Death By Design

by Abigail Keam

  I did my regular routine of snooping and found nothing. Finally, I was in her clothes closet. I rushed through Emma’s clothes, praying that my cab was still outside. Nothing. I pushed them aside and tapped the walls. Sounded solid. Frustrated, looking around the closet, I was flummoxed about what to do next. It was then I noticed the left rear corner of the carpet was pulled up just a tad–barely noticeable. Some of the backing threads were visible. Hmm?

  Using my cane, I hooked the wolf’s snout on the tab of carpet and pulled back. A manila mailing envelope peeked out. Grasping a chair, I sat down and carefully leaned over, grabbing the carpet and pulling with all my might. The carpet gave way, exposing several large first-class mailers. Eureka!

  Well, well, well. It seemed our little Emma was a glass full of sass, after all.

  41

  I had used my cell phone to photograph the documents I discovered in Emma’s apartment. Once back home, I laid the photographs out on my Nakashima table. I spent hours studying them.

  Jumping Jehosaphat! These babies were dynamite.

  They were copies of Bunny’s insurance inventories of her jewelry, art work, and couture dresses. Also included were hand-drawn floor plans of the apartments in London, New York, and Lexington. Between the sheets of paper in the manila envelopes was a napkin from the Rose Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel with numbers hastily written on it with what I presumed to be lipstick. I assumed the numbers to be the combination to a safe.

  But here’s the rub. Why would Emma compile and hide these documents? She already knew the floor plans of the apartments, and had access to Bunny’s insurance lists any time she wanted. All she had to do was open a file drawer or a computer file to review the information.

  It was as if she was amassing the information for someone else, but why didn’t that person have the manila envelope in their possession?

  Why was Emma hiding it?

  Because Emma was storing the information for him, her, or them. Someone wanted access to the information anytime they needed it, but didn’t want to be caught with the information in their home, computer, or on his/her person. That meant they had access to Emma anytime they wanted.

  So Theda was right.

  Emma was seeing someone, and this person didn’t want Emma to share that information with even her closest associates.

  Why did I believe that?

  Think, darling, think. I found no pictures, love letters, trinkets a lover would get for another in newfound love.

  Emma’s apartment looked like a bachelor lady’s with no family or love interests living there. It was barren of all the bits and pieces of paper, photographs, toys, and mementoes that connect us to others.

  Emma must have been a very lonely person. She was ripe for the picking by some manipulative person.

  Somehow Emma must have come to the realization that she had been used.

  No wonder she had been terrified.

  42

  I was at the Farmers’ Market on a Saturday morning selling my honey. Business had been brisk that cool morning, but I was currently experiencing a lull. It was fine by me when Shaneika dropped off her son, Lincoln Warfield Todd, while she shopped.

  Linc was a born businessman and loved to take over my kiosk when he visited. He was never flustered by multiple purchases or demanding customers, and he could count change back the old-fashioned way–using his noggin.

  Giving Linc free rein of my portable shop, I sat in my lounge chair sipping hot chocolate, happily content–until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  Not liking people coming up behind me, I naturally flinched and automatically reached in my pocket for my Taser.

  “Josiah.”

  I turned in my chair. “Holy Moly! I wish you wouldn’t sneak up behind me, Goetz. I don’t like it.”

  His expression immediately let me know this was not a social visit. He had on his “detective” face.

  “Josiah, I need you to come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “To the station. This is official business.”

  I rose from my chair. “Why?” I have a naturally defiant reaction to authority.

  “I need to ask you some questions.”

  “You know I can refuse to talk to you.”

  “Then I’ll just have to arrest you right here at the Farmer’s Market in front of everyone.”

  My stomach tightened. “On what charge?”

  “Tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice for starters.”

  Goetz got out his handcuffs.

  “Put those away,” I hissed. “I’ll come. Don’t embarrass me.”

  With a smug grin, Goetz put them away.

  I removed the straw hat and apron I usually wore at the Market and turned my back to Goetz. I could tell my face was flushed, and I didn’t want Goetz to see how flustered I was. “Lincoln, will you watch my things until your mother comes back?”

  Lincoln nodded, his wide eyes never leaving Goetz.

  “Will you tell her that I’m with Detective Goetz, and she is to come to the police station for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call Matt to come and pack up my things.”

  “I’ll watch till he comes.”

  Smiling, I softly touched Linc’s velvet cheek. “I know you’ll do me proud. Remember to tell your mother where I am, and that she’s to come for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I followed Goetz to a police vehicle and got in the back. The weasel wouldn’t let me ride shotgun. I felt totally humiliated, aware that all eyes were upon me. At that moment, I really hated him.

  43

  If Goetz wanted to play hardball, so could I.

  I refused to speak until Shaneika arrived and I had time to converse with her.

  Three and a half hours later, I was sitting in an interrogation room with Shaneika by my side and Goetz sitting across a battered table. It was the same room and across the same nasty table where I had been interrogated about the death of Richard Pidgeon only a few short years ago. Only it had been Fred O’nan who interrogated me with Goetz passively standing by. He wasn’t passive today.

  I involuntarily shivered from fear.

