Crypt Suzette

by Maya Corrigan

  He leaned forward. “Are you planning to get married?”

  She choked on her water. When she recovered, she said, “I hope to get married, if and when the right man comes along. I wouldn’t call that planning. Would you?”

  He shook his head. “No, but when I was leaving the wine bar two nights ago, I heard Nick ask you about your wedding plans.”

  “Not my plans. Nick is a manager at the Harbor Inn, where I’d inquired about the wedding reception facilities for a sort-of friend.” Val nonchalantly slid Bram’s phone across the table, glad that he’d gone off on the wedding plans tangent instead of quizzing her about borrowing his phone.

  “That explains it. You weren’t acting like you were in a committed relationship. On Monday night you were with Nick. Last night you went charging down the street after a different guy. Tonight you were having a drink with yet another man.”

  Val was surprised at his interest in her social life. “I talked to those guys to find out what they knew about Suzette and to assess if they might have wanted her dead. I’m not planning another tête-à-tête with any of them.”

  “I get it. They’re your suspects.” Bram suddenly straightened up. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Am I one of your suspects too? Is that why you met me for dinner?”

  Wow. He was less self-confident than she’d thought. “You are not one of my suspects.” If she wanted to see more of him—and she did—this would be the time to give him some encouragement. “I trust you enough not just to meet you for dinner but also to go into a haunted house with you. Are you interested in visiting the Bayport haunted house with me tomorrow evening?”

  A smile lit up his face. “As long as you don’t run screaming out of it.”

  “No fear of that. I don’t scare easily. I’ll be working at the bake sale table outside the haunted house until seven. I’ll pick up tickets for us.”

  “Okay. Meet you there at seven.” Bram glanced at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I’d like to get back to the shop before closing time in case the new assistant needs more training. I have time to give you a ride home if you’d like.”

  “Not necessary. It’s a short walk.”

  * * *

  Despite Val’s statement that she didn’t scare easily, she kept an eye peeled for anyone on foot or on wheels dogging her on the way home. As far as she could tell, no one took the slightest interest in her.

  When Val walked into the house, she was surprised that Granddad wasn’t watching TV in his lounge chair, his usual after-dinner activity. Instead, he was at the computer.

  She glanced at her watch and joined him in the study. “Granddad! I left more than three hours ago. Have you been there all this time?”

  “Nah, I took a break and walked to town for a pizza.”

  She sank into the sofa across from the computer. “I solved one of our mysteries. The bartender and a server at the tavern identified the man Suzette argued with there on Saturday night. Her boss, Nick, the assistant hotel manager. I wish I knew what they were talking about, but no one overheard them.”

  “Don’t go asking him about it,” Granddad said over his shoulder.

  “I won’t, but I’m going to try to talk to the maid who was Suzette’s friend. I met her outside the inn’s parking lot on Sunday at three, so I’ll hang around there tomorrow at the same time. Maybe she has an idea what Suzette and her boss would disagree about. Maria might also know if Nick drives a black car.” Val could tell Granddad was engrossed in the computer screen. “By the way, did you look up Morgan online after I told you how to spell her last name?”

  “Yup. Her Facebook page says she graduated from Penn State and lived in Canada for a couple of years before she moved to Maryland.”

  “So she wasn’t originally from Maryland?”

  He shrugged. “It didn’t say she moved back to Maryland. I couldn’t find any connection between her and Suzette from years ago. There’s not much online about Morgan, but there’s plenty about Gillian.”

  “Makes sense. She’s a successful author.”

  He swiveled the desk chair around to face Val. “Her big hit was an espionage thriller, published ten years ago. The story took place in occupied France during the Second World War. The main character was a young American woman who spied on the Germans and worked with the Resistance. The book was a big hit. Then a man took her to court over it.”

  “Why?”

