There was silence for a time.
Finally, Molly said, quietly:
“Oh, what a world! My beautiful evil!”
“Molly,” Nina said, “that’s a line from The Wizard of Oz.”
The image stared back at her and finally said:
“What is that?”
“It’s a movie.”
“Is it a cozy movie?”
“No.”
“Oh. Then I don’t care about it.”
And the screen went dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DEPARTURES
The following day dawned clear in northern Mississippi, Hurricane Clarence leaving behind no more than flooded streets and wind-torn trees.
There was a vacant spot where once a rickety barn had stood in the far west pasture of Candles Estate, but otherwise the old plantation had suffered no damage.
So the building could continue to smile, as it always had, on guests arriving and leaving.
There were no arrivals today, and only departures, which were viewed by Margot and Nina as they sat at the table in the front yard, sipped coffee, and chatted with James Thompson in the late morning.
“So,” Nina was saying, “Molly Badger is in Vicksburg now?”
The police chief nodded:
“She was flown out of Meridian on a special jet.”
“And she’s in jail?”
A shake of the head.
“No, she’s in a luxury suite in the Riverside Hotel, which, I’m told, is one of the city’s finest.”
Margot put down her cup of coffee and leaned forward on the table.
“She’s not in jail?”
“No.”
“Why for heavens sake not?”
Thompson shrugged:
“We arrested Ms. Badger early this morning, about 2 a. m. She spent the night in our jail. We put her up before the judge at 8 a. m., told him what we suspected her of doing, and asked for an indictment. He just laughed at us.”
“He laughed?”
“Yes. We told him that Ms. Badger had cleverly arranged it so that all thirty of the cats staying out at Candles were wearing special charms on their collars. That these were not really charms, though, but small electronic devices which, when triggered, would attract them to transmitters. That these transmitters were actually other charms being worn around the necks of cozy cat writers, such as Mr. Amboise and Ms. Roberts. That the brain waves of the cats were so heated up by the transmitters that the animals would go into a fury and try to destroy whatever was wearing the transmitters. That two cats fighting was a scary thing to see, but that the thought of thirty of them attacking any creature simultaneously was absolutely terrifying. That’s what we told him.”
“And?”
“Like I said, he laughed. He said that was the most ridiculous murder method he’d ever heard of and that we’d better go back to square one to solve the case. So we thought about it for a time and told him it was probably a panther, and it had been driven into one of Candles’ escape tunnels by the storm. He said he’d never seen a panther in these parts, but that was at least a better theory than the one about the cats. And we let it drop at that. As far as the authorities are concerned, the case is closed forever.”
It was Nina’s turn to lean forward:
“But we know what really happened! It was the cats! There was no panther involved!”
Thompson merely shook his head:
“I understand your point, Ms. Bannister. It bothered me too for a time, knowing that Molly Badger was going to go free. I thought maybe if I came out and collected some of these devices, maybe rounded up some stray cats, maybe put on a demonstration for the judge––”
“Yes, yes…so why didn’t you do just that?”
“Because I visited first with a lawyer friend of mine. I told him the whole theory.”
“And?”
“He laughed and said it was the most ridiculous murder method he’d ever heard of, and that not even a mystery writer could think of anything so ridiculous.”
“But, but––”
“So I pressed him. After he stopped laughing, I insisted. I said, well, just assume the thing was possible, and it happened just the way I said. What charges could Ms. Badger be tried on?”
“And?”
“He told me he couldn’t think of any charges.”
“But she committed murder!”
“No, she was in a motel room in Abbeyport when the murders happened.”
“But she, but she––”
“She what?”
“She incited cats!
“Ms. Bannister, I and my lawyer friend did a check. There is no law in the state of Mississippi against inciting cats. There is a law against cruelty to animals. It’s only a misdemeanor, though, and we can’t arrest her for it, because she wasn’t cruel to the animals.”
“But she made the animals be cruel to people?”
“Which animals?” he asked, waving at the line of cozy writers who were now waiting to board limousines.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, are you asking which cats actually inflicted specific wounds?”
“Yes, ma’am. Even if we could put Ms. Badger up for trial, we would have to indict specific animals. We would have to prove that Hecuba or Ezekiel or Stanislaus or Pussywillow or whichever animal, actually clawed the jugular of Mr. Amboise open, and inflicted the fatal wound. And we can’t do that for two reasons.”
“Those being?”
“Well, first, we can’t do it because, as you see, the owners are leaving as fast as possible and taking the cats with them.”
Margot nodded:
“It’s true, Nina. Harriet came to me early this morning and said the cozy writers had decided to cancel the rest of the conference. Each writer steadfastly denied that her personal animal was a murder-cat, but each writer also insisted on getting out of the state before any possible charges could be brought.”
