Purrday threw back his head. “Me-oooooow!” he warbled. From the depths underneath my bed, I heard a similar wail from my Siamese.
It sounded more like a warning than a good luck wish. But I was determined to see this through.
• • •
The museum was dark when I pulled into the parking lot. I parked my convertible at the farthest end—not far from where Londra’s Cadillac still sat—pulled on my black gloves, and exited the car. I tiptoed stealthily through the lot, making sure to keep to the edges by the shrubbery. I melded into the shadows around the building and glided to the rear service entrance, where I removed my credit card from my back pocket. A pick and a tension wrench would probably have worked much better, but I didn’t have time to order them off the internet and I didn’t want to go into the local hardware store to purchase them. I’d have to settle for the poor man’s method and hope it worked like it had on my show.
I knelt and slid the long end of my AmEx Prepaid Card in between the doorframe and the locking side of the door, just as I’d seen on the YouTube instructional video I’d watched earlier to refresh my memory. I angled the card downward, making sure it was perpendicular to the door. Then, saying a quick prayer the door didn’t have a dead bolt set, I slowly but firmly pulled the card toward me while turning the door handle. I held my breath until I heard a sharp click, and then I gave the door handle a twist. It swung inward, and I sent up a quick thank-you as I shoved my AmEx back into my pocket and entered the darkened museum.
I waited a few seconds, letting my eyes adjust, and then pulled out the pencil flashlight I’d brought and switched it on. The tiny beam of light cut through the inky black—not a whole lot, but enough that I could see where I was going. I squared my shoulders and headed straight down the corridor, to the library where I’d found Amelia’s body. The door was closed, and I said another quick prayer that it wasn’t locked. I didn’t think I could get lucky enough to actually pick two locks in one evening. I twisted the knob and the door opened silently. I shone my light around, finally settling it on the object of my search: the bust of William Shakespeare Amelia’s body had been stretched beneath.
I walked over to the bust and shone my flashlight on it, paying particular attention to the neck area. Of course, my theory wasn’t a hundred percent. There was a chance that I could be wrong, but I fervently hoped not. With my limited light, though, it was hard to see, and for a minute I considered going for the light switch. I ran my fingers along Shakespeare’s collarbone. Drat. Nothing.
“Oh, come on,” I grumbled. “If you were all made at the same school, it stands to reason you might all have a secret cavity—my theory depends on it.” I pressed down a little harder, thinking that if Purrday were here, he’d have found it for me. And then my fingers hit a slightly raised portion of marble. I bit back an excited cry and set the flashlight on the stool, positioning it so the light shone on the spot where my fingers lay. I pressed down hard, as I’d seen Purrday do with Edgar Allan, and the small section of marble moved, revealing a small cavity like the one in my own bust. I reached into my pocket for the baggie I’d brought as my fingers touched something hard and sharp inside the cavity. Carefully, very carefully, I pulled out the object wedged in there and held it up.
In the pale light from the flashlight, the Tuareg knife appeared more sinister than ever. Streaks of red covered the jagged edges of the blade. It had to be Amelia’s blood. I held the knife very carefully by the end of the handle and dropped it into the baggie. I reached for the flashlight at the same instant I heard a soft click and the lights in the room went on, illuminating me in their glare.
“It seems we both had the same activity in mind for tonight. I’ll take that, Crishell,” said Mazie Madison. She was dressed almost identically to me, except her sneakers were white. She pointed with the toe of said sneaker. “Drop it right here,” she said, leveling the revolver she held at my chest.
The blood pounded in my ears as I stared into Mazie’s eyes, eyes that looked a little bit wild and a lot crazy. Slowly, I set the baggie containing the knife down and kicked it toward her. It skidded across the polished floor. Mazie thrust out her foot and stopped it, then bent down to pick it up.
Eyes still glittering, she faced me. “Great minds think alike. Once I heard that conversation this morning, I knew I had to get rid of this once and for all. I see you had the same thought.”
