The Ghost and the Femme Fatale - Haunted Bookshop 04

by Alice Kimberley

  "Eddie, you were telling us about Dr. Rubino?"

  He nodded. "He's some hotshot Newport doctor. A couple of years ago, he did part-time work for the State Medical Examiner's Office. Last month he was recruited by Ciders to act as the local medical examiner on an as-needed basis. I understand he's doing that for other townships—anywhere the local police don't need to call in the Staties."

  "Sounds like the chief is thinking ahead," Sadie observed.

  Yeah, Jack said. If this new guy is jake, maybe he can talk cabbage with the Keystone Cops in this cornpone community. Or maybe the doc can pull a Dr. Frankenstein and put a brain into Chief Cipher's thick skull—one that actually works.

  "Jack, you're not being helpful. And it's Ciders, not Cipher."

  The man's a cipher to me. And I'll tell you who better be helpful: this new "expert" doctor. If he doesn't rule this crime scene hinky, he'll be batting as lousy as Chief Louie Lunkhead.

  "Because?" I silently asked.

  Because of last night, baby. You were there. You saw the "accident" at the theater. That's why I know this is all smoke and mirrors. A slick Houdini act meant to dazzle a dunce—in this case, Chief Smalltown and Deputy Dullard.

  "Oh, my god, Jack... last night... "

  All morning, I'd been assuming that if anyone was the target of that "accidental" falling speaker it was Hedda Geist. But with Dr. Lilly dead, I realized Jack was right.

  "Hedda wasn't scheduled to make a speech at the Movie Town Theater last night. Dr. Lilly should have been standing on ground zero when the boom dropped!"

  Do you remember what your Buddy Boy Mr. Hardware said? He hung that speaker himself. And he thinks somebody rigged a metal strut to break with a small explosion.

  "You're right. And if the explosive was on a timer, then Irene Lilly should have been under it, not Hedda. Oh, god, Jack, if I could have figured that out sooner, I might have saved Dr.

  Lilly's life!"

  Easy, baby. Don't go taking on guilt you don't deserve. You've done that enough already. "What are you talking about?"

  That lousy husband of yours, the one who decided kissing New York concrete was a better solution to his problems than acting like a man and sticking by his wife and son.

  "Don't bring Calvin up now, Jack. I can't handle it."

  There's one truth in life, baby: If someone wants to kill somebody else—or themselves, like your coward of a husband— they're going to do it. Doesn't matter what you, the law, or anyone else says or does. Half the time, killers don't even care if they get caught. They just want to pull the curtain on someone so much they think it's worth throwing their own life away. So believe me, because I'm leveling with you. You weren't the one who killed Dr. Lilly.

  "But—"

  The scheme failed last night, so the killer staged accident number two in your store. It's clear as day to me.

  "But who did this? And why?" I paced the bookstore's aisle, passing McBain and McCrumb, Paretsky and Poe. "Is the killing over now? Or just getting started?"

  Listen, baby, you can't solve a puzzle when half the pieces are missing.

  "People guess at half-solved puzzles all the time," I pointed out. "What about Wheel of Fortune? You can buy a vowel and sound out the words. You don't need all the pieces."

  That's a game show, dollface. Guessing's fine when you're playing for Cracker Jack prizes, not when you're dealing out life and death—and believe me, I'm the voice of experience.

  "Wait a second, Jack! Can't you... I don't know, commune with the spirit world? Maybe get in touch with Dr. Lilly? Ask her what happened when she was alone in the store?"

  Sorry, baby, but this tomb's all mine. Unless you take me places, I'm a prisoner in this glorified library. And as far as "communing" with my fellow dead, nobody's ever stuck around here to tell me squat. I wish I could call up some company, doll. I can think of a few hot skirts from my past I wouldn't mind looking up.

  "And are you sure you don't have any idea what happened in the store while I was out on the sidewalk?"

  I'm a ghost, baby, not a magician. My awareness can't be more than one place at one time. When Dr. Lilly bought it in this store, I was with you—in that bakery, in Buddy Boy's van, then out on the sidewalk with the Ticket Issuing Witch of Cornpone County.

  I sighed, slumping back against our complete collection of Robert B. Parker. "We don't even know why Dr. Lilly was singled out."

