by Marvin, Liz
Betty looked at her mother, shocked. She would never, ever blame her for her disease, and she said just that. Her mother smiled softly. “Thank you. But I’m allowed to play the what if game if I want to.”
Betty shook her head. “If I’m not, you’re not,” she said. “Deal?
Mary gave a short laugh. “Deal.”
Betty leant back in her chair. “So, now you know. What happens now?”
“Now,” her mother said, “I help you in any way I can.”
For once, Betty didn’t mind her mother intruding into her personal life.
She didn’t have to hide her disease any more.
CHAPTER 25
After the conversation with her mother, Betty could put diabetes out of her mind for a while. Her mother was going to help her, and all of a sudden her disease just felt… manageable. And if diabetes had been the only thing on Betty’ mind, she would have slep easy. Instead, Melody’s panicked face replayed in Betty’s mind the whole night. She kept remembering her darting, her shaking, her sudden silence and withdrawal the moment Lawrence appeared. It was obvious that Melody knew something. The more she thought about it, the more it became clear that Melody wasn’t going to go to the police. It appeared that she had taken Betty up on her offer to be a confidante who would take any news she had to the police. What she knew could be information leading to arrest, clearing Clarise’s name for good and putting the real murderer behind bars.
Betty couldn’t chance letting Melody’s information disappear.
In the morning, she called Clarise to let her know what was going on. When she learned that Betty was going to try and investigate the murder without police permission, Clarise flipped.
“What do you think you’re doing Betty? Do you want to end up like Jarvis? If you ever actually found something, you’d become the next target.” Betty rolled her eyes. Yes, she was taking a risk. But wasn’t it worth it, to know that Melody’s information wouldn’t go to waste? Wasn’t it worth the risk, to catch whoever had thrown terror into Lofton?
When she couldn’t dissuade Betty, Clarise insisted on accompanying her when she went to visit Melody. “If you think I’m letting you go to that house by yourself, you have another thing coming. If you’re going to be stupid, I get to be there to watch your back. For all you know, it was Melody who killed Jarvis in the first place!”
She had a point. Betty knew she did. Melody had been acting very strangely recently, and she and Jarvis did have a history. It could very well have been a crime of passion. Maybe she and Jarvis had been having an affair?
Lawrence seemed determined to keep an eye on Melody, as though he didn’t trust her. If Melody’s husband had such little faith in her, Betty could see how Melody might cheat. What point was there in not violating someone’s trust when you never had that trust in the first place? In fact, Betty almost wished Melody would have an affair. At least then she’d be doing something independent of Lawrence.
But, Betty just couldn’t make herself believe it. Lawrence may have had his suspicions, but there had never been so much as a rumor that Melody cheated. If she was cheating, someone would have found out and exposed both her and her lover.
Still, Betty agreed to let Clarise accompany her. She even left a note on the kitchen table, letting her mother know she’d gone with Clarise to visit Melody. It didn’t hurt to cover all her bases. Just in case. While she might not think Melody the murdering type, until just a few days ago she hadn’t thought of anyone in Lofton as the murdering type. And Lawrence did have a temper.
There was that adrenaline rush again.
She picked up Clarise, who tried to talk her out of the visit all the way to the Biel’s residence. Betty ignored her. They were going, and that was that.
Betty hadn’t been to see Melody at her home in years. She’d forgotten the size of the house. It was one of the old plantation homes, huge and white on top of a small hill, with a circular cobblestone driveway in front. In the past, that driveway would have been where carriages entered and parked to drop off guests for a ball. Not a single cobblestone was out of place. The lawn, both inside the driveway circle and surrounding the home, was perfectly manicured. Neat rows of rose bushes lined the pathway leading from the driveway to the front porch and continued on both sides of the pathway to wrap around the front and sides of the house. The porch was large and open porch, with spotless white wooden lounge chairs lining the wall and a wrought iron swing.
The house belonged in a movie, not as someone’s real life home.
Betty and Clarise walked up to the front door and rang the bell. They could hear its high pitched echo from outside. Betty shifted and rubbed suddenly itchy palms on her jeans. She studied the double doors in front of her, memorizing the grain just visible through the white paint. This close, she could see a few cracks in the paint, a few places it had started to peel. The lion’s head knockers had finger print smudges. The small faults gave her a small sense of grounding. The house might be out of a fairy tale, but her reason for visiting was not.
One of the double doors opened half way to reveal a short, spry middle aged woman in jeans and a long plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She smelled strongly of cleaning polish.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Betty blinked. Somehow, she had always thought that Lawrence was the sort of rich man to insist on having a full time butler and maids walking around in ridiculous frilly outfits. This woman, while obviously a hired to keep the house clean, was far to down to earth, far too real for her surroundings. Betty liked her at once.
“We’re here to see Melody,” she asked. “Is she in?”
The woman nodded curtly, her tight ponytail bobbing. “Let me see if she’s accepting visitors. Is she expecting you?”
