Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance

by Amy Patricia Meade

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you were in Ridgebury the day of your husband’s murder.”

  “What! That’s ridiculous! How did-?”

  “The ticket agent at the bus depot remembers selling a roundtrip fare to Ridgebury to a woman fitting your description. She was nervous, fidgety, and she asked if the bus would get her to Ridgebury before eleven in the morning.”

  “You have no proof that was me!”

  “All I have to do is show him a photo,” Jameson averred. “Hmmm … I wonder who’ll be more surprised: your daughter, when I tell her that her mother was in Ridgebury that day, or you, when you find out that your daughter was in Ridgebury that day as well? Or, perhaps you both already know…”

  “I-I,” Mrs. Nussbaum’s already pale face went completely white, but she soon regained her steely composure. “I don’t think I wish to speak with you any further, Detective Jameson. Not without a lawyer present.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  MARJORIE, JAMESON, LOGAN, AND Noonan left the emergency room waiting area only to run headlong into Herbert Nussbaum.

  “Going to see my sister?” he smirked.

  “Yeah, now beat it, kid,” Noonan replied brusquely.

  “Oh, I won’t get in your way. But, you do realize she won’t tell you anything.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Marjorie challenged.

  “Because, as insipid as my sister can be at times, she’s not a complete fool. She works at a dispensary. She knows just as well as I do that if someone meant to kill her with those chocolates, she’d be dead right now. However, the person added only enough arsenic to make her sick. Not enough to be lethal, but enough to scare her into keeping quiet.” He set his jaw and nodded his head slowly, matter- of-factly. “Which she will be, if she’s as smart as I think.”

  “Are you trying to tell us something, Herbert?” Jameson urged.

  Herbert shrugged. “You’re the detective. What could I possibly know that you wouldn’t?”

  “You were at the fair that day. Maybe you saw something.”

  “I went for the rides and the cotton candy. Why else would a boy my age go to a fair?”

  “You think you’re somethin’ don’t ya, kid?” Noonan raised a beefy hand in the air. “Well, I have some lessons for ya that you can’t get in any book-”

  Marjorie and Jameson quickly grabbed Noonan’s arm. Marjorie knew well enough that they shouldn’t even be speaking to Herbert while his mother wasn’t present, let alone using physical intimidation.

  “He’s not worth it,” Jameson told his assistant. “He’s just a knowit-all punk kid.”

  Noonan lowered his arm reluctantly. “I’d still like to wipe the smirk off his face.”

  The Nussbaum boy clicked his tongue. “That’s the problem with our society-everyone tries to solve their problems with violence.” He gave a quick smile and then retreated into the waiting area where his mother awaited his return.

  Beneath the thin hospital blanket, Natalie Nussbaum’s slender frame looked even slighter than Marjorie had remembered. Her thick, dark hair formed a mass of snarls against the crisp white pillowcase, and her eyes, which had shown a spark of rebellion during their last interview, were now dull and cloudy. She looked up as they entered the room.

  “Hi, Natalie,” Marjorie spoke gently. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” The girl searched among the faces of the men who had accompanied Marjorie. “Where’s Mr. Ashcroft?”

  Marjorie frowned slightly; every woman who met him-young or old, fat or thin-was bowled over by Creighton’s wit and charm. Why would he choose her when he could have almost any female he wanted? “He doesn’t know what happened yet. I’ll call him tonight, after our visit with you, and perhaps he’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Natalie showed a trace of a smile. “I’d like that.”

  Jameson approached her bedside. “Miss Nussbaum, we need to ask you some questions.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I figured you would.”

  “The chocolates. Do you have any idea who may have sent them?”

  Natalie cast her eyes downward. “No. No idea.”

  “Do you know why someone would want to poison you?”

  No.

  It was Jameson’s turn to sigh. “I’m going to be perfectly blunt with you, Miss Nussbaum. I don’t believe you. We know you were in Ridgebury the day your father was murdered.”

  Natalie looked up, tears welling in her eyes.

