by Bobbi Holmes
“Melissa Huxley, the one who was murdered, her husband’s name was Baron Huxley.”
Lily frowned. “Baron Huxley?”
Danielle pulled the chair out from the dressing table and sat down, facing Lily. “Yes. And that’s the name of Steve Klein’s good friend, the one who was visiting Beverly when we stopped over there on Sunday. Plus, Beverly mentioned he was a widower.”
“Are you saying this guy, the one we met on Sunday, it was his wife Hillary’s muse murdered?”
Danielle shrugged. “If his wife was Melissa, then yeah. I tried to find a photo of him online but couldn’t.”
“No photo at all? Seems like everyone has a business website these days.”
“I was only searching the newspaper site, looking for articles about the murder. The articles only had her picture, none of her husband.”
Lily sighed. “I suppose you might be able to find Baron Huxley—the one who was at Beverly’s—but that won’t prove it’s the same man unless the article mentions his late wife. You think it really is the same person? What a bizarre coincidence if it is.”
“It’s just that the name isn’t that common.”
Lily shook her head. “Weird.”
Joe Morelli stood with Brian Henderson at the break room doorway, watching Police Chief MacDonald lead Heather Donovan and Elizabeth Sparks to the interrogation room. Elizabeth, a tall slender woman in her mid-thirties, with long dark hair, carried a sketchpad in one hand and a purse in the other.
“I don’t understand why the chief had Elizabeth come down here,” Joe said after the three walked into the interrogation room, closing the door behind them.
“Elizabeth is the closest thing Frederickport has to a criminal sketch artist,” Brian reminded him.
“I understand that. I just don’t get why he’s going to all this trouble, trying to get a likeness of a man Heather imagined seeing.”
The two officers walked back into the break room, each carrying a cup of coffee.
“You still don’t think she really saw anyone?” Brian sat down.
“She insists the guy was standing in her planter. There wasn’t a footprint or so much as a flattened flower petal. No one had been standing in that planter.”
Brian shrugged. “Maybe she thought he was standing in the planter, but he was standing in the yard.”
“The lawn around the planter is pretty sparse and the dirt was a little muddy. I didn’t see any footprints.”
“I didn’t know the police department had a sketch artist,” Heather said as she sat down across the table from Elizabeth and the chief.
Elizabeth opened her pad of drawing paper. “I’m not exactly a police sketch artist.” She dug into her purse and took out a drawing pencil.
Heather frowned. “Then why am I here?”
“Technically speaking, Elizabeth is not a police sketch artist—but she could be if she wanted to. Fact is, many large police departments don’t even have one. But Elizabeth is one of the most talented artists I know—she also teaches art locally. Trust her.”
The chief stood. “I’m going to leave you two ladies alone, so I don’t get in your way. When you’re done, I’ll be in my office.”
“Okay, Chief,” Elizabeth called out as she focused her attention on her drawing pad.
Heather let out a sigh and leaned forward, taking a closer look at the blank sheet of drawing paper. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with the shape of his face. Was it round, oval—”
“Oval. Definitely oval.”
Danielle was walking up the front entry of the Frederickport Police Station as Heather exited the building. Danielle paused on the sidewalk as her neighbor walked in her direction.
“Hey, Heather, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, Danielle,” Heather greeted her, sounding happier than she had been the last time Danielle had seen her. “The chief asked me to come in and help the artist make a drawing of the man who’d been looking in my window. I think it turned out pretty good. Looks just like the guy.”
“Terrific. Any clue on who he might be?”
“No. But he promised me he’d have the newspaper run the picture, saying he was a person of interest.”
Danielle smiled. “You seem a lot happier than you did the other day.”
“I’m just glad my complaint is being taken seriously. I don’t think Joe Morelli believed someone was looking in my window. I didn’t appreciate his snotty sanctimonious attitude.”
Danielle chuckled. “Tell me about it. I’ve been on the receiving end of his misguided beliefs.”
Heather smiled. “Oh, that’s right. He arrested you for murder, didn’t he?”
“Yep.” Danielle glanced over to the door leading into the police station and back to Heather. “Joe isn’t a bad guy, he’s just not very good at seeing outside the box. And he has actually saved my butt a few times. So don’t go too hard on him; he does mean well.”
“What do they say? The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“If that’s true, then I’d say the road to hell is paved with all intentions—good and bad.”
Heather shrugged. “So why are you here?”
“I have some questions about Hillary,” Danielle lied.
“Oh, right, do you know when her service is?”
“I don’t know, but I imagine it will be in Vancouver.”
“Are you going?”
Danielle shrugged. “I’m not sure. I probably should. I suppose it will depend on when they have it.”
Heather glanced at her watch. “I better get going, I wanted to stop at the store on the way home.”
“Okay, see you later.” Danielle watched as Heather practically skipped to the parking lot.
“I have to say, you made Heather happy,” Danielle told the chief when she walked into his office a few minutes later.
MacDonald looked up from the sheet of paper he was holding. “How’s that?” Sitting behind his desk, he waved to one of the empty chairs for her to sit down.
