For over two years I’ve been taking an online course in criminology, which fortunately includes a significant amount of extra-credit reading—including An Introduction to Forensic Science. Pete is a year ahead of me in the same course, so I need all the extra-credit I can get.
I wound up the shoot with a fast rundown of the basic facts of the case so far, then signed off. No point in hanging around. I knew the state cop in the mobile unit could outwait us. I decided to call the twins right away, though. I wondered if this meant they’d officially matched up the dirt from Bond’s yard with Cody’s shoes. “Let’s head back, Jim,” I said. “Maybe we can use what we have for a newsbreak and later on the five o’clock.” As we pulled away, I tilted the rearview mirror so that I could see the truck. The driver’s side door opened as soon as we approached the corner of the street.
I called Roger the minute we were out of sight, taking the phone off speaker. “Roger? Lee here. Did you know they’re gathering soil samples again from under Bond’s bedroom window?”
“We know,” he said. “The tests are positive. Cody’s gym shoes not only match the print in the damp soil they found the morning after the murder, but traces of the dirt collected earlier itself is on the shoes. No doubt about it.”
“Oh, Roger. How’s Cody holding up?”
“He’s more worried about the girl than about himself, and his mother is making a novena to Saint Jude.”
“I’m going to get together with Cody’s class this evening. Eddie Symonds and Alan Armstrong will be there too. And look, Roger, Alan Armstrong has told me something that I promised to keep off the record. But it’s something I guess you and Ray need to know. Alan and Cody had good reason to be angry with Sam Bond. There was more than tenure involved.”
“Is it about Bond stealing their work? Getting it published under his own name?”
“You knew?”
“Cody told us. He and Alan were planning to sue Bond for plagiarism. He laughed at them. Told them to go ahead. He was already so far in debt they’d never collect a penny.”
“Do the police know about it?”
“Not that we know of. It sure would look to them like a motive, though.” I heard him sigh. “We know our boy is innocent, but somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to set him up. He’s scared and embarrassed about the whole thing.”
“I understand,” I said, although I really didn’t. How could I? What does it feel like to be suspected of a terrible crime when you didn’t do it? “You and Ray will be there tonight, won’t you? Aunt Ibby and the . . . uh, Betsy and Louisa are coming.”
“Yep. Ray’s been in touch with your aunt. He’s had it noted in red ink on our schedule.”
How cute is that?
“Good,” I said. “I’ve tried to get in touch with Lucy, but her voice mail is full.”
“Actually, Lucy’s at Phyllis’s. Staying in the guest room. Her mom threw her out.”
“How sad. Because she’s a suspect?”
“Nope. Because she’s been dating Cody. The age difference, you know? He’s almost fifteen years older than she is.”
Since the age difference between my own parents had been almost the same, it didn’t seem strange to me. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear it. See you guys tonight. You’ll be among Cody’s friends.”
“I hope so. See you then. Goodbye.”
“That’s odd,” I said, more to myself than to Jim as I slid the phone into my purse. “What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?” Jim asked.
“When I said the twins would be among Cody’s friends, Roger said, ‘I hope so.’ Why would he say that?”
Jim didn’t answer right away. “I’d say,” he announced, after a moment, “the twins aren’t sure all those folks you said would be there tonight are Cody and the Mahoney girl’s friends.”
“That’s what I thought too,” I admitted. “And it’s not a pleasant thing to think about.”
Jim parked the van next to Ariel’s bench. “I’ll lock up the van and run the video down to Marty,” he said, “while you check and see if Rhonda has anything else for us.”
“Okay.” I let myself in the studio door and climbed the metal stairs once again.
Chapter 36
There was nothing else for us on the white board. “It’s just as well,” I told Rhonda. “I’m meeting with Cody McGinnis’s class over at the Tabby in a few hours, and I could sure use some more prep time.”
“Getting ready for that Clue party, huh?”
“That’ll be most of it. Alan and Eddie, along with my aunt and her pals, are all going to be there, plus the twin cops.”
“How about I send Old Jim along? Maybe we could use some rehearsal shots for teasers for the Captain Billy program.”
