Chapter 31
A
fter giving his testimony on Wednesday afternoon and facing cross-examination on Thursday, Goebel had three hours to retrieve several items from his office and get to the airport for his direct flight to Chicago. He'd asked his taxi driver to wait, telling him he would make it worth his while.
Twenty minutes later, lugging two large suitcases, he piled into the taxicab and headed back to LaGuardia. The taxi driver dropped him in front of Delta Air Lines, where he tossed his two bags to the skycap, flashed his ID, and received his boarding pass. He threw a twenty-dollar bill the man's way and headed for security. Being a VIP flyer did have its perks, he thought as he saw the long lines waiting to get through security.
The flight took off as scheduled. When the plane reached ten thousand feet, a female voice gave them permission to use any approved electronic device. He booted up his laptop and brought up the Google Earth image he'd saved as a .jpg file. He zeroed in on the neighborhood where Nancy lived. He had an Enterprise rental car waiting rather than his usual Hertz because Hertz had screwed his eyes out one time too many. Paybacks were a bitch. The flight was close to three hours, so he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, knowing this would be the only time he'd have to catch a few winks. When the plane touched down at Chicago's O'Hare International, he retrieved his luggage and whipped through the airport O. J. Simpson style. Only he struggled for breath. After locating his rental car, Goebel punched Nancy's address in the GPS and made a beeline for her house to do some reconnoitering before starting the stakeout the next day.
Satisfied that he could do what was needed tomorrow, Goebel checked into his hotel, turned on the TV, and spent the evening thinking about his “date” tomorrow night with Miz Sophie. He was betting that she cleaned up real nice.
The next morning, he cruised past the house and drove around the block to park the rental car one street over. Looking left and right before he got out, he popped open the trunk, making sure no one was watching him. He opened his luggage, where his stock of disguises was laid out like those in a theatrical dress rehearsal. He had a variety of work shirts, hats, wigs, and eyewear. He chose the yellow and red Speedy Delivery ensemble that included a fake package and a computerized signature pad, though if scrutinized, one would know they weren't the real thing. Goebel didn't plan on getting scrutinized. He always kept an evidence-collection kit handy, just in case. He stuffed this and a micro recorder in his pocket. A deliveryman in any neighborhood never raised suspicion.
Getting back in the car and driving around the block, he pulled up directly in front of Nancy's house. Making his way up the driveway, he scouted for the best way to enter the house undetected. He could pick the lock on the front door, but if he did that, he'd be unable to lock it on his way out. Deciding to go around back, he noticed a basement window halfway open. He chose this as his point of entry. Once again, he glanced over his shoulder to the left, then to the right. Seeing there were no curtains pulled aside or a set of blinds with a slat slightly opened, he assumed the coast was clear.
Goebel slid his portly figure through the narrow window, almost getting his arms caught as he slithered halfway down. Thinking to himself, he realized that another Southern meal like he'd had Tuesday night and he would never be able to make a repeat entry. He made a mental note to watch his intake of fried food.
After several twists and turns, he found himself in the basement. Looking around, he discovered it was unlike any basement he had ever seen, cluttered with all kinds of unique objects he didn't recognize. As he made his way across the room, he noticed that the far side of the room was immaculate and well lit. He observed something that looked like a high-school chemistry set. There were beakers, containers of chemicals, and paperwork, all neatly organized, all in sequential rows.
This has to be something important,
he thought. But what? No one with a basement this cluttered would bother cleaning up only one side if there wasn't a purpose behind it. He started examining the objects on the counter. They looked like they'd been used for some type of project. Maybe Nancy was a chemist, too. Not knowing what he was dealing with, he grabbed one of the respirators hanging next to him and put it on. He bent his head to tighten the straps on the back of the mask, and a stack of papers in front of him caught his eye. He realized he was looking at Google search results. Reading them, he saw that someone had requested the results for
How long does it take ricin to kill someone?
He picked up the articles and began to read more.
Ricin is a potent substance that is made from castor beans. The symptoms of ricin poisoning are similar to the flu, and it is often overlooked as either food poisoning or influenza.
