Grace in Hollywood: A Grace Michelle Mystery

by Kari Bovee

  “Oh, but wait,” I said. “There’s more. Lizzy—Elsa—isn’t well, sir, and her trial is quickly approaching. I cannot afford the bail the court has posted, and I would like for her to come home, with me, to recover and to give her comfort while she stands trial. You are all she has, really, in a manner of speaking.”

  There was silence on the other end and then the sound of tapping. I assumed he was tamping out the tobacco from his pipe. I held my breath, waiting for his reply.

  “How much is the bail?”

  I swallowed nervously. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  More silence. “Very well. I’ll wire it tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Flooded with relief that Lizzy, or Elsa, would soon be safe at home with us, I went back upstairs and crawled into bed quietly so as not to disturb Chet. I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep, but my thoughts were awhirl. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation with Alastair Travis in my mind.

  The information about James Johnson had been enlightening. When he’d came to America, he’d dropped Preston and Travis from his name to protect himself, obviously, but maybe to protect Edward, as well. A murderous criminal gang was looking for him, after all. Perhaps Edward had insisted upon this to protect Greta and Elsa, too?

  I closed my eyes again and tried to organize my thoughts, but they were jumbled. They passed through and around my brain like a dust devil. The dreams I’d been having intertwined with the facts and the odd occurrences as a result of the reading with Lenora Lange, and then later at the séance. Some messages I’d absorbed from the living, and others had come from the dead. Hints, clues, and brick walls. Family secrets, mental and emotional denial.

  Suddenly, my mind settled on an image of Sophia. It was the last image I’d seen of her in my dream. She’d been holding out the bottle labeled Poison. But that hadn’t been what killed her in reality. She’d been poisoned with arsenic, murdered. The vial I’d found on set and then later rolled across my salon floor popped into my mind.

  Edward Travis was dead, clearly murdered. Margaret was dead, clearly murdered. Pearl Davis was dead, her death now determined a murder. And Lizzy was in jail. All three of these women were connected to Edward Travis, and all three stood to inherit, and now James Johnson. The only people now standing in the way of James Johnson getting everything were his own parents and—

  Dear god! Florence!

  I threw off the covers and scurried to my closet, rummaging in the dark to find some dungarees and a sweater. I jammed my feet into some flats, putting them on the wrong feet. Once I righted them, I dashed down the stairs, swiped my handbag and car keys off the hall table, and headed outside to my car.

  I drove as fast as it would go, my mind focused on keeping the car from veering too far to the left or right. Thankfully, the streets were empty.

  Thirty minutes later, I swung the car onto the circular drive of the mansion. I got out and ran to the front door. As I had figured, it was locked. I ran around the side of the house, past the swimming pool and headed for the kitchen door. It, too, was locked.

  “Felicity,” I said. “She’ll have a key.”

  I ran to her little bungalow and banged on her front door. I got no response so I banged again. Finally, she opened it. Her hair was wrapped in a silk kerchief, and she pulled her dressing gown closed around her waist.

  “Grace? What in the heck are you doin’ here, sugar?” Her voice was groggy with sleep.

  “I need a key to the mansion.”

  “What? What are you talking about, girl?”

  “Now, Felicity! Give me the key to the kitchen door.”

  She stared at me dumbly.

  I shook her by the shoulders. “The kitchen door! Now! Trust me!”

  She left me standing at the door, and in a few seconds, she returned with a key. I snatched it from her hand. “Go call the police. Florence is in danger.”

  “But Grace—”

  “Do it!”

  Clutching the key in my palm, I raced back to the mansion. My hands were shaking so hard, I had trouble fitting the key into the lock but was eventually successful.

