The Easter Egg Murder (22 page)

54

Tuesday Evening, April 18, 2000

Harrie checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on her closet door and frowned.
Too sedate
.
I don’t want to look like a nun
. She took off the long-sleeved, white blouse and grabbed a sheer pink top with a low-cut neckline. She pulled it over her head, looked in the mirror and groaned.
Where did I get this thing? I look like a pink lollipop.

Ever since DJ had
invited her to dinner, Harrie had refused to think of it as a date. It was just dinner—nothing more. True to his word, DJ had called just before she left the office and told her he’d made reservations at Sandiago’s at the base of the Tram. The restaurant nestled up against the Sandia Mountains and afforded a spectacular view of the city. She had rushed out of the office with Ginger cheering her on. Now she faced her most difficult decision – what to wear.

Out loud, she said, “Okay, what am I trying for here, Tuptim? Am I businesslike and remote, or am I all squishy and vulnerable? What do you think?” She looked over at the cat, perched on the edge of the bed, who watched her with typical cat-like indifference.

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.” Harrie said. She pulled off the pink concoction and tossed it on the bed beside the cat.

She
finally settled on a slim black skirt and a soft knit top of vibrant red. The ensemble clung to her small frame. She slipped into seldom worn, black high-heeled pumps and stood back to survey her image.
Not too bad. Reserved, but feisty.

“No wild parties, Tuptim. Remember, you’re in charge until I get back.”

Her nerves began to shoot out little pulses of anticipation. When the phone rang, it gave her something to concentrate on besides the looming prospect of going to dinner with DJ Scott.

When she picked it up, she heard DJ’s voice, talking to someone in the background. She said “Hello” twice before he responded.

“Harrie, I’m sorry. I have a slight problem. I got called into the office for a meeting this afternoon. It’s taking longer than we anticipated. I’ve had to change the reservations to eight o’clock. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No, of course not. I’m in no hurry.”

“Good. I hope to leave here within the hour, so should be there to pick you up no later than seven-forty. I really apologize for the delay.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really. I have work to do in the meantime. But listen. I have an idea. Why don’t I just meet you there? It would save time. You could just zip on out I-25 and not have to deal with the extra traffic to pick me up.”

“I’d rather you not be out alone. It’s not a problem to pick you up.” Harrie heard someone in the background saying, “Scott, we need you back in here, now!”

“DJ, go. I’ll meet you there. Just go.” She hung up the phone before he could object further.

She thought about her unexpected added time. There were many things she could do until time to leave for the restaurant. She still pondered the question when the phone rang again.

She picked it up and said, “DJ, get off the phone and go back to your meeting!”

Ginger responded on the other end of the line. “I’m not DJ, and stop ordering me around.”

“Oh, sorry, Ginger.”

“I take it there’s a problem with the date tonight?”

“Not really. He’s just running late and had to postpone the reservations. He insisted on picking me up, and I told him it would save time if I just met him there. He wasn’t thrilled about that.”

Ginger chuckled. “Of course he wasn’t. If this is a real date, and it sure sounds that way to me, then he wants it to be boy-picks-up-girl and then boy-takes-girl-home. At which point, boy might get to know girl better.”

“Oh, give it up!” Harrie said. “Anyway, why did you call?”

“Just to tell you that Steve took the boys out for pizza tonight with the soccer team. So . . . ” she paused, impishly, “I’m going over to Philip’s to see if I can locate that missing tape.”

“Oh, no you’re not!” Harrie couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re not going there without me. I’m the one who figured it out!”

“We don’t know that yet. I could still be right. Anyway, this is a perfect opportunity for me to go over there without any interference from Steve. And since you’re going to have DJ tied up all evening, I won’t have to worry about him, either.”

“I don’t think so lady. I’ll meet you there. It’s more than an hour until the dinner reservation. We can go through things and find the tape. I’ll be closer to the base of the mountain than I am now, and I can leave about ten minutes before I have to be there. It’ll save you time so you can be home long before Steve and the boys get back. And I’ll make it to the restaurant about the same time as DJ. It’s perfect.”

Ginger sighed. “Why do I listen to you? DJ’s going to find out, and he’s going to blame me, I just know it.”

“Just get going, and he never has to know anything about it. I’m leaving now, and I’ll see you in
ten minutes at Philip’s house.”

When Harrie pulled up to the gate of Canyon Estates, she smiled brightly at the guard and pointed to the sticker on her windshield. He smiled and waved her through. She looked in the mirror and noted he still took down her license plate number before he returned to the
guardhouse.

