Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (17 page)

"If you killed Jarvis," Clarise said, "we’ll find out! It’s better if you just turn yourself in."

"Clarise!" Betty said sharply. "Stop it. You’re being ridiculous." She turned to Melody. "I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her." Melody inclined her head, although whether in agreement or in acceptance of Betty’s apology was unclear. "We’ll just be going." Betty gripped Clarise’s arm, forcing her to walk out the door. "And Melody?" she asked. "If you do know anything, please let someone know. You can call me at my house, or go to the police, or something. But we need to catch this murderer."

Melody nodded, her gaze softening for just an instant. "If I knew anything, I promise that I’d want to do everything I could to help," she said. "But I just can’t."

That statement could me taken any number of ways, Betty thought. She nodded in acceptance. She followed Elsie through the halls, dragging Clarise with her. Elsie hadn’t been exactly friendly before, but not her whole demeanor was icy. It was clear by her rigid posture that she was furious.

"I’m sorry," Clarise began. Betty glared at her.

"Don’t," she said. "Just, don’t." When they reached the front door, Betty let go of Clarise’s arm. "Why don’t you go to the car?" she suggested to Clarise. "I’ll be right behind you." When she’s gone down the stairs, Betty turned to Elise, who still held the door open for her. "Can I speak with you for one moment?" she asked.

The housekeeper followed her outside, shutting the door softly behind them. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice low and angry. She prodded Betty right below her collar bone. "I hope you’re not going to accuse me of murder as well!"

Betty shook her head. "Of course not. And I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know Clarise would be so…"

"Tactless?" he housekeeper offered.

"Yes," Betty said. She sighed."Listen, I don’t think Melody killed Jarvis."

The housekeeper snorted. "Of course she didn’t kill him! Only an idiot would think that. She’d been crying for days over that poor boy’s death."

"Well," Betty said, "I think there’s more to that than grief. Melody seems scared, and I get the feeling she knows something about the murder. I’m worried about her."

The housekeeper looked at her skeptically, but at least she was no longer openly hostile. "So what are you talking to me for?" she asked.

"I need to know something. Was Melody actually with you during the time Jarvis was murdered?"

Elise looked away. "She’s my employer."

"I know," Betty said. "And she’s my friend. Which is why we have to help each other. Was she with you?"

The housekeeper shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I was sick that day."

"Elsie?" came Melody’s voice.

With a wide eyed look at Betty, Elsie turned and entered the house, cutting off the conversation.

Betty made her way to the car, deep in thought. Melody was lying about where she’d been when Jarvis was killed, but Betty was becoming more and more convinced that Melody hadn’t killed Jarvis. She wouldn’t be so frightened of being overheard if she was confessing to a crime. She had to know that Betty would turn in whoever had killed Jarvis without any qualms, so she wouldn’t want to confess murder to Betty unless she wanted everyone to know. Therefore, she had to have something else. Evidence.

In fact, Betty was willing to bet that Melody was a witness to the murder, and that the murderer was someone who was around her enough to know when she went to the police. Melody’s fear yesterday, and her reactions today, hadn’t been feigned.

All signs pointed to Lawrence, though Betty certainly wasn’t going to come out and accuse the man of murder without proof. Still, she could and would let Bill know what was going on with Melody as soon as she could.

In the car, Betty told the Clarise what the housekeeper had said. Immediately, Clarise exploded.

"I knew it! Why that smug little bitch, showing up to practices while she knew I was in jail for a crime she committed. Of all the  "

"Clarise," Betty said. "Shut up. Haven’t you learned that it’s a bad idea to accuse people of murder without proof? You’re doing the same thing to Melody that everyone else did to you."

Clarise sat back in her seat, grumbling.

"No," said Betty. "There’s something else going on here. And whatever it is, Melody knows. I’m going to talk to Bill today to see if he can get her some place safe."

CHAPTER 26

When she got home, Betty left a message for Bill at the station for him to call her when he had a moment. Until he did call, however, she had other work to do. Betty searched the internet for the approximate values of antique theater equipment. If Lawrence ever pulled his backing, or if he was arrested for murder and unable to donate, the theater wouldn’t be able to afford a good production. It would be nice to have back up funding they could count on, even if it meant losing some of the theater’s treasures. The next board meeting was in a week or so, and Betty wanted to have a hard list of figures to give them.

When she found a site listing some recent online auctions, all of Betty’s red flags went off.

Someone had just sold a set of antique lights for a few thousand dollars.

An antique projector for thousands.

Antique seats, antique phonograph, antique… antique…

All the sales originated in Lofton.

All the descriptions of the items sold matched what Betty had found in the ledger.

There was no way that this was a coincidence.

Betty bookmarked the site on her laptop and packed it into its carrying case. She drove down to the police station, her mind reeling. If Bill wasn’t available, she’d just have to talk to another officer.

Someone was stealing theater equipment and selling it online. What if Jarvis had stumbled on them making a transaction? What if this was the motive the police were looking for?

