Crypt Suzette

by Maya Corrigan

  With Morgan’s attention diverted, Val leaned down and slid the tapestry purse closer to herself. Unlikely that Morgan had a weapon in it, but with her bag out of reach, she’d have trouble making a quick getaway. “Is anything wrong, Morgan? You look flustered.”

  Morgan put her glasses on. “I thought I saw someone I knew. Couldn’t have been.” She went back to sipping tea and sampling food.

  She pronounced the strawberries and cream cheese on date nut bread passable, the lime tartlets in phyllo pastry quite good, and the scones heavenly. “The clotted cream is less than perfect.”

  “I’ll tell my assistant manager, Irene, that you liked the scones. Those are her specialty.” Val would keep silent about the rest. Irene wouldn’t appreciate the slur on her clotted cream.

  Morgan took another scone. “I haven’t seen any news about the hit-and-run investigation. Have you?”

  As Val had hoped, the killer couldn’t help but return to the scene of the crime, at least over a tea table. “The police haven’t made any new public statements, but I’ve learned a lot about Suzette’s life before she moved here.”

  Morgan’s barely visible eyebrows rose. “Really? She never talked to me about it. What did you find out?”

  “The family she worked for as a nanny said she was driven away by a campaign of harassment, ugly pranks, and at least one nasty note. No one knows who’s responsible.”

  Morgan grimaced. “That’s terrible. Do you know what the nasty note said?”

  “The exact words were You will pay for what you done.”

  “Bad grammar.” Morgan looked pained. “An uneducated person wrote it.”

  “Or that’s what the educated person who wrote it wanted everyone to assume.” Val toyed with a scone. “The police have the note now, so they’ll be able to get DNA, if not fingerprints, from it.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. She looked past Val. Her face turned the color of bleached flour, making her freckles more pronounced.

  Her reaction elated Val. The ruse was working. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I—I feel light-headed.” Morgan lifted her teacup with a shaking hand and took a few sips. When the color returned to her face, she said, “Whoever left that malicious note must have traced Suzette to Bayport after she changed jobs.”

  Val hadn’t said the note had been left. Most people would have said sent the note, but not the person who’d hand delivered it. “Suzette tried hard not to be traced.”

  “Her nemesis found her anyway. No wonder she was worried about the black car following her.”

  A black car that only Morgan had mentioned. “But it wasn’t a black car that hit her. My grandfather’s friend, the chief of police, said the paint evidence at the accident scene suggested a light-color car was involved.” Right now in the club parking lot, a police officer who’d waited for Morgan to drive in was checking her car.

  She flicked her wrist. “You can always borrow a car or rent one.”

  “Good point.” Val wondered if Morgan had done that. “Going back to the malicious note, it wasn’t the first one Suzette had received. Someone hounded her for more than five years.”

  Morgan picked up her cup. “That’s awful. Why would anyone do that?”

  “A member of her family believes it had something to do with a car accident Suzette had as a teenager.” Val enjoyed watching Morgan’s eyes bug out. Was she starting to suspect an ulterior motive for this tea party? “The accident that sent you to the hospital.”

  Morgan choked on her tea. “What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with me.”

  “You told me you kept your married name because it was short, which means you must have had a much longer maiden name. I remembered that when I found out the people injured in that accident were named O’Shaughnessy. An Irish name, three times longer than Roux, and you do look Irish. The needlework hanging on your wall is signed MOR. At first I mistook that as the start of your name.” The same mistake Val had made with RACHE. “Later I realized those were your initials. Morgan O’Shaughnessy Roux.”

  Morgan appeared distracted. She stared straight ahead, her face a mask of fear. Her lips trembled. “Who is that woman? She keeps going back and forth slowly, like a sleepwalker.”

  Or a ghost. Val glanced behind her. “I don’t see any woman. What did she look like?” Val knew the answer. Sandy Sechrest looked remarkably similar to her cousin, especially when averting her face and wearing Suzette’s clothes.

  Morgan raked her hair. “She’s gone now. She’s haunting me!”

