Pasta Mortem

by Ellery Adams

  Murphy, looking far from the polished author, newspaper owner, and partner in a development scheme, took one look at Keith Donovan and Lucy and pursed her lips. She had on jeans and a white puffer coat. Her face was devoid of makeup.

  Donovan turned toward her, his hand going to his gun holster as if Murphy were an armed, dangerous criminal. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Lucy came forward, hands folded across her chest. “Sheriff Huckabee said she could get her things.”

  Totally out of character, Murphy bowed her head and waited for permission.

  James said, “Hello, Murphy. I thought I’d help you pack up.”

  Murphy glanced at him and nodded.

  “Hold the phone here,” Donovan said. “Who said you could, Henry? I’m in charge of the crime scene.”

  James looked at Lucy.

  “I did,” she said. “You can leave, Donovan, now that I’m here.”

  “No way,” the deputy snarled.

  “Let James go with Murphy,” Lucy said on a sigh. “She’s not in our custody. We can’t control who she associates with.”

  Thanks a lot for that glowing recommendation, James wanted to say, but he bit his tongue and walked behind Murphy up the stairs. Donovan followed. When they reached the third floor, James pulled down one end of the crime scene tape that crossed the bedroom door. Murphy turned the doorknob, switched on the light, and walked in. She held the door open long enough for James to enter, then closed it.

  “I’ll be right outside here,” Donovan called. “Don’t try anything funny, librarian. Always sniffing around my crime scenes, dang it.”

  “Why are you here, James?” Murphy asked. She looked around the room at the stripped bed, at the lone female cardinal on the mantelpiece, and the fingerprint dust everywhere.

  James waited until her gaze rested on him again before he spoke. “I want to help. All of us do. Tell me what happened.”

  Murphy dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears.

  Chapter Nine

  James shifted awkwardly. He always shut down when a woman cried. He simply didn’t know what to do. With Jane, he’d learned to hold her snug in his arms until the tears passed, but he somehow didn’t think Murphy would appreciate the gesture.

  Instead, he remained quiet and went into the bathroom to look for a tissue. The Victorian sink had red tulips painted in the bowl that matched the wallpaper. James found a pretty floral tissue holder, pulled the top two tissues out, and tossed them in the wastebasket. They had fingerprint dust on them. He grabbed the next two and took them out to Murphy.

  She accepted them, blew her nose, and then looked at him. “I didn’t kill Ray. I loved him and he loved me. We were talking about getting married.”

  James took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for your loss, Murphy. For what it’s worth, I know you didn’t kill him. We don’t always agree, and you’ve made me angry many times, but I know you’re no killer. What happened?”

  Murphy stuffed the used tissues in her jeans pocket. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me what you can remember.”

  “Right now? I’m grieving and I’ve got an awful headache.”

  James would bet she did with the combination of all the alcohol she’d consumed the night before and the horrible events of the day. “I think time is at a premium.”

  “You’re right; they can’t wait to arrest me.” She took a deep breath. “Ray and I polished off two bottles of champagne. When I came upstairs, I fell into bed still in my dress.” She paled and her voice dropped to a whisper. “At the jail, I saw that there were spots of blood on the shoulder of my silver dress. I wanted to take it off and throw it away, but a female deputy took it from me. They kept it for evidence.”

  “They’re only following procedure,” James soothed. “So you went to bed and fell asleep. Was Ray Edwards with you?”

  Murphy nodded. “Yes. He came into the room after me. I remember locking the door, then getting into bed without changing clothes. I guess I was pretty drunk. I was cold too.” She looked over at the bare bed. “There was a thick, ivory-colored comforter on the bed. I pulled it over me. That’s the last thing I remember until this morning . . .”

  James felt that she was seeing the scene from when she woke up in her mind’s eye. Her hazel eyes widened and a hand went to her lips. He said, “Edwards was dead. What did you do?”

