Death Comes eCalling (16 page)

Why had she even kept this? I set it aside for a more careful reading later, and pored through the remaining files.

This was getting me no place fast. I decided to jot down some notes of the clues and chronology of events. At the top of the page I wrote,
Solution to a Dual Murder
. I decided to use Karen’s “lost people” format. I put the names of my dinner guests on the left, and wrote “motive” for the column on the right.

I decided to dismiss the possibility that Steve Wilkins had stormed out of my house with my carving knife, whereupon some person unknown to me stumbled onto the knife and stabbed him with it.

A motive for Lauren was easy. Domestic violence was, sadly, a fact of life. All I could come up with for Jack Vance, Denise, Stephanie, and spouses was that Steve had stumbled onto something in Mrs. Kravett’s data base. Some secret that the guilty party was willing to kill Steve over, rather than let be revealed.

But what type of secret?

Possibly the student intern at Preston and Sam’s company
had
done a second report, one that turned up some dirt. This was especially feasible since there was all of that bubbling discontent between Jack and those two.

Mrs. Kravett might have had something on Jack that could oust him as principal. He had forced her to retire. Perhaps she’d gathered ammunition prior to acquiescing.

Denise’s gambling debts were being covered by Mrs. Kravett. Steve could easily have stumbled across a memo to the effect that Denise was no longer allowed access to PTA funds. But that didn’t seem like much of a motive for his murder, and Denise’s golden eggs were lost upon Mrs. Kravett’s death. Still, Denise was acting damned suspicious these days.

Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with anything Mrs. Kravett might have had on Stephanie. I racked my brain for a connection between the two women. Stephanie’s daughter was too young to have had Mrs. Kravett as a teacher. Seventeen years ago, Mrs. Kravett had ousted Stephanie as editor for printing the unauthorized front page that contained my poem. But that had played right into Stephanie’s hands. It turned her into an instant student celebrity and got her out of the job she hadn’t wanted in the first place. All of that was such old trivia—pond scum under the bridge.

Stephanie was devious, underhanded, selfish. Anything
but
someone I wanted to write off as innocent. To uncover her motive, I might have to spend more time with her. I’d rather scrub bathtubs.

I jotted down that Carolee knew Mrs. Kravett and enough about medicine that she could have plotted her death. Maybe Steve had come across some evidence in Mr. or Mrs. Kravett’s health history on the school computer that was incriminating to Carolee.

Last, it occurred to me that I could probably rule out the police sergeant entirely as a suspect, but Tommy won points as the only person at the party with absolutely no discernible motive—always the villain of TV murder mysteries. So I logged his possible motives as being in love with Lauren and mentally gonzo after the death of his wife, and/or hoping to glean control of Mrs. Kravett’s money. I then double-checked the will. Sure enough, Tommy was first in line to take my place in the event of my death. That made me his likely victim, not Steve Wilkins, but there may have been some computer file that acted as a codicil.

The doorbell rang. I rose, draped the afghan to hide my project, checked the window, and saw Tommy. I glanced back, verified that the afghan had covered my notes, and opened the door.

“Hey, Moll. Thought I’d drop by.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugged. “In my line of work, you get used to readin’ folks’ expressions. Guess I was a little concerned ‘bout what yours had to say at Steve’s funeral. Mind if I come in?” He stepped in as he spoke and quickly shed his coat and hat. “Got any more threats lately?”

“No, thank goodness.”

Though I tried to steer him past it, he eyed my suspicious-looking blanketed work.

“The house is a little messy. I was— with the rain, I thought I’d set up an indoor picnic for the kids when they get home.”

“Rather lumpy blanket. Whatcha got under there? Giant ants?”

“What’s a picnic without ’em, right?”

He headed straight toward the afghan. If I tackled him from behind, he’d know for sure I was hiding something. “There’s an Uncle Milton’s Ant Farm underneath the blanket, box and all.”

He tossed the blanket aside and shook his head. “Uh-huh. Stuff from Mrs. Krayett. Our yearbook. Just what I was afraid of. You’re pokin’ your nose into the murder.” He folded his arms and glared at me. “Boy, Molly. Don’t know what to do with you. Frankly, I should stick you in jail. For your own protection. ‘Cept, knowing you, first thing you’d do would be to incite a prison riot.”

