Murder, She Wrote (14 page)

T
here was a line of people when I arrived at the post office, and both windows were staffed. I took my place at the end to await my turn. Before I'd left his office, Mort had listened to my answering machine tape and made a copy for himself, but he didn't recognize the voice of the caller. “Just make sure you lock up your house, Mrs. F. None of this small-town open-door policy like they had out at the airport.”

“Given what happened to Vera Stockdale, I think the production people are probably locking their trailers now,” I'd said.

“Yeah, well, nothing like a murder to make you aware of your vulnerability,” he'd replied.

I was lost in my own thoughts when Lee, our postmistress, called out, “Next.”

The lady behind me gave me a little shove.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, moving forward to the counter.

“How are you, Jessica?”

“Just fine, Lee. Yourself?”

“Terrific! Debbie and I got to be extras in a scene the movie people shot at Loretta's Beauty Shop. Right, Deb?”

“Loretta's shop looks gorgeous,” Debbie said from the next window over.

“How do you want this package to go, Jessica?”

“First class will be fine, Lee. It's a book.”

“Then we'll send it media mail and save you a few pennies.” Lee weighed the package and took out a panel of stamps. “Yes, ma'am, let me tell you something,” she said, taking my money. “I thought it was going to be exciting, but it was mostly boring.”

“That often happens,” I said. “There's a lot of waiting around.”

“You said it!” Debbie put in. “But waiting around with Walter Benson made it all worthwhile. I couldn't keep my eyes off him.”

“He's a looker, all right. You're all set,” Lee said to me. “Here's your change and your receipt.”

I turned to leave just as Eve Simpson swept into the post office wearing a feather boa over her suit jacket.

“Jessica, there you are. I've been looking all over town for you.”

“Hello, Eve. How are you?”

“How am I? I am
merveilleuse, extraordinaire
—oh, what is the French word for ‘fabulous'?—and it's all thanks to you.” She raised her arms dramatically.

I didn't dare look around. I knew all eyes were trained on us. “Thanks to me? What did I do?”

“You got me a part in the movie! A speaking part! I have lines!” Eve sang out each sentence as if she were onstage. “And it's all thanks to you. I knew the casting director would give me a role once you gave her the word. And she did.”

The woman who had been behind me in line rushed over. “You know the casting director, Mrs. Fletcher? I'm so sorry I pushed you. I'm Eloise Hanford. My Penelope just had the starring role in our school's spring play. Can you get her an audition?”

“I've only just met the casting director,” I replied. “Besides, I really didn't get Eve her role. She did it all herself.”

“Don't be modest. You were the best help ever,” Eve said.

“Jessica, Jessica,” another woman called out.

“Have we met?” I asked.

“I studied singing when I was in middle school. I'd love to be in the movie. Are there any singing parts?”

“Hello, Jessica. Harvey Wincombe here. I can do a great imitation of a bull moose in heat. Want to hear?” He tented his fingers together and pressed them over his nose, making a groaning noise very much like a moose.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by people beseeching me to put them in the film.

“Jessica Fletcher? If you've got influence, I've got the perfect person for you to cast—my nephew Jerry. And I wouldn't mind being an extra.”

“Eve!” I called out. “You started this. Get me out of it.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Eve declaimed. Her voice was loud enough to carry across town. “I will take the names of everyone who wants a part. Just line up here, please.” She had her day planner and pen in hand. “Just give me your name and phone number, and I'll write it down for Mrs. Fletcher. Here's my card. If you need any help with real estate in Cabot Cove, Eve Simpson is the one to call. Thank you, Eloise Hanford. Who's next?”

I slipped out the door while Eve was taking names.

R
elieved to escape the post office unscathed, I decided to return home to walk Cecil before I went on any more errands. I wasn't sure how often a dog should be walked. It had been quite a number of years since I'd owned a pet. And I hoped he hadn't made another mess, as he'd done with the morning newspaper.

As I neared my house, I spotted someone sitting on the front steps. It was Sunny.

“Hi, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said, waving. She stood, dusted off the seat of her jeans, and walked down to meet me at the gate.

“Your timing couldn't be more perfect,” I said. “You're just the person I want to see.”

“That's great because I wanted to see you, too. I came to ask a favor.”

“Well, come on in,” I said, parking my bike on the path. “Would you like some lunch?”

“I had a late breakfast, but I'm always up for a mug of tea. And a cookie, if you have any left.”

“I think we can scrounge up one or two.”

At the sound of my key in the front door lock, Cecil started barking.

“Who's that?” Sunny asked.

