“So you’re suggesting that it was Paul?” Julia asked.
Mrs. Peabody huffed.
But Victoria shook her head. “No, that’s just it. Paul was the one person who knew that their cook was out of town. He was the only person who could have murdered Miss Sinclair without having to make sure that the coast was clear. But our murderer wasn’t so lucky. Our murderer had to make sure that no one else was in the apartment.”
“My God!” said Marcus. “But what about Paul’s scotch glass?”
“Another mistake,” Riggs said. “Because the murderer didn’t know that Paul was only drinking soda water.”
“If Paul were the murderer, he would have diverted suspicion from himself,” Victoria said. “He wouldn’t have left a glass, and he would have done more to create an alibi or at least to suggest that there had been an intruder in the apartment.”
Riggs nodded. “I agree, the scotch was our murderer’s attempt to suggest Paul Abbott. Since the cook was away and the kitchen was untidy, all the murderer had to do was to take a dirty tumbler from the sink, bring it in the living room, and add a little scotch.”
“What about the murderer’s fingerprints?” Marcus asked.
“As long as he wore gloves,” Riggs explained, “and didn’t smudge the glass too much, Paul’s fingerprints would stay in place. The only time the murderer wasn’t wearing gloves was when he used the lamp to hit Camille. We know this because the fingerprints had been wiped.
Victoria turned to Julia. “The murderer used the same style of lamp that you have in your living room. Most people would never consider using such a fragile-looking lamp as a weapon. But there are a few people who know that despite the lamp’s appearance, it was enameled cast metal.”
“That lamp is fragile,” Marcus blustered. “I’m sure my family never thought anything else.”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Julia told him. “You’re such a terrible liar, Marcus. And it always makes it sound like you have something to hide.”
Marcus closed his mouth, and his cheeks turned red.
Victoria reached into her pocket. And everyone watched as she pulled out the two squares of fabric that Riggs had seen her steal. She handed them back to Donna. “I’m sorry, I took these from your shop earlier,” she explained. “I meant to keep them to see if bougainvillea really does come in that shade of pink. I’ve only seen it in bold pink and orange.”
Donna took the fabric samples and looked up at Victoria with surprise. “Oh, well, they do come in pink. They also come in white and yellow.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Victoria conceded. “You’re an excellent decorator. As Camille’s interior designer, you would be in a special position to gain access to her apartment, wouldn’t you? You would also be intimately aware of the lamp’s weight. In fact, you’ve probably handled so many of them that you could easily forget how fragile they appear to others. Of course, whoever murdered Camille, would have grabbed an item that they were familiar with.”
Freddy stood up, “Victoria, are you suggesting—”
But Victoria ignored him and went on, “Camille made a threat, didn’t she? We were all there. We all heard it.”
“Donna didn’t hear it,” Julia reminded her. “She had already left before Camille said it.”
“That remark Camille said later was intended for Paul,” Victoria said. “Camille was his accomplice in stealing the file, and she was warning him to be careful. It was a threat, but it’s not the threat I’m talking about. I’m talking about the comment that Camille made earlier while Donna was still there.”
“I didn’t hear another threat,” Julia said.
Freddy huffed. “If you’re actually suggesting that Donna had anything to do with this, I should remind you that Donna is the only one of us who gains nothing from our mother’s death!”
“That’s true. Donna has nothing to gain,” Victoria agreed. “But what if she had something to lose? Something very valuable.” Victoria looked around the room. “Donna was the only one present on Saturday night who didn’t have a key or the knowledge that the office window had been secretly unlocked.”
Donna sat quietly.
