Chapter Thirty-Seven
She leaned forward, craning her neck for a better view as she approached the scene. An ambulance and fire truck were just pulling up by the bridge. The sheriff’s vehicles were crisscross in the street, blocking one lane. Flares outlined the street, and a deputy with an oversized flashlight was directing traffic. She could just make out the rear end of a car that was teetering on the creek bank below. The hood of the car was poised to slip into the dark, swift flowing water. Chunks of snow floated past on the current. It looked like Marc was making his way down the bank to the car. Several firemen were carrying ropes on their shoulders right behind him. The broken ice and frigid water were treacherous. They could all be swept away with the car. A tow truck honked behind her, and Gracie pulled into a driveway to let the big rig go by.
She left the vehicle running and raced toward the flares. Gripping the bridge railing, she strained to see into the darkness. Floodlights appeared on the creek below from the fire truck now parked on the bridge. A rope was fastened to Marc, and he waded into the water. She held her breath, watching him push against the water, yelling for Terry to roll down the window. The firemen held the rope like a tug-of-war competition. The last man had it wrapped securely around his waist, leaning back as an anchor in the blowing snow. Marc never seemed to have any fear in these situations, always ready to put his life on the line for someone else. He reached the open car window and pulled a murderer from the vehicle. The firemen dragged the pair back to the creek bank.
Theresa was serving coffee in Gracie’s kitchen when Marc finally appeared. Max and Sable entered ahead of him, tails wagging. He stomped the snow off his boots and knelt to pat Haley, who was enjoying the biggest social event of her year. After canine greetings of sniffing were exchanged, the dogs immediately trotted to the living room to find spots near the fireplace. Gracie had an ice pack on her head, trying to follow maternal instructions about treating a possible concussion. She sat at the dining room table, a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. She’d called the Dovers and Darlene Evans once she’d made it home. At least part of the board should have a firsthand report from the police. Dan had accompanied Darlene and still wore his yellow fireman’s jacket. The two couples were nervous, milling around the kitchen and dining room, waiting for Investigator Hotchkiss, who’d promised her some details once Terry had been checked out at the hospital. A knock at the kitchen door brought a rush of wind and the policewoman when Bob Clark opened the door.
“I knew you’d want the latest information,” the investigator began, pulling a notepad from her coat pocket.
Gracie stood and leaned against the dining room wall, her energy level on par with a wrung out dishrag. What a night it had been! The Dovers and Evanses both found seats at the dining room table.
“As you know, Terry Castor was arrested tonight for theft and murder.”
Gracie felt a little sick to her stomach, hearing the statement verbalized. Will stood and gripped one of the ladder-back chairs around the dining room table and stared at the investigator.
“After a little accident with her car tonight, she was safely retrieved from Deer Creek. No injuries. Just wet and cold, but she’s on her way to the Wyoming County Jail. Because of your interests, I wanted to let you know what happened. Of course, not all the facts are available right now, but there’ll be more I can share later.”
Marc had edged his way to the kitchen door, observing the group at the table. Her parents quietly retreated to the living room.
“Ms. Castor admitted to killing Mrs. Harris and a Dr. Aaron of Seneca University.” The group collectively sucked in a breath.
“Terry killed them both? I just don’t understand,” Will finally managed, his knuckles white from clutching the chair back. “She was helping us get the letters. Why would she …?” His voice trailed off.
“This is still an active investigation, so I can’t give you many more details, but we also confirmed she stole the knife sheath that belongs with the murder weapon. It was recovered from the library tonight, thanks to Mrs. Andersen.” The investigator gave Gracie a tight smile and glanced at her notepad. Gracie pursed her lips. She’d already received the investigator’s lecture about trying to apprehend a dangerous murderer, etc., etc.
“What about the documents? She was picking up the Becker letters,” Will’s voice sounded childlike and pathetic. “I’d paid the Woodsons, and then she insisted on taking the letters to the library to examine them one more time. She wanted to make sure the Historical Society wasn’t cheated.”
