Homicide by Hamlet (Cozy Mystery) Book #3 (Chubby Chicks Club Cozy Mystery Series) (7 page)

Before Bezu dropped me off at my house, we talked to José about what we’d found in Gerald’s office. When we told him the manner in which we’d obtained it, he didn’t want to know what evidence we had, since he couldn’t use it because it’s ethically questionable. Stakes for him were high, his job was truly on the line. He was not in the least bit happy we were snooping around, and ordered us to stop.

But he knew me. Had I told him I would stop, we both knew it would’ve been a lie. Instead, I chose not to respond to his plea.

I unlocked my door, and flicked on the lights. Glancing around, an overwhelming feeling of emptiness washed over me. Since my beloved Ernie had gone to the Krispy Kreme Doughnut shop in the sky, I’d gotten used to living alone. I rather enjoyed it as well, until recently. Gerald and I had been spending a lot of time together. Now, like a mirror, the house reflected back my utter solitude.

I couldn’t shake that thought. I cared for Gerald; he made me feel things I hadn’t felt since Ernie was alive. Yet, could he be a murderer? And what was that note about? Should I just ask him directly?

Then again, Bezu did take it from his office, without asking permission. Even with my very limited knowledge of the law, I knew that taking someone’s personal property without asking was a crime of petty theft. But hey, it was one less offense on our part that his office was wide open --at least we didn’t break and enter.

It was after nine when the doorbell rang. Who could that be this late in the evening? I checked through the peephole. It was Gerald.

Oh no.

Should I let him in? Pretend I wasn’t at home? Or act like everything was okay? I repeated in my mind, innocent until proven guilty.

Innocent until proven guilty.

Upon opening the door, Gerald said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Conflicting feelings of both excitement and fear stirred in me. I had to play along like everything was normal. “Do you want to come inside? Maybe have a beer or something?”

“A cold one sounds great.”

He followed me to the kitchen. On dozens of occasions, we had sat at my table, eating homemade meals or takeout. We had a comfortable relationship.

Did he know now that it had all changed because of the note Bezu had found? Well of course he didn’t know we found the letter. And naturally, both Gerald and Priscilla knew about the note, since it was about something between them.

The scarier thought was that Priscilla’s life might’ve ended because of what she’d written to Gerald.

I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of beer. I handed one to Gerald.

“From Southbound Brewery, my favorite. Thanks.” He sat down, then pulled the tab on his can.

“Just supporting a local business.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I sat in a chair across the white Formica table from him. Popping open my can, I took a long swig.

Gerald put his beer back on the table. “Are you going to tell me why you’re acting so oddly?”

I nearly spit out my beer. “Me?”

He leaned forward. “Level with me. What’s going on? You seem, I don’t know the word for it, squirrelly to me. And when I found you and Bezu in my office, you both looked like the cats who ate the mouse.”

I changed the subject. “There are lots of animal analogies there, are you trying to tell me something?”

He placed his hand on top of mine. “You have animal magnetism.”

His warm hand momentarily left me speechless—I pulled away. What was wrong with me?

“Annie Mae, have I done anything to upset you?” Gerald ran a hand through his hair.

“Nothing.” To hide my lie, and to distract him, I chugged the rest of the beer.

“Now I know something is wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drink that quickly unless they were doing beer bongs.” He chuckled.

Standing, I said. “Yes, you got me. I’m in a drinking competition. Practice makes perfect.” I snatched another beer from the fridge. “Do you need one more?”

“No, but I’d like you to talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you, what’s changed with you, with us.”

I plopped down in a chair. “Besides a team leader getting murdered in the theater where I work? No, nothing’s changed.”

Gerald narrowed his eyes. “Okay. I guess I won’t ask you again. Although, Annie Mae, I know you. And this is not the normal you.”

I shrugged. “Different is the new normal.”

He took in a deep breath. “I give up. You’re fine.”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask him about the note, without him knowing that I had it. “What a tragedy about Priscilla.”

“Yes, it’s horrible. Actually, I just came back from a meeting with Armstrong’s administrative staff and the competition judges. They’re making a decision about whether or not we should shut down theater camp or finish the last two days.”

“What do you think we should do?” I asked.

He reclined in his chair. “Well, it’s not up to me, but I think we should finish it out for the sake of the students. Return to business as usual.”

“But there’s nothing usual about a dead body. And besides, a team lost their supervisor,” I said.

“You’re right. But Priscilla’s team is far enough along that we could assign a new adult leader, or let the team compete without one. It’d be their choice, and still be within the competition rules.”

“I guess you’re right.” I played with my beer can. “What about the crime scene?”

