It was yellow, just like the paper from a legal pad.
“She burned them,” Frasier whispered. He lifted his hands to his temples. “She burned them.”
And then he really did start to cry. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he clutched at his hair.
Nesbit said quietly, “For the record, Dr. Frasier, do you recognize that paper?”
Frasier jerked his head up and down.
“That’s it, then,” Ramsey said with a note of finality in his voice. “We’ll seal this room, and then we’d better get back.”
And even though he didn’t say it, we all knew what they were going back to do.
They were going to arrest Dr. Tamara Paige and charge her with the murder of Howard Burleson.
CHAPTER 14
Ramsey and Nesbit didn’t tell us that, of course. Far be it from them to let us in on what they were planning, especially Ramsey.
But it was obvious, and even though I didn’t like it, there was nothing I could do about it. Anyway, judging by everything I had seen tonight, there was a good chance Tamara was guilty, and I disliked one of my clients killing another of my clients even more.
The detectives told us to go back to our rooms and keep ourselves available for further questioning. A distraught Michael Frasier stumbled off to his room. Will walked with me back to mine, and we paused in the doorway before I went in.
“You know Dr. Paige a lot better than I do, Will,” I said to him. “Do you really think she could have done such a thing?”
Will thought it over for a long moment before he shrugged. “Before tonight, I would have said no, not in a million years. Tamara and I aren’t close, but I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen any signs that she has a violent nature.”
“A lot of people don’t … until they’re pushed too far.”
He nodded. “That’s true. And I know that she’s very dedicated to her work. She’s not married, doesn’t have any closefamily …” He shrugged again. “So her work means a lot to her. What bothers me is that she didn’t seem the least bit convinced that Howard Burleson was telling the truth. It seems a lot more likely to me that she would have just let Frasier go on with his presentation, because she believed that Burleson’s claims would be discredited.”
I thought about what he’d said, then told him, “You’re right, unless something happened to change her mind.”
“Like what?”
I started putting things together in my mind. “Maybe Frasier’s right about how Dr. Paige got her hands on those manuscript samples. Maybe she went to Burleson’s room and convinced the old man to show them to her. She could have decided to check them out for herself, before Frasier’s presentation. And you saw how Burleson was. I think she could have talked him into showing her the pages without much trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Will said.
Warming up to the speculation, I went on. “I don’t think she intended to hurt the old man when she went to his room. She just wanted to look at the pages and confirm that he was either delusional or lying to get the attention. But if she saw something in the manuscript that convinced her he was telling the truth …”
“She could have decided that she couldn’t risk letting Frasier go on with his presentation,” Will concluded.
I nodded. “Yeah. So she talks Burleson into going downstairs with her, takes him out into the garden so they can talk some more, she tells him, and then once they’re out of sight of everybody …”
I couldn’t make myself go on, and this time Will didn’t finish my thought. He just nodded and looked grim.
“There’s only one thing wrong with that theory,” I said after a moment.
“What?”
“I can’t believe that she’s a murderer.”
“Nobody else would have had a motive to kill that harmless old man,” Will said. “And I don’t like thinking that about Tamara any more than you do.”
“Nobody else that we know of. But maybe something else is going on, something we don’t even know about.”
Actually, I was thinking that I might know about it. I couldn’t shake the memories of the two times I’d seen Callie Madison earlier tonight, first on the balcony of Dr. Jeffords’s room, then hurrying through the hotel garden right after I’d found Burleson’s body. Thinking that Callie might have killed the old man because he had seen her returning from her rendezvous with Jeffords was mighty farfetched … but was it any more farfetched than Callie fooling around with Jeffords in the first place?
There was Dr. Ian Keller to consider, too. He had been in the garden before I’d found the body. Probably perfectly innocently, of course. Hotel guests probably cut through there all the time. But I figured it was still worth talking to Keller and trying to find out exactly what he’d been doing there.
Those were just two possibilities off the top of my head. There could be others that, like I’d told Will, we weren’t even aware of.
The problem was that Ramsey and Nesbit weren’t going to do any more real investigating. They had their suspect under arrest, and from here on out they would only be looking for evidence that would support the charges against Tamara. They probably wouldn’t even consider any other theory, let alone look into one.
So that left it up to somebody else.
“Delilah,” Will said slowly, “I’ve seen that look on yourface before. You know how upset those detectives will be if you interfere with their investigation.”
“What investigation?” I asked. “They’re convinced that Tamara did it. The investigation is over.” I paused. “It’s a prosecution now.”
I could see in his eyes that he knew I was right. He was worried anyway, of course. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t like the idea of poking around and trying to uncover a killer, either.
But unless Tamara confessed–which was still a possibility–I wasn’t going to be convinced she was guilty, evidence or no evidence. A little scrap of half-burned paper wasn’t conclusive. Not for me, anyway.
