Muffin to Fear, page 27
“I knew nothing about that! Not . . . not before we came. I misspoke earlier, that’s all. I meant once we got here and I found out about the murders, then I told Todd we shouldn’t have come.”
“That’s not true, Hugh,” Pish said, gently. “We talked about it the very first day we spoke on the phone. I told you far too much; you have a great deal of charm, even over the phone.”
“You knew we had a history of recent tragic murders. And I think you knew that Todd not only had a gun, but had it with him.” I paused for effect, remembering the scene of Hugh comforting Todd on the terrace, as the ghost hunter stared at me talking to Urquhart in his sheriff’s car. I think Todd, worried that the cops would find the gun on him, had told his boss, who reassured him that he’d take care of it. That was guesswork, but it fit. I finished my speech with, “And, not everyone was in the right place at the right time to attempt to shoot Dirk at the previous incident in Michigan. Dirk had that figured out after a little investigation of his own; he knew it was you shooting at him in the woods in Michigan—not Todd—and was using it to blackmail you into producing his next show.” Dirk couldn’t have been sure that it was Hugh shooting at him, but it was clear that he had done some research and discovered Hugh’s love of guns and his handgun permit.
I watched the producer and felt Virgil’s tension radiating; if Hugh made a move toward me, he’d find himself on the floor with his arms pinned behind his back. The producer was giving us nothing. I was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake. “Dirk had big plans, and you were going to be tied to him for the rest of your professional life. So the narcissist psychic had to die to kill the show. And then, when Todd realized what had happened and was using it to pressure you, Todd had to die. Which was fine. You had prepared before Dirk’s murder to make it look like Arnie was guilty, but this worked better and you adjusted. You staged Todd’s death as a suicide, knowing there was a good chance he’d be blamed for Dirk’s murder. You’d see to that.”
I paused and it felt like the whole group was holding its breath, silence so profound you could hear a pin drop, almost literally. But no one said a word. I scanned them; they were stunned, minds racing, breath held.
“You are out of your mind,” Hugh said.
“Todd figured it out, didn’t he?” I asked Hugh. “So he took over where Dirk left off, pushing you to bankroll and produce a show all of his own. He’d heard that Stu was flying the coop using an idea they had discussed together about ghosts and murder victims, and was angry. You would have never been free to produce the shows you want to do, for the intellectual audience you think you’re aligned with. You killed Dirk to get out of one mess, only to find yourself in another with Todd. It was your last shot to escape Haunt Hunt, regain your reputation, and produce your wine, travel, and fine dining shows.”
Hugh sighed, the much put-upon innocent. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’m leaving.”
Arnie strode forward and grabbed him by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere until you answer. Did you kill Dirk and set me up for it, like she says?”
But Rishelle spoke instead. “That’s why you sent me out to find Todd,” she said, her voice hollow.
I gasped. “Rishelle, are you saying Hugh sent you to look for Todd? You didn’t say that before.”
She looked blank and shook her head. “Didn’t I? I guess . . . I guess I was so upset . . . Hugh tapped on my door and asked if I knew where Todd was.” She turned back to Hugh. Tears streamed down her face. “I got up and was worried. But you knew he was dead because you killed him, and that’s why you sent me out to find his destroyed body. You bastard!” She flew at him, flailing with her fists, but hit Arnie instead, and all three went flying.
That’s when Virgil stepped in.
Chapter Twenty-seven
HE SEPARATED THEM forcibly, while Pish called the sheriff and Lizzie ran outside to get one of the sheriff’s deputies who were still at the scene. Chaos ensued for a few minutes, but the deputy and Virgil between them subdued the culprit, and soon Urquhart arrived. With Virgil’s help, he sorted out the proceedings.
And yet . . . nothing was resolved. I was deeply troubled. Not only had my little scheme not gotten a confession out of Hugh, I may have intolerably interfered with the investigation to the point that it was contaminated. I had hoped for so much more, even a confession on tape. Urquhart had asked for my help and I had been eager to offer it, but instead, I may have bumbled things terribly. From beginning to end Hugh played me for a fool. I could remember many instances where I thought I understood what was going on because of my familiarity with the show business world, when all along I was as clueless as Millicent. Hugh schmoozed me good.
