Murder in Store (21 page)

“So,” I said, after allowing a few seconds so it would appear that I was giving this fact considerable thought. “You think that’s enough to arrest her on?”

“Nope. Just enough to get a search warrant for the Wayne address. The four capsules of cyanide we found stashed in her bedroom were enough to arrest her on.” He shrugged. “And for whatever it’s worth, seems she also offed the horse. We found a hypo with traces of the drug that killed the animal.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Why the horse?” as if there were some benevolent spirit that answered questions muttered by law-enforcement officers.

We stepped out into the hallway. O’Henry closed the door behind him and tested the knob to be sure it locked. We walked the short distance from Diana’s apartment to the elevator and watched the illuminated numbers rise. I don’t know what O’Henry was thinking—probably how nice it was to have a suspect who wasn’t flattened under

the wheels of a semi and who might even confess. As for me, I was feeling like I’d been born yesterday afternoon and had learned everything I knew about the art of detection and the female of the species from watching reruns of Andy Griffith.

The elevator announced its arrival with a binging sound as the doors slid open. A distinguished-looking man with silver hair and a cashmere coat stepped out and nodded a greeting. I held the “door open” button and we watched the man walk down the hall. He stopped in front of Diana’s door and knocked. O’Henry and I exchanged glances and boarded the elevator.

24

 

I was tired, but sleep refused to come. Every time I felt myself drifting off, my subconscious tripped into overdrive and assaulted me with half-thoughts and perceptions. The authorities were convinced that Diana Hauser had killed Preston, but my mind wouldn’t let it rest. My usual insomnia remedy—silently reciting lyrics to old Beach Boys songs—wasn’t working. At three-twenty I gave up and, leaving Elaine’s warmth, put on jeans and a flannel shirt and retreated into the living room.

Coffee may not be the best thing to drink in the middle of a sleepless night, but it won hands down over my other choices of milk, fruit juice, or beer. Besides, right now I needed to think. While the coffee brewed, I made myself a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. Brain food.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Diana Hauser and the way she’d said “I’d have been there to watch.” I believed her. Yet, I couldn’t completely convince myself that she hadn’t killed Preston either. She was erratic and neurotic and her behavior difficult to predict. Still, killing Preston would have been her final insult to him and I was sure she wouldn’t want to miss it.

“Is that coffee I smell?” Elaine padded out of the bedroom wearing her ratty blue robe and argyle socks. Her eyes were squinted against the sudden presence of light and her face was screwed up like she smelled something bad. She plopped herself on the couch, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Is there enough for me?”

“Sure,” I said, taking down another mug. “But why do you want to be awake?”

“It’s not so much that I want to be awake. I want to be where the action is. So to speak.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, handing her the mug. I sat next to her on the couch, sipped the coffee, and nodded. “The action. Well, you found it. Do you want half of my sandwich?”

“No,” she said, then added, “Well, maybe just a bite.” I gave her half and she took it. After her first bite, she peeled it apart and peered inside. “What is this?” she asked. I told her. She nodded and pressed the two pieces of bread together again. “It’s good.”

We ate in silence and afterward shared an ashtray and my cigarettes.

Finally Elaine said, “It’s not over, is it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I thought it was. We were going to celebrate tonight.”

It was several seconds before my brain began to process that last statement. “We were?”

“Uh huh. I got tickets to my favorite play. The Stonegate Theater is putting it on.” She pushed an envelope across the coffee table with her stockinged foot I opened it and looked inside.

“Death of a Salesman?”

I must have sounded a bit incredulous because she said, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

“I like it. It’s a great play. Maybe even brilliant, but isn’t it a little depressing to be your favorite?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, color rising in her face and anger rising in her voice. “I meant to say it’s my third favorite play. Right after
The Sound of Music
and
Oklahoma.”

“I’m sorry.” I put my arm around her. “I’m not thinking about what I’m saying. I’m too preoccupied with trying to convince myself that what appears to have happened is what actually happened.”

“So, speak to me. If you don’t think Diana did it, then who did?” I didn’t answer. “That is why we’re up at this hour, isn’t it?”

I sighed. “I’m not sure who did it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s start with this. Why don’t you think Diana did it?”

“A lot of little things.”

“Like?”

“For example,” I said, “if I had just told you that your sister-in-law had been cut off from the family fortune, a sizable one by the way, what would your reaction be?”

“I’d want to know why,” Elaine smiled. “I’d want the dirt.”

I nodded. “That would be a pretty normal reaction, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure,” Elaine said. “Everyone loves gossip, especially when it’s about someone you know.”

“When I told Grace that Diana had been cut off from her family’s fortune, she didn’t ask why. That bothers me. It tells me either she already knew, even though she said she didn’t, or she figured it was none of her business. But it definitely
was
her business. Anything to do with the store and the Hauser name is her business.”

