The Charlatan Murders

by Jennifer Berg

  Freddy accepted a seltzer water and asked, “So, Mr. Randolph, what did my mother do with her five hundred thousand dollars?”

  “About two-hundred thousand dollars will be directed to various charities and civic causes, but as you will see on page three, there is a residual amount of three hundred thousand dollars which is to be divided evenly between her cook, Mrs. Ethel Peabody, and her private secretary, Miss Rosemary Miller.”

  “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars each!” Paul repeated in amazement. Mr. Randolph got the scotch into Paul’s hand just in time. Paul accepted it and took a gulp.

  “I can’t say that I’m shocked,” Freddy admitted. “She always said she appreciated their service.”

  Mr. Randolph nodded understandingly.

  Paul took another gulp of scotch. It was a very good scotch because Mr. Randolph’s clients had high expectations and standards.

  “How soon will we actually get the money?” Paul asked.

  “There will be a registration, and then the courts take some time to process and review. Generally, and please understand that this is without guarantee, a beneficiary will receive his inheritance in about six to ten weeks after the time of death.”

  “Well, that’s okay, then.” Paul smiled and raised his glass. “Here’s to the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Lawyer & An In-Law

  Riggs had never particularly cared for lawyers, and the oversized leather chair in Mr. Randolph’s office was less comfortable than the green, slightly-tattered chair Riggs had at home.

  “So, Francis Abbott’s Will was straightforward?” he confirmed.

  Mr. Randolph straightened a pen on his desk. “Yes, especially when one considers the size of the Abbott estate. Naturally, her children were all aware of terms when their father died ten years ago, but people tend to forget details over time. And the Abbotts have just been through a terrible shock.”

  Riggs read confirmed his notes. “But Mrs. Abbott was able to leave one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to both her private secretary, Miss Miller, and her cook, Mrs. Peabody?”

  “That’s right.” The lawyer nodded. “Mrs. Abbott specified those legacies some years ago. At that time, we went over everything in detail: the Abbott trust, her husband’s will, and especially the charities and the legacies. I can assure you that Mrs. Abbott was fully aware that she couldn’t disinherit any of her children from the estate. In fact, she asked me about it quite recently.”

  The inspector frowned. “When?”

  “Mrs. Abbott telephoned me only last week, just before I left on my vacation. I visited her house on Monday morning, and she asked me if there was any possibility of changing her late husband’s Will regarding the inheritances.”

  Inspector Riggs smoothed his mustache. “What changes did she want to make?’

  “She didn’t elaborate,” the lawyer said. “But she said it had to do with her son, Walter, and her secretary, Miss Miller. I advised her that she was free to change her gift to Miss Miller, but that all her children’s inheritances were protected by her husband’s will. She wanted more time to consider the matter, and we scheduled an appointment for the third week of June.”

  Mr. Randolph opened his appointment book to the appropriate page and turned it so the Riggs could see the entry. “My only regret is that her final wishes were not reflected in her will.”

  Riggs looked at the appointment entry. Then he leaned back in the chair and adjusted his tie. “Mr. Randolph, do you know if Walter Abbott has a will?”

  The lawyer shrugged. “If he does, I didn’t draw it up for him.”

  “Did Mrs. Abbott ever mention her daughter-in-law?”

  Mr. Randolph took his time. He rested his fingers on Mrs. Abbott’s last Will and Testament as though he were consulting his client’s wishes from beyond the grave. He took a deep breath and said, “Mrs. Abbott was concerned about the situation. After she discovered that her son had made a rash marriage, she telephoned me and wanted to know if it was too late to have them sign a prenuptial agreement.”

  “And was it too late?”

  “No, but Walter Abbott refused to do so, and in the end, there was nothing his mother could do.”

  “Mr. Randolph, do you know if Walter Abbott intends to divorce his wife?”

  The lawyer shook his head. “If he is, he hasn’t discussed the matter with me.”

  Michael Riggs thanked the lawyer for his time, and they stood up. He was nearly to the office door when Riggs turned back and asked, “Was Mrs. Abbott an intelligent woman?”

