Murder at Maple House

by Hugo James King

  Holding a finger against the screen, the numbers appeared. “It’s only four numbers,” I said. “And you know him the most, so, take a shot.” I handed the phone over to her.

  “Well, Spencer is still here,” she said.

  I snapped my fingers. “Not like he’d give us the code,” I said. “If he was worried enough about the news of an affair getting out, so much so he’d take the blame for a murder he didn’t do, I doubt he’s going to let us fight for him.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  “Well,” I clicked my tongue. “I can ask Paul if he’s found anything else, and then maybe I can tell him about what we found in the jacket.”

  “If he believes you.”

  Another if, there was no reason Paul wouldn’t, and it could’ve been written in the same ink, with the same paper as the note found on Finley’s body.

  I looked at the note once again. “I’ll see what I can find out,” I said. “Take these.” I handed the jacket, phone, and note to Ruth. “I should grab my shawl first, I bet it’s cold outside.”

  “I’m going back to the table,” she said with a nod. “But first, I’m going to fill myself because nobody else seems to be doing it.”

  Nobody else was taking advantage of the buffet, and I knew Diane had spent days combing over every detail of the event to be perfect. But there’d so far been a dead body found, so the night was anything but perfect, I was sure her thoughts wouldn’t be on the buffet food going to waste.

  Finley’s body had been moved from the disabled toilets, but it had been replaced by caution tape and a barrier for no entry.

  A police officer stood at the exit door out into the lobby.

  The same officer who’d been standing inside the kitchen on duty.

  He smiled. “Evening,” he said. “Where are you headed?”

  “I’m going to see Paul.”

  He hummed and shook his head, pulling the clipboard from his chest out to me. “Go on then, Mrs Green.”

  “If we’re not on lockdown, why are—”

  “To be cautious,” he said, noting my name on the paper. “Don’t want anyone to go missing.”

  I headed out into the hallway, bright lights overhead struck my eyes at first, before they adjusted. I walked until I reached the reception area.

  The woman Finley had brought with him was on one of the sofas; wrapped in a blanket and talking on her phone.

  The two people seated behind the reception desk glanced over to me.

  “Is Paul—is the detective still here?” I asked them in my approach, tugging at the shawl across my arms.

  A cool breeze hit as the doors opened.

  It wasn’t Paul, it was another police officer, pressing his mouth to the talkie on his chest and shoulder lapel.

  “Think he’s outside,” the woman at the desk replied. “I don’t think any of them have left yet.”

  I glanced back to the receptionists, getting a closer look at their nametags. Zara and Ben. They were seated at the desk; they must’ve been in their early twenties as they smiled without the obvious wrinkles of age.

  “Were you questioned?” I asked.

  They both nodded.

  “Scary,” Ben said. “Can you even believe someone would do that here?” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “They asked us not to post or talk about it.”

  Zara cleared her throat. “Plus, it’s company policy not to have our phones out in work.” She let a shaky breath out. “But it’s crazy. I don’t know what I’d do if I saw a dead body.”

  “Probably scream,” Ben laughed at Zara.

  I offered them both a smile. “Hope this is as eventful as the night will get,” I said. “And I’m sure if you get hungry, my boss—Diane, wouldn’t mind you going to grab something from the buffet.”

  Their eyes lit up.

  Of course, there was no saying how she would react. But it was better than letting the food go to waste.

  I headed outside, a gust blew into my face, followed by an acrid cloud of smoke.

  To the left, Paul stood sucking back on a cigarette.

  “Eve—Eve,” he stumbled over my name. “I don’t smoke all the time.” He pressed the cigarette into the tray above the rubbish bin.

  “It’s okay, Paul,” I said. “Have you taken Spencer to the station yet?”

  He shook his head. “We’re searching his car now.”

  “Can I—can I just have—can I just ask him a question?”

  He chuckled. “Definitely not.” Looking ahead at the police cars towards the edge of the parking area, blocking everyone in.

  The parking lot was filled completely with cars, and after the police and ambulance, the area was packed.

  “Well—”

  “What do you want to ask him?” he paused before asking.

  I took a deep breath, attempting to clear my lungs from the second-hand smoke cloud I’d walked into. “Why did he do it?”

  Paul shrugged. “We’ve already got his statement,” he said. “You don’t have any business knowing. Because I know you Eve, you’re writing for some big-time newspaper now, you’re looking for a story, and I’ve already had several people come out and offer me money for information.”

  “Did you take it?”

  He scoffed. “With the promotion I just got?”

  I nodded.

  “No, I didn’t take anything they offered,” he said. “There’s nothing anyone could offer me; I’ll never give confidential police statements.”

  I wasn’t asking him to give me Spencer’s statement, just a moment alone with the man. I shouldn’t have lied about my intention, I should’ve told him about the phone, but I didn’t want to back track, and I didn’t want him to be hailed for finding the phone.

  SIXTEEN

  A bust. He wasn’t going to budge and let me speak to him at all. And I knew he wouldn’t, especially if he’d turned down others who had money to give him.

