Wound Up In Murder (14 page)

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobbie said. “There was some kind of program around ten o'clock, and most of the people left. I figured my work for the evening was almost done so I—”

I interrupted. “It's really Sammy I want to know about. What did he do?”

“Right, the magician. He seemed pretty upset. Nobody likes it when your act gets ruined. I suppose it's even worse for a magician. With me, it's more a problem of people
wanting me to sing their favorite hit of mine. They don't seem to understand that shouting it out ruins the mood. The magician was muttering about something else, or someone else. Lacey or Casey.” His face lit up with recognition. “That must be you.”

“Yeah, that's me,” I said, feeling uncomfortable.

“There was a fuss about setting up the martini bar. The manager of the place wasn't happy about it, but Norman Rathman pushed it through. He had somebody who would make the drinks and had brought all the supplies. I think the magician was their first customer. He took the whole shaker and went off toward the beach.” He saw my disappointed look. “Sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, but all I can do is tell you what I saw.”

“There's one other thing,” I said. “Did you see what happened to the silk streamer?”

“You mean the bright-colored thing that woman pulled out of his sleeve?”

I nodded.

“When she left,” he continued, “I saw it hanging out of her pocket.”

I felt a temporary sense of relief. If Diana had the streamer, then it was available to anybody. But then it occurred to me that telling that to Lieutenant Borgnine wouldn't do any good. Because being available to anybody included being available to Sammy.

When I finally went home, I was wired from the seemingly endless day, and I was frustrated that I hadn't managed to find out anything to get Sammy off the top of the lieutenant's suspect list. I hadn't even managed to get him some clean clothes. Did I really hide in a coatrack? And then leave rather than complete the job? My old boss, Frank, would surely not be proud. I went over the events of the day again, hoping there was something useful I might have missed. A ray of hope popped out when I remembered that Bobbie Listorie had said Diana had more than a casual conversation with the baseball player, Jimmie Phelps. Was that who Scarlett had seen her with outside?

I tried going to bed, knowing I had another long day ahead of me. The workshop was a little behind. I had hoped the group would have started their projects already. It wouldn't matter for some of the experienced knitters. They worked fast and would be able to finish their project or be
close to it. But for the others, the people like me and Madeleine, it was another story. We needed as much time during the weekend as possible.

I tried chamomile tea and a warm bath, hoping to slow my mind down, but I had a restless night, which certainly didn't make Julius happy. He'd taken to sleeping wrapped in my arms, and every time I turned over and readjusted my position, he got pushed out of his comfy spot. But leave it to the cat to solve the problem. When I awoke, he was cuddled next to my head.

Before I even made coffee, I punched in Frank's number.

“Hey, Feldstein,” he said when he answered.

“How'd you know it was me?” I asked. Frank chortled.

“I finally figured out how to get the caller ID thing to work. So now before I even pick up the phone, some robotic woman mangles the name.” He sounded like he took a sip of something and I heard the squeak of his recliner chair. Frank always pushed it to its limit of recline. I had this fantasy that one day the chair would revolt and send him catapulting into the air. “So what's the problem now?” he asked.

“It's more like still,” I began. I ran down the whole thing with Sammy and the guest house and the lieutenant thinking I knew where he was.

“And you do,” Frank said. “Be careful, Feldstein, they could get you for withholding evidence. The obvious answer to your next question is that you should find out who killed the woman and get some evidence to wave in front of the cop.”

“How'd you know what I was going to ask you?”

“I'm a PI, and besides it was pretty obvious. And I even know what you're going to ask me next. You're going to want to know how to do what I just told you. My best advice would be to find out as much as you can about the victim.”

“I'm trying to do that,” I said. “I already found out that
she showed up here at the last minute. Even her husband didn't seem to know she was coming.”

Frank let out an
ahhh
sort of sound. “Yes, Feldstein, that's the kind of thing I meant. Find out why she decided to come.”

“There's something else,” I said.

“There always is. Okay, shoot.”

