Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "Just a sec," she said, leaving with the door still wide open.

  When Caleb came to the door with a puzzled look on his face, I paused, dumbstruck. I was staring at the most magnificent human being I had ever seen. This Caleb guy was a handsome sight for sore eyes. He had a body to die for with a face to match. His eyes were almost turquoise, and he had a Caribbean-cruise type tan that he couldn't come by naturally in Salt Lake City in the middle of the winter. Every dark hair on his perfectly shaped head was in place while he waited for me to speak. It took me a moment, however, because I was calculating the difference in our ages and deciding he was young enough to be my son.

  "Hello Caleb, I'm Estelle Brady, a reporter with the Leavenworth Times. I'm writing an article about the untimely death of your former father-in-law, Horatio Prescott. May I speak with you a minute?"

  If Caleb was curious about how I knew Horatio was his former father-in-law or that he was staying at his parent's house in Leavenworth, he didn't show it. I guess one couldn't expect an exquisite body like that to have an ounce of sense.

  "Well, no, Ms. Brady, I'm really kind of busy right now," he said. "I've got to head to the airport in less than hour." As Caleb made a move to close the door in my face, I stuck my foot inside and pushed the door open again. As I stepped around him into the hallway I said, "Trust me, this will only take a few minutes of your time, and then I'll be on my way. And please call me Evelyn."

  "I thought you said your name was Estelle."

  "Uh-oh, did I s-s-say Estelle?" I said, stuttering as I often did when I lied. "I'm really s-s-sorry, I meant Evelyn. My full name is Estelle Evelyn Brady, but most people call me Evelyn," I explained. Good Lord, I had to get this lying stuff down a little better or stop doing it before it got me into deep doo-doo.

  "Yeah, okay, Evelyn it is then. What do you need to know?" he asked. "When did Horatio die? What happened to him? Heart attack? Cancer?"

  Caleb seemed sincerely surprised at the news of the man's death. If he was lying, he was one hell of an actor.

  "He was murdered, actually, several nights ago in Rockdale. He was staying at the Alexandria Inn, there to attend a ceremony in his honor. He was to be inducted as the new president of the Rockdale Historical Society," I explained.

  "I'm not surprised," Caleb said, dryly. "He always was a snooty son of a bitch. And a real bastard."

  I quickly checked his shoe size, wondering why everybody I met considered Horatio Prescott a real bastard. Did this man have absolutely no friends at all?

  "So who shot him?" he asked.

  I almost wet myself, thinking for a second that I had just solved the case. I had not mentioned the cause of death to this point, other than that it was a homicide. Horatio could have been poisoned, as he nearly was, or strangled. He could have been stabbed through the heart with an icicle for that matter. How did Caleb know immediately the man was shot?

  "Who said he was shot?" I asked.

  "I guess I just assumed that," he answered. "If he wasn't shot, then how was he killed?"

  "Well, okay, he was shot. Just seemed odd to me you already knew how he was killed."

  "Wait a minute, sister!" Caleb had picked up on my inference. "Shooting was just the first and most obvious thing that came to mind. I truly had no idea the man was recently murdered, or even if he was still alive. True, I had no use for the jerk at all, but that part of my life is over. I've moved on and I've never given Prescott or his daughter a second thought. I hate to hear he was murdered, but then again, I am not all that sorry to hear he's gone. He was a self-absorbed, self-serving man, with no regard for anybody but himself."

  "Can I quote that?" I asked, rather stupidly, suddenly remembering I was there to get information for a newspaper piece. "For my article, you know."

  "No, of course not. This conversation is strictly private, Evelyn. I want no part of your article."

  That's good, I thought. I wasn't even carrying a pen or pad of paper had he agreed to let me quote him. "Okay, well you do have a confirmable alibi for the night in question, I assume."

  "As a matter of fact I do, not that it's any of your business, Ms. Brady. I was at a party all evening, with seven or eight of my former classmates. After the party at Tuna's Bar and Grill in Tonganoxie, we all went to Michael Zarda's house and crashed for the night. I'm sure any or all of them would be happy to confirm my whereabouts," Caleb answered smugly. "I had nothing to do with his death and have a rock solid alibi to back me up!"

