Shadow Waltz

by Amy Patricia Meade

  “Oh, he’s tidy all right,” Marjorie stated, her arms folded across her chest. “I might have been able to swallow the story about the key, but Gordon Merchant told us that he already knew the address when Michael asked him to watch over Elizabeth and Michael Jr., and I believe him.” She shook her head. “No, Creighton. Those things were given to us by Elizabeth Barnwell so that we could discover the body and set this whole thing in motion. The other purpose behind them was that we’d begin to view Elizabeth Barnwell, a.k.a. Veronica Carter, as a victim, rather than a potential murderess.”

  “Veronica Carter was pretending to be Elizabeth Barnwell?” Creighton nearly shrieked.

  “Precisely. Let’s look at the patterns. Veronica Carter has an affair with Trent Taylor; however, Trent is married to Cynthia. Veronica pressures Trent for marriage and Cynthia, a few weeks later, dies, supposedly of gastritis, but we now know it was from arsenic poisoning. Veronica proposes to Trent. Trent refuses. Veronica goes to New England Allied to dispute the claim and meets, in the process, another unhappy married man who can further her cause. The two of them plot against Trent Taylor.”

  Creighton ran his hands through his wavy brown hair. “Of course … Michael and Veronica. They were in league from the beginning.”

  Marjorie nodded. “Veronica and Michael plot against Trent Taylor. Trent Taylor, who allegedly threatened poor Veronica when she tried desperately to break free of his influence.”

  “It was a lie,” Creighton said breathlessly.

  “Of course it was a lie.” Marjorie took a deep breath. “But it’s a very romantic story—the married lover who murders his wife and yet refuses to marry the lover who had loved him so devotedly. And, of course, Michael Barnwell is easy prey. He believes his talents are wasted. He believes he’s been tricked into a loveless marriage with Elizabeth. He believes he’s destined for a fate far better than that of fatherhood and marriage. He believes his talent and knowledge entitle him to a life of privilege, which has heretofore eluded him.

  “Barnwell is captivated by Veronica Carter,” Marjorie continued. “She knows exactly how to play him, how to listen attentively, how to tend to his neediness. And Veronica sees a new life in Michael Barnwell. He’s smarter than any man she’s ever known, and to her that equals success, particularly financial success. If only he could get rid of the wife.”

  “And the kid,” Creighton interjected.

  Marjorie shook her head. “No, I think she wanted the kid. Otherwise, why keep him around? Michael Jr. was enough of an incentive to coerce Michael Sr. into marriage the first time around. Heaven knows what he could finagle Daddy into doing this time. Besides, since Veronica couldn’t have children of her own, Michael Jr. was the closest she would get to providing Michael Barnwell with an heir.

  “They enjoyed the affair, for a while,” Marjorie visualized. “But Veronica wasn’t going to play second fiddle to any other woman. And Elizabeth,” she sighed, “well, Elizabeth, knowing no other way to hold on to the man she loves beyond all rhyme and reason, became pregnant again.”

  “My God.” Creighton felt a wave of nausea pass through his body. “Elizabeth? His wife? He-he didn’t. Did he?”

  Marjorie nodded. “The face that had been battered beyond recognition. The hands and feet severed in order to prevent print identification. This wasn’t the work of a madman. It was the work of a killer who was trying desperately to conceal the identity of his victim.”

  “But the baby knew that Veronica, despite the façade, wasn’t his mother,” Creighton inserted.

  “That’s the funny thing about children, isn’t it? No matter what Veronica did, Michael Jr. cried. But men,” Marjorie hypothesized. “Men have their types. And Michael Barnwell is no exception. Just as two blondes in two blue dresses look alike at a distance, two slender brown-eyed brunettes could even pass for each other—and did.”

  “That’s why Elizabeth Barnwell didn’t wave to Gordon Merchant,” Creighton stated as he began to recognize what had occurred. “She didn’t recognize him.”

  “You guessed it. And she didn’t recognize him because she had never met him before.”

  Creighton wrapped his arms about his future wife. “When did you know?”

