“What was Rita’s reaction?”
“What do you think?”
Chapter 17
“What’s the plan?” Peter asked as we strolled up the driveway.
“You tell me. You’re the one who worked with him.”
“Yes, but you’re the expert sleuth.”
I reminded him expert was a relative term, and soon we were exchanging pleasantries with Richard Dempsey.
Of course pleasantries is also a relative term. I rattled off some nonsense about my great fascination with roses, and how jealous I was when Peter mentioned the tour of the rose garden. “We’re neighbors, and I’m a gardener, and so we decided I should tag along, and—”
“Save it,” the principal told me. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion? I invite an old friend to visit and get you? I took the afternoon off to recover from you. I deserve better than this. I’ve sacrificed thirty-eight years to the schoo—”
“Are you done?” Peter asked, and the principal actually shut up. “You and I both know twenty-eight years is a little more accurate, Richard.”
“Umm,” Richard said quietly.
Peter turned to me. “And that’s the best you could do?”
“Umm,” I said quietly.
He rolled his eyes. “Let’s start with the roses, shall we?” He gestured to Dr. Dempsey. “Lead the way.”
Dare I say, the garden really was charming? Richard and I may have even bonded as we discussed his roses and my rooftop garden. As we admired a particularly lovely yellow specimen, I was even inspired to invite him up to the roof to see my yellow flowers.
“Perhaps sometime after the murder is solved,” I suggested, and he literally collapsed.
“It’s my fault,” he told the rose in front of him. “Miriam’s dead because of me!”
***
“Why, why, why?” the principal cried as Peter and I helped him to his feet.
“Why what?” we asked.
“Why did I ever let her volunteer for cotillion duty?”
Peter dropped the arm he was steadying. “Excuse me?”
“That’s right,” Richard said. “She volunteered. Miriam Jilton had cotillion duty two years in a row.”
Now Peter looked like he might collapse also. “I need to sit down,” he said in no uncertain terms and staggered over to the patio.
I stumbled along behind, more or less carrying the principal. “Ms. Jilton had her reasons for volunteering,” I told him. “You are not to blame.”
“Oh yeah?” he said as I got him into a chair. “What about Focus on Fiction?”
I whimpered slightly and decided I should sit down also. Then I reminded Peter what he likely already knew from watching Jimmy Beak. “Richard had to choose my replacement.” I tilted my head toward the principal, and Peter’s eye got wide.
“Miriam Jilton?” he asked.
“They gave her such a hard time.” Dr. Dempsey spoke so softly I had to struggle to hear.
“Who did?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The sore losers, the parents of the losers, the distant uncles of the losers. You name it.”
“You think one of the losers killed her?”
“Or a parent, or a family member.” The principal closed his eyes. “I gave the killer motive.”
“A thousand-dollar scholarship isn’t motive for murder,” I said firmly.
“How would you know? You write romance. But I read crime fiction.” He thumbed his chest. “I know what your fiancé’s looking for—motive, means, and opportunity.”
“And?” Peter asked.
“And don’t you see? I’m responsible for two of the three.” Richard counted off on his fingers. “Motive—a sore loser from Focus on Fiction—a task I assigned to Miriam.” He counted another finger. “Opportunity—she was only at that dance because I let her volunteer.”
He shook his head in disgust. “The only thing I didn’t give the killer was the means. He had to find his own damn gun.”
I cleared my throat. “Miriam Jilton was shot?” I asked.
“Didn’t you just talk to my faculty? Why are you still playing dumb?”
Luckily, he didn’t wait for an answer but addressed Peter. “Speaking of dumb. Why didn’t I assign the writing contest to Doris Carver? You remember her?”
Peter groaned in answer.
“I think she was jealous of Miriam,” I said.
“The old bat,” Richard muttered. “Does Doris have an alibi?”
I nodded, and he curled his lip.
“Too bad,” he said. “Doris would make a great murderer.”
