The Murder of Shakespeare's Ghost

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Over here!” Neely shouted from behind a pool house near the white privacy fence encircling the cottage property. I’d noticed the beautiful pool when we were here for lunch, but I’d been too distracted to pay more attention than that to the yard. Behind the structure, slats of the white fence lay on the ground.

  Without giving it another thought, I slipped through the fence and onto the greenspace that merges with the golf course. About a hundred yards away, I spotted Domino and Emily. They were both digging as if they were having the time of their lives. I didn’t like the fact that the spot in which they were digging had been cordoned off by a low fence of bright orange webbing.

  “Domino! Emily! Come!” I commanded. When I looked back over my shoulder, I could no longer see the opening in the fence. A stand of trees blocked my view. If someone was sneaking on and off the property, that would be a way to do it. Why hadn’t Cookie and Domino gotten out when we were having lunch with George Pierson earlier today?

  “Charly,” I shouted. “I’ve found them!” As I said that, the two rascals came running up to me. They weren’t the least bit dismayed when I scolded them for leaving the back yard.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked. That was a stupid question since Domino and Emily were covered in dirt. I took a stick Domino had in her mouth and tossed it away. Domino took off and retrieved it as if she were playing fetch. Charly and I both reached for it to take it away from her again, but she turned away.

  “Oh, let her keep it,” Neely said. “When you get home, you can get rid of it.”

  “Where’s Robyn?” I asked.

  “She went inside to confess that she could have been wrong when she thought Shakespeare had passed through walls to get into the house. Now she figures he just slipped in and out through the fence the way you did, and then let himself in with a stolen key. She wants to make sure Sabina checks this spot out.”

  “Didn’t they inspect the grounds a couple of days ago after the break-in?”

  “You’d think so. Robyn says she’s never noticed there was a problem with the fence as long as she’s lived here so she didn’t say anything about it.”

  “I’ll bet it wasn’t noticeable until our dogs made the escape route more apparent. I’d recognize Emily’s teeth marks anywhere. It must have been held together with the ties lying around on the ground. They look well-chewed to me.”

  “Oh, great! We’re in for a lecture about letting doggy spit contaminate the escape route,” I sighed.

  “No, you’re not. Go on around to the front of the house from here. I’ll cover for you while you and your canine culprits make your getaway.”

  “Thanks, Neely. I’m sure if they have questions for us, or the dogs, they’ll know how to find us. I’ve just about had it with the law for one day.”

  “Does that include Eddie Vargas with the whitest, brightest, ‘you can call me Eddie’ smile anyone’s ever seen?” Neely asked.

  “Stop it,” I said.

  “Yeah, stop it, Neely. You know Miriam prefers men with piercing blue eyes.” Charly smirked as Neely snorted.

  “Detective blue eyes wasn’t too happy with his pal cutting in on him, that’s for sure,” Neely said.

  “He wasn’t?” I asked. Where was I? I wondered. Eddie Vargas did have a dazzling smile, smoldering black eyes, and a nice wave in his thick black hair.

  “If looks could kill, my dear, Neve would be hauling Vargas’s body off to the morgue along with our Shakespeare impersonator who took a dagger to the chest.”

  “The ‘unkindest cut of all,’ to quote the bard once more before you two leave his favorite haunt of late.” Neely paused as if she heard someone coming and then spoke in a hushed tone. “If I had to take a stab at what was going on in Neve’s mind by the way she was ogling him, I’d guess she’d prefer hauling Eddie Vargas back to the morgue alive.” Then she and Charly both chortled. I was speechless listening to them carry on like that. They were still whooping it up when I heard Neve squawking.

  “Speak of the devil,” I muttered. Then I heard Deputy Devers’ all too familiar bark.

  “Now that’s the perfect couple. Those two deserve each other,” Neely added.

  “Time to go before the posse corners us,” I said.

  “Good idea. I’ve got to order pizza. You need to go home and get those cookies for handsome Hank.” They giggled. I blushed. The dogs woofed.

  “I hear those dogs! Where are they?” Devers asked, his voice louder now. Charly and I ran for it.

