I’m not sure if the aristocratic Mrs. Gardner would have welcomed the comparison of her lavish European buying trips to my great-aunt’s thrift-store prowls, but Thaddeous might have been right.
I had a bad case of museum fatigue after that, but Michelle insisted on dragging us out to Harvard Square to look into shops and listen to the few street performers willing to brave the cold. Thaddeous got to look at the folks who hang around in the center of Harvard Square. There’s always lots of leather, spiked and unusually colored hair, and pierced body parts to see.
I’ll give my cousin credit: I knew he’d never seen people dressed that way before, but he didn’t gawk. He looked, of course, but he wasn’t a bit rude about it. I don’t know that I could have said the same about myself the first time I went to Harvard Square.
We ate dinner at Bartley’s Burger Cottage, one of Richard’s college hang-outs and still our favorite place for hamburgers. The burgers are so huge that I’ve never had dessert there. Thaddeous made it through his burger and fries, but gave up on the onion rings.
Michelle was all for going dancing after that, saying we’d missed some places the week before, but I was worn to a frazzle and Thaddeous admitted that he was a mite tired, too. So we went back to my apartment to watch videos. At least, they did. I fell asleep as soon as I got comfortable on the couch.
Sunday, Michelle had plans, so Thaddeous and I hung around the apartment and tried to come up with a plan to track down Philip’s killer. The problem was, I had spoken to everybody at SSI at least once, and we didn’t have any more idea of what to do next than the man in the moon.
“Now what?” I demanded of Thaddeous that evening, as we finished up the spaghetti we had made for dinner. It was just as well that Michelle hadn’t come over—I wouldn’t have dared cook anything Italian if she’d been around.
“It seems to me you’ve covered all the bases. Other than maybe Roberta.”
“I don’t think Roberta’s even noticed that Philip’s dead yet,” I said. “But she’s been at SSI plenty long enough to come up with a motive for killing him. That’s the problem. Everybody’s got a motive.”
“Let’s lay it all out,” Thaddeous suggested. “Write it down and look at it.”
I got a pad out of my desk and started at the top of the page. “Okay, in no particular order, we have Vincent, Inez, Jessie, Neal, Murray, Dee, Dom, and Sheliah.”
“And Roberta.”
“And Roberta.” I thought about it. “Better add Colleen, too, but I think she’s a long shot.”
“Good enough. Now, what’s Vincent’s motive?”
“He wanted to take SSI public, and Philip was standing in the way. And something about his MIT class ring.”
“The brass rat?”
I nodded. “I don’t know what, but Philip was holding something over his head. I wonder if Inez would know.”
“Wouldn’t she use it herself if she did?” Thaddeous asked.
“You’re probably right. Then let’s move on to Inez. Same motive as Vincent. Philip was blocking her from what she wanted for SSI. And he was threatening to make their past public.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” Thaddeous said. “This ain’t Byerly—who’d care? Unless she’s got a boyfriend she hasn’t told about her past.”
“None that I’ve heard about, and I think I would have. Jessie knows everything, and tells most of what she knows.”
“Then what about Jessie?”
“Philip was threatening the well-being of the group,” I said, knowing it sounded silly. “She really is a mother hen. Or maybe a mother lion, when it comes to defending that group.”
“It don’t sound like much of a reason to kill to me.”
“Not to me, either, but I think the folks at SSI are all the life Jessie has. So maybe saving it would be worth killing to her.”
“Next is Neal.”
“I don’t have a motive for him.”
“Did he and Philip get along when they were rooming together?”
“They always seemed to. Philip teased Neal because of Neal being so much younger, but Neal didn’t act like he held it against him. And it’s been a long time.” I moved to the next name. “Murray.”
“You said Philip put him down.”
“A lot,” I said. “Murray must have hated that. But Philip treated Murray badly for as long as I can remember—I don’t know of any reason he’d suddenly decide to kill him.”
“Sometimes a man will snap after a while. Daddy told me once about a man at the mill whose wife popped her chewing gum. He never said anything about it, not for years and years. Then one night he up and left her, without a bit of warning.”
It sounded unlikely to me, but unlikely things did happen.
Thaddeous said, “Now Dee. Philip was threatening to tell Dom about their affair, and breaking up somebody’s marriage is a pretty good motive.”
I nodded. “As for Dom, he was angry at Philip for upsetting Dee, but it sounded like voting against Philip was enough revenge for him. Though if Philip did tell Dom about that night with Dee, mightn’t Dom have killed him because of it?”
“Could be. Some people would say that Philip had it coming.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” But I put it on the list. “Sheliah.”
“He’d been treating her badly at work. Could it have gotten worse than that? Like stalking?”
“I don’t think so. Philip was slimy, but I don’t think he was ever obsessed enough with anybody to go that far.”
“Then there’s Roberta.”
“Nary a clue,” I said.
“His wife Colleen?”
“Not for insurance, because she doesn’t get any. She does get the house and whatever else they had without having to go through a divorce. I don’t know what they had, so I don’t know if it was worth killing for. I suppose I could go talk to her, but I don’t know that she’d tell me if it was.”
