, and we had an excellent view of the town.

“Want some coffee?” he asked. “I made some in this little pot this morning, but it’s probably too cold and strong to drink. But I can have room service bring up a pot.”

“I’m fine, but if you want some, please go ahead.”

He grinned. “I definitely want some.” He called room service and requested a coffee tray. Then he sat back down across from me. “So, what brings you by, Marcy?”

“I figure you and Mom are pretty much in the same boat,” I said. “I know she’s upset right now and in need of comfort food. I guessed you might be too.”

“I am,” he said. “Henry was a good friend.”

“Well, not only that, but now the movie is kaput, right?” I asked.

“I suppose it is. I hadn’t stopped to give it much thought, but I don’t know who’d take it on after all this.”

I plunged on ahead. “Sonny, I know you were one of the last people to see Henry alive.” At the sharp rise of his brows, I added, “The Tallulah County Police Department had us watch the surveillance tape to see if we could identify anyone, and we saw you arrive just a few minutes before Mom did.”

There came a knock at the door. “Let me get that,” he said. He got up and held open the door while the room service waiter rolled the cart in with the coffee tray. He then tipped the waiter and shut the door.

He poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table. He put the baskets containing sweetener and creamer on the table too, and then he sat down. He didn’t look back up at me until he’d put sugar and creamer into his coffee.

“Are you accusing me of something, Marcy?” he asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m just thinking that if we put our heads together on this, maybe we can figure out what happened.”

His face was still hard and untrusting.

“Henry told me yesterday morning that Babushka Tru was his daughter,” I said.

That got Sonny’s attention. His eyes widened, and once again, his eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

“Completely. I saw him before I went into work yesterday,” I said. “He was so upset over Babs’ death. Mom had been angry with him because she misconstrued his affection for Babs—she thought they were having an affair—and I came to talk with him. That’s when he told me she was his daughter. He said Mita Trublonski told him a few months ago, but they hadn’t told Babs yet.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell her?” he asked.

“Henry said that he and Mita didn’t want Babs to think her comeback was all because of their relationship.”

“But it was.” Sonny took a muffin and tore it in half. “I can’t imagine keeping a secret like that. Did Eileen know?”

I nodded. “Henry said she was upset at first but came to accept it. Once the police determined that Henry had been poisoned, I wondered if she really had accepted it.”

He’d bitten into the muffin but couldn’t resist speaking with his mouth full. “What? You think Eileen poisoned Henry?”

“She had both the motive and the opportunity,” I said. “She could’ve put the cyanide into his shampoo or mouthwash or something before he even left for Oregon.”

Sonny swallowed while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. He’d have died a lot sooner then, wouldn’t he? I mean, we all use that stuff every day.”

“Maybe she put it in a new bottle, and he finished up his old bottle first,” I said.

Again, Sonny shook his head. “No. Not Eileen. Besides, if the police had found the cyanide in Henry’s stuff here, why would they have kept looking?”

“To see if you or Mom had something similar,” I said.

“They went through your stuff too?” he asked.

“Yep. Mom is the one who found Henry’s body,” I said. “Didn’t they tell you that?”

“They didn’t tell me much of anything.” He took another bite of muffin. “I still say it wasn’t Eileen, though. I’ve known her for a long time. A killer, she ain’t.”

“Then it just about had to be someone here,” I said. “How did Henry seem when you saw him?”

“He was jittery . . . sweating, breathing hard. . . . He kept putting his hands up to his temples.” Sonny took a drink of his coffee. “I didn’t want to leave him like that, so I asked him to let me call an ambulance for him.”

“What did he say?”

“He said no—said he probably just had a little touch of food poisoning from his breakfast,” he said.

“Maybe that’s it,” I said. “Maybe somebody bribed one of the hotel workers to put the poison in Henry’s food.”

“I’m sure the police are taking all that into consideration. Don’t get so worked up.”

