The Crafty Teddy (23 page)

Clearing my throat, I said, “Getting back to Linda, the DMV paperwork would only have given her name and address. How did you find out she worked at UVA?”

Marie took a deep breath. “I, uh…Sheldon told you about the computer, didn’t he?”

“You mean the computer that you claimed was never in Frank’s office in the garage? As a matter of fact he did, and coincidentally, we’ve been holding it as evidence since Sunday morning.”

“How?”

“Sheldon took it to the trash transfer station and a witness saw him dump it.”

“What an idiot.”

“No, just environmentally conscious. What was it about the computer that told you Linda worked at UVA?”

Marie gave me a challenging look. “I installed surveillance software on his computer at home. It allowed me to read his emails and everything else he typed.”

“Whoa. That’s more than a little intrusive.”

“I had a right. He was being unfaithful to me.”

“Maybe so, but you could have taken the direct approach and talked to him about the state of your marriage.”

“Why was it my responsibility? I was happy and he decided to have an affair with that slut. I had to protect myself.”

“So that if it did come down to divorce, you’d have some damaging material from the emails, right?”

She broke eye contact. “You don’t understand.”

“Fortunately, I don’t have to. Did you destroy the computer because you were afraid that Frank would discover that spyware?”

“No, he’d never have found it.”

“So why
did
you destroy the computer?”

“He was writing a book about the Civil War. Apparently it was good. He had a couple of hundred pages written and I knew that there was a publisher already interested.”

“Because you were eavesdropping on the email?”

Marie flared. “Hey, don’t sit in judgment of me. I wasn’t the only sneaky one. I wasn’t the one that had the affair or wrote to my sleazy girlfriend that I’d hold off on selling the book until I’d separated from ‘Jabba the Gut.’”

“For someone utterly convinced about how right you are, you seem mighty touchy. But hey, no more talk about flagrant invasions of privacy,” I said in an artificially cheery tone. “Back to the computer: You were going to tell me your reason for smashing it.”

“I was angry and hurt and there was no way in the world that I was going to let him profit from something that he’d worked on while we were married.”

“I think you want to believe that, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unfortunately, most people would rather read about Britney Spears forgetting to put on underpants than American history, so the publisher couldn’t have been offering much money for Frank’s manuscript.”

“It was four thousand dollars.”

“And you’d have been entitled to half of that. You aren’t stupid; you had to have known the manuscript would have been declared community property in a divorce agreement.”

“But you weren’t worried about the money,” Ash said meditatively. “You just wanted to hurt him.”

“What if I did?” Marie shot a glowering look at Ash. “He’d hurt me.”

I said, “And just so that we’re clear on this, you did know that the computer actually belonged to Massanutten County, right?”

I could tell Marie was calculating the odds on slipping a lie past me. Then she noticed I was grinning at her and she said, “I suppose.”

“Good girl. Just what did you use to smash it?”

“A piece of two-by-four.”

“And I imagine that’s how you injured your shoulder.”

“Yes.”

“Was your son aware of what you were doing?”

“No, he was still asleep in his room.”

“So, what did you do after you finished whacking the hell out of the computer?”

“I called Sheldon and told him what happened.”

“What time was that?”

“Sometime around nine.”

“And how did Sheldon react?”

“He was furious and said that he was going to go over to the museum and give Frank the beating of his life.” Although she was trying to sound distressed, there was an underlying trace of gleeful vindication in her voice. “He said that he wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing while I was being dishonored.”

“Knowing how much you loved Frank, did you say anything to dissuade your brother or otherwise prevent the assault?”

“Don’t you sneer at me. I loved my husband but I had no control over Sheldon.”

“Really?” I asked with a bitter chuckle. “Did you love him enough to call him and warn him that he had an ass-whipping inbound?”

“I called him.”

“Yeah, at ten-oh-three. That’s about an hour after you’d fired Sheldon up. Was that call to ask Frank how it felt to be in the same sort of pain you were?”

“If he got beat up, it wasn’t my fault.” Marie sounded slightly coy. “It’s not like I
told
Sheldon to go over and attack him.”

