“Meagan, Philip is dead. Out of respect for him –”
“Respect? The Cavalcade was Philip’s life’s work. To let it die with him would show the ultimate lack of respect. I, for one, am not about to allow that to happen. All our tents are set up, our Creators are either already here,” she waved an arm toward the dining room table, “or on their way. Advance tickets have been sold, and there are families – hard-working families – who are looking forward to attending. I say, so long as Officer Ramsey here gives us the okay, the Cavalcade should go on as planned.”
“As much as I’d love to give you that okay,” Officer Ramsey explained, “once again, I can’t. We need to wait for the coroner since he has the final say. However, if he gives the thumbs up and the sheriff also gives it the thumbs up, then you should be good to go ahead with the event.”
“I understand.”
“Now, is there anything else I need to know about the deceased? Ms. McArdle here said she last saw him alive at approximately eleven o’clock last night. Did anyone else here see him after that? Or notice anything strange about his behavior?”
The occupants of the dining room all denied having seen Morehouse after Meagan left him for the evening. All except one, that is.
Stella glanced across the table at Dan, the Salvage Guy, as he stared blankly into his coffee cup and uttered not a sound.
It was going on ten thirty in the morning by the time the coroner, deeming cardiac arrest the preliminary cause of death, felt he had everything he needed and Philip Morehouse’s body was loaded into the ambulance to be taken to the county morgue until a nearby funeral home could collect his body for cremation.
The Cavalcade having been granted a green light by the coroner and local authorities, Meagan McArdle notified security and local news agencies about Philip’s death and the event’s subsequent delayed opening. She need hardly have worried about disappointing the throngs of people expected to be waiting at Vue Colline’s gates that morning. A steady rain, combined with a temperature hovering just above forty degrees Fahrenheit, had kept all but the most stalwart visitors at bay.
“Meagan,” Ms. B. Ology rose from her chair and touched her friend on the arm, “You look tired. Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down?”
Meagan shook her head. “I’m fine. I need to focus on the Cavalcade and make sure everything is in order.”
“Keeping your mind on work will help you for now,” Chef Durand weighed in, “but if you find at some point today that you are no longer ‘fine’ you need to give yourself permission to take a break. Oui?”
“I will, Chef,” Megan promised.
“Bon. I will put on another pot of coffee so we can all have the insulated mugs to take outside. Maybe even with a shot of brandy too,” he said with a wink before trotting off to the kitchen.
“Arthur must be wondering where I am,” Oona fretted aloud.
“Didn’t you give him a call on his cell?” Carlson asked.
“Oh, we don’t have cell phones. The minute Arthur read about their possible link to brain tumors, we turned them back in to AT&T. Besides, you can’t really say that you live off the grid when you’re posting tent photos on Instagram,” she chuckled. “Anyway, I’d better grab my windbreaker from my room and get out there.”
“But it is cold and rainy,” Aurora pointed out. “You need more than just the breaker for the wind, no?”
“Aurora’s right,” Meagan agreed. “I may have some spare Creator’s Cavalcade fleece jackets somewhere around here. I’ll try to dig one up for you.”
“No need to go searching,” Ms. B. Ology interjected. “I have spare hoodies and extra pairs of gloves in my luggage. Come on up, Oona, and pick out what you want.”
Oona thanked Ms. B. profusely before following her out of the dining room and upstairs.
“I’m going to head up too,” Rousseau announced. “Take your time, today, Meagan. I’m here to pitch in as much as possible.”
“Thanks, Mark. Same goes for you. I know you cared for Philip too, in your own way.”
Rousseau gave a somber nod of the head and departed the room.
Carlson stood up and thrust his hands into the pockets of his robe awkwardly. “Guess I’d better head up too. I’m very sorry, Meagan. Philip was a good man. I wish… well, what’s the use of wishes? If there’s anything I can do to make this day even slightly easier for you, just tell me and you’ve got it.”