That made me realize something, and I looked at the list in disgust. “That’s our problem, Thaddeous. Everything we’ve got, we’ve got from the people involved, and they’ve all got reason to lie. How can I trust any of it?” I ripped the sheet off of the pad and was ready to wad it up, but Thaddeous pulled it away from me.
“Now, simmer down, Laurie Anne. We’ve made a lot of progress. What we’ve got to do now is confirm some of this information through an objective source.”
I looked at him. That wasn’t his usual way of speaking.
He grinned. “That’s what Mama always tries to do if she hears good gossip.”
A conscientious gossip? It sounded like a contradiction in terms to me, but I could see how it would make sense to Aunt Nora. “The problem is, any objective source would say that we’re nuts for sticking our noses into this. Heck, we can’t even be sure that Philip was really murdered. Maybe his death was an accident after all and I’ve just been wasting my time. All of our time.”
“It seems to me any man who had as many enemies as Philip did had to have been murdered,” Thaddeous said.
“People make enemies all the time without being killed. Look at Big Bill Walters back home. He’s still alive and kicking.”
“But Philip isn’t,” Thaddeous said.
He had a point. “What objective source do you suggest?”
“If this was Byerly, you’d call Junior and ask her what was what.”
“Thaddeous, you don’t think Detective Salvatore is going to tell me anything, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because he doesn’t know me from Adam’s house cat. For all he knows, I might have killed Philip myself.”
“Now, we know he doesn’t think that because the snow on Philip shows he died long after he left your apartment.”
“Maybe, but there are ways I could have gotten around the snow.” Then something clicked in my head. “Snow! Thaddeous, I am a complete idiot. The snow could tell us for sure if Philip was murdered!”
“How’s that?”
he asked, but I was already trying to figure out where I’d put Detective Salvatore’s business card. I finally found it in a stack of mail on my coffee table and dialed the number, hoping that he was unlucky enough to have to work on Sunday.
“Boston Police. Salvatore speaking.”
“Detective Salvatore, this is Laura Fleming. We spoke about Philip Dennis’s death.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fleming. What can I do for you?”
“My cousin and I were just talking about Philip,” I said, wondering if that sounded ghoulish, “and we wondered about the condition of the snow around the body. I mean, wouldn’t there have been tracks in the snow? Couldn’t they help you figure out what happened?”
“We did consider that,” he said with a tone of determined patience. “Unfortunately, the tracks weren’t all that clear. Part of the alley had been plowed, presumably before Mr. Dennis died, and there was a fair amount of melting before he was found. So it was pretty muddy before we got back there.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. Though I guess I should have been relieved that the police knew what they were doing. “Then you can’t tell if he was alone or not?”
“Do you have reason to believe that he wasn’t alone?”
“Not really,” I said, not willing to admit what I’d been up to. “It just seems he might have gone off with somebody, and then they drove back. People do park back there.”
“As a matter of fact, we found tire tracks that could have been made around the same time as Mr. Dennis’s death. But we can’t tell for sure if Dennis was in that car.” He paused. “You’re sure that you don’t have any reason to believe he was with somebody else?”
Did I have anything concrete to tell him? I wished I did, but I just didn’t. If he’d been Junior, I wouldn’t have minded sharing my suspicions, because she wouldn’t have laughed, no matter how silly they sounded. Well, not too much, anyway. But I didn’t know Salvatore any better than he knew me. “No, I don’t.”
“Then the most likely explanation is that somebody parked back there, saw Dennis lying on the ground, and left. Either they thought Dennis was a bum sleeping it off, or they could tell he was dead and didn’t want to get involved. Not everybody takes as much interest in crime as you do, Mrs. Fleming.”
I didn’t want to think about what might be behind that last sentence. “Have you learned anything else about the …” I’d nearly called it a murder. “About Philip’s death? Was there anything in the autopsy report?”
“Nothing conclusive. Though we’re still not sure what Dennis hit his head on.”
“Doesn’t that point to the idea of somebody hitting him? And then taking the weapon away with him?”
“Or her. It’s possible.”
He didn’t say anything else for a long time. Hadn’t Junior told me that sometimes the best way to get information from a suspect is to be quiet? If I’d been guilty, it just might have worked.
“Well,” I said brightly, “I sure hope you find out what happened.”
“I think I will,” he said, which sounded vaguely ominous. “You be sure to call if you and your cousin think of anything else.”
“I sure will. ‘Bye now.”
“Well?” Thaddeous asked.
“Philip was murdered,” I said definitely. “At least, Salvatore thinks so.”
“He said that?”
“No, but what he did say plus what he didn’t say has me convinced. Of course, now he’s suspicious of me again because of my calling him.”
“I’m sure he knows better.”
“It doesn’t matter. I know I didn’t do it, so he can’t possibly make a case against me. I’m just glad he’s still looking. And we’ll do the same.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He looked at me expectantly for a few minutes. “Well, then, what do we do next?”
