Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Page 8

  I was starting to believe that Big Ed was right when he handed this woman the Cruella De Vil card today. She was perhaps the most self-serving person I’d ever met. I could just imagine her plotting to kill cute little Dalmatian puppies to satisfy her obsession for fur, or in this case, plotting and conniving to assure she obtained her most coveted prize, the van Gogh award.

  *

  AFTER MY UNPLEASANT meeting with Alice, I was more than happy to hunker at my desk and lose myself in the final scene of my cozy mystery. As I flipped the pages, I became so entranced by the author’s easy cadence and lively descriptions that I actually felt like I was transported to the bleak moorlands of Cornwall. I easily envisioned rolling hills covered in gorse and heather and jagged rock formations standing strong against the pounding sea. I found myself strolling the brick-paved side streets of the perfectly scripted hamlet and spending my evenings in the pub, right alongside the spunky protagonist, serving up bitter ale and justice to the town’s raucous hooligans. By the time I’d turned the last page I was convinced I could easily sell this manuscript to a top publisher. I was ready to make my call.

  No sooner had I picked up the phone than Zach came charging into my office. “Have you heard what’s going on?”

  I replaced the receiver and waited patiently while he excitedly paced back and forth. “I give up. What’s going on?” I prompted.

  Zach threw his hands up. “Beats me. But the boss lady just took off out of here like a bat out of hell. Something big must be going down.”

  I sighed. Couldn’t Zach ever call anyone by their real name? “You mean Bentley? Why would she leave in such a rush?” I stood and moved toward my window, which overlooked High Street, where I saw a group of people running past the park and turning down Dogwood Lane. Several police cars zoomed by and did the same. “Oh no. What now?”

  Zach rubbed his hands together. “I can’t be sure, but I’m betting it’s not good.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I said, abandoning my desk and heading for the hall.

  Zach stuck to my heels as we made our way outside and joined the crowd moving down the sidewalk. “This can’t be good,” he repeated, over and over, as we crossed High Street and started down Dogwood. Up ahead, I could see a few Dunston police cars and an ambulance parked haphazardly in front of a three-story brick home. An officer was outside, bellowing orders at the crowd.

  Zach and I pushed our way through the gawkers until we found Bentley. She had her arm around an ashen-faced Vicky. “Something’s happened to Vicky’s friend Fannie Walker,” Bentley informed us.

  “Fannie Walker?” I’d just seen her a couple of days ago. “Has there been some sort of accident?”

  Vicky removed a starched hankie from the pocket of her skirt and dabbed at her nose. My skin prickled with unease. If Vicky—the most controlled and unemotional woman I’d ever known—was this upset, something big was up.

  I chewed my lip, waiting as she sniffed and dabbed a couple more times before finally shaking her head and declaring, “No, this was no accident.” She squared her shoulders and sniffed more deliberately this time, trying to restrain the spasms of breath that threatened to escalate into uncontrollable sobs. “Fannie was murdered.”

  I gasped. Zach gasped. Even Bentley gasped. Poor Vicky shriveled before our eyes, shrinking away and wrapping her hands tightly around her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together.

  “Murdered?” Zach and I asked in unison. I glanced his way, noticing he’d acquired a slightly madcap look. “You are a murder magnet!” he exclaimed, pointing a stubby finger my way.

  “This is not the time, Zach!” Bentley admonished.

  I turned back to Vicky. “Are you sure she was murdered?” I couldn’t believe it. Who would want to murder Fannie Walker? I’d met her. She seemed like a very sweet older woman, a little competitive about the rose thing, but still, what motive could someone possibly have for killing a widow who spent her days sipping tea and tending roses? But even as I pondered the question, a name popped into my mind: Alice Peabody. She’d whacked her competition just like she would a pesky weed.

  “Of course I’m sure. I found …” Vicky responded with a shudder, her words trailing off in a round of sobs.

