“Hi, Ms. McMillan. Don’t worry, Sue’s holding that table for you.”
“Great. I’ll be down in a day or two to pay for it, and then I need it delivered to Urban Tails. By the way, is Sue there? Could I speak with her?”
“She went to the city on a buying trip for a few days. Can I take a message, or help you?”
I explained what I wanted. Iris didn’t know offhand, but she promised to have Sue get back to me as soon as she could. I had to be content with that and rang off. I leaned against the kitchen counter, tapping my iPhone against my chin. The pieces were falling into place now.
Gary came back a few minutes later. “Okay, those papers should be here within the hour. Care to share your brainstorm slash epiphany with me?”
“Not yet. Still too many ifs.”
He studied me closely. “But you’re onto something, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. I can’t be positive until I see that first bill of lading.” I pushed the heel of my hand through my hair and took a long breath. I had a feeling I knew who the real murderer was.
But I had no idea in hell how to prove it.
Twenty-seven
While Gary worked on a leak in the sink in the upstairs bathroom (hey, I didn’t force him—he offered), I called the newspaper office and inquired about the price of placing an ad. As it turned out, there wasn’t a heck of a lot of difference between a quarter-page ad and a half, but there was a substantial jump between a half and a full-page one. Seventy-two hours’ notice was required if you didn’t have your own artwork, forty-eight if you did. I thought I could handle that.
With Gary still busy being Mr. Handyman, I got in my convertible and drove over to Sweet Perks. Olivia, Rita, and Ron were huddled at a table in the back when I entered. Olivia waved to me, and I got a mocha latte from Rita’s niece and then made my way over to the table. Rita jumped up almost immediately to give me a hug.
“Oh, Shell! It’s so terrible, isn’t it? To think Londra would kill Amelia and then herself, why, I just can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I,” I said. Rita released me from her grip. I set my latte—which, thankfully, had not spilled—down on the table and settled myself next to Olivia. “But as Josh says, the evidence appears to point that way.”
“Appears? It’s not a done deal?”
I froze at the voice behind me and turned slowly to face Quentin Watson. I arched a brow at him. “Are you following me?”
“And good morning to you, too.” He bowed to the others at the table and then turned his attention back to me. “Am I to understand the investigation into Ms. Lewis’s death is still ongoing? I thought, what with the suicide slash dying confession, both cases were pretty much wrapped up.”
“It would appear so,” I replied.
Quentin frowned. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”
I shrugged. “No particular reason. As you know, I’m not a detective or a trained investigator, I just played one on TV. If you have questions, I suggest you contact Detective Bloodgood.”
His lip quirked. “I should think you’d be happy with the outcome, Shell. Your name’s cleared, and now you can reopen your aunt’s store.”
I shrugged and turned away, but the newsman wasn’t about to be put off so easily. He pulled a chair over from the empty table across from ours, pushed it next to mine, and straddled it. “Listen,” he said, his finger jabbing the air, “you owe me. I tipped you in that direction, didn’t I?”
“As I recall, you were pushing me to interrogate Melvin Feller.”
“And you did, didn’t you? How’d that go?”
“About as well as I expected it would.” I took a sip of my latte and looked at him over the rim of the paper cup. “I got a definite sense that the Fox Hollow gossip chain might have slipped up.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m not buying Londra and Melvin as a couple of star-crossed lovers.”
Quentin’s brow furrowed, giving him the appearance of an angry beaver. He tapped at his chin with his forefinger. “You think Londra was, what? A cover for his real affair?”
“Maybe. I don’t know anything for certain.”
He leaned a bit closer. “I hear she committed suicide by peanuts.”
“Yeah, and that’s another thing. Melvin had no clue she was allergic. I would think if they were as close as everyone thought, he’d have had a clue.” And then, because I just couldn’t resist it, I added, “Off the record, I don’t think Josh entirely bought it either.”
Quentin pounced on my words, just as I knew he would. “Are you trying to tell me,” he said, his tone grating, “that the authorities don’t believe Londra Lewis killed either herself or Amelia Witherspoon? That the murderer is still at large?”
