by Vicki Delany
“Yes, her. Jason, the photographer. We let the owners of the inn watch us, the old guy and his wife. But no one else. A couple of security guards kept people from getting too close and ruining the pictures. They always do. Some people are just so hungry for attention. That’s about it. And James, of course.”
“What time did you finish?”
Erica shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Was it still daylight, twilight, or full dark?” I asked.
Simmonds couldn’t help giving me an approving look. I almost preened.
“Twilight,” Erica said. “Until dark. We wanted the romantic atmosphere. The gardens look really nice when the lights first come on.”
“What did everyone do when the shoot was over?”
“I don’t know what Jason, Amber, and Willow did,” Erica said. “As soon as we finished, I came back here. My grandmother had called earlier when everyone was around, so I returned her call when I had time to talk. Then Muriel came in, and I asked her to order room service. She didn’t want anything for herself. She said she’d go up to the hotel to get something to eat. That’s code for a drink.”
“Ms. Fraser came back to the cabin after you. How long were you here alone?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe. I’d just hung up the phone when I heard the door open.”
“Ms. Johnstone needs to rest,” Claymore said. “She’s had a terrible shock. She and Muriel were extremely close.” How he could say that with a straight face, I didn’t know. “And following so closely on the death of Max. What a tragedy.”
I glanced at Erica. She looked very small in the depths of the wingback chair. She was staring out the window, but I didn’t think she was seeing anything. Her eyes were blank, her expression dull and lifeless.
“What did you do after the photo shoot, Mr. Claymore?” Simmonds asked.
“I watched Erica cross the lawn, heading back here, but I didn’t see what anyone else did. They packed up and melted into the shadows. I went straight to my room. I’m not staying here, but in the main building. I poured a glass of scotch and made some phone calls. You can check on that.”
“Thank you. I will. Did you use your cell phone or the hotel landline?”
“My cell, of course.”
“I’m finished here for now,” Simmonds said. “I have to ask that Ms. Johnstone and her party remain in Rudolph for a while longer.”
Claymore huffed and puffed and protested, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. He had to know Simmonds wasn’t about to let the people closest to a second murder victim scatter across the country.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Erica. “I can stay with you if you’d like.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Thank you for caring, Merry. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, she will,” Claymore said. “I’m sending for my things. I’m moving into Muriel’s room, Erica. No arguments. You can’t be here alone.”
“Probably wise,” Simmonds said. “But first, I’ll have to ask you to stay out of there until my people have given it a going-over.”
“Understood,” Claymore said.
We left.
Once we were outside, I took a deep breath. The night air was heavy with the scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass. All the garden lights had been switched on, and the shadows of men and women moved in the shelter of the hedge. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What?” Simmonds said.
“Muriel was stealing from Erica. Small things mostly, things that wouldn’t be missed. Erica has a reputation as a scatterbrain, a reputation Muriel was happy to cultivate. I told you she has a mother in an expensive nursing home. She asked Erica for help with the fees and Erica said no.”
“How do you know this?”
“I caught her trying to sell the necklace Erica reported missing. You remember, you were called to Mrs. Claus’s Treasures when Erica had histrionics about it. I recognized the necklace because Max bought it in my shop.” I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t ask for any more details. I didn’t want to drag Kyle into this.
“I will momentarily refrain from asking why you didn’t tell me about this earlier, and instead ask when you saw Muriel with it.”
“This morning.”
“And less than twenty-four hours later she turns up dead. Did you tell Erica that Muriel was the thief?”
“No. I didn’t tell anyone. I felt sorry for her. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get her in trouble. I warned her that if she didn’t quit stealing she’d find herself in real trouble. I heard a while later that the necklace had been found, and Erica was happy again. I thought Muriel had understood me. She said, ‘I’ve had enough of this petty thieving.’ I thought that meant she was finished stealing, because it wasn’t worth it. But now I wonder.”
“You wonder if she decided to move on to bigger game.”
I nodded. “Erica has some extremely valuable things. But much of it isn’t even her own, it belongs to her grandmother. Art and antiques and stuff like that. People would notice if they went missing.”
“Did Erica find out Muriel had been stealing from her, do you think? Perhaps she tried to take something else this afternoon, and Erica caught her.”
“And then Erica killed her?” I shook my head. “I don’t buy it. You brought me along tonight because I know these people. I’m beginning to wonder if Erica is quite the empty-headed drama queen she pretends to be. Regardless, she wouldn’t kill anyone because they stole something. She’d call the police and have the criminal tossed in jail. But . . .”
“Go ahead, Merry.”
“Suppose Muriel didn’t mean she was moving on to taking more valuable things? She needs money, and she lives among people who have more money than she can dream of. People to whom the cost of her mother’s care is a drop in the bucket. People she doesn’t like or respect.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes. She was Erica’s personal assistant. That’s a close relationship. I don’t think Erica has many secrets worth protecting; her life’s pretty much an open book. We can’t forget that Erica’s fiancé was murdered only a few days ago.”
“I’m not forgetting,” Simmonds said. “You’re saying Muriel tried to blackmail the person who killed Max?”
