Bad Blood (Maggie Ryan Book 8)

by P. M. Carlson

  Trainer glanced from the photos to the ID folders to Mrs. Deaver.

  “It was a joke,” she said again.

  He looked back at Aggie. “You said that was number one,” he said.

  “Number two is no surprise. Several people, including you, Sergeant, can identify the same woman circled in the photograph as Marie Deaver. Number three—and this took a hell of a lot of legwork, Sergeant. I may send you a bill for the gasoline. Evelyn Price, teller at the Merchant’s Trust bank in Wheaton, will identify that very same woman circled in the photo as Belinda Johnson, who frequently cashed her welfare checks at that bank.”

  “But Belinda is dead!” exclaimed Delores Gallagher. Mamma was frowning.

  “Right,” said Aggie. “But it turns out that the person who took care of Belinda’s funeral arrangements forgot to tell the welfare people that she died. The welfare computer is still issuing her checks. And mailing them to Mrs. Deaver’s address.”

  “I don’t understand!” wailed Delores. “Belinda is dead! And who’s Maybelle Darcy?”

  “I wondered that too,” admitted Aggie. “Belinda and Caroline were your maids, Mrs. Deaver. I noticed when I happened to peek into your files when I visited you. But who was Maybelle?”

  Mrs. Deaver looked down at her hands, still clutching her handbag strap. Her knobby knuckles were a contrast to her well-cut suit. She always used to wear gloves, Rina remembered, even in summer. Mrs. Deaver said, “Maybelle was Belinda’s cousin, I believe. Belinda was collecting her check too. That’s what gave me the idea. If Belinda could do it, why couldn’t I? Bobby needed it.”

  “I see.” Aggie nodded. “And Caroline must be dead too.”

  “Oh! Poor Caroline!” squeaked Delores Gallagher. “I didn’t know!”

  Sergeant Trainer said, “Caroline White. That’s the third set of ID’s. Were they used fraudulently too, Ms. Lyons?”

  Aggie grinned at him disarmingly. “I thought I’d leave a little work for your department to do, Sergeant.”

  He didn’t quite smile. “Well, Ms. Lyons, if this checks out we’ll have a strong case here of welfare fraud, but …”

  “Welfare fraud!” cried Mrs. Gallagher. “Marie, how could you? Frank left you plenty!”

  “Not with inflation, dear,” said Marie Deaver.

  Rina stared at her in puzzlement. Welfare fraud? But she used to work for the welfare department!

  Delores was still dithering. “But how could you? Oh, was it for Bobby?”

  “Exactly,” said Marie with dignity. “He’s doing so well at Shadyland. I couldn’t let them take him to the state institution.”

  “But what will happen to him now?”

  Marie Deaver, gazing at the carpet, could not prevent a tear from sliding down her cheek. Rina’s shock gave way to enormous sympathy for Marie. Welfare fraud—that was terrible. But Marie had done it for her child! And Rina felt growing indignation at Aggie. Why had Aggie interrupted Rina’s confession, her attempt to take care of her daughter, only to expose and blame this brave woman for attempting to take care of her son? Marie was only trying to be a good mother!

  Sergeant Trainer too was staring at Aggie. “You haven’t explained the connection that Mr. Spencer has with all this.”

  Aggie tore a slip of paper from her notebook and handed it to him. “I hope you won’t have to call on the people on this list. But if necessary, these three will testify that Mr. Spencer was blackmailing them. It will make Mrs. Deaver’s motive clearer.”

  “Blackmail? John?” said Marie Deaver, suddenly animated. “Are you trying to say—no, of course not! John didn’t know any of this! No one did! Why would I have told him? We’d barely met! He had no way to blackmail me!”

  But then Mamma, her black eyes grim, said suddenly, “Darcy. He called her Mrs. Darcy. That Thursday afternoon, before we introduced them. And he said he’d met her in the grocery checkout line. At Eastland.”

  Brows raised, Delores Gallagher nodded slowly. Marie Deaver slumped back into a chair.

  Sergeant Trainer said, “We did give a quick look at all the cars. And I come back to the question I was asking Mrs. Marshall earlier. There was a lot of blood. We didn’t see any in our quick inspection of Mrs. Deaver’s car. There had to be blood in the car, unless she’d wrapped him in towels or something.”

  Rina said, “My quilt!”

  “What?”

  “She’d just bought a quilt for her son! She had it in her car that afternoon—” Rina’s hand flew to her mouth in dismay.

  With a nod to the officer, Sergeant Trainer pulled out his card for the second time that morning and began to read the Miranda warnings to Marie Deaver. Rina closed her eyes and tried to grasp what had happened. She remembered Spencer’s call, the cash registers in the background. She remembered Marie making a point of telling him she’d be at the grocery before the TV show. They were making a date, she realized now. And in Marie’s car—no! Her intellect had followed, but emotionally Rina could not yet believe that she was not to be the one arrested. Her long night of pretending to sleep while she prepared and examined her story, her terrifying leap into the horrors of confessions and trials and prison, hadn’t been needed after all.

