Murder at the Falls

by Arlene Kay

  When tea and scones were wheeled into the sunroom I seized my chance to confront Joan. Pruett was surrounded by a claque of women, so I had no doubt he was up to his task. Babette had disappeared and I assumed she had joined Irene to further their plot.

  “Congratulations,” I said in what I hoped was a cheery, nonthreatening tone. “Your ring is lovely.”

  For once Joan Fergueson’s smile appeared to be genuine. She thanked me and held out her fingers to display the ring. Rolf was absent from the scene, so I pressed my advantage. “Carrick said just last night how much you liked jewelry. Does he know your good news?”

  Her expression changed from pleasant to peevish as she frowned and stepped away from me. “I haven’t discussed this with my uncle. He’s mistaken, by the way. I have little interest in most jewelry. This is different of course.” She excused herself and sped to the other side of the room, leaving me to wonder if the lady protested too much.

  Kate signaled me to join her at her table. I filled a plate with goodies to share and pulled out a chair.

  “Did you know about them?” I asked Kate. “Rolf and Joan, I mean. Seemed like her reaction was a bit over the top.”

  “Love is strange,” she said wryly. “Rolf never seemed like the romantic type to me, not that I’m much of an expert in that field. Never been married myself.” She eyed the ring again. “That’s some statement, though. Must have set him back at least twenty thousand dollars.”

  That amount seemed staggering to me, but Kate was very matter-of-fact. I mentally calculated how many dog leashes it would take to earn even half that sum.

  “Wow. I can’t imagine wearing something that valuable, although I guess some of the ladies here wouldn’t have any problem with it.”

  Kate chuckled. “No indeed. These ladies are old-school. Furs and jewelry galore. They expected it in their day and their husbands supplied the goods. Custom made, not your average chain-store fare. Just take a look around if you don’t believe me.”

  How right she was. Most ladies in the audience were bedecked and bedazzled with an assortment of earrings, pendants, and rings. Enough loot to tempt a thief and perhaps a murderer.

  Kate’s eyes twinkled as she said, “Your Mr. Pruett might just surprise you with one someday.”

  Although I had long passed the stage of maidenly blushes, her sudden reference to Pruett made the blood rush to my cheeks. I quickly changed the subject. “Apparently Sara Whitman had quite a sparkler. Emerald, I heard.”

  “Search me. By the time I met her that ring had disappeared and all hell had broken loose. Dr. Fergueson was apoplectic and Carole Ross was buzzing around like the queen bee looking for her hive. Even Jethro Tully got into the act. Rolf told me all about it. He and Sara were thick as thieves, you know.”

  Just as I put a dab of honey and butter on a croissant, Pruett pulled up a chair and joined us.

  “Ah, Perri, I thought you didn’t have a sweet tooth,” Pruett teased. His own plate overflowed with goodies that he wolfed down without compunction. “Lots of temptation around this place. No wonder Nurse Ross couldn’t resist that candy.”

  Kate bit her lip and cast her eyes downward. “What a tragedy. I wonder if they’ll ever solve Carole’s murder, let alone Dr. Tully’s. It casts a pall on this place, hasn’t it? I was tempted to change Therapy Dog slots for something less bleak, but I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch now that Rolf’s thrown in the towel.”

  Pruett jumped on that bit of news immediately. “Really? He doesn’t seem like the squeamish type.”

  Kate explained about the upcoming nuptials, all the while eyeing Pruett’s face. His reaction or lack thereof must have disappointed her. My guy was a sphinx when the occasion demanded it. A bell rang, signifying the start of the musical program, and Kate slowly hoisted herself up. Pruett immediately offered to carry her guitar and gear while I wrangled Gomer into a manageable trot. As we joined those gathered in the sunroom, I noticed Babette and Irene as they slipped into seats in the anteroom. Both wore particularly smug smiles that suggested their quest had gone well.

  Kate’s performance was always a crowd pleaser. Today’s requests included several selections from the folk song era, as well as traditional tunes from long ago. I found myself tearing up when she played, “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” It had been one of Pip’s favorites and I treasured every line. When the program concluded Babette, Pruett, and I agreed to reconvene at my house after our discussion with Therese. Babette could barely contain herself but finally agreed to wait in the Suburban with Clara and Prospero.

