“I suppose not.”
“Is there something else?” Mrs. Patterson quizzed as she measured the tea by the rounded teaspoon.
“I just-I just want to ask you something and I need an honest answer.
“Of course, dear. What is it?”
“You speak with Creighton on a regular basis,” she prefaced. “Has he ever told you how he feels about me?”
Mrs. Patterson stopped what she was doing and looked up from the teapot. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I know he and I are friends, but has he ever eluded to you that his feelings for me might be deeper than that?”
The woman was nonplussed by Marjorie’s question. She gazed at Marjorie for a moment then turned her attention back to the teapot. “I don’t know where I left off now.” She emptied the tea leaves from the pot back into the tin and started the measuring process again.
Marjorie waited until the elderly woman was finished counting before pressing her for an answer. “So?”
Mrs. Patterson brought the kettle from the stove and began filling the teapot with boiling water. “I think you’re asking the wrong person. If you want to know how Creighton feels, ask Creighton.” She returned the kettle to the stove and brought the teapot to the table to steep. “What makes you so interested in Creighton’s feelings all of a sudden?”
“Oh, Mrs. Patterson,” Marjorie started to cry. “I don’t know where to begin.”
The elderly woman handed her a crocheted handkerchief and sat beside her. Holding her with one arm and patting her back with the other, she soothed, “Shhhh. There, there, child.”
Marjorie blew her nose in the handkerchief with a resounding honk.
“Now, tell me exactly what happened,” Mrs. Patterson instructed.
“It started with Robert. We were on the way to see his parents and he told me that Creighton had resigned as my editor.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yes. He said it wasn’t proper because-because Creighton is in love with me.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed with a hint of surprise in her voice. “Go on.
“I tried to forget about the whole thing. We had dinner with Robert’s parents and everything went … well, I told you about his mother.”
Mrs. Patterson nodded.
“Robert dropped me back at Vanessa’s house. It was quiet and dark and I thought everyone had gone to bed. And then I heard it. Creighton and Vanessa were in the library and he … and he proposed to Vanessa.” She burst into sobs. “He asked her to marry him.” “
“How did she respond?”
I didn’t stay long enough to hear. I went up to bed, and I didn’t come downstairs until morning, until I was sure Robert would be there. We left shortly afterward and came back to Ridgebury. But then, later in the day, Robert and I got a lead on the case. I called Creighton. I don’t know why, but I called him and told him to meet us at the police station. I suppose I wanted things to be the way they had been last time-Creighton and I questioning suspects and gathering clues.”
“But they weren’t?” Mrs. Patterson assumed.
“They were at first. Then we went back to Vanessa’s for dinner. That’s when she told me…”
“Who told you what?”
“Vanessa,” Marjorie answered quietly. “Vanessa told me that Creighton was in love with me. She said that he had been keeping his distance because the sight of Robert and me together tore him apart.”
“What did you say? What did you do?”
“Nothing right away. Dinner was ready and I didn’t want Jameson to find out what Vanessa and I had been discussing. Not that way; not yet. After dinner, however, Vanessa sent Creighton and I out for a walk and-” Marjorie’s voice broke into sobs.
The older woman held her tightly. “It’s all right, Marjorie. Go on.
“Creighton was downright mean. I tried to be nice to him. I really tried! I tried to give him a chance to tell me how he feels. I told him that I had a good time solving crimes with him and he-he acted as though it didn’t matter, that it never mattered. He said that he needed a life of peace and quiet, and that he was going to marry Vanessa”
Mrs. Patterson, appeared surprised. “He told you that she accepted his proposal?”
“Yes. And then it got worse. He-he said that I didn’t care about him. He said that all I cared about was my pride and that I was more upset by the fact that he wasn’t pining away for me, than whether or not he cared in the first place.”
“What did you do?”
“I slapped him.”
