Design on a Crime

by Ginny Aiken

  I went to argue, but he stopped me.

  "You wanted my answer, didn't you?" When I nodded, he said, "Then, yes. Gussie stole little things here and there. People grew suspicious, but because she's such a favorite, they gave her the benefit of the doubt. Then she was caught with a quart of cooking oil from the supermarket. The owner agreed not to press charges if she got help."

  "Cooking oil? That's crazy."

  "No, it's typical. Kleptomaniacs don't steal out of need but from an inner hunger. What they take isn't the issue."

  "So did she? Get help, I mean."

  "Yes, she chose to meet with me rather than a psychologist." Dad averted his gaze. "She knew only God could help her heal."

  His refusal to meet my gaze said more than a dictionary's worth of words could. He felt I should do the same, turn to God, but I wasn't Gussie, even though we both knew painful loss.

  I stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Tears filled his eyes.

  "Thanks, Dad," I choked out. Then I ran upstairs.

  I didn't know what the new information meant.

  "So stress can trigger kleptomania?" I said to Tedd three days later.

  "That's the usual trigger, yes."

  "Any particular kind of stress?"

  "Not really. Anything can trigger it in a person who's predisposed."

  "Tell me something else. Is it uncontrollable? Does the person realize what they're doing is wrong and can't help but steal? Or is the person so disturbed they no longer know right from wrong?"

  Tedd sighed. "It's not black and white. The answer lies somewhere in the middle of all that. Most of the time, the patient knows it's wrong, but the inner void hurts so much that they go ahead and focus on the adrenaline rush that goes with the theft to avoid the pain."

  "So Gussie would have known what she did was wrong."

  "Probably. Anyone with any conscience will struggle with the compulsive aspect of kleptomania. In the end, though, they choose to commit the crime for the sake of the exhilaration that masks the pain for a while."

  "But that means they'll wind up with a new kind of pain."

  "We won't have to worry about kleptomania with you." Tedd grinned. "That's the difference between you and someone in the grip of that problem."

  "You mean Dad's right when he says that all crime-sin is his preferred word-boils down to choice?"

  "God's the one who said it. Your dad just repeated it."

  "You don't give up, do you?"

  "I'm not in the business of giving up."

  "Okay, okay. I'm seeing a connection between Gussie's loss and her lousy choice. Maybe what I need is to find someone who blames a loss on Marge. Then I'll know who chose to kill her."

  "That's one possibility."

  "Then that would point to either Ozzie or Dutch. But I can't figure out how Dutch would blame Marge for the loss of his reputation."

  "Okay ...if

  "I don't see where either Noreen or Steve would have blamed Marge for any loss. Neither lost anything until after she died."

  "Unless Steve was trying to end things with Noreen."

  "I don't think Noreen's that much in love with Steve."

  "Love might not have anything to do with it. Love doesn't necessarily lead to possessiveness."

  "But where would the statue come in if one of them did it?"

  "Where does the statue come in with Ozzie? Or don't you think the statue's important anymore?"

  I dropped my head back against the chair. "I don't know. Every time I learn something new, everything else gets muddier."

  "Tell you what," Tedd said. I sat up, hungry for help. "Why don't you talk to Ozzie? I don't think you ever did."

  "You're right. The offices were vandalized when I got there. I wonder if Karate Chop Cop found out who broke in."

  "You might want to ask her."

  I checked my watch. "Since my session's over, I think I'll head to the warehouse. And maybe I'll give the detective a call."

  "Sounds like a plan." Tedd walked me to the door. "But be careful, Haley. This isn't a game."

  A knot lodged in my throat. "I know, Tedd. I know too well."

  But that seemed about all I really knew. Odd snippets floated in my thoughts, but there was nothing I could grab, nothing that gelled. I gave up trying to chase them and thought about the questions I had for Ozzie.

  All I had to do, however, was mention the partnership to him. Ozzie answered like a broken dam.

  "It simply wasn't fair, Miss ... er ... Haley. I made a mistake-one mistake fifteen years ago. All that time Marge held it over my head."