“I resent that. Want a cup of cocoa?”

“Sure.” He followed me into the kitchen, where I prepared another cup. Before I could finish, he wandered unsupervised back into the living room, then called. “Got any marshmallows?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Rats. What’s a cup of chocolate without marshmallows, right?”

That last remark cost him his dollop of whipped cream. I brought him the cup. To my chagrin, he was flipping through the files from Mrs. Kravett. Right beside the box of files, face up, lay the notebook that stated my thoughts about Tommy’s motives for murdering Steve Wilkins.

“Got a search warrant?”

Tommy straightened. “Looked through this stuff over at Mrs. Kravett’s house already. Sure am glad you’re in charge of the scholarship ‘stead of me. Bet it’s lotsa work.” He grinned. “Her predictions for our classmates sure was fun. Bet the sitcom she pictured you writin’ was
Cougar Town
.”

I smiled with a clenched jaw and walked toward him.

If I stepped on the edge of the legal pad, it would flip over on the thick carpeting so Tommy couldn’t read it. One step away, Tommy held up his palm. “Careful.” He bent over and scooped up the pad. “You almost stepped on this.”

Damn it! “Thanks. If you were Sir Walter Raleigh, you’d have just thrown your cape over it.”

“Sir Walter Raleigh didn’t have the option of picking up the puddle,” Tommy deadpanned. He handed me the pad without reading it and took his cup of cocoa. “Mind if I take that ‘Solution to a Dual Murder’ back to the station house? The boys’ll get a good laugh outta my bein’ such a good suspect and all.”

My cheeks warmed. I watched him gulp his chocolate.

“Did any of those boys ever tell you that your cap makes a dorky dent in your hair?”

“Yep. Got a, dent in my head to go with it. So. Still think Carolee’s a combination serial killer/cup thief, or you got some more hot tips?”

“Not really, though I did find out that Denise Bakerton has a—”

“Problem with gambling?”

“A daughter named Rhonda who’s a really good babysitter. You may want to use her sometime.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s right. You said your boys were already teenagers. They probably wouldn’t need a sitter.” I brushed my bangs back. “Actually, my theory is that Steve may have stumbled across something in the school’s data base that—”

“We had Jack Vance print us a report of Steve’s system usage. At no time Saturday was he logged on.” Tommy handed me his empty cup. “Notice I gave your cup right back. Seein’ as you’re so attached to ‘em, and all. Guess so long as you keep your sleuthin’ limited to within your own four walls, we’ll be all right.”

He headed toward the door and put on his coat and hat. As he turned the knob, he said, “By the way, I may have arrested Lauren, but you’re still on
my
list of suspects.”

He left. I sat back down on the rug. So. Tommy’s visit had thrown some doubt on my best theory: that someone had killed Steve because he’d stumbled onto something about Mrs. Kravett in the school’s data base. Before I ruled the theory out entirely, I needed to get a look at the school’s computer records myself.

On the bottom of my notes, I doodled a little pheasant-like bird saying, “Woe! is me.” That gave me an idea for a card. I snatched up my drawing pad. Under a “What’s My Line?” banner, I drew three identical birds, all claiming to be the real Woe.

The doorbell rang again. It was Lauren. She looked pale, her eyes puffy. I tried to ignore her appearance and said, “Hi. Come on in. I haven’t started getting our lunch ready yet, but how about—”

She shut the door and leaned against it. “I saw Tommy’s car in your driveway. I’m so scared. Molly, I don’t want to go to prison.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. We went into my living room and sat on the floor, where I told her my theory that Steve had discovered some volatile secret in the school’s data base. “I specifically remember him saying something at the party about not having a password for Mrs. Kravett’s files. Remember?”

Lauren’s spirits rose a bit. She looked thoughtful. “I don’t remember that, but maybe I wasn’t in the room at the time. The important thing is, Steve might have been hooked up through his modem to the school computer at the time of his death. Maybe he was looking at the file with someone right then, not realizing that someone was going to kill him over it.”