  “I didn’t know for certain until tonight. But I first suspected something was wrong when little Michael came to me instead of his mother. No matter the circumstances, a child should stop crying when he’s placed in his mother’s arms. I chose to ignore it, wanting to believe that Michael Jr. was upset by his father’s absence and nothing more, but then, when we visited the Barnwell house, and Elizabeth couldn’t direct you to the location of a clean glass. I knew that something wasn’t quite right. But I couldn’t imagine …”

  Creighton held her as she sobbed, quietly.

  “Elizabeth—er, Veronica—whoever she is, told me that their ship sets sail at dawn,” Creighton informed.

  Marjorie wiped her tears and sat up. “Where from?”

  “New York,” Creighton answered.

  Marjorie took a glimpse at her wrist watch. “It’s just upon midnight. If we telephone Jameson ahead of time and then leave and meet him on the way, we should be there before they are.”

  Creighton smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Anything for you, Marjorie. Anything for you.”

  Twenty-six

  Marjorie, Creighton, and Jameson lay in wait aboard the SS Reliance, a cruise ship destined for Bermuda as the first stop on a transatlantic tour that included St. George, Bermuda; South Hampton, U.K.; and Dublin, Ireland.

  Marjorie held the binoculars to her green eyes and tried to pick Veronica and Michael out of the throng of people scaling the ship’s boarding plank. “I don’t see them,” she exclaimed.

  “There are approximately 750 people boarding, darling, so we may not be able to spot them right away,” Creighton explained. “Indeed, the local authorities have plenty of men positioned around this ship, so they might see them before we do.”

  “One thing’s for certain,” Jameson joked. “If Veronica Carter and Michael Barnwell are here, they’ll spot you in an instant. A tuxedo and an evening gown at six in the morning on a cruise ship in New York Harbor?”

  “What?” Creighton joked. “Are we underdressed?”

  Jameson pulled a face.

  Meanwhile, Marjorie continued to gaze through the binoculars. “Oh! There’s a couple with a baby! Wait … no … she has blonde hair and he has a turban.”

  Jameson plucked the binoculars from her hands. “Give me those,” he shouted impatiently.

  “You needn’t yell,” she scolded.

  Jameson sighed loudly while Marjorie rolled her eyes.

  “Marjorie, darling,” Creighton began, “why don’t you—”

  “Powder my nose?” she completed. “Creighton, darling, I was just about to suggest that.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Let me know if anything interesting happens. You know where to find me.”

  “I certainly will,” he agreed and kissed her. After she had left, he stretched and yawned. “I tell you, Jameson, when this case is over, I could sleep for a week.”

  “You’re going to have to keep the idea of sleep on the back burner,” Jameson told the Englishman. “Because they’re here.”

  “What!” Creighton shouted.

  “Barnwell, Veronica, and Michael Jr. just arrived and are heading up the gangway,” the detective explained.

  “Terrific,” Creighton remarked. “What do we do?”

  “We’ll stop them on their way up,” Jameson informed him. “It’s easier to stop them before they ‘officially’ board, than to wait until after. Once they ‘officially’ board and register, there can be naval policies and extradition laws to deal with. Therefore it’s better to nip it in the bud.”

  Creighton and Jameson moved down the gangway until they were standing directly in front of the couple.

  “Mr. Ashcroft,” Elizabeth greeted. “How very strange meeting you here. Did you know that Michael and
I were taking a cruise to Bermuda?”

  “Yes I did. You told me when I called to let you know that Michael was coming home. Only you’re not going anywhere,” Creighton commanded. “You’re both under arrest for murder. Oops, sorry, Jameson. That’s your part, isn’t it?”

  Jameson nodded wearily and flashed his badge. “Detective Jameson, Hartford County Police. I’m afraid Mr. Ashcroft is right. You’re both under arrest for murder.”

  “Murder? Of whom?” Michael asked. “Surely you know by now that I’ve been cleared of the murder of Veronica Carter. They arrested Trent Taylor for the crime.”

  “Indeed I do,” Jameson replied. “I was, after all, the one who signed your release papers.”

  “Yes, you were, weren’t you?” Barnwell remarked. “My wife also informed me of the kindnesses you showed her and my son. Your goodwill won’t be forgotten.”

