Destination Murder (25 page)

There were several seats available on the long sides of the table, and one at the head. Crocker immediately took the head chair, leaving Junior Pinckney fuming. He and Reggie sat in vacant chairs. Folding chairs had been lined up beneath the framed photos, and the wives had gravitated to them. I sat down next to Deedee and looked at the faces around the table. I recognized almost everyone from the three-day train trip—they were obviously members of the club’s board—but there were some I’d only spoken to briefly. Marilyn Whitmore, however, was not present, and I assumed that she was taking care of Samantha, hopefully getting her daughter the medical attention she needed.

“All right,” Crocker announced, “let’s get started. I’ll be chairing the meeting as vice president. That’s the way the bylaws read.”

“Hold on a second,” Junior Pinckney said. “I’m a vice president, too, and so is Reggie.”

“Second vice presidents,” Crocker said. “I’m first vice president.”

I glanced at the Goldfinches, who sat to my left, and saw Martin roll his eyes at the debate that had erupted. Reggie shook his head and fiddled with a pen he’d taken from his pocket.

“Look,” Crocker said, “we won’t get anywhere if we get bogged down in this sort of garbage. We have bylaws, and we’re going to follow them. If we don’t, we—”

The opening of the door cut off conversation, and all eyes went to the new arrival. If I’d been surprised at seeing Detective Marshall downstairs, the sudden presence of Theodora Blevin in the boardroom was even more unexpected. The quizzical looks on the faces of the others in the room matched mine.

“Sorry to be late,” she said, not unpleasantly. She circumvented the table and stood behind Crocker. “Well, here we are on a rainy day,” she said. “The weather reflects, I suppose, the sadness we all feel that Al isn’t present to occupy his customary chair at the head of the table, but—”

If she expected Crocker to offer her his chair, she was to be disappointed. He sat rigidly, a scowl on his face.

Theodora smiled and said, “As you all may have surmised, I now own this building, including the Track and Rail Club’s space.”

“Give her your seat, Hank,” his wife said.

Crocker’s only move was to turn in his chair and look up at her. “You may own the building, Theodora, but you don’t have any official role in the club. The bylaws state that as vice president, I’m in charge until a new election is held.”

“Are you going to run for president, Theodora?” Reggie asked.

She started to respond, but Junior Pinckney cut her off. “Hank’s right,” he said. “You’re not even a dues-paying member of the club.”

The attack on Theodora caused a visible reaction. Her face turned hard, and her lips retreated into a harsh slash. “You would all do well to remember that Al
donated
this space to the club. You and the others who constantly criticized him seem to ignore that fact. Of course, if you wish, you can go out and find your own space for the club. I’m sure I can rent this floor for a lot more than the dollar a year Al asked for.”

“And do what with the model layout, Theodora?” Hank asked. “Does that come with the space?”

“That model layout belonged to Al,” she snapped.

“Built with club dues,” Hank said. “Using other people’s money for personal gain was always Al’s way, wasn’t it?”

Junior stood as he spoke. “Al told me he was leaving the model layout to the club in his will, Theodora. What about his will?”

“The contents of the will haven’t been made public yet,” she said.

“But you know what’s in it,” Junior said. “Did he leave anything to the club, or are you the only one to benefit?”

“I think I’ve had just about enough of your selfishness and insults,” Theodora said, fire in her eyes. “I should have known there isn’t one of you capable of demonstrating the thanks and gratitude Al deserved. This meeting is over. You can all leave now.”

Theodora took a step away from the table. Hank jumped up and appeared to be ready to physically attack her, but Deedee had flown from her chair and grabbed her husband’s arm. All eyes were on Theodora as she made for the door. But someone beat her to it. Winston Rendell came through it, almost knocking Theodora from her feet. They glared at each other before she vanished from sight.

“Sorry I’m late,” he announced. “I see the dragon lady has taken her leave.”

Hank’s dour persona changed at seeing Rendell. “Hello, Winston,” he said, sinking back into his chair. “Please, grab a seat. Good to see you again.”

