Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (16 page)

It took a long time for Betty’s tears to run out. By the time she was done, her head felt heavy and her chest hurt. She pulled back, embarrassed. She hadn’t broken down like that in years. Her mother sat in the chair next to her.

"I want to set a few things straight," her mother said, looking right into Betty’s eyes. "First of all, I am not disappointed in you. Not even a little. You’re sick, and that’s not your fault, just something you have to deal with. Second, where on Earth did you hear that our family had never been sick?"

"Aunt Laura."

Her mother snorted. "Figures. Betty, my mother died of diabetes. Problem is, no one knew what it was then. They didn’t catch it in time. And I have pre diabetes—I have for years. That’s why I’m so careful with what I eat." Betty felt like she’d been punched in the gut with relief. She hadn’t made herself sick! Her family had a history of diabetes. It wasn’t her fault. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of anger and self loathing that had begun to fester begin to lift. Yes, she could have made healthier choices. But, for the first time, Betty really understood that diabetes wasn’t something that she had done to herself. It was just something that was, a disease like any other. Her mother continued "I’m so sorry I didn’t catch the signs in you early enough. If I had, maybe you wouldn’t be sick now."

Betty looked at her mother, shocked. She would never, ever blame her for her disease, and she said just that. Her mother smiled softly. "Thank you. But I’m allowed to play the what if game if I want to."

Betty shook her head. "If I’m not, you’re not," she said. "Deal?

Mary gave a short laugh. "Deal."

Betty leant back in her chair. "So, now you know. What happens now?"

"Now," her mother said, "I help you in any way I can."

For once, Betty didn’t mind her mother intruding into her personal life.

She didn’t have to hide her disease any more.

CHAPTER 25

After the conversation with her mother, Betty could put diabetes out of her mind for a while. Her mother was going to help her, and all of a sudden her disease just felt… manageable. And if diabetes had been the only thing on Betty’ mind, she would have slep easy. Instead, Melody’s panicked face replayed in Betty’s mind the whole night. She kept remembering her darting, her shaking, her sudden silence and withdrawal the moment Lawrence appeared. It was obvious that Melody knew something. The more she thought about it, the more it became clear that Melody wasn’t going to go to the police. It appeared that she had taken Betty up on her offer to be a confidante who would take any news she had to the police. What she knew could be information leading to arrest, clearing Clarise’s name for good and putting the real murderer behind bars.

Betty couldn’t chance letting Melody’s information disappear.

In the morning, she called Clarise to let her know what was going on. When she learned that Betty was going to try and investigate the murder without police permission, Clarise flipped.

"What do you think you’re doing Betty? Do you want to end up like Jarvis? If you ever actually found something, you’d become the next target." Betty rolled her eyes. Yes, she was taking a risk. But wasn’t it worth it, to know that Melody’s information wouldn’t go to waste? Wasn’t it worth the risk, to catch whoever had thrown terror into Lofton?

When she couldn’t dissuade Betty, Clarise insisted on accompanying her when she went to visit Melody. "If you think I’m letting you go to that house by yourself, you have another thing coming. If you’re going to be stupid, I get to be there to watch your back. For all you know, it was Melody who killed Jarvis in the first place!"

She had a point. Betty knew she did. Melody had been acting very strangely recently, and she and Jarvis did have a history. It could very well have been a crime of passion. Maybe she and Jarvis had been having an affair?

Lawrence seemed determined to keep an eye on Melody, as though he didn’t trust her. If Melody’s husband had such little faith in her, Betty could see how Melody might cheat. What point was there in not violating someone’s trust when you never had that trust in the first place? In fact, Betty almost wished Melody would have an affair. At least then she’d be doing something independent of Lawrence.

But, Betty just couldn’t make herself believe it. Lawrence may have had his suspicions, but there had never been so much as a rumor that Melody cheated. If she was cheating, someone would have found out and exposed both her and her lover.

Still, Betty agreed to let Clarise accompany her. She even left a note on the kitchen table, letting her mother know she’d gone with Clarise to visit Melody. It didn’t hurt to cover all her bases. Just in case. While she might not think Melody the murdering type, until just a few days ago she hadn’t thought of anyone in Lofton as the murdering type. And Lawrence did have a temper.

There was that adrenaline rush again.

She picked up Clarise, who tried to talk her out of the visit all the way to the Biel’s residence. Betty ignored her. They were going, and that was that.

Betty hadn’t been to see Melody at her home in years. She’d forgotten the size of the house. It was one of the old plantation homes, huge and white on top of a small hill, with a circular cobblestone driveway in front. In the past, that driveway would have been where carriages entered and parked to drop off guests for a ball. Not a single cobblestone was out of place. The lawn, both inside the driveway circle and surrounding the home, was perfectly manicured. Neat rows of rose bushes lined the pathway leading from the driveway to the front porch and continued on both sides of the pathway to wrap around the front and sides of the house. The porch was large and open porch, with spotless white wooden lounge chairs lining the wall and a wrought iron swing.

The house belonged in a movie, not as someone’s real life home.