  “His mother had been making notes for a memoir for years. As she was getting into her nineties, she decided to write it before she passed on. She took a class at the senior center about writing memoirs and hired the teacher, a published writer, to whip the memoir into shape. You can guess who the writer was. The old woman died before the project was done. I read her obit. Turns out she’d been an American spy in France during the war.”

  “How close was Gillian’s book to the notes? Were the words the same?” When Granddad shook his head, Val shrugged. “So it wasn’t plagiarism.”

  “The son claimed Gillian stole his mother’s life.”

  Morally wrong, but was it illegal? “How did the lawsuit end? Did Gillian have to pay damages?”

  “They settled. She agreed to give credit to the man’s mother as the source of the story. Gillian said it was an oversight that she’d left the woman’s name out of the acknowledgments and that it would appear in all future printings of the book.”

  Val thought about what Casper had revealed tonight. “Suzette took a weekend class on memoir writing from Gillian. It’s possible she’s familiar with what Suzette wrote.” Would she fictionalize Suzette’s memoir as she had the spy’s?

  Granddad’s eyes grew round. “That’s Gillian’s motive. She wanted to steal Suzette’s life story, and she couldn’t do that as long as Suzette was alive to object.”

  Val shook her head. “Gillian based a novel on the experiences of a woman who died. That’s a far cry from killing someone to steal a plot for a book.”

  “How do you know she didn’t do that the last time?” Granddad folded his arms. “Sometimes when old folks die, people assume it’s from natural causes when it isn’t.”

  “You’re saying Gillian is a serial killer?” Val had heard bizarre theories about other murders from him, but this one took the cake. “I can believe she would commit a crime with a pen, but not with a sword, so to speak.”

  “You said she had no motive. I found one. I’m just sayin’ don’t rule her out. You think that fella Nick is a better suspect? He didn’t try to pin the crime on someone else like Gillian did. So what if he and Suzette had words the night before she died? That’s not evidence.”

  Val sighed. He was right. “Neither of us has any evidence for our theories. Without it, the chief will ignore us.” She stood up. “I’m going to make the cookies for tomorrow’s haunted house bake sale.” Mixing ingredients and shaping dough always relaxed her.

  * * *

  Thunder growled as Val left the house at seven fifteen on Halloween morning. In late October, the sky usually began brightening by seven, though the sun didn’t rise until half an hour later. But the sun would have trouble penetrating this morning’s shroud of thick clouds. Distant flashes of lightning gave the sky a momentary eerie glow. Perfect weather for the holiday.

  Waiting to turn off the main road between Bayport and Treadwell, Val reached behind her for the umbrella in her seat-back pocket. All she found was an empty water bottle. She glanced at the gray sky. No rain yet, but it might be pouring when she left the café this afternoon. At least her windbreaker had a hood.

  The thunder increased in volume and frequency as she neared the Bayport Racket and Fitness Club. She pulled into the club’s parking lot. Lights on tall poles spaced far apart dimly illuminated the lot. It was as long as a football field but narrow, with parking spaces lining a center lane. Cars belonging to early-bird exercise addicts filled the spots near the building. Val pulled into the first free space, a third of the way down the lot.

  As she hustle
d across the lot toward the building, lightning forked toward earth and thunder resounded. She looked around, afraid it might have hit a tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fender of a car only feet away. A car coming right at her!

  Chapter 21

  Val dove between two parked cars and stumbled on the uneven pavement. She ended up sprawled on the ground between the cars, her left arm twisted under her. Her heart raced. The thunder must have kept her from hearing the car, but why hadn’t she seen its headlights? Because they weren’t on. Had someone intended to run her over? If so, the driver might come after her on foot.

  Thunder boomed as she tried to lever herself up with her hands. Her wrist protested the weight she put on it. The pain made her light-headed, but she didn’t dare take time to recover. Using her right hand for support, she scrambled to her feet.

  She crouched down to scan the lot from between the parked cars. All the spaces between her and the club building were full. No car was moving in the lot.