Mrs. Patterson’s mouth formed a small `o’ “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I couldn’t help it. He makes me so angry sometimes. I went back to the house and made a silly excuse for being upset. I said I fell and twisted my ankle and that Creighton had gone back to look for one of my earrings. He came back shortly afterward and I filled him in about the story. He played along and we spent the rest of the evening pretending nothing happened. However, I could think of nothing else. I’m sorry I slapped him, but he really knows how to drive me crazy!”
“Yes, I believe that. You’re both stubborn, pigheaded people. I wouldn’t want to face either of you in an argument, that’s for certain.”
“It’s not just that. Here everyone keeps telling me that Creighton loves me. But first he gets engaged to Vanessa and then he goes and acts so rotten! I just don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I understand. What I don’t understand is why Vanessa would tell you that Creighton loves you? Robert is easy-he trusts you and wants you to sympathize with his position. But Vanessa’s behavior is puzzling. You’re the mystery writer, Marjorie. What possible reason could she have had for telling you that her intended husband is in love with you?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know, Mrs. Patterson. I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I just want…”
“You want to know if it’s true,” the other woman filled in the blank. “And what if it is? What if Creighton does love you? What will you do?”
Marjorie shrugged; she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. “I have no idea.”
“Then that’s the real question, isn’t it? You ask me if Creighton loves you, but you can easily find the answer to that. Just open your eyes. Men don’t say things the way women do. They don’t act the way women do, but when they care, you can see it in their eyes. No, Marjorie, what you really want to know is whether or not you love Creighton.”
The young woman leaned her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Perhaps that was what she was asking, after all. “I’m just so confused. I’m not certain if what I’m feeling is cold feet because I’m getting married or if it’s something more serious. Oh, Mrs. Patterson, what should I do?” she pleaded. “Should I forget about these feelings and hope they go away? Should I marry Robert? Or should I break off the engagement, even though what I feel for Creighton might be nothing more than a crush? Should I let him break off his engagement with Vanessa?” She let her hands drop to the table. “What should I do?”
Mrs. Patterson patted her hand. “There, there, Marjorie. You’re letting your thoughts run away with you. You don’t need to make a decision tonight. You and Robert haven’t set a wedding date yet. Take a few days to think about it and the answer will come to you.
“What if it doesn’t? What do I do then?”
The elderly woman smiled. “Then you do what I did before I married Mr. Patterson. I had cold feet before our wedding. Very cold feet. So cold, in fact, that I nearly called the whole thing off. Well, my mother gave me some wonderful advice. She told me to picture my life without Frank in it, and that would help me make up my mind.”
“Apparently it did. You and Mr. Patterson were married more than forty years.”
“Yes, but you see, her advice worked because it failed.”
Marjorie pulled a face. “What?”
Mrs. Patterson explained, “For days I tried to do what my mother had told me
, but I just couldn’t. Finally, out of frustration, I went to her and said `Mother, I’ve tried to heed your advice, but I just can’t imagine my life without Frank’ My mother looked at me and smiled, and I realized what I had said. She hugged me. ‘Emily,’ she said, `that’s exactly the way you should feel about the man you’re about to marry.”’
Marjorie frowned; it was a pleasant little story but she wasn’t sure how it would help her in her present situation. “So I should picture my life without Robert and if I can’t, that means I should marry him,” she rejoined skeptically.
“Not just Robert. You should try it with Creighton, too.”
“What if I can’t imagine life without either of them? How will I know what to do then?”
Mrs. Patterson began pouring out the tea. “You’ll know, dear. You’ll know.”
NINETEEN
MARJORIE AWOKE THE NEXT morning to the sound of someone knocking on her front cottage door. Still wooly eyed, she staggered out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown, and made her way into the living room. She swung open the door to find Robert standing on the front stoop.
He gave her a kiss upon entering. “Morning. What are you still doing in bed? You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she rubbed her eyes and stretched.
“How’s the ankle?”