“I wasn’t sure what I’d find,” I said. “I wasn’t positive Shakespeare had a hidden cavity like my Poe bust, but once I confirmed they came from the same maker, I thought the chances were pretty good.”
She waved the gun at me, indicating a nearby chair. I sank into it. “Hands where I can see them,” she barked. I placed both on top of the desk, and she gave a satisfied nod. “I am curious, though. How on earth did you ever figure it out?” Another high-pitched laugh tittered out of her. “If I do say so myself, I’m a pretty darn good actress. Maybe as good as you, or better.”
That I had to agree with. “You certainly are,” I said. “And to tell you the truth, up until a little bit ago I wasn’t entirely certain if it was you or Mayor Hart.”
“Carolyn?” She wrinkled her nose. “Why on earth—? Oh, never mind.” She waved her hand. “What convinced you?”
“Mel Feller’s neighbor. I took your picture with my iPhone at Sweet Perks this morning and I went over there to see if she could identify you as the lady friend she told me about. She made a positive identification.”
“So.” Mazie’s lips twisted into a sneer. “You figured out that I was the woman from the museum Mel was having the affair with.”
“Londra respected you a great deal,” I said. “So much so that she was willing to let the rumors circulate about her and Mel to protect you. You were angry with Amelia, weren’t you, for not supporting your nomination to have him put on the museum board.”
“Oh, you bet I was,” Mazie said with feeling. “I was plenty pissed over it. But if you think that’s the reason I killed her, you’re dead wrong.”
“No, you killed Amelia because she threatened to reveal that you stole those knives to give to Mel. She figured it out the same way I did, I’m sure.”
“Yeah? And what way was that?”
I leaned a bit forward in the chair. “That day I visited you at the museum after Amelia’s murder, I spoke a bit with Londra. She told me that she did most of the signing, and she could sign your name as well as you could. She also told me her little secret about putting a small checkmark inside the M in Madison so she could tell what papers she’d signed and what ones you signed. I compared both bills of lading. They were both signed by you. Londra’s distinctive checkmark was missing. That meant that Londra didn’t unpack the shipment originally, as you’d said. You did.”
Mazie’s lips thinned. “I made the mistake of leaving the file on my desk. Amelia found it when she was snooping around, as she usually did on a Sunday, and she realized almost immediately what I’d done. She knew that habit of Londra’s too. She threatened to have me charged with theft if I didn’t get the knives back from Mel and return them. When I said I didn’t care what happened to me as long as Mel was safe, she said that she could send him to prison as well.” Mazie had the nerve to look affronted at the idea that Amelia would target Melvin Feller. “Apparently when he’d worked for Garrett, years ago, there was an incident with the museum funds, and Amelia had that evidence too. She used it to threaten Garrett as well. It was one thing for her to threaten me, but to threaten Mel . . . and then you came to town. Amelia was certain you would be against her, especially if you found out about her affair with your aunt’s first love. She made sure the poster display was voted down, and when you started to raise such a stink about it, well . . .” She shrugged and smiled. “It was as if the universe was showing me a way out of my troubles. I wrote that note to Amelia, knowing how paranoid she was—and guilt-ridden, believe it or not. I knew she’d call you, and once she did, I surprised her in the office and s
lit her throat. Oh, the look on her face when she saw it was me! I thought that note and leaving the photo of the Friday poster in her hand was a nice touch to put the heat on you for a while.”
I lifted my chin. “I arrived at the museum quicker than you anticipated, though.”
Mazie’s lips slashed into a thin line. “True. I had to get out fast, so I shoved the knife into the bust. I knew about the cavity, because Sue showed it to me before I bought the bust. I had an idea it might come in handy someday. I figured I’d have plenty of time to get the knife and dispose of it once all the hoopla about Amelia’s death died down. Until today.”
“And once Londra figured out you were responsible for Amelia’s death, you decided to kill her, make it look like a suicide and frame her for Amelia’s murder.”
