A Bad Reputation

by Jane Tesh

  “Anything else?”

  He shook his head. “I believe that’s it.”

  I wound some spaghetti around my fork. “So no more of these friends hold grudges, or want you back in the game, or have angry victims hunting them and, by association, you?”

  “I hope not. I’m really sorry about all this, Mac.”

  I can’t stay mad at him for long. “I know. I’m just worried about our future. The next threat might not be a practical joke.”

  “You have to understand that for me none of these cons were about cheating folks out of their money. It was about seeing what I could get away with. It was a lot of fun for me.”

  “It was illegal. You’re lucky you weren’t caught.”

  “That’s why I stopped. I’m a married man and possibly a father.”

  “You always turn the conversation around to that, don’t you?”

  “Now that I’ve given up my cons, I have to find another way to entertain myself.”

  I set my fork aside. “Okay, suppose, just suppose we had a baby. Since I set up my agency in town, I’ve been lucky to have enough work, but I can’t count on my fellow Celosians to kill each other on a regular basis.”

  “Then you’ll be happy to know I emailed my resume to several more companies.”

  “That sounds encouraging. What did you put down under experience?”

  “‘Sidekick to an extremely successful private investigator.’ No, the word I used was ‘associate.’ We’ll see what happens.” Jerry gave me another searching gaze and then moved his chair so he could put his arm around me. “What’s really bothering you about this, Mac?”

  What was really bothering me? I wasn’t sure. “Maybe I still feel pressured. You know that’s all Bill talked about.”

  “Because he saw his wife as a baby-making machine. What’s he got now, six?”

  “Number four is on the way.”

  “The more children he has, the more manly he feels. You know that’s not true with me.”

  “I’m coming around to the idea. But what about my mother? She’ll have our child in pageants from the day it’s born.”

  “Nope. I will con her out of that idea.”

  “It would be worth having a baby to see you do that.”

  “So we have a deal?”

  My phone rang. “Hold that thought.”

  It was Nell. “Madeline, are you busy?”

  “Just having supper.”

  “Got a bunch of pictures to hang at the gallery. You mind stopping by and giving me some advice?”

  “I can be there in about twenty minutes.” She thanked me and I hung up, relieved to have postponed the baby deal for the moment. “Nell needs my help at the gallery. Care to come along?”

  ***

  Nell unlocked the front gallery door for us. “Thanks for coming. I’m not sure where all this stuff goes.”

  The stuff was a stack of paintings and a pile of sculptures. I recognized Ginger’s ping-pong creations and Bea Ricter’s distressed wooden frames. Several of the frames were in pieces.

  “What happened there, Nell?”

  “Found them like that. Guess they got knocked over.”

  With Jerry’s help, we hung the pictures and placed the sculptures in the display cases. Then we cleared all the packing materials, plastic bags, and strips of tape.

  “What about Bea’s broken frames?”

  “Just leave them there, I guess. She can do what she wants with ’em. We can put the trash out back.” Our hands were full, so Nell pushed the back door open with her hip and stepped outside. She did a little side step and almost tripped over something. “Good lord!”

  The something was Wendall Clarke, stretched out in the narrow space behind the gallery’s back door. As I hurriedly punched in 9-1-1 on my phone, I saw a shadowy shape hurry around the corner, get into a car, and speed away. Jerry sprinted after it, returning after a few minutes to say he couldn’t see the license plate, but the car was a newer model beige Accord.

  “Sounds like Larissa Norton’s car,” Nell said. She set her trash bag aside and bent down with me over Wendall. “Is he dead?”

  I carefully felt Wendall’s wrist. “I’m afraid so.”

  There wasn’t much light, but I saw a large chunk of wood by Wendall’s head, the same type of wood Bea Ricter used for her artwork. His forehead was scraped and dark with blood. The same dark bloodstains were on the piece of wood.

  Nell’s voice was shaky. “What’s he doing out here? He didn’t say anything about coming back to the gallery tonight.”

  “Are you certain that was Larissa’s car?”

  “I’m pretty sure. You think she lured him back here to kill him?”

  I thought it more likely Larissa would kill Flora. “I don’t know. A lot of people were angry with Wendall.”

  In the distance we could hear sirens. The EMTs would be here in a few minutes, but they’d be too late to save Wendall. The police would be here, too, so I had a few minutes to look around. I was almost certain the piece of wood was the murder weapon. From the mark on Wendall’s forehead, I figured he must have known his assailant for anyone to get close enough to hit him. If I wanted to attack a man that large, I would’ve tried to come from behind. Wendall’s murderer must have been someone he knew and someone who took him completely by surprise.

  The light was too dim to examine the scene quickly, and before Jerry and I had the chance to check the rest of the yard, a police car drove up. Chief Brenner was first on the scene, followed by the ambulance.

  As Nell explained matters to her father, she managed to get control of her voice. “I called Madeline to help me hang some pictures. We were taking out the trash when we found him. You might want to have a word with Larissa Norton. We saw her car driving away.”

