Murder, She Wrote (21 page)

Mort whispered something to the deputy, who then escorted Audrey out.

I addressed Chattergee. “I see that you're no longer hiding your relationship with Sunny.”

“I thought it was time to acknowledge that Sunita is my daughter,” he said.

Benson began to laugh. “Daughter? I thought she was your little piece on the side.”

“And Vera Stockdale was her mother,” Chattergee added.

Benson's laugh turned into a cough and his face turned red.

“I'm glad that it's now in the open,” Chattergee said, ignoring the actor. “I love having my only child back in my life, and the tragedy is that Vera, dear Vera, isn't alive to share in the moment.”

“I know that Sunny is equally happy to be close to her father again,” I said. “But Sunny isn't your only child. Years ago, before she was born, there was another child, born in Mexico. Am I right, Zee?”

“You seem to have all the answers.”

“Vera had been given the starring role in
Danger Comes Calling
, but your wife at the time, Mr. Chattergee, suspected you of having an affair with the new star and demanded that she be dropped from the picture.”

“She was wrong, of course. She always was, but I caved in that time and fired my star,” he said with a dismissive chuckle. “You must read the gossip pages, Mrs. Fletcher. That entire phase of Vera's career has been thoroughly covered in the trade press.”

“‘Thoroughly covered,'” I repeated. “I don't recall there being much written about where she'd stayed in Mexico, and what she did there.”

“And for good reason,” he countered. “She went to Mexico to escape the harsh glare of the tabloids, and was quite successful in keeping her activities in Mexico private. What's that got to do with Vera's murder? Yes. I dropped her from the production. So what?”

“You dropped her from the production,” I said, “until you divorced your wife. Then you reinstated Vera in the role.”

Chattergee sighed deeply. He walked with deliberate slowness to where Mitchell Elovitz sat, placed his hand on the director's shoulder, smiled, and said, “Unless you have something to say that directly focuses on Vera's murder, I humbly ask that we be allowed to do what we do, namely continue with our work on this film version of your book. I can't imagine that your fine sheriff needs to see his precious time wasted with Hollywood gossip.”

“You know, Mrs. F.,” Mort said, “maybe we should—”

I held up my hand in a gesture to buy a few more minutes from Mort. “All right,” I said, “let's focus on your wife's tragic murder. Let's—let's name who her killer is.”

A hush fell over the room.

I whispered to Mort, “Maybe you should ask your deputies to join us here in the hangar.”

“You think so?” he said.

“Yes, I think it's a good idea.”

“All of you know that Vera Stockdale died on this set,” I said to the crowd. “What none of you knows, except those of us who found her—and the killer, of course—is that a length of film had been wrapped around her neck. It was a scene from her first big picture,
Danger Comes Calling
.”

I pulled out a copy of the note that had been written to Vera, and that Sunny and Eric Barry had brought to me. “This threatening note was written to Vera Stockdale,” I said, holding it up for all to see. “I won't bother reading it. It was found in the trash in the trailer of Ernest Zalagarda, better known to all of you as Zee. It isn't an accident that his last name has a Mexican origin. Zee was born in Mexico because his mother didn't want a child to get in the way of her career. Isn't that right, Zee?”

“You think you know everything, don't you?” he said, jumping up from his seat. “I've been waiting to get even all my life, waiting for the perfect opportunity to arise. I knew who she was. My
abuela
told me I was the son of a star. Some star! She dumped me like a bag of trash. I tried talking to her, tried to get her to tell me why she left me behind, but she wouldn't respond. She told me to forget the past; it was unimportant. Unimportant! To who? Not to me! She denied being my mother, turned her back on me. I told her she would never turn her back on me again. I yelled for her to turn around. I wanted her to see my face, to acknowledge that her son had come to kill her. But she wouldn't face me.”

“So you shot her in the back,” I said.

