ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (21 page)

“Things got out of hand,” Skip said. “She certainly seems like the type who could come unglued easily.”

Rob caught himself as he was about to scowl at Canfield. Now the man was finishing her sentences.

Turning to his aunt, he asked, “How well do you know Mrs. Carroll, Aunt Betty?”

Betty shook her head. “Not very, but I do know that the woman is a wimp. I can see her going to talk to Doris, and maybe hitting her if Doris provoked her. And Doris was good at provoking people… But I doubt she has it in her to stab somebody.”

“And why would she kill Frieda? If she’s trying to smooth things over, keep things calm, murdering people is not exactly the best way to accomplish that goal,” Kate said.

“Maybe Frieda found out something that would link Carroll to Doris’s death,” Rose speculated.

“Or, in the course of her gossiping, Frieda heard about the suspicions the police had about Carroll in her previous job,” Kate said.

“And if she really was killing the people there, it wouldn’t be that hard for her to justify killing old people here, to protect herself and her job,” Skip said.

Kate nodded. “Once someone’s rationalized taking a life, it gets easier to rationalize again.”

“But could she have been the intruder last night?” Liz asked.

“Maybe,” Rose said. “She’s about the right build and height. And she’s what, maybe fifty, so I guess with enough adrenaline pumping she could’ve gotten away from us.”

Betty shook her head again. “I have trouble imagining Alice Carroll breaking in and attacking me.”

“People can do things that are fairly out of character, when they feel threatened, and desperate enough,” Skip said.

Again Kate nodded her agreement. “And if the attempt against you had been successful, Betty, your suicide, complete with remorseful note, would’ve closed the case and things would’ve quieted down again.”

“She should go on our suspect list,” Rob said.

“But how do we go about investigating her?” Kate said. “I doubt she’ll give any of us the time of day now.”

“Skip might be able to charm her into talking to him,” Liz suggested, grinning at him.

Skip shrugged. “I can try.”

“Caught up with Mrs. Berkley,” Mac reported. “Somethin’s off ’bout her. Wouldn’t let us in. Came out in the hall. Said the place was a mess. Claimed she didn’t have much to do with Doris or Frieda.”

“What’s she look like? Could she be the intruder last night?” Kate asked.

Rose nodded. “About your height, Kate. Built a bit sturdier. Looked to be in her sixties, maybe.”

“They’re a May-December couple,” Betty commented. “Mr. Berkeley’s in his eighties.”

“She’s a tough-lookin’ broad,” Mac said.

“But we’ve got no motive for her except that Doris flirted with her husband,” Kate said.

“Mrs. Thompson’s too frail to be our perp,” Rose reported. “But we got her talkin’ about some of the others. She said that Mrs. Berkeley tended to be very protective of her husband.”

“That jives with something Janet Maccabe told us,” Kate said. “She called Mrs. Berkeley controlling. Said she hardly ever lets her husband even talk to anybody, male or female.”

Kate filled them in about Jill Winthrop’s nervousness and her resistance to talking about her writing.

“After lunch, I think Kate and I should interview Carla Baxter again,” Rob said. “See if, with her chemistry background, she knows how to get her hands on chloroform. And, Rose, you said there was something off about her. Maybe Kate can figure out what it is.”

Kate noticed that Rob wasn’t addressing her directly. Nonetheless, she answered him, her face and voice neutral, “That’s a good idea, Rob.”

•   •   •

They walked along the hot sidewalk between the two buildings in awkward silence. All Kate could think of to say, as Rob held the entrance door open for her, was, “I hope Baxter’s home.”

She was. When the math professor answered her door, Kate explained who they were. Baxter escorted them into her living room area. Rob was starting to have serious
deja vu
since all the apartments were laid out basically the same as his aunt’s, but in Baxter’s the decorating could best be described as Early Shabby.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kate said, giving the older woman her warmest smile. She watched Baxter as she moved around her kitchen making the coffee. She was a tall, big-boned woman. The baggy knit shirt and loose jeans she wore made her look even bigger. Her face was free of make-up and her straight gray hair was cut in a short, not very becoming style. The word
frumpy
came to mind.