I nodded. “I am. I’d considered the possibility that Muriel herself murdered Max. She said he was getting suspicious of her. If Max told Erica that Muriel was stealing, she’d be out on the street without a penny.”
“You should have told me this, Merry.”
I hung my head. “Sorry. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble because of my suppositions and guesses.” I tried not to think that getting Muriel into trouble for stealing a hundred-dollar necklace would have probably saved her life. “It’s still possible she killed Max, but I’m more inclined to think she considered herself terribly clever and tried to blackmail the killer.”
“And got herself killed for her pains. It makes sense, Merry. Erica?”
“Try as I might, I don’t see her as a cold-blooded killer. Either of Max or of Muriel. How did Muriel die, by the way?”
“Strangled by her own scarf. I recognized the scarf as one she’d been wearing when we met earlier. That’s confidential.”
“If Erica had killed Max, I’d expect her to collapse into tears of remorse, genuine or not, confess to the crime, and immediately lawyer up. Erica may not be stupid, which was my first impression of her, but she is spoiled. She doesn’t think the rules of life apply to her. She would want everyone to know she was a woman scorned, and she’d killed in a mad dramatic fit of jealous passion. Or something.” My voice trailed off. “Then again, I could be totally wrong.”
“I don’t think you are,” Simmonds said. “So we’re back to square one. Find out who killed Max Folger, and we’ll get the killer of Muriel Fraser also.”
“Unless what?”
“That lawyer arrived on the scene mighty fast. Erica’s grandmother sent him here to protect Erica’s interests.”
“That’s normal enough for people of that income level.”
“I suppose it is. We’ve always assumed he arrived after Max died, but suppose he was already here? Suppose he snuck into town without anyone noticing? Maybe he decided that for some reason, no doubt financial, Max shouldn’t marry Erica after all, and he had to go.” I absolutely refused to believe Jennifer would put a hit out on anyone. Was Claymore acting on his own? Had Jennifer said, in a tragic re-creation of Henry II, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome fiancé?” Had Claymore, loyal servant, done precisely that? “Does he have an alibi for the time of Max’s death?”
“I never asked. But I will now. His alibi for tonight isn’t much of one.”
“How far would he go to protect Erica’s interests? Jennifer’s interests, I should say. What if Muriel came to him and told him she could prove Erica had killed Max? Suppose she threatened to go to the police. Or, even worse, the press. It didn’t have to be true. Maybe Muriel believed no such thing, but figured the lawyer would pay up to prevent her talking. Instead . . .”
“I’m going around to the Carolers Motel next,” Simmonds said. “I was going to have someone drive you back to town, but I’ve changed my mind. You can come with me. Wait in the car, please. I have one more thing to do first.”
Mattie and I waited, if not patiently, in the car. From my vantage point I had a perfect view of the police activity. Vans pulled up, men and women in white suits disembarked. Not many hotel guests tried to get past the police barrier, but a few did, and Candy turned them away. I could tell she was dying to know what I was doing being so chummy with Simmonds. Once, I caught her looking my way, and I gave her a cheerful wave. She pretended not to see me, but the speed with which she swung her head back to front and center threatened to give her whiplash.
The car door opened and Simmonds got in. Mattie leaned his big head over her shoulder in greeting and she gave him a pat. After he spent any time in my car I had to hose the drool off the seats, as well as out of my hair, but he left Diane Simmonds and her sleek BMW perfectly clean and dry. I wondered, again, how she did that.
“Muriel didn’t go into the bar tonight,” Simmonds said. “The bartender knew her; she’d been in other nights. She always came alone. Ordered a glass of red wine, from the higher end of the price scale, and sat at a table by herself with a book. He was on duty tonight during the time in question.”
“She lied to Erica about where she was going.”
“Or she intended to go to the bar but didn’t make it as far as the main building. The receptionist didn’t see her come in, either. She did see Mr. Claymore in the lobby—apparently she thinks he’s most attractive—but she can’t say what time that was. He later left the hotel in a great hurry, and she does remember that time, because it was only a few minutes after the first cruiser had arrived.”
“He said he was in his room when he heard the activity and went to check on Erica.”
“I asked if Mr. Claymore had ordered a drink from room service—he had not—but I was told that each room has a fully stocked minibar. If Mr. Claymore wanted a scotch, he wouldn’t have had to phone down for it.” She switched the BMW’s engine on and we left the Yuletide Inn.
The news traveled faster than we did, and by the time we got to the Carolers Motel the magazine crew—Willow, Amber, and Jason—were gathered in Willow’s room having a drink.
They expressed shock at Muriel’s death, but said they knew nothing about it. They said they’d seen her at the photo shoot, standing silently in the shadows, but they hadn’t paid her any attention. They’d broken up about nine and returned to the motel.
“Did you travel to the Yuletide and back together?” Simmonds asked.
“No,” Amber said. “We came from different directions so we each had our own car.” They all claimed to have returned to the motel immediately after the shoot was finished, but none of them could say what time the others arrived. As this was not a hotel, with a lobby, elevator, and central interior corridor, but a motel where cars parked outside the individual rooms, their comings and goings wouldn’t have been seen by anyone in reception.