  At first I thought Therese wasn’t there. My eyes scanned the veranda searching for her and fearing the worst. Pruett spotted the tiny figure as she scurried from the shadows and approached us.

  “Thank you for coming.” Her voice was barely audible and she couldn’t meet our eyes. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  Pruett immediately launched a charm offensive. “Nonsense, dear lady. It’s very brave of you to come forward.” He motioned to a nearby bench and guided Therese toward a seat.

  After some dithering the lady came to the point. On the day of Dr. Tully’s murder, Therese had a dizzy spell. “Nothing major,” she said, “but worrisome nevertheless.” She went to his office without an appointment hoping for a quick word. “Dr. Fergueson would have had a fit if she knew, so I kind of crept around the corner. She’s a stickler for rules, you know, but Dr. Tully was always so very kind.” Therese dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief and seemed on the verge of a crying fit.

  To forestall that Pruett quickly interposed a question. “About what time was that?”

  “Right after noon. Around twelve fifteen. I remember hoping that everyone would be at lunch. Nothing is private around here, you see, and I didn’t want anyone making a fuss over me.” Therese swallowed before continuing. “His office door was only partially closed. That’s how I heard the voices.”

  As I recalled, Kate had discovered Jethro Tully’s body before one p.m. I forced myself to ask the one question I most feared. “Did you recognize who was speaking?” I steeled myself for the worst, terrified of what her answer would be. If Magdalen was the speaker, it was game over.

  Therese continued her narrative. “That’s just it. I could only hear fragments of the conversation, mostly Dr. Tully.” She smiled. “He had such a resonant voice, you know, so like my dear father.”

  “Any idea who Tully was speaking to?” Pruett asked.

  “I don’t know.” Therese hung her head again. “Just that it could have been a woman, or a younger man. Things got loud. Both of them raised their voices.”

  Patience may be a virtue, but I was fresh out of it. I ignored Pruett’s frown and plowed ahead. “Did you recognize it? It wasn’t Magdalen, was it?”

  She frowned as if I had committed a social faux pas. “Oh no, my dear. This voice was younger. When Dr. Tully called whoever it was a thief, you wouldn’t believe the foul language they both used. I’d never heard some of those things before. Horrible words. Magdalen would never be vulgar.” Obviously the salty talk had scandalized poor Therese, who was used to more subtle ways of sabotaging an antagonist. Murder by innuendo and gossip was a practiced art at places like the Falls and frequently resulted in a more acceptable but still lethal death by a thousand cuts.

  I thought of Nurse Edgar, a large man with a somewhat high voice. Under stress he could sound feminine. Rolf, my favorite suspect and villain, would certainly know a slew of curses to hurl at an adversary and I knew from experience that he was both unpleasant and aggressive. Only two women were in the running: Dr. Fergueson and Kate. Neither seemed the violent type, although I knew that looks were frequently deceiving. All four had access to residents and the opportunity to grab some of their valuables. If on the other hand someone was swindling the seniors out of their property, one suspect leaped to the top of the list. I knew my objectivity was
in doubt. I really wanted Rolf to be the culprit and that clouded my judgment.

  “Therese, give me your opinion. I can tell you’ve given this some thought.” Pruett leaned over, as if they were confidants sharing secrets. “Were they talking real estate, jewelry, or something else?”

  She furrowed her brow, trying mightily to please him but to no avail. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pruett, but I just don’t know. Dr. Tully mentioned a betrayal of trust.”

  Pruett came to attention. “Could it have been a real estate trust he was talking about?”

  Therese shook her head as if her desire to please was at war with the need for accuracy. “I’m sorry. Trust. That’s just what he said, but I heard someone coming and got frightened. I didn’t want them to find me eavesdropping.”

  Pruett tut-tutted and squeezed Therese’s hand. “You’ve been very brave. The sheriff has to hear about this, you know. No need to be frightened. I’ll drive you there right now myself.”

