Some Enchanted Murder

by Linda S. Reilly

  No wonder Vicki had tossed Celeste’s buns into the trash. She was petrified of her!

  Mentally and physically depleted, I dropped my head on the sofa. I couldn’t fight Celeste. I had the strength of a wet noodle, and there was nothing I could use for a weapon. I thought of the people I’d never see again.

  Aunt Tressa.

  Daniel.

  My mother, if she was still out there.

  My last hope dwindling, a chilling revelation washed over me. “You killed Edgar, too, didn’t you?” I said quietly.

  Her gaze went flat. “I had to. He had too many good years left in him. Even with the sorry shape the mansion was in, it was still worth a cool half mil.” She shook her head with disgust. “Do you know I actually had to talk Blake into selling the place? He originally wanted to renovate it, turn it into a happy little home for the two of us and a couple of rug rats.”

  “Now that’s a scary thought,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “You raising kids.”

  She gaped at me. “You’re a nasty little witch when you want to be, aren’t you?”

  “And you’re a sociopathic fiend.”

  A faint shadow drifted across my vision. A sneak peek into the beyond? A glimpse into the next life?

  Celeste’s gaze turned stony. She aimed the gun at my face. “Wave bye-bye, Apple. It’s time to—”

  “Put the gun down, Ms. Frame. Now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  From the journal of Frederic Dwardene, Wednesday, February 7, 1951

  Lillian’s mother called me today at the bank. I nearly spilled the beans about the deed, but then wisely held my tongue. For now, it is my secret alone. I did, however, tell her about the painting, and she squealed with delight. We have agreed that on February 14, I will treat her and Lillian to a sumptuous dinner at the Inn, after which they shall both visit my home, where I will propose to Lillian …

  With a gasp, Celeste swung her head around. I used the opportunity to pull back my knees and kick at her with both feet. As kicks go it was pitifully weak, but it was enough to knock her off balance. She tumbled over the coffee table, shrieking as she landed with a thud.

  Within seconds, Paul Fenton had her hands cuffed behind her with her face pressed into the carpet. Two uniformed officers quickly flanked him, their firearms leveled at Celeste.

  During the ten seconds or so that it took for all of this to go down, Aunt Tressa had soared into the room like an F-15 with a tailwind. I vaguely heard Fenton reading Celeste her rights as my aunt grabbed me and hugged me so hard I thought my ribs were going to crack.

  “You’re squishing me,” I groused, clinging to her for all she was worth.

  She laughed as tears sprouted from her eyes. “I knew I raised you right,” she said. “Thank God I called you when I did.”

  Aunt Tressa had obviously zeroed in on my plea for help. But I still didn’t understand how the police had gotten here so fast. Barely two or three minutes had elapsed since her phone call. How did Fenton and crew get here so quickly?

  As if he’d read my mind, Fenton turned and faced me. He looked exhausted and elated at the same time. “We’ve been questioning Blake Dwardene for hours. He vehemently denied any involvement in Marshall’s death, or in Miss Bilodeau’s kidnapping. But it wasn’t until we told him about finding Miss Bilodeau in his cabin that I knew something was off. Blake looked genuinely shocked, and I don’t mean shocked that we found her. I mean he was totally stunned that Lillian was even in the cabin.” Fenton shook his head. “By then I was starting to get a bad feeling. I know you think of me as a small-town gendarme, Ms. Mariani, but I’ve seen my share of bad eggs. Thing is, I was sure Blake Dwardene wasn’t one of them.”

  I suddenly felt terrible for all the bad things I’d wished on Blake. How could I have had so little faith?

  “His fiancée, meanwhile”—Fenton glared at Celeste—“had already been questioned and released. The woman puts on a good performance, I’ll give her that. She’s quite the little actress.”

  He had that right.

  “Anyway, Blake suddenly clammed up tighter than a new jar of pickles. He demanded a lawyer, which effectively put the interrogation on hold.”

  I coughed. “Did he call Sam?”

  “Yes, but only for a referral. Sam contacted a criminal lawyer he knew in Concord. Since nothing was going to happen until the woman got there, I snagged a couple of my guys and we drove over to Blake’s condo. Imagine our surprise when we saw that Ms. Frame’s car was gone. Not.”