  Once inside the kitchen, I grabbed a brass candlestick, fled to the foyer, and dashed up the staircase to my right. When I reached the landing I looked left and then right, trying to remember the layout of the upper floor. I had only been in Mr. Travis’s study up there—no other rooms. Taking a guess, I tiptoed down the hallway to the first closed door on the right. Opening it gently, I stuck my head in. The drapes were open and the gray of early morning lit the room. It was a bedroom, but the bed was neatly made. I tried the door across the hall. Dim light illuminated this room, as well, and I took in a breath, worried someone had heard me. But the room was empty, and again, the bed was made. A small lamp on the nightstand bathed the room in a soft glow. I was about to close the door when something metal on the nightstand caught my eye.

  Squinting into the dimness, I made my way over to it. It was a metal box about the size of my palm. There was nothing remarkable about it, but for some inexplicable reason, I was drawn to it. It was secured with a clasp on one side and had two tiny metal hinges on the other. I set the candlestick down and picked up the box. I flipped open the clasp and pried it open. Inside, nestled in hollows of red velvet, were two dark-brown medicine vials with rubber stoppers, set on either side of another longer hollow, and this one was empty. A hot prickling burned under my skin, and perspiration bloomed from my palms.

  All the messages, real or imagined, all the dreams, waking or in slumber, all of my visions and memories led to this. The answer.

  I picked up one of the bottles and turned it under the light. In large letters, the label read Ampoul I’Letin, and in smaller letters underneath, in parenthesis, Insulin, Lilly.

  Insulin. I knew it!

  I scanned the room, and my gaze landed on a coat that was thrown over a chair. I went to it and inspected it, reaching into the pockets, which were empty. I was about to set it down again when I noticed the cuff of one of the sleeves. A button was missing. I looked at the other sleeve. The button on it was a perfect match to the one I’d found on the staircase outside my studio.

  A prickling heat coursed through me. I set the jacket down and flipped the kit closed. I was just about to set it back down on the nightstand when I sensed someone behind me. I turned to see James Johnson standing in the doorway. He was completely dressed, but his shirt tail hung out from his pants and dirt smeared his cheek. I grabbed the candlestick.

  “Miss Michelle. What are you doing here?” His voice was amazingly calm—almost as if he had been expecting me. He closed the door behind him.

  I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry as dust. I held the candlestick in front of me. “Where is Florence?” I asked.

  He smiled and took a step toward me. I backed into the bed.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She never returned from the studio.”

  Never returned? They had left the studio together. “What have you done with her? Where is she?”

  He held his hands in the air. “We aren’t attached at the hip, dear girl. Well, at least not anymore.” He slowly took off his tie and held it between his hands. I felt the blood drain from my head. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? And so early in the morning? Were you dreaming of me? Are you tired of that old windbag of a husband?”

  I took in a shaky breath. “Why do you have this?” I asked, holding up the metal box with my free hand.

  “I have diabetes. Was diagnosed two years ago.” He lifted a shoulder and took another step. “I’ll ask you again. What are you doing in my room?”

  “Is that how you killed Pearl Davis? Did you give her an injection of insulin?”

  He let out a low chuckle. “And here I thought you were just another vapid blonde who liked clothing. But you surprise me, Miss Michelle.”

  He took another step closer. My heart was hammering
in my chest. I suddenly remembered I’d told Felicity to call the police. If I could just remain calm and keep him away from me, they might get there before— A shudder escaped down my back.

  “It’s really not that complicated.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Almost everyone who stood to gain from Edward’s will is dead. Except you, Florence—if you haven’t killed her already— and your parents. Are they next?”

  “And Elsa,” he added, an evil grin splitting his face in two. “But I’m curious, Miss Michelle—Grace. May I call you Grace? Seems appropriate considering how intimate we are soon to become.” He twisted the tie between his hands.

  I clenched my teeth, my stomach roiling.

  “How exactly did you figure out who I am?” he asked.

  I raised my chin in defiance. “I found a photograph. And I spoke with your father, Alastair.”

  His eyes opened wide, and he moved closer. His jaw flexed, the sides of his nose twitching in anger. I could see the veins in his neck protruding. “He’s not my father. He was never my father—only the ogre who shared my mother’s bed. I was never good enough for him. Never as good as his cherished one, the golden boy.” He flung his arm in the air, and I flinched.

