Take a Dive for Murder (8 page)

That evening, Carrie ate dinner in the kitchen with Christopher, Mary, and Mrs. Cavanaugh. Charles called to say he would be working late, Suzanne was out for the evening, and Mrs. Faraday chose to eat in her room. Carrie and Christopher decided they preferred eating in the kitchen with Mary and Mrs. Cavanaugh rather than being served in the formal dining room.

Even
though dinner was held in the kitchen, Christopher was expected to change into clean clothes for the meal. Christopher, being a typical kid, selected khaki pants and a checked cotton shirt for his dining attire. Carrie followed protocol and changed her blouse and traded her jeans for slacks.

Conversation was light during dinner as the two enjoyed
Mrs. Cavanaugh’s delicious homemade meat loaf. Carrie liked Christopher and focused the conversation on him and how he liked his new school and how he was spending his free time in TriCity. It wasn’t until the end of the meal, when Mary and Mrs. Cavanaugh were clearing the table, that Christopher changed the topic.

“Were you working in my
dad’s studio today?”

“Yes, I decided I better get started on cataloging all your dad’s materials. There’s quite a bit of paper to go
through, although it seems well organized.”

“Yeah, Dad is very…I mean, he was very good about keeping everything organized.” He stopped for a moment and then resumed his thought. “I think it was because we moved around a lot. Dad was forced to keep his papers tidy. Sometimes he would send home boxes full of papers. Then when we came home during vacations, he would get everything filed.”

“I thought your dad just finished building the studio?” asked Carrie.

“Oh, he did, but before he fixed the studio up, he bought the file cabinets and
the other furniture and stored them in the basement. Hey, if everything is so well organized, what are you doing?”

Christopher so reminded Carrie of Jamie. Just like his father, he cut right to the point, but didn’t speak with any intended ill will.

“The work is organized, but there’s no record of what papers are in the files. I’ve bought a couple of notebooks, and I’m going through each drawer, listing the items I find.”

“Dad used
a small notebook when he was working on a story. Then when he was ready to write the story he used graph paper,” offered Christopher.

“Graph paper…huh!” responded Carrie.

“Yeah, I know most people don’t write that way, but he liked the method.’

“I like graph paper
, too. That’s exactly how I write.”

“I thought you were a photographer?”

“I am, but even photographers have to write. I have to write captions, or sometimes I write a little mini story for the pictures I take. I’m also writing a book.”

“You are! What’s it about?” Christopher asked excitedly.

“Oh, it’s just a little mystery,” Carrie said modestly.

“I like to read mysteries. I’m a big reader of the Hardy Boys.”

“In that case, when it gets published, I’ll be sure you get one of the first copies.” Carrie didn’t want to admit that she was struggling with the book, not to mention if it ever got published it would never be as popular as the Hardy Boys. “You know, when I was your age, I was a big fan of Nancy Drew. I even read a couple of Hardy Boys when I could sneak them away from my brother.”

“Really?” Christopher looked around to make sure Mary and Mrs. Cavanaugh weren’t listening. “I’ve read Nancy Drew
, too, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t want my friends to know that I read a girls’ book.” Christopher realized that Carrie’s book might be a girls’ book. He tried to recover by adding, “But I’d
read your book even if it’s for girls.”

Carrie smiled and then asked, “As long as we are talking about writing,
I did want to ask you a question. Did your father ever keep a journal or a diary, or did he just write on graph paper and then transfer everything to the computer?”

Christopher pondered the question and then said, “I guess you would call
that notebook I mentioned a journal. It was a small leather book that he received as a Christmas gift from Uncle Charles. It was green leather and had a replaceable tablet on one side and card inserts on the other side. Dad always made notes in the journal, and then he would refer to them when he wrote his drafts.”

“Interesting,” Carrie responded.
“Do you know what happened to it?”

“No, I’ve kinda been wondering what happen
ed to it,” he said slowly and then paused.

Carrie though
t he was going to add something, but then he changed the subject.

“Did you look at Dad’s computer?”

“I turned it on, but I didn’t see many files.”

“You mean you got in? What about the password?” Christopher looked at Carrie in amazement. “How did you know it was…” he stopped. He realized he was about to give away the password.

“I figured it out.” Carrie leaned over and whispered the name “Bessie” in Christopher’s ear. “The computer password was the same as the name we gave the old typewriter at our college newspaper office.”

“Wow, that’s still clever of you to figure it out.
”

“I as
sume your dad captured all of his work on his computer?” Carrie asked.

“Not really,
Dad only used the computer for the final draft of stories.”

“Really, he didn’t use it for his notes and rough drafts?”

“Nope, as I said, he wrote his notes and even his interviews in the journal and then wrote the draft on graph paper. Only when he was ready to prepare the final piece would he switch to the computer. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering. Some people use the computer for all their writing.”

Based on what Christopher said, Carrie knew Suzanne lied: first, when she denied the existence of a journal, and, second, when she said Jamie used the computer for all his writing. Carrie wanted to ask Christopher one more question.

“Christopher, did Suzanne type the final story into the computer for your father? I understand
she’s quite good on the computer.”

“Suzanne offered to help on several occasions, but Dad always refused. My dad always worked alone.” He fell silent again. “I know what
you’re thinking. Why did he have her around? I know I’m a kid, but the two of them didn’t act like girlfriend and boyfriend. My dad dated after my mom died, but this time it was different. Oh, sure, they did things together, but…well…Suzanne wanted more. She wanted to go out on dates, but she also wanted to live with us and help him with his work, help make decisions.”

“What kind of decisions—decisions about you?”

“She wanted to, but my dad wouldn’t put up with that. Only Dad and I made decisions concerning me,” he said proudly.

