The Chick and the Dead

by Casey Daniels

  Her statement was so calculating, it made me shiver. Not that I didn't understand. In a twisted sort of way, it was payback. "You've made the most of it," I said to Susan.

  "You're damned right. I can't tell you how many times I saw Didi with that address book of hers. Writing in a new name. Jotting down another new phone number for another new boyfriend. I can't tell you how many lunch hours I spent listening to her." Susan took a big gulp of champagne. "I'd sit there like a bump on a log, eating my bologna sandwiches and listening to Didi talk about her dates."

  Dozens of candles blinked in silver candelabra from the buffet tables. Their light reflected in Susan's eyes, illuminating a truth that was suddenly all too clear.

  "It's not about the money, is it?" I asked, but I didn't need an answer. I knew the answer as sure as I knew my own name. "That's not why you do it. The money is just the icing on the cake. And the whole thing about Judy… well, that's just you justifying what you've been doing. But it all boils down to jealousy, doesn't it? Didi had the men and you had… what?" I knew she wouldn't respond, so I went right on.

  "You had nothing but your desk at the office and forty years of working for a guy who never gave you more than a polite nod and a turkey at Christmas. Shit, things were just about boiling in the ol' steno pool, weren't they? You were hot for Howell. Just like Didi was. Only in her case, he noticed, and in yours… well… " I looked Susan over and had to admit, money or no money, dead or alive, she just didn't measure up to Didi. She wasn't as pretty. She wasn't as sexy. She didn't have half Didi's personality.

  "You were jealous," I said, and I knew it was true. "Is that why you pushed Didi off that bridge?"

  Until then, Susan had been cool and collected in a venomous sort of way. At the mention of Didi's murder, though, her calm dissolved in a gurgle of outrage. "That bitch killed herself. You know that. Everyone knows that. She killed herself, but not until after she dumped her kid on me. And you think I don't deserve something for that?"

  "Oh, I think you deserve something, all right." The music ended, and after the dancers applauded politely, they moved off the floor. Before the hubbub of conversations started again, the room was quiet. I kept my voice low so only Susan could hear. "With any luck, you'll get it eventually."

  I didn't excuse myself when I got up and walked away. It would have been a more dramatic exit if my hoop didn't get wedged between a portly guy in a Confederate uniform and a woman in a riding habit. I jerked free and continued on toward where the orchestra was seated.

  Was it any big surprise that by the time I got there, the clarinet player's chair was empty?

  I grumbled to myself and looked around.

  No sign of Dan the Brain Man or anyone who looked like him, mustache or no mustache. But all was not lost. Just as I turned away from the stage, I spotted Thomas Ross Howell standing near a potted palm, chatting with the president of the city council.

  I headed that way.

  I would have made it, too, if someone didn't grab my elbow.

  I stopped. My skirt continued on. I thwacked it into submission and looked over my shoulder. Quinn had his hand on my arm.

  "You didn't tell me she died fifty years ago," he said.

  I didn't have to ask who he was talking about. Apparently while I'd been hobnobbing with the over-seventy set, Quinn had been doing his homework. Something told me it involved a call to the record room at the Justice Center. I raised a shoulder in the sort of fiddle-dee-dee gesture I'm sure would have played well with this crowd. "You never asked."

  "I'm asking now."

  Earlier that morning, when I spoke to Ella about the night's festivities, she had insisted I carry the fan that had come packed with my costume. At the time, I told her she was nuts, but now I saw that there was a purpose for everything, even something as silly and old-fashioned as a fan. I snapped it open and waved it in front of my face, stalling at the same time I glanced toward the potted palm to make sure Howell was still there. Reassured, I turned my attention back to Quinn. "You're asking about what?"

  "How you know. Why you care. Why you think I should."

  "Oh, Officer!" I slapped my fan closed and tapped Quinn on the arm with it, doing my best to be coy and knowing that with any other guy, it would have worked like a charm. "You know and I know, there's no statute of limitations on murder."

