Late Edition

by Fern Michaels

  Trying to shrug off the inexplicable feeling of dread she suddenly felt, she headed back to the kitchen, where she did a final once-over, looking in nooks and crannies, making sure she was alone. In doing so, she felt stupid, like a frightened child who needed Mommy and Daddy to check for monsters under the bed. But something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t her imagination. She felt as though eyes were following her as she quickly paced the length of the kitchen, searching for an area where one might hide. She saw nothing, just as she expected.

  Out of nowhere she heard footsteps stomping, as though someone were running up and down the stairway. Her heart raced, and her mouth was so dry, her lips stuck together. Paralyzed with fear, Jamie stood in the center of the kitchen, too stunned to move.

  Out of nowhere, a rush of air passed her. She whirled around, thinking that someone had just walked through the kitchen, because that was exactly what the gust of air felt like. Jamie did not like this feeling. Eyes, unseen eyes, following her, maybe waiting, for what she didn’t know. Unlike the girls in the horror movies who always ran upstairs and hid in the bedroom, she wouldn’t make their mistake. Without another thought, Jamie grabbed her bag and keys and raced to the front door, unlocked the dead bolt, and yanked the door open. Her hands were trembling so bad, she could barely insert the key in the lock. Finally, on the third try, she was successful.

  Frightened, Jamie raced to the Land Rover and broke all the speed limits to get home. She parked the vehicle in the garage. Her hands were still shaking as she entered the guesthouse.

  A memory from her childhood suddenly overwhelmed her.

  The building where she had so lovingly placed her hopes and dreams had been used as a funeral parlor at one time.

  Chapter 30

  You would have thought Bernice was Julia Child, the way she pranced around the kitchen, preparing the evening’s special Southern dinner. She had insisted that Toots and the others remain out of her kitchen, explaining that she didn’t need any distractions. As was the norm, Toots flipped her the bird. Then she and the girls took up temporary residence in the formal living room. They were all half watching Antiques Roadshow when they heard a car pull up in the driveway.

  “I bet that’s Goebel. I hope to hell he found something. This waiting is making me nuts,” Sophie said.

  A loud knock-knock-knock could be heard from the foyer, and Toots raced to answer the door, with Sophie, Ida, and Mavis trailing her like three baby chicks.

  Toots opened the door, revealing a spiffed-up, slicked-back, and shiny Goebel. His thinning brown hair was neatly combed. He wore a pair of beige Dockers, a white polo shirt that clearly outlined the shape of his stomach, topped off with a navy jacket. There was no trace of the stubby, smelly cigar.

  “Come in. We’ve been expecting you,” Toots said. “I hope you’re hungry, because Bernice is cooking up a storm in honor of your visit and has forbidden any of us to enter her kitchen.”

  Goebel stepped inside, the aromatic odors from the kitchen bringing a grin to his chubby face.

  “Are those biscuits I smell?” he asked.

  Toots cupped his elbow and led him to the dining room. “I’m clueless. Like I said, Bernice wouldn’t allow us in the kitchen. Before you ask, she’s my dear friend and likes to call herself my housekeeper. For the record, none of us cook except Mavis. She doesn’t do Southern food, however. Consider this meal a down payment on whatever information you’ve dug up.”

  “I’ll consider it after I’ve eaten,” Goebel responded smartly.

  Bernice had decorated the formal dining room as though they were expecting royalty. She had set out the best china, the gold-plated silverware, and the cloth napkins from Scabal, one of the world’s top manufacturers of fine linen. From the looks of things, Bernice had prepared a feast that would make the editors of Southern Living salivate.

  Shrimp and grits, a South Carolina favorite, accompanied by fried chicken, served as the main entrée. Fried green tomatoes, fried okra, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and mashed potatoes with sawmill gravy were the side dishes. Hot buttered biscuits and fresh corn muffins topped with pepper jelly completed Bernice’s Southern meal.