“According to Tommy, Steve wasn’t working on a file from the school’s computer at the time of his death.”

“But the killer could have pulled up a different file, right after erasing the one that incriminated him. Or her.”

I shook my head. “My opinion of Tommy has changed. His nice-but-not-too-sharp routine is just an act. Computers automatically keep time logs of files and sign-ons. Tommy already checked those logs. He knows precisely what Steve was really working on when he died.”

Lauren fidgeted with the nap of the carpeting. “Did Tommy tell you what that was?”

“He said it was a goodbye letter to you.”.

Lauren cursed under her breath. It had already occurred to me that Steve’s killer might be Lauren’s jealous lover. I was dying to learn the lover’s identity. Besides, it seemed absurd to be trying to solve this while not having such a potentially important piece of the puzzle.

“Who’s your lover?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“It’s going to come out during your trial, anyway.”

She didn’t look at me. “Not necessarily. It’s over with. It never meant anything to us in the first place. He looked at it as extracurricular activity. I was lonely.”

“Maybe you’re wrong about what your relationship meant to him. Maybe he killed Steve to have you to himself. Or maybe they argued, and he stabbed Steve in self-defense.”

“In the back? While Steve was sitting in his chair?”

I shrugged. “Maybe during another burglary attempt.”

“Burglary? There was no burglary. That was him.”

“Who?”

“My lover. We never wanted anyone to see his car so he parked different places each time and came in through the back. Every Monday evening, while Steve was either working late or taking Rachel to her soccer practice. Trouble was, her soccer league ended the week before. I thought I told…my lover that,…I always left the back door open, too, as another signal. I locked it Who knew he’d try to open the window?”

“Are you sure it was him?”

She nodded. “While Steve was in the basement with the kids, thank God, the fool tried the back door. Instead of leaving immediately, he spotted me passing by the office doorway and tried to throw open the window to tell me the back door was locked. Is that stupid or what?”

Pretty darn dumb, all right “But Steve said there were crowbar markings on the—”

“Steve had already found out about him the week before. We had Rachel, Karen, and Nathan with us when the alarm went off. I had to act…I tried to pretend it was a real break-in attempt. Then, after the police had already been called, Steve put two and two together and confronted me. He put those markings on the windowsill himself before the police arrived, just to save face.”

While I tried to assimilate the information, Lauren burst into racking sobs. “I’m getting what I deserve. I’m a terrible mother. I let my own daughter— my own—”

“You have to forgive yourself for that. You’re still her mother and she needs you.”

“Steve was never there for me when I needed him. I felt so neglected. I just…I wanted to hurt him back. Deep down, I wanted Steve to find out about my affair.”

Truth told, I believe in monogamy, in loyalty to wedding vows. I couldn’t pretend to support or vindicate Lauren, so I offered her tissues, waited until she’d collected herself, and changed the subject.

“Tommy told me your fingerprints were on the medicine bottles in Mrs. Kravett’s house.”

“Huh? She had a heart attack. What difference does it make if—”

I shook my head. “That’s just what’s been reported to the press. The police know that the pills weren’t in the right bottles. Her pills had been switched, essentially giving her a toxic dosage.”

She let this sink in, then said, “Oh.”

“So how did your prints get on those bottles?”

“At the barbecue in July, I went through her medicine cabinet.” She said this matter-of-factly, then looked at me. “Don’t you do that?”

“Of course not. Why would I go through someone’s cabinet?”

“Aren’t you curious to see what type of medications people use?”

“No, not at all.”

She sighed and stared into space, chewing on her lip. “I checked out of the hotel today. We’re back in my house again. I drove Rachel to school this morning. This is all so hard on her. I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at me, her eyes again brimming. “I need your help. I can’t face this alone.”

Chapter 13

Trouble Balancing the Books?

That night, I spoke to a potential customer about an eCard she wanted me to create to advertise her bookkeeping company. The more input a customer gives me into a design, the longer the work takes me, and this woman had been very specific. I spent a couple of hours after the kids were in bed and a couple more the next morning. The caption read: Trouble Balancing the Books? The drawing showed a woman juggling hardbound books, one spinning on her nose. Below the drawing was the customer’s address and phone number.