Victoria looked at her. “You came here with the intention of killing Mrs. Abbott, but you weren’t entirely sure how you would manage it. During dinner, you snuck upstairs to have a look at Mrs. Abbott’s bedroom. Since you were unfamiliar with the room, you had to feel around for the light switch. That’s when you inadvertently bumped the thermostat and changed it a couple of degrees. You took some of her sleeping pills, which you later managed to drop into her coffee. And you left the dining room door unlocked so that if you needed it, you would have a way to re-enter the house later that night. But the party worked out better than you’d expected. Mrs. Abbott retired early, and everyone else stayed and talked until nearly midnight. By then, the pills were sure to have taken effect. You left your gloves in the foyer. And when you were sure that everyone else was out of the house, you went back for your gloves. It only took a minute or so to sneak upstairs, enter Mrs. Abbott’s room, and smother her in her sleep.”
Julia looked at Donna. “You volunteered to pour the coffee after dinner.”
“And when you saw me coming downstairs,” Rosemary said, “I was so worried about making you suspicious that I never even stopped to wonder why you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.”
Victoria went on calmly. “At first, it must have seemed like a great success. Mrs. Abbott was dead, and there were so many suspects, the police were not likely to consider you. But on Wednesday, Camille made a seemingly innocent comment, and you realized that you would have to kill her, too. When you visited her, you used some excuse to quickly check the apartment and, in your rush, you tipped over the pepper shaker in the kitchen. But you knew that the apartment was empty. As Camille’s decorator, you could easily find an excuse to close the drapes so that the neighbors couldn’t see into the penthouse. And while Camille was looking at them, you would naturally have to walk behind her to get a better view, and that’s when you grabbed the heavy porcelain lamp and struck Camille while she sat on the sofa. The rest was easy. You quickly put on your gloves and wiped the lamp. Then, to cast suspicion on Paul, you took a dirty glass from the kitchen and added some fresh scotch. Of course, you didn’t know when Paul was coming back, so there wasn’t any time to spare to clean up the pepper. You probably could have left the drapes closed too, but your professional instinct was too strong, and you couldn’t resist opening them before you left.”
Donna sighed and shook her head. “I can see how I seem to fit the bill, but you’re entirely mistaken. I had no reason whatsoever for harming Mrs. Abbott. I didn’t murder her, and I had nothing to cover up. And I certainly had no reason for murdering Miss Sinclair.”
“Your mother and Mrs. Abbott were old acquaintances, weren’t they?” Victoria asked.
Donna’s jaw tightened. “That’s right.”
Victoria turned to Rosemary and asked, “Was Mrs. Abbott very close to her old friend?”
Rosemary shook her head. “No. But last week—”
“What happened last week?”
“Mrs. Abbott received a letter from Donna’s mother,” Rosemary explained. “Mrs. Abbott was surprised because the two women hadn’t communicated in years.”
Victoria looked at Donna. “Your mother and Mrs. Abbott were old friends, but it had been years since they wrote each other letters.”
Donna shrugged. “What of it?”
“If Mrs. Abbott and your mother started exchanging letters, sooner or later, they would undoubtedly discuss you, Miss Holt.”
“I suppose so, but there’s no harm in that,” said Donna. “I don’t have anything to hide. I was an assistant designer in New York, and I moved out here a few years ago to start my own design business. My life is an open book.”
“Not quite,” Victoria said. “You have two very important secrets, one of them you are keeping from your mother, and the other secret
you are keeping from us.”
Donna shook her head. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Victoria kept her gaze on Donna. “While I was in your shop this morning, I helped you pick up a stack of papers which had spilled on the floor. Mixed in with the catalogs and other letters were several letters addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Wilton. I didn’t notice who they were from because I was preoccupied with the lamp at the time. In fact, I didn’t think much about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” Donna said. “The Wiltons are clients of mine.”
“But those letters were addressed to the Wiltons, and they were posted from New York,” said Victoria pointedly. “So why would your clients be receiving their mail at your business address?”
Donna didn’t answer, and Victoria went on. “Let’s assume that almost everything you’ve said is true, with two important omissions. When you left New York, you were the newly married Mrs. Wilton. Your husband was probably with you at the time, but for some reason, you and your husband parted ways.”