  “You took a bus from Boston to Hartford late Friday evening, stayed overnight at a friend’s house, and then took a bus from Hartford to Ridgebury Saturday morning. We also know that your brother and mother were in Ridgebury on Saturday as well.”

  ” ” So?

  “So, what were you doing there?”

  “I wanted to speak with my father.”

  ?” (( Y•

  She blinked back her tears. “Because I hadn’t spoken with him in months. I wanted to apologize.”

  Noonan stepped in. “Apologize for what?”

  “For being…” the floodgates broke open and Natalie began to sob. “For being so angry with him.”

  Noonan pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “Here, kid.” He handed it to the girl, who accepted it and blew her nose softly.

  Jameson jumped back in once she had regained her composure. “When was the last time you spoke to your father?”

  “Months ago. I don’t know the date.”

  “So why now?”

  Natalie pulled a face. “Huh?”

  “Why did you want to speak to him now? Now, after all this time?”

  “I told you I wanted to apologize.”

  “To apologize? Or to warn him?”

  “To apologize,” she stated emphatically.

  “I don’t believe you. I think you knew your father was in danger. I think you knew that your mother and brother were going to Ridgebury. I think you went to Hartford Friday night to tell your father and chickened out”

  Natalie shook her head. “No.”

  “The next morning you decided again to tell him, but he was on his way to the fair, so you followed him and thought you’d tell him there, but it was too late.”

  Her protest became louder. “No”

  “That’s why you felt guilty, wasn’t it, Natalie? Because you didn’t warn him.”

  Her answer grew louder still. “No.”

  “You saw who killed your father didn’t you, Natalie? That’s why someone sent you those chocolates, isn’t it? Because you saw who did it.”

  Natalie sat upright in bed and screamed with all her might. “No! That’s not true! I didn’t see anyone! I couldn’t have! I couldn’t have… ” With that statement she buried her face in Noonan’s handkerchief, her body convulsed in sobs.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  AFTER BEING EVICTED FROM Natalie Nussbaum’s room by an irate nurse, the foursome sat in the hospital coffee shop, discussing the evening’s events. Marjorie hurried to a pay telephone booth to apprise Creighton of the evening’s happenings.

  To her surprise, the Englishman answered the phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Creighton, it’s Marjorie.”

  “Hullo, Marjorie,” Creighton replied softly. There was a strained quality to his voice, a certain sadness she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  “Are you all right? You sound … tired.” “

  I am a bit tired. It’s been a long day. What did you call about?”

  “Oh, things are really picking up speed, Creighton! First, we cracked the code on that piece of paper in Nussbaum’s pocket.”

  His voice suddenly became animated. “How on earth did you do that?”

  “The Bible!” she exclaimed. “I was visiting Reverend Price this afternoon when I realized that Matt isn’t a person, but an apostle. And that so-called date at the bottom? It was a chapter and verse. Oddly enough, the verse is about murderers being punished. Talk about irony. But, the Bible w
as the key to the whole puzzle. Go figure!”

  He laughed. “I suppose attending Catholic school as a girl did have its advantages, didn’t it?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to write to the nuns at St. Brigid’s to say `thank you.’ Of course, I’ll omit the fact that I write about murder and other foul goings-on…” She punctuated the sentence with a giggle.

  “There are worse things you could do for a living,” he replied softly. “So what was the document in Nussbaum’s pocket?”

  “That’s even more interesting. You may want to tell Vanessa about this one, or maybe not-she’s bound to be upset by it. It’s a formula for simulated rubber. It appears that Nussbaum was still on the Cullen brothers’ payroll when he went to work for Alchemy. Only problem is he wasn’t just a salesman. He was a spy. The formula belonged to Alchemy Industries and Alfred was selling it to the Cullens for $17,000-$7,000 up front and $10,000 upon receipt of the formula.”

  “W-what?”

  “I know. It’s hard to believe someone could actually steal from someone as good as Vanessa. Just as it’s hard to believe that the Cullen’s were so desperate, but they claim they would have spent more in research and development than in paying Alfred Nussbaum. However, now we know who held the eleven o’clock appointment with Nussbaum. We have a confession, the money, the whole shebang!”

