Design on a Crime (26 page)

"Marge could've fired you."

"I know." He grimaced. "It's a small consolation, since
what she did is probably worse. She held my transgression
over my head all these years. I couldn't seek a job elsewhere,
because she would have revealed the forgeries in any recommendation she gave. At the same time, she refused me the
trust that would have allowed me to move into partnership
with her."

"Did you ever do it again?"

"Never."

His single word answer left no doubt. I believed him. And
his anger, in his mind, was justified. Had it led him to murder?
Was the memo the smoking gun?

"There's one more thing, Ozzie. Did you two argue about
this the day of the Gerrity auction?"

"You want to know if I killed Marge for the business."

I blushed, but didn't reply.

His shoulders sagged. "What good would it do me? I had
no illusions about her will. In fact, she told me she wrote a
codicil about the forgeries. Her death means that sooner or
later, my problems will become public."

He walked to the door, opened it, and looked toward the
warehouse with longing. "I didn't expect you to inherit, but
I knew I wouldn't. Now I risk unemployment. I'm in my late
fifties and practically unemployable. Goodness knows I don't
have the funds to buy this from you."

Okay. So motive? Eh ... sort of.

Opportunity? The same.

Means? No better.

"When did you last see the Erte?"

'Ah ... let me see ... I unwrapped it at the Gerrity mansion
that morning. I'd taken a box of the smalls with me and set
them up when I got there."

"That was the last time, then?"

"Yes. At around seven o'clock."

"So anyone could have taken it after that."

"I suppose. But what does the bronze have to do with
anything?"

"I don't know yet, Ozzie, but you can be sure I'm going
to find out."

We went our separate ways after that. I detoured to Marge's
office and saw the same mess I'd left behind. I don't know what made me go there, but maybe I needed to reconnect
with the woman I once thought I knew so well.

I'd learned things about my mentor that made me question
my judgment. But after some thought I realized I'd always
seen her through the eyes of a girl. Marge had lived a life
different from the one I'd seen. She'd had ugly spots in her
past, ones she'd kept hidden.

She hadn't been a member of Dad's flock, but she'd often
joined in church activities because of her friendships with
many members, starting with my parents. I'd thought her
a good person, and I suppose by most accounts that's how
she'd be judged.

Ever since Tedd and I had talked about choices, sins, and
crimes, I wondered if being a good person was enough. Had
someone chosen to kill her because they didn't like her? That
was stupid.

Or had Marge made choices in life that had led to someone's hate? Hate that eventually led someone to kill her. Was
that what Dad and the others would see as Marge's greatest
sin?

I'd have to think about that.

With a sigh, I started toward the door. I stepped on a wad
of paper and stooped to pick it up. It was a bundle, held together with a wide rubber band. It looked like letters, and I
couldn't resist a closer look.

The signature at the bottom of the letters chilled me to the
bone. They were love letters, and they were signed, "Yours
always, your Tom."

As if my head were a coin sorter, shards of information clicked into various slots. If these letters were from Tom
Stoker, then everything I knew now wore a different shade of
threat. The dates coincided with what Dad and Doc had said
about Gussie's miscarriage. Had both traumas hit Gussie at
the same time? Had the affair added to the stress of losing her
child? Was this what had pushed her beyond her conscience
and into kleptomania?

A worse scenario occurred to me. Had Gussie found out
about the affair, and the anguish led to the loss?

My heart pounded and my fingers shook as I dialed Doc
Cowan's number. "Doc," I pleaded. "Please. This is important. It might mean the difference between a conviction and
freedom for me."

"What is it, Haley? What are you talking about?"

"Remember when you sewed up my hand the other
day?"

"Of course."

"Remember what you said about Gussie, her miscarriage,
and her problems with the law?"

Silence. Then a reluctant, "Yes."

"I understand about all the confidentiality business, but
this is about murder and jail. Please, Dr. Cowan, I have to
know if there's a connection between the miscarriage, the
kleptomania, and Tom's affair with Marge."

Doc's sigh told me all I wanted to know. But I waited for
his confirmation. "Yes, Haley. Gussie found out about Tom's
infidelity and couldn't handle it. She'd had a terrible pregnancy. Her emotions were very fragile. Then she went into
labor, and Tom was nowhere to be found."

"Oh, please ... don't tell me-"

"Your parents brought her to the hospital. Tom didn't
show up until it was all over and the child was dead."
Doc paused, then said, "He was in Marge's bed that whole
time."

I sat for a long time in Marge's office chair. Doc's words rang
in my ears; the knowledge shattered me. Tears drenched my
cheeks, and I mourned the loss of my memories.

Nothing was as I'd thought.

If this was what being grown-up was all about, it stunk
worse than I'd thought. Pity I couldn't go back.

Something tried to take shape in my thoughts, but the fear
it brought made me fight it with a vengeance.

After a while I realized I couldn't stay any longer. I had
things to do. More questions needed answers.

Plus, I had another special missionary society event that
afternoon. A tea party, for goodness' sake. It struck me as
even more ridiculous than before in view of all I'd learned.
How was I going to act in front of Gussie? How was I going
to act cheerful, chatty, and nice?

