I stopped in my tracks. On the day I’d picked up Nita at the dental clinic, I told her, in front of Dr. M and Doug, that Will Parker wanted to talk to me about the day Victoria had been murdered. Doug had been the last patient of the day, so Dr. M could have left and gotten to Battlement Drive long before I arrived there. He couldn’t take the chance Will might tell me something that could cast suspicion on him.
If I hadn’t told Nita about him in front of Dr. M, Will might still be alive. I was horrified I might inadvertently have been responsible for his death. If that were true, it was something I’d always have to live with. I tried to console myself that if I could prove my theories, Tyrone might not end up spending the rest of his life in prison. Right now, though, it didn’t make me feel better.
I needed to see the front of Dr. M’s car.
Through the hedge dividing the Denton and Malcolm properties, I could see the Malcolm garage. Like many of the homes in Louiston, the garage was a freestanding building set well away from the house. It had old-fashioned bi-fold doors and small windows at the door tops. Even jumpy with stress, I noticed the place lacked curb appeal.
I looked around to see if anyone could observe me. I walked along the hedge until I was parallel with the garage then squeezed between a break in the branches. Once on the other side, I crouched down, hoping no one could see me. I would have been less conspicuous if I simply walked erect directly to the garage.
When I finally inched my way to the garage, I tried the bi-fold doors, only to discover they were locked.
“Drat.” After rattling the doors unsuccessfully, I swung my hip at them, trying to force them open. All I got for my efforts was shooting pain radiating from my hip to my knee. This time, I used much stronger language.
Slowly, I walked around the perimeter of the garage, thankful the landscaping around Dr. M’s property hadn’t been well maintained. The overgrowth provided me with more cover. As I turned the corner, I glimpsed a window at the back of the garage. Even at my height, I wasn’t tall enough to peer into it.
I surveyed the area for something to climb onto and spotted an old metal garbage can with a flat rusty lid. The smell from it overwhelmed me, and I almost gagged as I picked it up. Knowing Dr. M, I surmised it hadn’t been emptied it in some time. Holding my breath, I positioned it below the window. I was thankful my years of high school and college gymnastics, and later yoga, had made me fairly agile and able to climb up onto the can. I didn’t trust it would hold me for long.
A thick layer of grime coated the window glass, making it difficult to see inside. Grabbing the frame, I shook it and discovered it was so rickety I had no problem dislodging the ancient peg keeping it closed. Finally, something was going my way.
I stuck my head inside the opening. Cobwebs hanging over the window opening stuck to my face, sending shivers down my spine. Fortunately, they didn’t prevent me from seeing the front of Dr. M’s black Mercedes. Staring at me was a broken headlight. I could also see stains on the bumper—Will’s blood? Dr. M had always had a reputation for being sloppy, and, in this instance, I was thankful he’d been too lazy to wash the car before hiding it in the garage. He believed he was above suspicion and the car wouldn’t be discovered. Or he could claim he hit a deer. Blood tests would reveal the truth.
I was so focused on the car, I wasn’t immediately aware of the sound of a vehicle turning into Dr. M’s driveway, heading toward the garage. Once I heard the vehicle, I peered through the small windows at the top of the garage doors and was shocked to see Dr. M’s small pickup truck approaching.
Jumping back, I banged my head on the window and nearly saw stars. My hand flew to the back of my head, and when I pulled it away, found my fingers smeared with blood. I stared at it for several seconds, trying to comprehend what had happened.
At the sound of the truck door slamming, I jolted out of my trance, wondering whether I should jump down or stay in place.
When the garage door remained closed, I realized Dr. M planned to leave the truck in the driveway and not pull into the garage to park next to the Mercedes. My relief was short-lived when the garbage can I stood on abruptly gave way, sending me tumbling to the ground. I landed with a thump, tearing the knees of my Dockers, and sending me skidding on my hands and knees into the decaying contents of the can. My hands came to rest in a pile of crushed eggshells, coffee grounds, a very rotten potato, and a number of things too gross to identify. Ick. I was barely able to stifle a scream.
I scrambled to my feet and bolted around to the other side of the garage, away from the driveway. My heart pounded madly. If Dr. M found me, I wouldn’t be able to explain why I was crouching behind his garage, covered in rotting garbage and smelling like the county dump.
I heard his footsteps on the gravel and knew he was coming to investigate the cause of the noise. Fear and the revolting smell of garbage caused me to hold my breath. I didn’t dare bolt for the hedge, certain Dr. M would see me. If he came around to the other side of the garage, I would be trapped.
The sound of the footsteps got closer then abruptly stopped.
“Darn animals,” he muttered. “What a mess.”
My relief at hearing him walk away nearly buckled my knees. I wasn’t out of danger or garbage, yet. I still needed to walk across the lawn to get away. Since he had been the one threatening me, he already knew I suspected someone. Finding me at the garage, he would realize he was my number one suspect. Dr. M had already killed twice. I didn’t want to become victim number three.
I stood behind the garage until I heard the door to Dr. M’s house close. I didn’t think he was going for a broom and pan to clean up the garbage, but, just in case, I ran for all I was worth.
