The Complete Mystery Collection

by Michaela Thompson

  “I heard.” Floral tributes? What on earth was this about?

  “It’s time for me to say something,” Merle said.

  Clara nodded permission, hoping Merle wouldn’t balk at the last minute.

  Merle took another swallow of tea, as if steeling herself, before going on. “I feel I should tell you that Patsy Orr has been saying vicious things about you since you came to St. Elmo. Today at the meeting Patsy said that Jim Tuttle would still be alive if you hadn’t started asking questions about the death of Alice Rhodes. She said you had gotten Jim upset and agitated, and that’s why he wandered away and drowned at Luton’s Landing.”

  “I see,” Clara said. “She’s said that sort of thing before.”

  Merle went on, “Mrs. Trent— Clara— you know very well I was not in favor of your looking into the Alice Rhodes case. But to hold you responsible for everything that has gone wrong since is a mistake. As you know, this is not the first time Patsy has made statements of that kind, and finally I had to speak up. I told her I thought her remarks were inappropriate and uncalled-for, and that furthermore I intended to tell you what she was saying so you could defend yourself if need be. At that point she accused me of taking your side and not caring about Mr. Jim’s death and Vickie Ann’s suffering, which is not only cruel but ridiculous.”

  Clara felt a rush of warmth toward Merle. “Thanks for defending me,” she said.

  Merle nodded, tight-lipped. “It was the right thing to do.”

  Clara said, “It seems that Patsy Orr took my coming to St. Elmo as a personal affront. Obviously, the death of Alice Rhodes hit her hard, and she still feels strongly about it.”

  Merle bristled. “Feels strongly!” she said. “Patsy took over poor Alice’s murder like it had happened to her own kinfolks! Another reason I’m here today, Clara, is so you get another side of the story.”

  Clara really liked Merle. Merle sat in her chair like a rock of integrity and determination. “Please tell me,” Clara said.

  Merle squared her shoulders. “It gets away with me the way Patsy goes on,” she said. “She acts like she and Alice were close friends, but I knew Alice Rhodes as well as Patsy did, and I can tell you that Alice barely tolerated Patsy. Alice was a very pretty woman, she was out on her own after being married to that awful Coby, her kids were living with the grandparents— Alice was having a good time. She tolerated Patsy and let her hang around, but she had no particular regard for Patsy. And Patsy wanted to be Alice, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “Yes. I see.”

  “Alice had boyfriends, plenty of them, and Patsy didn’t. So Patsy wanted a boyfriend,” Merle went on. “After a while, she started mentioning an airman, how crazy he was about her and all. So I would say, ‘What’s his name, Patsy? I’d like to meet him sometime.’ And of course she wouldn’t say a name and I never saw her with anybody.”

  Clara’s mind was racing. “Are you saying it was Ronan? That Ronan was Patsy’s boyfriend?”

  Merle shrugged. “She never said a name. Frankly, at the time I thought she made the whole thing up. It was just another way she could pretend to be Alice.”

  This was a development Clara had never imagined. Could Ronan have known Patsy Orr?

  “There’s something else,” Merle said.

  “Yes?”

  “Even though Patsy acts like she did it alone, I was there when Alice’s body was discovered, too. It was an awful, awful experience. I can assure you I’ll never get over it. Even so, it is not the most important thing that ever happened in my life. But that’s what it is for Patsy. And since the murder case got reopened, it has been the only thing that seems to matter to her. She can’t let it go. And maybe because you were Ronan Trent’s wife, she sees you as the center of it all. I think she believes you want to prove your husband is innocent, and that would be an injustice to Vickie Ann.”

  Clara shook her head. “I never said I was trying to prove anything. I only said I wanted to understand what happened.”

  “She doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Maybe it will calm down, now that I’ve left St. Elmo?”

  “It won’t calm down if Patsy has anything to do with it,” Merle said. “That’s why I came over. You need to know what you’re up against.”

  Clara said, “Merle, everything you’ve told me— it has made a huge difference. And the biggest difference is that you were willing to stand up for me to Patsy.”

