Setting the Stage for Murder

by Robert W. Gregg

  “Remember Gerlach? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Wish I knew. Anyway, the note sounded, you know, threatening. So Owens asked the Kane woman if she knew anything about it. And she said it had come in the mail on Saturday, and that they had talked about it. Mercedes had told her Gerlach was one of the people in the opera that she had been involved in over on Crooked Lake, and that he had been killed just last week.

  “Not surprising that Owens seized on this information. Redman dead, having just received a threatening note mentioning Gerlach, who’d just been murdered. I suppose he immediately started thinking that maybe whoever wrote the note had killed Redman, although there seems to have been nothing to indicate her death was the result of foul play.”

  Kevin had shaken off the shock that came with the news that his chief assistant in the production of Gianni Schicchi was dead. His mind was now focused on the connection to Harley Gerlach’s murder.

  “The note said to ‘leave her alone,’ right? Who does ‘her’ refer to?”

  Carol started to say something, but Kevin held up his hand.

  “Sorry, just a rhetorical question. But that’s got to be important. Her. The roommate? That makes no sense. What would Kane or whatever her name is have to do with Gerlach? Another of his conquests? Not likely.”

  “Maybe there’s no connection between Gerlach’s death and Redman’s. No connection to the opera. Except that whoever wrote the note knew what had happened to Gerlach and knew that Mercedes knew it, too. In other words, the reference to Gerlach may have been just a way to tell her that what happened to him could happen to her.”

  Kevin had taken a seat on the couch and waved his hand in the general direction of Carol. She got the message. He was thinking and wanted a moment to order his thoughts.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Mercedes was being told to leave the woman alone. Why? How about because Redman was viewed as a threat by the note’s author. If you look at it that way, who might Redman have been threatening?”

  “I’m listening,” Carol said.

  “How about Sean Carpenter? He was obviously interested in Heather Merriman. According to Heather, so was Mercedes Redman. I can imagine Carpenter telling Mercedes to leave Heather alone. He wouldn’t even have to have a thing about lesbians. He just didn’t want to have competition for Heather’s affection.”

  Carol considered this, then put forward another idea.

  “Let’s suppose it isn’t Redman that’s the threat. Suppose it’s Heather. And who does she threaten? The roommate. I’m assuming, of course, that Kane is more than a roommate. I know that’s a big assumption. But what if she’s Redman’s lover? And what if Redman talked about Heather, gave off signals that this attractive young musician was somehow more important to her than just another member of the Brae Loch opera project. I can imagine that Mercedes’ partner might not be happy about that.”

  “I like my idea better,” Kevin said. “But if you’re right, maybe Kane didn’t just find Redman’s body. Maybe she killed her in a fit of jealousy, something like that.”

  He shook his head and laughed.

  “You know what? I don’t think we have a clue what we’re talking about. As far as we know Redman’s not a lesbian, Kane never heard of Merriman, the note is just a prank, somebody’s idea of a bad joke.”

  “So we give it a rest, at least until I talk with Owens tomorrow. Right? At the rate we’re going, we’ll have Redman or Kane killing Gerlach. Let’s eat.”

  That proved to be harder to do than they expected. The oven had been turned off before the roast was done. The veggies were cold and soggy. Carol and Kevin settled for scrambled eggs.

  CHAPTER 34

  Was it his imagination or did the face that stared back at him from the mirror look older than it had just twenty-four hours earlier? Kevin paused in the act of shaving a day’s growth of stubble from his face and leaned closer to the mirror for a better look. It was all in his mind, but he was prepared to swear that the news of Mercedes Redman’s death had accelerated the aging process. He had to admit that his reaction to Gerlach’s death had been less sorrow at the loss of a fellow human being than a painful sense of disappointment that his opera would be stillborn. Redman’s death was another matter. He had not been close to the woman, would probably never have been close. But he had respected her. For her professionalism, her patience, her invaluable help in turning a group of variously talented individuals into a passable ensemble. After the collapse of the Brae Loch opera, he had doubted that he would ever see her again. Now that he knew he would never see her again, he realized how much he would miss her.

  Sheriff Kelleher’s thoughts about Redman’s death were of a different sort. She remembered her reaction back in June when Kevin had told her he was going to share the task of whipping the orchestra into shape with a violinist named Mercedes Redman. Carol had never met Redman, had not even heard of her until that day. But she had experienced a small twinge of jealousy. Now the woman was dead, and it sounded as if her death might be related in some way to the death of Harley Gerlach and the friction that had led to the demise of Kevin’s plans for staging an opera on Crooked Lake. It was in her capacity as enforcer of law and order that she would now be thinking about Mercedes Redman.

  She had arrived at her office early, had called Chief Owens, and was anxiously awaiting his return call. She had put out of her mind the conversation regarding Redman’s death which she and Kevin had engaged in the night before. In the morning’s light it looked like what it was, premature speculation. Better to wait until she had spoken with Owens. Or better yet, until she had gone over to Ithaca and taken stock of the situation herself.

