Dead Silent (A Jettine Jorgensen Mystery, Book 1)

by S. L. Menear

  She pulled the mask off and spoke in a weak voice. “My dear Gwen, we need to talk.” She implored her husband, “Leave us, darling. We won’t be long.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

  Clive squeezed Gwen’s shoulder. “Look after her. I’ll wait outside.” He walked to the heavy oak door and gently closed it.

  Liz pointed at her nightstand. “Open that drawer and hand me the small red leather box with King Arthur’s royal seal.”

  When Gwen handed her the box, Liz said, “I’ll teach you the steps to unlock the sacred box.” She performed an intricate sequence of pushes, twists, and pulls to unlock the puzzle box before lifting out her ring and brooch.

  “I haven’t much time, so listen carefully. You’re next in line for the secret weapon passed down from Queen Guinevere.” She pulled a leather pouch filled with white powder from the box. “This is a powerful sedative.” She pressed the center ruby on her ring and the jeweled top popped open. “Fill the ring with this powder and snap it shut. The sedative is tasteless and dissolves instantly in a beverage. Use it to immobilize your target.”

  “Aunt Liz, what are you talking about?”

  “Patience, my dear.” She held the antique brooch, pressed the ruby center, and withdrew a large-volume crystal tube that ran through it horizontally. A short gold needle was connected to one end of the crystal syringe, and a ruby was embedded in the handle. “This is Guinevere’s Lance. Use it to inject air into your target’s carotid artery, causing a massive stroke. Death is almost instantaneous. Choose only criminals of great evil who have escaped justice.”

  Gwen sucked in her breath as if she’d been gut-punched. “Aunt Liz, did you murder those three Palm Beach men?”

  “No, dear, I fulfilled my sacred duty and executed them.” She answered the shocked look on Gwen’s face. “My private detectives had mountains of evidence against them, but it was illegally obtained and wouldn’t hold up in court. Not only did Denton Donley rape twenty-eight young women, he used his money and influence to destroy their reputations and ruin their lives. They were sweet, decent girls who thought they had met their Prince Charming, only to be drugged and brutalized. He injured some women so badly they’ll never be able to bear children.”

  Flooded with outrage and confusion, Gwen paced beside the bed. “What about Binky Worthington? Did four marriages earn him an execution?”

  “Binky was a serial killer who killed for money. He murdered his four wives so he could inherit their fortunes, and he devastated their families. My investigators know how he killed each one, making the deaths appear accidental, but they can’t prove it in court. Too many evidence rules.” She paused. “Parents lost their beloved daughters.”

  “And Barret Branson? What about him?” Her mind raced, not able to comprehend her beloved aunt had killed those men.

  “He was a serial pedophile. At least twenty children between the ages of six and twelve were molested, and those were just the ones my investigators were certain about. There were probably many more. That sort of thing does permanent damage to a child mentally and sometimes physically too. Some even grow up to become molesters themselves. Branson’s wealth allowed him to behave like a monster without suffering consequences. Think of all the children who are safe now that he’s gone.”

  “Are you saying you sent your detectives to various places seeking out heinous criminals, and then you chose your targets?” A wave of nausea swept over Gwen.

  “It was never that simple, and recently at my advanced age, I could only execute men who would welcome an elderly woman of high social status. I had to sit beside them and pretend to be fascinated by their conversation while I drugged their drinks and executed them.”

  “This is a lot to take in, Aunt Liz. I don’t know what to think.” She studied the pale face of the woman who had stepped into the role of mother when her parents were murdered. How could such a warm, loving person be a killer?

  “This secret calling has been passed down to noble women in Queen Guinevere’s bloodline throughout the centuries. It’s time to pass that sacred duty to you, my dear. Will you accept your inheritance?” Liz slid the crystal syringe into the brooch, placed it in the box with the ring and pouch, and offered it to her.

  Gwen’s mind reeled. “Did my mother know about this?”