  Mr. Randolph smiled. “Extremely intelligent. She understood the business better than any man I’ve ever known. Personally, I suspect that her husband’s real success was that he knew to trust his wife’s good judgment.”

  Riggs took the stairs back down to the street level. The empty stairwell gave him some space to collect his thoughts. So, Mrs. Abbott was a smart, determined woman who was hell-bent on her own agenda. Threatening to disinherit her family was just a bluff, a bluff that worked too well.”

  The inspector stepped out into the sunshine. Even though it had rained all night, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky now, and the sidewalks were dry. But as Michael Riggs walked back to the station, he hardly noticed the dry sidewalks or the warmth on his face. He was thinking about the dead woman and what she had said and wanted.

  If Walter knew that his mother’s threats were empty, then he had no financial motive for killing her. But that wouldn’t eliminate other motives, like revenge or hatred. The inspector turned west and headed down toward the police station. Between the buildings, he could see Elliott Bay below. A pristine ferry drifted across his view, making its way toward the ferry terminal.

  But Walter could have forgotten the terms of the will, which would explain why he hadn’t told the others. In that case, he could have murdered his mother to protect his inheritance. Riggs reached the police station and headed up to his office.

  And what about Rosemary Miller and Ethel Peabody? Mrs. Peabody had insisted that she knew nothing whatsoever about Mrs. Abbott’s will, and Miss Miller claimed that she only knew her employer was planning to leave her something. But somehow, Riggs couldn’t quite see Mrs. Abbott as the sort of woman who would keep her generosity a secret. If either of them had known that they already had legacies, the news that Mrs. Abbott was reconsidering her plans would have been alarming. They could have murdered to protect their legacies.

  Despite Mrs. Abbott’s threats, only one member of the Abbott family was in actual danger of losing an inheritance, and that person could only lose out if Walter Abbott filed for a divorce. Riggs had no proof she was the murderer, and even if he did, the chief was already threatening to take his badge.

  Riggs opened his office door and saw Victoria Bell sitting on the wooden chair reading the newspaper. She was wearing a dark blue suit with a pencil skirt that came just below her knees. Her Juliette cap was lemon yellow, and Riggs could just make out a pencil sticking out of her up-tied bun. She glanced up at him and closed the paper.

  Riggs suddenly remembered the various descriptions of Victoria: Clever. Conceited. Enchanting. Proud. Manipulative. Gold-digger.

  And now, there was another description: murder suspect.

  “Hello, Riggs.” Victoria set the newspaper down. “I hope the investigation is coming along.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and she didn’t wait for more information. Riggs closed the door behind him and walked over to his desk.

  “Look, Bell, I’m sorry I wasn’t more tactful the other day—I didn’t realize—”

  At that moment, Fisher opened the door and strode to Riggs’ desk, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and some files in the other.

  “Hello, Sergeant,” the rookie said in a voice that was deeper than normal. “I’ve got these reports for you. Well, hello, Ms. Bell.” Fisher tried to look surprised. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  Riggs took the repo
rts, but instead of leaving, Fisher took off his Stetson and hung it on the hat stand. He closed the door and leaned against the chair back, sipping his coffee.

  Riggs sat down and looked at the woman sitting in front of him. He couldn’t remember how long he’d known Bell, but it must have been five or six years at least, long enough for her to have learned the ins and outs of his job. She knew their methods, and she was sharp. It was no surprise to discover that she had been a spy during the war. In fact, Riggs had considered her to be one of the department’s greatest assets. Whenever someone hit a dead end, they would say, “That’s one for Bell.” She was capable of murder and clever enough to get away with it.

  “I’m sure you’ve realized that I wasn’t close to my mother-in-law,” Bell began. “Naturally, I was shocked to hear that she had been murdered. I’m not devastated—not personally.”

  A seagull flew up to the window and perched expectantly on the ledge. While Fisher offered Victoria his condolences and tried to lull Victoria with his charm, Riggs took a paper bag out of his drawer and opened up the window. He had kept a few bits of potato from his lunch, and he tossed them, one at a time, to the hungry gull.

