Dying to Be Murdererd

by Judy Fitzwater

  “Interesting. So she didn’t have a job before she hired on as Clarisse Ashton’s nurse, at least not a professional one. I wonder if he knew that. She had to supply him with some references, don’t you think?”

  “His wife was ill. I’m sure he was distracted, and he probably needed someone right away.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “Could have made him careless, just when he needed to be especially careful. And then after she married Shelby, she had access to more money than she could possibly spend, so it’s no big surprise she didn’t work then. I wouldn’t either if I had that kind of money.”

  “Sure, you would. You’d write.”

  “I’m glad you think that’s work. Some people don’t, you know.”

  He grinned. “I do it every day. They even pay me for it.” He realized the moment the words left his mouth what he’d said.

  “Someday someone will pay me for it, too,” she told him.

  “I’ve never once doubted it,” he assured her.

  She hated it when they talked about her writing. He was so understanding she felt like every rejection she received was a personal affront to him, as if she were failing him as well as herself. And his kindness was almost as painful to accept. But she was getting better at it.

  “I talked to April on the phone today.”

  “Yeah? What’s she up to?”

  “She’s waiting for her contract to come in the mail, and she’s putting together a proposal for another couple of books. Her editor liked her pitches over the phone. She’s almost sure to take them.”

  “She deserves it,” Sam said.

  “Absolutely,” Jennifer agreed.

  “So do you.”

  Better to change the subject. “I called Monique this morning and apologized to her. I haven’t been as careful as I should about my comments when she’s around. These people are her family.”

  “So how did she respond?” Sam asked.

  “You know Monique. She’s hard to read, but I guess we’re okay. I asked if there was anything I could do for her, and she said she’d like me to notify Mary’s next of kin.”

  “In South Carolina?”

  “I guess. I don’t know where else to look. I’ll drop by Eileen’s tomorrow and see if she has any information that might help me.”

  “Good.”

  “So are we done now?” she asked.

  He knocked the newspaper to the floor, grabbed her hand and kissed it. “We have yet to begin.”

  She grinned. Maybe she hadn’t ruined the night after all.

  Chapter 28

  “Mary never spoke of her family,” Eileen assured Jennifer, amid shades of cream and ice blue in the elegant sunroom of the McEvoy home. Sleek, modern, bright, with a whole wall of windows facing a forest of pecan trees—such a contrast to the gloom of the Ashton mansion. “I don’t believe she mentioned them more than once in all the years I knew her. All she said was that her parents were dead. I assumed she had no siblings. She never spoke of any, and no one on her side even came to the wedding. I never gave it much thought. The type of work she was doing led me to assume she didn’t have strong ties anywhere. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t think about contacting anyone about her death. Can I offer you a cookie?”

  Eileen lifted a silver tray spread with homemade pecan sandies rolled in powdered sugar. Silver in a sunroom. This woman lived in a different world.

  Jennifer accepted one and took a small bite. Her mouth was so dry, she could barely taste it, but she felt it rude to refuse. She took a napkin and dabbed at the sugar she felt clinging to her lips, then quickly took a sip of her iced tea. “So you don’t have an address for any of her relations.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t even have a name to suggest to you, except for her family name of Bedford.” She set the tray back down, not taking any cookies for herself. “I must say I was surprised when you called this morning and asked to see me.”

  Jennifer really wanted to ask Eileen about being Mary’s beneficiary, but she knew not to push it, not quite yet. She had to gain the woman’s trust, to work into it gently, to demonstrate some sensitivity and some manners.

  “I don’t think you murdered Mary,” Jennifer confessed honestly. It wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but it’d come out anyway.

  Eileen offered a mirthless smile. “You truly are naive, aren’t you?”

  That comment made Jennifer blush.

  “I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Eileen went on, “but we’re all capable of murder under the proper circumstances. If you’re telling me this to win me over,” she raised an eyebrow at Jennifer, “I assure you I don’t intend to tell you anything I wouldn’t tell anyone else who asked. Would you care for another cookie?”

  Jennifer shook her head, refusing the sweet. “Actually, I simply meant that if you had killed her, I would have expected you to do it with a good deal more grace and style. She was family after all.”

  For the first time, Jennifer saw true amusement in Eileen’s face.

  “Do you know how Shelby met Mary?” Jennifer asked.

  “No, now that you mention it. She was working for him, as you know, but I don’t think he ever said how he found her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d simply shown up on his doorstep, and he let her in, like a stray cat.”

  “Wasn’t she competent?”

  “She seemed aware of the drugs and doses the doctor prescribed for Clarisse’s care. I presume that required a basic knowledge of the written word and an acquaintance with teaspoons and fractions thereof.”

  “And what about after Clarisse died?”

  “She stayed on. Melba wanted to handle Juliet along with the house, but it was too much for her. That child was such a lively little thing. Cute as a button, but, my, what a handful! I offered to take her, at least for a while, but Shelby couldn’t bear to be separated from her, and Mary assured him she was well versed in child care.