A huge full moon was just edging up
over the Sandia Mountains, the clouds playing hide and seek with it. Ginger waited at the open front door. She grabbed Harrie’s arm and pulled her inside.

“What’s going on?” Harrie demanded. “Is somebody watching?”

“Who knows,” said Ginger. “I figure we should play it safe, that’s all. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

They walked down the hall
and Harrie said, “Why don’t you turn on some lights? We’re going to trip on something.”

“No.” Ginger said, rather sharply Harrie thought. “We’ll turn on lights once we get to the library. There aren’t any windows in there, so nobody can see the lights from the street.”

The beam of a flashlight suddenly illuminated the hall. Harrie jumped. “Blast it, Ginger! Warn me next time you’re packin’ a flashlight! My God! Where did you get that thing? It’s huge!”

“Sshh,” Ginger warned. “Keep it down. Somebody could hear you.”

Harrie whispered hoarsely, “Just who do you think will hear us inside the house? If you tell me somebody else is in here, I’m leaving!”

“Sorry,” Ginger said, in a low but otherwise normal voice. “I’m just a little spooked. I thought I saw someone between the houses when I drove up.”

“Oh, great,” Harrie said. “Now you’ve got me spooked.”

They entered the library and switched on the light. Ginger pointed to a frame on the wall above the sofa. “Look. That’s the toy gun and holster I told you about.”

Ginger took the display down and pulled at the toy gun. It wouldn’t budge. “Wonderful,” she said. “It’s been glued in. Why would anybody do a dumb thing like that?”

Harrie chuckled. “Probably because he didn’t want the little gun to fall out of the little holster. When you plan to turn something like that into a display, you have to make sure the pieces don’t get separated.”

“I guess you’re right. Well, so much for my idea. Let’s see if your hunch turns out any better.” She returned the frame to its place on the wall and opened the safe room.

“See there,
” Harrie said, “Philip is shaking hands with President Reagan.” She reached up and removed the frame from its hook and turned the picture over. Four tiny metal latches held the corrugated backing. She released the latches and used her fingernails to pry up the backing. Behind the photograph was a brown 9 x 12 envelope.

Ginger leaned over and removed the envelope. “This must be what we’re looking for.” She handed it to Harrie and returned the photo to the wall.

Harrie held the envelope like it was a snake. “This doesn’t look like the brown envelope Caroline and Elizabeth spoke about. Look. There’s no sealing wax, just some writing.”

Ginger took the envelope and studied the back. “Oh, my God. It’s Philip’s handwriting. It says ‘To Be Opened In The Event Of My Death’.” Ginger looked at Harrie. “We shouldn’t open it. What if it’s something that doesn’t have anything to do with the murder? What if it’s something personal like his will?”

“He wouldn’t hide his will. Think about it. His attorney must have a copy. Besides, he mailed you that photograph and cryptic note the day before he was attacked. There must be a connection. We have to open it.”

Ginger hesitated. “Maybe I should give it to my dad. He’s Philip’s official representative now. He should be the one to open it.”

“If he’d wanted your dad to have it, he would have sent him the note and photo instead of you. We have to open it. He’s depending on us to figure this out.”

Ginger sighed. “Okay, I guess you’re right.” She slid her finger under the flap
. There were two documents. She pulled out the first one.

“It’s a birth certificate
” Ginger said and read it. “Baby Angelina Carol Finn, born to Kathleen Ann Finn on February 18, 1950. Place of birth: Las Cruces, New Mexico.”

Harrie’s eyes widened. “Oh my word, look
at the name of the father.”

Ginger nodded. “Jacob Nathaniel Snow.”

A barely audible sound caused Harrie to stiffen. “I thought I heard a door closing somewhere.” She switched off the reading lamp and stood motionless.

“I didn’t hear anything,” she whispered.

Harrie moved quickly to the door of the safe room and turned off the humming fluorescent lights. Beyond the door, the library was bathed in a soft glow from the overhead fixture. The lamp on Philip’s huge walnut desk made a tiny pool of light on the work surface.

Suddenly the library went dark except for the glow from the desk lamp. It didn’t illuminate far enough beyond the desk to clearly see the figure of the man standing in the doorway. They heard a wispy male voice say, “Thank you ladies. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble. I knew I could count on
you. Now please hand over the envelope and its contents. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

55

Harrie’s adrenalin level shot up. Her brain bypassed the flight instinct in the first milliseconds and slammed directly into full combat mode. The arrogant order from the colorless voice sent her into a reckless fury.
Who is this insipid little bastard to think he can order us around?