  “Are you cold?” asked Shaneika.

  I shook my head.

  Shaneika turned to Goetz. “What’s this about, Detective?”

  “Shaking the tree to see what falls to the ground.”

  “You damaged my client’s reputation by making a scene at her place of work.”

  Goetz grinned. “Ms. Todd, you know next week Josiah’s booth will be bombarded with curious folks wanting to get the lowdown on what happened today.”

  He looked at me and winked. “You better bring more honey next week. You’ll probably sell out.”

  I wanted to reach across the table and slap his smug face, but I sat still. Sometimes I actually exercise impulse control.

  “Is my client under arrest?” Shaneika demanded.

  Mugging, Goetz answered, “Depends on what your client tells me.”

  “About what?” I interjected.

  “Tampering with evidence concerning Emma Fisher’s death.”

  “I haven’t tampered with anything.”

  Goetz took a picture from a folder and threw it across the table. “Do you deny this is you entering Emma Fisher’s apartment in New York?”

  Jumping Jehosaphat! Play it cool, girl. Play it cool.

  I made a big production of reaching into my purse and retrieving a pair of reading glasses. I put them on and leaned over the photograph. “Yeah, that’s me. So what?”

  “So you admit it’s you.”

  “I just said so.”

  “Then you admit you broke into Emma Fisher’s apartment after her death.”

  “I admit no such thing. I admit I entered her apartment, but I didn’t break into it. As it so happens, I had a key.”

  “How did you happen to have Emma’s apartment key?”

  “Emma gave it to me the day we met at the Chev
y Chase Inn,” I lied. “Do you have a picture in your little folder of me sitting in a booth knocking back a Bloody Mary that day? It seems you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

  “This is nothing more that police harassment,” concurred Shaneika.

  Goetz leaned back in his chair. He pursed his lips ever so slightly.

  I could tell he didn’t expect me to have a key. Goetz didn’t like having the wind taken out of his sails.

  “And there was no reason for me not to enter the apartment, since there was no crime scene tape nor a post telling anyone they couldn’t enter the apartment,” I continued.

  “Why were you there?”

  “Emma was worried. She told me if something happened to her, I was to water her plants.”

  Goetz closed his eyes, slowly inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a few seconds and exhaled. He opened his eyes. “You know being a smart-ass is not going to help you here,” he shot back.

  “I guess not, but it makes me feel a whole better.”

  “Josiah,” cautioned Shaneika, “let me handle this.”

  Goetz took out another photograph of me handling the manila envelopes I found in Emma’s closet. “Care to explain this? You went right to them. How did you know they were hidden in the closet?”

  “I didn’t. I looked in the closet and saw fibers sticking up from the corner of the carpet and pulled them up. That’s how I found the envelopes. I didn’t know they were there.”

  “The New York boys had already found the envelopes. They set up a motion-activated camera in the apartment, wanting to see who paid a visit, and if they would go to the closet–and in you stumble, as big as life.” He threw out some more pictures of me searching the apartment.

  “So I found some large envelopes in the apartment, but I didn’t leave with them. I took pictures of the contents and then put the envelopes back where I found them. I didn’t tamper with anything. I didn’t even leave my fingerprints on them. This so-called evidence is pristine.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “I told you–to water Emma’s plants.”

  “She didn’t have any plants.”

  “I must have misunderstood.”

  Shaneika pointed out, “Detective Goetz, no crime has been committed here. Mrs. Reynolds did not break into the apartment. She had a key. There was no posting by the New York police that she couldn’t enter.

  “Fact number two–she didn’t remove anything from the apartment, or take any of the contents, including the envelopes from the closet, which she put back. All she did was take photographs of the material inside. Now you may construe this to be tampering with evidence, but it would very hard to get a jury to agree with you, considering the injustices that Mrs. Reynolds has had to endure from the hands of the police.”

  Goetz stiffened. “Who gave you that key?”

  “I told you–Emma Fisher. Since we’re discussing the murder of Emma Fisher–how did she die?” I asked.

  “She was strangled with a scarf.”

  I curled my lip. “That takes a lot of strength and anger. I can’t believe you think Walter did it. He wasn’t as tall as Emma.”

  “It doesn’t take much height to strangle a woman with her own scarf when she’s sitting, and someone comes up from behind.”

  “Oh,” I blurted. “And you found Walter’s DNA on the scarf?”

  Goetz looked at his wristwatch. “Time is 3:45 pm, and this interview is concluded.” Once he had turned the video camera off, Goetz announced, “We had to let Walter Neff go, but he’s still a suspect.”

  “That means you couldn’t tie him to the murder, or Walter had a solid alibi for the time of Emma’s death. What about Bunny?” I asked.

  “That’s all I can tell you. Both murders are still under investigation.”

  Shaneika stood up. “Come on, Josiah. Let’s go before we waste more of the Detective’s time or you say something stupid.”

  Say something stupid? Who, me?

  44

  Later that same day, I hurried to the boat dock where June and I kept our boats on the Kentucky River. Snatching the key out of a hole in a sycamore tree, I started June’s pontoon boat and headed down the river to the public boat ramp where I had arranged to meet Walter Neff.

