"Do you benefit from his will?"
"Yes. He provided $50,000 for me to do with however I see fit, and another $100,000 to see that his memory is preserved. I'm not sure yet how to use that money. And speaking of money, there's one thing that has always baffled me."
"What's that?"
"Each year I go over his finances, after his CPA gets through with them, just to make sure everything seems to line up. Well, each year he withdraws $50,000 cash from the bank, and anytime I asked him what it was for he always told me a charity. Well, Cyril was always willing to help out a charity, if he thought it was legitimate. And he has always been willing to help those in need. Widows. People down on their luck. A friend in need. Well, the other night when I confronted him again about that, he said, 'Oh, I've decided I'm not giving to that charity anymore.'"
"I've decided I'm not giving to that charity anymore."
"That's right. That's what he said. But when I asked him to elaborate, he said the case was closed. I guess we'll never find out where that money was going."
"When did he withdraw it each year?"
"Usually the first part of October. And earlier this fall he said he was giving the $50,000 this time, but no more."
"Do you think anyone was blackmailing him?"
"I doubt it. Knowing Cyril Portwood, if someone tried to blackmail him he would tell them to go ahead and spread the dirt. It would probably help him sell more books. And although I was never supposed to share this, Cyril Portwood never took a dime from his sales at the Kentucky Book Fair."
"What about Millie Longacre, or his brother or sister? Do you think he gave them the $50,000?"
"I think there's a lot better chance that he gave it to her than to his siblings."
"I was wondering, because he said he wasn't giving to that charity anymore, and he planned to cut the three of them from the will."
"Not cut them from the will, just curtail the amount, and for his brother and sister it would have been a serious curtailment."
"So, maybe one of them killed him before he could change the will."
"That is if any of them knew they were mentioned in the will and knew the will was about to be changed. And then the charity could have been an actual charity. Maybe one he found out wasn't on the up-and-up after all. I just wish I knew. Of course, I doubt if this had anything to do with his death. Besides, I assume he gave the money this year, and whoever received it won't be expecting any more before next October. That's a long time for Cyril Portwood to change his mind, which he was prone to do from time to time. He would fly off the handle at someone and be their best friend again before the sun went down. That's one of the reasons I wanted him to hold off on changing his will."
"Is it possible he gambled the $50,000? Maybe he went to Vegas or played in a poker tournament?"
"I don't think so. And Cyril never went anywhere in October, unless he went to Gatlinburg for a few days, and he didn't do that every year. But he withdrew the money every year, at least for the last several years. I don't know how many but I can have my assistant look it up if you need to know for sure. Now, is there anything else you need? My next appointment should be here in a few minutes."
I told McHugh that was all and thanked him for his time. I told him I would call if I thought of anything else. He told me that would be fine. He wanted me to find out who murdered his friend.
Now all I had to figure out is if the money I am to follow were the millions that Portwood had, or the $50,000 that someone pocketed each year. Or did the money have nothing to do with his death?
12
A few minutes later we learned that Connie Crowe is the only full-time employee of the Kentucky Book Fair. There is a board that governs the book fair, and a large group of volunteers that help make the event as seamless as possible. Mrs. Crowe took a few minutes telling us about the event we had just attended for the first time and then answered our questions. She knew Col. Portwood and was sorry to hear about his death, and sorrier still that whoever killed him might have done so at the Book Fair.
She told us that some of the books sold at the book fair are shipped to the KBF, while some authors prefer to deliver their books themselves. Portwood delivered his books on Thursday and then left. Jenny Luscher is the KBF's treasurer, and Mrs. Crowe said that Miss Luscher checked in Portwood's books that day.
She went on to tell me that school groups and librarians can come to the Convention Center to purchase books on Friday, but most of the authors who are there for that event write children's books.
She confirmed that Portwood donated all of his proceeds from the event to the KBF, but the $50,000 Portwood withdrew from his bank each year didn't go to the KBF.
When she got back to telling me about the chronological order of the events at the KBF, Lou and I learned that on Friday night the KBF has an authors' reception, and many of the authors take part. I asked her if Portwood attended and she told me he was there, and that the event was held at the Paul Sawyier Public Library. She wasn't aware of any animosity at the event. I asked her if maybe something had happened beforehand, and she said I should ask some of the authors who rode the same shuttle to the event that Portwood rode. She also told me that one of the board members, Diana Munson, was at a table in the Capital Plaza Hotel when authors came down from their rooms to ride the shuttle, and I could contact her too to see if she knew of anything out of the way that might have happened. She went on to say that authors are advised to arrive early on Saturday morning and most authors stay until the event ends at 4:30. Miss Luscher would be able to tell us when Portwood left, but may or may not know if he left alone. Mrs. Crowe said she has so much on her plate during the event that she only saw Portwood a couple of times during the day, and nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary. She said that volunteers are assigned to each row of authors and are there to help the author whenever they need something, like a bottle of water. Also, the KBF provides lunch for all of the authors. Mrs. Crowe suggested that I check with Amy Smith, who is in charge of getting volunteers for the event. Mrs. Smith would be able to tell me which volunteers worked more closely with Portwood and those authors seated on the same row. I asked her if any author felt snubbed who didn't get invited to the event and she told me she wasn't aware of any, but then picked up her phone and called her mother-in-law, Linda Crowe, who was in charge of the author selection committee. Linda Crowe echoed her daughter-in-law's words. Both women agreed that anyone who is not selected for the event is disappointed, but none who weren't selected seemed so much so that he or she should be considered a murder suspect. Connie Crowe provided me with phone numbers for Miss Luscher, Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Munson, and Lou and I left with three more people on our contact list. Maybe someone would give us the name of someone they saw administer the poison.
