by Carolyn Hart
Computer Whiz rocked back on his heels. “So nobody came in but somebody came in. Did the cop get a good look?”
Chief Cobb folded his arms. “Sergeant Lewis thinks it was a woman.”
A snicker. “He doesn’t know one when he sees one?”
Chief Cobb was short in his answer. “All he saw was a witch’s costume. When he came after her, she went out the window.”
The repairman glanced toward the windows. “Second story, Chief. Was she was flying on a broomstick?”
“Whoever it was got away. Somehow.” The chief, too, glanced at the windows. “Lewis is a good man, but he claims he was running toward her when a chair tripped him and he dropped his gun and the window slammed down. His gun’s gone. We haven’t found any trace of it. That’s when he saw a flash and heard popping sounds and the computer went black.”
“Somebody”—Computer Whiz pointed with an accusatory finger—“jammed this cord here and that cord there. Nobody ought to take out plugs and put them back in the PS2 ports when the monitor’s up and running. It blew the fuses on the motherboard and the whole system crashed.”
Cobb frowned. “Sergeant Lewis claims no one was near it.”
Computer Whiz looked skeptical. “Maybe Sergeant Lewis imagined pops and crackles and somebody’d already done the deed. Or maybe it’s like he said, he walks in and the system blows. In that case, invisible fairies must have been playing pin the tail on the poor damn computer. Take your pick, but somebody did it.”
The chief looked morose. “Can you fix it?”
“Yeah.” The repairman sounded cheerful. “It’ll take a while.”
Cobb’s face wrinkled. “How long? I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.” He pointed at the legal pad. “I’m having to write stuff out by hand.”
Computer Whiz shrugged. “I’ve done all I can do today. Got to order some parts from Oklahoma City. When I get them, it’ll be two days minimum. If all goes well.”
Chief Cobb grunted, returned to his table. When the door closed behind Computer Whiz, Cobb blew out a spurt of air, scrawled on his pad:
Screwy stuff re Murdoch case
Victim’s cell phone missing from the crime scene. Had it in my hand, something poked me in the rear, I dropped it. It has never been found despite thorough search.
Anonymous call claimed murder weapon was on the back porch of the rectory. During search, golf balls thudded into a black trash bag full of cans. How did the golf balls get out of the bag? No one standing by bag.
Tip received that preacher’s wife got a red nightgown from victim at his cabin. Call made at three minutes after 8 P.M.
Thursday from pay phone outside Shell station on Comanche.
Cleaning lady Friday claimed she found a burned portion of a red silk nightgown in the fireplace. She picked it up and a woman screamed in the kitchen. The cleaning ladies fled. There was no trace of a nightgown when Det. Sgt. Price investigated. Nothing but ashes. Who was in the kitchen?
Tip came in Friday from library that murder weapon was in the Pritchard mausoleum. Librarian in next cubicle looked over.
Phone was in the air, slammed into receiver. Nobody there. Gun found as promised.
Fake police officer interviewed Joyce Talley, owner of the Green Door, Friday night. Impersonation discovered when Mrs.
Talley called the police to insist Lily Mendoza had nothing to do with Murdoch murder. When contacted, Mendoza related she also was interviewed by a redheaded policewoman with a nameplate reading M Loy. Described her as attractive redhead in her late twenties, about five feet four inches tall and slender.
Corresponds to description given by Mrs. Talley.
I’d left rather a trail across Adelaide. Hopefully Officer Loy need not need appear again.
More screwy stuff possibly related to Murdoch case
Friday afternoon Det. Sgt. Price spoke to a woman on the back porch of the rectory. Said she was drop-dead gorgeous.
I remembered looking into slate-blue eyes . . . I shook myself back to the present.
Wore a wedding ring. Expensive clothes under one of those blue cover-ups church ladies use. Hair covered by a turban with a bunch of fruit on it. Wonder if she was a redhead? Gave her name as Helen Troy. No Troys at St. Mildred’s. No one of that name is listed in any directory in the city or county. Description: Late twenties, about five feet five inches tall. Fair skin with a spattering of freckles.
I felt rather breathless. It didn’t take a badge to see the direction of Chief Cobb’s thoughts. Who was the unknown Mrs. Troy? Why was she cleaning the back porch of the rectory? I was afraid I’d erected a signpost reading CRIME SCENE.
