Murder in the Balcony

by Margaret Dumas

  “I was just thinking,” I said. “That kind of press will be very helpful in convincing the owners to sell. It couldn’t have been better timed if you’d planned it yourself.”

  “Oh.” The penny finally dropped. “Well, I wish I could say I was that clever,” he shrugged.

  “Of course I’m not saying you had anything to do with the accident,” I lied. “It just seemed like afterwards someone was telling a very consistent story to the press…”

  Another shrug. “Sometimes things just align,” he said.

  Sometimes they have help. “So you haven’t spoken to the press?”

  “Me? No.”

  “But you have spoken to the police,” I said. “We all did, and I’m sure they were interested in what you’d seen. You got to the balcony fairly quickly, didn’t you? After she fell. You and your…associates?” I stopped myself, afraid I’d started to ramble. I’d only just caught myself before saying ‘henchmen.’

  He shifted in his seat. “Yes, we were just outside the balcony door. Of course we rushed in when we heard the scream.”

  “Of course. All of you?”

  He gave me a quick look.

  “It’s just that I noticed your table was quite lively at lunch. Do you remember if everyone was still there when you heard…”

  “I wasn’t exactly keeping tabs on everyone,” he said. “People came and went.”

  “Of course,” I repeated. I had to admit it seemed unlikely that he had excused himself from the crowded table to murder Sam, but I was still sure he was behind her death. I wanted to know which of his henchmen he’d sent to do the deed.

  “You were probably one of the first to get to the balcony,” I said. “I mean, after…”

  He frowned. “No, there were others. I’m sure someone saw what happened.”

  “Do you remember who was there?” I asked, probably too eagerly. “I mean, that’s what the police asked me, but I was down below and couldn’t see anything up in the balcony.” That should reassure him.

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t paying attention. I saw June and that assistant of hers, and a couple of the junior realtors were screaming and crying, a few people I didn’t know, but that may have been later, after we’d been warned away from the railing and we all turned to go. As I told that detective, I’m not really clear on who got there when.”

  Well, that was no help. I was about to press him when he spoke again.

  “I’m sure the police will figure it out,” he said. “It was probably just an accident.” He grinned conspiratorially. “From that faulty railing.”

  I wanted to slap that grin off his face. Instead I smiled. “I’m sure they will.” I reached for Robbie’s handbag, as if preparing to leave, having no intention of leaving. “I’m sure Sam’s death was an accident, and I’m sure Warren’s death was just a random burglary.”

  He’d been about to stand, to see me out, but now he froze. “Warren?”

  “Oh,” I smiled quickly. “He worked for June. He was killed a week or so ago. I assumed you’d heard?”

  “I had,” he frowned. “Are you saying you think his death is connected to the accident at the theater?”

  I widened my eyes. “How could it be?”

  He blinked. “Right. Sure. How could it be?”

  “Well, I mean…” I flashed him a smile. “Forgive me, I’m a recovering screenwriter. Warren and Sam both worked at the same real estate firm and both died suspiciously within two weeks of each other. If this were a movie they’d have to be connected.”

  He swallowed. “Good thing this isn’t a movie.” He stood, signaling it was time for me to go.

  I lingered. “If it were, the police probably would have asked everyone who was there when Sam died where they were on the night Warren died.”

  “Are they?” he asked sharply.

  “Why?” I looked up at him, my voice teasing. “Don’t you have an alibi?”

  He sank back down, rubbing his face. “As a matter of fact, I happened to be at the same bar as this Warren kid on the night he was killed.”

  I gave him shocked fascination. “Really? You knew him?”

  “No! It was just a coincidence. A lot of the same people were there that night and at the event on Monday. It was a bunch of realtors.”

  “Oh, so you were with that party? With the realtors?”

  “No, not with them,” he said. “I was meeting a colleague. We didn’t join the others. I don’t think they even saw us.”

  They wouldn’t, what with him hiding in a dark corner and everything. Except Warren had.

  “Your colleague knew Warren as well?” Who was the mysterious colleague?

  “Yes, I mean,” he looked flustered. “She—” Then he opened his mouth and closed it again, looking out the window. When he turned back to me something had changed. There was something new in his eye. Fear.

  “Nora, as much as I enjoy your company, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”

  “What is it?” I asked him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s nothing.” His smile was completely false. “I’ve just remembered that I have someplace to be. And as my newest partner, I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I never cancel on a commitment.”

  I stood. “Your newest partner. I like the sound of that.” I hated the sound of that, and I hated that he’d stopped himself from telling me who had been with him at the bar that night.

  Something had stopped him. He’d realized something. What was it? What was I missing?

  Chapter 30

  “What isn’t he telling you?”

  This was Hector’s greeting when I exited the building and got into his waiting car.

  “I wish I knew.” McMillan had completely closed up, barely saying a word as he’d led me back to the elevator. As the doors had closed, I’d seen him motion to Henchman Number Two on his way back to the office. “Why didn’t you give me one of your famous bugs to plant under his desk or something? We could be listening to him right now.”

