Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2)

by Marilyn Levinson

  “Of course not, but her dealings with the man were illegal, and often one crime leads to another. Len probably wanted a kickback for arranging the loan. What if she didn’t want to give it to him?”

  I pictured petite and elegant Sadie in my mind. Could she stab a man? “It’s possible,” I admitted. “She’s in good physical shape. I think she works out with a personal trainer. What did you find out about the Billingses?”

  Joy rifled through several sheets of pages. “The story of their lives, but nothing that links them to Len Lyons.”

  “Care to share?” I prodded

  “They’ve been law-biding citizens all their lives. No arrests. Pay their taxes on time. Three years ago, they sold a thriving dairy farm and moved to Long Island to live near their granddaughter and her young family.”

  Joy pursed her lips, a sign I was in for bad news. “The Billingses have no money problems, but they’ve had bad luck regarding their personal lives. Only one of their four children, a son Daniel, is alive and well.”

  I sighed. “Poor Marge and Evan. What happened to the others?”

  “Their oldest boy died in a farming accident. A daughter’s dead because of a botched liposuction procedure. Their youngest, a girl named Dahlia, went to Peru four years ago and ended up living with the rebels.”

  “With members of The Shining Path?” I asked incredulously.

  Joy nodded. “Dahlia and one of the leaders fell in love. They had a child—a little girl. In July, the Billingses got word that Dahlia had died.”

  I shuddered. “How awful! What did she die of?”

  “The letter didn’t say. The father’s probably dead, too, because the letter writer said a woman was taking care of the child, but she couldn’t for much longer. Now Marge and Evan are spending every cent they have to bring the child to the United States.”

  I stared at Joy, both impressed and saddened that she had access to this kind of information. “How did you find all this out?”

  Joy laughed and waved a hand. “Don’t ask.”

  “The man Evan met at the bowling alley looked like a thug.” I shuddered. “If that’s who they’re dealing with, the child’s being brought here illegally.”

  “Probably,” Joy agreed. “It doesn’t sound like he’s an official in our state department.”

  “Do you think Len Lyons arranged that connection for them?”

  “I couldn’t find out, and not for want to trying.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to process what Joy had told me about the other members of our mystery book club. Everyone had baggage, be it family tragedies, addictions, or plain bad luck.

  “The most intriguing of all are Felicity and Corinne Roberts.” The Cheshire Cat grin returned. “If that’s their names.”

  I opened my eyes in astonishment. “What are they, impostors?”

  “Could be.”

  Suddenly Corinne’s veiled references, which I never understood, made sense. The many times she told Felicity to stop talking when she’d brought up something regarding their childhood. “You mean like Brat Farrar?”

  Joy shrugged. “I Googled Corinne. Didn’t find out much. Nothing on Facebook. She doesn’t tweet. Just a few articles about her bank VP job, and that she went to college in Indiana. Which proved very interesting.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have a friend who accesses college yearbooks for investigators. She checked out the school’s yearbooks every year Corinne supposedly went there. Guess what? No photo. No mention of a Corinne Roberts.”

  A chill snaked down my back. Still, I wouldn’t think the worst. “That doesn’t mean anything. Corinne strikes me as the type of person that hates being photographed.”

  “Yeah. Add that to their general weirdness.”

  “Maybe they’re hiding from their father. He sounds like an awful person.”

  “He does,” Joy agreed, all humor gone from her voice. “I’ll get to the bottom of their story sooner than later. And I haven’t had time to check out Gayle’s story,” she said in the same somber tone. “I’ll work on that next.”

  “Don’t bother. Gayle’s done plenty of dumb things in her life, but she’s no liar.”

  “Everyone lies, about one thing or another. Speaking of which, I’m getting nowhere tracking down Mike’s bimbo.”

  I swallowed. “Did you ever stop to think there is no bimbo?”

  “Last night he was on the phone again, talking in that excited, secretive way.”

  “Joy—”

  “Let me finish,” she snapped.

