“Get out of here, you creep!” Melanie cried out. “You’re accusing me of these crazy things because you’re jealous. You know there will always be another man between us. I must have been insane to think you had anything to offer me. No wonder Curtis hated you.”
Those angry words were followed by the sound of a crash. “Whoa,” Rahmer said bitterly. “The truth really hurts.”
Nancy and George wondered what Melanie had thrown at Rahmer.
“What would you know about the truth?” Melanie shrieked. “You get out of here.” Another crash came, then she yelled, “Get out this instant!”
Moving like lightning, Nancy pulled George away from the door, and the two raced back to the library doorway. There they waited until they heard Rahmer leave Melanie’s room and tramp down the marble stairway.
“Whew,” George said, blowing out a big breath. “Three million dollars!”
Nancy nodded. “And Melanie was the only person who was with Curtis the night he died, according to all the newspapers.”
An excited gleam came into George’s eyes, and she whispered, “Then maybe she’s the one who put the barbiturates in his drink.”
“But it was J.J. who bribed the coroner, George,” Nancy pointed out. “I suppose he could have done it to protect Melanie, though.”
“Good thinking, Nan. Maybe he was in love with her, even back then.”
That certainly seemed possible, Nancy thought. “George, remember, Curtis got a phone call that night. That’s supposedly why he left the house.”
“Supposedly?” George echoed, arching an eyebrow.
“Wasn’t it Melanie who said someone phoned for Curtis before he left the house? Maybe she was lying,” Nancy suggested.
“I don’t know,” George said thoughtfully. “But I know who might. Come on. Let’s go find Vickers.”
The girls walked quietly down the corridor to the stairway near the mansion entrance. A uniformed maid was cleaning the squares of glass in the upper part of the door.
“Excuse me,” Nancy asked her. “Do you know where we can find Vickers?”
“I think he’s in the kitchen,” the maid answered. She pointed down the corridor. “It’s to the left, at the end of the hall.”
Following the maid’s directions, the girls found themselves in a huge kitchen filled with industrial appliances. Vickers sat inspecting silver at a table in a glassed-in alcove facing a garden.
“Vickers,” Nancy called from the doorway. “May we have a word with you?”
“Of course,” he replied, looking up from the silverware. “How can I help you?”
Nancy and George stepped over to the alcove, and Nancy asked, “Were you on duty the night Curtis Taylor died?”
The butler’s face took on a sad expression. “I’m afraid not,” he replied, shaking his head. “Mr. Taylor died on a Wednesday evening, which was the staff’s customary day off at that time.”
“Then you wouldn’t know if he really received a phone call that night,” George said with a hint of defeat in her voice.
“No, I wouldn’t. Sorry.”
“Oh, well,” Nancy said. “Thanks anyway.”
“Why are you talking about the night my husband died?” a woman’s voice spoke out suddenly from behind the girls. “Curtis has been gone for five years now. Isn’t it time to let it rest?”
Whipping her head around, Nancy saw Melanie Taylor standing in the doorway. She was wearing a long robe, and her face was stained with tears.
“Mrs. Taylor!” Nancy said in surprise.
“Melanie, if you please,” the singer said, walking up to Nancy and George. She walked over to the girls, looking them up and down, a thoughtful expression on her pretty face. Nancy noticed that Vickers rose silently from the table and slipped away.
“All right, I’ll ask,” Melanie said finally. “Who are you?”
“We’re friends of Tyrone’s,” George answered.
“Yes, I know all that,” Melanie said, dismissing what George had said. “But who are you really? And why are you in my house?”
Nancy decided to be honest, hoping it would shock Melanie into revealing useful information. “Tyrone has asked us to look into your husband’s death, Melanie,” Nancy said. “We have reason to believe his ‘accident’ was actually murder.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Is that so?” the singer asked, more weary than shocked. She pulled out a stool and sat down next to George. “What sort of reasons?” she challenged.
