by Abigail Keam
“John tended to Madison. I called 911. Hunter ran in with Franklin on his heels. Hunter checked Madison’s pulse and administered CPR, but when she didn’t respond, he checked her vitals and declared her dead.”
“This sounds very much like Addison DeWitt’s death in my house,” June mused, pulling a cigarette out from her cleavage.
Charles reached over and grabbed it. “Old woman, you know you’re not supposed to be smoking. You got any more down there?”
“You wanna look, old man?” June replied, looking defiant.
“Hey! Hey! Behave, the two of you.” I gave June a stern look. “If you smoke, I’m going to leave.”
June reached into her décolletage and produced two more cigarettes, which Charles promptly snatched. “Well, it does sound like Addison DeWitt’s murder,” June muttered.
“I don’t think Madison was allergic to aspirin,” I replied, looking at June’s chest and wondering if she had even more cigarettes stuffed in her brassiere. I shuddered to think what else might be crammed in there.
“I thought you said she was convulsing,” June snapped, looking as though she had caught me in a lie.
“She had been, but by the time Hunter got to her, she’d stopped and was still.”
“Then what happened?” Charles asked, his eyes a little too bright.
“One of the actors drove to the front gate and opened it for the ambulance. Other than that, we just stood around in shock. Hunter lifted Madison back onto the couch and got John a brandy.”
June remarked, “Is that when Franklin said, ‘It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person?’”
“How did you know?” I asked.
June picked up a shortbread cookie. “Isn’t that why the police started looking at him as a suspect?”
“Why am I telling this story if you already know what happened, June?” It pissed me off that she always had the scoop before I could relate my version of the story. It had happened many times before, and was extremely exasperating. Did this woman have a spy ring at her command?
“I only know the essentials, Josey. I need you to add the juicy details.”
Charles waved his hand, intending to shush June. He wanted to get on with the story. “Why did Hunter put Miss Madison back on the couch? He knows better than to disturb a body that’s been murdered.”
“We didn’t realize Madison Smythe had been murdered at this point. The consensus was her death was due to natural causes.”
“Who called the police?” asked June, while peering down her bosom. What was she going to pull out next?
“The paramedics called the men in blue,” I replied, getting ready to swat June’s hands away from her boobies. “What are you looking for?”
“My handkerchief. It’s down here somewhere.”
“May I, Lady Elsmere?” Charles said. For a horrifying second, I was afraid Charles was going to fish around in June’s bosom in search of the lost hanky. Thankfully, he reached into his jacket and produced a crisp, white linen hanky.
“Lady Elsmere, huh? What happened to ‘old woman?’” June barked as she took the handkerchief and blew her nose.
Charles turned to me. “What do you think happened, Josiah?”
I shook my head, saying, “I don’t know, Charles. I was blown away when I learned the police suspected Madison’s death was due to poison.”
“Did they say what kind of poison?”
I scooted closer to Charles on the couch. “The ME’s report hasn’t come back, so it isn’t officially ruled poison yet, but if it was poison, it wasn’t strychnine. That’s a nasty one, for sure. I would think Madison seeming intoxicated is a clue, but I would hesitate to say for sure until the medical examiner’s report is completed.”
“Why arrest Franklin before the tests come back?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking. It’s not like there’s a lack of suspects. There’s something the police are not telling anyone except the DA.”
“What do you mean, Jo?” June asked, handing the dirty handkerchief back to Charles.
He stuck it in his coat pocket and asked, “Yes, why is that?”
“Oh, everyone hated Madison’s guts. She was a first-class witch.”
June scoffed, “Don’t hold back, Josey. Tell us how you really feel.”
“Don’t act like a hypocrite. You never liked her either,” I said, making a face at June.
June looked at her butler and heir. “Mister Charles, what about you?”
“Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Oh, you are always so polite,” June complained, looking irritated. “How can Josiah solve this murder if we don’t face the facts as they are? No one liked Madison. Jo’s right. I couldn’t stand her.”
Charles asked, “But what about Franklin?”
“That’s why she called me!”
We all snapped our heads toward the door.
In strode Asa wearing a very tight black dress with red piping and shockingly tall high heels the same red as the piping on her dress. She threw her purse into a chair and plopped down on the other side of Charles, giving him a buss on the cheek. “May I have some tea, please?”
Charles was only too happy to oblige. He had a soft spot for my errant daughter and always had. “Glad to see you, Miss Asa.”
Asa cooed, “It’s a good day when I can rest my eyes upon you, Charles Dupuy.”
June griped, “What about me?”
Asa got up and went around the coffee table, curtsied, and kissed June’s hand. It was a running joke between them. When Asa was little, she thought June was a queen because of the tiara she wore to parties. She sat in a chair next to June and reached for the cup Charles handed to her.
I asked, “Well?”
“Went to see Kelly, but he was not very forthcoming.”
“As was expected,” I commented.
“It seems that the only incriminating evidence is Franklin’s fingerprints on the decanter and goblets, and the testimony of witnesses who overheard the argument when he threatened to kill Madison. Personally, I agree with the judge. The police jumped the gun on this case and have opened themselves up to a lawsuit. He did confirm they think Madison died of poison.”