  I was about to snap back, then I saw the pain in her eyes.

  “He mentioned The Lion’s Head Inn.”

  He was on the phone talking about Joy’s surprise party. Obviously, the idiot still hadn’t made things right!

  Joy sniffed. Was that a tear I saw in her eye? “I’m dying to eat there, but Mike always insists it’s too expensive. And now he’s taking a bimbo to stay in one of the rooms! I’ll kill him!”

  I was saved from answering, because Zack and Ruthie burst into the house with the pent up energy of two kids who’d been in school all day. As though on schedule, little Brandon let out a bellow to let the world know he’d awakened from his nap.

  I was glad to leave the Soccer Mom to her charges. I walked home, worrying about Gayle. Then I mulled over the dirt Joy had unearthed about the members of our book club. What a sad bunch they turned out to be! We had a gambler, a compulsive spender, a couple who’d lost children and were paying some goon to smuggle their grandchild out of Peru, and two sisters with mysterious pasts.

  All I had to do was find out which one killed Len Lyons and clear my sister of his murder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A white pickup truck in sad need of a scrub down sprawled across my driveway. Its arrogant angle prevented any car parked inside the garage from driving off. My heart leaped to my throat when I caught sight of the orange and white Utah plates. I was about to floor the gas pedal and drive away when a bearded bear of a man stepped down from the truck and walked towards me. He wore jeans, boots, a fringed leather jacket, and a cowboy hat, and appeared to be in his early thirties. A toothpick jutted from his mouth.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. You Alexis Driscoll?”

  I nodded. “And you are?”

  “Pete Rogers. I’ve been deputized by the Stone Ridge Police Department to bring Gayle Gruen back to Utah for questioning regarding a homicide.”

  I stared at him, too upset to speak.

  The toothpick jumped to the other side of his mouth. “Gayle’s your sister, isn’t she?”

  “She’s not here,” I told him.

  “You sure?”

  His insinuation that I was lying did the trick. My fear turned to anger.

  “Of course I’m sure! Do you see her SUV anywhere?”

  He jutted his chin toward the garage. “It could be parked in there.”

  I glared at him as I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m calling a good friend in the Nassau County Police Department to tell him you’re harassing me.”

  Pete Rogers stuck out his meaty palms in a conciliatory manner. “Hey, hey! No need to get testy, Ms. Driscoll. All I want is for you to tell me where Gayle is.”

  “She went to visit friends and didn’t leave their name.”

  His lips split into a broad grin. “Now that’s what I call downright unfriendly. Not something you’d expect of a sister.”

  “We argued. She left in a hurry.”

  He nodded as though I’d made an insightful observation. “Gayle has a habit of running off. It leaves people kind of miffed.”

  Miffed! Stressed as I was, I nearly laughed aloud at his choice of words. I watched him reach inside his shirt pocket and pull out a card.

  “This card has all my phone numbers. What I’d like you to do is call me when you hear from Gayle. Or if she should happen to come back here.”

  He cast me a sly glance, as though he were revealing a secret. “Someone stabbed her boyfriend t
o death. The Stone Ridge Police want to talk to her.”

  Stabbed! “Why? Gayle didn’t do it.”

  Pete Rogers shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. But me and my partner drove all the way from Utah to bring her back for questioning. We’re not leaving till we find her.”

  I glanced at the skinny guy sitting in the passenger seat, whom I hadn’t noticed till now.

  When I turned back to Pete Rogers, he’d stepped closer so that my face practically touched his jacket. I almost retched from the smell of leather, sweat, and something foul I couldn’t name. I resisted the impulse to step back, and was forced to feel his breath as he spoke down to me.

  “When you hear from your sister, have her call me, no matter the time. If you hide Gayle or advise her to run, you can be arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

  I fisted my hands to stop their trembling and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Gayle’s no fugitive!”