  Before she could object, he nudged her toward the door and into the parking lot, leaving me alone with plenty of questions.

  Chapter 29

  “Where is he?” Babette fumed. “We said we’d share our findings and I’ve been waitin’.”

  I calmed her down by suggesting that we call Micah and arrange a meeting at my place with or without Pruett. As expected, Micah’s name worked like a magic potion. Babette’s face was immediately wreathed in dimples and smiles.

  “Great idea, Perri. We’ll keep our lips buttoned until Micah shows up. I’m gettin’ mighty fond of that boy even though he is a few years younger than me.” She ignored the fact that he was actually a decade her junior and thrust her cell phone my way. In Croyland inconvenient facts were challenges, not problems. “Here. You call him. I don’t want Micah to think I’m bein’ pushy.”

  She had long since passed the pushy point, but in the interests of peace I wisely chose to ignore that fact. When I reached Micah he knew all about Pruett’s trip to the sheriff and was already primed for action. Apparently his real estate quest had borne fruit he promised to share with us that evening. True to form, Babette insisted on going home to primp before our meeting. “Nothin’ spells good groomin’ like a manicure,” she said as she inspected her hands. “You really ought to try it, Perri. If I hurry, I’ll have time to change and drop by my nail spa before Micah shows up.”

  No use reminding her that for a leathersmith like me, a manicure was a waste of time and money. I kept my nails clean and neatly trimmed. That was the best I could hope for.

  I had no time to ponder the events of the day. Once I arrived home Raza, Zeke, and an irascible Thatcher demanded my attention. While Keats and Poe roughhoused with Zeke, I checked my emails and attended to the neglected coon cat. Thatcher, like her namesake, was very much the iron lady who ruled the household with a velvet paw. Keats and Poe were respectful of her and even Zeke kept his distance. I merely tried to do her bidding.

  To my surprise I received an email from Magdalen Melmoth thanking me for our efforts on her behalf and inviting me to lunch with her and Irene at the Red Fox Tavern in Middleburg the next day. Ironically although Babette was included in the party, Pruett and Micah were not. The wording was courteous but distant. I got the distinct impression it was a dismissal of sorts, although it might reflect the formal style of another age. Perhaps Magdalen blamed me for the failure of the Sybil Vane venture. That was hardly fair, but then again, life didn’t always play by my rule book. Truth be told I had grown fond of Magdalen and felt wounded by a perceived snub. I told myself to grow up and sought consolation by saddling beautiful Raza and spending an invigorating hour cantering through the byways of Grand Marsh. Time spent with her was more therapeutic for me than an hour’s soaking my hands at a nail salon. By the time I had cooled the mare down and curried and combed her soft coat, my fit of pique was completely forgotten. I had just enough time to groom myself and attend to customer invoices before the arrival of my guests.

  * * * *

  Babette arrived first, armed with several bottles of Chablis and an array of Chinese dishes from the local Szechuan restaurant. I applauded her generosity especially because my cupboard was almost bare and I hadn’t planned to serve dinner. Babette, on the other hand, pointedly reminded me that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. It was a route she was very familiar with.

  While she bustled about arranging dishes and folding napkins, I shared Magdalen’s invitation with her. Unlike me, Babette shrugged off any insult.

  “Give it a rest, Perri. Magdalen’s an old lady and that’s the way they roll. I’m surprised she used email, though. An engraved invitation would be more her style.” She proceeded to rhapsodize about the Red Fox, a place with plenty of interesting history behind it. “You realize that JFK and Jackie frequented it, and even Liz Taylor and that political stiff she married hung around there.” My pal rolled her eyes. “If walls could talk, huh?”

  I had no interest in reliving old history or in having another tedious luncheon, but to placate Babette, I agreed to the meeting. Middleburg was one of my favorite places, an ultrawealthy but distinctly horsey enclave where even the debutantes wore jodhpurs and boots about town. A number of local stores carried my products so I could combine a spot of business with our social engagement.

