Murder Among Neighbors (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  When the girls returned, Mrs. Marsh eyed me critically. “You staying for the party?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, think I’ll take me a little fresh air. Just let me know when you’re fixing to leave.” With that, she grabbed several cupcakes and a pack of cigarettes, turned the TV up even louder than it was already and removed herself to the back patio, where she plopped down on the chaise longue just outside the door. Beside her were several big pots of yellow calendula, now limp and faded. Nobody had thought to water them since Pepper’s death.

  The queasiness I’d felt on my way home from Berkeley returned. “Do you remember the man who took care of your garden?” I asked Kimberly, who looked up from the job of placing candles in cupcakes long enough to shrug.

  “Did you ever talk to him?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Nothing.”

  What did I expect, that they had had a detailed discussion about where her mother kept her jewels? “Do you remember anything about him in particular?”

  “He liked roses.” She thought a moment. “And marmalade on his scones.”

  “He told you that?”

  “I saw him. Mommy ate them plain, but he globbed marmalade on them.”

  “Your mother and . . . the gardener sat down for scones together?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I must have looked puzzled because Kimberly drew herself up and, in her most proper, Pepper-like voice, explained, “He was the best gardener we ever had, and a very kind soul too.”

  “I’m sure he was.” I sat down woodenly at the far end of the table, away from the dolls. “Was there anyone else your mother liked to visit with? Besides her friends that is.”

  Kimberly acted as if she hadn’t heard me, but I saw her mouth begin to quiver. Nice going, I told myself. The poor kid manages to forget her troubles for a few minutes, and you have to jump in and ruin it. I felt truly penitent, but that didn’t stop my from trying once more. “Maybe an older, heavyset man with grayish hair?”

  She shook her head, but just barely, and I could see tears threatening. Guilt got the better of me and I gave up.

  When the box of candles was empty, Kimberly nodded to me. “You can light them now.” Then, after a pause, she added, “Please.”

  I found a matchbook and struck the one remaining match, which sputtered and then went out. With a disdainful glance in my direction, Kimberly ran to get a new book. When the candles were finally lit, we sang happy birthday to Crystal Dawn, the redheaded doll with a figure I would kill for.

  Absently, I picked up the matchbook and began to fiddle with it while my mind reviewed the events of the day. Jake and Tony and Pepper. Surely it wasn’t all coincidence? But for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with an explanation that was even remotely plausible.

  That was when the matchbook cover caught my eye— the Royal Arms Motel, in Danville.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked Kimberly.

  “They were in Mommy’s purse. The one you gave me the other day.”

  Once a quaint little town about twenty miles east of Walnut Hills, Danville was now consummate suburbia. Not the sort of place you would vacation and too far away for putting up out-of-town relatives. Besides, Walnut Hills was now home to Park Manor, a brand-new, très chic motel that made me long to be a visiting out-of-town relative myself.

  “Where did your mom get them?” I asked.

  Kimberly gave me one of the blank stares she’d mastered so well.

  Okay, I told myself, enough. As I stuck the matches in my pocket I thought how negligent I’d been to hand the purse to Kimberly without checking it first. In the hands of a less wary child the results might have been tragic.

  When the plate of cupcakes was gone, I thanked Mrs. Marsh, who grunted some response I couldn’t quite make out, and took Anna home. Connie was at my front door wedging a note into the crack by the knob. She’s about my age, a slender woman with a strong, athletic build and dark, deep-set eyes. Her hair is dark too, and short, except for the long blond tail which hangs down her back.

  She looked up as we approached. “Oh good, you’re home. Do you have a minute?”

  I felt a moment of panic. Connie couldn’t quit on me. Not now. One morning a week, wasn’t much, but her four hours of uninterrupted scrubbing and tidying up was the only thing that kept household chaos at bay.

  Without waiting for an invitation, she followed me into the house. “I’d like to talk to you, about Pepper.”

  I heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief and nodded. The dirt and grime wouldn’t get the upper hand after all. “I was just going to fix some pasta for dinner, you want to stay?”

  “Thanks, but I’m meeting a friend.” Trailing me into the kitchen, she pulled up a chair and, with one efficient swipe, swept the bread crumbs off the table and tossed them into the garbage. “I was over at the Livingstons’ today, cleaning.”

  “So you’ve met Mrs. Marsh?”

  She rolled her eyes in exaggerated fashion. “Twice. Where did Mr. Livingston find her anyway?”

  “Some agency. She’s supposed to be one of their best.” Connie reached into her handbag, a scruffy-looking brown sack large enough to hold her entire wardrobe, and pulled out a manila envelope, then handed me a newspaper clipping from inside it. “I was cleaning Mr. Livingston’s study when I found this, tucked into his datebook.” She paused a moment while I examined the piece of paper. “That’s Pepper, isn’t it?”

  In the center of the clipping was a picture of a young blond woman in a short skirt and handcuffs. Above it, the headline—Simms to Testify.

  Before I could answer Connie handed me a typed note, explaining, “This was with it.”

  You’ve come a long way, Rosalie. I bet a lot of people would be interested to know just how far. Back off and we’ll keep it our little secret.