  Why hadn’t the police chief called back? She had been told he would be back to her in ten minutes, but it had now been fifteen, going on twenty. Carol was trying to make good use of her time, but she found it hard to concentrate. It was while she was looking at the clock for the umpteenth time that Diane Franks, her new secretary, buzzed to report a visitor.

  “I can’t see anyone now. I’ve got a very important call coming in at any minute. Get a name and say I’ll be in touch just as soon as I can.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I think you should see her now. It’s about the Gerlach case.”

  Carol cursed under her breath, but she went to the door separating her office from that of Miss Franks. The woman who was sitting in the reception area was tall, slender, casually dressed, her hair still damp from the morning’s shower.

  She got up and walked toward the open door and past the sheriff’s secretary, whose expression said that she felt guilty about what was happening but had no choice in the matter.

  “I’m sorry to come barging in, unannounced, like this. But I’ve been terribly worried, and I thought you ought to know about Janet.”

  Carol, of course, had no idea what this stranger was talking about. She motioned her into her office, offered her the chair across from the desk, and took her own seat behind it.

  “I don’t believe I got your name,” she said.

  “No, I don’t suppose I told your secretary. It’s Pederson, Sonia Pederson. I’m here to talk about my friend, Janet Myers. I think you know her. That’s what I want to talk about.”

  Janet Myers. The former wife of Harley Gerlach. The woman who had, according to Francis Farris, the telescope man, visited Gerlach’s home the day he was killed. And then what? Driven back to the college and killed him? Gone home? No one seemed to know.

  Carol was a firm believer in putting things into some kind of logical order. First things first.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Pederson. Perhaps you should tell me how you know Mrs. Myers.”

  “Yes, of course,” the woman said. She spoke quickly, whether to get to the point or because it was her normal speaking manner, Carol did not know. “I’ve known Janet since college. We were sorority sisters. Good friends. Since then, we’d sort of drifted apart—you know, like people do. Then she surprised me one d
ay a few years back, calling to tell me she’d been divorced, was at loose ends. I could tell she needed a change of scene, so I invited her up to spend some time with me. Anyway, one thing led to another. She met a Southport man, Charles Myers. They seemed to hit it off, and in due course they got married. I think what appealed to Janet was that he was the polar opposite of her first husband. Charles is what you’d call solid, or maybe steady. What you see is what you get.”

  Mrs. Pederson paused, as if to reflect on what she’d said, to see if it adequately described what had happened.

  “But then,” Carol said, “Mrs. Myers discovered that her former husband was also now living up here on Crooked Lake. Right?”

  Carol was recalling her interview with Myers the evening after Gerlach’s murder. So far, she’d learned nothing she didn’t already know.

  “That’s right. It really bothered her, but I think she coped with it pretty well until the opera thing came along. Then they were back in each other’s lives, every week, sometimes—”

  The buzzer interrupted Mrs. Pederson’s story. Miss Franks said that Chief Owens was on the line.

  Carol briefly considered asking her visitor to step outside while she took the call, but decided it might be better to hear her out and then get back to Owens. Her decision was more a matter of courtesy than conviction that she’d learn anything important from Pederson. She’d try to hurry her up, say good-bye, and turn her attention to the matter of Mercedes Redman’s unexpected death.

  “Sorry about the interruption, Mrs. Pederson. I’m going to have to return that call right away, but I do want to let you finish what you have to say about Mrs. Myers. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Well, a funny thing happened. Janet could hardly bear to be in the same room with her first husband, but at the same time she seemed to find him fascinating. Does that make any sense? I’m not sure it does to me, and I know it troubled Janet. But it became obvious to me that she was developing a kind of love-hate relationship with him. Not that she did anything about it. And I’m sure she never said anything about it to him. She kept saying nasty things about him whenever we talked, but something was going on in her head.

  “She and Charles got along okay, but things changed. Janet started giving off little clues that she found Charles boring. She talked less and less about him and more and more about Gerlach. It finally dawned on me that she was comparing them, and that it was the first husband who came off better in the comparison. The way she talked made him sound exciting. A lot of what she said was still negative, but you could sense that there was something about him that intrigued her. Unlike Charles, he had charisma, a kind of irresistible vitality. I’m not saying this very well, but I’d swear that she came to regret that she’d divorced him. And married Charles. It’s too late to do anything about Gerlach, but I’d be willing to bet her marriage to Myers won’t last. They seem to be going through the motions of marriage these days.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Mrs. Pederson?”

  “Because Janet says you’ve been questioning her—I think the phrase she used was hounding her—about Gerlach’s death and where she was and what she was doing when it happened. She thinks you suspect her of having killed him. That might make sense if Janet hated her ex-husband. But I’m sure she loved him. In a strange way, of course, but then love is a funny thing, isn’t it? So how could she have killed him?”

  Nothing the Pederson woman had said ruled out Janet Myers as a suspect in Gerlach’s death. But it did put things in a somewhat different light. It might help explain why Myers had been poking around Gerlach’s home the previous Tuesday. Or would it? It was possible that Pederson had misinterpreted Myers’ behavior and words. In fact, Carol couldn’t recall Pederson quoting anything Myers had said about her first husband.

