“Well, you see, I used to keep it in the bedroom. But it disappeared about a month ago. I know because I opened the drawer to get my watch—I always kept it in the drawer when I wasn’t wearing it—and I noticed that the gun wasn’t there.”
“Why didn’t you report the gun as stolen?” Cartwright was angry now. “Don’t you realize how important it is to report a stolen weapon?”
“Uh... I wasn’t sure it was stolen. I thought I might have misplaced it.” Rebecca was thoroughly embarrassed now. “I meant to look for it, but what with one thing and another, I forgot about it.”
“Any other reason?” Lilliana prodded. She knew one thing the chief might not be aware of. When Rebecca appeared puzzled, Lilliana said, “Weren’t you afraid to report it because then the retirement home would find out you had a gun?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Let me guess,” the chief said. “Residents aren’t allowed to own guns.”
“No, they’re not,” Lilliana said. “I checked on that when I found out one of the residents had night terrors due to PTSD. I wanted to make sure he didn’t own a gun, couldn’t use one when he was out of his head.”
Chief Cartwright heaved a sigh. “Can you think of anyone who might have been in your apartment and had an opportunity to take the gun?”
“It was so long ago,” Rebecca said. “My memory’s not what it used to be. I don’t have that much company, but I do like to invite people in sometimes. To talk to, you know. It gets lonesome, living alone.”
“Think, Rebecca. Try to remember who might have visited around the time the gun disappeared,” Lilliana said.
Rebecca sat quietly for several minutes, brow furrowed. Finally she said, “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to remember back that far. I’m sure there must have been a few others, but I can only recall having that nice Christopher MacAlistair over for coffee and cake one day. I thought we might start dating.” She shot a look of anger mixed with hurt at Lilliana. “Until you stole him from me.”
Lilliana sighed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LILLIANA wanted to be sure she was drinking her first cup of tea on her patio early the next morning. When she’d raised the flag on the mailbox in the fairy garden, it had been with the intention of using it as a test. After yesterday, she had something else in mind.
Despite the sun barely peeking above the horizon, she found Uaine sitting on the little bench in the fairy garden when she opened the patio door. “Good morning,” she said, glancing around to see if any of the residents of the retirement home were out and about. None were.
Uaine leapt up and fluttered over to her. “What can I do for you, Lilliana?”
“You fairies seem to be able to get inside people’s apartments without them knowing you’ve been there.” She thought of how they left Willie the wafers that suppressed his appetite and how they’d returned a button she’d lost.
“We can,” Uaine said with a mischievous smile.
“Do you think you might be able to look for something, even if you’re not exactly sure what it is?”
Uaine scratched her head as she tapped her foot. “How would we know what it was then?”
“Well, it might be a piece of paper,” Lilliana said. She wasn’t sure herself what it could be. Then she had an idea. “One thing would be a piece of paper. Then there might be something else that would explain why the person had the paper.”
“Do you know what the piece of paper is?” Uaine asked.
“A death certificate.” Lilliana almost held her breath as she waited for Uaine’s reaction.
The fairy fluttered up in the air in alarm. “Who died?”
“I don’t think you knew her,” Lilliana said quickly, trying to alleviate the fairy’s fears. “It was Fox Fordyce several days ago.”
Uaine settled in the fairy garden again. “Oh, well that’s different. We knew about her, but never actually met. What would be the other thing?”
“Something that explained why the person had a copy of the death certificate.”
Uaine scratched her head again. “I think you need to talk to Tam Lin. I’m not very smart, but Tam Lin knows all kinds of things. Wait right here.”
Before Lilliana could object, the fairy darted off toward the desert foothills. She fretted that if Tam Lin took too long in getting here, he might be spotted. After all, he was larger than the flower fairies.
She needn’t have worried. Tam Lin sprang up before her moments after Uaine had left. Lilliana blinked. He couldn’t possibly have walked all that way. Or flown. He must have used magic.
“Uaine says you have a task for me.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure how to describe it.”
Tam Lin did a little dance step. “Just do your best.”
“There’s a man who lives here—Christopher MacAlistair—who might have a copy of Fox Fordyce’s death certificate. You know about that?”
“Sure and I do,” Tam Lin said.
“He lives in the end casita.” Lilliana pointed in that direction.
“Ah! The one with the beautiful music,” Tam Lin said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s the one. I’d like to know why he needs a copy of her death certificate. I don’t have any idea myself, but I was thinking there must be something in his apartment that would give me a clue. Only I can’t search it myself.”
“So ye want me to search it for you,” Tam Lin said. His eyes twinkled at the prospect. “Kind of like a private investigator.”
“I was thinking more in terms of the Baker Street Irregulars,” Lilliana said, naming Sherlock Holmes’ crew of urchins, “but that’s the idea. If you find the death certificate, there might be something with it that would explain why Mr. MacAlistair needs a copy.”
“Aye, there might. When do ye need this by?”
Lilliana hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Why, I suppose the sooner, the better.”
“All right, then. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Tam Lin didn’t wait for a response, but winked out of sight so fast Lilliana had no idea how or where he’d gone.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Christopher said a few of days later. “Are you feeling well?”
