The problem was: I had no idea how to stop that from happening.
"Are you sure about this Terry character?" asked Mark as we paused outside the taxi office.
"Oh, yes. He and my dad have known each other since I was a little kid. I'm interested to hear what he has to say about about her. I don't think I can recall a time when I saw him get riled up by anyone, so I doubt Esther could have made him mad enough on such a short trip to kill her."
"Are you sure? She's awfully slick with that sharp tongue."
I held back a laugh. It really wasn't a laughing matter. "You survived a plane trip with her," I pointed out, "and a rental car, and several meetings."
"Barely."
"She can't have been that bad to you. After all, she did need you."
"Yes, but I think she thought I needed her more since she controlled the supply of at least one of our top authors. She was quite acerbic. And definitely not the kind of person I could work with every single day."
"Your predecessor admitted to me once that he screened all of her calls."
"Smart man." Mark stopped. "You put up with her for a long time and didn't kill her. Same for the people in her office."
"And?"
"Nothing. Just an observation that perhaps some people build up a tolerance." He started walking again and I fell into step with him.
"I can't imagine anyone in town killing her. Like Derry, the server at breakfast said, they knew difficult guests like Esther would be gone soon. Here in town, we're the same way about rude tourists or the out-of-towners who flash their cash around town and treat the locals like dirt. There aren't too many of those, thankfully, but it happens from time-to-time. They're endured for a brief time, and then they move on and we promptly forget about them."
"Esther obviously offended the wrong person."
"Or maybe she really did know someone else here." I pondered that. I didn't know much about Esther's background, except that she'd grown up and always lived in New York. She married Derrick and they enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle in a beautiful home that I visited a few times. I didn't know much about her family or Derrick's, or if she had any close friends. Now it seemed so strange that she didn't talk about it. All her conversation had been about who she knew, where she went, and what she had. I had never considered before how empty a life that sounded. "Perhaps she did run into someone from her past. Someone whom she'd treated badly… Perhaps seeing her again flipped them over the edge."
"It would have to have been one hell of a grudge to harbor."
I thought about the brutal way in which she died. Mark was right. It would have taken a lot of strength or anger for anyone to kill Esther. "Did you recognize the knife?" I asked.
"The knife?"
"Big pointy thing," I said, teasing him in the same way he teased me about the city earlier.
"Oh, yes. I have a set of those at home," he reciprocated right back. "No, I don't think I recognized it. Should I have?"
"It was too big to be a Swiss Army knife, or something a camper might use." I thought about it quietly for a moment. "It reminded me of a kitchen knife. Like a chef's knife."
"How would that get from the hotel kitchen to Esther's bedroom?"
"The killer must have brought it with them. That makes it pre-meditated, and not an opportunistic killing. Who has access to the kitchen?"
"Any employee could walk through there," pointed out Mark, "but a chef should notice if any knife were missing. Oh..." he groaned. "I thought the suspect pool would be small but it's not."
"Why not?"
"I think there was a cookery demonstration in the hotel the night Esther was killed. When I went out for my walk, there were a few people gathered in the lobby and I overheard something about a cooking class."
"Do you know how many people attended it?"
"Six, maybe."
"We really need to speak to the hotel employees and narrow down anyone who interacted with Esther."
Chapter Ten
It was far too early to go back to the hotel and speak to the night shift. Mark didn't seem to be in any hurry to get back and I wasn't eager to return to my empty house. Neither of us had work on our mind, although I knew we'd have to talk about it again sometime soon. Certainly before he left for home.
"How far is the police station from here?" asked Mark.
"A few minutes’ walk. First, we have to head back to Main Street, walk to the end of it and cross over onto Justice Street. I hope Detective Logan isn't interrogating Terry," I added, worried about my father's old friend.
"I thought we could check up on the case and if Terry happened to be there, we could ask him if he saw Esther talking to anyone."
"Good idea! It would be perfectly normal for us to ask for an update."
"And if we just happen to run into Terry..." I started to add and Mark nodded and grinned.
"I wonder if I should call Derrick too. Do you think he'd find it invasive if I asked him some questions?" I pondered. Esther chose to be child-free but I wondered now if children could have provided some comfort to Derrick. I hated to think of him being all alone. Perhaps it was best that there weren't any children to mourn for their mother. Then I considered how Esther would have screwed them up. I wasn't even sure how Derrick managed to live with her. I found him as jovial as Esther was grouchy, and I'd witnessed him on the receiving end of Esther's barbed comments more than once.
"I thought I'd call him again in a day or two. I can mention to him that you'd like to express your condolences, unless you prefer to speak to him directly."
"I'll think it over, but if you speak to him before I do, please tell him that.”
We reached Main Street and turned the corner, heading towards the police station. I wanted to say something to Mark like it will be all right or Detective Logan will catch the killer but there was nothing I could honestly say. Sam Logan was a good cop, and recent events had proved that, but I couldn't make any guarantees for him.
"You look lost in thought," said Mark. "Did something else just occur to you?"