  Just then Zeke issued another one of his hideous shrieks, alerting us to the arrival of Micah. The plucky lawyer was not alone; he was joined by the Sir Galahad of the printed page, Wing Pruett. Both men immediately headed for the sideboard and poured themselves and us goblets of Chablis.

  “What a day!” Micah said. “Small wonder I avoided real estate law. Tedious beyond belief.”

  Babette sidled up to him wearing her most winsome smile. “Sit right down and tell us all about it, Micah. We’re all ears.”

  Pruett raised his eyebrows but wisely said nothing. He braced himself against an onslaught by Prospero, who apparently found my guy quite irresistible. The pup was already nearing thirty pounds and growing by leaps and bounds. Despite Babette’s half-hearted efforts to thwart him, he launched himself at Pruett with the force of a Scud missile.

  “Isn’t he just the cutest thing?” his fond mama asked. “Prospero I mean, although you’re mighty cute yourself, Wing.”

  I hated to be a spoilsport, but time was ticking away. “They’re both adorable. Okay? Now let’s hear what each of us has to report. Ready, Micah?”

  He gave a brisk nod and quickly summarized his efforts to unmask Venetian Enterprise company. “It took a while, let me tell you. Somebody knew what he was doing and intended to obscure ownership.”

  Babette shot him a look of pure adoration. “Bet that didn’t fool you, did it?”

  Modesty aside, Micah cut to the chase with amazing speed. “There are three corporate officers of Venetian: none other than Rolf Hart, Joan Fergueson, and the late Sara Whitman. From what I could tell, everything is in order. No funny business except for one anomaly.”

  We all leaned forward.

  “Most of their acquisitions involved large parcels in rural Virginia, and from what I could gather the majority of sellers were affiliated with the Falls.”

  Now I realized the connection that had percolated in the back of my brain ever since we first heard of the company. Rolf Hart loved Shakespeare, particularly The Merchant of Venice. It recalled his college triumph in the title role of Shylock. Even his beautiful borzoi Portia was named for one of the main characters. No telling what role fiancée Joan Fergueson played in the drama.

  Micah finished his part of the evening’s entertainment with this tidbit: The corporation had a “key person” policy that provided that in the event of any principal’s death, all proceeds were disbursed to the remaining two.

  “That’s pretty standard. Ensures continuity.” Micah paused. “And before you ask, the sellers got fair market value for their land with this exception. Unbeknownst to t
hem, a major shopping and housing complex is slated to move into the area. Lots of acreage for over-fifty residential communities and more facilities like the Falls.” His lawyerly instincts suddenly asserted themselves. “Nothing’s certain, of course, and plans can change. If they don’t, the investors in Venetian stand to make a bundle.”

  Babette puffed up like a cobra. “Is that legal? Cheatin’ old folks out of money? Doesn’t seem right.”

  Micah explained that unless someone could prove undue influence, the transactions appeared to be perfectly legal. “Caveat emptor, as they say.”

  “Not necessarily ethical, though,” Pruett added, “especially if Joan Fergueson misused information she acquired through her position. That may have been what upset Nurse Ross and Dr. Tully.”

  We digested that information while ingesting the food Babette had brought. Righteous anger gave each of us a healthy appetite and before long every grain of rice and morsel of shrimp had disappeared. I didn’t dare read the legend in my fortune cookie considering the dire thoughts I harbored.

  Next Babette took center stage. She couldn’t wait to share the information she and Irene had learned from schmoozing with their pals. “It was phenomenal, I swear. Just like an episode of Murder, She Wrote.” She hesitated as the image of the title character sank in. “Naturally I’m a much younger version of Jessica,” she said. “Maybe like her daughter or niece.”

  I didn’t dare laugh. That would be unkind, and more to the point, it would delay us even more.

  Despite the drama, Babette and Irene had apparently delivered the goods. Babette reached into her handbag and produced a neatly typed list of the missing items with a name alongside each.

  “We struck gold,” she announced. “Or in some cases, platinum. Everything offered to that jeweler belonged to one of those ladies. They couldn’t believe it.” She pointed at Pruett. “They expect the loot to be returned posthaste. That sheriff friend of yours can probably see to that.”