  Now that the formal living room had been cleared of the four square tables and sewing machines, Bernice insisted they retire there—Toots almost fainted when she heard her use that word—where she would serve them coffee with real cream and her special dessert, which she made only when someone died, a Lady Baltimore cake. Toots wondered if this was an omen of sorts.

  After they were seated, and coffee and dessert served, Toots asked Goebel, “Did you just eat my down payment or not?”

  Goebel laughed, his large stomach shaking like the proverbial bowlful of jelly. “Another meal like that, and the rest is free.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Toots said. “Did you locate this woman, Nancy?”

  “I searched everywhere possible, or at least within my database, and I came up with nothing. I cashed in a favor my former partner owed me, and he came across something quite interesting.”

  “And?” Toots prompted. “Did you find something that would connect Nancy to Thomas’s death?”

  Goebel held his hand out in front of him as if to ward off further talk. “You’re not a patient woman, are you? My partner got a few leads that led nowhere. He called an old friend to assist him in finding any other possible information about this mysterious Nancy. As it turns out, the detective my friend called had recently been hired by a woman who went by the name Nancy. This is where it’s a small world comes in. Not too long ago, probably within the last few months, this Nancy told him that her father, one Thomas McGullicutty, had passed away within the last two years. Nancy explained that she needed his assistance in locating her father’s widow because she had only recently come across some of her late father’s personal effects and wanted to return them to her father’s widow.”

  Ida had remained silent throughout dinner and dessert, letting Toots take the lead, asking questions that needed to be asked, but when she heard this, she could no longer remain quiet. “What! Wait a minute. Are you telling me this . . . Nancy hired a private detective to locate me?”

  “It appears that way. Big Willie never mentioned to his friend that Nancy is being investigated for murder. Apparently, the guy was bored. Willie said he talked like he’d been injected with a phonograph needle.”

  Sophie decided it was time to put her two cents in. “That has to explain why Thomas is coming through so easily! He wants you to find his killer, Ida.”

  Mavis, with Coco in her usual lapdog position, never moved an inch during the entire conversation. Maybe Coco was psychic, too. Dogs, she knew, sensed these oddities, though chances were slim that Coco would be the next Miss Cleo.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, Miss Sophie,” Goebel said. Then he winked at her.

  Sophie jumped out of her chair like her rear end came equipped with springs. “Did you just wink at me?”

  Goebel laughed so hard between chuckling and the force of his weight, the chair actually slid across the slick wooden floor. “Naw, I didn’t wink at you, Miss Sophie. My eye was sweating, and I just needed to blink a few times.”

  They all laughed, providing a bit of comic relief from the topic of their conversation.

  “This Nancy must have made contact with Thomas, possibly explaining who she was. Knowing Thomas, he would never turn his back on a pretty female, daughter or not. It makes sense for her to believe Thomas wasn’t married because if he were, surely the woman would know Thomas’s fortune would be left to his widow?” Ida said.

  “She must have had close enough contact with him to administer whatever he was poisoned with. Maybe they shared dinner or a drink,” Ida said dejectedly, the wind temporarily knocked out of her sails.

  “It’s just as I thought. Thomas is trying to warn us that Nancy is coming after you,” Sophie said. “If Nancy can pin Thomas’s death on Ida, then Ida inheriting Thomas’s money is legally null. The mon
ey reverts to Thomas’s estate, and as the last of Thomas’s living heirs, Nancy claims her inheritance, despite not being mentioned in any will.”

  Mavis finally contributed to the conversation. “If this is true, she is one twisted person who will stop at nothing until she gets what she is after. We need some kind of evidence, something to take to the police.” Coco growled to let them know that he, too, agreed with his mistress.

