The Codebook Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  “Change, how?” Charley asked.

  “In the first part, when she’s using the simpler code, those entries all seem to be sentences, the sorts of entries you’d expect in a diary,” he explained. “Simpler code, that is, except she’s also using those coded names I told you about, Charley: Ned, Bess, and George.”

  Vanessa and Katie cried in unison, “Nancy Drew!” Everyone laughed.

  “Yeah, she used code names and wrote in code. This girl seriously didn’t want anyone to know what she was writing about,” PJ mused. “Anyway, later, when she switches to the book cipher, some of the entries look like lists. Or they’re just a word or two. And a few of them include columns of numbers with decimals instead of slashes. I think those might be dollar amounts.”

  “Dollar amounts?” Charley recalled Merritt Vance’s comment about Regan Fletcher’s journal.

  Might be all sorts of dirt in that book.

  Chapter 10

  Kendall Magellan emerged through the double doors into the hallway. The last time Charley had seen her was over a year ago, while dropping off donations to the Theater Department from her shop. Vintage items that didn’t sell or were too damaged to repair could find another life here and were always gratefully accepted.

  Kendall’s thick, snow white hair hung down around her shoulders. She wore a white smock over faded jeans, with a bright yellow silk scarf draped and knotted artistically around her neck. Long beaded earrings and matching necklace swung and clicked, twinkling in the sunlight. She was listening intently to a tall skinny boy with a ponytail and a black felt beret. As the boy talked animatedly, illustrating his point with large, dramatic hand gestures, Kendall caught Charley’s eye and winked before returning her attention to her student.

  Charley turned to the teens. “All right, you two, off you go. Katie, let me know if you find anything at Wright Library that seems promising. PJ, can you keep decoding the first half of the journal? Discovering the book key will be my job.”

  “Our job,” Vanessa amended.

  Katie’s eyes were enormous. “Are you, like, questioning Ms. Magellan?” she whispered.

  “Like, yes,” Charley whispered back. “And PJ? Going forward, let’s try to keep this a bit more on the down low, okay?” He blushed, and she softened the rebuke with a smile. “Now, go.”

  The teens went, high-fiving one another as they trotted down the hall.

  “You know what Marc would say,” Frankie observed mildly. “Putting those kids at risk?”

  “They’re going to the library. Where’s the danger in that?”

  Despite her lighthearted response, Charley knew Frankie was right. They’d been calling this a cold case, but someone had broken into her home, a very real, very uncold someone. While Charley would never knowingly ask her teenage helpers to do anything dangerous, she intended to find that person, and she would use every resource at her disposal to do so.

  Kendall approached with a warm smile. She stood straight and tall, solidly built without giving an impression of heaviness, moving with the ease and vitality of a much younger person. Her large brown eyes sparkled with energy and life. She wore no makeup, and a few laugh lines had gathered around those eyes, but with her firm jawline not yet blurred by age, high cheekbones, and pale skin free from age spots, she looked closer to forty than sixty.

  “Charley, how lovely to see you. And Frankie Cartolano? Dear child, motherhood agrees with you.”

  They hugged, and Charley introduced Vanessa and Heddy.

  “I love your earrings and necklace,” Heddy said. “Definitely not an Old Hat purchase.”

  Kendall looked pleased. “I made them. I create jewelry and wall hangings as a little artistic sideline, whenever I have the time.” She turned to Frankie. “I’d love to make you something for the baby’s room. Perhaps a mobile?”

  Frankie beamed. “That would be amazing, thank you!”

  “Kendall,” Charley said, “we understand you’re busy, but we’d like to talk to you about something…difficult, perhaps even upsetting.”

  “Regan Fletcher?” Kendall laughed at Charley’s obvious surprise. “I had a feeling you’d be coming. These kids? You’d have to live under a rock not to hear them talking. Katie’s been bubbling over with tales of your discovery in that old tunnel.” Charley sighed inwardly as Kendall turned to Frankie. “Let’s get you off your feet.” She turned toward the auditorium.

