Murder at the Falls

by Arlene Kay

  I recalled again what Carrick said about sparkly things and Joan’s love for them. There was enough sparkle in that collection to light up an entire room. Unfortunately although their audience racked their collective brains, no one had been able to pinpoint exactly when their treasures went missing or who was in the vicinity when they did.

  My contribution seemed meager in comparison with the nuggets unearthed by my friends. I mentioned the engagement ring and the eye-popping price Kate had speculated about. Babette immediately cut in. “Big deal. That ring was nice enough, but I would have expected more from a moneybags like Rolf Hart. When it comes to diamonds you really can’t go wrong, and size does matter.”

  The testimony of Therese Ellis made everyone sit up straight. After all, she was an actual earwitness to Dr. Tully’s final minutes. Micah zeroed in on the timetable. “If she can be believed, Tully may have been murdered earlier than we thought. Magdalen got his call at twelve thirty and found him a little before one. That was verified by Kate’s account as well.”

  “Too bad she couldn’t tell whose voice that was.” Babette curled her lip. “Friend or not, I say Nurse Edgar fits the part.”

  We reminded her that Edgar hadn’t been present during Sara Whitman’s tenure or prior to Carole Ross’s death. She dismissed that stumbling block with a wave of her hand. “He could have been in cahoots with someone there. You know, the outside man. Mark my words, that guy has something to hide.” She preened. “You know how keen my instincts are on these matters.”

  Pruett then added his two cents. According to the ladies he spoke with, Rolf Hart had zeroed in on anyone with property, particularly those without a vigilant family around them. Several residents complained to Nurse Ross about what they termed harassment. That caused Rolf to revise his strategy and include Sara Whitman in his recruitment efforts. She was well-liked, informed, and very persuasive. “Several of the ladies changed their minds after speaking with Sara,” Pruett said. “She invested her own money, so they felt much more comfortable getting involved.”

  Micah was impatient. He crossed his arms and rocked back and forth in his chair. “Bottom line, did any of them back out of a deal before signing? Any coercion involved if they did?”

  “Nope. That’s the strange thing. Some of them got nervous, especially if their lawyers advised against selling. No harm no foul. One lady owned a prime package in Georgetown not far from my place. She told Sara right up front that she wouldn’t sell.”

  Babette spoke. “Peer pressure. You want to fit in at a place like that and Sara Whitman was what they call a social influencer. I’ll bet a lot of those ladies caved and you can be sure that Joan Fergueson was right in the mix.”

  Micah reminded us that sales pressure in itself was neither illegal nor a likely motive for murder. “Personally I’d focus on the jewelry theft. Much easier to pinpoint and quite unambiguous when you’re talking crime.”

  I was curious about Sheriff Aleita’s reaction to Therese and why Pruett hadn’t mentioned it. Information sharing was often a one-way street with him unless someone demanded an answer. So I did.

  He tried some evasive tactics until Babette marched over to his chair, folded her arms, and faced him squarely. “Out with it,” she said. “What are you hidin’, Wing Pruett?”

  According to Pruett, Therese had fared quite well at the sheriff’s office. Aleita listened respectfully to her, took notes, and had her sign a statement. Afterward the sheriff told him that although Magdalen was still the prime suspect, no substantive evidence had been uncovered. Now in light of Therese’s information the timetable would have to be reevaluated.

  As my friends debated the merits of both crimes, I also focused on that timetable for Dr. Tully’s murder. Therese was adamant about her movements, and I believed her. She was timid and so wary of bending the rules that she would have closely watched the clock. Jethro Tully was alive at half past noon and dead thirty minutes later. A standing joke at the Falls stated that residents seldom missed a meal because it might be their last one. Someone had slipped into that office knowing that the area would be deserted. That same person had quarreled with Tully and used his own water bottle or some other sharp object to slay him. A “weapon of opportunity” was the police term.

  Our little group had strayed a long way from that initial quest to find Oscar Wilde and I for one was ready to call it a day. Micah and Pruett agreed, although Babette offered token resistance. In the end we compiled all our research into a Word document and made copies that Micah and Pruett agreed to share with the sheriff. Let the professionals take over. Our quest was finished.

