I opened one eye and looked a second time, trying to control my shaking. This should be easier than seeing Penn’s body last year, because then I knew the victim. This man was a total stranger.
Or was he? Something about him tugged at my memory. If I could see him walk or gesture—
But he would never again move. Nothing short of the last resurrection would ever bring him back to life.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know him, but. . .I may have seen him around.”
Frances moved aside so that I could look more closely. I took a deep breath, swallowed, and edged my chair forward. More details registered. A few strands of grey streaked his hair. Maybe early forties? Eye color? Undetermined, clouded as they were by death. His clothes, standard intruder black. His hands, roughened by work, clutched Magda Mallory’s beautiful pearls.
Nausea welled up in me again and burned my throat. Tears wet my face. I managed to croak out the fact I couldn’t identify him.
“Cici?” Audie knelt beside me, the mug of tea set to one side. His arms surrounded me, shielding me from the dreadful sight. I would never look at the practical carpet the same way again. Wood floor, I thought distractedly. I would have the original wood floor uncovered and restored.
Dr. Barber moved in my direction. I saw his rubber-covered hands and shivered. Noting my reaction, he removed the gloves. He placed cool fingers on my forehead and urged me to lean forward again. “I see you made tea, young man,” he said to Audie. “Plenty of sugar?”
Audie nodded.
“Drink it up,” the doctor said. I did as I was told.
“Now why don’t the two of you go into your office back there.” He started to lead us to the small room.
Reiner came out from the office. “All clear, Dr. Barber.” He nodded at the newcomer.
“Come this way.” Dr. Barber followed us into the office and dug out the not quite empty box of sugar cookies. “Eat one.” He kept his body between me and the—thing—on my floor and managed small talk about safe subjects, like the wedding and spring planting, my father’s plans for the ranch.
The grandfather clock situated beside the register chimed the quarter hour. Only thirty minutes had passed since I arrived at the store. I used a damp washcloth that Audie supplied to freshen my face and took a deep breath.
“Feeling better now? Good. We’ll let you know when we’re done.” Dr. Barber slipped back into the store.
Audie turned my radio on low. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. The noise of my teeth crunching on another cookie covered sounds from the other room.
“I’ve done all I need to do here,” Dr. Barber spoke, and Audie turned down the volume of the radio. “I’ll do the autopsy in the morning, although the head trauma leaves little doubt as to the cause of death.”
“When do you estimate—” Reiner barked.
“Time of death? You know better than to ask me that. I’ll have your answer after the autopsy.”
The front doorbell rang. Feet padded across the floor, followed by rolling wheels—a gurney. The hearse must have arrived. Dr. Barber came in to say farewell and left. For a moment I felt as abandoned as a child lost at a county fair. Then I looked around the office—my domain. Someone had committed murder at my place of business. Anger surged through me, and I stood up in the wake of the energy it gave me. Now that the body had been removed, another concern arose. Had any of my merchandise been damaged or stolen?
I paused before I went into the back room. “Is it okay if I check my stock?”
“Give us a few more minutes. We need to finish our crime scene check.” Frances sounded brisk, professional.
I dropped back into my office chair and turned on the radio again. A show featuring classic country songs played in the late evening hours. The wailing tunes turned my stomach, and I flicked off the dial.
Audie held my hand, but his gaze focused on a spot on the wall. I wondered what occupied his thoughts. Lately he had seemed preoccupied much of the time.
Frances stuck her head in the office. “You can go into the back now. Can you check your inventory while you’re at it?”
“Of course.”
Audie joined me in the back room, away from the mess in front of the cash register. I couldn’t understand why the intruder had smashed my lovely front window when he could have forced my back door open without much effort. The chain swung loose from its mooring although the door was locked. The murderer might have exited out the back. I opened the door and looked at the back alley. I don’t know what I expected to see. Muddy tire tracks left on the asphalt? I should leave the forensics to the police. Even Reiner knew more about it than I did.
I walked through racks of plastic-wrapped merchandise. The most valuable and fragile pieces stayed in the back room. I brought them out when a customer sought a particular item, or sold them via the Internet. Everything seemed in order.
“Cici, come here.” Frances called me to my office where she had opened my desk drawers. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
At those ominous words, I gave brief thought to contacting my lawyer, Georgia Hafferty. But why should I? I didn’t have anything to hide.
“When did you leave the store this evening?”
I relaxed. I’m not sure what I had expected. Did you murder that man?
“About quarter past five. I close an hour early on Saturdays.”
“And everything was normal when you left?”
I nodded.
“Please talk us through your usual routine when you leave.”
“I can show you.” I circled behind the cash register and extracted a clipboard. “Here are the instructions for when someone else closes up shop for me. Tidying up, a quick cleaning, cashing out. . .everyday, normal activities.”
“We’ll take a copy of this.” Frances unclipped the page and added it to her file. “And where did you go after you locked up?”
“Home.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Frances glanced at Audie.
“Not unless you count my Bible. I was studying my Sunday school lesson.”
Frances might wonder where my fiancé was while I stayed at home alone on a Saturday night, but she didn’t ask. They would probably grill Audie at a later time.