  “I’ve known Patsy Orr all my life,” Merle said. “Going against an old friend is a hard thing to do. But sometimes there’s no choice. Frankly, I wish the case had never been reopened. All of us, including you, would’ve been spared a lot of upset and grief.”

  “We can’t go back to before,” Clara said. “None of us can.”

  “I guess not.” Merle got up. “Thank you for the tea. I’d better start back to St. Elmo.”

  Clara, still trying to process what she’d heard, thanked Merle again, and the two women walked into the living room. When they were halfway to the apartment door Merle stopped abruptly.

  “Is something wrong?” Clara said.

  Merle was staring at the coffee table, where Alice’s ring lay next to The Book of Alice. She looked at Clara, confusion on her face. “What on earth are you doing with that?” she said, her voice sharp.

  “It’s a ring—” It would be impossible, Clara thought, to try to explain what she was doing with the ring. Instead, she said, “Why are you asking, Merle? Have you seen it before?”

  “Of course I have,” Merle said. “That’s Patsy’s ring. I’ve seen her wear it hundreds of times.”

  23

  Aaron was talking to Clara on the phone while standing in the Bay City Airport, waiting to meeting his daughter’s plane. The arrival of her flight had just been announced. “Patsy’s ring?” he repeated. “Why does she think the ring is Patsy’s?”

  “She said she’s seen Patsy wearing it many times,” Clara said. “Patsy wears a lot of jewelry, but Merle says she’s sure she’s not mistaken.” Clara sounded breathless. “We know it belonged to Alice, because of Ronan’s drawings and Alice’s note about it. So how did Patsy get it?”

  “Huh.” Aaron felt as if he’d been knocked in the head. He walked through the group of people gathered at the arrivals door and found a place to sit down. “Is Merle still there? What did you tell her?”

  “She just left. I told her somebody had found the ring and given it to me, and that I didn’t know it was Patsy’s. And I begged her not to mention it to anybody. I promised I’d explain everything but I couldn’t right now. I think she’ll keep quiet.”

  “We’ll have to hope so,” Aaron said. “Where’s the ring now?”

  “I didn’t want to leave it lying around. I put it in a side pocket of my handbag.”

  “Well, hang onto it. I don’t like this at all. I have to talk with Patsy as soon as possible, but right now I’m at the airport. My daughter is coming in for the funeral tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take care of the ring.”

  “We’re going to get this sorted out, don’t worry.” He peered through the glass doors at the escalator where passengers from his daughter’s flight were starting to appear. “Where are you? Are you by yourself?” he asked.

  “Yes. Nadine left not long after Merle did. She locked up.”

  Aaron saw his daughter at the top of the escalator. She was looking around, searching for him. He said, “I don’t want you there alone. Go where there are people around, OK? Just get out of there, until we can get a handle on what’s happening.”

  “I’m going,” Clara said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  She broke the connection. Aaron put his phone in his pocket and waved at his daughter.

  24

  Clara slipped her phone into her handbag and hurried out the door of her apartment and down the stairs. Aaron had said she shouldn’t stay here alone, and Clara was willing to take his advice. She felt sure Nadine would take her in for a short while. S
he’d call on the way over. Clara had had no time to come to grips with what it meant that Patsy had been wearing Alice’s ring— wearing it for years, if Merle could be believed.

  Downstairs, the gallery was closed. The shades were down, and there was only faint light coming in from the front porch and the light in the staircase. Clara was crossing to the front door when a voice said, “Mrs. Trent? Clara?”

  She whirled around. Someone was standing, half-obscured, in the doorway of the room where Ronan’s paintings were hung. “Who is it?” she said.

  “It’s Patsy Orr. I’d like to talk with you.”

  This was too strange. Clara felt herself shift from being startled to being afraid. She told herself to act as normal as possible. “Patsy? The gallery is closed. How did you get in?”

  “I walked in with some customers, right before closing. I waited in your supply closet in the back until your assistant closed up and left.”