  Back inside the ballroom, my eyes adjusted to the room lit only through stage lighting and lamps. I noticed a dark figurine making a beeline towards me from the front end of the hall.

  I moved out of the way in an attempt to lose them.

  “Eve,” Ruth said, her voice low.

  People from the back table turned to see her out of breath as she approached me, chased on her heels by Charlie. Something was going on, and people wanted to see, people wanted to know. I wanted to know.

  “What happened?”

  She waved the phone in my face, the bright screen too close. “I unlocked it.”

  Pushing the phone away, I looked around the room.

  People were still watching, but there weren’t enough people around for it to have become a thing. I hushed her with a finger to my lips. “What was it?”

  “Birth year,” she said.

  I took a squat to pick Charlie up from the ground. “How many guesses did that take?”

  “Seven,” she mumbled with an eyeroll. “I figured we were similar ages, so I took a whole bunch of different years to figure it out. Anyway—” she shook her head. “What did you find out?”

  Blowing a slight raspberry as I stuck my tongue out. It was all she needed to know. “Apparently, he’s still outside, they haven’t taken him to the station yet.”

  “What are they waiting for?”

  I nodded to the phone. “Maybe that,” I said. “Or—well, I’m sure they’ll be in soon for his dinner jacket at least.”

  Taking the lead, we walked further away from the people at their tables, and away from the people at our table too.

  “There’s a woman named Nora in his phone,” she said. “She was the one calling and texting. She even sent him a picture.”

  I shook my head. “I’d rather not.”

  “Of two children.”

  “His?” I gasped, hiccupping back a squeak.

  Ruth shrugged. “If I’m guessing, I’d say the caption she sent along with it, goodnight dad, should be an indicator.”

  Noddi
ng my head as I came around to the thoughts about Spencer having children with another woman. After all, I figured Nora would’ve been an affair, been and gone, not something he had physical ties to still.

  “What about Caroline?”

  “There was a message from her as well, I will see you when you’re home in the morning. Don’t drink too much.”

  I rubbed the nub of my knuckle against Charlie’s nose. “How old are the children?”

  “Not sure, why?”

  “Because he said something to me earlier.”

  “When?”

  I expressed a long breath. “He worked with Harry on the charities, and those were mostly to help women who came upon hard times due to abandonment and pregnancy.”

  “Like Doreen’s daughter, Amanda,” she said, recalling the murder we’d solved around Valentine’s Day.

  “She was there because she wasn’t being supported by her mother, and you know I thought Harry had cheated on me for a moment, and my heart almost broke, well—” my throat clenched, drying up in the moment.

  “Perhaps Spencer gave money and supported the charity because of Nora,” Ruth finished for me. “She’d fit the bill, right? A young mother with the father out of the picture.”

  “He’d be helping her without actually helping her.”

  “So nobody would know.”

  My eyes dazed off into the distance, looking around the ballroom. “Except, someone knew.” Closing my eyes for a moment, I pressed my lips against Charlie’s head. “There’s no way I can drive back into Silver Lake, not after drinking.”

  “Would Paul drive you?”

  I shot the idea down with a stern headshake. “If we start leaving, perhaps more people will, and the real killer could get away.”

  “If they haven’t already.”

  I nodded, repeating her words back.

  As we looked through the phone, Nora and Spencer hadn’t left it at the financial support all those years ago, she’d had a second child to him. He was leading a second life, and someone at the event knew all about it. Nora must’ve been worth more than his freedom, especially if he was going to give it up to confess to a murder he didn’t do.

  “Who else worked with Harry on the charities?” Ruth asked.

  It had been many years ago, and the only place in possession of such knowledge was inside a cardboard box inside my garage. “I do know how we might be able to find out,” I said, walking back into the swarm of people with Ruth on my tail.

  Diane Von Rose, the woman who’d orchestrated the entire seating plan, the woman who knew everyone in attendance, and seated them to their friend and business groups. And while I had helped, that was weeks ago.

  “Darling,” she said, a huge smile splashed across her cherry red lips. She welcomed me in with an embrace and air kisses on either cheek, mindful of Charlie in my arms.

  A one-eighty change from where she’d been earlier. “Diane, can I ask you a question?”

  “Oh, absolutely!”

  She moved to the side, away from her table.

  I noticed Ruth standing a few paces behind me.

  “Did you know anything about Spencer and his wife?” I asked.

  “Ugh.” She snarled. “Why?”

  “Do you think either of them were having an affair?”

  Her brows raised with interest. “I met Caroline on very few occasions,” she said. “She was very much someone I would’ve been friends with, if they hadn’t moved.”

  “But—”

  “To answer your question, Evelyn,” she sighed. “Probably.” She waved her hand in the air. “I doubt they moved all that way for no reason.” She scoffed. “Why the sudden urge to fill yourself with all these questions? I told you to have a good evening, we’ve all been put through enough tonight.”

  I smiled. “You’re right,” I said. “But you know, once something gets in my head, I just need to get it out with a couple questions.”

  Diane patted my arm before straightening out the shawl on my shoulders. “It’s why I think you’ll be an excellent fit at the newspaper.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Means a lot.”