Chapter 41
A few well-placed accessories can complete a room and add just the right touch.
I needed help right away—someone to witness the condition of the Mercedes. I realized too late I could have taken photos of the car with my cell phone. Hindsight was wonderful but didn’t help now. Besides, I had left my phone in my carry bag locked in my car.
Racing toward my Corolla, I realized by the time I found a witness or went back to take photos, Dr. M could drive his car away and, with it, the evidence I desperately needed to help free Tyrone. I needed to call someone, if not Detective Spangler, then Doug or anyone else I could get in touch with. I unlocked my car and grabbed my bag and cell phone, praying that I could get reception. Despair swept over me when I saw that my aging phone was dead.
I could go down the road to get Claire Halston, but with all her children at the house, I couldn’t drag her into this. Besides, I didn’t want Claire to see the car that had killed her father. I needed someone in town to come out to the house fast.
Deciding to use the phone inside the Denton house, I grabbed my overfilled bag and fumbled in the bottom for the house key, upbraiding myself for carrying too much stuff. My fingers found the sought-after key, and I unlocked the front door with trembling hands. Once inside, I carefully locked the door behind me, wishing it had a slide bolt.
After all the activity during the days of staging, the house was eerily quiet, and my footsteps echoed as I walked toward the kitchen wall phone. I looked around, wondering if I would ever have another house staging as challenging, or as dangerous, as this one.
My hand shook as I picked up the phone receiver and contemplated calling Detective Spangler. He might not be willing to come out on what he would view as another of my fanciful theories, and I didn’t have enough time to convince him otherwise. I needed something concrete to show him.
I couldn’t drag Nita into this. She had worked for Dr. M for many years and wouldn’t believe it of him.
Mrs. Webster was definitely out. She was feisty, but I knew she couldn’t run fast enough if the situation warranted a rapid getaway. Then I realized I couldn’t call Doug either. I couldn’t remember his number.
In
desperation, I knew I would have to call Nita after all. She would be a witness when we took photos of Dr. M’s car, if he didn’t move it in the meantime. As I started to dial the number on the old rotary phone, I heard a voice.
“Put the phone down, Laura.”
My hand froze in midair, grasping the receiver. I turned. Dr. M was standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Dr. Malcolm, what are you doing here?” My voice sounded like an imitation of Minnie Mouse, but I managed to act as though his appearance was a pleasant surprise and I should offer him a cup of tea.
“Shouldn’t you be asking instead how I got in here?” Dr. M dangled a set of keys from his fingertips. “It was foolish of Victoria to forget she gave my ex-wife these keys in case she ever got locked out. I used them to get into the house that night.”
“What night? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice had risen another octave. So much for Madam Zolta’s broom to ward off unwanted outside energies. Dr. M was definitely an unwanted energy.
“You really are no actress, Laura. I thought you discovered that years ago when you tried out for the Players.
“Maybe you’re right, but you should know I called the police before you came in.” I hoped my acting skills had improved over the years. “If you hurry and leave, you’ll have a good chance of getting away before they arrive.”
“Nice try. However, I was right behind you, and I know you haven’t had time to call anyone. You thought I didn’t see you near my garage, but I did. After a quick trip into my house to grab something, I tailed you here.” He held something in his right hand, but I couldn’t see what.
Was he smirking at me? I tried to stay poised and appear calm, but I worried he could hear my heart beating, giving away how frightened I was. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you stop me while I was there?”
“I wanted to make sure you were away from my place. If anyone saw you, they would have seen you walking away. I can’t have you linked to my place, now can I?”
“I saw your car and know you hit Will Parker. The police will see your car and know what you did.” I realized I was babbling.
“It was unfortunate Will saw me when I went through the hedge. I didn’t think he’d noticed me. However, that was a good tip-off you gave me.”
I flinched as though he’d struck me. Again, the pang of guilt for contributing to Will’s death came over me.
“What if he saw you going over to Victoria’s house? It wouldn’t prove you killed her. You could say anything—that you were cutting through, taking a walk.”
“I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Which means you murdered Victoria as well.”
“I think you already know that. The witch was blackmailing me, and the payments were bleeding me to death. My practice wasn’t as prosperous as it should have been. As a dentist, you’d think I’d have a better income. I couldn’t afford to keep paying her to keep quiet, and she threatened to expose me.”
Sister Madeleine’s words echoed in my memory. “Find the person who became desperate.” Had the police interviewed Dr. M? If so, they must have been satisfied with his alibi. A pillar of the community and old friend of the Denton’s without a motive to murder Victoria. Had they been fooled!
“You mean the blackmail demands faxed to you?”
His face slackened. “So, you found out about that, too? The news would ruin my practice. How did you discover that? Did Victoria tell you?”
“I found the papers hidden in the library following Victoria’s death.” My mind was racing, wondering how much to tell him.
“You are a clever girl connecting them to me. What gave me away? Did she write my name on them?”
“I didn’t make the connection at first. It was the name the fax was addressed to—N. Nickleby. I’d recently seen a picture in her high school yearbook of you, Victoria, and Warren in the play. Actually, Warren calling you Nick helped me make the connection—that and your fax number.”
