Bubble Chum

by Wendy Meadows

  I throw myself on the couch, and the two women sink into the chairs opposite. “Isn’t there anything you can do about it?”

  Zack leans against the door frame. “Forget living with it. The best way to deal with it is to solve the stupid case yourself. It doesn’t matter that you’re the main suspect. It’s a murder case and you’re a proven investigator. So solve it. There must be a way to show you weren’t there last night and that you didn’t kill him today.”

  “I don’t know how I can solve the case,” I point out. “David won’t tell me anything. He won’t tell me how the victim died, and he won’t tell me what evidence he found in the house to cast suspicion on me.”

  “That shouldn’t stop you looking into the murder,” Sabrina counters. “Zack is right. You’ve proven time and again you’re the best person to crack these cases. Start with the evidence you have and work from there. You’ll clear your name.”

  When I think about working on this case, I can’t summon the energy to do it. As much as I loved solving my last few cases, I don’t want to face it now. I can’t get excited about following the clues or unraveling the mystery. Why?

  David. He thinks I’m guilty. He doesn’t believe in me—either my abilities or my innocence. My own boyfriend is trying to put me in prison.

  “We could help you,” Patty suggests. “We could do some investigation work on this side. You could coordinate us as your team.”

  I hold up my hand. “I don’t think that’s a very good….”

  “Yeah!” Sabrina jumps in her chair. “Tell us what you want us to do, Margaret. We could be like your deputies.”

  “Hold it right there!” I straight up on the couch. “No one is going to be a deputy anything. We’re all just civilians.”

  “But you’re a Private Investigator,” Zack points out. “Why shouldn’t you investigate this, too? I mean, someone saw someone coming out of the victim’s room last night. It wasn’t you, so it must have been someone else. Who could it have been?”

  “You just said Detective Graham thinks you killed the victim this afternoon right before you found the body,” Sabrina points out. “That means whatever method the killer used must have acted right away. They must have done it in a few seconds. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to find the body in time. The guy must have been killed while you were in the Hotel, right?”

  I blink at her. Then I look around the room at the other two. They’re right. Too many factors about this case don’t add up. What am I doing moping about being a suspect when I have a case to solve? If I didn’t kill the victim, that means someone else did in the time I was at the Hotel.

  The three faces gaze back at me in rapt fascination. They wait for me to say something. “Mom?” Zack asks. “What are you thinking?”

  A switch flips in my mind and I sit bolt upright on the couch. I clap my hands. “You’re right. We have a case to crack. I went to the restaurant at two o’clock in the afternoon. We checked in with Marvin the owner before we went into the Hotel itself. I was with Stacy the whole time until ten minutes before I found the body. That means the killer must have been in the Hotel at the same time.”

  “Do you think the killer planned to murder the victim while you were there?” Sabrina asks.

  “I don’t see how they could,” I reply. “How could they know I would be there at that particular time? The only people who knew where I was going are you and Stacy. Do you remember? I was at your bakery. I never even planned to go to the Hotel at that time. I wouldn’t have left the bakery if Stacy hadn’t come over with the flyers right at that moment, and even then, we delayed so I could finish the gingerbread houses.”

  “So it was a coincidence,” Zack added. “The killer just happened to murder the victim while you were in the Hotel.”

  “Except that I was supposedly seen leaving the room the night before. Either someone made a serious mistake in identifying the wrong person, or else the killer told the Police I was there when I wasn’t.”

  “Who made the identification?” Zack asked.

  “David won’t tell me.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Patty asked. “What’s our first line of attack?”

  “Before we do anything or make any rash decisions, I want to go up to the Hotel and ask a few pointed questions. You guys can all help out by covering the candy store while I do that. Once I do, I’ll have a better idea what we need to investigate.”

  8

  Bright and early the next morning, Stacy Koontz gives me a ride out to the Overlook Hotel. She parks in the parking lot and eyes me on the side. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come inside with you?”