  “They went that-a-way, Deputy. Or was it that way?” Neely chuckled as we bolted for home. I have no idea which way she told them we’d gone, but no one caught up with us or showed up at my door once Domino and I got home.

  Less than an hour later, Domino and I were at the Bronte Cottage. Domino was outdoors again. She and Emily were playing a game with that old stick Domino had refused to give up. It had disappeared as soon as we got home, and then magically reappeared when we were leaving for Charly’s house. Minutes after we got there, the pizza arrived, and so did our fellow snoops.

  “I’m sorry Neve gave you a hard time,” Midge said when she’d heard us griping about her. “If you’d called me, I would have come on over to Shakespeare’s Cottage. Neve is good at what she does, although she has an edge, but who doesn’t? She’s participated in training sessions I’ve run for medical staff who need continuing education credit and we get along just fine. I’ll call her tomorrow and get a copy of her preliminary report. Maybe, by then, she’ll have learned something than can help us get this trouble resolved.”

  “You guys should have called us both. I would have loved to see that note you found. From the way Neely described him, Eddie Vargas sounds like a dish, too. I’m sorry I missed my chance to meet him.”

  “He looks pretty good,” Joe said. “I used to look a lot like him when my hair was still dark.”

  “And when you still had most of it,” Carl added.

  “Joe has lots of hair and there’s hardly any gray in it. Although he gave all of us a few more with his floor show,” Robyn said.

  “Floor show is right—another few seconds this way or that and that’s exactly where he would have ended up—on the floor.” Carl explained exactly what had happened.

  “You guys have both had too many close calls during the past couple of days,” Charly reminded them. “Given how fast the trouble has escalated, I’d say we all need to cool it. We’ll let the police comb through all the evidence they’ve collected and try to figure out who killed Shakespeare’s ghost. I’m not sure why Eddie Vargas is up to his neck in this since he’s working with Hank on the smuggling investigation.”

  “From what he said, I gather he’s with the San Diego Police Department or the County Sheriff. I’ll bet he’s fluent in Spanish, given his surname and the hint of an accent.”

  “He is. I checked when I got home. He’s part of a Special Operations Unit attached to the Sheriff’s Department and he’s on a Task Force charged with improving Border Protection and Drug Interdiction. I don’t get why he was at the cottage if he’s supposed to be undercover.”

  “I wondered about that, too. What if the guy he was trying to hook up with saw him going in or out of there with the police?”

  “That’s sharp, Hemingway. What was he doing there in broad daylight after we got accused of risking the whole operation?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe he gave up. He sure seems knowledgeable about Ted De Voss—calls him Ted and knows his watch when he sees it.”

  “If he’s been charged with keeping Ted De Voss under surveillance, Eddie Vargas may know more about him than his wife does. Mickey Paulson is the name of the lowlife in the warmup suit, by the way. He’s got a history of theft, drug possession, possession of stolen merchandise, assault—the list goes on and on. The guy spent seven years in prison for the assault charge and he’s obviously not on the ‘windy side of the law.’ I wouldn’t put smuggling, burglary, assault, or even murder past him. What he’s up to
might get clearer once we know the identity of the dead man.”

  “When I call Neve, tomorrow, I’ll get the scoop about who had the audacity to prowl around dressed like that. The Bard of Avon must be rolling over in his grave.”

  “He can rest easier now that the audacious dude prowls no more,” Joe added. “At least you’re not going to be involved in whatever’s going on much longer, Robyn, so you can rest easier now, too.”

  “It’s about time,” Marty said. “You’ve already put up with enough not to have to be chewed out by an out-of-control landlady or that know-it-all woman from the Coroner’s Office who spends most of her time with dead people.”

  “I can’t believe I have a chance to buy the Du Maurier Cottage. It’s like a dream come true.” Robyn was smiling, despite the dire aspects of our discussion.

  “Sometimes things work out just right, don’t they? Now that you’ve got an offer on your condo, you can get the ball rolling on the purchase of your dream cottage. Both deals ought to close at about the same time,” I said.