“I’ll have to check with Mr. Pennington, of course,” I said. “It’s just a rehearsal. Just a teaser for a client’s show.”
“Sure,” said Rhonda. “Want to go in and see what Doan thinks about it?”
“You kidding? He’s been dying to get a camera into the Tabby since the day after the murder. He’ll say yes. I’m not sure how Pete’s going to feel about it, though.”
“It’s not as if you’re going to be doing a news show. It’s just a rehearsal.” She repeated my words. “Just a teaser for a client’s show.”
“Sure. That’s all it is. Is Mr. Doan busy? I’ll ask him now.” I’d already almost convinced myself that filming the meeting would be no problem for anybody concerned, and it definitely would be a good promo for Captain Billy’s program. It didn’t take much to convince the station manager. I had my okay in seconds. I called Mr. Pennington and had the same response. Rhonda confirmed with Jim, so we were good to go.
I decided, though, in spite of all the positive aspects of the idea, that I’d better check it out with the twins. I called Ray.
“Roger and I are used to being on camera, so we’d have no objection. Might even grab a clip or two from it for our own show,” he said.
“I’m thinking it might be a good experience all around,” I said.
“Good instincts,” Ray pronounced. “You’ve got ’em. Follow them. You’ll be fine. We’ll see you tonight.”
“See you,” I said, feeling pretty darned good about my instincts and just about everything else in my world at that particular moment. Too bad feelings like that never last very long. I took the elevator down to the lobby, slipping one shoe off at a time, rubbing sore feet. For once, I was glad for the slow ride.
The Buick wasn’t in the garage when I reached home. I knew the Angels all had hair appointments at Betsy’s favorite beauty shop in anticipation of the rehearsal. They’d be doubly excited if they knew Old Jim would be filming the whole thing. I decided to surprise them with that news later.
As soon as I’d locked the garage door and started up the flagstone path, O’Ryan approached me at a near gallop. “Whoa, boy.” It was a very special welcome, even from him. I picked him up and gave him a hug. He showered me with enthusiastic cat-kisses. “You must have worried about me all day,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t take you with me, so you’d know that I’m all right. Really I am.”
Big Cat and I let ourselves in the back door. I put him down, and he led the way up the twisty staircase, looking back every few steps as though checking to be sure I was there. He didn’t even stop in my living room, just stayed close as I headed down the hall to the kitchen.
“Back off a little, O’Ryan,” I said. “You’re getting tangled up with my feet.” I opened a fresh box of sardine-flavored crackers and put a few into his bowl. “There now. Relax. I’m going to take off my executive clothes—and especially these shoes. I promise I’ll be right here.”
The crackers, and maybe my promise, seemed to calm him, and I got to shower in solitary peace. I donned jeans, a white cotton shirt, and soft, well-worn sneakers. The look needed a little something extra. I tied my favorite silk scarf—the long, floaty one with pictures of cats all over it—loose
ly around my shoulders. That worked. Rehearsals have never been dress-up occasions for me. I’d just be doing some general helping, leaving most of it up to Mr. Pennington. When I returned to the kitchen, O’Ryan was perched on his favorite windowsill, washing his face, apparently enjoying the cool evening breeze that gently ruffled his fur.
“That’s my good boy,” I told him. “I’m going to have to leave you for a couple of hours tonight. Your favorite show—Wicked Tuna—is on tonight, and you can watch it on the bedroom TV. I’ve already set the timer. Okay?”
He said “Meh,” which lately seems to mean anything he wants it to, and continued washing his face and watching the backyard. I took that as “Okay.” After a few minutes, he moved from the windowsill to a chair to the floor and padded down the hall toward the living room. A glance at Kit-Cat told me it was a little past O’Ryan’s expected happy hour. “You’ve already had your crackers,” I told him. I leaned across the vacated chair and saw the Buick turning into the garage, along with Betsy’s Mercedes pulling into the driveway. I followed the cat downstairs to greet the newly coiffed Angels. I heard the three of them giggling like teenagers before they even opened the door.