“I think he'll be a familiar face,” I said, opening the door.

“Cecil!” Sunny cried, kneeling down.

The little dog jumped into her arms and licked her nose.

Sunny buried her face in his fur. “Oh, Cecil, I forgot all about you. But what are you doing here? I thought Ms. Fancy had you.” She looked up at me as she put the dog down on the floor. “How did you get him, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Let's just say Ms. Fancy didn't fancy keeping Cecil,” I said, closing the door and locking it firmly behind us.

“And you gave Cecil a home. That was very kind of you.”

“But only a temporary home,” I said, frowning at her.

“Don't you like him?”

“It's not a matter or liking or not liking. I travel too much to take on a pet. It wouldn't be fair to either of us.”

“Oh, too bad,” she said, following me into the kitchen. “I can't keep him. When I'm not working, I'm in school. They don't allow pets in my building.”

“Oh, dear. I was hoping you'd want him. What about your father?” I asked as I filled the kettle at the kitchen sink and put it on the stove.

Sunny rolled her eyes. “He'd never take Cecil. He wasn't a fan of Vera's dogs to begin with, but can you imagine such a big guy walking such a little dog?” She laughed at the picture. “No, there's no way he'd take him.”

I excused myself to go to the answering machine, sliding in the tape I'd played for Mort. If people had tried to leave me a message that morning, they would have been frustrated. When I returned to the kitchen, Sunny had already taken out the milk and sugar and placed two mugs and napkins on the table.

When we were settled with our tea, I said, “I tried to find you the other day. Did you go to California with your father?”

“I did. He wanted to have me along while he made arrangements for my mother's burial. She doesn't have any other relatives—at least none that she was in touch with—and I wouldn't have the first idea what to do.”

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” I said. “I hadn't known that she was your mother.”

“I know. I should have told you, but . . .” She picked up her spoon and stirred her tea.

“I understand,” I said, touching her arm.

She sighed. “I thought if anyone knew, they would treat me differently. I didn't even go visit her in her trailer. We kept our distance.”

“Was she unhappy about that?”

“Just the opposite. I wasn't allowed to work on her set and I had to swear I wouldn't acknowledge her. At the time, I thought she just didn't want anyone to know she had a twenty-one-year-old daughter. She always lied about her age.”

“And now do you think there was a different reason?”

“I don't know,” she said, setting the spoon aside but keeping her gaze on the tea. “Maybe she didn't want me on the set because I'd be too much of a distraction. We weren't close. I'd been away too long. By the time I came home from boarding school the summer before college, it was like living with a stranger.” Sunny raised her bewildered eyes to mine. “I imagine it was for her, too. Don't you think so?”

“Is this the first time that's occurred to you?”

“Ever since her death, I've been thinking a lot about her—and my relationship with her—but I couldn't discuss it with anyone, not even my father. Even now, I haven't told anyone else at the production company who she was to me. Ms. Fancy knows, of course, but the only others who know are Mitch and the first AD. He's the one all the PAs report to.”

“Would that be Eric Barry?”

“That's right.” She gave me a soft smile.

“Someone said he's your boyfriend.”

“Oh, no,” she said, her smile disappearing and her eyes flying up to the ceiling. “A production company is worse than a small town for rumors, isn't it?”

“Then Eric isn't your boyfriend?”

“Well, he might want to be, but I don't really have a boyfriend. I hope he's not spreading it around that we're a couple.”

“I thought he was a little old for you,” I said, sipping my tea.

“He's not too old for me,” she was quick to say. “I like older guys.”

Like Zee,
I thought, but said, “Just not Eric.”

“We might hang out every now and then. It's easy to be with him since he's the only one who knows my true identity. But that's exactly why I would always wonder if he was interested in me or in gaining access to my father.” She picked up the spoon again and stirred her tea thoughtfully. “Anyway, he's not really my type.”

“I must have misunderstood,” I said. “I'd heard you were angry with him for showing up late for a date—”

“A date? Oh, I know what you're referring to. Eric said he wanted to go over the next day's schedule with me, and then he makes me wait around until midnight while he plays poker with his cronies. I may be a lowly PA, but I do not appreciate being abused that way.”

“Where were you waiting for him all that time?”

“I was with the other PAs in the catering tent for a while. But when the van came to drive everyone back to the houses they were staying at in town, I got left behind to wait for Eric.”

“Were you all alone?”

