The Charlatan Murders

by Jennifer Berg

Rosemary raised a doubtful eyebrow and smiled. “That’s a delicate question, Inspector. I don’t think my personal opinions are really relevant, do you?”

  Riggs smiled.

  “No, no, not at all. I just thought a basic Who’s-Who might help me keep the family members straight.” His tone was casual.

  “Oh, is that all?” Rosemary said. “Well, I’m sure I can do that. Let me see, there are four Abbott children. Walter and Julia are twins and they’re the oldest. Like I said, Walter manages the company finances. Julia is married to Marcus Shrubb. They have one son, by the way, Alexander Shrubb. He’s seventeen and about to graduate high school. Paul is the next son, he’s very socially outgoing. He used to have a small role at the company, but since his father died in 1945, he’s been the acting president.”

  “Do you know what he did before that?”

  “Paul? I’m not entirely sure,” Rosemary considered. “All three of them were in the service. I believe Paul was an Army officer during the War, but that was before I knew him.”

  Like anyone else who ever read a Seattle newspaper, Riggs knew that one of the Abbott sons had a knack for sensational notoriety. Having met all three, Riggs now knew that it was Paul. Paul was a regular on the society pages, galas, night clubs, charity auctions; but his name was also printed in other articles, including civil issues and less-than-reputable events. As far as Riggs knew, Paul had never been convicted of anything serious, but there had been enough shenanigans over the years to throw doubt on his character. A lot of doubt.

  “Is Paul Abbott married?” Riggs asked. He was hoping Miss Miller might elaborate but she was discreet and simply said “no.”

  Riggs moved on. “And there’s another son?”

  “Yes, but Freddy doesn’t work for the family business. He has a little bookshop downtown. He doesn’t come around here much.”

  “And is Freddy also a bachelor?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Riggs got up to leave, then he remembered one last detail. “Oh, and the oldest son, Walter, he’s not married, is he?”

  It was a simple question, but for the first time, Rosemary looked entirely unsure of how to answer. She looked away for a moment and adjusted the thin golden necklace around her neck. “No. Walter is married,” she finally replied. She frowned and spoke quickly. “Her name is Victoria, but I—well, I believe they may be…estranged. I really don’t know the situation.”

  “Was Victoria at the family dinner party last night?”

  “No.”

  When Rosemary Miller stepped out of the office, Riggs inspected the blonde hair he had found on Mrs. Abbott’s desk. He put it in a small paper bag. It didn’t belong to Miss Miller who was a redhead, nor to Julia Shrubb, whose hair was brown and silver.

  Fisher stepped into the office and frowned. “Hey, boss, I know you’re the seasoned man and I’m the rookie, but weren’t we supposed to get a look around this room before you brought that pretty little redhead in here?” He glanced back and whispered, “Speaking of which, who is the pretty little redhead?”

  “Miss Rosemary Miller,” Riggs replied. He was trying to see the natural hair color by the root.

  “Miss?” Fisher repeated, “That’s what I wanted to know…”

  “I think she’s a couple years older than you,” Riggs mumbled. “And at least ten years more mature.”

  “All the better. I could use a firm hand,” Fisher said with a wink. “Is she one of the family?”

  “Until a few hours ago, she was Mrs. Abbott’s private secretary,” Riggs explained as he walked over to the desk and the suspicious files. He tapped the tax file with his finger.

  Fisher looked around the room. “Excuse me for saying it, sir. But didn’t you just give her a chance to get her fingerprints on everything?”

  “Her fingerprints are bound to be all over this room.” Riggs put the hair back in his pocket. “And if she were guilty, she had all the time she needed before announcing her employer’s death. But as it turns out, she didn’t try to touch anything. Besides, I wanted to interview her before dropping the bomb on the family.”

  “Speaking of the family, they’re starting to climb the walls,” Fisher said. “And the bossy guy in the flower shirt is about to lose it. Believe it or not, I’m a decent actor and I can play dumb, but there are limits.”