  “That house takes a lot of management,” Eileen went on. “When Clarisse was alive, they had a crew to maintain it and to help with all of their social obligations, but most of that stopped when Clarisse fell ill. Her attacks became frequent and unpredictable. She was terrified of surgery. I suppose that’s why she died. She put it off and put it off, ignoring the doctor’s warnings. Finally, she went to his office for an appointment, doubled over in pain, and he wouldn’t let her go home. Had an ambulance come and take her straight over. Scared all of us to death. And then when they finally released her from the hospital, she was so weak.”

  “And that’s when Mary came in.”

  “Mary let a lot of the help go when she took over her care.” Eileen took a quick sip of tea. “And then later, after Shelby died, she fired everyone except Melba and Arthur. I think she would have let Melba go if she’d thought she could find anyone else who could do the job.”

  “Did Juliet ever mention anyone named Tiffany or Darren?”

  “Not that I recall. Why ever would you ask me that? Is it important?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She had lots of friends here and at school, but I wouldn’t know who they were. She never really confided in me.”

  “But you did know that she was involved with Malcolm Reed,” Jennifer said.

  “Against her father’s wishes.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever read any of his work? He publishes that dreadful free paper that’s handed out on the street.”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “The man’s a beast. Totally untrained in any sort of etiquette.”

  “Then why did Juliet—”

  “Oh, I suppose he did have a certain amount of charisma in his youth, at least for that era, and I’m sure he was unlike anyone she’d ever known before. That, in itself, seems to hold some charm for you young people. But, as I said, he had no sense of decorum, no respect for mores, for virtues, certainly not for people, except maybe Juliet and even then... Back in the Sixties, all that free love nonsense. My children were young then, t
oo.

  “Shelby had quite a battle on his hands. Juliet would try to slip out sometimes in the middle of the night. I suspect they didn’t know where she was half the time, but that’s the way it is with most teenagers, isn’t it? You think they’re up in their rooms reading and heaven only knows where they’re off to and what they’re doing. And with whom.”

  “Are you saying that Shelby was fearful about Juliet’s relationship with Malcolm?” Talking about sex to someone like Eileen was almost impossible. She had no idea what words to use.

  “Not just Shelby. Mary, too. I didn’t agree with her methods—she seemed determined to put a stop to it—but she seemed to want what was best for Juliet. Even if it wasn’t always what Juliet wanted.”

  Eileen glanced at her watch.

  “Am I keeping you?” Jennifer asked.

  “I have to go by the house today. We’ll have to begin an inventory as soon as possible. You see I’ve found myself saddled with Mary’s affairs.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Somehow I suspected you had. You seem far more interested in all this than can possibly be good for you.”

  “Did you know she’d left it all to you, before her death, I mean?”

  “If I said no, would you believe me?”

  “What will become of the property now?”

  “I’d like to create a foundation for its preservation. I can’t imagine anyone in the family wanting to live there, especially now. Is that it?”

  “One more thing. How much do you trust Melba?”

  She’d crossed the line. Eileen’s face clearly told her so. “I have far more reason to trust her than I do you.”

  “The night Mary was killed,” Jennifer rushed on, “I think that someone may have—”

  The doorbell gave out a series of chimes, distracting them both. A few seconds later, the housekeeper ushered Nicholls and two officers into the room. His eyes narrowed when he saw Jennifer.

  Both women stood. “Lieutenant Nicholls,” Eileen began. “You’re back. I thought your officers had finished their work yesterday. Is there something more—”

  “Mrs. Eileen Ashton McEvoy,” he interrupted.

  This sounded way too formal to be comfortable.

  “You know very well who I am. Why are you—”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Mary Bedford Ashton. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present—”

  Mrs. McEvoy’s eyes grew huge, but other than that she remained calm and seemingly in complete control. She put a none-too-steady hand on Jennifer’s arm. “Call my daughter. And my lawyer. Tell them to get down to the police station. Now.”

  Nicholls continued to Mirandize Mrs. McEvoy as he led her out of the room, leaving Jennifer staring after them, wondering what could possibly have happened to allow the police to make the leap from suspicion to arrest.

  Chapter 29

  “They found a knife with Mary’s blood and hair on it, wrapped in a piece of silk and buried in Eileen’s rose garden,” Sam told Jennifer.

  She sat where he had found her, on the hood of his Honda in the Telegraph parking lot, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

  “Pale green silk with flowers on it,” Jennifer said more to herself than to him.

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “That was her nightgown, the one Mary was wearing the night she died. Any fingerprints?”

  “None.” He offered her a hand, and she slid off to stand next to him.

  “There are better places to wait for me,” he told her. “Why didn’t you come up?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you again at the office, but I knew you’d know why the police arrested Mrs. McEvoy. I also knew you’d have to leave eventually, and I didn’t think you could do it without your car.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “How did they get permission to search her grounds?” Jennifer asked. “Surely they didn’t have enough evidence for a warrant.”

  “Eileen gave it to them.”