  Toots refilled their coffee cups. “That’s where you come in, Goebel. Is there anything you or your friend can do at this late date? It’s been over two years since Thomas died. Where would you find evidence? At least something credible we can take to the authorities.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. I was able to get her address. I plan to do a little ‘investigating’ of my own. If the woman is dumb enough to murder Thomas before she found out if he had any living relatives, she’s probably dumb enough to leave some evidence lying around her house. After all, to the best of her knowledge, she still thinks no one knows she committed a crime. She assumes everyone believes her father died of food poisoning. So why would she need to get rid of any evidence that might link her to a murder that no one knows about?” Goebel explained. “Even more important, if she hoped to frame Ida for Thomas’s death, she needed to keep some of the evidence of her own involvement around to plant on Ida. I rather suspect that you ladies all being together for the last year or so threw a monkey wrench into Nancy’s plans. Once Ida sold her place and left New York City for undisclosed parts, Nancy was stuck. That’s why she finally decided to have a detective look for you. You ladies gettin’ this?”

  “Us ladies do,” Sophie singsonged, grinning as she poked fun at Goebel. “We definitely have the upper hand since we know what she is going to try to do. She got away with murder. Now she has decided to get away with framing someone for the murder she committed. It would be logical for her to assume she’ll get away with it. I wonder, though, why she’s waited so long. Two years is a long time to . . . wait. All we need to do is catch her before she gets to Ida.”

  “I have to return to New York to testify in a trial tomorrow and Thursday. But I’m booked on an evening flight to Chicago on Thursday. I have her address. I’ll pull a stakeout on Friday, and while she’s at work, I’m in. If there is anything to be found, trust me, ladies, I’ll find it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  “Chris said as much when I called him,” Toots added. “While you’re searching her house, is there anything we can do to help?”

  “She works for a company called Cryotech. After a quick Google search, I learned that Cryotech’s annual charity gala is this Friday. It’s a ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate deal, the funds going to AIDS research. This Nancy is a biological engineer. She’s expected to make an appearance, according to what I read. I think we should attend. I’m not one hundred percent sure anything will come of it, but it could give us a better understanding of who we are dealing with. Maybe we can find a coworker who has some dirt on her.”

  “Are you saying you want all of us to go to Chicago to attend a charity event with you?” Sophie asked.

  “No, that would be a waste of time and money. Though I don’t think I should go alone. A guy like me sitting alone usually draws unwanted attention. What I need is an escort. Someone who is willing to pretend to be my lady friend for the evening. What about it, Miss Sophie?”

  “Are you asking me on a date? If so, I hope you’re footing the bill for the ten-grand-per-plate dinner,” Sophie said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  “I’ll take care of all expenses,” Ida said. “It’s my liberty and fortune that’s hanging in the balance. A twenty-thousand-dollar dinner is a small price to pay.”

  “Does this mean you’ll go?” Goebel asked.

  “I’m thinking, okay?” Sophie tossed back. “I’m a recent widow. I don’t know how that would look.”

  Toots chimed in. “Since when have you cared how things looked? Two seconds ago? Stop playing hard to get and say yes.”

  Sophie flicked the single-digit salute to Toots, not caring that Goebel witnessed her ornery behavior. If she was going to fly to Chicago to meet up with the man, he might as well know what he was in for.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll go. This is just for pretense, nothing more. You got it?” Sophie said firmly. “This is for Ida,” she added.

  “Absolutely,” Goebel said. “Look, if I’m going to make my flight back to New York early in the morning, I have to leave now. The meal was the best I’ve had in twenty years. Make sure and tell Bernice. Sophie, I’ll meet you at the Fairmont at Millennium Park in Chicago, Friday night around seven. Let me know your flight info, and I’ll pick you up.”

  Sophie actually blushed.

  “And you’ll want to bring something sexy . . . I mean something formal to wear. This is a black-tie event.”

  “What? You think I don’t know how to dress? I lived in New York City. I have been to Fashion Week, I’ll have you know!” Sophie squawked.

  Goebel pulled his bulk out of the chair. “Ladies, I will keep you posted. Sophie, I will see you Friday.” Without further conversation, Goebel let himself out.

  Toots, Mavis, Ida, and Sophie looked at one another and broke out in gut-splitting laughter.

  “I think Sophie’s got a boyfriend,” Ida singsonged.