  The seagull snapped up the potato wedges.

  There was a good chance that Bell was a murderer, but Fisher was smiling and offering to get her a cup of coffee. Of course, Fisher wasn’t the highest gauge, but he was a man, and his reaction to Victoria was telling. She certainly is smarter than Fisher, and probably, Riggs realized, smarter than him. Her spy work, or whatever it was, during the war gave her some powerful allies, but no one was above the law. Riggs glanced at her. Bell was relaxed and competent, and she wasn’t encouraging Fisher. But her appeal was undeniable. Some people might even consider her captivating, but Riggs would have settled for interesting. In any event, she knew how to get what she wanted.

  Victoria had probably murdered her mother-in-law. And Riggs had to prove it.

  He closed the window and sat down at his desk. “So, Bell, what can I do for you?”

  Bell crossed her legs. Even from the corner of his eye, Riggs could see Fisher’s gaze following her ankle.

  “Look, Riggs, I know I’m a suspect in the case,” Bell stated calmly. “And I understand that under those circumstances, you can’t confide in me. But I can still help you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She took her yellow handbag from her lap and set it on the edge of Riggs’ desk. “I was at Mrs. Abbott’s house today, and Rosemary Miller told me that the thermostat in Mrs. Abbott’s bedroom had been changed.”

  Riggs nodded. “Yes, she mentioned that on Sunday.”

  “I may not have been close to my mother-in-law,” Victoria said, “but I knew her well enough to tell you that if Mrs. Abbott liked her thermostat to be set to sixty-seven degrees, then her thermostat was set to sixty-seven degrees, always.”

  Fisher nodded enthusiastically. “That’s an excellent observation, Ms. Bell.”

  Rookie.

  Riggs sighed and took a moment to adjust his tie. “Okay, I’ll look into it.” He leaned forward so that both his elbows were resting on the desk.

  Fisher saw Riggs’ face and bit his lower lip.

  “Are you intending to divorce your husband?” Riggs asked.

  She pulled the pencil out of her hair and spun it in her fingers. “As far as I know, I don’t have any grounds for divorce,” Victoria said. She put the pencil back in her hair and began putting on her gloves. “Perhaps you should ask Walter that question. He’s the one with the money, after all.”

  Riggs frowned. “But with your mother-in-law’s death, you’re now a wealthy woman.”

  “I didn’t marry Walter for his money,” Victoria said. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I work, and I support myself.”

  “I had noticed,” Riggs admitted. He had noticed in the kind of way that only happens when you snoop into people’s paychecks and bank accounts and talk to their landlords. “Do you have any idea who might have murdered Mrs. Abbott?”

  “No, I don’t.” She grabbed her handbag and stood up.

  “Would you care to speculate?”

  “It seems to me that there’s enough motivation to go around,” Victoria said coolly. “Of course, her money is the most obvious one. Everyone has gained by her death, and not just the family. I believe that Miss Miller and Mrs. Peabody also profited from their employer’s death.”

  She didn’t wait for a confirmation, and she didn’t get one.

  “But the crime may have nothing to do with money,” Victoria went on. “Now, don’t misunderstand me. Mrs. Abbott had a public reputation for being charitable, but she was motivated by the reputation, not by the charity. Everything that woman did was on her own terms, which is a good way to live—to a point. To her own family, Francis Abbott was controlling, patronizing, and extremely critical. A person like that can ruffle a lot of feathers.”

  Bell strode to the door.

  “You disliked her?” Riggs asked.

  Victoria opened the door, then looked back and said, “I disliked her immensely. But I didn’t have to murder her to avoid her company.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Policemen and Blackmail

  “Victoria is right,” Fisher said. “Besides, she wasn’t at the party and doesn’t have a key to the house.”

  “Her husband does,” Inspector Riggs reminded him.

  Fisher frowned. “But they’re not living together. She has her own apartment.”