  "You're not cute, Pepper."

  So my isn't-she-adorable routine wasn't working on Quinn. It meant I had to try a little harder.

  I stepped as close as the killer gown would allow and looked up into his eyes. "I'm not?"

  "No." As if to prove it, he moved back and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can be. But now is not one of those moments."

  "But you'll still help me. With buying the manuscript and getting it tested and—"

  "And I told you to mind your own business."

  "And what makes you think I haven't been?"

  "Because you're talking to a whole bunch of people you shouldn't be talking to."

  I pretended to take the comment at face value and grinned. "You've been keeping your eye on me!" I stopped just short of whacking him with my fan again. Like I said, with any other guy…

  Quinn's eyes flared green fire. "Yes, I've been watching you. And I've seen you talking to a lot of people, and I have to ask myself what you'd have to say to a mover and shaker like David Barkwill or a scumbucket like good old Reverend Jack, the biggest scam artist this side of the Canadian border. They sure don't have anything in common with you. Every one of them is close to eighty years old, and pardon me if I'm overstating the obvious here, but you don't exactly strike me as the type who has a soft spot in her heart for senior citizens. There can't be anything in the world you'd want to talk to them about unless—"

  As if they'd been cut in half by a cavalry officer's saber, the words died on Quinn's lips. Then again, epiphany moments can have that effect on a person.

  He pointed one finger in my direction. "You're nuts," he said.

  "You've mentioned that before."

  "But I really mean it now."

  "You said you really meant it then."

  "You think that Barkwill and Reverend Jack and…" As if he was sure he wasn't getting it right (though of course he was), he shook his head. "You think one of those men I saw you talking to had something to do with Didi Bowman's murder?"

  Now we were getting somewhere. I made a face. "I did, but unfortunately, I've pretty much eliminated the whole bunch," I told Quinn, and I thought back to the conversations I'd had with my erstwhile suspects. "Yeah, they had motive. Every one of them. After all, they were all Didi's lovers at one time or another. Sometimes at the same time. But Barkwill was in Florida at the time of her death. He says he remembers because it was his wife's birthday and they always go to Florida for his wife's birthday. Reverend Jack was preaching on live TV. You get the picture. Every one of them has an airtight alibi. Why, even Susan Gwitkowski over there… " I looked toward where Susan was grabbing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and when she glanced my way, I mouthed the words, He's a cop and pointed to Quinn. Just to make her nervous.

  "Susan had her reasons, too, of course, since she was trying to get her hands on Didi's little black book so she could blackmail everybody in it. Or at least everybody in it who had money. But I don't know… I don't think she did it, either. She's pretty convinced Didi committed suicide."

  "So was the coroner."

  "Well, he was wrong." I didn't point out that I knew this for a fact because I had watched the murder happen. "There's only one other person… " I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Howell shake hands with the council president. Their tête-à-tête was finished, and I could see Howell's wife doing some impatient pacing near the door.

  "Look," I said, "I've got to go. There's somebody I need to talk to."

  "Not so fast." Quinn latched on to my arm. "You need to explain how you know all this, Pepper."

  Howell was starting toward the door
.

  "I will," I told Quinn. "I promise. But if I don't get moving…"

  Though I suspect he could make a scene when he had a reason, Quinn was too much of a gentleman to do it at the biggest society bash of the year. He let go, and I took off. I caught up to Howell right before he caught up to his wife, and managed to wedge myself (and my hoop skirt) between us and the door.

  "Oh, Judge Howell!" I pretended embarrassment and did my best to make it look like I was trying to get my skirt out of the way. "How nice to run into you. I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk again."

  He pulled himself up to his full height. "That's interesting since I was hoping to never see you again."

  I tapped his arm with my fan. "You're such a kidder," I said. "And here I thought you'd want to discuss business. It's so much easier to do it face-to-face than it is through e-mail, don't you think?"