Three hours later I had to wonder if Dutch had seen
something I didn't know I had in me. I was a bang-up
actress. Everyone complimented me on how well I ran the
tea, considering.

I was sick of that "considering" business. I wanted the
whole mess to go away. But since it wasn't about to do that,
I'd take whatever I could get. I wanted to run home, grab
pen and paper, and make a list of all I knew. Maybe then, if
I connected figurative dots, I'd understand.

Still, that looming fear held me back. Did I really want to
know the truth? No matter how awful it might be?

"You betcha," I whispered. I needed to stay out of jail.

I looked around and saw that most of the women had left.
Thank goodness. Then I realized who was still in the meeting room.

"I'm sick of hearing so much about the suddenly sainted
Marge," Penny complained.

Ina gave Penny one of her careful, discreet smiles. "I'm
sorry you feel that way, Penny, but please, do remember. The
woman's dead."

"One wonders what she did this time to get her head bashed
in." The way Penny said it made me cringe.

Ina walked away, shaking her head in obvious disgust. But
Bella wasn't about to let Penny get away so easily.

"Look, Penny. If you know something, spill it. There's a
murder investigation going on."

"Wouldn't you like to be the supersleuth," Penny countered.
"But it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Bella grinned. "Sure doesn't."

Penny glared. "If all your Jessica Fletcher books and stuff
make you so smart, how come you didn't figure out that
Marge was running around with a married man again?"

"Sure she was." Bella crossed her rotund arms. "Her
husband."

"Not at all. I saw her in downtown Seattle at one of those
weird vegetarian, new-agey cafes with him. And it sure wasn't
Steve I saw."

Dread slowed my approach. "Penny, you have to back up that
kind of accusation with proof. Otherwise, it's just gossip."

"Oh, look who's acting all righteous. The seductress's
heir."

I ground my teeth, counted to ten, tried again. "You can't
insult a woman whose body hasn't even been released by the
coroner yet. Who do you think Marge seduced?"

"I don't think. I saw them myself. She and Tom Stoker were
sitting cozy as a pair of cooing turtledoves on stools at that
place. And right in the front window, mind you."

I took a step back. It couldn't be true. "You'd better be sure
about this. You don't know how much harm accusations like
that can do."

Bella nodded. "Especially if it's not true. You could hurt a
good marriage."

Penny shrugged. "I know what I saw. And I have excellent eyesight. You could always ask Tom. I bet he says I'm
right."

I'd already decided to do that, but now came the hardest
thing. "Please don't repeat this, even if you're sure. Gossip
is rotten and dangerous."

"I don't care," the postal clerk said. "I know what I know.
That's all I care about. Good night."

I was glad to see her go.

Bella harrumphed. She walked me to the door, waited until
I locked up, then followed me home. "Think she'll keep that
big fat mouth of hers shut?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"So what're we going to do?"

"We're not going to do anything, Bella. We're going home,
making dinner, eating, and spending a quiet evening minding our business."

"But it is your business to find out if Marge was messing
with Tom. Maybe Penny got it wrong. Maybe she saw Marge
with a man but he only looked like Tom and that's who offed
her."

My thoughts exactly, but I didn't want to encourage
Bella. "Tell you what. How about I call the detective and tell
her?"

Bella snorted. "What kind of sleuth are you, anyway? You
have no gumption, and you're no fun. Am I gonna have to
figure this out by myself?"

"No, Bella, neither one of us is going to do anything crazy.
I'm going to do the smart thing and call the cops."

"Boooring!" With a toss of her bushy pink head, Bella
marched home in a snit. As soon as her door slammed shut,
I jumped in the Honda and pulled out. I wanted to waylay
Tom before he got back from his daily round of golf.

I got to the clubhouse as he was unlocking the van door.
"Tom! Wait a minute. Please!"

"Haley! Has something happened to Gussie?"

Great. He went right to the heart of it. I braced myself. "No,
not that I know of. But she could be in for a nasty time."

"What do you mean?"

I really didn't want to do it. "I'll warn you. I have to ask
some questions that won't be fun. Not for me to ask, nor for
you to answer. But things could get worse if you don't."

Tom slipped his hands in his pockets. Tension radiated
from his stiff shoulders to the tight line of his lips. "Go ahead.
Let's get it over with."

"There's no easy way to do it, so I'm just going to ask. Were
you having an affair with Marge again?"

He flinched. Color left his face. "A ... gain?"

"I know what happened all those years ago. I know about
the affair, about the miscarriage. I even know about the stealing. What matters now is whether you and Marge got back
together again. Recently, that is."

"I can't believe it's come back to haunt me again." Defeat
and grief marked his face. "I made a horrible mistake fifteen
years ago, and it cost Gussie and me the greatest treasure we
could have had. We lost our son because of what I did. Just
think what life is like with that in your heart."

His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I've lived with that
knowledge and shame ever since. Nothing on earth could
entice me to stray again. I love Gussie. I always did."

"Then what about Marge-"

"Some men make fools of themselves when their wives
are pregnant. I had a hard time with the loss of Gussie's undivided attention. Marge offered what I thought I needed. It
was wrong-I was wrong, and my stupidity cost the life of
a child."