***
“Is he our man?” Peter asked the minute we pulled out of the driveway
“No,” I said. “He has some of the basics wrong.”
“Motive, means and opportunity.” Peter stopped at a stop sign and glanced over. “Richard’s confused about something?”
I nodded vaguely and looked at the scenery as we wended our way through the suburb. Eventually I remembered to thank my driver. “I couldn’t have done that without you,” I said. “It was very helpful.”
“But we’re not done, are we? There must be some other sleuthing that needs doing?”
I thought about it. “I have an idea. But I warn you, my beau the cop would not approve.”
“Fiancé,” Peter corrected as he slowed for yet another yellow light. “And don’t let Wilson fool you, Jessie. He loves your sleuthing.”
An arguable point if ever there was one. But I chose not to argue.
I sat up and rearranged my seat belt. “Let’s try the Sistinas,” I said. “I have some questions for Lizzie. And maybe you can keep Rita occupied.” I looked at my driver. “Are you up to that?”
“A sleuth’s gotta do what a sleuth’s gotta do.”
“Maybe, but a sleuth’s gotta plan ahead better than I do.” I explained that I had left my purse, and thus my cell phone, at home. “I thought I was just going downstairs for a chat with you.”
Peter smiled and pointed to his glove compartment, and I found his phone. I was impressed with his foresight, but he took no credit. Apparently his niece had given him “the contraption” for his last birthday.
“Natalie said I shouldn’t be driving without it.”
I told him to thank Natalie for me and clicked the number that Natalie had also had the foresight to pre-program in.
Meanwhile Peter made a careful and precise U-turn. “Sleuthing here we come!”
***
“Ms. Hewitt?” Lizzie said as I identified myself. “Like, I can’t believe it!”
“Well, I’m with Peter Harrison, and he had your phone number.”
“Like, not that! That you talked to my mother! Frankie told me you’re, like, good at talking to people, but I had no idea you’re that good. Like, thank you!”
“You’re welco—”
“Here’s Frankie.”
“You’re with Frank—”
“Miss Jessie! Thanks for talking to Ms. Sistina. I think she really likes me now. That’s why I’m here. We’re studying for our algebra test, and Ms. Sistina invited me to stay for dinner. At Lizzie’s house!”
I congratulated Frankie and explained the purpose of my call.
“You’re on your way over?” Frankie held his hand to the phone, but I could still hear every word he said. “She wants our opinion. She wants our help.”
“Like, wow!” Lizzie was, like, on the line again. “This is, like, so cool. And my mother will be so happy. She says I should try to help!”
I blinked twice. “Your mother actually wants you to help me?”
“She says we have to find the killer, like, really fast to get my name out of the news.”
“Your name isn’t in the news, Lizzie.”
“Like, try telling my mother that.”
Chapter 18
I wasn’t surprised when the teenagers came outside to greet us. But I was taken aback when Rita rushed out and gave me a great big hug. She held me at arm
’s length and positively beamed. “The kids just told me!”
“I’m glad you don’t mind me talking with them.”
“Jessie Hewitt, you can do whatever you want! So who was it?”
“Who was what?”
“The murderer!” She shook me in a manner meant to be friendly. “Lizzie tells me you’ve solved the case!”
“Excuse me?”
“Mom!” Lizzie made it a four-syllable word. “You, like, weren’t listening. Ms. Hewitt wants our help because she, like, has not—not—solved the case.”
“Not!?” Rita shoved me away.
“Not yet,” I said. I brushed off my shoulders and rearranged my blouse. “But Peter and I have learned a lot of useful information.”
“What!?” Rita screeched. “We had a deal, Jessie! It’s been over twenty-four hours, and I’ve held up my end of the bargain.” She jerked a thumb at the teenagers, who promptly stopped holding hands. “What is wrong with you?” she asked me. “Elizabeth’s future hangs in the balance!”
“Why don’t you invite us inside?” Peter asked in a calm, but loud voice.
Rita did better than that. She invited us for dinner. “Maybe some nourishment will light a fire under your butt,” she told me, and I thanked her for her hospitality.
