by Joy Avon
“Do you want to catch a double murderer or not?” Callie asked with more conviction than she felt. Who knew what Ralston might do when he found out he had made a terrible mistake all those years ago?
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Ralston looked up. He froze. The weeds he had pulled out dropped from his hand to the ground.
A few feet away from him stood a woman with blonde hair, waving on the breeze that came from the ocean behind the trees. She was dressed in a gold sequined top, black pants, and towering high heels.
Ralston croaked, “Monica! That can’t be. You’re dead.”
Monica laughed softly. “No, Otto. You only believed I was dead. But I never was.”
“This can’t be.” Ralston reached up and rubbed his eyes. He blinked and stared. “It must be the heat. Heat exhaustion. Yes. I need water.”
“Stop,” Monica said as he started to turn away. “You don’t need water. I’m as real as the trees around us.”
“I killed you,” Ralston said in a shaking voice. “I smashed your skull and I sank the boat. You’re dead twice over! Like you deserved.”
He stepped forward, waving a hand at her. “You wanted to abandon us. Just walk away. After all we had given you. Your career, your fame, your public. It was ours. We created it for you. You had a little talent, maybe, but not a lot. Others were much better than you.”
“Others like Kim?” Monica scoffed. She laughed in a disparaging tone. “You couldn’t wait for me to leave so you could set Kim up in my place. You believed she’d go far, didn’t you? That she would star in Hollywood movies and win an Oscar. But she preferred to get married, have kids, and play beautician.”
“Don’t you dare smirk about Kim. She has more talent in her little finger than you do in your entire body.” Ralston stared at her, his green eyes flashing with hatred. “That body you so readily gave to any man who could move your career.”
“Except to you,” Monica said. “Was that it? Were you mad because I never liked you, dated you? Because I chose Roger and—”
“All those oafs,” Ralston said. “You always chose the men who hurt you. Like you enjoyed being hurt. I knew Roger couldn’t let you go. I knew he sent you flowers and more. But the bouquets arriving at the Cliff Hotel the day you eloped weren’t his. They were mine. I sent them to make you edgy, nervous, afraid. And so the hotel staff would know you were being stalked. That would be very convenient once you vanished, right? A ready-made suspect. Poor Roger. The police questioned him for days after your disappearance. They had to let him go eventually. No body means no proof anything happened.”
Monica kept her eyes on him. “You sent those bouquets?”
“Of course. I wasn’t dumb enough to kill you and trust in the local police to figure it out.” Ralston clicked his tongue. “They couldn’t figure it out then, and they can’t figure it out now. Jamison’s death … the handyman’s tape measure beside the body. I took it and kept it after he did some work on my cottage. He asked me questions about Magnates’ Wives. There was this terrier insistence about him I didn’t like. At all. I knew he’d be trouble. And Joe Jamison. The man who ‘knew’ Monica was still alive, as I had provided him with proof. A letter she wrote to me begging me to ensure the public forgot about her quickly so she could have her peace. At the time Jamison believed the letter was real. He took it as proof she had survived the disappearance. That’s why he stopped pursuing the case.”
Of course, Callie thought. Everyone had been so surprised that Jamison had all of a sudden stopped investigating further. But he had believed he was following the missing woman’s own wishes.
Ralston continued, “Darrow’s questions brought the whole thing back to life again. Jamison started to doubt his earlier conclusions and my proof. He dropped by my cottage and said he had never had a good gut feeling about the case. He wanted to talk to me but I lied that I didn’t have time for him right then and was more than happy to come to the newspaper office late at night so we could compare notes at leisure. Because of the hour there was no one in the street who might have seen me. No witnesses. Just the two of us in his office. As he hadn’t called me, I knew the police wouldn’t find my phone number under his contacts and would never make a connection with me. I pretended like I was fully convinced the letter was real and Monica had survived. It was so easy to get him to open up the file cabinet to show me some witness information he had always kept. He believed that he could convince me to turn over the letter to the police. But I knew, even before I set a foot in that office, that I would kill him. I had to. While he was looking for his statements in the cabinet, I could just walk over and knock him to the ground. I did it with his own paperweight.”