  “Then she couldn’t have known it was there. She isn’t that stupid.”

  “But maybe the person she hired is,” Sam suggested with one of his knowing grins.

  “Okay, then maybe she did do it,” Jennifer said. “It’s certainly the simplest solution and apparently one everyone seems dead set on going with: woman hates sister-in-law, waits until brother dies, can’t achieve control of family mansion through the courts, makes threats, then resorts to the oldest form of righting wrongs, brute force. Only the mansion was willed to her. What was there to fight over?”

  Jennifer threw up her hands and started to pace.

  “Stop fretting. It’s not good for you,” Sam told her, opening the rear door and tossing his briefcase and his jacket onto the backseat.

  She circled back around his car. “You don’t want me to stop, not really. I get mean when I don’t have an outlet.”

  “Then by all means,” Sam waved his hand at her to proceed. He added his tie to the pile and then shut the door.

  She was being rude and she knew it. But he wasn’t much better. “What should we do?”

  “And why do you think we should do anything?” Sam asked.

  Wrong answer.

  “Don’t give me that. This is all crazy. I know in my bones Eileen didn’t kill Mary.”

  “Since when?” Sam asked.

  “Since...since right now. Since you said that we shouldn’t do anything to help her.”

  “The police will find out who killed Mrs. Ashton,” Sam assured her, leaning against the door.

  She shook her head at him. She believed in the police as much as he did, but the threats against Mary had been a little too convenient. What if Mary had been wrong? What if someone else had planted those notes? And the knife? What if someone were trying to frame Eileen? “I’m going to see Malcolm Reed. He’s as likely a suspect as Eileen.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Sam warned her. “I don’t want you anywhere around him. He’s nuts.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “I mean it. Stay away from him.” He put a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

  “What would you have me do?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Like I said, the police are perfectly competent. So are Eileen’s attorneys, I’m sure, and her daughter. If you can’t stand it—”

  “I can’t. A woman like that shouldn’t be locked up in a cell. It makes my skin crawl just to think about it.”

  “She’s already been released on bond. Did you think her daughter the judge would allow her mother to spend any time in jail?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Look. You need to find something to do besides fretting about Eileen. Didn’t you promise Monique you’d find Mary’s people in South Carolina and let them know she’s dead? Maybe they’ll have some insight to offer. That’s something you can do tonight—without leaving your apartment.”

  “This is busy work, something to keep me occupied,” she pouted.

  He grinned at her. “It’s something that needs to be done, should have been done days ago. And, if it happens to keep you out of trouble, all the better.”

  “I don’t go looking for it, you know.”

  “I know. That makes me even more uneasy.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I had Charleston County fax me a copy of Mary’s birth certificate. It’s not much, but maybe you can use her parents’ names to track down her next of kin. At least you’ll be doing something for Mary, and it’ll give me some time to find out more about what the police have put together.”

  She unfolded it and looked at it. “There’s no address or anything on here, only a place of birth for her parents.”

  “Right. Seems they stayed settled where she was born. Maybe the rest of her family did, too.”

  She nodded. In the best of all possible worlds, they’d been a close family and some great ni
ece or nephew was named after one of them. If not, she could always go down the entire list of Bedfords in Charleston, asking if any of them had ever heard of Mary or her parents. At least the Internet made it easier. Maybe she’d get lucky.

  “That’s right. Mary Elizabeth Bedford. She moved to Macon, Georgia, in the Fifties and married Shelby Ashton...Her parents were Fiona and Adlai...You haven’t? All right. Thank you.”

  Jennifer dropped the receiver back into its cradle and drew a heavy black line through Bedford, Leonard. She scooped the phone back up and punched in the number for Bedford, Otis. A woman greeted her with a “Good evening” in that distinctive coastal accent unique to Charleston.

  “I was hoping you could help me find someone,” Jennifer began. “I’m looking for relatives of Mary Elizabeth Bedford.” She paused, expecting the same “I’ve never heard of her” she’d gotten in the last three calls, but the woman said nothing. “She’s the daughter of Fiona and Adlai Bedford.”

  “Yes” was all the woman said.

  Yes did not constitute an acknowledgment, Jennifer reminded herself, trying not to get excited. She squeezed her eyes shut and said a little prayer. “You know who she is?”

  “Yes,” the woman repeated.

  “She was born Christmas Eve of 1929.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a relative?” Jennifer asked.

  “By marriage,” the woman said.

  “Well, I have some bad news for you. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  “You don’t say,” the woman said.

  No regret, no remorse. What was that in the woman’s voice? A little amused curiosity? She was, after all, only a relative by marriage.

  “I just thought the family should be notified,” Jennifer told her.

  Again the pause.

  “Are you there?” Jennifer ventured. And then she heard a slight snuffle over the line. The woman seemed to be stifling a laugh.

  “Land’s sake. I never would have believed she’d last this long,” the woman said.

  “She was getting along in years, but people live to be a lot older. Did she have a medical condition?” Jennifer babbled.