by Elaine Macko
“Do you know who it is, Alex?” Millie asked.
“Yes. No. Not really. But I’ve seen him before. In another picture. And he had his arm around Penelope.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Oh, no,” Sam said. “Is this the picture you said you found in her closet?”
“Well, not the picture, but it’s the same man, I’m sure of it.”
“We need to give it to the police,” Millie said.
“Yes, we do, but first we need to make a copy, because once I turn it over, I doubt if the police are going to want to make me a personal copy for my own investigation.” I gently put the picture in the baggie carefully touching just the edge. “I also want to talk to Reuben.” Reuben had been standing off to the side throughout the entire ceremony and maybe he had seen something. But I felt pretty sure if Reuben had seen a piece of debris at the site, he would have discreetly removed it, which meant someone dropped it there as they passed by with their rose.
“Damn!” I said startling Millie and Sam. “The killer must have dropped this picture as they placed the rose on the casket. Did either of you see anything?”
Millie and Sam looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Nothing, Alex. Sorry. And I didn’t notice it when I went by but that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t paying attention to the bottom of the casket. I just looked at the top and all the flowers. I’ll ask my mom and Mia if they remember anything,” Millie offered.
“No, don’t ask Mia. Just your mom,” I said.
“Alex, you’re not still thinking Mia had something to do with this?” Millie looked hurt but it was no time to play favorites.
I probably shouldn’t even have her mention it to her mother, but as I planned on interrogating my mother and Dorothy and Meme and her entourage, I couldn’t exactly tell Millie to keep quiet.
“Just your mom for now. I have no idea what’s going on here but his picture had to come from someone at the ceremony today and that means all the mahjong suspects.”
“But, Alex, the hole was dug a couple of days ago. Maybe someone came and placed it on the platform during the night?”
“I don’t think so, Millie. It would have blown away or gotten wet from the morning mist and this photo seems to be in good condition. Let’s go make a copy and then I’ll drop it off with Detective Maroni and tell him about the other picture I found in Penelope’s closet.”
“You didn’t tell him about the other picture yet?” my sister asked with an accusing tone.
“Well, no, it didn’t mean anything then. A picture of Penelope and an old friend or boyfriend judging by how she had it tucked away. I had no reason to think it had anything to do with the murder.”
“And you do now?” Millie asked.
I thought for a minute. “Well, it must. Why on earth would anyone toss it in there?”
“It had to be Els,” Sam said. “She must have found another picture of the man with Penelope and maybe she just threw it in there in a fit of anger.”
I looked around. We were the only ones still left in the now dark cemetery.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll drop the two of you off after I make a copy.”
“And then what?” Sam asked.
We arrived at my car and Millie climbed into the back seat. I really needed to get a four-door one of these days, but I loved my little Honda and saw no reason to get rid of it. I got in and started the car and then put the heater on. “And then I’m going to drop this picture off at the police station. I want to talk with Detective Maroni about a couple of things anyway.”
“About what?” my sister asked. “Alex? What’s going on?”
One of these days I’m going to have to learn to keep my feelings out of my voice because my sister picks up on it every time. I let the car idle while I turned to look at her.
“What if Henry got hit because of something to do with the murder? What if someone tried to warn me off?”
“No, Alex. It couldn’t be. It was just some jerk playing around with his phone instead of paying attention. He wasn’t even driving very fast, thank God.”
“Sam’s right, Alex,” Millie said from the back. “If he hadn’t been texting, then maybe, but that’s all it was. Something has to be done about people and their cell phones while driving.”
“You’re both probably right, but I just want to make sure because we don’t want something to happen again. Ever,” I said looking at my sister.
I put the car into gear and headed out of the cemetery. We drove along the empty road for several minutes in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. I knew Sam and Millie just wanted to make me feel better but if there was even the slightest chance the accident happened because of something I did, I had to find out.
We pulled up in front of our offices and I quickly ran in and made several copies of the picture. Back in the car, I headed toward Millie’s house and dropped her off and then took Sam back to my parents.
“Don’t mention anything about the picture yet,” I said to Sam.
She got out and then turned, bending to look back in at me. “It wasn’t your fault, Alex. It was just an accident.” She smiled at me and then closed the door.
I watched her go up the walkway to the front door and then go inside. I knew deep down she was probably right, but what if I had caused Henry to almost get killed? Had I finally gone too far with my Miss Marple act? I had to know. And the police needed to know about Bert and Penelope.
I looked at my watch. Hopefully, Detective Maroni worked late. I made a U-turn and headed off into the night.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I love reading mysteries. It all started with Mystery By Moonlight by Mary C. Jane. I read it over and over and never got tired of it. And I love a good murder mystery movie, but Hollywood doesn’t seem to make many of them anymore. I don’t know why. Who doesn’t love a whodunit?