And yet he had made a lot of mistakes and taken many chances. I had to hope those cracks would reveal the truth.
Urquhart rounded them all up, the whole cast and crew of Haunt Hunt, confiscated the memory cards of our interview and conversation, and ferried them to the sheriff’s department for formal statements. Virgil went with them, so Lizzie, Pish, and I were left alone, sitting in the kitchen awaiting news.
I felt lower than I had in ages. I made tea for Pish and me, and hot chocolate for Lizzie, then moped while Pish and Lizzie cleaned up the kitchen, shooting me worried looks. No one felt like eating Virgil’s chili, but it would keep for another day. There was only one thing that would make me feel better, and that was learning that I hadn’t fumbled things so badly that Hugh, who I knew darn well was a double murderer, got off.
The door knocker banged, and I ran through the great hall and threw open the door. Emerald stood there, looking over her shoulder at all the Haunt Hunt vans and equipment.
“I thought they’d all be gone by now! I’ve heard the wildest rumors in town, and I didn’t know what to believe. I just got back and came to pick up my daughter, who I hear is still here, and who skipped school today!”
“She told me she had a PD day today. I should have known to check with someone else.”
Emerald sighed in disgust. “What’s this I hear about another death? What’s going on?”
“Come on to the kitchen and we’ll explain everything.”
She had barely gotten seated when Janice and Shilo showed up. Hannah called, and I put her on the laptop on Skype so she could join the conversation. I was whining about what had gone on, when Emerald held up one hand.
“Wait, what? Are you saying no one knew what was going on behind the scenes with Todd and Dirk and Hugh?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking at her in mystification. “Why?”
“That whole group . . . what a bunch of drunks! Thursday night at the bar, a couple of them said some stuff that doesn’t line up with that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, there was a lot. I mean, the big guy with the wild hair, the one wearing the toque . . .”
“That’s Arnie Ball, the cameraman.”
“Okay . . . he was teasing the girl . . .”
“Serina Rogers, who is the main sound engineer.”
“Sure . . . Anyway, he was saying something to her about why did she like so-and-so and not him.”
“She was having an affair with Todd. I guess it was more general knowledge than I’d thought.”
“And Arnie was talking to the Asian guy . . .”
“Chi-Won Zhu . . .”
“. . . and said when he was producer on Hugh’s new show, maybe Chi could be the technical adviser. They’d have a chance to travel abroad, since it was going to be something international.”
“Sure, okay, but that still doesn’t say anything other than that Hugh was planning some other show and Arnie knew about it. It’s interesting that Arnie had aspirations to produce, but Hugh made no secret of the fact that he wanted to do a fine dining and travel program.”
“But then Chi made a joke. He was so drunk! I’ve never seen anyone that drunk. I tried to cut him off, but my boss said if I didn’t keep serving, I’d be fired. He wasn’t driving, so I kept serving him. Anyway, he was talking out loud, but with no one there, you know? He was talking to himself, mumbling and slurring. But I think he said, ‘You and me are gonna take care of it . . . gonna take care of all of it. Dirk’ll be done, gone, and I’ll be the producer then, not effin’ Arnie useless Ball.’ I was surprised because he had seemed so friendly with Arnie.”
“You and me . . .” I sat up straight. “Wait, Em . . . Could he have said ‘Hugh and me,’ not ‘you and me’? Is that possible?”
Emerald stared at me for a long minute. “Yeees,” she said, her eyes blank for a moment as she considered. “Yes, actually that makes a whole lot more sense, doesn’t it, given that he was alone at the time he was talking? That is exactly what he could have said.”
Chi had seemed so . . . so normal, besotted with the flaky psychic, just a quiet, nice guy. Besotted with the psychic . . . wait . . . when had that happened? I hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was a moment when that changed. It wasn’t until I questioned why a guy like Chi, with so many skills and such a great résumé, would be working on a lowly reality ghost hunting show. He said he had personal reasons, and after that he started making up to Millicent, who looked surprised, but willing to go along with it.