  I doubt that. Riggs thought. He headed for the door. “Go ahead and start fingerprinting in here. I’m going to make the shocking announcement and see if anyone squirms.” Riggs paused to pick up a stack of letters on Mrs. Abbott’s desk. He flipped through them quickly and added, “By the way, she’s exceptionally bright.”

  Fisher smiled. “Are you jealous of my future girlfriend?”

  “I won’t have any of that.” Riggs looked up at the junior officer. “I don’t want so much as a personal remark out of your mouth until this case is closed.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not around a woman you find attractive,” Riggs said. “And I especially don’t trust you around that pretty woman because whatever you’d think you were doing—so cleverly—she’d be way ahead of you.”

  “You’re a suspicious man, Riggs.” The junior officer sighed. “And you have no regard for my lonely heart.”

  “None,” Riggs agreed. He put the letters in his jacket pocket. “Tell the doctor I want an autopsy today, and get the boys busy fingerprinting this room and the lady’s bedroom. Tell them to keep it respectful and low-key. Avoid talking to the family as much as possible, but don’t let them push you around either. These people are accustomed to calling the shots.” Riggs took a deep breath and handed the key to Fisher.

  “And about my love life— ”

  “You don’t get a love life until the case is over.”

  “But if we can prove my beautiful red-head is innocent— ”

  Riggs leaned close and lowered his voice. “We’re dealing with a cold-blooded murderer. That old lady upstairs was smothered a few hours ago, and her family is far from heart-broken by their mother’s death and her secretary is already lying to me.”

  Riggs pointed to the unlatched window. “This window wasn’t forced, by the way, but we’ll keep that to ourselves for now. Check it, but I think you’ll find the prints have been wiped clean. We’re looking at an inside job.”

  Chapter Seven: Mr. Walter Abbott

  When Riggs came back to the living room, he did his best to size them up before saying anything. Of the four Abbott children, Paul was pacing the floor and huffing with agitation, but the other three were more relaxed—or at least less animated.

  “I’ll need to talk to each of you for a few minutes— ”

  “What the hell for?” Paul demanded. “You’ve already talked to Rosemary. Surely you realize that she left those files, or whatever they were, out herself. We’re dealing with a family tragedy here, Inspector, not a crime.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not true,” Inspector Riggs announced. He waited a few seconds for his words to sink in. “I’m afraid this matter is far more serious than mislaid paperwork. It has to do with your mother’s death. It seems very likely that Mrs. Francis Abbott did not pass away from natural causes.”

  Freddy looked up in disbelief. “You mean suicide?”

  “Never,” Julia whispered. “Mother would never do that! It wasn’t in her character.”

  Walter’s voice came in slowly and methodically. “But that would have to mean that someone…”

  His voice trailed off, and Riggs resumed in his official tone. “It appears that Mrs. Abbott’s death was deliberate. I realize that this is distressing news, but I must ask for your cooperation. I need to talk to each member of the family andMrs. Abbott’s household. I’d like to interview you individually. Now, who was the first to arrive here this morning?”

  Walter was sitting alone in an angular green chair. He was gripping his knees and staring at the floor.

  Julia spoke gently. “Walter, you were the first one here, weren’t
you?”

  Walter kept staring at the floor. Julia walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He touched her hand. Then he looked up at her and patted her hand.

  “Did you hear?” she asked. “The inspector needs to talk to you.”

  Walter nodded and stood up. “This way, Inspector.”

  He led Inspector Riggs into the library. The fire was still crackling. The sun had risen over the house enough to shine onto the lawn, and thin wisps of evaporating due rose off the wet grass. Walter invited the inspector to sit down.

  Riggs sat in the purple chair and pulled out his notepad. “Okay, Mr. Abbott. What time did you get here?”

  Walter sat down on the opposite sofa. He took a deep breath. There was a chess set on the table between them.

  “It was early,” he explained. He was looking at the chess set. “Rosemary telephoned me before six o’clock, and I think I got here about twenty or thirty minutes later. I live in Ballard, so it took me a while. But I was just a few minutes after the doctor.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Walter pointed toward the driveway. “As I walked past his Ford, I could feel the warmth of the motor. The doctor heard me, and he came down to tell me that my mother had passed away.” Walter was still looking at the chess set, but he frowned. “I stood in the hall for a few minutes, and then I began telephoning the others.”