“Don’t they have to disclose all their evidence to the defense attorney?” Charles inquired.
“They probably will when the test results from the autopsy come back. I’m sure they aren’t finished looking for evidence. I would expect Hunter Wickliffe to be served with a search warrant any moment now, and the police will turn his place upside down.”
“Eeek,” I muttered before stuffing a raspberry brownie down my piehole.
“I’ve never understood what caused Franklin to threaten Miss Madison,” Charles said. “He’s always such a friendly person.”
“I can comment on that,” I said. “I heard the entire argument and paid it no mind. It was just two diva cats letting the fur fly.”
Asa, June, and Charles leaned forward.
“Madison was getting on everyone’s nerves. She had the lead role, and you’d have thought she was preparing for an Oscar.”
“Wouldn’t it be a Tony since it was a play?” Asa asked.
“Oh, fiddle-faddle, Asa. Don’t derail my train of thought.” I sat still for a moment, collecting my confidence. You know my memory isn’t what it used to be.
“Let’s start with why you didn’t think anything about the argument,” Asa encouraged, sorry she had interrupted her mother. (She had recently discovered her mother was having trouble with her memory. She had also gone through Josiah’s medicine cabinet and found a new medication that had to do with kidney issues, at which point Asa decided to tackle one issue at a time with Josiah. First, it would be Franklin. Then the new medication. Now, on with the story.)
“Like I said, Madison was acting like she was sittin’ in high cotton. Bossy, rude, demanding with everyone, and John running after her like she was the Queen of Sheba.”
“Mother—you’re bossy.”<
br />
I retorted, “Yes, but I’m not rude when I’m bossy.”
Asa tried not to smile. “I’ve talked with several of the cast, and they said Madison Smythe always knew her lines, hit her marks, and was professional. It seems her problems were with you and Franklin.”
June and Charles swiveled around to gauge my reaction.
“Well, gee, that’s true to some extent. Franklin and I seemed to be on the receiving end of her disregard, but others were unhappy with her constant bickering and complaining, too. They’re lying if they say different. Everyone was fed up with her high-handedness.”
Asa made a note to re-interview those cast members she had talked with. She was getting two versions of Madison Smythe’s character, and when an investigator got varying stories, that meant someone was not telling the truth, and she doubted it was her mother. Josiah was unusually perceptive about people, except when it had come to Asa’s father, Brannon. There had been a huge blind spot with him until Brannon wanted a divorce. Then the scales fell off her mother’s eyes, but with others, she was always right on target. Well, maybe she missed with her friend Sandy Sloan, too, but Asa hadn’t seen the warning signs either. “Go on, Mom. Sorry.”
“Madison insulted Franklin constantly, not outright, but with backhanded compliments like ‘Franklin, you’re so handsome. Too bad about your choice of attire.’ Or she’d say, ‘I heard about Matt Garth and Meriah Caldwell. Too bad you’re always the bridesmaid and never the bride.’ She was always needling him, and knew just where to jab.”
“Did Franklin confront her?” Asa asked.
“Not at first. He would ignore her, but Madison kept it up. She was like a dog with a bone. Several times I took her aside and told her she was rude, especially since we were using Franklin’s ancestral home to stage the play, but Madison laughed it off. Then she started goading me as well.”
Charles inquired, “To what do you attribute her behavior?”
“I think she was jealous.”
“Jealous?” echoed June.
“I think so. Madison was a climber, and she thought Franklin was beneath her on the social ladder. Then she found out Franklin is part of the old Lexingtonian aristocratic past with the family lineage and estate still intact. I know it’s run-down, but Wickliffe Manor is still very impressive. And the mansion’s paintings, antiques, and silver are worth a small fortune.”
“The problem is, nobody wants antiques anymore,” Charles sniffed. “The young people want cheap furniture from kits they put together themselves.”
“Madison was envious of Franklin because of his social position,” repeated Asa, making note of this information.
“I hate to add this, because there’s no proof, but I think she also objected to Franklin being gay, because she couldn’t control him like she could heterosexual men,” I said.
“Did she try to control Hunter Wickliffe?” asked Asa, looking intently at me.
“Yes.”
“Did Hunter Wickliffe respond to Madison’s flirtations?” Asa inquired, still not taking her eyes off me.
“I never saw any indication of it. He always found an excuse to work in the yard when she was present.”
“Then I wouldn’t repeat that. It makes you a target.”
“Why?”
“It gives you motive.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ll say it again. It gives you motive. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
I guess Asa had put two and two together and guessed about Hunter and me. “My lips are sealed.”
June complained, “Go on. Go on. Enough about Hunter. I want to hear about the argument.”
I continued. “It came to a head when Franklin accused Madison of stealing some sterling salt and pepper shakers from the dining room table.”
Asa asked, “Did she?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“While they were arguing, I checked her coat, which was hanging in the foyer. They were in her left pocket.”