The investigator sighed. “It’s my sad duty to tell you that the historical documents are, well—in Deer Creek.”
“Oh, no!” Will cried. “They can’t be gone! They’re irreplaceable.”
Gracie thought Will was going to burst into tears. Iris grabbed his hand, and he shook it off. He clutched the faint memory of hair on the sides of his head with both hands. For a moment, he reminded her of a sad, very sad circus clown.
“Sorry, Mr. Dover. Unfortunately, Ms. Castor had them in her possession tonight. We weren’t able to recover them, except for this. It was stuck to the inside of her windshield.”
Marc stepped forward and handed the investigator a plastic evidence bag that held a sodden yellowed piece of paper. The ink had run, making it totally illegible. Will ran forward to examine it.
“Oh, dear Lord, no. This is awful.”
Gracie felt her eyes suddenly prick with tears, watching Will hold the plastic bag reverently as if paying his last respects. He sat down on one of the bar stools and laid the bag gently on the kitchen counter, staring at the contents.
Dan Evans huffed and rose from his seat. “Unbelievable! We’ve had a murderer for a librarian?” Darlene sat at the table, speechless, her face pale as milk.
“Ms. Castor was working with Mrs. Harris, as well as Dr. Aaron. Our investigation found that Ms. Castor is an expert on authenticating historical documents. She’s also a fair hand at forging them. Both women were getting a percentage of some of the sales which Aaron arranged.”
“Terry was the one who got in an argument with Dr. Aaron, wasn’t she?” Gracie asked.
“It appears this is true. There was some dispute over the real appraisal of the Cornelia Becker documents and the appraisal to be given to the Woodsons. The inflated appraisals were used to skim monies from buyers, and lower appraisals were used to hide it from the sellers. But as I said, there’s more we need to learn from Ms. Castor.”
A murmur rippled through the group. Feet shuffled, and expressions were a mixture of disgust and anger.
“I wanted to put your minds at ease that the murderer is off the streets, and hopefully you can get the library back to normal soon. As soon as we have more information, we’ll be in touch. I also wanted to ask Mrs. Andersen if she could keep Ms. Castor’s dogs, just for the night.” She snapped her notebook shut.
“Of course. They can stay for as long as necessary,” Gracie offered.
“We’ll make some arrangements for them tomorrow. Your help is appreciated.” The investigator pulled on black driving gloves. She patted Marc’s shoulder on the way out. “Excellent work out there tonight.” Marc smiled and nodded.
“I guess that’s it for tonight. Hey, deputy, that was good work out there,” Dan said. “I didn’t think we were going to pull that one off.”
“Thanks. That stuff always happens on the coldest night,” Marc smiled. “I’ll be thawing out for a week.”
“Let’s go home, Darlene,” Dan said, prodding his wife’s back with a finger.
“Okay, Dan. Jeez, how is the library going to recover from this? I’m so sorry, Will. I guess there’ll be a board meeting tomorrow.” Darlene slipped her parka on and followed her husband out the door. Will nodded glumly as he handed the pathetic evidence bag back to Marc, who shoved it unceremoniously in his coat pocket. He followed Dan and Darlene, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Marc offered a half-hearted wave to the group in the living room and
exited by the kitchen door with the others.
Gracie joined her parents in the living room. Parking herself on the hearth in front of the fire, she fluffed out her still damp hair to dry it. Haley now was sleeping illegally in the recliner, snoring loudly. Max and Sable were lying together by the coffee table.
Theresa snapped out of her daze and looked at Gracie. “You must know more than we were just told.”
“A little bit more,” Gracie agreed.
“What about Terry then?” Her father quizzed. “What exactly is her deal?”
“Everything kept leading back to Seneca University, and it all began with Terry. She had me completely fooled for so long. Alice was the one who was able to get her into the librarian’s job. When I had a talk with Will about Sybil and why she wasn’t selected, he told me that Alice bad-mouthed her and recommended Terry. Once they saw her qualifications and did a phone interview, she was on her way to Deer Creek. My opinion is that they had some sort of partnership to continue Aaron’s appraisal business.”