  “They confessed to the murder?”

  “Oh no, just to industrial espionage, and hitting Reverend Price-”

  A woman’s voice interrupted. “To continue the call, please deposit five cents.”

  Marjorie did as instructed.

  “Five cents?” Creighton repeated. “Where in earth are you?”

  “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t get up to that part yet, I’m at the hospital.”

  “Good God! Are you all right? What happened to you?”

  “Oh no! I haven’t been admitted. I’m peachy. I’m just visiting Natalie Nussbaum-she’s been poisoned.”

  There was a long pause.

  Marjorie pushed excitedly at the disconnect buttons. “Hello? Hello? Are you there? Creighton?”

  “I’m still here,” the voice on the other end of the line replied.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, Natalie was poisoned. Is she all right?”

  “She’ll be fine, but we’re convinced she knows who murdered her father. What other reason could someone have to poison her?”

  “Did you question her?”

  “Yes. She wouldn’t talk. Robert confronted her about being at the fair that day, but she denied having seen anyone. She just kept on yelling that `she couldn’t have seen who did it.’ She said it a few times before the nurse came in and asked us to leave. I don’t know what to think, Creighton. Between Josie, Saporito, and the Cullen brothers, most of our suspects are in jail. All that’s left are Bernice, Herbert, and Natalie herself.” She laughed. “If we continue on this path, we’ll have no suspects left! They’ll all be incarcerated in the Boston prison system.”

  There was a loud click. Once again, Marjorie pushed at the disconnect buttons, but it was to no avail. “Hello? Hello? Creighton? Creighton … ?”

  Marjorie stirred at her cup of coffee pensively, the phone conversation with Creighton Ashcroft still looming in her mind. Her thoughts slipped momentarily to the thin, dark-haired Natalie and she thought she might burst into tears. “You needn’t have been so rough on her, Robert. The poor girl’s been through enough.”

  “And she’ll be through even more if she doesn’t tell us what she knows,” Jameson argued.

  Logan chimed in. “Miss McClelland, she has to realize she’s playing with a murderer. The chocolates were just a scare tactic, but next time she may not be so lucky.”

  “Yes, the chocolates…” Marjorie mused.

  Jameson rolled his eyes. “Once again, I can’t know what you’re thinking, honey.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem to fit, does it? Our murderer kills Alfred Nussbaum in broad daylight at a church fair, yet flinches at killing Natalie-the only person who can identify this person as the killer.” She shook her head. “Letting Natalie live seems awfully risky. Why not get her out of the way once and for all?”

  “It’s psychological,” Logan answered matter-of-factly. “Put the fear of God into ‘em and they’ll keep quiet.”

  “But it could have had the opposite effect,” Marjorie pointed out. “Natalie could have been scared into telling everything. That’s a huge chance to take, especially when the punishment for two murders isn’t much different than the punishment for one. Unless…”

  “Unless… ” Noonan, who had until this moment been completely absorbed in consuming a large slice of apple pie, pointed his fork at Marjorie, his eyes wide in excitement. “Unless, Natalie poisoned herself to throw us off the track!”

  His three tablemates stared at him incredulously.

  “Hey, she works at a dispensary,” he reasoned. “And c’mon, it’s not like it hasn’t happened to us before”

  “Not this time, Noonan,” Jameson replied in a patronizing tone.

  The officer shrugged and went back to his apple pie.

  “It’s pretty obvious that Natalie’s covering for someone,” Logan stated confidently. “That’s why she reacted the way she did when Jameson asked if she had seen the murderer.”

  “Mike’s right,” Jameson agreed. “Why else would she say she couldn’t have’ seen the murderer? She’d just say she didn’t and leave it at that”

  Logan nodded. “She witnessed either her mother or brother murdering her father and she doesn’t want to believe it.”

  “Mother is more likely,” Jameson averred. “I don’t think she’d be quite as upset if it were Herbert.”

