by Jane Tesh
Jerry shut the trunk. “What do you want to do now?”
“I need proof that Constance was in Harold’s neighborhood and in Joanie’s. Come help me look.”
Jerry followed me in his jeep to Harold’s neighborhood, and I showed him how I imagined Constance had used the empty house as good cover to get into Harold’s backyard. I’d looked for clues before and hoped with two pairs of eyes we might find something I’d overlooked, but there were no clues. Next, we drove to Joanie’s neighborhood, and I retraced my steps. No scrap of expensive cloth dangled from a rosebush. No footprint dented the grass in Joanie’s backyard. No missing earring. No crumpled piece of paper with “I did it!” in big black letters.
We went back to our cars and leaned against the jeep. “Constance has all the motive in the world,” I said. “Plus plenty of opportunity, but I’ll need proof before I confront her.”
“You could always say you have proof, and see if she cracks.”
“She’s too in control to crack. She’ll ask to see it.”
“There’s her play.”
“Yes, I’m interested to see how she reacts to that. Then again, she could say, ‘Oh, yes, I wrote that. Thanks for finding it.’” I straightened. “Okay, it’s worth a try.”
Jerry pointed to the pile of branches behind our cars. “Be careful backing out. I caught a good scrape on the side coming in.”
I stopped. “Say that again.”
“Be careful backing out.”
“No, the other part.”
“I caught a good scrape on—oh, I get it! Constance’s Cadillac.”
“Which is much bigger than your jeep or my Mazda.” Was it possible there was an incriminating scratch on the dark red finish?
Jerry thought the same thing. “She may have fixed that by now.”
“Or she may not have noticed.”
“Then we’d better hurry and find her car.”
Chapter Twenty-three
I tried to think of where Constance would go. “Jerry, this might be a long shot, but Constance said she had her hair done every Friday by someone named Delores, who is also Amanda’s hairdresser. I’m going to call Amanda for the address.”
Amanda told me the salon was called Hair Apparent, located on Brisbane Avenue, one street over from Main. Constance’s Cadillac Sedan deVille was parked between a white Camry and black Ford 150 truck. Fortunately, the truck blocked the view from the salon’s front windows, so Jerry and I could have a private look at the Cadillac. The back of the car was smooth and unmarked, but when we took a closer look at the front, we found scratches in the dark red paint and many little twigs and branches wedged in the imposing grill.
I didn’t want to confront Constance in the beauty salon. “I’ll invite her to my office and see what she says.”
“I can hide in the closet in case she makes a move.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
“And it wouldn’t hurt to have a policeman parked across the street.”
***
During my short private investigator career, I’ve been threatened by a deranged beauty queen with a gun, leaped upon by an angry librarian, attacked by a delusional woman with a hypodermic needle, and assaulted by a vengeful artist with a brick, so it was unnerving to have Constance so calm. She sat in the beige and green client chair and gave her newly treated hair a little pat.
“What’s all this about Amanda, Madeline?”
I didn’t think she’d come to my office, but when I called, I told her there was a breakthrough in the case and things didn’t look good for Amanda. As I’d hoped, she was eager to hear this. She apologized for being so short with me before and agreed to hear me out.
“I have a theory,” I said. “I think I know why Amanda was blackmailing you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“She grew up in Peaceful Meadow. She knew about the Darkrose Coven. I believe she knew about the baby, too.”
Constance paled but said nothing.
“I also think Harold was blackmailing you. He called all the members of the Improvement Society in an effort to stop them from following Amanda, and he had the perfect weapon to use against you. When he was courting Megan, he was often at Peaceful Meadow, and he’d seen you there. He called to tell you if you endorsed Amanda’s plan for the outdoor drama, he’d let everyone in town know about your baby. You had to get rid of both of them. Since it was common knowledge Amanda and Harold were at odds, and everyone heard them argue at Amanda’s party, it was easy to set Amanda up as a murderer. You had access to her house and her things, so you left one of her purses at the scene, and to make certain no one saw your car, you left it on Tasmin Avenue after you visited Eloise Michaels and walked through the backyard of an empty house on the next street which has access to Harold’s house. I’m guessing you used a baseball bat and then took the bat home and burned it.”
Constance’s face was expressionless. “This is a very interesting story.”
“Megan was also at Peaceful Meadow when the coven was meeting near there, but she’s rarely in town, and when she is, no one pays any attention to what she says. Then she shows up for auditions, and suddenly there’s a chance she might remember you and make a scene. You had to get rid of her, too. You also attacked Joanie and left a tooth from Megan’s walking stick.”
“Which should prove Megan is the culprit.”