“She deserved it. She was a b—”

“Shut up!” Chattergee shouted. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Zee turned to face him. “What are you afraid of,
Dad
? Having a bad reputation with your Hollywood friends? I should have shot you, too, for what you did—sending her away to Mexico to hide the evidence of your illicit affair. Hollywood big shots, the famous actress and the handsome, successful producer.” He spit on the floor of the set, which caused everyone to gasp. “That's what I think of you,
Dad
.” He put a nasty emphasis on the word. “If I still had the gun, I'd take you out, too.” His laugh was sardonic.

Sunny, who'd begun to cry, said, “You're my brother.”

“You can come visit me in jail like a loving sister, you know, bring me cookies and maybe a hacksaw.”

“Take him in,” Mort ordered his deputies.

The deputies flanked Zee, pulled his arms behind his back, and cuffed him.

“Just a minute,” I said. “I want to say something to Zee.”

“Go ahead, Mrs. F.”

I looked at the dark-haired man, who bore such a strong resemblance to his father and his sister. “I'm sorry for you, Zee. Instead of coming forward and claiming your place with your natural family, you have been nurturing your anger all these years, letting it build up and curdle your soul. But the irony is, Vera was right.”

“What are you talking about?” Zee ground out.

“She wasn't your mother. She was sent to Mexico to help out a friend, someone who had been having an affair with Mr. Chattergee. His wife at the time assumed it was Vera—and so did you—but it wasn't Vera Stockdale. You murdered the wrong woman, Zee.”

“What are you saying?” Elovitz asked.

“I'm talking about Zee wanting revenge on the woman who abandoned him at birth in Mexico,” I said. “The reality is that Vera Stockdale wasn't his mother.”

“I've heard enough,” Chattergee said. “This little meeting is over. Get him out of here and let us get back to making a movie.”

“I don't blame you for wanting this to be over, Mr. Chattergee,” I said. “The truth is often not pleasant to hear. You are Zee's father, but Vera was not his mother. Isn't that right, Estelle?”

All eyes went to where Estelle Fancy stood in the shadows. She looked confused, unsure of what to say or do. “I . . . I had no idea that's why she was killed. I thought she must have been cruel to someone as she always was to me. But I owed her, and she never let me forget it.” Slowly, she crossed the set and stood before Zee. “I'm so, so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't know it was you. You were born when Saturn and Mars were at their zenith, a position for souls that are destined to suffer.” She shook her head. “I knew it was wrong to leave you alone to face your fate. But I never forgot the baby I gave up. I'm so sorry.”

The deputies escorted Zee from the hangar. Terrence Chattergee and Sunny took Estelle into their arms to comfort her.

Mort said to me, “You did it again, Mrs. F.”

“I'm just glad it's over,” I said, feeling my energy drain from me.

“I got it!” the cameraman, Jason Griffin, called out from his perch on the crane behind the camera. “I was rolling the whole time, got every second of it. It's better than the script.”

B
y the time Sheriff Metzger dropped me at home, I felt as though I'd run two consecutive marathons. Despite my exhaustion, I walked Cecil and put down a bowl of food. The little guy wasn't interested in how tired I was.

I went into my home office. There were a number of messages on my answering machine, including three from Evelyn Phillips. I decided they could wait until I had time to call back. I made the same decision for almost all my other calls, but I did return the one from Seth Hazlitt.

“Seth, it's Jessica.”

“I hear that you've had quite a day.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

“A patient, whose name I'm sure you're familiar with.”

When Seth didn't offer the name, I asked, “Do you want me to have to guess who this patient is? I'm really not up to playing guessing games, Seth.”

“No, I suppose you're not, considering what you've just gone through. Does the name Walter Benson ring a bell?”

I'd been standing while making the call. Now I collapsed in a chair. “Benson? The actor? A patient?”

“Yes. He arrived on my doorstep, driven by someone working on your movie. Nothing serious—tightness in the chest, that's all. A tranquilizer and a good night's sleep and he'll be fine. He was quite upset. He told me that you and our good sheriff had solved the murder of Vera Stockdale. He's a nice chap, obviously full of himself. But I suppose all handsome leading men share that trait. So tell me, Jessica. Is it true?”

