Only the chirping of a bird flitting from tree to tree and the distant whirling of a helicopter heading to St. John’s Hospital broke the silence. I wished I could remain there all day, pushing aside thoughts of murder, motives, and mayhem. Sadly, I knew the respite would end soon.
I studied Doug for a long moment, observing the poise and inner strength he exuded. Did he come by it naturally or had it been drilled into him during his years in the Navy? Whatever it was, I wished I could tell him about my suspicions and trust him. Before, given my feelings about him based on my first impression and his good looks, that would have been impossible. Now I was tempted to confide in him. The motives for killing Victoria I’d attributed to him and his father had been a real stretch. If they weren’t guilty, I hoped I’d soon find out.
The purring sound of a Lexus pulling into the drive jarred me out of my reverie.
Doug jumped up. “I’m on stage again. Can I get you anything before I start?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll be in shortly.” I was glad I hadn’t said anything to him about my investigation or the report I’d found and decided to wait. I wanted to mull over what I’d learned before saying anything to anybody. I was dealing with people’s good names and reputations, and I needed to tread lightly—but not so lightly I continued to endanger myself.
I watched Doug walk away and shifted uncomfortably, feeling the papers at my waistband digging into my abdomen. Noticing no one in the area, and under the cover of the umbrella, which blocked anyone inside seeing me, I pulled the papers from my waistband and transferred them to my large canvas bag. A few hours more and I could leave for home. Then I would decide what to do with the papers someone might have killed for.
Chapter 38
Before showing your house, lock up valuables, collectibles, and prescription drugs—anything that can easily be slipped into a pocket or purse.
After arriving home just before dark, I quickly locked the door behind me, dropped my bags, and closed all the drapes. Feeling a bit more secure, I pulled the papers from my bag and went directly to my computer, where I set it up and made both a digital and paper copy of the pages. I was being a bit melodramatic, but I wanted a paper copy in case something happened to the original pages. I then sent the digital copy to myself as an email attachment. I wasn’t taking any chances of it disappearing.
Planning to work with the copy, I decided to hide the originals somewhere in my house, but where? I walked slowly around my living room, trying to recall all the places I’d heard might be good hiding places. For years, I’d hidden my valuables in my lingerie drawer, only to hear burglars searched there first.
I disregarded the freezer since I wanted to make sure the papers didn’t get damaged. Under the mattress was too obvious, and I didn’t have any loose bricks in my fireplace. My eyes lit on the little red wagon from my childhood, which I now used as a plant stand. I put the papers in an envelope and taped it to the underside of the wagon. Someone might lift the plants to check under them, but they might not think to feel the underside of the wagon. At least I hoped not.
I stood there and laughed, realizing I was being ridiculous. Nita, more than anyone, knew me to be the quintessential Capricorn—cautious to a fault. Today I was taking caution to new heights. Either that or I’d read way too many mystery novels.
With a copy of the papers safely tucked away, I relaxed a little. My rumbling stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I quickly made a sandwich of tuna on pumpernickel with dill pickles and poured cranberry juice into a Waterford crystal goblet. My mother had saved the goblets for special occasions, and since those had been few, the goblets had rarely been used until recently. I enjoyed the luxury of using them any time I wanted, despite knowing my mother would disapprove.
After gobbling down the sandwich and gulping my drink, I was now able to focus on the papers and not hunger. The food had been very basic, but since my sugar levels had felt as though I hadn’t eaten in days, it tasted like pure ambrosia.
I pulled out the copies of the papers, laid them on my dining room table, and studied them again. Nothing new occurred to me. A note addressed to N. Nickleby, a photo of the entrance to a building, and a copy of a paper with handwriting.
Picking up the fax cover sheet, I studied it again. The cover showed the name of the person it was being sent to, N. Nickleby, and another block for the person’s fax number.
The number seemed familiar, so maybe it was Victoria’s fax number. However, looking at it more closely, I realized the number wasn’t right. The last digit was a five. Victoria’s fax number ended in six. Whoever sent it had written the number on the form correctly but had made a mistake when keying the number and sent it to Victoria’s fax.
I recalled when I gave Nita the number for Victoria’s fax, she’d commented how familiar the number was. So many people in town had similar numbers.
When my phone rang, I jolted and relaxed when Doug Hamilton’s name appeared on the phone display.
“Laura, this is Doug. You didn’t look as though you were feeling well when you left today. Are you okay?”
In a flash, I decided to trust him with my discovery, even if I came across as an idiot. I needed to talk to someone whose thoughts hadn’t become muddled up with investigating a murder.
“Doug, I know this is an unusual request, but could you come over to my place right away, or could we meet? I have something urgent I need to discuss with someone.”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right there.” He had said it without hesitation, which impressed me. Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling into my driveway.
To his credit, Doug didn’t laugh when I told him about my ongoing investigation and discovery of the papers. But the grim look on his face showed he was taking what I said seriously, and I expected him to lecture me on how dangerous my activities had been.
“N. Nickleby,” he mused. “The only Nickleby I’ve heard of is Nicholas Nickleby, the hero of Charles Dickens’ novel.”
