Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) (19 page)

“Sure thing.” Police Sergeant Dennis O’Brien pulled the one straight chair closer to the bed and sat. “What is it? What’s going on? I can see you have something to tell me.”

“You’re right.” Once again, I recounted my experience with Terence Jamison and his involvement in the death of Danny DiNicco. Before I finished the first few sentences, he’d pulled out his ubiquitous notepad and pen. When the narrative ended, Dennis frowned.

“And he had a gun, you say?”

I shuddered. “Oh, yes, a big old-fashioned one with a long sort of . . . barrel thing. Pat—his wife—told me years ago that it was authentic, the actual kind Teddy Roosevelt himself carried. It was the one Terence used in
San Juan Hill
. That was a short-lived play on Broad—”

Dennis waved away Broadway. “I don’t care about that part. I just care that he had a gun. Did he take it with him when you guys got in the boat?”

I closed my eyes. “I think so. I know I saw him put it in his belt, but there was a lot of activity going on and I was kind of—”

Dennis scowled sympathetically and waved his pen. “Yeah, you were in pain and stuff.”

“The gun should be in the boat. I’m pretty sure I saw it sliding around on the floor, or bottom of the boat, or hull, or whatever you call it. I don’t know if he brought it with him up to the house. My memory is pretty hazy about then.”

“We’ll look into it.” He tapped his pad. “And this Terence guy got sick and died at the hospital right after you got there?”

I nodded. “Heart attack, I think. His sister told me he was sick. Terence told me the same thing. Gil was with him when he collapsed. Gil called for help, but it was too late,” I said sadly.

Terence was a complicated man, but there was something about him that I had liked. Perhaps it was the memory of happier times.

I had a thought. “Wouldn’t the hospital have reported a gun or something if they found it on him?”

He nodded. “Probably. I’m pretty sure we’d have already been informed if they did, but I’ll check with them before I go. And I better call the police in New York. I heard about that murder, but never thought there was a connection here.” He snapped the pad shut and tucked in his pocket. “I’ll need to talk to your husband too. Maybe he saw the gun.”

“I don’t think so. He would have told me, I’m sure.”

A high voice interrupted our conversation, “Daddy! They had seventeen babies in the nursery; nine girls and eight boys!”

As Dorothy shushed her daughter, Dennis said, “That’s great, honey.”

“But Janet is prettier than any of ’em!” She walked over to the crib in the corner and smiled down at the sleeping baby.

“I think so, too, Meaghan.”

I saw Gil exchange a word with Dennis before they bid us goodbye.

“I’m seeing him later at the office,” Gil told me, kissing my forehead. “Right now, I’m heading out to the paper. Be back soon, after I’ve announced our great news to the world and finished my special editorial for tomorrow. Anything else you need?”

I was suddenly exhausted. “No, I’ll go to sleep now. Oh, would you call Marie and Etienne and tell them how much I appreciate the flowers?” I looked over at the ornate arrangement perched on the windowsill that had been delivered while I was talking to Dennis.

Another thought struck me. “Oh, no! Poor Dierdre! She was going to give her brother a retirement party next week!” I started to cry again softly. “If it wasn’t for me, he’d—”

“Have died all alone out in that dirty old cabin,” Gil finished. “Don’t take this burden on yourself, Amelia. If he’s guilty, he at least went out saving a life—excuse me—saving two lives. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“But he wasn’t sorry. I don’t think he was sorry at all for killing Danny. I think he thought of himself as carrying out a sentence. That’s just wrong. Or maybe he was sorry,” I added, as a memory came to me. “I think I remember his saying something about the thief on the cross.” I blew my nose. “I’ll have to tell Dierdre. It might bring her some comfort.”

Gil took my hand and kissed it. “Honey, cut it out. You can’t fix this.”

A thin squawk erupted from the little crib.

“But you can fix that,” he said brightly.

Terence’s funeral took place two days after I was released from the hospital.

“You go, Amelia,” Gil insisted, “Janet and I will be here at Chez Prentice. I want to spend my day off getting to know my little princess better.”

In the intervening days, Gil’s little princess had stopped making tiny squeaking noises and had graduated to full-throated infant arias. I was getting used to her rhythms, but it was a relief to have even an hour of grownup time. I accepted gratefully.

The proceedings were conducted in the chapel of the town’s most prestigious funeral home. Father Frontenac performed the service with great dignity, adding a vague reference that Terence had “done a great kindness in the last hours of his life,” but very few people knew the facts. There was a large gathering in the facility’s social hall, which was conveniently located on Jury Street, just a few blocks from Chez Prentice. I had been able to walk there.

Outside the building, Dierdre’s glad-handing CPA husband, Lester Joseph, had gathered with several other men in the driveway, where they were admiring a huge, shiny, green and white vintage car with large fins. “It’s a ’58 Cadillac Deville,” I heard him say proudly. “Took a lot of coins and elbow grease to get it this way, I can tell you.” He patted the hood. “Still having a little trouble with the muffler.”

Dierdre met the mourners at the door, receiving hugs, as several female relatives handed out coffee and other refreshments. People stood around in groups and talked in hushed tones.