“Even if that were true, there’s no crime in that.”
“But you never told your mother,” Victoria said. “And you’ve talked about her expectations for how you live your life. Maybe she’s overly traditional, or maybe she has other reasons for doubting your moral character, but if she learns that you’ve been lying to her all this time, that could be grounds for disinheriting you.”
“She can disinherit me all she likes,” Donna insisted. “My family doesn’t have any money.”
“You told two lies,” Victoria reminded her. “And a few minutes ago, I made a long-distance telephone call to a librarian in New York. That librarian confirmed that there is a well-known family by the name of Holt. They have one child, a daughter, who is married to a man with the last name of Wilton.”
Donna didn’t speak.
“All this time, your mother has been writing letters to Mr. and Mrs. Wilton. And as a good daughter, Mrs. Wilton has doubtlessly been writing her back and telling her all about her married life in Seattle. I don’t know what happened to your husband, Donna, but you’ve been playing a charade to protect your inheritance. It must have seemed easy enough. After all, your mother’s only connection with Seattle is her childhood friend, Mrs. Abbott, and they hadn’t spoken in years.”
“The letter!” Rosemary stood up and turned to Donna. “You were in Mrs. Abbott’s office on Thursday before she died. The day after, Mrs. Abbott received a letter from your mother.”
“But I don’t understand,” Paul asked, “How did Camille come into all this?”
“Because Camille was the only one who knew that Donna was married,” Victoria explained. “Don’t you remember how Camille carried on about the actress in the newspaper, the one who’d abandoned her husband? She wasn’t insulting me. She was teasing Donna. Over the hours and hours they spent together redecorating the penthouse, Camille had shared her past scandals. And as a good saleswoman, Donna had reciprocated by sharing some of her own secrets. The two women were on friendlier terms than Donna lets on—that’s why Donna usually refers to her as ‘Miss Sinclair,’ although she occasionally slips up and uses Camille’s first name. When Camille drew everyone’s attention to the article about the woman abandoning her husband, she was teasing Donna with her secret. But Camille didn’t realize that it wasn’t just a harmless scandal in Donna’s past anymore, that secret linked Donna to Mrs. Abbott’s murder.”
Paul stared at Donna. “You murdered Camille because she knew you were married?”
Donna laughed suddenly, but her voice was shaking and forced. “You’re all crazy; you’re really insane to imagine all of this. It was one of you who killed her, and you know it. One of you murdered your own mother, and now you’re trying to frame me to save your family name.”
Freddy whispered, “Donna.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” she blurted out nervously. “This is ridiculous! Besides, you all hated her. You were all so glad when she was dead. I told my mother Mrs. Abbott wasn’t quite right in the head. I had to say that, in case Mrs. Abbott wrote something about me in a letter. But the rest of you are crazy, too.” She turned to Freddy angrily, “You didn’t even have the courage to stand up to her! Well, I admit I’m married. So what? I had to get married because my mother kept me under her thumb. It was the only way out. A phony marriage to buy my freedom. I’d forgotten that I’d even told Camille until she brought it up that day. And yes, my family has money, but that doesn’t make me a murderer!”
Donna stood up, grabbed her handbag, and pulled on her gloves. Her hands were shaking, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. Everyone watched her, but no one spoke. “I’m through listening to this nonsense!” She turned toward the door, but she stopped short when she realized that Inspector Fisher was blocking her.
Riggs took a deep breath and put on his hat. “Miss Holt, I’m placing you under arrest.”
“Oh, you can’t be serious!” she shouted. “You’re not actually believing these lies? I demand to see my lawyer. I’m not going to talk to anyone until I’ve had a chance to see my lawyer!”
Chapter Forty-Two: The Calm After the Storm
An hour later, Mrs. Peabody had managed to throw together a tray of smoked salmon sandwiches. The family was sitting together in their mother’s living room, still absorbed in everything that had just happened.