  “Thank you,” the detective said graciously. “However you’re still under arrest for murder.”

  Michael Barnwell shook his head with a smirk. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you twice, I didn’t kill Veronica Carter.”

  “We know you didn’t,” Creighton acknowledged. “The murder we’re referring to is that of Elizabeth Barnwell.”

  “The murder of Elizabeth Barnwell?” the woman by Michael’s side repeated. “That’s ridiculous! I’m Elizabeth Barnwell.” The dark-haired woman held Michael Jr. tightly in her arms. The toddler, however, paid no heed to the woman’s declarations of innocence and struggled to break free of her embrace.

  “Mama!” the child cried as he leaned away from Elizabeth Barnwell and sought solace from the female passengers who walked past him.

  Michael took the child from Elizabeth and gathered him in his arms. The toddler immediately grew quiet.

  Creighton and Jameson watched the scene with extreme interest.

  “Listen,” Michael Barnwell began, “I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

  “We’re not thinking anything,” Jameson disclaimed.

  “All right, then I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here,” Barnwell continued, “but my wife is innocent.”

  “Yes, she is innocent,” Creighton averred. “She’s also dead.”

  “Dead?” Michael Barnwell laughed. “She’s the one who came to you in the first place. She’s the one who asked for help.”

  “Help?” Jameson scoffed. “This woman here went to Marjorie and Creighton so that they’d be witnesses to your scheme. You saw their names in the paper and went to them so that they could vouch for you and Veronica.”

  “Veronica? You’re all delusional!”

  “Are we?” Creighton challenged. “Were you aware that Veronica couldn’t have children? She had an abortion years ago that made it impossible for her to get pregnant. Did you know that?”

  The blood ran from Barnwell’s face.

  “That’s right, Michael, Veronica had an abortion that rendered her sterile. You didn’t know, did you? If you had any idea, you wouldn’t have banked your life on passing your wife’s pregnant body as hers.”

  Michael held his son and looked away.

  “Michael,” he implored, “I don’t know what this woman promised you, but you owe it to your son to do right by his mother.”

  In a flash, Veronica pulled the little boy from his father’s arms and pulled a pistol from her purse. She pressed the firearm to the child’s head. “That’s it,” she screamed. “You try and arrest us and the kid gets it!”

  Creighton and Jameson both put their hands in the air. The crowds of people boarding the gangway stepped back.

  “Look, Veronica. You don’t want it to go this way,” Jameson implored. “Bashing a woman’s face in and cutting off her hands and feet are one thing, but absconding with her child? There isn’t a court in the world that won’t hang you.”

  “Get back!” Veronica shrieked.

  Creighton and Jameson did as instructed, however Creighton’s eyes never left those of Michael Barnwell.

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to anyone other than the washroom attendant, Marjorie emerged from the ladies’ room, her face washed and makeup reapplied. She headed toward the gangway but, noticing a large crowd blocking her passage, decided to head in the other direction.

  “Silly tourists,” Marjorie muttered to herself as she headed around the outer perimeter of the boarding deck. I adore seeing new places as much as anyone else, but there’s no need to get so excited that one loses one’s head and does stupid things … such as congregating like sheep on the only way off the ship.

  “Veronica,” Michael Barnwell pleaded. “Everyone knows what we’ve done. It’s ridiculous to go on any further.”

  “Get away from my baby,” she demanded. “Get away from him!”

  “Veronica,” Jameson tried to reason.

  “I’m not Veronica! Stop calling me by that tramp’s name. I’m Elizabeth Barnwell, your wife,” she corrected with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Michael,” she said to Creighton and Jameson. “I thought we’d be able to sail away and forget everything that’s happened.”

  “If you are, in fact, Elizabeth Barnwell and you love your son as much as you claim, why are you holding a pistol to his head?” Creighton asked.

  “Because I don’t want Michael to have him. I don’t want him … to take my baby away.” She began to sob uncontrollably, yet her aim never wavered. “He threatened to take Michael Jr. and live with that—that tramp!”

  “Veronica!” Michael cried.

  “Don’t call me that!” she demanded. “My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Barnwell!”