  She spotted a woman in flowered tights and a pink fitness jacket walking toward the parking lot from the club entrance.

  Val recognized her as a regular in the early-bird aerobics class. “Hi there. Did you happen to see a car leave the lot just now?”

  “As I came out of the club, a car pulled out onto the road.” She pointed to the exit from the parking area. “Why?”

  “It nearly ran me over. Did you notice the color or anything else about it?”

  She shook her head. “All I saw was the brake lights. Are you okay?”

  Val flexed her wrist. It hurt but at least it moved. “I’m fine.” But disappointed that the woman could tell her nothing about the vehicle. “That car was driving without headlights.”

  “My SUV has lights that turn on automatically. When I borrow my husband’s car, I sometimes forget to turn on the lights manually. Maybe that’s what happened, and you’re hard to spot dressed in black.”

  Val glanced back at the dark pockets between the light poles. The woman’s explanation was more plausible than the alternative—that someone had lurked in the lot and driven toward Val at the exact moment thunder drowned out the car’s motor. She might have accepted the woman’s theory if Suzette hadn’t been killed by a hit-and-run driver four days ago. Had the driver in the lot gone for a random target or for Val specifically? She shuddered at the thought that someone had been watching her to find out her routine.

  Large drops of rain burst from the clouds hovering over the parking lot. The woman in exercise clothes sprinted for her car, and Val rushed inside the club. She intended to call the chief about the close call as soon as she got a free minute, but she was inundated with customers waiting out the drenching rain. Nice to sell three times more food and coffee than on a typical Thursday morning, but not what she needed with a sore wrist.

  As the weather improved, the café emptied out. Val was clearing the tables when Granddad came in at nine.

  He sat on a stool at the eating bar. “I’ve got evidence the police can use. I’ll show you.” He pulled Val’s laptop from a padded carrying case.

  “Evidence of what?” Something that incriminated his latest favorite suspect, Gillian?

  He set the computer on the eating bar. “Video footage of an attempted break-in at Mrs. Hill’s house last night.”

  Val was disappointed his evidence had nothing to do with Suzette’s death, but it was still a victory for him. “So your scheme worked, Granddad! Congratulations.” Val glanced around the half-filled café and picked up the carafe. “I’ll top off everyone’s coffee. Then you can show me.”

  When she finished, she sat down on the stool next to his and rested her left hand and wrist on the eating bar. Maybe it would stop aching if she kept it motionless for a while.

  Granddad clicked to start the video. A shadowy figure crossed in front of the camera. He slinked toward the door of a two-story house, his face mostly hidden by the hood of his jacket. In silhouette he looked to Val like a man of average height and weight. The outdoor fixture near the door gave off a weak light, but enough to see that he wore black from head to toe. His eerily pale hands suggested he was wearing latex gloves.

  With one arm forward, he looked as if he was inserting a key in the door lock, though the key was hidden from the camera by his hand. He pulled his hand back and tried again.

  Granddad paused the video. “I think he’s using the old key. It worked for him the last time he broke in and stole stuff. But now there’s a different lock. The burglar’s about to give up and leave. Watch carefully, and you’ll catch a glimpse of the fella’s face when he turns away from the door.”

  Val concentrated on the small screen. The man’s face appeared for a split second. Not long enough for her to recognize him, but something about him struck her as familiar. “Back it up, Granddad. Try to stop the action when he faces the camera.”

  After a few tries. Granddad paused the video on the correct frame.

  Val saw the face clearly. “It’s Nick! Hotel manager by day and burglar by night.”

  “He’s wearing a hoodie like the guy Harvey saw casing our house and I spotted running away after RoboFido barked.” Granddad pointed to the man on the screen. “Could have been him.”

  “Or anyone else who didn’t want to be seen.” Val massaged her sore wrist. “Our burglar knew how to pick a lock. Nick didn’t even try to do that at Mrs. Hill’s house.”

