by Millie Mack
Charles returned to the kitchen window and watched Sara navigate the driveway. He felt elated and depressed at the same time. At last they knew what Todd had been doing with the Investment Club; however, had the Investment Club dealings been enough to cause his murder? Or was it still more likely that Todd had been the victim of a jealous husband or boyfriend? Sara definitely provided some light in the tunnel, but so far it was a very small candle.
Who was the woman accomplice? If she was sharing in the profits, would she murder her meal ticket? Then there was Sara driving off in a new car that belonged to her mother. How many women involved in the case were driving cars with temporary tags? Charles hadn’t reached any conclusions when he heard a noise behind him.
ind someone new to play with?”
Charles turned to find Carrie looking over his shoulder at Sara’s disappearing car. “No, I only want to play with you, but I’ve been working very hard while you were asleep. Do you see the tags on that car pulling out of the driveway?”
“It’s hard to miss those temporary tags. Who’s driving?”
“Sara Chaney.”
“So, Sara bought a new car?”
“Actually, it’s her mother’s. Sara borrowed it while hers is being repaired.” Sara’s car disappeared around the last bend, and Charles turned to Carrie. “Did I hear the phone earlier?”
“It was Christopher. He concluded that our roaring fire in the library was built to keep the body warm to alter the time of the murder. So it supports our theory that Todd may have been killed earlier than midnight. But I want to hear what you’ve been doing.”
“I’ve been fixing lemon chicken.”
“Mmm, sounds delicious. But I really want to know what Sara said.”
Charles took the next half hour to summarize what Sara had revealed and then looked more closely at the folder of transactions Sara had brought with her.
“Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to verify our mystery woman or anyone else helping Todd with the investments,” Charles said.
“Don’t worry, darling. It’s only a matter of time before we find out who she is.”
What happens if she doesn’t come to light before the trial? Charles thought.
“What are you thinking, darling?”
“What?” Charles snapped back from his thoughts. “Oh, I was trying to put all the pieces together. We need to know who that woman was in Todd’s condo and in our kitchen.”
“Well, we won’t find out by continuing to discuss it. Will dinner wait a little longer?”
“Yes, of course. I only had time to get the ingredients together for the sauce and prepare the chicken before Sara arrived. Not feeling hungry?”
“You’re an absolute dear for making my favorite meal, but right now Mama needs a new pair of shoes.”
“Now, Carrie. What about keeping that low profile we talked about?”
“What? And let you have all the fun of interviewing the suspects? Besides, you can’t very easily go into a women’s shoe store. They have nothing that will fit those big feet of yours.”
“You never complain about my big feet when they’re keeping those little feet of yours warm in bed. Besides, there’s probably a policeman watching the driveway to report your movements.”
“Then I won’t go out. It will appear that only you’re leaving. I’ll hide in the back seat under a blanket.”
“Carrie, you’ve been watching too many movies.”
“OK, boss, so how are you planning on escaping this joint?” Carrie sounded like a crook from Brooklyn.
“Did I ever tell you about the service drive that no one uses? There’s a little lane at the back of the property that exits on the main highway.” Charles could tell by the look on Carrie’s face that she knew nothing about it. “See, this is why they call me ‘boss.’” Charles returned the accent.
“Married all this time and still keeping secrets.”
“It’s a secret because no one has used it in years. Remember, our property was originally a farm. It’s a lane that led from the fields to the house. Hopefully I’ll be able to get through.”
“If the police are watching, won’t they know when you take the car out of the garage?” Carrie asked.
“I don’t think so. I’ll take the four-wheel drive, which is parked in the far-left bay. If I pull out tight and move carefully between the garage and the trees, I don’t think the watchdog can see me from the road. Besides, let’s hope they’re concentrating on checking out Sara.”