Ralston sounded gleefully satisfied. “I thought his secretary would notice right away that it was missing and would tell the police. An impromptu weapon, suggesting the murder hadn’t been planned, but committed in a moment of anger. For instance, when Jamison revealed he had known about the boat all along? After all, there was a map on the desk, probably having come out of his locked filing cabinet, which was now open. Of course I brought the map and put it on the desk after I knocked Jamison out. But I knew what the police would conclude from its presence in combination with the open filing cabinet.”
He laughed softly. “It’s so easy to string people along once you understand their way of thinking. I could just hear the officers discussing the case: ‘Jamison had the map all along. He knew where the boat with the remains was. Has he been covering for someone for all of these years? Accepting money to keep his mouth shut? Was he himself involved in the murder? Why not? He dropped the case suddenly, without ever giving an explanation for that. What perfect cover, to report on the murder case in which you yourself are the criminal.’ ”
Callie dug her heels deeper into the ground, realizing how that reasoning had played in her own head. Ralston had made a correct assessment of the situation.
Leaning closer, Ralston scoffed, “You have to leave the clues all laid out for them. Otherwise, they’ll never get anywhere.”
Callie felt Falk tense in anger beside her as Ralston’s disparaging words sank in. The realization of how this man had played the police thirty years ago with the bouquets and now with the map left on the desk. She hoped Falk wouldn’t rush forward to get to the arrogant killer before he had confessed it all.
Ralston continued, “But if I didn’t kill you back then, dear Monica, who did I kill? I killed someone, you know. A woman in your clothes. Those clothes.” He gestured at her, encompassing her top, pants, and shoes. “But since you’re here in the flesh, laughing at me, I assume someone else died? A double, yes, of course, a TV series trick. I should have known you’d know about that.”
“Still you never thought you’d killed the wrong woman. Or else you wouldn’t have left the map for the police. That was stupid. They have the boat now and the body. Now they’ll figure out that the dead woman isn’t me. Then what?”
Ralston shrugged. He seemed to have gotten over his initial shock of this confrontation. “Then nothing. They cannot determine who the dead woman is, I’m sure.”
“I could tell them.”
Ralston laughed. “You’re not going to tell them anything. Or else you wouldn’t be here. You want something from me. Probably money. And I’m willing to give you some.”
“Some?” Monica said. “A lot, you mean. Don’t you think I understand why you tried to kill me that night? Because you knew that if I suddenly vanished, if people wondered about what happened to me, you would make a fortune. You created even more merchandise, you put my likeness and the face of my character’s replacement, Sadie Cooper, side by side. You struck it rich on the basis of my death. But it’s time to pay up now. You will give me what I deserve.”
Ralston studied her. “You’re right that it was mainly about money. When do records suddenly hit number one? When the artist is dead. When do paintings make a million bucks at auction? When the creator is gone. Especially if the death is s
udden and tragic, the public wants to show sympathy by buying. They all want to be a part of this feeling of loss. Connection, togetherness. So I cashed in on your disappearance. To me it has always been your death. Because I was so certain you were indeed dead. You see, I hit you—I mean, whoever that woman was—from behind. I never saw her face clearly. To be honest, I didn’t want to look too closely. I’m not a man who enjoys violence. But it was for a good cause. You weren’t happy. Roger was hounding you. You were past your prime. The producers were looking to replace you.”
“You’re lying! They had me sign on for two more years. They didn’t want to let me go. That was the whole problem. That was why I had to get away in such a final manner.”
“Kim would have replaced you sooner or later,” Ralston said calmly. “I just created the perfect moment for her to step up.”
“Does she know?” Monica asked.
