The Advice Column Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  Rachel’s body stilled. “Who told you that?”

  “It was the prevailing rumor at the time,” Charley evaded. “That she had a secret boyfriend who got her in trouble.”

  “Well, there’s no chance,” Rachel said in a firm voice. “None. She was too quiet and shy. Plus, Judith would’ve ferreted out anything of the kind and ended it immediately. I would’ve known if she were in that kind of trouble. Our two families spent a lot of time together back then.”

  “But she did run away, and you said she’d been rebelling lately. Couldn’t her acting out have included experimenting with sex?” Charley pressed. “It has been known to happen.”

  “She ran off six months after Judith married Paxton.” Rachel scowled. “Sarah hated Paxton. The man was a real dictator, bossy and critical, and he hasn’t changed. Add a new stepfather like him on top of Judith’s iron rule, and it’s no wonder the poor girl got out of there.”

  “Six months?” Charley hadn’t comprehended the relationship between those two events until now. Like the appearance of the “Ask Jackie” letter just hours before Sarah’s death, the timing was highly suggestive.

  Could the solution to the mystery be that simple? Paxton Sharpe’s temper was an established fact. Had old enmities between stepfather and stepdaughter been so severe that, once they were again under the same roof, a powder keg of hostilities exploded and ended in murder? Had that letter somehow been the match that ignited the powder keg?

  Although Rachel had fleshed out the details of Sarah’s original disappearance, everything seemed filtered through her dislike of Paxton. In addition, the estrangement between the two families meant she knew nothing of the reasons behind Sarah’s recent visit. From an investigative standpoint, Charley thought, this venture had pretty much been a waste of time. Still, Rachel might be able to shed some light on the secondary mystery.

  As she watched Rachel shred a paper napkin, she considered how best to broach the subject of the twins without tipping her hand. After a moment she said, “It’s a shame you and Judith aren’t close anymore, especially right now. I’ll bet Hank and Pippo would love this place.”

  “They should be here, playing and learning at my school. And I’d love to have them. Judith and I could work together. What fun that would be.” Rachel’s voice was heavy with sadness. “The trouble started about the time the boys were born. We didn’t have a fight or anything. Judith just cut off all contact. Paxton was overseas, and I was eager to help her with the babies, but she never called. Can you believe I’ve only seen them twice?”

  Charley could believe it quite well. It seemed clear Judith had kept Rachel in the dark about Pippo, and she felt another rush of disappointment. Waste of time.

  They’d been talking for over ten minutes; if she wanted to know anything else, she’d better ask now.

  “Have you ever met Paxton’s son Brandon?”

  “Once.” Rachel’s expression darkened. “That was enough. He’s just as unpleasant as his father. I made a gorgeous Thanksgiving turkey dinner, and he hardly spoke two words the entire meal. Then he just slunk off to sit in the car. Judith told me he’s been kicked out of two schools for fighting.” Charley pricked up her ears. Fighting? Now, this is interesting. Rachel added, “When his ex-wife got fed up, Paxton Almighty had to pull a bunch of strings to get Brandon into a third-rate military academy.”

  Charley had let several such comments slip by, but now she asked, “You and Paxton don’t get along, do you?”

  “No one ‘gets along’ with the great Dr. Sharpe, unless he’s calling the shots. Even my husband disliked him, and Mike loved everyone. He told me once he thought Paxton was a pressure cooker, and he didn’t want me around when the lid blew. As I said, I always suspected Paxton’s temper was the reason Sarah ran off.” Rachel’s tone became bitter. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s responsible for turning Judith against me, too. It’s typical of domestic abusers, to isolate their partner from family and friends.”

  Charley leaned forward, her detective radar on full alert. “Domestic abusers? Rachel, are you saying Paxton is abusive? Have you ever seen him do anything violent to Judith? Or to Sarah?”

  “I’ve never witnessed anything,” Rachel said grimly, “but you don’t work in education without learning the signs. In my opinion, if the police want to find Sarah’s killer, they don’t have to look too far from home.”