“Take mine,” Reggie said. “The meeting is over.”

“The hell it is,” Hank Crocker said. “It’s just starting.”

“Ya’ll’re actin’ like children,” Maeve said. She’d grabbed her coat and handbag and appeared ready to leave.

“Sit down, Maeve,” Junior commanded. “We’re not going anywhere yet.”

“I’m calling for a special election right now,” Hank said.

“You can’t do that,” Junior objected. “The membership has to vote.”

“Not according to the bylaws,” Hank said, a smug smile on his face. “A special election can be called any time there’s an emergency. This is obviously an emergency.”

Reggie spoke up: “May I suggest that emotions are running too high for a really useful meeting. Why don’t we adjourn and meet again tomorrow morning?”

I hoped his suggestion would be taken seriously. I’d found the atmosphere to be stifling, at best. My full attention wasn’t on the machinations in the boardroom, however. I kept thinking of Detective Marshall sitting downstairs in the luncheonette and wondering why he was there.

“That’s just like you, Reggie,” Hank snarled. “Walk away from anything unpleasant. Go on, leave. I don’t need your vote anyway.”

“If that’s the way you feel about it,” Reggie said. To me he added, “Coming, Jess?”

“Yes, I—”

The Goldfinches hadn’t said anything to this point, but Martin spoke: “Mr. Weems is right. I know, I know, Gail and I don’t have any official capacity here, but it seems to me that—”

“If you don’t have any official capacity, then I suggest you keep quiet,” Hank said.

The exodus was swift and spontaneous. Reggie and I followed the Goldfinches out the door.

“The nerve,” Reggie mumbled.

“Is he always like that?” Gail asked as we headed toward the elevators.

“Sometimes he’s worse,” Reggie said. “I heard he was searching Al’s files all day looking for the bylaws. I think he’s pushing hard because he’s already been giving interviews as the new president.”

Reggie went to push the elevator button, but Gail stopped him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’d love to see the infamous model railroad layout before we leave,” she said. “Is that possible?”

“Sure,” Reggie said. “The room is open. I just hope Theodora’s not in there.”

Reggie started leading them away from the elevators but turned to see that I hadn’t moved. “Coming, Jess?” he asked.

“You go ahead,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “I’ve already seen it. Besides, I’d like a cold drink. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I can get you something—”

I stepped into the open elevator before Reggie could continue his offer and watched the doors slide shut. When I stepped out into the lobby, I saw that Detective Marshall was still at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him.

“We’ll be closing in a few minutes,” the woman behind the counter told me when I entered.

“I won’t be staying long.”

“Hello, Mrs. Fletcher,” Marshall said.

“Hello,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to him. “Just happen to be here?”

He laughed. “Actually, I thought you might just happen to be here. How did the meeting go?”

“Unfortunately, just another opportunity for everyone to vent their dislike for Al Blevin—and, I think, for each other. You’re here because of the meeting?”

“In a manner of speaking. I had a feeling you’d be here. Thought I’d stick around to see. Anything new you can give me?”

I told him about my encounter with Samantha at the Capilano Suspension Bridge.

“She’s a very sick young woman,” I said, “but I don’t think she’s a murderer.”

“So I can cross one off my list.”

“I would say so. Now, turnabout is fair play. Do you have anything new you can share with me?”

“Well, we’ve got patrols keeping an eye on the Blevin house. But then you would know that since you were there for dinner last night.”

“My goodness, your network is efficient,” I said. It made sense to me. The police always look first at the spouse when there’s a murder. I had suspected that her phone was tapped when the Vancouver police contacted me. “You’re very clever, you know. Theodora’s friends think she has the police guarding her house to keep away the press.”

He smiled.

“Oh, so that’s why you’re here. It has nothing to do with me, really. Theodora just came here for the meeting and you’re tailing her, aren’t you?”

“Got to close up,” the waitress said.

Marshall dropped money on the counter and picked up his hat from the stool next to him. “Going back to your hotel?” he asked as we walked into the lobby.

