Damsels in Distress

by Joan Hess

  “Here’s the address. He doesn’t have a phone yet.” She handed me a slip of paper. “Do tell Edward how sorry we all are for his loss. I think it would be a nice gesture for our fiefdom to get together for a little memorial potluck in honor of Salvador. Let’s say Wednesday at six o’clock, shall we? Please tell Edward when you see him. I expect you to come, too, Lady Clarissa. You’re one of us now.”

  “I’ll have to check my calendar,” I said, easing toward the front door. “My fiance is back in town, and we have to make wedding plans.”

  “You must bring him with you. After all, he is your knight in shining armor.”

  “I’ll mention it to him.” I did not add that I would do so shortly after the next Ice Age receded.

  “We look forward to meeting him,” she called as I got in my car.

  I turned around and drove as rapidly as I dared toward the highway. Peter was not apt to fancy himself my knight in any kind of armor, and the members might not be all that pleased if he showed up at the memorial potluck. He is not always the most pleasant of interrogators, particularly when he’s tired. And miffed at me, which he surely had been—and would be, as long as I kept finding myself involved in his investigations. This would the last one, I swore. I had not intended to get snarled in this one, and had done my best to disregard it. In the future, all my energy would be directed at bookselling, gardening, and getting Caron through high school and safely packed off into the hands of some naïve college dean in a distant state. I would read travel magazines and gourmet recipes. I would memorize the phone numbers of every caterer in Farberville. In my spare time, I would write mystery novels and use my earnings to buy Peter a new sports car every year. I would be a wife, a wanton lover, a sympathetic ear, a friend in need.

  As soon as I talked to Edward about Angie, anyway.

  Edward lived in an old house that had been chopped into apartments. It was only a few blocks from my duplex, but lacked both the view and the charm. The gray paint was peeling and streaked; several cracked windowpanes were held together with duct tape. I went up a few creaky steps to the porch and read the names on eight rusty mailboxes. Edward lived in 2-C, which implied the second floor. I went into a foyer of sorts and up a staircase, ignoring the graffiti sprayed on the walls and the subtle stench of beer. I kept a watch for bats as I continued down a hallway. Edward’s door was open, and discordant music pulsated from within the apartment.

  I stuck my head in and shouted, “Edward?”

  After a moment, he appeared from another room, wearing only a towel around his waist. “Claire? What are you doing here?”

  “I came by to see how you’re doing,” I said glibly. “May I come in?”

  “Yeah, sure, give me a minute.” He retreated, closing the door behind him.

  I found the source of the din and turned down the volume to a tolerable level. The room functioned as a living room and kitchen. The furniture had come from a thrift shop or a yard sale, and the walls were a dirty beige. Edward had made no effort to disguise its bleakness with so much as a poster. He had made at least one friend, I noted as I spotted a lacy bra under the coffee table.

  I sat on the edge of the sofa and tried not to stare at the remains of a marijuana joint in a saucer. The pungent aroma lingered. It occurred to me that I might have come at an inauspicious time, but I was worried that I might make things more awkward later if I were to leave. All I needed was five minutes to show him the photo of Rosie Neely and ascertain if she was the person he’d spoken to on the porch.

  Edward was dressed in jeans when he came back into the room. “Excuse the mess,” he said. “This is temporary. I haven’t even unpacked my suitcases. Do you want a beer or something?”

  “No, thank you. I promise I won’t stay long. I need to ask you something.”

  “How I’m doing? Okay, I guess. The detectives were mad at me because I left the Ren Fair, but they let me explain and seemed satisfied. They let me go after a couple of hours.” He opened the refrigerator door. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I want to show you a photo.”

  He sat down next to me and peered at it. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s the woman who died in the fire at Angle’s house.”

  “It is?” He sounded bewildered. “What’s her name?”

  “That doesn’t really matter. You went by the house after the potluck and talked to someone. If it wasn’t this woman, then it was someone calling herself Angie. I want to know who and where she is.”