“Except Jerry and I found the tooth after the police had been all over Joanie’s house and yard. I think you forgot to leave it, so you came back and planted that little piece of evidence later.”
“Again, no proof.”
“You did the same thing in Joanie’s neighborhood that you did in Harold’s. You parked a few streets over and went through backyards. But in Joanie’s neighborhood, there’s not a lot of parking available and what’s there is hampered by piles of branches the work crews left behind. You managed to squeeze the Cadillac in. After all, you were only going to be there a few minutes, once to attack Joanie, and then later to leave the tooth. There are some pretty good scratches on your car from those branches.”
“Scratches that could be from anywhere.”
“Not from your upper-class neighborhood. Not from driving around town. Where else do you go? The forest?”
“A careless driver could’ve scratched my car.”
“Yes, but then there’s this.” I put the little piece of branch I’d pulled from the Cadillac’s grill on top of the notebook. “It’s from the front grill of your car. See where these twigs are broken off? There’s a pile of branches one street over from Joanie’s, the spot where there’s a clear path to her back porch.”
Nothing disturbed her icy calm. “Are you looking for matching twigs, Madeline? How quaint. You should write all this down. It would make a fascinating novel.”
“It’s interesting that you should mention writing. I happened to find this.” I put the faded spiral notebook on my desk. “It was in Megan’s bag. Most of it is recipes and pictures of flowers, but in the back, there are several pages of a play, a play about Emmaline Ross.”
“Even more fascinating. I wouldn’t believe Megan could write a play.”
“But I believe you could. I recognized your very neat handwriting. When Jerry asked how Amanda could’ve written a play so quickly, you told him the same thing you told me, ‘I believe she’s been working on it for a long time.’ I believe you wrote a play about Emmaline Ross and it was always your dream to have it produced. Then Amanda comes along with her idea about an outdoor drama, and because she threatened you with your past life, you had to sit back and let her version take over.”
“If what you say is true, how did the notebook get in Megan’s bag?”
“Megan’s bag was full of little mementos she picked up. You were probably working on the play out in the woods where it was nice and calm.
You probably forgot about this notebook, but I’ll bet you have other copies of your play at your house.” I turned the pages in the notebook. “It’s amazing how popular Emmaline is. It’s only a few scenes, but your version’s pretty good. Oh, and Megan had this, too.” I took out the rattle and placed it on my desk.
Up till now, Constance had been the Ice Queen, but when she saw the rattle, her mouth trembled before she got it under control.
“Megan’s been out in the woods trying to find where your baby is buried. She wanted to leave this on its grave.”
She reached out and touched the rattle. The beads inside shifted, sounding like a sad little sigh.
I realized something in my earlier theory wasn’t right. If Harold called Constance to threaten her with her past indiscretions, why would he be so concerned? Why would he think he had something on her no one else had, something guaranteed to frighten her?
“Was Harold the father, Constance?”
She flinched and sat back.
“There was a lot of free love floating around back then, wasn’t there? Harold was seeing Megan, so he was often at the commune. He told me he knew about the coven. ‘Some girls playing like they were witches,’ is how he put it. But maybe that’s not all you were playing. You didn’t want him to know the baby was his. And then you lost it. He didn’t call you to complain about Flower of the South. He’d found out about the baby. I’ll bet Amanda was the one who told him.”
Constance’s voice was still calm, but a calm of suppressed rage. “She took everything.”
“Why did you let her?”
“I didn’t want everyone to know about my past lifestyle. I went to college, married, established myself in town. I had social standing. Do you think I wanted the sordid details of my old life dragged out all over town? You know how people talk! And my husband would never have understood or accepted any of that. He’s very ill. He’s housebound. I would never want him to know any of this. Witchcraft! A miscarried illegitimate child! My God.”
“Amanda said she would tell if you didn’t finance her show.”
“That was her twisted little way of keeping me in line, yes. She knew how much Flower of the South meant to me.”
“Then why not kill Amanda?”
“Everyone knew how much I hated her. It was easier to set her up for a murder charge.”
Amanda wasn’t the only one with twisted ideas. “Did you hate Harold so much?”
“He never admitted the child was his, but it was and we both knew it. Oh, he knew it. He only brought it up because of Amanda’s plans. He said if I didn’t stop Amanda, he would tell my husband exactly what went on in the woods that night.” Constance regained her rock-like composure. “So what now, Madeline? You have an old notebook, a baby rattle, and a few twigs. I don’t think that’s enough.”
“You’re right,” I said. “That’s why I also have Jerry in the closet.”
She whirled around in her chair. Jerry opened the closet door and gave her a friendly wave of his cell phone. He’d recorded our conversation. Constance stood up so suddenly, her chair rocked back. I was surprised by how fast she ran out.
