by Millie Mack
“What kind of decisions—decisions about you?”
“She wanted to, but my dad wouldn’t put up with that. Only Dad and I made decisions concerning me,” he said proudly.
Mary brought dishes of ice cream with fresh berries to the table, and the conversation stopped for a moment. Mary and Mrs. Cavanaugh went into the sunroom to eat their desserts, sensing a serious conversation between Carrie and Christopher.
Christopher started talking again about Suzanne. “I remember they had a big fight the night Dad said we were coming home. He said his research was done in Europe, and he needed to come home to follow a story. She wanted to stay in Europe, and she knew the magazine would continue to pay for us to stay there. She said she was sure no story was that important. Dad said she didn’t know anything about the story and that he was coming home to finish it. After that fight, I thought she would have drifted away, but she came home with us.”
“Do you know what story your dad was investigating?”
“Not really, but I’m not sure that’s important.”
“Not important! Why do you say that, if the story is what brought him home?”
“Because I don’t think the story brought him home. I think it was because of me we came home. And if we hadn’t…well, he might still be alive.”
“Oh, Christopher, you mustn’t feel that way. You aren’t responsible for your father’s death.”
“I’m not so sure. Remember when I said we made decisions about me together? My dad and I decided that I’d attend the Henriton School here in TriCity. I wanted to go there because most of my friends from TriCity went there. Dad and Grandma wanted me to go there, too. When Suzanne realized coming home was about me, she suggested that I come home alone. Then she and Dad could stay in Europe and come home in the summer after the school year. But Dad liked to spend time with me, and that’s why I think he told Suzanne he was working on a story.” Christopher’s eyes filled with tears.
Carrie moved her chair next to Christopher, took his hands in hers, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Christopher, you’re now old enough to face this head-on. You’re not responsible for your father’s death. If his death turns out to be an accident, the accident would have happened because it was his time. If your father was murdered because of a story, then the murderer would have tracked him down wherever he was working. Besides, did you ever think maybe your father told Suzanne something different to mislead her? Maybe your dad was suspicious of Suzanne.”
“I never thought of it that way,” he responded quietly.
Carrie could see he was shaking off the tears, so she continued. “I know you miss your father, but from this moment on, you have to hang onto the good memories. Time spent with memories is much more rewarding than time spent blaming yourself. And now I’ve a favor to ask. Since I didn’t get a chance to see your father to do this…would you mind terribly if I gave you a hug? I really needed to give your father a hug one more time.”
Christopher couldn’t speak, but he nodded his head. Carrie brought him close to her and held him for a long time, until she felt a calm settle over him. Then she pulled away and kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, you’ve caused my ice cream to melt,” she teased.
“I thought someone as old as you would have learned it’s the only way to eat ice cream,” he said, and his face filled with a grin.
She bopped him lightly on the head and grabbed the spoon for her ice cream.
16
After the dinner with Christopher, Carrie spent several restless hours in her room. The task of cataloging Jamie’s papers was going to take longer than she originally thought. What if she discovered information about Jamie’s murder? Whom could she trust? Not Suzanne. Suzanne lied to her. She didn’t tell the truth about the journal or the computer, but that didn’t mean she was involved with Jamie’s death. Then there was Joel, who suggested that all of Jamie’s papers should be sent to his office. Did he want to help or have access Jamie’s work? Stone also offered his editing skills to help her review Jamie’s papers. Maybe he was hoping to find more of Jamie’s work to publish. Then there were Charles and Mrs. Faraday, who clearly wanted to keep the papers and Carrie close to them. Christopher was the only person she felt she could trust, but he was only twelve years old.
Then she remembered the advice Simpson gave her. With so many people and pieces to this puzzle, she needed to make notes. Carrie took out several sheets of graph paper and wrote headers on each sheet: “Story Possibilities,” “Known Facts about Jamie’s Death,” “Murder Scene Description,” and “Next Steps.” Then she started a character sheet on each of the players. She listed who they were, their relationship to Jamie, where they were when Jamie was murdered, and anything else she had discovered so far. When she was finished, she realized the sheets contained very little information.
In her frustration, Carrie looked at the sheet she labeled “Next Steps.” The one item that caught her eye was “find Jamie’s journal.” Jamie’s journal could be a key element to providing the missing information.
Did Jamie hide his journal for safekeeping? I wonder, she thought as she remembered a hiding place they used in their newspaper days. If the editorial team wanted to leave a message for one another, they would hide it in a pocket folder that was taped to the back of one of the file cabinets. Could Jamie have used this same method to hide his journal? After all, he had all the same furniture from their newspaper office. Carrie decided to slip out and take one more look at the studio filing cabinets before she retired for the night.
***
Carrie crept down the stairway and moved quietly along the hallway. Just as she was feeling comfortable with the silence of the house, the hall clock struck midnight. She jumped what felt like several feet and muffled a scream with her hand.