I told him about the contents of the envelope and the secret heir. “I tried checking the records using the woman's name on the sheet from the safety-deposit box sign-in, but it's a fake name. And yes, I know you've always said that when people use fake names, they often use the same initials.” I told him about Lucinda's idea of talking to people who were in the right age group. He made some grunts to show he was listening. “The thing is, if I uncover the heir, it's going to cause trouble.” I repeated what I'd heard Cora say that sounded almost like a threat.

“What's in it for you, Feldstein?”

“Nothing, really,” I said.

“So maybe you should just let it be, though from what you said about Cora Delacorte, it sounds like her concept of taking measures might be smacking you with her purse.”

“It's just that Edmund Delacorte said he wanted Vista Del Mar to go to his child or children. He sounds like he was a good guy and I'd like to see his wishes honored. Besides, the other sister seems to be curious about finding a relative. I think she's lonely for family.”

Frank groaned. “So you're one of those idealists now. Good luck and watch your back.”

I'd barely hung up the phone when it rang. It was my mother wanting an update on Sammy.

“You're hiding him in your guest house?” my mother said. “I hope you're feeding him. Does he have clean clothes?”

“I'm working on it,” I said.

“I'm not going to say a word to his parents. They'd have a fit if they knew.”

“And they'd blame me,” I said, and my mother didn't object. “I notice you aren't mentioning anything about the cooking school in Paris.” My mother had enrolled me at a fancy school and even found a place for me to stay. It was all on hold, but she was so sure that I wasn't going to stay in Cadbury, since in the past I'd developed a bit of a reputation for moving on from things, that almost every time she called, she asked if she should push the button on it.

“Please don't tell me that you want to go now,” my mother said. “You can't abandon Sammy.”

“I don't intend to. And you can really just cancel the whole cooking school thing. I've made a life here in Cadbury. I'm staying here. I really am.”

“Sweetheart, you've said that before and something always happens. Just wait until Sammy is free.”

Did she really think there was any chance I'd take off and leave Sammy in the lurch? It was useless to argue with her. She was convinced she knew me better than I knew myself. But I really believed I had changed. I noticed she didn't end the call with her usual “When I was your age, I was a wife, a mother and a doctor and you're what?” I almost wished she had.

Julius watched while I made a fast breakfast, although it wasn't for me. It was for Sammy. It is amazing what a motivator guilt is. Everyone knows that I might be a great baker, but when it comes to actual meals, I'm a washout. It's not that I can't cook regular food, I just have no interest—most of the time. I would have felt rotten taking Sammy the kind of stuff I usually eat for breakfast, like instant oatmeal and instant orange drink.

Julius glanced up at me with shock as I went back and forth to the refrigerator and turned on the stove burner. He jumped up on the kitchen table for a better view. I noticed he sniffed the air, maybe hoping there was something for him in it.

The smell of melting butter was certainly a lot better than stink fish. I mixed up a couple of eggs and added a little half-and-half. When the butter was sizzling, I poured in the eggs. With a few maneuvers of the pan and a spatula, I turned out a perfect omelette. I added some slices of strawberries and two pieces of buttered toast, not burned this time. I found a tray my aunt had left and filled a thermal carafe with freshly brewed coffee. I even added a cloth napkin.

Julius looked so disappointed when I headed to the door with the food, I stopped and cut off a little piece of the omelette and offered it to him. He ate it with the same gusto he had for stink fish. Then he followed me outside, licking his whiskers. Oh, no, had I just created a new food obsession for him? With stink fish I just had to open the can and then wrap it in endless layers of plastic to contain the smell. Eggs required actual cooking. I looked down at him at my feet. “This is a special occasion. Remember, eggs are only for special occasions.”

Julius blinked a few times like he was thinking over what I said, or maybe he was planning how he could change my mind.

I checked the street in front of my house and the driveway. It appeared completely dead. I felt pretty comfortable that nobody was watching, that is, unless Lieutenant Borgnine was hiding behind a tree on the Vista Del Mar grounds with high-powered binoculars trained on me. To be on the safe side, I went to a window that couldn't be seen from the street.

I knocked softly on the glass, and Sammy opened the shutters and pulled up the window.

His eyes bugged out when he saw the food. “Wow, Case, did you make this?” he asked, taking the tray.