“Thanks for coming,” Dierdre said. “The flowers arrangement you sent was really nice.”

The woman didn’t look well, as might be expected under the circumstances. Her strawberry blonde hair was heavily threaded with gray, and her young-girl freckles had faded, leaving behind bone-white skin that housed a rather thin body. The resemblance to Terence was even more noticeable than when I first met her.

“It was the least we could do after the way he helped me.”

Her voice subsided to a desperate, almost-whisper, “Sergeant O’Brien explained to me about how Terence helped you. But the other stuff, well, I don’t want to believe it. How could Terence do something like that? It could have been a mob hit. That’s what I told the police: It was probably a mob hit, a shooting like that. I don’t like to think my brother could do that, do you?” She was whispering faster and faster and seemed almost surprised at herself when she suddenly stopped.

I shook my head, remembering that she was in the throes of grief. I changed the subject.

“Did you retrieve the boat he used? I saw it was gone from our dock.”

She fingered her sleeve and plucked off a bit of lint. “Oh yeah, my father-in-law’s old boat. Lester took our boat over there to tow it back. I suppose the police will want to look it over for fingerprints or whatever.” She waved her hands vaguely. “Sergeant O’Brien’s talked with the New York City police and he’s sending a file or something down there to be checked out.” She laid a hand on my arm and began whispering urgently again, “I mean, Terence actually
told
you he did it? He really said he did it?”

“He definitely gave me that impression.”

As I spoke, the statement sounded hollow to me. There was something that didn’t add up, something floating in the back of my mind . . .

“Well, maybe he did do it, but I don’t want to believe it, y’know?”

“That’s . . . understandable.” I decided then not to tell her that Terence had mentioned suicide.

She glanced over her shoulder, but nobody else was listening. “He was very sick, you know, sick as in terminal.”

Tears filled her eyes. She pulled a tissue from her pocket.

“He was a good brother. After our parents died, he took care of me. I had some bad times in the past, gave him a lot of trouble, but he always took care of me. I tried to take care of him . . . you know, recently.”

“I’m sure you did, Dierdre,” I said automatically.

An elderly relative stepped forward and Dierdre moved away.

