Until Death

by Alicia Rasley

  I muttered, “I guess you met Martelli.”

  Mike shot me a sharp look, but Wanda went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “Who knows how they’d screw it up? Who they’d end up fingering? So why risk it? And anyway.” She shrugged. “Who’s gonna blame you? I mean, I can see how you think Don deserved it.”

  “Deserved it?” She kept saying these awful, crazy things.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Let’s say it got to a jury. And they’d mostly be old ladies, probably, and they’d never convict after they heard how Don dumped you, screwed you out of a good settlement, and married a younger woman. And now you’re too old to find another man. They’d say it was justifiable.”

  Despite what she thought, I’d never considered murder . . . until now, that is.

  Mike put a warning hand on my bare arm, a very stern warning hand. It wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t about to kill her before she confessed, but he kept his grip as she added, “You’d get off on insanity. Don’s name would be dragged through the mud, and for what?” Her face hardened. “But now you’re threatening me, so all bets are off.”

  “Threatening what?” Mike said in that reasonable tone of his.

  Wanda must have decided that he was her champion, because she sent a beseeching look his way. “Threatening to confess to the police if I don’t pay her off.”

  I started to say something, but that hand tightened on my arm. Anyway, I was too disoriented to know what to say. If she thought I killed Don, did that mean she hadn’t? Or did it mean she was just in denial? Or was she just a good actress? I was leaning towards that last one. She’d acted innocent with Don, after all, and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

  “I understand the motive part,” Mike said. “But what about means and opportunity?”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was seeking evidence against me. But I did know better. Didn’t I? Now that everything had been turned topsy-turvy, I wasn’t sure what to believe.

  “That night. He got a call from her.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I cried, but Mike gave me another minatory grip.

  “He went to the construction site to meet her. And”—she spat out—“next thing I heard, he was dead.”

  “So this is your plan,” I said, “to frame me to keep me from pursuing the truth.”

  Mike ignored me. “I still don’t get it. How did she kill him once she got him there?”

  “Maybe he took her up to the sixth floor to show her the work. And she got mad and shoved him, and he fell out.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t premeditated. She got mad and shoved him, and too bad it was right by the wall.”

  “Yeah. More like an accident.”

  It sounded plausible . . . if she referred to Wanda and not me. Maybe Wanda hadn’t planned it. Maybe he’d told her he was leaving her, and she pushed him, and . . .

  Mike was saying sympathetically, “You don’t think she meant to do it.”

  She shot me a contemptuous look. “Like I said, you can hardly blame her, considering.”

  “This is a very neat frame,” I interrupted, “The only problem is, I didn’t do it. And you know I didn’t do it. But we all three know who did.”

  “I don’t know that anyone did it,” Mike said. “I’m trying to mediate before there’s another untimely death. Now, Mrs. Ross, did Don tell anyone else about this phone call?”

  She turned back to Mike, as if I weren’t worth any more of her time. “As a matter of fact, someone who worked at the club heard Don tell me he was meeting . . . her.”

  A flash went off in my head. “Let me guess. That someone is Bruiser. The bartender.” This time she forgot I was beneath her notice and looked at me with surprised dismay. Bull’s-eye. “Your old friend, who recently reminded you that you owed him for helping you get millions from that old real estate guy. The one whose phone number was on your cellphone bill, which Don sent to me. Just in case.”

  I could see her mind working this over. How did I know? “My cellphone bill?”

  “So you called this guy?” Mike asked gently. “A lot?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “And you went with him that night?”

  She shrugged, like it was no big deal. “He happened to be working there.”

  “Couldn’t be that you and he planned to meet, could it?”

  Her flush told me I’d struck home. “Is that true?” Mike said, still sweet to her, at least. I knew he was playing the good cop to my bad cop, but still it rankled.