“Not directly, but you did a superb job of pushing his buttons to nudge him in that direction. What happened when you spoke to Frank?”

“Nothing. He hung up on me.”

“And you assumed he’d done that because it was hard for him to talk with broken teeth and that he’d put two and two together and come up with you having sent Sheldon over there.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Right. This may come as a disappointment, but he hadn’t been beaten up. He just didn’t want to talk to you. Fortunately for Sheldon, he didn’t get the opportunity to thump Frank. Did you know that?”

“No. I haven’t heard from Sheldon since Saturday.”

“Do you know why he’s been incommunicado?”

“No. I thought maybe he’d accidentally killed Frank and was hiding out.”

“No, it’s probably because he thinks
you
might have killed Frank.”

“What?”

“He didn’t say it directly. In fact, he refused to roll on you. But, just like us, he knew you went someplace by yourself on Saturday morning. And I imagine he wonders if it was the museum.”

“This is getting crazy. I told you I didn’t go there.”

“That’s right. You told us that you’d gone to yard sales in Elkton.” I pulled the classified section from the newspaper and held it out for her. “There’s a listing of all the yard sales in Elkton. Would you please take a look and tell us which ones you went to?”

Marie looked away from the newspaper and began tapping her foot.

“All you have to do is pick one of those addresses out. We’ll go over there with your driver’s license picture, they’ll say, ‘Oh yeah, she was here and bought the old Village People LPs,’ and you’re in the clear.”

I moved the classified section another couple of inches closer to her face and Marie suddenly slapped it from my hand. “All right, goddamn it, I didn’t go to garage sales.”

“Oh dear! That means you don’t have an alibi witness for your husband’s murder.” Then, I sang to the tune that signaled the end of the original Mickey Mouse Club TV show: “Now it’s time to say good-bye to all that blood money.”

Marie gave me a venomous look, huffed, and said nothing.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,
but fun
.” I leaned closer to Marie, daring her to slap my face as she had the newspaper. Suddenly, I knew exactly where she’d been and I knew it was time to nail her inside the coffin. I continued, “I’ll bet I know where you were and if I’m right, you have a decision to make. Keeping your mouth shut about where you were means the insurance company will deny your claim. But if you cop to the malicious mischief, you’ve got a rock-solid alibi and it’s payday, right?”

Marie’s lips were compressed and white with anger, yet she still said nothing. Meanwhile, Ash looked a little perplexed. With everything else we’d discussed about what had happened in Charlottesville and later, on the mountain, I’d forgotten to mention that Linda’s car had been vandalized on Saturday morning.

After another couple of seconds of silence, I said, “Come on, Marie, you went to Linda Ingersoll’s house in Charlottesville, didn’t you? You had her address.”

Finally, she nodded and said through gritted teeth, “I gave that little slut a taste of the misery she’s given me.”

“Go on.”

She slapped her thigh. “You already know what I did, so why are you making me say it?”

“Because you’re playing passive-aggressive word games—phrasing things so that you can deny them later. What precisely did you do?”

“Fine. I poured acid all over the hood of her PT Cruiser and I’m not the least bit sorry. Are you happy, now?”

“Ecstatic, because that proves you couldn’t have been at the museum when Frank was murdered. You’ve chosen wisely, Grasshopper.” I stood up, just in case she changed her mind about slapping me after what I had to say next. “But I wouldn’t spend that insurance money too fast.”

“Why?”

“Well, when we’re finished with this murder investigation, I’d be betting that Sheriff Barron is going to charge you with felony vandalism for destroying the computer, as well as with providing false information to the cops.”

We both looked at Tina, who flashed a cold smile and nodded.

I continued, “Then the Charlottesville police are going to charge you with another count of felony vandalism. Add up all your lawyer’s fees, penalties, and the financial restitution you’ll have to pay to Massanutten County and Linda Ingersoll, and by the time it’s all played out, I doubt you’ll have enough money left over to buy a package of chocolate-covered Oreos.”

Twenty

Marie stalked from the office and slammed the door.

Tina said, “How did you know she vandalized Linda Ingersoll’s car with acid?”

