A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Did anyone else see this rose? If it was placed there to frame this ghost, why remove it before we had a chance to conduct an investigation?"

  Helen tipped her head back against the cushions. "I don't know."

  "Maybe the ghost changed her mind and decided she didn't want the police to know." Officer Stone's mocking gaze caught hers. "Maybe she decided not to leave a calling card after all. Or maybe you're making the whole thing up."

  Chad sat quietly now, listening, absorbing every detail. He stood then, towering above them.

  "Where are you going?" Tiffany asked.

  "If you don't mind my saying so, I think interrogating Mrs. Bradley is a waste of time. In case you weren't aware, she's a former homicide investigator with the Portland police and, I might add, has worked as an undercover agent for the U.S. government. She's also been of help recently in solving a number of crimes."

  Stone bristled. "I'm well aware of Mrs. Bradley's accomplishments." Rising out of her chair, the small woman squared her shoulders. If Tiffany was trying for a power play, Helen thought, she'd need to stand on the chair.

  "Personally, I'd be interested in what the others have to say. Especially since one of them may possibly be the killer. I'd also like to conduct a search of the island—see if anyone is here who shouldn't be."

  "I already have a couple of deputies doing that."

  "Good, that will save me having to bring someone in."

  "That won't be necessary. As I said earlier, this is my investigation."

  "Look, Tiff, Sheriff Stone. I have as much an interest in this case as you do. I happen to think we're dealing with drug smugglers. This would be so much easier if we work together."

  "In your dreams."

  "All right. Have it your way."

  "Excuse me," Helen cut in. "I hate to interrupt, but if you two don't settle your differences and get to work, I'll do it myself or bring in the FBI."

  They both stared at her.

  "Have you told the family we're dealing with a homicide?" Helen asked.

  "N-no," Tiffany responded, apparently taken aback by Helen's abruptness. "I didn't see anyone else when I came down."

  The officers glared at each other for several seconds.

  The RCMP was the first to look away. "Would you like me to round them up for you?"

  "I. . .." Tiffany, mouth open, took a moment to gather herself. "Yes, thank you."

  His question had thrown Helen as well. She'd expected him to use his advantage to goad the petite sheriff and fluster her even more. Many men would have.

  "I'll summon everyone to the drawing room," he went on. "Unless you have another preference."

  "That's fine."

  When he'd gone, she glanced back at Helen. "Don't think this gets you off the hook with me, Mrs. Bradley. I don't care how many crimes you've solved. You are still a suspect."

  "As well I should be. I can assure you, however, that I did not kill my uncle. I loved him very much." The lump in her throat blocked her speech. The tears gathered again and she reached for a napkin to wipe them away.

  Tiffany averted her gaze, focusing on the horizon. She tugged her sagging belt into place, a gesture typical of police officers.

  In a faraway voice Tiffany murmured, "Love isn't all it's cracked up to be. A woman says she loves her husband and poof, next thing you know, she blows him away. Happens all the time."

  "Something has made you very bitter," Helen said softly.

  "She should have divorced him. She didn't have to kill him like that."

  "Your mother?"

  Tiffany swung her gaze back to Helen. "How did you. . .? What, are you psychic or something?"

  "No, just observant. It doesn't take a genius to see how deeply you've been hurt."

  "Hurt doesn't even begin to describe it, Mrs. Bradley." Her sarcasm returned full force. Helen vacillated between wanting to hug her and wanting to knock some sense into her.

  "No." Helen sighed and pushed herself out of the chair. "I don't suppose it does."

  "You're good, you know that? It took my psychiatrist six weeks to get me to talk about it. You managed it in what, five minutes?"

  "Oh, I don't think it was me. I have a hunch the pain resurfaces every time you have to deal with a homicide."

  "Are you saying I can't be objective?" she responded defensively. "Because that's not true. I don't suspect you just because you're a woman or that you're about her age. I don't auto­matically put her face on every murderer. I don't. . ." She shot Helen an indignant look. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm too messed up to make a good cop. Well, you're wrong. I intend to prove it. Now let's go. I want to talk to the rest of the family, providing Officer Powell hasn't already done it."

