The Murder of Shakespeare's Ghost

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Not through the front door that’s for sure. The alarm was still set when we arrived,” Robyn explained. “I remember because I felt pressured to punch in the numbers that reveal it’s me coming in through the door fast enough not to trigger a false alarm. If Shakespeare was able to do that, how did he get the new security code I just came up with yesterday?”

  “Since he seemed to get in and out of the house as he pleased, maybe he’d figured out how to hack into the security system,” Neely suggested.

  “Can that be done?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Neely replied. “That’s one of the things I researched the past couple of days trying to understand what’s going on.”

  “Did Joe and Carl get back over here to reset the cameras?”

  “I don’t know,” Neely responded.

  “Neither do I,” Robyn added. “Do you want me to go ask them?”

  “That doesn’t appear to be necessary,” Charly said.

  “The cavalry has arrived!” Joe called out as we heard stomping in the hallway. He and Carl led the way as Hank and Darnell followed. With them was another man I’d never seen before. Carl and Joe knew him. They didn’t seem all that chummy, so I guessed he was Eddie Vargas, the undercover cop they’d foiled earlier in the day.

  The kitchen already felt crowded when representatives from the County Coroner’s Office and the Forensics Unit also filed into the room. We stepped away from the pantry and moved to the center of the large kitchen.

  “Let us get video documentation of the scene, okay? Then you can have a quick look before we get to work.” The woman from the Coroner’s Office who’d taken charge, eyed us suspiciously. As one of the forensic investigators began snapping photos and recording video of the body in the pantry, she spoke again.

  “Which one of you called 911?” Robyn raised her hand but didn’t speak.

  “She’s the one who told the dispatcher she wanted to report a murder, but then said she had Shakespeare’s dead ghost on her hands.”

  “I already told you that,” Devers snapped.

  “I was nervous,” Robyn murmured. “Besides, you haven’t even looked at the guy yet.”

  “We would have been here sooner if the dispatcher hadn’t been concerned it was a crank call. It wasn’t until a second call came in that the police were notified and informed us about the report of a body.” Darnell shook his head.

  “She’s been crying wolf for so long, no one takes her seriously no matter what crime she reports.” I heard Robyn harrumph even though I was at the opposite end of the lineup of people in the room. She put both hands on her hips.

  “Hey, Mr. Crime Scene Photographer, who’s lying on the ground in there?” Robyn suddenly cried out in a booming voice. The photographer turned around, abruptly. “It’s the Bard himself, and he’s white as a ghost!”

  “I rest my case.” Robyn folded her arms over her chest. Darnell opened his mouth to say something, but Hank intervened.

  “Drop it, Darnell. Enough, Robyn!” Hank was gruff. His tone didn’t change much when he directed his next question to the rest of us.

  “Did one of you place the second call?” We all looked at each other and then shook our heads.

  “It wasn’t any of us, Hank. Did the second caller also report a murder?” I asked. It was their turn to stare at each other before a round of head shakes and shrugs. Darnell sniffed and cleared his throat to speak.

  “That must be the case. When Vargas and I got the call, it was clear we were being sent to the scene of a murder. My only fear was that we were being put to the test once again by a group of tricksters with too much free time on their hands…”

  “No one here cares about your fears. Save it for your therapy group.” Then Charly turned to Neely. “Will you tell them exactly what happened when you and Robyn arrived half an hour ago?” Neely’s statement was short and sweet.

  “Why did you come back here tonight, Robyn? I thought you were staying with Neely Conrad for a few more days.”

  “I am, Detective. It’s just that when Neely and I came here earlier to make sure the guys hired to do the repair work didn’t miss anything, the property owner showed up. For some reason, Mrs. De Voss went off on us.”

  “What about?” Hank asked.

  “She was riled up and ranted at Neely and me about eating at the dining table without putting the padding over the wood and asked me what I was doing there while the repairs were being done. I told her I still live here until my lease expires. I’m the one who’s been inconvenienced, repeatedly, by uninvited guests. Restocking the pantry is on my dime, not theirs. If I didn’t have the G.O.L.D. team on my side, I’d be facing this all alone and paying for a hotel room somewhere.”