  “Maybe I wanted to see him. Wanted Don to see him. Because of her.” She shot me another hate-filled look. “Don was talking about going back to her. And I wanted to remind him I had someone to go back to too. So we went to Brandini’s, because I knew Ty would be working that night, and I made sure that Don noticed that we were still close.”

  Mike kept an admirably straight face during this recital. Not me. I was about to sing the theme song from Grease, because for sure she’d stolen this tale of high school Othellos from there. “Think back. Can you remember anything about that phone call from the first Mrs. Ross?”

  “For instance,” I interposed brightly, “that there never was a phone call, and he never mentioned my name, and you made this all up to frame me.”

  She glared. Mike gave me a more-in-sorrow-than-anger look, which said I wasn’t being very helpful. The lunch crowd was straggling off, and we were alone in a circle of empty tables, so at least no one was eavesdropping.

  “There was a phone call,” Wanda said belligerently. “It was about eight-thirty. It did sound like business, I admit that. That’s why I was surprised when he hung up and said it was her.”

  She shot me a venomous glance, but Mike was deep into interrogation mode. “What made you think it was a business call?”

  She shrugged. “He was talking on the phone about that damned lawsuit. And later he said that was why he was meeting her, to get her advice on the financial part.” Wanda’s voice twisted into sarcasm. “He said how smart she was, how she could add a column of figures in her head just like that, how she could just look at this brief and tell him how much money would be involved.”

  I reminded myself it was entirely possible this phone call, and Don’s subsequent comments, took place only in Wanda’s desperate imagination. To judge from her sour look, she didn’t like imagining Don saying anything positive about me.

  “So he went to talk to someone about the lawsuit.”

  “Not someone. Her.”

  Mike shook his head. “No, couldn’t be Meg.” Finally, some support. “She couldn’t have called him, because she was at a theatrical performance at the time.”

  This only stopped Wanda for a moment. “Well, if she’s as smart as he always said, and so good with computers, she could have rigged something up, like a recording that automatically called him and told him to meet her.”

  Mike dismissed this intriguing notion. “No, it wasn’t Meg. Any idea why he might want you to think it was?”

  “All I know,” Wanda said harshly, “is he told me he was going to meet with her, and that would be a seriously stupid thing to tell me if it wasn’t true, because it made me mad.”

  “Of course,” Mike said thoughtfully, “that could have been his intention.” He looked gravely at Wanda. “You see, Mrs. Ross, the first Mrs. Ross does have an alibi and couldn’t have done what you say she did. If your only evidence is Mr. Ross’s phone call, can you think of any reason he might tell you it was his first wife if it wasn’t?”

  She looked from him to me, and then back to him. Her gaze lingered there. Sourly, I thought that no amount of proof from me would make her drop her stupid accusation, but that reasonable tone—and probably that handsome face—had her hesitating. “You think he was, like, trying to make me jealous? Because I was making him
jealous with Ty?”

  For just a second, I thought it might be true, that the “missed you” card from Don might have just been part of his juvenile little game with Wanda. I waited for the flash of pain, but it never came, only a burr of irritation that I’d ever had to deal with these two puerile soul mates. Then I remembered she couldn’t be trusted, that she was trying to frame me for her own crime, and fired a shot across her bow. “And you believed it, because that’s what you used to do with him, right? Call him and pretend it was business, and then do your business on the office floor, right?” It was worth it just to see her face turn that dull brick red. “Well, I don’t make trysts in half-built buildings.” I was about to say something crude and cruel, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  Before I could speak, there was a hiss and the sound of a chair scraping back, and then a flash of motion, and Mike’s hand shot out and caught her at the wrist before she could grab my neck, all too vulnerable in my V-neck blouse. “Settle down,” he told her in a cold, hard voice. “You’re playing right into her hands. She’ll have you charged with assault. She’s ruthless, remember.”

  If it weren’t for my new tough-guy image, I would have sat there and beamed at him. Ruthless? Me?