There was something I was forgetting, some detail. What was it? Why did I feel as though something was unfinished?

~~~

I was back at Chez Prentice, sitting in a rocking chair in one of the empty guest rooms upstairs nursing Janet, when there was a knock at the door. Draping the shawl in a more modest position, I called, “Who is it?”

“Hello, family, I’m back.” Gil entered, smiling. “Lunchtime?”

I sighed. “No, an after-lunch mid-afternoon snack in preparation for the late afternoon snack. Honestly, Gil, this child acts like she’s starving!”

He sat down on the bed. “Keep in mind, it’s one of the few times in her life that a girl’s glad to gain weight.”

I pulled back the light shawl and looked at the incredibly sweet little head at my breast. “I suppose so.” I stroked her feathery hair.

“Listen, Amelia, did you get a look at that journal Alec inherited?”

“Yes, and it’s fascinating, even if it’s a huge pain to try to decipher. You’d love it. I meant to tell you, but things have been so hectic, I forgot. The book’s an heirloom, Gil. I don’t feel right keeping it so long. We probably should return it to him.”

“I asked Alec, and he insisted we keep it a little longer. He’s busy downsizing right now.”

“It’s definitely of historical interest. This man was quite influential in Alec’s life. He gave him the idea to hunt for the Lake Champlain monster, you know.”

“Say, that might make a good article for the paper. Mind if I read it, too?”

Janet was finished. I handed her over to Gil and buttoned up my blouse. “Of course not. It’s in the drawer of the bedside table back at the house.”

Marie poked her head in the door. “The policeman is here to see you in the front parlor.”

Gil was carrying a wide-awake Janet in his arms when we descended the stairs.

Wearing his official persona instead of that of a former student, Dennis stood at our approach. Sliding his eyes in the direction of another B&B guest who was peering over his newspaper at us, he said quietly, “Amelia, this is rather confidential. Maybe we could go in the kitchen or the dining room?”

We moved into the entry hall and looked around.

“In here.” Marie leaned out of the door of her office. “It’s nice and quiet.”

We accepted her offer. Dennis turned and said over his shoulder, “Gil, you should join us. Um, your daughter is welcome too. I assume she can keep a secret.”

Gil turned to his daughter and animatedly put a finger to his lips. “Shhh!”

Once we were settled in the comfortable chairs in the B&B office, Dennis said, “I just have a few more questions for you about the other evening, Amelia.” He placed a tiny device on the desk. “If it’s okay, I’ll record our conversation this time.”

I nodded.

Gil put a clean cloth diaper and the baby over his shoulder and gently rubbed her back as he listened.

“Amelia, would you go over the events as you remember them? And please don’t leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

“Well, I was feeling pretty energetic that afternoon. I’d cleaned the whole house . . . ” I proceeded to re-live everything, including wading in the water, the telephone call to Dierdre and the leisurely walk along the lake shore. I described the little cabin with its distinctive collection of license plates and how grubby it had seemed inside. I reconstructed, as best I could, the conversation I’d had with Terence.

Dennis flipped a page of his memo pad and pointed his pen at me. “Did Mr. Jamison confess to the murder of Daniel DiNicco? I mean, in so many words?”

I nodded. “I think so. He even showed me the gun that was used. It was a real one that had been a prop in one of his early plays.”

“Can you describe it again?”

“I don’t know much about guns. It was really big, a silver color, with a long barrel and the initials T. R. on a little plaque on the handle, which was black—is it called a handle?—The initials stood for Theodore Roosevelt. Terence had been Teddy Roosevelt in the play, you see.”

“You’re sure he said he’d committed the murder? I mean, you were in labor and everything.”

I felt myself blushing. I didn’t want to mention the ‘peeing’ incident if I didn’t have to.

“That came a little later. Oh, wait! He must have confessed, because I offered to go with him so he could turn himself in. I told him I knew you and—”

“But he declined?” Dennis made a note.

“Yes. He said he couldn’t do that to his family.”

Gil gave a disgusted snort.

“Look, you two,” Dennis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I apologize for having to go over this all over again. I’m being so insistent, Amelia, because it could help the NYPD close the Daniel diNicco case.”

I nodded. Gil nodded.

Dennis sat back in his seat and ran a finger down his notes. “So, let’s get back to when you were at the Joseph camp. Would you say he threatened you?”

Gil leaned forward, frowning, still patting Janet steadily on the back.

“I don’t know. It seemed like it. I mean, he said he didn’t know what to do with me, and that I was always a handful.”

“What did he mean by that?”

Gil put in sharply, “Yeah, what did he mean?”

A huge burp burst forth.

It broke the angry spell. We all chuckled. Gil held Janet in one arm while he wiped her mouth with the cloth. We could see that her eyelids were drooping.

“She’s sleepy now. She’ll probably doze off.”

“I wouldn’t have thought she had such a big, loud bubble in her,” Dennis said in a stage whisper and smiled, “but I remember Meaghan doing the same thing.”

“Go ahead, talk normally,” I said. “Gil and I are trying to accustom her to sleeping with ambient noise.”

“Okay, where were we?”

Gil handed the baby over to me, where she nestled in my arms and sighed deeply, closed her eyes and began pursing her lips back and forth. It was how she put herself to sleep, we’d learned.

 “Terence was threatening to kill you,” Gil said darkly.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure he really did. He just seemed unsure as to what to do.”

Gil cracked his knuckles and looked around, annoyed. “I was feeling sorry for the guy, and here he was about to—”

“Gil!” I said sharply, forgetting for the moment that we were being recorded, “Remember, he did help me. Help us, I mean.” I glanced down at Janet, and then turned back to Dennis. “As soon as he realized that I was going into labor, he became completely committed to getting me some medical help.” I explained our unsuccessful effort at the urologist’s camp.

Gil smiled. “But Dr. Ridley’s not—”

“That’s what I said, but Terence said something about plumbing. I can’t remember all of it. I was in pain then.”

“That’s the problem. Some of your memory is a little clouded, I think.” Dennis leaned forward. “Let’s get back to the gun. Did you see what he did with it when you were going for help?”

A tiny snore floated up from my lap. Janet was asleep.

We all smiled fondly at her and I picked up the thread of the conversation again. I squinted, trying to think.

“I remember being uneasy around it. But to tell the truth, I’m not even sure it was loaded. He did kind of open it up and spin that round middle thing around like you see in Westerns. Then he stuck it in his belt.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Later, I remember being afraid it would go off or something. We were in the boat at the time. Oh, wait, yes! I just remembered. He said he’d been planning to kill himself out there. ‘Put an end to things.’ That’s how he put it. I can’t believe I forgot that until now.”

Dennis nodded and made more notes. “Then it had to have been loaded. Could it have fallen out, say in the water, at any time?”

I looked at him. “Are you saying you still haven’t found the gun?”

Dennis reached over and clicked off the recorder. “Yes, I’m saying that—to you. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that that’s confidential information.”

Gil and I nodded. Dennis turned on the recorder again.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember. “It was pretty wild there for a while. We ran out of gas within sight of the house, I remember, and he was rowing for all he was worth.” I frowned. “Things were sliding all over the boat, I remember. I grabbed his wig. It got a little wet, I think.”

Gil put in, “Yeah, I saw that he was wearing that at the hospital, just before he collapsed.”

I kept my eyes closed. “Wait. There was something . . . heavy in the bottom of the boat. It could have been the gun. It slid out of reach under the seat. Did you look under the seats of the boat and everything?” I looked over at Dennis, who clicked the recorder off again.

He sighed heavily. “Amelia, those downstaters might think we’re ignorant hillbillies around here, but we really do know our business. Our people have scoured the entire scene, including that filthy cabin, the boat, even in the water and under the dock. No luck.”

“What does that mean?”

“The NYPD has the bullet involved in the DiNicco murder.” He closed the pad. “But unless they can match it to a weapon, well . . . ” He shrugged, tucked the pad and pen in his jacket pocket, and picked up the recorder. “I think that’s enough for now.”