  “I’m sure,” I tell her. “I appreciate you taking time off from work to come with me, but I think I better do this alone. More people will only make them uncomfortable.”

  She touches my arm. “If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”

  “Thanks, but I’m already under suspicion for murder. I don’t see it getting any worse than that.” I get out of the car and go inside.

  I find Kevin at the front desk. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Ms. Nichols!”

  “Don’t look so surprised, Kevin,” I tell him. “I’m not here to kill anybody. I just want to ask a few questions.”

  He swallows hard and looks sideways for something. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

  I observe his behavior. This kid knows all about the investigation and he knows I’ve been fingered for the murder. He wouldn’t act so petrified if he didn’t. He behaves as though he’s standing in the presence of a cold-blooded killer.

  I shake my head. “All right, Kevin. I won’t talk to you about it. Can you tell me where Marvin is?”

  He opens his mouth a few more times like a beached fish. I won’t be getting any information out of him today. I turn away from the desk just in time to see Marvin himself pass through the corridor. He wears his restaurant concierge suit with the long white apron. He enters the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of champagne.

  I rush to intercept him. “Marvin!”

  He whips around and freezes when he recognizes him. “Ms. Nichols. What a surprise.”

  “I need to talk to you, Marvin. I need to find out what’s going on that made Detective Graham think I’m the one who killed that man. I know you’re busy right now, but will you please just talk to me? I have no one else to turn to.”

  He regards me for a moment. His face fidgets with competing emotions. Then he takes a firm grip on the neck of his champagne bottle. “I’m due to take this into the dining room, but I shall return in two minutes. Wait here.”

  He walks away and leaves me in the hall. I pace around for what seems like a lot longer than two minutes until he comes back. When he does, he sweeps up to me, takes my elbow, and steers me into a butler’s pantry off the restaurant.

  He shuts the door and murmurs low into my face. “The Detective would not be pleased if he found out I was speaking to you, Ms. Nichols.”

  “I know that,” I whisper back, “and I’m grateful for any help you can give me. Do you know why he thinks I’m the killer? He says someone spotted me coming out of the victim’s room, which is preposterous. He won’t tell me who told him about that, and he won’t tell me how the victim died, either.”

  I finish blurting this out to find him studying me from a detached distance. His mouth tightens and he speaks in a normal voice devoid of inflection. “I’m going to tell you, Ms. Nichols, because I believe you are innocent of this crime. I read all the stories about you solving those other murders, and I don’t believe for a second the Detective would bring you here on a date the way he did the other night if you were capable of doing anything illegal. That man has the instincts of a hawk and he is extremely particular about the company he keeps. I knew you from your cases, but when I saw the two of you at dinner the other night and he introduced you to me, I knew you had to be someone very special.”

  I lower my eyes to the floor.
No words come to me to answer him. I find myself falling, and many hands catch me and hold me aloft.

  “The man you found,” Marvin goes on, “was killed with a lethal overdose of atropine. It’s a drug often used to treat irregular heart rhythms. He was on a prescription dose, but he was killed by a massive injection directly into his carotid artery. It would have acted within seconds.”

  I gasp staring at him. “How do you know all this?”

  “Detective Graham told me. The type of atropine was not pharmaceutical grade, either. It was extracted from a plant: belladonna. That is why the victim’s face looked the way it did when you found him.”

  I can barely speak above a whisper. “So did the killer knew the victim? Did they know he was on a prescription of it? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He shrugs. “Who can say? That is all I know about the mode of death.”

  “What about the person who says I was in the room?” I ask. “Do you know who made the identification?”

  “It was Kevin Flue who told the Detective about that. You would have to ask him.”

  I glance over my shoulder toward the pantry door. “I don’t think he’ll talk to me. He looks like someone walked over his grave every time he sees me.”

  Marvin gives me a clipped nod. “I’ll straighten that out for you. Come with me.”