  Chapter 30

  I never had that lunch in Middleburg. Business needs and life intervened, forcing me to bow out of the event. Babette went, however, and by her account a good time was had by all. It was cowardly of me, but frankly I was ready to put the Falls, Oscar Wilde, murder, and even Magdalen Melmoth in the rearview mirror and motor on. The Therapy Dog program was still a priority, although I asked for a different assignment. To my delight, Keats, Poe, and I were assigned to library duty in Southeast DC. The official program title was “Reading to Dogs,” and because reading had always been one of my passions, the concept excited me. If we could encourage kids, many of whom had difficult family situations, to escape into new worlds and burnish their skills, I was all for it. Books had expanded frontiers for me when I was a youngster, and with including dogs, things just couldn’t get better.

  Before embarking upon my new assignment, I checked in with Kate to ask for tips on library issues and get her perspective on the children’s needs. Her manner was cordial but surprisingly aloof. In the past Kate had always been warm and welcoming, but I surmised that she wanted to put the Falls and everything associated with it out of her mind. Apparently I was included in that mix.

  Babette accompanied me to the library for my maiden voyage. Naturally she brought Clara along as her wingman, although she wisely excluded Prospero from our group. The pup’s exuberance was endearing but more than any library could handle.

  We received a rousing welcome from both the library staff and the children. They hugged our dogs and scrambled over to the kids’ corner, books in hand. Their eager eyes and wide smiles soothed my nerves and made the entire process feel worthwhile. Experts contend that reading aloud to dogs allows children to burnish their skills and even improve test scores. Initially several kids were tentative but soon overcame their reluctance when Keats put his head in their laps and gazed soulfully at them. Clara curled her body around two little girls who giggled as they stroked the border collie’s soft fur. By the end of the session, both Babette and I were sold on the concept and ready to sign on for more. As we said our goodbyes, I saw a familiar face in the background. Kate waved us over and motioned toward the side door.

  “I couldn’t resist,” she said. “Do you have time for coffee?”

  Babette immediately leaped in. “Of course. We need to play catch up with you.”

  We adjourned to a nearby Starbucks and claimed a table. Kate insisted on treating, explaining the reason with a shake of her head.

  “This is my apology,” she said. “I felt ashamed about brushing you off today. It was unforgivably rude of me. That whole experience at the Falls was so painful that I tried to forget everything about it.”

  Over double lattes we revisited the events there. Kate updated us on the romantic saga of Joan and Rolf, whose wedding was scheduled for the next week.

  “Funny thing,” Babette said. “I didn’t get my invitation yet. Must be lost in the mail.” Kate chuckled but wisely said nothing. I knew I was persona non grata with the happy couple and Babette was a close second. Joan had always been cool, but Rolf actively loathed both of us. Hardly ideal for a wedding invitation.

  “Any news about the murders?” Kate asked as she cautiously sipped her drink. “I figure Mr. Pruett has an inside track even if there’s nothing in the
media.”

  “Sheriff Aleita was still plugging away last I heard. At least they’ve backed off Magdalen for the time being.” Most of my information came secondhand through Babette’s contact with Carrick and Irene. I tried not to act aggrieved, but Magdalen’s snubs still stung. I had grown to care for her and had done my best to help her.

  “We gave her all our findings,” Babette said. “The sheriff, I mean. We figured the motive was either that stolen jewelry or the real estate scams. I ’bout tracked down the gems too.” She winked. “I think you know who that puts in the bull’s-eye.”

  Kate remained impassive. Based on her reaction or lack thereof, I knew she must be a masterful poker player. “Dr. Fergueson resigned from the Falls or so I heard.” She hesitated, as if there was more to that tale. “No reason given.”

  Babette gave her a hard stare. “Come on. Out with it. What else do you know?”

  “Well…it seems the newlyweds plan to build quite a mansion. In Great Falls of all places. Big bucks in that place. Rolf was always careful with his money, so it must be love.”