  “Did you go to your mother’s room?”

  Walter looked up at the inspector. “No. I trust Rosemary and the doctor. There was no need for me to see her.”

  “When was the last time you saw your mother?”

  Walter turned to face the fire. He watched it flickering. “We were all here last night for a family dinner.”

  “And by that, you mean, you and your siblings?”

  “That’s right.” Walter picked up the queen chess piece and fidgeted with it as he spoke. “And Julia’s husband, Marcus, was also here, and their son, Alex. Let me see…Paul brought his girlfriend, Miss Sinclair, and Freddy brought a girl named Miss Donna Holt. And Rosemary was here, of course.”

  Riggs made notes in his book. “I see, and who else was in the house?”

  “Mrs. Peabody, the cook. And I think she may have had someone helping her. She often does for dinner parties, but I don’t remember.”

  “I believe that Miss Miller and Mrs. Peabody both live here?”

  “Yes, they live in the apartments above the garage.”

  “Is there a Mr. Peabody?”

  Walter shook his head. “She lost him in the First War, and she’s been here since then. Mrs. Peabody is a great cook, but she’s a private person. I don’t know much more about her.”

  Riggs looked at his notes from Rosemary’s interview. “Before last night, when was the last time you saw your mother?”

  “I don’t know,” Walter said, “probably three or four weeks ago.”

  “But you dropped some papers off on Wednesday, didn’t you?”

  Walter’s gaze darted to the inspector and to the notepad in his hand. “That’s right. But my mother was at a luncheon, I believe. I left the file with Rosemary.”

  “I see. And do you mind telling me, Mr. Abbott, what you were doing yesterday?”

  “Saturday?” Walter set the queen down and picked up a knight. “I went into the office for a few hours in the morning, and then I worked in my garage until about five. I fix up old cars, and at the moment, I’m restoring another old Studebaker. Then I came here for dinner.”

  “And how was that?”

  Walter shrugged. “Just a typical evening. Mother went to bed after dinner, about 10:30 or so. The party broke up just before midnight.”

  “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts between midnight and when you arrived here this morning?”

  “No,” Walter said. “I went home and went straight to bed. I didn’t wake up until Rosemary telephoned me this morning.” He set down the knight piece and adjusted it so it was facing the right direction.

  “I believe you’re married, Mr. Abbott. Is that correct?”

  Walter glanced at Riggs and then looked away. He sat up and rubbed his palms on his thighs as though they were chilly. “Yes, that’s right. But Victoria is out of town this weekend. She’s at a conference.”

  Walter stood up, and Riggs accepted the end of the interview. While he waited for the next family member, he pulled out Mrs. Abbott’s letters. The Northwest Plumbing Company had sent an estimate for updating the plumbing systems on three downtown addresses. Someone had used a fountain pen to circle one of the buildings and had written ‘Freddy’s shop.’ The DAR and an Orphans Fund both sent embossed thank you notes for donations—five hundred dollars each. There was a personal letter from a Mrs. Holt reminiscing about her childhood, her late husband, and her current poodle. Riggs checked the envelope—Mrs. Holt was in New York. The last letter was from the chancellor of a local university, which stated—in very formal terms—that due to the family legacy at the university and their generous support over the years, Mr. Alexander Abbott’s grandson, Alexander Abbott Shrubb, would certainly be accepted. It had been typed on a very good machine, and the paper was thick and embossed.

  Chapter Eight: Mrs. Julia Abbott Shrubb

  Julia Shrubb’s brown hair was pulled up into a flattering bun with just enough streaks of gray to prove that she didn’t dye it. Riggs guessed that she was somewhere in her early forties. She was wearing a blue house, a peach cashmere cardigan with a wide neckline, a double-strand pearl necklace, and large earrings. Her eyes were a cool brown color, and even with no obvious makeup, there was an understated prettiness about her.