But the one thing in all the books and movies that never rings true to me is when someone is being followed and they don’t know it. If you’re constantly looking in the rearview mirror like you’re supposed to, wouldn’t you notice the same car following you down the turnpike, off the exit, past familiar streets? And more than that, wouldn’t you just get a creepy feeling?
That’s how I felt now. I had a creepy feeling. Like someone was following me. The route from my parents’ home to the police station covered a pretty heavily traveled section of roadway in Indian Cove, and there were quite a few cars behind me. I admit I hadn’t noticed any particular car following me out of my parents’ subdivision, but still. I couldn’t shake the feeling someone lurked behind me on purpose.
And then I had a thought and it made my spine feel like a blade of ice slowly crawled up my back. What if someone, the killer, followed me from the cemetery? What if they saw me pick up the picture and wanted it back?
So caught up in my own horror story, I just about passed the police station and had to make a quick right turn into the driveway, tires squealing, and just missed plowing into a tree very inconveniently placed if you asked me.
I sat there for a moment, blocking the entrance, looking to see if anyone came up behind me or if I recognized any of the other cars whizzing past, but nothing. A few minutes later I sat across from Detective Maroni.
“We’re beginning to wonder if John is ever coming back.”
“You and me both,” I said, putting a bright smile on my face. I wondered if the whole town thought my husband left his new bride. “It’s not a problem, is it?” I asked, suddenly worried John might be out of a job when he got back.
“No, don’t worry about it,” Jim Maroni said, as he leaned back in his chair. “He has plenty of vacation time built up, and to tell you the truth, the citizens of Indian Cove and the surrounding towns have been pretty law abiding lately. Other than the murder, of course.”
I picked up my purse from the floor by my seat and took the picture out. “Well, that’s why I’m here. I went to Penelope’s funeral today. I di
dn’t see you there. I thought the cops always showed up.”
“A meeting I couldn’t get out of,” Detective Maroni said sheepishly.
“Take a look at this,” I said, as I handed him the baggie with the picture in it.
“A picture of a man. I don’t get it.”
“I found it. At the burial site. Actually, someone tossed it in the hole with the casket.”
“Alex, you jumped into a grave site?”
“Oh, no, not me. Millie did it. She’s my assistant.”
“I see. So who is this?”
“I don’t know. But Penelope has, had, I guess I should say, another picture of him in a secret box she kept in her closet.”
Detective Maroni leaned forward clasping his hands in front of him on the desk. “And you know this how?”
“I was there. In her room, helping her stepdaughter clean out her closet. They’re packing everything up to sell or donate and she hired my firm to send someone over to help.”
“And you didn’t have a more junior-level person to send over?” he asked, smiling at me.
“Well, they know me, so it just seemed natural.”
“What do you mean by a secret box?”
“I found a little box, tucked behind another box. And there were other things in it, too. Movie ticket stubs, a token from a bus or something, and the picture.”
“Maybe it’s a picture of her husband.”
I shook my head vigorously. “No, it’s not. I asked Els and she had no idea about the identity of the man.”
“I take it you didn’t see anybody at the funeral toss it in?” Detective Maroni asked as he ran a hand through his hair.
“No, but everyone walked by and tossed a pink rose onto the coffin after the ceremony. It was her favorite flower.”
“So anyone could have just dropped it. Where exactly was it?”
“On the metal thing that lowers the casket into the ground. It got kind of caught on it.”
Detective Maroni fingered the baggie and turned it over, probably checking to see if there was any writing on the back. “Maybe it was already there before the service?”
“No, I don’t think so. It would have been wet if it had been there all night and besides, no matter when it got placed, it still had to be put there by the killer. Who else would have done something like that?” Of course, it could have been Els who placed it out of anger and I planned to stop by her house on my way home to speak with her, but I didn’t want Detective Maroni getting there before me so I kept this thought to myself.
I told Detective Maroni about Bert’s admission and, just as I thought, Bert never mentioned it. I thanked the detective for his time and told him the latest on John’s truck trouble in Maine and then asked about Henry. As far as the police were concerned it was an accident but, because the texting bastard used his cell phone while driving, there would be implications.
“So you’re completely sure what happened to Henry had nothing to do with the murder at my house?”
“You mean like someone wanted to warn you off your investigation?”
I reddened but managed to squeak out a yes.
“No. Just a spoiled kid whose parents obviously let him do whatever he wants. It wasn’t his first accident, by the way, and this time we’re going to be pressing hard for some jail time or at least many, many hours of community service.”
I thanked Detective Maroni again and then I headed out. I walked out to the parking lot, thankful for all the outdoor lighting because, as hard as I tried to shake it off, I still felt pretty sure I was being watched.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I sat in my car for a few minutes and then wedged myself between two patrol cars leaving. If I was being followed, I wanted an escort. I managed to stay between the two cars for several blocks until one veered off to the right. I stayed with the other one for another couple of miles and then it pulled onto the turnpike. I kept my eyes on the rearview mirror and didn’t see another car behind me until I turned into Penelope’s area. A car had come off of a side street and got in line behind me, but a block later it pulled into a garage where presumably it lived.