  “The woman who wields Guinevere’s Lance must bear the burden alone. I couldn’t share the secret with my younger sister or with my husband. I told you because you’re the heir. I realize this must come as a shock, but surely you know this is your destiny. You’ve always been keen for justice. My dear Gwen, you’re the perfect woman to wield the ancient weapon designed by Merlin himself.”

  Gwen bit her lower lip. “Aunt Liz, I swore an oath to uphold the law, not go around executing criminals.”

  Liz hesitated. “There’s something else. I know who murdered your parents. My private detectives have been following his trail of crimes. They’re sure it’s him, but they don’t have enough hard evidence that would be admissible in court. If you accept Guinevere’s Lance and agree to continue the noble commission, I’ll give you his name, address, and photo.”

  “And if I don’t accept? Will you allow the man who killed your sister, who killed my parents, to remain free?” Gwen replayed the gunshots in her mind.

  “If you refuse, I’ll pass the box to your second cousin, Juliet, and send her after him. The authorities will never prosecute him. He tossed the gun and shipped your parents’ car to a foreign country years ago. You told the police he wore a ski mask, so you can’t pick him out of a lineup.”

  “I’d recognize his evil eyes. They’re burned into my soul.”

  “You’re a police officer. You know that’s not enough for a conviction. Meanwhile, he continues to destroy families. Guinevere’s Lance must put an end to him. Shall I give the sacred weapon to Juliet?”

  Gwen couldn’t imagine meek little Juliet becoming an executioner, especially using a weapon as intimate as the crystal syringe. She flashed on the horrific carjacking scene and felt the searing pain of the bullet ripping through her midsection. She stared once again into the murderer’s evil eyes and heard his sick laughter. How many people had he killed? How many more families would he destroy if she refused her inheritance?

  Justice demanded action.

  Her stomach churned.

  What should she do?

  Thirty-Three

  JETT

  Mayor Phil Peabody’s widow, Marjorie, was still indisposed with a migraine, which I found frustrating in the extreme. I was desperate to know who had borrowed Phil’s speedboat the night Lola was murdered. And Marjorie’s pilot hadn’t returned my calls either.

  I paced on the tiled terrace, a brisk breeze swirling my hair as the puppies played on the grass. What could I do?

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Dan Duquesne, Chief Pilot for Jorgensen Industries.

  “Hi, Jett, what’s up?” Dan’s deep voice was somehow comforting.

  “Maybe you can tell me why your pilot friend, Steve Winters, isn’t answering his cell phone and why he won’t return my calls? I’m desperate to reach him.”

  “Oh, sorry, he had a few days off and went fly fishing in Montana. He’s somewhere out in the boonies where there’s no cell reception. I’m sure he’ll call you just as soon as he returns to civilization.”

  “When is he due back?” I continued pacing as I peered at the ocean.

  “I think he said he’d be back tonight, which means he’ll be at an airport with cell reception any time now.”

  “Good, but if you hear from him, please ask him to call me. It’s urgent. Thanks, Dan.”

  Two minutes after I ended the call, my cell rang. It was Steve Winters.

  “Miss Jorgensen, I apologize for not returning your calls sooner. I was in the wilderness in Montana. What can I do for you?”

  “For starters, please call me Jett. I need you to dig way back in your memory to Saturday, January 16th, two years ago, when you flew the Pea
bodys to New York to see the Broadway show, Cats. It was the same morning my parents flew out to Freeport in the G650.”

  “That was a long time ago. What were you hoping I’d remember?”

  “Did you see Mayor Peabody talking to my parents before he boarded your flight?” I held my breath, praying he’d remember.

  “He had a few minutes because Mrs. Peabody had stopped in the ladies’ room. I saw him talking to your parents.”

  “Good. Now for the crucial question: was anyone else talking to my parents?”

  He paused a few seconds. “Yeah, a friend had given the Peabodys a ride to the airport, and he stayed a few minutes to chat with your parents. It was that lawyer, Pierce Lockwood. I remember him well because he let me fly his L-39 fighter jet.”

  “Pierce Lockwood? You’re certain?” My stomach churned.