“What else?” Elaine prompted.

“If you’d killed someone with cyanide capsules, would you leave the spares lying around your bedroom?”

“Maybe. If I didn’t know how to get rid of them.” She made a face, admitting that wasn’t the greatest reason. “I’m just playing Devil’s advocate here. I’m not very practiced at it.”

“That’s good. Keep it up. Things are coming back to me. Little things. But they don’t add up.”

“Maybe the concussion cleared your head,” Elaine suggested.

“Like who tipped the police off about the incident with Paula Wainwright?”

Elaine shrugged. “Paula?” Then shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t she just go to them first?”

“Unless she figured I wasn’t going to do anything with the information. At the time she left, I sure didn’t give her any indication that I would. And,” I said, continuing on a slightly different track, “how did Paula know that Preston died? She never told us that.”

“Probably ran across an item while doing research at the library,” Elaine said dryly and added, “So, what you’re saying is that you think someone other than Diana killed Preston, and you’re thinking that whoever tipped off the cops might be that person.” She paused. “Do you think someone else killed the horse too?”

“Maybe. Something about that bothers me too. It’s one thing to drop poison into a bottle and sit back and wait for someone to take it. It’s another thing to walk up to a living, breathing animal and jab a needle into it.” My mind wandered back to the night in the alley. “Up close and personal.” I heard the heat switch off and in the absence of the usual hum, it seemed like the room was breathing. “Maybe she could’ve poisoned Preston, but I don’t think Mrs. Hauser has what it takes to touch whatever she’s killing while she’s killing it.”

“Maybe she had someone do it for her.”

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said, unconvinced.

She leaned toward me. “Maybe what you need to do is talk to Grace. Do you think that she might have killed her brother?”

“Who knows,” I shrugged. “I used to think I was a pretty good judge of people, but lately I haven’t exactly been batting a thousand in character analysis.”

Elaine slid her arm around my neck and rested her chin on my shoulder. “But that’s the beauty of the sport. To be considered really good, you only have to connect a third of the time.”

We talked a little longer and eventually Elaine fell asleep, curled up on the couch with her head on my lap. I considered and rejected theories and ideas and eventually came up with a game plan. Then I must have dozed off because all of a sudden it was seven o’clock and time to get started.

25

 

I made a phone call to the Hauser estate and was told some information that didn’t surprise me. I decided to share it with O’Henry. I dropped by the station and he listened to my suspicions with guarded interest. I finished at the police station at ten o’clock and left for Hauser’s Department Store. O’Henry thought I was going on another fishing expedition and I guess he was right. But it wouldn’t be the first time.

When I got there, Grace wasn’t in her office, but Irna was. Perfect. She asked me if I had an appointment.

“No, but I think I’ll wait.”

I was a little surprised when Irna didn’t argue, and I sat down. Neither of us spoke for a while. Irna was devoting all her attentions to a letter she was proofreading, and I was debating how to get Irna to like me.

“Weird isn’t it?” I said. She looked at me, waiting. “I mean, isn’t this just like last week. Me sitting here in your office waiting for a Hauser.” I shook my head. “It’s like I’m having one of those déjà vu experiences. You know, that I’ve-traveled-here-before feeling people used to get once or twice a day in the seventies.”

No response.

“You know,” I said, “yesterday when I was here, Grace offered me my old job back.”

Irna’s eyes narrowed and she pulled a stack of papers over in front of her and began shuffling through them. Finally she said, “No one’s ever given poor Fred a chance.

That man’s had the cards stacked against him.”

“I might not take the job,” I said.

She stopped shuffling and turned to me, wary but interested.

I cleared my throat. “I would, however, require one small favor in return. It’s really very small.”

She looked at me and held my gaze. “What is it you want, Mr. McCauley?”

I smiled at her and reached into my pocket, withdrawing an envelope.

Grace arrived a few minutes later, briefcase in hand, looking a little strained. But then, the way I figured it, she had every reason to look strained. She made a visible effort to smile and pull herself together when she saw me.

“Why Quint,” she said, “I hope you have good news for me regarding what we discussed yesterday.”

She glanced at Irna, who was once again shuffling papers, and doing a fine job of it too.

I followed Grace into her office and asked her how she liked running the store.

Her smile was grim. “I like it fine, but I’d like it a lot better if I weren’t surrounded by a management team that is counting the seconds until I fall flat on my face.” She sighed and sat down at the massive desk, looking very tired. “I believe management needs a major overhaul. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me out in that area.”

I noticed as I took my seat across the desk from her that two of the pictures had been removed. There was no horse and no woman, just the one of Preston in his football jersey.

Nodding at the picture, I said, “Preston must have been quite the athlete in his time.”

