Murder on Old Main Street (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (10 page)

“Quite a bit, I would imagine. Mother didn’t miss much,” she said drily.

“Haven’t you seen them?”

“Why, no, I haven’t. Mother and I weren’t close enough for her to acknowledge my existence. She left her house to her neighbor. She would scarcely entrust her diaries to me.”

Good point.
“Do you have any idea what happened to them after Prudy got her hands on them?”

Mavis thought a bit. “I suppose the police must have them. Isn’t it routine in these matters for the authorities to search the victim’s home for clues?”

I considered this. “The police couldn’t have the diaries, or they’d be the ones questioning you instead of me.”

“Then Prudy must have hidden them somewhere,” Mavis concluded quite logically. “But where?”

“There are too many people at the diner for her to have found a safe hiding place there. They have to be in your mother’s house somewhere, just not in Prudy’s apartment. Remember, the police don’t know these diaries exist, so they’re not looking for them. Do you have any idea? Did you have a secret hiding place in that house when you were a child?”

Mavis shook her head regretfully. “I was a very timid child. There’s a huge attic, but the bats and the squirrels frightened me, and I avoided the big, dark basement at all costs.”

The prospect of searching those spaces didn’t do much for me, either. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but if I’m going to have a chance of figuring this situation out, I have to find those diaries. When I do, what shall I do with them?”

“Why, you must do whatever you think best, dear. I leave it entirely in your capable hands.” Mavis smiled serenely. “I have faith.”

Late that afternoon I finished returning phone calls and trudged up the stairs to the loft to fill in Emma on my conversation with Mavis Griswold. She switched the phones to the answering machine and led me into her phantom boss’s office, closing the door behind us. She listened to my tale without interruption. “But how are you going to get into the Wheeler house?” she asked. “The Copelands aren’t living there yet, but they own the property. Prudy’s apartment must still be sealed by the police. Short of breaking and entering, I really don’t see how—“

She was interrupted by someone pounding on Jimmy’s door, and then Margo burst into the room followed closely by Rhett Butler. “Hey, ladies, what’s cookin’?” She plopped into the second guest chair and beamed at us both. Rhett trotted directly to Emma, whom he adored almost as much as Margo, and put his head in her lap. Emma smiled at Rhett and scratched his head.

“Later,” I said. “What happened with Lieutenant Harkness?”

“In front of the child?” Margo asked, feigning shock while she kicked off her Manolos and wiggled her stockinged toes.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Give.”

I nodded my agreement.

Torn between his two loves, Rhett walked to the middle of the room and flopped down on the floor at a point precisely midway between Margo and Emma, panting happily.

“Well, if you insist. Would either one of you happen to have a piece of gum?”

I threw my purse at her, while Emma tossed the box of tissues from Jimmy’s desk.

“Okay, okay! Here’s what I know so far. It’s not much, because the delectable lieutenant only had a few minutes for me. The mayor was expectin’ him, you see,” she offered by way of explanation.

“Hardnose kept the mayor waiting while he talked with you?” Emma asked in disbelief.

Margo smiled at her kindly. “Why, yes. He’s such a gentleman, don’t you think?” She smoothed her linen sheath over her slim thighs and admired the result.

“Not according to Rick Fletcher or any of the other young cops on the force,” Emma snorted. “Rick says he’s a complete—“

“Stop it!” I hissed at the two of them. “Emma, be quiet, now, and Margo, I swear, if you don’t tell me what you found out right this minute …”

It was Margo’s turn to roll her eyes, but “Okey dokey,” was all she said. “First, I introduced myself and explained that as a local realtor with listings in the area of the old Wheeler house I very naturally had an interest in how visible any ongoing investigation of the premises might be, not wanting to spook any potential buyers. I must say John was very understandin’.”

“John?” Emma interrupted, and I quelled her with a look.

Margo smiled again. “Yes, John understood my concerns perfectly. He went out of his way to explain that the crime unit had already completed a very thorough investigation of Prudy’s apartment, dustin’ for fingerprints and takin’ up the carpets, lookin’ for fibers and hairs and all that sort of disgustin’ forensic evidence. It was their belief that not only did Prudy live alone, but she couldn’t have had any visitors, either. The crime lab technicians spent a lot of time goin’ over every little thing, and they didn’t turn up one single piece of evidence that any other person had ever set foot in her apartment. Isn’t that just the weirdest thing you ever heard?”

Emma and I stared at her. “I can’t believe Hardnose gave up that much information to someone outside the department on five minutes’ acquaintance,” I said finally.

“Two minutes, Sugar,” Margo said smugly. “The mayor was waitin’, remember. Anyway, the point is that the forensic investigation of Prudy’s apartment appears to be complete. The crime scene tape is still in place, but John said that the new owners are free to come and go now.”

I chewed over what Margo had learned. “Did Hardnose mention finding any diaries at Prudy’s place?” I gave her a short version of the interview I had had with Mavis Griswold earlier that afternoon.

Margo listened closely, her eyes half closed while she processed what I had to say. “Elsie the Cow had a calf? Amazin’. No, John didn’t mention any diaries, but I’ll raise the question with him again later. We’re havin’ dinner this evenin’.”

Emma choked in disbelief, but I waved off any comment. “Good. But if they have the diaries, then why haven’t they questioned Mavis?”

“And if they don’t have them, how did they know Prudy was blackmailing Abby?” Margo finished my thought.

“Good point,” I agreed, and Emma nodded.

“We still haven’t solved the problem of how we’re going to get into Prudy’s apartment to search it ourselves—unless, of course, John handed over a key to the place,” she joked.