  Val sensed that Morgan was close to breaking and let her stew for a moment. “Other poisoned-pen notes might turn up in papers Suzette had in storage.” Not that Val knew of any storage. “The police will have plenty of evidence to identify the sender and a strong incentive to go after that person if the hit-and-run was deliberate.”

  Morgan looked haunted, her eyes wide, her face rigid. “Okay, okay, I wrote the notes. Do you know what Suzette did to me? Compound fractures two months before my wedding. I had to limp up the aisle on crutches. What bride dreams of that?”

  Why not postpone the wedding? Val didn’t ask the obvious question. “I’m sorry. You must have been in a lot of pain.”

  “For more than a year. I had multiple surgeries. My husband couldn’t handle the burden of my pain. My marriage ended in divorce because of her.” Morgan spat out the last syllable. “After that, I lived to make her miserable. I tracked her down and forced her to move to get away from me. I didn’t want her dead. I wanted her in pain. She escaped me by dying.”

  “I know you didn’t want her dead.” The way Suzette was hit made sense if Morgan intended injury rather than death. “That’s why you didn’t ram her at high speed. You only wanted to break her legs so she’d feel what you felt.”

  Morgan hissed, “You can’t prove that.”

  “I can’t, but the police can. Forensics evidence, the paint at the accident scene, will tie you to the hit-and-run.” Val glanced at the chief, who was on his cell phone. “If you confess, you’ll have a chance at a much lighter sentence.”

  “I’ll hire a good lawyer. When I tell my story to the jury, they’ll sympathize with me.”

  “Maybe, but they’ll still find you guilty, and you’ll spend a long time behind bars.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this any longer.” Morgan reached down under the table.

  Val beat her to the tapestry bag. “I’ve got your handbag.”

  “Give it to me!”

  Val tightened her grip on the bag. “I will, but first I’ll tell you something you don’t know about that accident. Suzette lost control of the car because her mother’s boyfriend, a sexual predator, was molesting her while she was driving. It wasn’t her fault. You should have hounded him, not her.”

  Morgan’s face crumpled, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed as she had at the end of the writers’ group meeting, her shoulders heaving. Val flashed back to that moment and realized what had touched off Morgan’s crying jag—the news that Suzette had died instantly and felt no pain. But what explained Morgan’s breakdown now? Remorse for having killed Suzette or frustration at not having broken Lloyd’s legs?

  Granddad and Chief Yardley stood up and approached Morgan.

  She seemed not to notice them or the officer who joined them. She glared at Val across the table. “Do you know why I always wear long dresses?”

  Was she unhinged, talking about clothes after being accused of killing someone? “I have no idea,” Val said.

  “My legs are scarred. They’re hideous. They were wrapped in bandages and casts for months. Since then I can’t bear having anything encasing them. No pants. No tights. No pajamas. If it weren’t for her, I could wear normal clothes.”

  A prison jumpsuit would be Morgan’s new normal unless she had a darn good lawyer.

  Chief Yardley showed her his badge. “I’d like to talk to you. Please come with me.”

  He a
nd the uniformed officer led her out of the café.

  Val watched them leave and added a thank-you call to her to-do list. If Gillian Holroyd, namesake of a modern witch, hadn’t sensed a killer among the Fictionistas and stirred the pot, Suzette’s death might have remained a mystery.

  Chapter 26

  On Saturday night Granddad made dinner for Dorothy and Bram with a little help from Val, who was still nursing a sore wrist.

  As they filled their plates with lemon garlic shrimp and pasta, she announced what the chief had confirmed that afternoon—Granddad had supplied the evidence that led to the capture of burglars.

  Dorothy turned to him. “Tell us about it, Don.”

  Granddad beamed. “It all started when I teased the folks who were on a haunted house tour that stopped here.” By the time he ended his tale with Nick’s arrest, the others had half-empty plates. “Suzette’s killer was also arrested. Val’s the one who got the goods on her.”

  “Her?” Bram said. “A woman killed Suzette?”

