“Yes. I have nothing to add to what she wrote for the Herald.” I accepted the change and made my escape.
The phone in the store rang while I was pouring water into the coffee maker.
“How are you this morning?” Audie’s low, melodious voice smoothed the feelings ruffled by my stop at Gaynor gossip central.
“Jessie told me the terms of Magda’s will. But we already knew that, after Dina’s article.”
“Ah. Did you escape unscathed?”
I laughed. “More or less. I had already read Dina’s article.”
“Speaking of Magda’s will.” Audie paused. “Lauren has invited me to his office this evening to learn the terms of the trust fund. I thought you would want to come with me. I confess, Magda’s death has me rattled. How can we continue with the play? And is her offer for a lifetime contract still valid now that she’s dead?”
He sounded so discouraged. “Of course I’ll come with you. Lauren’s office. What time?” I couldn’t imagine what he could do to resurrect the play. He hadn’t appointed an understudy for the role of Abby Brewster. But we didn’t need to figure it out today. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure everything will be all right.”
“Is six okay?”
“Sure. I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you most.” We continued in that vein while the coffee finished brewing. After hanging up the phone, I poured myself a cup and opened the box of muffins. One advantage of owning the store was first pick. One disadvantage was the temptation to go for second and third picks. I went for the raspberry-orange muffin. It should blend flavors with the raspberry mocha coffee.
So Lauren Packer wanted to see us tonight. Maybe I could slip in a few questions about the murders. Or maybe he would bring up the subject.
The front doorbell rang, and my first customers arrived. Traffic remained busy throughout the day. People wanted to see the spot where Spencer had died. If they were disappointed by the remodeled store, they didn’t say so. Others grilled me about discovering Magda’s body, and a few even mentioned the pearls. I might as well have spilled the whole story to Jessie. Instead, she would hear a garbled second hand version.
I answered their questions with a minimum of words and turned their attention to the ’40s clothing that hung on special racks. Big band music buoyed my mood and a few customers hummed along. By the time I closed up shop, record sales had filled my cash drawer. I would have to make a bank deposit and pick up extra change. Apparently, murder was good for business.
At five minutes to six, Audie walked through the back door, a bouquet of yellow daffodils in his hands. “I thought you could use some cheering up.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” I kissed him and placed the flowers in a green glass vase that I kept by the cash register. “They’re beautiful! Thanks.” I looked at the depleted clothing racks and sighed. “I’ll have to come back and restock the showroom after we meet with Lauren. Let’s go learn what the vulture has to say.”
We walked to Lauren’s office, down the block and across the street, the second floor of an office building situated next to the old courthouse. The elevator seemed at least a hundred years old when we rode in the creaking shaft. At least the air-conditioning worked. That was nice. The door to Lauren’s office stood ajar, and the lawyer himself strode out of his inner sanctum, hands extended, and a smile baring too-straight teeth.
I could imagine his great-grandfather walking out of the same office a hundred years ago, with the same pointed chin and bright teeth, fingers resting on his suspenders. Until the recent mess, I had looked forward to dressing Lauren for his role of Mortimer Brewster in Arsenic and Old Lace. Now such everyday pleasures had dimmed, especially with the future of the play in jeopardy.
“Audie, Cici! Thank you for coming. Very pleased to see you both, I’m sure. Come in, come in.”
Photographs of Oklahoma birds, including the state bird, a scissor-tailed flycatcher, adorned the walls, and examples of taxidermy flanked the law books on his shelves. A bevy of birds flew around a birdfeeder outside his window. I felt like I had wandered into an aviary instead of into a lawyer’s office.
I sat in one of the chairs facing his desk, a deep peacock blue. Audie sat next to me. We clasped hands and waited for Lauren to speak.
“I’m sure you want to know how Mrs. Mallory settled things before her, hmm, untimely demise.” Lauren sat behind the desk and put on reading glasses. His chin bobbed up and down while he sorted through the papers in a plain manila folder. He extracted a few pages and slid them to Audie. “Here is a copy of the trust fund Magda created for the arts complex. Information regarding the theater is included in Section Two.”
“So plans for the arts center are going forward?”
“Absolutely.”
Audie and I bent over the papers, our knees touching, our hands holding the document by opposite edges. We read through it, nodding for permission before turning a page. Through the screen window I recognized the call of a siskin.
Under Section Two, Paragraph C, Item 2, I saw the words “Audwin Howe shall be director of the Magda Grace Mallory Theater for as long as it is his desire to remain so. The terms of his employment shall be. . .”
My sigh trilled in a squeak, as if echoing the birds outside the window. Audie didn’t make a sound but his hand squeezed mine. We read the generous arrangements that Magda had made.
Lauren beamed at us. “Mrs. Mallory was very pleased with the job you are doing with the theater, Audie. She hoped that you would settle in Grace Gulch.
Audie lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I have found the greatest treasure of my life in this town.”
“Good, good.”
Audie’s gaze dropped back to the papers. “Who is the theater’s new owner?”
Did it matter? Magda had guaranteed his job.
Lauren hemmed and hawed. “We must notify the beneficiaries.”
“Of course,” Audie murmured.