“Shoot, Thaddeous, I don’t know.” I felt very foolish, but before I could say anything, he reached over and patted my hand, just like his mother would have.
“Don’t you worry about it,” he said. “I feel sure we’ll come up with something.”
It was nice he had so much confidence in us, but I sure wished I felt the same.
Chapter 26
I did nothing useful at SSI the next day. Or rather, I did lots that was useful to SSI, but nothing that helped us learn about Philip’s death. I was really hoping Thaddeous would call with a brilliant plan, but it just didn’t happen. In fact, he wasn’t even at my apartment when I got home.
The phone rang a little while later, and I picked up the receiver, expecting to hear Thaddeous. “Hello?”
“Laurie Anne?”
“Hi, Vasti. What’s up?”
“How does it feel to be famous?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not every day that you get into a real, live book. Did that author not call you yet?”
“Vasti, I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I was over at Aunt Nora’s this morning to pick up cookies for my bake sale when the phone rang. Since her hands were full, I answered the phone, and it was a reporter.”
“I thought you said author.”
“Same difference. He’s writing a book, isn’t he?”
I knew I shouldn’t have interrupted her. “Okay, a writer called. What did he say?”
“He told me about this book he’s writing about true crime stories in North Carolina. I guess he heard about some of the things you and Thaddeous have been involved in, like Melanie Wilson’s and Tom Honeywell’s murders, because he asked all kinds of questions about how you came to solve them. He said he was sure y’all would get into his book, and he’d even mention that Arthur is your cousin by marriage and how he’s running for reelection to the city council. Isn’t that wonderful?”
I knew there were a lot of books about true crime stories, but I couldn’t see how the murders Vasti was talking about would interest anybody enough to put them into a book. “Vasti, who was this guy?”
“I don’t remember what he said his name was, but he’s from Charlotte. Well, he lives there now, but he’s not from there. Not with that accent.”
“What all did you tell him?”
“Everything I remembered, of course. You want his book to be accurate, don’t you? He said he’d call you, too, as soon as he’d done some more research. He likes to get his background work all done before he talks to the subject. Oh, no!”
“What?”
“He asked me not to call you because he wanted to surprise you. I up and forgot that part until right now!”
Just as she had forgotten what day Thaddeous was due in Boston. But just like that time, her spoiling the surprise might come in handy. “When did you say he called?”
“This morning.”
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I was busy getting the bake sale ready, and I didn’t want to spend the money to call during the day.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Don’t you want to be in a book? I’d think you’d be glad to help Arthur in his campaign. It’s not like you have to do anything, just talk to the man when he calls you.”
“Vasti, I’m not about to tell my private business to some stranger, and I wish you hadn’t, either. How do you know he was really a reporter?”
“He said he was.”
“Not everybody is as honest as you are.” Okay, there was a little sarcasm in my voice when I said that, but I’m sure it went right over her head.
“Why else would he call, if he’s not a reporter?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that Thaddeous and I have been looking into something—”
“Another murder! That’s wonderful! Now I know he’ll put you in the book.”
If there was a book. “Did he call anybody else in the family?”
“Aunt Maggie said somebody called her, but she didn’t have time to talk to him. Can you imagine that?”
“Well, d
o me a favor. Tell everybody not to tell this man anything. If he wants to ask questions about me and Thaddeous, he can call us up here.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Vasti, it’s hard enough getting people to answer questions as it is. This isn’t Byerly, and folks are a little more private. The only reason we’ve been able to get away with it is that everybody just thinks we’re curious. If they found out we’d done this kind of thing before, nobody would speak to us.” Not to mention the fact that we could very well become targets. “Do you see what I’m saying?”
“I guess so,” she said, sounding miffed.
It was time to add some soft soap. “I knew you’d understand. Do you think you can get the others to see it our way?”
“Of course I can,” she said confidently. “Nobody’s going to say one word when I’m done with them.”
“That’s great. One other thing. Can you call Hank Parker at the Byerly Gazette to see if anybody’s talked to him? I don’t know how this guy heard about me and Thaddeous, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that he checked out the paper.”
“You don’t think this man was the murderer you’re looking for, do you?”
“I don’t know. What kind of accent did he have?”
“A Northern one.”
“What kind of Northern accent? New York? Boston?”
“How would I know? I just know he talked funny.”
I sighed, wishing Vasti knew more about accents. “I don’t know if he’s our guy or not, but I still smell a rat. Let me know if you hear anything else from him.”
“All right. ‘Bye, now.”
I hung up the phone, feeling more than a little nervous. On Friday, I’d seen somebody listening in while I’d asked questions. On Sunday, I’d asked Detective Salvatore a bunch of questions. And on Monday, somebody had started asking questions about me. It didn’t take a whole lot of brains to realize that I’d made somebody suspicious. Which led to the question of who it was. Though I knew I was being silly, I still went to the front door and put the chain on.
Chapter 27
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 04 - Country Comes to Town Page 15