A whole bunch of stupid random details dropped into place. As we already knew, it wasn’t Arnie who had been unhirable because of a lawsuit, it was Chi. Hugh must have gone to bat for him and hired him onto Haunt Hunt so he’d have a willing lackey, as proved by Chi’s drunken mutterings.
I called Virgil, dancing around anxiously in the kitchen, waiting for him to answer. I babbled out everything Emerald had just said and what I thought, but he was skeptical. He’d see, he told me. A half hour later he called. “Hey, Merry. How is it going there?”
“Just hunky.” I waited.
“Good, good to hear.”
“Come on, Virgil, no messing around. What’s going on? Have you found anything out?”
He chuckled. “You could say that. We have a full confession. Chi-Won Zhu told Urquhart everything, how he couldn’t get a job because of his problems with the studios—a giant lawsuit, I understand, that made him uninsurable—how he worked with Hugh before, how Millicent and Rishelle asked for his help to set up a prank against Dirk, and how he told the producer about it. Hugh asked him to alter the prank on Dirk. He constructed the spring mechanism to be strong enough to move something heavy, but the two women didn’t know that. The three of them then set it up with the light tool belt on it. But Chi made some excuse to return to the garage, and set the heavy toolbox up on the spring.”
“So that’s why Chi wasn’t with them when they came in! And the video camera . . . I’ll bet Rishelle and Millicent counted on him setting it to record and he just didn’t, or he turned it off when they weren’t looking, most likely. I was trying to think of some fancy technical reason, but it was probably that simple. He lingered to set up the prank to kill instead of startle.”
“All Hugh had to do was follow Dirk out to the garage and make sure he died. We’re pretty sure the toolbox didn’t kill Dirk right away, that Hugh had to bash him on the head with it. And yes, you’re right about the footage, it does show Hugh sneaking out to the garage after Dirk, and Hugh’s wearing a wig and toque, but with his shiny Berluti shoes still on.”
“That was one of his few mistakes; those shoes were evident even in that night footage.” And that was why, when I caught him on the stairs, he had bare feet. He was sneaking in, not out, and had his shoes clutched under his bathrobe, so I wouldn’t wonder. He must have hidden the bathrobe somewhere to slip on when he came back into the house but forgotten about his shoes. I said all that to Virgil.
“Yeah, that’s probably true. The shoes have now been tested, and though they have been cleaned, they do show traces of blood in the stitching. Chi still insists that Hugh was solely responsible for setting Todd’s murder up to look like suicide. He apparently drew the line at up-close murder.”
“But Dirk’s death . . . it’s premeditated murder,” I said, realizing it suddenly. “Hugh came prepared with a wig to imitate Arnie, and Chi knew about it the first night.”
“Yeah, that’s true. If that hasn’t occurred to Urquhart, I’ll be sure to mention it. They’ve both been arrested and charged.”
It was over. Finally.
• • •
It was already December 15. We never did figure out what Pish was experiencing in the way of haunting occurrences, but he didn’t seem to mind. He said if there were Wynter ghosts occupying the castle along with us, well, it was their place, too! They could toss stuff around as long as they didn’t throw anything at him.
The weather was icy and had been for a week, but that was good because the ground was frozen. It meant there would be less damage. There were a lot of people crowded round looking cold and miserable, but unwilling to leave the Wynter Castle property. Shilo, bundled up in a hand-knit shawl over her winter parka—which was a little too snug across her growing belly—and a knitted Nordic-print hat with earflaps and a long tassel, stayed close to me, huddling for warmth. Lizzie and Emerald, Hannah with Zeke and her parents, Simon and Janice Grover, Gogi with Doc, who sat in a lawn chair, watching my drive, and many more were present.
Inside, the castle was decorated for Christmas. There were enormous Christmas trees in the great hall by the fireplace, in the library and the dining room. I had already set up the dining room with huge commercial coffee urns and tea urns, as well as two large slow cookers with mulled cider, and trays and trays of treats from Binny’s Bakery and my own freezer. This was going to be kind of a Christmas party, though we had another purpose for gathering.