  Seven or eight witnesses would make for a very solid alibi, I realized. Victoria had been barking up the wrong tree, I was sure. I apologized for the intrusion and headed straight back to the Sands Motel.

  * * *

  "So, you see, Veronica, I don't see how Caleb could have been involved in your father's death," I said. I didn't mention that Caleb had assured me he never gave Veronica or her father a second thought after moving on with his life following their divorce. She'd had enough heartache in her life so far.

  "That's a relief," she said, even though she didn't look all that happy with the news. I think she liked the idea of Caleb spending the rest of his days behind bars, out of spite, if nothing else. I wanted to tell her I approved of her taste in men but feared it would be like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.

  "Caleb seems like a decent enough man, and he told me to extend his condolences to you on the loss of your father."

  Veronica shrugged with indifference and thanked me for tracking down Caleb and questioning him. I told her I was glad to be of assistance and then asked her if she would like to join us at the inn for lunch. "I imagine Stone's housekeeper Crystal will have lunch ready shortly. In fact, I need to get back shortly to help out."

  "Thanks, but no. I'm going out to eat supper tonight with a very nice Rockdale detective I have known since high school," she said, with a giddy lilt to her voice.

  I was pleased to see she was looking forward to her date with Detective Johnston, but not surprised she had turned down my offer for lunch. I couldn't imagine her eating two meals in the very same day and maintaining that skeletal frame of hers.

  Chapter 23

  After detailing my visits with Veronica and Caleb to Stone, I decided to join Crystal in the kitchen. I had noticed that all the guests were lounging around in the living room and parlor, and at least half of them were sound asleep. I was careful not to wake them. They were much easier to keep satisfied if they were asleep.

  After getting to know them all a little better, I couldn't truly imagine any of them putting a slug into the back of another person's head. I knew it was still just the early stages of the murder investigation, but I was beginning to wonder if all the questions would ever be answered. It seemed as if everyone I spoke with had a motive, but no one was actually guilty of the crime.

  Stone and I might have to just sit back and let the future unfold and see if any suspects floated to the surface. We had no investigative training, other than whatever Stone had picked up in his services as a reserve police officer in Myrtle Beach. We were basically just two inquisitive people with an interest in the outcome of the murder investigation because it occurred at the Alexandria Inn.

  I shook my head as if to clear my mind and told myself I had to put the murder on the back burner for a spell and get to work in the kitchen. I couldn't dump the entire responsibility of taking care of our guests on Crystal. She'd been putting in enough hours as it was.

  I'd wanted to serve lemonade with lunch but had forgotten to take the canisters out of the freezer. They were frozen as solid as an anvil, but I couldn't put them in the microwave because they had tin cylinders on each end. I decided to stick them in the oven, crank up the temperature to near broil, and let the lemonade begin to thaw out while I sliced some tomatoes and shredded some lettuce for the roast beef sandwiches.

  Crystal was sitting at the table humming a popular jingle from a television commercial and stirring a big bowl of potato salad. I sat down beside her with a loud sigh. She laughed when
I asked, "Didn't these people just finish breakfast a half hour ago?"

  "It sure seems like it. I started peeling potatoes for their lunch just two minutes after I finished cleaning up after their breakfast. But, keep in mind, Lexie, they're all leaving just as soon as we can get them fed so let's serve lunch as early as we can. The streets are nearly dry already."

  I finished shredding the lettuce and began slicing tomatoes, keeping in mind the lemonade would have to come out of the oven soon, before the heat caused too much pressure to build up inside the containers. I could add warm water to the frozen concentrate once it had thawed enough to slide out of the canisters. And then add ice to cool down the lemonade for drinking.

  Crystal was dicing some pickles into the potato salad, and we chatted about inconsequential things as we worked companionably side-by-side. I'd just about finished slicing the final tomato when the paring knife slipped out of my hand and clattered to rest on the floor beneath the table. I scooted my chair back and ducked my head under the tablecloth to reach for the knife.