  “G.O.L.D. team?” Vargas asked.

  “It’s not worth it, but I can explain,” Darnell responded. “These active adults have overactive imaginations. One of their fantasies is that they’re detectives—Grand Old Lady Detectives—if you can believe that.” Neely spoke, abruptly, before Darnell could go on and on about an issue that he’d already said wasn’t worth talking about in the first place.

  “Robyn’s understandably upset. Bernie De Voss stormed off and ordered us out. She insisted that the finishing work to be done was going to require the use of varnish or some sealers and she didn’t want us to sue her for being exposed to the chemicals. We got out of here in such a rush that Robyn left her glasses behind, so we came back a few minutes ago to get them.”

  “Maybe, I should just pack up my stuff and leave, permanently. The way Mrs. De Voss spoke to me today, I’m not sure I should be renting from her anyway. Nor should anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Don’t fret, Robyn. Miriam’s got a few ideas about how you can do that, if you’re serious about moving out,” Charly added. “Let’s talk about it later.” Robyn appeared relieved as Charly switched topics.

  “From what Neely has said, Shakespeare must have been killed sometime during that last couple of hours, right?”

  “That must be the case,” I added although I couldn’t be sure the question was meant for me. “Marty Monroe and I were having lunch with Robyn’s landlord outside when we were also told to leave. We left at about three-thirty. Bernadette De Voss and George Pierson were still here. If you contact them, they can narrow the window of time down further.”

  “I can do that, now,” a forensic investigator said. “Shakespeare’s watch was smashed at 5:19. See?”

  “That’s a pricy broken watch,” I said looking at the timepiece stashed in a clear, plastic evidence bag.

  “You can say that again,” Eddie Vargas added. “Ted De Voss has one just like it and I heard he paid six figures for it.” That sent a shock wave through me. It was, in part, sticker shock since when I’d said the watch was pricy, I hadn’t realized that meant it cost over a hundred thousand dollars. On top of that, the prospect that the dead man was Ted De Voss and another member of the De Voss family had met with foul play, made my head spin.

  “Are you saying that’s Ted De Voss lying there masquerading as Shakespeare?” I managed to ask the question even though my voice sounded a little funny.

  “No, no,” Eddie Vargas replied. “Ted’s an unusually tall man. Shakespeare looks to be of medium height. Besides, as the owner of the cottage he could have searched this place at will without donning a disguise.” What he said made sense. I nodded, trying to break the hold Eddie Vargas had claimed on me with a penetrating gaze. He’d spoken with a barely detectable accent, making me wonder about his role in the smuggling investigation. I broke the eye lock and asked another question.

  “Did you pick up the note Shakespeare left?” All the lawmen in the room were peering at me. “As Neely told you, she checked to make sure the guy was still alive. Otherwise, no one touched or moved a thing, but we couldn’t help but notice the note lying next to him.”

  “I’ve got it.” The crime scene investigator who’d shown us the broken watch held out a new evidence bag for Hank and the oth
ers to examine. “See? Poetic, huh?”

  “Do you recognize the script, Vargas?” The intriguing undercover cop, with jet black hair and eyes to match, smiled at me again.

  “It’s Vargas to Devers, but to you, Miriam, it’s Eddie.”

  “Okay, Eddie. Nice to meet you,” I held out my hand which he grasped, shook, and then hung onto a little longer than necessary. All eyes in the room were on us. I took my hand back and stuffed it in a pocket of the jacket I had on.

  “To answer your question, I don’t recognize the handwriting, but I wonder if it’s even handwritten. Don’t you have someone who can tell us how this was printed, and what ink or paper were used? Or should I send it to the lab in LA or to my colleagues in San Diego for analysis?” That answered one of my questions about Eddie Vargas. He wasn’t from around here.