“Just be careful,” Will said. “The festival will go on, despite what’s happened, and I’m going to be pretty busy for the next few days. I won’t be able to stay with you all the time and help you.”
My temper flared a little. “You mean you won’t be able to protect me.”
He shrugged but didn’t deny what I’d said.
“Listen here, Will Burke,” I said. “I can take care of myself. And it’s not like you’re John Wayne–you’re an English professor.”
As soon as I said that, I wished I hadn’t. It was hurtful and I knew it. But I couldn’t call the words back.
Will just smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, I’m not, am I?” he said.
“Will, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
He held up a hand to stop me. “No, no, you’re absolutely right, Delilah. Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt, so like I said, please be careful.”
“I will,” I promised.
“And if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”
“Sure.” I put a hand behind his neck and came up on my toes to kiss him. “I’m sorry, Will …” I murmured.
“It’s all right. Really.” He kissed me then, and if it hadn’t been so late … if I hadn’t stumbled over a corpse earlier in the night … if I hadn’t said such a dumb thing …
Well, if, if, if, you know how that goes. Sometimes I think if is one of the most useless words in the English language, because most of the time it’s just pointing out where you went wrong and there’s not a blasted thing you can do to change it. You can’t go back. All you can do is keep going forward and hope for the best.
Life can be a bitch that way.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I was haunted by half-waking dreams of Howard Burleson’s bloody, lifeless face, and when I finally did fall sound asleep, I found myself in the middle of the movie version of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof … and no matter how broodingly handsome Paul Newman was, it wasn’t a pleas
ant experience. All the emotional turmoil swirled around me like floodwaters and nearly pulled me down. I woke up gasping as if I’d really been drowning.
After that I dozed some more but never really did go back to sleep, so I was tired and cranky when I got up the next morning. A shower helped a little, and I hoped some hot coffee would help even more. It was a little after seven o’clock when I left the room and headed for the elevators, intending to avail myself of the breakfast buffet that was planned for the hotel’s ballroom that morning.
I got in the elevator alone and the doors were sliding shut when I heard someone call, “Hold that elevator, please!” Without thinking, I pushed the DOORS OPEN button, and they slid back.
Callie Madison stood there, a little breathless.
She gave me a bright smile and said, “Ms. Dickinson! Good morning. How are you today?”
She was so chipper and cheerful I thought to myself that she couldn’t possibly have heard about Howard Burleson’s murder or Tamara’s arrest. I also thought that Dr. Jeffords must be a lot more of a tiger in bed than he looked, if Callie was still this perky the next morning.
But what I said, without answering her question, was, “Are you goin’ down to breakfast?”
“That’s right.” Callie stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor.
“How was your evening?” I asked. “Is your husband enjoyin’ New Orleans?”
“Oh, as much as Jake can enjoy any vacation, I suppose,” she replied with a little laugh. “After the opening ceremonies last night, we went to Paul Prudhomme’s and he ate like he usually does … like a bear about to go into hibernation. But he seemed to have a good time.”
“When I eat a big meal like that, it usually puts me right to sleep.”
She laughed again. “Jake’s the same way. I swear, he was sound asleep ten minutes after we got back to the hotel, and an earthquake couldn’t have budged him. Except they don’t have earthquakes here, do they? They have hurricanes. All right, a hurricane couldn’t have budged him.” She sobered as the indicator light on the panel above the door changed from the second floor to the first. We were almost to the lobby. “Oh, that was in bad taste, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t bring up hurricanes after what happened here a few years ago.”
“They’re still a fact of life,” I pointed out. “Folks here can’t ignore ‘em.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
The elevator came to a stop. I had found out a little that Iwanted to know, but there was still more. As we stepped out, I went on. “What did you do the rest of the evening, if your husband turned in early?”
“Actually, I relished the opportunity to take a long hot bath and read some.”
She told the lie with conviction and, at this point, I wasn’t going to challenge her on it. Instead, as we started walking toward the ballroom, I asked her, “What’s Mr. Madison going to do today while you’re at the conference? Or is he going to attend, too?”
“Jake?” She smiled and shook her head. “Jake’s not interested in such things. He’s going to do some sightseeing. He owns a construction company, so he always has to check out the buildings everywhere he goes and see what methods other people in the business are using.”
“Well, I hope he has a good time.”
“I’m sure he will. And then tonight we’re going to hit some jazz clubs.”
We walked into the ballroom, and I noticed right away how somber the mood was. The news of the old man’s murder and Tamara’s arrest must be getting around, I thought. And as the eyes of the professors swung toward me and stared with morbid curiosity, I knew they’d heard about my part in the discovery of the body, too.
“My, everyone certainly looks serious this morning,” Callie commented. “Who died?”
I knew she wasn’t serious–either that, or she knew more than she let on and was pretending ignorance–but I answered her anyway. “Howard Burleson,” I said.
She looked at me and started to frown. “What? Wait … you mean somebody really died? Who did you say?”
“Howard Burleson.”