“I ran into her outside. I haven’t seen her that cheerful since…well, not sure if I ever have. She was thrilled you got a sketch artist. I didn’t know you really had one.”
“We discussed getting one. Don’t you remember?”
“Sure. But I didn’t think the Frederickport Police Department actually had one.”
“We don’t.” He stood up and leaned across the desk, handing Danielle the piece of paper he had been looking at. It was the drawing Elizabeth Sparks had done. “Does it look like him?”
Danielle stood up briefly and accepted the drawing. She sat back down, staring at the face in the picture.
“Wow, this is good. It looks just like him.” She glanced up at MacDonald. “Who drew it?”
“Elizabeth Sparks, she’s a local art teacher. At one time she was going to become a police sketch artist, but decided it wasn’t for her.”
Danielle studied the picture for a few more moments and then let out a sigh before tossing the drawing onto MacDonald’s desk. “I feel bad I didn’t call you sooner.”
“What do you mean?” He frowned.
“Hillary dropped in for a visit yesterday.”
MacDonald leaned back in his chair and studied Danielle. “So her spirit is still here?”
“Well, it was yesterday. When Chris dropped me off after visiting the funeral home, she was waiting for me. She was a little upset her things were missing—and she didn’t quite understand she was dead. But Walt and I walked her through it, and during our conversation, she told me the name of her muse.”
“I thought she didn’t know who he was?”
“She didn’t. But while her spirit was wandering around, she ran into his spirit on the beach. I guess it freaked her out. She still thought she was alive and assumed he was too.”
“I suppose it would be a little frightening to run into a man you had been dreaming about for years—one who you believed was a killer.”
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“He is a killer, if there is any truth to her dreams.”
“But still, no reason for her to be frightened now,” the chief reminded her.
“Yes, but she didn’t know that at the time. Anyway, she asked him his name, and he told her. Antoine Paul.”
“Did you get any hits when you looked him up online?”
Danielle frowned. “How did you know I tried looking him up?”
MacDonald laughed. “I know you. I can’t imagine you not going into Jessica Fletcher mode the moment you have something to look up.”
“Well, unfortunately my amateur detective skills are slipping. I didn’t find anything on Antoine Paul. Oh, I found a few Antoine Pauls online, but none that looked like him.” Danielle pointed briefly to the drawing.
MacDonald picked up the drawing and studied it a moment. “I suppose had I known his name before I called Elizabeth in, we could have skipped this—and not gone through the farce of placing his picture in the newspaper. The guy is obviously dead, so all this is going to do is make locals a little nervous about peeping toms.”
“It did make Heather’s day. That girl needed some cheering up. And really, what harm will it do running that drawing in the local paper?”
Fourteen
“You’re right.” MacDonald tossed the paper aside and turned his attention back to Danielle. “I’ll see if I have better luck than you in tracking down Antoine Paul. We know he’s been dead for eleven years, so I’ll start there.”
“I did try some obit sites. But I came up empty.”
“Don’t worry, Jessica, I’ve got some better sources than Google.”
Danielle wrinkled her nose. “Oh hush! At least I got the name.”
“You mean Hillary told you his name. You cheated.” He chuckled.
“Since you’re obviously unimpressed with my detective skills, I won’t bother telling you about the bizarre coincidence I stumbled on.”
“What bizarre coincidence?”
“I thought you said you weren’t interested?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Danielle flashed him a grin. “Okay, I suppose you didn’t.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows along the edge of his desk. “Hillary’s first book was called Beautiful Rage.”
“And?”
Danielle leaned forward again and rested her elbows back on the desk. “The murder scene in Beautiful Rage was based on the murder of a woman named Melissa Huxley. I’m sure it really was, considering the man Melissa Huxley was seen leaving with before she was murdered was wearing a black suit and red bow tie.”
“Like your muse ghost.”
“Well, in all fairness, I don’t think he was ever really a muse. But I suppose some might argue he was. Anyway, the description of Hillary’s villain from that book, as well as its book cover, featured a handsome man dressed in a black suit and red bow tie.”
“I suppose we need to figure out how Antoine Paul was connected to the victim.”
“The interesting thing, Chief, I think I may have met Melissa Huxley’s husband the other day at Beverly Klein’s house.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Beverly’s friend was named Baron Huxley. According to one of the articles I read, that’s the same name as Melissa Huxley’s husband. Actually, he was more Steve’s friend. He’d stopped by to pay his condolences. I guess he and Steve used to work together.”
“I’ve never heard of the guy. Does he live in Frederickport? Seems like I would have heard of him if his wife had been murdered.”
“He has a vacation home here, but he doesn’t live here full time.”
“That’s interesting.” The chief picked up the drawing again and looked at it.
“You know, I wanted to learn more about Antoine Paul and why he murdered Melissa Huxley, because I’d hoped it would give me something to use to convince him to move on. It makes me nervous, him hanging around, especially if he attaches himself to someone who’s vulnerable and sensitive to spirits like Heather. I don’t think she’s in a very good place. But now I realize, if we could solve this murder, look what it will mean for Melissa’s family. For her husband. Finally, they can have some closure.”
