Checked Out for Murder, page 16
One of the trio of women stood. She was pretty, with long blonde hair. Robby—that is, Billy—asked her to approach the center of the room.
“Hello. My name is Tracy Halleran. I lived in the same apartment house as Daphne and Billy.” She smiled at Billy. “Daphne and I were best friends for most of that time. She was the sweetest, nicest person. We all knew what a difficult time she was having—her father drinking and hitting them—and we wished we could do something to make her life better. I’m sorry she didn’t contact me when she moved back here. I’m sorry someone murdered her.”
We clapped, and Tracy sat down. To my surprise, the old man got up next.
“I’m Steve Dawson. I used to work with Chet Harper, Daphne’s father. Yes, he was a mean drunk at times, but when he wasn’t drinking, he was a decent man. And he loved his family, despite how he treated them. He didn’t deserve to get knifed to death any more than his daughter deserved what happened to her.”
Before we could react to Steve Dawson’s contribution, the door opened and a man stepped inside, looking around as if he was lost.
Oh no! It was Bert Lutz! Billy strode over to his sister’s ex-husband.
“This is a memorial service to honor my sister,” Billy said.
“I know. I’m not here to make trouble,” Bert said.
“Then sit down and remain quiet until it’s your turn to speak.”
Bert nodded and sat a few feet from me. I wrinkled my nose when a whiff of whiskey wafted my way.
Another old friend of Daphne’s stood and said her piece; then Greg, Robby’s—er, Billy’s—boss, stood.
“I met Daphne once, when she came to the gym. It took no more than one meeting to know she was a kind, worthy person—just like her brother. I’m sorry her life ended so suddenly. I only hope the police find the person who killed her and her father, because my money says the person is one and the same.”
“Thank you, Greg.” Billy joined his boss in the center of the room and flung an arm around his shoulders. “And thanks for standing by me. Thank you all for coming here today. I can’t put into words how grateful I am that though some of you didn’t get to know my sister, you’re here to give me support.”
Applause broke out. I was touched and eager to offer my remembrance of Daphne, but Billy had something to add.
“I know it’s premature, but I want to share some information with you.”
Oh no! Don’t do it!
But Billy was already grinning and pointing at me. “Thanks to Carrie Singleton and her partner Dylan Avery, I now know where my mother is living—not very far from here, it turns out. I intend to pay her a surprise visit in hopes of learning some vital information. Information that might very well expose the killer in our midst.”
Cheers and whistles filled the meeting room. Bert Lutz stood and walked to the center of the room. Billy frowned but quickly decided that he had no choice but to let him speak.
“I was married to Daphne and probably knew her better than anyone here—except her brother, of course. Daphne was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m sorry I didn’t treat her better.” Bert looked at Billy. “Daphne never forgave herself for letting that policeman bamboozle her into saying she heard you fighting with your father the night he was killed when your argument with him happened a week earlier. She was determined to find you and beg your forgiveness. I’m glad she found you. I only hope you find the SOB that murdered her.” He glanced upward. “Daphne, honey, rest in peace.”
This time the applause was even louder than before. When it died down, I was moved to speak.
“I met Daphne when she came to the library wanting to give a talk about psychic phenomena. Her own recently acquired psychic ability had urged her to return to Clover Ridge. She wasn’t sure why. I’m so happy that she got to reunite with Billy.
“Daphne and I spent time together and were on our way to becoming good friends when she was murdered. I hope the police will find her murderer very soon.”
An older woman who turned out to have been a friend of Daphne and Billy’s mother spoke, and the room fell silent. Billy addressed us one last time. He thanked us all for coming and for caring about his sister.
I timed my exit so that I’d fall into step with Ronnie Rodriguez. He acknowledged me with a grin.
“I have to hand it to the Quakers. They’re informal and everyone gets to say his piece.”
“Are you a Quaker?” I asked.
That inspired a deep belly laugh. “Me? I’m not anything, but my second wife was a Quaker.”
“How did you happen to come to Daphne’s memorial service?” I asked.
“I came for Robby—er, Billy. I’d heard what a great personal trainer he was, so I begged and begged until he agreed to squeeze me in for a few hours of training. The exercises he had me do eased the pain that was killing my shoulders for more than fifteen years.”
“He’s quite a person,” I said.
Ronnie nodded. “I’m sorry as hell he had to spend all that time in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Me too.” I thought a minute, then asked, “Does anyone else from the movie crew come to Parson’s Gym?”
“Sure. Phil, the lighting guy, comes even more often than I do. He’s into body building and won’t give it a rest. Ilana and Serena came a few times. That’s about it, I think. By the way, do you happen to know when Billy’s planning to go see his mother?”
“No idea,” I said.
“It’s just that I hope he’s not setting himself up for a big disappointment. Billy thinks his mother knows who murdered his father. My feeling is, if she really did, she would have told the police by now.”
“I think Billy wants his mother to explain why she disappeared when the police focused in on him as their number-one suspect,” I said. “No matter what she tells him, it can’t be what he hopes to hear.”