  “We know your name is Elizabeth,” Creighton reasoned. “You’re Michael’s wife and always will be. Veronica Carter is dead. You’re free and clear,” Creighton exonerated. “You can walk away scot-free if you put down the baby.”

  “If I put down the baby, he’ll take him and go live with that tramp. He’ll take my son away!”

  “No one’s taking your son away, Elizabeth,” Jameson attempted to reason. “Just put him down.”

  “Yes,” Creighton added. “Put him down and tell us about Veronica and all the things she’s done …”

  “The things she’s done? Well, I’ll tell you. You’ve heard of Trent Taylor, haven’t you?” she taunted. “I know you have, because he’s locked up in your county jail. Well, he didn’t murder his wife, it was Veronica Carter all along. Veronica did it because she thought Trent would marry her if Mrs. Taylor was out of the way. But you know what he did? He dumped her the first chance he got!”

  “Go on,” Creighton urged, trying to bide time. “Veronica went to the insurance company and reported Trent, didn’t she? She reported him for killing his wife.”

  She nodded.

  “I must say, that was brilliant!” Creighton exclaimed. “But not as brilliant as Veronica’s next trick: murdering Elizabeth Barnwell and then taking her place.”

  “Taking her …” she appeared to be disoriented. “But I’m …” she muttered before laughing uncontrollably. She spoke again, this time her voice stronger and slightly less refined than it had been. “That was good, wasn’t it? Especially the part where I knocked on your fiancée’s door and said my husband was missing. Michael had never been missing. When his wife told him she was pregnant in order to hold on to him, we agreed to kill her, but not like I killed Trent’s old lady. This had to be better.”

  She laughed again. “Oh, we were good, but not nearly as good as my performance at your house. ‘Goodbye, Mr. Ashcroft,’” she mimicked.

  “It was good, until you crossed paths with Diana Hoffman,” Creighton supposed.

  “Diana was the only possible snag. She knew about the abortion and that I might not be able to have children. I was counting on her putting it down to a mistake by an elderly doctor.”

  “But then she saw you,” Creighton surmised. “And she had to die.”

  “What else was I supposed to do? I worked hard—we worked hard—to make this a
ll work, and we were almost there. If it weren’t for you …” She turned the pistol from Michael Jr. and onto Creighton.

  Seeing an opportunity to free the child, Marjorie emerged from her hiding place. She lunged forward, pounced upon the woman, and wrestled her to the ground, all the while barking orders. “Creighton! Grab the baby! Jameson! Grab the—”

  Before she could finish, the gun went off and the two women lay lifeless on the ship’s deck.

  “Marjorie!” Creighton shouted, Michael Jr. still in his arms.

  “Creighton?” a soft voice answered.

  “Marjorie?”

  “Creighton?”

  Creighton drew near and grasped Marjorie’s hand from beneath the dead figure of Veronica Carter.

  “Darling, can you get her off of me? She’s quite heavy,” Marjorie explained calmly.

  “Of course I can,” Creighton laughed.

  Twenty-seven

  As Veronica Carter’s body was removed from the ship and Jameson took Michael Barnwell away in handcuffs, Marjorie and Creighton basked in the glow of a brilliant New York City sunrise.

  “What about Michael Jr.?” Marjorie asked.

  “I had Jameson look into it before we got here,” Creighton explained. “After all the trouble with Mary Stafford during our first case, I had a feeling you’d want to make sure he was protected—when I called Jameson and asked him to meet us here, I made sure he had Noonan check out the boy’s relatives. He has aunts and uncles galore—on his mother’s side—who are willing to take him in. Seems none of them liked Michael Sr. to begin with.”

  “You know, Mr. Ashcroft, I could go for a guy like you.” Marjorie kissed him passionately, only to be interrupted by the sound of a ship’s horn. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh no! That’s last call—we’d better get ashore!” She took Creighton by the hand and led him to the gangway, only to find that it had been removed. “Now what?”

  “Marry me, Marjorie.”

  “What?”

  “Marry me. Here. Today. After all, a man can grow old waiting to catch you between cases,” Creighton rationalized.