“All right, all right—but Officer Thompson, you said you couldn’t indict for two reasons. What is the other one?”
“The other one is we don’t have precedent. There is not, at least as far as a quick check can show us, any record of a house cat ever being executed for murder in the state of Mississippi.”
He was silent for a second and then said:
“Now I’m not sure about Texas.”
Silence for a time.
Finally Nina said, quietly:
“So she actually did it. Molly actually did it.”
“What, may I ask?”
“She pulled off the perfect murder.”
Thompson nodded:
“Actually, two perfect murders. But there’s another aspect of the crimes that you have to bear in mind.”
“That being?”
“The disagreeability index.”
“The what?”
“How disagreeable the murder victims were. It may be different in other places in the country, but here in Mississippi we go a good deal easier on murderers who kill unlikeable people. From what I hear, this Amboise fellow was not likeable at all.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“And the Roberts woman apparently bragged about castrating men with one karate chop.”
“Just sexist men.”
“I know, but still—if you got an all-male jury––”
“I understand.”
“Well. I have to go now. We’ll all talk later.”
“Thank you, Officer Thompson,” said Margot. “I do want to––”
“Ms. Gavin! Ms. Bannister!”
Margot’s words were interrupted by Suzy Maples and her cat. She wore an ebony black Calvin Klein open-front soft jacket and classic-fit trousers, suitable for traveling. Under the jacket, she wore a turquoise and black pleated-neck, arrow-printed top. Her feet were clad in Thalia Sodi Elina pumps, and she carried a Dooney & Bourke Lambskin Tobi tote in black, slung across her forearm. Burberry sunglasses topped her head, holding back her hair and ready to protect her eyes. Again Hermes limited
edition 24 Faubourg eau de parfume edition numero 24 wafted across the lawn.
“You look marvelous,” said Nina.
“Oh these are just some things I threw together for the trip. But Whiskers and I just stopped by to tell you how much fun we’ve had, and what wonderful hosts you’ve been!”
It was Margot who answered:
“You’re so kind! I’m sorry about the two ghastly murders and the near mass murder of everyone.”
Suzy Maples shook her head:
“We can’t expect everything to go perfectly. But things are fine now, from what I hear. Everything except Whiskers here.”
She pointed to the cat carrier.
Out of which Whiskers had just vomited.
“I can’t imagine what’s wrong with her!”
Morning sickness, thought Nina.
But she said:
“Probably journey-proud.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it! Well, thank you all again.”
And, so saying, she left.
To be replaced at the table by the Smathers sisters.
Who, strangely, were not looking here and there, to the right and to the left, and everywhere in between.
Tall Smathers sister:
“My sister and I simply had to come by and tell you how much fun we’ve had!”
Short Smathers sister:
“Yes, it’s going to be the basis of our next PARANORMAL ROMANCE!”
Tall Smathers sister:
“Our alpha male, who, you will probably remember our telling you, is a werewolf, is going to be spiritually invested by an ancient Egyptian mummy, who was three-thousand years ago the beautiful princess Isis. While he’s unwrapping her in order to have sexual intercourse––”
Short Smathers sister:
“We were the first to write about inter-creature sexual intercourse, you know!”
“I remember you saying,” said Nina.
Tall Smathers sister:
“While he’s doing this, an army of pyramid-cats descend upon them and––”
Short Smathers sister:
“Stop stop, Sister! You mustn’t give away the entire plot!”
Tall Smathers sister:
“Oh, I know! I always do that! Anyway, that wasn’t the most important thing we have to tell you!”
“What is that?” asked Margot.
Both sisters at once:
“YOU ARE BEING DE-POSSESSED!”
Margot looked shocked for a second, then said:
“No, we’re not! We’ve paid our bills!”
Short Smathers sister:
“No, no, not dispossessed; depossessed! The ghostly presence is about to take itself elsewhere! We feel it very strongly! And when it does, the demonic presence will accompany it. Your house will be un-haunted. We promise you!”
Margot merely smiled:
“Well, it’s good of you to tell us. Thank you for your kind words. And good luck with your PARANORMAL ROMANCE. What will it be called?”
Both sisters in unison:
“I Dismember Mummy! There will be a Kindle version!”
“Wonderful.”
“Good bye now!”
And so saying, the psychic sisters turned and left.
To be replaced by Rebeccah Thornwhipple.
White-haired, spry, and laughing-eyed as always, she tottled up to the table and sat in one of the vacant chairs, laying her cane on the ground.
She wore a sweater much like the one she’d arrived in, but the front of this one showed one end of an iron lung, with two pair of feet extending from it, and bright red hearts swimming in the air around it.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you ladies!”
The ladies laughed and told her that she was not.
