Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (11 page)

Marjorie could hardly believe her ears. “Only suspect?”

Robert jerked his head toward the house. “Mrs. Nussbaum.”

“And what about the other Mrs. Nussbaum? You said yourself
she was going to skip town.”

“True, but she doesn’t have a motive.”

“What!” Marjorie exclaimed in disbelief. “Alfred’s bigamy provides a motive for both his wives. If Bernice knew about Josie,
there’s a strong possibility that Josie knew about Bernice. I think we
need to ask ourselves why the `Lady in White’ was wearing such an
elaborate disguise. Black hair contrasted against a white suit? A long
sleeved, wool jacket in summer? A large hat with a veil at a church
fair? Whoever donned that costume did so for a reason-perhaps
to incriminate Bernice. And, Noonan discovered, Josie has a variety
of wigs, makeup, and costumes at her disposal.”

“Yeah, you’re right about the motive,” Robert conceded. “Then,
I guess we have two suspects.”

“And what about Herbert?” Marjorie piped up. “You two may
have written him off, but I certainly haven’t. I think he could do
anything he sets his mind to.”

Jameson relented. “Okay, okay, we’ll add Herbert. So, three suspects-”

“Better make that four,” Creighton corrected, staring off into
the distance.

Marjorie and Jameson followed his gaze to the side of the house
where they spotted Natalie, standing in the vegetable garden. The
girl was watching them intently, her face cold and expressionless.
When she noticed them staring at her, she turned and walked away,
dropping the object that had dangled between the first and middle
fingers of her right hand.

It was a burning cigarette.

VANESSA RANDOLPH WHEELED HERSELF into the drawing room of
her elegant red brick Beacon Hill townhouse to greet her guests.
“Creighton Ashcroft,” she exclaimed. “When my maid handed me
your calling card, I was completely bowled over. What a pleasant
surprise!”

Creighton rose from his place on the Regency settee and met
his hostess halfway across the room. “Vanessa, dear,” he hailed as
he bent down over her chair and kissed her on the cheek, “so good
to see you again. You look wonderful.”

“No I don’t; I look old. I could pass for your mother.”

Creighton didn’t know what to say, for it was true. The ravages
of illness had left Vanessa looking far older than her thirty-eight
years-her body frail and tenuous, her brown hair flecked with gray,
and her face pale and gaunt. Yet, in her voice, he could still hear the
echoes of her indomitable spirit.

She grabbed his hand. “You, however, are more handsome than
ever, if that’s possible. Tell me, what brings you to Boston? The
sights? The history?” She grinned. “The women?”

Creighton gazed into her smiling blue eyes and recalled the crush
he had on her as a lad. “Now, Vanessa,” he teased, “you know you’ll
always be my one true love.”

“Still the charmer, I see,” she pooh-poohed, and wheeled her
chair closer to where her other guests were standing. “Darling, you
must introduce me to your friends.”

The Englishman obediently followed behind the wheelchair and
gestured toward his female sleuthing companion. “Vanessa, I’d like
you to meet Miss Marjorie McClelland”

Marjorie stepped forward and extended her hand. Vanessa
clutched it firmly. “Marjorie McClelland. You’re not the mystery
writer, are you?”

The younger woman beamed. “Why, yes, I am. You’ve read my
books?”

“Read them? I’ve devoured them. We must chat later, I have
so many questions to ask of you” She relinquished her hand and
wheeled closer to Jameson. “And who is this good-looking young
man?”

“Detective Robert Jameson, Hartford County Police,” he introduced himself.

“Police? This isn’t a raid, is it?” Vanessa joked.

Jameson smiled. “No, Mrs. Randolph.”

“Good, because I think I still have some bathtub gin in the liquor cabinet.” Vanessa wheeled herself toward the mahogany cocktail table where the maid had placed a tray of sandwiches and a large pitcher of lemonade. “Please, sit down and join me for some
refreshments.” She began to serve.

Marjorie and Jameson sat side by side on the Sheraton sofa, while
Creighton resumed his post on the settee. “Vanessa;” the Englishman
spoke up as their hostess presented Marjorie with a glass of lemonade and a sandwich. “Detective Jameson told the truth when he said
this isn’t a raid, but it’s not strictly a social visit either”

Vanessa passed Creighton a linen napkin and a plate bearing a
sandwich of roast beef and horseradish. “It isn’t?”

“No,” Jameson replied, “we’re here on police business.”

Vanessa handed the detective a sandwich and poured him a
glass of lemonade. “You’re from Connecticut. What possible business could you have in Boston? Isn’t it out of your jurisdiction?”

“The crime I’m investigating took place in Hartford County,
but the victim came from Boston.”

She looked up from the glass she was pouring for Creighton.
“Victim?”

“Murder, Vanessa,” Creighton answered as he leaned forward
and took the drink from his hostess’ hand.

She poured some lemonade for herself, then withdrew a small
flask from a pocket in her dress, the contents of which she added
to the glass. “Cuts the tartness,” she explained, before replacing the
cap and returning the flask to her pocket. “Murder, you say? I didn’t
think that sort of thing happened in the country.”

“Only since Creighton arrived,” Marjorie quipped and took a
bite of her sandwich.

Jameson chimed in. “He’s like a one-person crime wave.”

Vanessa laughed. “Oh, I do like your friends, Creighton. It’s nice
to see someone give you a run for your money” She took a sip of her spiked lemonade. “I’ve never before spoken to anyone involved
in a murder investigation. It’s all too exciting. Would you think it
excessively morbid of me if I asked for a few details?”