  “Hold on,” he said. He bent over the photo and studied it more carefully. “The woman in California had longer hair, dangly earrings, and a lot of makeup. She was wearing a sort of beret with beads and flowers, too. I couldn’t really see the face of the woman I talked to on the porch that night. She stayed in the doorway, with the light behind her. This might have been her.” He held the photo at arm’s length and squinted at it. “Yeah, it might have been. And she wouldn’t have recognized me, since I was in garb when I met her the first time. Nobody remembers my face, just my pointed cap and purple tights.”

  “Maybe so,” I said as I took the photo from him and put it in my briefcase. “My apologies for interrupting you this afternoon. Lanya said to tell you that the fiefdom is having a potluck in Salvador’s honor on Wednesday at six.”

  “She would, wouldn’t she? They can all sit around and talk about how much they loved and respected my father. Even the murderer will shed a few tears.”

  “It’s not my idea, Edward, and I can promise you that I won’t be there. You don’t have to go, either.”

  “Oh, but I think he should,” said Fiona as she strolled into the room, wearing only a T-shirt and panties. She smirked at my expression, which was less than composed. “Surprised to see me, Mrs. Malloy? I realized that Edward and I have many things to discuss, so I dropped by. Don’t you think the two of us should plan the funeral? In a way, I’ll be Edward’s aunt, since I’ll be the mother of his half brother. Does that make me an almost stepmother or a half aunt?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ick,” said Luanne as she refilled my cup in the beer garden. “It sounds incestuous, even if it’s not. Technically, they’re not related. Still...”

  “I had the same reaction,” I admitted. “All I could think to do was get out of there. I skittered down the stairs and out to my car in record time. I was calmer by the time I got to the Book Depot, but I was glad Caron and Inez had locked up and left. Fiona is carrying Edward’s father’s baby. It gives me the shivers.”

  “Yeah.” Luanne leaned back and gazed at the wisteria. “It’s not the age difference, although there’s a big gap in maturity. From what you’ve said, she’s a conniving seductress and he’s an innocent kid.”

  “Or maybe he’s not,” I said. “He wasted no time consorting with the enemy, so to speak.”

  “Nor she with him.”

  “True. Fiona told me yesterday that she believed Edward was lying, but if he wasn’t, she would be happy to split the estate. Maybe she decided it was wiser to consolidate it. Edward may feel the same way. “

  “Have you told Peter?”

  I took a sip of beer. “No, but I’m going to tonight. I left a message inviting him for dinner. I think it’s prudent to put a few glasses of wine into him before I admit I’ve been talking to his suspects. He gets testy about that. I’m sure that Jorgeson has already told him that I was at Salvador’s house yesterday. I didn’t intend to confront Serengeti, but there she was. And then Fiona showed up at my house later, and she looked so pathetic that I had to let her inside.”

  “You posed as a lawyer this morning at DHS, and subsequently talked to Rosie’s friend at the auto parts store. You went to Lanya’s, and then Edward’s apartment, where you happened to run into Fiona. Yes, I think Peter may be irritated by all this activity.”

  “No kidding,” I said, wondering if I’d finally gone too far. “I was just trying to help.”

  Luanne
rolled her eyes. “Peter’s always so appreciative, isn’t he? You can bleat apologies over chianti, but he may not be buying this time. I hope you realize I’ve put down a nonrefundable deposit with the caterer.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t intend for it to be.” She handed me a tissue from her purse. “Please do not snuffle in public. I have a reputation to maintain in this beer garden. These lowly college kids hold me in awe. All the guys wish they had the courage to ask me out, and all the girls secretly hope they’ll be me in twenty years. Now buck up and figure out how to lie to Peter.”

