Take a Dive for Murder (4 page)

As the last guests were leaving, Carrie slipped away to her room. She still felt uncomfortable about staying in the Faraday home, but the thought of having a bed nearby was comforting.

She found herself sitting on the edge of a queen-sized bed in a beautifully decorated room. The colors were a soft teal shade, with one wall papered in a tiny splash pattern of teal and
peach that matched the fluffy bedspread. The room wasn’t masculine or feminine, just comfortable, and she found herself fighting the urge to sleep. Her luggage was in the room, and her belongings were neatly folded and stored in the antique walnut furniture.

As alluring as the bed was to Carrie, she needed to do one more task
before she slept. She held Jamie’s letter in her hand. As much as she liked Simpson, at the last minute, she decided to keep the letter with her. She caught him in the hallway as he was about to leave. She thought Simpson looked relieved as he willingly returned the document. Now, she needed to find a safe hiding place.

She looked around the room. The banker’s desk in the corner was too obvious, and her clothing drawers could easily be searched. There were several paintings and framed photos around the room. She looked at one photograph
that showed Jamie and a group of people. She recognized Jonathan Stone and Charles holding a copy of the magazine, along with Joel and Simpson. The caption underneath the photo
read: “First Issue—
News World
.”

She decided it was too much work to select a picture and then properly tape the letter in place. No, she had only one choice. She slipped off her jacket and dress and put on a robe. She tore open the envelope, removed the letter, and
dropped the envelope in the trash can by the desk. She folded the letter several times and placed it securely in her bra. She pulled back the comforter and sandwiched herself between it and the cool sheet.

Carrie slept soundly for two hours. Toward the end of the sleep, she began to dream about her unfinished book.

***

Ascot was stretched out on a bed in his hotel room
, resting. He thought he heard a slight sound outside his door and was on his feet in a split second. In his socks, he bounded to the locked door of his room and held his gun against his chest. The doorknob turned. He placed his finger securely on the trigger. Nothing happened. There was a slight swishing sound, and he looked down and saw a note slide under the door. He wouldn’t be fooled by the old trick of bending down to retrieve a note just as a bullet crashes through the wood door. He waited. He heard nothing. He unlocked the door. He opened it slowly and carefully looked out. He saw no one. He moved cautiously into the hallway. No one was there. The mysterious postman had come and gone. He shut and locked the door. He picked up the envelope and felt around the edges. It was flat with no signs it contained anything dangerous. He used his penknife to slit the envelope on the short end and took out a single sheet of paper. Written on the paper was, “I know who did it, and he’s closer than you think.”

***

Carrie woke up and sensed a presence in her room. Was it the dream, or had someone also come to her room? She looked around but nothing appeared to be out of

She moved over to the desk and smoothed out the creases of the letter. As she was about to read it, there was a knock at the door. She quickly returned the letter to its hiding place.

“Come in,” she called.

“Good evening, miss. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

The young woman who entered was a member of the Faraday household staff. She was in her late twenties,
thin with auburn hair piled loosely on top of her head. Her glasses sat precariously perched on the end of her nose. It made her look somewhat bookish as she stared over the top of the frames.

“The family asked me to inform you that a light supper will be served in a half
-hour. They are currently in the study, if you would care to join them for cocktails.”

“Thank you…and
you are…?”

"Oh, I'm Mary, Miss. Shall I announce that you will be joining them?"

"Well, I'm not quite ready yet, Mary, perhaps in a few minutes. Mary, did you put my clothes away?

“Yes, I did. Oh, was anything wrong?” Mary’s face showed concern.

“No, no not at all. It was quite nice and a pleasant surprise. I was tired after my trip, and it was nice not to worry about unpacking. I just wanted to thank you.”

Mary looked pleased. “I appreciate you saying something. Mr. Jamie was the same way. He always thanked me, too, when I kept this room for him.”

“This was Jamie’s room?” Carrie asked, somewhat surprised.

“This was…is
one of the guest rooms. But Mr. Jamie used it when he came home. He wanted his son to have his old room.”

“I see. Well, thank you, Mary. I’ll be down in just a little while. Does the family dress for dinner?”

“Oops, glad you asked. I was supposed to tell you to dress casual.” She smiled sheepishly as she closed the door behind her.