Gerald looked down at the table. “What about it?”

“I assume that we can’t use the backstage area. That’s where my team has their set, backdrop and props and, well, everything. They won’t be able to perform without them.” I bit my lip. “I’m sure detectives have to dust for fingerprints, and collect any evidence they might find.”

“That’s wrapped up. The police, forensics, whomever needed to do what they needed to do—they’re all done. You have full access to backstage, and your set.”

I had to get my inquiries back to the actual crime. “I’m going to assume, I need to get another skull.” I wanted to study his body language to see any hint that he might be nervous or upset. I’d be jittery if I killed someone, and they point-blank asked me about the weapon I used to commit the crime.

He shifted in his chair. “Yes, I heard Priscilla was killed with that.” After drinking his beer, he coughed. “I’m sure that we can get you another.”

“Poor lady. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill her. Can you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted it. I was helpless in the house alone with him. On my granite countertop was a wooden block with knives, really sharp knives.

He could easily kill me. Dang it. My kitchen was a veritable room of potential weapons. On the other hand, I enjoyed spending time with him—we had a comfortable camaraderie. Yet, maybe I didn’t know him at all.

If I continued to think like this I’d drive myself nuts.

“Thanks for the beer. But it’s getting late, and I should go. I’ll see you in the morning.” Gerald stood and pushed his chair in. “So, you up for dinner tomorrow night at my house?”

Was this a set up? Did he know that I knew about the note? “Your house?” My question came out as a shriek.

“You just sounded like I asked you to go to the city dump. Don’t you want to come over to my place?”

I let out a nervous giggle. “How about a restaurant instead?”

He reached out and touched my arm. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

I forced a laugh. “Of course not. We’ve been alone dozens of times.”

“Yes, we have. And you have to admit, I’ve behaved like a gentleman every time. Although you make that difficult, because you’re so adorable.” He winked at me.

Heat suffused my face and I had to avert my gaze.

“So dinner at my place?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. Why did I feel like a schoolgirl with an infatuation on the popular cute boy? Then, I berated myself. Yes, he had killer looks, but he could also be a real killer.

“I wanted to make your favorite meal, shrimp and grits,” he said as we walked to the front door. “But, if for any reason, you’re uncomfortable, then that’s fine. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll understand.”

As I opened the door I said, “Well then, your house it is. Oh, and I have to ask again, can you think of anyone who would’ve wanted Priscilla dead?”

He leaned over and kissed my cheek before he left.

I held my hand to my face, as though I could actually feel his warm soft kiss.

Gerald never answered my question.

At 7:30 the next morning, I headed over to campus. Instead of getting a good night’s sleep, I had tossed and turned thinking of all that had happened. Nothing made sense.

“Good morning, Annie Mae,” Bezu said as I entered the theater lobby.

Fragrant bakery smells drifted in the air.

“How nice to see you so early in the morning. I thought you were only contracted to provide lunch,” I said.

“I was, until I got a call last night requesting I provide a breakfast buffet.” Bezu and her helper uncovered dishes on a buffet table. On another, along with cups, plates and flatware were jugs of orange juice and milk, as well as shiny silver carafes of coffee.

“I hope you’re hungry—we have French toast, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and bacon. And muffins.”

As students entered the lobby, they made their way to the buffet tables like bees to pollen.

“Bezu, can I steal you away for a second?” Gnawing at me, were thoughts of Gerald and Priscilla and what they had between them.

“Sure.” Bezu dabbed her hands on her flowered apron, which was wrapped over her robin blue sundress.

We moved to a quieter spot.

“Did you see the Savannah Morning News front-page headline?” I asked.

“You mean ‘Homicide by Hamlet,’ about Priscilla?” Bezu tsked. “Tacky huh?”

“Yes.” My heart sank. I had a tough time wrapping my head around the calamity.

I had not gotten along with Priscilla, but I’d never wanted her dead. So many questions had left my head throbbing. The most obvious was, who killed Priscilla and why? And would they kill again? Were my students, Bezu and the others at risk?

“I need to find out soon, like today, who did it,” I whispered.

“Have you ruled out your boy—” Bezu took a long pause. “Friend?”

I chuckled. “Nope.”

“So why today?”

“Because I’ll be going to his lair for dinner tonight,” I said.

“And?”

“If he’s the killer, obviously I won’t go.”

Bezu smiled. “Understandably.”

“But, if he didn’t do it then, well, I’ll go.” Remembering his sweet kiss on my cheek, I felt the blood rush to my face.

“You look like a schoolgirl.” Bezu shook her head. “My heavens, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you have a crush on Gerald.” She teased. “The mere mention of his name and your face looks lights up, like a fire is burning in you.”