Pish, dapper in a long camel hair coat and tweed muffler—the scarf was my gift to him from New York—came trotting up the drive. “They’re coming!” he hollered. “They’re coming around the bend any second!”
And then an “oh!” of surprise sounded from the crowd as his words came true.
First the truck cab, then its load, hove into view, taking the long curve of my drive. And on the flatbed was the article itself, the big Craftsman-style house Virgil and I had purchased, built a foundation for near the Fairy Tale Woods, and which was now being moved into place. I jumped up and down in excitement. I had been at the site in Autumn Vale the day before to watch them load the house on the trailer, and had driven out this morning to make sure the journey started, but it was Virgil and his partner, Dewayne, who had overseen the professional company that was moving it, with Turner Construction’s assistance.
I held my breath as it came up the slope. Oh, I hoped it went all right!
“That house looks like crap,” Lizzie said, snapping photos all the time. She had been with me the day before, documenting the first part, had accompanied me that very morning for the start of the journey, and had been down on the road taking photos as it lumbered along the worst stretch, hemmed in by a rock face and steep decline, along the road to my property. She paused and grabbed a different lens from her Spider holster, her gift from me from New York. It’s a handy device around her waist allowing her to grab lenses and even the camera itself, all easily, rather than from a camera bag slung over her shoulder.
“You wait,” I said, squeezing Shilo to me. My lovely friend’s shawl was feather soft and warm as toast, my gift to her. I had bought it at a specialty shop in Manhattan. Her hubby, Jack, was in the cab of the truck moving our house, too excited to be kept out of the action. I smiled at my teen friend. “You wait, Lizzie. It’s going to be beautiful. We’ll be moved in by spring.”
Pish, out of breath despite being in great shape for a man of his years, puffed up to me, his cheeks red and his face wreathed in a smile. “I didn’t think they’d make that turn, but they’re doing great.”
Virgil drove up and he parked. He and Dewayne climbed out, and Virgil strode over to me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Dewayne joined Patricia, his lady love and locally the best cake baker, and gave her a long kiss. Lizzie angled her camera over the table on which I had the plans and renderings laid out and took a photo, as a brisk breeze riffled them.
“What do you need a picture of that for?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Better too many than not enough photos. You’ll want this all recorded. Plus, I may use it in my blog.”
The layout, drawn up by Elwood Fitzhugh, the former and current local zoning commissioner, was the plan for Wynter Acres, our new experimental arts community. My Craftsman-style home was the first of hopefully ten to fifteen rescued homes from Autumn Vale. Months before I had noticed valuable old houses in so many different styles abandoned in Autumn Vale. Most were slated to be torn down for some revitalization that was happening. They would be replaced by the new sheriff’s department, as well as a possible site for a fully functional community mall, a combination of city hall, municipal offices, local library, and a recreation center for young and old alike, all accessible for persons of every ability.
I was excited. While Autumn Vale was experiencing an unexpected revitalization, thanks to forward-thinking people like Gogi, Wynter Castle was to become, after Virgil and I finished our home and moved to it, the summer home of the Lexington Symphony Orchestra and Opera Company, much like the Tanglewood Music Center is for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. This was all Pish’s doing. When he first broached the idea I was not only skeptical but horrified by the thought of my castle being invaded, but I felt completely different now that I knew my husband and I would have a human-size home to call our own.
Elwood’s plan was a tangible layout, showing the new road through the property, which was already under construction. We had started fund-raising for the performing arts building, which would be on the far side of the property near the woods directly opposite the Wynter Wood Arboretum. If it all worked out according to Pish’s plan, there would be indoor and outdoor concerts in the summer. In the fall, winter, and spring there would be a series of artistic retreats, ballet camps, writing retreats, and room for conferences on the arts. Separate sketches showed Elwood and Pish’s vision of the garage made over into a chic carriage house–style residence, a new facility for the orchestra and opera to perform, and the homes, some of which we had already lined up.