“What was the big story about a stalker?” her father asked, joining Gracie by the fire and rubbing his hands together. “She was pretty convincing.”
“Absolutely convincing. I thought it was Chuck or Roger Woodson after I found out they’d been to Seneca the same week Aaron was killed. Chuck is kind of a scary guy.”
“Chuck is all hot air,” her father snorted. “He’s the biggest blowhard east of the Mississippi.”
Theresa groaned and made a face. “You’ve got that right, Bob.”
“Well, he scared me, but that’s all I’ve pieced together so far. I’m sure the rest will come out soon. I don’t think Terry has much of a choice.”
“So why’d she kill Alice?” her mother asked. She was headed for the kitchen where she loaded mugs into the dishwasher. Haley woke from her dreams and followed Theresa to the kitchen, looking hopeful for a scrap or two.
Gracie shook her head. “I think Alice and Terry had some disagreement over the knife and maybe those letters. I guess we’ll have to wait to see what the good investigator manages to get out of her.”
Gracie’s father gave her a weak smile. “So what broke the case tonight, Sherlock?”
“Well, I got a call from Patti at the library. She found the sheath for that huge knife hidden in the janitor’s closet. She thought Sybil had put it there, but I wasn’t so sure. Even though Sybil was pretty public about her dislike of Alice, I couldn’t see Sybil stabbing her or anyone. I left a message for Investigator Hotchkiss, and she was pretty quick to respond.”
“What a mare’s nest! Maybe we can get back to normal now that it’s over.”
He picked up his coat from the sofa, and after zipping it up, pulled on dark brown suede gloves. “Good work, daughter. You know you could’ve really been hurt tonight, don’t you?”
“I know. But when you’re in the middle of it, stuff just happens.”
Her father smiled and looked over at his wife, who still appeared upset by their daughter’s escapade.
“I actually thought Will was the guy at first,” Gracie blurted out.
“Gracie, how could you?” her mother gasped. “We’ve known Will and Iris forever. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he certainly wouldn’t steal from the library or kill someone.”
“I really liked him for the document theft. He’s a collector. Do you know he has a first edition, autographed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird? He’s also got a couple of William Pryor Letchworth letters and tons of other books and manuscripts.”
“He’s collected books and papers for years, but he’d never steal for his collection,” her father said peevishly. “He doesn’t even keep them under lock and key, and he always willing to show them off at different events. Will is a little naïve, but he’s not a thief or a murderer.”
“All right, point made. But you have to admit, he was a good suspect. The police even thought so at one point.”
“Obviously they were mistaken,” Theresa retorted.
“I know that now,” Gracie said. “I’m glad Will had nothing to do with it. He was trying to get the Cornelia Becker letters for the Historical Society. They have an acquisition fund, but unfortunately they all trusted Terry. Just like I did, which was stupid. It wasn’t until this week that everything pointed to her. She was great at playing the victim.”
Theresa stood and rubbed the small of her back. “We’ve got to go home. You need your rest, and so do we. Come on, husband. Let’s go.” She gave her husband’s backside a playful slap. He grinned and followed his wife to the door.
Gracie yawned and stretched, watching her parents pull out into the snowy road. Her back and head were killing her. The edge of the concrete gutter had given her a good slam to the kidneys, and a goose egg on the back of her head was evidence of her encounter with the signpost. She’d be feeling pretty beat up for a while, but satisfaction crept in to join the aches and pains. It had been a good night’s work.
Investigator Hotchkiss popped in bright and early to the kennel. She was dressed in dark gray pants and an icy blue cashmere sweater, that perfectly coordinated with her nicely tailored gray black herringbone car coat. Gracie considered asking her where she shopped. She could use a new outfit or two, and a new coat. The investigator took the offered seat and cup of coffee.
“I think we’ve got a good case to give to the D.A. Ms. Castor has been very eager to get everything off her chest. She’s refused a lawyer so far, and we’ve made a lot of progress,” the investigator said drily. “She’s a chronic victim and has successfully managed to keep that persona through two murder investigations. I have to admit she had me. Especially with the dog being poisoned. But she did that herself.”