  All but Sophie started chanting, “Sophie’s got a boyfriend! Sophie’s got a boyfriend! Sophie’s got a boyfriend!”

  Chapter 31

  After giving his testimony on Wednesday afternoon and facing cross-examination on Thursday, Goebel had three hours to retrieve several items from his office and get to the airport for his direct flight to Chicago. He’d asked his taxi driver to wait, telling him he would make it worth his while.

  Twenty minutes later, lugging two large suitcases, he piled into the taxicab and headed back to LaGuardia. The taxi driver dropped him in front of Delta Air Lines, where he tossed his two bags to the skycap, flashed his ID, and received his boarding pass. He threw a twenty-dollar bill the man’s way and headed for security. Being a VIP flyer did have its perks, he thought as he saw the long lines waiting to get through security.

  The flight took off as scheduled. When the plane reached ten thousand feet, a female voice gave them permission to use any approved electronic device. He booted up his laptop and brought up the Google Earth image he’d saved as a .jpg file. He zeroed in on the neighborhood where Nancy lived. He had an Enterprise rental car waiting rather than his usual Hertz because Hertz had screwed his eyes out one time too many. Paybacks were a bitch. The flight was close to three hours, so he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, knowing this would be the only time he’d have to catch a few winks. When the plane touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare International, he retrieved his luggage and whipped through the airport O. J. Simpson style. Only he struggled for breath. After locating his rental car, Goebel punched Nancy’s address in the GPS and made a beeline for her house to do some reconnoitering before starting the stakeout the next day.

  Satisfied that he could do what was needed tomorrow, Goebel checked into his hotel, turned on the TV, and spent the evening thinking about his “date” tomorrow night with Miz Sophie. He was betting that she cleaned up real nice.

  The next morning, he cruised past the house and drove around the block to park the rental car one street over. Looking left and right before he got out, he popped open the trunk, making sure no one was watching him. He opened his luggage, where his stock of disguises was laid out like those in a theatrical dress rehearsal. He had a variety of work shirts, hats, wigs, and eyewear. He chose the yellow and red Speedy Delivery ensemble that included a fake package and a computerized signature pad, though if scrutinized, one would know they weren’t the real thing. Goebel didn’t plan on getting scrutinized. He always kept an evidence-collection kit handy, just in case. He stuffed this and a micro recorder in his pocket. A deliveryman in any neighborhood never raised suspicion.

>   Getting back in the car and driving around the block, he pulled up directly in front of Nancy’s house. Making his way up the driveway, he scouted for the best way to enter the house undetected. He could pick the lock on the front door, but if he did that, he’d be unable to lock it on his way out. Deciding to go around back, he noticed a basement window halfway open. He chose this as his point of entry. Once again, he glanced over his shoulder to the left, then to the right. Seeing there were no curtains pulled aside or a set of blinds with a slat slightly opened, he assumed the coast was clear.

  Goebel slid his portly figure through the narrow window, almost getting his arms caught as he slithered halfway down. Thinking to himself, he realized that another Southern meal like he’d had Tuesday night and he would never be able to make a repeat entry. He made a mental note to watch his intake of fried food.

  After several twists and turns, he found himself in the basement. Looking around, he discovered it was unlike any basement he had ever seen, cluttered with all kinds of unique objects he didn’t recognize. As he made his way across the room, he noticed that the far side of the room was immaculate and well lit. He observed something that looked like a high-school chemistry set. There were beakers, containers of chemicals, and paperwork, all neatly organized, all in sequential rows.

  This has to be something important, he thought. But what? No one with a basement this cluttered would bother cleaning up only one side if there wasn’t a purpose behind it. He started examining the objects on the counter. They looked like they’d been used for some type of project. Maybe Nancy was a chemist, too. Not knowing what he was dealing with, he grabbed one of the respirators hanging next to him and put it on. He bent his head to tighten the straps on the back of the mask, and a stack of papers in front of him caught his eye. He realized he was looking at Google search results. Reading them, he saw that someone had requested the results for How long does it take ricin to kill someone?