She smiled.
“It has been such a pleasure staying here with the two of you!”
“The pleasure,” said Margot, “was all ours.”
“And it’s a shame about Ms. Roberts. Mr. Amboise, too, but in his case––he was such a––I don’t know precisely what word to use.”
“No,” answered Margot, shaking her head.
“Shit. He was such a shit.”
Nods around the table.
Rebeccah Thornwhipple continued:
“And I must say, Ms. Bannister, that I do regret accusing you of murder.”
Nina merely shook her head:
“I wouldn’t think twice about it, Ms. Thornwhipple.”
“Rebeccah.”
“Rebeccah. No, I wouldn’t worry about it. One gets accused of murder so often these days––”
“But it can be a bother, I know.”
“Only if you let it.”
“I am, of course, still going to write the novel.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure no one will connect the murderess with me.”
“I’m using your name.”
“Oh. What are you going to call it?”
“Nina Bannister: Murderess.”
“Well, okay, they might make that connection. Are you going to put in the mad passionate stinking sex?”
“Of course.”
“What chapter will it be in?”
“Chapters five through eleven.”
“What a charming tribute! And to think: whatever happens to me, the novel will endure, and I’ll be remembered.”
“Yes, my dear. It’s the only kind of immortality we have. But wheels are already in motion for both the novel and the film version. I spoke with my agent this morning. He’s already spoken with Betty White.”
“Damn,” said Nina, quietly.
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. Ms. White feels that the part should be played by a much older woman.”
“Rebeccah,” interjected Margot, who wished to change the subject because Nina’s fists were clenching, “I’m glad you got a novel out of this, and I’m very proud that my friend will go down in literary history as a sex-starved homicidal maniac.”
“It’s the least I could do, given all your hospitality.”
“But I’m sorry you didn’t get the HBO Award. And I hope you and the rest of the cozy writers won’t be holding it against Nina. After all, she won’t be getting the award either, from what I’ve been hearing.”
“I know. And as for who’s going to receive it, here come the two people who might be able to tell us that!”
And she was indeed correct, for Harriet Crossman was approaching the table, arm and arm with Professor Brighton Dunbury, who shouted, breezily:
“Hello, the table!”
And the table shouted back:
“Hello, the Dunbury! Hello, the Crossman!”
Handshakes and hugs, laughter and frolic.
The two newcomers were seated, and Harriet Crossman said:
“Well, I’ve just had what seems to be the final word. Fields, Edelstein and Morgan have negotiated the contract.”
“Fields,” Nina asked, “Edelstein and Morgan? Weren’t those Amboise’ big time agents?”
“Yes. They all flew down yesterday to negotiate Amboise’ contract with HBO. But then they found out he’d been killed and they found out how and they contacted Molly Badger and found out how she’d committed the perfect murder—two murders actually—and then they talked with Sylvia Duncan and all four of them called HBO and the long and short of it is Molly has the contract.”
“Molly,” asked Nina, “is going to be the next Jessica? Just like she predicted?”
“Yes, little Molly Badger. Apparently, she’d already written several novels with the same heroine––electronic genius Polly Nutria. They’d been rejected due to unbelievable murder methods.”
“But since the methods have now been proven believable––”
“Exactly. Hollywood is clambering for more of them, and Molly is at the best hotel in Vicksburg, signing contracts”
“Fields, Edelstein and Morgan aren’t concerned that she’s not being prosecuted for the murder of Garth Amboise?”
“No. Apparently they didn
’t know what a terrible, selfish, arrogant, me-first person he really was.”
“But they must have worked with him before!”
“Yes, but that was in New York City, and he just seemed to be like everyone else.”
“I see.”
Silence for a time.
Then Brighton Dunbury:
“Actually, I must admit: I owe Ms. Badger a great deal.”
“In what way?” asked Nina.
“Well, I was resigned to having lost my dear Harriet. And after a great many wonderful years of being lovers.”
Harriet blushed.
“It was completely my fault,” said Harriet. “I was enamored by Amboise.”
“And,” added Nina, “his resume.”
It was Brighton Dunbury’s turn to blush.
“Of course, I have a resume too, my dear. But it’s much shorter than Amboise’ was.”
Harriet chucked him under the chin and said:
“We’ll lengthen it out.”
“I shall look forward to that,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.
“Oh, you’re a very bad man!”
“No, I’m a very good man––”
Nina completed his thought:
I’m just a bad wizard.
But instead, he said:
“I’m a very good man; I’m just a bad cozy writer.”
Brighton Dunbury and Harriet Crossman said their good byes and made their way toward the waiting cars. But they themselves were replaced by a beaming couple, who brought with them a large red cake pan.
Climate Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 7) Page 24