by Krista Davis
I glanced at Zelda, who nodded.
“I filled out one of Macon’s matching forms online by giving answers that I thought would match me to you.”
“So you lied.”
“I prefer to think of it as fudging. Like Where does your dog sleep? I don’t have a dog, so it’s not a lie to say that my dog sleeps on my bed. I knew that was how you would answer the question. But Macon matched me to Paige. And the night I arrived, I happened to meet Laura at Hair of the Dog.”
Ben rubbed both his hands up his face. “This has never happened to me before. I have never met a girl at a bar. They usually avoid making eye contact with me.”
“You’re making it sound like you never went out with anyone. You dated your boss’s daughter.”
“Do you think she would have been interested if her parents hadn’t pushed us together?”
“Yes. I dated you!”
“Ben,” said Zelda, “I think you don’t have enough self-confidence. A lot of women like nerdy guys.”
“Really? Given a choice between Hank and me, which one would you have chosen?” He didn’t give her an opportunity to respond. “Hank, of course! It’s hard enough to find a girl, but to have two that like me at the same time? Wow. My plan to cozy up to you backfired in every way possible. I got the wrong dog, and I was matched to the wrong woman. But Huey gave us something to talk about. There was never that awkward painful silence when nobody knows what to say. I thought for sure I would be matched to you, Holly. But, by golly, they actually like me! I’m worn out from running between the two of them, but also kind of jazzed because this has been a lot of fun.”
“And you have Huey to thank for it.” Zelda smiled at him.
“In a way, I guess you’re right. He broke the ice and made me more comfortable.”
I pondered whether it was worth pointing out that the women liked someone he was pretending to be. But maybe I was wrong.
“I hope you like Paige better than Laura,” I said.
“Why? Do you have something against Laura?” Ben frowned at me.
“Not at all. But I’ve seen her a couple of times with John Adele, and they looked pretty friendly.”
“You misinterpreted that. They worked together years ago and are old friends. She says he’s a nice guy but got into some trouble and had to leave the university. I’m sorry, Holly. I could tell you liked him, but it sounds like he comes with some serious baggage.”
“Did she say what happened?”
“Not exactly, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good if he had to leave his job.”
Ben bit into a mini–ham croissant. “What did you find out in your nosy wanderings?”
I filled them in about everything except where Hank had been staying. Something told me I might need that nugget to coax information out of Dave. He was usually pretty forthcoming with me, but he probably wouldn’t tell me much as long as he thought I was a suspect.
Zelda sagged in her chair. “I wish I had never met Hank. That Randall sounds like an awful guy, but that’s no reason to murder someone.”
“Zelda,” I said gently, “was Hank ever violent? Is it possible that he killed Randall?”
“I don’t think so. He was too doggone lazy. I swear the man was a couch potato. It drove me nuts that he couldn’t hold a job. I think there’s actually a dent in the sofa from him lying there watching TV and eating potato chips. He was home all day, but do you think he could have washed a dish or cleaned the cat litter?” Zelda’s eyes opened wide. “I’m speaking ill of the dead! I didn’t mean it. What I meant to say was he never lifted a hand against me. Ever.”
“It’s okay, Zelda,” said Ben. “It’s not like lightning will strike you for telling the truth. I think we can agree that Hank was a jerk, and he probably conned plenty of people. But I don’t know why you suspect anyone else, Holly. It seems clear to me that Mick the small-time crook probably killed both of them for money.”
Someone cleared his throat in the doorway to the kitchen. Dave walked toward us, a glass of ice water in his hand. “May I join you or is this a private conference?”
“You can join us,” said Zelda, “as long as you agree that I did not kill Hank.”
“Just doing my job, Zelda. We always look at wives and husbands first.”
“I haven’t been married to him for a couple of years.”
“Exes are equally suspect. I’ve heard you complain about Hank.”
Ben asked eagerly, “What about my theory that it was Mick?”
“I appreciate your speculation, Ben. I had the same thought,” Dave said. “But it wasn’t Mick who killed Hank. Couldn’t have been.”
Twenty-eight
“For starters, we found Randall’s wallet in Hank’s pocket. There was a large amount of money in it, which indicates to me that Hank wasn’t murdered for money,” Dave said.
“Maybe there was more and Mick left part of it?” Ben suggested.
Dave snorted. “I don’t think so. If you’re killing someone for money, you’re not going to leave over a thousand dollars behind.”
“Why would Randall have been carrying that kind of money in cash?” I asked.
Dave picked up one of the ham biscuits. “Your guess is as good as mine. Some guys like to carry cash. His wife is due in town today. That’s something I would like to ask her.”
“Her sister, Sky, said his wife didn’t even know Randall was coming here. I hardly think he would have told her what he needed a thousand bucks for.” I popped a red raspberry in my mouth and savored the sweetness.
“It still could have been Mick who murdered Hank,” argued Ben. “Maybe Hank murdered Randall, pocketed his money, and had an argument with Mick. Mick might not have known the money was on Hank.”