  Val nodded. “Morgan Roux. Her car is the color of the paint found at the accident scene, and it has a small dent consistent with sideswiping Suzette.”

  Granddad twirled spaghetti on his fork. “The police wouldn’t have checked that car if Val hadn’t convinced them that Morgan was guilty.”

  “Why did she kill that girl?” Dorothy said.

  “She didn’t intend to.” Val explained Morgan’s motive for ramming Suzette.

  Bram caught Val’s eye across the table. “What tipped you off that Morgan did it?”

  “Our visit to the haunted house. It focused my attention on what I’d overlooked. The fake fog there reminded me of a comment Morgan had made. She’d said the fog could explain why Suzette didn’t notice a car approaching her. But the police hadn’t mentioned the fog in their statement about the accident and neither had the media.”

  Bram nodded. “Only someone who was on the peninsula road would know about it. The fog came off the bay there, but it wasn’t along the riverbank in Bayport.”

  “Morgan lives even farther from the bay in Treadwell.” Val sipped her wine. “The headless butler in the haunted house gave me a new perspective on the hit-and-run.”

  Bram chimed in, explaining the illusion and the trick behind it. “I’m not sure how the butler helped you solve the crime.”

  “His black hood made his real head invisible, so we looked at the dummy head he was holding,” Val said. “Morgan distracted me from what was important by inventing a black car that supposedly followed Suzette. With that lie, she shifted attention away from what really mattered about the car—not its color but its sound, or rather, the lack of it. Which brings us to the engine room in the haunted house.”

  Bram described the dark room in which the sound of a vehicle coming closer and closer made everyone want to get out of the way.

  Val picked up her fork. “Suzette didn’t react that way. As I puzzled about that, I remembered something Morgan said the night of the costume party. She told Casper he should replace his old car with one that polluted less. He replied that not everyone likes to get off the road to recharge.”

  Dorothy’s eyes lit up. “Morgan drives an electric car?”

  Val nodded. “Casper knew that, but I didn’t. I never saw her car. Like Suzette, I also didn’t hear a car coming at me when Morgan tried to run me down in the club parking lot.”

  “Why did she go after you?” Granddad said. “You didn’t do anything to her.”

  “She must have realized she’d slipped up by mentioning the fog. I think she tried to hit me so I’d be engrossed in my pain and forget what she’d said.”

  Dorothy frowned. “She took a chance. You might have seen the car and been able to identify it.”

  “She took the same chance when she ran down Suzette, not a big chance, because it was dark on the peninsula road and in the parking lot. Her car was barely visible. I couldn’t have described it, read the license plate, or seen who was driving.” Val turned to Bram. “Tell them about the last room of the haunted house. You know the story behind it better than I do.”

  Val finished her dinner as he described the stage setting and summarized the plot of A Study in Scarlet.

  When he finished, his mother said, “Morgan had the same motive as the killer in the story—revenge.”

  Granddad’s face screwed up in disgust. “That Sherlock Holmes story doesn’t make sense. The killer wouldn’t write that word on the wall. In his mind he was getting justice, not revenge.”

  Val agreed. “Morgan thinks the same way. Unfortunately, her code of justice is an eye for an eye.”

  They were all silent for a moment. Then Granddad surveyed the table. “Does anyone want seconds? There’s more of everything.” He looked disappointed when no one spoke up.

  He had finally become what he’d pretended to be for the last year—a proficient cook. Val had to give him credit for that. “It was delicious, Granddad, and very filling.”

  Dorothy nodded. “That was the best shrimp I’ve had in a long time, but I can’t eat another bite right now.” She pointed toward the shelves in the sitting room. “I’d love to browse your video collection, Don. I really enjoy classic movies, and you’ve got hundreds at your fingertips.”

  Granddad and Dorothy went into the sitting room while Bram cleared the table and Val loaded the dishwasher, a task she could do with one hand.

  Bram brought in the last plates from the table. “My mother’s really impressed with your grandfather.”

  Granddad would be thrilled to hear it. “Because of the burglars he caught?”

  Bram grinned. “Because of the dinner he made. She’s not fond of cooking.”

