by Nic Saint
“And so you decided to sabotage Neda’s directorship, and when that didn’t work, you quit.”
Janette’s face took on an expression of bitterness. “You are very well informed, Mrs. Poole. Did Wilbur tell you about that, too?”
“It doesn’t matter who told us,” said Odelia. “What matters is that you said Neda was your best friend, and now it turns out she wasn’t, and in fact you did whatever you could to undermine her.”
“You went to see her this morning, didn’t you?” said Chase, as he leaned in. “And you argued, just like you did this morning in church, and she said something outrageous that made you even more upset, and finally you gave her a shove and she fell and hit her head. And when you realized she was dead, you emptied her safe, which happened to be open, and decided to make it look like a robbery. Isn’t that what happened!” He pounded the counter with his fist, and caused the vase to jump up and pay attention.
Janette flinched, but calmly said, “No, that’s not what happened, Detective Kingsley. Yes, I did put up those flyers. And yes, I tried to undermine Neda, but I didn’t go over to her house this morning, and I most certainly did not kill her.”
“Oh, please,” said Chase.
“What you’re conveniently forgetting is that Neda and I weren’t the only two people interested in that directorship. There was a third person who desperately wanted to lead that choir. And she probably resented Neda becoming director even more than I did.”
“Yoko Bricknell,” said Odelia.
“Yes, Yoko. Sweet, darling Yoko. But you should have seen her face when Francis announced he’d chosen Neda. She could have killed her—and I’m not sure she didn’t.”
After leaving Janette to her flowers, we all repaired to the police station, for a meeting with Uncle Alec. A chance for Odelia and Chase to report to him about their progress, and for the Chief to share with them any information he might have gleaned.
Until now access to the police station has always been prohibited to both Dooley and myself, and so when we arrived together, out of sheer habit we stopped in front of Dolores Peltz’s desk, the station dispatcher and receptionist, and decided to wait for Odelia and Chase to return from their meeting. But much to our surprise, Odelia beckoned us on, and with a smile told us that her uncle, on her instigation, had lifted his unreasonable embargo, and that we could consider ourselves ‘cats grata’ from now on.
It was a nice change, I must admit. I don’t mind sneaking around and getting my information by means of stealth and such, but being able to sit in on a conversation is much easier, of course.
Just as we walked on, a man walked into the station, and approached Dolores. He told her he was there about this morning’s car crash, and could he speak to a police officer?
I was torn between wanting to find out more about this car crash—for some reason they’ve always fascinated me, and I can watch a nice car crash for hours, not unlike the next rubbernecker—and proceeding into the station house proper. But then the prospect of setting paw inside this holiest of holy places took precedence over my rubbernecking, and so I followed Odelia and Chase inside Chase’s place of work.
If this kept up, soon I’d be sent to police academy to train as a police cat!
9
“So what have we got?” asked Uncle Alec, as he gave Dooley and me a not-so-friendly look. Clearly Odelia had twisted his arm in making him accept our presence there, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“Well, so far we have interviewed Cher Shorn—that’s Neda’s secretary—Raban Pacoccha, her gardener, and Janette Bittiner, one of St. Theresa Choir’s members, and also Neda’s rival for the much-coveted post of choir director,” said Odelia, giving her uncle a brief overview of the investigation as it stood so far.
“So what do you think? This gardener looking good for the murder? Or Janette?”
“Both, I would say,” said Chase. “Raban Pacoccha, at least according to Cher Shorn, is a man always in need of money, to fund his drug habit, and Janette Bittiner confessed to putting up those flyers all over town, calling Neda a Jezebel, and pretty much suggesting she and Francis Reilly were having an affair.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” the Chief grunted. “So what about the gardener?”
“He’s been arrested once or twice for drug use,” Chase confirmed, “though lately he’s kept his nose clean, so to speak.”
“And Janette?”
“Clean record. Though she did admit that she and Neda fought tooth and claw over that choir directorship.”