  “Yeah, Pierce is a nice guy, and his fighter is a real thrill to fly. Hey, I didn’t get him in trouble, did I?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just trying to piece together my parents’ last few days before they died. Please don’t mention this to him. It’s not important to anyone but me.”

  “No problem, Jett. It will stay between us. If there’s nothing else, I have to board now.”

  “Have a nice flight home, Steve, and thanks for the help.” I hung up feeling nauseous.

  Pierce Lockwood murdered Lola Brown, my parents, and the mayor. Or did he? I had to be sure. A few discreet inquiries would convince me one way or the other. Where to start? Marjorie Wentworth Peabody, the mayor’s widow. I went upstairs and changed from jean shorts into something elegant but casual‍—white linen pedal pushers, a pastel-pink floral Lily Pulitzer shirt, and matching pink wedge sandals. I still had scabs on my palms, my knees, and the undersides of my forearms from the car bomb, but at least the bandages were off. Good thing the pants covered my knees.

  I found Sophia in the kitchen, having just fed the dogs.

  She whistled. “Don’t you look sporty! Are we expecting company?”

  “No, I have a plan. I’ll use the puppies to cure Marjorie’s migraine while I ply her for information.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’ll work?”

  “Maybe. Mother taught me wolves have magical healing powers, especially if the patient pets them. It’s worth a shot.” I searched around. “Do you remember where you put their harnesses and leashes?”

  She pointed. “They’re in that chest in the pantry with some of the other puppy stuff.”

  I opened the chest and pulled out a blue harness with a matching leash for Pratt and pink ones for Whitney.

  “Better let them do their business out back before we get them suited up. Food goes through them fast.” Sophia led the dogs out through the terrace door.

  While I waited, I called Marjorie. Her housekeeper answered. “Miss Wentworth is unavailable.”

  I noted Marjorie was back to using her maiden name, probably distancing herself from her late husband’s scandalous behavior. “This is her neighbor, Jett Jorgensen. I have a guaranteed cure for her migraine. Tell her I’m bringing it now. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hung up before she could say “no.”

  Sophia returned with the dogs and helped me wrestle them into their harnesses. I clipped on the leashes and grabbed my handbag. Looking down at them, I said, “We’re going for a ride in the car, and then we’ll visit a nice lady who isn’t well. Your jobs are to make her feel better.”

  They wagged their little tails and gave one bark each. Such good dogs.

  I loaded them in the back of the SUV and drove over to the Wentworth estate. It was a five-minute drive counting the time it took to leave my driveway and enter hers. I pulled into her porte cochère and lifted out the dogs.

  The moment the housekeeper opened the door, I smiled, eased around her with the puppies, and asked her to lead us to Marjorie. It worked. Moments later, we were upstairs in her dark bedroom.

  I leaned down and whispered to the dogs, “Don’t make any noise. Just give the nice lady kisses.” I lifted them onto her bed.

  Pratt and Whitney snuggled against either side of her and licked her hands. She ran her fingers over their warm fur and opened her eyes.

  “What have we here?” Marjorie glanced at me. “Are they yours?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “They’re half-wolf, and they have special healing qualities. Your migraine will be gone any minute.”

  She smiled at my cute little darlings, and they kissed her cheeks. She couldn’t help caressing their fur and cuddling them close to her.

  “I can’t believe it, Jett. My headache is gone. Your puppies cured me.” She sat up. “Just to be sure, open my curtains a crack, and see if the light sets me off again.”

  I pulled back one of the heavy curtains a few inches to let the bright sunshine in. “Shall I open them wider?”

  “Yes, draw them fully open.”

  Sunlight flooded her bed with bright light. She squinted. “No pain. I’m cured until next time.” She pointed. “Hand me my robe, please.”

  We accompanied Marjorie to a table and chairs under a wide sun umbrella on her oceanfront terrace.

  “Would you like a lemonade?” She rang for the housekeeper.

  “Yes, thank you.” I waited until her helper left to get the drinks. “Are you still feeling well?”

  “Thanks to you and your doggies, I’m pain-free. I really appreciate this. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “If you can answer a few questions, you might help me more than you know.” I accepted a glass of lemonade and took a sip.