  “Or he would have caught you and I would now be explaining to Detective Jackson why you became McMillan’s third victim,” Hector said.

  He’d been waiting for me because I’d called him at an insanely early hour that morning to ask if he could loan me a recording device to wear during my confrontation with McMillan. I probably could have used my phone to record it, but I assumed a (former) criminal mastermind would have access to something a little more high-tech. I’d been right. Hector’s one condition was that he come along and listen in just in case McMillan got out of hand. He’d heard every word.

  Now he pulled away from the curb as I unclasped a tiny oblong device from the underside of my jacket lapel. “Is there anything on this I can take to Jackson?”

  “Not unless he’s looking to invest in real estate,” Hector said.

  “I didn’t get proof of a damn thing.”

  “No, but it was never likely that a multiple murderer would pour his heart out to you just because he thinks you’re investing in his latest project.”

  “I didn’t think he’d pour his heart out,” I said. “But I hoped he’d be so arrogant, once he thought we were on the same side, that he might let something slip.”

  “Maybe he did,” Hector said. “Maybe we’re just looking at it wrong. Tell me again why you think he’s behind all of this.”

  I took a breath. “I think he killed Warren because Warren saw him with someone at the bar that night. He killed Warren because he had something to hide.”

  “I would imagine a man like that has many things to hide,” Hector said. “He can’t go around killing everyone.”

  I stared at him. “Are you saying you don’t think he did it?”

  “I’m keeping an open mind. He said he was with ‘a
colleague’ that night, yes?”

  “Yes.” Then it hit me. “If it was a colleague, it was probably someone in real estate. And we had a hundred realtors at the Palace on Monday.”

  “You think the colleague was there?”

  “They could have been. She could have been. At least he let that much slip. The colleague is a woman.”

  “Maybe this woman is the killer, and not McMillan.”

  “Is that what he realized?” I asked. “When he stopped himself from telling me anything else? Did it just occur to him that he knew someone else who had been at the bar and on the balcony?”

  “If so, that could account for his change in behavior.”

  “He was afraid,” I said.

  “Quite possibly with good reason.”

  Possibly. But I wasn’t willing to give up on casting McMillan as the killer just yet.

  “I’ll look at the social media posts again.” I tugged at my seatbelt. “I know Warren saw something that night, and I think Sam must have, too. Something that she might not have realized was significant until later. Maybe someone else saw something. I think we should talk to anyone who stayed late at the party. We have to find out who the colleague is.”

  “If anyone saw what Sam and Warren saw, they could be in danger,” Hector said.

  “They could. I’m just glad Callie left early. I wouldn’t want her to be next on the list.”

  “And I don’t want you to be.”

  I stared at him. “Why would I be? I had nothing to do with anything. And I’m now officially McMillan’s new best friend. Or did you miss that part?”

  “No, I heard that part. That part went just as you said it would.”

  “Damn right it did.” I stared out the window. “At least the Palace is safe for now, assuming McMillan doesn’t find out that I’m not getting the fat settlement he thinks I am.”

  “You don’t need a settlement. You don’t need anything from any man who was foolish enough to betray you.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said. “My bankers would disagree.”

  “Returning to you being next on the list,” he said. “I think you’re forgetting the trapdoor.”

  I blinked. I had forgotten the trapdoor. “You think that was meant for me?”

  “Who else is in the habit of wandering around on your stage?”

  “That depends on when it was tampered with. There were plenty of people wandering around on it Monday. You, for instance. Both June and McMillan. And Callie’s film and sound people. And June’s assistant Cora and McMillan’s entourage of baddies. In the afternoon all those same people plus the panelists were scheduled to be around. Maybe the trapdoor was meant for someone specific, but I still think it would be really difficult to predict who’d be on it when.” Then I saw it. “Except,” I said. “One of the panelists was Other Girlfriend Ingrid.”

  “Where does she fit in?” Hector asked.

  “It could have been meant for her,” I admitted. “She told me she wasn’t at the bar that night, and I believed her. But she could have been lying. Recent history has shown me to be quite gullible when it comes to liars.”

  Hector shot me a look but spared me from commenting.

  I went on. “If Ingrid actually did come late to Warren’s party, after Callie had already left, she might have seen something. Or even if she wasn’t lying about that, she still might have seen something on the street outside the bar, and she might not even realize it’s important.”

  Or she could be the killer. Was she? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Except. “She was in the basement,” I told Hector. “She was wandering around the basement on Monday.”

  “Which means she could have sabotaged the trapdoor.”

  I frowned. “Theoretically, sure. But you saw how she was dressed. She had on heels and a pink suit. I don’t think I see her rummaging around in the prop room, finding a ladder and a crowbar, ripping down all those boards, and still looking fresh as a daisy when I ran into her. Besides, why would she sabotage it? Who was she trying to kill? And how would she even know there was a trapdoor?”

  “How would McMillan?” he asked. Which was a point. I’d have to think about that.

  “If Ingrid isn’t the killer she could be in danger,” Hector went on. “If she saw something. If McMillan knows about her. If he’s the killer.”

