by Mary Kennedy
“But why wouldn’t Greg go to someone on the Preservation Committee, or to the police to report his suspicions?” Lola asked. “It seems foolhardy to go down to the cellar to talk about it with Larry.”
“That’s it!” Vera Mae cried, nearly upsetting a plate of egg rolls. “The Preservation Committee!”
“What are you talking about?” I stopped with my fork in mid-air.
“The Preservation Committee. PC. Those initials after Fiona’s name. That’s what they stand for.” She waved a piece of paper in the air. “Here’s a list of the officers in the Preservation Committee; Fiona’s name is on the letterhead. She’s the treasurer. Fiona Williams. Maybe Greg was going to meet with her and spill the goods on Larry Ackerman and Gavin Benson.”
“Why the treasurer?” Nick asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to go to someone at the top? Those are pretty serious charges.”
“Does the letterhead list Molly Sanders as an officer?” I asked.
“Yes, she’s the event planner.”
“Huh, the event planner,” Vera Mae scoffed. “If it was something serious, I can see why Greg would by-pass Molly and go to the treasurer. Although I think I would have gone right to the president.”
“Didn’t Molly tell us the president was away for the summer?” I asked. “I think that’s why she agreed to do my show.”
“That’s right, she did say the president was up in Maine. So I guess the treasurer was the best bet after all; if it was something to do with finances.”
“Don’t forget, the Preservation Committee stiffed him with those checks, maybe that’s what it was about,” I offered.
“Very possibly,” Vera Mae said. “Just a business matter, nothing to do with the murder. But let’s tie up that loose-end.” She fished her phone out of her purse, punched in some numbers, spoke rapidly and then sat back. “It went to voicemail, but I left a message for Fiona, asking her to call us as soon as possible.”
“Good thinking,” I told her.
We tucked into our dinner then, and the talk turned to Nick’s plan to get a job with the Miami Herald. He was going for an interview the following week and needed to e-mail some clips ahead of time. I suggested he send the piece on Guru Sanjay, who was murdered the same day he was a guest on my radio show.
Pugsley was being a colossal—but adorable—pest, trying to steal bits of food, so I finally closed him up in my bedroom with his own bowl of kibble.
It was after ten o’clock when everyone finally left and I closed the patio doors, ready to head to bed. I noticed Vera Mae had forgotten her satchel on the coffee table and I made a mental note to bring it to the studio the next morning.
The doorbell rang and I called out, “I knew you’d be back, Vera Mae!” I opened the door with a big smile and took a step back when I saw my visitor. Molly Sanders. “Molly,” I said, “what brings you here? C’mon in,” I added, remembering my manners.
“So you had a little get-together,” she said, brushing past me into the living room. Her eyes took in the glasses I’d stashed on the kitchen counter and the empty food cartoons.
“Yes, I had a few of my friends over.” I was puzzled because this was a side of Molly I hadn’t seen before. Not only had she barreled in without being invited, she was standing with her feet planted wide apart, hands on her hips, staring at me in an aggressive way. Not the shy little community volunteer I had known. Her eyes were flashing and for one crazy moment, I wondered if she was either on drugs or completely unhinged.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked uncertainly. It didn’t look like Molly was here for a social call but I had to go through the motions.
“I don’t want anything to drink. I’m here for a chat.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”
I gestured to the sofa and Molly threw herself into the cushions, while I took the easy chair. She was carrying a large tote bag and I noticed she kept it close to her. “So,” she said, “I see you’ve been doing some snooping.” Her voice was calm and contained, but with an edge. A little frisson of alarm crept up the back of my spine. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be good.
“Snooping?” I tried to arrange my features into a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly.” My voice must have had a quaver because I heard Pugsley give a nervous yip from the bedroom. He’s very sensitive to my moods and always protective of me. How I wished I hadn’t closed him up in the bedroom. My little Pug wouldn’t be any match for Molly, but maybe he could distract her while I figured out what to do next.
“Really? I handle the phones for the Preservation Committee and your friend, Vera Mae, left a message for Fiona to call her back. Fiona Williams, our treasurer! What do you suppose that’s all about?” she asked, her lips thinning.
My mind scrambled for an explanation. Something that would satisfy Molly and give me time to get her out of my condo. “Well, you know WYME is doing a series of stories on the Mayfair House,” I began. “And the Preservation Committee has been the leading force in restoring the mansion—”
“Hah! Nice try,” she scoffed. “She wouldn’t need to talk to the treasurer for that. Do I look like an idiot?”
No, you look seriously unhinged. “Of course not,” I said, in my most placating voice. I had no idea what Molly was getting at so it was hard to know how to proceed. “I think Vera Mae just wanted to touch base with several people on the Committee,” I said lamely. It sounded woefully unconvincing and Molly wasn’t buying it.
Molly leaned forward, transferring her bag onto her lap. “That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head. “You know it and I know it. You figured it out before anyone else. I thought I’d covered all my bases. The problem is, now you’re going to have to be eliminated. First Greg, and now you. Vera Mae will have to go, too, but first things first.” She heaved a sigh and stared at the floor.