“Great plan. It makes it easier on me. I won’t have to hide under a blanket. But even if they see us leave, there’s no reason why I can’t have a little outing to work up an appetite for dinner. I’m not confined to the house.” Carrie kissed him on the cheek and went to the closet to get their jackets.
Once they were in the car, Charles maneuvered the vehicle into the partially hidden access lane. “This road isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I bet the landscapers are using it to get from one side of the property to the other.”
“It’s always nice to have an escape route.”
They pulled onto the highway with no signs of a following police car. Carrie settled into her seat, and it took only a few minutes before they were looking for a parking spot on Main Street. Charles coasted past the shoe store several times, looking for one. He finally settled on one two blocks away. Carrie stepped down from the vehicle, put on a hat, pulled her jacket up around her neck, and added a pair of sunglasses. She grabbed hold of Charles’s arm.
“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t bring a disguise,” Charles said, laughing.
“With that sporty cap keeping your silver hair out of sight, you look like someone else. People tend to identify a person based only on one outstanding characteristic. Your most distinguishing characteristic is your lovely hair.”
“Somehow I’m going to accept what you just said as a compliment, although you do have some interesting observations.”
“That’s the writer in me. Now the shopper in me is about to take over my personality.”
“Hello, Mr. Bentley.” Carrie sounded cheerful as she entered the shoe store and greeted the owner. “What’s new in the world of shoes?”
“Mrs. Faraday, how nice to…uh…to see you.” Mr. Bentley was stumbling over his words. He started toward her, then looked back at the customer who was admiring a new pair of shoes in the floor mirror.
“Go ahead, Mr. Bentley. Finish with your customer. I’ll just browse.”
Mr. Bentley seemed relieved that Carrie had settled his dilemma of who to wait on. “I’ll only be a few minutes with Mrs. Chilcoate. The new arrivals are toward the back.”
Carrie wondered if the new arrivals were really in the back or if Mr. Bentley wanted her out of view of the windows. He shouldn’t have been worrying. It was Monday, and Carrie’s timing was slightly ahead of the after-school shoppers and well before after-work traffic.
Bentley was in his late fifties and had worked in the shoe store as long as Carrie could remember. Even when she had been a child in Tri-County, she remembered seeing Jack Bentley in the store. He himself had played in the store as a small boy, while his father waited on the customers and his mother rang up the sales. It had been no surprise when he took over the business as his mother and father grew older. He had six kids of his own, but the stress of raising his family never showed. He loved kids, and people would drive the extra miles to have Mr. Bentley fit their children with the right shoes.
As Mr. Bentley rang up the sale for Mrs. Chilcoate, Carrie read the sign that had been hanging on the wall behind the cash register for years. “’Tis a feat to fit feet.”
“Now, Mrs. Faraday, what can I show you today?”
“I’ll take this pair of loafers.” Carrie held up the sample shoe.
“As I remember, that is a size seven and one half. I’ll be right back.”
“You’ve a wonderful memory, Mr. Bentley, and don’t rush. We certainly have plenty of time, and I want to see wha
t else is new.”
When Mr. Bentley was out of sight, Charles said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Telling him you have plenty of time. The poor man is probably running through the aisles in the back room to get your shoes so he can get you out of here.”
Carrie made a face and continued browsing. Charles took up a chair near the door to watch for any policemen who might have tailed them. Within a few seconds, Carrie wandered over to him. “Look what I found.” Dangling on the ends of her fingers was a black pair of shoes with a gold bar—the same type of shoes the mysterious woman in Todd’s apartment had worn.
“Marvelous taste in shoes, darling, although”—Charles took the shoes from her—“these seem to be missing something.”
Carrie looked the shoes over. “What’s that?”
“They’re missing a coating of flour and sugar.”
“You’re right. Should I ask Mr. Bentley if he has some with flour?” As Carrie finished her question, Mr. Bentley returned from the stock room.
“Do you want to pay by cash, check, or charge?” Mr. Bentley said breathlessly, supporting Charles’s theory that he’d run through the back room looking for the shoes.