  “Let’s see what we can find out using the County crime lab facilities. Then, if you want to send it elsewhere to find out more, we’ll do it,” Hank assured him with what seemed to be a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

  Whose investigation is this? I wondered. As if I’d asked that question aloud, Hank took charge.

  “So, what have we got, Neve?” Hank asked the rep from the Coroner’s Office who now had a name.

  “The male victim is covered in white makeup and powder, so I won’t have all the details about his features, scrapes, or bruises until I get his body to the morgue and clean him up. He’s wearing a wig and beneath that he has on a stocking cap. It’s covering what appears to be thin, dark hair, with a receding hairline. The costume and makeup mask his features, but I think there’s a distinctive scar on the side of his face near his left ear. That’s old but it might help you determine his identity.”

  “Does that mean there’s no wallet on the body?”

  “Not that I can find, Hank. As I said, the victim is wearing multiple layers of clothing. Once we remove the Shakespeare disguise and take a better look at the clothing underneath, maybe we’ll find identification secreted on him somewhere.”

  “What’s the reason for all the blood?” Eddie Vargas asked.

  “Someone stabbed him—or tried to stab him—several times. He has shallow cuts on his hands and arms, indicating he fought with his attacker. That may be how the watch was smashed, too, although that could have happened when he landed on the tile floor in the pantry. I can’t say for certain, but I believe he was stabbed in the chest and the weapon punctured his lung. The most likely cause of death is blood loss.”

  “If he put up a fight, why isn’t there evidence of it in the pantry?” I asked.

  “That’s an excellent question. I believe the stabbing took place elsewhere. He managed to get away, but the damage had already been done.”

  “How far could he have gone with a punctured lung and bleeding the way he was? Wouldn’t there be a blood trail coming from wherever the stabbing occurred?” Charly asked.

  “That’s what the crime lab investigators are here to discover. He certainly could have made it this far from the back yard or the garage, and all those layers of clothing could have absorbed most of the blood.”

  “You know this isn’t the first time he’s been here. He’s sure been persistent, hasn’t he?” That wasn’t a completely idle thought because it was related to several other questions bouncing around in my head. “If he was a thief, why not just move on and pick and easier target?”

  “That note says it all, doesn’t it?” Joe asked. “The prospect of locating a vault full of loot must be what has kept him coming back.” Devers appeared to be ready to issue one of his “butt out” decrees. Then Eddie Vargas responded.

  “You could be right. Especially if the disguised man isn’t just a thief, but someone who has caught treasure hunting fever. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  “I know what you mean! Like Humphrey Bogart hunting for gold in the Treasure of the Sierra Madre or those crooks in The Maltese Falcon,” Joe suggested. “They weren’t ever going to give up searching for it.”

  “Treasure hunting sure would explain why Shakespeare, the guy in the windbreaker, and who knows who else has been searching this place.” Robyn paused. “Maybe if I’d known, I should have been doing that, too, instead of just straightening up after the greedy scoundrels for months.”

  “The search has gone on longer than that. My neighbor, Dottie Harris, says she never saw a ghost when she rented the Shakespeare Cottage before Robyn moved in. She did ask George if he, or someone he’d hired, had been in here. Like Robyn, Dottie noticed drawers ajar and items out of place.”

  “Did she get the same response from George?” I asked.

  “Yes. Although, George never mentioned the ghost, but Rosemary Pfeiffer mentioned it to Dottie. Unlike Robyn, Dottie was only in the cottage for a few months. These treasure hunters must be more easily distracted than the ruthless rivals in pursuit of the Maltese Falcon. They’re interest seems to wax and wane. Even Robyn wasn’t constantly being harassed. Not until recently, anyway.”

  “It’s impossible to believe this has gone on as long as you claim,” Devers blustered. “They would have been caught long ago if it were true.”

  “That’s if the people who could have caught them had done more to do so,” Charly snapped. “I don’t just mean the police, but the homeowners and the landlord. A comedy of errors, I guess.”

  “The note is cryptic. Anyone trying to find the vault, or more clues to its location, would have needed to search every wall in every room of the house,” Hank suggested.