“Nicholas Nickleby. When I was sitting in the library at the Denton house, I came across a copy of Victoria’s high school yearbook. In it was a photo of her with Warren Hendricks, Jack Malcolm, Tony Rowe, and others when they performed in Nicholas Nickleby during their senior year. I don’t see how it could relate to this fax, but I’ll take another look at Victoria’s yearbook to see if it identifies who played Nicholas Nickleby. That might tell us something.”
I wondered again about Warren and his appearance at the Denton house the night Mrs. Webster and I had found him there. Was that the link? Had he been trying to find those papers?
What if he had used the name N. Nickleby and the faxed papers had mistakenly gone to Victoria? Maybe she connected the name with Warren and had been blackmailing him about the thefts from the funeral home? Or could she have been blackmailing him because of something else?
“It may have nothing to do with it, or everything to do with it.” Doug tapped the paper with his finger. “There must be a reason Victoria had this. Could she have been the one being blackmailed?”
“No. They were faxed to her number, but the number on the fax cover sheet is one digit off. It must have been sent to her by mistake. I checked the phone book and online, and there is no one in town with the name N. Nickleby. At least none I could find.”
“But why N. Nickleby?” Doug asked.
“That’s the puzzle.”
I sat there silently and thought. As an actor and director, Warren would think himself awfully clever coming up with the name of a character from a play he had performed in. Could I tell Doug this? The words wouldn’t form on my lips. Despite it all, I didn’t want to believe my old friend Warren was a murderer.
I recalled again the day I’d barged into the library while Victoria was on the phone holding the papers in her hand. Think, think. What had she said that day? I tried to remember the sequence of events to
prod my memory.
“When I went into the library, Victoria was on the phone. She said something about going public. Could that be it? Could she have been threatening someone she would go public with information if the person didn’t pay up?”
As the memory became clearer in my mind, I looked toward Doug and decided I had to tell him. “It might have been Warren. He could have been the one following me the night after rehearsals. I’d asked him questions about Victoria, and he could have been worried his information might get out. He may have been trying to frighten me away from asking questions.” Tears welled up in my eyes. Had I betrayed Warren, or had it been the other way around?
“That is a pretty strong accusation if you aren’t sure,” Doug said. “What about the night of the murder? Did he give the police an explanation of where he had been?”
“That’s the problem. He had an alibi, a good one. He was conducting rehearsals and had witnesses. That wouldn’t have prevented him from hiring someone to kill Victoria.” I sounded doleful. I liked Warren and didn’t want him being guilty of killing anyone, even if the person had been blackmailing him.
“That’s possible, but not likely.” Doug didn’t sound convinced. “Most murders result from sudden anger or passion. He may have come to confront Victoria and, in a fit of anger, hit her, but he wouldn’t have hired someone. He would only have left himself open to a different blackmailer.”
Doug’s words reassured me, but a tiny voice inside me warned it still might not be wise to trust anyone.
“Maybe the rehearsal didn’t go on as late as he’d told the police. Or they started later than he indicated.”
“Franklin Auditorium isn’t far from the Denton house. If they took a long break, he might have been able to get over to the house and back again before anyone noticed.”
“Poor Warren.” I wiped away the tear rolling down my cheek with my sleeve. “And even more so, poor Victoria. If she stumbled on a blackmail scheme or had been blackmailing someone herself, it caused her death. They both lost out in this tragedy.”
“We should talk to Detective Spangler about this.” Doug frowned as though he didn’t like his own suggestion.
“Linking the murder to a note that could simply be a demand for repayment of a personal loan to an N. Nickleby? He’d laugh me out of the station and then lecture me about wasting police time. I’ve already gone to him about the threats and the damage to my car, even about the vandalism at the house.” I then told Doug about the note and calls I’d received and my flattened tires. He knew about the kitchen but was surprised by the other incidents.
“I wish you had said something earlier, especially following the kitchen mess. It has to be connected.”
“I wasn’t sure whom I could trust.” I sighed, my voice half its usual volume.
“Well, you can trust me. We shouldn’t delay on this. Given those threats and the episode with the car, you’re still in danger.”
“I’ll be careful and try my best to avoid contact with Warren.” I rubbed my forehead and yawned. Fatigue was overcoming me, and I could no longer think clearly.
“Why don’t you sleep on it, and we’ll talk about it again tomorrow. How about if I meet you at Vocaro’s in the morning? And if you decide to go to the police station, I’ll go with you. That is, if you want me to.”
Again, I was touched by Doug’s concern for me. It had been a long time since any man had shown me concern, other than the men in the Romano family, and they were like my brothers. But, lately, given my poor judgment of people, I needed to remain cautious.
“Okay. How about around eight? I’m meeting Nita there before she heads to the dental clinic.”
Doug reached out and took my hands, squeezing them gently. “Try not to worry. We’ll take care of this tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
When Doug left, I carefully bolted the door and went to bed—again with my light on.
Chapter 39
Set your thermostat at a comfortable temperature for the open house. A place too warm or too cold could chase away buyers.
“What’s been happening?” Nita asked the next morning. “You’ve been awfully close-mouthed about the investigation recently.”