What few secrets hadn’t been revealed by Dina’s article.
“—but I can tell you that Mrs. Mallory arranged for decisions regarding the art center, including the theater, to rest with a board, not with an individual.”
“Who are the board members? Gene, I suppose. What about you?” Audie lifted his eyebrows at the lawyer.
Or Suzanne? I struggled to keep silent.
“Well, yes, as her lawyer, I will be involved. The director of the complex will be an ex-officio board member, as well.”
The complex director? That person would be Audie’s boss.
“Until the city hires the director, I will oversee the theater as executor of Mrs. Mallory’s estate.” He curled the papers in his hands like talons. “We must meet soon to discuss the current production.”
Did Lauren want to exert control over the theater already? Audie’s grip on my hand tightened. His face gave away nothing, however—an actor’s control.
The papers confirmed what we already guessed, and held no major surprises. Lauren might interfere for the next few months, but that shouldn’t present problems. Unless, of course, Lauren was the murderer.
A black shadow crossed in front of the window, a crow landing on the bird feeder. I wanted to ask Lauren about his history with Vic Spencer but couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject.
The crow cawed loudly and flapped his wings. The other birds fled. Lauren arose from his chair and shooed the blackbird away, then shut the window.
“I hate crows.” Lauren wiped his hands on a white linen handkerchief tucked into his jacket pocket. “That’s the third time he’s shown up this week. He drives the other birds away.”
Ah-hah! He had given me an opening to probe for an alibi.
“People say crows are an omen of death.” I didn’t believe it, but it sounded good. “I don’t suppose you saw a crow on either of the last two Saturdays, did you? That would be too strange.”
“Perhaps.” Lauren remained standing. “I’m sorry I
didn’t offer you any refreshment when you came in.” He didn’t offer any now, either. Maybe he had treated Magda, his client and a person of importance in Grace Gulch, with more courtesy. But he acted as though Audie were a lackey to be summoned and then dismissed.
I plunged ahead. “I just wondered because Vic Spencer died on Saturday. And then of course, Magda died a week later. Two violent deaths a week apart.”
“If I were you, Audie, I might stay away from this lady.” Lauren’s voice remained neutral as he addressed me. “After all, you saw both of the bodies, Cici.”
I clamped my hand over Audie’s to keep him from jumping up.
I won’t let him get to me. I refuse. “And they were both connected with the theater. That’s what’s so strange. You’d think we were putting on Hamlet.”
“Macbeth,” Audie said. “Macbeth’s considered bad luck.”
“Whatever. I’m wondering about other connections that we don’t know about. You recommended Spencer to Magda. Where did you meet him?” There, I had asked the important question. I hoped that he wouldn’t sue me for slander.
“Some of my clients mentioned that they used his services.” Lauren came around the desk. “I can’t blame you for wanting to play detective again, after the way you nailed Penn Hardy’s killer last fall.” He winked at me. “The police might think that you had a motive for killing Mrs. Mallory, Audie, after they learn the terms of her will. Where were you on Saturday afternoon?”
18
From: Jerry Burton ([email protected])
Date: Monday, April 28, 9:36 PM
To: Peppi Lambert ([email protected])
Subject: Malice?
You have expressed animosity regarding the special favors that the Grace family receives in the town of Grace Gulch.
Did your animosity extend to Magda Grace Mallory individually?
Expect further communication from me on the subject.
Monday, April 28
Of all the. . .
The lawyer’s slanderous question made my chest tighten.
Audie restrained me from lunging at Lauren. He answered in a calm voice, “Why, I was at the theater. Where I usually am in the afternoons.” He shook hands with the lawyer and left with all the civility of an afternoon tea party—a better reaction than my desire to draw pistols and call on seconds.
A fixed smile remained on Audie’s face until we had returned to my store. “‘Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are.’ My brave Cici.” He brushed my lips with his and then grew serious. “Lauren’s not the only one wondering about me, you know.”
He walked into the dressing room, ready to help set the store to rights for the morning. What a man. I brought out several items from my back room. He reappeared a few minutes later, all the articles of clothing hung to show to best advantage and placed on the correct racks. He knew my merchandise almost as well as I did.
“The problem is, no one can vouch for my presence at the theater on Saturday afternoon.” Audie talked from behind the skirt rack. “Sometimes Dina is there in the afternoons, but not Saturday. Both she and Peppi had assignments from the newspaper.”
“The two of them are thick as thieves recently, that’s for sure. They egg each other on like they’re in a competition. I’m not sure which one of them is worse.” All in all, I was proud of my sister’s work at the newspaper, and I liked her new friend. Still, why couldn’t they have been on assignment some other day?
I shook out the wrinkles of the dress harder than I needed to with my hand. “Lauren is right about one thing. I do want to find the killer, assuming the same person murdered both Spencer and Magda. It seems like it has to be. Why else would the pearls be used both times?” Tears I had suppressed over Magda’s death welled up. “Poor Magda. She only wanted everyone to enjoy her beautiful pearls.” The tears came hard and fast. “How could anyone do that to her?”