“That's what made me so mad. I'm sitting there counting the stars and he's whooping it up with the boys. And when he finally shows up, he reeks of beer—and not only that, but he said he didn't have any schedule to go over. He just wanted to see me.” Sunny's nostrils flared at the remembered offense. “If people are talking about it, I guess I shouldn't have yelled at him,” she said, breaking a cookie in half and putting it on her plate.

“Any other PA would've gotten fired for that, wouldn't they?”

“Probably.” She picked up the cookie, then looked up at me in horror. “Oh, my gosh, that's the night Vera was killed, wasn't it? I was just sitting around looking for the Big Dipper while someone took out a gun and killed her. If I'd known where she was . . .” She trailed off.

“But you didn't know.”

“Maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe if I was with her, the person wouldn't have dared to shoot her.”

“Or maybe you would have been shot, too,” I said. “Nothing good can come of thinking about what might have been. You have to accept what is and move forward.”

Sunny took a deep breath. “My father said the same thing. He said she had little room in her life for other people, including us. Her career was all-consuming, even though she almost lost it when I came along.” She took another bite of the cookie and sat back in her seat.

I knew there was something she was holding in, but I didn't know what it was. I gave her time to think.

“Mrs. Fletcher? I want to tell you something, but I'm asking you not to tell anyone else.”

“If it has to do with your mother's murder, I can't promise not to discuss it with the sheriff.”

“You can tell him, but please, don't say anything to anyone in the production company.”

“All right. That sounds fair.”

Sunny straightened in her seat. She cleared her throat and looked at me, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I was in the hangar where my mother was killed before her body was discovered and I didn't know it.”

I nodded, but didn't say that Zee had already given the sheriff that information, and that it was the reason I'd been looking for her.

“Isn't that awful?” she said, glancing away. “I was right there and I didn't sense anything. I had no intuition, no feeling that anything was wrong. It was just another day.”

“Are you suggesting that if your relationship had been closer, you would have known she was dead?” I asked.

“Well, wouldn't I have? Other people talk about knowing the instant they've lost someone they loved. You read about it all the time. They're aware of the spirit leaving; some even say they get a final message. I was aware of nothing. I certainly didn't get a message.” She paused, then said, her voice small, “Does that mean I didn't love her?”

“It means nothing of the kind, young lady,” I said sharply. “It means that there wasn't anything obviously amiss, nothing that could have alerted you to the situation.”

Sunny's eyes opened wide.

“But if you want to take it as some indicator of your relationship,” I said, softening my tone, “perhaps her spirit was protecting you, keeping you from making such a horrible discovery yourself, and keeping your memories of her as she was in life, not death.”

Sunny let go of the breath she'd been holding. “Do you really think so?”

“What I really think is that it's important not to hold grudges or focus on regrets, especially when someone has died. Your mother loved you in the only way she knew how, and you returned her love the same way. Now, what were you doing in the hangar that day?”

Sunny blinked. “Zee and I were packing up his camera mount in the case.”

“Why were you with Zee?”

“I was just asking him some questions about what he does. I like him. I know he's pretty old for me,” she said, hastily adding, “but he's not any older than Eric Barry. Zee is . . . I don't know. He reminds me a bit of my father. He's very quiet, but he's always aware of everything and everyone around him. I tease him because his nickname means ‘sea' in Dutch and German. Zee sees everything.”

“That's interesting,” I said.

Sunny laughed. “That's what people say when they don't know
what
to say.”

I smiled. “Sometimes,” I said. “Now, what was that favor you said you had to ask me?”

“That's right!” Sunny paused, collecting her thoughts. “I don't know how to ask you this exactly.”

“Straight out is usually the best way.”

“May I come live in your spare room again? I promise not to bend your ear anymore.”

“Is that all?” I said. “From the way you were fidgeting and fussing, I thought this must be serious. Of course, you may stay in my guest room. And you're welcome to bend my ear anytime.”

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Fletcher. The production company will pay my rent.”

I started to say something, but Sunny put up her hand to stop me.

“They do that for everyone. It's in the budget.”

“Okay. Do you need a ride back to the airport to pick up your things?”

She blushed. “I left my bag at the back door. I was hoping you'd say yes, but I didn't want to appear like I took you for granted.”

“Well, then, you put your things away while I straighten up here. No arguments. However, I do have one requirement if you're going to stay with me again.”

I'd caught her halfway out of her chair. “What's that?” she asked, sinking back into the seat.

“When you're here, you're to be responsible for Cecil. I know you work late and I'll care for him when you're working. But once you get home, you walk him and feed him in the morning before you leave.”

“I think that's a pretty fair deal,” she said, grinning.