Nita and I were wedged into a corner table at Vocaro’s, lucky to have found seats. The early morning crowd was heavier than usual, with the regular customers being pushed out by families in town for activities at nearby Fischer College.
“I know, Nita. I’m really sorry. Everything has gotten so complicated. I’ve come to realize people’s reputations are at stake and it wouldn’t be fair of me to cast suspicion on them without actual proof. Some things have come to light—so ridiculous as to be unbelievable, or else I’m close to cracking the case.” Even to my own ears the words sounded corny.
“How can you not tell me?” Nita looked offended. “You know I’ll die of curiosity wondering what’s going on. Besides, I’m your partner in this whole thing.”
I began to tell her but froze when Warren Hendricks walked through the doorway, followed a few seconds later by Dr. M. I could barely see them in the crowd of people milling around the counter waiting to order or find tables. I’d never seen Vocaro’s so crowded. The room was also becoming increasingly warmer.
I needed to avoid Warren. I had little or no acting talent and found keeping a passive face almost impossible. He’d be able to read me like a play script.
I turned my chair slightly away from where Warren stood in line and hoped he wouldn’t see me. Fortunately, Nita and I sat at a small table for two with no empty chairs around us, so he couldn’t join us, even if we were forced to invite him. I fervently hoped he wouldn’t stop by to say hello. I wouldn’t have been able to act naturally.
Dr. M, coffee in hand, elbowed his way through the crowd toward the door. Warren, a short distance behind him, yelled, “Nick, wait up.”
Nick? As in Nicholas? I became lightheaded.
“Nita,” I said unsteadily, “Warren just called Dr. M ‘Nick.’ What was that all about?”
“He’s called him Nick for years. It came from the time they were in high school together. Dr. M played Nicholas Nickleby in a play, and the name stuck. A few people call him Nick.”
I swayed slightly in my seat.
“What’s wrong?” Nita reached over and grabbed my arm.
I ignored Nita’s concern. I needed to process all this. The name on the note, the high school play photo in the yearbook, Dr. M’s nickname. I now recalled the night at rehearsals when Warren had given stage direction to someone named Nick. Since I hadn’t recognized a few of the actors on stage, I’d assumed Warren had been speaking to one of them. Now I understood why the name Nick hadn’t appeared in the program. There was no one else on the program with the name Nick—except Dr. M.
Dr. M had to have been the one the demand note was intended for, except it had gone to the wrong fax number. Victoria’s fax and not his. Earlier, Nita had mentioned how familiar Victoria’s fax number was. Whoever sent it had used an old nickname, either out of habit or to keep the dealings anonymous. When Victoria received the fax by mistake, she linked the name and the fax number on the coversheet and connected them to Jack Malcolm, her old friend and costar from high school.
Could Victoria, desperate for money to save her home, have made the connection between the note and Dr. M and been blackmailing him?
Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Warren hadn’t murdered Victoria—Dr. Jack Malcolm, aka Nicholas Nickleby, had.
I jumped up, my heart thumping wildly. “Nita, I’m supposed to meet Doug Hamilton here this morning. When he arrives, would you please tell him I had to leave? I need to go up to the Denton house right away.”
Before I told Detective Spangler what I’d discovered, I needed proof that my theories weren’t crazy. And I had a strong hunch that proof was near the Denton house.
“You, meeting Do
ug?” Nita couldn’t have looked more surprised than if I’d just confessed to an affair with Norman Ridley. “When did all this happen? There’s a lot you’re not telling me, Laura.”
“Sorry, I’ll explain later. Also, please tell Doug it wasn’t Warren.”
“Wait, Laura,” Nita called after me. “Be careful. Your horoscope today says you should be cautious in your dealings with medical professionals.”
“You don’t know how close to the mark that hits.” With that, I dashed for the door.
Chapter 40
Stage your garage. Remove excess items to make it look more spacious and replace old garbage cans and recycling receptacles.
I drove quickly to the Denton house, parked in the driveway, and paced alongside the house, contemplating my next steps. I had nothing to connect Dr. M to Victoria’s murder, other than a nickname—and trying to bring a case against him using it would be laughable.
I strongly suspected Dr. M was also responsible for Will Parker’s death. To prove any of it, I would have to draw a connection between the note, Victoria’s murder, and the hit-and-run accident that had killed the older man.
Will Parker’s daughter Claire had said he had been muttering something about shrubbery the night before he was struck down. Dr. M’s house was on the other side of the hedge from the Denton house. Skip once said that Dr. M would squeeze through the hedge to visit him and Victoria for an occasional happy hour. Could Will Parker have seen Dr. M using the shortcut the evening Victoria was murdered? If he had, it was only after I asked him if he’d seen anything unusual that he began to wonder about Dr. M’s stroll.
Nita said Dr. M had been driving his truck to work. At the time, I’d assumed his Mercedes was being serviced. If it was, as I suspected, the Mercedes had sustained damage when Dr. M struck Will. If so, he couldn’t have it repaired because the police were still searching for the vehicle involved in the incident. The car had to be hidden in his garage, and I needed to see it to confirm my suspicions. Maybe then Detective Spangler would take me seriously.
Staging is Murder Page 21