  Once she’d settled back into her seat with a mutter of rage, he said, “Just consider that Don said the one thing he knew would make you mad. And he left to go to his office, thinking you would follow him, trying to make up.”

  “Not a chance.” Her glance this time was contemptuous. “She would have done that, chased after him. But not me.”

  This time Mike put that quelling hand on my knee. He said, “So he goes to the building to meet someone. It’s about the lawsuit. Do you think he was worried about this meeting?”

  “No. He was planning to have a good time. With her.”

  I’d had enough. “Now let me present another scenario. You’re at dinner. You argued about your relationship. Specifically, you wanted him to revoke the prenuptial contract.”

  “You can’t know that,” she said sullenly.

  “Yes, I can. He told me. And he told Dr. Warren as well.”

  Dr. Warren said nothing. Client confidentiality had kicked in, or maybe agreeing with me would ruin his good-cop act. That was all right. I could do this without his help.

  “And you went to his office. Maybe you had the prenup revocation papers in your purse. And up there on the sixth floor, near the wall, you tried again. You pulled out the papers and a pen. When he refused to sign, you shoved him, and out he went.”

  She said, “That’s crazy. I wasn’t at that building. He left the restaurant, and when Ty got off, I had him drive me home.”

  “Great alibi. Ty your former, and maybe current lover, who expects some payoff.”

  She turned to Dr. Warren. “This is all crazy. She did it, and she’s trying to pin it on me.”

  I had to move things along to the confession. So I went for the drama. I reached into my bag, carefully avoiding the stop button on the recorder, and grabbed the baggie. “I have proof!”

  Wanda stared at it blankly. Mike Warren closed his eyes.

  “It’s the pen you forced on Don,” I cried. “It fell out when you shoved him.”

  Wanda just stared. “That’s it? That’s your big evidence?”

  “That’s not all I’ve got.” I stuck my hand in my purse and felt the box Don had left at the pawn store. But I didn’t want to tip my hand. “You had means and opportunity. Plus motive. If he died, you’d get everything.”

  I expected an eruption, but she surprised me. “You’re pissed he didn’t leave your son anything but that annuity. You thought I’d pay you off to keep you quiet.”

  An opening. Maybe a confession for the tape. “Will you? Pay me off?” That hand on my knee gripped, but I wrenched away. Mike wasn’t going to stop me when I was so close.

  “I don’t have to. I stayed at Brandini’s till Ty got off at ten. The waitress can vouch for that.” She fumbled in her purse and got out her wallet, and as I watched, dumbstruck, she hauled out a few receipts. “There. I knew I’d saved it.” She shoved it, not at me, but at Mike.

  He gave the slip of paper a close look. Then he glanced at me. “Credit card receipt. Eleven dollars. 10:01 p.m.”

  I made a grab for it, but he shoved it back in her purse. I said grimly, “That just proves that her buddy the bartender printed it up for her. Afterwards.”

  She gave me another of those patented scornful looks. “You think I’m stupid? I wouldn’t give you that receipt if I didn’t know that the whole staff saw me there that night. Because I was there. Just like I said.”

  Mike turned to her. “What happened then?”

  “Ty drove me home. Got there about ten thirty to”—she faltered here—“the message from the police.”

  My heart sank. She didn’t have to rely on Ty for an alibi. That meant—I didn’t want to think what it meant.

  “So it’s settled,” Mike broke in. “You don’t like or trust each other, and you have reason. And you both had motive to kill Don, but you both have alibis. So maybe you can just accept that neither of you killed him.”

  “He thinks,” I told Wanda, “that Don killed himself?”

  “Don?” Wanda scoffed. “Not a chance. He liked himself too much. I mean, he had too much to live for.”

  “The first Mrs. Ross,” Mike said, “agrees with you on that. Of course, it’s to her benefit to do so.”

  I shot him a glare. “To my son’s benefit.”

  “What?” Wanda said.

  “The insurance adjustor. If it’s suicide this soon, they don’t have to pay. And Tommy doesn’t get his annuity then.”