“I see you don’t want to answer my question.”

He winked and put on his hat.

The elevator doors opened, and Reggie, the Goldfinches, and Winston Rendell appeared. Detective Marshall walked away without saying a word and left the building.

“Share a cab back to the hotel?” Reggie asked the Goldfinches.

“Thanks, no,” Martin said. “We have another appointment. Hell of a board meeting.” He laughed. “Is it always like that?”

“Fortunately, no,” Reggie said.

The Goldfinches started to leave but stopped when I asked Reggie, “Was Elliott Vail active in the club?”

“Yes, he was,” Reggie said.

“He was on the board, wasn’t he?” Gail said.

“That’s right,” Reggie confirmed.

Winston Rendell joined the Goldfinches as they left the building. “Care to make a comment for the record? I’ve already interviewed the new president.”

Reggie and I stood under the building’s overhang as we waited for a taxi.

“What was Detective Marshall doing here?”

“I think he’s keeping tabs on Theodora.”

“No kidding. What did I say to you this morning? It’s got to be her. Do you think—”

“What I think is that we don’t really need your friend at Merit Life to reveal the name of the investigators looking into Elliott Vail’s disappearance.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because I think they’ve been traveling with us ever since the Whistler Northwind left Vancouver.”

“What do you mean?”

“The newcomers, Gail and Martin Goldfinch. If I’m not reading the signs wrong, I’d say they have an interest far beyond old trains.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The light on my phone was flashing when I walked into my suite at the Sutton Place. The first message was from the reporter, Gene Driscoll, and I returned his call immediately.

“Hi, Mrs. Fletcher. I got the info you asked for.”

“Good. What did you come up with?”

He sounded as though he was reading from a list. “Blevin was married three times before his marriage to Theodora Vail. The first one was twenty-two years ago. Number two was twenty years ago. His third wife was the one he divorced to marry Mrs. Vail. That marriage took place nine years ago.”

“Were they all amicable divorces?” I asked

“Except for the last one. They really fought it out in court. She—his wife at the time—she went after everything he had. They eventually settled out of court, the terms sealed.”

“What about children?” I asked, making my own notes.

“There was that kid from the short-lived first marriage.”

“And?”

“His first wife didn’t contest the divorce. They were young; the marriage only lasted two years. He signed over rights to the kid, no visitation, no involvement with her at all.”

“It was a girl?”

“Yeah. Her name was Tiffany. I looked her up on the Internet. No luck.”

“What was the mother’s maiden name? Maybe she took it back and gave it to her daughter.”

“Never thought of that. You’d make a good investigative reporter, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Thank you.”

“I might have that information here. Let me see.”

I heard the rustle of papers on the other end of the line.

“Yes, her maiden name was Carroll. I’ll try inputting Tiffany Carroll into the Internet and let you know.”

“See if there are any pictures of her, too,” I said.

He laughed. “You want a lot, Mrs. Fletcher. A picture? I’ll see what I run across.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I suppose I was reaching.”

“That’s okay. I understand. Anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Fletcher?”

His question sounded snide, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d taken advantage of him in a sense; I’d turned his visit to me into a one-way street that benefited me more than him. On the other hand, I didn’t have much to offer him in the way of the quotable comment he’d sought but had promised to call him first should I come up with anything newsworthy.

“Have you looked into Blevin’s will yet?” I asked.

He laughed again. “Have you been talking with my editor?”

I could picture him shaking his head. “I really appreciate all your efforts, Gene. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’ll be back in touch,” he said, and hung up.

I sat on the couch and looked at the notes I’d made during the conversation. I’d written “Tiffany Blevin” and crossed it out and substituted “Tiffany Carroll.” Not that seeing the name in black and white provided me with any insight or corroborated a potential theory I’d conjured. But at least I’d confirmed that Blevin had had a daughter, who would be about twenty-two years old. I was now regretting that I hadn’t brought my computer along. But when I wasn’t working, my laptop was not a customary part of my luggage, which meant finding someone who did carry such things.