Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (3 page)

I walked to the doorway and paused, shivering. I couldn’t bring myself to enter the front room.

“We can come back tomorrow. You don’t have to do this tonight.” Audie grabbed my favorite boa, a chinchilla fur, from the back of my desk chair and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“No. I can do this.” I walked through the door, grateful that the odor had lessened with the removal of the body. Where was the familiar, welcome scent of sachets and coffee and spring flowers? I wanted to cry again over the devastation wrought on my beautiful, much-loved place of business. The man’s life held much more value, of course—the price of a sparrow and all that—but I had invested my life and heart in this place. It reflected me, someone apart from the middle Wilde daughter, the good child who stayed home.

I hiccupped, swallowing a sob, and walked up and down the racks. Nothing seemed out of place. Around the final corner, I approached the cash register again. Magda’s pearls now dangled from Reiner’s hand.

“You’re not taking the necklace, are you?” I squeaked. “It’s a gift from Mrs. Mallory.”

Reiner glared at me. As a descendant of Dick Gaynor, he did not hold the descendants of the rival Graces in high regard. But he recognized the need to bow to Magda Grace Mallory’s position in our small town.

Frances removed the pearls from Reiner’s palm and dropped them into an evidence bag. “Sorry. They’re evidence in the case. They need to be processed.”

“Just. . .be careful with them, please? Mrs. Mallory had them restrung especially for use in the new play.” She had neatly bartered the necklace in exchange for a role in the production—Abby Brewster in
Arsenic and Old Lace
. Audie gladly obliged his patron. She won the role on her own merits. She could act and paired well with ensemble regular, Suzanne Jay, as the murdering spinster sisters.

Her promise to donate the necklace to my store after the play’s run added incentive. I would donate a portion of the proceeds back to the theater, of course.

Reiner lifted the pearls from the evidence bag and tugged a bit at the string, as if something had caught there.

“Be careful!” The words spilled out of my mouth without thought.

“Yup, we need to check these out.” Reiner dropped the pearls back in the bag. “Don’t worry, the string is plenty strong. Nothing will happen to your precious necklace.”

They continued combing the store for evidence. I disappeared into my office for another cup of sweet tea. I doubted I would get to sleep that night, but the sugar helped stop the shaking. Maybe another cookie?

Audie dabbed his finger into the now-empty box, catching one last smidgeon of icing. He saw my look and grimaced. “Sorry.” The word encompassed a wealth of meaning. Sorry for eating the last cookie? For canceling our plans for the evening? For going into the store instead of calling the police? Why had this dear man been so foolish as to try to interrupt a robbery in progress? Anger and worry flooded through me in equal measure.

“You could have been killed. Like that poor man.” Tears welled in my eyes again at his brush with danger. “What if you came in while the murderer was still here?”

“Shh, there now.” Audie stood behind me and rubbed my back. “I couldn’t let someone rob your store.” His normally gentle massage attacked my muscles in angry circles, betraying his gentle tone.

“Ouch!”

He stopped the movement and left his hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t see anything. Just the light. If anyone was here, they ran out the back when I came in the front door.”

“That’s what I guessed when I checked the storeroom.” I leaned against his comforting arms and closed my eyes. My thoughts gathered together, quilted by the Holy Spirit into a prayer.
Father, what an awful night it’s been. I’m scared. Someone came to my store with murder on his mind.

3

From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])

Date: Saturday, April 19, 9:35 PM

To: Audwin Howe ([email protected])

Subject: Secrets?

Why are you canceling dinner dates with the charming Cici Wilde? How are you spending all those hours? With whom? Where?

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Saturday, April 19

Frances appeared in the doorway. “We’re finished out here. We’d like to talk to you again.” Her gaze swept over both of us. “Come this way, please.”

It felt funny to receive an invitation to enter my own store. The corners of Audie’s mouth twitched, as if the same thought crossed his mind. He took my hand and we followed Frances to the area in front of the dressing rooms.

“We have just a few questions, a formality.”

That sounded a bit like Columbo on the scent of the murderer. Did Frances mean her statement as encouragement or warning? Maybe it was time to call my lawyer. No
,
I decided again.

“Was anything missing from the store when you checked just now?” Her pen poised over a notebook.

I shook my head. “Nothing obvious. I’ll have to check against the inventory list on my home computer.” I had updated it only last weekend, a blessing in light of the present circumstances.

Reiner lifted something sealed in an evidence bag—a piece of paper. But why? I doubted that the murderer had left a signed confession. The chief held it where I could read it through the plastic. Plain white paper, a computer printout of some kind. Audie and I leaned closer to read the words of the message. Its single paragraph grabbed me by the throat.

I know what you’re doing. Meet me at Cici’s Vintage Clothing at 8:30 p.m. Saturday night.

My mind whirled. Who on earth—

“Did you send this message, Cici?”

Reiner’s eyes bored into me, their accusation plain.