“That I killed you to get her the role? Of course not. She would never believe it either. She’s always told me I was too soft for that business. Too soft.” He chuckled.
Monica straightened up. “I want money to keep my mouth shut. Like you said, the local police aren’t very smart. They can’t work it out. They’ll have to give up again this time, just like they did all those years ago. I’m the only one who can hurt you. Write me a check and I’m out of your life.”
“All right. Let me go get my checkbook.” Ralston stepped back. “Don’t worry, I won’t run. I’m too smart for that. I don’t want to spend my life running. I can see in your face that it’s not a good life.”
He disappeared into the house.
Monica stood tight, nervous. She didn’t make the mistake of looking in the direction where Falk and Callie were hidden.
Callie held her breath. Falk had assured her his men were watching the house and Ralston couldn’t escape. But what was he up to inside the house? Would he attempt some kind of smart vanishing trick?
Ralston appeared again. He carried a check in his hand, ostentatiously out in front of him. He walked up to Monica. “This is half of what I earned from the merchandise. It should be enough for a nice couple of years on the Riviera. If you’re frugal, it might last a lifetime. But frugality was never in your nature.”
As he spoke, pleasantly, sedately, he had come very close to her. Monica reached for the check. Then Ralston’s hand came up suddenly and hit her under the chin. She made a soft gasping sound and sagged to the ground. Ralston leaned over her. “You’ll get what you deserve, all right,” he said through gritted teeth. “The sea grave you should have ended up in thirty years ago.”
Falk stepped away from Callie. Her heart pounded for him. For some reason he hadn’t drawn his gun but was going for the man without showing a weapon.
Ralston looked up. He recognized Falk and hissed, “I see. A trap. And I fell for it. Very good, Deputy. You should have gone into the movies.”
As he spoke, he jumped with lightning speed over Monica’s fallen body and lashed out at Falk. Falk groaned as the old man’s fist made impact with his jaw. He staggered back.
Ralston kicked out, almost hitting Falk full in the stomach. But Falk was alert enough to avoid the kick and turn away, throwing himself to the ground. He rolled over and pushed himself up in the same movement. He pulled his gun out and called, aiming at Ralston, “Hands up, or I’ll shoot.”
Ralston stood, his eyes fixed on Falk’s expression. It seemed as if he was trying to determine whether Falk would make good on his threat.
Callie called out, “It’s pointless, Mr. Ralston. The house is surrounded. You’ll never get away. Just surrender now.”
Ralston turned his head to look in her direction. She came forward from behind the tree. “It’s over. You, of all people, should know when the game is up. You did very well. You made no mistakes in Jamison’s office. You were never suspected all those years ago, and you weren’t suspected now either.”
“Then how come you’re here and I’m being arrested?”
Callie shrugged. “I guess if you had killed the real Monica Walker, you would have gotten away with all of this. But you killed the wrong woman, and the one you suggested come here to Heart’s Harbor is still alive. She told me her story, and then it all clicked into place.”
Ralston laughed softy. Not a nasty, mean laugh, but a sort of surprised, amused laugh.
“I suppose,” he said as he reached to put his hands above his head, “that I should have looked at her face after all.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dorothea Finster leaned over the buffet filled with sweet treats and picked up a cupcake decorated with the tiny marzipan picnic basket Iphy had worked so hard on. “This looks delicious.”
She turned her head to survey the crowd spread across her lawn—eating, drinking, talking, laughing—and released a happy sigh. “What a wonderful day. I can’t wait to see the fireworks.”
Callie said, “But first we’ll have the Golden Age dances. It fits perfectly with Haywood Hall’s grand atmosphere to see those dashing couples whirling across the terrace. I talked to their leader, and they want to do dance demonstrations here more often. It can become a part of our program for fall and winter. Of course, when it’s cold, they can’t do the dancing on the terrace, but we can do it inside then, restoring the old ballroom to its former purpose.”