  “But why? You could’ve called me. You can come by and talk any time.” Clara was making an effort to sound friendly and reasonable.

  “I don’t know,” Patsy said. Her voice had a fretful sound. “After Merle poisoned you against me, I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to see me.”

  Clara forced a heartiness she didn’t feel. “Poisoned me against you? Not at all! I’m willing to listen to anything you have to say.”

  There was a long silence. Clara started to drift toward the door. Patsy said, “You couldn’t leave it alone. You had to bother everybody.” She stepped out of the doorway and walked toward Clara.

  “I didn’t intend to bother anybody,” Clara said. “I just wanted to understand.”

  Patsy was much closer now. Clara backed up a step. “You will never understand,” Patsy said.

  “I had to try.”

  “You will never understand Ronan.”

  Clara swallowed hard. “Possibly not.”

  “Ronan was special.”

  Ronan was special. Clara swallowed. “What happened between you and Ronan?” she asked.

  Patsy chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would.” Clara went on, “Did Alice come between you?”

  “Alice?” Patsy said. “Alice was silly, and stupid, and out for a good time. She was nothing but a flirt.”

  “I thought you and Alice were friends.” Clara took another step backward.

  “We were,” Patsy said. “Alice gave me a lipstick that was almost brand new, because it was the wrong color for her. We were the best of friends.”

  “Until Ronan?”

  “Don’t say that! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Patsy sounded angry, and Clara started for the door. She felt Patsy catch her arm. Patsy said, “I have a gun. I think it’s time we settled this, don’t you? Let’s go.”

  All right, she’s got a gun. This is worse than I imagined, Clara thought. Immediately, she thought of tripping the building alarm, which Nadine would have set at the pad by the front door. She said, “There’s no need for this, Patsy.”

  “No need!” Patsy scoffed. “There’s every need. We’re leaving now. You’ll have to disable the alarm so we can get out. You know how to do that, don’t you?

  “Where are we going?” Clara said. “I have no animosity toward you, Patsy. Can’t we discuss this calmly?”

  “Disable the alarm,” Patsy said. “Remember there’s a gun pointed at you. And it’s loaded.”

  They walked to the door and Clara hesitated in front of the alarm. Patsy said, “Go ahead,” and Clara felt the barrel of the revolver dig into her side. She disabled the alarm and opened the door, and the two women stepped out onto the front stoop. Maybe someone would look out and see what was going on, Clara thought in desperation, but the street was quiet. Patsy closed the door behind them and said, “We’ll go in my car. It’s parked around to the side. Go ahead.”

  They crossed the parking lot to a side street where a few cars were pulled up on the grass verge. “It’s the white one,” Patsy said. “Get in the driver’s seat.”

  Clara got in. Patsy got in the passenger side and closed the door. She said, “Clara, I have the gun, so you’ll do what I tell you. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  Patsy handed her a key. “Start the car. You’re going to drive us out the state road to the parking lot for the Loggerhead Point Campground. You know the way, don’t you?”

  “I know the way,” Clara said. “But why, Patsy? Can’t you explain? I may be able to clear things up for you.”

  “Things are quite clear, thank you,” Patsy said. “You say you know the way. Let’s go.”

  Acutely aware of the gun in Patsy’s hand, Clara started the engine and began to drive.

  25

  Clara’s handbag was next to her on the front seat. If she could get into it she could lay hands on her phone. But in the passenger seat Patsy had the gun, and she continued to keep it pointed at Clara. Clara drove on through the darkening streets of Luna Bay. Trying to sound casual, she said, “How did you meet Ronan?”

  “Never mind,” Patsy said.

  “I’m just curious,” Clara said. “I didn’t know him then. It’s hard for me to accept the fact that he murdered Alice. I can’t imagine the man I married killing anybody.”

  “Well, you’ll have to accept it,” Patsy said, sounding annoyed.

  They continued through town in silence, and when they’d left the city limits, Clara turned onto the highway. Eventually, Patsy said, “We met at the canteen on the base. There were no empty tables and I asked if I could sit at his table.”

