Murder on the Cliff

by Stefanie Matteson

  “What about Shawn?” asked Lew.

  “Shawn’s on his way, and Lester knows it,” said Charlotte. “He’s pretty sure Shawn didn’t see him on the road—pedestrians don’t usually notice the drivers of the cars that pass them by, especially late at night. But his car is a problem. After moving his car out of sight behind the carriage house—he must have moved it because Shawn didn’t say anything about seeing it—he conceals himself behind the shrubbery and waits for Shawn. Shawn arrives a few minutes later, walks out to the temple, looks around for Okichi-mago, and, not finding her, leaves. Lester is betting that he won’t peer over the railing at the rocks below, and he doesn’t.”

  Sullivan stared out over the dashboard, his thick pink fingers tapping a nervous tattoo on the wheel.

  “Now Lester’s work begins. Fate is working with him: Paul has gone out, as he discovered when he moved his car around to the back of the carriage house. The dog hears him, but since there’s no one home to hear the dog [except Tanaka, she thought], it doesn’t matter. Lester enters the house. Though he has a key, he doesn’t need to use it. Expecting Paul to return momentarily, Nadine left the door unlocked when she went home. Then he removes the comb and mirror and the sake cup from their cases, taking care not to leave any fingerprints. As a Federal felon, he knows his prints are on file and if by chance his scheme doesn’t work, he doesn’t want to be identified as the murderer.”

  “The extra sake cup,” said Lew.

  “The extra sake cup,” she repeated.

  “But if Lester saw Okichi-mago’s face,” said Lew, “why didn’t he see the extra sake cup in her hand?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “Maybe he didn’t look at her outstretched hand. Or maybe he saw it, but it didn’t register. He was under considerable stress.” She continued: “Then he carries the comb, the mirror, and the sake cup out to the temple and plants them by the brazier. He also burns Tanaka’s business card, just as Okichi burned Harris-san’s calling card in the legend.”

  “Or in the movie,” said Lew.

  Charlotte smiled.

  “I always said that these movies put ideas in people’s heads,” said Sullivan, who had stopped tapping and started taking notes. “How’d he get Tanaka’s business card?”

  “Tanaka had been handing out his business cards to the other guests earlier in the evening,” she replied. “The Japanese are always handing out business cards.”

  Sullivan nodded.

  “As for Billy,” Charlotte continued, “while Lester is pushing Okichi-mago over the railing, Billy is sitting on the point, drinking beer. Maybe he’s dreaming of being able to buy back his yacht, Bastet, which he lost in a divorce settlement. Anyway, when he witnesses the murder, he realizes that this is his chance: Lester can easily afford to fork over enough money for Billy to buy his boat back in exchange for Billy’s keeping his mouth shut. Billy calls Lester the next day, disguising his voice. He asks Lester to start getting the money together, with the first installment to be paid Sunday night. He tells him to look in the ‘Personal Notices’ column of the Providence Sunday Journal for further instructions. The Journal gives the locations of the drop-offs: the first at the bridge at Purgatory, the second at The Bells.”

  “Which is what brings us here tonight,” said Lew.

  “Meanwhile Lester is trying to figure out who the blackmailer is. He thinks back to that night. Maybe Shawn recognized him on the road or recognized the car. He concludes that it is Shawn who is the blackmailer.”

  “Another case of mistaken identity,” says Lew.

  “Lester starts making arrangements of his own. He’s served eighteen months; he doesn’t want to be put behind bars again. He’s not taking any chances that the blackmailer will keep his end of the bargain. He calls some of his former jail-house acquaintances and arranges to have Shawn killed. It doesn’t hurt that Shawn had also been the object of Marianne’s affections.”

  “He would have had no problem finding a small-time hood to carry out the job in this state,” said Sullivan.

  “He wouldn’t have done it himself?” asked Lew.