  Before I knew it, I found myself staring at Crystal's feet, clad only in white cotton socks. She had slipped off her loafers as she worked at the table. Why had I never noticed before how badly her right foot was deformed? Was it because I'd never seen her without her shoes on? The entire right half of the upper part of the foot was missing.

  "Oh, gosh, Crystal," I said, as I sat upright once again. Before I could think about the intrusiveness of my question, I asked, "Whatever happened to your foot? You poor little thing. Was it an accident of some kind?"

  "Yes, it was an accident. My own stupid fault, really. I slid on some wet grass one day as I was mowing the yard, and three of my toes were severed when my foot made contact with the mower blade. They were unable to reattach the severed toes."

  "Oh, for gracious sakes! How horrible for you, Crystal. I'm so sorry. No one would ever know by just watching you walk, though. You're more graceful than I am by a long shot."

  "Thanks. It's been several years now. I seldom think about it anymore. I had to go through quite a bit of physical therapy following the accident. Once I was able to walk without limping, I wasn't nearly as self-conscious about it. I barely think about it these days."

  I nodded absentmindedly. I was thinking about the footprints in the snow I'd photographed the morning after discovering Horatio Prescott had been murdered. Crystal would have driven her car to the inn Sunday morning, parked in the carport, walked across the landscaping stones to the front porch, and used her own key to open the front door of the inn. As the housekeeper, she'd been given a master set of keys and could unlock any door at will.

  I thought about her maimed foot again. She would just naturally put more pressure on the left side of the foot than the right, causing a more profound imprint from one side of the shoe than the other. Why hadn't I thought of it before when it had been determined the neighbors were out of town, and the footprints were too small, and the imprint didn't match the department-issued detectives' shoes of the officers who'd responded to Stone's call that morning?

  Crystal was in the kitchen when I went downstairs at seven A.M. on Monday. Neither Stone nor I had ever questioned her about what she might have witnessed early Monday morning. Had the Rockdale detectives asked her for a statement? I couldn't recall but didn't think they had. I think she'd been overlooked, as if she were just a fixture in the inn and not a person with potential motives or, at least, observations from Monday morning deserving to be explored by the investigators. I didn't want to think for a single moment Crystal could have any kind of involvement in the murder of Horatio Prescott, but I had to be realistic, and I had to ask her about it whether I wanted to or not.

  "Say, Crystal, just out of curiosity, did any of the detectives ask you what time you arrived here on Monday morning?"

  "No. Why do you ask?" Crystal sounded dubious.

  "Just curious if the detectives ever took a statement from you on what you might have seen or heard Monday morning after reporting for work. What time did you get here, by the way?"

  I suddenly noticed Crystal was looking at me in an odd way. There was a definite note of defensiveness in her voice when she asked, "Just what are you getting at, Lexie? You aren't saying you think I might have had something to do with the murder, are you?"

  I felt sick to my stomach as I watched fury creep into Crystal's expression. I had never seen her so angry before and noticed now she looked like an entirely different person. I wondered why I hadn't considered her a potential suspect. Whose fingerprints had been found in the room other than the victim's, Stone's and mine? Crystal's had. But since she was the housekeeper, no one had even questioned the presence of her prints in the room. It was Stone and I who set the room up initially, and Sunday was the first night the room had been used by a guest. Why would the housekeeper have even been in the room up to that point?

  Thinking back, I didn't think she'd ever had a reason to go upstairs, due to her recent employment at the time. Crystal had only been working at the inn for a day or two when the murder occurred. Up to the time of the murder, Crystal's services had been confined to the first-floor rooms, primarily to the kitchen, library, and parlor. I recalled her mentioning an interest in finding out how the suites had been decorated the day after the murder. So how did her fingerprints come to be in Mr. Prescott's room?

