Murder Most Persuasive (29 page)

CHAPTER 29

It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.

—
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

A
FTER EXPLAINING MY THEORY
to everyone, I called Ann and told her that I was coming over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the excitement in my voice.

“I think I’ve figured it out. I think I know who killed Michael!”

“Who?”

I paused. While telling her wouldn’t be easy, I didn’t want to do it over the phone—that wouldn’t be right. “I’m coming over,” I said. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Ann wasn’t happy but agreed. I told her I’d be there as soon as I could. Peter, Aunt Winnie, and I drove over to her house, where she answered the door with a worried expression.

“Okay, tell me,” she said once we were inside.

“Well, I think I know who killed Michael,” I said, suddenly loath to tell her who it was.

“You mentioned that,” she said in exasperation. “
Who is it?
”

“I’d be curious to hear your theory on that as well,” said another voice. I turned. It was Joe. I glanced back at Ann. She gave me a quick smile. Well, at least there was some good news tonight. Having Joe here would definitely make it easier for Ann. And for me.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly explained everything. When I finished, Joe said, “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.”

Ann slumped against the wall, her face pale. “Are you sure?” she asked.

I nodded. I knew it was hard for her to hear. “It has to be the explanation. It’s the only one that makes sense.”

“But how do we prove it?” Joe asked.

“That’s the tricky part,” I acknowledged. “There’s no proof. Only a few odd facts that could easily be explained away.”

“So what do you propose?” Ann asked.

“We pay a visit to Bonnie,” I said. “Maybe we can convince her to do the right thing.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Joe asked.

I paused. “It has to. It’s our only hope.”

“What exactly is your plan?” he asked.

When I explained, the room erupted in various levels of outrage and opposition. Peter was especially adamant. “This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of!” he cried. “You can’t be serious.”

“Peter, it’s the only way. And you know it. Unless we do this, we’ll never be able to prove how Michael was killed,” I said.

“I don’t care!” he yelled back at me.

“Peter, please. If I don’t do this, then a murderer—a murderer who’s killed twice—goes free. Can you really live with that? Because I can’t.” Peter did not answer. “I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Besides, Joe will be there the whole time. Right, Joe?”

Joe looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s no more dangerous than to let a killer keep killing,” I retorted. “And what about Scott? He’s sitting in jail for something he didn’t do! There’s more proof against Scott than the actual murderer. If we don’t do this, there’s an excellent chance that he’ll be convicted.”

That seemed to win him over. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll give it a try.”

“If this is going to happen, then I want to be there, too,” said Peter. Joe grudgingly nodded.

I smiled reassuringly at them. I’d won the argument. I just hoped I was right.

*   *   *

We drove over to Bonnie’s in silence. To be on the safe side, we didn’t call first. The house was dark and I hoped that Bonnie hadn’t gone out. However, once we were at the door I could hear the faint murmuring of a television playing inside. Our first knock was ignored, but Joe knocked again and then finally yelled through the door.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he called. “Please, open up. It’s Detective Muldoon. I have to talk to you.”

After a moment, we heard movement from inside and finally the sound of the door’s lock being slid back. The door then was slowly opened a crack. A blue eye peered out suspiciously from the other side. The door opened a few inches wider, revealing both Bonnie and Scarlett. Scarlett gave a happy bark at seeing Joe. From the faint scowl on Bonnie’s face, it was clear that she did not share Scarlett’s excitement. Upon opening the door even wider, Bonnie saw the rest of us huddled on her doorstep. Instantly, her expression changed from one of mild annoyance to outright fury and she moved to slam the door shut. Joe anticipated her and stuck his foot out to block the door from closing.

“I specifically told the police that I didn’t want to see anyone! Especially
you
people!” Bonnie hissed, as Joe nudged the door open. Bonnie scurried back into the foyer still glaring at us. She was dressed in a silky pink robe and holding Scarlett, who now happily wagged her tail.

“Get out of my house,” Bonnie said, backing farther away from us. “I don’t want you here. You people tried to kill me. You killed Julian!”

“Bonnie, I swear to you that none of us had anything to do with Julian’s death,” said Ann.

