The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen - A Dix Dodd Mystery

by Norah Wilson

  Billy humphed loudly, but didn’t say a word.

  “Still, that must have angered you, Ned.”

  “Of course it angered me!” He looked at his hands and played a moment with the wide gold band he still wore. When he spoke again his voice was softer. “But I wasn’t always the best husband in the world. Jennifer deserved … more. More attention. More affection. More everything. I was so concerned about making money, growing my business, sometimes Jennifer felt … forgotten. I know she did. That’s why … that’s why that damnable Billy Star was able to seduce her.”

  “Why didn’t you fire Billy?

  “I couldn’t. When I bought him out—”

  “—and you bought him just before stocks in the company skyrocketed, Ned?” I offered. Yes it was a dirty dig, but I wanted to gauge his reaction. I thought there might be a trace of guilt there, but Ned didn’t skip a beat.

  “That’s right. When I bought the son of a bitch out, his continual employment was part of the agreement. I couldn’t fire him for anything short or embezzlement. Certainly not for … for having an affair with my wife.”

  “Still,” I baited, “your wife turned to another man. That had to make you angry, and not only with Billy Star. But with Jennifer, too.”

  “Jennifer broke it off with Billy. She and I … we were trying to work some things out.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Everything!” Ned swallowed hard and wet his lips. He appeared to be on the verge of tears. “We were renewing our vows on the weekend. And … and we’d come to some understandings. She wanted to go visit her family in Toledo more, and I promised to go with her once or twice over the next few months. And she didn’t want me going to Pastor Ravenspire’s church so much. She didn’t trust him.” He glanced at Ravenspire, who himself squirmed in his chair. “Sorry, Pastor. That was a sore point between us. And Jennifer … Jennifer promised to stop seeing Billy.”

  I’d glanced at Billy often through this exchange — his face grew redder, his fists clenched tighter. And now I redirected my questioning to him. “And did she stop seeing you, Billy?”

  “She said … she said she wanted to break it off,” he admitted, “but … but I know she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t have meant it.” He began to cry. “I … I loved her. And I know she would have loved me if it wasn’t for Ned. Ned took everything from me with the business. I couldn’t … couldn’t let him have Jennifer too.”

  “So you pursued things with her still?”

  He nodded. “I did. Best I could. Quietly. But I would have shouted it from the rooftops if I could have. But, for Jennifer’s sake, I didn’t want anyone to find out. Not until I’d won her back.”

  “But,” I continued, “Ned finding out was the least of your worries, wasn’t it.”

  Billy’s sideways glance confirmed what I had suspected.

  “Luanne finding out was.”

  The pen stopped flying over the steno pad.

  “Yes,” Billy said. “She scares the hell out of me.”

  “That’s enough, William,” Luanne said crisply.

  Apparently, Billy didn’t think it was enough. He ignored her warning. “Luanne found some letters I had written to Jennifer. I was trying to win her back, but … but Ned was doing everything he could to ruin that. Picking her flowers, wooing her. Working fewer hours so he could spend more time with her. So I wrote Jennifer, and told her how I felt. It wasn’t about the money! About the business! Not anymore and I told Jennifer this. Somehow Luanne ended up with those letters. How she found them, I’ll never know.”

  “I’m intuitive,” Luanne said.

  “No,” I walked over to Dylan. He handed me Jennifer’s journal. “You’re nosy. Recognize this? If you were snooping through Jennifer’s journal, then chances are you were snooping through her mail too. You’ve got your own key to the house. You had access to Ned’s and Jennifer’s itineraries. You knew when the were home and when they weren’t.”

  Luanne paled, but she lifted her chin. “Someone had to protect Ned!”

  “It’s too bad no one protected Jennifer,” I said. “You knew about this journal when no one else did.”

  “Luanne?” Ned said in disbelief. “You … you spied on my wife?”

  “I had to. Don’t you see, Ned?” she implored. “I always knew that little tart would betray you. So I did what I did to protect you.”

  “How … how much protecting did you do?” Ned asked, his voice trembling as if he was afraid of the answer. “You’ve never lied to me before, Luanne. Please don’t start now.”