Willow’s room was small and crowded and smelled of cleaning fluid and air freshener. The furniture consisted of one double bed, a small dresser with a flat-screen TV and a coffeepot, and a cheap desk with a single chair. Willow and Amber sat on the bed. Jason had the chair. Simmonds and I stood. When Simmonds asked them about their relationship with Muriel, Willow answered.
“We didn’t actually know her, Detective. At least I didn’t.” The others nodded in agreement. “She followed Erica around, but never spoke to the likes of us. We didn’t even have much to do with Erica herself in the normal course of our work. Unless she was the main feature, with her wedding stuff, she didn’t have much interest in individual stories or locations. She only came here this time because she heard Max was stepping out of line.”
“Stepping out of line? How so?”
“Seeing old girlfriends,” Jason said, pointedly looking at me.
“Once she realized Merry was involved in the story,” Willow said, “then Erica had to be involved, too.”
“You don’t like her very much,” Simmonds said.
Willow raised one eyebrow. “Frankly, Detective, I can’t stand her. If she turns up dead, I’ll be the first in line as a suspect.”
“You don’t mean that,” Amber said.
“Sure I do. But Erica hasn’t been murdered, has she? It’s time someone came out and said it. She thinks she can play at doing the jobs we depend on for our livelihoods. Well, my job is not a rich girl’s game. Let her take up championship checkers if she’s bored, and leave me alone.”
“Has anyone ever given her a chance?” I said. “Tried to teach her some of the ropes maybe?”
Willow snorted. “I’ve got better things to do with my time. As for Muriel, I didn’t have an opinion of her one way or the other. She didn’t care about the running of the magazine, that wasn’t her job.”
“Willow’s right,” Jason said. “About Muriel anyway, although she’s too hard on Erica. Erica just wants some respect from the people she employs, and all she gets is smiles to her face and backbiting the minute she leaves the room. You people want her to fail.”
“I don’t care . . .” Willow began.
“You keep saying that,” Jason said. “You keep saying you don’t care so much, but it’s obvious that you do.”
Willow’s eyes blazed, but before she could retaliate, Simmonds lifted a hand. “As interesting as this is, I am asking about Muriel Fraser. Jason, what were you going to say?”
He turned away from Willow. “Muriel didn’t have much to do with any of us, ever. Tonight, she kept to one side and never said a word. That was normal.”
“Did you see her leave the group at any time?”
“Detective, I was kinda busy,” Jason said. “It was a difficult shoot, trying to capture the light precisely the way I wanted it. If Muriel had dressed in a Santa Claus costume and arrived in a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, I wouldn’t have noticed her.”
“Same,” Willow said.
“She stood in the shadows with that lawyer guy most of the time,” Amber said. “Seems to me she spent her life in the shadows. Poor Muriel.”
“Don’t give me ‘poor Muriel,’” Willow said. “If she spent her life in the shadows it was all the better to try and get the gossip. Remember how Samantha Crawford got fired right out of the blue, and everyone was totally shocked? I heard that Muriel overheard Samantha dissing the outfit Erica wore to the shower Max’s mom put on for her, and ran squealing to Erica.”
“I heard it was Max who fired Samantha for di
sloyalty. But you have to admit,” Amber said, “the dress was totally hideous.”
• • •
“I’m going back to the Yuletide to talk to the forensics people,” Simmonds said “You’ve been a help, Merry. Thank you. I’ll drop you off at home.”
“My car’s still at the police station.”
“I’ll take you there, then. I should probably speak to Muriel’s next of kin. You said she had a brother?”
“Yes.”
“Erica should have that information, but I don’t want to disturb her if she’s sleeping. I never mind disturbing a lawyer.” She dug in her pocket and made the call. We were still standing outside the motel. A car drove slowly through the lot, and moths fluttered around the lights over the doors. Mattie grinned at us from the backseat of the BMW. I got into the car and gave him a hearty pat on the head. “Bed sounds pretty nice about now, don’t you think?” He whimpered in reply.
The driver’s door opened and Simmonds got in. She didn’t switch the engine on, but turned to me, and I knew right away she’d learned something interesting.
“What?” I said.
“Claymore is still with Erica. She didn’t want to go to bed, and she didn’t want to be alone, so they’re watching a movie. He passed the phone to her, and I asked if she had Muriel’s brother’s number. She said not with her. She’ll call the office in the morning and get it. She then said that she should probably give Mrs. Fraser a call. But she’s on a cruise right now so might be hard to reach.”
“Muriel’s mom’s on a cruise?”
“Apparently she’s in the Mediterranean. She goes cruising two or three times a year. I confirmed that Mrs. Fraser means Muriel’s mother, and that she didn’t have two mothers. Not as far as Erica knows, at any rate. Mrs. Fraser lives in Palm Beach, Florida, where she’s active in her local gardening club.”
“Oh,” was all I could say.
“So I then asked Erica if Muriel had ever approached her for money to help her mother out of financial difficulty. Whereupon Erica said, and I quote, ‘I didn’t know her mother was having financial troubles. I thought she was quite comfortable.’ You’re sure Muriel told you she needed money for her mother’s care?”