Murder Can Ruin Your Looks (38 page)

ment of doubt, she said hesitantly, ‘‘You
were
the one to solve it, weren’t you?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘I don’t know why I asked that. Of course you were; you
had
to be.’’

I forced myself to refrain from basking in the glow of

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Ellen’s admiration—at least for the time being. ‘‘At any rate,’’ I went on, ‘‘the real reason for the disfigurement was a whole lot simpler. It was absolutely
essential
to Foster’s motive. But, of course, I would never have pieced the whole thing together if I hadn’t gone to the video store.’’

Ellen, as you can appreciate, looked hopelessly lost.

‘‘Let me explain.’’ I told her. . . .

‘‘There wasn’t anyone involved with this case who didn’t

lie to me for one reason or another,’’ I said, approaching things more or less as I had with Fielding, but this time actually taking the pains to make sense. ‘‘Larry Shields lied about arguing with Meredith. And Lucille Collins lied to back him up. And Roger Hyer lied when he denied know

ing Mary Ann was involved with someone else. Even my own client set himself up with a phony alibi. But Foster’s lie was different from all the rest.
Because
once
it
was
un

covered,
it
put
him
directly
at
the
scene
of
the
crime.’’

I started clarifying the statement immediately. ‘‘Remem

ber how I told you he seemed to know just which way to turn the day we both went up to the twins’ apartment?’’

‘‘Of course,’’ Ellen replied. ‘‘But that was because he’d gone there once before to surprise Mary Ann, wasn’t it?’’

I shook my head. ‘‘He never went to the apartment that time. It was a lie—and a lie that could only serve
one
pur

pose:
to conceal when he’d
really
been up there before.’’

Ellen thought that over for a few seconds. ‘‘I see what you mean, Aunt Dez. But how did you find out he wasn’t telling the truth?’’

‘‘Look, in October—when Foster claims to have made that visit of his—Meredith was in
Show
Boat
. And she was playing
Julie
.’’ I emphasized the name to the point where I was almost shouting it. ‘‘But Foster said that when Mere

dith opened the door that night, he initially thought it was Mary Ann.’’

‘‘So?’’

‘‘So, a while back, when I went to see Claire Jospehs—

this childhood friend of the twins’—she talked about how dedicated an actress Meredith was. Even when she was a little girl playing
Annie,
Meredith refused to wear a wig; she dyed her hair and got a home perm. And then, not too long ago, when she was Joan of Arc—she
cut
off
all her hair.’’

Ellen’s face was completely blank.

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‘‘Evidently, you’ve never seen
Show
Boat
.’’

‘‘Once, when I was a kid, but I don’t remember too much

about it.’’

‘‘Well, Julie was a
mulatto
.’’

‘‘Ohhh, I get it. That means Meredith would have been a brunette at that time. Am I right?’’

‘‘It would have been totally out of character for her
not
to be.’’

‘‘So Eric
couldn’t
have mistaken her for Mary Ann.’’

‘‘Not for a second.’’

‘‘You are really something, you know?’’

‘‘Don’t be too impressed,’’ I protested modestly. ‘‘I didn’t link up Foster’s story and what Claire had told me for the longest time. And when I finally did, it was only because I came across
Raging
Bull
in this video store.

‘‘Raging
Bull?’’

‘‘It was a movie, a biography, about this fighter—Jake LaMotta, his name is—and Robert De Niro gained I-don’t

know-how-many pounds to play the part. And that’s what made me remember about Meredith and how she ap

proached her roles the same way.’’

Ellen nodded. Then, a minute or two later: ‘‘I have a question, though. Why would Foster even mention anything

about Meredith being home that night?’’

‘‘That threw me in the beginning, too. But after I thought about it a while, I could see his reasoning. Mary Ann must have said something to him about Meredith’s having to take a few days off from the show at that time. And by telling me she was home sick the night he supposedly went up there, he’d be lending credence to his story if I checked with anyone in the company. And, incidentally, I did—

check, I mean. And he was right; it did make the lie more believable.’’

‘‘A pretty fast thinker, wasn’t he?’’

‘‘I’ll give him that—although he evidently didn’t think about that hair business. At any rate, once I realized Eric Foster had been lying through his teeth, I looked at every

thing a lot differently. And suddenly it all started to fall into place.’’

‘‘You said a few minutes ago that it was
essential
for him to . . . uh . . . do that to their faces.’’

‘‘That’s right. You see, it has to do with Meredith’s will. We haven’t located it yet, but according to what Peter was

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told—and he does seem to be straight on this—Meredith left a will providing that if she died first, everything she had would go to her sister. But if Mary Ann predeceased her, Meredith’s money would go to some AIDS foundation.

I don’t know if I mentioned this, but Meredith’s husband—

Garibaldi, his name was—died of AIDS.’’

‘‘He died of
AIDS
?’’

Ellen’s tone immediately put me on the defensive. ‘‘I only found out about it recently myself, and then every

thing happened so fast these last few days.’’ But Ellen’s nose was definitely out of joint; I’ve accustomed her to expect to be filled in on these things. ‘‘I really
did
mean to tell you about it,’’ I offered apologetically before hurrying on. ‘‘Anyway, since it doesn’t look like Mary Ann made out a will, in the event of
her
death, her next of kin would inherit whatever it was she had.’’

‘‘Eric,’’ Ellen murmured.

‘‘Eric. Or if Mary Ann died before her sister, Eric and Meredith. The thing is, though, Mary Ann didn’t have a dime in her own right.’’