“How can I not get worked up, Sonny? My mother is under suspicion for Henry’s death . . . and so are you. How can
you
not get worked up?”

“I know I’m innocent,” he said. “And I believe in our justice system. Let the police do their jobs. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” I said. I looked at my watch, even though I had nowhere I had to be at any particular time. “I really should be going.”

“Well, now, you just trust that everything will be all right,” Sonny said. “And thank you for the muffins. They’re delicious.”

“You’re welcome.” I turned back toward him when I got to the door. “If you think of anything, will you let me know?”

“Sure,” he said.

Somehow, I wasn’t very confident about that.

As I was waiting for the elevator, Ron Fitzpatrick came down the hall.

“Hey, Marcy,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

“I stopped by to see Sonny for a minute. He seems pretty upset over Henry’s death,” I said.

“Yeah, we all are.”

The elevator doors opened, and Ron and I walked inside.

“I’m going to breakfast,” he said, as the doors closed. “Want to join me?”

“No, thanks. I need to get home and check on Mom. This past week has really taken a toll on her,” I said.

“I heard that.” He shook his head. “First Babs and then Henry? It’s like somebody’s gone nuts . . . like the whole
world
has gone nuts!”

“I know. Hey, you mentioned you had promo and outtake footage that you submitted to news and entertainment outlets,” I said. “I’d love to see it.”

“And I’d be happy to show it to you, but I really am starving.”

“Can we do it later today?” I asked. “You could come to my house, we could have snacks. . . . Angus would try to cajole you into a game of fetch. . . .”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. “Just tell me when and where.”

I gave him my address, and he agreed to come by at around one o’clock that afternoon.

When I got out to the Jeep, I called Ted and asked if he could make it.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “But are you sure a movie clip party is really what your mom needs right now?”

“I think it might be exactly what we all need. Maybe we’ll see something that will help us find the person who killed both Babs and Henry.”

He chuckled. “All right, Inch-High. I’ll see you at one.”

Okay, I’ll admit it was a stretch. No one was going to walk by wearing a sandwich sign reading I hate Babs on one side and I hate Henry on the other. But we might see something that would give us a clue.

•   •   •

I pulled onto my street and noticed a strange car parked in my driveway. It was a black sedan, and my fear that it was a police officer or journalist hassling my mother made me whip into the driveway sideways, throw the Jeep into park, and rush into the house with guns-a-blazing. Not that I had any guns to blaze, but I’m talking attitude here. I had attitude—plenty of attitude.

“Mom! Are you all right?” I called as I opened the door, ready to do battle with the unknown, unwanted guest.

“I’m in the kitchen, darling. Come and meet Eileen,” Mom said.

Eileen. Eileen Beaumont. So I’d overreacted. But, in my defense, Eileen still hadn’t been ruled out as a killer yet . . . at least not in my book.

“I’ll be right there!” I called. I went back outside, got in the Jeep—whose door I’d left open—and parked properly . . . and then I got out, closed the door, and went back into the house.

When I went into the kitchen, I saw that Mom was making crepes.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mom said. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thanks,” I said. I walked to the table and extended my right hand toward Eileen. “Hi, I’m Marcy.”

“We’ve met before actually,” said Eileen, a woman with wavy caramel brown hair and dark eyes. “You were just a little girl then. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.”

“Wait. It was at a cast party, wasn’t it?” I asked, vaguely remembering Eileen Beaumont in a long peach gown smiling and nodding at everyone who spoke to her.

“It was,” Eileen said.

“See?” Mom asked. “I told you she’d remember.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m sorry for your loss, Eileen. It must’ve come as quite a shock.”

“Yes, it did,” she said. “I keep turning the whole thing over and over in my mind. First Babs and then Henry. I can’t imagine who’d want to hurt either of them . . . but
both
? It’s almost unbelievable.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And yet the person whose face I keep seeing in my mind is that of Mita Trublonski. I can’t help but feel that somehow she’s responsible for everything.”