Not only murder. Blackmail.

Reiner’s unspoken accusation broke my trance.

“Of course not.” I snapped my mouth shut and stared at the paper, committing the contents to memory. “That’s a stupid question. I’m not. . .” I looked at the page again. “Jerry Burton.”

First Elsie Holland on the strange e-mail that Jessie Gaynor received, and now Jerry Burton. Had Jessie told the chief about the threat, since they were related and all?

“How about you, Mr. Howe?” Reiner’s glare increased in intensity as he stared at my fiancé.

Audie folded in on himself, a trait I noticed when he puzzled through a problem. My heart went out to him. Come on, sweetheart, give us one of those great Oscar Wilde quotes you love so much.

“‘One can survive everything, nowadays, except death,’” he said more to himself than to anyone else.

I relaxed. As long as Audie could remember Wilde, everything was right in his world. Trust him to have a good quip for unexpected death.

Reiner didn’t appreciate the humor. He repeated his question. “Did you send this email, Audie?”

“What?” Audie frowned. “No. Of course not. You have heard about the e-mails circulating from ‘Elsie Holland’?”

Reiner waited for him to expand.

“Jessie Gaynor.” I supplied one name. “But who’s the other one?”

Audie hesitated. “I received one. It was in my inbox when I turned on my computer at work today. From this same Elsie Holland person, whoever she is.” He explained his theory about the alias to the chief.

“You could have written an e-mail to yourself.” Reiner blew through his Teddy Roosevelt mustache. “But right now we want to track down Jerry Burton.” Again he questioned Audie with his eyes.

“I think you’ll find that Jerry Burton also is an alias. He was the hero in the same book by Agatha Christie that featured Elsie Holland.”

Reiner looked like he wanted to dispute Audie’s conclusion, but he knew that he was probably right. “We’ll have to see the e-mail that Ms. Holland sent to you.” He returned to the subject of the message Audie had received.

Audie shook his head. “I deleted it and emptied the trashcan on the computer. It’s gone.”

“Was it along the same lines? Unspecific accusations?” This time Frances asked the question.

“Yes.” He didn’t expand. “Was the victim holding that e-mail in his hand? The hand that wasn’t holding the pearls?”

Reiner looked at Frances but didn’t speak.

“It must have been,” I answered Audie’s question. “Maybe not in his hands, but somewhere in the store.”

“How would you know that?” Did you put it there yourself?
Reiner’s tone implied.

I explained the reasoning behind my guess. “You must have found it here, or you wouldn’t be asking about it. And it explains why he came here tonight.”

No one said anything, their silence confirming my guess.

The grandfather clock chimed eleven, and my knees wobbled. “Do you mind if I sit down? There are chairs in my office.”

“We’ll only be a few more minutes,” Reiner echoed Frances’s earlier promise.

Exasperated, I grabbed the chair Audie had pulled out of the dressing room earlier and sat.

“You came into the store. . .why?” Reiner turned his attention to Audie.

“I was driving down the street, on my way home.”

“What time was that?” Frances spoke up, pen poised over her notebook.

“A few minutes after eight. I had stayed late at the MGM working on sets for the play.”

“And you came by the store. . .when?”

“Maybe five minutes later. It’s on my way home.”

“Why did you stop? Were you hoping to see Cici?” Reiner repeated his question.

Audie shook his head. “I knew she wasn’t there. I had called her at home before I left the theater.” He pulled up a chair from the other dressing room and sat in it backwards, dangling his hands in front of him. “I saw a light bouncing around the store. Not the usual night light Cici leaves on. I stopped to investigate. That’s when I saw the broken window. I wanted to check it out.”

“You didn’t call the police?” Reiner made it sound like a federal offense.

“My only thought was to stop whoever was there from doing damage. Instinct, I guess.”

“How did you get in if Cici wasn’t there?”

“The door was hanging open. And I have a key.”

Reiner grunted while Frances took notes.

“How many people have keys to your store?” She addressed the question to me.

I frowned at that. Someone had broken the front window to get in; why did the keys matter? But I answered the question. “Me. Audie. And I have an extra set that I loan to my sister Dina when she helps out.” Since Audie has a key, he wouldn’t need to smash the glass.

“Can anyone verify your whereabouts between six and eight?” Reiner focused on Audie.

Audie frowned at his fingers, entwined in front of the chair. “I was at the theater alone between seven and eight. I wanted to set up the scene for tomorrow night’s rehearsal. I called Cici from the theater. I told you that.”

Reiner snorted. “Using your cell phone, I suppose. You could have called from anywhere. Where were you before seven? With Cici?”

Audie paused. “No.”

Unease rippled through my heart. Few people could provide an alibi for every minute of each day. But did it make him look suspicious to the police?