June inquired, “What did you do?”
“I yelled that I had found them, but didn’t say where.”
“Did the fighting stop?”
“Madison was furious with Franklin, but he was just as angry because he insisted other items were being spirited away from the house.”
Charles asked, “Did Franklin see Madison take the salt and pepper shakers?”
I shook my head. “When items previously went missing, Franklin had surreptitiously checked people’s coats and purses, and always found the items in Madison’s coat pockets. He would put them back where they belonged. After all, this was his brother’s home, and Franklin felt an obligation to Hunter.”
“Did Franklin accuse her in front of everyone?” June asked, rummaging inside her blouse for another cigarette. As soon as she produced one, Charles snatched it away from her.
“He made a snide remark that all actresses must be kleptomaniacs like Natalie Portman.”
Asa remarked, “It was Winona Ryder who was arrested for shoplifting.”
“I know, but I’m telling you what Franklin said. Madison snapped, ‘Are you referring to me?’ and Franklin said, ‘If the shoe fits,’ and it escalated from there.”
“Tell us more,” encouraged June breathlessly.
“Franklin accused Madison of stealing bits and pieces from the house. She yelled back that Franklin was a liar and trying to spread horrible rumors about her. Franklin called her a tawdry, backstabbing tart.”
Charles gasped. “He said that?”
I replied, “That’s when Madison slapped Franklin’s face, and he blurted out that he could kill her.”
Asa insisted, “Tell me what Franklin said, Mom. Exactly.”
“Franklin said, ‘I wish you were dead, Madison. The world would be better off.’”
“The exact wording, Mom. He didn’t say he wanted to kill her?” Asa asked.
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not, Jo,” June interjected. “Stating that you wish someone was dead and making the threat to kill him are two very different threats. For most of us, it’s wishful thinking.
“We’ve all had people in our lives we wished were out of the way, but I doubt anyone in this room has planned to murder someone, except for Asa, of course.”
Asa made a face. “Ha Ha.”
A triumphant grin lit up June’s face.
“Mom, what happened after the confrontation?”
“Hunter made Franklin apologize in front of the entire company. Madison accepted, and they shook hands.”
“And?” Charles demanded.
I shrugged. “As you would expect, everyone was polite, but the tension was so thick . . .”
“You could cut it with a knife,” everyone sang in unison.
Asa rose and said she needed to get back to the Butterfly.
“Not staying for dinner?” June asked, looking downcast.
“No, my dear. I’ve got to write down all this information. I promise, though, to see you again before I leave.”
June flapped her hand. “Phooey.”
Charles glanced over at Lady Elsmere and said, “Lady Elsmere, where is your emerald ring? You had it on earlier.”
June looked around. “Oh, dear, it must have slipped off my finger.”
“I’ll help you find it,” Asa said, getting on the floor and feeling under the couch.
Charles and I checked under the cushions while June checked the stuff down her blouse.
“Here it is,” she announced cheerfully, holding up the ring.
Asa peered down June’s blouse. “What else do you have in there? There could be a treasure trove of goodies.”
Charles assured us. “Don’t worry. I’ll have Amelia go through her clothes. She’s missing a platinum bracelet as well.”
We laughed, including June. It’s good to have a sense of humor in these situations.
Charles showed Asa and me to the kitchen do
or and bade us a cordial farewell.
Asa and I walked across the fields, but as soon as we were out of earshot, Asa let me have it.
8
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I didn’t want to get into it with Asa. I was tired, but Asa could be relentless, and it seemed I couldn’t deflect her.
“You’re holding something back.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Mother, you’re lying.”
“Oh, all right. When I checked Madison’s pocket searching for the salt and pepper shakers, there was something else.”
“What?”
“A note.”
“What kind of note? Did you read it?”
“This is your mother you’re speaking to. Of course I read it. I think it was a love note.”
“You think? Mother, please stop playing this game. Give. What did the note say?”
“Darling, we’ll be together soon.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Did you leave the note in Madison’s pocket?”
I shook my head, afraid to look Asa in the eye. She was going to think I was an old fool.
Asa looked at me oddly. “Franklin called Madison a tart. He’s never judgmental about anyone’s sexuality, except for adultery. Did he think Madison was having an affair?”
“Yes. He had found other love notes in Madison’s pockets when he was searching. They were communications about clandestine meetings, love poems, that kind of thing.”
“Let me put this together. Franklin told you what he found, but why would he care?” Asa picked up a fallen branch and threw it back into the woods. “Were the notes typed or handwritten?”
“The one I saw was handwritten.”
“There you go again—holding something back.” Asa thought for a moment. “You recognized the handwriting.”
“I thought it was similar to the handwriting of someone I know.”
“And Franklin did too. That’s why he was upset. It must have been Hunter’s handwriting. You both thought Hunter was having an affair with Madison Smythe.”
I stopped and burst into tears.
“Mother, are you sweet on Hunter Wickliffe?”
“I like him very much.”
“Why would you lose sleep over a man who cheated with another man’s wife? You went through this with Dad.”