  "That doesn't sound like Marge."

  "Marge was many different women," Ozzie answered in an angry voice. "She could hold a grudge forever, and she did."

  "Why don't you tell me what you did? I won't discuss it with anyone, but it's only fair that I know, since I'm supposed to be the new owner of all this."

  Ozzie came out from behind his desk, his face pale, his expression strained. "You must understand what I was up against. My wife's cancer had advanced to where she suffered unbearable pain. I had to give her the best I could. And that kind of care cost more than I made working for Marge."

  Was this about yet another bad choice?

  He gestured toward the door that led to the warehouse. "I know a great deal about antiques. Anyone who does can doctor a piece to make it look authentic. The difference in price between a good replica and the real thing is astounding, and the work involved is minimal."

  "Oh, Ozzie. You faked some pieces for the money."

  "I'm not proud of it, but I also don't know that I would act differently given the same circumstances. My desperation in the face of Laura's suffering was more than I can describe."

  "Marge could've fired you."

  "I know." He grimaced. "It's a small consolation, since what she did is probably worse. She held my transgression over my head all these years. I couldn't seek a job elsewhere, because she would have revealed the forgeries in any recommendation she gave. At the same time, she refused me the trust that would have allowed me to move into partnership with her."

  "Did you ever do it again?"

  "Never."

  His single word answer left no doubt. I believed him. And his anger, in his mind, was justified. Had it led him to murder? Was the memo the smoking gun?

  "There's one more thing, Ozzie. Did you two argue about this the day of the Gerrity auction?"

  "You want to know if I killed Marge for the business."

  I blushed, but didn't reply.

  His shoulders sagged. "What good would it do me? I had no illusions about her will. In fact, she told me she wrote a codicil about the forgeries. Her death means that sooner or later, my problems will become public."

  He walked to the door, opened it, and looked toward the warehouse with longing. "I didn't expect you to inherit, but I knew I wouldn't. Now I risk unemployment. I'm in my late fifties and practically unemployable. Goodness knows I don't have the funds to buy this from you."

  Okay. So motive? Eh ... sort of.

  Opportunity? The same.

  Means? No better.

  "When did you last see the Erte?"

  'Ah ... let me see ... I unwrapped it at the Gerrity mansion that morning. I'd taken a box of the smalls with me and set them up when I got there."

  "That was the last time, then?"

  "Yes. At around seven o'clock."

  "So anyone could have taken it after that."

  "I suppose. But what does the bronze have to do with anything?"

  "I don't know yet, Ozzie, but you can be sure I'm going to find out."

  We went our separate ways after that. I detoured to Marge's office and saw the same mess I'd left behind. I don't know what made me go there, but maybe I needed to reconnect with the woman I once thought I knew so well.

  I'd learned things about my mentor that made me question my judgment. But after some thought I realized I'd always seen her through the eyes of a
girl. Marge had lived a life different from the one I'd seen. She'd had ugly spots in her past, ones she'd kept hidden.

  She hadn't been a member of Dad's flock, but she'd often joined in church activities because of her friendships with many members, starting with my parents. I'd thought her a good person, and I suppose by most accounts that's how she'd be judged.

  Ever since Tedd and I had talked about choices, sins, and crimes, I wondered if being a good person was enough. Had someone chosen to kill her because they didn't like her? That was stupid.

  Or had Marge made choices in life that had led to someone's hate? Hate that eventually led someone to kill her. Was that what Dad and the others would see as Marge's greatest sin?

  I'd have to think about that.

  With a sigh, I started toward the door. I stepped on a wad of paper and stooped to pick it up. It was a bundle, held together with a wide rubber band. It looked like letters, and I couldn't resist a closer look.

  The signature at the bottom of the letters chilled me to the bone. They were love letters, and they were signed, "Yours always, your Tom."

  As if my head were a coin sorter, shards of information clicked into various slots. If these letters were from Tom Stoker, then everything I knew now wore a different shade of threat. The dates coincided with what Dad and Doc had said about Gussie's miscarriage. Had both traumas hit Gussie at the same time? Had the affair added to the stress of losing her child? Was this what had pushed her beyond her conscience and into kleptomania?