“I might buy that, except for one thing,” said Dave. “Zelda, you might be happy to know that in the last hours of his life, Hank did something very noble. Mick was trying to snatch Celeste Jamieson’s purse. Hank punched him in the nose and held Mick in the restaurant until I could get over there to arrest him. He spent the night in the slammer over on Snowball Mountain. I’m afraid Mick has the best alibi of anyone for Hank’s murder.”
“I heard about that.” Zelda looked like she might cry again. “Hank wasn’t without a few redeeming qualities. Of course, he had lied to that poor girl and told her he was a doctor. Classic Hank. First he lies to you, then he defends you.”
“Dave, do you think that could have been a setup between Mick and Hank?” I asked. “Maybe they planned it to make Hank look good?”
Dave’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Possible. But even if it was a setup, Mick was still in police custody when Hank was killed.”
“What about Randall? Do you think Mick murdered him?” asked Ben.
“We have eyewitnesses who place Mick all over town around the time of the murder, including the two of you.” He pointed at Ben and Zelda. “Holly and John found Randall shortly after he was killed, so we have a pretty narrow time frame. We’re putting together a map of his movements, but at this point, it seems unlikely. Ironically, Mick confessed to mugging Gustav Vogel.”
“I guess that’s not terribly surprising since you found his fingerprints on the letter from Oma to Gustav. But how does he explain the letter being in Randall’s pocket?” I asked.
“I had the same question,” said Dave. “Mick insists he doesn’t know anything about a letter.”
“Hold everything,” I said as the implications sank in. “If Mick confessed to mugging Gustav, then the letter ties him directly to Randall’s murder.”
“It seems like that would be the case. But the bartender at Hair of the Dog remembers Mick very well. He’s not the only one. Not to mention that his alibi for Hank’s murder is ironclad. I would have liked to think this mayhem was the fault of a lowlife who graduated to bigger crimes, but clearly tha
t’s not the case.”
I was surprised that Dave was speaking openly with me present. I sat back and quietly sipped my tea, afraid he would realize his mistake at any moment and clam up.
It seemed to me that the letter and the wallet made everything pretty clear. Mick stole the letter from Gustav when he mugged him and planted it on Randall. How else could Randall have gotten the letter? I didn’t know why he would do that, but it was the only reasonable explanation.
And when Mick murdered Randall, he must have stolen Randall’s wallet. He planted it on Hank to make it look like Hank had killed Randall. But if Mick was in custody, he couldn’t have murdered Hank, which meant Mick didn’t have Randall’s wallet. Someone else did. I groaned aloud. What had Oma said? Something is not right.
Ben glanced my way. “It’s hard to come by an alibi for the wee hours of the night, when everyone is in bed.”
I glared at him. Unfortunately, Dave looked straight at me when he said, “I understand that.”
“Then I’m no longer a suspect?” I barely breathed in anticipation of his answer.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Casey!” blurted Ben. “Casey would have seen Holly if she’d left the inn.”
In a dull voice, Dave said, “Ben, I know about the hidden staircase. Holly could have left the inn through the door right behind us with Casey none the wiser.”
I didn’t think it was the right time to point out that Casey often napped at night as well. “Look, Dave. Can’t you please tell me who allegedly saw me? I might be able to straighten things out.”
“How?”
I had no idea. I couldn’t prove that I wasn’t someplace unless I could show where I really was at that time. That’s what I got for sleeping with Trixie and Twinkletoes. This was one time I wished they wouldn’t keep my secrets.
“Okay, then,” I said, “you leave me no option but to prove that someone else did it.”
“Like who?”
“May I ask you some questions?”
“Sure. I can’t promise I’ll give you answers, though.”
“Fair enough. Have you fingerprinted Randall’s wallet and Aunt Birdie’s hoe?” I asked.
Dave’s mouth twitched, and I knew he had that information. I waited patiently.
“Preliminary tests suggest the wallet was wiped clean. There may be some partial smudges. The only clear fingerprints belonged to Hank.”
“Hank?” Zelda sat up straight. “Of course. They would have to be on it if the wallet was in his pocket. Hank was pestering me for money when he arrived in Wagtail. I figured he’d come here broke and wondered how he was wining and dining Celeste.”
“Wait a minute. How did you know it was Randall’s wallet? If I had murdered someone”—I hastily added—“which I haven’t, I would have removed all the identification from the wallet.”
Ben frowned. “I’d have gone further than that. I would have taken the money and thrown out the wallet.”
Dave mashed his lips together. “You’d think a killer would have done that, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe he was planning to pass himself off as Randall?” suggested Ben. “Or maybe he planned to use Randall’s credit cards. Hank was pretending to be a doctor. He could have claimed that his real name, Randall, sounded formal, so he uses his nickname—Hank. But I still would have gotten rid of the original wallet.”
That made sense to me. “What about the hoe?”
Dave seemed reluctant to tell us but finally said, “It was a bloody mess. But unless your Aunt Birdie was out there in the middle of the night hacking at Hank, it’s a dead end. It appears the perpetrator wore gloves.”