I shook my head. "I wish something had."
"I thought if Esther knew me better, she might have told me if something was worrying her."
"Did you get the impression something could have been worrying her?"
"No, she was just as obnoxious as ever. Nothing out of the ordinary and she never mentioned a run-in with anyone. Now I think about it, I think that’s strange."
I agreed it was. We passed the Belle Rose restaurant, newly decorated in a glossy green with yellow roses etched on the windows, and we paused at the crossing. Then, when no cars threatened to mow us down, we crossed the street, arriving in front of the police station a couple of minutes later. Several police cars were still in the parking lot the police station shared with the courthouse, along with various civilian cars. I didn't recognize any of them, which didn't surprise me. We walked inside and went up to the desk.
"Is Detective Logan here?" I asked.
The officer looked up. "Is he expecting you?"
"No, but it's connected to the murder case he's working on."
"Do you have more information?"
"No, we'd like an update. I was traveling with the deceased," said Mark.
The officer gave him a long look up and down, like he didn't quite believe that. "We were business colleagues," added Mark, flashing me an amused expression when the officer nodded and turned away.
"He thought you were Esther's honey-bunny," I said.
"Words I never thought I'd hear," said Mark, pulling a face.
Detective Logan rounded the corner, following the officer. Walking past the desk, he stopped in front of us but didn't offer his hand to shake. He didn't seem too surprised to see us either. This morning, he looked fresh and alert but the day was already catching up to him. "Come on back to my office," he said, turning as we followed him. Inside, he waved us into seats and took the big, padded chair behind the desk without bothering to close the door. "I wish I ha
d more of an update," he started, "but there's not much I can tell you. It's still very early in the investigation."
"We understand," I said, taking a second to look around the office. I'd never been inside it before but it seemed to have been decorated during the seventies. The furnishings were sparse, just the desk and a computer, a phone, a small stack of files, the three chairs we occupied and a short expanse of filing cabinets. A cot was set up under the window with a blanket folded on top. Was Sam prone to sleeping in the office?
"So what can I help you with?"
"We heard that you brought Terry Croft in for questioning."
Detective Logan frowned. "Where did you hear that?"
"The lady in the taxi office. Sam, I've known Terry for years. He's not a killer."
"I agree. That's why I didn't bring him in for official questioning. He signed a statement and left ten minutes ago." Detective Logan muttered something about small town gossip that I couldn't quite hear but I got the point.
"Oh." I relaxed in my chair, relieved at the news.
"Did you happen to hear anything else around town?" he asked.
"The proprietor of the print shop overheard Esther on the phone. Apparently, she sounded very angry," said Mark.
"So far, that seems to be the general consensus regarding any interactions with her," said Detective Logan. "Anything else?"
"We thought it might be prudent to check her phone records and see who she called or who called her," I said.
Detective Logan nodded but didn't say anything. Instead, he tapped his pen on the desk and waited.
"Antonio said she was printing something. Could it have been the rest of the manuscript whose page was found on her body?" I asked. "Has it turned up yet?"
"No, and that's a real head-scratcher. I can't imagine why anyone would want to take a manuscript that Esther refused to accept."
"I thought it was good," said Mark. "That is, from the little bit I read."
"Sam knows I wrote it," I told him.
"You're a good writer," said Detective Logan. "Not that I know anything about writing but I know what I like reading."
"Of course she is! She's Miranda Marchmont," laughed Mark. I froze like a deer in the headlights and so did Detective Logan, but for different reasons. Mine was horror; his was fascination. "What?" said Mark slowly.
"He didn't know that," I replied weakly.
"But you just said he knew about..."
"The rejected manuscript," I squeaked. "Not the other stuff."
"So that's your secret," said Detective Logan, resting back in his chair and playing with his pen by snapping off the lid and popping it back on again. I made a mental note to get him a pair of stress balls for Christmas. "You write that schmaltzy stuff!? I've been hearing rumors about a famous author and I wondered if it might be you."
"You can't tell anyone!" I warned him.
He nodded thoughtfully. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I didn't think it was relevant. It still isn't. I didn't mean to deceive you in any way. You knew Esther was in town meeting me already and you mostly knew why. The typing I do is all the stuff that comes out of my head, not Esther’s."
He popped the lid on his pen again but this time, he tossed it on the desk. "I'm trying to think if this changes anything; but other than being impressed, I don't think it does. I see what you did with your name. March to Marchmont. That's quite clever. Where did the Miranda come from?"
"I thought it sounded glamorous and Esther agreed." Plus, Esther told me Ava was so boring. I didn't mind using a pseudonym but being called boring really stung. It was like being back at school when Soulla Jenkins and her cronies were cruelly making fun of anyone who was not in their crowd.
"Why's it such a secret?"
"So many reasons," I said. "But mostly because I like my privacy."
"Can't argue with that although I bet the lady at the bookshop would be thrilled to know you were in there."
"You can't tell her!"