  I looked at Bentley for help. Our eyes held each other’s for a brief second before Vicky dove back into her arms, seeking comfort. Bentley stiffened. She wasn’t comfortable nurturing a houseplant, let alone playing the role of consoler to a weeping woman. Or, knowing Bentley, maybe she was worried about her silk blouse. Whatever the reason, I was about to step in and take over when I caught a glimpse of Sean out of the corner of my eye. “I’ll be right back,” I said, ignoring Bentley’s protests and running after Sean.

  “Wait! Sean, wait!” I called out. He turned to face me just as a young officer who was attempting to control the pressing crowd shouted at me to get back.

  “It’s all right,” Sean assured him. “Let her through.”

  I ducked under the tape and jogged over to him. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Fannie Walker. I’m afraid she’s dead. Did you know her?”

  “Only in passing. She’s in the local garden club. I visited with them just the other day.”

  Sean narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

  I nodded. “Vicky says she was murdered.”

  He drew in his breath and ran a hand through his blond hair. “You know I really can’t comment on that. But do me a favor. Take Vicky somewhere away from here and help her get calmed down. I have her initial statement, but I’ll want to follow up with some questions later. And don’t let her talk to anyone from the press.” His eyes scanned the crowd and fell with a scowl on one of my former colleagues from the Dunston Herald. I noticed she was busy snapping pictures of us talking. Around her, the gawkers were beginning to push closer to the yellow tape, vying for the opportunity to catch a titillating glimpse of the scene. What was it about a crime scene that piqued people’s morbid curiosity? Did we all just have a weird innate desire to face our worst fears in person? Whatever was inspiring these onlookers, I’d lost it long ago. I’d seen enough death to last a lifetime.

  “You’d better hurry and get Vicky out of here,” Sean repeated. “If it gets out that she’s the one who discovered the body, this crowd will devour her. Not to mention that story-hungry reporter over there.”

  He was right. Besides, I didn’t want her around when the coroner came through with the body. “I’ll take her back to the office and wait with her until you get there.”

  He nodded and took off toward the backyard. I ducked back under the tape and started making my way to Vicky, only to be cornered by the reporter. “Hi, Jan.” I eyed her wearily. We used to be pretty good friends back when I worked at the paper, but I’d talked to her only a few times since I lost my job, and each of those times was to ask a favor. As she whipped out her notepad and began pelting me with questions, I assumed today was the day she planned to collect on those favors.

  “Is it true that Ms. Walker was found murdered in her own backyard?” she asked, pen poised in the air.

  “Really, Jan, you should be asking the police these questions.”

  She ignored me and continued, “Can you tell me how she was murdered?”

  “No.”

  She glanced up from her pad and eyed me suspiciously. “What do you mean, no?”

  I shrugged, wondering what it was she wanted from me.

  She furrowed her brows. “You don’t know the answers or you won’t tell me?”

  I took a step backward. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, didn’t you find Fannie’s body?”

  “What? No!”

  Jan scrunched her nose. “Really? I’m sorry, Lila. I just assumed—”

  “Assumed what?”

  “Well, you’re usually the one who finds the murdered bodies. Everyone says so.”

  I blinked twice and leveled my gaze on her. “Everyone says s
o?”

  She stared at me blankly. I didn’t bother to ask for further clarification; I knew what she was getting at. My reputation as a murder magnet obviously preceded me. Glancing over her shoulder to where Vicky was still huddled next to Bentley and Zach, I excused myself. “I need to be going, Jan. Sorry I don’t have any answers for you.”

  *

  BY THE TIME we got Vicky back to the office and settled in the waiting room with some hot tea, Sean showed up. He breezed by me with nothing more than a curt nod and went directly to Vicky. “I just have a few more questions for you, Ms. Crump. Is there somewhere private that we could talk?”

  In the meantime, the whole group had assembled around our office manager, offering comfort and gently trying to pry information out of her. Vicky remained steadfast, however, reiterating that the police had told her not to discuss the details with anyone. But now that Sean was actually there, she seemed almost afraid to relive those details. A slight tremble overtook her as she looked toward me for reassurance.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you use my office? I could come with you if you want.”