  “The last time Granddad made dinner to impress a woman, I was the ghost cook, like a ghost writer. This time, he did it all himself. He’s come a long way.” Val remembered how deeply she’d resented it when that woman had sat in Grandma’s chair at the table. Tonight Dorothy hadn’t sat there, but if she had, Val wouldn’t have reacted as negatively. Maybe she’d come a long way too. She closed the dishwasher. “You know what I liked best about visiting the haunted house?”

  “Picking up clues that led you to the killer?”

  “That, and finding out you were a magician and a Sherlock Holmes fan. You should have dressed as a magician or Holmes for Halloween.”

  “I see myself as Watson, the family man, not the aloof genius.” Bram locked eyes with her. “But I’ll dress as Sherlock next Halloween, if you come as Irene Adler. You know who she is?”

  “I vaguely remember.” She was the object of Holmes’s admiration, the only woman who touched a nerve with him. Was a literary parallel how a bookshop owner’s son flirted? Val hoped so. “So you’re planning to visit Bayport next Halloween?”

  “Definitely not.” He grinned. “I’ll be living here. For the Title Wave to succeed, Mom will need more than foot traffic. I have ideas for expanding the customer base online.”

  The news elated Val. “I need to read up on Irene Adler to see if the role suits me.”

  “If it doesn’t, we can go as Watson and Holmes. Watson has a mustache, and it’ll be easier for me to grow one than you. You can be Sherlock.”

  Holmes and Watson. Less romantic than Sherlock and Irene. Still, they were a compatible pair. Good enough for now.

  Granddad poked his head in the room, looking pleased. “Dorothy and I are gonna watch The Trouble with Harry. She’s a big Hitchcock fan.”

  Granddad had met a soul mate.

  “Is that a Hitchcock movie?” Bram said.

  “Yup. Not one of his greats, but it’s good for a few laughs. Come join us if you’re finished in here.”

  Val nodded. “I could use some laughs after this week.”

  As Bram followed Granddad out of the room, she lingered in the kitchen, where she often sensed Grandma’s presence. Val felt her here again tonight, assuring her that Dorothy would be good for Granddad. And, just maybe, that Bram would be good for Val.
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  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank those who helped me as I researched and wrote this book. For details about vehicular homicide and the forensic investigation of accident scenes, I relied on D. P. Lyle, MD, who generously shares his expertise with crime writers. Thank you, Dr. Lyle. The haunted house in Crypt Suzette came alive thanks to Haunted House Halloween Handbook by Jerry Chavez. The book covers all aspects of creating such an attraction and helped me understand how various illusions work. I derived the rotting corpse insect pit, the scary artwork, and the headless butler’s room from the Chavez book. Other spaces in the Bayport haunted house were my own inventions to further the plot. In writing this Halloween book, I liberally borrowed character names from authors of famous creepy tales.

  I’m again grateful to my critique partners, mystery writers Carolyn Mulford and Helen Schwartz, who have helped me with each of the Five-Ingredient Mysteries. They read this book, the sixth one, chapter by chapter and gave me suggestions for its improvement at each stage. They are far kinder and more helpful than the Fictionistas in Crypt Suzette. Carolyn also edited the final draft of the book. Many thanks to Mike Corrigan, Cathy Ondis Solberg, and Elliot Wicks for reading and commenting on the book’s first draft, to Paul Corrigan for sharing his crêpe-making expertise, and to Susan Fay for testing the recipes.

  I’d also like to thank my agent, John Talbot, and my editor, John Scognamiglio, as well as the production, marketing, and sales teams at Kensington Books who helped bring Crypt Suzette to readers.

  As always, I’m grateful to readers who enjoy mysteries. Thank you for your support.

  The Codger Cook’s Recipes

  CRÊPES

  You can’t make crêpes Suzette with just five ingredients, but you can use two recipes with five ingredients each. The first step is to make the crêpes. You can serve them as is with sweet or savory fillings or toppings, or you can proceed to the next recipe to make the orange sauce for crêpes Suzette.

  2 eggs