Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (17 page)

A black shadow crossed in front of the window, a crow landing on the bird feeder. I wanted to ask Lauren about his history with Vic Spencer but couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject.

The crow cawed loudly and flapped his wings. The other birds fled. Lauren arose from his chair and shooed the blackbird away, then shut the window.

“I hate crows.” Lauren wiped his hands on a white linen handkerchief tucked into his jacket pocket. “That’s the third time he’s shown up this week. He drives the other birds away.”

Ah-hah! He had given me an opening to probe for an alibi.

“People say crows are an omen of death.” I didn’t believe it, but it sounded good. “I don’t suppose you saw a crow on either of the last two Saturdays, did you? That would be too strange.”

“Perhaps.” Lauren remained standing. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer you any refreshment when you came in.” He didn’t offer any now, either. Maybe he had treated Magda, his client and a person of importance in Grace Gulch, with more courtesy. But he acted as though Audie were a lackey to be summoned and then dismissed.

I plunged ahead. “I just wondered because Vic Spencer died on Saturday. And then of course, Magda died a week later. Two violent deaths a week apart.”

“If I were you, Audie, I might stay away from this lady.” Lauren’s voice remained neutral as he addressed me. “After all, you saw both of the bodies, Cici.”

I clamped my hand over Audie’s to keep him from jumping up.

I won’t let him get to me. I refuse
.
“And they were both connected with the theater. That’s what’s so strange. You’d think we were putting on
Hamlet
.”

“
Macbeth
,
” Audie said. “
Macbeth’s
considered bad luck.”

“Whatever. I’m wondering about other connections that we don’t know about. You recommended Spencer to Magda. Where did you meet him?” There, I had asked the important question. I hoped that he wouldn’t sue me for slander.

“Some of my clients mentioned that they used his services.” Lauren came around the desk. “I can’t blame you for wanting to play detective again, after the way you nailed Penn Hardy’s killer last fall.” He winked at me. “The police might think that you had a motive for killing Mrs. Mallory, Audie, after they learn the terms of her will. Where were
you
on Saturday afternoon?”

18

From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])

Date: Monday, April 28, 9:36 PM

To: Peppi Lambert ([email protected])

Subject: Malice?

You have expressed animosity regarding the special favors that the Grace family receives in the town of Grace Gulch.

Did your animosity extend to Magda Grace Mallory individually?

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Monday, April 28

Of all the. . .

The lawyer’s slanderous question made my chest tighten.

Audie restrained me from lunging at Lauren. He answered in a calm voice, “Why, I was at the theater. Where I usually am in the afternoons.” He shook hands with the lawyer and left with all the civility of an afternoon tea party—a better reaction than my desire to draw pistols and call on seconds.

A fixed smile remained on Audie’s face until we had returned to my store. “‘Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are.’ My brave Cici.” He brushed my lips with his and then grew serious. “Lauren’s not the only one wondering about me, you know.”

He walked into the dressing room, ready to help set the store to rights for the morning. What a man. I brought out several items from my back room. He reappeared a few minutes later, all the articles of clothing hung to show to best advantage and placed on the correct racks. He knew my merchandise almost as well as I did.

“The problem is, no one can vouch for my presence at the theater on Saturday afternoon.” Audie talked from behind the skirt rack. “Sometimes Dina is there in the afternoons, but not Saturday. Both she and Peppi had assignments from the newspaper.”

“The two of them are thick as thieves recently, that’s for sure. They egg each other on like they’re in a competition. I’m not sure which one of them is worse.” All in all, I was proud of my sister’s work at the newspaper, and I liked her new friend. Still, why couldn’t they have been on assignment some other day?

I shook out the wrinkles of the dress harder than I needed to with my hand. “Lauren is right about one thing. I do want to find the killer, assuming the same person murdered both Spencer and Magda. It seems like it has to be. Why else would the pearls be used both times?” Tears I had suppressed over Magda’s death welled up. “Poor Magda. She only wanted everyone to enjoy her beautiful pearls.” The tears came hard and fast. “How could anyone do that to her?”

Audie removed the dress from my hands, and his strong arms encircled me. I looked at the fine blond hairs on his forearm, below the point where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves. Soft-spoken and gentle on the outside, hard and strong in his inner core, where it mattered, that was my guy. I looked into his tear-stained, lake-blue eyes.

