by Kari Bovee
Detective Walton tilted his head toward the door. “Officer Clayton, let’s go. You can talk with this Miss Meyers.”
“Susie is very fragile!” I nearly shouted at him. I felt Chet’s hand on my shoulder, but I continued. I wanted them to proceed very carefully. I’d hate to have her upset. “She was abandoned when she was six and taken to an orphanage. She hadn’t spoken in years. She only started speaking again when she came here almost a year ago.”
“We’ll be gentle with her,” Detective Walton said.
Helplessly, I looked at Chet who gave me a reassuring nod.
“Well I’m coming with you.” I left no room for objection. I wanted to be present when they questioned Susie, to show support and to give her reassurance. They may not have let me do that for Lizzy, but there was no way I was leaving this young girl to fend for herself. To my relief, the detective didn’t attempt to stop me.
We walked across the yard toward the west end of the house. The schoolroom was kitty-corner from the back stairs leading to my studio. We entered the cheery space. Miss Meyers had done wonders with the old shed. Lace curtains hung on the windows on either side of Miss Meyers’s desk, sitting on a brightly colored hook rug. Hanging on the wall behind her desk was a black chalkboard framed in dark wood, and on either side of the chalkboard stood tall bookshelves. A globe on a pedestal stood to the left of the desk, next to the small wood-burning stove, and an upright piano graced the wall on the right. Susie was busy printing tomorrow’s lesson on the chalkboard. Her hand was slow and steady, and I could tell she was intently concentrated on her task. I hated to interrupt her.
Hearing us, Miss Meyers looked up from her papers and Susie turned from the chalkboard to face us.
Miss Meyers stood up. “How can I help you?” she asked in her most professional tone. She lowered her glasses, which were fastened to a chain around her neck, and let them fall to her chest.
I smiled at Susie. “These gentlemen would like to speak with Susie.” I kept my voice calm.
Still, Susie’s face went pale, and she looked at Miss Meyers for support.
“It’s all right, Susie,” she said.
Susie whispered something in Miss Meyers’s ear.
“No. They aren’t taking you anywhere.”
Detective Walton must have sensed her apprehension and nodded for Officer Clayton to leave the room.
“Miss Meyers?” Officer Clayton directed his gaze toward her. “Do you mind stepping outside with me? I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Miss Meyers looked at me with hesitation in her eyes but nodded and followed the officer out of the building.
The detective wedged his bulk into one of the student desks. If I hadn’t been so wound up about this little interview, I might have found the sight hilariously amusing, but in my present state, I didn’t.
“Do you want to sit down?” Detective Walton asked Susie.
She vigorously shook her head.
“That’s fine,” he said. “You can stand. But can you come over here to me?”
I was somewhat comforted at how the detective had stayed true to his word at being gentle with Susie. It made me wonder if he’d had children of his own. Perhaps grandchildren? He certainly had not been so sweet with the other kids. The ache in my stomach lessened.
After a cursory glance at me, Susie stepped forward a few feet.
“Susie, how old are you?” he asked. I’d already told him, but this must have been a script he’d used for talking with children, an attempt to make them more comfortable. From the quiver of her chin, it was obvious it wasn’t working with Susie.
“Ten and a half.” She rolled her ankles outward, standing on the outside edges of her Mary Janes.
“Do you know what these are?” He held out the scissors, still nestled in the white handkerchief, and unwrapped them for her to see.
Susie nodded.
“Are they yours?”
She shook her head, sticking the tip of her index finger between her front teeth.
“Have you seen these scissors before?”
She looked up at me and took her finger out of her mouth. She pulled her lips between her teeth. No answer.
“We found them in your room,” he continued. “Do you know how they got there?”
She shook her head.
“They’re awfully dirty.” He held them up to his face, as if giving them closer inspection. “Do you know how they got so dirty?”
She flipped her ankles back so the soles of her shoes rested solidly on the floor again. Her gaze met mine, and I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back but stood frozen, rooted to the spot. I tried to still the fluttering of my heart. I could tell she was shutting down.
“Is there anything you can tell me about these scissors?” he pressed. “Anything at all?”
Her eyes glazed over, and she stared into space. I was just about to intervene and say something, when the detective worked his way out of the desk and stood up.
“Well?” he said.
“Detective—” I started.
He held a hand up in the air, silencing me. “Okay, Susie. If you think of anything, will you have Mrs. Riker or Miss Meyers call me?”
She finally blinked and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“That’s a good girl.” He smiled at her, wrapped the scissors in the handkerchief, put them in his pocket, and headed out of the room. When we stepped outside, I met Miss Meyers’s gaze. She didn’t seem flustered in the least.
“Is that all, Officer?” she asked Officer Clayton.
“Yes. For now,” he said, tipping his hat to her. She smiled at me and went back into the schoolroom.
“Let’s see if Lizzy and Daniel are back,” the detective said as he passed by Officer Clayton. The taller uniformed officer quickly fell in step with his superior.