  “I asked Mrs. Peabody to bring us some coffee,” Julia said as she entered the room.

  Inspector Riggs stood up and waited until she sat down on the sofa opposite him. “Mrs. Shrubb, I am very sorry about all this, and I’ll do everything I can to make this as tolerable as possible.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.” She placed her hands on her lap.

  Riggs sat down. “Mrs. Shrubb, first of all, can you tell me anything that might be helpful in this situation?”

  She shook her head gently. “No, I wish I could, but I don’t know anything.”

  “I understand you were here last night.”

  “Yes, my mother hosted several family dinner parties each year, and last night was one of them.”

  “In your opinion, was your mother her usual self?” Riggs softened his voice. “I mean, did she seem upset or preoccupied in any way?”

  Julia grinned slightly. “She was very much herself last night,” she assured him. “My mother was almost always preoccupied with the family business. That was just her way and I wouldn’t say that last night was any different.”

  “I see,” Riggs said. He didn’t see, but he also didn’t want to push it. “And do you know if your mother had any enemies?”

  “Any what?”

  “Anyone who might have wished her harm?”

  Julia paused a few moments then said, “We were often annoyed with her, her children, I mean, but no one hated her. I’m sure she had some business rivals, but that wouldn’t be personal to her. In the community, I believe she was respected for her business skills and admired for her charity work.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she was,” Riggs agreed, making a note in his book. He smoothed his mustache. “Mrs. Schrubb, who has gained by her death?”

  Julia stared at the Inspector for a moment, then she turned away and suddenly covered her face with her hand. The ring on her finger had an enormous diamond, easily the largest Riggs had ever seen.

  Julia kept her face covered, and Riggs waited for the sobbing, but it never came.

  Instead, Julia murmured breathlessly into her hand. “I can’t believe she’s dead.” She took a deep breath. “My God, it doesn’t seem possible. It’s like I’ve woken up into a strange dream, a nightmare.”

  After a moment, Julia Shrubb raised her head. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m still trying to take it all
in.” She turned to look out the window. “My mother was such a strong woman. She was almost a force of nature.” Julia walked to the window and stared out at the beautiful landscape. “And now you’re suggesting that she was murdered. If you had known my mother, maybe you would understand how impossible that sounds, how incredible—not that she is dead but that anyone would have dared to murder her.”

  The inspector set down his notepad.

  “But she was murdered.” Julia turned back from the window and faced him. “And whoever did it, Inspector, I want you to find that person and bring them to justice.”

  Riggs nodded. “That’s just what I intend to do, Mrs. Shrubb.”

  “You asked me who has gained by my mother’s death.” Julia crossed her arms. “We all have, I suppose. My brothers and I will inherit her money now.”

  “Does anyone else benefit?”

  “Not that I know of. Quite the opposite, actually. Rosemary and Mrs. Peabody will both be out of a job.”

  There was a rap on the door, and an older woman came in with a tray.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peabody,” Julia said.

  Mrs. Peabody’s eyes were red and puffy, and she had a handkerchief stuffed into each of her pockets. She was in her mid-sixties, short, and slightly plump. Her hair was fully grey, and she was wearing a floral house dress with a green cardigan. She sniffled as she set the coffee service on the table beside the chess set. When she was done, she patted Julia on the shoulder. “If there’s anything else you need, dear, just ask.”

  Julia smiled at her, and Mrs. Peabody pulled out one of her handkerchiefs and left.

  “Mrs. Peabody has been with my mother since I was a girl,” Julia explained as she poured the coffee. “I think Walter and I were only about eight or nine years old when she joined us.” She prepared it to Riggs’ liking and handed it to him. It was better than what he had at home and leagues better than the bitter mud he drank at work.

  “What about the other people who were here last night,” he asked. “Do any of them benefit?”

  Julia poured her own cup. “Well, my husband and my son were here, but they benefit only indirectly, through me. Who else was here? Oh, Miss Donna Holt was here with Freddy. Donna’s mother was a childhood friend of my mother, but Donna’s business dealings are all outlined in her lease, she won’t gain from my mother’s death.”