“Can you tell if anything is missing? Is the right amount of money in the petty cash box?”
I had already checked. It matched the amount I scratched on my memo pad, right next to the note Call caterer! stenciled with curlicues of spring flowers. Right now wedding plans seemed as foreign as the Amazon rain forest. “The money’s all here. I haven’t checked my inventory yet.”
I walked to the doorway and paused, shivering. I couldn’t bring myself to enter the front room.
“We can come back tomorrow. You don’t have to do this tonight.” Audie grabbed my favorite boa, a chinchilla fur, from the back of my desk chair and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“No. I can do this.” I walked through the door, grateful that the odor had lessened with the removal of the body. Where was the familiar, welcome scent of sachets and coffee and spring flowers? I wanted to cry again over the devastation wrought on my beautiful, much-loved place of business. The man’s life held much more value, of course—the price of a sparrow and all that—but I had invested my life and heart in this place. It reflected me, someone apart from the middle Wilde daughter, the good child who stayed home.
I hiccupped, swallowing a sob, and walked up and down the racks. Nothing seemed out of place. Around the final corner, I approached the cash register again. Magda’s pearls now dangled from Reiner’s hand.
“You’re not taking the necklace, are you?” I squeaked. “It’s a gift from Mrs. Mallory.”
Reiner glared at me. As a descendant of Dick Gaynor, he did not hold the descendants of the rival Graces in high regard. But he recognized the need to bow to Magda Grace Mallory’s position in our small town.
Frances removed the pearls from Reiner’s palm and dropped them into an evide
nce bag. “Sorry. They’re evidence in the case. They need to be processed.”
“Just. . .be careful with them, please? Mrs. Mallory had them restrung especially for use in the new play.” She had neatly bartered the necklace in exchange for a role in the production—Abby Brewster in Arsenic and Old Lace. Audie gladly obliged his patron. She won the role on her own merits. She could act and paired well with ensemble regular, Suzanne Jay, as the murdering spinster sisters.
Her promise to donate the necklace to my store after the play’s run added incentive. I would donate a portion of the proceeds back to the theater, of course.
Reiner lifted the pearls from the evidence bag and tugged a bit at the string, as if something had caught there.
“Be careful!” The words spilled out of my mouth without thought.
“Yup, we need to check these out.” Reiner dropped the pearls back in the bag. “Don’t worry, the string is plenty strong. Nothing will happen to your precious necklace.”
They continued combing the store for evidence. I disappeared into my office for another cup of sweet tea. I doubted I would get to sleep that night, but the sugar helped stop the shaking. Maybe another cookie?
Audie dabbed his finger into the now-empty box, catching one last smidgeon of icing. He saw my look and grimaced. “Sorry.” The word encompassed a wealth of meaning. Sorry for eating the last cookie? For canceling our plans for the evening? For going into the store instead of calling the police? Why had this dear man been so foolish as to try to interrupt a robbery in progress? Anger and worry flooded through me in equal measure.
“You could have been killed. Like that poor man.” Tears welled in my eyes again at his brush with danger. “What if you came in while the murderer was still here?”
“Shh, there now.” Audie stood behind me and rubbed my back. “I couldn’t let someone rob your store.” His normally gentle massage attacked my muscles in angry circles, betraying his gentle tone.
“Ouch!”
He stopped the movement and left his hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t see anything. Just the light. If anyone was here, they ran out the back when I came in the front door.”
“That’s what I guessed when I checked the storeroom.” I leaned against his comforting arms and closed my eyes. My thoughts gathered together, quilted by the Holy Spirit into a prayer. Father, what an awful night it’s been. I’m scared. Someone came to my store with murder on his mind.
3
From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])
Date: Saturday, April 19, 9:35 PM
To: Audwin Howe ([email protected])
Subject: Secrets?
Why are you canceling dinner dates with the charming Cici Wilde? How are you spending all those hours? With whom? Where?
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Saturday, April 19
Frances appeared in the doorway. “We’re finished out here. We’d like to talk to you again.” Her gaze swept over both of us. “Come this way, please.”
It felt funny to receive an invitation to enter my own store. The corners of Audie’s mouth twitched, as if the same thought crossed his mind. He took my hand and we followed Frances to the area in front of the dressing rooms.
“We have just a few questions, a formality.”
That sounded a bit like Columbo on the scent of the murderer. Did Frances mean her statement as encouragement or warning? Maybe it was time to call my lawyer. No, I decided again.
“Was anything missing from the store when you checked just now?” Her pen poised over a notebook.
I shook my head. “Nothing obvious. I’ll have to check against the inventory list on my home computer.” I had updated it only last weekend, a blessing in light of the present circumstances.
Reiner lifted something sealed in an evidence bag—a piece of paper. But why? I doubted that the murderer had left a signed confession. The chief held it where I could read it through the plastic. Plain white paper, a computer printout of some kind. Audie and I leaned closer to read the words of the message. Its single paragraph grabbed me by the throat.
I know what you’re doing. Meet me at Cici’s Vintage Clothing at 8:30 p.m. Saturday night.
My mind whirled. Who on earth—
“Did you send this message, Cici?”