Curious to see if either one of them had turned up, I followed them. We rounded the corner of the house, giving us a good view of the barn and the fields behind it. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw Daniel and Lizzy talking with Chet and Joe, all of them standing next to the truck.
At the sight of the two officers, Lizzy crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that said, What now? Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground by his feet as if fascinated by it.
“You’ve returned,” Detective Walton said.
“I gave them permission to take the truck,” Joe said. “I had an errand for Daniel to run, and Lizzy wanted to tag along.”
“And you are . . . ?” the detective asked.
Joe stepped forward. “Joe Manetti.” He held out his hand.
The detective took it. “Detective Walton. You work here?”
Joe crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “No, I live next door. I’m a horse trainer.”
“Joe and I are working together to rehabilitate injured racehorses so he’s here a lot,” Chet explained.
The detective nodded. “Were you here the night of the party, too?”
Officer Clayton took a notepad and pencil from his pocket and held them poised in front of him, ready to take notes.
Joe rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, but just to drop off Chet. He and I had just come back from Calabasas where we were checking out some horses.”
“Bring any back with you?”
“No,” Joe said. “Just went to have a look-see. But we’re headed back down there to pick up one of them next week.”
The detective hesitated a moment, then shifted his weight on to one leg and bent the other. He tucked his thumbs into the waist of his pants. “So did you go out to the barn on the night in question?”
Joe shook his head. “No. I went straight home.”
“See anyone near the barn before you left?”
Joe shook his head again. “Nah.”
Detective Walton, still scrutinizing Joe, scratched at his chin. “You said you let Daniel and Lizzy take the truck for an errand. What kind of errand?”
“I needed some things for the horses at the local feed store,” Joe said.
“How long ago did they leave?” the detective asked.
“About three hours ago. Around noon.”
The detective focused on Daniel, who was still staring at his shoes. “Seems like a long time to run just one errand. Is that the only place you went?” he asked.
Daniel didn’t respond. The detective went up to him and tapped him on the bottom of the chin. “I’m asking you a question,” he said, his voice stern.
“Didn’t hear you.” Daniel’s upper lip curled in defiance.
“I said, was the feed store the only place you went?”
Daniel still didn’t answer.
“Daniel,” Chet warned. “The detective asked you a question.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s the only place,” he said with a sigh.
The detective tilted his head at Lizzy and gestured for her to come over to him. Her arms fell to her sides, and rolling her eyes, she did as he had bid her. He pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing the scissors. “Have either of you seen these before?”
“Nah.” Daniel shook his head.
The detective turned to Lizzy.
“They look like Grace’s scissors,” she said. “But why are they so dirty?” Her eyes opened wide, and she gasped. “Is that the— Is that what was used to kill Mr. Travis?”
“So you have seen these?” The detective ignored her question.
“Yes. In Grace’s studio. She keeps them on her pattern-making table.”
“Ever use them before?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes.” Then her jaw dropped slightly. “Wait, but I didn’t—”
“Lizzy helps me with my patterns,” I jumped in. “She also cuts fabric for me, so of course, she’s seen the scissors.” I didn’t like the way this line of questioning was going. Just because she’d used the scissors before didn’t mean anything when it came to Mr. Travis’s death.
The detective held up a hand and gave me a pointed glare. “Mrs. Riker, please.”
I bit my lip, duly chastised. So much for the compassionate man I’d seen in the schoolroom . . .
“Where did you last see these scissors?” he asked Lizzy.
“In the studio. Where they belong,” she said, her mouth quivering. She looked at me with fear in her eyes. I wanted to reach out and hug her, but I knew Detective Walton would frown upon that and probably scold me again.
“You sure about that?” he pushed.
“Yes. I swear! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t!” Her eyes flashed in indignation, and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Daniel straightened up and stepped forward, as if to protect her.
The detective held her gaze for a moment longer, then placed the scissors back in the handkerchief and then his pocket. He turned his attention to Daniel.
Lizzy looked at me with desperation in her eyes. Unable to help myself, I went to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort.
“Daniel, I forgot to ask you something the other day,” the detective said, squaring his shoulders. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I see from your records that you were arrested for pickpocketing. Well, stealing, actually. That takes a great deal of stealth, does it not? You have a way of quietly making things disappear?” He raised his eyebrows.
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “What are you saying?”
“Well you’d do almost anything for your friend Lizzy, right?” He unclasped his hands and gestured with one of them toward her. “Perhaps you followed Lizzy and Mr. Travis to the barn and did away with the murder weapon? Or if these scissors are the murder weapon, then maybe you wanted to make them disappear? Buy why in the little girl’s room? I’d think you’d be a bit craftier than that. After all, criminal stealthiness runs in the family, right? Isn’t your dad in prison?”
Daniel’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed at the detective. I wanted to reach out and prevent Daniel from doing anything stupid.
“Is this really necessary, Detective?” I asked instead. “Just because Daniel made some mistakes doesn’t—”
“It’s fine, Grace. I don’t have to answer any of this.” Daniel gave the detective a smug look. “I haven’t been arrested.”