  Thirty minutes later, I pulled the pontoon over to the riverbank and Walter jumped in. We then sped further down the river.

  Walter slumped down in a seat next to the captain’s chair and wiped his sweaty face off with an old towel left on the boat. “This is very cloak and dagger, even for you, Toots.”

  “I want to make sure that we’re not followed. I have spent the day being grilled by the police, and I don’t want to give them any reason to take another shot at me.” I handed him the photos of the documents from Emma’s apartment.

  Pulling over around a bend in the river, I tied the boat to an overhanging branch, making sure no snakes were sunning on it first. Relaxing in the captain’s chair, I watched Walter peruse the pictures. “What do you think?”

  Walter laid them out on the small table before him. “These make it look like Emma was planning to kill Bunny.”

  “I disagree. Why would she need to make drawings of the floor plans and a listing of the security codes? That makes no sense. It looks to me like she was cataloguing this information for someone else. Theda Finkelstein was positive Emma was secretly seeing someone.”

  “Yeah, but who, Toots? I need something other than an old lady’s instinct. I need something I can sink my teeth into. I need proof. My neck is in the noose as we speak.”

  “Mrs. Finkelstein didn’t know whom she was seeing.”

  “Hunky-dory that’s not. Gets me nowhere.”

  “It gets you everywhere, Walter. There’s someone in the background controlling the lives of these two women.”

  “And he used Emma to kill my baby.”

  “Are you accusing Emma of killing Bunny? I didn’t even see her at the gala.”

  “She could have snuck in.”

  “There was security at the gate and all guests had to have an invitation. The thing to check is whether Emma’s name was on the guest list, and if she was checked off by security.”

  “How would I do that?”

  “You’re a private investigator, so investigate.”

  “Let’s go over why Emma wanted to see you.”

  “I have never figured out why Emma wanted to see me. I was not close to Bunny, and didn’t know Emma at all.”

  “But Emma said she was frightened?”

  “Yes, and I have no idea what she wanted me to do about it. The meeting with her is still a mystery to me.”

  “Didn’t she say something to Mrs. Finkelstein about being frightened, too?”

  “She told Mrs. Finkelstein something about gaslight.”

  “Gaslight? What the heck is that about?”

  “Walter, I’ve helped you all I can. I’ve put myself at risk meeting with you. Now I’m done. I’m going to drop you off at the dock and we’re finished. Capisce?”

  “You copping out on me, Toots?”

  “Walter, I’m tired, and I don’t feel well today. Bunny was neither my client nor my friend. The ball is in your court. Run with it.”

  “I liked Bunny Witt. I thought we hit if off real good–like there might be a future there, you know? So why was she sneaking off to meet someone at the gala?”

  “You don’t know that, Walter. She could have been lured with a note from a friend, or a potential buyer saying they wanted a private talk about buying her dresses. You don’t know that Bunny going out to the carriage house had anything to do with a lovers’ rendezvous.”

  I turned the pontoon boat around and headed back to the public dock while Walter continued to argue with me.

  I was abandoning him in his hour of need. How could I be so heartless? I had access to information he didn’t have. He was depressed and needed someone to talk with. Yada. Yada. Yada.

  “For goodness’ sake, Walter! Take your marbles and
find someone else to play with.”

  45

  The fruit trees, apples, pears, and peaches were in bloom and alive with the sound of bees happily pollinating as they gathered nectar.

  The nectar mixes with chemicals in the bees’ stomachs, and is taken back to the hive where it is stored in hexagonally-shaped wax cells. The house bees then flap their wings to help evaporate water from the nectar. Once that is accomplished, the cell is sealed with more wax and left for food use down the road. Once enough cells are covered with wax, I harvest the honey.

  Don’t worry. I leave enough honey for the bees, which make approximately five hundred pounds a year per hive. I only take a hundred pounds or so.

  That’s a lot to keep up with, and soon the days ran into each other. I pushed the deaths of Bunny Witt and Emma Fisher to the back of my mind. I had bees to manage, horses to board, animals to feed, doctor appointments to keep, and a business with Eunice to run. I was quite the busy gal.

  Oh, did I tell you that Teddy and I were seeing quite a bit of each other? We were social gadabouts, going to parties, receptions, charity balls, dinner parties–you know–the usual social functions with Lexington’s upper elite. When not glad-handing, we went to the movies or out to dinner. I’m sure all this running around was not good for my health, but I didn’t care. I was having fun.

  Teddy was sophisticated, fun, witty, and charming. He was always well dressed, smelled divine, and his manners were impeccable. Oh, did I mention handsome? In other words, he was a catch.

  So what was the problem, you may wonder? Who says there’s a problem?

  I do, that’s who. Besides throwing caution to the wind about my health, what the hell was Teddy doing with me? He could have had any available gal in Lexington, so why was he hand-holding with me?

  Am I paranoid? No. Just the facts, ma’am. And the facts were this–I wasn’t good enough. I’m not talking about personal worth. I’m talking about looks and money. This guy was slick, looked like a movie star, and behaved with aplomb.