  Helen picked up the empty cups and tray and brought them inside. She didn't have much faith in Sheriff Tiffany Stone. Not so much because Stone suspected her. She imagined she'd have suspected everyone on the island and a few who weren't there.

  Stone was a loose cannon, a danger to herself and to others. The woman was about as emotionally stable as Lizzie Borden.

  Minutes later Claire, Greg, Richard, Megan, Peter, Hillary, and Helen had all been herded into the drawing room. Megan sat next to Peter on a love seat. She slipped off her shoes, then maneuvered herself around so she could put her feet on his lap.

  Richard had taken a chair behind them and against the wall, close to the door. He looked pale and shaky, as he had on the boat the day before. Once again Helen refused to accept the explanation her brain kept trying to impress on her. The family had enough heartache with Paddy dying. She glanced at Claire, who sat in the corner of the largest sofa staring into the fireplace. Greg, seated on the arm of the sofa, seemed to have anchored himself to her, or perhaps he was just being an anchor for her. A touch to her shoulder seemed to pull her back from wherever her thoughts had taken her.

  "Helen." Claire patted the empty space beside her. "Please sit with me."

  "Of course."

  "I hope this isn't going to take long." Hillary stood in the doorway leading into the great hall. "I was in the middle of making lunch."

  "How long it takes depends on all of you." Stone was back to her cool, efficient self.

  Officer Powell stood beside the massive fireplace, resting his elbow on the marble mantel. Though his pose suggested a relaxed demeanor, he reminded Helen of a bodyguard. He stood behind and to the side of Officer Stone.

  "First of all," Stone said, "let me express my sympathy. I truly am sorry for your loss. Paddy was an exceptional man. I don't think many of you know this, but he and I had gotten to be fairly close." For an instant her expression turned vulnerable again. She cleared her throat and stiffened, gathering herself back together.

  No wonder she seemed on edge. It's hard enough to remain objective in a homicide investigation, but when the victim is a friend. . .. Helen glanced at the RCMP, whose gaze remained fastened on Officer Stone. Ready to catch her if she falls, Helen surmised.

  "The thing is," Stone continued, "I'm afraid I have more bad news. Paddy was murdered. And I'm fairly certain one of you did it."

  Megan closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. Peter stared straight ahead and continued to massage her feet.

  Claire whimpered. "Dear God, no. This can't be happening."

  Greg bounced up and began pacing. "That's not possible. None of us had any reason to . . ." He stopped then, letting his gaze fall on each of the family members.

  "You were saying, Mr. Curtis?" Stone leveled a hard gaze on him. "No reason? Wasn't Paddy a rather wealthy man? Don't all of these people stand to inherit a great deal of money? You should know, being a lawyer and all, that money is a powerful motive."

  He ran both hands through his thick dark hair and sat down next to Claire again. "Do you have anything to substantiate your accusations? Or evidence that would lead you to suspect any of these people?"

  "There's no sign of a forced entry.
No struggle. We suspect Paddy knew his assailant. As far as evidence pointing to one specific person, not yet, but we will. We suspect he may have been poisoned."

  Hillary swooned, wilting into a heap on the Oriental rug before anyone could catch her.

  Between Officer Powell, Greg, and Peter, they managed to get her onto the couch Claire and Helen had been sitting on. Helen brought a cool, wet washcloth for her forehead, knelt be­side her, and sent Claire to get a light blanket and a couple of pillows.

  Within seconds of coming to, she was sobbing. "I didn't kill him." She grabbed Helen's arm. "I swear I didn't. I'd never do anything to harm Paddy."

  "Shh. Just lie back and rest. No one is accusing you, Hill."

  "Not yet, maybe, but they will. You wait and see. I took him his milk and his medications last night like I always do. I was the last one to see him before he died, and I'm the one who found him this morning."

  "Hillary." Greg leaned over the back of the couch. "Don't say any more."