  Murphy’s voice came out in a rasp. “The comforter and pillows had blood splattered over them. Ray’s skin was a bluish gray color. I knew he was dead right away. I made it to the bathroom before I threw up. When I came back out, I saw the red glass cardinal lying on the Oriental carpet on Ray’s side of the bed. I ran to the bedroom door and tried to open it. For a minute, I couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t open, James. I kept pulling on the doorknob, trying to get out of the room!”

  “The door was locked.”

  “Yes. It has one of those old-fashioned keys.” Murphy’s gaze went to the fireplace mantel. “There it is. That’s where it’s kept. I must have automatically put it back there after I finally got the door open. Then I ran into the hall and started screaming. Mrs. Anderson raced upstairs to see what was the matter. She helped me walk downstairs.”

  “Were the other guests around?”

  “A few of the TV actors, Brandon, Amber, and Joel, were sitting around the dining room table drinking coffee. I can’t remember if there was anyone else. Mrs. Anderson hurried me past them to her room, which is off the kitchen. I was shaking so hard. Mr. Anderson brought me a cup of hot tea, but I couldn’t hold the saucer. Then, it seemed like all of a sudden, Sheriff Huckabee, Lucy, Donovan, and Deputy Truett were surrounding me, asking me questions, but Doc Spratt said I was in shock. He gave me a pill, something to relax me. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a jail cell still wearing that silver sequin dress. My lawyer brought me some clothes and finally got me out of there.”

  “They’ve sent the murder weapon to Charlottesville. Will your fingerprints be on it?”

  Murphy shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. When Ray and I checked in, I brought several vanilla-scented candles. This was supposed to be a romantic weekend mixed with a little business. Joel had told me that the Red Bird was booked except for this one suite. I thought it would be a nice getaway for Ray and me. See, there are two candles on the mantel. I moved that old-fashioned clock and the vase of roses to make room for the candles. I think I adjusted the position of the cardinals too.”

  James didn’t like the sound of that. If they found Murphy’s fingerprints on that cardinal, they would surely charge her with Edwards’s murder.

  James looked around the suite. An L shape, the main area was the bedroom with a fireplace, dresser, chair, lamp, and a door that James assumed led to the closet. The bathroom was directly opposite the bed. A set of three windows with lush red silk draperies was behind the bed, probably to provide a nice breeze in warmer months. While James saw radiators on two sides of the bedroom, he figured the Red Bird didn’t have air-conditioning.

  “Could someone have come through one of those windows? I know this is the third floor, but . . .”

  “No, I thought of that,” Murphy said, moving to the door that did prove to be a closet and opening it. She lifted a small black suitcase from the floor, hesitated, then put it at the end of the bed. “They’d need a ladder, which someone would have heard clanging against the building. As cold as it is, I think a freezing breeze would have woken me. Not to mention that anyone coming in would’ve had to have literally climbed over the bed.” She went back to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans, some tops, and underwear, folded them haphazardly, and threw them in the suitcase.

  James walked to the other space in the suite. A large, handsome wooden desk filled the working area. Built-in bookshelves lined the wall behind it.

  Murphy came out of the bathroom holding a bag of toiletries and stood next to him. “Ray and I had our laptops set up on the
desk, but Sheriff Huckabee took them away.”

  “You’ll get yours back,” James said. “Who else is staying on this floor?”

  For the first time since she’d walked in the door, the old Murphy returned. A hard look crossed her face and she narrowed her eyes. “There are no other accommodations on this floor. Most of the space up here is used for storage. There’s only one other suite and it’s on the second floor. Valerie Norris has it.”

  “She played the eldest girl on the show? The blonde with the green eyes? Writes books based on Hearth and Home, doesn’t she?”

  “Contact lenses,” Murphy hissed. “And they’re crappy books. I had time to think while sitting in jail, James. Valerie Norris is my number-one suspect.”

  James’s eyebrows rose. “What reason would she have for killing Edwards?” he asked.