  It took him a moment to catch on, but hey, you don't get to be one of the most powerful guys in town by being stupid. Howell waved toward his wife in a way that told her he'd be there in a moment and grabbed my arm. He excused us through the crowd and didn't stop until we were through the doors that led out of the ballroom. We ended up next to a fountain that splashed in the lobby.

  I pointed at him with my fan. "You're msman," I said.

  He was going to deny it. I could practically see the words on his lips. Maybe he decided to come clean because it was the right thing to do. I was more inclined to think it was because he didn't want to pass up the opportunity to make a few bucks.

  And I was pretty sure I knew why.

  Howell eyed me like a felon he was about to sentence to a term of lock-up-and-throw-away-the-key. "And if I am?" he asked.

  "If you are, then you lied to me when I came to your office. Didi did give you a page of the manuscript. You've had it all this time. The reason you're trying to sell it now is because you know that with all the publicity about the premiere, you can get the optimum price."

  "So?"

  "So, I'm thinking you need all the money you can get. After all, Susan Gwitkowski's been blackmailing you for years. What's the matter, has she upped the ante? Is she asking for so much that your wife is going to find out? Is that why you're trying to raise the extra cash?"

  Howell's face went pale. His breath caught. Call me cruel, but I have to admit, I enjoyed watching him squirm. After all, he was the one who deserted both his baby daughter and the woman he said he loved. He was the one who left Didi standing on that bridge in the fog and cold.

  Or had he?

  I stepped back and tipped my head, studying him and wondering if he'd shown up for his rendezvous with Didi after all. Maybe to give her a little push?

  I actually might have mentioned it, just to see if I could get a rise out of him, but at that very moment, Didi materialized right beside me.

  "He's as handsome as ever." Even though she smiled, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "We would have been so happy together. Instead, he had to spend his life with her." She shot a look over her shoulder toward where Mrs. Judge Howell was passing the time by chatting to a matronly woman in a navy blue suit. "He's miserable."

  I looked over Howell's tux, his gold cuff links, his tanned and toned skin. "He doesn't look miserable," I said.

  "What are you talking about?" Howell shook off his daze. "What do you want?" he asked.

  There was no use beating around the bush. "The truth, for one thing," I told him. "The manuscript page, for the other. But let's deal with one issue at a time. Where were you the night Didi was killed?"

  Howell wasn't used to being challenged, and needless to say, he wasn't happy about it. He expected me to wither under the force of his glare. Instead, I brushed off his irritation and got down to business.

  "I know you were supposed to meet her," I told him, and if he wondered why I tipped my head toward where Didi was standing… well… he'd just have to keep wondering. "Don't ask me how I know because it's way too complicated to explain.. Let's just say that I have it on good authority that you and Didi had talked about running away together. To start a new life."

  He shot a look toward the ballroom. "Susan Gwitkowski. It has to be her. As if she isn't doing enough to ruin my life."

  "Susan?" I chased away the accusation with a laugh. "Maybe yes and maybe no. Maybe it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I know for a fact that Didi was on that bridge waiting for you. And you never showed."

  "He couldn't!" Didi responded before Howell could, a thread of desperation in her voice. "He wanted to, Pepper. I told you that. He couldn't because of Tammy. She found out and—"

  "Are you accusing me of something, Miss Martin?" Howell's question cut across Didi's blubbering, and it was just as well. I was tired of listening to her make excuses for this weasel. "Are you saying that you don't think she killed herself?"

  "I'm not saying it. I know it. And you should have known it, too. She was a hell of a better parent than you ever were. She never would have left Judy alone. If you were half the man she thought you were, you would have known that the moment you heard Didi was dead. You would have figured out that it couldn't have been suicide. Unless, of course, you knew that because you were there."

  "He did know. Of course he knew." Tears splashed down Didi's cheeks. Her voice bubbled. "But not for the reasons you say he knew. He loved Judy and he loved me. He knew I'd never leave him. And he'd never leave me. Not unless she made him. Not unless—"

  "You might want to ask Tammy about that night," Howell said, oblivious to the half-hysterical ghost at my side. "She knows I wasn't there."