Carrie knew that dress casual in the Faraday house didn’t mean jeans and a T-shirt.
Instead she put on navy slacks and a matching turtleneck with small snowflakes along the neckline and around the sleeves. She brushed her hair and removed a new lipstick from its packaging. As she tossed the package into the trash can, she realized the can was empty. Someone had been in her room! But why take the empty envelope? She wondered about the empty trash can as she left her room to join the family for dinner. Maybe Mary had emptied it while she napped.

When she arrived on the first floor, she could hear voices coming from the study. She couldn’t make out the words, but the discussion sounded lively
among Charles, Suzanne, and Mrs. Faraday.

She qu
ietly approached the study door. The words coming from inside were clearer now.

“I don’t see why you invited her to stay here in the first place. After all, what does a photographer know about…” Suzanne stopped.

“Were you about to say ‘murder’?” Charles asked.

“I was about to say Jamie’s work
,” Suzanne defended. “His death has not been ruled a murder. His death will probably turn out to be an unfortunate accident, but I think this mysterious letter has stirred up all these thoughts about murder,” added Suzanne.

“I wonder…” Mrs. Faraday’s voice sounded weak.

“Mother, what are you thinking?” Charles asked gently.

“I was also wondering why Carrie. Jamie hadn’t seen her in many years, and from all indications they didn’t keep in touch,” she added.

“Maybe Jamie’s death has something to do with the past,” Charles suggested. “Someone they both knew or some story they both worked on for the college newspaper.”

“Charles, if you’re right, then Jamie’s letter must contain clues. I think we should insist that Carrie show
us that letter!” Suzanne stated firmly.

“See, Suzanne, you do understand why we invited Carrie to stay with us. The best way to learn what Carrie knows is to have her under this roof,” Mrs. Faraday said, and then added, “So, children, no more bickering.”

Carrie did not like Mrs. Faraday’
s last comment.
Let them have supper without me
, she thought. She spun around to return to her room and crashed into Christopher.

“Hey, how come you’re spying on everyone?” he asked.

Carrie jumped. “Christopher, you shouldn’t be sneaking up on people!” she scolded.

“
Look who’s talking. You were sneakin’ up on them, weren’t you?” Christopher tilted his head toward the study.

Carrie hoped her face wasn’t showing the guilt she was feeling. “I didn’t exactly sneak up. I was waiting for the right moment to enter the room.”

“That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that excuse the next time I get caught.”

“Ah, so you’ve been caught listening to other people’s conversations
, too. That means we’re both spies. Maybe we can get side-by-side cells when they cart us off to prison.”

Christopher started to defend himself, when he realized Carrie was pulling his leg. He placed his thumbs inside his belt loops and boasted, “You might say I’ve overheard a few conversations in my time.”

“Glad to hear it. In that case, I think we should make a deal. You don’t tell on me today, and I won’t tell on you,” Carrie offered.

“But you haven’t caught me at anything!” Christopher protested.

“Let’s say you’re buying security for your future.”

“Future options
…hmm,” he said. “I like that. Grandma and Uncle Charles are always talking stock options. Okay, I agree, with one condition.”

“
What’s the condition?”

“I get to choose when to exercise my option,” he stated.

Carrie smiled at his use of the phrase and said, “You do understand finance. It’s a deal.” She held out her hand, and they shook on it.

“What are you two plotting?”

They both jumped.

“Looks like high-powered negotiations going on out here, especially when the negotiators look guilty as sin.” Charles was standing at the door of the study.

“Nothing’s going on,” Carrie said calmly. “We were just coming into the room.”

Charles led the way as Carrie gave a wink to Christopher, who responded with a grin.

After drinks in the study, the group adjourned to the dining room. Mrs. Faraday was the perfect dinner hostess, orchestrating the serving of the entrée and vegetables. Charles seemed at ease as he managed the conversation. He asked Carrie about her photography and if she was doing any writing. He asked Christopher how he was progressing on his science report for school and asked Suzanne what she liked most about Europe.

It wasn’t until after dessert, and Christopher left to
do his schoolwork, that Suzanne brought up the letter. The adults were enjoying the last of the coffee when Suzanne asked, “Were you planning on reading the letter tomorrow at Simpson’s office?”