  Murphy snapped dresses and blouses from their hangers in the closet. She whirled around, her eyes glittering with anger. “To frame me! Professional jealousy, James. The silly stories she writes come out at the same time as my mystery novels. We both made the New York Times bestsellers list last year, only my book edged hers out for a higher spot. I hear that didn’t go down well with her at all. She’s lucky that TV show still has devoted fans or she wouldn’t sell any books at all!”

  “Come on, Murphy, do you really think that’s enough motive—”

  “Yes! We share a publishing house, an editor and publicist too. We’re competing for not only their time but money, James. The publisher decides how much of an advance to pay us, how much marketing there will be for our books. And it’s not all based strictly on previous sales. Valerie was their star before I came along. They love her and her wholesome, elegant image. Then my books come out and are very successful. I’m new, edgy. Valerie is jealous. With me out of the way, she regains the throne.”

  “We carry her books at the library,” James mused. “When a new one comes out, there’s always a waiting list. I don’t know Valerie, but Kelly at Fountain Books over in Richmond told me that Valerie did a book signing at their store. Kelly said they had a good turnout and Valerie was very nice.”

  Murphy slammed the lid closed on her suitcase and swung the zipper around until the bag was secured. “Of course Valerie’s nice in public! She won’t do anything to damage her perfect image and her book sales. But she’s been anything but nice to me and other authors I know. And now poor Ray is dead because of her jealousy.”

  “Assuming you’re right, Murphy, how did Valerie get in the bedroom and kill Edwards?”

  For someone who started out so woebegone, Murphy looked nothing short of triumphant. “I looked up all of Valerie’s book titles and found one called Josh Catches a Burglar. I told my lawyer and he had his secretary download the book and skim through it. Sure enough, there’s a scene where the burglar of the story describes how he picked the lock on the front door. Valerie had to have done research on lock picking in order to write that.”

  James directed his gaze to the bedroom door. Was it possible? James hated to think that anyone who could write a book could be so evil.

  “I’m right, James. Valerie Norris picked that lock and killed Ray. I intend to prove it. Do you still want to help me? You and your friends?”

  “Yes, Murphy. But I think we need to question all the TV cast members, not only Valerie.” He held up a hand, seeing as how Murphy was about to object. “Not only can we get a better picture of who Valerie is as a person, but we can find out where everyone was last night, what they might have seen, if someone else had a motive.”

  “It was Valerie, I’m telling you,” Murphy said stubbornly.

  “Who else knew Ray?”

  “Joel, of course.” Murphy concentrated. “I don’t know of anyone else.”

  “What were you and Edwards quarrelling about last night?”

  “How did you know we were arguing?”

  “Murphy, everyone at the reception for the Hearth and Home cast saw the two of you exchanging harsh words. Then you flounced upstairs—”

  “I did not flounce!” She looked away, then back at him. “Sheriff Huckabee asked me the same question.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me instead.”

  Color came into Murphy’s face. “Ray had bought the Hayes House and Tavern without telling me.”

  “And?”

  “He wanted to level it. Put up houses like we planned for Buford Lydell’s peach farm. I thought the tavern should be preserved. History and all.”

  James felt a grin spread across his face. Like the Grinch, Murphy did have a heart.

  She raised her chin. “Tourism! The tavern is good for tourism. If people fall in love with Quincy’s Gap, they’ll like and buy my books and copies of my newspaper.”

  “If you say so. About Quincy’s Gap, what happens to the development scheme now? Will you sell the land back to Buford Lydell?”

  Murphy grabbed her suitcase. “I don’t know.”

  “The majority of the townsfolk are against the development. Many are angry at you, Murphy. If you sell the land back to Lydell, it would be good publicity for you.”

  Murphy paused. “I’ll consider it.”

  The bedroom door swung open. Donovan said, “Murphy, how long does it take for you to pack up a few clothes? You shouldn’t even bother since the only thing you’re gonna wear in the future is an orange jumpsuit.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Murphy replied.