  “Close enough!” Robyn exclaimed. “Even if the timing’s a little off that’s okay. My realtor is taking backup offers on the condo. It’ll be wonderful not to wake up in the middle of the night to find some creep in my hallway. It was scary when I thought I was being haunted by the ghost of a literary legend. In a way, it’s worse to know a real guy—with people trying to kill him—was roaming around just outside my bedroom door.”

  “Hank’s on it, now. That’s more good luck for you.” Then Neely turned to Charly.

  “It’s odd that Mickey Paulson was back on the street driving by the cottage so soon after I broke his nose and only hours before Shakespeare was murdered. Now that you’ve told us more about his background, he goes to the top of my list of suspects.”

  “Micky Paulson strikes me as the kind of a guy who couldn’t resist cutting in on a treasure hunt, if he got wind of it. So much of all the trouble the police are investigating is connected to the De Voss family one way or another. Do you think that really is Ted De Voss’s watch they found on Shakespeare’s body?” Marty asked.

  “I’m sure we’re supposed to believe it is,” Neely replied. “What if it’s a red herring? A false clue planted on Shakespeare’s body to link Ted De Voss with the murdered man—whoever our Shakespeare impersonator turns out to be?”

  “You could be right. I can’t imagine Ted De Voss just gave it to Shakespeare, can you?” Joe’s question hung in the air before Neely tried to answer it.

  “What if Shakespeare worked for Ted De Voss, and the sneakthief stole it from him? Then Ted De Voss got wind of it and paid Mickey Paulson to get the watch back. For a few dollars more, I’ll bet Mickey Paulson would have made sure Shakespeare never had a chance to pilfer anything ever again.”

  “If it was a hit, it wasn’t a very good one. Ted De Voss would have told Shakespeare’s assassin to remove the watch and return it to him.”

  “It’s not a very believable ‘false clue’ either, though. The police will be as skeptical as we are,” Joe argued. “I take that back. Devers might fall for it.”

  “Well, it’s got to be reason enough for the police to bring Ted De Voss in for questioning. At the very least, that ought to make him squirm. Or maybe it could be used as leverage to dig even deeper into his business dealings, or whatever it is the police are already scrutinizing,” Charly said. “I’m as dubious as you are, Joe, that Ted De Voss is responsible for Shakespeare’s murder.”

  “I agree. I don’t believe he’s guilty of murder—not for this one, anyway.” Charly looked at me quizzically. “I’ve been trying to understand Bernie De Voss’s behavior. Maybe her cousin, Cookie De Voss, didn’t run off, and Bernie knows she’s dead. That’s why she came unglued when I brought it up.”

  “Who’s Cookie De Voss?” A trio of voices inquired. Charly gave a quick rundown to those in our group who hadn’t already heard about the case of the missing cousin. Marty sort of picked up where I’d left off.

  “Bernie was shaking with rage or fear when you asked about Cookie De Voss’s disappearance. If Cousin Cookie was murdered, are you saying Ted De Voss did it and that’s why Bernie De Voss freaked out?”

  “Yes. Remember the words Bernie uttered with such rage? ‘My disturbed husband’s disturbed ancestors.’ If Ted De Voss killed Cookie, and that led Daniel to kill himself, she lost two of the most important people in her life in a matter of days.” Charly was nodding in agreement.

  “That’s a lot of anger to carry around for decades. Maybe she finally snapped and decided to set him up—even if she had to commit a new murder to have one to pin on him.”

  “If she’s that far out, it would explain why it’s such clumsy attempt to frame her husband. Given the way she acted today, she’s not thinking straight. Bernie De Voss is also one of the few people who would have had easy access to her husband’s watch,” I argued.

  “Why now? Why Shakespeare? Why leave the watch and note there—is that a fake too?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe.” I responded. “I wish we had better answers to your questions, Neely.”

  “Here’s a possibility. If Bernie De Voss is fooling around with George Pierson, and Ted De Voss found out, she’s living on borrowed time,” Midge suggested.

  “Bernie De Voss is no dummy,” I said. “If she figured the handwriting was on the wall, then desperation rather than revenge could have driven her to act. She had to get rid of her husband, somehow, before she disappeared like her cousin.”