Gracie gasped. “She what?”
“Castor had to escalate her danger somehow, and the dog was the last leverage she had.”
Gracie frowned, sick to her stomach. Someone intentionally harming their own dog or any dog was beyond the pale.
The woman continued, “She had a violent argument with Dr. Aaron over money. He had been shorting her on several deals, and when she confronted him, he threatened to ruin her doctoral program. He turned his back, and Ms. Castor struck him with the statue on his desk. Alice Harris walked in on the scene, and since they both had bones to pick with Dr. Aaron, they formed a shaky partnership to continue bogus appraisals and take generous cuts from the sale of historical artifacts. Mrs. Harris thought she could control Ms. Castor, but that was a fatal mistake.”
“Why did Terry keep the knife sheath? It would tie her to Alice’s murder. That doesn’t make any sense to me.” Gracie rose from the chair and sat on the edge of her desk.
“She thought it would implicate Jack or Sybil or even both of them.” Investigator Hotchkiss grimaced. “Killers always make at least one stupid mistake.”
“So Terry had the Cornelia Becker letters when she stopped at the library?”
“Exactly right. She accompanied Mr. Dover with the payment to the Woodsons and then convinced him that she should take one more look at them to confirm their authenticity. She’s been a voracious collector of any documents connected with women as spies during the Revolutionary War. It was her doctoral thesis. All are very rare, from what I found out. The Becker letters were a huge find. Then there was the Boyd-Parker connection, which upped the value too. She appraised the letters at a good price, but they’re actually worth twice as much, according to Ms. Castor. It was just unfortunate they were lost, but she was headed out of town with them. The Historical Society would never have seen them.”
“But what about the other appraisal by the guy from Buffalo? He matched the one from Dr. Aaron, didn’t he?”
“Not everyone is an expert on these kinds of documents. The Woodsons provided Aaron’s appraisal, which was actually written by Ms. Castor, to a Buffalo firm. Let’s say they used it as a guide.” The investigator rose, moving toward the door. Gracie followed her with Haley right behind both of them.
“When I found out tha
t Terry was spending a lot of time at the Historical Society, it started to come together. Will Dover was on my list at one point because he’s such a nut about manuscripts and first edition books.”
Investigator Hotchkiss smiled. “Mr. Dover was on our short list too. But then, Mr. Greene muddied the investigation when he lied about the Woodson connection.”
“Yeah,” Gracie admitted. “He sent me off on a rabbit trail. Apparently Jack has a grudge against the Woodsons. I should’ve known. He was a little too eager to accuse them of selling fakes. But the university’s website had an article on Terry’s work with the Revolutionary War spies. She probably had forgotten all about it since it was buried in the website’s archives. That was a big red flag. When I saw the archival storage box she picked up at the library, I put two and two together.”
“You’re right. The box you saw had her forgery kit stashed in it. Authentic eighteenth century paper and ink, which would help her create other documents to sell. She was planning on heading south last night with the Becker letters. Fortunately for us, she took the hill a little too fast, or she would have had a good head start out of town. Lucky she didn’t get swept into the creek. It was close. Marc did a good job saving her neck.”
“He’s pretty good at that in general,” Gracie smiled. “But, how did … why did Terry have to kill Alice?”
The investigator shook her head sadly. “She wanted a percentage of the knife sale, and Mrs. Harris refused to give her any money. Aaron had appraised the knife, and Mrs. Harris worked out the deal. Ms. Castor was getting greedy; she still thought she deserved something. She talked Mrs. Harris into stopping at the library on her way to make the sale with Colonel Wilson. She was working every angle to get those documents away from the Woodsons. Then she argued with Mrs. Harris … or so Ms. Castor says, and Mrs. Harris threatened to turn her in for the murder of Dr. Aaron. Ms. Castor pushed Mrs. Harris down, knocking her out, and then she finished the job with the knife. Not a pretty story.”
By the Book (A Gracie Andersen Mystery 2) Page 22