The detective pressed his lips together and smiled. He then turned to me. “Well, okay. Sorry for the intrusion, Mrs. Riker, Chet. Thanks for your time.” He turned on his heel, motioning for Officer Clayton to follow him. “Go get Faraday will you?” he asked him. Officer Clayton trotted toward the kitchen.
Lizzy turned to me, her eyes tearing over. “Why doesn’t he believe me?” Her voice came out in a whine.
“That bull’s just a damned bimbo,” Daniel said.
“Watch your mouth, son,” Joe admonished.
Daniel shook his head, his teeth clenched, and went back to the barn clearly upset. I couldn’t blame him. Joe followed him, hopefully to give him some solace, but more than likely it was to give him more work. Joe believed work solved all life’s ailments. Lizzy, stifling a sob, ran into the house.
“Why does that detective seemed determined to continually badger these kids?” I asked Chet. “They’ve all been through so much.”
Chet took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s unfortunate, but he has a job to do. They were all here the night of the party. He has to question everyone.”
I sighed. He was right, of course. I only hoped the other party guests were under the same amount of diligent scrutiny.
Chapter Fourteen
On Wednesday morning at about eight o’clock, I went out to my car to go to Margaret’s to check in on her. She’d been so distraught at the news of Lizzy, not to mention the fact Lizzy didn’t really want to talk with her, that I thought I should pay her a visit to see how she was faring before I had to be at the studio at ten o’clock.
I pushed the starter of the car, but the engine only whirred and sputtered. It had been a little temperamental lately, but today it was as dead as a doornail. I went to the barn to seek out Chet. He was in Goldie’s stall.
“The car won’t start,” I said to him as he scooped Goldie’s leavings into a wheelbarrow. He stopped and leaned on the handle of the rake.
“Well, I have to run a couple of errands in town, so I can drop you off at the studio and then pick you up later today,” he offered.
“I’d like to go by Margaret’s first. She was so upset the other day.”
“Okay, sure.” He came out of Goldie’s stall with the wheelbarrow and closed the stall door. I smiled at him, grateful for his accommodating nature. It wasn’t the ideal situation for either one of us—sometimes I worked late into the evening—but we would make do until we could take care of the car.
Forty minutes later, Chet pulled up to Margaret’s little bungalow and parked in the driveway that led to a small garage.
“Should I wait for you here?” he asked.
I tilted my head toward the front door. “No, why don’t you come in?”
We both got out of the car and made our way up the path to her front steps. When I knocked, the door creaked open.
“Margaret?” There was no answer. “Margaret? It’s Grace and Chet. May we come in?”
When there was still no answer, I turned to Chet. “Why do you think the door is open?”
He shrugged. He pushed it open farther. “Margaret, we’re coming in!”
We stepped inside. The living room was as neat and tidy as it had been before.
“She has a little studio on the sunporch at the back of the house,” I said. “Maybe she’s there and can’t hear us.”
I led Chet through the kitchen and out to the screened-in sunporch. Her easels looked as if they hadn’t been touched that morning so I went through the screen door to the backyard. There was no sign of her. I stepped back into the sunporch. Chet was admiring some of her artwork lying on a table in the corner.
“She’s talented,” he s
aid. “I don’t know much about art, but these look like they are really good.”
I sighed. “Well she’s obviously not here. I guess we should go.”
We walked back into the kitchen. There was a doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, near the icebox, which seemed to lead down a little hallway. It looked as if there were two additional rooms.
“Margaret?” I tried one more time, starting across the kitchen.
“Let’s go,” Chet said.
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Let me just check down here.”
When I turned back around and peered down the hall, my eye caught something on the floor in front of one of two additional doorframes. I gasped. Someone had fallen to the floor, their hand just sticking out into the hall.
“Margaret?” I called out. Then I shouted for Chet as I rushed down the hallway and looked inside the room to find Margaret prostrate on the floor. “Margaret! Margaret!” I gently shook her shoulder.
Chet came in and knelt down on the other side of her. He pressed his index and middle finger against her neck, looking for a pulse. Our eyes locked, and he frowned and shook his head.
I opened my eyes wide, not quite comprehending his meaning. “She’s dead?”
“There’s no pulse.” He leaned down and lowered his cheek to her face. “And she’s not breathing.”
My heart slammed against my ribs as tears filled my eyes. “Dear god . . . What happened?”
Chet moved a lock of hair away from her neck with the tip of his finger. There was slight bruising across her throat—a straight line about a half an inch thick. My eyes traveled down to her legs. One of them was covered in a black stocking but the other was bare, and there was a bruise the size of an egg on her thigh. Discarded next to her was the other stocking.
“Chet, look.” I pointed with a shaking finger.
He looked over at the stocking. “She was strangled—most likely with that.” He craned his neck to see behind me. “What’s that? On the floor?”
I turned around and saw something shiny. I reached over to pick it up.
“Don’t touch it,” Chet said. “We need to keep everything as it is.”