  The woman in the clipping was younger and, surprisingly, less attractive, but it was clearly Pepper. Even in handcuffs, without benefit of makeup, there was a regal haughtiness to her I recognized.

  Connie leaned forward and started to explain. “As far as I can tell from reading the story, Pepper was involved in some burglary ring—”

  I interrupted. “I know.”

  “You knew about this?”

  “Not from Pepper, but from . . . other sources. I just found out a few days ago.” My mind was reeling, trying to absorb what it all meant. It must have come from McGregory, I thought. That sort of thing was just his style, but how had he found out? “Have you told the police yet?”

  She laughed harshly. “Are you kidding? They sent some moron out the other day to question me. He practically started drooling when he learned I have a house key and I know the alarm code. Big fat guy—his shirt didn’t even button all the way across his paunch—with bad breath and greasy hair. But he thought he was one cool dude.”

  “They need to know about this, though,” I told her.

  “Then you tell them. You’re better at that sort of thing than I am. You’re even married to a man, or at least you were at one time.”

  Her logic escaped me, but I let it go. I did, after all, have an inside contact at the police department.

  “I remember when it was delivered,” Connie continued. “At least I think it was the same envelope. A couple of days before she was killed. I brought in the mail, took Mr. Livingston’s stuff to his study, and set the rest on the counter the way I always do. While I was scrubbing out the kitchen sink, Pepper began sorting through the stack, muttering about bills, and then suddenly she was quiet. But it wasn’t simply that she stopped talking. There was a kind of resounding stillness that made me look over at her. She was white as a sheet.”

  Connie stopped and considered for a moment. “I remember thinking ‘that must be one hell of a MasterCard bill.’ Pretty snide of me, wasn’t it?”

  “What happened next?”

  “Pepper left the kitchen, and I went back to my clea
ning. But as I was leaving that afternoon, she asked me to bring her all the mail from now on, Mr. Livingston’s as well as her own.” Connie looked at her watch, then tapped her fingers on the table. “You’ll take care of telling the police?”

  I nodded. “But they’ll probably still want to talk to you since you found the envelope and everything.”

  She groaned. “Tell them I’ll write it all out and save them the trouble.” As we walked to the door Connie stopped to pick up a leaf that had been tracked into the house. “Pepper sure had me fooled,” she said, handing me the leaf. “Turns out she was pretty cool after all.”

  After Connie left, I tried to reach Michael, both at work and at home, but decided against leaving a message. I certainly didn’t want him to think I was the coy, flirtatious type. I tried again several times on Friday, and finally, in the early afternoon, relented and left a message. Never let it be said that I impeded the course of justice.

  Only I wasn’t sure that I was doing anything but muddying the already murky waters. None of it made sense. What possible connection could there be between Tony and Jake? But if Tony wasn’t involved, why had he disappeared after Pepper’s death and then run from me the other afternoon? And where did McGregory fit in? Then finally, of course, there was Robert and the mysterious blue Cherokee. Not to mention what was probably a long list of other possible suspects I wasn’t even aware of.

  My head was swimming and I longed to talk to Daria, who seemed able to make sense out of almost anything. But she was in and out all day, barking orders continuously.

  About two o’clock I remembered Susie Sullivan’s invitation and called, praying somewhat guiltily that I’d reach her machine instead of the woman herself. It hadn’t been so long ago that I’d stood on principle and refused to talk to anything that couldn’t respond in kind, but now I often timed my calls just so I could leave a short message and be done with it. Luck was with me. At the sound of the beep I left a message thanking Susie for her kind invitation and explaining that I was, regrettably, otherwise occupied that evening.

  “What was that all about?” Daria asked as she breezed past, her arms loaded with boxes.

  “Susie Sullivan is giving a small dinner party for Robert. Sort of a genteel hand holding.”

  “And she asked you?”

  “Thanks, you really know how to make a girl feel good.”

  Daria balanced her boxes against one hip and laughed apologetically. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just that I didn’t think you and Susie were chummy.”

  “We’re not.” I explained my theory about the invitation, and Daria laughed again.

  “God, I’m glad I don’t have to hassle the singles’ scene,” she said, stepping into the storeroom.

  About three o’clock I took a break and went across the street for an apple, but ended up buying a candy bar instead. A large Hershey’s with almonds, which I devoured in four bites. When I returned, there was a pink message slip for me on the counter. “Michael Stone returned your call. He’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven.” The handwriting was Paul’s, and with luck Daria had been too preoccupied to notice it sitting there. I grabbed the message slip and tucked it into my pocket. Path of justice be damned; Michael would have to wait until tomorrow to hear about Connie’s discovery.

  That evening I took Anna out for pizza, and as we were rounding the comer onto our street, a blue Jeep Cherokee sped by in the opposite direction. By the time it sank in, the car was long gone, and I hadn’t noticed either the driver or the license number.

  Wearily I parked the car, taking note of Susie’s silver Porsche parked in the Livingstons’ driveway, directly in front of the house. It was still there when I went to bed at ten o’clock that evening.