  Mrs. Deaver was saying, “Yes, I understand, Sergeant Trainer. Yes, I want a lawyer. That’s all I have to say.”

  The images unreeling in Rina’s mind had reached the inexplicable: Marie, in her white gloves, hurrying quietly into Ginny’s bedroom to pick up the scissors she’d seen there earlier. Rina opened her eyes. “But why Ginny?” she demanded. A little ember of rage was growing in her heart. “Why did you try to hurt her?”

  Marie looked stung. “I didn’t! She brought it on herself! That boyfriend was no good. When I saw his car in the driveway that day, I decided to leave the scissors there, instead of in the river. And the rest she brought on herself too. She ran away.”

  “But why did you take Ginny’s scissors in the first place? Why try to involve her?” Rina was sitting upright, stiff with anger.

  “Bobby needs me. I had to deflect attention from myself, don’t you see? The scissors happened to be handy. Rina, dear, don’t be too upset. It’s not like my Bobby. You couldn’t love her like your own child.”

  Rina was on her feet, fists clenched by her side, and she wasn’t sure what she might have done if Aggie hadn’t snared her deftly around the waist and said, “Sergeant Trainer, you’d better take Mrs. Deaver away. Because next time she says something that dumb, I won’t stop Rina. I’ll join her!”

  The sergeant nodded. “All right, Mrs. Deaver. Time to go.”

  The officer took her out. Sergeant Trainer turned to Aggie before following them. “We’ll need a statement,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll come down to the station now.”

  “Strange accident that destroyed that confession,” he added.

  “Yes, strange,” said Aggie, not looking at Trainer. She poked at the fringe of the hearth rug with the toe of her oxford. “But then, even the best detectives overlook things sometimes. Don’t they?”

  This time he did smile. “As long as the reporters do too.” He turned to Rina. “Mrs. Marshall, in view of the fact that your written confession has been destroyed, we won’t have to report the information you were giving us earlier.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, Sergeant Trainer. I’m sorry, very sorry. I just couldn’t bear it anymore.”

  “Let’s all just forget it,” he said, and left too. Aggie saluted Rina and followed Trainer out.

  Then there was a friendly arm around Rina’s shoulder, and her mother’s voice saying, “Well, tiger. How are you doing?”

  Rina shook her head. “I just can’t get used to the idea that it was Marie Deaver!”

  Her mother shrugged. “It is hard to believe. But she’s always been so defensive about Bobby, so protective—”

  “I guess she was trying to be a good mother.” Rina’s mind moved on to the important thing. “Oh, I hope Ginny calls soon! She can come home now! But
you were right, Mamma. My plan was so stupid—”

  “Of course it was,cara. But I know you did it from love. The only problem was that you put me in a very difficult position.”

  “I know,” said Rina remorsefully. “Having your daughter arrested for murder—oh, Mamma, I am sorry!”

  “No,cara, not that! I mean having to think of a confession to top yours.”

  “Mamma!”

  The black eyes snapped ferociously. “I did it while I was pretending to buy fish.”

  “Mamma! My God!” Rina burst out laughing.

  Mamma sniffed. “You aren’t the only tiger in this house, young lady.”

  XXII

  Nick drove Ginny to Maryland in a rented car and locked Will and Sarah and pets inside briefly while he escorted her to the door. On the phone he’d heard her say, “I’ll be home later today, Mom, I’ll tell you where to meet me.” So when she opened the door they were surprised, Rina and the grandmother rising from their chairs with looks of astonished delight. Ginny knew what she had to do and ignored the lanky figure in knee pants and white fur who was lounging in a big chair. She dropped her backpack and ran up the stairs and into Rina’s arms, and they did the appropriate laughing and crying and hugging and kissing. She kissed her grandmother too. Finally she turned to Nick. She and Maggie had agreed that Rina would need a few weeks of reassurance from Ginny in order to cope with the whole truth. So Ginny introduced him as Mr. O’Connor, a school counselor who’d recommended Gogol to her, then moved to Philadelphia. “I needed to think,” Ginny explained. “And Mr. O’Connor and his wife were really helpful.”

  Rina still looked a bit anxious. Not surprising if your daughter had gone missing and then reappeared with a strange man in tow. Nick did his best to look nonthreatening and amiable. Smiley O’Connor, straight from Mr. Rogers’s neighborhood.

  After a few minutes the immobile figure in the chair said, “This is the prodigal, I suppose?”

  Rina looked embarrassed. “Oh, Aggie, I’m sorry! Yes, this is Ginny.”

  “Virginia Alice Marshall,” said Ginny, looking at Maggie for the first time.

  “A very good name. Pleased to meet you, Virginia Alice Marshall. I’m Aggie Lyons.” She stood up with a grin and shook Ginny’s hand formally, then glanced at Nick. “And you must be Mr. O’Connor, the famous friend from Philadelphia.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Nick.

  “Well, now that I’ve seen the happy ending, I’d better be off,” said Maggie. “You’ve probably got some catching up to do, Ginny.”

  “Yeah,” Ginny said seriously. “I’ve got a lot of things to think about. For starts, Mom and I are going to have some long, long talks. And Gram—well, see, I’ve been thinking, I’d really like to visit Europe someday. So I want Gram to teach me some more Italian, and I’m going to sign up for French at school.”