Chief Cobb scrawled:
Intensify search for Troy.
To-go sack taken from Lulu’s Friday evening. Front door opened, sack sped down sidewalk, nobody there. However, cash left on the counter with the check. Order for M. Loy.
Fake police officer M. Loy took custody of a black-and-tan dog from 817 Whitlock Street. Next-door neighbor called to commend police department on its new policy to rescue abused animals. Description of Loy corresponds to those given by Talley and Mendoza.
Loy? Troy? Some meaning there?
Computers blew Friday. Sgt. Lewis saw light on in my office, suspected intruder. Unlocked door, entered. Insists he surprised a witch at the computer who fled, climbing out of the window. He was tripped, gun disappeared, window slammed shut, then computer whined, popped, and flashed, screen went dark.
Nobody was in the room.
Cobb shook his head, flipped to a fresh page.
PERSONS OF INTEREST
1. The Rev. William Abbott, rector St. Mildred’s. Quarreled with Murdoch Thursday morning. Refused to reveal reason for disagreement. Claimed privileged matter. Murdoch had called vestry meeting for Sunday afternoon to consider fiduciary irregularity. Motive: Possible financial wrongdoing. Opportunity: In church when crime likely occurred.
2. Kathleen Abbott, rector’s wife. Lied about reason for visit to Murdoch cabin Wednesday
I drew in a sharp breath.
Cobb started. He looked around, stared at his closed door, frowned.
I edged away from his shoulder. The man had hearing like a lynx.
He resumed writing.
I returned, breathing delicately.
evening. Junior Warden Bud Schilling said Murdoch was determined to see church secretary fired, under no circumstances would have planned to purchase a birthday gift for her. Motive: Unclear. Cabin visit and phone call re red nightgown suggest sexual liaison, but Murdoch was having an affair with Cynthia Brown. No evidence exists that Mrs. Abbott was involved with Murdoch. Moreover, she appeared to dislike him. Possibly she quarreled with him in defense of her husband, but that doesn’t explain the red nightgown. Opportunity: Her whereabouts during critical period unknown.
He reached for a file, flipped it open. He picked up his telephone, punched numbers. “Mrs. Abbott?” He listened. “Do you have a cell number for her?” He wrote quickly on the outside of the folder. “Thank you.”
No doubt Bayroo had answered. I hoped the delivery of the cake had gone well.
Cobb clicked another number. “Mrs. Abbott? Chief Cobb. Where were you from five to seven Thursday evening?” He scrawled a thumb-size question mark on his pad. “Oh, at the rectory. Did you see anyone near the shed at the back of the property?”
I hoped Kathleen was keeping her cool.
“A witness observed you returning a wheelbarrow to the shed.”
He looked as predatory as a cat toying with a mouse.
I gasped. Aloud.
His head jerked every which way.
I didn’t regret worrying him. Wasn’t it against the law for a policeman to lie? Why, his very own notes made it clear he didn’t know where Kathleen was when Daryl was shot.
He gripped the phone tighter. “You didn’t mention that earlier.”
What was Kathleen saying? It was time I went to the parish hall.
If on
ly I were in time . . .
———
The parish hall looked like a combination rummage sale and carnival.
Huge posters announced:
Annual Spook Bash
4–8 p.m. Saturday October 29
St. Mildred’s Parish Pumpkin Party
All goods, services, and entertainments donated Proceeds Designated for Adelaide Food Bank
Big fans in the corners of the room were tilted toward the ceiling, rippling orange and black streamers that dangled from oak beams.
The wail of a winter wind moaned from the sound system. Black trash bags were taped to the windows, making the room dim. Cardboard skeletons with arms akimbo and one leg in a high kick were pinned on either side of each window. Decorated gourds, Thanksgiving centerpieces, pumpkin ceramics, assorted collectibles, homemade cakes, candies, breads, and jams filled trestle tables around the perimeter. Apples bobbed in large zinc pails. Cardboard signposts advertised FACE PAINTING, MADAME RUBY-ANN’S FANTASTIC FORTUNES, MYSTERIOUS MAZE, GHOST BUSTERS TENT, PUMPKIN PALETTE, and DINAH’S DEE-LICIOUS DINER.