They were walking down the driveway toward town after breakfast. Lilliana had mentioned she was going to bring more African violets to the Camerons, and Christopher had offered to help her carry them. She’d almost told him she didn’t want him to come, but then thought that might be suspicious. She didn’t quite trust herself to say much for fear of disclosing her doubts to him. “I’m fine. I’m just preoccupied.”
“With African violets? Sounds like a serious hobby. Hobbies are supposed to be fun.”
“Well, with that, but also with Fox Fordyce’s murder.”
Christopher raised his eyebrows. “The murder? Why would you be interested in that?”
They stopped to look for traffic on Main Street which, as usual, was non-existent, before crossing. That gave her a few more seconds to frame her thoughts. “Our Chief of Police isn’t an expert homicide detective. He tends to jump at the first suspect and work to prove he or she is the murderer.”
“And who might that be?” Christopher asked.
Did he look concerned?
“First it was Nancy, you know, because she was standing over the body. I think he still might suspect her.”
“Since you said first, there must be a second,” Christopher said. “And a third?”
“Just a second,” Lilliana said. “Yesterday he was questioning Rebecca Cushing.”
“Rebecca?” Christopher asked incredulously.
Then Lilliana remembered he didn’t know the murder weapon was registered to Rebecca. Or did he? She wondered if he’d react to the knowledge about the gun. He also didn’t know that she knew he’d visited Rebecca alone; at least she hoped no one had mentioned that to him. They’d reached the door of the flower shop. Lilliana paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Rebecca Cus
hing is the registered owner of the murder weapon.”
She waited the length of a heartbeat. Christopher’s lips parted just a bit, as if he were about to say something, but in the end he spoke no words. She opened the door and went in.
Penny Cameron looked up at the tinkle of the bell. “Good morning, Lilliana, Mr. MacAlistair.”
“Good morning, Penny,” Lilliana said.
Christopher lifted the basket up on the counter, and Lilliana took the plants out one at a time as she spoke. She’d brought three, repotted in Pieter’s lovely handmade pots. “Since you mentioned last time that the African violets might sell better if they were in pretty pots, I decided to bring you some.”
Penny clapped her hands. “Och, they are pretty!”
Lilliana was relieved. She’d been afraid Penny would be insulted that she hadn’t bought the pots from her. “Of course, they’ll have to cost a bit more.”
“A lot more, I’d say. Wherever did you get these?” Penny asked.
“It turns out we have an expert potter at the retirement home. He’s started to make pottery as a hobby and was perfectly willing to sell me these for my African violets.”
They proceeded to negotiate a price for the potted plants while Christopher took a walk around the store.
Penny pulled a ledger out from under the counter and opened it to a page that had Lilliana’s name written at the top. “I’ll just add these here,” she said as she wrote a brief description of each plant with its price on lines beneath the first one that listed the original plants. “And I should pay you for the ones I sold.” She opened the cash register drawer.
“Ones?” Lilliana asked. “Oh, that’s right. You sold two.”
“I’ve sold three,” Penny said. “I was going to call you today and remind you to bring me more plants.” She started counting out bills from the drawer into Lilliana’s hand.
“That’s wonderful.” Perhaps her plan of making a little extra money would work out. She started to turn away.
“Wait a minute. You need to sign the receipt for me. I need records for the business, you know.”
Lilliana did that and accepted her copy of the transaction from Penny. Christopher returned to her side. “Ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded.
As they made their way back to the retirement home, Christopher said, “Shall we have another practice session?”
“Practice session?”
“Surely you can’t have forgotten. We still haven’t picked a song for the talent show.”
She had completely forgotten the talent show. She wasn’t sure she could back out now. But until she was sure about Christopher, she didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him. A weight settled in her chest. First she’d been afraid he was in love with Fox and that he was just toying with her. Now she was afraid he was a murderer. It seemed in her case the course of true love never did run smooth. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she mentally annotated.
“Lilliana?”
“Sorry, Chris. I was thinking about all I have to do today. I especially need to do laundry. And I should start some more plants since Penny appears to be selling them for me.”
“After dinner then?”
“I’m rather tired already, and I was looking forward to a quiet evening of reading. Perhaps tomorrow.” Internally she cringed at the half truth.
She was grateful when he didn’t press her further.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DESPITE ten hours of sleep, Lilliana yawned widely as, once again, she made an early arrival on her patio. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. It turned out she wasn’t telling a half truth when she’d begged off seeing Christopher last night because of fatigue. She hadn’t read very long at all before closing her eyes and going to sleep. Carrying around the weight of her heavy heart must be wearing her out.
She’d struggled to get out of bed this morning, but she didn’t want to miss Tam Lin should he return with information for her. She didn’t have to wait long. She’d barely drunk a third of her tea when he popped up on the table beside the fairy garden.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wentworth. I’m back.”
“Please call me Lilliana,” she said, wondering why Tam Lin felt it was necessary to state the obvious. “Do you have something for me?”