  Maggie nodded in delighted approval. “Busy days ahead.”

  “Right. And as soon as I figure out what it should be, I want to do a new self-portrait.”

  “Not an easy job,” warned Maggie.

  “Yeah, it may take a while. But the old one’s outdated for sure.”

  They smiled at each other, then Maggie glanced around. “Hey, I thought there was supposed to be a cat.”

  “Yes, where’s Kakiy?” asked Rina. “In your backpack?”

  Ginny and Nick had worked this out on the way down. She said, “Well, Mom, I found another place for Kakiy to live.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking, it’s not really fair. This is Gram’s house too. And it’s not fair to her or to Kakiy either. He’s a terrific cat, and he deserves to live someplace where he’s not a problem. And he likes Mr. O’Connor’s family, and they like him.”

  “But Ginny!” Rina was concerned, Nick could see. “Are you sure? You’re so attached to him!”

  “Of course I’m attached to him, Mom! That’s the point! Keeping him here is pretty selfish. More for me than for him. And I want him to be where it’s best forhim. See, if you really love someone, you realize that sometimes it might be best to just let go for a little while.”

  Maggie was standing very still, her knuckles pressing against her lips, her eyes concealed by the glasses. Nick wanted to hug her. Instead he jammed his hands into his pockets and concentrated on the others. Rina still looked worried. The grandmother said uncertainly, “Ginny, I can try. To be honest, I’ll never like cats. But I can try to be more reasonable.”

  “It’s okay, Gram.” Ginny grabbed the old woman’s hand reassuringly. “I know it’ll be good for him, that’s the important thing. They’ve got some great little kids who really love him.”

  Nick saw that Maggie still could not speak. He said, “Ginny’s right. We all love him.”

  Ginny nodded. “Yeah, they all do. And it’s not like I’ll never see him again. They know he’ll always be mine too, in a way. And maybe when I go away to college he can stay with me sometimes.”

  Rina was looking happier. A thoroughly nice woman, thought Nick. “So it wasn’t just needing to think. It was Kakiy too!” she exclaimed, glancing at Nick more warmly. She seemed to know there would be more to the story, but he could almost see the fears of Philadelphia drug dealers slipping away. Leaving her cat was the most reassuring thing Ginny could have done. “That’s why you went! To find him a place to live!”

  Ginny hugged her. “Yes. I had to get him settled in. Kakiy will be very happy in Philadelphia.”

  “City of brotherly love,” agreed Nick. “But I’d better be getting back now, too. I’ve got kids to take care of, plus a brand-new cat.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. O’Connor! For taking care of Ginny, for bringing her back—” Rina saw Maggie starting down the stairs after Nick. “Oh, and Aggie, thank you too! I just wish you could stay and get to know Ginny, after all you’ve done for her!”

  Maggie paused, one hand on the front door. “There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do, Rina. But I’d better take a rain check. When you and Ginny have had your long talks, and everything’s settled down again, give me a ring. I’ll be here in a flash. If you want me.”

  “Of course we’ll want you!”

  Maggie’s mouth twitched uncertainly, and she shook her head. “Anyway, right now I’d better get back where I belong. Rina, thanks for letting me invade your lives.” She turned the knob.

  Ginny ran down the steps and pumped her hand, whispering something. Maggie smiled, saluted the others, and was gone in a white flutter like wings.

  Nick waved to them all and followed her out. They walked casually to their separate cars, temporary strangers for the benefit of anyone glancing out the window. But as he got in he was thinking of the whispered exchange he’d overheard at the door.

  Ginny had said, “Au revoir, you old slut!”

  And Maggie, grinning, had replied, “Ciao, you little bastard!”

  Amazing pair. Life would never be the same.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  P.M. Carlson (www.pmcarlson.net) taught psychology and statistics at Cornell University before deciding that mystery writing was more fun. She has published twelve mystery novels and over a dozen short stories. Her novels have been nominated for an Edgar Award, a Macavity Award, and twice for Anthony Awards. Two short stories were finalists for Agatha Awards. She edited theMystery Writers Annual for Mystery Writers of America for several years, and served as president of Sisters in Crime.

  Books by P.M. Carlson:

  Audition for Murder: Maggie Ryan, 1967 (1985)

  Murder Is Academic: Maggie Ryan, 1968 (1985)

  Murder Is Pathological: Maggie Ryan, 1969 (1986)

  Murder Unrenovated: Maggie Ryan, 1972 (1988)

  Rehearsal for Murder: Maggie Ryan, 1973 (1988)

  Murder in the Dog Days: Maggie Ryan, 1975 (1991)

  Murder Misread: Maggie Ryan, 1977 (1990)

  Bad Blood: Maggie Ryan, 1979 (1991)

  The Marty Hopkins Series

/>   Gravestone (1993)

  Bloodstream (1995)

  Deathwind (2004)

  Crossfire (2006)

  Short fiction

  Renowned Be Thy Grave, or The Murderous Miss Mooney(1998)