His tone had risen. I saw several heads at nearby tables turn in our direction, and was surprised to see the museum board at one of them: Mazie Madison, Ginnifer Rubin, Andy McHardy, Larry Peabody, Garrett Knute . . . and, yes, Mayor Carolyn Hart. All their eyes were popping, especially the mayor’s.
I dropped my own voice and said to him, “This is hardly the place to discuss this. I’m sure once Josh Bloodgood has all the facts straight, he’ll be glad to make a statement.”
Quentin, however, wasn’t accepting my dismissal with good grace. “What facts?” he asked. “Is there something the police found at the murder scene that hasn’t been made public yet?”
I forced a light laugh. “You know very well the police never reveal everything to the public.”
Josh chose that moment to walk in the front door of Sweet Perks. He had on black slacks and a black jacket, a white dress shirt, and a black-and-white-striped tie. His hair was slightly damp, as if just from the shower, and his eyes were flat and cold as they scanned the room, then warmed slightly as his gaze rested on me. He moved toward us and I thought Quentin Watson might leave, but he only scooted farther down in the chair, his gaze firmly fixed on Josh.
“Detective Bloodgood,” he said before Josh could greet us. “What’s all this about an ongoing investigation? I thought Londra’s unfortunate suicide resolved Amelia’s murder?”
Josh’s lips thinned. “Don’t worry, Watson, the case is almost closed. Just a few loose threads to tie together.”
“What’s to tie together?” His voice started to rise again. “What, a signed confession isn’t enough these days? Are you planning on holding a séance, calling up Londra’s spirit to get a formal confession?”
Mazie left her seat and walked swiftly toward us. The expression on her face was stony, to say the least. “Mr. Watson,” she said, in a tone that I’d heard last from my third-grade teacher, “if you can’t speak well of the dead, please do not speak of them at all. Crishell and Detective Bloodgood are right. This isn’t the place to talk about this.”
Quentin didn’t seem intimidated by Mazie’s manner in the least, but he did push back his chair and stand up, albeit somewhat reluctantly. He looked Mazie straight in the eye, which was easy for him to do, seeing as they were both the same height. “It’s a sad day, madam,” he said, “when the police cannot even close a simple case of murder. The lead detective here”—he indicated Josh with a sweep of his arm—“says there are still loose ends to tie up. I ask you, how can there be loose ends when there is a confession, a note, irrefutable evidence?”
Mazie’s gaze slid to Josh. “Is that true, Detective? I mean, I thought the case was closed.”
“Not yet, ma’am. There are still a few details. But I expect it’ll be marked closed within twenty-four hours.”
“That long? It should already be closed,” spat Quentin.
Mazie reached out and touched Josh’s arm. “Please understand, Detective. This has all been greatly upsetting to us on the board. The museum was her whole life. They’re just acclimating themselves to what happened and now you say it’s not resolved?”
Josh nodded curtly. “There are a few issues that have to be dealt with.”
Mazie frowned. “Are yo
u saying there’s a chance that Londra didn’t murder Amelia? That she was an innocent victim?”
“I really can’t comment on anything right now, Ms. Madison. All I can tell you is I expect to have everything resolved shortly.”
Mazie’s eyes flashed, and for a moment I thought she was going to argue further, but then she shrugged. “If you say so, Detective,” she said. She turned on her heel and walked back to her table. She sat down and immediately everyone at the table leaned in their heads and converged on her.
I turned my attention away from them and back to Josh. “Want to sit with us?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m on my way to the next town to consult with the lieutenant there on one of their cases. I meant what I told Mazie, though—this one should be wrapped up very, very soon.”
He gave my hand a quick squeeze, then walked away. I looked after him for a long moment, and then realized Quentin Watson was still standing there.
I gave him a thin smile and raised two fingers. “Twenty-four hours,” I said.
“I’ll be counting the minutes,” Quentin sneered, then turned on his heel and walked away.
Olivia leaned toward me. “Cheery soul. What bug got up his butt?”