“Unfortunately, I agree,” Ronnie said.
We were standing at the edge of the parking lot now.
“I hear you’ll be resuming filming in a few days,” I said.
“Righto! Marissa Varig’s joining the cast, and we’ll be back in business.” Ronnie leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “I’m glad that Tom is no longer suspect number one.”
“Me too. See you around, Ronnie.”
He strode off, and I was heading to my car when someone grabbed my arm.
“Carrie!” Billy had been running to catch up with me. “I wanted to thank you for coming today.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was a lovely, down-to-earth service. Daphne would have liked it.”
“And now we can move ahead and find out what my mother’s been hiding all these years. Please let me know ASAP when you can make the trip with me.”
“Of course.” I hesitated, then added, “I only wish you hadn’t announced your plans to go see your mother because you assume she knows who killed your father.”
Billy laughed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Everyone who came to the memorial service came for my sake or Daphne’s.”
“Still,” I said, “when investigating unsolved homicides, it’s best not to divulge your plans to too many people. Even if the murderer isn’t present, he might get wind of what you intend to do.”
“Yes, Miss Marple.” Billy gave me a sharp salute. “From now on, I promise not to share our plans with anyone.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The days that followed Daphne’s memorial service were warm and sunny. Flowers bloomed on lawns and in hanging baskets around town, proof that spring had arrived in its full glory. My mother and Tom seemed to be moving forward slowly. “A wary truce” was how my mother described it. But I was hopeful. At least they were living in the same house.
My father must have thought the same, because, after treating Dylan and me to a wonderful seafood dinner, he announced he was returning to Atlanta the following morning. Jim had been staying with me at the cottage since my mother moved out. That night we had a heart-to-heart talk till one in the morning. He told me he was dating someone and promised to bring her to Clover Ridge the next time he came to visit. I found myself crying the following morning when his taxi arrived to drive him to the airport.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said, hugging me fiercely before sauntering off with the charm that had never left him.
Despite the two unsolved homicides and the apparent standstill in finding their murderer, signs of panic and hysteria seemed to have abated as the mood surrounding Clover Ridge returned to the casual familiarity and security of small-town living. I wondered if this was because both murder victims had been outsiders and local residents had managed to convince themselves that these deaths had nothing to do with them. The attitude of business-as-usual was strengthened when the movie people resumed shooting I Love You, I Do. Surely, here was proof that the police thought it safe for everyday activities to continue while they continued to investigate.
Tuesday morning, I found myself part of a long line of cars creeping along at a snail’s pace as Officer Danny Brower directed us away from the Green to a detour blocks out of my way. The inn, shops, and galleries facing the side of the Green adjacent to the library were the setting for that day’s filming. Drivers craned their necks out of car windows trying to see the shoot—with little success, given the film company’s vans blocking our view. I finally pulled into the library’s parking lot, set Smoky Joe free, and found myself joining the staff and patrons gawking out the three long windows that faced the Green to catch whatever glimpse I could of the filming, which wasn’t much.
Angela turned to me. “This is crazy. We can’t see anything from here. And even if we could—so what?”
“I know,” I said. “We’re hardwired to watch when a movie’s being made. Just as we drive slower so we can stare at an accident in the road.”
“And gawk when we catch sight of the rich and famous. Well, I for one am going back to work.” Angela started walking toward the circulation desk.
“Me too.” I fell into step beside her. “I’m glad they found a replacement for Ilana and are planning to finish the movie.”
“It kind of makes you feel that things are back to normal, even though they’re not.”
“They certainly aren’t,” I agreed.
“Two women have been murdered, and their killer seems to have gotten away with it.”
I frowned. “So far it looks that way.”
“What does John say?” Angela asked.
“I haven’t spoken to him recently. Dylan talked to him over the weekend. He said John was in a foul mood because he had no new evidence to work with and no new suspects in sight.”
“When are you going to Long Island with Billy Harper to talk to his mother?”
“On Friday.” I sighed. “But I can’t help but think that’s a wild-goose chase. I mean, what can she possibly say that will help us?”
“Did you tell John you’re going to see Mrs. Harper, or whatever she calls herself these days?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll let him know if she says anything worthwhile. I’m really doing this for Billy’s sake. Though he’s so angry at her, I’m afraid he’ll start off accusing her of having been an awful mother for abandoning him and Daphne. I’m hoping he’ll control himself and the trip doesn’t turn out to be a bust.”
Angela patted my shoulder. “That’s why he asked you to go along. Billy clearly has the good sense to know when to bring a mediator to the table.”
I settled down in my office and was scrolling through a slew of emails when someone knocked on my door.
“Come in,” I called out, expecting it to be Sally dropping by. I looked up and was surprised to see Charlie Stanton sailing through the doorway. “Well, hello!”
He dropped a kiss on my cheek like we were old pals. “Hello yourself.”
“Have a seat,” I said, pointing to the chair at Trish and Susan’s desk. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Charlie wheeled out the chair so we’d be facing each other and sank into it as though he was exhausted.