Goebel recalled the information Ida had given him about Thomas's last days and realized that the evidence of his murder was staring him right in the face. It all made sense when you added it up. Nancy, working for a chemical engineering company, would have knowledge of and access to the materials needed to process castor beans into ricin. Looking at the Google searches, he saw a picture of what ricin looked like after it had been processed into a deadly poison. A brownish powder, similar to a finely ground sand. Glancing across the counter, he saw the beaker with a brownish residue on the inside.
“That must be what she used to make it in,” he muttered to himself. Goebel pulled out a sterile cotton swab from the evidence-collection kit in his jacket pocket and began to swab the inside. “Now we have the bitch right where we want her,” he mumbled under his breath. “At least I hope we do.”
Realizing that he now had enough evidence to bring to the authorities, Goebel decided it was time to get the hell out as quickly as possible. He positioned the respirator, beaker, and papers back exactly where they were found. He quickly returned to the window he had used to enter the basement. Raising his arms, he attempted to pull himself up but quickly realized that coming down was the easy part. There was no way he was going to be able to climb out the way he had come in. He could use one of the objects on the floor to boost himself up, but he wouldn't be able to put it back once he was out. Besides, he didn't want to warn this Nancy that someone had scoped out her minilab.
Deciding to go out the front door, he headed up the basement stairs. When he reached the top, he slowly turned the doorknob. The door opened, but only an inch. He noticed a padlock dangling from the other side of the door. Because he was a first-rate detective, he deduced it was there to keep people from finding her lab downstairs. In a rare moment of anger, he took his fist and pounded on the wall next to him. “Dammit!” he said, striking it once, then again. The third time he hit the wall, he felt something different. Turning his head ever so slowly, he saw a secret panel, a door of sorts, that led to a small room, no bigger than a bathroom stall. Curious, he opened the door and pulled on the chain that dangled from the bare light-bulb above him. What he saw left him speechless.
A shrine.
Every inch of the wall he was staring at was covered with pictures of Thomas and Ida. Every newspaper article that had ever featured them as a New York society couple was tacked on the walls. Looking around, he noticed the head cut off in a picture of Thomas. The pictures were branded with profanities, all done with a thick black Magic Marker. The words
revenge
and
bitch is next
were marked on nearly every picture of Ida, only with a bloodred marker. Goebel shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, nothing changed. He took one of the old newspaper articles concerning Ida's photography and put it in his jacket pocket. Realizing he still needed to find a way out, he froze in place when he heard footsteps above him.
“Shit!” he muttered under his breath. “She's home! Must have taken a half day off from work to get ready for the charity do tonight.” It was something he hadn't planned for. Big mistake.
He quickly closed the door to the hidden room and searched for a place to hide. The piles of clutter were his only saving grace. He spied an old blow-up mattress, quietly made his way to the table where the mattress lay, slowly pulled the rubber bed over his ample body, and silently prayed she wouldn't come downstairs.
Knowing that if he was caught breaking into her house, he could lose his license and even end up in jail, he tried to control his breathing so as not to make the mattress move. As he tried to focus on his breathing, he heard the footsteps getting louder. When they reached the door to the basement, he heard the one sound that scared the crap out of himâthe snap of the Master Lock being unlatched. The basement door swung open with a creak that he remembered from old horror movies, then a loud thump. When he didn't hear footsteps, he realized Nancy had gone into her secret shrine. Trying to hear everything he could, he listened, holding his breath as she started to talk to herself, her voice rising until the words were audible. He allowed his breathing to slow as he clicked on the micro recorder, hoping to pick up her words, which he could now hear quite clearly.
“Mother, my revenge is almost complete. I've got the plans in motion to take care of that backstabbing bastard's wife. I'll find a way to make sure she never spends those millions that should rightfully belong to me. As for my father, he got what he deserved. He drank the ricin like it was Kool-Aid. He even invited me to his room before I told him who I was. Leaving you alone to raise a child by yourself, broke and penniless, swearing he would take care of you. For his lies, I made sure to take care of him. No one suspects a thing. Just like they won't suspect anything when his widow dies. I can finally get the money that should have been left to me in the first place. Now you can rest in peace, Mother. I've taken care of all of our plans. I won't have to live in squalor and filthy places, like we were forced to when he got you pregnant and never laid eyes on you again. His money will be mine no matter what it takes. I will always love you. I hope you are proud of me for getting back at him. Good-bye for now, Mommy.”