  “You sat at Ronan’s table. And you struck up an acquaintance?”

  “That’s private,” Patsy said.

  Dusk was falling fast. Up ahead, the state road angled off to the Loggerhead Point Campground. “Take the turn,” Patsy directed.

  Clara took the turn. She was trying to stay focused and not panic. She said, “Patsy, if you could help me understand Ronan—”

  “You’ll never understand Ronan,” Patsy said. She gave a soft laugh. “I asked if I could sit at his table and he smiled, and he said, “It would be a pleasure, Miss.”

  Somehow, Clara believed this. She had never known Ronan to act in such a polite and courteous manner, but she believed he had said to Patsy Orr, It would be a pleasure, Miss. “Was that the beginning of your relationship?” she said.

  “It would’ve been,” Patsy said. “It should’ve been.”

  All right. Clara was getting an inkling of the story going on in Patsy’s head. She said, “Did something interrupt your meeting?”

  “Never mind.”

  “What will it hurt to tell me?”

  “Keep going to the campground. Park in the lot,” Patsy said.

  Clara kept driving. It was almost dark now. The narrow road was lit only sporadically, and the vegetation was thick on either side. At last they reached the campground parking lot, which was a bumpy clay area surrounded by a makeshift rail fence. There were only a few cars in the lot. A small office, which was closed, stood at the entrance.

  Clara parked the car and Patsy said, “Now we’ll get out and walk.”

  “Where? Where are we going?” Desperation was setting in. Clara imagined running through the trees, scrambling through undergrowth. She slung her handbag across her chest, terrified that Patsy would notice and tell her to leave it behind, but Patsy didn’t seem to care.

  “Come along.” Patsy’s hand fastened on Clara’s arm. “I still have the gun.”

  They left the parking lot and took a sandy path to the beach. Ronan’s cabin— and where else could they be going?— was at the far end of the point. Clara remembered the camping family— Becky, the woman who had given her the ring. She remembered Becky saying they were going to leave today.

  Her phone was zipped in her bag, tantalizingly close, but Patsy was in a volatile frame of mind. Clara needed to engage her, divert her attention. She said, “Tell me about Alice.”

  After a long paus
e, Patsy said, “I had a dream. I tried to tell her.”

  “A dream about Ronan?”

  “Alice was in danger.”

  “From Ronan?”

  “She was going to get hurt.”

  “She wouldn’t listen to you?”

  “She laughed.”

  Clara decided to try out her suspicion about what had happened years ago: “Patsy, did Alice— did Alice come sit with you and Ronan that day at the canteen? Is that what spoiled your meeting with Ronan?”

  “Alice had lots of boyfriends.”

  “And she took Ronan, too? Is that what happened?”

  “That’s enough. Shut up.”

  As they walked along the beach, Clara could see the lights of Luna Bay. She could make out the city marina, where she and Aaron had been just this morning. Once in a while, heat lightning lit up the sky— lightning that had flashed too far away for the thunder to be heard. She shivered, despite the humid evening.

  They walked on. Casting about for another subject, Clara said, “Patsy, tell me what happened with Jim Tuttle.”

  “Old fool.”

  “Did you find him drowned at Luton’s Landing?”

  “Pulled a gun on me. Last time he ever bothered anybody.”

  Oh God, Clara thought. The revolver in her hand is Jim Tuttle’s gun. “You took the gun away from him?”

  “I wasn’t going to let him shoot me, was I?” Patsy gave a short laugh. “Be quiet and keep walking.”

  Clara kept walking. This was worse than she could’ve imagined.

  They continued, as occasional flashes of lightning lit up the dark water. At last Clara caught sight of Ronan’s cabin, a dark smudge against the illuminated sky. Patsy, still holding Clara’s arm, said, “There it is.”

  “Ronan’s place,” Clara said. “You’ve been there before.”

  “I had to warn him,” Patsy said. Her voice sounded as if she were in a trance.