What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  He looked uncomfortable. “I had planned to attend, but something came up last week. As I explained to Olive, with my regrets, I needed to take part in a Web conference with several other participants across the country. It was urgent that we deal with some details and we had difficulty coordinating our schedules. That Saturday afternoon was the only time during the next several weeks when one of the key participants was available.”

  “I see,” McCabe said. “Thank you for explaining.”

  Wyatt still looked uncomfortable. “I felt dreadful about missing Olive’s celebration, but this really was important to the church. I’m involved in several national events that are going to be coming up this fall. This Web meeting included the sponsor who is underwriting these events. Olive is a businesswoman herself. She understood the situation.”

  * * *

  There was no sign of Sarah Novak and her children when they went back into the living room.

  “Do you need to speak to Sarah again?” Reverend Wyatt asked.

  McCabe shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I’m sure Sarah will appreciate your consideration,” Dr. Burdett said as he came in from the kitchen.

  He and Wyatt escorted them to the front door.

  Baxter glanced back as the door closed. “What do you think about those two?”

  “You first this time,” McCabe said. “What did you think?”

  “I thought both of them seemed kind of uneasy under all of that ‘we’re here for Sarah and the children.’”

  “Same impression I had,” McCabe said. “But maybe—as Reverend Wyatt said—when someone you know is murdered, it just makes you uneasy.”

  “On the other hand, maybe old Kev told them something neither one of them wanted to share with us.”

  “There’s also that possibility.”

  “They kept telling us how devoted he was to his family,” Baxter said. “But his wife said something was wrong. Could it be he was fooling around on her?”

  “That’s possible. Except it seems out of character from what we know about him so far. Maybe he had financial problems he didn’t want to worry his wife about. We’d better make sure he wasn’t in over his head.”

  “While not ruling out another woman.”

  “While keeping that in mind,” McCabe said. “And it might not hurt to find out some more about this church they all belong to.”

  11

  “I wonder if she knows Teddy,” Baxter said.

  They were sitting in Olive Cooper’s driveway looking at her large, gray stone house. Mansion was the word that came to mind.

  “I think she must be ‘old money,’” McCabe said. “Ted Thornton may be too ‘new money’ to travel in her circle.”

  “You ever heard of her?”

  “No, but I don’t follow Albany society. Maybe my dad will be able to tell us something about her.”

  Baxter rang the front doorbell. He shot McCabe a grin when the door was opened by a middle-aged human female instead of a replica of the robotic maid who had greeted them the first time they went to Ted Thornton’s mansion. Olive Cooper was old school when it came to her servants.

  McCabe introduced herself and Baxter and asked if they could speak to Ms. Cooper.

  The woman nodded her head. “She’s expecting you.”

  “She is?” McCabe asked.

  “Reverend Wyatt called to break the news to her about Kevin.”

  Helpful of him, McCabe thought. Too helpful?

  “I’m Velma, Olive’s housekeeper,” the woman said. “I’ll show you into the parlor. Then I’ll go tell her you’re here and bring in some coffee.”

  “Well,” Baxter said when they were alone in Olive Cooper’s parlor, “this is cozy.”

  “Yes, it is.” McCabe smiled as she glanced around the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen lace doilies on the backs of chairs. Except in a museum.”

  “When you’re eighty-five, I guess you’re into antiques.”

  “On the other hand…” McCabe pointed.

  “Hey,” Baxter said. “Isn’t that—”

  When Olive Cooper made her way into her parlor, the two detectives from the Albany Police Department, there to speak to her about the murder of her friend, were caught in the act of trying to stifle their guffaws and giggles.

  12

  McCabe swallowed hard and got her giggles under control. She did not look at Baxter because she knew that would set her off again.

  “Ms. Cooper,” she said, stepping forward and trying for some semblance of dignity. “I’m so sorry you walked in on us like this. I’m Detective Hannah McCabe and this is my partner, Detective Mike Baxter. And…” McCabe shook her head. “And we are usually so much more professional.”