Paul sipped his lemonade and said, “I don’t get how you figured out that Camille knew that Donna was married.”
Victoria took a sandwich and sat down. “When I started looking for a motive, it struck me that Donna sometimes referred to Camille by her first name, even though she claimed they only had a business relationship. And that’s when I started considering the nature of how they had worked together. You see, Donna is a great saleswoman, and if a client shares a few personal stories about her own life, Donna would want to do the same. After all, the friendlier the two women are, the more referrals Donna will receive. At the time, Donna didn’t mind mentioning that she had a husband because her New York world and her Seattle world were so entirely separate.”
Walter was drinking ice tea and thinking it over. “But then Camille teased Donna about abandoning her husband.”
“I don’t think Camille realized the significance,” Victoria said. “She just noticed that Donna was forming another attachment, and she wanted to tease her with the secret.”
“An attachment?” Freddy asked. “You mean that Donna had a boyfriend?”
“She means you, Freddy!” Julia said. “Are you pretending—I mean, are you saying that you haven’t become just a little bit fond of Donna lately?”
“What? Me?” Freddy marveled. “Did she say that?”
Paul shook his head. “No, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re seeing someone.”
“But not Donna,” Freddy objected. “She was just a friend, a fellow businessman, uh, I mean businesswoman, but nothing else.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Julia raised her eyebrows, and Freddy nudged his head in Rosemary’s direction.
They all turned to Rosemary, and she blushed.
“We decided not to tell anyone,” she explained. “If Mrs. Abbott disapproved, she could have made things difficult for both of us. And after she was murdered, we were so scared that it would make us seem suspicious.”
“I didn’t want mother to sack Rosemary or make her life miserable,” Freddy said. “But it became harder to keep undercover. Especially after Alex overheard Rosemary talking to me on the telephone.” Freddy glanced at his nephew. “You have good instincts, you know. Rosemary was hiding her boyfriend and her real profession.”
Alex beamed. “And I’m glad I was wrong about the rest of it. I’d much rather have an aunt who’s a nurse than a hardened criminal.”
Freddy squeezed Rosemary’s hand. She smiled at him, and he brushed a wisp of her hair into place. Then he turned to his brothers, “And I think I’m ready to take a more active role in th
e family company. Now that mother’s gone, and I won’t have to worry about living under her thumb. What do you say? Are you two willing to teach me the ropes?”
“Walter will have to do the teaching,” Paul said with a smile. “I have a hunch that I’ll be spending some time behind bars for this one. And since I’ve proven that I can’t handle the big leagues, when I get out, I’m going to look for something smaller, something where the only money involved is my own. I might work in advertising, or maybe I’ll open my own business, hey, maybe I’ll even open a bookshop.
Chapter Forty-Three: New Beginnings
Three days later, Julia and Marcus Shrubb were sitting on their back porch watching the sun setting over Lake Washington.
“Well, the nightmare is over,” Julia sighed. “Did you read the newspaper? Donna confessed. Her mother disinherited her, and her estranged husband has filed for a divorce. I’ll never be able to thank Victoria or Inspector Riggs enough.”
Marcus nodded. “I was so afraid that it was Paul or Freddy. I didn’t want you to suffer.”
“If you worried less, you might have noticed that I’m stronger than you think.” Julia shook her head and said, “Speaking of which, when were you planning on telling me that the company was in the red?”
“I’m sorry.” Marcus exhaled. “I really thought I would be able to turn it around. Julia, I invested everything we had, but now it’s gone. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to keep the house. I’ve ruined everything.”
“We’ve always had more than anyone needs, Marcus. Besides, when have I ever cared about the house?”
Marcus ran his hand through his hair. “But I promised you a wonderful life.”
“And that’s what we have. That life has nothing to do with this house, or a sailboat, or the cars. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat if I could just have you around to enjoy life with me.”
“Do you really mean that?” he asked hopefully. “Even after all the stupid things I’ve done?”
The Charlatan Murders Page 23