“I’ll read the letter before the reading of the will.” Carrie answered Suzanne’s question without mentioning she had the letter in her possession. “I just wanted some time before I made any decisions.”

“Decisions?” asked Mrs. Faraday.

Carrie placed her coffee cup on the saucer and turned to face her hostess. “I’m very saddened by the loss of Jamie, as I know all of you are. However, I’m just not sure what my role is and why Jamie…” She paused.

Charles supplied the missing word. “Involved you.”

“Why do you feel Jamie did involve you?” Suzanne interrupted abruptly.

“I haven’t seen Jamie’s letter yet. However, my assumption is that he felt that if he died under unusual circumstances, he needed someone outside his immediate circle of family and friends to look into his death,” Carrie responded.

“
Does that mean you’re not satisfied with the accidental death verdict?” Charles asked the question as if this suspicion were being raised for the first time.

“I don’t know whether to be satisfied or not. I won’t know until I read the letter and see what Jamie was thinking.”

“You can’t make a decision until you read the letter, but you give the letter back to Simpson,” said Suzanne.

“Suzanne is right, my dear,” stated Mrs. Faraday. “We could have read the letter together and then worked with you to determine the next steps.”

Carrie was thinking how to respond when the phone rang, and Charles went into the hallway to answer. The conversation stopped while they waited for Charles to return.

“Hello. Yes, this is Charles Faraday
. Yes, of course I know him…has something happened…When? Is he all right? …That seems unusual. What hospital is this again? …I’m on my way. It will take me about twenty minutes to get there.”

“What is it, Charles?” Mrs. Faraday asked when he returned to the room.

“It’s Simpson. He was mugged.”

“Is he hurt?” Suzanne asked.

“
He’s at the hospital, but he must be okay. The hospital is calling because they want someone to accompany him home. He’s ready to be released.”

“Was anything taken?” Suzanne was full of questions.

“According to the person from the hospital, the police said he was attacked, but his money and credit cards were left.”

“That is most unusual,” remarked Mrs. Faraday.

“I don’t understand,” piped in Suzanne. “What’s so unusual about that? I bet a lot of thieves don’t take credit cards.”

“Perhaps, but Simpson is known for carrying several hundred dollars in cash,” said Mrs. Faraday. “And while some thieves may not take credit cards, I’ve never heard of one that doesn’t take cash.”

“Mother and I have warned him several times that he would be a target for a mugger carrying that kind of money,” added Charles. “Then when he does get mugged, the mugger doesn’t take the money?”

“Maybe
they didn’t know he was carrying money,” Suzanne said as she went to the side table and poured herself another cup of coffee.

“I think it means he w
asn’t looking for money. Anyway, I better get going. I’ll have more answers once I talk with Simpson.”

“Charles, Hugh’s wife is out of town visiting their daughter. If he needs a place to stay while he mends, be sure to bring him here,” added Mrs. Faraday.

Carrie was surprised by the continued show of hospitality on the part of Mrs. Faraday. First she extended her home to Suzanne, then provided a room for her, and now a place for Simpson to heal. After what she overheard earlier, Carrie couldn’t help being cynical about Mrs. Faraday’s reasons. Did she want everyone related to the case gathered under her roof?

“I wonder…” Suzanne looked directly at Carrie. “I wonder if the muggers were after the letter.”

Suzanne asked the very question Carrie was thinking. Was her letter the cause of Simpson’s mishap?

“Suzanne, unfortunately in this day and age, many people get mugged,” stated Mrs. Faraday. “To assume this attack occurred because of James’s letter has no foundation. Besides
, it was my understanding, Carrie, that Hugh gave you James’s letter this afternoon.”

Carrie never had a chance to answer because Suzanne jumpe
d in, “He did, but Carrie gave it back. She asked him to hold it until tomorrow.”

Mrs. Faraday looked at Carrie, and Carrie nodded her agreement with Suzanne’s statement. Carrie still
didn’t want to reveal that the letter was back in her possession.

“Then
we’ll have to wait until Charles and Hugh return to get more details.” She looked past Suzanne to Carrie. “This has been a very tiring day, and I’m going to my room.” With those final words, Mrs. Faraday left the two women sitting in the study.