“No,” Betty said. “But I won’t keep her long. If she could just give me a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I’ll let her know.”
The door was shut again, leaving Betty and Clarise outside. They traded looks.
“You’re sure about this?” Clarise whispered.
“Yes,” Betty replied, her voice just as quiet. Footsteps sounded behind the door, coming closer. Clarise started to speak, but Betty held up her hand. “Shh!”
Clarise turned towards the door just as the housekeeper returned. She opened the door all the way, ushering them inside. “Mrs. Biel will see you. Follow me.”
If Betty had thought that the outside of the home was impressive, it was nothing when compared to the impressive entrance hall. The floor was polished stone. On the right, a staircase swept down from the second floor balcony. Paintings covered the walls. Long, heavy curtains had been pulled back to let light in from tall, arched windows. The housekeeper led them through the entryway into a hallway lined with thick, blue carpet. More art adorned these walls, though the paintings were smaller to fit the comparatively low ceiling. They passed doors on either side before the housekeeper opened one on the right.
“Go right in,” she said
It was a small library. Bookshelves lined two walls from floor to ceiling, leaving the middle open. One wall was almost entirely windows, smaller versions of the arched design from the entryway with dark green curtains hanging from either side. The final wall, had been taken up with a fireplace, around which a semi circle of large leather chairs that had been arranged. A large wooden desk made of a richly colored and well polished wood stood in the corner. Melody stood from the desk. She was dressed in a light purple, flowing dress that fluttered around her curves as she moved forward to hug Betty. “What a pleasant surprise. And you too Clarise,” she said, hugging her.
The frightened woman that Betty had seen yesterday was completely gone. In her place was a radiant hostess, completely secure in her surroundings. It struck Betty that this was the face Melody showed her social circle outside the theater: the self assured stay at home wife and wealthy patron of the arts. She seemed like a completely different person
from the spritely, emotional actress Betty had come to know. Betty wondered briefly which persona was closer to the way Melody actually thought. Had her panic yesterday been an act, meant to draw Betty away from suspecting her?
Looking closer, something about Melody’s stance seemed a bit off. She seemed guarded somehow.
She almost groaned aloud. Clarise. Melody was hardly likely to tell her anything while Clarise was there. She should have had her friend wait in the car.
If wishes were fishes… she thought, her father’s voice reciting the old saying in her mind. Well, she couldn’t undo her faux pas, but maybe she could make Melody more comfortable.
Unfortunately, her thoughts had taken just a second too long to process, because Clarise jumped in head first.
“We were just in the area and thought we’d pop in for a chat. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Melody’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It is,” she said, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs and gesturing for them to do the same. “You’re lucky you caught me. I’m actually getting ready to go out. I have a meeting at the club.”
Betty leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. Instinctively, she knew that if she was going to get Melody to open up, she would first have to give the woman the benefit of the doubt and treat her with complete honesty. “Melody,” she said, “we actually came here to talk with you.” Melody’s back straightened ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked to Clarise and back to Betty. “I trust Clarise,” Betty said. “You can too.”
Melody looked at her questioningly. “What on earth are you going on about?”
“You wanted to tell me something yesterday,” Betty said. “Why don’t you tell us both now?”
Melody refused to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated, though Betty detected a slight waver in her voice. She tried again.
“If you have any information that might help us find Jarvis’ killer…”
Melody’s face blanched, all pretense of cheerfulness gone. “I don’t know what information you think I could have,” she said flatly, “but I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know anything.”
“Where were you when Jarvis was murdered?” Clarise jumped in.
“Clarise!” Betty exclaimed, aghast. How could her friend even think to ask that? If there was any chance of Melody trusting them, it had just been destroyed.
That’s the last time I let you be my side kick, she thought at Clarise. If you can’t hold your tongue, you have no business playing detective.
Melody shot Clarise an icy glare. “If you must know, I was here, speaking with my housekeeper. And now,” she said, her entire countenance steely, “I think it might be best if you left. Elsie!” she called. The housekeeper appeared immediately at the door.
“If you killed Jarvis,” Clarise said, “we’ll find out! It’s better if you just turn yourself in.”
“Clarise!” Betty said sharply. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.” She turned to Melody. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her.” Melody inclined her head, although whether in agreement or in acceptance of Betty’s apology was unclear. “We’ll just be going.” Betty gripped Clarise’s arm, forcing her to walk out the door. “And Melody?” she asked. “If you do know anything, please let someone know. You can call me at my house, or go to the police, or something. But we need to catch this murderer.”
Melody nodded, her gaze softening for just an instant. “If I knew anything, I promise that I’d want to do everything I could to help,” she said. “But I just can’t.”
That statement could me taken any number of ways, Betty thought. She nodded in acceptance. She followed Elsie through the halls, dragging Clarise with her. Elsie hadn’t been exactly friendly before, but not her whole demeanor was icy. It was clear by her rigid posture that she was furious.
“I’m sorry,” Clarise began. Betty glared at her.