Bonnie scoffed. “You’re all a bunch of conceited, black-hearted varmints and I don’t know why I should let you come in my house.” Bonnie might still be suspicious of us, but she was apparently still happy to quote
Gone with the Wind
. Oh, well. I had Jane Austen. Bonnie had Margaret Mitchell.

Joe stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds, but I need to talk to you about the murder of Michael Barrow.”

Bonnie’s eyes flew open in surprise and then shuttered, but not before I caught the sly, knowing look that crept into them. “I have nothing to say to you about that,” she said, tipping her nose in the air.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Joe replied calmly. “Why don’t we talk in the living room where we can be more comfortable?”

Bonnie stared at Joe a moment before blowing an angry breath through her nose. Tilting her head in acquiescence, she turned on her heel and marched into the living room and settled onto the couch. Picking up the remote, she clicked off the television. We followed her and took seats on the chairs. Joe remained standing.

“What do you want from me?” she snapped.

“The truth,” said Joe.

Bonnie turned to him, her face incredulous. “But I’ve told you the truth!”

Joe shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you haven’t.”

Bonnie’s mouth pulled down into a stubborn frown. “I don’t see what you expect of me. After all, I’m the victim here.”

Joe explained what he expected. Bonnie’s eyes widened in shock. “But how did you know…?” she sputtered.

“That’s not really the point, is it?” Joe said.

“Well, it’s absurd in any case. I’ve done nothing wrong—nothing
criminally
wrong.”

“That’s not exactly true, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Joe. “I think I could make a very good case for your being an accessory after the fact.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened and she looked at Joe with real fear. “Is that true? I mean, could you really charge me—?”

“Yes,” Joe answered, cutting her off.

Bonnie dropped her head and focused on her hands. No one spoke. After a moment, she said in a low whisper, “Fine. I’ll tell you what happened.” As she recited her tale, Ann turned her head away in disgust. Bonnie saw the movement and threw her head back and glared defiantly at Ann. “Don’t you dare judge me!” she spat out. “Don’t you dare! You have no idea what a miserable man your father could be at times. He used me, plain and simple! He didn’t love me! I was nothing to him! Nothing!”

Ann glared back at her with contempt. “You could have left. You didn’t have to stay.”

“And do what? Go back to being a secretary? I don’t think so.”

“Seems to me, then,” Ann replied, “that he wasn’t the only one doing the using.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and said, “Fine. See what you want. Paint me as the bad guy. Why should any of that change now? Go ahead, what exactly do you want from me?”

Ann turned to Joe. Clearing his throat, he said, “We need you to do something for us, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“What?” came Bonnie’s wary reply.

When Joe told her, Bonnie blanched, then called him a son of a bitch and Ann far worse, but in the end she agreed to do what we asked. In silence, we watched her make the phone call.

*   *   *

Two hours later, I lay in the bed nervously readjusting the sleep mask on my face and the wig on my head. The room was unnaturally silent. I couldn’t hear Joe or Peter, and I had to restrain myself from calling out to them. When I finally heard the bedroom door ease open, I pretended to be asleep and forced my breath into a calm and even rhythm. Everything depended on how the next couple of minutes went. I had to sell this. My heart began to pound furiously and I prayed that the figure I sensed slowly easing my way couldn’t hear each terrified thump and beat.

The figure drew closer. I could hear the breathing; it was now practically next to me. My nerves were frayed and it took every ounce of my self-control not to fling myself out of the bed and run screaming for the door. Then I thought of everything that had happened, of the people killed and hurt, and I forced myself to remain still.

Suddenly a low voice hissed, “You stupid, greedy bitch!” and a pillow was roughly pushed down over my face. I flung my hands up to push the pillow off, but the hand that held it down wouldn’t budge. Panic overtook me and I frantically tried to get out from under the crushing pressure. Where was Joe? Within seconds, the pillow was yanked away and the hands holding the pillow were secured, but those seconds felt like an eternity. I sat up and pushed off the sleep mask and wig, blinking at the bright lights that now flooded the room. Before me, the figure struggled in Joe’s steely grip. Peter ran over to me. “Are you all right?” he asked, cradling my face in his hands. “I can’t believe I let you do this. You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him, although it would have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t come out in a scratchy croak. After taking a restorative breath of air, I glanced at the figure across the room from me, now being handcuffed. I studied the face; it was the same old face, but there was a ruthlessness in it that seemed new to me. Who knows? Maybe it had always been there and I’d just never noticed.

