Crypt Suzette

by Maya Corrigan

  Sitting again in the CAT Corner, she dug her phone from her shoulder bag to check if she might have missed a call from Suzette’s cousin.

  No, Sandy Sechrest hadn’t called back. As Val put her phone away, Bram came into the room and sat down across the square table from her. Isis leaped from the windowsill and chose the lap she preferred—his.

  His mother joined them, and Val explained that Gillian wanted her to cater for a small group on Tuesday evening.

  “Uh-oh,” Dorothy said. “A woman called last week about holding a writing group meeting in the CAT Corner at that time. I told her she could. We might not be able to fit two groups at the same time. I was so busy getting ready for the opening that I didn’t write down her name or how many people were involved.”

  “There’s only one group, Dorothy.” Val steeled herself to reveal Suzette’s death. “Gillian took over planning the meeting because the woman who called you last week died suddenly.”

  Dorothy’s mouth turned down. “I’m sorry to hear that. She sounded young and full of life on the phone. How did she die?”

  Val watched Bram as she answered Dorothy’s question. “She was hit by a car this morning on the peninsula road.”

  His brows shot up. “The woman I found when I was biking?”

  Val nodded. “Her name was Suzette Cripps.”

  Dorothy leaned toward Bram. “That’s the girl who won the costume contest. You didn’t recognize her this morning?”

  Bram returned his mother’s steady gaze. “I thought the woman on the road resembled Moaning Myrtle from last night, but I wasn’t sure she was the same person. At least I remembered Myrtle’s real name was Suzette.”

  He sounded like a student angling for partial credit on an exam question he’d blown.

  Dorothy turned from him to Val. “He’s better with names than faces.”

  “The name helped the police identify her sooner,” Val said. “The police chief is a family friend and knew my grandfather was renting a room to a young woman named Suzette.”

  Dorothy’s jaw dropped. “Don told me he had a student staying in his place. How sad for you and your grandfather.”

  Bram’s eyes bore into Val’s. “Did you know who she was when we talked in the café today?”

  Val resented his accusatory tone. “Yes, but I couldn’t tell you because her relatives hadn’t yet been notified. The news won’t be public until tomorrow. The only reason I’m telling you now is so you’ll understand the context of Gillian’s meeting here on Tuesday.”

  He looked puzzled.

  His mother said, “I get it. The meeting is like a memorial for that poor girl. We’ll close the CAT Corner while that group is here, Bram, so her friends can grieve in private.”

  Val had hoped for that. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Dorothy.”

  “The poor girl was on my mind today. When I gave her the prize last night, she said she’d come here after work today and pick out books to buy with her gift certificate.”

  Val flashed back to the scene in the kitchen when she told Suzette about the contest. “She had her heart set on winning the certificate.” Val’s eyes welled with tears. She tried blinking them away, but they kept coming. She wiped them away. “Sorry. I planned to talk business, and here I am blubbering.”

  Dorothy patted her on the shoulder. “Take your time. Any death is stressful, but it’s worse when it’s sudden.”

  And when it’s violent. The last few times Val had dealt with violent death, she hadn’t known the victim more than a few days, if at all. Suzette was also younger than the other victims, which somehow made her death sadder.

  Bram set a glass of water in front of her. “I can get you something stronger, if you like.”

  Val held up her hand. “This is fine.” She gulped down some water. “I’ll price what Gillian wants for Tuesday’s meeting and e-mail you my contract for the catering. Then you can draw up a separate contract for her with your pricing on it.”

  “I’ll take care of the contract, Mom.” Bram pulled out a business card from his shirt pocket and gave it to Val. “Here’s my e-mail.”

  * * *

  Granddad was on the hall phone when Val went into the house. She waved to him and headed for the study. Scraps of paper were strewn on the computer desk. Folders lay open on the sofa, their contents spilling out. She sighed. Granddad must have been trying to find something he’d misplaced. When he got off the phone, she asked what he’d been searching for.