Some detective you are. You haven’t even left the house yet, and you’re jumpy, she admonished herself. Carrie regained her composure and listened to see if she had alerted anyone in the house. When she heard nothing, she continued her journey down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the cool night air. She stood listening in the shadows of the house before crossing the driveway. She moved across to the studio steps.
Carrie climbed the steps to the studio and used her key to open the door. She snapped on the small flashlight she brought with her and went directly to the file cabinets. She tried maneuvering her flashlight, but she couldn’t quite see behind the cabinet. She extended her arm until her hand felt the edge of something. She pushed her body against the file until her hand could just reach inside the folder. The folder was empty.
Her disappointment was short lived because she thought she heard something on the steps outside. She quickly flicked off her light and flattened herself against the wall, between the file cabinet and the window. Carrie was sure she saw a shadow moving along the outside window. She tried desperately to remember whether she had locked the door, but it didn’t matter because she heard a key being inserted into the lock. She was backing further against the drape of the window when suddenly a hand reached out from the curtain and covered her mouth. She reacted quickly by trying to push the hand away, but an arm went across her shoulders and kept her from moving.
17
A voice whispered forcefully in her ear, “Carrie, be quiet! It’s Charles! You’ll scare our intruder away. I’m going to move my hand away from your mouth. Do you understand?”
Carrie nodded her head in agreement.
“Charles? What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death,” Carrie whispered, trying to catch her breath.
“I’m trying to trap an intruder. Now stay put. I’m going over closer to the door.”
Charles headed to the door by cutting straight across the floor. Just at that moment the moon emerged from behind the clouds, and Charles was caught in the glow coming through the back window. As the intruder opened the door, he spotted Charles in the light. The intruder grabbed the trash can by the desk and tossed it in Charles’s path an
d then quickly exited and went back down the steps. The next thing Carrie heard was a crash and a thud as Charles tripped over the trash can and hit the floor. Carrie first went to the door and looked cautiously down the steps, but saw no one. She closed and locked the door and then flipped on the light switch. The studio was now illuminated, and Charles was rolling on the floor, clutching his knee.
“Are you all right?” she asked as she knelt down to help him.
“Why did you turn on the lights?” was his first response.
“All the better to see you, my dear. Plus, I didn’t think both of us should lose the battle with the trash can.”
Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess the trash can did win this battle. What about the intruder?”
“He or she is gone, but what about your knee? Should I get some help?”
“I think it’s just bruised. Can you help me to a chair?”
Carrie grabbed the desk chair and rolled it over to Charles. With her help, he used the chair to lift himself from the floor. He sat in the chair for a few minutes, rubbing his knee.
“What brought you to the studio tonight? I thought you worked in here this afternoon.”
“I did, but I remembered something and wanted to check it out before going to bed. What about you? It seems everyone has a key to this place.”
“What do you mean by that?” he snapped, assuming she was referring to him.
“Suzanne used her key this afternoon to enter the studio, and unless my ears deceived me, our intruder also used a key to open the door.”
“Hmm, you’re right. Our intruder did use a key. As for me, just in case you were wondering, Jamie gave me a key.” He waited for a reaction, but Carrie said nothing. “I’ve had the feeling since Jamie’s death that someone was searching the studio. Two nights ago I was sure I saw a light out here. As a result, I thought I’d hide out tonight and see if anyone showed up. I didn’t want you to be in danger when you were working alone in here.”
“Charles, that’s sweet. It’s also…” She hesitated.
“You were about to say ‘stupid.’”
“Actually, I was going to say mighty brave. Since both of us agree there’s a chance Jamie’s death was murder, surprising an intruder could be very dangerous. Next time he might toss more than a trash can at you.”
“I might do more than just surprise him.”
“Charles, are you carrying a gun?” she asked with surprise.
“I figured it was either carry a gun or have someone accuse me of being stupid.”
Carrie chuckled. She never met someone so direct in his approach…except maybe Jamie.
Charles continued, “Could you get whatever you wanted in here so we can go? I think I should get some ice on this knee before it swells up.”
“We can go now. What I came to get isn’t here.”
“Isn’t here? When did you have a chance to look?”
“When I first came in,” said Carrie.
“But all you did was reach around the back… Oh, I get it, the secret hiding place on the back of the filing cabinet.”
“How did you know about that?” Carrie asked, surprised.
“When Jamie was recreating the newspaper office in the studio, he told me how the staff would leave messages for one another. I checked the pouch shortly after his death, hoping all the answers would be laid out for me in some secret message, but…”
“But…” Carrie prompted.
“No such luck. It was empty.”
“Do you think there was something in it?” asked Carrie.
“I don’t know if Jamie ever used it or just had it as a reminder of the past.” Charles started to stand.
“One more question,” Carrie asked, as she helped Charles to his feet. “Did Jamie keep a journal?”
“He did. In fact, he used a journal that I gave him as a Christmas present. It was a small, dark-green leather notebook, a little bigger than the three-by-five cards it holds. Is that what you thought might be in the pouch?”
“I wasn’t sure, but both you and Christopher have now confirmed that Jamie used this notebook. It might interest you to know that Suzanne denied the existence of the journal and said Jamie typed everything directly into the computer.”