  “Well, it’s too bad her desperate scheme included murder. That makes her just one more ‘disturbed’ De Voss family member in my book. It was unnecessary, too, since the authorities are already on to her husband.” Marty looked disgusted. “Given that a couple of members of his smuggling ring have already turned up dead, murder or conspiracy to commit murder must also be among the crimes they’re investigating.”

  “So, why leave a fake note that seems to suggest it’s ‘finders-keepers’ for anyone who locates a family vault filled with treasures?” Robyn asked.

  “The watch is a big score for your average burglar. If Bernie De Voss is setting up her husband, knocking off Shakespeare is even more plausible if Ted De Voss did it to stop the guy before he found and claimed the family fortune,” Midge suggested.

  “That’s if you believe a ‘finders-keepers’ note would hold up in court. If Ted De Voss was tailing Shakespeare close enough to tell a hit man where to find him, why not wait until he finds family vault, takes the loot, and then grab him?” Charly asked.

  “If Shakespeare was at it for as long as we think he was, maybe Ted De Voss got sick of waiting for the guy to find it. Or, if Shakespeare stole his watch, it was the last straw…” Neely’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know, either.”

  “Here’s where Bernie De Voss’s scheme really runs off the rails for me. If we’re supposed to believe Ted De Voss was behind Shakespeare’s murder, why have the thief killed on the De Voss property? If Ted De Voss had ordered Mickey Paulson to kill Shakespeare, why wouldn’t he have told him to take The Bard for a ride, remove the watch and note, and then throw him off a bridge into Steinbeck Cove?” Charly asked.

  “He wasn’t assaulted in the cottage. Maybe the plan was to kill him elsewhere, but something went wrong, and Shakespeare got away.” Charly rubbed her face with both hands hearing my feeble attempt at an explanation. How could a guy in a Shakespeare costume, with a punctured lung and bleeding as bad as he was, get away from anyone or go far without being noticed?

  “Shakespeare was a slippery character, I’ll give you that. If what you’re saying is true, he got away twice assuming Mickey Paulson was in the cottage to abduct or kill Shakespeare before Neely fought with him. Let’s see what Hank and his crew of investigators come up with. We need something concrete to sort out the possibilities that this is, ‘A,’ a ridiculous ploy by Bernie De Voss to get revenge on her husband; ‘B,’ the work of rival treasure hunters working at cr
oss-purposes, ‘C,’ some conflict having to do with a smuggling operation, or ‘D,’ Ted De Voss loses it after a small-time thug steals his expensive watch and has him killed in the dumbest way ever. All of these options seem pretty far-fetched, but the picture’s still awfully murky at this point.”

  “Well here’s a murky picture to add into the mix,” Carl said. He’d brought his laptop out after we finished eating, but he’d been so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn’t reviewed the video from Shakespeare’s Cottage until now.

  “Uh, the picture’s not murky at all. It’s what it means that’s unclear,” Joe commented as he watched the video footage with Carl. “Show them.”

  Carl turned the laptop around and played the video clip as we all leaned forward to watch it. In the empty kitchen of Shakespeare’s Cottage, the door to the pantry suddenly opened. Then it swung wide and Shakespeare hit the floor in the pantry.

  “Is that all? How did he get in there? When?” Neely asked, spitting out questions in rapid fire.

  “Oh, come on. Something must be wrong. Play it again, please,” Midge said. “Start at the last point where the camera recorded previous activity, okay?” Carl did as she asked. The last thing the camera recorded before Shakespeare opened the door to the pantry—from the inside—was George Pierson moving about. He checked the doors in the kitchen to make sure they were locked, switched off the lights, and then left the room.

  “The hallway camera records him leaving through the front door at three-fifty-four. There’s nothing on any of the cameras until Shakespeare opens the pantry and drops to the floor at 5:24—minutes after the watch he was wearing had stopped.”

  “Well, folks, maybe I’ve seen too many old murder mysteries. There’s only one explanation for a treasure hunter who comes and goes at will, and pops up out of nowhere,” Neely said, pausing for dramatic effect, “a secret passageway.” My initial response was to scoff at the idea, then I reconsidered.