Creighton shook his head. “Not at all, considering that the victim was an employee of yours.”

“An employee of mine? You mean this person worked at Alchemy?”

“Salesman,” Jameson confirmed. “Name was Alfred Nussbaum.”

Vanessa tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling repeating
the name like a magical incantation. “Alfred Nussbaum … Alfred
Nussbaum…” She snapped her head back. “Can’t say I remember
him, although Stewart used to do most of the hiring. And now,
well,” she waved a hand over her legs, “I can’t get down to the labs
like I used to, so most of what I know about the business is what I
hear secondhand. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Randolph,” Robert excused. “However, I
will need access to his records.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure you get all the paperwork you need, Detective. And do feel free to talk to anyone at the labs.”

“Thanks, I appreciate your help.” He raised his plate, “And the
sandwiches.”

“It’s nothing, Detective. I enjoy the company. The house gets
very lonely at times.” She turned to Creighton. “Very lonely.”

What was she thinking as she stared through him, Creighton
wondered. Was she reminiscing about the days they spent together
as children? The countless tea parties she had forced him to endure at her family’s house on Long Island’s Gold Coast, the shooting competitions-Vanessa had been a crack shot-the horseback
rides they had enjoyed at the Ashcroft estate outside of London? Perhaps she even remembered the kiss that he had given her one
summer afternoon after a particularly exhilarating ride. How old
was he then? Thirteen, maybe? Fourteen?

It was strange how, despite her physical changes, the sight of Vanessa could still inspire in him the same feelings of wonderment and
veneration. How, after all these years, her very presence regressed
him back to the clumsy, passionate schoolboy who had tried, rather
awkwardly, to pin her and kiss her behind the stables of his father’s
home.

Marjorie, perchance sensing the uneasiness between Creighton
and Vanessa, changed the subject. “You have a lovely home, Mrs.
Randolph.”

The woman emerged from her fugue-like state. “Thank you, and
please, call me Vanessa.”

“Only if you call me Marjorie,” she stipulated. Having devoured
her sandwich in record time, she stood up and walked toward the
window. “That garden out there,” she gestured to a vast landscaped
area across the street, “does it belong to you?”

“Oh no, dear, that’s Louisburg Square. It’s a park.”

“Really?” She paused a moment. “You must think me rude, but
would you mind if I went over and checked it out? It’s too beautiful a day to spend it indoors.”

“Nonsense, you’re not rude,” Vanessa resolved. “You shouldn’t
feel obligated to stay here with me. I’d spend more time in the park
myself, if I had more energy.”

“Thank you.” Marjorie picked her hat up from the sofa and
glanced at Jameson. “Are you coming, Robert?”

“Now?” he replied in mid-chew as he held up half of a sandwich.
“I’m still eating.”

“Well, meet me in the park when you’re done,” she ordered as
she sashayed out the room. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

No sooner had the front door slammed, than Jameson placed
his sandwich on the table and rose from his seat.

“Going already?” Creighton asked. “I thought you wanted to
finish your sandwich.”

The detective shook his head. “I said that to get Marjorie out of
my hair. With her gone, I can check out that bookie Bernice Nussbaum mentioned without her begging me to take her along.”

“Are you adverse to tagalongs in general, or just Marjorie?” the
Englishman asked.

“Just Marjorie. I don’t think a bar that fronts for a bookmaker
is any place to take a lady. But you can come along if you’d like.”
“

I would like,” he asserted, “very much.”

“But Creighton,” Vanessa spoke up, “you only just got here. I
was looking forward to a nice long visit.”

“And we shall have one,” he promised as he got up from the settee, “as soon as I get back. In the meantime, why don’t you have a
nap? Rest up for later.”
“

I suppose I am a bit tired,” she admitted. “But what about your
friend? Isn’t she going to be angry when she finds out you left without her? I thought you were all partners”

Jameson smiled. “Yeah, that’s what Marjorie thinks, too.”

Creighton went on to describe how Marjorie had hidden beneath the gurney and tailed them in the Model T. Vanessa brought
a hand to her cheek in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that sweet
little thing is capable of causing that much trouble?”

Creighton put his hat on and grinned. “Does Will Rogers twirl
a lasso?”

MARJORIE HIGHTAILED IT ACROSS the street and through Louisburg Square. When she reached the other side of the park, she ran
to the sidewalk and hastily flagged down a cab. The taxi pulled to a
stop in front of her. “Columbia Road,” she directed as she climbed
into the backseat and slammed the door behind her.

The driver pulled away from the curb and glanced in his rearview mirror. “Columbia’s a big street. Any spot in particular?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a man named Murphy. He’s in the wagering business. Works out of a bar. Have you heard of him?”

“Murphy? What does a nice girl like you want with a bum like
that?”

“He and I have some private business to discuss,” she answered
evasively. “Can I assume by your answer that you know where to
find him?”

“Yeah, I know where to find him, but-”

“Good,” she interrupted, “then you can take me there”

“Lady, I don’t think you should be hanging around that sort of
place,” he protested. “It’s down by the shipyards. All kinds of rough
characters down there.”

“Sir,” she stated firmly, “I’m not paying you for your opinion. I’m
paying you to drive. As much as I appreciate your concern, if you’re
not willing to take me there, I’ll find another driver who will.”

The driver momentarily removed his hands from the wheel and
shrugged. “Okay, Columbia Road it is, then.”