  “Did Janet ever tell you that maybe she still loved Gerlach? Not necessarily in so many words, you understand, but something that made her feelings for him stronger than mere impressions.”

  Sonia Pederson thought about the sheriff’s question for a moment.

  “She never used the word love,” she said. “But I remember once, just last week, after he died, she made a comment about wishing she’d known him better. And on a couple of occasions she told me that there was a lot more to him than just those other women.”

  “I know you’re her friend, but I wonder, do you think she would be capable of killing someone?”

  “Goodness, no. Even if she hated him as much as she must have when they divorced, she wouldn’t have killed him. But what I’m saying is that she didn’t still hate him. Like I said, I think she believes divorcing him was the worst mistake she ever made.”

  When the office door closed behind Sonia Pederson, Carol sat quietly behind her desk, thinking about what she’d just learned. She wondered if Janet Myers would be willing to discuss this alleged change of heart about Harley Gerlach. Probably not. Even if it were true, she’d probably see it as unbelievable, a phony attempt to gain sympathy, to deflect suspicion.

  It was while these thoughts were running through her mind that Miss Franks buzzed her on the intercom.

  “Weren’t you supposed to call Chief Owens?” she asked.

  CHAPTER 35

  Carol had finally spoken with Ithaca’s chief of police, and they had agreed to meet at Redman’s apartment at one o’clock. Owens said he would call Marcia Kane and tell her he wanted her present when the sheriff arrived. He had little to add to what he had told Bridges the night before, other than that Kane had made it clear that she had lost the love of her life.

  Owens’ instructions turned out to be less precise than she had expected, with the result that Carol didn’t arrive at the apartment until nearly a quarter past one. She was mildly annoyed that the police chief of a small city could not have provided her with better directions, but she had found him cooperative in a case with jurisdictional issues during her first year as Cumberland County’s sheriff, and was disinclined to complain about his role in her tardiness. It was he who let her in; the woman named Kane, who was the tenant and might have been expected to come to the door, remained seated during introductions.

  Owens took Carol on a brief tour of the small apartment, showing her where Redman’s body had been found in the bedroom. When they got to the room where Redman had given lessons, he took the threatening note from his pocket and somewhat melodramatically placed it on the music stand where he had found it the previous day. Carol studied it, but found nothing of interest other than those cryptic five words.

  “I went over this with Ms. Kane last evening, Sheriff,” he said as they took seats in the living room. “But I know you’d want to hear it all from her yourself. Especially due to that note about this man Gerlach.”

  Carol planned to get around to that, but first she wanted to talk about Mercedes Redman.

  “Tell me, Ms. Kane, how long and how well have you known Ms. Redman?”

  “I’ve known her for nearly four years. We’re a couple, as you presumably know. I guess I’ll have to amend that to were—we were a couple. We loved each other very much. I’m old enough to have had my share of bad days, but yesterday was the worst. I still can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “You have my sympathy,” Carol said. “How would you describe your relationship? What I mean is, many couples in love share many things, but still have separate lives. Different jobs, different responsibilities—things they don’t talk much about. Did Ms. Redman share her life as a musician—the violin lessons, the opera she was involved in this summer?”

  “Sure. We discussed it over dinner sometimes. She’d tell me about her day, me about mine.”

  “Did she talk about the opera, you know—” Carol fumbled for the name, pretending she couldn’t think of it. “Sorry, I’m not an opera person. I can’t seem to remember the opera she was doing. Help me out.”

  “I don’t think I ever heard her mention it.”

  “That’s okay,” Carol said. “You told Chief Owens that
Ms. Redman had received this peculiar message, a message that mentioned someone named Gerlach. The message that was on the music stand when you got home yesterday. Well, Gerlach was participating in this opera with Ms. Redman. And he was killed. Just about a week ago. I’m in charge of the investigation into his death, and when his name pops up in a message to Ms. Redman just days before her death, I’m naturally interested. What did she tell you about Gerlach?”

  Marcia Kane thought about it. Surely Chief Owens asked you the same question, Carol said to herself. Don’t you remember what you told him?

  “Not very much, I guess. She mentioned that he had been killed, but she was more interested in the rest of the note.”

  “The rest of it? The part about leaving her alone?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Leaving who alone?” Carol asked. “Did she tell you whom the note referred to?”

  “I don’t think so. We didn’t really talk about it. Well, not much.”

  “I’m sorry, but I thought you said that Ms. Redman was more interested in that part of the note—the part about leaving somebody alone, not the part about Gerlach.”

  Chief Owens was watching this exchange with interest, making a mental note that Marcia Kane looked flustered.

  “I think she didn’t understand it. She said it sounded threatening, but she couldn’t imagine why anybody would be threatening her.”

  “Did she ever mention an envelope? You know, something with a return address? A postmark?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Owens, who had been a silent witness to this interrogation, spoke up.

  “We searched the apartment for it. It was in the trash basket under the kitchen sink. No return address, and the postmark was badly smudged. It looks like it begins with an S, maybe Sa or So or Su.”