Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (20 page)

21

From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])

Date: Tuesday, April 29, 9:38 PM

To: Eugene Mallory ([email protected])

Subject: Fingers?

The last few days you have been wearing a splint on your right hand.

Did you hurt your fingers at the gym as you claim—or in tightening the string of pearls around your mother’s throat?

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Wednesday, April 30

We froze for a moment. Audie spoke next. “You’d best be careful. You could have hurt someone.”

“So you think so, too. Are you Jerry Burton? Who do you think you are, trying to blackmail me?”

Blackmail?
Gene must have received an e-mail from Jerry Burton, and he thought Audie had sent it?

Gene’s face crumpled, on the verge of tears. “I would never hurt Mom. She’s always been after me, ever since I was kid, but I loved her. And she loved me. I think she was trying to make up for Dad dying when I was so young. ”

“I would never threaten you. I understand more than you know.” Audie sat down next to Gene and bent to where he could look him in the eye. “My dad’s job took him away a lot when I was growing up. So my mother had to fill in for both parents a lot of the time.” Audie sipped his coffee and then added a bit of cream. “I gave her a rough time.”

Audie’s pale hair fell over his forehead. “In fact, I was arrested for possession of drugs, Gene. Not once, but twice. Mom was ready to hand me over to the authorities and let them throw away the key.”

Audie had shared part of this story with me before. I thought back to the compatibility questionnaire. Do you share the same background? Well, teenage angst was a universal phenomenon; look at Jenna’s pregnancy. They both had matured into responsible adults.

I wasn’t so sure about Gene. Had he ever been arrested back in high school? Jenna would know. I suspected she held a tender spot in her heart for the Grace bad boy. If so, nothing major had resulted from it. A juicy story about a bad boy from a good family would only swell the Grace family legend. An unpleasant thought struck me. Magda’s e-mail mentioned an old secret. Could it involve Gene? Of course not. Gene wasn’t even born forty years ago.

“Instead, Mom hooked me up with a Christian lawyer.” Audie continued his story. “He told it to me straight. Keep going the way you’re headed and you’ll end up in jail. Or—go to God. Let Him turn your life around. He can give you what you want from your father.” Audie tapped his long fingers on the table, a short drum beat. “That lawyer introduced me to the theater, and things started to change. If I hadn’t paid attention when God brought him into my life, I don’t know where I’d be today.” A smile lit his face. “Certainly not here in Grace Gulch, Oklahoma, with the woman of my dreams.”

Gene sneered. “I suppose you want me to get saved. Just like my dear sister.”

My thoughts flew to the day Suzanne had asked Jesus into her life after her lover’s death threw her world into a tailspin. Nothing would have pleased Magda more than for both her children to come to know the Lord.

“I pray that you do.” Audie spoke in soft tones that carried his deepest sincerity. “Every day.”

Audie prayed for everyone involved with the theater, one of the things I admired about him. Gene didn’t react, and we left a few minutes later.

“Do you think he’ll listen?” I asked as we drove away.

Audie shrugged. “That’s between Gene and God. All I can do is share the good news with him.”

Before I went to bed, I browsed through my closet for tomorrow’s outfit. Even the rationing the war imposed couldn’t stifle creativity. I picked out a white blouse trimmed with lace, which started life as a pillow case, and a denim skirt converted from men’s overalls. While I ironed the blouse, I considered Magda’s other heir—Suzanne. Tomorrow, I decided, I would visit her. She had called today, canceling our usual Wednesday Bible study.

In the morning, I considered baking homemade brownies but nixed the idea. Instead, I carried the leftover fruit and veggies from our meal the other night. Suzanne watched her weight and might not welcome baked goods. After work, I drove to Suzanne’s apartment, in the same complex where Frances Waller lived.

When Suzanne opened the door to her apartment, she looked even more distraught than Gene had, if that was possible. Her normally buoyant blond hair sagged to a dull crown around her head, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. I had never seen the pure, unadulterated Suzanne before.