  I pointed out the piece of wood. “Looks like he was hit by that. It’s the kind of wood Bea Ricter uses for her picture frames, so you might want to talk to her, too.”

  Chief Brenner gave me a sharp glance. “Anything else?”

  I could truthfully say no.

  “All right. On your way home, stop by the station and give them your full statement. You, too, Jerry, and you, Nell. Are you all right?”

  She took off her cap to give her hair a brief swipe, then put her cap back on. This simple act steadied her. “It was a real cowardly act, Dad. Never expected someone so big and full of life as Wendall to die like this.”

  My thoughts exactly. No matter what opinion people had of him, Wendall Clarke had been a force of nature, and to see him lying crumpled on the ground had been a shock.

  “You gotta catch his murderer, Dad.”

  The chief was not pleased someone had killed a prominent hometown man. “I plan to.”

  “Can we go with you when you tell Flora?” I asked him. “She doesn’t have many friends in town.”

  “Yes. Wait for me at the station.”

  Wendall’s body was taken away, and the piece of wood bagged as evidence.

  After we gave our statements to the police, Jerry and I went with the chief to the Clarkes’ house. Flora met us at the door, and as Chief Brenner explained what had happened, she shuddered and began to cry. I put my arm around her shoulders.

  “Come sit down, Flora. We’ll find out who did this.”

  Her voice caught on her sobs. “I thought it would be me. These were Wendall’s friends. I know they weren’t happy with him, but he knew them. He went to school with them. I’m the stranger. Why didn’t they kill me instead?”

  I led her into the living room, and we sat down together on the sofa. “We’re not certain it was someone who knew Wendall.” Although I thought the odds were good it was.

  The chief got out a notepad. “When did your husband leave the house this evening, Mrs. Clarke?”

  “A little after eight.�
��

  “Did he say where he was going? Was he meeting someone?”

  “He said he was going to the gallery, that’s all. He usually likes me to go with him, but he said I didn’t need to come this time, and he’d be right back.” When she realized Wendall would never be right back, she collapsed into tears.

  The chief waited until she was able to speak again, his small blue eyes showing sympathy. “What happened after the meeting this afternoon? Did anyone say anything to him that you might have perceived as a threat?”

  “N-no, they were all making appointments with Sasha, and they seemed glad to do it.”

  “I have to ask where you’ve been all evening.”

  She gulped back more tears. “I’ve been here by myself. You have to believe I would never hurt my husband.”

  “It’s a question I have to ask.”

  “There’s no one who can vouch for me. I haven’t got a single friend in this town. Madeline’s the only one who’s been kind to me. Madeline.” She looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I want you to find out who killed Wendall.”

  I could tell the chief wasn’t happy. “The police will handle this investigation, Mrs. Clarke.”

  “I want all the help I can possibly get. I can afford it. Madeline, will you take the job?”

  I ignored the chief’s glare. “Of course.”

  He tried to talk Flora out of it, but she stayed firm. Finally he agreed as long as I promised not to get in the way. Flora wanted to see Wendall, and Jerry and I went along to support her. Afterward, I asked if there was a relative or friend she could call who could stay with her, or if she’d care to come to my house for the night.

  She caught both my hands in hers. “I’ll be fine, Madeline, thank you so much. I’m going to call my sister. She lives near Parkland and can be here in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be glad to stay with you until she gets here.”

  “No, no. You’ve done more than enough for me. I’ll talk with you tomorrow. I want to be alone for a little while.”

  ***

  “Well,” Jerry said as we got into the car, “what was that about not enough work for you in Celosia?”

  “I’d better be careful what I wish for.” My hands began to tremble, and Jerry took the keys.

  “Let me drive.”

  We switched places, and I sat back into the passenger’s seat and fumbled with my belt. “It’s like Nell said, Wendall was big and full of life, and for someone to murder him like that…” I didn’t know what else to say. I finally got my seat belt fastened, and we started for home.

  Jerry gave me a few minutes. “So what do you think, Mac?”

  Time to think like an investigator. Don’t think about Wendall’s lifeless body. Think about how you can solve this. “The wood is from Bea Ricter’s frames, but Wendall was a tall man, and Bea’s very short. She would’ve had to jump up to hit him on the forehead. Same thing with Flora. But Larissa’s tall enough and angry enough to have done it.”

  “He just stood there and let her do it?”

  “I suppose if she took him by surprise, and he didn’t see it coming.”

  “What about Flora?”

  “You heard her. She doesn’t have an alibi, and she knew Wendall was going to the gallery. Wendall left for the gallery around eight o’clock and told Flora he’d be right back. Nell met us there at eight-thirty, right before we found him, so whoever killed him worked quickly.”

  “My money’s on Larissa, then. Motive and opportunity and her car at the scene of the crime.”

  “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  “Good luck,” Jerry said. “Even when she’s not a suspect, she looks capable of murder.”