  Who would have had the easiest and most frequent opportunities to slip poison into Mr. Prescott's mixed drinks, and then into my coffee the following day? Again the answer was Crystal. Who would have had the easiest opportunity to snatch the manuscript from Prescott's room and place it in Otto's suitcase? The obvious answer again, in my opinion, was Crystal. She could have hidden it in the kitchen cabinet and never even taken it to Otto's room. And why had she become so anxious and upset when I brought up the fact she hadn't been asked for a statement?

  The investigators had not done a gunshot residue test on her, either. She'd maintained a low profile in the kitchen and dining room the day the investigators were at the inn testing the guests' hands for signs of gunpowder residue. If I remembered right, she had even had to make a mad dash to the market at about that time. I glanced at her now and saw a vacant expression—the look of someone who'd lost his soul and was acting out of desperation. I had to tread lightly.

  "No, of course I don't think you had anything to do with the murder, Crystal. Don't be silly. I was just wondering why you were overlooked as a potential witness, considering you were up and about earlier than about anyone else that morning. Seems to me you could very possibly have seen or heard more than any other person in the inn, aside from the killer."

  "Couldn't tell you," Crystal said, with an uncharacteristic snippiness to her voice. "No one asked me if I saw or heard anything, but I didn't, so I didn't feel like I had any information to share with anyone."

  Her attitude gave me the urge to respond in kind, which was beyond doubt the stupidest thing I could have done at that point. "Guess you didn't really mind the fact you were being allowed to fly beneath the radar, so to speak. I'm sure you also don't mind that the county homicide team is stopping by the inn this afternoon and planning to get a statement from you and perform a gunshot residue test on you while they're here to test Stone and me. They said it's just a formality to test everyone who was present in the inn when the murder occurred. They'd suddenly realized the three of us had been overlooked and thought there might still be some residual GSR on our hands if we were involved in the shooting, even though they didn't anticipate that to be an issue."

  There was absolute evil in Crystal's eyes now. I was sure she was trying to evaluate the truthfulness of my comments. She might have sensed I was just throwing out comments to see how she'd react to them. Crystal could have figured out by now I was putting two and two together and coming up with a "crystal" clear conclusion.

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. I realized I was in a dangerous position. Crystal turned to me with an expression I'd n
ever seen on her face before. Her lips were curled into a sneer, and she said, "Think you're pretty smart, don't you, Ms. Starr? Were you thinking you just might trick me into an admission?"

  "Well, no, of course not, don't be silly—"

  "Okay, fine, I'll admit it, Lexie. I killed the greedy son-of-a-bitch—"

  "Oh, my God."

  "—and as much as I hate it," Crystal continued, "now I'm going to have to kill you, too. I feel badly about it because I really liked you. But, unfortunately, you've given me no choice. For your sake, I truly wish the tansy oil had been effective. It'd have been a lot less messy." Crystal's chest heaved with a heavy sigh. The look on her face indicated that having to kill me too was really inconveniencing her.

  "Just out of curiosity, where'd you get the tansy oil, Crystal?" I asked softly. Even facing probably death, my curiosity could not help but be piqued.

  "From the Dunsten Drug Store in St. Joseph, where I was working when I applied for this job," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Now I remembered where I'd seen the name Dunsten Drug Store before. It was on Crystal's resume when she applied for the housekeeper/cook position here at Alexandria Inn.

  "But according to the homicide team, there's no record of any tansy oil sales at the store for the last several months."

  "No, there wouldn't be any record of a sale. I stole the oil, of course," Crystal said with another sneer. "And who do you think kept the records there? I did. So I altered the inventory list to reflect the decreased amount of tansy oil the store had on hand. I take it no one has ever told you the story about how curiosity killed the cat?"

  She reached into the pocket of her apron and whipped out a small derringer handgun. A .32-caliber Derringer, no doubt, I thought with a start. My heart began to hammer inside my chest. Despite the likelihood I was about to be shot, I found it hard to believe Crystal could've already taken another person's life and was now threatening to take mine. Who would've ever imagined this sweet young woman could be a cold-blooded killer? Without thinking, I expressed my surprise at the change in her personality. She suddenly seemed like a person I'd never met before.