Reiner continued grilling Audie about the evening. My mind searched for something to distract me from the horror, and my thoughts wandered to my favorite topic: our wedding. I looked around the store, picturing a full-skirted, white organza gown that came straight out of the ’50s. Or perhaps an A-line that would have been at home in the ’60s. Fashion was my passion, and I wanted the perfect wedding dress. So many to choose from, I thought.

Audie pursued me diligently in the months following our investigation into Penn Hardy’s murder last fall. Once I had chosen the theater director over my childhood friend, Cord Grace, Audie relaxed and acted like a giddy school boy at times. Flowers every day, occasional chocolates, joining in harvest time celebrations at the family ranch, singing beneath my bedroom window. . .

Even the usual November doldrums, brought on by shortened days and brown ground, sped by unnoticed in a haze of happiness. On Christmas Eve Audie took me to a special dinner out of town, away from prying eyes. He got down on one knee and popped the question.

“Cecilia Wilde, heart of my heart, love for you has blinded me to all others. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” His face paled, blue eyes blazing and hair glistening from a fresh cut. He could have chosen the greatest love poems of all time, but instead he used his own words, tying my name—which means blind—into his proposal. That touched me more than anything Shakespeare might have written.

I leaned over and tousled his hair with my hand. Looking straight into his eyes, I said “Yes!” and met his lips in a kiss.

During the eternal ecstasy of that moment, Audie slipped a ring on the fourth finger of my left hand. I looked at it now.

“There’s something I should tell you.” Audie’s voice broke into my reverie. “I’m pretty sure I know who this guy is.” He sat straight in his chair, color high in his cheeks.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Reiner’s words came out in a huff.

“I tried. You didn’t let me.” Audie’s level voice carried impact. “Anyhow, I’m telling you now. It’s Vic Spencer. He recently opened a janitorial service, pretty much a one man show, but occasionally others help out. Word spread, and it seems everybody uses his services. He just got the contract for the MGM.”

Now I remembered where I had seen the victim before. Our paths had crossed at the theater a few times, but we never said anything beyond a casual greeting. He was as invisible as most janitors were, rarely seen—since he worked after hours—and never heard except for his cleaning equipment. However, members of the Grace Gulch Chamber of Commerce praised his services. His clients included private homes as well as businesses.

“Is that Spencer with a
c
or with an
s
?” Frances asked, looking up from her notebook.

“With a
c
, I think. I can check. We have his contract on file at the MGM office.”

Frances stared down at her notes. “Vic Spencer. That matches the name on the blackmail note. It sounds familiar, but I don’t think I’ve met him.”

In a town the size of Grace Gulch, where everyone knew everyone else and their family’s history since the 1891 land run, that could be important.

“I think Lauren Packer recommended him to Mrs. Mallory.” Audie mentioned the lawyer who handled Magda Grace Mallory’s many interests. He also was involved in our production of
Arsenic and Old Lace
. You might want to talk with him.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll do that.”

I could almost see the cogs in Reiner’s brain turn and mesh together. Vic Spencer and Audie Howe, both new to Grace Gulch. One dead, the other one the first to find him. It made a tidy package, one that would keep suspicion away from longstanding citizens.

Reiner’s next words confirmed my interpretation of his facial features.

“You know, you can be up front with us, Mr. Howe. You saw the light on in the store. You came to investigate and found Mr. Spencer in the process of a burglary. You struggled—”

“No, no, no!” Audie’s face twisted in frustration. “He was dead when I arrived. I already told you.”

“Audie,” Frances’s soft voice interrupted him. “We have to ask. If that’s the way it happened, it was self-defense. The law allows you to protect your property.”

Of course, technically the property belonged to me, not Audie, but I knew what she meant.

“No.” Audie repeated his single syllable answer as if saying it again would convince them.

Frances looked through her notes. “You still haven’t told us where you were before you went to the theater. What were you doing, say, between five and seven?”

Now Frances was questioning Audie? That hurt. I felt betrayed. Reiner’s suspicion did not surprise me. He tended to play the role of bad cop to her good cop. How would my fiancé answer?

Audie stared at his hands, locked together in front of the chair, as if expecting them to answer the question for him.

“Mr. Howe? You can answer the question here. . .”

Audie shook his head, still not speaking. What was wrong with the man? He needed to tell them where he’d been and get this nonsense over with so they could go and check it out. As incensed as their interrogation made me, a part of me understood their need to question and verify.

“. . .or we can take you to the station.”

“What’s wrong with all of you?” Tired of their harassment, I jumped out of my chair. “Why are you going over and over the same ground when you should both be out there. . .” I gestured toward the broken window “. . .chasing whoever really did this?”

A breeze swept through the room from the open window and I shivered. I wrapped my hands in the chinchilla boa and wished I had taken the time to dress properly instead of jumping helter-skelter into a light T-shirt and jeans. Daytime in April might be warm, but the nights remained cool, even cold. A heady spring scent, redolent with dogwood and lilac blossoms, drifted in, accompanied by the trilling of a late night siskin. The normal, joyous rites of spring did little to lift my mood.