  “She could’ve gone to her mother’s,” I pointed out.

  “That was our next stop, Ms. Mariani. Mama Frame answered the door in a nightgown I could’ve read the sports section through. Bottom line, she hadn’t seen Celeste in months.” Fenton’s shark-like grin was growing ever more triumphant.

  I stole a glance at Celeste, now propped between the two officers, her hands behind her. Her expression was unreadable. I couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through her messed-up mind.

  “By this time I knew she was up to her pretty little earlobes in this whole mess,” Fenton said. “We were headed back to the station—I wanted to get an APB out on her—when I got your aunt’s call. Luckily we were on High Street, not even two minutes from here. Your aunt ordered me to get my, uh, posterior over here toot sweet. Said she’d be waiting with the key.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” Aunt Tressa said earnestly. “You saved

  Apple’s life. Well, you and the Fab Four.”

  Fenton looked baffled. “The who?”

  “Not The Who, the Beatles,” she said, rolling her eyes sky

  ward.

  I thanked my lucky stars that my aunt had homed in on the message I was trying to get across on the phone. She’d obviously picked up on the real reason for my phony apology—to convey my desperate plea for “Help.” If Aunt Tressa and the police hadn’t acted so quickly, I’d probably be … well, some place I didn’t want to think about.

  Like the morgue.

  Fenton’s weary eyes lasered in on my aunt. “We’ll chat again tomorrow, Tressa Krichner. Meanwhile, we’re going to let you ladies get some sleep.” He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Truth is, Ms. Mariani, when I first came in here I was afraid you’d already been shot. Forgive my bluntness, but you look like death on buttered toast.”

  “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “As long as I’m still alive, I don’t care what I look like.”

  Elliot had quietly padded over to us. Now nestled in Aunt Tressa’s lap, he purred softly. I cupped his head and looked again at Celeste. She caught my gaze and her face seemed to collapse inward. For a moment I felt a twinge of pity.

  Then I thought of Lillian and Lou and Blake, and the moment died.

  Celeste wouldn’t be joining her gram any time soon.

  And the wait was going to be misery.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  From the Hazleton Bugle, February 14, 1951

  Prominent banker Frederic Dwardene was killed yesterday morning in Manchester when he was struck by a milk truck on Elm Street in front of Whalie’s Jewelers. According to police, Dwardene was crossing the bustling main thoroughfare when he slipped on a patch of ice. The driver of the truck, Lonnie Paxton, told police he attempted to stop when he saw Dwardene fall, but his brakes locked, causing his vehicle to skid. Dwardene was pronounced dead at the accident scene. No further investigation is anticipated. The police have confirmed that no charges will be filed against Paxton.

  “More hot mulled cider, Lillian?” Aunt Tressa’s dangly earrings twinkled like blood red chandeliers as she offered another helping from her Beatles collector teapot.

  “Oh, no thank you, dear. Although I must say it’s quite delicious. What is that spice that makes it so special? Nutmeg?” “The cloves, probably,” I said. “They give it that extra little zing.”

  Lillian smiled wistfully, and for a moment I saw the beautiful young woman in the painting. “It reminds
me of the wassail my aunt used to make every Christmas Eve,” she said. “She would simmer it on the stove all day and serve it in a fancy punch bowl. I looked forward to it every year.”

  Two days after her dramatic rescue from the cabin, Lillian was released from the hospital. All she could think of was her poor Elliot, and how badly he must have missed her. The morning Aunt Tressa and I learned she was being sprung, we delivered Elliot to her mobile home and filled an entire cabinet with cat food and kitty treats. I put out a fresh litter box, while Aunt Tressa stocked the fridge with fresh staples from the Food Mart—things like milk, juice and eggs. As for bread, Aunt Tressa refused to buy anything with the words “whole” or “organic” in the ingredients. Instead, she bought Lillian a round of hearty white Italian and a luscious-looking loaf of cinnamon raisin.