"I won't, but if I wondered about your connection to Esther Drummond, someone else will too. Just for the record, I promise not to say anything and I don't care what you tell people either. It's your private business."
The tension ebbed out of me. "Thank you."
"Anything else you wanted to tell me about, inadvertently or otherwise?" Detective Logan asked.
"Have you interviewed all the hotel employees working that night?" I asked.
Detective Logan nodded. "I have."
"We thought the knife might have come from the hotel kitchen and it occurred to us that anyone could have picked it up. Mark said he thought there was a cookery class going on at the hotel too. The attendees might have had access to the kitchen equipment also."
"I'm aware of that and there's an officer speaking to each of those people today. I hope you two haven't been running your own investigation." He gave me a warning look.
"No, just thought you should know," said Mark.
"I appreciate it. Anyone else, I'd tell ‘em to leave it up to us, but since you two knew the victim, I'm glad you raised your concerns directly with me. If you think of anything else, just call, but given the nature of your friend's death, please don't go around asking anymore questions. Leave it to us," he said, rising.
I took that as our cue to leave. Mark and I stood and we all shook hands, which struck me as suddenly very grown-up and funny, given that Sam and I attended school together.
"What was so funny?" asked Mark as we left. "You looked like you wanted to laugh. What did I miss?"
"Nothing. Detective Logan, Sam, and I recognized each other from school and I thought it was funny that here we are now, all grown up and very serious."
"You were friends way back then?"
"Oh, no. He said he remembered me though, which was nice."
"For a moment, I thought he might have been your high school boyfriend," Mark said in a very carefree manner.
"No, definitely nothing like that! Sam was two years ahead of me actually. We occupied completely different social spheres." I glanced at my watch. "I'm glad Terry isn't in any trouble but I'd still like to talk to him. I really should get home and feed my cat. Plus, I want to read Esther's notes." I couldn't put it off any longer. Besides, it was still several hours until the night shift arrived at the Maple Tree Hotel and as much as I enjoyed Mark’s company, we couldn’t hang out for hours.
"Do you need some help? I haven't had a chance to give you my perspective yet."
"That's very kind of you but I think one set of notes at a time is more than enough." I was dreading Esther's notes and although I thought Mark would be a lot more tactful, there was only so much I could take. I nearly collapsed when I considered how much time and effort it would take me to give the book the pizazz it clearly needed.
"Could we meet later to talk to the hotel employees? I'm happy to interview them on my own but I know you probably want to be there too."
"What did Detective Logan say about conducting an investigation?" I asked, trying and failing to hold back a smile. Mark was clearly as invested in finding out what happened to Esther as I was.
"I think he mentioned that he hoped we weren’t running one. He didn't actually forbid us from running one though. Besides, it's not an investigation. It's a few innocuous questions."
"I’m having dinner with my dad tonight but I can come by around eight. I think the staff will have changed over before then."
"Perfect. We'll get the case wrapped up by ten, send the murderer away with Detective Logan, and have a celebratory cocktail by ten-thirty. Sound good?"
I couldn't help laughing at Mark's optimism. I also hoped he was right. Despite her personality, Esther deserved justice.
Chapter Eleven
After leaving Mark at the hotel, I drove home and spent an hour on my living room floor playing with Purrdie. When she finally decided she was bored of chasing toys, she curled up on her favorite spot on the couch and fell asleep.
It was too
early to go to my Dad's, since he wouldn't have closed shop for the day yet, so I jogged upstairs to my study and opened my laptop. I braced myself, closing my eyes for a moment until I was ready to read Esther's annotated pages again. Nothing improved with a second reading. I put my new printer paper into the printer and set it to print the entire document.
As I leafed through the pages a half hour later, I realized how many notes she had made. Despite all of her abrasiveness, there was one thing I couldn't fault Esther for: she was always thorough. It was strange to think these notes were her among her last communications to me. I gulped, holding back the tear that sprang to my eye, a horrible mix of sadness and sympathy. No matter how rude she was, surely she didn’t deserve such a death?
She was scrupulous in every aspect of her communication. I rubbed my chin with my thumb and forefinger while I thought. Mark wondered earlier if Esther might have known someone in town and the more I thought about the conversation Antonio overheard and the argument Janey witnessed, the more likely it seemed a definite plausibility. Could there be a clue in her most recent communications?
I called up my email program and entered a search of Esther's name. She had sent me several emails over the past two weeks, some regarding the manuscript I filed. A scathing one regarding the thriller manuscript and then another shorter one that was even more scathing. Several more mentioned her travel plans that were vague at first with a general idea of possible dates. The last one confirmed her flight plans and her booking at the Maple Tree Hotel with a note that her assistant had reserved a table for lunch. Mark was also mentioned a couple of times; the last one only a line about how I should try to impress him. She ended it with several exclamation points just in case I didn't get the message. But nowhere in any of the emails did she mention her desire to meet up with an old friend, or a relative, or visiting a place in town that she'd heard of.
Murder in March Page 10