Baxter brought over a tray of mismatched mugs and sat it down on a pile of dusty professional journals on an end table. She passed the mugs around and offered cream and sugar.

Kate took a sip of coffee. It was quite good. “Dr. Baxter,” she began, “we’re talking to people again for two reasons. One, we want to clear Betty Franklin’s name of any possible association with these murders, and two, we want to help the police prevent any more killings.”

The woman had arched an eyebrow at the
doctor
in front of her name. “I don’t usually use my professional title here at the Villages. How did you know I have a doctorate?”

“Please forgive us for being nosy,” Kate said. “But under the circumstances, we felt the need to research people’s backgrounds.”

Baxter tried hard to cover her dismay, but she was not totally successful. In a formal tone, she said, “How can I help with your inquiries?”

Kate and Rob asked her several questions about her impressions of the other suspects on their list. Then Kate said, “In our research, it was discovered that you…” She intentionally paused for a beat, then continued, “… had originally majored in chemistry as an undergraduate.”

There was an undisguised look of relief on Dr. Baxter’s face as Kate finished her sentence. “Oh, yes.” The woman laughed a little fake laugh. “I did start out in chemistry but I soon discovered that I was much more fascinated by the statistics involved in chemical research, than in the research itself. I shifted gears in my graduate studies and have never regretted it. I had a very successful and satisfying academic career.” The woman’s ease and confidence had increased with every word.

Kate gave her another warm smile. “Well, Dr. Baxter, the detective isn’t allowing us to give out any details, but chloroform was used in some of these crimes. What can you tell us about that chemical?”

The professor launched into a description of the chemical make-up, uses and hazards of chloroform, including its official name, trichloromethane. She aimed her remarks at Kate, virtually ignoring Rob’s presence.

To see if Baxter knew the answer, Kate asked, “How difficult is it to get chloroform?”

“Oh, an individual can’t, at least not legally. The black market is another matter. But universities and other institutions that have a legitimate reason for needing it can purchase it. There are forms to fill out, of course.”

“You mentioned a black market. How might one go about getting chloroform other than through legal channels?” Rob asked.

Dr. Baxter turned toward him. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice chilly.

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Kate said, in a conciliatory tone. “But anything you could tell us about how someone might have access to chloroform, that would be very helpful.”

Baxter turned back toward Kate and shook her head. “I wish I could help you there, but it’s been decades since I was a chemistry student. I know a black market for such chemicals exists, but that’s really all I can tell you about it. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for all that information. It’s very helpful,” Kate said, even though they already knew most of it from Liz’s research.

Keeping her voice gentle, she changed the subject. “Frieda McIntosh told me, the day before she died, that she had talked to you about the possibility that Betty Franklin had killed Mrs. Blackwell. Do you recall that conversation?”

The woman bristled, sitting up straighter in her chair. “The police detective asked me about that conversation already.”

Under Kate’s constant but sympathetic gaze, Baxter deflated a bit. “Frankly, I’m not sure anymore who said what first.”

“Did you tell Detective Lindstrom that?” Rob followed Kate’s example and kept his voice gentle.

“Yes, the second time he came around,” Baxter answered him, then turned back toward Kate. “I’m afraid my memory’s starting to slip some. I feel bad that I might have made the detective suspect that Mrs. Franklin killed Frieda.”

Kate gave her another sympathetic smile. “Actually remembering who said what in a conversation is sometimes difficult at any age, and it’s human nature to trust our memories more than we should. Thank you for admitting to Detective Lindstrom that you might have mis-remembered.”

Kate rose from her chair. “And thank you for your time, Dr. Baxter. You’ve been very helpful.”

“You’re certainly welcome. I’m glad to have been of help,” the other woman said warmly to Kate, then added as an obvious afterthought, “Uh, nice to meet you, Mr. Franklin.”

Rob waited until they were out of the building before saying, “Okay, that was strange. What the hell was going on there? Oh, and by the way, you’re a damn good interviewer. All these years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in action like that.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, grateful mainly that he was finally loosening up and acting more natural with her.