Audie removed the dress from my hands, and his strong arms encircled me. I looked at the fine blond hairs on his forearm, below the point where he had rolled up his shirt sleeves. Soft-spoken and gentle on the outside, hard and strong in his inner core, where it mattered, that was my guy. I looked into his tear-stained, lake-blue eyes.
“Magda was irreplaceable. We have to find out who did this to her.” His voice resonated, a bow drawn across cello strings.
“To figure that out. . .” I stopped long enough to blow my nose. “We need to find out who killed Spencer. It’s been a week, and the police don’t appear to have a clue who killed him. Now that Magda’s dead, his case will go cold. But he’s the key, I’m sure he is.”
“Let’s eat before we make any more plans.”
I was too upset to cook, so we grabbed some barbecue and headed to the empty theater. If we went anywhere in public everyone would ask about the murders. I couldn’t handle that, not tonight. The theater offered a refuge. Also, I needed to recheck the references Spencer provided on his application.
After platters of beef brisket and buckets of tea—at least, that’s what it felt like, although we only ate one sandwich each and shared a basket of fries—we examined the list.
Audie glanced at his watch. “It’s half-past seven. Early enough to make a visit.”
We headed to the first address on the list, one block down the street from my house. The modest ranch house belonged to Dr. Johnson and his wife, my family doctor and sophomore English teacher, respectively
“Mrs. Johnson had us read The Picture of Dorian Gray. She’ll appreciate your Oscar Wilde fascination.”
We arrived at the house at twenty minutes to eight and rang the doorbell. A woman with a friendly face and a blond braid hanging over her shoulder appeared at the door. “Why, if it isn’t Cecilia Wilde!” Jean Johnson hadn’t changed much since I spent a year in her classroom. “Come in.”
I made introductions. She had seen Audie and attended every single play but had never met him personally.
“‘Memory. . .is the diary that we all carry about with us.’ Cici has told me how much she enjoyed your class.”
“I love that quote. The Importance of Being Earnest.”
Mrs. Johnson led us into a room full of well-preserved ’80s country charm and poured us tea. Neither one of us would get much sleep that night, with all that caffeine, but we wanted to put our hostess at ease.
“Now tell me, what has brought you to my house? I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss Oscar Wilde.”
I fiddled with my purse, which held my list of suspects and Spencer’s references. My former teacher was too polite to pump me for information about Magda’s murder. I would have to bring up the subject myself.
“Mrs. Johnson—”
“Don’t be silly. It’s Jean. You’re not fifteen anymore.”
“Jean.” Using her first name didn’t seem right. In her presence I traveled back in time to the shy teenager I had been. “You probably know that a burglar was found murdered in my store a little more than a week ago.”
“I read about that in the paper. You poor dear.”
“Did you know the victim—Vic Spencer? The man who ran the cleaning service?”
“Of course. He cleans. . .cleaned our house all last year. A lovely present from my husband for our thirtieth anniversary.” Jean’s smile relaxed into wrinkled concern, appropriate to the death of someone known to her. “How terrible that he should be killed.” She paused, too polite to voice her question. Why are you here?
“He listed you as a reference. We thought you might know something about him that we didn’t know. We’d like to, er, offer our sympathy to his family.” That wasn’t really a lie. I had a card ready to send.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. You see, Jack hired him.” She moved across the floor with the same decisive strides I remembered from high school. “Jack. Could you come up here, please?”
A few moments later Dr. Johnson emerged from the basement. No amount of urging could convince me to call the doctor who had removed my appendix
by his first name. A light layer of sawdust coated his clothes.
“I can’t get away from my tools,” he said. “Scalpels by day, saws by night.” He noted our presence, not strangers, but not close friends, either, at eight o’clock at night. “Say, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“They’re here about Vic Spencer.”
“The man who was murdered.” Comprehension dawned on his face. “At your store.” He turned on a professional demeanor. “How are you doing? I understand you also found Magda’s body. That’s two big shocks.”
“I’m fine.” As good as could be expected under the circumstances, but I hadn’t come to his house for a medical consultation.
“They wondered what we knew about Mr. Spencer. I suppose they feel a sense of responsibility since it happened at Cecilia’s store.”
Dr. Johnson nodded. This couple understood responsibility. “That lawyer, Lauren Packer, mentioned him when I asked around about cleaning services.”
“So Lauren recommended Spencer?” Lauren, again; his name kept popping up.
“Yes, he did. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“Do you know anything about Spencer’s family?”
The doctor shook his head. “He kept to himself and did his job. I told Jean we should continue his services.”
“And I told him not to be foolish. Why waste money that we could save for our grandchildren’s education?” She pointed to photographs displayed above an upright piano. “There they are.”
Audie fidgeted as she listed their names. “They’re very handsome.” He pointed at a dark spot behind the framed pictures. “Did something else used to hang here?”
“Why, yes. We had a small Remington.”
Remington, the famous western painter? His art fetched high prices. My fingers tingled at the possibilities. “That must be lovely. Have you moved it?”
The couple exchanged looks. “Someone stole it, I’m afraid. About six months ago. Together with a few other of our more precious finds over the years.” Regret stayed on Jean’s face for a moment.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders Page 13