  Vanessa hung back, her hand on Heddy’s arm. “You two have a chat with your old teacher. We’re going to, um, explore this beautiful building. Right, Heddy?”

  As Heddy nodded in confused agreement, Vanessa sent Charley a swift wink, impossible to misinterpret. We are on the case. What, Charley wondered uneasily, was Vanessa up to?

  Kendall led the way through the double doors, across the stage, and down into the empty auditorium. It was cool and quiet. A handful of spotlights illuminated the stage and the first few rows of chairs, leaving the rear of the theater and balcony in deep shadow. They took seats in the front row, Kendall in the center. Frankie sank into a plush padded seat with a grateful sigh. Charley turned to face her old teacher, pulling her knee up and resting her chin on it.

  “Does it bother you?” she asked. “The whispers about Carter?”

  “Of course it bothers me.” Kendall twisted the fringe on her yellow scarf. “Every so often the story crops up, usually around the anniversary of Regan’s death. And then the gossip starts all over again. It has ruined Carter’s life.”

  “People in this town have long memories,” Charley murmured, “particularly when there’s a scandal.”

  Kendall stared at the empty stage, her face reflecting anger and sadness in equal measure.

  “When he first went free,” she said at last, “my brother was mentally and physically exhausted. Prison nearly broke him, but the Magellans are made of strong stuff. We’re descended from Moorish kings, or so my father always said. Carter survived that living hell, and he tried to put it behind him, to make a life here. He reached out to some old friends, took a few adult education classes. It wasn’t easy, but he was making progress. Then that man recanted, and it was as if Carter were on trial all over again. You cannot imagine the cruelty of people—supposed friends, neighbors we’d known all our lives.”

  Kendall sighed, an exhalation of weary resignation. “The renewed suspicion crushed him all over again. Now he hardly speaks, never goes out. He’s turned our garage into a workshop. He’s become quite an accomplished sculptor in metals, welding and banging away out there at all hours. The neighbors complained, so we soundproofed it for him. I think the violence of it is therapeutic. I sold one of his pieces online a couple of years ago and got an astonishing price.”

  “An artistic family,” Frankie observed.

  “I suppose so.” Kendall fingered her elaborate necklace. “Our mother sculpted in clay. She had a true talent. After Carter’s conviction, she never touched her wheel again. After her death, my father tried to get me to pack up her creations, but I managed to overrule him on that, which was no small victory. Sawyer Magellan is not an easy man to gainsay.”

  Charley noted the present tense. “Your father’s still living?”

  “Yes, he lives with us.” Something flitted over Kendall’s face, then it was gone. “Me, my men, and my dogs. I have two Weimaraners, Othello and Caesar. Shakespeare is one of my passions, as you girls know.”

  It occurred to Charley that both names belonged to characters who were ultimately betrayed by those closest to them. She wondered if the choice had been deliberate.

  “Do the rumors bother your father?” she asked.

  Kendall huffed in amusement. “Nothing bothers Sawyer. He is ninety-six and still very much with it mentally. He walks all over town, usually very early or very late, to avoid the curious and the callous. He even drives if it’s close to home, although not afte
r dark. That’s almost the only concession he’s made to his advanced age.”

  Something in her tone told Charley this was not a topic Kendall wanted to pursue, so she got down to business.

  “You know we found what we’re sure is Regan’s journal. It’s in code, so we’ve been unable to read any of it.” Charley ignored Frankie’s raised eyebrows at this white lie. “The last thing I want to do is dredge up painful memories, but there are unanswered questions about the case, aspects even the police weren’t able to resolve. Yousef Alsayegh’s deathbed retraction threw a mantle of mystery and confusion over everything. I’d like to see if I can’t lay some of those mysteries to rest.”

  “From what I’ve read in the news, you’ve become quite a successful sleuth,” Kendall said admiringly. “The truth is, if you hadn’t come to me, I was going to reach out to you. I want to hire you, Charley. I’ll pay whatever you think is fair.”