  “He’s done way more than that, as you could tell by the way he left the pantry after his last visit. If whoever’s been in here has been looking for a vault they’ve already checked for one hidden in a wall, behind the furniture, bookshelves, or pictures hanging on the walls,” Charly pointed out.

  “No one was in here last night,” Joe stated with authority.

  “How do you know that?” Devers asked with the pupils in his eyes narrowing to tiny pin prick sized openings.

  “Don’t get all worked up, Devers,” Carl chided him. “We weren’t out prowling around. We checked the feed from nanny cams we set up. There was no one on it.”

  “How difficult is it to check the video feed?”

  “Not too hard. When no motion sets it off, the camera doesn’t even record.”

  “We found nothing when we checked this morning, but grew concerned later that we’d screwed up when we installed the cameras. We came back here intending to check them again. Miriam warned us off because Bernie De Voss was still here, and she’d been on a rant. Then, we got sidetracked…” Joe shut up when Devers folded his arms. I’m sure Darnell had plenty to say about the trouble they’d caused after that.

  “Show us where the camera is set up in here, okay? Is the video stored in the clouds or on a memory card?”

  “Both,” Joe and Carl responded in tandem. “We’ll give you SD card, if you want it, or we can text you the information about how to check our cloud storage,” Joe added.

  “If we leave the SD card in the cameras, we can continue to record if anyone else decides to visit the cottage.” Hank nodded.

  “Okay, leave them in place, and send me the information about how to access the cloud storage.” Joe had slipped behind us, and pulled a barstool over to the cabinets above the stove. I couldn’t believe my eyes as he scrambled up onto the barstool, and then moved some vines hanging from a silk potted plant on top of the cabinetry.

  “Oh, yeah. This thing is working.” In his excitement, Joe whipped his head around and gave us a thumbs up. The barstool wobbled and so did he. Several of us ran to steady the chair and reached up to keep him from falling.

  “Isn’t one dead body enough for us to deal with today?” Charly scolded him as he slid off the barstool and onto the floor.

  “You might not have been the only one lying dead on the floor, Joe,” Robyn exclaimed, still a little breathless. “I could have had a heart attack!”

  “Don’t waste your breath. That guy can
’t learn,” Darnell snapped. I wanted to come up with a clever retort, but to be honest, Joe’s stunt had used up the last surge of adrenalin I could muster for the day.

  “Hank, do you need us to do anything else, or are we free to go?”

  “You can all go. Call me if you get to the video footage from today and find anything worth mentioning.”

  Nabbed! I thought. That was one of the main reasons I wanted to get out of here. Hank smirked as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “If you get done in the next couple of hours, feel free to drop by the Bronte Cottage for dessert. If we have anything new for you, we’ll pass it on. Besides, Miriam needs to settle an old debt.” All the eyes in the room were on me.

  “Cookies.” I said nervously. “It’s a cookie debt…” Puzzled expressions were replaced by blank stares. “Never mind.”

  I was so flustered, I took a step toward the archway leading out of the kitchen. I suddenly remembered that Charly and I needed to retrieve Domino and Emily.

  “The dogs sure have been awfully quiet, haven’t they?” Our entire group moved to the sliders. When I flipped the lock and slid the sliding door open, I heard Neve speak.

  “Did you catch that, Sabina?” Sabina was obviously the name of the female crime scene investigator.

  “Yep. The door leading to the back yard will have prints on it we need to rule out.”

  “Mine are already on file,” I hollered as I stepped out into the yard. Domino and Emily were nowhere in sight!

  13 Unkindest Cut

  “This was the most unkindest cut of all” – Julius Caesar

  ∞

  “Domino!” I shouted. “Treats!”

  “Where are they?” I asked as I checked to make sure the gate leading from the back yard to the street was still locked. I’d lied to myself when I’d said I was out of adrenalin. It was coursing through my body now, the blood too. It was pounding in my ears so loudly I could hardly hear my own thoughts. Had the bloodthirsty person who killed Shakespeare been lurking nearby and killed or taken the dogs?