  I quickly composed myself again. “You mean Edward?”

  “Of course I mean Edward,” he sneered. “Who else?”

  I swayed as a wave of dizziness overtook me. I realized I’d been holding my breath. I took in a gulp of air. “So your motivation for killing him was more than just the money. You hated him—even though he was pretty good to you, considering your past.”

  He let out a laugh. “Good to me? If you call demanding perpetual servitude being good to me, then you’re not as smart as I thought.”

  “But, you didn’t kill him with the broken glass, did you? At least, not at first. You followed him and Lizzy out to the barn, but then what happened? Did you intend to kill them both?”

  He moved toward the desk, and I braced myself for the worst, expecting him to come after me, but he simply pulled the chair out from under the desk, placed it up against the door, and sat down. He crossed his right leg over his left. I wanted to shout at him that the police would be there at any moment, but I was worried he’d kill me and then escape before they arrived.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, confused by his sitting down.

  He shrugged again. “I was tired of standing. Besides, I need to rest before I take care of you.” He pulled a syringe from his pants pocket and held it in front of his face. “Nope. Not enough left for the both of us. Florence didn’t quite need the full dose.”

  I swallowed. So he had killed her, too.

  He settled into the chair and smiled at me. A sickening chill washed over my body. “Now, where were we?” he went on. “I’m quite enjoying this. It feels good to unburden my soul.”

  Where are the police?!

  I cleared my throat, mustering up my courage. “I asked if you had planned to kill both Lizzy and Edward. You obviously knew who Lizzy really was.”

  “Elsa. Yes, I knew. Had for quite a while. But it takes time, you know, to figure out how to commit the perfect crime.”

  I willed my legs to stop shaking, and I tried to steady my breathing. If only I could keep him talking until the police arrived. I cocked my head, feigning interest when, really, I just wanted to hit him over the head with the candlestick and run. But he was between me and the door.

  “So imagine my surprise and delight when I found sweet Elsa at the party,” he continued. “At your house! It seemed the stars had aligned for me. She really is a delightful girl. I quite enjoyed talking with her. And oh, how she loves those horses. Wouldn’t shut up about them. But then Edward had to go and spoil our conversation. He told me to fetch him another drink and to get ‘Lizzy’ a glass of water. When I did, off they went to the barn.”

  “And you followed them.”

  He smiled. “I did.”

  “And?” I wanted to know how he’d managed to subdue both of them.

  “It was nothing ingenious. Florence actually helped. She didn’t realize it, of course. She followed them, too. Told Edward she wanted to speak with him. He told Elsa to go on, he’d join her in the barn in a minute. He and Florence got in another one of their famous arguments. You know, his philandering with young starlets, her jealousy. Ridiculous. Meanwhile, I slipped into the barn after the girl, and—”

  “When did you jab her in the arm with the needle?” I interrupted. “Inject her with the insulin? Was it in the house?” I raised my chin, showing him I wasn’t afraid of him, but my insides were telling me otherwise.

  He sighed. “Yes. It takes a little while for the insulin to take full effect.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing Detective Walton had listened to Lizzy. She probably wouldn’t be sitting in a jail cell awaiting trial right now if he had. I opened my eyes and looked James dead in the eye. “And what about your brother?” I asked. “Did you wait until you were in the barn before you gave him a dose?”

  “Yes. I didn’t really have an opportunity before then.” He looked pensive, as if he were reliving how he could have done it better. “I simply stabbed him in leg with the rest of the insulin, and while he was distracted, I broke the glass Lizzy had brought to the barn and finished him off. It was perfect.”

  “You made it look as if Lizzy had killed him.”

  He nodded and stood up. “Yes. And that brainless detective was more than pleased to arrest Lizzy for the crime. It worked out perfectly. The state would take care of her for me. She would either hang or spend the rest of her life in prison and never be allowed to inherit.” He held out his hand. “Now pass me the insulin kit.”