“As to what was going on there, she doesn’t like men. That much was obvious. And she definitely puts out different vibes toward women than she does toward men.”

“Vibes, smibes. She mostly just ignored me.”

“I really hate to speculate about this, but it occurs to me that Dr. Baxter may be a lesbian.”

Rob stopped walking. “Really? Was that why she was watching you so closely, to see if you were interested in her.”

Kate shook her head as they started walking again. “No, I don’t think so. I think she was just paranoid about what we might have found out about her. Could be she’s still in the closet and she’s afraid of being outed.”

“Even though it wouldn’t matter all that much these days.”

“I don’t know about that with this older crowd here. Those closer to her age would probably have mixed reactions, many open-minded, others not so much so, but still willing to let her be. But the folks in their seventies and eighties might not all be that tolerant.

“We tend to think of the residents here as one homogenous group, but there are actually two generations represented,” Kate pointed out. “The folks in their eighties are old enough to be the parents of the ones in their sixties.”

Rob rubbed his chin. “Okay, that’s a somewhat mind-boggling thought, but you’re right. Twenty years constitutes a generation.”

“Anyway, she has a secret,” Kate said. “I’m just speculating that it might be about her sexual orientation. The question is whether or not she’d be afraid enough of having her secret revealed to commit murder? Doris and/or Frieda could have somehow found out whatever it is…

“Wait a minute.” Kate stopped walking. She stared into space, reaching for a memory. “Monday, when I talked to Frieda, she said something… At first, she didn’t want to tell me who was assuming Betty was the killer. I thought at the time that it was strange for a gossip to suddenly get coy. And when I convinced her to tell me who it was, she said that she and Carla Baxter were, quote, ‘talking about something else’ when the issue of Betty’s guilt came up.”

“Something that Baxter then asked Frieda to keep to herself,” Rob said.

“But I doubt Frieda would have been able to resist gossiping about it, and Baxter probably knew that. So we’re back to, is it a secret worthy of murder to keep it quiet?”

“I strongly suspect Baxter could get her hands on chloroform if she wanted to,” Rob said. “Her disclaimers about the black market aside, she knew a little too much about it. Hard to believe she was reaching back several decades to her undergraduate studies for that knowledge.”

“Could she be the intruder from the other night?”

Rob thought for a moment. “Maybe. She’s about the right height but my impression was of a slimmer person. Of course, we only got a quick look at him, or her, before they took off.”

“And you said the intruder was wearing a black jacket and ski mask. Baxter might look a good bit thinner in that than she did in the baggy clothes she’s wearing today.”

•   •   •

Baxter’s was the last successful interview of the day. No one else answered their door. The others had similar luck. Skip had gone to the administration building but Mrs. Carroll was not in her office, and Morris had once again refused to come out of his lair, even though Skip could hear movement inside his apartment.

Gathered in Betty’s living room at the end of the day, they commiserated with each other’s frustration. Then Liz said, “I found out something interesting when I was researching the Berkeleys. They don’t seem to have existed before twenty years ago when they moved to this town and opened their hardware store.” Eyebrows shot up around the room. “Don’t know what that means but I’m going to do some more poking around on them tomorrow. Betty, is there any way to get pictures of these people?”

“Oh yes, dear. The community has a pictorial directory. They update it every couple years. To help people learn the names and faces of new residents, I think, as well as giving us contact information for each other.”

“That’s a nice touch. This really is a good place to retire,” Liz said.

“It is, or at least it used to be,” Betty said sadly.

“It will be again, Aunt Betty,” Rob tried to reassure her.

Kate had just finished filling them in on the interview with Carla Baxter when the doorbell rang. Rob got up to answer it.

What he saw through the peephole made him suck in his breath.

A grim-faced Lindstrom was smacking a folded official-looking paper against his palm, with a uniformed officer hovering behind him. Would the man be so callous as to arrest his aunt this late in the day, when it would be difficult to schedule a bail hearing before the next day? The thought of his aunt spending the night in jail made Rob blanche. For a brief moment, he considered not opening the door.