  Luanne’s bottom lip quivered. But she squared her shoulders as she answered. “Over the years of your marriage, I’ve read all of her mail. Every letter she put in that desk drawer, I’d sneak in here and read it. And of course, I read her journal. Kept track of her activities. But I did it all to protect you, Ned!”

  Billy glared at her. “You bitch! You killed her!”

  In a flash, Billy was on Luanne; his hands wrapped around her throat. Almost as quickly Dylan and two male cops pulled him off of her.

  “How could you kill her?” Billy shouted, straining in the grip of the two officers. “How could you do such a thing?”

  “I didn’t!” Luanne shifted her gaze from Billy to me. “Ms. Dodd, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t kill Jennifer.”

  I nodded slowly. “I know you didn’t.”

  Chapter 20

  You know, I don’t normally enjoy being the center of attention.

  Ahahaha! That is so not true. I just love being the center of attention. Smack dab in the middle of it. Like right about now. No one in the room was entirely sure where I was going with this. Well, no one but me, Dylan, and possibly now the murderer.

  After Luanne’s denial of guilt and my attestation also to her innocence, the room was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop. I mentally broke into a chorus of Queen’s We are the Champions but thought better of actually belting it out loud. Too cocky, even for me. And besides, I had a ways to go before I was home free on this.

  But things were definitely moving along.

  And every set of eyes in the room was on me. I felt them. Some more than others. Dickhead, of course, was glaring at me. But I have to give him credit; he’d been quiet while I had my say. He might not know where this was going, but he wasn’t so stupid or vindictive as to stop me. Not when there was murder involved. Not even he would stoop so low as to let a killer go free just to bust my ass. And I could tell by the set of his jaw and the way he was listening to me, that he knew I was on to something.

  As I stood taking a deep breath before continuing, I heard Ned’s mother mumbling. “I don’t know … I know that face from somewhere. Somewhere recent….”

  Oh shit.

  Jeremy Poole sat in the corner, so pale and still he could have been a wax statue. Elizabeth Bee sat perched on the edge of her chair, waiting to see what would happen next. Rochelle and Judge Stephanopoulos remained in the doorway, watching intently from the periphery, but not missing a thing.

  Dylan was looking at me too, of course. I’d catch his eye every once in a while. I saw the encouraging nods. The hint of a smile. And I liked that. It felt good to be on top of my game while he watched. Strangely good. Weirdly good.

  Cautiously good, Dix, I reminded myself. Cautiously good.

  I let my gaze sweep again over the people assembled, each with their own agendas and fears and loves. Ah, yes, love. What a crazy thing it was. It could make us laugh or cry. It could scare the crap out of us or make us feel renewed. Make us feel stupid and brilliant all at once. It made old men pat their wives’ hands and call them ‘Dearest’. And as I knew all too well, love could break our hearts. It could turn us into romantic fools. And, yes, it could turn us into murderers.

  +++

  “Well!” It was Mrs. Presley’s voice that broke the silence. “If that don’t beat all! I had the secretary pegged for sure.” She nudged Dylan. “Just look at those beady eyes
on her, will ya.” She opened her purse, turned toward Kenny Kent the baker, and handed him twenty bucks. “You won that bet, Baker Boy,” she said. “Double or nothing on Round Two?”

  Swiftly pocketing the money, Kent replied, “I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

  Luanne wasn’t my favorite person in the world, and Billy Star wasn’t topping my warm and fuzzy list either. But neither of them had killed Jennifer. I was sure of it. Despite his initial reasons for wooing Jennifer, Billy had loved her too much to hurt her, and Luanne loved Ned too much to hurt him.

  I began again. “You’re all forgetting something here. Whoever killed Jennifer, also did a damn good job of covering their tracks. Arranged for a mysterious Flashing Fashion Queen to come to my office disguised as Jennifer, and ask me to tail Ned Weatherby for the week. And I had to wonder why.”

  “To frame you!” an enthusiastic Mrs. P shouted.

  “That’s exactly what I thought at first, Mrs. Presley. But then I thought maybe it was more. Maybe it was so that Ned’s whereabouts would be alibied very carefully. So that he couldn’t be blamed for the murder of his wife.”