“It was like killing two birds with one stone, really. I knew she was allergic to peanuts, so I told her I wanted to talk. I was going to make restitution on the knives, turn myself in. Little fool believed me. She’d been going to call you, tip you off, so I had to act fast. I had a needle filled with peanut oil, I jabbed her in the back of the neck. Then I wrote the note and sprinkled some shells around so it would be obvious she’d taken her own life. I knew the handwriting on the notes would match. What I didn’t count on,” she added with a baleful glare at me, “was you smelling a rat and complicating things by sticking your nose in. Really, Shell, you have no one to blame for your current predicament except yourself. If you’d just minded your own business, everything was tied up neat and tidy. Everyone would have been happy.”
“And an innocent woman would be forever accused of a crime she didn’t commit,” I said. “How could you do that to someone you’d worked with for years, who was so loyal to you?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “Neither was framing you. Believe it or not, I like you, Shell. But I couldn’t let either Mel or myself go to prison. It’s survival of the fittest.”
Man, not only was she crazy, she was the worst type of crazy. A person who appeared totally sane on the outside. I decided to try a little more voice of reason. “Think about it, Mazie. Detective Bloodgood has the same concerns I had. It would be only a matter of time before you were exposed.”
“By then, I would be far away from here,” Mazie said. “I was planning to resign from the board next week. I’d already tapped Carolyn to take my place permanently, and the board was in full agreement.”
“And Mel? How does he feel about you committing murder for him?”
She stood straight at that. “He doesn’t know,” she said in a choked tone. “And he can never know. He thought I bought the knife as a gift for him, and I didn’t have the heart to take it back. I don’t want him to think badly of me. That’s why, unfortunately, you must die, Crishell. I am sorry. But without you to fuel the fires, interest in these deaths will wane.”
I stared at her. She really believed that! “You’re forgetting my friends. Gary and Olivia will know my death was no accident. Josh is already suspicious . . .”
“But not of me. You haven’t shared your findings with your friends yet, have you?” She gave me a knowing glance. “Of course not. You’re the type that likes to have all their ducks in a row before they commit. Isn’t that what ruined your last relationship with that director? Oh, yes,” she said at my startled look, “I read gossip magazines. No one would ever suspect me, not in a million years, once I destroy that file . . . and silence Mel’s nosy neighbor, you know. Just in case.”
Oh, Lord. She was all primed to commit more murders. How could she even think that would go unnoticed in such a small town? Olivia’s assessment of her had been right: she was a coiled spring, ready to snap.
“Mazie,” I said. “Don’t do this.”
“I was here, at the museum, going over some paperwork when I heard a sound. I grabbed the gun that we keep on hand and raced in here, to see you over the bust—trying to steal it—and I shot you in self-defense,” she babbled, waving the gun in the air. “No court in the land would convict me, especially when I turn on the waterworks. My God, I killed Shell Marlowe! I didn’t mean to! I’ll be racked with guilt for days, weeks, I’ll have to leave to get over it . . . and I can do it too.”
“You’ll never get away with this. You’ll never make it stick.”
She stared at me, and then barked out a laugh. “Why, Shell. Of course I will. Look at what I’ve gotten away with already. I’m an excellent actress, you know I am.”
It all sounded crazy, but the deuce of it was, the woman was diabolical, and she was a damn good actress. Heck, she’d had me fooled up until a few hours ago. I had questioned the evidence, thought for sure I had to be wrong . . . now I was sorry, damn sorry, that I’d never shared my suspicions with Gary or with Josh.
She raised the gun and I shut my eyes, waiting for the shot. My heart was heavy with many regrets. I’d never see my mother again. I’d never get a chance to reopen the store I loved. I’d never see Gary or Olivia or Ron or Rita again. But most of all, I’d never get a chance to tell Josh how I felt . . .
“Drop the gun, Mazie. Right now.”
My eyes flew open at the sound of another voice. Mazie whirled, and I saw my chance. I sprang up from behind the desk and grabbed the arm that held the gun, twisted it backward, and slammed it hard against the desk. Mazie let out a strangled cry, and the gun fell from her hand. I gave it a swift kick with my sneaker at the same instant I flung Mazie away from me. The gun slid across the floor and came to a dead stop at Josh’s feet.