  But since opening my agency, I’d found out anyone was capable of murder. It was the people who actually went through with their plans you had to stop, and that’s what I was determined to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  I didn’t sleep very well. I dreamed I saw Wendall lying at the gallery door and all the members of the Art Guild stood around his body, laughing and pointing. Then they pointed at each other, exclaiming, “You did it! You did it!” until the chorus of shrill voices woke me. I shivered and snuggled closer to Jerry, who made his half-asleep grumbling sound and put his arm around me. The dream slid into a pageant where Honor Perkins was crowned Queen of the Con Artists, and I snatched the crown off her head and ran so fast she couldn’t catch me. Satisfied, I managed a few more hours’ rest before morning.

  At breakfast, I thanked Jerry for holding off on another verse of “Camp Lakenwood.”

  He handed me my coffee. “From all that thrashing around last night, I didn’t figure you’d be in the mood.”

  “Thrashing’s all done. I’m ready to get started on this case.”

  Cast members of Oklahoma called Jerry and asked if he could meet them at the theater to work on their songs. He also had a job interview today, but said he could catch a ride to Southern Foods, so I dropped him off at the Baker Auditorium. Before going to Larissa’s, I stopped by the crime scene. The gallery was closed, encircled with yellow police tape. I knew the police would’ve gone over the backyard and gathered every scrap of evidence, but I wanted to have a look for myself.

  There were large footprints in the dirt and the sparse grass was flattened where Wendall’s body had fallen. The trash bags were still where Nell had left them. I could see the prints of her shoes and mine and Jerry’s and some other prints that may or may not have been Larissa’s. The rest of the yard was grass out to a fence of faded boards. This yard was bare. I figured any stray pieces of trash had been picked up by the crime scene team.

  I didn’t want to cross the police tape at the gallery’s back door, so I walked around to the other side of the fence. A small parking lot backed up to the rear entrances of a shoe store and a gift shop. Beside piles of cardboard boxes there were large plastic trash cans and a few broken and discarded display racks. The trash cans were empty. The murderer could have easily parked his or her car in this lot, gone around the fence, killed Wendall, and driven away. But how did the murderer know Wendall would come to the back of the gallery around eight o’clock—unless he or she called him?

  I went into the gift shop and asked the owner if she had seen any strange cars in the back lot yesterday evening.

  “There was just one,” she said. “I left a little after six yesterday, and there was my car and Jan’s and a dark blue Honda. I figured it was someone at the gallery.”

  “Jan runs the shoe store?”

  “Yes, Jan and I usually walk out together. Celosia’s pretty safe, but no sense taking any chances. It’s kind of isolated back there. And just this morning I heard that somebody attacked Wendall Clarke on the other side of the fence. That doesn’t make me feel very good.”

  “You’re right to be cautious. Did you see anyone get in the Honda?”

  “No.”

  “Had you noticed any strange cars this week?”

  She thought for a few moments. “I guess that was the only one. Some people asked us if they could park there yesterday afternoon when they had that big meeting at the gallery. Of course we said yes. But when Jan and I are gone, anybody could come around and park there.”

  I thanked her for her help and started out when something caught my eye. On the counter next to the cash register was a glass dish filled with odds and ends, a pair of sunglasses, a key ring, some small toys, a child’s sock, and a gold button.

  “Is this your lost and found department?” I asked.

  “Yes, I find things everywhere.”

  “I lost a button just like this off my jacket. Do you mind if I take it and see if it’s the same one?”

  She handed the button to me. “No problem. I found it out back yesterday when I left.”

  “Thank you very much.” I put the button in
my pocket. It wasn’t off my jacket, but I bet any amount of money it was off Flora’s fancy pink suit jacket. And why would she be wandering around a back parking lot? And who was driving the dark blue Honda?

  ***

  Larissa Norton’s house was almost as elegant as Wendall Clarke’s in River Ridge, but Larissa’s was located on a quiet shady street closer to town.

  She did not want to speak to me. She stood in her front doorway, arms folded. At first, I thought her arms were gripped tight out of anger. A closer look revealed she was trying to keep from shaking.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, Madeline.”

  “Nell and I saw you leave the gallery last night. I want to hear your side of the story.”

  “No, you don’t. Like everyone else in this town, you think I killed Wendall.”

  I didn’t miss that her voice caught on his name. “Did you?”

  I thought her face couldn’t get any stonier, but it did. “You can’t talk to me like this! You have no idea what it’s like. Why are you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

  “Believe it or not, I want to help you.” She made a disbelieving sound. “Do you want to go to jail? Do you want to be accused of killing your ex-husband and spend the rest of your life in jail, or possibly get the death penalty?”

  “No!”

  “Then if you didn’t kill Wendall, why not tell me exactly what happened?” She didn’t answer, and for a moment, I thought she was going to go back into her house. “Larissa, I didn’t grow up in Celosia. I didn’t go to Celosia High. I don’t have any preconceived notions about you or your relationship with Wendall. I’ve been hired to find out who murdered him, and if you have information that will help bring that person to justice, then why not tell me?”

  She stared at me as if I didn’t understand what had happened. “He’s dead, Madeline. Wendall’s dead! You don’t know what that means.”