“Oh, Cici.” She choked on my name. “I’m so glad you came by.” Old tears had dried on her face, leaving it looking like a squeezed-out lemon.

“I brought you something.” I handed her the container of fruit.

“Make yourself comfortable while I freshen up.” She disappeared down the hall. I heard noises from the back of the apartment and the flush of water nearby.

Whereas Gene grieved by indulging all his sensual pleasures, Suzanne seemed to have dried up. A pillow and afghan tossed on the couch suggested she had spent the night in front of the television, which played at a low volume. I perused the pictures of Suzanne in her movie roles that hung on one wall. She claimed she had an insignificant career with minor parts, but the photographs indicated otherwise. I righted a frame that had fallen face down on the end table. Magda had her arm around Suzanne, the two of them smiling into the camera. I recognized it as a publicity shot for the new production.

Suzanne reappeared a few minutes later, her face freshly scrubbed and lipstick adding color to her pale skin. She handed me a mug of coffee. “I’ll be back with bowls for the fruit.” She saw the photograph in my hand. “It’s the only picture I have of Magda.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Peppi was taking pictures of the cast members, and I asked if I could have a copy.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she grabbed for the tissue box. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry.” She tugged the last tissue out of the box. “Where did I put the other box of—”

“Oh, Suzanne.” I put my arms around her. It felt as natural as hugging a child with a wounded knee. “I’m so sorry.”

My friend relaxed and hugged me back, then let me go. “Let’s eat some of that delicious fruit you brought, shall we?” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with bowls, forks, and napkins. We sat on her sofa.

“Are you looking into Magda’s death?” Suzanne eyed me over her steaming coffee.

“Surely, the police—”

“Don’t be coy with me. I remember how you went after Penn’s killer last year. Please tell me you’re on the trail of Magda’s murderer. It would mean a lot to me.”

“I do think that her death must be connected to Vic Spencer’s. You know, the janitor who was murdered at my store?”

“Why?” Suzanne answered her own question. “Because of the pearls?”

“That and other things. And as usual, Reiner seems to be focusing on the wrong people.”

“Like me, I suppose.” Suzanne laughed at my expression. “Of course I’m a suspect. I’m the unexpected daughter who shows up in time to get a share of the fortune. The chief has been around.”

“I don’t suppose you have. . .an alibi? For the time of the murder?”

Suzanne laughed out loud. “I wish I did. I was down in Oklahoma City looking at kitchen supplies. I gave them my credit card receipt. I hope that clears me.” Laughter turned to a frown. “I forgot the tissues.”

I dug a packet from my purse and handed them to her.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Something has, rather had, been bothering Magda recently. She knew gossip about our relationship would catch up with us eventually, and she wanted to make a preemptive strike. But I don’t think that was it.”

So something else had been on Magda’s mind. Did Elsie/Jerry know about it? “Do you have any idea what it was?”

“Not really. She mentioned paying for past sins. I asked her about it, but she said not to worry, it had nothing to do with me.” Suzanne shrugged. “I bet the blackmailer knows. You know, the one who keeps sending those e-mails.”

Find the blackmailer, find the murderer
.
The theme returned, turning logic on its head. It would make more sense for the victim to murder the blackmailer and not the other way around. Wait. Could Magda have been the blackmailer? No. I dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

I stayed with Suzanne for another hour and left before supper became an issue. I wanted to pop into the theater to check on Audie’s progress and to put away Magda’s costumes.

Audie had left the MGM by the time I arrived
.
Where had he gone this time? He could have at least left me a note or phone message. I went straight to work on the costumes. Each cast member kept their accessories, scripts, and other personal items in a cubbyhole, but sometimes they left their costumes there, as well.