  "Don't worry, Hill," Helen said. "You weren't the last one to see him alive. I was. At least I think that’s the case."

  "Helen," Greg persisted, "I don't think you should volunteer information like this."

  She sighed. "With all due respect, I don't need an attorney at the moment, and if I do, I'll let you know. Right now I'm as anxious as the police are to get to the bottom of this."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Bradley." Sheriff Stone tossed her a grateful smile. "You were saying?"

  "I went in to check on him and say good night before I went to bed. Hillary had already been there. Paddy was letting his milk cool off. While we were talking, he took his pills." Helen frowned. "I remember being concerned at the time. He seemed pensive. I was worried about the attempts on his life, and he told me not to worry. If he did die, he hoped it would be in his sleep. It would be a blessing to finally be with his dear wife again in heaven."

  "You're thinking he killed himself?" Claire shook her head. "Daddy wouldn't do that. The church doesn't condone suicide. He saw it as a coward's way out."

  "Claire's right." Richard spoke up from the back of the room. He'd been so quiet, Helen had forgotten he was there. "The topic came up recently and that's exactly what he said."

  "The topic came up and. . ." Stone began.

  Richard eased himself up, as slowly as if he were a hundred years old rather than fifty-eight. He came over to where Claire was perched on the arm of the sofa next to Megan. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he said, "I'm sorry, sis. I should have told you long before this. I have cancer."

  Claire rested her hands on both of his. "I know."

  "Dad told you?"

  "No one did. I just knew."

  "But how?"

  "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

  He moved away from her and shoved both hands in his pockets. "The doctor says I have four to six months left. Dad and I have talked about suicide a lot lately. It's been a sore spot be­tween us. I told him I was going to move to Oregon and take advantage of their assisted suicide program. Either that or call someone who would help me do it.

  "He told me I was crazy. Threatened to disinherit my family. Last night I brought it up again."

  "You were in his room last night as well?" Officer Stone asked.

  "Yes. I waited until Helen left." He glanced at her, then back at Stone. "I begged him to reconsider. My life is worthless right now. I have nothing to live for. I'm dying. My wife is divorcing me. Paddy tried to tell me my children need me." He lowered his head and slowly moved it from side to side. "They don't. They never did. They have Sandy."

  Helen shifted her gaze to Greg, surprised he wasn't trying to silence his client, but Greg looked as unfocused and saddened as the rest of them.

  "That's not true, Richard." Claire went up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "They love you. We all do."

  "That's what Paddy said. He also told me that if I did kill myself it would be over his dead body." Looking over at the officers, he added, "I hope you're taking good notes because I've just given you a motive for my father's murder. With him dead, there's nothing to stop me from killing myself. His will leaves a third of his estate to me. My will leaves everything to Sandy and the kids."

  "Are you saying you killed him, Mr. O'Donnell?" Sheriff Stone asked.

  "Don't answer that, Richard." Greg seemed to have gotten over his initial shock.

  Richard opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He took Claire's arms from around his waist and turned away. "Fine. I'll let you answer for me. Don't have the energy anyway. If you want me, I'll be in my room."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Richard, wait." Helen ran after him, with Claire close behind. They caught him in the great hall. He shuffled to the nearest chair and collapsed into it.

  "What do you want?"

  "What was that all about?" Helen asked. "Are you trying to get yourself arrested for murder?"

  "If it has to be one of us, it may as well be me."

  "Oh, Richard, I had no idea you felt this way." Tears filled Claire's eyes. "Why didn't you tell us? I don't want you to die."

  "Tell that to God." He shook his head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, sis. But I really don't have much to say in the matter."

  "Yes, you do," Helen said. "You have a lot of choices, actually. You can choose to end your life now or you can choose to live the rest of your life in a way that will benefit yourself and others. You can choose to feel sorry for yourself or. . .." Helen backed off. She had no business lecturing him or anyone else.