+++
"Well, Lou, after talking to McHugh and Mrs. Crowe we know a little more about what Portwood did the last part of the week."
"And I know that I wasn't the recipient of Portwood's $50,000 each year."
"I was about to ask you if you are holding out on me."
"Only about the fact that I've solved most of our cases before you do."
"In your dreams, Lou. In your dreams."
"How did you know that?"
"Moving along, what else do you know about Portwood that doesn't have anything to do with the money."
"Well, Cy, I know that what he did that week didn't match what he had written in his journal. It wasn't like he knew he was going to keel over and he wanted someone to find the journal and think he led a more interesting life than he did. Do you think it was Walter Mitty's journal?"
"No, I think we can rule him out. I don't think he sneaked over to Portwood's garage and slipped it under the front seat of his car after he was dead."
"What about one of his neighbors? Do you think one of them did it?"
"Well, Lou, that would only make sense if that neighbor needed an alibi. We know he didn't die until he got home. Well,
we know that unless someone drove him home, and there's no evidence of that. So, it doesn't make sense that one of the neighbors did it. So, why was the journal inaccurate? I mean some things were right, but others were wrong. He died on a day that the right entries were made. And did Portwood hide the journal under the seat so a certain someone couldn't find it, or did it fall onto the floorboard and slide back under the seat?"
"That's a lot of questions and they all puzzle me. If what was written was something glorifying Portwood I might see why he would make up that stuff. Why was some of it right and the rest of it not?"
"Maybe it was what he was expecting to do, and his plans got changed when he got sick. Maybe he knew that he was going to be busy that week and didn't want to have to write things down and take away from his time. And maybe he just wrote it for himself, so he wouldn't forget to do something he wanted to do. There wasn't any dirt on anyone, and no bragging, either. Maybe it was just for him to remind himself to do the things he had planned to do. But, now that I think about it, I don't think it was to save time. How long does it take to write a few sentences in a journal, particularly if writing is what you do for a living?"
"That's a lot of maybes, Cy. We know that he did drop off his books on Thursday morning like the journal says, and he did attend the Author's Reception on Friday night at the library. And of course he was there to sign books on Saturday, but the journal entries ended before the event."
"But we're not sure if the rest of his Thursday notes are accurate, and nothing was mentioned about him meeting his lawyer for lunch on Friday. Friday's notation was something entirely different."
"And it isn't like his lawyer didn't want us to know they had met. He admitted that to us. But then we have only the lawyer's word that they did meet for lunch."
"But if the lawyer murdered him, wouldn't he be more likely to say that they didn't get together?"
"I don't know. Lawyers are smart guys. If McHugh murdered him, he knows that he didn't poison Portwood at lunch on Friday. Frank said the earliest he was poisoned was late Friday afternoon. Let's check that diner where he says they had lunch and see if they remember Portwood and McHugh."
13
We had two rooms at the Capital Plaza Hotel, so we weren't going back to Hilldale. That meant we had time to talk to more people. I wanted to clear this up and get back to retirement. I took out my cell phone and called the three women Mrs. Crowe had told us about. Diana Munson was able to answer my question on the phone. She did remember seeing Portwood when he came down in the elevator. He stopped and talked to her for a couple of minutes. Because of that she remembered that no one rode down with him, and he didn't seem like he was upset about anything. He was ready to enjoy another authors' reception and to visit with some of his friends he hadn't seen in a while.
Connie Crowe had already given both of the other two women a heads up that we might call, so they were ready. As it turned out, the two women were sisters and were willing to meet us together if that was okay with us. It was, and we did. I didn't think the two of them murdered Portwood for his $50,000. Besides, maybe the money had nothing to do with Portwood's murder. Fifty thousand dollars is a whole lot less than vast millions. Why settle for chump change when you can have it all?
As soon as I saw the two women it was obvious they were sisters. Since I was taking everything in order, I questioned Miss Luscher first, although Mrs. Smith said she was there too when Portwood dropped off his books. Both said that Portwood seemed excited to be there, like always, and they weren't aware that anything was bothering him. They said Portwood checked in his books and stayed and chatted with them for a few minutes. During that time, Portwood's good friend and chief rival, Jake Cartwright, brought in his books. I asked the sisters how well the two authors got along and both of them agreed that they were friends, but that both of them tried to get the best of each other. Each wanted to outsell the other. Cartwright seemed content if he sold more books than Portwood, but not only did Portwood want to sell more books than his friend, but he wanted to finish in the top ten of all authors at the event. I didn't hear the results, but I felt the four celebrities who were there were the top four selling authors. I figured Portwood's best chance at fame was coming in fifth.