“No, it's not true. I didn't solve anything. The killer confessed. What happened was that—” I paused, unable to bring myself to continue. “Seth, can we have this discussion at another time, say tomorrow? It was a busy day. Not only was Vera Stockdale's murder solved, but Mort and I were—it doesn't matter. Tomorrow?”

“Breakfast at Mara's?”

“No, not somewhere public. Come here, say at ten?”

“From the way you sound, I'd say you won't be up to making a decent breakfast. My house at ten. I'll send a cab to pick you up at a quarter to.”

“Thank you, Seth. I'll see you in the morning.”

I sprawled on the couch in my office and fell fast asleep, accompanied by Cecil, who curled up on a large, soft pillow I'd put on the floor for him. I was awakened an hour later by the sound of Sunny using her key in the front door and closing it behind her. Cecil barked. I got up and went to the kitchen, where my houseguest stood looking out the window over my garden.

“Hello,” I said, startling her.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher. I hope it's okay that I'm here.”

“Why wouldn't it be, Sunny? This is your home, at least for the time being.”

“I just wanted to come and thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary,” I said.

“They are,” she said. “And if my mother were alive, I know she'd say the same thing. It's funny. I don't know much about her, but in my heart, I'm convinced I'm right. I just . . . I can't believe that my father would have done that, had a son with Ms. Fancy and then abandon him.”

I resisted the temptation to become philosophical and excuse her father's behavior as being part of the human condition; obviously he was a man with flaws and foibles. But I wasn't in that frame of mind, and instead I said, “Many people suffered from your father's decision, Sunny. He allowed someone else to take responsibility for his actions. I don't know how Zee's grandmother came by her information, but she was proud of his origins. Zee, on the other hand, resented his abandonment mightily and allowed it to fester for all these years. It's tragic on many levels, for him, for your mother, of course, and for Ms. Fancy, too. Lots of people were hurt, including you.”

“I was happy when my father acknowledged that I was his daughter. I looked forward to building a relationship with him. But now—”

“Don't decide anything like that yet,” I said. “It will take a while for you to process what has happened.”

“I feel so bad for Zee. I always wanted a brother.” She said it in a low, drawn-out, breathy voice that testified to her disbelief that he was, in fact, her sibling. “He'll never be free, will he?”

“His fate will be in the hands of the justice system and a jury.”

She sighed, then said with renewed conviction, “At least I know who my real family is now.”

“I'm glad that you can take away something positive from all this,” I said. “Are you planning to stay in this evening?”

“No. My father asked me to have dinner with him. I said I would.”

“A good decision, Sunny. Let him explain himself. Talking is the best way to help you understand each other. Is he picking you up?”

“He's outside, waiting in the car.”

Clearly, Terrence Chattergee did not want to see me. I walked Sunny to the door and she gave me a kiss on the cheek like a daughter kissing a mother on her way to meet a date.

The phone continued to ring throughout the early evening. I monitored the calls on the answering machine and chose not to pick up. One was from Eve Simpson, who said that if I was serious about not keeping Cecil, she would love to have him. That message on the machine made me smile. Along with everything else, I'd worried about the little dog's eventual fate.

After giving Cecil a final walk for the night, I succumbed to my fatigue, mental and physical, and fell into bed for what turned out to be a very deep and welcome sleep.

* * *

The taxi dropped me off at Seth's house at ten on the nose. He was in the kitchen whipping up French toast and frying slices of Canadian bacon.

“Smells good,” I said.

“Ayuh, that it does. I was down at Mara's earlier. Hope you don't mind.”

“You've already been to Mara's for breakfast?”

“Just a light one, Jessica. I wanted to hear what the rumor mill had to say about your day yesterday before I heard it from the horse's mouth, you might say.”

“I feel as though I should whinny.”

“No need for that. Looks like you've trumped yourself.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that you've solved your share of murders in the past, but never two in one day. Congratulations!”

I shook my head.

“They say at Mara's that Vera Stockdale's son killed her. Always hate tales of matricide.”