  “The phone number of the woman Suzette worked for as a nanny. Mrs. Patel. I found it, but it took a lot of digging.” He surveyed the study. “This room is a mess. We’d better close the door on it. I was just on the phone with Earl. He’s on his way here. I asked him to stop by. Based on what Mrs. Patel told me, I think Suzette mighta been run down deliberately. So it’s murder, not an accident.”

  Chapter 9

  Val, Granddad, and Chief Yardley sat around the large mahogany table in the dining room, not in the sitting room where Granddad usually talked to the chief. Obviously, this wasn’t a social call, though Val thought the chief might be on his way to one. She’d caught a whiff of his aftershave and noticed that his casual clothes looked less rumpled than usual.

  Granddad, in his seat at the head of the table, had a yellow legal pad in front of him. “I made notes as soon as I got off the phone with Mrs. Patel. She was really upset about the hit-and-run. Once she got over the shock, she talked about how much her two sons missed Suzette. Their new nanny couldn’t compare with her.”

  Val held up her hand. “Wait a minute. Didn’t Suzette say she left her job because the children no longer needed a nanny?”

  “Yup, but Mrs. Patel said Suzette quit.”

  Val wondered which of them had lied. “I could understand Suzette not wanting to say she’d been fired, but why wouldn’t she tell the truth if she quit?”

  “If you let me finish the story, Val, you’ll find out.” Granddad cleared his throat. “I’ll cut to the chase. Mrs. Patel said Suzette was good-hearted. She had a strong sense of fairness. If she saw something that wasn’t right, she tried to make it right. And because of that she made enemies.”

  The chief took a small spiral notebook and pen from his pocket, accessories he apparently never left home without. “Where do the Patels live?”

  “Near Chesapeake College.”

  “Did she tell you who the enemies were?”

  “Not by name, but it wouldn’t be hard to figure that out. One of the neighbors broke the leash laws. Suzette asked the neighbor not to let the dog roam in the Patels’ yard because the children played there and might be exposed to dog feces. The neighbor ignored her. So Suzette collected feces in a plastic bag and put them in an envelope with a note that said Your dog left this behind. She stuck the envelope in the neighbor’s mail slot.”

  Val winced. “That probably didn’t go over well.”

  “The neighbor went to the Patels in a rage. Her dog was innocent. Suzette had done a disgusting thing. The neighbor would report her to the police and the health department. Suzette then produced a photo of the dog doing what she claimed he’d done in the Patels’ yard. She welcomed the chance to show it to the police and the health department.”

  The chief rolled his eyes. “Glad I wasn’t the officer called to the scene of that crime.”

  Granddad chuckled. “The neighbor didn’t call the police, and the dog didn’t visit the Patels’ yard again.”

  “A crude but effective solution,” Val said.

  “Suzette’s next try at improving the world didn’t go as well.” Granddad checked his notes. “She scolded a boy who was tormenting smaller kids in the playground. She told him that no one liked him because he was a bully and that he’d never have any friends if he didn’t change.”

  The chief jotted in his notebook. “I can guess what happened next. The bully’s parents complained to the Patels.”

  “Even worse,” Granddad said. “The kid’s mother went to the
playground the next day. She berated Suzette for yelling at him and keeping the other boys from playing with him. Then the mother told her son he should be nice to all the kids except the two Patel boys. They didn’t belong in the playground because they weren’t real Americans.”

  Val groaned. “She punished the children for what Suzette did. Did the Patels hear about it from the boys or Suzette?”

  “Suzette told them. Though Mrs. Patel didn’t say this, I got the impression she thought Suzette had made a bad situation worse. And it went downhill from there. A day later, a dead squirrel appeared on the doorstep. Road kill. Suzette disposed of it.” Granddad peered at the legal pad. “A few days after that, the Patels’ older son saw a paper sticking out from under the door mat. He’s in second grade. He was proud of himself for being able to read it. It said something like You’ll pay for what you did.”

  The chief made a note. “Did they report it to the police?”