  She let out her breath and I could feel her shoulder muscles relax under my hand. “I would appreciate that.”

  “Good idea,” Flora jumped in, then added, “and after Detective Griffiths finishes his questions, you should go straight home and get some rest. I’ll be happy to cover any calls that come in this afternoon.”

  “And I’d be glad to drive you home,” Franklin spoke up. “I’ll be heading out in about an hour to meet with Damian anyway. I’ll drop you by your house on the way.”

  Vicky nodded and forced a smile.

  “All settled then,” Bentley interjected. “Now for the rest of us, I’m calling an emergency DAC meeting. Everyone to the conference room.”

  I sighed. Bentley had recently taken to abbreviating everything to an acronym, as if she was too busy to use entire phrases. I hadn’t heard DAC before, but it wasn’t too difficult to figure out it stood for damage assessment and control. Leave it to Bentley to turn some poor person’s unfortunate demise into a new task list.

  Bentley continued, “We’ll need to determine how this recent turn of events will affect our agenda for the rest of the week. Not to mention our image,” she added, shooting a black look my way. Then she turned her scowl on Jude and Zach, who were huddled in the corner, heads bent in a private conversation. “Snap to it, boys!” she ordered.

  The group dispersed, Bentley’s entourage scurrying down the hall ahead of us. Just as they reached the door to the conference room, Zach turned toward me with a playful look. He raised his hand in a mock-gun gesture, mouthing the words “murder magnet.”

  Chapter 8

  “I know who did this.” The first words out of Vicky’s mouth caused both Sean and me to do a double take. Gone were all traces of her earlier distress and back was Vicky’s usual self-possession. She was sitting on the edge of her chair with the straight-back discipline of a proper English lady about to receive high tea.

  I noted the determined tone in her voice and treaded carefully. “What makes you say that?”

  Sean also leaned in. “Yes, who do you have in mind, Ms. Crump?”

  Vicky’s head ping-ponged incredulously between the two of us. “Grant Walker, that’s who. Fannie was terrified of him. Just the other day, he threatened her.”

  I recognized the name of the hotheaded man I’d seen in Ruthie Watson’s office the previous Saturday. I bit back the urge to fire off several questions. Instead, I settled into my chair and let Sean take over the interview. His interview.

  My mind flashed back to the first time I met Sean. It was right after I’d found a local homeless man dead on the sofa in the agency’s reception area. Back then, I was impressed with Sean’s professionalism as well as the gentle way he handled me during a time of distress. I was still impressed. His easy, courteous manner was just the thing to channel Vicky’s single-mindedness and get needed answers.

  I watched as he took out his notepad and pen, his bright blue eyes darting between Vicky and the paper as he probed for information. Sean was obviously a good cop, dedicated to his career. I admired that, but lately I wondered if he would be as devoted to our marriage. Or was there room for only one love in his life—his job.

  “It was awful,” she said. “To see Fannie’s lifeless body slumped over her roses like that. I can’t even count the times I helped her in her garden, tending those very same flowers. Now …” Her voice caught in her throat, a slight stumble in her fortified emotions. “Now I’ll probably never visit Fannie’s garden again.” Sean started to reach for a box of tissues on the edge of my desk, but Vicky waved it away.

  “Why did you go over to Mrs. Walker’s home in the first place?” he inquired.

  “I’d called her to let her know I was going to be in the garden walk this year. She was so excited for me. We got to talking about roses and she invited me over on my lunch hour to see her most prized rose. One she’d cultivated herself.”

  “After you … uh … found her, did you move anything? Touch anything?” he asked gently.

  Vicky drew in her breath and squared her shoulders. “Of course not! I’ve read enough mysteries to know better than to disturb the scene. I didn’t even touch the spade that he used to … to kill her.”

  I winced. Bludgeoned with a garden spade? How horrible!

  “And you say she was being threatened by Grant Walker.”

  “Yes, that no-good stepson of hers. I’m telling you, he’s got anger control issues.”

  I could vouch for that. I’d seen the guy’s temper. It was ugly.