“We’ve just been filming for two hours. I finally got a break, so I came to seek respite here—away from the noise and the madding crowd.”
“Well, sure,” I said, wishing Angela were here to chat with her idol. “How’s it going?”
“Frankly, better than I’d expected. Marissa arrived last night and is avidly studying her lines.” Charlie sighed. “I just did a few scenes with Serena and needed to get out of the sun.”
“Would you like to get something to drink at the library coffee shop?” I asked.
“I am thirsty, but I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.”
I understood. Charlie wanted a moment of peace and quiet without fans gushing over him. I felt flattered that he’d sought me out as his refuge. “I’ll bring you back a coffee, if you like.”
“Thanks, Carrie, but I’d prefer something cold to drink. Water. Anything.” He grinned. “And whatever dessert they sell there.”
He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and peeled off a twenty.
“Please, no! My treat,” I said.
“Mine,” he insisted. “And get yourself something to nosh on. When you come back, there’s something I’d like to discuss.”
When I returned to my office with a cold drink and a brownie for Charlie and a cup of coffee for me, I found Sally sitting in my chair. The two of them were laughing and chatting like old friends.
“Carrie!” Sally said. She jumped to her feet, looking guilty, as if she’d been flirting with my boyfriend. I understood. Charlie had that mesmerizing effect on most females.
“Please sit,” I said to her.
Charlie got up from his seat and offered it to Sally. Was she actually blushing as she sat down? He leaned against my assistants’ desk. I handed him his drink and brownie. “And I have lots of change for you,” I said, holding out the money.
He waved it away. “Please.”
“Mr. Stanton—” Sally began.
“Charlie,” he corrected.
“Charlie has just made the most wonderful proposal,” Sally said, her face aglow.
“Really? What is it?” I asked.
She gestured to him. “I think you can describe it best.”
I could hardly believe it. My boss was star-struck and, for once, too flustered to speak.
“Well,” Charlie began, when he’d finished off the last bite of his brownie, “Serena, Tom, and I—and Marissa agreed when we presented the idea to her—would like to thank Clover Ridge for being such a wonderful host to us all, especially in view of the awful events of the past few weeks. The four of us would like to do a play reading at the library. No scenery. No props. Just us reading from a script.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, “but the library’s fully booked for the next two months with scheduled programs and events.”
“However, nothing is scheduled on Saturday and Sunday nights,” Sally said, grinning.
I looked at her. “No. The library’s closed then.”
“We’ve held special events on those evenings in the past,” Sally said. “And we can do it again.”
“That would be wonderful!” I said. “When were you thinking of doing this?”
“We were thinking two weeks from Saturday. We require nothing from your staff but a table and four chairs, a few mics—oh, and good lighting to read by.”
“Unfortunately, our large meeting room only holds sixty people,” I said. “So many of our patrons will be disappointed.”
“Mr. Stanton—er, Charlie—had a wonderful idea!” Sally said. “He said the movie crew’s sound engineer could rig up a system so people could hear the reading upstairs—in the reading room, the computer area, even the children’s section—if we need more seats.”
I smiled at him. “That is an ingenious idea. Since we have so much empty space on this level, we can rent chairs for the evening and accommodate a lot more patrons.”
Charlie glanced at his watch and finished off the rest of his drink. “Then we’re agreed. We’ll give the reading the third Saturday night in May. If we start at eight o’clock, it will probably run until ten forty-five. Or, if you prefer, we can begin at seven thirty. Run it by the powers that be and get back to me, okay?”
Sally and I nodded.
Charlie beamed at each of us. “Terrific! I’ll let the others know.” He snapped his fingers as if he’d just remembered something. “Come to think of it, Carrie, I did want to ask you something …”
Sally took this as her cue to leave, and Charlie watched her close my office door behind her. “She didn’t have to run off like that.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked a bit tartly, because we both knew he wanted Sally gone.
“I was curious to know if you’d heard of any new developments regarding the investigation into Ilana’s death—and the other poor girl’s, of course. Naturally, the I Love You cast and crew are concerned. We’ve made inquiries, but your police chief tells us nothing.”
“Why ask me?”
Charlie grinned. “I hear tell you have his ear. What about those tests you mentioned the other day? Hairs or fibers, you said.”
“I have no idea, since I’m not privy to police matters.”
“That’s surprising. Didn’t you help solve a few local murders?”
I shrugged. “I did, but this case is different. I don’t have any leads to follow up.”
“What about your upcoming visit to the mother of the first victim—Daphne Hyatt?”
“Marriott,” I corrected him.
“Sorry. Don’t you and Daphne’s brother expect her to finally reveal the ID of her husband’s killer?”
I stared at him. “Where did you hear that?”
“Let’s see. Where did I hear it? Your mother mentioned it the other evening. And Ronnie Rodriguez said that Daphne’s brother announced it at his sister’s memorial service.”
I gritted my teeth. No wonder John and his ilk hate it when amateurs get involved in murder investigations. “Billy and I plan to visit his mother in the near future, but honestly, I don’t think she knows who killed her husband. She would have told the police years ago if she did.”