The what ifs tumbled around and around in her mind, stumbling over each other as Betty’s mind worked a thousand miles a minute.

Someone was stealing from the theater.

That someone had probably killed Jarvis.

Stealing.

Murder.

Who in this town would do that?

She pulled into the station’s empty parking lot and grabbed her laptop. She took a deep breath, trying to pull her thoughts together. It wasn’t as if she could storm in there and babble "Lights! Camera! Murder!" Somehow, Betty doubted that the scrambled contents of her mind spewing forth in such a fashion would impress the seriousness of her claims on anyone, even Bill.

When she felt that she could speak without word salad coming out of her mouth, Betty strode into the station. It was quiet.

What police station was quiet at 3 in the afternoon?

The last time she’d been in this building, the shared office space had been bustling: uniformed workers talking, copy machines running, phones ringing, and people bustling back and forth between desks. Today, only a couple of workers remained at their desks, and none of them were police officers. The phones were silent. Even the copiers weren’t being used.

Something was wrong. Betty’s palms started to sweat. She approached the receptionist, hoping that the feeling of dread growing in her gut was misplaced. Maybe the whole office had just gone out to lunch. In the middle of the afternoon. "Is Bill in?"

"Nope," the woman said through her chewing gum. "He’s over at the crime scene."

"The theater?" Betty asked. She hadn’t seen any police cars there when she’d driven by.

"Nope," said the receptionist. "The Biel place."

No.

"Where?" Surely she’d heard wrong.

"The Biel place," the receptionist repeated. She huffed when Betty didn’t respond. "Can I help you?"

Betty’s laptop case dropped onto the counter, released from her nerveless fingers. Melody.

"Who?" she asked, barely able to choke out the word. Though, in her gut, she already knew. Guilt seemed to spread from her stomach to every part of her body, until Betty was surprised that she couldn’t see it seeping out of her pores. She had done this. Shouldn’t there be some sort of black mark on her? Some sort of visible sign of how stupid she was? She should have just gone to Bill in the first place with what she knew. She should have insisted that he take Melody into protective custody the moment Betty suspected she knew something.

The receptionist refused to give any more details of the case, so Betty left. She got in her car and forced herself to calm down before she drove. She could be wrong. She had to be wrong. She’d just seen Melody a few hours ago.

There was no way Melody was dead.

Surely not.

CHAPTER 27

For the second time in a week, Betty found herself pulling up to a crime scene. The yard that had been so immaculate just a few hours ago was now covered with tire marks from emergency vehicles. Fire trucks, ambulances and police cars flashed their bright lights into the day. A news crew stood with cameras rolling. It seemed as though half the town had shown up to wait at one end of the driveway. With a crowd of Lofton residents this size, Betty would’ve thought to hear the hubbub from a quarter mile away. But she couldn’t hear a single word from the crowd, or even see a single mouth moving. The whole crowd stood, staring towards the house with rapt attention. Silent tears ran down the faces of a few people who Betty recognized as actors from the theater.

It was eerie.

When she got out of her car, Betty understood why. Sounds of shouting from the house barely reached the crowd. They weren’t being silent out of respect, or grief, but out of curiosity. Betty had a sudden urge to smack them all. Instead, she joined them, listening to the unearthly wails of grief coming from the mansion. They were horrible, and Betty recognized the voice.

Lawrence.

Lawrence was the one making those cries, the wordless screams and sobs.

Tears pricked at Betty’s eyes. Melody. It had to be. No one else’s death could send Lawrence over the edge like that.

Melody was dead.

She had been so beautiful today. Her purple dress fluttered in Betty’s memory. Tears tightened her throat, ran down her cheeks. How could this have happened?

Betty couldn’t help but feel that she was responsible. Oh, she hadn’t pulled a trigger or stabbed Melody with a knife, but she had been so frightened. So very frightened and secretive. And what had Betty done? She’d marched right up to her house and asked for answers. She’d brought a third party with her, and questioned Melody’s help. She’d been as discreet as a monsoon in the desert.

Melody would never be able to give her evidence to the police.

Betty felt a scream of grief and anger welling up. She forced it down. And down. She didn’t stop pushing until all of her emotion was pushed into a tiny, tight ball somewhere in the middle of her chest. There, she could control it. She could lock it up. Keep it from exploding.

Looking around at the other faces in the crowd, Betty saw a mixture of emotions. There was grief, yes. And anger. And, perhaps worst of all, suspicion. It wasn’t that noticeable, not unless you knew what to look for. But Betty saw it. Whoever this bastard was, they were tearing Betty’s home apart. They were ruining the peaceful feeling of small town trust that had been so precious to Lofton before. She could see it in the sidelong glances people were giving each other, each wondering if they were standing next to a killer. If they had grown up in the same town as a killer, eaten at potlucks with a killer, gone to plays with a killer. No one had really known Jarvis very well. People had been able to view his death as an oddity, a one time thing to make the papers and whisper about. But this was Melody Beil. This was the town’s darling.