  Babette shrugged. “Nothin’ wrong with a man showing his love, and a big homestead is one sure way. Jewelry doesn’t hurt either.” She spoke from experience, having gained real estate and other valuables from adoring males.

  I agreed in principle, unless, of course, murder fueled the funding. In my heart Rolf Hart was still the prime murder suspect, even though in my brain I acknowledged my own bias against him. He was such an unpleasant man that he had to be guilty of something, even if it was only bad manners.

  “I’m surprised you gave up,” Kate teased. “What would Agatha Christie say?”

  Neither of us responded. As I recalled, Dame Agatha lived to a rich old age. My fervent hope was that by avoiding murderers both Babette and I would also do so.

  We finished our drinks and said our goodbyes. Kate headed toward the Metro, the most expedient method of transportation during rush hour. Babette and I didn’t have that option. DC traffic was a mess and the route to northern Virginia was even worse. Before we reached my Suburban a young woman rushed toward us waving her arms. I recognized her as a barista from the coffee house.

  “Your phone,” she said. “It fell under your chair.”

  I patted my jacket pocket, comforted by the reassuring lump it contained. Nope. My phone was still there. Babette kept her iPhone in the humongous Chanel satchel she slung over her shoulder and guarded that thing like the pricey treasure it was. “Not mine,” she said, reaching for the phone. “Let me see. I bet Kate dropped it. No problem.” She handed the server a handsome tip for her trouble. “Thanks. We’ll return this to our friend. Might as well do it now; we’ll be tied up in traffic no matter what.”

  I retrieved Kate’s address from my directory and plugged in my portable GPS. Cleveland Park and Southeast DC were about three miles and many millions of dollars apart as the crow flies. It wasn’t my first choice, but I felt honor bound to return Kate’s property to her. After all, most of us, even retired librarians, couldn’t function without our cell phones.

  Babette chattered nonstop and played with Kate’s phone as I bobbed and weaved through traffic. Despite appearances to the contrary, my zany pal was a wizard when it came to manipulating data and deciphering computer glitches. I suspected she was also adept at hacking.

  “Wow,” she said. “Kate has one heck of a phone. Topflight. Pricey too. ’Course she should have a better password on the thing. I guessed right away it was Gomer. Funny she didn’t have that facial recognition stuff. Some people just don’t move with the times, I guess.”

  “Stop it. You’re invading her privacy. She won’t like that.”

  Babette scoffed. “Oh pooh. You’re such a wet blanket, Perri. After all, we saved this thing from who knows what. Kate won’t mind if I just take a peek. Who knows, she might have a secret lover. Maybe Nurse Edgar or Carrick.”

  Kate hardly seemed the type to conduct clandestine love affairs, but then again, I was no expert on her personal life. I could barely manage my own. As we glided up Wisconsin Avenue and turned on to a side street, I gazed at the variety of architectural styles and savored the surprisingly suburban feel of this urban enclave. Queen Anne, Dutch Colonial, Craftsman, and my person favorite, Tudor, dotted the streets. Residents kept them perfectly maintained; civic pride and a vigilant historical society watched over the neighborhood. Everyone knew that President Grover Cleveland had once resided here, although that was long before the area had blossomed into one of DC’s most coveted locations. I slowed down as we turned on Newark Street and approached Kate’s address. I adored Queen Anne architecture, so I loved her home immediately. It wasn’t the largest property on the block, but with the wraparound porch, hipped roof, and bay windows, the delicately wrought yellow house captured my heart. I sensed that a great deal of work had gone into maintaining such a perfect place. Kate kept the exterior perfectly manicured with just enough greenery to be inviting but not overwhelming.

  As usual Babette had the first word. “Wow! This is really somethin’. Not that big but still. Nice. Must be worth a pile of money.”

  We spent several minutes drinking in the scenery and admiring the area before approaching Kate’s front door. To avoid canine overload, we left our three dogs napping in the Suburban. I rang the doorbell while Babette continued scrolling through the photos on Kate’s phone.

  “Cut it out,” I said. “She’ll catch you snooping.”