I informed both women that Lou and I attended the Book Fair for the first time, and that we liked mysteries and bought an equal amount of both men's books. They laughed.
I asked if Portwood had a rivalry going with anyone else, but neither of them were aware of it if that was the case. Miss Luscher and Mrs. Smith agreed that both authors were likeable, and Portwood had quite a gift of gab.
I informed the two sisters that it was possible that Portwood was murdered at the KBF, because the autopsy report showed that he was poisoned between late Friday afternoon and sometime Saturday night. The odds were not good that someone accosted him or gave him something to drink in his room before breakfast, so the murder might have happened at the event. I asked them if either of them noticed anything out of the ordinary. Neither knew of anything, but Mrs. Smith told me that the volunteers who spent a great deal of time roaming up and down the author rows would have a better idea. She recommended that I call Arnold and Susie Hammond, who knew Portwood quite well and worked the row on which he sat.
Both women told me that Portwood and Cartwright walked out together after leaving their books on Thursday morning, but they had no idea if they went their separate ways or not. Also, each author who delivers his or her own books checks them out after the event is over, so the KBF will know how much they owe the author. Miss Luscher checked out both men before they left on Saturday, and she said they checked out about the same time and were among the last authors to leave. She guessed that both left around 5:00. Both women said they walked by Portwood's table during the event, and that he was busy signing books and seemed at ease. And Cartwright seemed to be having a good time, too. Neither could give me any idea of who else to talk to except for Cartwright and the Hammonds, but suggested I might check the seating chart and check with those who sat at Portwood's table, or across from him. I had already planned to do both, provided I didn't get a confession beforehand. They gave me addresses and phone numbers for Cartwright and the Hammonds and it was convenient that both the author and the husband and wife volunteer team lived in Anderson County. I didn't expect it to lead anywhere, but I did ask the two sisters if they had any knowledge about $50,000 Portwood had given to someone. I'm not sure if either knew how wealthy Portwood was. I wondered if Miss Luscher would have proposed marriage if she had known.
+++
"Well, Lou, what do you think?"
"I think that it must be those two sisters. Did you see how innocent they looked?"
"So, you think they were in on it together?"
"That's the part I'm not sure about."
"So, what do you really think?"
"That we aren't as retired as I thought we were. And that we still have a lot of people to talk to. Everywhere we go we add another name to our list. So, what do you think we should do now, Cy?"
"It's still a little too early to eat, so I think this would be a good time to tackle the brother and sister. So far everyone we've talked to appeared to have liked Portwood. We know that isn't true of his brother and sister. I want to see what they say. Then, maybe tomorrow we'll head over to Anderson County and then on up to where Portwood lived. Maybe we can eat lunch with Herb Wainscott and then go pay a visit to Portwood's two neighbors. Maybe Portwood and the girlfriend had a falling out. And it could be that all the time we're spending on this book fair stuff will be wasted. So, let's go visit the brother and sister. They live together. Let's see what they have to say and then come back downtown for dinner. I hear that Serafini's is as good of a place to eat as there is around here. That's where Portwood was supposed to have gone on Wednesday night."
14
It didn't take me long to find out that we didn't have to travel far to talk to Archie and Hazel Portwood. In a matter of a few minu
tes we pulled up in front of a small, older home on a hill near downtown. We didn't call ahead. We didn't want to give them time to put a story together. I walked up the steps and knocked on a wooden screen door that looked like its best years were behind it. A few seconds later a woman somewhere near my age opened the door.
"Yes?"
"Are you Hazel Portwood?"
"Who might you be?"
I decided to use my official name, since we were given this gig by a cop.
"I'm Lt. Dekker. This is Sgt. Murdock. We're here on a police matter. Is your brother at home?"
Instead of answering me, she turned and hollered.
"Archie. It's for you."
"Actually, we're here to talk to both of you. May we come in?"
"Oh, I guess so. I don't know why you want to talk to us. We've never caused no problems for nobody."
She turned and shuffled back to the chair I assumed she occupied before I knocked. We walked in and were offered seats on the couch. I touched down just short of hitting the wooden floor. I assumed at one time there was more support in the cushion. Lou saw my dilemma and walked over and sat on a scarred wooden rocker instead. It didn't fall apart when he sat down.
I was still trying to get as comfortable as possible, when Mr. Manners walked in.
"What do you want?"
"To talk to you and your sister. Please have a seat."
I thought about directing him to the other end of the couch, so that if he turned out to be the guilty party Lou would be able to rise up off his rocker and slap the cuffs on the guilty party before he could rise up out of the nether regions of the couch, but I decided to let him sit wherever he wanted. He opted for another wooden chair, situated where he could make eye contact with his sister if necessary. I hated to be seated lower than everyone else, but looked at Archie Portwood when he continued his pleasant greeting.
Murder at the Book Fair Page 5