“He’s just annoyed because he thinks he gave me a lead and I know more than I’m telling,” I replied.
Olivia studied my face a moment. “Do you? Know more than you’re telling?”
I picked up my latte and took another sip. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” I said mysteriously.
The front door opened again and Mel Feller shuffled in, wearing the same slacks and jacket I’d seen him in yesterday. My, my, it seemed I’d picked the right spot for a bit of surveillance, at least.
Rita leaned over and said, “Look at Mel. He looks as if he hasn’t slept for days.”
“Late night at the casino,” I said dryly. “I still can’t picture him and Londra as lovers.”
“Well, who then?” demanded Olivia. “What other woman at the museum? Not Dolly Fitch. She’s a hundred if she’s a day.”
I inclined my head toward the museum board’s table. “How about the mayor?”
They all looked at me, and then Ron burst out laughing. “Carolyn? And Mel? You’re kidding!”
“Actually, I’m not. When Gary and I went by Mel’s place the first time yesterday, his neighbor described Mel’s ‘friend.’ The description fit Carolyn Hart.”
“The neighbor had to be mistaken,” Rita said firmly. “Carolyn Hart wouldn’t get within six inches of Mel.”
“She might have to.”
I sighed. Quentin had returned and was standing behind me again. I glanced over my shoulder. “And why is that?”
“Because, Mel is Amelia’s replacement. They voted him in this morning.” He grinned as my jaw dropped, and then added, “They also voted to display your aunt’s collection, but don’t let on you know. You didn’t hear it from me.”
• • •
After I left Sweet Perks, I ambled over to Secondhand Sue’s. I knew Sue wasn’t back from New York yet, but Iris was behind the counter.
“Hey, Iris,” I said as I approached the counter. “I’ve got the check for that table.”
“Great. Kyle can bring it over next week.” She took my check and reached for the receipt pad. “I talked to Sue last night. She said that bust was one of three from the Pierre School of Art in the city. There were three total. The one of Poe that you bought and two others: Shakespeare and Thomas Edison.”
“Great. Can I ask another favor? Will you be speaking to Sue today? Can you ask her who bought the other busts?”
“I might be able to tell you that,” Iris offered. “Let me check the sales ledger in the back.” She vanished through a curtained alcove and returned a minute later bearing a large black ledger, which she set in front of me. “The one of Edison was purchased by the Edison Library in Edison, New Jersey. Appropriate, right? And Shakespeare . . .” She ran her finger down the list of items, flipped a few pages and then said triumphantly, “Here it is. It was bought by the Fox Hollow Museum for their library.” She glanced at me. “Does that help?”
“It certainly does. You wouldn’t have a copy of the bill of sale for that Shakespeare bust, would you?”
“I’d assume so. Let me check.”
She returned in a few minutes and laid a receipt on the table. “Is this what you wanted? Mazie Madison signed for it.”
I looked at the signature and then pointed to the M in Madison. “She might have ordered it, but Londra accepted the order. See that little mark?”
Iris squinted at where my finger pointed. “Barely.”
“Londra told me that’s how she could tell what she signed for and what Mazie signed for—” I broke off as an image appeared in my mind’s eye. “Checkmarks,” I murmured. “Of course.”
Iris looked at me. “Are you okay, Ms. McMillan? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Iris, can you do me a favor? Can you send a copy of that receipt to my fax at home? I think you’ve got the number.”
“Sure, but why—”
But I was already running out the door. Out on the street I paused and called up the Photo app on my iPhone. When I saw what I wanted was there, I squared my shoulders.
I had another stop to make.
• • •
The cats greeted me at the door with loud meows when I got home. I bent over to give each of them a scratch. “What’s the matter, kids? Gary not treating you right?”
I followed them into the kitchen and saw the problem right away. Both food bowls were empty. “Figures,” I said. I got two cans of Fancy Feast tuna out of the cupboard and spooned it into their bowls. They were slurping away when Gary came in a few minutes later. I took one look at him and cried, “Yow! You look disgusting.”