  Babette chortled and in typical fashion ignored my protests. “These pictures are a scream. Only our dogs look good. ’Course Pruett came out fine too.”

  Just as Kate opened the door, Babette gasped and grabbed my arm in a vise. “Stop. Perri, stop.”

  “What’s your problem?” I asked. “Behave yourself.”

  Kate looked surprised to see us but managed a pleasant greeting and a gracious invitation into her home. Gomer disregarded Kate’s commands and flung himself at us with youthful enthusiasm. I explained our errand as Babette reluctantly relinquished the phone.

  Kate frowned. “I didn’t even realize it was lost. What a relief! You two are my saviors, facing that traffic to return it. Come on in. I’ll give you a guided tour while you’re here.” She ushered us into the living room

  Praising the beautiful woodwork, dentil moldings, and tasteful Queen Anne furnishings was easy. If Kate was house-proud it was perfectly understandable, and I was a fan. My own style was far more casual, but I appreciated elegance when I saw it. Babette, however, was relatively subdued, a most unusual thing for someone with exquisite taste and intense love of décor.

  “Have a seat,” Kate said. “Might as well wait out that pesky traffic.” She reached into a drawer, found her purse, and studied her phone. Something was definitely amiss. I recognized it and so did Kate. Babette stared at that phone as if she were a cobra mesmerized by a snake charmer. A silent Babette was indeed an anomaly and it worried me.

  “What’s wrong?” Kate asked her. “Are you ill?”

  Babette shook her head. “Musta been that latte. Maybe the milk was sour.”

  I stood and beckoned to my pal. “Come on. I’ll take you home. You’re such a drama queen.”

  Kate rose quickly and blocked my path. “Not so fast, Perri. I think our friend has something to share.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Babette put on a brave front, but she couldn’t meet Kate’s eyes.

  Kate dangled her phone in front of us. “Someone’s been playing with this. What’s that saying—one picture is worth a thousand words?”

  I remained clueless. “She didn’t mean anything, Kate. Just scrolling through your photos.”

  Kate’s face underwent a startling transformation from genial to grim. She folded her arms in front of her and glared. “Why don’t we ask Babette what she saw?”

  Babette bit her lip and got a sudden surge of courage.
Defiance replaced fear as she confronted her hostess. “You take a nice picture, Kate, when you’re all gussied up. That emerald ring suits you just fine. You didn’t see that one, Perri. I tried to warn you. Our little librarian has a taste for fine jewelry. Other peoples’.”

  I uttered something totally forgettable like “Huh?” Demure Kate, the helpful songstress and animal lover, couldn’t be guilty. She was a bibliophile for heaven’s sake.

  “Don’t be naïve, Perri. Didn’t the army teach you anything?” Kate’s scorn was both palpable and sinister.

  Surely she wasn’t a murderer as well as a thief. Either way, Babette and I needed to make a speedy exit. I glanced toward the front door, calculating the distance from me. I was agile, but Kate was not. Hampered by age and her cane, she would be at a disadvantage. I had no worries about Babette. Her sense of self-preservation was second to none. She could scurry toward salvation with the best of them.

  My confidence dimmed when Kate’s cane suddenly morphed from a therapeutic device into a lethal weapon. A sword cane! She wielded the sharp steel with authority, flaunting the fourteen-inch blade.

  “Sit down, Perri. Let me think.” Kate swayed back and forth, brandishing that cane.

  “You don’t want to hurt us, Kate. We’re friends.” Hollow sentiments that sounded absurd, but it was the best I could muster at the moment.

  Babette had no patience for niceties. “Is that what you used on Dr. Dreamy? Tully, I mean.”

  She wasn’t being humorous, but Kate guffawed anyway. “Of course. What a joke! As if I’d use that stupid Pellegrino bottle. I set up the whole thing to focus them on Magdalen. That hick sheriff fell for it right away.”

  It seemed like a cliché, but I had a vain hope that the more she talked, the better our chances of survival were. Unfortunately we had no hero to dash in and save us. Babette and I were on our own.