Betty and Clarise walked up to the front door and rang the bell. They could hear its high pitched echo from outside. Betty shifted and rubbed suddenly itchy palms on her jeans. She studied the double doors in front of her, memorizing the grain just visible through the white paint. This close, she could see a few cracks in the paint, a few places it had started to peel. The lion’s head knockers had finger print smudges. The small faults gave her a small sense of grounding. The house might be out of a fairy tale, but her reason for visiting was not.

One of the double doors opened half way to reveal a short, spry middle aged woman in jeans and a long plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She smelled strongly of cleaning polish.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Betty blinked. Somehow, she had always thought that Lawrence was the sort of rich man to insist on having a full time butler and maids walking around in ridiculous frilly outfits. This woman, while obviously a hired to keep the house clean, was far to down to earth, far too real for her surroundings. Betty liked her at once.

"We’re here to see Melody," she asked. "Is she in?"

The woman nodded curtly, her tight ponytail bobbing. "Let me see if she’s accepting visitors. Is she expecting you?"

"No," Betty said. "But I won’t keep her long. If she could just give me a few minutes, I’d appreciate it."

The housekeeper nodded. "I’ll let her know."

The door was shut again, leaving Betty and Clarise outside. They traded looks.

"You’re sure about this?" Clarise whispered.

"Yes," Betty replied, her voice just as quiet. Footsteps sounded behind the door, coming closer. Clarise started to speak, but Betty held up her hand. "Shh!"

Clarise turned towards the door just as the housekeeper returned. She opened the door all the way, ushering them inside. "Mrs. Biel will see you. Follow me."

If Betty had thought that the outside of the home was impressive, it was nothing when compared to the impressive entrance hall. The floor was polished stone. On the right, a staircase swept down from the second floor balcony. Paintings covered the walls. Long, heavy curtains had been pulled back to let light in from tall, arched windows. The housekeeper led them through the entryway into a hallway lined with thick, blue carpet. More art adorned these walls, though the paintings were smaller to fit the comparatively low ceiling. They passed doors on either side before the housekeeper opened one on the right.

"Go right in," she said

It was a small library. Bookshelves lined two walls from floor to ceiling, leaving the middle open. One wall was almost entirely windows, smaller versions of the arched design from the entryway with dark green curtains hanging from either side. The final wall, had been taken up with a fireplace, around which a semi circle of large leather chairs that had been arranged. A large wooden desk made of a richly colored and well polished wood stood in the corner. Melody stood from the desk. She was dressed in a light purple, flowing dress that fluttered around her curves as she moved forward to hug Betty. "What a pleasant surprise. And you too Clarise," she said, hugging her.

The frightened woman that Betty had seen yesterday was completely gone. In her place was a radiant hostess, completely secure in her surroundings. It struck Betty that this was the face Melody showed her social circle outside the theater: the self assured stay at home wife and wealthy patron of the arts. She seemed like a completely different person from the spritely, emotional actress Betty had come to know. Betty wondered briefly which persona was closer to the way Melody actually thought. Had her panic yesterday been an act, meant to draw Betty away from suspecting her?

Looking closer, something about Melody’s stance seemed a bit off. She seemed guarded somehow.

She almost groaned aloud. Clarise. Melody was hardly likely to tell her anything while Clarise was there. She should have had her friend wait in the car.

If wishes were fishes... she thought, her father’s voice reciting the old saying in her mind. Well, she couldn’t undo her faux pas, but maybe she could make Melody more comfortable.

Unfortunately, her thoughts had taken just a second too long to process, because Clarise jumped in head first.

"We were just in the area and thought we’d pop in for a chat. Lovely day, isn’t it?"

Melody’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "It is," she said, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs and gesturing for them to do the same. "You’re lucky you caught me. I’m actually getting ready to go out. I have a meeting at the club."

Betty leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. Instinctively, she knew that if she was going to get Melody to open up, she would first have to give the woman the benefit of the doubt and treat her with complete honesty. "Melody," she said, "we actually came here to talk with you." Melody’s back straightened ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked to Clarise and back to Betty. "I trust Clarise," Betty said. "You can too."

Melody looked at her questioningly. "What on earth are you going on about?"

"You wanted to tell me something yesterday," Betty said. "Why don’t you tell us both now?"

Melody refused to meet her eyes. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she repeated, though Betty detected a slight waver in her voice. She tried again.

"If you have any information that might help us find Jarvis’ killer…"

Melody’s face blanched, all pretense of cheerfulness gone. "I don’t know what information you think I could have," she said flatly, "but I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know anything."

"Where were you when Jarvis was murdered?" Clarise jumped in.

"Clarise!" Betty exclaimed, aghast. How could her friend even think to ask that? If there was any chance of Melody trusting them, it had just been destroyed.

That’s the last time I let you be my side kick, she thought at Clarise. If you can’t hold your tongue, you have no business playing detective.

Melody shot Clarise an icy glare. "If you must know, I was here, speaking with my housekeeper. And now," she said, her entire countenance steely, "I think it might be best if you left. Elsie!" she called. The housekeeper appeared immediately at the door.