  Olive Cooper, tall and straight-backed in spite of the cane in her hand, wearing a lace blouse with a cameo brooch, said, “I gather you saw my painting.”

  “Your … you painted…?” McCabe gestured toward the visual humor that had set her and Baxter off.

  “Yes. And I’m so pleased you got it. Some of my older friends don’t. But that’s probably just as well. They might be scandalized if they did.”

  “But we do apologize again for our behavior when we’re here to discuss a matter you must find distressing.”

  “In moments of distress, finding something to smile about is a good thing.”

  She gestured toward her feet.

  McCabe glanced downward, past Cooper’s ankle-length black skirt. The sneakers the elderly woman was wearing almost sent her into giggles again. Two retro yellow smiley faces looked up at her.

  Velma, the housekeeper, returned, pushing a coffee trolley before her.

  Cooper gestured toward two of the plush armchairs. “Please sit down, detectives. Velma, would you pour the coffee, please? And then we’ll help ourselves to refills.”

  McCabe sat down. While Velma was serving the coffee, McCabe allowed herself another look at Cooper’s painting, which was of a late nineteenth- or early twentieth-century parlor, not unlike the one they were sitting in. In the painting, a woman, lovely but no longer in the first blush of youth, smiled down at the handsome, older man who knelt on one knee before her offering a ruby ring in a heart-shaped box. All very sweet and proper … if you didn’t notice the woman’s striking resemblance to a certain feminist talk show host who was notorious for her polemics against traditional heterosexual marriage as an antiquated and oppressive arrangement that favored men. The woman’s suitor in the painting was a double for a notoriously unfaithful actor, one who charmed women both in his films and in real life, and who was now on his seventh or eighth marriage.

  Was the lady about to kick the gentleman in his lower anatomy and send him hobbling away? Was that why she was smiling so demurely?

  That painting, McCabe thought, told one a lot about Olive Cooper.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” Velma told her employer.

  She slanted a glance at the two detectives before she left the room.

  Cooper said, “Velma has worked for me a long time. Sometimes she’s protective.”

  McCabe said, “We understand Reverend Wyatt called to give you the news about Kevin Novak.”

  “I suppose he thought it might be too much of a shock for my old heart to hear the news from the two police detectives who turned up at my door.”

  “Would it have been?” Baxter asked.

  “My doctor tells me that my heart is in excellent condition for a woman my age. But Daniel was right. I did appreciate having a little time to collect myself before you arrived.”

  “Did you consider Kevin Novak a good friend?” McCabe asked.

  “A good friend and someone I trusted. I took great comfort from the fact that when I died, Kevin would be there to help me make the transition.”

  “The transition?” Baxter said. “To the other side?”

  Cooper smiled. “Yes, I know that word ‘transition’ sounds a bit what we used to call ‘
New Age.’ Daniel uses it, but it isn’t my favorite. Still, when you’re as old as I am, you like to believe that—whatever you call it—there will be an afterlife. That you move from this existence to another form and that it won’t be terrifying or even unpleasant.”

  McCabe said, “Of course, since people are living into their nineties and longer these days, you may have years before you find out.”

  “True,” Cooper said. “So no need to dwell on it. But I will think about it a bit more with Kevin gone. And I’m a selfish, self-obsessed old woman. Poor Kevin is dead, and his wife and children left to mourn him. How did this happen? Do you have any idea who did it?”

  “The reverend didn’t give you the details?” Baxter asked.

  “He was still at Sarah’s. Meg had run out of the house. He had to go help bring her back. Tell me what happened.”

  McCabe said, “Mr. Novak was shot with an arrow from his own bow in the basement of the funeral home.”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  “He was spending the night there to make sure everything was all right, and had apparently been practicing with his bow. We don’t know who killed him or why. There was no sign of forced entry, so it is possible he opened the door to the person who killed him.”