“You better have a chat with Francis Reilly,” the Chief suggested. “Find out what the deal was with that choir business. So how about alibis?”
“Neither Raban or Janette have an alibi,” said Odelia. “Raban was working in Janette’s garden, but has no witnesses to corroborate this, and Janette dropped her dog off at the pet parlor, then went shopping—or so she says. She could very easily have paid a visit to Neda, and gotten into another argument. Things got heated, she gave Neda a shove, which made her hit her head, and game over.”
“And if Neda had left that safe open, Janette could have decided to empty it, to make it look like a robbery gone wrong,” Chase finished the story.
“I’ll arrange for two search warrants,” said Uncle Alec, nodding. “One for Janette Bittiner and one for Raban Pacoccha. If we’re lucky we find the gold and the jewels, and we’ve got our killer.”
“What did Abe say?” asked Chase.
“I haven’t gotten his report yet, but I called him and he says everything points to accidental death. She hit her head, cracked her skull. No other wounds on the body, and her bloodwork looks clean, too. No, I think your theory looks like the most probable one,” he added, pointing to his niece. “Either the gardener or Janette got into a fight with Neda, there was some pushing and shoving, she hit her head and that’s it. And frankly if it wasn’t for that safe there wouldn’t even be a case. People take bad falls all the time.”
Just then, Dolores stuck her head in. “Chief, I’ve got a guy here wanting to know if a witness has come forward about that traffic accident this morning on Groveler Street? Man or woman on a red bike? One of those rental bikes?”
“No, Dolores,” said the Chief. “Haven’t heard anything about a witness on a red bike.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Ask Sully to take a statement,” said Uncle Alec, waving off his dispatcher with an impatient hand. “I don’t have time for this. I’m up to my neck in this murder business.”
“And what a fine neck it is,” said Dolores with a cheeky grin.
Uncle Alec, who has no neck to speak off, directed a dark frown at his insubordinate subordinate, but his frown hit the door, as Dolores had ducked out again.
“So what’s next?” asked Chase.
“You tell me.”
“I would like to talk to Yoko Bricknell,” said Odelia. “Janette says Yoko hated Neda even more than she did. She also wanted to direct the choir,” she explained.
“You do that, and don’t forget about Francis,” said her uncle. “I’ll arrange those search warrants and send a couple of uniforms to go through those places with a fine-tooth comb.”
Odelia and Chase both got up to leave. “Oh, and better check Janette’s flower shop,” said Odelia. “It would be the perfect place to hide some valuables.” When her uncle gave her a questioning look, she added, “Buried in a flower pot?”
“Great thinking, honey,” said Uncle Alec with a nod. “Well, off you go. Catch me a killer.” He then shot a nasty glance at me. “You, too, Max. Make yourself useful.”
I could tell he didn’t like the presence of two cats in his office, and so I said, “We’ll catch your killer for you, Uncle Alec,” just to make him realize he was doing the right thing, giving us his confidence like this, and access to his office.
“What did he say?” asked Uncle Alec.
“He says that he’ll catch you this killer,” said Odelia with a smi
le.
“He’d better,” said the Chief. He leaned back in his chair, which uttered a loud groan in protest. Uncle Alec is a large man, and with every hair on his head he loses, he gains a couple of pounds to keep things in balance. “You know, if Max keeps solving all of my crimes for me, soon he’ll be in this chair running this office, and I’ll be out on the street.”
“No one knows that Max helps us solve crimes,” said Odelia soothingly.
“Oh, you think they don’t know? Honey, there are no secrets in this town. I’m sure that people are saying why pay this guy Alec Lip a handsome salary when that darn cat does all the work and all he’s asking in return is a nice bowl of cat food!”
“I’m sure they don’t, Uncle Alec,” I said.
But judging from the dark look he shot in my direction, it was obvious that the whole feline sleuthing thing was bothering him—and bothering him a lot!