  Her ordeal notwithstanding, Lillian was faring well. Her color was good and her blue eyes were clear and bright, though she was still a bit too thin. Over the past week, Aunt Tressa and I had delivered home-cooked meals to her nearly every day, trying to put a few needed pounds on her.

  With Christmas less than a week away, Aunt Tressa had put up a small tree next to her sofa. Chock-a-block with blue mini-lights and shiny, silvery bulbs, it cast a soothing glow over the entire room. Pine-scented candles flickered on the fake mantel, infusing the air with a cozy holiday aroma. Beneath the tree were a few odd-shaped packages, one of which had been clawed open, its contents pillaged.

  Aunt Tressa plopped down on the sofa next to Lillian, who sat in the center. Resting on the coffee table was a poinsettia-shaped platter that bore a variety of delectable cheeses. My aunt snagged a wedge of smoked gouda from the tray. “Where’s Daniel?” she asked me. “Didn’t you tell him four o’clock?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

  I’d been wondering myself why he was late. It was ten past four, and Daniel was normally punctual. Over the past week we’d seen each other twice, both times over dinner. After some heavy-duty talks, we were now on firmer ground. If it was meant to be, and I had the feeling it was, our relationship would move forward at a pace we could both live with.

  Pazzo, his pink nose twitching, jumped onto the sofa and wedged himself between my aunt and Lillian. Lillian smiled with delight as his gorgeous green eyes surveyed the cheese tray with undisguised envy. My aunt rubbed the cat’s head lovingly, then gave him his own morsel—a tiny block of Jarlsburg—to munch on.

  “Where’s Ringo?” I asked.

  “The moment my back was turned, he tore open one of his Christmas presents and fled the scene. Last I saw, he was rolling around on my bedspread with a catnip aardvark clenched in his jaws.”

  Which explained why Pazzo was now under the tree, lounging on top of the torn wrapping paper while he savored his square of cheese.

  The doorbell chimed. Aunt Tressa popped out of her seat like a bagel from a new toaster and scurried toward the door.

  “Look who I found hanging around on the front porch,” Daniel said as he and Jack Darby stepped inside. The two had only met last week, and already they’d bonded like hot glue to paper. Daniel was clutching a large shopping bag in one hand and a platter of goodies in the other, while Darby held out two bottles of wine.

  Daniel grinned when he saw me. “Hey,” I said. We kissed lightly, and then I nodded to Jack Darby, who was still on my “wait and see” list. “Good to see you again, Jack.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I’m so pleased to have been invited.”

  Aunt Tressa took their coats, and Jack gave her the wine bottles. “Oh, Jack, it’s the Beaucanon chardonnay! My favorite,” she gushed.

  “Already chilled,” he added, that familiar flush tingeing his cheeks.

  “Excellent! In that case, we can all have a glass right now.”

  Daniel tucked his shopping bag next to the tree, then set his platter down next to the cheese tray and popped off the plastic cover. The tray was jammed with an assortment of mini-desserts, each one looking more scrumptious than the other.

  Suddenly, Lillian rose. Her face beaming, she went over to Jack and took his hand. With the kindest smile I’d ever seen, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You look quite lovely, Miss Lillian. Like a Christmas angel.”

  Her pale cheeks blushed pink. “Will you sit next to me?”

  “Of course.”

  Stymied, I stared for a moment, then offered to help Aunt Tressa with the wine. We headed into the kitchen.

  “What gives with Lillian and Jack?” I asked her, setting five wine glasses on a tray.

  She shrugged, avoiding my gaze as she uncorked one of the bottles and filled each of the glasses. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. She just seemed overly delighted to see him.”

  Aunt Tressa graced me with a smug smile. “I keep telling you what a good man he is.”

  Scooping the tray of wine off the counter, she toddled back into the living room. Still perplexed, I followed in her wake.

  She bent toward Lillian first. “You’ll have a glass, won’t you, Lil?”

  Lillian chuckled. “Oh my, I haven’t had wine in years. This is such a treat.” She carefully lifted a glass from the tray.

  When we all had our glasses in hand, Jack raised his. “To family,” he said, “and to good friends. May we all enjoy peace this Christmas.”

  Lillian sipped her wine, then looked at each of us. “I feel so lucky to be with all of you,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Apple, you saved my life. I can’t imagine how I’ll ever repay you.”