  “Suzette wanted to, but the Patels didn’t. They were convinced that the woman with the dog or the bully’s mother had written that note. Getting the police involved would make it harder to mend fences with their neighbors.” Granddad flipped over his first page of notes. “When a dead possum showed up, Suzette quit. She told the Patels the harassment was aimed at her. The next dead animal could be rabid, and she didn’t want to put the children in danger.”

  “That experience affected her even after she moved here,” Val said. “She must have been afraid that whoever harassed her at the Patels would find out where she lived and go after her again. That would explain why she changed her hairstyle every day and never took a direct route to this house.” But it didn’t prove that anyone really was after her.

  The chief looked up from his notebook. “Were there any incidents at the Patel house after Suzette left?”

  Granddad shook his head. “That proves Suzette was right about being the target.”

  “Any sign of harassment here?” the chief said. “Notes or dead animals left for her?”

  “No, but just because Val and I didn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Suzette used the door that opens to the staircase by the kitchen, and we almost never do.” Granddad turned from the chief to Val. “I don’t think she wanted us to know what happened at the Patels. That’s why she didn’t tell me she quit her last job. I’d have asked why she left. She was afraid I wouldn’t let her stay here because she’d bring trouble with her.”

  Val thought of another explanation for Suzette neglecting to say she’d quit. “Don’t rule out that Mrs. Patel may have said she didn’t need a nanny so she’d have an excuse to get rid of Suzette.”

  The chief tapped his pen on the notebook. “Anything else?”

  “One more thing,” Granddad said. “Mrs. Patel asked if the hit-and-run driver could have run over Suzette on purpose.”

  Val felt as if Granddad had zapped her with an electric current. He’d left the most important information for last. The number of people doubting the accident theory was growing.

  Across the table from her, the chief also looked jolted. “How did you answer her?”

  “I told her the hit-and-run was under investigation. Then I asked if she had a reason to think someone might try to hurt Suzette. The note left in the door bothered her because it said Suzette would pay for something she’d done.” Granddad looked up from his legal pad. “I’ll give you Mrs. Patel’s phone number, Earl, so you can find out about those neighbors of hers.”

  The chief jotted down the number Granddad gave him. “The Patels live half an hour from here. It would have taken a lot of persistence for their neighbor to drive here regularly for two months, keep tabs on Suzette, and wait for the perfect moment to run her down.”

  Val shared the chief’s skepticism about the Patels’ neighbors as suspects in a fatal hit-and-run. “The neighbors were rid of her when she moved. They had no motive to go after her.”

  Granddad frowned. “Mrs. Patel knows her neighbors. She must have had them in mind when she asked me whether someone could have hit Suzette on purpose.”

  “Not necessarily, Granddad. Mrs. Patel used the neighbors to illustrate what she’d said about Suzette’s sense of justice and fairness. Suzette never looked the other way when she saw a problem. She attacked it head-on, with a sledge hammer.”

  “And made enemies because of it,” Granddad said.

  Val nodded. “And she could have made enemies since she moved to Bayport.” Possibly in her workplace or writing group. Val noticed the chief checking his watch. They wouldn’t have his ear much longer. “Mrs. Patel is the second person today who raised the possibility that Suzette didn’t die by accident, Chief.”

  “I know. You mentioned it this morning.”

  “I wasn’t counting myself. The other woman who raised the issue leads the writing group Suzette belonged to. I’ll tell you more about Gillian Holroyd when you’re not so pressed for time.” Val held up her three middle fingers. “Including me, three people who didn’t know one another questioned whether the hit-and-run was an accident. Unless the medical examiner has strong proof that it was—”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll look into the alternative.” The chief stood up. “I’ve got to get on my way.”

  Granddad walked him to the door and then joined Val in the kitchen. “Let’s have something quick for dinner. I want to show Suzette’s photo at the bars and restaurants near the bookshop. The sooner I do that, the better the chance that someone might remember her and who she was with last night.”

  Pasta was Granddad’s comfort food, and he could use some comfort today. “How about pasta primavera?”