  Chapter 15

  At ten minutes to eleven the next morning, Michael arrived at my doorstep, right on the heels of Heather, who had agreed to watch Anna for the afternoon so long as I was home by four-thirty. Not the best arrangement, but better than the other alternatives available. Besides, I figured five hours of wanton pleasure were about all anyone could take and still function.

  Michael greeted me with a chaste peck on the cheek. “Guess I’m early,” he said, managing to sound sheepish while not looking it. In fact, he looked something like a young man who had just been handed the keys to the family car. “It’s only my great endowment of willpower that’s kept me away this long.”

  I pecked back, not quite so chastely. “It’s your other endowments I find most interesting,” I whispered, and left him to fend for himself while I finished getting ready.

  I got Anna settled, left a list of instructions and phone numbers for Heather, and then took one last look in the mirror. For a woman who expected to spend most of the afternoon naked, I’d spent an amazing amount of time getting dressed, discarding one selection after another, until half my closet lay spread across the bed.

  Although I could never be accused of being fashionable, I had a fair idea of what was considered proper attire for most occasions. But I’d forgotten completely, if I’d ever known, what one wore for an afternoon of sin. I’d finally decided on a soft jersey dress which invariably brought forth compliments and, perhaps more importantly, was easy to get out of.

  “Ready,” I said finally, rescuing Michael from Anna’s garbled narrative about the recent adventures of her imaginary friends.

  When we were in the car Michael turned and gazed silently in my direction for a moment before grinning. “So, what’ll it be. You want to try the Powerhouse Special again?”

  I choked. “Is that what you call it?”

  His grin widened. “The omelet. My college roommate named it.”

  “Oh.”

  “But we can try the other thing, too.” When I laughed—and also blushed, I’m sure—he reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Did you think about me at all?”

  “Some.”

  “I thought about you,” he said, switching on the ignition. “Lots.”

  We smiled at one another, and then I told him, “I actually tried to reach you all yesterday morning. And the night before.”

  “You did?”

  I nodded. “I have some information about Pepper.”

  His face fell. “So it wasn’t my irresistible charm.”

  “Not entirely, anyway.” I pulled the envelope from my purse and started explaining what Connie had told me. He took his eyes from the road long enough to glance at the newspaper clipping while I read the note aloud. “That sheds a whole new light on this thing, doesn’t it?” I asked when I had finished.

  “It’s interesting.”

  “Interesting? It’s more than that. McGregory threatened Pepper after a city council meeting, joked about her death, and now this. We knew he had a motive and now you’ve got evidence to prove it. Everything fits.”

  “Except that McGregory was at dinner with friends the night Pepper was killed.”

  “How do you know that?” I snapped.

  He raised an eyebrow and regarded me with amusement. “I checked on it, that’s how. I’m a cop, remember? In fact, you were the one who alerted me to McGregory in the first place, after your conversation with some lady friend at the Wine Festival.”

  And here I thought he’d merely been humoring me. “You mean you actually listened to me?”

  “Of course.”

  I savored a moment of private pleasure, then frowned. “I wonder how he found out about Pepper’s past?”

  Michael shrugged. “It wouldn’t be too hard. She wasn’t part of a witness protection program or anything. Whatever story she created for herself, it was strictly informal.”

  We turned off the freeway and drove east along Willow Pass Road. Uneasily, I started to stuff the note and newspaper clipping back into my purse. It had seemed such an important piece of the puzzle, I couldn’t believe Michael was going to dismiss it so readily. “Maybe McGregory didn’t actually kill Pepper himself, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t involved.”

 
“True.”

  “Tony has got to be the connection here,” I persisted. “He knows Jake somehow, he worked for McGregory, and then suddenly McGregory knows all about Pepper’s past.”

  “It does look suspicious. But what would McGregory gain by killing Pepper? As influential and headstrong as she may have been, she was still just the head of a broad-based committee. Getting rid of Pepper wasn’t going to get rid of community opposition. And while McGregory may not qualify for the good citizenship award, he’s smart. I can’t see that he’d risk murder without good cause.”

  “Why would he send her that note then?”

  “We don’t know for sure that he did, although he’s an obvious candidate.” The car in front, a big gray Lincoln, flashed its left-turn signal and then pulled abruptly to the right. Michael jammed on the brakes, cursing under his breath.

  “Where are the cops when you need them?” I sighed. My flippant remark brought only a bleak, fleeting, smirk from Michael, who turned back to the road and drove on in silence, seeming to forget that we were in the middle of a conversation.

  “You were saying . . . about McGregory and the note? Why would he send it? If he did, I mean.”

  “Maybe he was hoping to intimidate her. Having Pepper off his back would certainly make things easier for him, even if it didn’t alter the final outcome.”

  It made sense, although I would have preferred to have Michael praising my investigative efforts instead of logically explaining them away.

  “We’ll follow up on it just the same,” he said, observing me out of the comer of his eye. “In this business you go with your hunches, but you learn never to discount anything, either. Can I keep your folder for a few days?”

  “Sure. Maybe you can trace the typewriter or something.”

  “Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Michael pulled into his own driveway and parked the car. “We talked to Jake last night.”

  “You did?”

  “Says he doesn’t know the kid. Just met him that afternoon at some Preserve the Rain Forest gathering.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that!”