“A lot better”
“I’m glad. I was worried about you last night. You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”
“Yes, I was. Silly cobblestone streets,” she replied. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“I guess I was tired,” she replied. Tired was an understatement. In truth, she had been exhausted. “I’ll put some coffee on,” she offered.
“None for me, thanks,” he declined. “I had some at headquarters.”
Deciding not to make any for herself, Marjorie sat down on the chintz-covered sofa. Sam, her mottled-gray tomcat, rubbed against her leg. “How are things in police land?”
“Busy.” He eased into a floral printed armchair. “Dr. Heller’s report was on my desk this morning. It confirms that curare poisoning killed Nussbaum and that the wound on his neck matches the dart that you found.”
“That was a foregone conclusion by now, wasn’t it?” Marjorie picked up the cat and placed him on her lap. Sam, having nothing of this display of affection, wriggled free and jumped to the ground with a small meow.
“Yeah, but it’s nice to know that the lab work backed up our theory-otherwise we would have had to start all over.” He removed his hat. “By the way, Dr. Heller also released Nussbaum’s body.”
“Oh? And which Mrs. Nussbaum is the lucky winner?”
“Bernice. As we speak, Alfred’s on his way back to Boston.”
Boston, Marjorie remembered. Boston and Creighton. “Just as well,” she commented, “since Josie’s in the lock-up.”
“Yeah, although her lawyer sent a request that she be released for two hours, under police supervision, for the funeral.”
“Released?”
“Yeah, Logan has to play chaperone,” he explained. “Speaking of Logan, he’s sending over those mug shots of Murphy and his friends so we can show them around to everyone at the fair. I should have them by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yes,” she replied distractedly.
“Noonan’s checking out Nussbaum’s financial records. I want to see exactly what kind of arrangement he had with Josie. I know Saporito admitted that they were trying to fleece the guy, but if we can prove there was a life insurance policy, it just strengthens our case. Noonan’s also checking with bus companies to see if anyone answering to Natalie’s or Bernice’s description bought a ticket to Ridgebury or Hartford on Friday or Saturday. Like I said, it was the easiest and cheapest way for them to have made the trip.”
“Sounds like you have all your bases covered,” she casually remarked, disappointed that there wasn’t some bit of police work that would help her get her mind off things.
“Not all of them. I’m going to check out Cullen Chemicals today. Nussbaum was employed there before he worked for Alchemy. I thought I’d see if he had any enemies: coworkers he didn’t get along with, bosses who didn’t like the way he looked, that sort of thing.”
Marjorie raised an eyebrow; perhaps here was a distraction. “Cullen Chemicals in Hartford? They closed a few months ago didn’t they?”
Robert nodded. “I called the Cullen brothers directly. Temporary shut down is how they described it, but it doesn’t sound like they’re bouncing back too quickly. They sold their estate and rented a couple of rooms at their men’s club. I got the club’s address and told them I’d stop by later”
“I’m surprised you’re telling me about it. Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to tag along?”
“Not this time.”
“Oh? Confident that the fact you’re meeting in a men’s club will keep me at bay?”
“Actually, we’re meeting on a nearby golf course. Women are allowed there.” Jameson smiled. “No, the reason I’m not afraid of you tagging along is I’m inviting you.”
“Inviting me,” she repeated. “Two days in a row? Are you sure you’re not the one who’s sick?”
“I’m not sick. I’m just heeding the advice of a friend;” he explained.
Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “Advice of a friend, eh? What precisely was this advice?”
“That I shouldn’t try to break the spirit of an independent woman.
“Hmm, very wise man. I like him already. Is he married?” Marjorie asked.
“No, he isn’t.” Robert frowned.
“You’d better be careful then,” she teased before heading off to the bedroom to change. “If I meet him, I might just be swept off my feet.”