They were on the landing, and even in the low light, Carrie could see the look on Charles’s face.
“I saw Jamie using the journal just a few days before his death, and Suzanne was in the room,” Charles said. “When I first met her, I just thought she was stupid. Now I’m beginning to wonder if Suzanne is stupid like a fox.”
They were working their way slowly down the steps. “Sounds like we need to concentrate more on Suzanne. Jamie didn’t talk about her to you?” Carrie asked.
“Very little. He said they were good friends and he would like her to stay with us. Mother allowed Suzanne to stay, but in her own room, of course.”
“What did Jamie think of those arrangements?”
“Actually, much to everyone’s surprise, he was just fine with it. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be a close relationship. It was hard for us to understand what Jamie’s fascination was with Suzanne. She sure wasn’t like Emma, Jamie’s wife. With Emma, it was obvious from the beginning that they were meant for each other.” Charles realized he had slipped, and then he remembered something Jamie always said, “Carrie is easy to talk to and very sharp. You find yourself telling her things you want to keep secret.”
When Charles mentioned the closeness of Jamie and Emma, Carrie felt a bit of sadness in her heart for what might have been. She shook off the feeling, knowing that Charles wasn’t being insensitive, but just stating the facts. She took a deep breath and said, “To hear Suzanne tell it, she and Jamie were inseparable.”
“Suzanne tells quite a few things differently from the world of reality. That’s why I’m glad she accepted our offer to stay after Jamie’s death. It gives me more time to find out why she attached herself to my brother. I told you I had Jonathan checking on her and I’m thinking I should check in with Jonathan tomorrow and see if he has any updates. I want to know what Suzanne did before Europe, what took her to Europe, and what she was doing before she met Jamie. It doesn’t seem logical that she conveniently appears in Europe and inserts herself into Jamie’s life.”
“‘Insert’ is an unusual way of putting it, but certainly an accurate way of describing what happened,” added Carrie.
They reached the bottom step when Carrie’s foot kicked something. She had Charles lean against the wall of the garage while she turned on her flashlight to search the ground. On the grass was a Swiss Army knife. She picked it up and turned it over. The initials J.W. were engraved in the silver metal.
“What is it?” asked Charles.
“It’s a fancy knife. Come on, let’s get you inside, and I’ll show you.”
Carrie helped Charles inside the house. She felt comfortable as he leaned his weight against her. He was so close to her, she could smell his shaving lotion.
They stopped and got ice from the kitchen, and Carrie guided him through the hallway toward the staircase. She was wondering how he would navigate the steps when Charles stopped midway down the hallway. He opened a door, revealing a small elevator.
Charles saw Carrie’s surprise. “The elevator was installed for Mother. She refuses to give up her room on the upper level, but all those steps were getting to be too much for her.” They entered and he pushed the button. The elevator was extremely quiet as it sailed to the second floor. When the elevator stopped, they were opposite Charles’s room. He hobbled across to the door and flung the bedroom door open.
His room was large, with a sleigh bed dominating the center of the room. An alcove in the corner provided a sitting area with a large bay window that faced the grounds at the back of the house. Carrie helped him across the room to a chair in front of the window.
“I’m fine now. I think I’m more bruised than injured. I’ll put this ice pack on my knee and take a couple of aspirins. I�
��ll be fine in the morning. Hey, before you leave, can I see what you found?” Carrie showed Charles her discovery. Charles turned it over and saw the initials. “J.W. hmm…could this belong to our friend Joel?”
“It could and does. He showed it to me when we ate lunch. It looks like one mystery has been solved. Joel paid Jamie’s studio a visit tonight. Maybe it’s time you and I have a discussion with Joel,” Carrie offered.
“I like that idea, plus I like the idea we’ll be working together.”
“I have to admit we would have been more effective tonight if we went to the studio together. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Charles. Carrie had turned to leave when Charles added, “I think Jamie made the right decision when he selected you to handle his affairs. I’m glad you’re here.”
Carrie smiled and said, “Feel better in the morning.”
18
The next morning Carrie decided to visit the main branch of the public library and read the newspaper accounts of Jamie’s death. It was obvious from the first article she read that the papers couldn’t decide if the death was accidental. One of the dailies took the angle that alcohol played a part. The other daily thought it might have been a botched robbery and wrote a sidebar about increased robberies in the city. Carrie found only one of the smaller weekly papers that thought Jamie was deliberately murdered. The reporter discovered what Carrie knew—Jamie was a champion swimmer, and therefore drowning didn’t make sense. The reporter also noted that Jamie worked for News World and suggested Jamie might have been researching a story. While Carrie agreed with the reporter’s theory, he provided no evidence to support his conclusions. Carrie continued to read the details.
Son of Prominent Publishing Family Found Floating in Harbor
The body of James Wesley Faraday, son of the prominent Faraday publishing family, was found floating in the water near Pier Seven in the harbor early this morning. The body was discovered around 2:00 a.m. by employees from the Admiral’s Saloon as they left work.