Audie wanted a ’30s feel to the play, and he turned to me for advice. I gave Uncle Teddy a suit coat with patched elbows and designed hand-sewn cotton dresses with wide collars for the Brewster sisters. The neckline on Elaine Harper’s dress dropped to a fashionably daring low; Peppi’s dress, with the gathered waist and slim hips, emphasized her slender figure. Magda was almost as slender as the twenty-something actress; I added padding to give her a matronly look. Whoever took her place would need a new dress. If someone took her place. If the play was produced as expected.

I blinked back tears as I put the dress that Magda would never use into a garment bag and hung it on the clothing rack. I noticed the clutch purse on the floor that Peppi carried in her scenes. Really, she could be careless. Out of habit I picked it up and carried it to her cubbyhole.

When I put the purse away, I saw a glimmer. A single, shining pearl, perfectly oval in shape, fell from the cubby and rolled around on the floor.

I stared at it. It can’t be
.
Was it the real thing? For a second I debated the legality of touching the object. Why not?
I found it in the theater, where no crime had taken place. Any connection with the murders was pure conjecture.

I picked up the shining oval and held it to the light. I recognized the luster, the opaque color, the precisely matched size. I would stake my professional integrity on this being one of the pearls from Magda’s necklace—pearls I had last seen scattered around the floor in Magda’s kitchen.

How did it get here? Did Peppi pick up one to keep? How? The police had arrived minutes after we made the 911 call and bagged all the pearls as evidence.

I scrambled to think of an explanation for the presence of a pearl in Peppi’s cubby and could think of none. Peppi seldom wore jewelry. The hair on my arms stood on end. I didn’t like the direction of my thoughts. I could be wrong. Perhaps Peppi had lost a pearl earring. Perhaps someone else had dropped it.

I knew one way to confirm the pearl wasn’t
from Magda’s necklace. I dialed the police station and asked to speak to Officer Waller.

“Yes?” Frances sounded frazzled. Two murders in a single week could do that to a police officer, I supposed.

“I’ve got a question.” If she refused to answer, I didn’t know how else to get the information I needed. “How many pearls did you retrieve from Magda’s kitchen?”

“Why do you need to know? You won’t be getting them back this time, at least not until after the trial.”

I didn’t want them back. I could never again handle them with pleasure. “It’s for insurance purposes.” I wasn’t exactly lying; I did need to file a claim.

“Okay. Give me a minute.” I heard fingers clicking on a keyboard. “Evidence log says we retrieved 29 pearls.”

“Okay, thanks.” My desire to protect Audie and the theater warred with my conscience. The pearl I held in my hand was solid evidence, not conjecture. “Um, Frances?”

“What else?”

“I found another pearl here at the theater. I’m pretty sure it’s from Magda’s necklace.”

“Are you sure? How do you know?”

“There were thirty pearls on the necklace. I counted them when I had it appraised. And I studied them, you know? It just looks right.”

“Where did you find it? Never mind. I’ll come right over.”

I heard the buzz of the phone in my ear. I didn’t have scientific evidence, but I knew it was the missing pearl. But what was it doing in Peppi’s cubby? Had it been planted? Or had Peppi left it there?

Start with the obvious. I had raced past Peppi’s name as a possible suspect when I listed cast members a few days ago. I dug out the list and studied the notes on her page. I hadn’t followed up on any of my questions about her, like whether or not she knew Suzanne or Audie back in Chicago, or whether she was connected to the miserable Mrs. Lambert at the nursing home.

I tapped the end of my pen on my teeth and added more notes and questions. Pearl belonging to Magda’s necklace found in cubbyhole. What is the relationship between Magda, the pearls, and the Lamberts, if any?

What was it that Mrs. Lambert had said when she saw me wearing Magda’s pearls? Something about the pearls belonging to her and her son giving them to a harlot? Even knowing that Magda had given birth to an illegitimate child, I couldn’t imagine describing her as a harlot. But maybe someone who knew her in her wild youth might. Who could I ask? The people who knew her best, like the mayor, would never answer a question like that. How could I learn the history of Magda’s pearls?