Harrie made a move toward the voice, but Ginger grabbed her arm and whispered. “Cool it. Don’t go Rambo on me now.”

Then Ginger spoke to the voice, her tone calm and steady. “Why don’t you show yourself? I don’t respond to faceless characters.”

“You’re not really in a position to give orders, Mrs. Vaughn. Now, be a good girl and hand over the envelope.”

Harrie’s anger flared again. “Why don’t you come get it, tough guy?”

The man stepped closer, and Harrie saw an individual no more than five inches taller than her. He had on black from head to
foot, including a hooded jacket and ski mask. A sudden, sickening recall of her nightmare flooded her memory. Why did she ever think that image was Nick?

“Ah, the volatile Mrs. McKenzie, or should I call you ‘Harrie’? It would be fun to stay here and spar with you. I hear you’re a real little spitfire. But a
las, business before pleasure.”

He shifted his arm. “You’ll notice I didn’t come without persuasion.”
The barrel of a revolver gleamed dully in the tiny pool of light.

The opening at the end of the barrel was big enough to drive a truck through. Harrie decided it had to be a ‘Dirty Harry’ gun. As she recalled, Clint Eastwood could shoot big holes with
his. Her mouth felt incredibly dry, and her eyes seemed unable to look away from the gun.

Ginger put the two documents back in the brown envelope and held it out to the intruder.

“Okay, you win. Take it and go.”

As he
approached for the envelope, Harrie tightened her grip on the big flashlight she’d picked up in the safe room.

As he reached out his hand, Harrie swung the flashlight as hard as she could in the direction of his head. She heard a satisfying ‘thwack’ as it hit his skull. He stumbled backwards, flailing to keep his balance, and the gun fired. The desk
light shattered, engulfing the room in darkness.

Harrie
shoved Ginger back into the safe room and hit the button on the wall, causing the steel door to slide shut.

Harrie heard nothing but the roaring in her ears.
This must be what firing a cannon sounds like when you stand next to it.
She still had the flashlight, but she didn’t dare use it. She dropped to the floor and crawled. If she could get behind the desk, maybe she could think of a plan. She bumped into something and reached out to feel her way.
Damn! I’m going the wrong way!
Her hand made out the form of Philip’s leather lounge chair. She eased herself along the side. If she remembered the layout correctly, all she had to do was maintain a straight line and she would be at the door of the library.

Her eyes began to adjust in the darkness, but she still couldn’t hear anything. She had no idea whether the intruder was moving around or if she’d managed to lay him out flat with the blow to his head. The doorway to the library loomed before her. She cautiously stood up and felt for the doorframe. She eased herself through and moved slowly down the hallway
. Did she dare turn on the flashlight? If she could find her way to the living room, maybe she could hide until she figured out her next move. She remembered her cell phone was still in the secret room.
Wonderful! Good place for it in an emergency!
Her next thought gave her new hope.
I can use the phone in the kitchen!

Harrie bypassed the living room and made her way carefully through the dining area. The ringing in her ears had diminished enough to hear the sound of her own movements. The kitchen door moved silently and she felt cheered when she saw that the streetlight
faintly lit the kitchen. She caught her breath when the refrigerator motor started up. At least her hearing had mostly returned. The lovely sight of the wall phone almost caused her to cheer. She picked up the receiver and listened for the dial tone, but heard nothing. Harrie thought her ears were failing her again, and she frantically hit the switch hook.

“Forget it, Mrs. McKenzie.” She stifled a scream. The voice was so close she could feel his breath on her neck. “I cut the phone line this afternoon when I came here in preparation for tonight. We don’t want anybody crashing our little party do we?”

She felt something cold and hard pressed against her back. She toyed with the idea of swinging the big flashlight at his head again, but it was as though he read her mind.

“Give me the nasty flashlight. You don’t want to risk using it again, believe me.”

His left arm reached around her to take it. She tried to twist away and his arm closed around her neck in a strangle hold. She dropped the flashlight and clawed at his arm. He encircled her waist with his right arm, gun still in his right hand. She found herself effectively pinned against him, and she felt the blood draining from her head. His left arm squeezed against her neck, tighter and tighter, until the blackness overcame her completely, and she collapsed on the floor.