  He marches out of the butler’s pantry and heads for the front desk. Kevin’s eyes goggle when he sees me with Marvin. Marvin walks right up to him and says in a clear, distinct voice. “Kevin, I’m ordering you, as your employer, to tell Ms. Nichols anything she wants to know about the man who was killed upstairs. Do you understand?”

  He swallows hard. “Yes, Sir.”

  Marvin faces me and waves his hand toward Kevin. “Ms. Nichols?”

  “Thank you.” I approach the desk. “Did you tell Detective Graham that someone saw me coming out of the victim’s room the night before he died?”

  Sweat breaks out all over Kevin’s face. He doesn’t blink staring at me in stunned shock. “Yes, Ms. Nichols.”

  “Who told you they saw me coming out of his room?”

  Kevin glances at Marvin. Then he closes his eyes and stammers out in a quivering voice, “It was Mrs. Tripp.”

  I gasp. “Mrs. Tripp!”

  Kevin nods. “She said she saw you coming out of the room. She said, ‘I just saw Margaret Nichols. She’s the famous detective that solved all those murder mysteries.’ That’s what she said to me.”

  My mental circuits smoke in astonishment. “How could she see me the night before the murder when she was in New York City getting a beauty treatment? That’s her whole alibi. She relieved herself of suspicion by saying she wasn’t in the Hotel that night, so how could she identify me?”

  Kevin looks to Marvin for help. He opens his mouth but closes it again without saying anything. Neither of them answers me. That gives me something to go on, anyway, but I’m not finished by a long shot.

  “How did she know who I was?” I ask Kevin. “How did she know it was me?”

  “She said she recognized your picture from the papers,” Kevin replies.

  “And she never once questioned why I was in her room with her husband?” I ask. “She never raised any security concerns with you or Marvin or the rest of the staff—that a stranger was in her own hotel room?”

  Kevin stammers in confusion. “She never mentioned that, Ms. Nichols. I’m sorry.”

  “Can you confirm to me and to Marvin here,” I go on, “that you never saw me in the Hotel, the night before the murder or at any other time? You never saw me come in or go out, did you?”

  “No, Ms. Nichols. I remember everyone who comes into and goes out of the Hotel. I would definitely remember if you were here.”

  “Did you tell the detective that?” I asked. “Did you tell him that you never saw me in the Hotel that night?”

  “Well…..he…. you see, he never asked. He never asked if I saw you. I’m pretty sure he never asked any of the other staff, either. He was more concerned with when I saw Mr. Tripp.”

  I cock my head and frown. “Why did he want to know that?”

  “Because I was the last person to see him alive. I saw him leave the Hotel at nine o’clock and he didn’t come back until after midnight. The detective wanted to know all the details. The whole time he talked to me, he concentrated on that. He never really mentioned you.”

  I furrow my brow. “So Mr. Tripp wasn’t even in his room when his wife says I was there? He was out the whole time?”

  “Yes, Ms. Nichols. I’m certain of it.”

  “Did Mrs. Tripp know that?” I ask. “Did she know the room was empty?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, Ms. Nichols. She never mentioned it.”

  I turn away. “Thank you, Kevin. Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your help.”

  Marvin walks me to the entrance. “Is there anything more I can do for you, Ms. Nichols?”

  “I really appreciate your help, Marvin,” I tell him. “You’re a lifesaver. Do you think there’s any way you could arrange for me to speak to Mrs. Tripp?”

  “I don’t see why not. She’s due to stay here for the next two weeks until after the Winter Carnival. You can come back to the Hotel anytime and speak to her.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that. One more question, please,” I ask.

  He closes his eyes and bows. “Anything.”

  “Let me make sure I got this straight. Kevin told you someone spotted me in the Hotel, and you told Detective Graham. Is that how it went?”

  He nods again. “Exactly like that.”