  “I don’t think so,” said Charlotte. “He strikes me as the kind of guy who delegates responsibility.” Suddenly she remembered the man with the field glasses who had watched Shawn and her that morning. She wondered if he was the contract killer. She mentioned the incident to Sullivan, who made a notation. Then she continued: “Lester had attended the sumo match and knew about the hostility toward Shawn. He instructs the killer to make it look as if a rival sumo wrestler was the murderer by cutting off Shawn’s topknot.”

  “First this guy mistakes Okichi-mago for Marianne, then he mistakes Shawn Hendrickson for Billy Montgomery. I’d say he has a real problem figuring out who’s who,” said Lew.

  “Or else he’s just an unlucky guy,” said Charlotte.

  “An unlucky guy who’s going to be even more unlucky in a few minutes,” said Sullivan. He checked his watch. “We’d better get going before they start the party without us.”

  13

  Charlotte was hidden in the underbrush at the side of the grassy path that led to the walled courtyard of The Bells. Lew was hidden about ten feet away, also at the side of the path. Both had an excellent view of the path and of the courtyard itself. The moon, which had been full only a few days before, shed a lot of light, and it was still clear, though puffs of fog had begun to blow in off the ocean. Sullivan had theorized that the murderer would leave the money either in the courtyard or on the first floor. He was hiding in one of the second-floor dormers, far enough away from the stairs that Billy wouldn’t see him if he decided to wait for the murderer on the second floor himself. Brogan was on the roof. Now all they had to do was be patient. In the darkness, Charlotte became conscious of all kinds of scratching, rustling, and drumming noises that she wouldn’t otherwise have noticed. She tried to remember from long-ago science classes which animals were nocturnal: raccoons, mice, skunks, bats, nightcrawlers? Every once in a while, there were other sounds: the plangent call of a whippoorwill, the eerie trill of an owl, and a ratchety noise that sounded like an old clock being wound up, a tree frog perhaps? There was also the honk of the Brenton foghorn and the clanging of a bell buoy, like an empty can being kicked along the street. The damp air was fragrant with a mixture of smells: the salty tang of the sea, the sweet, humusy smell of damp earth, the intoxicating sweetness of honeysuckle flowers in bloom, and the sharp, unpleasant odor of overgrown privet.

  As she waited, her thoughts drifted off to Jack Lundstrom, her fourth husband. Contrary to her expectations, he had never shown up. She couldn’t accuse Connie and Spalding of being co-conspirators in an effort to get them back together, after all. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad about it. She was very fond of Jack—he was always good company, and there were often times when she was lonely—but she wasn’t sure she was ready to become a wife again. After trying it four times, she figured that it was about time for her to throw in the towel on wifedom. Then again, as the poet said, hope springs eternal in the human breast; maybe it would work if she gave it another try. Her thoughts were interrupted by another sound, distinct from the scratching and rustling. It was the sound of footsteps on the grass. They were the furtive footsteps of a heavy-footed man who was trying not to make noise. She hunkered down into her nest in the underbrush. The man passed a minute later. From her hiding place, she could only see his lower half. But that was enough: he was wearing reptile skin cowboy boots. It wasn’t Billy who had arrived first, but Lester. Over his shoulder, he carried an airline flight bag that bulged at the seams. Crouching down a little further, she saw him enter the courtyard, pause for a minute, and drop the flight bag. Then he turned around and left as stealthily as he had come. When he reached the parking lot, Sullivan’s men would take him into custody. Meanwhile the flight bag sat in a pool of moonlight in the middle of the courtyard. If Billy had demanded seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the bag would contain a third of t
hat. But Charlotte suspected that he had asked for a million. It was a nice, even figure: seven hundred and fifty thousand for the boat, plus another two hundred and fifty thousand for operating expenses. In which case, the flight bag would contain three hundred and thirty-three thousand. Not a bad haul at all.