  Just then a wail of protest arose from the main room. Rachel was on her feet in an instant. Charley followed her out of the kitchen and saw Cecilia on her knees, her arms around a sobbing Elena. The girl with blond pigtails stood with her body pressed against Jenny’s legs, crying just as hard and pointing.

  “Ownership dispute,” Frankie explained. She indicated the object her niece was clutching for dear life. It was a stuffed animal, the size and shape of which struck Charley as familiar. This plush creation was a green and orange hippo, but she recognized the bright colors and floppy body. The hippo toy was similar to Pippo’s blue and yellow dragon. When Cecilia tried to pry it gently from her daughter’s grasp, Elena resisted. In the tug-of-war, she pulled open a hidden pouch and a dozen bright green marbles fell out and rolled across the carpet.

  “Oops! Choking hazard,” Cecilia said severely. She and Jenny quickly began collecting the marbles.

  “They certainly are.” Rachel frowned. “Melissa brought that from home. I didn’t know there was anything inside.”

  Suddenly Cecilia shouted, “Oliver!” She was still kneeling on the floor, staring at the marbles in her hand.

  “What?” Everyone gaped at her.

  Cecilia’s face broke into an enormous smile. “I’ve been racking my brain, and these green marbles finally did the trick. When you’re pregnant, everything looks like food. Anyway, he was the boy I told you about, Sarah’s boyfriend? His name was Oliver. Oliver…something,” she finished helplessly. “I never knew his last name. He didn’t go to our school, and she only mentioned him that one time.”

  Rachel’s frown deepened. “I don’t recall any boy named Oliver. And if Sarah had had a boyfriend, her mother or I would have known about it.”

  Not necessarily, Charley thought. A conservative religious upbringing, an overly involved mother, and a critical, controlling stepfather? Hardly an environment to invite confidences, particularly from a seventeen-year-old desperate to spread her wings. Teenagers, she reflected, need a few secrets of their own.

  Chapter 9

  Cecilia dropped them off at Charley’s, where they collected Frankie’s car and then made a beeline for Ground Zero, a funky coffee bar in the Shops of Oakwood. The two women had conducted many a post-caper debriefing here over the years of their friendship, huddled over mugs of coffee at their favorite window table. The earliest sessions had mostly concerned boys, school, and clothes. When, Charley wondered as she stared into her latte, had her primary interest become murder?

  “Thank heaven they added real food to the menu.” Frankie dug into a bowl of spinach, dried fruits, and warm goat cheese. “I am literally starving. Being pregnant is like having a tapeworm.”

  Charley grinned. “I cannot wait until you start showing.”

  “I would dump this in your lap, but I’m too hungry.” Frankie chased a bite of salad with a swallow of decaffeinated raspberry tea. “You start. What were you two talking about all that time? You were gone for ages.”

  Charley related her conversation with Rachel Howard. “The estrangement between the cousins began with the birth of the twins. Rachel doesn’t have a clue about Pippo. She’s genuinely bewildered about why Judith cut her off.”

  “It was worth a shot. We’ll just have to resolve that issue face-to-face with Judith. Or you will. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.” Frankie pushed away her empty bowl. “I talked to Jenny. According to her, Rachel has been crabby and distracted lately, spending time in her office a
nd leaving Jenny to do most of the work. Not that she seems to mind. For a Chinese national relying on a student visa to stay in the States, she’s pretty cavalier about her degree; she seems almost obsessed with the Howards and their school. Kept saying ‘my children’ and ‘my school.’ That girl smiles a lot, but it doesn’t feel like it goes beyond the surface, know what I mean?”

  She applied her fork to a square of lemon cake. “Rachel’s son Danny has been helping her with her spoken English. According to Jenny, he more or less begged her to stay after her required semester. I got the impression that Jenny thinks he has the hots for her, and that she doesn’t mind in the slightest, which just seems wrong. She’s got to be at least twenty. He’s only sixteen, and we all know that’s when hormone mayhem kicks into high gear.” Frankie polished off the cake with a sigh of contentment. “What about Sarah? Any insights that might lead to her killer?”