  Ned looked at me, clearly shocked. “Surely … surely you don’t think I hired someone to pose as Jennifer, then killed her myself?”

  “Actually, Ned,” I said. “That very thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Ms. Dodd!” Jeremy Poole leapt to Ned’s defense. “If you’re going to accuse my client of murder, I’d make damn sure that you know just what you’re getting yourself into here. With all the charges against you now criminally, I don’t think you really wish to add a civil suit to your legal woes. As Mr. Weatherby’s legal counsel I must advise him not to participate in any further discussions with you here today. In fact, I strongly suggest to Detective Head that this meeting is a sham, a travesty, and that this meeting should be over.”

  “Oh, I’m not accusing Ned Weatherby of murdering Jennifer Weatherby, Mr. Poole. Not at all. As I said the thought crossed my mind, then kept on walking.” I turned and walked over to the lawyer. “I’m accusing you.”

  “Yes!” Elizabeth Bee hissed, pumping her arm in the air. She held her hand out flat and Mrs. Presley grumblingly pressed a twenty-dollar bill into it, which Elizabeth quickly secreted into her bra.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Dix?” Dickhead said. But he didn’t say it with quite so much of a snarl this time. He didn’t say it with a ha ha belly roar of a laugh. He said it like a man who wanted to hear what I had to say. I had his attention.

  Hell, I had everyone’s attention.

  Dylan handed me Jennifer’s journal. Or rather tried to, but with my hands cuffed behind my back, that wasn’t an easy task. I looked at Detective Head. “Things would go a lot easier from here detective if you’d let me out of these handcuffs.”

  He stared at me hard for a long minute, then moved to unlock the handcuffs.

  “Don’t make me regret this, Dix,” he said as he removed the bracelets. “Because if I do, I guarantee you will too.”

  “Understood.”

  More out of reflex than because of any soreness, I rubbed my wrists quickly before I held up Jennifer’s journal. I read from the homemade jacket of the book. “The Secret Life of the Bombay Dung Beetle, by Elizabeth Bee.”

  Loudly, Elizabeth humphed.

  “This is Jennifer’s journal,” I explained. “Her secret journal.”

  “I never knew she kept one,” Ned said.

  “No, she hid it well. But as we already established, you knew she kept it, didn’t you, Luanne?”

  “Once or twice a week I’d let myself in … when Ned and Jennifer were out of the house. Yes, I’d read it. I needed to know everything to protect Ned.” Guilt free, she answered. “That’s how I was able to inform Ned of the affair between Billy and Jennifer. Once I put all the notes and pieces together.”

  “But you didn’t tell Ned how you came by that knowledge, did you?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “And,” I continued, “usually you just read Jennifer’s journal, said nothing, did nothing and put it back where you found it. Right?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Yes. But the last time … the last time Jennifer made an entry, I … accidentally did something.”

  “Because the last entry Jennifer made angered you so greatly that you wrote a comment back. Didn’t you, Luanne?”

  “Yes!” she shouted. “I couldn’t help myself.” She looked around the room, as if seeking an ally for her behavior. “Jennifer wrote ‘J cancelled caterer.’ After all Ned was doing for her, she was canceling the caterer and thus I assumed she was canceling the renewal of the vows. That she was going to hurt Ned all over again. I just lost my temper. I just snapped! That’s why I wrote what I did.”

  Kenny Kent, really interested now, shifted from foot to foot.

  “The ‘NO WAY IN HELL’ written in the journal, Luanne?” I asked. “That was yours, wasn’t it.”

  “Yes.” She lowered her eyes. “I know it was stupid! Very stupid! But I was just so angry!”

  “This is ridiculous,” Jeremy Poole said. “It proves nothing whatsoever about my guilt. If you ask me, it’s Luanne Laney you should be pointing a finger at.” He stretched his arm and shook a pointing finger himself for emphasis.

  I pretended to mull that over. “Ummmmmmm … no,” I said. “You see it wasn’t the person who wrote the NO WAY IN HELL that killed Jennifer. It was the person who cancelled the caterer.”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Jeremy said. “It’s Jennifer’s journal. She cancelled the caterer. Obviously, her intention to renew with Ned was false. She was using him, again. Still.”