The Cullen brothers, Charles and Kenneth, were playing the sixth hole on the Grouse Hollow Golf Course when Marjorie and Jameson arrived, by cart, to speak with them. The men were fortyish and, apart from the bright knickers and tams they wore, were virtually nondescript in appearance, with plain, even features and mousy brown hair. In fact, the brothers blended with their surroundings and each other so harmoniously that the only way Marjorie could differentiate between the two was by the pince-nez clipped to the end of Charles’ nose.
Kenneth requested the number one wood from the caddy and approached the tee. “So good of you to meet us here, Detective Jameson,” he stated appreciatively. “I would’ve hated to have to cancel our golf game. Getting a tee time on this course is confoundedly difficult. Sometimes we have to make a reservation a week in advance.
“My pleasure, Mr. Cullen,” Jameson replied. “I’m glad we have an opportunity to talk. You and your brother might be able to shed some light on this case.”
There was silence as Kenneth addressed the ball and drove it about two hundred and fifty yards down the fairway. “Nice one,” Charles commented enthusiastically. Then returning his attention to the matter at hand: “Yes, I couldn’t believe the news when you told me, Detective. What exactly happened to Nussbaum? A botched robbery attempt?”
“No, a simple case of murder.”
“Murder? But Nussbaum was such a placid man; I can’t imagine him provoking anyone into taking such drastic measures. Are you sure it wasn’t a robbery?”
“Positive. Nussbaum’s wallet hadn’t even been touched.”
“Forget about it being touched,” Kenneth eagerly followed up. “Was there any money in it?”
Jameson hesitated. “No. Just some change. Why?”
“Because Nussbaum hardly ever carried cash in his wallet. It was a trick he learned from years of being on the road. A pickpocket, he said, will automatically go for a man’s wallet. That’s why he usually kept his cash in a separate pocket. Now, did you find cash anywhere else?”
Nussbaum had been wearing a white shirt and a pair of navy blue trousers, and the only items they had found in those pockets were his wallet, a few coins and the number-laden piece of paper.
“No, we didn’t, b
ut how much cash could a salesman have on him anyway? Not enough to kill for, certainly.” He eyed the brothers suspiciously. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask the questions for a change.”
“I’m sorry, Detective,” Charles shot Kenneth a warning glance. “My brother sometimes fancies himself an amateur sleuth. Go ahead and ask whatever you like. Although I don’t know how much we can help you. It’s been months since we’ve seen Alfred Nussbaum.”
“I realize that, but perhaps you can tell me about the time he spent as your employee.”
The caddy placed a second ball on the tee and handed Charles the driver.
“There’s not much to tell, Detective,” Kenneth interjected. “Like my brother said, Nussbaum was a quiet fellow. Kept to himself.”
“He didn’t socialize with any of his coworkers?”
“He didn’t have an opportunity. He was a traveling salesman, you know.” Kenneth held up a hand for silence, while his brother took his swing. The ball flew into the rough.
“Damn it!” Charles shouted and hurled the club to the ground in disgust.
“Quite a temper you have there, Mr. Cullen,” Marjorie remarked. “You should try to keep it in check. It’s not good for the blood pres„ sure.
Charles glared at her over the top of his wire-framed spectacles.
“You were saying,” Jameson continued, “that Alfred Nussbaum didn’t have time to make friends at your company. Does that mean he also didn’t have time to make enemies?”
The caddy packed up the clubs and the Cullen brothers proceeded to the green. “That’s precisely what it means,” Charles brusquely averred.
Marjorie and Jameson trailed behind them. “Why did Mr. Nussbaum leave Cullen Chemicals?” the young woman asked.
“Economics,” Kenneth answered. “Nussbaum couldn’t afford to wait for the company to reopen, so he looked for a position elsewhere. Luckily, Alchemy was in need of a new salesman.”
“You mean lucky for Alfred Nussbaum,” Robert corrected, “but not so lucky for you. From the way his records at Alchemy read, Nussbaum was very good at his job.”
Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance Page 15