And then she pulled a shiny black gun from her bag.
Whoa! It’s true what they say. When someone pulls a gun on you, you suddenly get tunnel vision. All you can see is the gun, the rest of the background fades away. My thoughts were scrambling. So Molly killed Greg Towner? And now she plans on killing Vera Mae and me? I swallowed hard as she leveled the gun at me, and I glanced at the front door, wondering if I could make a break for it. But what about Pugsley, trapped in my bedroom. I couldn’t leave him with this madwoman.
I thought about my internship on a locked psych ward in Manhattan. We were taught to speak quietly with psychotic patients, try to bond with them and attempt to defuse the situation. But I was flying blind here, because I had no idea what Molly was talking about. I decided to try to reason with her.
“Molly, I think I can help you,” I said quietly. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” She laughed and then her mouth settled into a cruel smirk. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as you think it is.” Hmm. If she’d already killed Greg Towner, this probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but I was out of ideas.
“You can’t help me,” she said coldly. “No one can. I was driving on the highway today and saw your car parked at The Blue Plate Special. It has that nice big WYME decal on the window, so it was easy to recognize. I slipped inside and saw you and Vera Mae talking to Consuela…”
“We were talking about Mayfair House,” I said with a gulp. “About the history…”
“Liar! Consuela told you about Greg Towner missing some payments from the Committee.”
I was too startled to continue my cover story. “Yes,” I said flatly. “I didn’t understand why the Preservation Committee would stiff Greg Towner and I wanted to find out more.”
“Well, I can explain it, sweetie,” she said. “I have a little problem. I guess you could say I like online gaming.”
Gaming? She meant gambling. I remembered the online gambling site Lola had spotted on Molly’s laptop the day we visited her.
“I borrowed some money from time to time from the restoration fund, but I always managed to
get it back before anyone noticed. But lately, I’ve had a string of bad luck.” She waved the gun slowly up and down in the air. “Maybe you jinxed me,” she said.
“You killed Greg Towner to hide the theft?” I was astounded.
“It wasn’t a theft. I was borrowing the money,” she said darkly. “And yes, I had to kill him. He was going to tell the Committee. He had no idea I was the one handling the accounts, of course, or writing the checks. I was taking over for Fiona while she was up in Maine for an extended visit.”
“And you never thought of confessing? Or offering to pay back the money?” I wanted to keep her talking as long as possible.
“Of course not! Think of the embarrassment. I’d never be able to hold my head up in this town again. They could charge me with embezzlement.”
“How did you lure him down to the basement?”
“That was easy. I told him I suspected a leak, and I didn’t want a pipe to burst at the party. He came right downstairs. I was lucky there were no guests down there, and I could surprise him in the dark. I called his name and he turned around and I just plunged the corkscrew into his chest. It was easier than I thought,” she gloated.
“How does Consuela fit into all this?”
“Greg told me before the party that he had some bounced checks from us and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. He’s very careless with paperwork, and Consuela had collected the bounced checks from his stack of mail and stuck them under a paperweight on his desk. She wanted to make sure he’d remember to check into it. She should have minded her own business.”
“And you knew if he checked into it…”
“That the game would be up! He’d already made an appointment with Fiona for the next day. Luckily, he didn’t tell her what the meeting was about, but that’s why I had to act fast. I had to kill him that night. At the party.”
I was getting a throbbing headache, trying to process all this. “You knew about the secret room behind the paneling?”
“Actually, that was a stroke of luck. Greg fell into the wall when I stabbed him and the paneled door swung open. I figured that would work to my advantage because people might think that stolen wine was at the heart of the murder. I just dragged him the rest of the way inside and closed the door. Easy peasy.”
I remembered the sneeze.
“You were in the basement when we came down to see the speakeasy?”
“I sure was! Hiding in the shadows. It was a cinch. All I had to do was creep upstairs when you all were looking at the bar.” She paused and leveled the gun at my chest. “Too bad I have to do this, Maggie. What a shame you and Vera Mae couldn’t mind your own business.”
“Wait!” I said.
An evil grin spread over her features. “Wait for what? Doing a little stalling, are we?”
“She sure is!” cried Vera Mae barreling in the front door. She took one look at the situation, grabbed an umbrella from a Chinese vase by the door and swept Molly’s gun to the floor. Molly jumped up to flee, but Vera Mae was too fast for her. In a movement worthy of Jackie Chan, she pinned Molly to the wall with the umbrella pressing into her throat. “Quick, hon, get Rafe.” Vera Mae said grimly. “Little Miss Molly needs to take a trip in his squad car.”
Everything happened very fast then. Rafe arrived with backup; Vera Mae relaxed her hold on Molly long enough for Rafe to slip the cuffs on. As they hustled Molly out the door, Rafe brushed his hand against my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he murmured. “When I got the distress call, I thought the worst.”
“I’m fine,” I said, tempted to lean into his shoulder but restraining myself.
“It is the worst! For Molly,” Vera Mae cackled.
Lola appeared in the doorway then, looking shaken. “Rafe called me. What happened? Tell me everything,” she said, sitting down next to me.