He looked down at his dirty shorts and T-shirt, grimy hands, and said, “Can’t do home repair without getting down and dirty.”
“Is it fixed?”
“It doesn’t leak anymore, if that’s what you mean.” He moved over to the sink, squirted soap on his hands, and started to wash them. “Say, is that fresh coffee I smell?”
I chuckled. “That’s a hint, right?” I picked up the coffee maker and pulled a can of coffee out of the top cabinet. “I guess it’s the least I can do.”
“It was nothing. Just consider it partial payment for the food and board—mostly the board.” He finished washing his hands and reached for a towel to dry them. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, nothing much.” I put the coffee on and pulled out a stool to sit on. “I, ah, just ran a few errands. Fended off Quentin Watson at Sweet Perks.”
“Yeah, Olivia told me.”
I wiggled my eyebrow. “Olivia calls you at home, eh? Something you want to tell me?”
He waved his hand. “She was really calling you. I just answered the phone. She thought you’d be home already.” He gave me an expectant look.
I felt a bit guilty not sharing my findings with Gary, but the truth of it was, I still wasn’t entirely certain I was right. My theory was just that right now—a theory, even though I had an idea on how to find out if it was correct or not. “I told you I had some errands to run,” I said lightly. “What’s up?”
“There’s a theater in town that shows old films. She wanted to invite us to a Jimmy Stewart double feature tonight. It’s two of your favorites, Vertigo and The Man Who Knew Too Much.”
I smiled faintly at the Vertigo reference. And while I loved Jimmy Stewart dearly, I had other plans for tonight. I didn’t want Gary tagging along, though, so I just gave a big smile and said, “Great. What time?”
“Starts at eight. I said we’d pick her up at quarter of. We can go somewhere for a late supper afterward. Okay?”
“Like I said, sounds great,” I said, even though I knew darn well I wouldn’t be joining him or Olivia tonight.
No, with any degree of luck, right ar
ound the time they’d be watching Jimmy Stewart rescue Kim Novak from drowning, I’d be breaking into the museum, trying to get the last bit of evidence that would close the case once and for all.
The murder weapon.
Twenty-eight
“So, how do I look, kids? Like a second-story man—or should I say woman?”
I paraded before the cats in my bedroom dressed in black jeans, socks, sneakers, and black turtleneck. I even had black gloves I planned to put on later. A short black jacket over all, and then I wound my blonde hair into a tight bun on top of my head and pulled a black cap over it to complete the look.
Kahlua looked me up and down, then made a mewling sound and dove under the bed. Purrday studied me a minute, then hopped off the bed and wound himself around my ankles, getting a smattering of white fur on my jeans.
“No, no, Purce,” I said, brushing at the hair. “Can’t have any white showing. I’ve got to blend into the shadows, remember?”
Purrday let out a loud meow as if to say now you’re going a bit too far, human.
I wiggled my finger at the cat. “It’s a good thing that I broke into the British Embassy in Episode 111 of Spy Anyone. I’ll need those skills tonight.”
Purrday cocked his head at me and let out a soft sound that sounded almost like a bleat—or a whine. Like he was trying to persuade me to give up this cockamamie idea, call Josh, and let the authorities handle it.
“I would, but what if I’m wrong? I don’t want to look foolish in front of Josh. I’ve done that enough already. I don’t want to involve Gary or Olivia either. After all, if I’m wrong, and I get caught—well, I’ll be in a bit of hot water. But if I can find the murder weapon that will prove Londra’s innocence and bring her and Amelia’s murderer to justice, taking this little risk will be worth it.”
Purrday’s eye flashed, and his tail did a rapid thump-thump-thump against the comforter.
“I know I’ve got all these other pieces of evidence, but they could be cleverly explained away, and our murderer is nothing if not clever. The actual murder weapon, though, would be tough to challenge.” I gave my jacket a tug and Purrday a swift pat on the head. “Wish me luck, Purrday. You too, Kahlua.”
The Time for Murder Is Meow Page 25