I parked in front of Penelope’s without seeing anyone else and got out, locked my car and just about sprinted to the front door. Lights flooded the house and I saw another car in the driveway parked next to Penelope’s.
Els answered the door and invited me in.
“Alex, this is Lois. She was a good friend of Penelope and I invited her back here to pick something out to remember Pen by,” Els said to me. “Let me go get another cup.” She headed toward the kitchen and I took a seat on the sofa across from Lois.
“You and Penelope were good friends?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. For many years before she moved to Europe and then we lost touch for a while. I got married, had children, you know how it is?” Lois said, as she reached for her cup and took a sip. “But once she moved back to the States, we picked up again like no time had passed at all. And how did you know Penelope?”
“It was at Alex’s house where Penelope died,” Els said, as she sat next to me and reached for the tea pot and filled my cup.
“Oh my,” Lois said. Like Penelope, Lois was also a good looking woman and judging from her clothing and perfectly coifed white hair, she probably had money as well. Her skin looked luminescent and she had lovely blue eyes. The hair, rather than making her look older, actually blended beautifully with her skin and I wondered if it was natural or if she dyed it.
“I had just met Penelope Friday night. She came with a good friend of mine. We played mahjong,” I said.
“Yes, Penelope told me she had plans to meet a group of women to play. Are the police any closer to solving her murder?” Lois asked.
Before I could answer, Wilhelm plopped himself down next to me and thrust a plate of cookies in my face.
“Stroopwaffle?” he asked.
“Ah, well, yes, thank you, Wilhelm,” I said as I took a chocolate-covered cookie. I felt famished and I grabbed another before he pulled the plate back. I turned to Lois. “I’m not sure how the investigation is progressing but so far no one has been arrested.”
I took a bite of the cookie and then a sip of tea. I wanted to ask Els about the picture and show it to Lois as well, but I didn’t want to bring it out in front of Wilhelm. I didn’t know if Els had shared the finding of the other picture with him or not and I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up if she hadn’t. And then as if he could read my mind, Wilhelm stood up.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some errands to run.” Wilhelm took his coat from the front closet and then left.
As soon as I heard the car pull out of the drive, I took the picture from my purse.
“Els, did you by any chance drop this picture today at the grave site?”
Els took the copy I made from my hands and looked at it for a few moments. “Is this the same man we found in the other photo?” she asked looking at me.
“It seems to be, yes. You’ve never seen it before?”
Els shook her head. “No. Never. You say you found it at the cemetery? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” I said. I took the picture from Els and passed it across the table to Lois. “Lois, do you have any idea who this might be?”
Lois studied the picture for a moment. “No, I don’t believe so. What does it have to do with Penelope?”
“I found it beneath the casket. It got caught between the casket and the metal contraption they use to lower it into the ground.”
Lois handed it back to me and smiled. “Well, there, it probably just blew into her grave. It must be from another service.”
“No, Lois, it’s the same man,” Els said. “Just a minute.”
Els ran upstairs and a few minutes later came down with the little box. She sat next to me and untied the ribbon and took off the lid. She pulled out the picture of Penelope with the man and handed it across to Lois.
Lois put her hand to her heart.
“Oh, my.” She looked at me “And you have no idea who it could be?”
“No, I don’t and Els said she’s never seen him before. But from the ticket stubs in the box and some other things, it looks like it must be someone she knew when she lived in Europe. Did she write to you during that time?” I asked Lois.
“We wrote to each other for about six months, but then like I said, I met someone and got married, and Penelope worked all the time. She said she loved it but the Amsterdam office was very demanding. Wait! I do remember something.”
My heart began to race and Els leaned forward, clearly as eager as I to find out the identity of the mystery man.
“What do you remember?” I asked, though it probably came out more as a bark I was so anxious to hear what she knew.
“In one of our last letter exchanges I told her about meeting Glen and how I knew it was very quick, but we planned to get married. Just a very small affair, not a big wedding,” Lois said with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand which supported some very fine rings. “And my instincts must have been right because here we are still married.”
“Lois, the picture,” Els prompted.
“Oh, yes. Penelope wrote back and told me how much work she had to do and it was very demanding like I said. She used that word, demanding, but then she wrote she had found herself a very pleasant diversion to ease the pressure at work. She said maybe she had met her own Glen. So I assumed her diversion was a man. Penelope liked having a man in her life.”
“But maybe it was Pieter?” I asked.
“When exactly was this?” Els asked Lois.
“Well, we only wrote for about six months so probably about that time, five or six months after her arrival in Amsterdam.”
“No, I mean what year,” Els pressed.
“Oh, dear, let me think, well, it must have been about nineteen eighty-four or five, I would imagine. Probably the first month or two of eighty-five.”
“Then it wasn’t my father,” Els said firmly.