10
Yoko Bricknell turned out to be a lovely young woman with bright orange hair. And I thought I could detect a few touches of verdant green in there as well. It all seemed very fitting with her place of business, which was a restaurant that prided itself on its bouillabaisse. ‘Serving the best bouillabaisse in the Hamptons,’ it claimed on the sign placed outside. I think it’s probably hard to confirm such a bold claim, unless one wants to sample all the bouillabaisse served in all the restaurants in the Hamptons, and who would be up for such a challenge? Not me, I can tell you. I don’t even like bouillabaisse.
Yoko didn’t seem surprised to be paid a visit by the local constabulary, and even the fact that it came with two cats in tow didn’t faze this young woman in the slightest.
She gestured to a table near the back of the establishment where she worked as a waitress, and waited for her interrogators to get down to business.
There weren’t many people in the restaurant, which meant that either public taste has gone off bouillabaisse, or that we were in the lull between the lunch and dinner hour.
“So what do you want to know?” she asked, tapping a green fingernail on the tabletop.
She was dressed in black from top to toe, and even had a black apron tied in front, with a large pocket where presumably she kept her order book and whatever change she needed to have on hand for those few people who still like to pay with cash, not plastic.
“We’re investigating the murder of Neda Hoeppner,” said Chase, not beating about the bush.
“Neda is dead?” asked Yoko, halting the tapping and bringing that same hand to her face in a gesture of consternation. “But… I just saw her this morning. At choir rehearsal.”
“She was attacked in her home after she came back from choir practice,” Odelia explained in gentle tones—gentler than her police officer counterpart at least.
“Oh, God,” said Yoko, and her face betrayed her shock and surprise at this unexpected development. “Do you know what happened? Was it a random attack?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Chase as he placed his little notebook on the table and held his pencil, poised, over the standard-issue police paraphernalia. “How well did you know Neda, Miss Bricknell?”
“Um…” Yoko needed a moment to compose herself, and I could see that her hand was trembling. “Not all that well,” she finally said. “I mean, we weren’t friends or anything, and didn’t meet outside of choir practice. She was a good deal older than me, and she wasn’t the kind of person I’d see myself socializing with, if you know what I mean.”
“Can you explain that?” asked Chase as he fixed the young woman with an inquisitive look.
“Umm, well, Neda was the boss, you know. The boss of the choir, and she liked to make us feel that she was in charge. She created this… distance. Ever since she was appointed the new conductor, she liked us to refer to her as Mrs. Hoeppner.”
“And before?”
“We called her by her Christian name, but the moment she was appointed, she felt that we needed to treat her with the respect she deserved.” There was an undertone of annoyance in Yoko’s voice. It was obvious she hadn’t been Neda’s biggest fan.
“You were also applying for the same position,” said Odelia. “So how did you feel about Neda being chosen over you?”
“I didn’t like it,” said Yoko frankly. “In fact I hated it.”
“Hated her? Or…”
Yoko thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say I hated her. I just thought it was the wrong decision. And that’s what I told Father Reilly when he made the announcement.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him what I’d said before, when I applied for the position. I said that I felt St. Theresa Choir should try to appeal to young people more, and not just Neda’s generation and up. You know that I’m the youngest person in that choir? The next person is fifteen years older than me. Average age is sixty-eight, with the oldest one being Mrs. Gumpel at eighty-seven. So I told Father Reilly that if he really wanted St. Theresa to die out in a couple of years he needed to keep doing what he was doing. But if he wanted us to survive, he needed to bring in more people of my generation.” She was speaking passionately, her eyes sparkling with the holy fire of conviction, her cheeks flushed.
“And you thought that with you as choir director, you would appeal more to young people,” said Odelia, nodding.
“Of course! I know I’ve tried to get my friends to join the choir, but they all say they don’t feel welcome in a choir where the large majority could be their mother or grandmother. But of course Father Reilly wouldn’t listen,” she concluded with a shrug.
“And why do you think that is?” asked Chase, who’d jotted down a few notes in his illegible handwriting even he probably has a hard time interpreting.
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Some people have suggested that he was having an affair with Neda,” said Odelia.