  “Oh.” Wanda’s mouth got tight, and I wondered how much she cared. But then she burst out, “He wouldn’t do that to Tommy. He would have fixed that if he had any plans to off himself. And anyway, he didn’t.”

  I didn’t want to agree with her. But I sort of did. I looked back at that receipt sitting in the middle of the table. “You really didn’t do it?” I said. She shook her head. I wasn’t sure I believed her. Well, actually, I didn’t want to believe her. But there was the receipt. I couldn’t deny that. And she sure seemed to think that the wait staff would back up her alibi.

  Mike broke in. “You didn’t do it. She didn’t do it. And neither of you think he did it. The question is,” he added, “who did?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  WANDA’S EYES narrowed. “What about the guy who is suing him? The farmer?”

  “Why kill Don,” Mike said. “If the farmer was already suing?”

  Good point. Reluctantly, I replied, “Because he couldn’t win? Let’s face it. Don could afford good lawyers and knew the judges. If Murdoch was paranoid, he might have decided he couldn’t get justice through the legal system.”

  “He wouldn’t gain anything from killing Don.” He could have filed for a venue change if he couldn’t get a fair trial here.” For a shrink, Mike put rationality high on the list of human priorities.

  I suddenly remembered the third item in Don’s silver box. The survey. I pulled it out of my purse and dropped it on the table. They both looked at it blankly. “It’s a survey,” I said. “Don sent it to me.”

  Wanda glared at me again. “He sent you that? And my cellphone bill? Gee, he sure sent you a lot.”

  “Yeah,” I said belligerently. “I guess that means he trusted me.”

  She snorted, but didn’t object. Instead she reached out and pulled the piece of paper close. “A survey? Of what?”

  “The land Don got from the farmer. Maybe, you know, Don was trying to—” I faltered. “I don’t know. But this farmer. Maybe he was angry when he found out how much Don got when he sold it to Netmore. Wanted revenge.”

  “Murdoch was angry, yeah. And he sued Don. But he wanted Don to set
tle,” Wanda said. “He said he’d drop the claim if Don gave back the land. Don couldn’t, because he’d have to pay Will.” She burrowed into her bag and came up with a tissue. Gruffly, she added, “Don considered giving Murdoch a little to make him go away. And a little wasn’t enough for the old guy.”

  “So it could have been Murdoch who called that night and wanted to meet Don at the building site?” Mike said. “Did Murdoch have Don’s cell number?”

  “The office phone is set to call forwarding. But she was the one he expected a call from.”

  I didn’t bother to counter her mistake. The thought of Don pretending to tryst with his ex-wife amused me now. “But it could have been Murdoch, making another try to get Don to give him back the land.” The more I thought of it, the better sense it made. “You said Don didn’t want to settle. Maybe he made that clear at the construction site, and Murdoch got angry and shoved Don over the wall.”

  We were all quiet for a moment. Then Wanda’s face twisted. “The attorney and Brad say I should settle the lawsuit and sell the business.”

  Trust Wanda to glom onto older, wiser men. But she had her plan. She’d soon seduce another rich guy (Will, or better yet, Brad) and let him support her. Sexist, but sound business. “So no matter what Don wanted, you’re going to settle.” I took a deep breath. “You’re going to settle the lawsuit, even though you now think this guy might have killed Don?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, who do you think would be next on his list? Me. And I’m not about to orphan my kid.” She nodded decisively. “So if I can get it all to work, that’s what I’m going to do. Settle. And maybe then he’ll go away.”

  “You’re not going to go to the cops with this?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Before I could argue the point, Mike spoke up. “What I don’t understand,” he added thoughtfully, “is the pen.”

  I felt in my purse for the baggie and found it next to the phone. “Don used to hand the pens out to employees.” I shot a glance at Wanda, who shot a glance right back. “And clients. Murdoch would be the sort to use an old-fashioned fountain pen.”