  His guffaw suddenly frightened me more than his macho posturing had done. “Actually, she is. One of the conditions of her suspended sentence was not leaving town without notifying the authorities.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He studied my face. “Ms. Driscoll, I believe you’re telling me the honest truth.”

  He jerked open the pickup’s door, and swung himself into the driver’s seat. “Have yourself a nice evening, and tell Gayle to call me.”

  Shaken, I put my car in reverse and backed up so he could drive off. Then I reached for my cell phone and called Brian.

  Half an hour later, we were ensconced in the corner booth of a darkened bar while a piano played Cole Porter tunes in the background. I’d downed one apple martini and was working on my second as I told Brian my sister’s story, from her boyfriend’s murder to Pete Rogers’ visit. Brian listened without interrupting.

  “He tried to convince me she’d killed Chet. I’m sure that’s what Shawn Estes told him happened.”

  Brian frowned. “That guy had no business approaching you. He should have talked to us.”

  “But why did he call Gayle a fugitive?”

  Brian sighed deeply. He put his arm around me and drew me close. “Because legally that’s what she is.”

  I pulled away to stare at him. “What are you talking about? That deputy never said she’d been charged with homicide.”

  “Six months ago, Gayle and her boyfriend, Chester Fenton, were apprehended for growing marijuana.”

  Stunned, I sank back against the cushioned banquette. “How do you know?”

  “I called the Stone Ridge Police Department and spoke to a police sergeant. She and Chet were both on probation. Gayle wasn’t supposed to leave town without first contacting the authorities.”

  “So it’s true.” After a minute, I asked. “What about Shawn Estes? Was he growing marijuana too?”

  “That’s the odd piece here. Shawn Estes was the arresting officer.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “How weird. Gayle said Chet and Shawn were friends. They’d been working a card game scam together.” I turned to Brian. “Maybe Shawn was involved in the marijuana business too.”

  “If he ran a scam, he’s dirty. It’s possible they were growing weed together. He must have had something over Chet and Gayle that stopped them from telling the authorities he was involved.”

  “But why would he turn on Chet?” I asked.

  “You said Chet wanted to stop the card game scam. Maybe he wanted to stop growing weed, too. There’s no point in speculating about what happened until we find out more.”

  “Gayle was involved with a bunch of crooks,” I said. “No wonder she ran.” My sister was in more trouble than I’d imagined.

  “What bothers me is that Chester Fenton was stabbed to death with a knife. The wound was very much like the one that killed Len Lyons.”

  I scowled at him. “You sure found out a lot about Gayle.”

  “I had to, Lexie. It’s my job.”

  My head was spinning. I‘d only told Brian about Gayle so he’d protect her. Now he’d probably put out a BOLO for her and she’d end up in jail. What had I done?

  “Are you saying my sister killed her boyfriend then drove all the way to Long Island and knifed Len Lyons?”

  “You said yourself that Gayle thought Estes sent Lyons to take care of her.”

  “But Gayle would never kill anyone! Besides, she had no blood on her when I saw her that morning.”

  “She could have changed her clothes before she woke you up.” Brian’s voice turned gentle. “I’m going to have the techs examine her room—in fact, the entire house. I should have ordered it last week.”

  I downed what was left of my drink and stood up. “Thanks, Brian. I ask you to help my sister and instead you treat her as a suspect!”

  Brian signaled to the waiter to bring the check, then whipped out his phone. “I’ll have the crime lab send over a few investigators now, so you won’t have to sleep someplace else tonight.”

  “How kind of you,” I said.

  “Lexie, I—” Brian put his hand on mine, but I brushed it aside. He let out a deep sigh. “My mistake. I should have handed over the case when I saw the address.”

  *****

  I made it easy for the crime scene people. I put Puss in his carrier for an overnight at the vet’s, then drove to Old Cadfield to spend the night at Rosie and Hal’s. They were both as sympathetic as I could hope, plying me with tea and kind words as I told them my sad story. I fell asleep in their guest room, mulling over Gayle’s failure to come clean about her illegal activities when she’d told me about Chet’s murder. I tried not to view this as a betrayal, but her omission ached like an unhealed wound.