“We will, Lola, but first I need something to settle my nerves,” Vera Mae said.
“We all do,” Lola said. “Maggie?” she added, nodding toward the wine cabinet.
“I’ll do the honors,” I said, and poured hefty glasses of Chardonnay for the three of us.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You saved my life,” I said to Vera Mae. It was nearly midnight and the three of us were gathered in the condo.
“Happy to oblige, hon. I knew those Krav Maga courses would come in handy.” She grinned and raised her glass in a toast.
“They certainly did. You were amazing! What brought you back here?” I asked.
“I came back to get my satchel and I overheard you and Molly. I knew I couldn’t wait for backup; I had to go in. It sounded like she was ready to pull the trigger.”
“I still can’t get my mind around it,” Lola said.
I’d released an excited Pugsley from the bedroom and he was running in circles around the living room, stopping to touch his cold nose to our legs at every lap. He obviously wanted some reassurance that the drama was over and things had returned to normal.
Mom scooped him up and hugged him to her. “It’s hard to believe Molly killed one person and was willing to kill two more because she didn’t want to face embezzlement charges. The Committee would have gone easy on her and probably wouldn’t even have reported her if she paid back the money.” She shook her head in dismay. “And now she’s going to be charged with murder.”
“First-degree murder,” I said. Rafe had called from the precinct while Molly was being booked. The prosecution was going for first-degree since Molly had lured Greg down to the cellar. Of course, a good defense attorney could claim that the murder was spontaneous. That Molly had lured Greg down there to talk to him and impulsively grabbed the nearest weapon—the corkscrew—in a blind rage. It didn’t matter. First-degree murder or second, Molly was a killer.
“One thing puzzles me,” Vera Mae said. “How did Molly have access to the money? Wasn’t Fiona the treasurer?”
“Yes, but Molly explained that she’d been handling all the Preservation Committee’s financial matters for the past few weeks. Fiona was up in Maine for an extended visit and Molly offered to step in. If Molly hadn’t been able to write bad checks, this never would have happened. It was just too tempting. She saw the money and took it. And she couldn’t seem to stop gambling.”
“Have you heard from Nick?” Mom asked. “I guess it’s too late to make the morning paper, but he’s going to want to talk to us soon.” Pugsley wriggled to get down and she released him.
“He’s already left three messages,” I told her. “This is going to be a huge news story in little Cypress Grove.”
“And Molly has confessed,” Lola murmured.
“Yes, she was offered a lawyer and waived her rights. I guess she knew the game was up. There was no point in prolonging it.”
“What about Larry Ackerman and Gavin Benson?” Vera Mae asked. “Were they really stealing wine from the mansion?”
“We don’t know that yet,” I said. “It’s going to take weeks to go through the inventory and see what matches up with the ledger, figure out what’s been sold and what’s missing. I’ve got the feeling Larry and Gavin were helping themselves to the wine stash but they may get away with it.”
“The main focus will be on Greg’s death,” Lola said. “So sad, and so unnecessary.”
“What do you suppose that call was about? The one that came in while Molly was on your show?” Vera Mae reached down to pet Pugsley and he flipped over on his back for a belly rub.
“Molly set that up,” I said. “She told Rafe she wanted to give the impression that the caller was Roger Nelson to throw suspicion away from herself. She asked a friend to disguise his voice and make a prank call to WYME. He had no idea what her motive was; he thought it was just a joke.”
We were all silent for a moment. The condo was still except for the chatter of cicadas outside, and the soft sound of palm trees blowing in the night air.
“We should call it a night,” Vera Mae said, getting up slowly. We said our good-byes and M
om headed to bed with Pugsley padding after her.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Mom called out to me as she made her way down the hall.”
“I won’t,” I promised. I closed the patio doors and turned off the kitchen light as my cell phone chirped.
“Is it too late to call?” Rafe’s voice, warm and husky, raced over the line.
“Never,” I said quickly. “It’s never too late to call. Are things okay at the precinct?”
“Yes, everything’s finally quiet. We’ve got Molly in a holding cell and will do more interviews tomorrow. It’s an open-and-shut case; she’s confessing to everything and she’ll be charged tomorrow. When can I see you?” Rafe asked, his voice low and sexy.
“Tomorrow?” I glanced at my watch. It was already “tomorrow.”
“You mean today. How about an early breakfast at Mattie’s Kitchen? I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I told him. “Then I can go right on to WYME.”
“I can’t wait,” Rafe said.
“Neither can I.” My heart was doing a drumbeat in my chest.
“And Maggie….”
“Yes?” A long beat of silence fell between us. “Let’s make a pact not to talk about the case tomorrow, okay?”
“What would you like to talk about?” I asked teasingly.
“I’d like to talk about us, Maggie.” His voice was tantalizing, but there was a playful undertone.
“Us?” I was perplexed. Rafe always steers clear of emotional involvements and I’ve never been completely certain where our relationship was headed. And he always avoids “heavy” conversations that he calls “Lifetime Movie dialogue.”
“Our future.” He paused. “We have one, don’t we?”