***
“Something smells delicious,” Peter said as everyone converged on the kitchen. “I’ve worked up quite an appetite sleuthing.”
“With no results,” Rita muttered. She poked her head into the oven and informed us the chicken tetrazzini needed ten more minutes.
“I love chicken!” Frankie said.
Rita slowly lifted her head from checking on dinner, and Frankie lost his smile. “Algebra!” she snapped, and the kids dashed out.
She redirected her glare at me.
I glared back. “Frankie was only trying to be polite, Rita. He’s thrilled you invited him to dinner.”
“That better be the only thing that thrills him.”
I silently appealed to Peter. He nodded, and I excused myself to go talk to the teenagers.
“I will not tolerate these incessant delays,” Rita called out as I made my escape. “I know police brutality when I see it!”
I heard Peter remind her I am not a cop as an arm reached out from what must have been the den and yanked me inside.
***
I was immediately engulfed in the three-way hug, with much jumping up and down.
Eventually I was released, and Frankie and I watched as Lizzie hopped, skipped, and jumped across the room.
“I, like, can’t thank you enough!” she said as she recovered from bouncing mode. “My mother is in, like, such a good mood about Frankie and me!”
“That’s a good mood?”
“She’s being really nice!”
I mumbled something about needing to sit down, and the teenagers escorted me to the couch.
Lizzie must have seen me glance at the piano. “Would you like, like, me to play something?” she asked. “I know some Beatles songs, and Frankie told me you, like, like The Beatles, and I’m trying to get Mom to buy me an electric piano, so I can, like, join a girl group. Kristi St. Clair asked me, and she’s, like, this great singer and plays guitar, and Judy Tobler plays the drums, and—”
“Lizzie.” Frankie tapped her knee. “Miss Jessie isn’t here to talk about music.”
“Sleuthing! This is, like, great practice for me!” Lizzie deftly changed course. “Learning how to prove who’s, like, innocent, and who’s, like, guilty, since I want to be a lawyer like my father and Darcy. They have all these interesting cases. Like, right now Darcy’s defending a guy accused of murder, and she’s investigating just like we are!”
“Darcy is your father’s fiancée?”
“That’s right. Darcy Kovacs. She’s, like, why I want to be a lawyer.”
“Mr. Harrison thinks you want to be a pianist.”
Lizzie shrugged. “I, like, change my mind all the time. Do you think that’s okay, Ms. Hewitt?”
I said it seemed perfectly reasonable to me. “You’re only sixteen.”
“How about you?” she asked. “Did you always know you wanted to be a writer? Like, when you were young?”
Bless her heart, Lizzie seemed truly interested in my response, so I told her I had been interested in three things as a teenager. “English literature, shooting pool, and basketball. Somehow I knew I’d never earn a living at basketball.”
“So you became a novelist? Because, like, you knew you couldn’t make a living playing pool either?”
Frankie and I exchanged a meaningful look, and he reminded his girlfriend I was there to discuss Ms. Jilton. “What can we do to help?” he asked me.
“You can tell me why people think she was shot.”
“Because that’s what we told everyone,” he said.
“For Lord’s sake, why?”
“Because she was, wasn’t she?”
“Frankie,” I said. “Did you see any blood?”
“No.” He scowled. “But isn’t that how everyone gets killed?”
I thought about it and decided what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. “Stick to that same story if the subject comes up again,” I said, and they promised they would.
“Is that it?” Lizzie asked. “Like, can’t we help more than that?”
“Actually, you can answer some questions for me.” I assumed my most authoritative adult look. “But I’m depending on your discretion. Do you understand?”
They rolled their eyes. “We know what discretion means,” Frankie said.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, so tell me about Focus on Fiction.”
“Oh, yeah! Ms. Jilton was the judge for that.” He slumped. “I didn’t win.”
“Don’t tell me you were you a finalist?”
“No, but I entered. I wanted to do well so you’d be proud of me.”