The moments that followed were a total blur—lights, sirens, men in blue uniforms swarming into the room. One man slipping his arm around my waist, catching me just as I thought for sure I’d crumple to the ground.
“Want to tell me just what the hell you thought you were doing?” Josh growled.
I threw myself against his chest and held on . . . tight. “Am I ever glad to see you, Detective Bloodgood,” I gasped.
And then I dropped like a stone at his feet.
Twenty-nine
“The phone is ringing off the hook. You know, I think you’ve gotten more publicity over this than in ten years on our show.”
It was the next morning. After my fainting spell, Josh had taken me straight to the emergency room, where I was released about two hours later into Gary and Olivia’s waiting arms. They’d taken me straight home and put me to bed, but now I was up and feeling good, albeit a tad groggy, presumably from the medicine I’d gotten last night to help me sleep. Gary and Olivia both insisted on waiting on me, and truthfully, I wasn’t in a mood to refuse it. I lay stretched out on the couch, a blanket over me, Purrday curled up comfortably at my feet.
“I doubt that,” I said, reaching for the cup of java Olivia had brought in for me, along with the Spanish omelet Gary prepared. At first I hadn’t thought I could eat a bite, but—what do you know—almost being killed made me ravenous. I pushed the tray out of the way, momentarily dislodging Purrday from his post sprawled across my ankles, and reached for the paper Gary held out to me:
Museum Director Arrested for Double Murder.
Actress Finds Murder Weapon, is Almost a Victim Herself
I scanned the article quickly, then shook my head. “Was Quentin Watson outside the emergency room when I was telling Josh what happened?”
“I think he bribed one of the nurses to recount it, actually.” Olivia chuckled. “That man will do anything for a story.”
I leaned back against the pillows. “You know, Josh never told me how he knew to go to the museum.”
Gary picked up the paper I’d dropped and lay it on the coffee table before settling into one of the wing chairs. “For that, you should thank the Fox Hollow theater team—and Purrday.” At my inquiring look, he went on, “Olivia and I went to the movie, but the film broke halfway through and they couldn’t fix it. We decided to come back here, and it was a good thing we did.”
“Purrday went wild when he saw us,” Olivia said. She reached behind her and lifted u
p a garbage pail. “He’d managed to shred all those faxes you got from the store, showing the discrepancies in the bills of lading. Then he knocked the bust over again, and Gary found your phone hidden in the cavity.”
I turned my gaze full on the cat and shook my finger at him. “Purrday! You stole my phone! Bad cat!”
“No, good cat, because when I turned it on we saw the picture you’d taken of Mazie, and there was a text from Mrs. Miller saying that she’d thought it over and she would swear in court that Mazie Madison was the woman she’d seen Feller hanging around with,” Gary said. “It didn’t take much to figure out what your earlier errand had been. I called Josh, who had pretty much reached the same conclusions, and when his sister told him what you asked about the busts, he called out the troops and got over to the museum. Just in time too, I might add.”
“I have to take some of the responsibility,” I admitted. “I honestly didn’t think that Mazie would make a run for the murder weapon that fast. I figured she was biding her time till all the furor died down. I guess overhearing that conversation with Quentin this morning at Sweet Perks made her think she’d better get her rear in gear and get rid of the most damning evidence: the murder weapon. In my defense, though, I was still a bit torn between her and Mayor Hart as the killer. After all, the mayor did go to the museum a lot. She would have had the same opportunities as Mazie.”
“Except the mayor really had no motive, and once we figured out Mazie was Mel’s secret lover, all the pieces fell into place,” Gary said.
The doorbell rang. Olivia jumped up at once and vanished into the foyer, returning a few minutes later with Josh. He had on jeans and a crisp white shirt, and a bouquet of beautiful flowers clasped in one hand.
The Time for Murder Is Meow Page 26