  “Bell stays on the list,” Riggs insisted. “Don’t forget that if Mrs. Abbott had succeeded in persuading Walter to file for divorce, Victoria would have lost a fortune. It’s true that she probably doesn’t have a key, but since the door and window were unlocked, someone may have helped her.”

  “You’re suggesting that someone at the party left the dining room door unlocked so that Victoria could sneak in and murder Mrs. Abbott?”

  “Or the office window.” Riggs set the pipe on his desk. “Her accomplice may have thought she was only after the divorce papers or whatever was in that file.”

  “I don’t buy it,” Fisher said. “If Victoria murdered her mother-in-law, she would have locked the door or window and left through the front door. That would have covered her tracks.” He strode over to the window and looked out. “And why were they both unlocked? I could understand the window or the door, but why both?”

  Riggs frowned. He leaned back, put his stocking feet up on his desk, and closed his eyes. He thought for several minutes, then he smiled and opened his eyes. “The office windows face the circular drive. That means Miss Miller and Mrs. Peabody would have a view of it from their apartments over the garage. If there was any moonlight, anyone sneaking into the office could have been seen and recognized. But the French door in the dining room is different. That room faces the lake, and no one can see it. Besides, if the murderer had relocked the window and door, we wouldn’t have known how they got into the house, and we would have limited our search to the people with house keys.”

  Fisher frowned. “So the murderer left it unlocked to help protect their accomplice?”

  “Or they unlocked a couple of rooms to broaden our suspicions so we wouldn’t look too closely at the family.” Riggs made a note in his notepad. “We need to verify Victoria’s alibi.”

  “You still think she’s guilty?”

  “I don’t think we should assume she’s innocent,” Riggs said. “But I hope she is.”

  “I hope she’s getting a divorce,” Fisher said. “Did you see her ankles?”

  “How in the world did you get to be a detective?” Riggs asked.

  Fisher frowned.

  “Oh, forget it,” Riggs said. He picked up the files that Fisher had delivered. “And what are these anyway?”

  “Oh, those aren’t really for you.” Fisher grabbed them back. “I needed an excuse to talk to Victoria. These are for Sergeant Inspector Cheshire. Man, is that guy a schmuck.”

  Riggs began lacing up his shoes. “Ca
reful, Fisher, that schmuck is the chief’s nephew.” He stood up and straightened his jacket collar. “Worse still, he’s the guy who’s going to get this case if I don’t make an arrest soon.”

  * * *

  While Riggs and Fisher were examining their list of suspects, Paul was up in his penthouse half a mile away, staring out his window toward the police station. He’d taken off his sports jacket and loosened his tie. He tipped his tumbler from side to side, so the ice knocked back and forth in the otherwise empty glass. The afternoon sun was warm this time of year, and Camille was wearing a lime green strapless summer dress as she lounged on the sofa with a new script. Her matching green heels were dropped onto the plush carpet beside her, and she was sipping pink lemonade and playing with the strands of her pearl necklace as she read.

  “I’ve always considered Tolstoy to be a complete and utter bore, haven’t you?” She kept on reading. “I can’t imagine how anyone pretends to enjoy him.”

  Paul didn’t reply, and a few moments later, he began to pace quietly.

  “But to make a theatrical work of his life…” She shrugged and continued skimming the play. “Well, I suppose that might be something. Anyway, my agent says Roberson’s other play got good reviews. It might go to Broadway, but I’m still not sure about this part.” She sighed, and her voice fell into silence as she turned the page and began reading the second act.

  After several minutes, Paul straightened his tie. “You haven’t spoken to that policeman again, have you?”

  Camille looked up and laughed. “You are a suspicious man. No, I haven’t spoken to the handsome inspector since yesterday.”

  “What did he ask? Was it about the hair they found in Mother’s office?”

  Camille sipped her lemonade as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “Inspector Riggs believes I was in your mother’s private office on the night of her murder. I suppose he suspects that I had something to do with Walter’s missing file. But I don’t know whether or not he thinks that file is connected to her murder.” She made a suggestive motion and added, “Perhaps I should try being more…persuasive.”