Dorothea squeezed her arm. “You’ve come up with such good ideas for the house. And how lovely to see this working out in my lifetime. I had never believed there would be so much liveliness again.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t come up with some kind of grand revelation about Monica Walker. But I thought that the whole matter with the remains on the sunken boat and the arrest made recently would be a bit gruesome for a family-oriented gathering.”
“Yes, I agree. It would have been wonderful if you could have revealed something happy about her. Like that she really sailed into bliss with a man who loved her very much.”
Dorothea sighed wistfully. “It would have been utterly romantic. But I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.”
Callie bit the inside of her cheek. Monica had indeed become very happy with a man who loved her very much. Right there in Heart’s Harbor.
But Monica had asked them not to reveal her identity just yet. She would have to come forward and testify in the upcoming court case against Otto Ralston, but it might take awhile before the case came to trial, and until then Monica wanted to enjoy the last of her undisturbed, unfamous life.
Dave had been livid when he had learned about the risk his wife had taken while he was locked up, but when he had calmed down, he had agreed that it was for the best that an arrest had been made and the whole matter could be put to bed.
Mrs. Keats, Dorothea’s faithful housekeeper, appeared by their sides. “The jury is about to announce the winner of the sweet tea contest.”
“Perfect. We’re coming.”
Callie led Dorothea to the long table where the jugs with the participants’ creations were waiting. There had been forty-five entries, which the jury had initially narrowed down to ten. Then they had tasted those ten again to determine a winner.
At the table Iphy stood with the chairman of the jury, who held a sealed envelope. He broke the seal with a weighty expression, pulled out a card and looked at it. “The winner of Heart Harbor’s Fourth of July tea party’s sweet tea contest is … number seven!”
Everyone looked at the jug with the neat number seven in front of it, then started to glance round to see whose it was.
Mr. Bates came forward with a high color in his cheeks. He waved off the applause and said to Iphy and Callie that it was really not worth mentioning. But he did beam when his prize—the certificate for a high tea for six at Book Tea—was handed to him and especially when it was confirmed that his creation, called Orange Zest, would be on Book Tea’s menu for the rest of the summer season.
“I can’t wait to see you at Book Tea soon,” Callie said, shaking his hand.
Mr. Bates leaned ov
er and whispered, “I’m glad I’m a better tea maker than a sleuth. I never suspected Otto Ralston. In fact, I rather liked him. Oh, well …”
Callie knew he’d be in for an even bigger surprise when he heard that Monica Walker had never left town but had practically been his neighbor for all of these years. She bet he would be the first to support Monica in the difficult time that lay ahead with the publicity, which would no doubt surround the case once it came to court. It was good to know she and Dave would have kind neighbors to fall back on.
Leaving Mr. Bates to accept the well-wishes of his fellow contestants, Callie went to stand with Dorothea, who was just thanking the jury chairman for his efforts. “It can’t have been easy to choose from such a wide offering of delicious varieties. Oh …” She glanced past the chairman at Falk, who had come up to them. “Deputy! Whatever happened to your face?”
“It’ll get better,” Falk said in a sour tone. The bruise on his chin where Ralston had hit him had looked much worse earlier, but even now it was still visible against his tan.
Dorothea winked at Callie and led the chairman away to sample some of the three-tiered cake. With its base covered with macarons and top layers full of fondant fireworks, it was the centerpiece of the sweet treat buffet. People took pictures with their phones before accepting a slice and oohing and aahing about the flavors.
Falk said to Callie, “I should have asked my stunt double to take over as soon as Ralston got physical. To be honest, I’m still stunned at how fast he was for a man his age.”
“Despair can make people stronger and more resourceful. But I think in his case it was also a matter of rage. He was so mad at Monica coming back from the dead to confront him. Or maybe he was mad at himself for having made the crucial mistake of not checking the face of the woman he murdered. He sank the boat with her on it, never having established that she was really Monica Walker. Of course he had no reason to doubt it. He knew nothing about Muriel’s existence.”