Reiner’s eyes bored into me, their accusation plain.
Not only murder. Blackmail.
Reiner’s unspoken accusation broke my trance.
“Of course not.” I snapped my mouth shut and stared at the paper, committing the contents to memory. “That’s a stupid question. I’m not. . .” I looked at the page again. “Jerry Burton.”
First Elsie Holland on the strange e-mail that Jessie Gaynor received, and now Jerry Burton. Had Jessie told the chief about the threat, since they were related and all?
“How about you, Mr. Howe?” Reiner’s glare increased in intensity as he stared at my fiancé.
Audie folded in on himself, a trait I noticed when he puzzled through a problem. My heart went out to him. Come on, sweetheart, give us one of those great Oscar Wilde quotes you love so much.
“‘One can survive everything, nowadays, except death,’” he said more to himself than to anyone else.
I relaxed. As long as Audie could remember Wilde, everything was right in his world. Trust him to have a good quip for unexpected death.
Reiner didn’t appreciate the humor. He repeated his question. “Did you send this email, Audie?”
“What?” Audie frowned. “No. Of course not. You have heard about the e-mails circulating from ‘Elsie Holland’?”
Reiner waited for him to expand.
“Jessie Gaynor.” I supplied one name. “But who’s the other one?”
Audie hesitated. “I received one. It was in my inbox when I turned on my computer at work today. From this same Elsie Holland person, whoever she is.” He explained his theory about the alias to the chief.
“You could have written an e-mail to yourself.” Reiner blew through his Teddy Roosevelt mustache. “But right now we want to track down Jerry Burton.” Again he questioned Audie with his eyes.
“I think you’ll find that Jerry Burton also is an alias. He was the hero in the same book by Agatha Christie that featured Elsie Holland.”
Reiner looked like he wanted to dispute Audie’s conclusion, but he knew that he was probably right. “We’ll have to see the e-mail that Ms. Holland sent to you.” He returned to the subject of the message Audie had received.
Audie shook his head. “I deleted it and emptied the trashcan on the computer. It’s gone.”
“Was it along the same lines? Unspecific accusations?” This time Frances asked the question.
“Yes.” He didn’t expand. “Was the victim holding that e-mail in his hand? The hand that wasn’t holding the pearls?”
Reiner looked at Frances but didn’t speak.
“It must have been,” I answered Audie’s question. “Maybe not in his hands, but somewhere in the store.”
“How would you know that?” Did you put it there yourself? Reiner’s tone implied.
I explained the reasoning behind my guess. “You must have found it here, or you wouldn’t be asking about it. And it explains why he came here tonight.”
No one said anything, their silence confirming my guess.
The grandfather clock chimed eleven, and my knees wobbled. “Do you mind if I sit down? There are chairs in my office.”
“We’ll only be a few more minutes,” Reiner echoed Frances’s earlier promise.
Exasperated, I grabbed the chair Audie had pulled out of the dressing room earlier and sat.
“You came into the store. . .why?” Reiner turned his attention to Audie.
“I was driving down the street, on my way home.”
“What time was that?” Frances spoke up, pen poised over her notebook.
“A few minutes after eight. I had stayed late at the MGM working on sets for the play.”
/> “And you came by the store. . .when?”
“Maybe five minutes later. It’s on my way home.”
“Why did you stop? Were you hoping to see Cici?” Reiner repeated his question.
Audie shook his head. “I knew she wasn’t there. I had called her at home before I left the theater.” He pulled up a chair from the other dressing room and sat in it backwards, dangling his hands in front of him. “I saw a light bouncing around the store. Not the usual night light Cici leaves on. I stopped to investigate. That’s when I saw the broken window. I wanted to check it out.”
“You didn’t call the police?” Reiner made it sound like a federal offense.
“My only thought was to stop whoever was there from doing damage. Instinct, I guess.”
“How did you get in if Cici wasn’t there?”
“The door was hanging open. And I have a key.”
Reiner grunted while Frances took notes.
“How many people have keys to your store?” She addressed the question to me.
I frowned at that. Someone had broken the front window to get in; why did the keys matter? But I answered the question. “Me. Audie. And I have an extra set that I loan to my sister Dina when she helps out.” Since Audie has a key, he wouldn’t need to smash the glass.
“Can anyone verify your whereabouts between six and eight?” Reiner focused on Audie.
Audie frowned at his fingers, entwined in front of the chair. “I was at the theater alone between seven and eight. I wanted to set up the scene for tomorrow night’s rehearsal. I called Cici from the theater. I told you that.”
Reiner snorted. “Using your cell phone, I suppose. You could have called from anywhere. Where were you before seven? With Cici?”
Audie paused. “No.”
Unease rippled through my heart. Few people could provide an alibi for every minute of each day. But did it make him look suspicious to the police?
Reiner continued grilling Audie about the evening. My mind searched for something to distract me from the horror, and my thoughts wandered to my favorite topic: our wedding. I looked around the store, picturing a full-skirted, white organza gown that came straight out of the ’50s. Or perhaps an A-line that would have been at home in the ’60s. Fashion was my passion, and I wanted the perfect wedding dress. So many to choose from, I thought.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 2