  Charley blinked. “Hire me? Kendall, I plan to review the case, as I said, to see if I can learn anything new. But I’m not a real investigator.”

  “What is ‘real’?” Kendall’s tone became bitter. “My father hired the best ‘real’ investigators money could buy, and they all failed. I want you to find something that establishes my brother’s innocence once and for all. I want—no, I need you to dispel the dark cloud that man’s lies have cast over my family.”

  This caught Charley by surprise. “So you think Alsayegh truly was guilty?”

  “Of course he was guilty!” Kendall snapped. She calmed herself with a visible effort. “Forgive the outburst; it never gets easier to talk about this. What I’m asking is straightforward. You don’t need to solve Regan’s murder; we know who killed her. I just need proof that Carter didn’t do it. That should be easy enough.” She gave Charley’s hand a decisive pat. “And you can start your investigation with me. Ask your questions. Although I don’t know what I could tell you after all this time that I didn’t tell the police back then.”

  Charley’s and Frankie’s eyes met in silent communication. If Kendall believed they were only looking for proof to clear Carter’s name, that might be a good thing. They would conceal their true intentions, at least for now.

  “I will ask my questions,” Charley said finally. “But I’m not taking your money.”

  Frankie held out her cellphone, the tiny screen displaying an image of the journal. “Did you ever see this? Did Regan ever mention it?”

  Kendall studied the image closely, stroking the screen with a finger. At last she shook her head. “We weren’t close, but I was in her bedroom once, homework or something. Regan’s bookcase was filled with mysteries, a few trashy romance paperbacks, plus the usual titles required for English class. I don’t remember this.” She swiped the screen and her eyes widened. “What on earth?”

  “That’s one of the coded pages,” Frankie explained. “The whole darned thing looks like that.”

  Kendall handed the cellphone back. “I’d like to see the original sometime, if that’s all right?”

  “It’s very fragile,” Charley evaded. “I promise I’m keeping it safe. I know you’ve told the story many times before, but could you tell us about the night Regan went missing?”

  “I suppose that is the heart of the matter,” Kendall murmured. “Let’s get it over with.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Then she began describing the Homecoming parade, how cheerleaders from all the grades, even the elementary school squads, had worn freshly cleaned uniforms, walking in formation with hand-painted banners or riding on the backs of convertibles or pickup trucks. She recalled how they’d strutted and waved their pom-poms, marching under a canopy of red and orange and yellow leaves, the air as crisp and clear as if it had been newly minted just for them. How the football team rode on top of the three Oakwood fire engines, young gods of youth and beauty, worshipped by all as the marching band played the fight song and everyone clapped and cheered and sang the words at the tops of their lungs.

  “The streets were packed, and the stadium stands were a sea of blue and gold,” Kendall recalled. “Carter came home that weekend, as did many other alumni. I didn’t think anything of it. I spoke to him briefly at home, and I glimpsed him up in the stands with a gang of his old classmates. Regan and I marched with the varsity cheer squad in the parade. During the game we did our thing on the sidelines, chants and routines to fire up the crowd, not that they needed much encouragement. It was a night to remember.”

  When she fell silent, Charley prompted her softly, “And afterward?”

  Kendall opened her eyes. “I’m sure you know about the dramatic conclusion to the game. When the Lumberjacks won with that last-minute field goal, there was mayhem. Hundreds of people rushed the field. We were supposed to do a routine, but the band was part of the mob, and we just got carried along. It’s a miracle no one was trampled. Everyone was screaming and laughing and singing, the victory bell tolling and tolling, cars honking their horns and flashing their headlights all the way around the stadium and practice fields. Can you picture it?” Her smile became dreamy. “It stayed like that for an hour or more. We were all so young and happy, high on the simple joy of winning a football game.” Kendall sighed, and the smile fell away. “Then, the next day, the Fletchers called, looking for Regan. And that was the end of happiness for a long, long time.”

  “Did you know about her and Carter? That they’d continued to see each other?”