“Linda told me about the damage, but it wasn’t until a minute ago that I connected that event with Marie being away from home. Sorry, but between being threatened with guns and baseball bats, I forgot,” I said. “The weird thing is that Merrit’s wife and lover have mutually supporting alibis.”

“And she doesn’t seem to miss him. All she cares about is the insurance money.” Ash was still looking at the door.

“And herself. But Merrit deserves some of the blame too. He helped create that cookie monster by rewarding her dysfunctional behavior.”

Tina’s jaw tightened. “Speaking of rewards, once we’re finished with
this
investigation, I’ll have to start another one on Deputy Mooney.”

“What will you do if you find out he misused the computer system?” Ash asked.

“Fire him and file felony charges.”

“Good for you,” I said.

Tina glanced at her watch. “It’s pushing five now. Give me ten minutes to brief the county legal counsel and then we’ll head over and talk to Holly Reuss.”

“Oh yeah, I can hardly wait for that,” Ash said with unsavory relish as she interlaced her fingers and pushed her palms outward.

I touched her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I hope you understand that ‘grilling a suspect’ is just an expression.”

Not surprisingly, Tina spent triple the time she expected talking to the county attorney, so it was nearly five-thirty by the time we left the office. It was hot and oppressively humid outside and the air was as unpleasantly stagnant as the debate on congressional ethics. We got into her patrol car and headed eastward on Coggins Spring Road, leaving town and crossing the Shenandoah River. As we approached the Blue Ridge Mountains, Tina turned south onto U.S. Route 340, otherwise known as the Stonewall Jackson Highway.

As we drove through a combination of pastureland and forest, I said, “Just so I have my facts straight, Holly was at the teddy bear guild meeting on Saturday morning, right?”

“Yes. She got there about ten and was one of the last ones to leave our house,” said Ash.

“Probably not more than five minutes before you called,” added Tina.

“So, we know she wasn’t present when Merrit was killed. Did either of you guys notice anything different or strange about her demeanor?”

Ash thought for a second. “No, she was her usual self.”

“I agree,” said Tina.

“And based on the times I’ve talked with her at meetings, wouldn’t you say that her usual self is pretty…I don’t know…let’s say, naïve?”

“Yes, but it had to have been an act,” Ash said.

“You’re probably right. It’s just a little hard for me to imagine that someone who blushes and hides her eyes when we kiss, also possesses the ice-cold self-presence to sit and scam us for months while making counterfeit teddy bears.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. The way you guys kiss, sometimes
I
blush,” said Tina.

After another few miles, we saw an old wooden billboard ahead on the left side of the road that read,
ROCKY MOUNT COVE MOBILE HOME PARK.
The trailer park was surrounded by a white-painted brick wall and looked to be about the size of a normal city block. Two Bradford pear trees flanked the entrance and, inside, there were three rows of single and doublewide mobile homes, separated by narrow asphalt lanes. The prefab houses were old, but most looked well-maintained with tidy little yards. There was a small manager’s office just inside the entrance and beside it was a grassy playground with a metal jungle gym, swings, and a teeter-totter. It wasn’t the exclusive Seacliff district of San Francisco, but at the same time it wasn’t a slum.

Which brings me to something I’ve wondered about ever since moving to the South. In this era of social sensitivity and political correctness, why is it still considered perfectly acceptable to call the residents of mobile home communities “trailer park trash?” It seems to me that making cruel jokes about folks because they live in low-income housing is just a form of bigotry. What’s more, I’ve met plenty of “trash” that lived in bayside condos and million-dollar mansions. It isn’t where you live that’s important, but how.

Holly Reuss and her kids lived in space number twenty-two, on the third tier of homes. The house was a white doublewide with a pair of ceramic gnomes on the tiny front lawn and a brightly colored windsock dangling from a window awning support. An older model Honda Civic was in the carport, which seemed to indicate that Holly was home. Tina parked the patrol car in front of the house and we got out. There were birds chirping and the faint grinding hum of an overworked air conditioner could be heard from the back of the house. Otherwise it was quiet and peaceful.