Shocked at what he'd just heard, Goebel stayed under the blow-up mattress until he heard her footsteps retreating. Several minutes later, he heard water running. Assuming that she was taking a shower and realizing that this might be his only chance to get out, he quickly dashed out from beneath the mattress and saw that the padlock was swinging from the door. He scurried for the front door like a fiddler crab making his way down his burrow.
Inside his rental car, he raced three blocks over, then parked in an alleyway, hoping no one saw him. He had to get the swab to someone immediately, needing to confirm if it was ricin or not. He had a buddy in New York he worked with on occasion, Ted Lawrence, a forensic toxicologist. He worked for a private lab that he could access anytime he was needed. Goebel trusted him as his credentials were impeccable. Not only was Ted a forensic toxicologist, but he was also an expert in forensic pathology. Goebel would messenger the swab to Ted. He'd tell him there was a bonus if he had the results sometime tomorrow morning. Cash was always a good incentive. Tonight, at the charity event, he would watch Nancy, see how she acted, watch for any outward signs of abnormal behavior.
While he sat there, he thought about what he had just heard. Nancy was not only insane but also grossly ignorant about the basic facts of the law. Or perhaps her thinking that she could murder Ida and inherit
Thomas's
money, which Ida had already inherited and which therefore would be left to
Ida's
heirs, if there were any, and under no conceivable circumstances to Nancy, was also a symptom of her insanity and not just ignorance. Could she possibly think that murdering Ida would magically set the clock back two years and result in Ida's money once again becoming Thomas's, which Nancy could inherit? That belief seemed so far beyond rational that anyone who held it probably qualified as belonging in a loony bin. Oh, sure, perhaps some total dimwit, homeless and strung out on drugs and booze, might not think the world worked like that and might not be insane. But this Nancy was a scientist, had advanced degrees. No way someone like that could believe what she did without being nuts.
One could feel sympathy for Nancy and her mother for what that philandering bastard Thomas had done to them. But that did not excuse what Nancy had done and was planning to do. Even if one thought that Thomas deserved what
he
got, how in hell did that carry over to Ida, the innocent wife whom nasty old Thomas had cheated on? And for Nancy to think that somehow she would get Thomas's money . . . ? Goebel shook his head in amazement.
Takes all kinds,
he guessed.
After a while, he checked his watch. Toots had e-mailed him Sophie's arrival information. He had plenty of time to get to the hotel, then to the airport.
Chapter 32
O
n Wednesday morning, Jamie was pacing back and forth in the small kitchen when she decided that she didn't want to be alone after last night's
frightmare
. She'd spent the night dreaming of unseen eyes watching her. Giving up the fight, she'd gotten up at four and spent the morning hours scrubbing the oven, the floors, and cleaning out the refrigerator, even though all were virtually spotless. She looked at the clock above the stove. Seeing it was only a little after eight, she peered out the window above the sink. The French doors leading to the patio area were open.
Grabbing the shortcake and strawberries, she let herself out, then practically jogged down the stone path that led to the back door of the main house. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke clinging in the air suggested Toots and Sophie had recently been outside for a smoke.
Jamie tapped on the back door.
“We're in here,” a voice called out.
She pushed the door open with one hand while holding the containers of strawberries and shortcake in the other. Toots, Mavis, and Ida sat at the table, cups of coffee in front of them.
“I . . . I thought you all might want some dessert. I made this shortcake yesterday, and I can't eat it all by myself,” Jamie said.
“Come inside, dear. Have a cup of coffee,” Mavis said. Coco ran to Jamie's side, spent a few seconds sniffing her leg. Apparently Jamie passed inspection, because the little brown ball of fur ran back to her palace in the corner without going into hysterics.
“I'd love some,” Jamie said and sat down, placing the strawberries and shortcake on the table. “I wasn't sure you all would be up.”