“They have it slightly wrong, Seth. Yes, he did kill Vera, but she wasn't his mother. Ms. Stockdale's astrologer is his mother.”

“Nobody mentioned that. They were also talking about how you personally wrestled Neil Corday to the ground, disarmed him, and—”

“Seth,” I said, holding up a hand. “Stop right there. This is like that game of Telephone where eventually the truth becomes distorted. Finish up cooking and I'll tell you what
really
happened.”

After I'd related to my dear friend an accurate description of events at Tiffany Parker's house and at the hangar, he asked, “How did you know that this young fella, Zee whatever his name is, was the actress's killer?”

“He was the only one with a clear opportunity. We knew he was on the scene at the right time. He admitted that himself. But that's all we had, and he knew it. What we lacked was a motive. We knew there was a threatening note. Chattergee had said Vera was upset by it. But no one could find it. When Eric Barry came up with the note, it became clear—Zee wrote it to the woman he thought was his mother.”

“A case of mistaken identity,” Seth said, shaking his head.

“Sad but true. He'd been stoking his anger by watching her first big movie. He even carried it around with him; Mort's deputies found it under the bed in his trailer. He was just waiting for an opportunity to get revenge; and Vera gave it to him. He confronted her while she was taking a private moment to absorb the atmosphere on the set. Vera, instead of setting him straight with the truth, made the tragic mistake of dismissing his concern. He'd planned the murder for years, even given himself a name to reinforce his mission. Zalagarda is Spanish for ‘ambush,' and that's what he did. He ambushed Vera.”

“But she wasn't his mother.”

“He didn't know that. And while I suspected that might be the case, I didn't know it for certain either until I had the callback from my friend in Mexico, the chief of police in San Miguel de Allende. At first I'd assumed, as Zee had, that Vera had given birth to a baby in Mexico after she was dismissed from the film. But the ladies in the hair and makeup trailer said Chattergee was a real ladies' man. And Estelle Fancy kept a picture of him in her trailer with his arms around both her and Vera. I thought it was possible that Estelle had as strong a link to Chattergee as Vera. At his request, it was she who convinced Vera to take the role. When I confronted her trying to take Vera's jewelry, she slipped and said Vera once told her she could have Chattergee
back.
If she could have him
back
, they must have been a couple at one time. She also said that Vera Stockdale had only done one favor for her in the actress's life.”

“What was that?”

“It had to be when Terrence Chattergee—and he was the father of the baby—sent Vera to accompany Fancy to Mexico to have the baby. Chattergee didn't want the world to know that he'd cheated on his wife and had impregnated his lover, and Fancy wanted nothing to do with raising a child out of wedlock.”

“So you figured it all out.”

“With a lot of help. I may have had my suspicions, but it was Chief Rivera's willingness to dig into records from long ago that confirmed the startling news that it was the astrologer, not the actress, who bore a son in Mexico. So you see, Seth, others provided me the material that allowed me to put it together.”

“Must have shocked some people in that hangar when you laid it out.”

“I guess so, especially Walter Benson, who suffered chest pains. Glad he'll be all right.”

“And what about Corday? I sort of liked the vision of you wrestling him down and getting his gun away from him the way folks at Mara's describe it.”

I couldn't help but laugh. “Mort was the one who disarmed him, Seth. All I did was set things in motion by convincing Tiffany Parker to testify honestly about what Corday had said about getting rid of his wife, and setting Jenny Kipp up for the fall. Jacob Borden was a huge help. My hope is that the DA will reopen the Judge Harris murder case based upon Tiffany's testimony.”

“Corday was never an honest, decent man,” Seth said. “He was a real scoundrel in every sense of the word.” He shook his head. “Those people live in a different world than we do, Jessica, different goals, different morals, different rules.”

“You find people with skewed views in every walk of life, Seth. Thankfully they represent only a very small minority.”

“Ayuh, that's right, Jessica. Fortunately, they're few and far between here in Cabot Cove. Eat your French toast. It's getting cold.”