  "Don't you think I know all that? And what right do you have to tell me about choices? You don't have cancer. You don't know what it's like to go through chemotherapy and radiation. I'm sick and in pain all the time.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, what's the use? I can't expect you to understand."

  "You're right.” Helen said. “I can't even begin to understand what you're going through. I'm sorry. It's just that I can't bear to see you like this."

  "Please, Richard," Claire pleaded. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too. Please promise me you won't hurt yourself."

  "She's right." Helen knelt down and took his limp hand in hers. "We need some time to sit down together as a family. Didn't you say Marcie and Sandy were coming today? Think about how Marcie would feel if you died without saying goodbye."

  "She'd be devastated," Claire answered. "That little girl is crazy about you."

  "All right. I'll wait. Just leave me alone. Both of you."

  "I want you to promise me, Richard." Claire leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Please."

  "I promise." He gave them a wan smile. "Anyway, last night after I went to bed, I'd pretty well decided not to do it. God help me, Dad made me so angry I actually thought about going back to his room and killing him. It didn't take me long to realize that I didn't have the guts to do that, not for any amount of money. I guess that's when I realized I didn't have the guts to kill myself either."

  "It doesn't take courage to kill oneself or someone else. It takes courage not to." Helen stood. "Do you need help climbing the stairs?"

  "No. I'll manage. Need to sit here for a few minutes, though. You two wore me out."

  Helen squeezed his hand.

  Claire gave him a hug from behind. "I know things have been strained between us, but I do love you."

  "I know."

  When Claire and Helen returned to the drawing room, Peter was explaining to the officers how he'd set the perimeter alarms before coming to dinner the evening before. "If anyone had come in during the night, I'd have heard it. I have my remote with me all the time."

  Helen thought about what the RCMP had told her about the system, then asked, "What about animals? I would suspect you have raccoons, possum, rabbits, deer. Wouldn't they set off the alarm?"

  "Not really. Deer, maybe, but the animals pretty much stay in the woods."

  "Mrs. Bradley, while I appreciate your interest in this, I'd like to conduct this investigation if you
don't mind." The sheriff turned back to Peter. "How many people besides you and Paddy know enough about the system to disarm it?"

  Peter shrugged. "I don't know for sure. Paddy, of course, and me. We had about five guards working here this summer. They're gone except for the two guys who work at the marina in Anacortes."

  Stone asked for their names and jotted them down in her notebook. "You're certain the alarm was set last night?"

  "Definitely. I had to disarm it when Greg flew in this morning.

  "Okay." She lifted her gaze to Peter and thanked him for cooperating. "That's all I have for right now. You can go back to work. Just remember to stay on the island."

  Peter and Megan didn't need a second invitation to leave the room. Helen overheard Megan from the hall saying she was going upstairs to shower. Peter said he'd see her at noon.

  "Claire," Stone said, "I have a couple of questions for you, too, if you don't mind."

  "Sure, go ahead." She glanced around. "Where's Greg?"

  "Why? Do you need a lawyer?"

  "No. At least, I don't think so."

  Powell stepped away from the wall and came toward them. "Greg said he had some paper work to do. If you need him, he's in his usual room on the second floor."

  Stone tossed Powell an annoyed look, then turned back to Claire. "He'll be around awhile. Like I told the others, I don't want any of you leaving the island until I figure out what happened here." She glanced down at her note pad. "Seems like everyone peeked in on Paddy to say good night. Did you?"

  “I had talked with him earlier, before he retired. I went to bed at about the same time Helen did. I slept until the music woke me up.”

  “Music?”

  "Yes. Our rooms are on the fourth floor just beneath Mary's. She plays it quite often at night. It's an Irish melody called 'Erin's Theme.' It was on the gramophone when Dad bought the place. You see, Mr. Werner blamed himself for the sinking of the Titanic. He killed himself afterward. As the story goes, he went out to sea, slipped into the cold water, and succumbed to hypothermia like the passengers on the Titanic. Legend has it that Mary is still in mourning. Before she died she used to play it late into the night and stand on her balcony and look out over the sea that took his life."