“It’s just hot flashes, not crush blushes,” I said.

“So when are you going to admit you like him?”

“Well, of course I like him in the platonic sort of way.”

Bezu played with her pearl necklace, her customary accessory. “Oh, Annie Mae, one thing I wish is for you to open your heart to a romantic relationship.”

“Are you propositioning me?” I grinned. “I thought you had Luiz?” I tapped her arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gerald.

He rang a bell, then announced. “Good morning, everyone. Please finish your breakfast and make your way into the theater. We will begin in fifteen minutes.”

“Remember your sidekick duties,” I said to Bezu. “You’re helping my investigation.”

“Fine, but I’m going to ask something of you in return.”

“Oh? What?”

“Promise me that you will look at Gerald as more than—”

“—A killer?” I said.

Bezu said, “Friend.”

“Jailbird,” I added.

“You’re impossible,” she said. “If he’s innocent, will you consider him a suitor?”

I shrugged.

“Do we have a deal?” Bezu stuck out her hand.

With reservation, I shook it. Did I just make a deal to date the devil?

Following the announcement that the competition would continue, I made my way out of the auditorium. Bradley, or Dwight, as he currently was going by, called out to me.

“Annie Mae.” Dwight reached my side. “I can’t believe they’re continuing camp after Priscilla was killed. I mean, I know the whole ‘show must go on’ cliché and all, but this seems disrespectful.”

“The decision to continue is not meant to be discourteous. You have to remember, sixty high school students put a week of their summer on hold to be a part of this camp. It means a lot to them,” I said. “I’m curious though, why are you here?”

“As a board member of this camp, it’s my duty to be here. I have free reign of the place. Now, more so than ever, with what’s happened and all.” He looked at the ground. “It’s good to keep busy, keeps my mind off my grief.”

Poor guy. “I’m really sorry about Priscilla.”

“Me too.” His eyes were shiny. “Instead of planning for a wedding, I’m organizing a memorial service.” He wiped his face with the palm of his hand, then cleared his throat. “I’ve got her assistant, Winona, pitching in. She’s been such a rock through all of this, bending over backwards to help me.”

I’d almost forgotten about Winona, because she was a quiet shadow to Priscilla’s big personality. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Dwight and I were having a surprisingly pleasant conversation. Maybe he’d softened after the tragedy.

“Actually, there is, that’s why I came over here.” He lowered his voice. “Although, the police are conducting an investigation they aren’t being as forthcoming with information as I would like. And for legal reasons, I have to know what happened to her.”

“Legal reasons?” I asked.

“You know,” Dwight answered.

“I don’t know.” Did he think I was a mind reader?

“Insurance and other matters,” Dwight said. “So, for the sake of speeding things along, I need to probe a bit. However, I have zero detective skills. But I’ve heard you sort of do.”

“Well, not really. I only solved one case,” I said. And resolving that case had been pure dumb luck.

“So, I need to ask you. Do you think Gerald Gill killed my wife, I mean, fiancée?”

Gerald certainly earned the top spot on my suspect list. I stammered, “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because he and my fiancée had—well, I wouldn’t call it a relationship exactly—but Gerald and Priscilla had some sort of past.”

I swallowed hard. Did he mean their past, like what might’ve been referred to in the note? Dwight didn’t know that I had the note, so I needed to be coy.

“What do you mean by, their past?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure of the details, really. At the start of the camp, I overheard them arguing.”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure.” Dwight sighed. He brushed his sandy blond hair from his eyes.

He really did resemble a young Robert Redford. Seeing his kindhearted side now, I could kind of see why Bezu had fallen in love with him.

“After the fight, did you ask Priscilla what they argued about?” I asked.

“I did. She said I shouldn’t worry. She told me something about ‘righting past wrongs’ with Gerald. Also, she felt sure that she was coming into a lot of money soon. And, trust me, she was spending like she already had it.”

“And she never told you the source of the money?”

He shook his head. “That’s all I have. She never said anything else.”

Dwight had no idea that what he had just told me reinforced that Gerald and Priscilla did have a contentious relationship. First the note, then the argument. Was it enough for Gerald to kill her?

“Do you think I’m being too suspicious?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell him about the note, not yet at least. I needed to talk to Gerald again.

“Did you talk to the police about Priscilla’s and Gerald’s argument?” I asked him.

“I did.” He shifted his stance. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I still think you might’ve had something to do with her death. I mean Gerald could’ve been your hit man. You spend a lot of time with him. You hated her, and he argued with her. I think you could’ve teamed up to take her out.”