After Mrs. Faraday left the room, Suzanne started in again. “I agree with Mrs. Faraday.”

“I beg your pardon?” Carrie asked.

“I
think it raises some questions about your judgment. It’s not right you let Simpson get hurt over Jamie’s letter. We could have all read the letter together right here in the safety of the house.”

Carrie was irritated by Suzanne’s accusations, but she kept her annoyance under control. She answered, “
I’ve three thoughts on the matter. First, Suzanne, that isn’t what Mrs. Faraday, said. What she said was we don’t know if the letter was the reason Simpson was mugged. We’ll have to wait and see. Second, I’m sorry Simpson was attacked. However, if the letter was the cause of this mishap, I could have placed everyone in this house in jeopardy. The mugger might have broken in here to find the letter.”

Suzanne sat quietly and then said, “What’s your third thought?”

“If the letter was the reason for the mugging, only a limited number of people knew Simpson had the letter. So I can’t help but wonder if someone closer than we think informed the mugger.” Carrie realized she used the same phrase Ascot found in his note.

Suzanne
didn’t reply to Carrie’s comment. Then Carrie added, “I agree with Mrs. Faraday on one thing. This has been a very long day. If you will excuse me, I’m going to my room.” Carrie left Suzanne sipping coffee in the study.

When Carrie arrived at her room, she saw the door wasn’t completely closed. Yet she was sure she had closed it securely when she left. Perhaps Mary returned to turn down the bed and straighten the room.

She entered the room cautiously. The bed was not turned down, there were no fresh towels, but Carrie was sure someone had been in the room. She gazed around, and her eye was drawn to the wastebasket. The envelope from Jamie’s letter was now hanging over the lip of the basket. Someone else knew that Carrie, not Simpson, had the letter. It couldn’t have been Suzanne. Suzanne was with Carrie the entire time. That left Charles, Mrs. Faraday, Christopher, or members of the household staff.

Carrie decided now was the time to read the letter, before anything else happened. She took
it from her bra, grabbed her reading glasses, and sat on the edge of the bed. Jamie’s letter was handwritten, and Carrie immediately recognized his tiny cursive script.

My dearest Carrie,

The years cannot take away all that we meant to one another. On more than one occasion, I’ve questioned whether we made the right decision not to marry. And I can’t help but wonder if you haven’t asked yourself this same question.

Carrie stopped reading for a moment and held the letter. Jamie was always so direct. She continued.

I know our decision was made by
two people who thought they logically and calmly came to a mutual conclusion. We both had talents that needed to be developed. We both had freshly
printed degrees in hand
that gave us the opportunity to go off and search the world. I think we both did fine.

Now I find myself in desperate need of that cool, calm, and logical way you had of analyzing situations: black and white, without all the shades of gray. I’m not sure how bad it is, but I’m beginning to think I’m in deeper than…well, deeper than I can perhaps handle.

Remember the story we worked on together in college for the paper, the one about the records being altered in the registrar’s office? We stayed up for two nights hiding out in the registrar’s office trying to catch the person. We never caught him, but the problem just stopped. I’m working on a story with a similar situation. Waiting in the dark, hoping the person will stop. If not, I’ll have to try to catch them in the act. I know this isn’t much information, but if something does happen to me, I don’t want to cloud your analytical ability with my theories.

If the worst happens—be careful. I’m placing this incredible burden on you because I know you’re a good photographer who can analyze a situation without being influenced. Good analysis is like a photo. A photo never lies because it sees things exactly as they are.

If it becomes necessary to deliver this letter, I’ve asked my family to have you stay with them in our house. I can hear you saying, “Thanks a lot,” but I have my reasons.

First, I have a son. His name is Christopher. He’s a wonderful kid, and I’d like for him to meet you. In many ways he reminds me of you. Staying at the house will allow you to be near Christopher. I think you will enjoy the experience. Second, the house will provide you with protection. Be open-minded toward Mother and Charles. I’ve learned to accept them for the good people they are. Third, all of my belongings, notes, photos, and papers are at the house, and staying there will provide convenient access to them.

Asking you to help is harder than any story assignment I’ve had, but I know I’ve done the right thing. I pray I’ll see you someday in person, and this letter will never be delivered.

Carrie, there has always been and will always be a place in my heart for you.

With love,