“Well, actually, I’d like to try them on so Mr. Faraday can see them.” Carrie opened the box and slowly removed the tissue paper protecting the shoes.
Bentley looked around the store and saw no other customers. “Yes, of course you would. I’m sorry; it’s been a busy day. I haven’t had time for lunch or even a break.” He sat on the shoe seat and helped Carrie try on the loafers.
“Mr. Bentley, I see this little number hasn’t moved.” Carrie held up the black flat as she moved in front of the mirror to see her new loafers.
“Yes, I had great hope for that little shoe. I think it came in a little too late for the season. When it first arrived, I moved quite a few pairs. Now most people are buying loafers for casual wear and winter boots. A fancy little flat like this has limited wear.” Charles caught Carrie’s eye and winked at her. Clearly, when asked about shoes, Mr. Bentley was willing to relax and talk.
“How many pairs did you sell?” asked Carrie.
“Oh, about a dozen.” Mr. Bentley turned as the bell on the door jangled, announcing the next customers. “Well, Mrs., Mr. Faraday, what do you think of the loafers? They’re very comfortable, aren’t they? Made of very breathable leather,” he added quickly. He returned to his hurried posture.
“Yes, the loafers seem fine, but”—Carrie made no move to hurry along—“Mr. Bentley, before I take the loafers, I’ve another question. This may seem somewhat vain, but I was planning to wear these lovely little flats to a charity affair at the Club. I wouldn’t want to wear them if all the other ladies are likely to show up with the same shoes.”
“Mr. Bentley, did any suede boots arrive yet?” asked one of the women who had just entered the shop. They looked like they’d just had their hair done at the shop on the corner. There was still a halo of hair spray surrounding them.
“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins, I’m just starting to receive them. They’re on the back table. Hello, Mrs. Hathaway. I’ll be right with you, ladies.”
Carrie watched as the women reached the table with the boot display, and she couldn’t help but notice that they continued to stare back at her and whisper. Carrie leaned casually back in her seat, making no effort to remove her new pair of loafers. “Now, Mr. Bentley, we were talking about these fancy flats.” The door’s bell jangled again as a mother and youngster arrived.
“I seem to be getting busy again, Mrs. Faraday,” he almost pleaded.
“Who else bought the shoes?” Carrie asked firmly.
“What? Oh yes, the shoes. Let me think…Who bought those little shoes? Well, just last week, I sold them to the Harrisons’ twin girls. Oh, but of course they wouldn’t be going to a charity affair at the Club, now would they? They’re only fourteen, but already in size-nine shoes. Can you imagine? I think it’s all the athletics the kids participate in these days. Makes the feet grow.”
“Mr. Bentley, if you could just name the adults. After all, some of these customers will soon require your assistance,” Carrie said, nodding toward the women who were looking at the boots.
“Yes, yes, let me think. Who else?” He paused for a few seconds, as if he were programming a computer disk in his brain, and then out came the information. “There was Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Trent, and Mrs. Kenner. However, I don’t believe any of those ladies belong to Tri-County but rather the West Gate Country Club. The women I know who belong to Tri-County and bought the shoes were Terry Conan, Marilyn Armstrong, Delores Chaney, Linda Barrington, and of course yourself—although I think Mrs. Chaney may have bought them for her daughter. They wear the same shoe size: eight and a half.”
Charles and Carrie exchanged a glance.
“Unbelievable…I mean, so many of us from the same Club.” Carrie noticed that Charles had his notebook out and was jotting down the names of the ladies Mr. Bentley had listed. “That is quite a list. Well, thank you, Mr. Bentley.” Carrie handed him the loafers and her credit card.
Bentley quickly rang up the sale and slipped the shoes into a bag. While Carrie was signing the credit slip, Mr. Bentley added, “You know, there was someone else, although I guess you wouldn’t say she was a member.”