Newly Farrah-styled and blonde-streaked Betsy wore a bright red feather boa draped over her shoulders. Louisa’s stylish french twist was topped with a vintage white satin pillbox hat with a white puffy polka-dotted half veil, and Aunt Ibby’s dangling earrings made from real peacock feathers accented soft red curls. “We’re saving our real costumes for tomorrow,” my aunt explained, “but we thought we’d set the mood this way.”
“Works for me!” I laughed. “I hope the men get into the spirit the way you three have!”
“We hope so too,” Louisa said. “We’re all going to ride over to the school together in Ibby’s car, but first we’re going to celebrate happy hour with cheesecake instead of wine. Like the Golden Girls.” She held out a string-tied cake box for my inspection. “Will you join us? It’s strawberry.”
I couldn’t resist. “Absolutely. And you all look totally adorable.”
“If we’re going to be Golden Girls”—Betsy struck a pose—“can I be Blanche?”
“Naturally,” my aunt agreed, cutting the string and placing the cheesecake on a Spode platter.
“Certainly,” Louisa said, making the first cut in the pink-and-white confection. “Who else could be Blanche? Big slices or dainty ones?”
Everyone agreed on medium, but not quite large, portions. I explained that O’Ryan had already had his treats, but Aunt Ibby poured a few Friskies into his bowl. “So he won’t feel left out.” The happy hush that often accompanies the consuming of forbidden foods descended on Aunt Ibby’s kitchen as we four enjoyed our Golden Girls moment.
The small amount of leftover cheesecake was reverently bagged and refrigerated, and as the Angels collected wraps and purses and headed for the garage, I took a final look around—checking locks on both front and back doors, making sure alarms were properly activated—then left the house myself. I looked around for O’Ryan, realizing that Wicked Tuna was due to begin within minutes. He’d undoubtedly already scooted up the back stairs and was by then curled up on my pillow. That cat rarely misses happy hour or any of his favorite TV shows—including Wicked Tuna, Deadliest Catch, and River Monsters.
The Angels piled into the Buick and drove off in a giggling flurry of feathers and polka dots. I backed the Vette onto Oliver Street and followed. The Tabby parking lot was more crowded than usual for early evening. It appeared that my aunt had grabbed the last available spot. I circled around a bit, then scooted around the corner of the building to a downhill, dimly lighted lot that years ago had been used by Trumbull’s department store employees. These days it’s used mostly by dorm students and faculty, and sometimes as an overflow parking area. I recognized Mr. Pennington’s Lincoln and Alan Armstrong’s Lexus there, as well as the WICH-TV Volkswagen. Old Jim had arrived early too.
Mr. Pennington was just inside the big glass double doors, greeting everyone. There’d been some internal debate as to whether to hold the evening’s event in the large street-level student theater where the actual Clue party would happen the following night, or upstairs on the rehearsal stage in the Theater Arts Department. (Aunt Ibby had told me that area was once Trumbull’s furniture department.) The decision had apparently been made. Susan, the student receptionist I’d met earlier, directed guests to the elevators for the ascent to the third floor. I joined two women and two men who, I learned on the slow ride up, were my Salem history students, Conrad, Carl, Kate, and Penny. “I’m so happy to finally meet you all in person,” I said. It was true. The four had seemed to me like missing puzzle pieces or—perhaps more appropriately—missing game pieces. “Where’s Harrison?” I wondered.
“He’s already gone up there. Backstage. Mr. Pennington told him to.”
It turned out that all were WICH-TV fans, and they asked the usual questions about the station’s on-air personnel. “Is River as nice as she seems? Is Buck Covington single? How old is Phil Archer?” Naturally, the four were mostly concerned about their teacher, Cody, and their classmate, Lucy.
“None of us believe that either of them could have done what they’re saying,” Conrad stated. “We know them. They’re good, honest people.” The others voiced agreement.
“Lucy even babysits my kids sometimes,” Kate offered. “They love her. Little kids have good instincts about people.”
Penny agreed. “That’s right. Kids and dogs. They can tell if a person is okay or not.”
Some cats can too.