Toots laughed. “Honey, no one sleeps in around here. Mature ladies of our age don't sleep late. We were just getting ready to take Ida to her doctor's appointment with my old family physician. Why don't you come with us? We can stop at the bakery and see what progress they've made.”
At the mention of the bakery, Jamie's pulse quickened. “I was there last night. Everything was spotless, well, almost everything.” She debated telling them about her strange supernatural experience last night. But she didn't want them to think she was crazy.
With a discerning eye, Toots watched her. “Are you all right? You seem distracted,” Toots stated.
“This will probably sound silly, and I hesitate to mention it. However, either I'm going crazy or something else is happening at the bakery.” Jamie went into great detail explaining what had happened last night. She told them about the chilling air, the eyes that she felt watched her, even though she was in the bakery completely alone.
Toots looked at Ida and Mavis. “Where is Sophie?”
“She's upstairs, trying to decide what to take with her to Chicago on Friday.”
“She needs to hear this,” Toots said. “I'll be right back. Don't move.”
Jamie was sure she was about to be booted out in the cold. The women probably thought she was out of her mind.
When Sophie came downstairs, Ida said, “Jamie, tell your story to Sophie.”
Jamie recounted last night's events. None of the four women seemed the least bit surprised. She was sure they would think she needed to be committed to the nearest insane asylum. Again, the women surprised her.
Without revealing too much of their experience with ghosts and séances, Sophie sat across from Jamie, took her hand in hers, then looked at Toots for direction. “Your grandmother ever tell you anything about the building's history?” Sophie asked.
Hesitant to voice what she was thinking, yet knowing she had to say the words, Jamie spoke quickly. “I had a memory last night. When I was a child, I couldn't have been more than eight or ten, I overheard a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. My grandmother was in the kitchen of her little mobile home, that's where I lived until she died, and she said something about the building once being used as a funeral parlor.” There. She'd said it. She waited for their reaction.
Clearly, her words hadn't affected them as she thought they would.
“It makes perfect sense,” Sophie said. “Anytime there's a change in temperature, vibrations, drifting shadows, a feeling of being watched, as well as a variety of other movements and activity during plasterwork, or any type of renovation, it's known to wake the spirits of the past. Each restoration stirs a rising of sinuous activity left from the past and draws it into the present.”
Jamie appeared confused. “What does that mean?”
All eyes focused on Sophie. “It simply means the bakery is haunted.”
Jamie's bright blue eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Toots spoke before Sophie had a chance to answer. “Sophie is a . . . medium.”
The room was totally quiet.
Bewildered, Jamie asked, “You're saying the slight renovations we did caused a spirit to appear?”
“More or less. Look, if we leave now, we can stop at the bakery before Ida has to be at the doctor's. I'll be able to get a better sense of the place.”
“That's a perfect idea. Jamie, toss your berries in the refrigerator. Bernice will be here this afternoon, and she'll think she's died and gone to heaven, as strawberries are her favorite fruit,” Toots said.
“Uh, okay,” Jamie said.
Ten minutes later, they piled in the Lincoln and Toots drove to the bakery. As usual, her foot and the gas pedal were at war with the speed limit signs posted. She drove ten miles over the legal limit, telling herself if she was pulled over, she would say one of them thought they were having a heart attack. Crummy excuse, but if needed, she'd use it.
As soon as they arrived at the bakery, Toots and the girls followed Jamie inside. Luckily, none of the workmen had arrived yet. Sophie walked through the front of the bakery, closing her eyes as if in deep thought. When she entered the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks. Even though it was a clear, sunny Wednesday morning, with the outside temperature in the midseventies, the inside of the bakery was ice cold, the kind of cold that hurt your skin.
“You don't have the air-conditioning on, do you?” Sophie asked.
“No.”
Mavis and Ida trailed behind Toots as Sophie wandered through the small space. Again, she closed her eyes. “I feel an energy looming within this space. It's a female.”
“How do you know that?” Jamie asked from her position across the room.