“But I am proud of you!” I smiled. “And I absolutely must read your story.”
“You’ll love it!” Lizzie bounced forward. “It’s, like, a horror story, science fiction, and mystery all in one. There’s these lake monsters—the Septosauruses, or Septosauri—that come back to life after, like, millions of years, and they terrorize this little town, Lake Looksee, because Frankie wanted it to be like Lake Lookadoo, but, like, fictional, and, the Septosauri are, like, octopuses—octopi—but with only seven tentacles, and they get into everyone’s plumbing. Do you get it? Septo-Septic? They pop out of people’s sinks and stuff and, like, strangle people!” She squealed in delight. “Doesn’t that sound good!?”
“I can’t wait to read it!”
***
Believe it or not, we somehow managed to forget about the Septosauri and focus our attention on the Focus on Fiction finalists.
I point-blank asked the kids if any of the sore losers could have committed murder.
They pursed their lips and gave it some thought. “No” was the mutual conclusion.
“Good,” I said. I again mentioned the discretion thing and asked about Paige Ashton and Cory Hanks. “Anything interesting there?”
“Paige’s father was seeing Ms. Jilton,” Frankie said.
I groaned out loud. “Let me guess. You knew about this all along.”
“Like, everyone knew,” Lizzie said.
“I have news for you, Lizzie! Captain Rye spent a lot of time figuring out that little detail.”
“Like, really?”
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “Was Paige okay with her father dating her teacher?”
“She was embarrassed,” Lizzie said. “That’s why she started seeing Cory. To, like, embarrass her father back.”
I asked why dating Cory Hanks would be an issue and learned he was a bit of a trouble-maker. But he was also a bit of a clown, and Frankie and Lizzie liked him.
“Paige broke up with him today,” Frankie said.
“Oh?”
“I have biology class with Mary Alice Meyer, who’s, like, Paige’s
best friend,” Lizzie said. “Mary Alice told me Paige got, like, really sad for her father yesterday, because he was crying all day, and so she broke up with Cory to, like, make her father feel better.”
“How did Cory feel about that?” I asked. “Was he upset?”
“He was relieved,” Frankie said. “He joked around about it during gym. He said if Paige had broken up with him before the cotillion, he wouldn’t have had to wear a penguin suit on Saturday. Isn’t that a great name for a tuxedo, Miss Jessie? Penguin suit?”
“Cory comes up with funny stuff like that, like, all the time,” Lizzie told me, and I had to agree Cory Hanks sounded like quite the card.
Chapter 19
The good news? Sullivan Street was demonstration-free by the time Peter and I arrived home.
The bad news? Everyone and his brother had called, at least once, while I was away from home and without my cell phone. Candy held the record, with three messages on my land line and four on my cell. The poor woman. If memory served, I promised her I’d run right back upstairs to hear her urgent news when I had gone downstairs—I checked the time—six hours earlier.
I saved her and Karen for last, told Snowflake life is short, and set about hitting delete.
Needless to say, Jimmy Beak’s three messages were the first to go.
Also deleted with nary a second thought were the various messages from my ex-husband. Like I said, life is short. And after months of angst and anger after our divorce, I do believe I had finally learned to ignore Mr. Ian Crawcheck.
“He must be upset about the hullabaloo with Alistair,” I told Snowflake as my index finger worked the delete key. “And isn’t it a pleasant bonus he has a bird’s-eye view, just like us?”
I reminded the cat that Ian’s office is just a hop, skip and jump from the corner of Sullivan and Vine as I deleted the last of the his messages. “Zip!” I said and moved on to Rita Sistina’s numerous messages.
With a zip here, and a zap there, those disappeared also. After all, Rita had apprised me of her litany of complaints whilst serving me dinner.
I asked Snowflake for advice on the one message from Roslynn Mayweather. We agreed she had likely called to brag about her sales figures now that she was leading the Romance Rocks counter-demonstration.
4 Four Play Page 11