  “What would be his motive?” Sean asked.

  “Greed. Isn’t that always the reason? Grant’s father was Dr. Robert Walker, a well-respected physician in the area. A wonderful man, really. He passed just last year. Fannie was devastated.” Vicky shifted in the chair, crossing her ankles and readjusting her skirt before continuing, “You see, both Fannie and Dr. Walker lost their first spouse, so it was a second marriage for both of them. A second chance at love, Fannie always said. And she did adore him. They were very happy together.”

  “But her stepson didn’t approve?” Sean interjected.

  Vicky shook her head. “Grant was in his early teens, I believe, when Fannie came along. She adored him, but he never accepted Fannie. He treated her terribly. He’s an only child and I’m afraid that his mother, Robert’s first wife, indulged him. He’s been angry with Fannie ever since Robert’s will was read. You see, Robert divided the estate between Fannie and Grant, leaving Fannie the house and a share of his investments. Part of those investments include some land in the hills outside the Valley. Fannie and Robert were going to build their dream home up there. She was so excited with the prospect.”

  Suddenly, the argument I’d overheard at Sherlock Holmes Realty made sense. Grant was trying to sell the land and Fannie was holding out. Now that I knew the whole story, I could certainly understand why. She must have felt a sentimental attachment to the land where she and her husband had staked their dreams.

  “But Grant wants to sell,” Vicky went on. “He’s been hounding Fannie to sign it over, but she won’t budge. Grant’s furious, of course.”

  Sean was scribbling away on his notepad. “And, he threatened Fannie.”

  Vicky’s expression turned dark. “Yes, he told her that he’d get her to sign over the property one way or the other.”

  Sean quirked his head. “That could mean anything. Perhaps he was taking legal action.”

  “That’s doubtful,” Vicky corrected him. “You’d have to know Grant. He has a fierce temper and reacts on impulse. Taking the time to pursue proper legal routes wouldn’t even occur to him. He’s impetuous.”

  I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “She’s right. I saw his temper at the real estate office just the other day.” I relayed my experience at Sherlock Holmes Realty. “But there’s another possible suspect you’re not consider
ing—Alice Peabody.”

  “Who’s Alice Peabody?” Sean asked.

  “She’s the president of the garden club,” I explained. “And she’s ruthless. I’m under the impression that she’d do about anything to win this year’s van Gogh award.”

  Vicky’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, you’re right about Alice; she’s very competitive. However, I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” She turned to Sean with confidence. “No, Grant Walker is your man, Detective.”

  “You may be right but …” Visions of Grant’s anger morphed into the image of Alice when we’d met today.

  “But what?” Sean pressed me.

  I looked up, realizing my mind had wandered into the field of possibilities. “I met Alice for lunch today. She was running late and when she finally got there, she was disheveled and her slacks were covered with dirt stains.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew how silly they sounded. I shrunk back in my seat and glanced toward Sean. To his credit, he remained poker-faced, although I thought maybe I detected the semblance of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s hard to explain. Just a feeling I have, I guess.”

  “Just dirt stains or did you notice blood on her pants as well?”

  I could feel my cheeks redden as I shook my head. “No, I didn’t see any blood. Just dirt.”

  Sean cleared his throat and stood. “Well, I think I’ve got everything I need for now. Ms. Crump, you should take your coworkers up on their suggestions and head home for the day. You’ve experienced quite the shock.” Then turning to me, he asked, “Walk me out?”

  I stood and followed him back down the hall. As soon as we reached the back door, he turned to me and in a quiet voice, asked, “How about some dinner tonight? It won’t be Voltaire’s but we could go somewhere else. Make an evening of it.”

  He was offering me an olive branch, and I was tempted to take it because after finding out about two murders in one day, nothing would be better than to feel the warm safety of Sean’s arms around me. Still, a tingle of apprehension lingered within me. After all that had transpired between us the last couple of days, I needed some alone time to sort through things. Not to mention that I was behind on my own work. “Not tonight, Sean. It’s been a long day and I’m not really feeling up to going out.”