Seeing me in the bed and not Bonnie, the figure sputtered, “Elizabeth! What the hell is going on here?”

No remorse, just surprise. I was suddenly furious. “It’s over,” I said. “That’s what’s going on. It’s done. You’re done. You’re not going to hurt anyone anymore, Miles.”

CHAPTER 30

What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.

—
EMMA

M
ILES GLARED AT ME
and struggled against the handcuffs.

“How could you?” I asked. “How could you do this? You were a part of this family! And yet you stole, and killed an innocent man to cover your crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miles said. “I didn’t steal…”

“Shut up,” I snapped, pushing myself up and out of the bed. “Just shut up.” Standing in front of him, I continued to berate him, my voice shaking with anger. “Bonnie told us what happened between you two. You were at the house in St. Michaels the night after the party. You didn’t expect anyone to be there, but someone was—Bonnie. You seduced Bonnie and convinced her never to reveal what happened between you two.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” cried Miles. “What did Bonnie say? She’s an idiot, for Christ’s sake! You can’t trust anything she says!”

I couldn’t believe him. He was still trying to pretend he was innocent. “Miles, for God’s sake! You just tried to kill me thinking I was Bonnie!” I yelled. “Don’t you get it? It’s over! We set you up! We were there when Bonnie called you earlier. We heard everything. You came here to kill her. You shoved a pillow over my face thinking it was her! It’s over!”

Miles turned away from me. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered. I didn’t know if he was referring to me or Bonnie. I didn’t care.

“Does Laura know?” I asked. That got his attention. His head whipped back to face me. “No!” he cried, finally showing some real emotion. “She has nothing to do with any of this. You have to believe me about that at least. She knows nothing. I did this for her. I did this alone.”

“Do you really think that was what she wanted? For you to steal and kill for her?”

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly pleading. “I had to, don’t you understand? I had to! She never would have married me unless I was a success.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. She loved you for
you,
not your business.”

“I couldn’t take the chance.”

“That’s your justification? Did you never stop to think how Laura is going to react to all this? You’ve destroyed several lives, including hers!”

Miles lowered his head and said nothing.

Joe read him his rights.

CHAPTER 31

She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in any thing ridiculous.

—
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

W
E WERE IN ANN’S LIVING ROOM.
I sat on the couch curled up next to Peter. Across from me sat Aunt Winnie and Ann. Miles had been taken into custody. Reggie and Frances arrived full of questions. Ann deferred them to me. “Elizabeth’s the one who figured it out; she should really be the one to explain.”

They all looked expectantly at me. I have to admit, I felt very much like an Agatha Christie detective, calmly explaining the solution while in an elegant drawing room full of people. All that was missing was a tea cozy and a plate of cucumber sandwiches. “Well, I guess it all started with Reggie’s wedding arch,” I said. “I remember Miles laughing about what it looked like.” I paused, realizing my gaffe, and glanced at Reggie. “Sorry, Reggie.”

Reggie waved away my apology. “It doesn’t matter,” she said impatiently. “Get on with it.”

“Well, anyway, my point was that Miles knew what it looked like. But according to him, he left for New York City on July fifth and didn’t return until the twenty-ninth. However, Nana said the arch wasn’t delivered until the sixth and was removed on the fifteenth. By Miles’s own admission, he
couldn’t
have seen it, and yet he
did.
He joked about how it looked to Laura, who had seen it. She came back from her trip just as he left. Then I remembered seeing the records for his trip to New York and it struck me again that there were no receipts for cabs. Every other possible receipt was in the file but not one for a cab. I wondered why. After all, people visiting New York usually use cabs. I wondered if he might have rented a car. If he did, he’d be able to drive back to St. Michaels.”