  “So you fellows believe Bernice is our murderer,” Marjorie declared.

  Jameson and Logan glanced at each other and nodded in agreement.

  Noonan looked up from his apple pie. “Hmph? Oh yeah, yeah. It’s the only way it makes sense.”

  “And what about the box of chocolates?” she challenged.

  “What about the box of chocolates?” Jameson repeated.

  “Why would Bernice poison her own daughter?”

  “Same reason anyone else would: to keep her quiet,” Logan explained. “What’s more, Bernice would know that her daughter would fall for the secret admirer ploy.”

  It was Marjorie’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, because Natalie is very unique for a girl her age in that she enjoys receiving presents from male suitors,” she stated facetiously. “That’s a ridiculous statement. Besides, why would Bernice need to scare Natalie into silence anyway? Natalie loves her mother. They may not get along very well, but I truly doubt that she would want her to go to jail, or worse, the gallows.”

  “Yeah, Natalie also loved her father. Remember?” Jameson pointed out. “Then something happened and she didn’t speak with him for how long?”

  “The `something’ to which you refer happening, was Josie Saporito,” Marjorie rebutted. “Which just proves that Natalie is loyal to her mother. She didn’t speak with him for-”

  She stopped mid-sentence. How long had it been since Natalie had spoken to her father? Natalie never did answer that question. Why not?

  “She didn’t speak with him for-?” the men asked in unison.

  She looked up to find that all eyes were upon her.

  “Nothing,” she dismissed. “I was just about to say that Natalie and Bernice live under the same roof. If Bernice were the murderer and Natalie knew about it, why wouldn’t Bernice confront her in private? Why make a big scene out of it by poisoning a box of chocolates? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What about Herbert?” Logan suggested.

  “I have to admit the idea has crossed my mind several times. But, again, why the box of chocolates? He’s a clever boy. He could have scared his sister in other, less conspicuous, ways.” She shook her head. “No, if the murderer were in that house, the chocolates would only serve to call attentio
n to him. But, on the other hand, I can’t imagine our other suspects sparing Natalie’s life.”

  “Well, someone had to do it, honey.” Jameson chuckled. “We have a dead body on our hands.” “

  I know. There has to be something-something we’re missing. Some piece of the puzzle we’ve yet to stumble upon.” “

  I don’t know. I think Bernice did it,” Logan opined.

  Marjorie, however, was still lost in thought. “There’s so much guilt involved-too much almost.”

  “What do you mean?” Jameson probed.

  “Well, first, that Bible passage Alfred used to encode the formula. All that talk about murderers facing judgment-it’s quite ominous. And, if I’m not mistaken, Nussbaum was Jewish.”

  “So?” Logan challenged.

  “So, I would have thought him more likely to use a passage from the Old Testament, rather than the New Testament, but that’s just my opinion, of course.” She took a sip of coffee and resumed speaking. “Then, there’s Natalie. Something isn’t right there. You’re assuming she knew about the murder plot and tried to warn her father, correct?”

  “That’s the only explanation I could think of,” Jameson replied.

  “But Creighton described her as expressing guilt at the wake today; remorse for something she had done. If she had gone to Ridgebury to warn her father about an intended murder plot and then backed out, she couldn’t describe the situation that way could she?”

  Robert was totally confounded. “Huh?”

  “I mean that Natalie was discussing something she had done that she felt sorry about, not something she hadn’t done. If she were talking about her failure to warn her father, she couldn’t say that she felt guilt over some wrongdoing. She could say that she was experiencing `regret,’ but guilt, as she described it, implies actionsome kind of action for which she feels remorse.”

  “I see what you mean,” Jameson concurred. “Kind of… “

  I don’t,” Logan said.

  “I don’t either,” Noonan chimed in. “I think you’re nuts.”

  Marjorie held her aching head and wished with all her might that Creighton were there; he always understood what she was trying to say. She sighed noisily. “The short version: Natalie is the key. She knows something that almost got her killed-most likely the identity of the killer-and she knows this because she did something that, intentionally or not, set the murder in motion.”