“Don’t,” she said. “Just, don’t.” When they reached the front door, Betty let go of Clarise’s arm. “Why don’t you go to the car?” she suggested to Clarise. “I’ll be right behind you.” When she’s gone down the stairs, Betty turned to Elise, who still held the door open for her. “Can I speak with you for one moment?” she asked.
The housekeeper followed her outside, shutting the door softly behind them. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and angry. She prodded Betty right below her collar bone. “I hope you’re not going to accuse me of murder as well!”
Betty shook her head. “Of course not. And I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know Clarise would be so…”
“Tactless?” he housekeeper offered.
“Yes,” Betty said. She sighed.“Listen, I don’t think Melody killed Jarvis.”
The housekeeper snorted. “Of course she didn’t kill him! Only an idiot would think that. She’d been crying for days over that poor boy’s death.”
“Well,” Betty said, “I think there’s more to that than grief. Melody seems scared, and I get the feeling she knows something about the murder. I’m worried about her.”
The housekeeper looked at her skeptically, but at least she was no longer openly hostile. “So what are you talking to me for?” she asked.
“I need to know something. Was Melody actually with you during the time Jarvis was murdered?”
Elise looked away. “She’s my employer.”
“I know,” Betty said. “And she’s my friend. Which is why we have to help each other. Was she with you?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “I was sick that day.”
“Elsie?” came Melody’s voice.
With a wide eyed look at Betty, Elsie turned and entered the house, cutting off the conversation.
Betty made her way to the car, deep in thought. Melody was lying about where she’d been when Jarvis was killed, but Betty was becoming more and more convinced that Melody hadn’t killed Jarvis. She wouldn’t be so frightened of being overheard if she was confessing to a crime. She had to know that Betty would turn in whoever had killed Jarvis without any qualms, so she wouldn’t want to confess murder to Betty unless she wanted everyone to know. Therefore, she had to have something else. Evidence.
In fact, Betty was willing to bet that Melody was a witness to the murder, and that the murderer was someone who was around her enough to know when she went to the police. Melody’s fear yesterday, and her reactions today, hadn’t been feigned.
All signs pointed to Lawrence, though Betty certainly wasn’t going to come out and accuse the man of murder without proof. Still, she could and would let Bill know what was going on with Melody as soon as she could.
In the car, Betty told the Clarise what the housekeeper had said. Immediately, Clarise exploded.
“I knew it! Why that smug little bitch, showing up to practices while she knew I was in jail for a crime she committed. Of all the “
“Clarise,” Betty said. “Shut up. Haven’t you learned that it’s a bad idea to accuse people of murder without proof? You’re doing the same thing to Melody that everyone else did to you.”
Clarise sat back in her seat, grumbling.
“No,” said Betty. “There’s something else going on here. And whatever it is, Melody knows. I’m going to talk to Bill today to see if he can get her some place safe.”
CHAPTER 26
When she got home, Betty left a message for Bill at the station for him to call her when he had a moment. Until he did call, however, she had other work to do. Betty searched the internet for the approximate values of antique theater equipment. If Lawrence ever pulled his backing, or if he was arrested for murder and unable to donate, the theater wouldn’t be able to afford a good production. It would be nice to have back up funding they could count on, even if it meant losing some of the theater’s treasures. The next board meeting was in a week or so, and Betty wanted to have a hard list of figures to give them.
When she found a site listing some recent online auctions
, all of Betty’s red flags went off.
Someone had just sold a set of antique lights for a few thousand dollars.
An antique projector for thousands.
Antique seats, antique phonograph, antique… antique…
All the sales originated in Lofton.
All the descriptions of the items sold matched what Betty had found in the ledger.
There was no way that this was a coincidence.
Betty bookmarked the site on her laptop and packed it into its carrying case. She drove down to the police station, her mind reeling. If Bill wasn’t available, she’d just have to talk to another officer.
Someone was stealing theater equipment and selling it online. What if Jarvis had stumbled on them making a transaction? What if this was the motive the police were looking for?
The what ifs tumbled around and around in her mind, stumbling over each other as Betty’s mind worked a thousand miles a minute.
Someone was stealing from the theater.
That someone had probably killed Jarvis.
Stealing.
Murder.
Who in this town would do that?
She pulled into the station’s empty parking lot and grabbed her laptop. She took a deep breath, trying to pull her thoughts together. It wasn’t as if she could storm in there and babble “Lights! Camera! Murder!” Somehow, Betty doubted that the scrambled contents of her mind spewing forth in such a fashion would impress the seriousness of her claims on anyone, even Bill.
When she felt that she could speak without word salad coming out of her mouth, Betty strode into the station. It was quiet.
What police station was quiet at 3 in the afternoon?
The last time she’d been in this building, the shared office space had been bustling: uniformed workers talking, copy machines running, phones ringing, and people bustling back and forth between desks. Today, only a couple of workers remained at their desks, and none of them were police officers. The phones were silent. Even the copiers weren’t being used.