Yoko smiled at this. “With some people you probably mean Janette Bittiner. But she’s only saying that because she wanted that position very badly herself, and she’ll do anything to undermine Neda’s directorship.”
“Even… murder?” asked Chase.
“I didn’t say that. All I know is that Janette was very upset when Neda was appointed. And she certainly wasn’t quiet about it.”
“Those flyers…” Odelia said.
“You think that was her?” asked Yoko, her eyes widening.
Odelia nodded.
Yoko rolled her eyes. “Look, I wanted that position, too, but I’d never make a total fool of myself. I mean, I’ve thought about leaving ever since Neda took over, but I have to admit she does a good job.” She remembered why we were sitting together, and sobered. “Did a good job—I still can’t believe what happened. Are you sure it was… murder?”
“We’re sure,” said Odelia gently, as she placed a hand on the girl’s arm. “Now can you think of anyone else who’d be able to shed some more light on what happened?”
“Father Reilly,” said the girl promptly. “If anyone knows what was going on in St. Theresa it’s him. Neda may have been the director, but he’s in charge. He’s the one pulling all the strings, and he’s also the person people go to when they have an issue. So if anyone knows what kind of machinations were going on behind the scenes, it’s him.”
Chase and Odelia got up, and thanked Yoko for her time. But before they left, Chase turned and said, “Oh, one more thing, Miss Bricknell. Where were you this morning between eleven-thirty and twelve?”
“I was here,” said the girl. “My shift started at eleven, which is why I had to leave the rehearsal ten minutes early.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Ask my boss. In fact Bill would be more than happy to tell you if I was even one minute late. He’s a real stickler for punctuality. Unfortunately,” she added ruefully.
“So what do you think, Max?” asked Dooley. “She didn’t look like a killer to me.”
“No, she certainly did not,” I agreed as we recon
vened out on the sidewalk. Odelia and Chase were holding a similar conversation, and they, too, had been favorably impressed with young Miss Bricknell.
“She seemed upset that she wasn’t chosen to lead the choir,” I said, “but not upset enough that she would murder its current incumbent. So no, at first glance I don’t think we just had a conversation with a killer. Also, she seems to have a pretty solid alibi.”
“Yes, it’s all about the alibi, isn’t it, Max?”
“It often comes down to that,” I agreed.
“Unless Bill Bouillabaisse is her accomplice,” said my friend as he thought things through to their logical conclusion, as a good detective is wont to do.
“I don’t think Bill’s name is Bouillabaisse,” I said. “Bouillabaisse is just his signature dish.”
But my friend was too deep in thought to listen to this minor addendum. “She could be having an affair with Mr. Bouillabaisse, of course, and he could be one of those men that are putty in a femme fatale’s hands.”
“Yoko didn’t exactly strike me as a femme fatale,” I said. “More like a sweet-nurtured young woman with ambition and pluck.”
“She could be a femme fatale. Femme fatales have a way of concealing their femme fataleness. She could have harbored a deeper grudge against Neda than she admitted, and could have enlisted her demon lover’s assistance to do away with her rival. And now that Neda is gone, she’ll take over the choir and she’ll be its new and undisputed leader.”
“But…”
“And if anyone else dares to oppose her, she’ll deal with them as well,” he concluded.
“Now really, Dooley,” I said. “That all seems very—”
“Far-fetched? Not at all. In Friday’s episode of General Hospital Doctor Adolf murdered a patient in cold blood, with the willing assistance of his lover, Nurse Braun. In fact Doctor Adolf handled the lethal syringe while she looked on appreciatively. You see, the patient was Nurse Braun’s rival, being in pole position for the position of head nurse. So she had to die, and now the road is clear for Nurse Braun to ascend the throne and become the hospital’s undisputed head nurse.” He nodded wisely. “There’s a lot to be learned from General Hospital, Max. It holds up a mirror to humanity, showing us what makes these humans tick. Any student of crime should follow its storylines closely.”