“It's no big deal. I figured you were used to a hot breakfast after living where you do.” As I was talking, I noticed Julius watching from outside the kitchen door. “I'll work on getting you some clean clothes.” I handed him my laptop, which I'd been holding under the tray. “So you won't die of boredom.”

“When you get my clothes, could you get my phone charger? My cell's dead.”

“I'm not sure you should be using it anyway,” I said, reminding him how the cops could track people by following pings from the phone. “Though they can only track you within a radius of a couple hundred yards, and by the time Lieutenant Borgnine gets around to doing that, this whole thing should be settled. In the meantime, there's a cordless connected to my landline.”

I wanted to know who he needed to call. It turned out no one really. He had no appointments booked until after the weekend. He didn't want to talk to his parents. “The only one I need to contact is you,” he said.

Sammy looked like he was wearing the tuxedo shirt and not much else. Typical Sammy, he'd bounced back from the previous night and seemed in a better humor. “I'm sorry for all this,” I said. “I know that you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. You'd still be in Chicago going about your regular day, seeing patients, wearing clean clothes, and not having to exist off handouts from me.”

“Case, I was looking for a change,” he said. “Like I've told you all along, I didn't move here to follow you. I'm not some kind of stalker.”

He wasn't somebody who would blame me, either. Sometimes I wished that Sammy could be a jerk once in a while,
but he was always so nice to me. No matter what he said, I knew he'd moved here because he still hoped we'd end up together. Maybe he thought persistence would pay off.

“Thanks, Case, for everything. I know you'll get it all straightened out.” His eyes were shining with optimism, but I wasn't sure if it was because he thought that I'd get him off or he hoped that all this time spent with him was going to lead to something.

I dressed quickly and left Julius some crunchies to snack on. He'd finally broadened his food taste to include some of the dry cat food, but it was emphasis on including rather than in place of. The cat definitely knew something was up, and it had made him uneasy. He followed me to the door, rubbing against my ankles. Then just before I opened the kitchen door to leave, he sat down in front of me, blocking my path. He looked up at me with a puzzled expression in his yellow eyes, or at least that was what it seemed like to me. Was he worried about losing my affection?

“Sammy isn't staying,” I said. Did the cat understand? He got up after I said it and did a few figure eights around my ankles and with a final affectionate butt of his head walked away with his tail held high.

Breakfast was already in session when I crossed the street to Vista Del Mar, and the grounds were quiet as they always were during meals. The air had its usual damp chill, and the sky was a flat white as if the clouds had been spread like frosting across the sky.

As I neared the Sea Foam dining hall, I could already smell the coffee and buttery fragrance of hot breakfast food. And now I could enjoy it guilt-free because I had provided Sammy with a real meal.

Lucinda was acting as host and circling the tables of my people with a coffeepot. It was nice to see them all talking
and appearing to be enjoying the retreat. It was also easy to pick out the table of my people. They were wearing contemporary clothes.

There were always some people who brought their knitting to meals and I noticed some balls of yarn and needles on the tables. They could knit almost as automatically as they breathed. I wondered if I would ever get close to that ease with the craft.

I went around the tables with my people and greeted them all, then I headed for the food line. I could barely remember when I'd last eaten a meal. I'd brought my dinner the night before for Sammy, and after the whole run-in with Lieutenant Borgnine, I'd lost my appetite. But it was back with a vengeance now.

Breakfast was my favorite meal at Vista Del Mar anyway. I came back to the table balancing several plates loaded with blueberry pancakes, baked French toast, one egg Florentine, cut-up fruit and a bowl filled with fresh-cooked oatmeal drizzled with butter and sprinkled with brown sugar, walnuts and raisins. I set everything down on the table and pulled out the chair next to Lucinda's. Even though she was moving around with the coffeepot, there was no question which seat was hers. The one with the Prada bag.

I was ready to dig in and was almost drunk with all the delicious fragrances when I saw Lieutenant Borgnine come in the dining hall. I could never tell if he'd been working all night or if he always looked that rumpled.

It appeared like he was headed for me, and I felt my appetite instantly disappear. Some people ate when they were tense. I was the opposite. But then miraculously, he veered off and stopped next to Norman Rathman. I let out a sigh of relief as my appetite reappeared.