  “Now, go drink, and eat, and I don’t know, but Spencer has been arrested,” she said. “It’s all been dealt with now.”

  Had it? She turned back to her table before I could even say another word.

  Ruth tapped my shoulder. “Found something.”

  “What is it?”

  We walked back to our table; it was empty. They were all on the dance floor, coupled together as the jazz band slowed into a soft melody.

  “They were waiting,” Ruth said, dropping into her chair. “Waiting for Caroline to divorce him.”

  I settled Charlie on the floor. “But did she know?”

  “Not from what I gather,” she said, her finger scrolling up and down on the screen.

  “How far back is it?”

  “This was last month.”

  As Ruth read from the text messages, she paused on one part. Muttering it under her breath before recanting it out. “If she finds out about us, she will take everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “They’ve been married since their twenties,” Ruth said. “Way before he had any success.”

  “So, if they divorce on grounds of it not working out, it’s a fifty-fifty split, but—”

  Ruth cut me off with a deep hum. “If it’s filed on grounds of an affair, with children and the time period it’s been going on for.” She puffed out her cheeks.

  “But I thought any divorce would be fifty-fifty.”

  “Not when you’re worth millions,” Ruth added. “The courts can definitely say what the split is, and I’m sure Caroline won’t be happy if she finds out Spencer has had two kids to another woman. He led another life. They’d would probably favour her for emotional distress, or something.”

  “I don’t know what to think now,” I huffed, “you think, if Caroline found out why he took the blame, she’d let him rot?”

  In my mind, in her shoes, if this had been Harry, a part of me definitely would’ve wanted the justice of it. A cheater, stealing years of his wife’s life while he spends time with someone else, leaving her alone and childless. I didn’t know why Spencer and Caroline didn’t have children together, I know for me, it was as simple as not wanting have children, I figured my sister would’ve been having them and I could’ve been the crazy aunt.

  “Perhaps she’s the killer, and this way all her doing.”

  “Then the note doesn’t make sense,” I grumbled, itching the centre of my forehead lightly with a knuckle. “Unless—”

  “The note was a diversion,” she said.

  I snapped my fingers. “One thing we know for certain, someone at this party is a killer, and we need to find them or wait around long enough to see if anyone else is on their hitlist.” I sucked in deeply as I lowered my head and shoulders, turning to look at Ruth’s blank face, glaring back at the screen of the phone. “What is it?”

  “All these pictures on his phone of him and Nora, and their two boys,” she said, hiccupping.

  A feed on the phone revealed many images, many days out, family photos. Almost as if Caroline didn’t exist at all.

  If I was her, if I’d seen these, I don’t know if I would’ve been in any frame of mind to defend my actions either.

  SEVENTEEN

  We had another suspect. Caroline Mortimer. But from what we knew, she never came to the party tonight. Someone else here committed the murder. The note revealed the killer knew Spencer and his families, so it was believable to assume that Spencer knew who the killer was.

  “What if they’ve already left?” I mumbled.

  “Who?”

  Everyone involved, was immediate thought. “The person who did it.”

  “I’ll go around and look for anything that could’ve been used to kill Finley,” Ruth said. “Do you want to the phone?”

  “What will you look for?” I asked.

 
“Empty containers, anything wrapped in plastic, or double bagged.”

  “Perhaps a flask.”

  Ruth nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “I should tell Diane,” I said. “If she knows, maybe she’ll have more information about Spencer, or someone at his table, anything.” I glanced to the side at the table where Diane and Patrick had been. They were no longer there, both of them had vacated their seats.

  “And when are you thinking of telling Paul?”

  “When we find something else,” I said. “The notes don’t really prove Spencer’s innocence. He’d probably say, Spencer wrote them both. You know how he is, once there’s a confession on the table, he’s blind to anything else.”

  She nodded back. “I’ll try and get something on anyone with a background dealing with medicine.” She tssked her teeth. “Which doesn’t look likely, we’re in a room full of rich people involved with publishing.”

  On a fresh napkin, I’d scribbled the names connected to Spencer. “And what if it’s not Caroline?”

  “Caroline isn’t here,” she said. “So, but someone here knows them.”

  “And they hated Finley, whoever they were.”

  “But someone who could get close.”

  These people weren’t scientists, they were businesspeople. And I knew, if you weren’t a professional in your field, then you were bound to make mistakes.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said. “I’m sure they pull all the police officers from the event and the killer will walk free—if they’ve not already walked.”

  Pushing out from the table, the chair sliding back, Ruth nodded. “And after all this walking around, I’m going to need my feet massaged for at least an hour.”

  “Foot massage was on the pamper agenda,” I said, referring back to one of the reasons Ruth had agreed to accompany me to the event.

  While Ruth ventured off, walking around the guests in search for any type of container which could’ve been used to carry an illegal substance into the event. I took another look at the phone.

  I scrolled through the conversations Spencer had been having with his wife and his mistress. Finding myself almost two months backed up in text messages, each one confirming dates and times of meeting, or with the wife, messages filled with excuses. I paused, removing myself from their messages.