  Donovan replaced the crime scene tape across the door and added two more strips for good measure. He preceded them down the stairs. James carried Murphy’s suitcase.

  Halfway down, James whispered, “Murphy, where are you going to be tomorrow?”

  She stopped. “I’m meeting with my lawyer in the morning. Besides working on my defense, we’re trying to contact a woman named Kitty Walters in Louisville. She’s listed as Ray’s emergency contact. Guess she’s his sister. Then I’ll be at the Hearth and Home event asking questions.”

  James nodded. “I have questions too. I’ll see you at the Hearth and Home reunion.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, James handed Murphy her suitcase, and she went out into the night. Intending to talk to the cast members, James walked into the living room, only to find it empty. No one was in the dining room either. Not even Lucy had lingered to hear what Murphy had said.

  James glanced at the time and saw it was past seven. Early for everyone to have dispersed. James thought the actors would be together eating dinner.

  Unless the warmth he’d seen between them was fake.

  Maybe they didn’t enjoy one another’s company at all.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m meteorologist Jim Topling and have I got bad news for the entire Shenandoah area.”

  Snickers barked once and then ran from the kitchen into the living room.

  Jane flicked her eyes at James as the two stood watching the tiny television in their kitchen.

  “Snow!” Eliot yelled from his place at the kitchen table.

  Jane hushed him and turned the TV volume up.

  “The conditions are ripe for an epic snowstorm, a history-making snowpocalypse set to dump up to twenty-six inches of snow on an unsuspecting populace! Unsuspecting, that is, unless you stay tuned to my updates here on WSHN. Be prepared, folks, if you can. I’m talking road closures and power outages lasting days. Drifts of snow piling up to three feet. When is it going to happen? Well, it’s a devious storm system. Hard to predict exactly when the first flakes of doom will fall. It could be tonight, it could be tomorrow, it could be Sunday.”

  James walked over and turned the television off. “I can’t take any more of this guy.”

  “When is it going to snow, Daddy?”

  “Pop says when the hound next door to his house starts howling.”

  Jane said, “I think I’ll believe the hound over that guy on TV.”

  James glanced at his watch. “Come on, son, if
we hurry, we can feed the birds before we walk to the bus stop.”

  Eliot brought his plate, now empty of any trace of pancakes, to the sink, then raced upstairs.

  Miss Pickles positioned herself in the window nearest the bird feeder. James privately thought the cat understood every word he said. She knew that, with food in the feeder, she’d soon get to give a piece of her mind to the birds that came by for an energy snack.

  James pulled a brown bag containing his lunch out of the fridge. He turned and found Jane standing behind him, a playful look on her face. “Do I get a kiss before you go?”

  “Don’t you always?” James breathed before kissing his wife warmly on the lips. He pulled away and said, “Sure you won’t come with me tonight to the first Hearth and Home event?”

  “I’m sure. We might get all that snnoooowwwww,” Jane said and laughed.

  “Thank you for being so understanding about this, sweetheart. I won’t be late.”

  “I’ll hold you to that promise, James Henry.”

  James kissed her again.

  “Dad!” Eliot stood behind Jane wearing his warmest coat with the hood tied and mittens.

  James quickly put on his coat and scarf, handed Eliot his monkey-shaped lunch bag, grabbed the birdseed from the utility room, and opened the back door. A blast of February air hit him in the face along with the delicious scent of a wood fire burning nearby.

  “All right, son. Have you got the scoop ready?”

  “Hold the bag open wider. Okay, I’m ready. The birds will eat all this and be warm.”

  “Good boy.” As he held Eliot up to the multilevel birdhouse that Gillian had given him one Christmas, James focused on his son and tried not to think about how much he disliked the dark days of winter. He dreamed of the two of them putting in a vegetable garden in the spring. Far enough away from the tree where Eliot’s tree house was, but close enough so that when his son was playing in there, he could look out over the garden.

  A short time later, James waved as the big yellow school bus carrying his son drove slowly down the road to the next neighborhood.