  But we can assume a few things . . . like it's a pretty good bet the killer wasn't connected to her life back in California. Punching her ticket on the West Coast would have been a heck of a lot easier than what took place last night. There's also a possibility that a certified crazy is on the loose at this film festival. Maybe all of this weekend's special guests are in danger. Maybe the entire festival crowd.

  "Someone's got to help us figure this out, Jack. I'd better talk it over with the chief "

  The chief? Jack snorted. That piker's not going to listen to you. I doubt he'll even rule this a homicide. And unless the medical man on his way is Dr. Watson, we're on our own proving a clean sneak bump-off.

  The front door rattled. Someone had knocked instead of pressing our doorbell. Officer Franzetti peered through the window.

  "He's here," Eddie announced, unlocking the door.

  A fit man in his forties squeezed through the crowd of people that had gathered in front of my store. He wore rumpled khakis, a lime-green alligator shirt, collar wrinkled and unbuttoned. Over his arm, he carried a bright yellow J. Crew Windbreaker, which seemed unnecessary, considering the weather report's forecast high for today was in the seventies.

  Someone tried to follow the newcomer over the threshold, but Eddie slammed the door in the customer's startled face.

  Our visitor ran a hand through his thick, dark brown hair. He had a squarish face with a Roman nose, prominent chin, and large brown eyes. On first impression, he seemed intelligent and attractive.

  "Quite a mess out there," he said with a friendly smile. "Good you got here, doc," said Eddie. "The chief's been waiting."

  "I came from Newport as soon as I got the call . . . it's Officer Franchese, isn't it?" "Franzetti."

  "Anyway, the traffic was murder. Did you know there's some kind of film festival going on? The whole town's full of tourists . . ."

  The man suddenly caught sight of me and his deep voice trailed off. Then he noticed Sadie behind the counter and Seymour slumped in one of our Shaker-style rockers.

  "Excuse me for being rude," he said smoothly, his big, sleepy brown eyes returning to mine.

  "This is Mrs. McClure," Eddie said.

  "Penelope," I volunteered.

  "She owns this store—"

  "With my aunt Sadie," I interjected.

  The man's smile seemed genuine. He was tanned and athletic—not quite as handsome as Robert Mitchum playing the leading-man doctor in Where Danger Lives, but very close.

  Randall Rubino stood a few inches taller than I, but he was probably even taller. I was wearing low heels, while the doctor wore scuffed boat shoes with flat rubber soles. He was also carrying a large beige canvas backpack over his shoulder. Was his medical kit in there? I wondered.

  He stepped forward, extended his tanned right hand. "My name is—"

  "Dr. Rubino," Chief Ciders's voice boomed from the archway. "Your services are required back here immediately."

  "Right, Chief Ciders. On my way," Rubino replied. He shook my hand and offered a wink to go along with it. I couldn't help but breathe a little easier—and I couldn't fault Dr. Rubino's bedside manner, either.

  Sadie noticed the wink, too. She quickly sidled up to me. "Dr. Rubino seems quite nice, don't you think?"

  What a stuffed monkey, Jack scoffed. This guy's got Ivy League written all over him, which means you won't be able to tell him a thing. He'll already know it all.

  Ignoring Jack, I watched Dr. Rubino cross the sales floor on his way to the Community Events space.

  "I'm sure he's married," I quie
tly told Sadie.

  Inside of ten seconds, Sadie was beside Eddie whispering questions. Finally, she came back to me.

  "Eddie says he's divorced," she confided, "and that's why he's doing this work for Ciders—and any other townships in the area that need his services. Apparently he used to have a lot of money; now he has a lot less, but who cares about that? I think he's quite a catch."

  Go for it, Betty Boop. See if I care.

  "Stop it! I'm not interested!"

  Sadie frowned and I realized I'd said those words aloud.

  "Well, you don't have to decide right now," Sadie replied with a huff. "Give the man a chance to ask you out for coffee!"

  I squeezed my eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Aunt Sadie, I didn't intend to say that to you."

  "It's all right, dear," she said, patting my shoulder. "We're all a little rattled by Dr. Lilly's fall."

  Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Sadie rearranged books on the film noir display. I moved to the window and watched the crowd thicken outside. The store's opening hour came and went without anyone emerging from the Events room. I wondered if Buy the Book was going to open at all today—though that was probably the least of our worries at this point.

