Wound Up In Murder (20 page)

Dane stood by his truck as I went up my driveway. My guess was that he suspected Sammy was in my guest house. Even so, I didn't want to confirm it. So I walked to my kitchen door and went inside.

I waited until I heard Dane's truck drive off and then I slipped back outside. I knocked at the guest house window and there was just silence in response. For a moment I wondered if the story about Sammy being sighted at the San Jose Airport might be true, but then the shutters opened and Sammy pulled up the window.

Being clean shaven and wearing fresh clothes seemed to have given him a lift, but his dark eyes looked tense. “I'm going nuts, being stuck in here. Thanks for the movies, the food, the clothes and your computer, but I need my life back.” It came out like a cranky roar, which was unusual for Sammy. I felt bad for him and reached in and gave him a semblance of a hug.

“I'm sorry for all this,” I said with a sigh. “I'm working on it. I really am.”

“Please hurry,” he said.

“I have to go back across the street, but Dane is going to leave a plate of food later.”

Sammy looked stricken. “He knows I'm here?”

“He doesn't know, but he might suspect. But don't worry, I don't think he will say anything.”

“Case, don't you see the food is a trap. He wants to get rid of me because I'm his competition.” Sammy suddenly looked horrified. “Strike that. I'm not here because of you. No, it's all about a change and doing my magic.”

“Okay, don't take the food. I'll bring you some frozen stuff.” The guest house was still fully functional and had a refrigerator and a microwave. I slipped into my kitchen and brought him back a selection of entrées. “I gotta go,” I said. I reminded him that I was in the middle of a retreat along with everything else. He pulled himself back inside and closed the shutter tight up.

What Sammy said couldn't be true about Dane wanting to get Sammy out of the way. That was crazy. Sammy's being here had nothing to do with my resistance against getting involved with Dane, or did it?

Julius was waiting by the door when I came in. He seemed a little perturbed, maybe because I hadn't acknowledged him when I came in before. He jumped on the counter and rubbed against my arm. I picked him up and considered nuzzling him. The cuddling always seemed to be on his terms and I wasn't sure how he'd react to me taking the initiative.

“What a mess. Sammy's stuck in the guest house and a killer is on the loose,” I said, going for it and rubbing my face against his head. I waited for a second to see if he would
jump out of my arms or, worse, hiss at me, but he butted my cheek softly with his head and started to purr. “Julius, you're full of surprises. Who would have thought independent you would turn out to be a snuggle bunny?”

A temporary snuggle bunny. In typical cat fashion, after a few minutes he'd had enough and squirmed out of my arms. Julius was definitely his own cat, but I was beginning to believe that he felt a connection to me. I certainly did to him. It was so nice to come home to somebody.

The cat followed me as I took care of a few chores, mostly related to him. I ended by pouring some crunchies in his bowl and adding a scoop of stink fish on top. I spruced myself up a bit for the evening and was headed for the door when the phone rang.

“Frank,” I said in surprise when I picked up. I already knew it was him courtesy of the mechanical voice that phonetically announced who was calling. “Is something wrong?”

He made some kind of a noise. I'd heard it before when I worked for him. He did it when he was annoyed with himself. “Feldstein, I thought you were going to keep me informed.”

“Frank, you called
me
,” I said with a happy laugh. “I knew all your grumbling about helping me wasn't real. You like to help me. You really like to help me.”

“Don't go getting all crazy, Feldstein, over a simple call. You sounded distraught before and it's really personal for you being that it's the Amazing Dr. Sammy Glickner who is the main suspect.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said with just a touch of sarcasm.

“So?” he said. “Are you just going to waste all the time fussing about my calling you or are you going to bring me up to speed?”

“Okay, you asked for it.” All the names tumbled out and
I started mixing up the two things I was concerned about—getting it so Sammy could go home and finding out the real identity of Edmund Delacorte's heir.

“Feldstein, stop,” Frank ordered. “I'm going on overload here. All those names. I know who Dotty Night and Bobbie Listorie are. And what baseball fan doesn't know who Jimmie Phelps is, but all the rest are in a knot in my mind. I have one piece of advice on the murder investigation. You've got a lot of eyes and ears that were around after you left who probably know something. You just need to figure out the right questions to ask. About the heir thing—I still don't know why you're bothering with something that is only going to be trouble for you. You must realize that in the mishmash of information you gave me, it came through that Kevin St. John's mother might have been the secret heir.”

“I know, and he could try to claim that he should inherit Vista Del Mar. But his mother would really be the heir. All I know about her is that she left town a long time ago.”

“I don't know how the will was worded and if he could reopen things, but from everything you've said about that guy, I think if there was a way he could claim that place, he would.” He heard me gulp. “Maybe you want to just forget about pursuing that for now. I'm sure you didn't miss that his grandmother's death is suspicious and now another person he's related to was killed.”

I held my head as I listened. “Oh, no, Frank, that overload you were talking about just hit me.” There was more to add, but instead I said nothing and there was a moment of silence.

Frank, the detective, picked up on it. “Feldstein, there's more, isn't there?”

“There might be one more thing,” I said.

“Okay, shoot,” he said, and I could picture him leaning back in his recliner, shaking his head in dismay that he'd made the call.

I brought up my doubts about Dane. I told him about the walk and everything Dane had said and the plate of food. “Do you think he's setting me up to get information?”

Frank chortled. “Feldstein, I told you there'd be a problem if you were all flirt and no nookie when you were trying to get information from him.”