“Thanks, Chip,” Meagan said softly.
“Si,” Aurora rejoined as she, too, assayed to make her departure upstairs. “What Signore Carlson said. I know you loved Philip very much. This must be very difficult for you.”
“Thank you, Aurora.”
It was Zolar’s turn to head upstairs and dress for the day. “I, um… sorry, Meagan. He had many great plans for our suit.”
Apart from Meagan, Stella, Nick, and the Salvage Guy were the only people left in the dining room. Nick gestured to his wife that perhaps they should take their leave as well; Stella agreed with a subtle nod.
As they rose from their chairs, Meagan stopped them in their tracks. “Oh, Stella, before you head upstairs, I’d love to have a word with you.”
“Of course,” Stella complied.
Understanding his cue, the Salvage Guy stood up, teary-eyed, and approached Meagan with open arms. “I don’t know what to say to you,” he cried as the two of them embraced. “Phil was a great friend to me.”
“And you were a terrific friend to Philip.”
“I tried. But had I known… well, I wouldn’t have made such a big deal about taking my show nationwide.”
Meagan extricated herself from his grasp.
“Oh Dan, you know that had no impact on his relationship with you. Philip wasn’t one to allow a difference in business opinions to influence his personal feelings.”
“I know. I just wish my final words to him weren’t about work.”
“I wish mine weren’t as well, but we mustn’t dwell on that. Work was what kept Philip going. For his sake, let’s make this the best Creator’s Cavalcade there ever was.”
“I will. And if I’m going to do that, I’d better beat it upstairs and get dressed. Get it? Beat it?” he grinned at Stella and Nick.
The couple made a whole-hearted attempt at a chuckle, but given the circumstances, their efforts fell short.
“And on that sour note, I’ll get going,” Dan excused himself.
“I’ll come with you,” Nick stated, “and leave these lovely ladies to it.”
“Oh, you needn’t leave, Nick,” Meagan interjected. “I – I – wasn’t trying to exclude you.”
“I know,” Nick said with a gentle smile. “I need to leave for me. And, for the record, I only just met Philip, but he did a great thing by starting this Cavalcade. If I can do anything at all to help this weekend, count me in. Until then, you’ve found the strongest shoulders and most listening ears in the world with Stella. Trust me – I know.”
At Nick’s admission, Stella beamed and mouthed a silent ‘I love you’ before allowing her husband to depart.
Once the men were out of earshot, Meagan pulled Stella to the farthest corner of the dining room and whispered, “I’m not sure where to start or if what I’m going to say even makes the slightest bit of sense.”
“Just say it,” Stella urged. “We can sort it all out later.”
“Okay,” Meagan inhaled sharply. “I don’t believe that Philip died strictly from heart failure.”
Stella felt her breath catch. “I don’t – I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say something to the police?”
“Because I have no proof. All I have is a feeling. The police would think I was crazy. I don’t know, maybe I am crazy…”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Meagan. But I do think you’ve suffered a great shock.”
“You don’t understand. I had this feeling even before Philip died. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you last night – this feeling that something was w
rong, is wrong.”
“Why discuss it with me?” Stella asked. “Why not with Philip?”
“Philip had a lot on his plate before the Cavalcade. I didn’t want to waste his time with my silly vague suspicions. There were times, of course, when I nearly said something, but I’d always think better of it. Then, when I heard you and your husband were going to be here, your name struck a chord. I double checked the local papers and discovered that you had solved a murder case in your hometown. That’s when I decided that you might be able to help get to the bottom of my ‘feelings’ as well.”
“Yet you didn’t get the chance to discuss them with me.”
“Between Oona’s arrival and the Cavalcade preparations, there never seemed to be a good time to discuss it with you. I have to admit I was also afraid that you’d think I was crazy too.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were crazy; I still don’t. I have a healthy respect for feminine intuition, but unless you can pinpoint specific reasons for your ‘feeling,’ I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin to look.”