As Nancy told her about the packet Tyrone had found in his uncle’s jacket, Melanie’s face remained impassive. Her gray eyes flickered when Nancy mentioned the presence of drugs in his blood, but still, her basic demeanor was cool.
When Nancy was finished, Melanie nodded slowly. “You know, for five years I’ve resisted thinking about that night,” she said softly, a sad expression on her face. “But somewhere deep down inside me, I’ve always felt something was . . . wrong about it. Maybe Curtis really was murdered.”
Only when she said the word murdered did Nancy notice a tiny tear falling from one of Melanie’s eyes. Suddenly the singer let out a heart-wrenching sob. Her head fell to the counter, and she moaned, “Oh, Curtis, Curtis, if only I’d even suspected. I would have never let you go that night.”
If this was an act, it was one of the best Nancy had ever seen. But then, she reminded herself, Melanie’s performing abilities had been artfully proven to her just yesterday. And she was romantically involved with J. J. Rahmer, who was hardly free of suspicion himself.
When she was composed enough to speak, Melanie lifted her head. “You know something funny? J.J. just got through telling me that people are going to think / murdered Curtis.”
“Oh?” George asked, flashing an almost imperceptible glance in Nancy’s direction. “Why would people think something like that?”
Swallowing hard, Melanie said, “Because I took out a three-million-dollar insurance policy on his life. It became effective the day before Curtis was killed.”
At least she decided to tell us about the policy, Nancy thought, instead of trying to hide it. “That does seem a little suspicious,” she said gingerly.
“I guess it does,” Melanie admitted.
As the three women lapsed into silence, Nancy considered the best way to handle Melanie. The singer was either completely innocent or totally cunning—it was hard to know which.
“Why did you take out the policy, Melanie?” Nancy asked finally.
Without hesitation Melanie answered, “Spike convinced me to do it. You know, he and I are from the same hometown. In fact, I first met Curtis through Spike. He used to be Curtis’s drummer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Nancy said.
“Anyway, after he left Curtis’s band, Spike was in a terrible car accident. His leg was broken in three places, and his left wrist was completely shattered. There was no way he could ever play the drums again. He didn’t have one dime of insurance, either. When I went to visit him in the hospital, he told me I was crazy not to have more insurance, because you just never know what can happen. That night, when I got home, I thought over what he said, and I decided he was right. I took out a few policies the very next day—on Curtis and on myself, too.”
Again Nancy had the impression that Melanie’s words would be either the absolute truth or a giant lie. “Melanie,” Nancy said, “the night Curtis died, you said he got a phone call that prompted him to go out. Who was it from?”
Biting her lip, Melanie shrugged helplessly. “I wish I knew who it was from,” she murmured. “But Curtis wouldn’t tell me. He just laughed and said he had to go smooth down some ruffled feathers and that he’d be home by eleven. I never saw him after that.” Looking from Nancy to George, Melanie let out a sigh. “I don’t think that call was from J.J., though, because he had called just a few hours before.”
“What did J.J. call about?” George inquired.
Melanie’s face clouded over. “I only heard Curtis’s sid
e of the conversation, of course. But I can tell you this—they had one of their usual spats over the phone. I remember Curtis saying, ‘Now, J.J., don’t go saying things you don’t mean. You’d never kill anybody. And especially not me.’ ”
Suddenly Melanie straightened up and let out a gasp. “Oh, my,” she said softly. “You don’t think J.J.—?” Melanie couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Are you telling us that J.J. threatened to kill Curtis the very night he died?” Nancy asked, her eyes locked into Melanie’s.
“Well, yes,” Melanie answered, looking dismayed. “But J.J. often said things like that when he and Curtis argued.”
“Melanie, did you mention any of this to the police at the time?” Nancy asked.
Melanie thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she said tentatively. “After all, they weren’t investigating a murder, only a car accident. And, as I said, J.J. and Curtis said things like that all the time when they fought. I never took it seriously.”
Just then the sound of footsteps hurrying to the kitchen made Nancy look up toward the doorway. Spike Wilson came into the kitchen, running up to Melanie. His long brown hair hung over part of his flushed face.