  “And took this person down to the basement after letting him in?”

  “That seems to be what happened. Unless for some reason, his killer forced Mr. Novak to go down into the basement.”

  “And then shot him with his own bow?” Cooper frowned. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  “Odd that he was killed with a bow?” McCabe asked.

  “It was a convenient weapon,” Baxter said, as he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

  “Yes,” Cooper agreed. “But if it had been someone who’d come there to rob the place, wouldn’t he have brought his own weapon? Except, I suppose, a bow would be much quieter than a gun, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would,” McCabe said.

  “Still, have you ever tried to use a compound bow?” Cooper asked. “If you’ve never used a bow, you might not even know how to position the arrow or what stance to take. And even with a pulley system, if you’re using the bow of someone who is a hunter, who has the bow adjusted for his upper body strength, you might find it hard to make an accurate shot.”

  “Obviously we need to learn a bit more about compound bows,” McCabe said. “I gather you’ve used one.”

  “When I was a girl, I won several prizes using a recurve bow. That’s the kind Robin Hood used—without the pulley system. Later, when I was married, I did some hunting with my husband, who preferred compound bows,” Cooper said. “But I haven’t made your lives easier by telling you this. We have archery clubs for both teenagers and adults at the church. A number of the men and several of the women are avid bow hunters. Because of the legal restrictions on using crossbows for hunting and some technical issues that bow users love to debate, they tend to prefer compound bows.”

  Baxter said, “Isn’t hunting defenseless animals kind of a contradiction for members of a socially progressive church?”

  “Not really,” Cooper said. “One of the environmental problems we’re facing is the overpopulation of deer and other wild game. They’ve been wandering into urban areas for years. Now, they’re a serious traffic hazard. The hunters in our congregation only kill what they intend to eat themselves or donate to homeless shelters or food pantries.”

  “So what you’re telling us,” McCabe said, “is that there are a number of people in your church with knowledge of and skill with compound bows. Do you know if Mr. Novak was on good terms with the members of the archery clubs? Was there anyone with whom he might have quarreled?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Cooper said. “As far as I know, there was no one who had a grudge against Kevin or disliked him enough to want to see him dead.”

  “Thank you,” McCabe said. “We have to assume he may have known the person who killed him, and eliminate his friends and associates as suspects.”

  “Are the reverend and Dr. Burdett bow hunters?” Baxter asked.

  “Not hunters. But they both do target practice with the teen archery club.”

  Why, McCabe wondered, hadn’t Burdett mentioned the church members were into archery when he was telling them about the activities Kevin Novak was involved in? Why hadn’t Reverend Wyatt mentioned it, for that matter?

  Aloud she said, “We’ve heard from his wife and Reverend Wyatt and Dr. Burdett that Mr. Novak had been depressed recently. Can you tell us anything about that? Did the two of you talk about what was bothering him?”

  “Afraid not. Kevin didn’t want to talk. He said he’d been talking to Daniel and Jonathan and seeking their counsel.”

  “And you recommended he attend a séance with your medium,” Baxter said.

  Cooper raised a snow-white eyebrow. “How did you hear about that?”

  McCabe said, “Mr. Novak mentioned it to Dr. Burdett in a tag when Dr. Burdett asked how your celebration of life had gone.”

  “And he was happy enough to have an excuse not to attend that,” Cooper said.

  “Dr. Burdett?” McCabe asked. “Why do you think that?”

  “Jonathan tries hard to have the common touch. But it doesn’t come naturally to him. I had people from all walks of life at my celebration. Street people I’d met through the church’s community outreach. Musicians and artists. And, of course, Luanne, the medium I introduced to Kevin.”

  “And you think Dr. Burdett would have been uncomfortable in that mix of people?”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Cooper said. “Nothing against Jonathan. He’s a good man. Just comes with a family pedigree that makes him a tad awkward when he tries to engage in social chitchat with a guy who has lived in a cardboard box.”