That was disappointing. We sat in silence until Dave said, “We haven’t found the item used to strangle Randall yet. There were some fibers on his neck, but we haven’t been able to link them to anything.”
“Hi, Ben!” Laura waved at him from the lawn and headed our way.
Ben dashed to the kitchen and returned with an extra glass. He invited Laura to join us and introduced her to Dave.
“Where’s Marmalade?” I asked.
“He was exhausted from his escapade.” Laura relayed the story of Marmalade climbing the wall to get to Twinkletoes.
Even Dave smiled and laughed. I didn’t tell them about Twinkletoes spurning poor Marmalade after that heroic effort. Nor did I yell at Ben for locking her out on the balcony. That would have been cruel to do in front of one of his new flames.
Dave sat forward, and I thought he was planning to depart. “So, what did you call about, Holly?”
He’d been open and honest even though I was present. The least I could do was tell him what little I knew. “You might find something at Randolph Hall. Aunt Birdie saw Hank leaving through the front door. The window in the back door is broken. I imagine that’s how he got in.”
“He was sleeping there?” asked Zelda.
“That was Aunt Birdie’s assumption.”
Dave scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly toppled the wine bottle. He paused for just a moment, though. “How long were you going to keep that from me?”
“You don’t need to sound so miffed. I called you. Zelda and I are the ones being accused of murder. I don’t think you’d like that any better than we do.”
“Holly Miller, I am tired. I’m grumpy, and I need a shower. You better not withhold information from me.” Dave strode into the house.
Laura watched him with big eyes.
“Laura,” said Ben. “Tell Holly about John.”
“We go way back. I hadn’t seen him for years.”
“Tell her what he did,” Ben prodded.
“He had an affair with a student. It was stupid of him. She was in one of my classes. So pretty and a good student, but she was hopelessly naïve. It wasn’t fair of him to take advantage of her like that. He was in a position of authority! And then he made matters worse by dumping her. One day they were having an affair, and the next day he wasn’t interested anymore. I don’t think she ever recovered from it. You know how young girls can be when they’re infatuated. Plus, he threatened to flunk her if she told anyone. Really, he couldn’t have made it worse!”
That sounded familiar to me. One minute he was eager to have dinner, and a couple of hours later he wasn’t interested in me anymore. “You seem to like him.”
“He’s not a totally bad guy. Plus, we have mutual friends, and we used to hang out together when we taught, but I sure wouldn’t date him.”
Zelda pulled out her phone and poked at it. “Which university was it?”
“Douthier?” said Ben. “That’s where Laura works now.”
“Uh-oh. I’d say he had trouble. You’d better have a look at this, Holly.” Zelda handed me the phone.
The page showed a picture of a younger John. I read aloud.
PROFESSOR LOSES TENURE OVER SEXUAL ALLEGATIONS
Dr. John Adele, professor of history at prestigious Douthier University, lost his bid for tenure following the well-publicized claims that he engaged in a sexual relationship with a female student. Suspended for inappropriate conduct with a student, Adele is no longer teaching, pending the outcome of the investigation into the student’s allegations. According to a knowledgeable source, the university acted quickly to deny tenure to Dr. Adele, a move that effectively guarantees termination of his association with the school.
I handed the phone back to her.
Ben shot me a pained look. “Ouch. I wonder how the investigation turned out.”
“I’d guess it didn’t go well. He edits history books and is writing a thriller.”
“I’m sorry, Holly.” Ben sounded sincere.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t looking to be matched up anyway,” I said.
Zelda shot me a look of commiseration. “Don’t feel bad. Look at me—I married Hank! But to tel
l the truth, even though some of the evidence points toward Hank murdering Randall, I truly don’t believe he could have killed anyone. There’s a difference between being a murderer and being a jerk. He took advantage of people, including me, but it takes more than that to knock somebody off. And I saw Hank’s body. I don’t know much about murder, but if you ask me, somebody was plenty mad at him.”
Twenty-nine
I didn’t know if that was wishful thinking on Zelda’s part or if I should rely on her assessment of Hank’s personality. After all, she knew him better than most people.
Ben picked up a pen and notepad that I hadn’t noticed on the table. “I think Holly has the right idea. The way to clear the two of you is to figure out who the real killer is. Besides Hank and Mick, who had a motive to murder Randall?”
“Apparently everyone who ever met him,” I said. “Start with Sky Stevens and her sister. Dave just said they always begin with the spouse.”
Ben made a note.
“Her sister?” asked Laura.
“Sky’s sister was married to Randall.”
Laura looked at Ben. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“And then there’s Nessie,” I said. “I’m not completely convinced that I have the whole story, but apparently she disliked Randall intensely.”
“And Bob Lane the pharmacist,” added Zelda. “Half the people in town think he did it for revenge over that lawsuit.”
I didn’t want to criticize Paige in front of Laura, but Ben had to know. “You can add Paige, too.”
Ben stopped writing and gazed at me in surprise.
“She blames him for getting her brother-in-law hooked on drugs. Why don’t you make a second list of people with a reason to knock off Hank? Maybe they’ll intersect somewhere. Probably at Nessie,” I said.