“That’s precisely it, isn’t it?” Meagan confessed. “There is no specific event. There is nothing dramatic. And anything that might be deemed suspicious can be explained. Philip seemed more nervous about this year’s Cavalcade than he had about the previous years’ events. However, this year was to be our biggest event and was to be the scene of the unveiling of his and Zolar’s robotic suit. Philip seemed a bit more remote these past few days and there were a few occasions when I walked in on him while he was on the telephone and he’d promptly end the call. Combine that with how bold Aurora has been since her arrival and one could easily jump to the conclusion that they were having an affair. Yet, Philip turned down a position on Aurora’s board and was eager for us to get married and start our lives together. Even his relationships with the other Creators had been tense.”
“Yes?” Stella goaded.
“It was nothing, really. Just the usual funding requests for special projects, which Philip couldn’t accommodate, having invested a substantial sum into the robotics project. Early Friday, it seemed that there might be some hostilities exchanged over the course of the weekend, but then last night, everyone was joking, laughing, and dancing. It was just like old times. But now – now Philip is dead. Dead just days after he received a clean bill of health from his cardiologist. How?”
Dying shortly after getting a positive prognosis from a physician was not unusual – it had occurred to Stella’s own father. Still, she knew she had to choose her words to Meagan carefully. “From what you’ve described, it sounds as if Philip might have been under a good deal more stress than usual. Although he may have put up a brave front and tried to protect you from what was troubling him, that stress may have played a factor in his death. I think, perhaps, you should place a call to Philip’s doctor and see if this might have been the case.”
“And to what purpose?” Megan argued. “If Philip’s doctor missed something during that exam, then he’s going to try to cover his –”
She was interrupted by the computerized chime of a cell phone. Reaching into the pocket of her satin robe, she extracted the device and glanced at its face. “Sorry. It’s security. I need to take it.”
With a quick nod of the head, Stella stepped back a few paces to provide the other woman with some semblance of privacy. Within moments, the color drained from Meagan’s already wan cheeks, leaving her complexion a deathly ash gray.
Stella, fearing Meagan might faint, stepped forward and grabbed her by the waist.
“No,” Meagan shouted at the person on the other end of the line. “No, you must be mistaken! This can’t be happening!”
The other voice replied, although Stella could not make out the precise words spoken.
“Alright,” Meagan acquiesced. “Alright, close the gates and I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”
Without disconnecting, Meagan held the phone out in front of her as if it were an object of disgust. Stella grabbed it and immediately pressed the End Call button.
“Meagan, are you okay? You need to sit down. You don’t look very well.”
“I’m okay,” Meagan whispered unconvincingly. “Arthur Bauersfeld isn’t. He’s dead. Stabbed to death in his tent.”
“Oh good… lord.” Shaken, yet ultimately unflappable, Stella started placing a call on Meagan’s cell phone.
“Who are you…?”
“Nick. You’re in shock and I need help getting you upstairs to bed.”
Meagan, in a fugue state, didn’t argue with Stella’s diagnosis. However, shortly after Stella disconnected the call to her husband, Meagan grabbed her arm.
Wild-eyed, she begged, “Now do you believe me about Philip? Now do you understand what I’ve been feeling?”
“Yes.”
“Will you help?”
Stella took less than a second to reply: “I will.”
Chapter Eight
After getting Meagan settled into the White Room bed, Stella swiftly padded down the hallway toward Morehouse’s quarters.
“Where are you going?” Nick called after her.
Stella glanced back at Nick and placed a single finger in front of her mouth in a bid for quiet.
“What are you doing?” he whispered when he finally caught up with her.
“Looking around.” She entered Morehouse’s office and made her way into the bedroom. There, she bent down by the spot where she had previously stepped on the Allen key. “And collecting something before the police get here.”
“The police have already been here.”