  Charley picked at a cinnamon muffin. “Rachel thinks Paxton did it. The thing is, she hates Paxton. Maybe she just wants it to be him.”

  “I kind of want it to be him,” Frankie confessed. “Maybe Sarah did leave because her folks were too strict.” She paused. “But I can think of other reasons why a young girl runs away from a new stepdad.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Charley stirred her coffee as she turned over the possibilities. “Say Paxton is abusing Sarah sexually, or even just showing indications that he wants to. She’s already unhappy, and this new threat is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. She runs away, but she doesn’t tell her mother why, probably fearing she won’t be believed without proof. According to Rachel, things between mother and daughter were strained in the weeks leading up to her departure.”

  Frankie nodded. “It would explain why she didn’t visit her mother until Paxton was overseas. She didn’t want to face him.”

  “What’s been bugging me from the beginning is motive. Based on his behavior this morning, we’ve assumed Paxton is still ignorant about Pippo,” Charley said. “But what if he’s not anymore? Maybe he’s as good a liar as his wife. Either Sarah or the letter tips him to the truth, and he is royally pissed.”

  Frankie pointed with her fork. “He would definitely be angry. But wouldn’t his anger be directed at Judith? She’s the one responsible for the deception.”

  “Not if Sarah taunts him with it,” Charley countered. “She pushes his buttons, blames him or makes him feel like an idiot for not knowing, and he snaps.” She frowned. “But if so, we’re talking about murder in a fit of temper, an unpremeditated crime of passion. That’s something I could believe of Paxton, but it’s not consistent with the crime scene. There were no signs of a struggle and no defensive wounds. Paxton seems more like the type to throw and smash things, maybe grab or hit Sarah, stab her more than once. At a minimum, he’d have raised his voice—the man loves to yell. But Judith and Brandon swear they heard nothing. Neither did I, and my window was wide open.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Frankie twisted her straw into a knot. “Sure, he’s upset when he learns the truth, maybe even humiliated. But angry enough to kill the messenger?” She threw the mangled straw onto the table. “I don’t care how much he dislikes Sarah, or how shocked he is about Pippo, that’s still a stretch.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t really seem—” Charley stopped abruptly as realization dawned. “You know what’s not a stretch? Dr. Paxton Sharpe is a proud man, a ranking air force officer with an important job at a military hospital. And, if we’re right, he’s also a man with a dirty little secret.”

  Frankie drew in a breath. “Of course. Even the accusation of sexual abuse can ruin careers. No way would the air force ignore something like this. Sarah was a minor when she ran away, which makes Paxton a felon and a pedophile, at least in the eyes of the law.” Her eyes widened. “That would explain that stuff in the letter about a child at risk and a sin compounding over the years. She’s talking about both Pippo and herself.”

  Charley considered this new theory from all angles. “The children are almost five years old,” she began. “Let’s say Sarah has known about Pippo since her visit two years ago, and let’s say we were right earlier, that she and Judith fought over it and Judith refused to end the charade.” She laid out her theory step by step, feeling her way, matching supposition with the new information gleaned from Rachel. “Paxton’s back home, and little Pippo is growing up fast. Sarah left it all behind, but now that there’s another little girl at risk, she’s worried. The worry grows until she can’t stand it. She finally plans a trip home, but she has no allies here, not even her own mother. So she reaches out to ‘Ask Jackie.’ ”

  Charley fell silent, her guilt over Sarah’s death returning in full force. The murdered woman had tried reaching out to someone else, but that person hadn’t lifted a finger.

  Frankie took up the tale. “Paxton sees the letter, recognizes the odd language because Judith still uses it. He figures Sarah is the author, and that she intends to out him as an abuser. Or maybe she tells him so to his face. Does she tell him about Pippo at this point, do we think?”

  Charley pushed aside her guilt yet again. “Impossible to say,” she decided. “He genuinely seemed not to know about it this morning. Either way, he asks Sarah to meet with him that night, after everyone is asleep, so he can plead his case before she ruins his life. Then he goes down to the basement, where she’s waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. Before she can react, he stabs her, then opens the side door on his way back up to bed. Not a crime of passion at all.” Her fists clenched in anger at this realization. “A cold-blooded, premeditated murder to protect that dirty little secret. Jackie’s final comment about calling the police probably pushed him right over the edge.”