  “Of course, ask away.” She tasted her drink and set her glass on the table.

  “Was Pierce Lockwood a close friend of Phil’s?” I watched her face.

  “They were best friends for years, ever since they attended prep school together in New England.” She reached down and petted the dogs sitting on either side of her.

  “Do you remember which school it was?” I hoped she would remember and save me a lot of searching.

  “Ashcroft Academy in Vermont. They were roommates all four years. I have pictures if you’d like to see them.” She rang for the housekeeper again.

  “Yes, I’d love to.” I took another sip, trying to appear casual. “Did Pierce ever borrow Phil’s speedboat?”

  “Oh, yes, he loves to go fast. He used it many times until he bought one recently at a government auction for vehicles seized in drug raids.”

  “Did Pierce give you and Phil a ride to the airport two years ago when you flew to New York to see Cats?” I almost crossed my fingers as I awaited her answer.

  She took a moment. “Yes, our Rolls was on the fritz, and Pierce had court in downtown West Palm Beach later that morning. He drove us in his father’s Bentley and even spent a few minutes chatting with your parents before they flew out. I remember because I saw them when I came out of the ladies’ room. They left before I crossed the lobby.”

  The housekeeper returned with a photo album.

  “This album has pictures from Phil’s four years at Ashcroft.” Marjorie handed it to me. “Good thing you visited before I tossed his things in the trash.”

  I flipped through the pages, looking for pictures with Phil and Pierce together. The photos were divided into four sections, each section labeled with the year and his age. A photo in the third section caught my eye. A lovely young girl stood between Phil and Pierce. “Was Ashcroft co-ed?”

  “No, it was strictly for boys, but there was a small town nearby.”

  I pulled out the photo and checked the back. It was inscribed: My 16th birthday with Cindy and Pierce. “May I keep this?”

  “Keep the whole album if you like.”

  “Thanks so much, Marjorie. You’ve been a huge help.” I finished my lemonade.

  “Why all the questions about Pierce? Do you think he killed your parents?”

  I lied to protect Marjorie as well as myself. “I wasn’t going to mention this, but you have a r
ight to know. When Phil took the speedboat out the night before you flew to New York, it was as you had feared. He’d been having an affair with Lola Brown, and she became pregnant. She probably threatened to tell you if Phil didn’t get a divorce and marry her. He didn’t want to spoil his cushy lifestyle with you, so he killed her and tossed her overboard.”

  “But what does that have to do with your parents?” She seemed dismayed and confused.

  I explained the scenario with the telescope, the conversation the next day, and Phil’s assumption they’d figure out he killed Lola if her death was reported later. “So, he hired a hitman to sabotage their jet and make the crash appear to be an accident.”

  “That creep! How could I have married a man like him?” She shook her head. “But what about Pierce? Why did you ask about him?”

  “We started dating recently. I wanted to know if he’s the kind of guy I can trust, so I’ve been comparing what he told me about various things to what other people said about the same things. If he lied about the little stuff, he’d lie about big stuff. It turned out he was honest with me, so please don’t tell him I’ve been checking up on him. I don’t want to lose him.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She gave me a sad look. “Jett, I’m so sorry about your parents.”

  “Please don’t give it another thought. You had nothing to do with their deaths.” I stood and picked up the album. “We’ll leave you to enjoy your day. If you ever get another migraine, give me a call.”

  I returned home feeling proud of my puppies and concerned Pierce was probably the killer I’d been hunting. He didn’t seem like that kind of person.

  When we walked into the house, Sophia said, “Well? How did it go?”

  “Pierce and the mayor were best friends since prep school, where they were roommates all four years. I need to check something on the computer.”

  Sophia helped me unharness the puppies. “A rain shower is headed this way. I’ll take the dogs to the ballroom and play with them while you fire up your computer.”

  I carried the album into the study and powered up Dad’s desktop. Soon I was deep into an Internet search for news stories posted right before the mayor’s murder. There was nothing relevant in the local news. On a hunch, I typed in the town in Vermont near Ashcroft Academy.