  She probably was afraid I’d be less than sympathetic after learning she’d been arrested for growing weed. And she was right. How could she have been so stupid? What was she doing, getting involved with people like Chet and Shawn, letting their disregard for laws and ethics rule her life? Had she been so desperate for money, she no longer cared how she made it? I’d done many crazy things in my time, but I’d never gone around committing felonies.

  Which made me realize once again that I hardly knew my sister. I loved Gayle and still felt the need to protect her, but I knew next to nothing about her everyday life in Utah, her friends, or her values. Except for the fact that she hadn’t killed Len Lyons.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Detective Paulson leaned back in his swivel chair and grimaced. He was a large man in his mid-fifties and radiated immense presence.

  “We found a knife in the room your sister slept in when she stayed with you.”

  The small office tilted, first in one direction then in the other. Strong hands gripped my shoulders. I opened my eyes, surprised that a man of his size and girth could move so quickly. Surprised, too, by the sympathy in his eyes.

  “Miss Driscoll, are you all right?”

  Of course not. “I—could I have some water?”

  He opened the door and barked out my request. A bottle of water arrived a minute later. I gulped it down like a dehydrated traveler after three days in the desert.

  “Where’s Detective Donovan?” I asked. “Why isn’t he telling me this?”

  My moment of sympathy was over. “Lieutenant Donovan’s no longer on the case. I’m in charge of the investigation.”

  Tears welled up, and I blinked them back furiously. Gayle was in the worst possible trouble, and Brian hadn’t had the courtesy to tell me himself!

  “Where was the knife?”

  “Behind the bookcase.”

  I forced myself to think logically. Rationally. “Maybe a former tenant left it.”

  “I understand the house was painted before you moved in.”

  I staggered to my feet. “I want to see the knife.”

  “You can’t. The crime lab is testing it to see if it’s the weapon that was used to stab Leo Lionni.”

  I glared at the detective. “You can’t think for a moment my sister
killed that man, left the knife to incriminate herself, and took off! No one’s that stupid or self-destructive. Someone planted it there!”

  Detective Paulson nodded. “That may be true, and I’m not saying your sister killed Len Lyons, but you have to face facts. We found the knife in the room Gayle slept in. We need to talk to her, Lexie. And the fact that she ran off the same morning he was murdered doesn’t speak in her favor.”

  I gnawed at my lips. “I explained to Bri—Detective Donovan why she took off.”

  “You also told him your sister thought Lyons had been sent by Shawn Estes to murder her.”

  I suddenly remembered. “I hosted a book club meeting Saturday morning. Any of the members could have hidden the knife in that room on their way to the kitchen or the bathroom! No one would have noticed. I certainly didn’t.”

  Detective Paulson handed me a pad. “Please make a list of everyone who attended that meeting. We’ll talk to them. Someone may have seen something that morning.”

  I did as he asked and noticed, with a pang, that he’d set up a recorder while I’d been writing.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to tape our conversation as I take you through the morning you discovered Leo Lionni‘s body in your backyard.”

  He questioned me most thoroughly, then segued into my relationship with Gayle and the reason she gave me for leaving Utah. After he had me repeat my conversation with Pete Rogers practically verbatim, he shut off the recorder.

  “I think that’s it for now.”

  I sat back, thoroughly drained. We’d been going at it for almost two hours. I left after promising to call him if I remembered anything I’d failed to include or if Gayle contacted me.

  “If your sister hasn’t contacted you in twenty-four hours, we’ll put out a BOLO and she’ll be brought in in handcuffs.” The detective looked troubled when he added, “For everyone’s sake, convince her to come to the precinct. If you help her do otherwise, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice.”

  I sat in my car, too distraught to drive. Gayle had gotten herself into one hell of a mess. Now the police in two states were after her, and I hadn’t the slightest idea where she was!