  “He could have sent one of his henchmen downstairs to open the trapdoor,” I said, considering. “Assuming he knew it was there. Could he have seen it earlier that day when we were putting the mic on him? But, again, how would he know who was going to step on it?”

  “Unless he planned to guide his victim to it,” Hector shrugged. “These things can be arranged.”

  I chose not to think about what Hector might have arranged in his pre-retirement past.

  “It’s pretty farfetched,” I said. “Am I just trying to make the puzzle pieces fit because I want the killer to be McMillan?”

  “It’s clear that’s what you want.” Hector glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. “Why?”

  I thought about it. “He’s such a snake,” I finally said. “And a shark. I mean, when he went into his sales pitch he was as polished as the slickest Hollywood agent. He practically oozed. He was…” I tried to think of the ultimate flim-flam man. “He was Professor Harold Hill, without the charm or the musical ability.”

  Hector shot me a glance. “Who’s Professor Harold Hill?”

  “Professor Harold Hill. From The Music Man.” (1962, Robert Preston, Shirley Jones, and the good people of River City, Iowa.)

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  I blinked. “How does a person go through life without having seen The Music Man?”

  “Fairly easily, if the several million Colombians I grew up with are any measure,” he grinned. “You’ll have to show it to me some time.”

  “Damn right I will. There are some movies that are just necessary. I’ll put together a list.”

  “Marty is already making me a list,” he informed me. “He feels much the same way as you. He also referred me to a website.”

  I stared at him. “Let me guess. Movies My Friends Should Watch? By Sallie Lee?”

  “I believe so. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Vaguely.”

  We were a few blocks away from the theater when I got a text from Callie.

  I’m at the Palace. Where are you? I thought you might want to hear about my chat with Ingrid...

  The girl had a flair for the cliffhanger.

  As we pulled up I saw her in the ticket booth, taking down the deep blue velvet curtains that lined the interior of the glass enclosure. I tapped on her window as Hector drove away.

  “You found my list,” I said when Callie opened the door. Taking the dusty drapery down to be dry cleaned had been one of the many tasks I’d come up with to take advantage of the downtime until the building inspector cleared us to reopen. I’d left the list on the candy counter before Brandon’s fall the day before.

  “Can you, like, hold the bag open?” Callie spoke from behind an armload of fabric.

  She’d brought several large plastic garbage bags out to the booth. I grabbed one and she stuffed the curtains in as I held it for her. By the time we got everything bundled up into four bags we were both sneezing.

  “I mean, now what?” She regarded the bags, heaped on the tiled walkway that led from the ticket booth to the lobby doors.

  “Good question.” Neither of us had a car, and even if Hector had stayed, he probably wouldn’t have wanted the grimy bags anywhere near his lush leather upholstery. “Shall we walk it?” There was a dry cleaner two blocks down. “While you tell me every single detail about talking to Ingrid?”

  She hefted two bags and I grabbed the others.

  “What happened?” I asked as we hit the sidewalk. “How
did it go?”

  “She’s, like, nice,” Callie said. “You were right. I messaged her this morning and we ended up meeting for coffee. She’s super chill.”

  “Chill about you and Warren?” I asked. “Did she already know?”

  She shook her head. “Not until after he died. She figured out about me the same way I figured out about her, because of everything that everyone was posting. But guess what?” She shifted the weight of the bags. “We weren’t the only ones.”

  “What?”

  She nodded. “He was seeing this other girl named Tabatha from San Francisco State.”

  Where did he find the time? “Did Ingrid know about her?” I asked.

  “Not while Warren was alive. But after he died Tabatha found out about Ingrid and came pounding on her door all freaked out and yelling.” She shifted the weight of a bag. “She told me that when you ran into her in the basement, she was trying to get away from someone she thought was following her. Someone who was staring at her when she was putting on her lipstick in the ladies’ room. She was afraid there was another one.”

  “Oh,” I got it. “That explains why she was on the other side of the building. And so jumpy.” Or it was a very convenient story, I reminded myself.

  “I know I’m the worst,” Callie said. “But I’m, like, so glad this Tabatha found out about Ingrid instead of about me. Ingrid said she was legit crazy.”

  “And we’re sure she didn’t find out about Ingrid before Warren died?” A legit crazy Other Other Girlfriend sounded like a legit suspect to me.

  “You mean, are we sure she didn’t find out and kill him?” Callie asked. “Pretty sure. She thought she was his only girlfriend until after he was killed. But so did I.” She stopped at the corner, setting the bags down on the sidewalk and flexing her hands. I did the same. “Tabatha said she had a date with him on the Saturday he died. She told Ingrid that she waited for him for an hour at the Ferry Building. They were supposed to meet for the farmer’s market. When he didn’t show she sent him a million texts, getting more and more crazy because he didn’t respond.”

  “For obvious reasons.” By that time on Saturday, Warren had already been killed. “If his phone ever turns up, we can see if her story checks out.” We picked up the bags and started walking again. “How many phones did that guy have?” I wondered. “Just the two we know about, or one for every girl? And where are they all now?”