  I swallowed, emotion swelling inside me. “You already have,” I told her, “by being safe and healthy again.”

  “I feel terrible about what happened to poor Mr. Marshall,” she said. “I can’t help feeling it was my fault.”

  “Don’t you blame yourself, Lillian,” Daniel gently chimed in. “You’re not responsible for the actions of a greedy, grasping woman who cared only about her own warped needs.”

  Lillian sighed. “I know that. The sad part is, I would have been happy to sign a deed. All she had to do was ask me. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask for money.”

  “Frederic loved you very much, didn’t he?” I asked her.

  “Yes, I’m afraid he did. But he was so much older than I was. Besides, my heart had already been pledged to Anton, the man I loved. He died in Korea in November of nineteen fifty-one.”

  She looked at Jack Darby, a question in her eyes. Nodding, he took her hand. “It’s all right, Miss Lillian. Tell them everything.”

  I shifted in my chair, my curiosity piqued.

  Lillian fortified herself with another sip of wine. “Anton and I were nineteen when we met. Oh, he was such a darling man, and so handsome. We were deeply in love. Neither of us had much money, but we knew we wanted to get married. We saved our pennies like crazy. Then Anton learned he was being sent to Korea.” Her eyes grew moist. “I was devastated. I was sure I’d never see him again.”

  Guilt washed through me. Lillian didn’t know that Daniel and I had read Anton’s letters.

  Before I could interject, Daniel jumped in. He explained that when we’d gone into her mobile home to look for clues as to where she might be, we found Anton’s letters and read many of them.

  “It was terrible of us, I know,” I confessed. “But we were genuinely afraid for you. We thought you might have written the murderer’s name on a slip of paper and hidden it somewhere.”

  Lillian smiled. “Oh, Apple, that’s quite all right. You did it for all the right reasons. But as I told the police, I never saw the murderer.”

  “But you found out about the deed, right? Did Lou show it to you?”

  She gave me a baffled look. “Is that what everyone thought? That I found out about Frederic’s deed to me?”

  “Yes,” I said. Including Celeste.

  Lillian sagged. “Is that why—? Oh my.”

  “You mean you didn’t know about the deed?” my aunt said.

  “No, I didn
’t find out about it until I was out of the hospital.”

  Aunt Tressa looked bewildered. “But you looked so dazed when you came downstairs that day at the estate sale. Did something else happen?”

  “Yes, it was the painting. I saw it when I went upstairs to pay Mr. Marshall for the china cat. It was resting against the wall in front of some other paintings. My poor old legs nearly went out from under me when I saw it. I never knew Frederic had done a portrait of me. Imagine my shock when I saw myself, sixty years ago, staring back at me from a painting. For the first time, I realized how extreme his obsession had been. It was most unsettling.”

  “These days he’d be called a stalker,” Aunt Tressa said darkly.

  Lillian nodded. “You’re right. He would wait for me to leave the factory at the end of my work day and offer to drive me home. I knew I shouldn’t have accepted the rides, but it was a bitterly cold winter and I’d been feeling so poorly. He gave me gifts, as well. The china cat I bought at the estate sale? Frederic had actually given me that cat. While it was lovely, I knew I had to stop accepting his gifts. When he wasn’t looking I removed the cat from the gift box and slipped it under his car seat. I’m sure he was disappointed when he found it, but I had to do it.”

  “I found his diary in the antique shop, Lillian,” I said. “He was planning to give you the painting on Valentine’s Day, the same day he was going to present you with the recorded deed.”

  “Yes. Shortly before my mother died she admitted everything, although I’m sure she didn’t know anything about the deed. She’d been conspiring with Frederic in his pursuit of me. For her only daughter to marry a respected, well-to-do banker would have been a dream come true.”

  “Her dream, not yours,” Aunt Tressa noted.

  “That’s right. Unfortunately, my mother saw to it that after I got Anton’s first few letters, I never received any more. I was crushed when his letters stopped coming, so I stopped writing to him.” Her eyes filled with tears. Aunt Tressa thrust a green cocktail napkin into her hand.