Orange T-shirts with SPOOK BASH in topsy-turvy black letters identified volunteers. Teenagers arranged pumpkins and struggled with bales of hay. Voices, high and low, young and old, reverberated. “. . . over here, Pete, over here . . . be careful or it’ll fall . . . put all the chocolate on one table . . . can’t stand that noise . . . Suzie, those angel cards are precious!”
Kathleen stood near the maze made from stacked hay bales, clutching her cell phone. She looked as wary as a kayaker in a swamp teeming with alligators, but she sounded untroubled. “Oh, that. I never thought about mentioning it. I saw the wheelbarrow out in the yard and thought I’d better—”
I yanked the cell phone from her hand—“bring it in the house.”
“In the house? You mean the shed.” The chief sounded puzzled.
“Did you say Fred?” My voice was an excellent imitation of Kathleen, but that was easy, she sounded so much like my sister, Kitty. “It’s awfully noisy here. I think I’m misunderstanding you.” I held the phone up in the air as the wind noise reached a high pitch and a teenage girl shrieked, “Eeeek, there’s a snake in the hay. Tommy said so.”
“What’s going on?” Cobb snapped.
I spoke loudly. “We’re getting ready for the Spook Bash. It starts at four o’clock here in the parish hall. We have baked goods and hot dogs and chili and collectibles and games and a contest to paint faces on the pumpkins and—”
A little girl’s piercing voice demanded, “Mama, Mama, look at the cell phone up in the air.”
I glanced down. Curious brown eyes stared at the cell in my hand.
Of course there was no hand visible. Drat.
Kathleen moved fast, placing her hand over mine.
I struggled to hear.
Chief Cobb interrupted. ”Okay, Mrs. Abbott. I saw the posters when I was at the church this morning. But I want you to explain why you put the wheelbarrow in the shed Thursday evening.”
I grabbed Kathleen’s shoulder, pivoted her so that she was between me and the little girl who was tugging on her mother’s T-shirt.
“Wheelbarrow?” My voice rose in surprise. “What wheelbarrow?”
Kathleen tilted to one side, valiantly held up her hand, but there was a gap between it and the cell phone.
Chief Cobb was impatient. “The wheelbarrow that is kept in the rectory toolshed. You were observed returning it to the toolshed.“
The little girl’s voice rose. “Mama, that cell phone’s up there by itself.”
Her plump mother, chattering to an animated volunteer, reached down, swooped her up onto one hip. “Don’t interrupt, Mindy.”
I dropped down behind a bale of hay. “I don’t know anything about a wheelbarrow.” I combined innocence, amusement, and a hint of impatience. Myrna Loy was such a good influence. “The sexton takes care of all the lawn equipment and tools and he does a wonderful job. Someone’s made a mistake. Certainly I had nothing to do with a wheelbarrow at any time. I only went out into the yard for a minute Thursday to get the teal arrow. I know people get rushed, but even a volunteer should be responsible. There it was, simply propped up by the back steps, and you know how uncertain the weather’s been and I was right in the middle of dinner and scarcely had time but I dashed out to bring it inside—”
”Bring what inside?” He sounded confused.
“Why, I told you.” I oozed patience. ”The teal arrow. A donation for the collectible table. That’s what I thought you were asking about.
The teal arrow.” I enunciated clearly.
“Teal arrow.” He might have gnawed the words out of concrete.
“That’s right.” My tone was congratulatory. “Teal arrow. Just the prettiest shade of blue. Quite striking.”
Cobb tried again. “I’m talking about the wheeeeeel barrrrrow.”
“You’ll have to ask the sexton. Perhaps he can help you.”
The little girl’s head poked above the hay. She peered down.
I swooped up, thrust the phone at Kathleen. I hissed in her ear.
“Teal arrow. Keep it up. Invite him to the Bash. Find a teal arrow.”
———
I settled in the chair across from the chief. I was relieved when he finally said a brusque good-bye to Kathleen. Obviously, she’d held her own and continued to talk about the teal arrow.