  A worse scenario occurred to me. Had Gussie found out about the affair, and the anguish led to the loss?

  My heart pounded and my fingers shook as I dialed Doc Cowan's number. "Doc," I pleaded. "Please. This is important. It might mean the difference between a conviction and freedom for me."

  "What is it, Haley? What are you talking about?"

  "Remember when you sewed up my hand the other day?"

  "Of course."

  "Remember what you said about Gussie, her miscarriage, and her problems with the law?"

  Silence. Then a reluctant, "Yes."

  "I understand about all the confidentiality business, but this is about murder and jail. Please, Dr. Cowan, I have to know if there's a connection between the miscarriage, the kleptomania, and Tom's affair with Marge."

  Doc's sigh told me all I wanted to know. But I waited for his confirmation. "Yes, Haley. Gussie found out about Tom's infidelity and couldn't handle it. She'd had a terrible pregnancy. Her emotions were very fragile. Then she went into labor, and Tom was nowhere to be found."

  "Oh, please ... don't tell me-"

  "Your parents brought her to the hospital. Tom didn't show up until it was all over and the child was dead." Doc paused, then said, "He was in Marge's bed that whole time."

  I sat for a long time in Marge's office chair. Doc's words rang in my ears; the knowledge shattered me. Tears drenched my cheeks, and I mourned the loss of my memories.

  Nothing was as I'd thought.

  If this was what being grown-up was all about, it stunk worse than I'd thought. Pity I couldn't go back.

  Something tried to take shape in my thoughts, but the fear it brought made me fight it with a vengeance.

  After a while I realized I couldn't stay any longer. I had things to do. More questions needed answers.

  Plus, I had another special missionary society event that afternoon. A tea party, for goodness' sake. It struck me as even more ridiculous than before in view of all I'd learned. How was I going to act in front of Gussie? How was I going to act cheerful, chatty, and nice?

  Three hours later I had to wonder if Dutch had seen something I didn't know I had in me. I was a bang-up actress. Everyone complimented me on how well I ran the tea, considering.

  I was sick of that "considering" business. I wanted the whole mess to go away. But since it wasn't about to do that, I'd take whatever I could get. I wanted to run home, grab pen and paper, and make a list of all I knew. Maybe then, if I connected figurative dots, I'd understand.

  Still, that looming fear held me back. Did I really want to know the truth? No matter how awful it might be?

  "You betcha," I whispered. I needed to stay out of jail.

  I looked around and saw that most of the women had left. Thank goodness. Then I realized who was still in the meeting room.

  "I'm sick of hearing so much about the suddenly sainted Marge," Penny complained.

  Ina gave Penny one of her careful, discreet smiles. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Penny, but please, do remember. The woman's dead."

  "One wonders what she did this time to get her head bashed in." The way Penny said it made me cringe.

  Ina walked away, shaking her head in obvious disgust. But Bella wasn't about to let Penny get away so easily.

  "Look, Penny. If you know something, spill it. There's a murder investigation going on."

  "Wouldn't you like to be the supersleuth," Penny countered. "But it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

  Bella grinned. "Sure doesn't."

  Penny glared. "If all your Jessica Fletcher books and stuff make you so smart, how come you didn't figure out that Marge was running around with a married man again?"

  "Sure she was." Bella crossed her rotund arms. "Her husband."

  "Not at all. I saw her in downtown Seattle at one of those weird vegetarian, new-agey cafes with him. And it sure wasn't Steve I saw."

  Dread slowed my approach. "Penny, you have to back up that kind of accusation with proof. Otherwise, it's just gossip."

  "Oh, look who's acting all righteous. The seductress's heir."

  I ground my teeth, counted to ten, tried again. "You can't insult a woman whose body hasn't even been released by the coroner yet. Who do you think Marge seduced?"