Mary brought dishes of ice cream with fresh berries to the table, and the conversation stopped for a moment. Mary and Mrs. Cavanaugh went into the sunroom to eat their desserts, sensing a serious conversation between Carrie and Christopher.

Christopher started talking again about Suzanne. “I remember they had a big fight the night Dad said we were coming home. He said his research was done in Europe, and he needed to come home to follow a story. She wanted to stay in Europe, and she knew the magazine would continue to pay for us to stay there. She said she was sure no story was that important. Dad said she didn’t know anything about the story and that he was coming home to finish it. After that fight, I thought she would have drifted away, but she came home with us.”

“Do you know what story your dad was investigating?”

“Not really, but I’m not sure that’s important.”

“
Not important! Why do you say that, if the story is what brought him home?”

“
Because I don’t think the story brought him home. I think it was because of me we came home. And if we hadn’t…well, he might still be alive.”

“Oh, Christopher, you mustn’t feel that way. You aren’t responsible for your father’s death.”

“I’m not so sure. Remember when I said we made decisions about me together? My dad and I decided that I’d attend the Henriton School here in TriCity. I wanted to go there because most of my friends from TriCity went there. Dad and Grandma wanted me to go there, too. When Suzanne realized coming home was about me, she suggested that I come home alone. Then she and Dad could stay in Europe and come home in the summer after the school year. But Dad liked to spend time with me, and that’s why I think he told Suzanne he was working on a story.” Christopher’s eyes filled with tears.

Carrie moved her chair next to Christopher, took his hands in hers, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Christopher,
you’re now old enough to face this head-on. You’re not responsible for your father’s death. If his death turns out to be an accident, the accident would have happened because it was his time. If your father was murdered because of a story, then the murderer would have tracked him down wherever he was working. Besides, did you ever think maybe your father told Suzanne something different to mislead her? Maybe your dad was suspicious of Suzanne.”

“I never thought of it that way,” he responded quietly.

Carrie could see he was shaking off the tears, so she continued. “I know you miss your father, but from this moment on, you have to hang onto the good memories. Time spent with memories is much more rewarding than time spent blaming yourself. And now I’ve a favor to ask. Since I didn’t get a chance to see your father to do this…would you mind terribly if I gave you a hug? I really needed to give your father a hug one more time.”

Christopher couldn’t speak, but he nodded his head. Carrie brought him close to her and held him for a long time, until she felt a calm settle over him. Then she pulled
away and kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, you’ve caused my ice cream to melt,” she teased.

“I thought someone as old as you would have learned it’s the only way to eat ice cream,” he said, and his face filled with a grin.

She bopped him lightly on the head and grabbed the spoon for her ice cream.

After the dinner with Christopher, Carrie spent several restless hours in her room. The task of cataloging Jamie’s papers was going to take longer than she originally thought. What if she discovered information about Jamie’s murder? Whom could she trust? Not Suzanne. Suzanne lied to her. She didn’t tell the truth about the journal or the computer, but that didn’t mean she was involved with Jamie’s death. Then there was Joel, who suggested that all of Jamie’s papers should be sent to his office. Did he want to help or have access Jamie’s work? Stone also offered his editing skills to help her review Jamie’s papers. Maybe he was hoping to find more of Jamie’s work to publish. Then there were Charles and Mrs. Faraday, who clearly wanted to keep the papers and Carrie close to them. Christopher was the only person she felt she could trust, but he was only twelve years old.

Then she remembered the advice Simpson gave her. With so many people and pieces to this puzzle, she needed to make notes. Carrie took out several sheets of graph paper and wrote headers on each sheet:
“Story Possibilities,” “Known Facts about Jamie’s Death,” “Murder Scene Description,” and “Next Steps.” Then she started a character sheet on each of the players. She listed who they were, their relationship to Jamie, where they were when Jamie was murdered, and anything else she had discovered so far. When she was finished, she realized the sheets contained very little information.

In her frustration
, Carrie looked at the sheet she labeled “Next Steps.” The one item that caught her eye was “find Jamie’s journal.” Jamie’s journal could be a key element to providing the missing information.

Did Jamie hide his journal for safekeeping?
I wonder
, she thought as she remembered a hiding place they used in their newspaper days. If the editorial team wanted to leave a message for one another, they would hide it in a pocket folder that was taped to the back of one of the file cabinets. Could Jamie have used this same method to hide his journal? After all, he had all the same furniture from their newspaper office. Carrie decided to slip out and take one more look at the studio filing cabinets before she retired for the night.

***

Carrie crept down the stairway and moved quietly along the hallway. Just as she was feeling comfortable with the silence of the house, the hall clock struck midnight. She jumped what felt like several feet and muffled a scream with her hand.

Some detective you are. You haven’t even left the house yet, and you’re jumpy
, she admonished herself. Carrie regained her composure and listened to see if she had alerted anyone in the house. When she heard nothing, she continued her journey down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the cool night air. She stood listening in the shadows of the house before crossing the driveway. She moved across to the studio steps.

Carrie climbed the steps to the studio and used her key to open the door. She snapped on the small flashlight she brought with her and went directly to the file cabinet
s. She tried maneuvering her flashlight, but she couldn’t quite see behind the cabinet. She extended her arm until her hand felt the edge of something. She pushed her body against the file until her hand could just reach inside the folder. The folder was empty.

Her disappoint
ment was short lived because she thought she heard something on the steps outside. She quickly flicked off her light and flattened herself against the wall, between the file cabinet and the window. Carrie was sure she saw a shadow moving along the outside window. She tried desperately to remember whether she had locked the door, but it didn’t matter because she heard a key being inserted into the lock. She was backing further against the drape of the window when suddenly a hand reached out from the curtain and covered her mouth. She reacted quickly by trying to push the hand away, but an arm went across her shoulders and kept her from moving.