“Magda was irreplaceable. We have to find out who did this to her.” His voice resonated, a bow drawn across cello strings.

“To figure that out. . .” I stopped long enough to blow my nose. “We need to find out who killed Spencer. It’s been a week, and the police don’t appear to have a clue who killed him. Now that Magda’s dead, his case will go cold. But he’s the key, I’m sure he is.”

“Let’s eat before we make any more plans.”

I was too upset to cook, so we grabbed some barbecue and headed to the empty theater. If we went anywhere in public everyone would ask about the murders. I couldn’t handle that, not tonight. The theater offered a refuge. Also, I needed to recheck the references Spencer provided on his application.

After platters of beef brisket and buckets of tea—at least, that’s what it felt like, although we only ate one sandwich each and shared a basket of fries—we examined the list.

Audie glanced at his watch. “It’s half-past seven. Early enough to make a visit.”

We headed to the first address on the list, one block down the street from my house. The modest ranch house belonged to Dr. Johnson and his wife, my family doctor and sophomore English teacher, respectively

“Mrs. Johnson had us read
The Picture of Dorian Gray
.
She’ll appreciate your Oscar Wilde fascination.”

We arrived at the house at twenty minutes to eight and rang the doorbell. A woman with a friendly face and a blond braid hanging over her shoulder appeared at the door. “Why, if it isn’t Cecilia Wilde!” Jean Johnson hadn’t changed much since I spent a year in her classroom. “Come in.”

I made introductions. She had seen Audie and attended every single play but had never met him personally.

“‘Memory. . .is the diary that we all carry about with us.’ Cici has told me how much she enjoyed your class.”

“I love that quote.
The Importance of Being Earnest
.
”

Mrs. Johnson led us into a room full of well-preserved ’80s country charm and poured us tea. Neither one of us would get much sleep that night, with all that caffeine, but we wanted to put our hostess at ease.

“Now tell me, what has brought you to my house? I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss Oscar Wilde.”

I fiddled with my purse, which held my list of suspects and Spencer’s references. My former teacher was too polite to pump me for information about Magda’s murder. I would have to bring up the subject myself.

“Mrs. Johnson—”

“Don’t be silly. It’s Jean. You’re not fifteen anymore.”

“Jean.” Using her first name didn’t seem right. In her presence I traveled back in time to the shy teenager I had been. “You probably know that a burglar was found murdered in my store a little more than a week ago.”

“I read about that in the paper. You poor dear.”

“Did you know the victim—Vic Spencer? The man who ran the cleaning service?”

“Of course. He cleans. . .
cleaned
our house all last year. A lovely present from my husband for our thirtieth anniversary.” Jean’s smile relaxed into wrinkled concern, appropriate to the death of someone known to her. “How terrible that he should be killed.” She paused, too polite to voice her question. Why are you here?

“He listed you as a reference. We thought you might know something about him that we didn’t know. We’d like to, er, offer our sympathy to his family.” That wasn’t really a lie. I had a card ready to send.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see, Jack hired him.” She moved across the floor with the same decisive strides I remembered from high school. “Jack. Could you come up here, please?”

A few moments later Dr. Johnson emerged from the basement. No amount of urging could convince me to call the doctor who had removed my appendix by his first name. A light layer of sawdust coated his clothes.

“I can’t get away from my tools,” he said. “Scalpels by day, saws by night.” He noted our presence, not strangers, but not close friends, either, at eight o’clock at night. “Say, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“They’re here about Vic Spencer.”

“The man who was murdered.” Comprehension dawned on his face. “At your store.” He turned on a professional demeanor. “How are you doing? I understand you also found Magda’s body. That’s two big shocks.”

“I’m fine.” As good as could be expected under the circumstances, but I hadn’t come to his house for a medical consultation.

“They wondered what we knew about Mr. Spencer. I suppose they feel a sense of responsibility since it happened at Cecilia’s store.”

Dr. Johnson nodded. This couple understood responsibility. “That lawyer, Lauren Packer, mentioned him when I asked around about cleaning services.”

“So Lauren recommended Spencer?” Lauren, again; his name kept popping up.

“Yes, he did. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Do you know anything about Spencer’s family?”

The doctor shook his head. “He kept to himself and did his job. I told Jean we should continue his services.”

“And I told him not to be foolish. Why waste money that we could save for our grandchildren’s education?” She pointed to photographs displayed above an upright piano. “There they are.”