  I took her advice and drove home. Caron was not there, which was fine with me. She no doubt assumed I had Ruined Her Life, as she would say, by making her spend most of the day in the bookstore. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t ruined mine, either. What was even more maddening was that my snooping had led me nowhere. All of the key players had been out of pocket for at least a few minutes Saturday afternoon. Most of them admitted they’d stopped by the archery range. I had no way to piece together the time frame. Their motives were thicker than molasses. Had Salvador received Edward with open arms, or had he denied paternity? I had only Edward’s word. Fiona had visions of Vail and Bimini, but again, Salvador might have laughed at her. Julius would have been furious, in either case. The same problem arose with Lanya and Anderson, and as for Benny, his undeniable ego might have been struck a mortal blow if Lanya told him about her business venture with Salvador.

  Only William and Glynnis Threet were without motive. As far as I knew anyway; I was still curious about Percy.

  I was having trouble figuring out where Serengeti fit in to all this, beyond being a first-class wacko who envisioned herself as Queen Zanthra. I wasn’t sure Peter would get anything more out of her than I had. He wouldn’t tell me if he had, being a closed-mouth sort—and too busy to return my call.

  I changed into more comfortable clothes and poured myself a drink. I was sitting on the balcony when Caron pounded up the stairs. “Sorry about today, dear,” I called.

  Her face was stony when she joined me. “Where’s your wedding dress?”

  “I didn’t see anything I liked,” I said truthfully. “Where have you been?”

  “Inez and I took our costumes back to the college drama department. That man—Mr. Valens—had the audacity to bawl us out because we didn’t take them back yesterday. It’s not like the theater is putting on some dumb play by Shakespeare tonight. He would have had an Absolute Fit if Inez hadn’t taken them to one of those one-hour dry cleaners while I was doodling at the Book Depot half the day. That hippie freak showed up and started raving about some comic book character. It was all I could do not to yawn in his face. Do I look like I care about comic books? He may have the mentality of a six-year-old, but I don’t. He ought to be locked away.”

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  “Vlad the Impaler adored kitties and puppies. Oh, Mr. Valens says he wants to talk to you. I told him you were at the mall.”

  “Why does he want to talk to me?”

  She stared at me. “I should know?”

  “No,” I said. “I apologize for ruining your day. Do you have plans for tonight?”

  “Yeah, Louis Wilderberry and I are eloping at midnight. He’s going to lean a ladder against the balcony so I can scramble down into his arms. Other than that, no.”

  “What light through yonder window breaks?”

  “Give me a break, Mother,” she said, then went inside.

  I was still on the balcony when Peter drove up and parked at the curb. As he came along the sidewalk, he glanced up but did not smile. It was unfortunate that Louis Wilderberry had not shown up a few hours early with his ladder. Short of scrambling down a rickety trellis, I was trapped. I went inside just as Peter reached the landing. “Hello,” I said cautiously.

  “Do you have any beer?”

  “I think so,” I said, then scurried into the kitchen and rooted around the refrigerator until I found one. “Would you like some crackers?”

  “What I would like is to be cast ashore on a deserted island with miles of white beaches and coconut trees. I’d like to lie in the sun in utter solitude, listening only to the waves breaking against the shore and the cries of distant seagulls. At night, I’d sleep in a hammock under the stars. Food and drink would appear mysteriously. I would bathe in a waterfall.”

  “Utter solitude? Does that mean I’m out of the picture?” I asked as I sat down near him.

  “I’m afraid so. It seems that when I invited you to go for a sail, you were too busy bothering my suspects to come along.”

  “Oh.” I considered taking offense, but I was a little shy on self- righteous indignation. I opted for a diversionary tactic. “I know how Salvador made his fortune.”

  “So do we. He wrote and illustrated graphic novels under a pseudonym. His series about some medieval warlord is tremendously popular, especially in Japan. There have been a couple of TV series based on his characters, as well as animated movies. His earliest novels are a hot commodity if they’re in pristine condition.”

  “Graphic novels. I couldn’t remember the trade term.”