  Like hell.

  Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, and his lips had turned a sickly shade of white.

  I needed to keep him talking. “So that gave you the perfect opportunity to frame her for Margaret’s death, too. You went upstairs, found her room, and took the earring.”

  “The kit,” he said between clenched teeth. He blinked rapidly and shook his head.

  It suddenly dawned on me. He needed a dose of the insulin, and I had the vial. I had some leverage here. “Where is Florence?” I pressed again. “Tell me and I’ll give this to you.”

  His mouth twitched, and he clenched his jaw. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what I tell you,” he said, his voice ominously low. “You’ll be dead soon anyhow. Let’s just say she met her unfortunate death at the train tracks. Silly girl was so distraught, she got drunk and, well, toppled onto the tracks.” He grinned.

  My body shook with rage. He was so calculating, so cold. “You mean you drugged her with insulin and put her on the tracks. You’re despicable.”

  He held out his hand for the metal box. It was shaking, and his face had grown pale, giving him the look of a ghost. “Now give me the box.”

  I shook my head no. And then, like angels from heaven, sirens wailed in the distance.

  James Johnson lunged at me, but I was able to dodge him. I ran for the door, but he grabbed me around the waist, and I struggled against him. I tried elbowing him in the ribs, but he was too close. He threw me to the ground and then straddled me on his knees. I flailed, trying to scratch his face, but he caught one of my wrists and twisted. While I howled in pain, he tied my wrists together with his necktie and then pinned them behind my head and wrapped the ends of the tie around my neck, rendering me completely helpless. I thrashed about, but somehow he managed to drag me closer to the nightstand. He grabbed hold of the kit, flipped it open, and took out one of the vials. He stuck the needle into the rubber stopper.

  “You’ll never make it in time,” I said. “Don’t you think the police will figure it out? If you kill me, they’ll know it was you who murdered everyone. You can’t frame Lizzy for me or for Florence, just like you couldn’t frame her for Miss Davis’s death. You’ve killed too many. Don’t you see, you’re the only one left!”

  He pulled the needle out of the rubber stopper
and held it in front of my face. “Shut up,” he growled. He was about to plunge the needle into my arm when we heard a commotion coming up the stairs.

  “If you kill me—”

  “I said shut up!” he snapped.

  The sound of doors banging open made him hesitate, and with all my might, I thrust my body to the left, causing him to lose his balance.

  “In here!” I screamed.

  He got to his feet and ran to the window. He threw it open and disappeared onto the roof, just as two uniformed police officers burst through the door.

  “He went out the window!”

  One of the officers climbed onto the sill and followed him out. “Get downstairs and tell the others to come round the back!” he shouted to the other officer who ran from the room.

  A gunshot sounded outside.

  “Grace!” Felicity appeared in the doorway and ran to me. “Grace, are you all right?”

  She helped me sit up and started working at releasing me from the knots. “He confessed to everything, Felicity. James Johnson. He killed them all.”

  “I can’t find Florence,” she told me.

  “He’s left her on the train tracks somewhere.” I struggled to help Felicity loosen the tie from around my wrists. “Quick, we have to tell the police. God, I hope she isn’t dead.”

  She released my wrists and threw the tie on the floor. “Here, let me help you up.” She stood behind me and, placing her arms under my armpits, hauled me to my feet. Once I was standing, the blood drained from my head. My fingers tingled with renewed sensation, but my knees went week.

  And then there was nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bright light penetrated my eyelids, and the soft sound of footsteps brought me back to consciousness. A warm hand took hold of my wrist and held it up. I opened my eyes.

  A man wearing a white coat stood over me, looking at a pocket watch. He flipped it shut and turned his gaze to me.

  “Miss Michelle. Welcome back,” he said, his fatherly face breaking into a smile. His pale eyes crinkled in the corners behind round-framed spectacles.