  Granddad frowned and then his brow unwrinkled. “I know why he didn’t try. The new lock tipped him off that she suspected the house had been burgled and was beefing up her security. He didn’t want to leave any evidence of a break-in. Picking the lock would be proof of a burglary.”

  “That’s true. After our break-in, the police saw right away that the lock had been picked. Mrs. Hill has a cleaning service, like your other clients with ghosts. Do you remember the names of the cleaning companies?”

  Granddad took a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped some pages. “Treadwell Tidy Maids, Oxford Best Maids, Easton Green Cleaners.”

  Val moved the keyboard closer to her and entered the name of the Treadwell company in a search box. Her left wrist hurt as she typed, so she used only her right hand on the keys as she searched for the other two housecleaning companies.

  Granddad noticed. “Why are you typing like that?”

  If she told him the whole story, he’d worry about her and fret about not being able to protect her. Val decided on a half-truth. “I tripped in the parking lot and hurt my wrist.” She drew his attention to the Web sites for each of the cleaning companies. “They have different company names and contact information, but the same menu items and page design. They must have used the same Web designer.”

  Granddad took charge of the keyboard and clicked around each site. “Look at the photos of the cleaning team. A different pose on each site but with the same women holding brooms and mops. This is a single business with multiple aliases.”

  A possibility. Val peered at the pictures. Amateur photography, not professional shots you could buy from a stock photo site. “It’s strange to run businesses under different names. Most companies want to establish a brand name.”

  “Not if they have something to hide, like a sideline in theft. They don’t want the police to see the common element in a bunch of burglaries. The way this fella Nick operates, he gets in by using the key the homeowners gave the cleaning team or left lying around. They don’t realize anything’s missing for a while. When they do, they think they’ve misplaced stuff. That’s what happened to Mrs. Hill, the Kings, and Mrs. Jackson. If they ever call the police, they can’t say exactly when the theft occurred.”

  Val flexed her wrist so it wouldn’t stiffen up. Could Nick be a common burglar, not someone who specifically wanted Suzette’s computer? Or was he both? “The video doesn’t prove Nick had anything to do with Suzette’s death.”

  “But he had a secret to hide. Maybe she found out.” Granddad put the computer back in its case. �
�I’m showing the chief this video. I expect he’ll have some questions for you about Nick.” He left the club.

  Later in the morning Suzette’s cousin called to say she’d be at the house by three thirty to go through Suzette’s things. Val’s friend Chatty came into the café around noon. A massage therapist at the club, she advised Val to treat her wrist with RICE—rest, ice, compression, and elevation. She then wrapped Val’s wrist in an athletic bandage. That took care of compression, but the other treatments would have to wait until Val finished work.

  * * *

  The sun had come out by the time Val left the club at two fifteen. While she was driving home, Chief Yardley called her. She stopped on the side of the road to talk to him.

  “Your granddaddy hit the jackpot with his surveillance camera. His ghost hunting may lead to arrests for the burglaries around here.”

  “Arrests? Nick has accomplices?”

  “At least one. His sister. She runs housecleaning businesses under various names. She does the estimates and inspects the houses after they’re cleaned.”

  “That gives her a chance to check out where the valuables are,” Val said. “She could probably draw a map to them for her brother.”

  “Almost every recent burglary reported to the police occurred in a home serviced by one of her companies. Keep this strictly confidential. We still have to build a case against her and her brother. Your granddaddy says that Nick Hyde was Suzette’s boss and that you can give me information about him.”

  Val told the chief about her encounters with Nick—at the bookshop the night of the costume contest, at the hotel the next morning, and at the wine bar the following day. “He pumped me on how well I knew Suzette and whether she’d confided in me about her work at the inn. I think she was concerned about the work environment there and he knew that. Our house was burglarized within hours after I talked to him.”

  The chief said nothing for a moment. “Why would he want Suzette’s computer?”