“Unfortunately, Victoria received the fax and made the same connection.” He placed his finger on his lips, as though casually pondering whether to paint a room blue or green. “She went even further and figured out what the photos on the fax meant.”
“The photo of a building and some handwriting?”
“Actually it was a photo of my old dental school. A classmate used to sit in for me for some exams. We looked a lot alike, and, with full beards, people had a hard time telling us apart.” He began pacing back and forth as though trying to decide how much to tell me.
“He helped me get through dental school, for which I paid him very well. He even took the licensing exam for me. Unfortunately, he got greedy and wanted me to continue paying him. He was resourceful enough to get copies of some of the exams with my name on it but with his handwriting. With the slight matter of a malpractice suit hanging over me, you could imagine what the news would have done to my practice.”
“But won’t he continue blackmailing you? What was to be gained from getting rid of Victoria?”
“The fool became too impatient for my payments and kept sending me more and more threatening notes. On one occasion, he keyed in the wrong number, and one of the notes went to Victoria. We occasionally got each other’s fax documents. He sent them by fax because they couldn’t be traced back to him. Now he’s no longer a problem. Last year he had a tragic accident. The stairs in his building were awfully steep.” For someone who had just confessed to two murders, he looked almost gleeful as he boasted about his role in this drama—always playing to the audience, even if only an audience of one. Was that why he was revealing so much?
Thinking of Will Parker, I realized Dr. M had committed three murders. Was I to become number four?
“But getting rid of him didn’t rid me of the threat. With the fax going to Victoria by mistake, she picked up where he left off.”
“But what could she tell from a building photo and some handwriting?”
“It amazed me she was able to put it all together. The unfortunate use of my nickname.” Dr. M grimaced. “I traded one blackmailer for another.” He continued to pace. “It really was all my father’s fault. If he had allowed me to become an actor like I wanted, instead of forcing me to go to dental school, this wouldn’t have happened. I really wasn’t cut out to be a dentist.”
I studied him, trying to determine how he could commit three murders and blame it on his father. “With Victoria and your classmate both gone, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m certainly not going to blackmail you.” I said it with as much sincerity as I could muster. “You can trust me.” To coin an old cliché, butter wouldn’t have melted in my mouth. I wondered if I could get him to fall for it as I inched toward the door.
“I wish it were that simple.” He looked at me sadly as though I were a trying child in need of discipline and he wasn’t sure how to do it. “Now, what am I going to do about you? I tried warning you so it wouldn’t come to this.”
“That’s why you sent me those notes and tried to run me off the road.”
“I admit I called you and left the note, but it wasn’t me in the car.” He grinned, delighted to be revealing a secret. “That was Cora.”
“What?” Now I was thoroughly confused. “But—”
“Never mind that.” He walked toward me, extending a hand holding a hypodermic needle. “Soon, it won’t matter.”
I stared at the needle. That was what he’d gone into his house for. I frantically looked about me for a way to escape. Mild-mannered, funny Dr. M planned to permanently end my need for future dental work.
“I’ve always liked you, Laura, even if you did stop coming to me as your dentist. So, I’ve decided to make this easy for you. A little prick then you’ll feel nothing.”
Slowly, I backed away and my head started to spin. The sight of needles always made me feel woozy. I shook my head
to clear it and looked around for anything I could use to defend myself. I spied my tote bag on the floor near the doorway, but Dr. M was blocking my path to it. If I could get to the bag, maybe I could hit him with it. It was heavy enough to stun him so I could run away. Then I remembered the can of hair spray Nita had given me. If I could spray him in the eyes, he wouldn’t be able to chase after me. I needed to maneuver myself closer to the bag.
“You still have time to get away,” I said with as much bravado I could muster. I inched my way toward my bag, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I won’t call anyone. If you go now, you can get a good head start.”
“Sorry, but I can’t do that. I’ll simply put you in my Mercedes and get rid of you and the incriminating car.”
As if reading my mind, he pushed the bag behind him with his foot. A lot of good hair spray was going to do me if I couldn’t get to it.
“Now, Laura, this isn’t going to hurt.” Next he’d tell me it was going to hurt him more than it was going to hurt me.
As he came toward me, I looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon, regretting I’d removed so many items from the kitchen and left little on the countertops. Then I spotted, close at hand, one of Victoria’s kitchen accessories I’d used in the staging—a large decorative jar of olive oil.
It was heavy, so I’d have difficulty swinging it at him, plus he might catch it. Instead, I grabbed the jar with both hands, and with all my might, threw it down onto the terracotta floor. It smashed into pieces, splattering oil all over the immaculate tiles.
At first, Dr. M looked amused, but when he came after me and started to slip on the oil, his amusement turned to irritation.
The oil spread into every crack and crevice, making the tile floor every bit as slick as an ice rink. It was as though millions of beads of ice were now beneath Dr. M’s feet, and he resembled a beginning skater, arms flailing in the air. He slipped, falling onto one knee before regaining his balance. If my situation had been less dangerous, I might have laughed.
Staging is Murder Page 22