  “If we’re right, that is.” Frankie sat back. “Once again, we are riding fast and loose on the What-If Express. Is there any way to prove any of it?”

  “Confirming that Sarah is ‘A Tortured Soul’ would be a good start.”

  And the best way to confirm that? In the absence of Sarah herself, there was only one other person who might be able to help. Charley had had her suspicions about Jackie’s identity since the first column appeared. Certain turns of phrase were all too familiar. Written language could be edited, of course, but when someone’s guard was down, if they were stressed or in a hurry, most people reverted to habitual word patterns and phrases. She’d let it go until now, figuring there was no harm in letting Jackie have her fun. However, with all that had happened, perhaps it was time to confirm those suspicions. If she was right, she’d solve two mysteries at the same time.

  In the meantime, she decided to hold off on pointing the finger until she could confront the mysterious columnist face-to-face. After all, Jackie’s identity wasn’t really her secret to tell. Unless unmasking Jackie helped to catch a killer.

  “Option Two,” Charley continued, “is to ask Judith, assuming she knew about whatever went on between Paxton and Sarah all those years ago, and further assuming we can get her to admit it.”

  “You and Judith are going to have a lot to talk about.” Frankie’s brows rose. “I wonder if she knows who Oliver is.”

  A familiar female voice asked, “Oliver who?” Charley glanced up, surprised to find Sharon Krugh standing over her, a take-out cup in her hand. “Mind if I join you? I’m Sharon, and I’ll bet you’re Frankie Bright.” Without waiting for an invitation, the assistant coroner pulled up a chair and dropped into it with a mighty sigh. She dumped a battered messenger bag on the floor. “I got this coffee to go, but I don’t think I’ve got the strength to drive until after I drink it.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Frankie tilted her head. “You’ve got dirt on your neck.”

  “Do I? Shit. I used about fifty baby wipes.” Sharon took a long pull from her coffee. “Don’t believe what you see on TV, girls. Fieldwork can get downright nasty.”

  “What happened?�
� Charley asked curiously. She took in Sharon’s wrinkled blouse and slacks, the lack of makeup, the normally sleek blond hair stiff with dried sweat and finger-combed into a messy tail. “Are you allowed to tell?”

  Sharon made a face. “Every station in town was out there filming for the six o’clock news, so it’s hardly a secret. Remember that old woman who went missing from her home in Kettering last week? She had dementia, and her son told police she’d been wandering off lately. Neighbors organized search parties, posters went up, but no sign. Well, they found her today. Or rather, a neighbor’s dog did. She was in the crawl space under the house. The poor old thing certainly didn’t get under there on her own, which makes it suspicious circumstances. The detective in charge insisted the corpse be examined ‘in situ.’ No way is the great Dr. Titus Finch—he’s my boss—crawling anywhere, so I was elected. I wore coveralls, but I had to commando-crawl about fifteen feet through absolute filth, plus the dog had been at her, which didn’t help. You cannot imagine how—”

  “Oh, my God.” Frankie turned green.

  “Sorry, honey.” Sharon grimaced, clearly abashed. “This is why I have no social life.”

  “It’s okay, I’m…fine.” Frankie gulped down some iced tea and color returned to her cheeks. “We did ask.”

  Sharon patted her hand. “Well, I should know better. I sincerely apologize. Although you two seem to encounter suspicious death more than most folks.” Intelligent brown eyes studied Charley. “Especially you. Is that what you were talking about when I arrived? Sarah Weller?”

  Charley met her gaze steadily. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “So you are investigating?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Frankie put in, “But she totally is. Marc’s been sidelined, and we need somebody with a brain on this case.”

  Charley shot Frankie an exasperated look. “Let’s just say the investigating sergeant didn’t inspire confidence. I’m keeping my eyes open, that’s all.”