  Suddenly Seymour pushed himself out of the wooden rocker. "That's it! I'm out of here," he declared, checking his Wonder Woman watch. "It's after ten, and I've waited long enough for Chief Ciders to take my statement. If Barney Fife needs to reach me, he knows where I'll be—working my route, 'cause the mail is like showbiz. It must go on!"

  Officer Franzetti stepped forward. "The chief told me everyone stays here until he takes your statements."

  "The chief is a local yokel, Pizza Boy," Seymour shot back. "His authority stretches about as far as Quindicott Pond. The federal government's interest in an efficient mail service supersedes his meager jurisdiction."

  Eddie put his hands on his gun belt. "Cut the double talk, Seymour. You're not going anywhere, no matter what you say—"

  Seymour flushed crimson. "Listen, Franzetti! Step out of the way and you won't get hurt—"

  "All right, all right, what's going on here?" Chief Ciders barked. He tramped into the store with Dr. Rubino and young Bull McCoy in tow.

  Yep, quipped Jack. McCoy is Chief Donut's nephew all right. Same sloped brow and slack jaw. Same funny-farm stare, too.

  "Look, Chief, I've got a job to do, too," Seymour complained. "Either detain me or let me get back to it."

  Ciders nodded to Eddie. "Let the man go. Tarnish has mail to mis-deliver. I'll get his statement later, for what it's worth."

  "So, you're finished with your investigation?" Seymour asked as he inched toward the front door.

  "The preliminary phase," Ciders replied, giving Seymour his back.

  Seymour stopped. "Well?"

  Ciders frowned, looked up from the clipboard in his hand. "Don't you have work to do?" Seymour nodded. "Then get the heck out of here!"

  Seymour shrugged and opened the door, smacking into the crowd of film festival fans waiting for the store to open. "Clear a path, people! Official government employee coming through!"

  "Hey, in there, are you ever going to open?!" someone yelled from the crowd.

  Eddie closed the door.

  I faced Chief Ciders. "Well? Have you completed your investigation?"

  The beefy man sighed. "We're finished. And you can open, once we're sure you're providing a safe working environment. What was this woman, Dr. Lilly, doing on your ladder? Was she a paid employee?"

  "She was an academic, a film historian, and an author. She was helping us get ready for her book signing."

  "I see," said the chief. "Your store does carry insurance, right?"

  "Of course, but why would that matter?"

  "Because, Mrs. McClure, you allowed her to climb a ladder unsupervised. That's negligence on your part. Simply put: Dr. Lilly had a fatal accident while working in your store—"

  "Accident!" I cried.

  I warned you, Jack gloated.

  CHAPTER 7 A Doctor in the House

  My, my, my. Such a lot of guns around town and so few brains.

  —Philip Marlowe, The Big Sleep, 1946

  "YES, MRS. MCCLURE, an accident," Chief Ciders reiterated. "Dr. Lilly fell off a ladder—"

  "No! She was pushed!" I blurted out.

  Bull McCoy snorted. "You were right, Uncle . . . I mean, Chief. You said she was gonna try and call it murder!"

  "Shut up, Bull," Ciders warned.

  "How do you know it wasn't murder?" I demanded.

  "As I see it, Dr. Lilly tried to fix the banner," Ciders said. "She lost her balance and fell. She died when she slammed her head against the corner of the stage."

  "It looks like an accident," I replied, "but that's the diabolical part. Don't you see? Someone attempted to drop a speaker on Dr. Lilly last night—"

  "You've got your facts wrong there, Mrs. McClure," said the chief. "Brainert Parker reported to me that it was a former actress—someone named Hedda Geist—who almost got clobbered."

  "It was Dr. Lilly who was supposed to be on stage. Hedda was under the speaker when it fell, but she only came up to the stage at the last minute—"

  "That's enough, Mrs. McClure," the chief interrupted.

  "At least let me finish explaining!"

  The chief waved his hand. "What happened at the theater last night was an accident, too, that's all. Clearly the result of faulty construction." Ciders rubbed his fleshy chin. "Makes me wonder if the Movie Town was built to code. Better check in with the Town Council on that one. Marjorie's sure to be interested—"

  "Two accidents in two days? One nearly fatal, the other deadly. And both involving the same woman?" I shook my head. "That's too much coincidence for me. And it should be for you, too. I want another official opinion—"

  "That's why I'm here, Mrs. McClure," said Dr. Rubino, stepping forward before I could suggest that the state police be called in.