  “I see. That explains why he shut me out of the investigation so fast.” I open the front door. “Thank you, Marvin. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to interview Mrs. Tripp.”

  I stride into the parking lot and get into Stacy’s car. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  I nod. “I found out why David considers me a suspect, and I found my first lead.”

  “Good.” She starts the motor and turns the car around. “That’s something, at least.”

  We drive back to West End, but now I’ve got the case on the brain and I can’t get it off. We’ve got a live one in Mrs. Tripp. She told the Police she was nowhere near West End the night before the murder. She must have been right there inside the Hotel if she identified me or whatever strange woman it was coming out of her bedroom.

  What married woman in their right mind brags about a celebrity sighting instead of worrying about some strange woman rendezvousing with her husband behind her back? Mrs. Tripp saw a woman she thought was me coming out of her hotel room. Instead of confronting her husband with his treacherous ways, she went to the Hotel front desk and filled the clerk’s ear full of the tale that the famous Margaret Nichols was in the Hotel.

  Even if she knew her husband was out of the room, that’s all the more reason her actions make no sense. If she knew her husband wasn’t there and she saw a woman she didn’t know coming out of what was supposed to be a locked room, shouldn’t she have reported that to the Hotel clerk, not a celebrity sighting?

  This Mrs. Tripp has some weird stuff going on. Her behavior and her story don’t add up and I intend to find out why. The whole case against me hinges on her seeing me in the room the night before. If I can break that down, I’m all clear.

  9

  Stacy drops me off in front of the candy store. I ought to go to Sabrina’s and finish my gingerbread houses, but at that moment, I spot David’s cruiser parked in front of the used bookstore. He stands by the driver’s door peering at his phone.

  On an impulse, I trot across the street and walk up to him. He lowers his phone and nods. “Good morning.”

  “Hey, do you mind if I talk to you for a sec?” I ask.

  He puts his phone in his pocket. “Go ahead.”

  “I just had a few words with Marvin at the Overlook.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he tells me. “You shouldn’t be investigating this murd
er.”

  “How can I not investigate it?” I return. “You can’t expect me to just sit back and let you put me away for murder without trying to clear my name.”

  He puffs out his cheeks. “For the love of God, Margaret, I am not trying to put you away for murder.”

  “What do you call it?” I fire back. “You suspect me.”

  “I call it doing my job, Margaret. Jesus, do you think I enjoy this?”

  “Then why don’t you work with me to get this case solved instead of trying to sideline me all the time?” I ask. “You know we could solve it a lot faster working together.”

  He clenches his teeth and shakes his head. “I can’t. I have to do this by the book.”

  “Whatever. I don’t. Marvin convinced Kevin to talk to me, too, and he says it was Mrs. Tripp who spotted me coming out of her room. Did you know that?”

  His eyes pierce me to the bone. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know that.”

  “Don’t you see what this means?” I rush getting the words out. “She wasn’t in New York at all. For one thing, she saw a woman she didn’t know coming out of her own hotel room. Either she knew her husband wasn’t in the room, in which case the normal response would have been to alert security and get the woman arrested for breaking and entering, or she didn’t know her husband was out, in which case the normal response would have been outrage that her husband was cheating on her. Instead, this woman goes to the hotel clerk and blabs that she just saw the great Margaret Nichols, Private Investigator extraordinaire. Something doesn’t add up.”

  He glares at me under heavy brows. “What are you saying I should do about it?”

  I hold out both hands, but I can’t stop them shaking. I have to convince him while I have his attention. “Listen to me. She says she identified me from a picture in the paper. If that’s true, she may have made a mistake and gotten me confused with someone else—or rather, gotten someone else confused with me. Marvin agreed to let me interview her, but I think we can use the opportunity to prove she never saw me coming out of her room. If I walked up to her out of the blue, she wouldn’t be able to recognize me. That will prove she never saw me coming out of her room in the first place. Then you’ll have no reason to suspect me of killing her husband.”