  “What about Reverend Wyatt?” McCabe asked. “He explained that he couldn’t attend your celebration because of church business, but he also seems to disapprove of Luanne, the medium.”

  “He hasn’t told me that to my face, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Daniel is also a good man, and because of that he worries about the wolves that might threaten his flock. Of course, he would suspect a medium who befriends an elderly and wealthy woman might be up to no good.”

  “Then why hasn’t he warned you about that?” Baxter asked.

  “Because whatever he might think about Luanne, he knows I’m not doddering. My mind’s still sharp, and I’m not about to be flimflammed. So, rather than have me tell him that, he’s biting his tongue and keeping the peace between us.” Cooper smiled. “As he knows, when I kick off, the church will receive a significant donation. So I’m sure he’d rather not offend me by suggesting I can’t take care of my own business. Come to think of it, I’m surprised Kevin mentioned Luanne to Burdett.”

  “Why?” McCabe asked.

  “Because when I introduced him to Luanne, Kevin got this strange look on his face. She told him there was no reason to be afraid, but that seemed to spook him even more. He said his good-byes and headed for the door. He said he’d remembered something he needed to do. But it was clear he was trying to get away from Luanne.”

  Baxter said, “How did Luanne take that? Having Kevin leave the party to get away from her.”

  Cooper said, “She tried to laugh it off. But I could tell her feelings were hurt. All I could think of to do was take her out to the kitchen for a slice of Velma’s special chocolate pecan pie. We didn’t have enough to serve all the guests, so Velma hadn’t put it out on the buffet.”

  “Ms. Cooper,” McCabe said. “We’d like to speak to Luanne. Could you tell us how to reach her?”

  “She was on her way to Boston when she left here on Saturday afternoon.”

  “With the blizzard coming in?”

  “Luanne’s from North Carolina, so she’s not wild about driving in bad weather. But she was scheduled to do a séance at a gathering on Saturday evening. The host had promised to put her up until after the blizzard was over. So she
took off, hoping she’d outrun the storm.”

  “And she delayed leaving to attend your celebration of life?” McCabe asked.

  “I told her I would understand if she didn’t come. But she said she wanted to be here. Worse come to worst with the blizzard, she’d just stop in a motel between here and Boston and wait it out.”

  “And you haven’t heard from her since she left?”

  “I’m sorry,” Cooper said. “I’m being about as clear as fog. Yes, I did hear from her. I got a tag on Saturday evening saying she was in Boston and fine.”

  “When was she expecting to be back in Albany?”

  “Tomorrow, I believe. Do you want me to let her know you’d like to speak with her?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” McCabe said. “If she’ll send me a tag, we’ll be glad to come to her.” McCabe gave Cooper her card. “Please contact us if you should think of anything else.”

  Cooper rose and walked with them to the door of the parlor. “Give me a yell if you want the lowdown on anyone you’re talking to that I know.”

  McCabe laughed. “Thank you. We may do that.” She glanced back at the painting of the woman and her suitor. “Did you have training as an artist?”

  “One of the subjects I studied at the women’s college I attended. Then I got married. Fortunately, my husband was willing to admit I would be much better at managing the money he’d inherited than he would. He played golf, and I kept us solvent.”

  “You seem to have done a pretty good job,” McCabe said.

  “Well enough. But I might have made better use of my time. If I were doing it over again, I might have the courage of my convictions.”

  Velma appeared in the hallway. Cooper must have rung for her. Maybe a buzzer in the skirt pocket in which her hand was tucked.

  “Velma, will you see the detectives out?” she said.

  “Well?” Baxter asked when they were outside. “What’d you think of Olive Cooper?”

  “That she could hold her own with Ted Thornton. And that reminds me. We need to talk to the lou about checking in with Ashby to find out how he came to choose Kevin Novak for Lisa Nichols’s funeral service.”