“It's not like that, Frank,” I protested. “We're friends, neighbors.”

“And he's a man and a cop. No matter what you think, he'd probably like to make the Amazing Dr. Sammy appear for Lieutenant Borgnine and disappear for you. How about he could get in trouble if they think he's withholding information or at the least get a horrible schedule, like working Christmas and the graveyard shift for the rest of his career. That's the cop part, and as for the man part—Feldstein, he doesn't want another rooster hanging around the henhouse. The hen being you. Turning in the magician takes care of everything. So, no, you can't trust him.”

*   *   *

After the long spiel he suddenly got impatient and said he'd already talked too long. “You will let me know what happens, right?” He was deliberately trying to make his voice sound gruffer.

I told him I would and clicked off the phone. Go figure. Frank always made it sound like he was doing me a favor to take my call, and here he was basically telling me to keep in touch. Once before I'd looked out the window to see if pigs were flying and I now did it again.

*   *   *

After talking to Frank, I was anxious to get back to Vista Del Mar. Now I had a plan.

I was so deep in thought I barely noticed crossing the street and entering the grounds. I only came into focus as I went into the Lodge. It was lively with activity and there seemed to be groups of people everywhere. The pool table and table tennis table were occupied. The nature hike people had come back there afterward, and they were gathered around Dotty Night. Her platinum blond hair stood out like a beacon as she told them about something.

Kevin St. John was standing near the massive registration desk in his usual black suit. He glanced at me and then away as if he hoped I would disappear.

Did he even know that Diana was his half aunt? I had been saying
could
be his half aunt all along, but there was no doubt that she was. What were the chances that two women named Diana from Cadbury would have fathers who were baseball announcers?

Frank was right. I did have eyes and ears who had been there that night. I saw Olivia, Bree and Scott sitting with a group of knitters. Just like they were that first night when I left. I wanted to kick myself for not thinking about it before. But Frank was right about something else as well. I had to ask the right questions.

Joining the group was no problem. I took out a square I had started and sat down. Olivia had taken charge of the gathering and she introduced me to the two women from the 1963 group just as they got up to leave. Three women from our group took their place. I looked around the large room and realized what a perfect spot it was to see everything that
was going on. I could see both doors to the outside, the entrance to the café and at the other end to the gift shop.

I moved next to Bree. “This is the same spot you were all in the night of the mixer, right?”

Bree nodded. “We had a front row seat to everything. It was embarrassing when that woman and her husband started arguing. I cringed when she ruined the Amazing Dr. Sammy's trick. It's no wonder he was the first customer at the martini bar.”

“I suppose she went over there, too. She seemed pretty upset and probably thought a drink would take the edge off.”

“Take the edge off?” Scott said. “She went way past that. She went over to Jimmie Phelps and interrupted while he was offering someone one of his energy drinks. He tried to smooth things over and walked her to the corner of the room. She didn't seem happy with what he said and pulled away.”

“And then she started in on her husband's assistant,” Olivia said. I wasn't surprised Olivia had noticed that. My early bird could relate since she had been dumped by her husband for someone who worked for him. “It got pretty heated and Scarlett, the woman from their group who joined us, had to step in. It looked to me like she was on Sally Winston's side,” Olivia added.

“Where was Sammy in all this?” I asked. The early birds looked at each other and shrugged. “I kind of remember him going out on the deck side of the building. I thought he was going to take his drink to the beach.”

“A lot of people left. There was a screening of newsreels from 1963 in that meeting room over by the parking lot that started at ten,” Scott said. “I went over to have a look. They call it the Cabin and it was one of the first buildings constructed
when this was a camp. I was curious about seeing the inside and the event was open to everybody.”

“Then what?” I said.

“I checked out the outside of the building before I went in. It looked really old and weathered like the other buildings that were part of the original camp. The inside was paneled in dark wood like some of the guest rooms and the carpeting looked vintage.” He started to describe the design on the carpeting. I didn't want to interrupt, but I was more interested in who was there and what happened than the floor covering. As soon as there was a break, I stepped in.

“Did you notice who was there?” I asked. I wanted to see what he would say before I asked about anyone in particular.

“Let me see,” he said. “The furniture had been pushed to the side and a bunch of folding chairs brought in. I took a seat on the end of a row because I wasn't sure how long I was going to stay. There was some fussing between Norman Rathman and Kevin St. John over the video equipment. I think the 1963 retreat leader was hoping for an old-fashioned movie screen and a projector instead of the flat screen and DVD player.”

“Did you see who else was in there? Like maybe Sammy?” I asked.

Scott shook his head in response. He seemed so conservative with his close-cut dark blond hair and preppie clothes, yet being an out-in-the-open knitter made him a renegade. “No. He wasn't there for sure. Madeleine Delacorte took a seat in the front row. Scarlett, the woman from their group who joined ours, was in the front row, too. She was with a man I suppose was her husband. Some more people came to the front of the room. Then there was another disagreement between Rathman and St. John about introductions, I think. I heard Kevin St. John say that since he invited them,
he ought to be able to introduce them. Rathman's point was that he was the head of the retreat. St. John seemed to bristle when Rathman said that. I got the feeling that Kevin St. John thought he was the head of their retreat. The Rathman guy won out. He introduced Dotty Night before they showed some trailers of movies she'd made that year.” Scotte went off on describing how silly they seemed and how different taste was in those days.