Grace laughed. “Hardly. That’s what he liked to tell people. Preston’s place on the football team was much the

same as it was at this store—all image. He was a powerful figure, little else.” She allowed herself a glance at the photograph. “I don’t think he made it off the bench more than two or three times.” She was silent a moment before turning to me. “Tell me, Quint, were you surprised at Diana’s arrest?”

“Only a little.” We talked for a few minutes about her sister-in-law and Grace’s concerns that Diana’s arrest would have a bad effect on the store and its sales.

“You never know,” I said. “People might like to shop at a store with a reputation.”

Grace smiled. “Let’s hope so.”

I took a deep breath and started down the uncomfortable path which I’d come here to walk. “One thing bothers me about the way this was all tied up.”

“What’s that?”

“The horse. I don’t see how Diana could have killed the horse.”

Grace shrugged and her smile stiffened a little. “Why not?”

“Well, I learned something interesting today,” I said and continued before Grace could respond. “Diana was terrified of horses.”

Grace folded her hands in front of her on the blotter in a gesture similar to her late brother’s. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Scheherazade’s trainer.”

“How would he know such a thing?”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know this guy, but he seems to know a lot about Diana.”

“I’m sure he did, but I don’t know how a trainer would be aware of something that I wasn’t. I’ve spent a lot of time with Diana in Wayne. I think what the trainer interpreted as fear was something more like disinterest.”

“She hated horses, didn’t she?”

“As I said, I think she was simply not interested in them. Diana had, or rather has, a way of completely divorcing herself from people and things that are not, in some way, beneficial to her.” Grace was losing a little of her charm now.

“According to Preston she hated them.”

Grace removed a pen from her middle drawer and slammed the drawer shut. “What difference does it make?” she snapped. “How can Diana’s disposition toward horses make any difference at all?”

“I’m getting to that.” I held my hands up in a gesture that made me realize that O’Henry was rubbing off on me. “It’s not unusual to hate something you fear, is it? So, for me anyway, it doesn’t take a giant leap in credibility to go from the fact that Diana hated horses to the fact that she’s scared to death of them. Just suppose for a minute that it is true. If
you
were terrified of horses, would you walk up to one and jab a needle in it? I mean, there’s no telling how a horse is going to react. Also, if she was scared of horses, or even if she just didn’t like them, she probably didn’t know much about them. How would she know where to inject it?”

I waited.

Grace studied me for several moments. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold and brittle. “What are you saying, Quint. Are you saying that you don’t think Diana killed Scheherazade?”

“I don’t think it’s very likely.”

“Then perhaps her trainer friend did it for her.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Scheherazade seemed to have the same effect on people that Diana did. You don’t kill something like that.”

There were several more moments of silence. Finally she said, “Perhaps not. Even so, I think it’s quite clear that she did kill Preston.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “But if she didn’t kill the horse, who did? And why?”

“As I said before, Mr., ah Quint, that was a very valuable horse. Very heavily insured.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It will have to be investigated.”

“Maybe,” I said, “maybe someone wanted to make it look like Diana killed the horse. Diana hurt things that made her jealous. That’s no big secret. What if someone was trying to make her look a little crazy, or should I say a little crazier, and guilty as hell.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed slightly and she glanced at her watch. “Why did you come here today? Was there some reason?” She pressed two fingers against the bridge of her nose. “Of course,” she said. “The job. Are you going to take it?”

“Just one second, Grace. There’s another thing. You told me the deal to sell Hauser’s was off.”

“That’s correct.”

“Not according to what I hear. I hear that Hauser was about to sell the store to Frank Griffin.”

“I’m shocked to learn that, Quint,” Grace said, recovering a little. “I suppose it may be true, but I certainly wasn’t aware of it.”

“Grace,” I said, “you make it your business to know everything.”

As it turned out, Grace didn’t have to respond to that statement because the scene was about to take a new twist. Irna walked in with the mail and set it on the desk midway between myself and Grace. “Thank you, Irna. Would you show Mr. McCauley his way out.”

I stood up and was searching for a snappy retort when I spotted the envelope protruding from the stack. I could only see a few typed letters, but that was enough. Grace had spotted it too. Irna stood waiting for instructions. I removed the letter from the pile and dropped it on the top.

I don’t know how long I stared at that small white envelope with the familiar typing and no return address, but it was plenty of time to notice the postmark. I looked at Grace. Her eyes hadn’t left the letter. I picked it up. She finally looked at me, then looked away. She cleared her throat and patted her upper lip with an embroidered handkerchief.

“Thank you, Irna,” she said, “I’ll call if I need you.”

Irna left reluctantly.