  Her legs were getting stiff, but she didn’t dare move for fear of making too much noise. She was amazed that Lester hadn’t heard her: in the silence, her breathing sounded as loud as a steam engine. After ten or fifteen minutes, the sound of a twig snapping alerted her that someone else was coming. This time the steps were softer and faster—the rippling steps of light, nervous, hurrying feet. She crouched down again to get a better view. After a few seconds, another pair of legs appeared. When she saw them, she realized that she had been wrong about Billy: he was an innocent after all, just as Lew had said. But she had been right about someone witnessing the murder, and blackmailing Lester as a result. That someone had tiny feet shod in expensive red suede moccasins embroidered with the crest of a well-known designer. She was holding a pearl-handled derringer in her dainty, white, immaculately manicured hand, which was adorned with a diamond and pearl ring. Although she couldn’t see her face, Charlotte was sure who it was. The diminutive, elegantly shod feet and beringed finger could only belong to one person: Nadine.

  For a moment, Charlotte was nonplused; Nadine’s appearance on the scene was not what she had expected. The last piece of the Mystery-Jig puzzle didn’t jibe with the solution she had so carefully worked out. In her mind, she reexamined the pieces to see where she had gone wrong. Nadine had said she stayed behind until the caterers left while Paul gave Shawn a ride home. But what she really stayed behind for was to see if Paul came back. Maybe he had said something that aroused her suspicion or maybe she had found out somehow that his other lover was in town. Either way, she suspected that he had an assignation, and she was going to hang around to check it out. As Charlotte watched her approach the courtyard, she worked out the new solution. When Paul doesn’t come back, Nadine realizes that not only is he not going to marry her, he’s probably going to dump her. No sooner has she come to this realization than Lester shows up. She sees him go out to the temple, come back and move the car, and conceal himself from Shawn. Then she sees him carrying Okichi’s things out to the temple. Maybe she discovers Okichi-mago’s body after he leaves, or maybe she doesn’t put two and two together until she hears about the suicide, but in either case she quickly sees that Lester is the answer to her problems. If Paul dumps her, she’ll lose her source of financial support. The sale of the lot on Bellevue Avenue—Charlotte thought of the beeches with a pang in heart—would tide her over for a while, but what about after that? But by blackmailing Lester, she can live for the rest of her life in the style to which she’s become accustomed. As Spalding had said, people will go to almost any lengths to hang onto their houses on Bellevue Avenue. She knows Lester is willing to pay through the nose to avoid going back to jail. And her newfound riches aren’t likely to arouse suspicion in a town in which large inheritances are an everyday occurrence. As for the person on the point, it had probably been a teenager, just as Tanaka had said. But that still left Charlotte with the question of where Billy had gotten the money to buy the boat.

  All this took but a minute or two for her to think through. By now, the woman had reached the courtyard. Her face still wasn’t visible—she was wearing a scarf that shielded her profile—but when she leaned over to pick up the flight bag, Charlotte could see that it was Nadine. As she turned to leave, Sullivan appeared in one of the dormer windows on the second story with his service revolver drawn. “Police,” he shouted. “Drop your gun!” Brogan was covering him from the roof with a shotgun.

  At Sullivan’s command, Nadine took off with the speed of a gazelle. Before he could even get a shot off, she had fled the courtyard, and was headed down the path toward the parking lot.

  As Nadine approached her hiding place, Charlotte raised herself from her crouching position. In one second, Mrs. Vanderbilt’s famous words ran through her mind: “Just pray to God, my dear. She will help you.” Then, as Nadine came running down the path, she deftly stuck her right leg out in front of her. Nadine took a header, and her gun went flying.

  Emerging from her hiding pace, Charlotte quickly retrieved the gun, and stood over her quarry, the gun aimed at her head.

  In a second, Lew was at her side.

  “Good work,” he said.

  “I haven’t used that trick since fourth grade.”

  “Uncle Brewster,” Connie was saying.

  “Who’s Uncle Brewster?” asked Charlotte. “Aunt Lillian told me that Billy didn’t have any uncles, much less any rich ones.”

  “He’s actually not an uncle. Don’t ask me what he is. He’s the grandson of my great-uncle. Lillian probably didn’t tell you about Uncle Brewster because she’d forgotten about him, as we all had. He’s the original hippie. I shouldn’t even call him a hippie, because he came way before the hippies. He went out to California in the fifties. I guess you’d have to call him a beatnik.”