The chief tossed the paper aside. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jessica. One thing at a time. Let’s first see if we can find your dead guy.”
“Would you please stop calling me Jessica! I’m much too young to be Jessica Fletcher,” Danielle said as she snatched her purse up off the floor.
The chief laughed.
Danielle stood up, purse in hand. “By the way, I got a call from someone who’s handling Hillary’s estate. They’re sending someone over in the morning to pick up her car.”
“Good. Glad they’re handling everything. I’m glad her autopsy is finished. Now if they would get Steve’s autopsy back to me.”
“Oh…” Danielle sat back down. “I forgot to tell you something.” She smiled sheepishly.
“What?”
“Umm…Hillary ran into Steve as he was swimming in from the ocean.”
“I’m assuming you’re talking about Steve’s spirit.”
Danielle nodded. “Of course, Hillary thought she was alive at the time—thought Steve was too.”
“He didn’t happen to tell her how he fell off the pier, did he? Was he pushed? Did he get into a fight with someone? Carla maybe?”
“Carla?”
“You suggested it yourself. Steve’s fishing on the pier, not far from the entrance to her place of employment. He comes in, buys coffee from her. Maybe she decided to go talk to him, they argued, and one little push—over the pier he goes. He did hit his head, might have knocked him out.”
“According to Steve, no one pushed him. He went into anaphylactic shock, didn’t have his EpiPen, and fell into the ocean. It doesn’t sound like murder to me. Just a tragic turn of events.”
“Did he say what caused it?”
“I guess he was highly allergic to shellfish. He figures he might have inadvertently touched some raw shellfish left on the pier, transferred it to the food he was eating, and ingested it.”
The chief cringed. “Hard to believe someone with that severe of an allergy wouldn’t make sure he had his EpiPen with him if he was going to be fishing on the pier and putting his hands anywhere near his mouth.”
Danielle stood back up. “According to Hillary, Steve said he normally kept an EpiPen in his tackle box, but it wasn’t there when he went to get it.”
When Danielle got back to Marlow House, she found Beverly Klein standing on the front porch, holding her now empty and clean casserole dish. It was the dish Danielle had used to hold the macaroni and cheese she had taken to Beverly on Sunday.
“You didn’t need to bring it back,” Danielle said, taking the dish from Beverly.
“I think I just needed an excuse to get out. It’s driving me crazy hanging around the house. I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
Danielle unlocked her front door. “Have you had lunch yet?”
“No, but…I really should go. You’re probably busy.”
Danielle opened the door and motioned Beverly inside. “Don’t be silly. I’d love to have some company. We don’t have anyone staying here right now. And if you like chicken salad…”
Beverly stepped into the house as Danielle continued to hold the door open. “If it’s half as good as your macaroni and cheese, I don’t think I can pass it up.”
“Who do we have here?” Walt asked as he appeared in the entry hall. He looked the attractive woman up and down.
Beverly stood in the entry hall and glanced around as Danielle closed the door. “The last time I was here was at your grand opening. We spent most of our time out back, playing croquet. That was a lot of fun.” Beverly closed her eyes for a moment and then let out a sigh. “I can’t believe he’s really gone.”
“Who is this woman?” Walt asked.
Danielle set the dish on the entry hall table and dropped her purse to the fl
oor. She rushed back to Beverly and placed an arm around her shoulder, giving her a reassuring half hug. “Why don’t we go into the living room; I can bring us our lunch there.”
Beverly shook her head wearily. “I’m not really hungry. I should probably go. This was a bad idea.”
“Come, Beverly,” Danielle urged, nudging her toward the living room. “I’ll bring us some tea, and in a while, if you feel like eating, I’ll make some sandwiches. It’s not good to be alone at this time. I know. I went through this when my husband was killed.”
“Is this Steve Klein’s wife?” Walt asked, following them into the living room. “Now that I look at her, she does look familiar. I seem to recall her from the open house.”
Fifteen minutes later Danielle and Walt sat together on the sofa while Beverly took her place in a chair across from them, balancing a saucer with a cup of hot tea on her knee. The moment Beverly had entered the room she had been greeted by Max, who weaved in and out between her ankles, yet took his place on Danielle’s lap after she returned with the tea.
“I think it’s starting to set in,” Beverly said as she took a sip. “That he’s really gone.”
“You still don’t know when Steve’s service will be?”
Beverly shook her head. “They haven’t released his body yet.”
“When will your kids be coming in?”
“Steven is waiting until we schedule the service. Our daughter wants to come now, but frankly, I’m not quite ready to deal with her grief. I imagine that sounds horrible. A mother should be there to comfort her children.”
Danielle smiled softly at Beverly. “Maybe it will be better for her if you get a handle on your own emotions before you have to deal with hers.”
“At least she has a good support system where she is. I like her boyfriend. He seems to adore her. I think that’s important in a relationship.”
“What was her husband thinking?” Walt asked. “Why don’t people realize what they have before they risk losing it all?”
“Family keeps calling, asking when the service will be. To be honest, I don’t even want to answer the phone or deal with it.”