  “You can’t go wrong with noodles. I’ll make the salad.”

  While he did that, Val chopped and sautéed the vegetables, surprised that he hadn’t complained about a meatless meal.

  His mind was on something other than his dinner, though he didn’t speak up until dinner was almost ready. “Based on how Earl reacted to what I learned from Mrs. Patel, I wasted my time talking to her.”

  “He was preoccupied with his plans for the evening, and you didn’t waste your time.” Val drained the pasta. “Before you talked to Mrs. Patel, we suspected Suzette was nervous about someone following her, but we had no idea why anyone would want to hurt her. Mrs. Patel suggested a reason. We found out how Suzette reacted to bad behavior by a playground bully and by a scofflaw dog owner. Suppose she tried her heavy-handed tactics against a major lawbreaker?”

  Granddad set the table. “That could explain why she asked me how to search criminal databases. She mighta gotten wind of a crime and tried to stop it herself when she should have gone to the police.”

  “Maybe she got only a whiff of something wrong and didn’t realize she was dealing with a dangerous person.” As Val stirred the pasta with the vegetables, she told him about her visit to the Harbor Inn and Maria warning her not to ask questions about Suzette there.

  “That smells like a whiff of something wrong,” Granddad said, echoing her words. “You’d better stay away from that place.”

  “Unlike Suzette, I wouldn’t try to right a wrong on my own. I’d go to the police.”

  As they sat down to pasta studded with green asparagus and red pepper, Granddad said, “What’s the deal with the woman you mentioned to Earl, the leader of Suzette’s writing group? Why does she think the hit-and-run wasn’t an accident?”

  Between bites, Val told him about her telephone conversation with Gillian.

  His eyes popped out when he heard what Gillian had said about Suzette’s possible premonition of her own death. “Suzette wrote about a woman who died the same way she did?”

  “The character in Suzette’s book was found dead on a roadside from an apparent accident. Gillian’s going to e-mail me what Suzette wrote. I might see other parallels between what she wrote and her real life.”

  “She didn’t tell us much about her life.”

  “Her fellow writers might know her better.” Val described the p
lans for Tuesday’s meeting. “I’ll be there when they discuss what Suzette wrote. Gillian hinted that someone in the group had a grudge against Suzette.”

  Granddad stood up. “Writers work out their grudges on paper. They don’t take action.” He took his empty plate to the sink. “I’ll eat dessert later. Hope you don’t mind cleaning up tonight.”

  “I don’t mind. I know you’re anxious to canvass with Suzette’s photo.”

  When Val finished cleaning up the kitchen, she went into the study to work on the menu for the Fictionistas’ meeting. She then e-mailed her suggested menu to Gillian. The response came back quickly. Gillian accepted Val’s recommendation and attached a document with all the chapters Suzette had submitted to the Fictionistas. Val saved the file to read later. She finalized the catering contract, e-mailed it to Bram, and then started reading Suzette’s chapters.

  Val discovered on the first few pages that her image of the victim running on a dirt road in a hoop skirt and bonnet had been wrong. Suzette’s story took place in 1920s Maryland, where cars ran on paved roads and women wore sensible clothes. It was set at a millionaire’s country estate, like Downton Abbey transported across the pond but surrounded by woods rather than farms. The upstairs characters were a ruthless businessman, his social-climbing wife, their almost-thirty playboy son, a grandniece from England who was their ward, and her prim governess, about the same age as the son.

  The story was told from the point of view of the thirteen-year-old niece, who roamed the house, spying and eavesdropping. She was a favorite of the housekeeper, the head butler, and the chauffeur, if not of her relatives and governess. She also made friends with a vivacious lady’s maid.

  The attraction between the playboy son and the maid came up often in conversations the niece overheard upstairs and downstairs. The playboy’s mother fretted about his habit of seducing servants and told him to stay away from the maid. He declared his love for the girl. His mother had no intention of firing the maid, who knew how to fix hair exquisitely and how to apply makeup to give her mistress the bloom of youth.