Sophie remained quiet, holding her index finger in the air, asking for silence. “This woman suffered greatly in life. A deep emotional hurt. Sometimes souls stay on earth when there are unsolved issues after death.” As soon as the words left Sophie's mouth, an increase in air pressure was palpable in the small room. Sophie felt extremely uneasy, overwhelmed, unlike anything she had experienced so far. “There is more than one spirit. Toots, I need to do a cleansing on this place immediately. Are there any health-food stores or an herb shop close by? I need a bundle of dried sage.”
“There's a metaphysical bookstore, Blue Moon, right down the street. I can be there and back in fifteen minutes and still get Ida to her doctor's appointment in time, provided this cleansing doesn't take all afternoon. How long, Sophie?” Toots asked.
“Five minutes if it works. If it doesn't, then you're going to have to keep this place empty. I've been studying this. Tarot cards, too. I'm teaching myself to read them. I'll read for all of you when I get back.”
“Okay. Stay here. I'll be right back.” Toots raced out the door as if their lives depended on it. And maybe they did.
Twenty minutes later, Toots returned with a bundle of dried white sage. “That place had everything, Sophie. Everything. They sell tarot cards, too.”
“Okay, let's do this,” Sophie urged.
“Before we get started, how will we know if this . . . cleansing worked?” Jamie asked.
“We'll just know,” Sophie said. “That feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck rises will be gone. We may have to do a routine smudging, cleansing, whatever you want to call it. Let's get started.”
Sophie lit the bundle of dried white sage. A pleasant-smelling scent arose from the bundle. Sophie lowered the bundle of white sage by her left foot, then fanned the smoke around her, working her way up and over her body, stopping at the top of her head. She repeated this procedure on Mavis, Ida, Toots, and, lastly, Jamie. “This is to remove any negative energy you yourselves may unknowingly have,” Sophie explained.
With the bundle of dried white sage held out before her like a sword, Sophie began at the entrance to the bakery and fanned the smoke toward the walls and the corners. She walked the entire perimeter of the bakery, fanning the smoke. In the corners, up the walls, on the ceiling. In the kitchen, where Jamie had experienced her feeling of uneasiness and fear, Sophie waved the herbs back and forth as though she were waving a magic wand. She did the same in the room where Jamie stored her baking supplies. Next, she opened the ancient walk-in refrigerator and waved the smoky wand of herbs up and down and side to side, rising on her toes and waving it, lastly, by the ceiling. And then the smoke was gone. She placed the ashes on a small plate she saw on the large aluminum table in the center of the kitchen. “I want each one of you to dip your finger in the ashes. Then close your eyes and blow. Visualize any negative energy being pushed away.”
Everyone followed Sophie's careful instructions. Minutes passed, and the room became noticeably warmer. If there were any more spirits lingering in the old building, they were hiding.
“Okay, let's get out of here. Ida has to get to the doctor's office,” Toots reminded everyone.
Â
On Friday morning, Toots, Ida, and Mavis were sitting around downstairs, waiting for Sophie to come down for the trip to the airport. Jamie had just arrived and was telling them that there had been no further ghostly visitations at the bakery, and the new equipment was arriving day by day. She hoped to reopen sometime the following week.
When Sophie came downstairs, everyone gasped. She was dressed to kill in a sharp black pantsuit and reminded Jamie of a smaller version of Sophia Loren. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, taking a good ten years off her age. Professionally applied makeup made her look like a totally different person, or rather a new and improved version of herself. Jamie wondered why all the hoopla. Maybe she had a date.
“You're beautiful,” Mavis said. “I haven't seen you like this since we were in college. Your makeup looks phenomenal. Who taught you how to apply it that way?” Mavis asked, apparently in a state of shock. She'd taken such an interest in her appearance this last year, trying new hairstyles, and makeup no longer seemed out of character for the once frumpy woman.
“Ida,” Sophie said. “Years ago.”
“I didn't realize you were so talented, Ida,” Mavis said.
“I'll teach you my tricks another time,” Ida explained. “Now, Sophie has a plane to catch. Jamie, do you want to come with us to the airport?”
“I don't think so, Ida. There's still lots to do at the bakery. I'll see you guys later. Sophie, I hope you have a good time in Chicago.”
“So do I, Jamie. So do I.”