“That old man Michael Frasier brought along?”
“That’s right.”
“My God!” Callie pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s awful! What happened? Did he have a heart attack?”
That seemed to be everybody’s first reaction to the news that Burleson was dead. With somebody that old, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. On the other hand, somebody who was mixed up in Burleson’s murder would probably pretend to react the same way, just to keep suspicion from falling on them.
“No, he didn’t have a heart attack,” I said. “He was murdered.”
Callie’s eyes widened even more. “Murdered?” she repeated in a hushed voice. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty darned sure. I was the one who found the body in the garden, there in the atrium, so I saw the blood and how his head was bashed in.”
She was pretty fair skinned to start with, and she turned even paler when she heard that. “In the … the atrium?” she said.
“Yeah. Right there in the middle of all those plants.”
“When?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure exactly when he was killed, but the police have probably narrowed down the time of death by now. But it was between midnight and one when June Powers and I found the body.”
“June? What’s she got to do with this?”
“We were looking for her father-in-law. He’d slipped off to the garden and was gettin’ drunk.”
“Larry Powers was out there, too?”
“That’s right.”
I saw the nervousness in her eyes. Obviously the garden had had more occupants last night than she had thought wouldbe there when she cut across it. Whether she was nervous because she was feeling guilty about her affair with Jeffords, or because she was afraid somebody might have seen her kill Burleson, I didn’t know.
I went on, “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard all about this. The police were going to question everybody in the hotel.”
She shook her head. “No one told me about it. No one came to our room. I haven’t talked to the police.”
Once I thought about that for a second, I wasn’t surprised. Ramsey and Nesbit had planned to canvass the whole hotel, but once they arrested Tamara Paige, I suppose they had decided the questioning no longer had the same urgency. They had probably called it off and would be back today to finish up, rather than disturbing everybody in the middle of the night.
“Have they arrested anyone yet?” Callie asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. Even though I felt sure Tamara had been charged with the murder by now and would probably be arraigned this morning, I didn’t actually know that. Nobody had told me one way or the other.
A little shiver went through her. “I hope they catch whoever did it soon.”
“You and me both.”
“I’m sorry about Mr. Burleson,” Callie continued. “He seemed like a nice, friendly old man. A real Southern gentleman.”
I nodded. “He was that, no doubt about it.”
“Do you believe he really knew Tennessee Williams?” She didn’t know anything about Burleson’s claim to have written Cat on a Hot Tin Roof … or at least was pretending not to know anything about it.
“They might have been acquainted,” I said. “We maynever know. What’s your interest in Williams? Do you specialize in his work like some of the others who come to the festival?”
I didn’t mention Tamara by name.
Callie shook her head. “No, not really. I’ve taught his work in some of my classes, of course, but my interest is more in Southern literature in general. Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Lansdale, Gone With the Wind, To Kill a Mockingbird … things like that.” She paused. “This is really going to cast a shadow over the festival, isn’t it?”
“I imagine so.”
“And poor Dr. Frasier must be devastated, since Mr. B
urleson was his friend.”
I didn’t bother to correct that impression, although I knew that Frasier hadn’t been the old man’s friend. Burleson was just a means to an end for Frasier, a way to further his career and damage Tamara Paige’s at the same time.
“But I suppose life goes on,” Callie said with a sigh. “I’m going to get some coffee and something to eat. I have a panel later this morning, and I’ll need to get ready for it after breakfast.”
“All right. I’ll see you later.”
Callie gave me a nod and headed for the buffet table. I hesitated, looking around the room to see if Will was here yet. For the most part, people had stopped looking at me and gone back to eating, but I caught a few of them still sneaking glances at me. I guess finding corpses is bound to give a person a certain amount of notoriety.
I didn’t see Will anywhere, but I did spot June, Edgar, and Larry Powers sitting at one of the round tables. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and then strolled over to the table. I wanted to find out how Larry was doing this morning, after his binge the night before. He didn’t look too happy. He was scowling downinto a coffee cup with a plate of apparently untouched food in front of him.
“Mornin’, folks,” I greeted the three of them as I came up to the table. I put my free hand on Larry’s shoulder. “Dr. Powers, how are you feelin’ today?”
“Like every venomous serpent in the world crawled down my throat, curled up in my guts, and died,” he rumbled without looking up.
“Ooookay,” I said. “A mite hungover, are you?”
“More than a mite. But if you were inquiring about my medical condition–”
“He’s fine,” June broke in. “I’ve already talked to his oncologist and his gastroenterologist this morning. They were extremely upset about what happened, but agreed that in the absence of new symptoms, Papa Larry probably didn’t do any new damage to himself.” She glared at him. “Not for lack of trying, though.”
Edgar asked, “Have they found out any more about that old man’s murder?”
I dodged the question, as I had with Callie. “I don’t really know. I haven’t heard anything new this morning.”
Killer On A Hot Tin Roof Page 14