‘‘I don’t understand. I thought they were wealthy.’’

‘‘
They
weren’t wealthy;
Meredith
was wealthy. I assumed they both had money, because I somehow got the idea they’d inherited from their parents. The fact is, though, the parents died practically broke. The money came from Meredith’s husband, who was an inventor. It seems he de

signed some kind of gadget and sold it for millions.’’ Then, after a moment’s pause—and sounding exactly like Peter—

I added reluctantly, ‘‘I guess I didn’t get around to telling you about that either, huh?’’

‘‘No, you
didn’t,
’’ Ellen responded, and the look she threw me did not warm my heart. But almost immediately her expression was more benign. (Unlike me, Ellen doesn’t hold a grudge. But listen, she’s a Libra.) ‘‘Go ahead,’’ she urged, ‘‘continue.’’

‘‘Well, Foster apparently wanted money badly. Very

badly. And he must have known something about the terms

of Meredith’s will; he probably pumped Mary Ann like crazy. Anyhow, he realized that in order to get his greedy little paws on any of those Garibaldi bucks, Mary Ann would have to die—but
after
inheriting from her sister. In other words, he would have to get rid of Meredith first and then dispose of Mary Ann.

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‘‘So he goes to their apartment on a night when there’s a good chance he can catch Meredith alone, and, a few hours later, have a shot at Mary Ann—literally. If you re

call, Mary Ann had already told him she’d be meeting a friend for dinner and a movie that evening. But the way things worked out, at the last minute her appointment was canceled. So when Foster rings the doorbell, who opens the door? Mary Ann.

‘‘I can take a few passes at what happened next. Mary Ann undoubtedly asks what he’s doing there, and he thinks up something to satisfy her. Maybe he even tells her he’s come hoping to make peace with Meredith. Whatever, they

go into the living room; that much we’re sure of. Now, I would guess that at this point Foster’s intention is to wait until Meredith comes home, shoot her, and
then
—no doubt after keeping Mary Ann at gunpoint for a time—let her have it, too.

‘‘Naturally, I don’t know that for a fact—although it does seem to fit. But what I
do
know is that he can’t postpone the murders. He has to make his move during this trip, because once Mary Ann gets married—and she’s already engaged—he’ll no longer be her next of kin. And this one night could be his only chance at both his sisters before he has to go back to England.

‘‘But, at any rate, something forced his hand. And I’m willing to bet it was Chuck Springer. I—’’

‘‘Chuck Springer?’’ Ellen interjected.

‘‘Their neighbor—the one who found them after they were shot. Maybe everything changed because Mary Ann mentioned that Springer had called and would be stopping by in a few minutes. Or maybe it was when Springer actu

ally rang the doorbell. Either way, though, this Springer business tears it. It was bad enough finding the wrong sister home. But now there’s this neighbor who wants to come in and maybe hang around for hours. Well, Foster certainly can’t allow Mary Ann to let this guy into the apartment. So—’’

‘‘So he shoots her,’’ Ellen finished for me in a voice barely above a whisper.

‘‘That would be my guess. It’s also possible, though, that he held a gun on her for a while, waiting for Meredith to show. But then she may have tried to make a break for

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it or something, and he had to do away with her ahead of schedule.’’

Ellen stuck out her hand. ‘‘Wait a minute. If Mary Ann had been shot at the time this neighbor guy was standing right outside the door, he would have heard something, wouldn’t he?’’

‘‘Uh-uh. The building’s soundproof. And for all I know, Foster could have used a silencer, besides.’’

‘‘Okay. Sorry. You were saying?’’

‘‘Well, anyway, once he shoots Mary Ann, Foster’s whole

scheme is a shambles. But you were right before; this son of a bitch is a quick thinker. He comes up with what I think was a rather brilliant alternative.’’ I paused to give the next words—which truly defined the strange circum

stances of the tragedy—the impact they deserved:

‘‘He’s going to fix things so no one can
tell
who died first.’’

Ellen sat there stunned, her eyes widening in horror. Then she said softly, ‘‘So
that’s
it.
That’s
why they were both shot . . . the way they were.’’

‘‘That’s why. After he shot them initially, he very deliber

ately blasted them in the face so it would be impossible to figure out who was who.’’

‘‘But did he really have to go through all that—disfigur

ing them, I mean?’’ Ellen wanted to know. ‘‘The medical examiner probably wouldn’t have had any idea which of them was killed first, anyway. Every mystery book I’ve ever read says things like: ‘The murder occurred between twelve and one’ or ‘between two and four.’ ’’

‘‘Well, we don’t know just how far apart the shootings took place, of course, and there are a lot of different factors that come into play. But from what I’ve been told, a good pathologist can sometimes determine the time of death to within a half hour. Maybe Foster was aware of that. Or,’’

I suggested in a lighter vein, ‘‘maybe he doesn’t read mur

der mysteries.’’

For the first time since I’d been reconstructing the crime for her, something crossed Ellen’s face that might have passed for a smile. It didn’t last long. ‘‘I’m surprised he didn’t examine them to make sure they were dead,’’ she said with a little shiver.

‘‘Obviously, the poor guy was too sensitive for that,’’ I

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responded caustically. ‘‘Or else he just made a mistake—

two of them, in fact.’’

‘‘I don’t know
how
you figured everything out,’’ Ellen enthused then.

‘‘It was the only solution that tied in with all the facts. And,’’ I admitted, ‘‘it really wasn’t that hard to arrive at, once the
Showboat
thing sunk in and I started concentrat