Chief Cobb clicked off the phone. He glared at his tablet, scrawled:
Admitted seeing wheelbarrow, then changed her story. Something about a teal arrow. Slippery as an eel. She’s hiding something. That anonymous phone call claimed the gun was on the back porch. Something funny went on when I was searching the porch. And a black cat lives there. Murdoch got that dust and cat fur somewhere. Maybe it’s time to call the judge, see about a search warrant. But the porch was cleaned! Who was the woman in the turban? Who’s running all over town pretending to be an officer? It all ties up with the rectory. Could Mrs. Abbott have found the body on the back porch, used the wheelbarrow to move it? She isn’t big enough to handle the body by herself. Maybe a friend helped her. Maybe her husband helped. Opportunity: Yes.
Judith Murdoch. Motive: Jealousy. Aware of husband’s infidelities. Originally claimed she went to a movie, but has now admitted she was near her husband’s office as he left. She followed him to church. Offered confession but cannot describe actual crime scene or body. Fearful of son’s involvement (see below). Took gun from son’s car, claims she hid it in the backyard but the gun wasn’t there. Opportunity: Yes.
Kirby Murdoch. Motive: Anger over father’s treatment of girlfriend. Admits target practice with a .22 pistol that afternoon, could not produce gun. Followed his father’s car as he left his office. Also confessed. Couldn’t accurately describe crime scene or body. Possibly deliberate misinformation. Opportunity: Yes.
Lily Mendoza. Motive: Remove obstacle to her relationship to Kirby Murdoch. Never known to have met the victim. No expertise with guns, but could have taken .22 from Kirby’s trunk. Claims to have been home alone during critical period. No corroboration. Opportunity: Yes.
Cynthia Brown. Refused to confirm relationship with victim although she admits trying to contact him after work Thursday. Claimed he drove away and she went home. Opportunity: Yes.
Walter Carey. Insisted breakup of partnership with victim was Carey’s decision. Knowledgeable business leaders indicated Carey has been in financial distress for several years, and certainly the termination of the partnership wasn’t positive for him. Obvious hard feelings as the breakup was sudden and Murdoch immediately replaced the locks at his office. Carey said he was working late Thursday. No corroboration. Opportunity: Yes.
Isaac Franklin, sexton St. Mildred’s. Motive: Victim confronted him over removing food from the church pantry for the needy. Sexton supported by rector. Sexton’s report on wheelbarrow led to search of cemetery and church grounds. Discovery of tracks suggests murder occurred at or near the church. Use of t
he wheelbarrow likely would not have been otherwise discovered, which supports sexton’s lack of involvement. Arrived home at a quarter after five. Arrived at daughter and son-in-law’s home at six. Confirmed by wife and daughter and son-in-law. Collusion unlikely. Opportunity: Unlikely.
Cobb frowned at the tablet. He pushed away from the table, wandered to his desk, his gaze abstracted. He opened the drawer, found a sack of M&M’s, poured out a half dozen, tossed them in his mouth.
He glanced at the wall clock, gave an abrupt nod. He punched his intercom. “Hal, if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to see you.”
“Be right there.”
The chief punched another button. “Anita, I can use your help if you’re free.”
“I’m on my way.”
He was standing with his back to the table, munching M&M’s.
I resisted the impulse to filch a few. I picked up his pen, delicately loosened a clean sheet from the table. The chief stood with his back to me. I printed in block letters:
IRENE CHATHAM STOLE FROM THE COLLECTION PLATE AT ST. MILDRED’S. MURDOCH HAD PROOF. HE INSISTED FATHER ABBOTT CALL THE POLICE. FATHER ABBOTT REFUSED. THEY QUARRELED.
The chief’s door opened. I wrote a little faster:
THIS IS THE FIDUCIARY MATTER MURDOCH INTENDED TO REPORT TO THE VESTRY.
“Chief.” Anita’s voice was puzzled. “How’s that pencil moving by itself?“ She stood in the doorway, one hand pointing. I eased the pencil to the table. Cobb whirled, approached the table. He picked up the pencil, shrugged. “Optical illusion, I guess. Anyway—” His gaze stopped.
He reached for the sheet with the printed message. “Where’d this come from?”
Anita came up beside him. “One of the folders?” She waved at the laden tabletop. She looked fresher today, less tired.
“I know everything in every folder.” He thrust the sheet at her.
“Who did this?”
She read, shook her head. “I suppose it was part of someone’s notes.”