  "I thoroughly examined Dr. Lilly's body," Rubino continued. "While I still have to perform an autopsy to be absolutely certain, my preliminary findings confirm Chief Ciders's theory. Dr. Lilly appeared to have died of an injury to the skull. The scene itself makes it clear the injury was inflicted by the edge of your stage. We have a fallen ladder at the scene, and we have a witness in your own aunt, the last person to see the deceased alive. She mentioned to the chief that Dr. Lilly was indeed trying to hang a banner, and wasn't it true that your store was locked from the inside?"

  I wanted to scream, but I knew it wouldn't give the man confidence in my sanity.

  "Mrs. McClure?" Rubino pressed. "Was the store locked?"

  "Yes," I said, clenching my fists. "The store was locked, but Dr. Lilly could have let someone in herself. The dead bolt wasn't thrown, and the killer could have relocked the door simply by setting the handle on lock from the inside and slamming it shut when departing—"

  "If I had to render an opinion right now," Dr. Rubino interrupted, "I'd say Dr. Lilly's death was a tragic accident. Nothing more."

  "You're wrong."

  You tell him, baby!

  Dr. Rubino's dark brown eyebrows lifted in absolute surprise. Clearly he was used to having the last word at a crime scene. Having his conclusions so directly and adamantly challenged was an obvious shock. He glanced at Ciders, who shrugged and looked away.

  "Mrs. McClure . . ." The doctor stepped closer. He lowered his voice. "If Dr. Lilly were actually murdered—that is to say, if a person had entered this store and killed her, there would have been clues that I would not have missed."

  "Such as?" I folded my arms and tapped my foot.

  "Dr. Lilly would have resisted an attack, you see?" he explained in painfully slow syllables. "If she fought and the killer had to subdue her, there would be marks on her arms, perhaps her throat."

  The doctor made gestures to his arm and neck, as if I were still learning the names of body parts. "These bruises or scratches are called 'defensive' wounds." He put air quotes aro
und "defensive."

  Will ya tell this clown you've learned the alphabet already? Didn't I tell you Ivy Leaguers are the worst?

  "Yes, yes," I told the doctor (and Jack). "I know what defensive wounds are. But what if someone pushed Dr. Lilly off that ladder? Or pulled the ladder out from under her?"

  Dr. Rubino rubbed his forehead. He glanced at Chief Ciders, who suddenly looked our way again with a questioning expression.

  I congratulated myself. Now at least the chief was considering the possibility of foul play!

  "Well . . . I suppose it's possible" Dr. Rubino was forced to admit. He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "But it would be a one-in-ten chance that Dr. Lilly's head would strike the platform. For someone to push her so she landed in just such a way as to cause death... " His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "No, I just don't see that as likely."

  Chief Ciders sighed and looked away again.

  "But someone could have pushed her," I quickly countered, trying to pry the chief's mind back open. "That same someone could have dragged Dr. Lilly to the stage and made sure her head struck it before she had a chance to fight back."

  "Chief, the ambulance is here," Officer Franzetti called.

  Ciders slapped his knee with the clipboard. "Good. We've spent enough time here."

  "But—"

  "That's enough, Mrs. McClure," said the chief. "You're letting your imagination run away with you." He glanced around at the novels on our shelves. "It's no wonder," he muttered condescendingly, "the business you're in."

  "I didn't imagine last night's attempt on Dr. Lilly's life—" "It was an accident," Ciders shot back. "Last night and this morning, and that's how I'm reporting both incidences." The chief moved to the front door, and then turned to face me. "If I were you, Mrs. McClure, I'd forget about trying to sell that cock-and-bull story of yours and hire a good lawyer. Your business is likely to get slapped with a lawsuit over this. So brace yourself for more bad news: My accident report will probably send your insurance premiums soaring."

  A SHORT TIME later, Chief Ciders and his nephew were parting the crowd in front of my store to make way for a grim procession. Along with everyone else, I watched the paramedics carry Dr. Lilly's bagged-up body to the waiting ambu-lance. Her remains would be delivered to the local hospital, where Dr. Rubino was scheduled to perform an autopsy later in the day.