“You’re so off base.” I locked eyes with him. For a moment, I’d thought he was a normal human being instead of a rat. No more. “I had nothing to do with her death.”

Dwight snickered. “That’s to be determined.”

Winona joined us before I could respond.

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your loss,” I said to her.

Winona hung her head. “Thank you.”

I said, “I told Dwight if y’all need anything from me, just ask. I know this is a rough time for you, with her being your boss and all, and how much time you seemed to spend with each other.”

Winona looked away from me. “We were quite close.”

“Sorry to break up this sympathy fest. I’ve got to run to a meeting.” Dwight turned and left.

“If you have a minute, can I ask you something?” I asked Winona.

“Actually, I’m glad that we’re alone. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too.”

“Oh?” I said. “You first.”

She glanced around. “Dwight insisted that Priscilla make him the sole beneficiary on her will and life insurance. He also had her transfer her property and other things to his name before they married. Like the family home she inherited in Ardsley Park.”

“That seems in line. Although, some people wait until after the wedding to take care of all the legalities.”

“There’s more.” She lowered her eyes. “Priscilla told me she wanted someone else as beneficiary.”

That piqued my curiosity. “Do you know who?”

Winona’s neck flushed red. “Another family member.”

“Who was it?”

She fidgeted with her glasses. “I, um, don’t know. I mean, forget about the family member. I just wanted you to know about Dwight. He had motivation to kill her,” she stammered.

“So, why are you telling me all of this?”

Winona shrugged. “People are talking. They say you’re trying to solve her case, like an amateur sleuth. And I thought you should know, that’s all.”

“Have you told the police what you’ve just told me?”

“Yes.”

“If you think Dwight could be a suspect, doesn’t that make you uncomfortable to work with him?”

Winona pushed her glasses up. “I can handle myself. I’m not worried.”

“Call me if you need me.” I gave her my cell number.

As I was about to leave, she caught my arm. “You said earlier you wanted to ask me something?”

“Oh, yes. Did you know of anyone who wanted her dead?” I didn’t know any gentle way to word my question.

Winona adjusted the computer bag on her shoulder. “No.”

“Did she have anyone she argued with? Or didn’t get along with?”

“Besides you?”

“Yes, besides me. Just so you know—I had nothing at all to do with her death.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

“Are you referring to my friend, Gerald?”

Winona arched an eyebrow. “You’re not dating him?”

“No, of course not. Why would you think that?” I feigned complete surprise that she even suggested that.

“Priscilla told me you were star-crossed lovers.”

“That’s weird, star-crossed lovers are doomed to end in tragedy, like Romeo and Juliet.” I held my hand up. “But Gerald and I are just friends, so I don’t know why she said that.”

“Me either. Although she wasn’t crazy about Gerald.”

“Why not?”

Winona hesitated. “It’s hard to pinpoint. But I remember when she looked at the posters in the foyer, she seemed obsessed with Gerald’s high school picture.”

I remembered the black and white picture of him leaning against the side of his muscle car. “Maybe she liked Goats?”

“Huh?”

“The 1969 GTO, it’s a car,” I said. “There’s one in Gerald’s picture. They were called goats. Like a nickname. My first boyfriend had the same car. Did she say anything about Gerald that made you think that she didn’t like him?”

“Yes, although if I told you, I’d feel like I was betraying her.” Winona studied her fuchsia tennis shoes.

“Please don’t say anything then.” I wanted her to talk, but felt guilty if she revealed a secret. On the other hand, some secrets need to be exposed.

I said, “However, if you did tell me, I guarantee I’d keep it confidential.”

Winona bit her bottom lip. “Promise?”

I crossed my heart.

“She and Gerald had a history. She told me what she knew could ruin him.”

My pulse quickened. I felt like I was getting close to an answer. “Like what?”

“I don’t have the details, but I saw her with an envelope she said was for him. I told her I’d deliver it, but she insisted on doing it herself.”

“When did you see the envelope?”

“I think it was the third day of camp.”

Priscilla had been found dead at the end of the third day of camp.

“Did you know what was in it?” I asked.

“A note.”

“What was it about?”

Winona shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Did the outside of the envelope have any writing on it? Any identifying marks?”

“Like what?”

“Usually an envelope has a person’s name written on it.” I paused. “Or some other marking, maybe initials?”

Winona’s mouth dropped open. ”Yes, there were initials. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess is all,” I lied.

Winona narrowed her gaze at me and pursed her lips.

“It wasn’t just luck. You know about that note, don’t you?” she said.

I looked away from her. Goosebumps formed on my arm, and I wasn’t sure why.