“Yes, but earlier they were under the impression that Morehouse’s death was due to natural causes.” Spotting the metal key, which had been kicked beneath the bed, she grabbed a facial tissue from the dispenser on Morehouse’s nightstand and carefully collected the potentially valuable object.
As she stood up, she noticed that part of the silk bed ruffle was tucked between the mattress and box spring, as if someone had either made the bed in haste or something had been hidden there.
Stella slipped her hand into the opening and felt around, but her fingertips felt nothing.
“Umm, not to spoil your fun,” Nick ventured, “but aside from Meagan’s ‘feeling’ that something’s wrong, there’s absolutely no reason to believe that Bauersfeld’s murder is at all connected to Morehouse’s death. One man, with a history of heart trouble, died in bed of cardiac arrest, the other… well, we’ve yet to see him, but it had to be savage.”
Stella stood up and held the contents of the tissue in her outstretched palm.
Nick shook his head. “What’s that?”
“What does it look like?”
“An Allen key. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Who at the Cavalcade uses an Allen key and has, apparently, a very bad habit of dropping it from his front pocket?” Stella’s eyes danced.
“The Salvage Guy, but it was under the bed. Who knows how long it’s been there.”
It was Stella’s turn to shake her head. “It must have been accidentally kicked under the bed when the police and the coroner came through here. When you and I were here with Meagan, it was right here on the rug beside Morehouse’s bed, on the same side Morehouse’s body was found. I stepped on it, in my slippers,” Stella raised the red satin slippered foot in question to illustrate her point.
“That still doesn’t prove anything. Morehouse and Dan have been friends for how long? I’m sure he’s been in Morehouse’s quarters hundreds of times.”
“In Morehouse’s office, which is just over that threshold? Sure. I’m sure he has,” Stella allowed. “But in Morehouse’s bedroom? That seems less likely. Unless…”
Nick’s face turned pensive. “What are you, um, suggesting?” he asked reluctantly.
“Clearly, not what you think I’m suggesting. Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?” she admonished before dropping the Allen key into the breast pocket of Nick’s robe. “N
ow stand over by the side of the bed where Morehouse was found.”
“Good… now take a couple steps back,” she directed, recalling the location of the Allen key when they had visited the room that morning. “Perfect! Now face the bed and bend over until the Allen key falls out of your pocket.”
Nick gave his wife a double take. “What?”
“Bend forward until the Allen key falls out of your pocket,” she repeated.
“This is ridiculous,” he argued, bending forward at the waist as instructed. “For all we know, Morehouse picked up the Allen key somewhere in the house or on the grounds, put it in his pants pocket for safe keeping, and forgot about it. Then, when he got ready for bed, it fell out onto the rug.”
Nick’s statement was punctuated by the soft plop of the Allen key as it dropped to the floor.
“Okay, stop,” Stella ordered. “Without moving your head, look forward. What do you see?”
“The bed and a pillow. I’m precisely at eye-level with Morehouse’s pillow.”
“Uh huh,” Stella smirked. “Care to run through that trouser pocket theory again?”
After rewrapping the Allen key in its tissue cocoon, Stella and Nick left instructions with Ms. B. Ology and Chef Durand to keep watch over Meagan’s condition and to call for an ambulance should she fail to improve.
They then returned to their room where Nick donned his U.S. Forest Service uniform and protective rain gear and Stella slipped into a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a red cable knit cowl neck sweater, red raincoat, and a pair of black rain boots with red polka dots. It was a practical ensemble for braving the inclement weather, yet far too cheerful in appearance given the morning’s events.
Still, it was far too cold and wet to wear anything else. Besides, when Stella packed her bag, she hadn’t anticipated the appearance of not one, but two dead bodies.
As Nick and Stella exited their bedroom, they met up with Mark Rousseau in the hallway and told him the news about Arthur Bauersfeld.
“What? Oh my God! What the – what’s going on here? When did this happen? Does Meagan know?”
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