Chapter 37
We stepped out of the elevator. There’d been improvements on the third floor since I’d last visited Theater Arts. The stage, which had once been fairly rudimentary—bare wood and no curtains—now had a polished, professional look. I was happy to see that Costume still used complete families of 1950s-era mannequins for various periods of dress, and that Scenery, with its rows of painted backdrops, assorted doors and windows, and what looked like a forest of artificial trees and plants, still had the old S&H GREEN STAMP REDEMPTION CENTER banner above the entrance.
“Have you been up here before?” I asked.
“Cody brought us up here once,” Penny said. “He showed us the kind of clothes people wore back when—you know—that other murder happened.”
“Right,” Conrad said. “Cody is a really good teacher. He wanted us to be able to visualize what happened to Joseph White. We saw an old-fashioned nightshirt like Captain White might have worn.”
I’ll bet I know that nightshirt! They use it for Scrooge every year when Mr. Pennington directs A Christmas Carol.
“He showed us a dress like the housekeeper might have been wearing when she found the body,” Kate said. “It was a small size, so Lucy modeled it for us. We never did find a ‘glazed cap’ like Frank Knapp wore though. We think it was something like a newsboy hat or maybe a baseball cap.”
Yes, a baseball cap.
“I wonder what Clue character Harrison is going to play,” Carl said. “He’s really excited about getting a part. I’d be so scared to do it. I mean, I’ve played the game at somebody’s house, but get up in front of an audience? Not me.”
“I’m sure he’ll do well,” I said. “Come on. I’d like you to meet my aunt and her friends.”
Aunt Ibby, Betsy, and Louisa were just outside a door marked “stage.” I introduced my newfound students to the Angels, and as they left for whatever lay beyond that door, we four found seats in the second row. There’s not a great deal of seating in the rehearsal area, but we didn’t expect a large audience. There were about a dozen people there so far, mostly, I guessed, dorm students. Old Jim had appeared at the back of the room, with his camera steadied on a tripod. Ray and Roger Temple, one on each side of Jim, stood with their backs against the wall. I’ve seen Pete take that exact position many times, watching, listening, observing.
There was a flurry of activity near the elevators as Harrison, Alan Arm
strong, and Eddie Symonds arrived. “Oh, look,” Kate whispered—loud enough for anyone in the first three rows to hear—“there’s Harrison and Cody’s teacher friends. Aren’t they handsome?”
Heads turned, and there was a buzz of conversation as the men walked toward the same door where Angels had recently dared to tread. The guys had apparently consulted on outfits and had gone for a casual look. They each wore khaki slacks, white sneakers, and identical T-shirts—Harrison in mustard yellow as Colonel Mustard, Eddie in green as Mr. Green, and Alan in purple as Professor Plum. Simple, but effective. Aunt Ibby’s peacock earrings would identify her as Mrs. Peacock, Louisa’s satin pillbox confection marked Mrs. White, and Betsy, of course, was Miss Scarlet. So far so good. Everyone would know who was who in the game.
The chatter in the room hushed when Mr. Pennington appeared onstage and took a position behind an ordinary card table. He welcomed the audience, then introduced the players, beginning with Betsy as Miss Scarlet, naming each with his or her real name and character name. They stood in a row beside him. “My position this evening is as ‘game master,’ ” he announced. “As most of you know, the game is played with cards representing three entities. Suspects”—he waved an arm toward the six onstage, who mugged appropriately to applause and laughter from the audience. “Rooms,” he said with a gesture toward the back of the stage, where a slide show of the nine rooms flashed past, each one worthy of a mansion. More applause and some oohs, and ahs. “Weapons,” he pronounced, pulling the life-sized toy weapons one at a time from a canvas bag and placing each one on the table with a dramatic flourish.
“I’ve divided the cards into three decks,” he said, placing three stacks of cards onto the lectern. “May I have a volunteer from the audience to select a card from each deck?” Kate, with encouragement from her classmates, blushingly volunteered, and hesitantly pulled one card, facedown, from each pile. Mr. Pennington, without peeking, put the three into an envelope, sealed it, and held it up. “The solution to the mystery is here!” he announced, tucking the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. “I have a surprise for you. I’ve invited a special guest here this evening to shuffle the remaining cards. Here from WICH-TV, Mr. Buck Covington!”
Murder, Take Two Page 21