“That I do.” Tam Lin waved his hand and a document in a plastic sleeve dropped in her lap.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking it up. It wasn’t necessary for him to answer, since the words Whole Life Insurance Policy were plainly printed on the outside. She withdrew the pages from the plastic and unfolded them to read. Her throat tightened as she saw who the policy was for. She gasped when she saw the amount. Christopher MacAlistair was named as the beneficiary of a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar life insurance policy. The insured was Fox Fordyce.
Lilliana read the page slowly, confirming her first impression of the terms of the policy. She flipped through to the second and third pages, running her finger down the fine print and legalese that described what Christopher was entitled to, under what conditions, and one extremely salient fact. The beneficiary must present a copy of the death certificate for the insured in order to make a claim.
It was clear now why Christopher had asked the funeral director for a copy of the death certificate. Why in the world had Fox Fordyce had such a large policy? Clearly, a quarter million dollars was a strong motive for murder. Perhaps she had been thinking of changing the beneficiary after their falling out, and Christopher was pushed into acting so he could collect. Was Christopher really that type of person?
And if he was, why had she not seen it? Was she as bad as Nancy and Rebecca, bedazzled by his extraordinary good looks and sexy voice? Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt as if a fist was clutching her heart.
“Thank you, Tam Lin.” She didn’t feel thankful. She felt betrayed. And foolish.
Tam Lin bowed. “Let Uaine know if you need anything else.” With that, the fairy disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
Now that she had the information, what was she going to do with it? It wasn’t exactly proof, she told herself. At most it was circumstantial evidence. A motive. He’d had an opportunity to steal Rebecca’s gun. And, she reminded herself, he hadn’t been with her the whole time at the Fourth of July celebration. But there was no smoking gun. No one had seen him shoot Fox Fordyce. His fingerprints weren’t on the murder weapon, she rationalized. Most of all, she didn’t want to believe Christopher MacAlistair was a murderer.
HAVING been up at daybreak to meet with Tam Lin, Lilliana arrived early for breakfast in the dining room. They hadn’t unlocked the doors yet, but even so, a line of those eager to eat extended down the hall. As she had hoped, Willie was near the front of the line, leaning on his walking stick. She caught up to him at the buffet.
“Willie, would you mind if I sat with you this morning?” she asked.
“Why do you think you have to ask?” Willie said. “You’re always welcome at my table. Besides, it’s nice to know you aren’t ignoring me any more.” His white teeth blazed out against his dark skin as he smiled, deflecting the hurt she knew he must be feeling.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she said.
He patted her arm. “Don’t take me so seriously. I think you make a handsome couple, you and MacAlistair.”
Lilliana didn’t dare meet his eyes.
They pushed their trays along the shelf that ran alongside the steam table filled with food, filling their plates with scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Lilliana helped herself to coffee for a change. She felt this conversation demanded something darker than Earl Grey tea.
Willie chose a place near the window, somehow intuiting she wanted a private conversation. He lifted his plate and a large glass of orange juice from his tray and put them on the small table. Lilliana followed suit, then took the empty trays to a carrier nearby. Once seated in her chair, she spread strawberry jam on an English muffin. Willie had alread
y finished half a sausage and a large chunk of his eggs.
“What’s new?” Willie asked.
“You know I’ve been looking into the murder of Fox Fordyce.”
“I thought you were, and Rebecca told me you helped her with young Cartwright the other day.”
Lilliana nodded. “Yes. She’s intimidated so easily, just as Nancy is. I don’t think either woman could have killed Fox.”
“I agree with you there,” Willie said. “Do you want me to have a talk with the chief? Nothing official, mind you. Just to suggest that he might look a little further afield for his killer.”
Lilliana hadn’t thought of that before. “Perhaps.”
She took another sip of her coffee. The acid churned in her stomach. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
“What would that be?” Willie held the last bite of sausage on his fork, waiting for her answer.
“What would you do if you found out a person had a motive to kill someone? A very strong motive? But you didn’t have any real evidence that he was guilty.” The acid rose in her throat, and she reached for her water glass, hoping to put out the fire.
“So there’s no forensic evidence, no fingerprints, no witnesses?” Willie asked.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid all the evidence is only what the chief discovered the first day. Nancy was holding the gun. Only her fingerprints were on it. The gun belongs to Rebecca, but she says it was stolen.”
“It does? It was stolen?” Willie asked. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated this new-to-him piece of evidence.
“Sorry. I forgot you didn’t know that.” Lilliana wondered if she should have disclosed that piece of information. But Willie wasn’t a suspect, and he had been Chief Homicide Detective for the Tucson Police Department for a long time. That’s why she was seeking his advice.
“Tell me about your suspect.” Willie sliced off another piece of sausage.
She drank her coffee. “I’ve found evidence that he’ll benefit from Ms. Fordyce’s death,” she began and then realized she couldn’t tell Willie how she’d obtained the life insurance policy. She decided to leave out the specifics of how Christopher would benefit. “Rebecca told me he’d been in her apartment before she discovered her gun was missing. Since she doesn’t know exactly when the gun disappeared, it’s not certain that he took it. It doesn’t sound like very much when I tell you, but I assure you, it’s been worrying me quite a lot.”
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