  “How did Billy meet up with him?”

  “Billy went out to live in Haight-Ashbury in the sixties and looked him up. Brewster was in his early forties then, but he seemed ancient to the young hippies like Billy. They looked up to him as the grand old man of the counterculture. Of course, we all knew he had a lot of money, but we never thought about it because he didn’t live like a rich man—more like a bum, in fact.”

  “Wabi,” muttered Charlotte to herself.

  “What?” asked Connie.,

  “Never mind,” said Charlotte with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “I guess he thought of Billy as a man after his own heart,” Connie continued. “They’ve kept in touch all these years. One thing he could be sure of: Billy wasn’t going to use the money to buy a pretentious stockbroker Tudor in Old Greenwich and become a member of the establishment; I think that was his main concern.”

  “No,” Charlotte agreed, “I guess he could count on that.” She remembered what Lew had said about people like Billy leading charmed lives. As Lew had predicted, he had again landed on his feet, like a cat. “But how did he come up with the money so fast?” she asked.

  “I imagine he borrowed it. It’s not difficult to borrow against a big inheritance. Spalding did it when his mother died.”

  Connie and Charlotte were standing on the terrace at Briarcote. The Sayonara party was just getting underway. Charlotte could sense that Connie and Spalding—but especially Spalding—would be glad to get it over with. Two murders weren’t what he had bargained for when he had taken on the presidency of the Black Ships Festival Committee.

  It was a beautiful evening. The evening light had tinted the sea a still, luminous green, which was flecked with turquoise: the color of Okichi-mago’s sake cup, and of her eyes. On the horizon, the sea made a line that was as sharp as a knife against the pale blue bowl of the sky, which was marred only by a few wispy clouds high in the heavens.

  Charlotte would miss the floating world that was Newport.

  A number of guests had already arrived, among them Paul Harris. Charlotte noticed him talking earnestly with Dede. She had abandoned her streetwalker look for an outrageously short Japanese-style tunic. It was the perfect outfit for someone with her lovely figure and long legs. Charlotte was surprised to see them talking together: she hadn’t thought Paul would ever speak to Dede again after the indentations her spike heels had made in his tatami mats.

  Connie noticed Charlotte’s glance and raised her crossed fingers.

  “Are you responsible?” asked Charlotte, nodding at the twosome.

  “I hope so,” said Connie.

  “What did you do?”

  “I told Paul that Dede was planning to major in historic preservation at college next year,” said Connie. “She’s very interested in it. It’s a natural subject for her: she’s very artistic and she’s fascinated by historic houses. I guess she picked
that interest up from spending her summers here in Newport. The whole town is one big historic restoration.”

  “Do you think she’s going to replace Okichi-mago as his protégée?” asked Charlotte speculatively.

  “Maybe,” Connie replied, her blue eyes shining with hope. “He’s the kind of man who needs a protégée. Somebody to mold. And God knows, Dede needs a father figure. Spalding’s been a good grandfather to her, but she’s never had a father figure. If he did take her on, it would be the best thing that’s ever happened to the family. Marianne and Paul could cease their bickering.”

  “And Paul could die without an heir and feel as if Shimoda were being left in good hands,” said Charlotte.

  Connie’s attention was diverted by the new arrivals, among them Lew and his wife and children. As a member of the local committee to promote tourism, he was an ex officio member of the Black Ships Committee as well.

  As Connie chatted with Toni, Lew joined Charlotte at the bar. “I just thought I’d let you know,” he said, a wide smile on his face, “Sullivan picked up the contract killer this afternoon.”

  “He did!” said Charlotte exclaimed. “How did he track him down so fast?”

  “Parking ticket,” said Lew. “When he was scoping out The Waves, he parked his car at the end of Ledge Road, which is a no-parking zone. The police ran a check of parking ticket recipients against the files and came up with his name, or rather one of his names—he has about a dozen aliases. Routine inquiry and a stroke of luck—it’s what does the trick in police investigations every time.”