  "Because she found out about you and Didi. She forced you not to go. What did she do, threaten to hurt herself? Threaten to hurt your children?"

  However I expected the judge to respond, it wasn't with a laugh. "I have to admit, Miss Martin, I'm amazed by your information. Not that I'm saying it's right or wrong. I'm just saying it's interesting. But even if what you've said so far is true—if—you think Tammy would have done harm to herself? Over one silly little affair? You think she would have hurt our children? You've got quite an imagination! Maybe you're the one who should be writing books."

  "That's not why you didn't come?"

  Both Didi and I asked the question at the same time.

  Of course, Howell directed his answer to me. "You're naive as well as foolish. Yes, Tammy knew about my affair with Deborah Bowman. She knew about all my little peccadilloes. What she didn't know about was Judy. That's what Susan's been hanging over my head all these years, damn her. You see, Tammy understood my tendency to love 'em and leave 'em. But a child?" He cleared his throat as if just doing so could make the reality of the situation go away. "She never would have forgiven me for that."

  "Then it wasn't—"

  Again, both Didi and I started into the question. Big difference: She didn't have the nerve to finish it.

  I didn't have nearly as much at stake.

  "Then it wasn't Tammy's idea?" Just speaking the words made my stomach sour. I didn't dare take a look at Didi. I could hear her weeping softly at my side. "You're the one—"

  "You're damned right." The judge's nostrils flared. His face darkened. "Didi Bowman was good for a few laughs. Until she got pregnant. Then she turned clingy and needy. She wasn't worth risking my family for, and she certainly wasn't worth risking my reputation for. I was home that night, Miss Martin. All night. My wife will confirm that and if you don't believe it, we were having dinner with some of the neighbors. They're still alive to verify that if you care to ask. And me?" He stepped away from me. "I had no intention of ever meeting Didi that night. And I certainly didn't mean it when I told her I'd run away with her. If she wasn't so stupid, she would have realized it."

  "But you loved me!"

  Didi's anguished cry echoed through my head.

  "But you loved her!" I said.

  Howell's smile was as penetrating as a sword. "You think so? Then you should know this: I've never regretted my decision not to meet Didi.
Not for one moment. I wasn't responsible for her death, but I never regretted that, either. It certainly made my life easier. Now if you'll excuse me…" He turned away.

  And I saw not only my investigation into Didi's murder, but my chance of proving she was the author of So Far the Dawn, going with him.

  "Wait!" When I clamped a hand on his arm, Howell whirled around. "The manuscript," I said, before he could make good on the threat he'd made that day at his office and call security on me. "It's the page Didi gave you, isn't it? It's the one she wrote her dedication on. I've got the five thousand dollars now. I'll deliver it to your office tomorrow. I'll—"

  He shrugged out from under my hand. "The manuscript page," he said, "is no longer for sale. Not to you. Not to anyone else."

  "But—"

  "As a matter of fact…" Howell's gaze was as cold as a snake's. "When I get home, I'm going to burn it. I hope you're a smart enough young lady to know what that means. Don't ever let me see your face again. There's nothing you can prove. Not about Didi's death and certainly not about any wild claims to her writing that ridiculous book. Good evening."

  And before I could even think of something to say to make him change his mind, Howell was gone.

  When I turned around, I realized Didi was, too.

  So much for my plans to break the case wide open.

  I wasn't sure what I was going to accomplish with my hopes dashed and my mood as black as the night outside, but I headed back into the party, anyway. Maybe Quinn would take pity on me, and we could dance. Or at least talk, if he was through being pigheaded and insisting I let him in on what I was doing and why. Or maybe I would just take a page from Susan Gwitkowski's book. Maybe a couple of glasses of champagne would dull the pain and help me forget that on the private investigator scale of one to ten, I was somewhere in the negative numbers.