“Who’s that, Mr. Bentley?”
“The young lady who teaches golf at the County Club also bought a pair. I don’t know her name. She just happened to mention that she worked at the Club.”
Carrie again looked at Charles and saw that his eyebrow was raised as he added this new information to his list. “Thank you, Mr. Bentley. You have been very helpful.”
“Mrs. Faraday, it’s always a pleasure to see you. I do hope everything works out for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley. How sweet of you. I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Carrie was holding on to Charles’s arm as they walked back to the car. “The same group of characters keeps turning up: Armstrong, Barrington, Conan, Chaney, and me.”
“Chaney twice—-mother and daughter wear the same-size shoes,” reminded Charles.
“Interesting that the daughter borrows the mother’s shoes and the mother’s car. If she was a borrower today, was she a borrower the other night?”
“She also freely admits she had access to Todd’s condo.”
“Although even with this information, I’m not sure what we’ve gained.” Carrie sounded disappointed.
“How can you ask such a question? For one, you got a new pair of shoes.” He kissed her on the forehead as he unlocked the door of the car for her. He went around to the other side and hopped in next to her. “And we did get to add a name to our list.”
“You mean the lady golf pro? Didn’t Jake mention her when you talked to him? What’s her name?”
“Yes, he did. Her name is Jennifer Foster, known as Jen by many of the Club members.”
“Would these many members be mostly male?” Carrie asked coyly.
“I’ve never met her, but these items often come up for discussion at Club board meetings,” Charles responded with a wink.
“I bet they do. So what do we know about our lady golf pro? Could she be the mysterious lady in Todd’s life?”
“It’s possible. According to Jake, she’s a real looker. Young, blond, wants to get ahead, and is generally interested in any member who can help her achieve her goal.”
“That’s quite a rundown. How do we find out where our lady golfer was on the night of the ball?”
“She wouldn’t have to be at the dance to come back later and help with a body. We know she’s good at golf, but does she know anything about finance? Also, if she was Todd’s partner in the stock deals, why would she kill him?”
“I hate it when you think up more questions. It means we still haven’t reached the end of the road,” Carrie said.
“Yes, darling, but for the first time, we’ve a little twist that wasn’t there befo
re.” He squeezed her arm as he pulled out into traffic. Charles looked in his rearview mirror and thought for a brief moment he saw a dark car with temporary tags behind them. But when he looked again, it was gone.
t was Saturday night, and another week had passed with no new developments. The first court hearing for Carrie was scheduled for early the following week. This hearing would determine whether there was sufficient evidence to hold her over for trial. Carrie was beginning to become more and more despondent as she realized that unless something broke, she was probably on her way to trial and then to jail.
Carrie hadn’t been out of the house since their trip to the shoe store. Charles was working half days, trying to spend as much time as possible with her. They had spent the last several days playing board games or working on jigsaw puzzles. They had just started one of the new mystery puzzles they’d purchased at the bookstore. It was rated as very difficult, since most of the pieces represented different shades of red wines. Once the puzzle was complete, the murderer would be revealed.
Baxter was curled under the table, hoping for a puzzle piece to drop that he could knock about the room. They were dividing the pieces up as best they could by the hues of red when the phone rang. Charles took the call in the kitchen so he could refill their wine glasses.
“Hello, Mr. Faraday—I mean, Charles.” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yes, this is Charles,” Charles answered hesitantly.
“Charles, I thought you might want to know—”
“Sara? Sara Chaney, is that you?” Charles said as he recognized the voice.
“Yes, this is Sara. I’m sorry. I should have identified myself first, but I don’t want to be overheard. I wanted to…I think what I have to tell you may be helpful. You see, I’m with friends, and I don’t have much time. I’m calling from a phone booth, so this call isn’t on my company cell phone.” She was talking softly and quickly.
“Sara, slow down. I’m having trouble hearing what you’re saying with all the background noise. Where are you?”