Using Grace’s letter opener, I slit the envelope and reached inside for its contents. It occurred to me briefly that Willie Loman wasn’t the only one here riding on a smile and a shoeshine as I placed the single ticket to
Death of a Salesman
on the desk. Showtime eight o’clock tonight.

We both stared at it. “Interesting,” I said. “Grace, would you mail a death threat to a man you planned to kill?”

She studied me before answering. “If I were clever I would.”

I shook my head. “You’ve used a lot of adjectives to describe Diana Hauser. Clever wasn’t one of them.”

I set the envelope down next to the ticket. “The letter is postmarked Thursday, the same day Preston died. The ticket is simple but effective. Diana liked to see the unsettled reaction Preston had to these little notes of hers. She might have wanted to kill him, but she would have waited to see how distracted this”—I held up the ticket—“made him.”

Grace didn’t say anything, and her expression didn’t change. I continued. “If Diana didn’t do it, then whoever planted the pills and the hypo probably did. There aren’t too many people who had that opportunity, are there? Not a lot of people who spent a lot of time with Diana in Wayne. It would almost have to be a member of family, wouldn’t it?”

Grace pressed the intercom button. “Irna. Have security

escort Mr. McCauley out of the store.” She released the button and continued to stare at me. Finally she said, “You have a habit of stepping into dangerous waters.”

“Why, Grace? I want to know why.”

“I can destroy you.”

I laughed, and not entirely at Grace’s expense. I wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that she’d have a lot of trouble figuring out how to destroy me. I didn’t have much in the way of assets. “Grace, you’ve got to have something before you can worry about losing it.”

Grace looked from me to her blotter, then back again. She still didn’t speak.

“It was the store, wasn’t it? That was the last straw.”

She elevated her chin and said, “This store has been in my family for three generations. My grandfather established it. My father made it flourish. My brother was ruining it. Not only was he ruining the store, he was ruining the Hauser name with his flagrant womanizing.” She paused and let that sink in. “I could not allow that to happen.”

She sat straight up in her chair, looking more like a monarch than a murderer. There was something about the way she held my gaze—firm and proud—that gave me a glimpse of what it must have been like for her.

“It wasn’t easy, was it, Grace? Seeing Preston ruin the store when you knew you could make it work. You must have felt cheated. You’re older than he is. If you’d been born male, all this would have been yours. It wasn’t fair.” She didn’t say anything and I continued. “You lived with it the same way people learn to live with arthritis. Then the stakes changed. Hauser was going to sell to Griffin and that was too much.”

Grace looked at her folded hands briefly, then back to me. “Frank Griffin would have turned this fine old store into another one of the underworld’s holdings. That was unthinkable.”

“So you poisoned Hauser and nullified the deal.”

She smiled politely and instead of responding to my statement, said, “Quint, there are some things that justify drastic measures. Don’t you agree?” I didn’t answer. “Quint. You’re a bright, sensitive and, I think, sympathetic man. Anything that I might have done, I did for my family name, not out of greed or for personal gain. I’m not a Frank Griffin.”

No, she wasn’t a Frank Griffin, but the fact that she was an intelligent, attractive senior citizen and I happened to like her, didn’t make her Joan of Arc either. Anyway, who was I to draw the line?

“Maybe not,” I said. “But both of you are murderers.” I began to pace in front of her desk. “I must have been a real frustration for you. There you were, dropping hints left and right about Diana and probably thinking, ‘Damn, I keep beating this guy over the head but nothing sinks in.’ So you called in the heavy artillery—Paula Wainwright, but I still wasn’t convinced.” I stopped pacing. “What can I say? I guess I’m a slow learner.”

Grace clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. “You’re going to have a difficult time proving my guilt. I will deny everything I’ve said to you.”

“What about the letter?”

We stared at each other. I had nothing to lose so it was easy for me to keep my mouth shut. Finally Grace held up the ticket and the envelope it came in. “I think we should both forget we ever saw this.” She opened the center drawer of the desk and removed a book of matches. “I think you’d better leave, Quint. We have no business with each other anymore.”

She took a small caliber gun out of the drawer and pointed it at me. I was real tired of people pointing guns at me.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I think I’ve got enough on you

already. I probably won’t need the ticket and the envelope as evidence. But there’s one other thing you should think about” I could tell by the way she clenched her jaw that I had her attention and I thought from the way she was avoiding eye contact and fidgeting that she was almost there. Just one push more. “Denying this conversation won’t do you any good. The whole thing has been recorded.”

“You’re lying,” Grace said.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then show me,” she said.

I walked around the desk and held my hand out to Grace. “Give me the gun.” I really didn’t expect her to do that, and she didn’t disappoint me. “Think about it, Grace. You kill me and you’ve got a whole pack of new problems. The police know I’m here. You’d have a rather large body to dispose of. Is it worth it?”