“What did that jerk do to you?” he demanded. “Did he hit you? If he did, I’ll—”
“Calm down, Spike,” Melanie said. “What are you talking about?”
“The maid said he was shouting at you. She said she heard a crash.” Spike’s eyes were fixed on Melanie’s surprised face at first. Then he turned and slowly took in Nancy and George.
“We were just leaving. Come on, George,” Nancy said quietly. But as she turned in the direction of the kitchen entryway, she stopped and whispered to George, “Follow my lead.” Then, loud enough for Melanie and Spike to hear, she said, “Wait. I think I left my notepad over there.”
Grinning, George played along. “I think so, too, Nan.” She followed Nancy over to a shelf with papers on it, next to a glass door that led to the garden. It was on the far end of the huge room, past the breakfast alcove. The act had been wasted on Spike and Melanie, who were so engrossed in their conversation they hadn’t appeared to notice a thing.
“J.J. and I argued, that’s all,” Melanie was saying. “But he didn’t hurt me, Spike. The crash came because I threw a vase at him. I let myself get too angry, and I lost control.”
“Why is he trying to upset you when he knows you have a big performance coming up? What kind of manager would do something like that?” Spike complained.
Melanie sounded discouraged as she told Spike, “You don’t understand. It’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“All I can see now is that he’s using you,” Spike broke in. “And you’re letting him. Why?”
With her hand on the doorknob, Nancy stood listening to the conversation. Melanie and Spike didn’t seem to realize she and George were still in the room.
Spike’s voice became pleading as he added, “He’s blinded you, Melanie. He’s got you thinking he’s the only one who can handle your career. But that’s wrong, so wrong. With your talent you could have your pick of managers.”
“I thought he was the best,” Melanie murmured. “I know how you feel about J.J., but I still thought he was the best. Even Curtis used to say so, when he wasn’t mad at him.”
“Curtis is gone, Mel,” Spike insisted. “And now you’re letting J.J. use you. Can’t you see you don’t need him around?”
Nancy gave George a look that said they’d heard enough. Turning the doorknob, she hoped the door would open quietly. It swung out without a sound, and the girls slipped outside, then shut it softly behind them.
“Boy, he’s sure got it bad for her,” George commented, looking over at Nancy as they headed around toward the front of the house.
“So I noticed,” Nancy agreed.
She paused at the edge of the garden, peering over the stone wall at the public part of Greenwood. There, hundreds of visitors were wandering in and out of the Curtis Taylor Museum and around the large white marble tombstone that marked his grave. From where the girls stood they could hear the faint sounds of piped-in music at the grave site. It was the voice of Curtis himself singing “Losing My Heart.”
“Everybody seems to lose his heart to Melanie,” Nancy said softly.
“Not Curtis’s fans,” George reminded her. “Louisa and the other die-hard Curtis fans all seem to hate her.”
George paused for a moment, thinking. “Okay, so J. J. Rahmer bribed the coroner. We know that for a fact.”
“Right. Go on,” Nancy encouraged.
“J.J. also threatened to kill Curtis, on the very day that Curtis died.”
Nancy nodded. “So Melanie says, anyway.”
“All right,” George said. “And obviously, despite whatever problems they may be having now, J.J. and Melanie have been romantically involved. That kiss they shared yesterday—”
“—was very convincing,” Nancy agreed.
“J.J. was probably attracted to Melanie long ago,” George said. “He probably figured that with Curtis out of the way, he could have her for himself. And he was right. Nancy, this case doesn’t seem so complicated to me anymore. The way I figure it, J. J. Rahmer killed Curtis Taylor.”
A masculine voice spoke up behind Nancy and George. “A clever deduction. Too bad it’s wrong.”
Spinning around, Nancy and George found themselves facing J. J. Rahmer himself.
“I agree, the evidence points to me,” he said with a snide smile before Nancy could react. “That’s why I just called my secretary in Nashville and had her fax up this little piece of paper.”