  "I don't think. I saw them myself. She and Tom Stoker were sitting cozy as a pair of cooing turtledoves on stools at that place. And right in the front window, mind you."

  I took a step back. It couldn't be true. "You'd better be sure about this. You don't know how much harm accusations like that can do."

  Bella nodded. "Especially if it's not true. You could hurt a good marriage."

  Penny shrugged. "I know what I saw. And I have excellent eyesight. You could always ask Tom. I bet he says I'm right."

  I'd already decided to do that, but now came the hardest thing. "Please don't repeat this, even if you're sure. Gossip is rotten and dangerous."

  "I don't care," the postal clerk said. "I know what I know. That's all I care about. Good night."

  I was glad to see her go.

  Bella harrumphed. She walked me to the door, waited until I locked up, then followed me home. "Think she'll keep that big fat mouth of hers shut?"

  "Unfortunately, no."

  "So what're we going to do?"

  "We're not going to do anything, Bella. We're going home, making dinner, eating, and spending a quiet evening minding our business."

  "But it is your business to find out if Marge was messing with Tom. Maybe Penny got it wrong. Maybe she saw Marge with a man but he only looked like Tom and that's who offed her."

  My thoughts exactly, but I didn't want to encourage Bella. "Tell you what. How about I call the detective and tell her?"

  Bella snorted. "What kind of sleuth are you, anyway? You have no gumption, and you're no fun. Am I gonna have to figure this out by myself?"

  "No, Bella, neither one of us is going to do anything crazy. I'm going to do the smart thing and call the cops."

  "Boooring!" With a toss of her bushy pink head, Bella marched home in a snit. As soon as her door slammed shut, I jumped in the Honda and pulled out. I wanted to waylay Tom before he got back from his daily round of golf.

  I got to the clubhouse as he was unlocking the van door. "Tom! Wait a minute. Please!"

  "Haley! Has something happened to Gussie?"

  Great. He went right to the heart of it. I braced myself. "No, not that I know of. But she could be in for a nasty time."

  "What do
you mean?"

  I really didn't want to do it. "I'll warn you. I have to ask some questions that won't be fun. Not for me to ask, nor for you to answer. But things could get worse if you don't."

  Tom slipped his hands in his pockets. Tension radiated from his stiff shoulders to the tight line of his lips. "Go ahead. Let's get it over with."

  "There's no easy way to do it, so I'm just going to ask. Were you having an affair with Marge again?"

  He flinched. Color left his face. "A ... gain?"

  "I know what happened all those years ago. I know about the affair, about the miscarriage. I even know about the stealing. What matters now is whether you and Marge got back together again. Recently, that is."

  "I can't believe it's come back to haunt me again." Defeat and grief marked his face. "I made a horrible mistake fifteen years ago, and it cost Gussie and me the greatest treasure we could have had. We lost our son because of what I did. Just think what life is like with that in your heart."

  His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I've lived with that knowledge and shame ever since. Nothing on earth could entice me to stray again. I love Gussie. I always did."

  "Then what about Marge-"

  "Some men make fools of themselves when their wives are pregnant. I had a hard time with the loss of Gussie's undivided attention. Marge offered what I thought I needed. It was wrong-I was wrong, and my stupidity cost the life of a child."

  "So you didn't go to some cafe in Seattle with Marge?"

  "Someone saw us?"

  "You did!"

  "Yes. We met to discuss a business arrangement. You know that I do a great deal of woodworking now that I'm retired, don't you?"

  "I've seen the beautiful pieces you make for Gussie."

  "Thanks. Anyway, Marge had customers who wanted someone to restore antiques without affecting their value. She offered to refer clients my way. We first met with a client and were still hammering out details to the agreement at the cafe."

  "So you hadn't resumed the affair?"

  "No, Haley. I'm no fool. I can get you a copy of the contract Marge and I signed."

  "You better show it to Gussie before the gossips get to her."

  He nodded. "I hope you understand why I didn't want her to know. But I have nothing to hide this time. Let me hurry home and talk to her. Who knows how long I have before the buzz heats up."