  Peter glanced at me, still grim. “You should have gone ahead and broken into the file cabinets. Forget your hairpin?”

  “I did not engage in criminal activity,” I said. “The front door was unlocked.”

  “How convenient for you.”

  I didn’t think it was worth the effort to offer my feeble excuse about my concern for Edward. Even Jorgeson had failed to buy it. “I suppose you heard that I was talking to Serengeti. I had no idea that she would be there. Did she admit she’s been living there?”

  “That’s about the only thing she admitted at first,” he said. “She wouldn’t give us any information about herself—no name, previous address, anything. Finally, when I’d threatened to hold her indefinitely, she broke down and allowed an officer to escort her back to the house to fetch an identification card. Turned out to be an expired driver’s license from Oregon. The photo matched and had an address for some little town. The police there said she was in some kind of commune. She had a couple of warnings for possession of marijuana, nothing they take very seriously out there, and a speeding ticket. She claimed that she left there three or four years ago and drifted around, living in seedy hotels or homeless shelters. Whenever she found a job, she was paid in cash.”

  “What’s her real name?”

  “Michelle Galway. She showed us a house key and said that she did light housekeeping and modeled for Salvador. After that, we had to let her go. The victim was killed fifteen miles away. If she has a car, we can’t find it, so we can’t place her at the scene.”

  I leaned back on the sofa and propped my feet on the coffee table. “I don’t think she killed Salvador. She told me she wanted to humiliate him because of some slight in the past. One can slander the dead, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be as entertaining.”

  “Anything else, Miss Marple?”

  I dutifully related all my encounters in the past twenty-four hours, although I omitted the trip to the DHS office and implied the uniformed officer had mentioned the auto parts store. “As far as I can tell, any one of the key players could have gone by the archery range and waited until no one else but Salvador was there.

  All he or she would have to do is suggest a private conversation at the edge of the woods.”

  “While carrying a battle-ax.”

  “The murderer could have come up with some story about returning it to Benny, or how irresponsible it was to leave it in the Royal Pavilion with all the kids running around.”

  “Not bad,” Peter conceded. He popped open the beer and sighed. “I’ve had about six hours of sleep since I arrived here Saturday. The amount of paperwork generated by two hundred thirty- two potential witnesses is unbelievable. The national media have picked it up because of the extraordinary circumstances. The captain won’t come out from under his desk. The mayor has been calli
ng every half hour to demand some new tidbit to offer at the next press conference. Even imperturbable Jorgeson is starting to mutter about retirement.”

  “Does the media know about Salvador’s works?”

  “Some hotdog reporter traced the copyright at the Library of Congress. We’ve been warned to expect the Japanese media to show up tomorrow. They’ll probably declare a national day of mourning. I may take the FBI up on their offer.”

  “What offer?” I said, stiffening.

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Thanks for the dinner invitation, but all I want to do is go home, take a shower, and get some sleep.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. After a brief interlude of fooling around, he released me and tromped down the stairs.

  “How embarrassing,” Caron said as she emerged from the hall and went into the kitchen. “You two behave like you’re in middle school. Why is there never anything to eat in this house? What’s the point of having a refrigerator if it’s always empty?”

  I squelched my pubescent tingles. “You’re absolutely right, dear. Take the cash in my purse and go to the grocery store.”

  “Now? I’m waiting for Carrie to call.”

  “Now,” I said. “If Carrie calls, I’ll tell her you’ve gone into the forest to shoot something for dinner.”

  “That is so not hilarious.”

  “If you want the car at some time in the next month, then go now. It’s a long walk to the mall.”

  Caron appeared in the doorway. “How would you know that?”

  “I have an impeccable sense of distance,” I said, giving her the benefit of my steely maternal glare, perfected over the last decade. She spun around and flounced out the kitchen door. Once I heard the car start, I replenished my drink and sat down to watch the local news.