  Kendall’s lips tightened. “Not at first. Later, I came to realize that was the only reason Regan paid any attention to me at all. She was subtle, asking about my family’s plans, was I attending this or that party or school event. We had no cellphones or email, remember, so her only alternative was to leave messages at his dorm. Carter couldn’t risk calling her house and having Douglas or Doris answer. I had the cheer squad over to our home for a practice once. I found her lying on his bed, staring at some photos of them together. She admitted she missed him, but she’d started going out with Harding Knox, so I figured it was over.”

  “Harding Knox?” Charley exchanged glances with Frankie. “How do I know that name?”

  “Well, he’s a fourth-grade teacher at Smith Elementary.”

  Frankie gaped. “You mean, Mister Knox? With the bow ties and cardigans? I didn’t have him, but all my brothers did. He was probably burned out on Cartolanos by the time I came along. The boys all called him ‘Hard Knocks,’ and not in the affectionate-nickname sense Mr. Knox thought it was.”

  “That was his nickname back in the day, too,” Kendall affirmed. “Poor Harding. He and Regan started seeing one another our junior year. They dated off and on up until her death. He was so proud when she asked him to be her escort to the Homecoming dance. She was a princess of the court, naturally, though one of the other girls was crowned queen. Obviously, Regan had had no intention of going to the dance, since she’d planned to run away with Carter. In retrospect, I realized her and Harding’s relationship must’ve been just another game of pretend.”

  “Another game?” Charley asked. “What do you mean?”

  Kendall quirked a brow. “I’m fairly certain Harding is what we used to call ‘in the closet.’ In the seventies, being gay wasn’t something a teenage boy would want known, unless he wanted to get the snot beaten out of him. Dating Regan was effective camouflage. Even today, a teacher in a place like Oakwood can’t really be open. Times are changing, but change comes slowly here.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know what light he could shed on Carter’s innocence, but Harding might be in the building if you wanted to ask him about Regan. Mr. Gleason teaches a biology summer enrichment. Harding usually assists him with the dissection labs.”

  “Dissection?” Frankie laid a hand on her tummy. “I’ll pass, thank you very much.”

  Charley tapped her chin. She’d heard of Mr. Knox. She herself had attended Harman Elementary, but th
is was a small district, and she knew most teachers by reputation, if not by sight. Still, she felt certain she’d heard the name more recently—or had she read it, perhaps on the list of teens questioned by the police? If so, he hadn’t been identified as Regan’s boyfriend. She’d have remembered such an important detail. Either way, they needed to speak with him, she decided, today if they could catch him, tomorrow at the latest. And if he had given a statement, she wanted to find it and take a closer look.

  Kendall was gazing at her curiously, and Charley realized the silence had grown awkward. She also realized she couldn’t mention that list of names without revealing the deal she’d made with Berkeley Dye. The fewer people who knew about Charley’s possession of those files, the better. She quickly regrouped, recalling the things she wanted to know.

  “Aside from Harding, was Regan particularly close with anyone?” she asked.

  Kendall shook her head. “Regan was extremely popular, but she held herself above the crowd, if you understand me.”

  Sounds like the definition of a snob to me, Charley thought. Aloud she asked, “Did Regan ever say anything about the code she used to communicate with Carter?”

  “When my brother told the police about that, it was the first I knew of it. It was like her, though.” Kendall smiled. “Regan loved puzzles and was a whiz at math. She always seemed to have a mystery novel tucked in her backpack.”

  Frankie grinned. “Sounds like teenaged moi.”

  “We were all crazy about mysteries back then. The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew TV series was the hottest thing on television. It debuted when we were in ninth grade and ran until January of our junior year.” Charley and Frankie exchanged glances as Kendall sighed. “We all wanted to be Pamela Sue Martin. Regan even styled her hair like Martin’s for a while. I had the biggest crush on Parker Stevenson. You say you haven’t been able to crack the code?”

  “ ‘Codes,’ plural,” Frankie chirped. “We’re going to try and figure out what she used for the key. We think it’s—” This time Charley’s glance held a warning, and Frankie clamped her mouth shut.