If possible, Margo looked even more smug. “Not a problem, girlfriends. The good lieutenant let it slip that the Copelands have decided to dump the Wheeler house. Can’t stand the idea of living with a murder victim’s ghost or some such twaddle. At any rate, they want out, the sooner the better. I know it was tacky of me, but I simply couldn’t help myself. I ran right over to see them.” She risked her manicure by scrabbling in the bottom of her Etienne Aigner tote. She produced a set of huge, old fashioned keys, which she dangled before us tantalizingly. “And guess who’s got the listin’!”

Seven

Usually, I anticipated Fridays with pleasure, but today wasn’t one of those days. I had been looking forward to spending Thursday evening with Armando, but an unexpected software problem at work had caused him to cancel our dinner date. I had consoled myself with half a bottle of wine and wound up tossing and turning all night to the annoyance of Jasmine and Simon. They retreated to the family sofa in the wee hours, and I fell into a sleep too restless to be restorative. I awoke with a headache at 6:00 a.m. and grumped off to meet Emma for a walk before work, hoping some exercise would perk me up. It didn’t.

A cold fog had rolled off the Connecticut River and enveloped Old Wethersfield from its banks nearly to the Silas Deane Highway. The water of the cove was barely visible, disappearing into the swirling mist just a few feet from shore. Even the birds were silent. By unspoken agreement, Emma and I avoided the diner, grabbing coffee to go from Dory’s on our way back up the hill. At the corner of Church Street we crossed Old Main, giving a wide berth to the spot where we had found Prudy’s body. The scarecrows in front of Blades Salon had been totally dismantled. Jay and Ed, the owners, had filled the awkward gap with some artfully arranged wheat sheaves, pumpkins and mums. To out-of-town tourists, the new display probably looked fine, but it only served to remind us locals of what had been in its place.

Margo had talked the Copelands into scheduling an open house on Sunday. Will and Janet were eager to divest themselves of what they now considered to be a white elephant, but Margo considered it a lucrative opportunity. “The curiosity factor alone will bring people out in record numbers,” she predicted. “Nothin’ folks like better than a chance to gawk at a crime scene, and once they see how nice it is inside, we’re just bound to find a buyer. If we keep a sharp eye out, we can see what other locals show up who might be considered suspects. With any luck at all, we’ll solve this little mystery and make a tidy profit, too.”

I had my doubts about how profitable this listing would turn out to be, but my main interest was getting inside the place to hunt for Harriett Wheeler’s diaries. Grace Sajak and her crew had been dispatched to remove the crime scene tape, vacuum and clean the fingerprinting dust, and generally remove any remaining traces of the police investigation of Prudy’s apartment. We trusted Grace absolutely, and she knew not to relocate anything. As squeamish as the Copelands now were about the property, they were only too happy to leave the preparations to Margo and me. Along with Emma, we planned to take full advantage of our access on Saturday. In the meantime, there was today to get through.

“So what’s on your sleuthing agenda today?” Emma asked as we trudged toward the Law Barn. It being the last day of the month, she would be flat out all day handling closings.

I considered my options. The last thing I felt like doing was prying into yet another family’s personal business, but it had to be done if we were to get Abby off the hook. Since our meeting, Abby had scrupulously avoided contacting me, but I knew she had to be anxious for news. “First, I want to hear what Margo learned from John Harkness last night.”

Emma smirked. “I have a feeling he learned a thing or two from Margo, too.”

I shot her a look but decided to overlook her implication. My head wasn’t up to a quarrel this early in the day. “Then, if the police don’t appear to have Harriett Wheeler’s diaries, we’ll have to contact the Copelands and fabricate a reason to get some time alone in that house to search for them.” I sighed. “And last but not least, I have to make an appointment to talk with Ephraim Marsh. Whoever else may be mentioned in Harriett’s diaries, we already know that Prudy was blackmailing Ephraim.” My head throbbed at the thought of another awkward interview.

Emma was silent for a moment as we walked along. Then, “I might be able to help you out there. That is,” she amended somewhat diffidently for her, “if you think I should.”

I dragged my eyes up from the sidewalk to search her face. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve met the Marshes before. Remember, Joey and I went to school in Newington, and the Newington kids and the Wethersfield kids all hung out together. Big football rivals. There were always big parties after the games, and we went to each other’s mixers, you remember.”

I nodded.

“Anyway, I know Amy Marsh, his daughter. I went to a couple of parties at her house when we were in high school, met her parents. I haven’t seen Amy for years, but every now and then, I’d run into her Thanksgiving weekend at the homecoming game when she was home from college visiting her folks like everyone else.”

More likely, they ran into each other at a bar in Hartford,
I thought. Local tradition called for the younger alumni to barhop on Thanksgiving night to blow off some steam after a long, full day with their relatives. It was the only time many of them got to catch up with each other after they graduated from high school and dispersed to jobs and colleges all over the country. As did most of the other old fogies, I understood the custom without condoning it.

“So I remember one Thanksgiving night about three years ago. A bunch of us, including Amy, met up at City Steam and decided it would be a hoot to go up on Cedar Mountain to our old hangout, build a bonfire, drink some beer, you know.” She glanced sideways at me.

I knew what she meant all too well. Emma had been quite the wild child for a few years following her father’s and my divorce, and a lot more than beer drinking had gone on at those woodland get-togethers. We both had some painful memories of those days, but I kept mine to myself for the moment.

“I don’t understand how that helps me to get Ephraim to open up to me,” I said cautiously. “’My daughter used to go drinking with your daughter’ doesn’t strike me as a big confidence-inspirer.”