He thrust a piece of paper into George’s hand.
“It’s a copy of a phone bill,” George said, scanning the paper.
J. J. Rahmer nodded. “And it proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was two hundred miles away, in Lake City, the night Curtis died.”
Chapter
Nine
AS J. J. RAHMER WATCHED with a superior grin, Nancy peered at the paper in George’s hand. It was a copy of a hotel bill from five years ago, made out to Rahmer, with the telephone charge marked on it. Nancy recognized Greenwood’s phone number from the card Tyrone had given her.
“I’ve found it pays to keep records,” J.J. said in a self-congratulatory tone.
It looks as though he has an ironclad alibi, Nancy thought. But she still had questions that needed answers. “Then why did you bribe Dexter Mobley to change the coroner’s report about the barbiturates found in Curtis’s blood the night he died?” she asked. “We have very strong proof that you paid Mobley off.”
The smug look fell from Rahmer’s face, replaced by a cold, hard stare. “Aren’t you girls awfully young to be investigators?”
Ignoring Rahmer’s sneer, Nancy challenged, “Why did you bribe him? We know it cost you plenty, so you must have had a very good reason.”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he muttered, striding away toward the mansion.
Nancy decided to take a wild chance. “Or did you do it to protect someone else?” she called out just loudly enough for him to hear. “Melanie, for instance?”
Rahmer stopped in his tracks. Even George looked surprised by Nancy’s suggestion. Daggers seemed to flash out of Rahmer’s eyes as he looked over his shoulder at them.
“That’s quite an accusation!” he shouted, shaking a finger at them. “Let me tell you ladies something. No jury on earth would condemn a manager who was trying to protect his client’s good reputation—even if those actions went a little beyond the letter of the law. All I’d have to say is that I was trying to spare the public the heartbreak of knowing that their squeaky-clean Curtis was secretly a druggie. The most any jury would give me is a slap on the wrist.”
Nancy watched as Rahmer continued toward the house with long, angry strides.
“That’s an excitable man,” George murmured.
“I’ll say,” Nancy agreed. “Come on. Let’s talk about al
l this while we drive back to Louisa’s.” She checked her watch. “It’s already after three. The party at the Imperial will probably be over soon, anyway.”
As Nancy inched the car through the heavy traffic outside the security gate, George turned to her and said, “That was weird. I mean, J.J. definitely reacted when you suggested he was trying to cover up for Melanie. But when we talked to her, she seemed so sincere.”
Nancy tried to sort through the jumbled thoughts in her head. “That could have been an act. Without more proof we can’t know why he paid the coroner to change the report. It could have been to protect Melanie, or himself, or to protect Curtis Taylor’s image, the way J.J. claimed.”
“I guess you’re right,” George said.
Stopping the car at a red light, Nancy said, “I can’t help thinking that the romantic angle has something to do with this case, too. I mean, J.J. and Melanie are together, and—
“Do you think J.J. and Melanie could have planned Curtis’s murder together?” George interrupted suddenly. “Maybe they were in love while Curtis was still alive. Just because J.J. has an alibi for the night of the murder doesn’t mean he didn’t help plan it.”
“Maybe. The song Curtis wrote is about her being with another guy,” Nancy said, thinking out loud. “And then there’s Spike, too. He has it bad for Melanie.” She shook her head ruefully. “I just can’t figure out how it all fits together. We still don’t have enough proof to know anything for sure.”
George leaned back in the passenger seat and grinned at Nancy. “Well, I know one thing for sure. We’ve got to give our brains a rest. Tonight we’re getting to see the dress rehearsal of the hottest country-western show in the whole U.S.A. So for just a little while, let’s stop trying to figure out who was after Curtis Taylor and concentrate on having a good time instead.”
• • •
Loud Curtis Taylor music was pouring out the open windows of Louisa’s house when Nancy and George drove up. Walking in the unlocked door, they heard Bess and Louisa singing along at the top of their lungs on the upper level of the house.
Final Notes Page 6