  “No, Jennifer didn’t cancel the caterer. Jennifer always wrote in the future tense when she entered her plans; never what she’d done. Ever. This note was a done deal. This note wasn’t on her to-do list. This note was something else. This ‘J’ wasn’t for Jennifer.”

  “I took that canceling call myself, and I was surprised to receive it,” Kenny spoke up nervously. “I always handle the Weatherby business personally.” He smoothed a nervous hand over his baker’s jacket. “Mr. Weatherby had been planning this event for weeks. It meant a lot to him. We’d gone over the menu a half dozen times. We had the ice sculpture ordered; the Cornish hens set to be flown in. And all of a sudden, I get this call canceling from a woman claiming to be Jennifer Weatherby.”

  “And so you scrapped everything? Just like that?”

  “Of course not! I called Mr. Weatherby’s office, he was tied up in meetings. So I called Mrs. Weatherby back. I wanted to tell her that she’d still have to pay the bill. I mean, after all, we’d gone to a lot of expense and trouble for this event.”

  “And what did Jennifer say when you called her?”

  Kenny ran a hand through his hair. “She assured me the job was still on. Assured me that it wasn’t her who’d called. And she … she also told me she knew damn well who’d called to cancel, pretending to be her. She was really, really angry.”

  “Do you remember the date, Mr. Kent?”

  “Of course. It was the 30th of May. I remember precisely because that’s the day I did inventory.”

  I held the journal up for everyone to see the date. “It was a week before Jennifer was killed. And I’m betting ‘J’ who cancelled the caterer killed her.”

  “That ‘J’ was for Jeremy. Not Jennifer.” Ned spoke slowly, disbelievingly. “You killed my wife.”

  “Ned,” he said. “You … you have to understand. As your lawyer, I have to protect you. As your friend, I have a duty to not let you make such a big mistake as renewing your vows to that … that—”

  “She was my wife!”

  Detective Head was getting antsy. “Canceling a caterer is hardly evidence of murder, Dodd,” he said. “I suspect you have more.”

  I caught it as he said it — the subtle nod to two of his uniformed officers to advance in Jeremy’s direction. Not so subtly, they did.

  “Oh, do I ever
have more. You see, someone tipped me off that the murderer was Jeremy Poole.”

  “Do tell, who was that Ms. Dodd?” Jeremy was trying to act cool — trying to remain calm. He failed miserably. “A little birdie?”

  “Well as a matter of fact, you told me Jeremy. You tipped me off.” I was smiling now. Okay, it was more like I was smirking in an I’m-so-smart kind of way. I held up the newspaper — the one that Mrs. P had provided the morning I went to break into the Weatherby house, the one with that horrible picture of me splashed all over the front page. “I have here proof positive that it was Jeremy Poole that killed Jennifer and set me up. The interview he gave to the reporter. The one where he so gleefully trashed me.”

  “I read the interview,” Detective Head said. “I read it a few times. There’s nothing in there pointing to Poole as the murderer.”

  I looked at him as if he were an idiot. Mostly because I enjoyed looking at him as if he were an idiot. But also for the dramatics of the thing. “Wrong again, Detective. Jeremy Poole is a pretty smooth talker. Pretty good with the lawyer-ese. I’ll give him that. But there’s one word — one particular word that gives him away. He used it in this newspaper interview and he used in when he posed as Jennifer in my office.”

  “What would that be, Dodd?”

  “The f word.”

  “Oh for f—” Detective Head stopped mid rant as he glanced toward the judge. “I don’t think Jeremy Head is the only man to use that f word, Dix Dodd. If that’s all you’re going on, you’re pretty much f’d yourself.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not the f word I’m referencing.”

  “Tell him, Dix,” Dylan said.

  “Floozy,” I blurted. It took every bit of restraint I had to bite down on an inappropriate laugh. “Jeremy used the word floozy when he was in my office posing as Jennifer Weatherby. And he used the word floozy again in the newspaper interview. Nobody uses the word ‘floozy’ anymore. Certainly not that much.”

  “So you have a coincidence, Dodd,” Dickhead informed. “Nothing more.”