Audie fidgeted as she listed their names. “They’re very handsome.” He pointed at a dark spot behind the framed pictures. “Did something else used to hang here?”

“Why, yes. We had a small Remington.”

Remington, the famous western painter? His art fetched high prices. My fingers tingled at the possibilities. “That must be lovely. Have you moved it?”

The couple exchanged looks. “Someone stole it, I’m afraid. About six months ago. Together with a few other of our more precious finds over the years.” Regret stayed on Jean’s face for a moment.

“How awful!” I would check the
Herald
archives on the computer to see if the string of burglaries included the Johnsons. “Do the police have any leads?”

“No.” Jean sighed. “I have taken to going to garage sales. I find the most charming things, for a fraction of the price.”

“I love what you’ve done with the living room. It’s charming.”

By the time we left their house, it was too late to continue the hunt.

“We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to call the others.” Audie sensed my urgency. He shared it, in fact. “I can phone. I can’t spend all my time finding a replacement for Magda.” A wistful note entered his voice.

“It will all work out. It has to.” I agreed to his suggestion. If I called from the store, a customer might overhear and spread the gossip across town.

We arranged to go over the investigation in addition to plans for the play at the theater on Tuesday night. “We might as well kill two birds with one stone.” My unfortunate choice of words struck me, and I winced. Audie grinned.

“It’s a plan. I’ll ask Dina to join us. Ask her to compile a list of the robbery victims.”

I must have gaped at him.

“We might as well.” He kissed my mouth closed. “If we don’t invite her, she’ll barge in uninvited. Making it official takes away half her fun.”

~

The following day, I dressed in an outfit reminiscent of Lauren Bacall in
The Big Sleep
. If only my hair were as sleek and lovely as Bacall’s, I might even feel like a femme fatale. Instead, I tucked it into a loose bun and added a hat with a black veil over my forehead. That would have to do. The day sped by. I finished the window displays with an enlarged picture of a letter my grandfather wrote to my grandmother during the war. I read aloud one of my favorite lines, “Be sure to keep Old Glory in our window. I’ll be home soon.”

After I closed the doors and changed the sign to
C
losed
, I thought longingly of a home-cooked meal including all four food groups. Instead, leftover barbecue would have to do. I picked up a ready-made salad from the store and headed to the theater. One of these days, I would cook again. After we nabbed the murderer.

I wasn’t the only one thinking of fruits and vegetables. Dina brought pineapple, and Audie added carrots and celery. He rustled up cheddar cheese from the fridge, and we had a feast.

Before we began our discussions, we heard someone walking around the theater. I stifled a groan. Had Dina invited someone, like Peppi, to join us? I didn’t really want to make it a foursome.

“We’re in here!” Dina’s voice rang out. I wanted to kick my sister under the table.

“There you are!” Peppi’s red head poked around the corner of the door, and she came in. “I wondered if you had decided anything about the play yet.”

“Actually, I—”

“That’s not why we’re here.” Dina cut Audie off in mid-sentence. “Come on in. We’re having a council of war.”

“About the murders!” Peppi didn’t wait for a second invitation. She moved a stack of scripts off a chair and pulled it close to the desk. “I have to show you something.”

Audie threw a look my way, shrugged, and handed Peppi an empty plate. “Ooh! Fresh fruit and veggies!” She served herself a healthy portion.

I looked at the two cub reporters. “Before we start, you both have to promise that our theories won’t appear in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Without proof we can’t report anything.” Dina grinned, the bright spots dotting her cheeks the same color as her hair. “Brainstorming isn’t news.”

“Not a hint.” Audie said it this time. His deep masculine voice carried more authority than mine.

“Scout’s honor.”

I checked to make sure Dina wasn’t crossing her fingers behind her back. She wasn’t.

Peppi nodded vigorous assent. “I just want to get to the bottom of this. I got an e-mail from that Jerry Burton fellow today. I confess I’m a little scared.”

Jerry Burton, not Elsie Holland. “Did he threaten you?”

“Not exactly. ‘Expect further communication.’” She made quotation marks with her fingers. “But I don’t like it.”

Audie cleared his throat. “None of us do. I spent the morning checking into Spencer’s clients.” He opened his date book and ran down a list of names. “Altogether, I spoke with about a dozen people. And they all said the same thing.”