Jerry paused at the door. “Think the officer will catch her?”
I took out my phone. “If her husband’s an invalid, she won’t leave Celosia. Chief Brenner might not be happy about this, but I think I’ve solved the case.”
***
The chief called later to report Constance broke down at the station, confessing that between her fears that someone might expose her and Amanda mangling the wonderful story of Emmaline for her own greedy purposes, she’d simply had enough.
After ending the call, I told Jerry what he’d said.
He was sitting on the porch rail and raised his glass of tea in a salute. “Did he thank you for your excellent detective work?”
“Not exactly in those words.”
From the music room came the cheerful sounds of Hansel and Gretel, of children’s voices singing.
Children, here’s a lesson taught!
How the witch herself was caught,
Unaware, in the snare
Laid for you with cunning rare!
“That’s perfect, isn’t it?” Jerry said.
“Except I haven’t figured out if Eric Levin was killed by witch wannabes. Then there’s poor Megan. I hope she won’t be locked up indoors somewhere.”
“We could always put in a good word for her. The only one she was angry with was her sister. And we’re all angry at Amanda.”
My phone rang again. “Speaking of the devil.” It was Amanda, full of righteous fury. “Madeline, I just heard that Constance Tate was behind all this! I can’t believe it! When I think of how I took her under my wing and showed her everything about the theater, not to mention letting her in my home and trusting her with my plans and dreams. I feel utterly betrayed.”
I started to say, you are not the one who was betrayed, but Amanda charged on.
“I was harboring a murderer, Madeline. She could’ve attacked me at any time. Why in the world did it take you so long to figure this out? I am simply speechless. First Megan going crazy at the theater, and now to learn about this horrible plot that Constance cooked up. And it wasn’t only me who was in danger, what about Flower of the South? It could’ve been ruined. Celosia might not have had an outdoor drama. Do you know what a tragedy that would’ve been? It takes my breath away!”
I jumped in. “I’m glad you and the show are okay. If you’d like to come by my office later today, I can give you all the details.”
“I’m far too busy for that! There are a thousand things to be done with the play, and since Constance is no longer here, I have to delegate all of her duties to the other members of the Society. I’ll talk to you another time.”
I’d had enough, too. “No, Amanda, you’ll talk to me now. How did you find out about the video that Eric Levin made of Britney Garrett, and why the hell did you think it was all right to blackmail a high-school girl?”
She sputtered for a while but didn’t hang up. “The very idea!”
“That’s what I say. You can explain it to me or to the police.”
“Is it my fault these girls put themselves all over the Internet?”
“I’ve got Chief Brenner on speed dial.”
Another round of huffing. “I picked up her phone by mistake. You know I’m always misplacing mine. It was at one of our meetings.”
“A couple of months ago?”
“Yes, around March. Britney must have been admiring herself because the video came right up. That’s when I realized it wasn’t my phone. I left the phone where I’d found it, and she came running in not long after looking for it. I knew her mother was an extremely inflexible parent. That’s when we made our little arrangement.”
I still couldn’t believe Amanda saw nothing wrong in this. “And at no point did you think, this is not right? Are you that desperate for money?”
“My finances are none of your concern.”
“You’re broke, Amanda, and I’m going to make sure everyone in town knows it.”
She gasped. “You can’t do that! I’m your client!”
“Not anymore. I solved your case. I’m clicking on social media right now.”
“Wait!” There was a long pause and I imagined Amanda weighing her options, which were very few. “What do you want?”
“How much money do you have?”
“Oh, so you’re going to blackmail me now?”
“Stop sneering and listen. Pay back everything you took from Britney, every cent, or the world will know you are a worthless, conniving old bitch. Sell that silver centerpiece, sell whatever you have to, and give her back all the money you stole from her—and you did steal it, Amanda.”
For once, Amanda was silent. Then she grumbled, “All right.”
�
��Thank you.” I hung up on her before she could hang up on me. I took a long drink of my tea. “Amanda was her lovely, sympathetic self.”
“I heard every word,” Jerry said. “Nice job.”
“Worst client ever. But her evil influence still lingers. What I read of Constance’s play was so much better than Amanda’s version. In a strange way, I feel like Amanda’s getting away with murder. Theatrical murder.”
Jerry’s smile was full of mischief. “Well, there may be a way to fix that.”
Uh, oh. Did I see a con on the horizon? “What do you mean?”
“Amanda’s finances are low, and when she’s not extorting money from high-school girls, she’s depending on contributions from the rich women in town to underwrite Flower of the South.”
“That’s right.”
“What if they withdraw their support?”
“At one time, I thought they might, but then this rivalry with Rossboro fired them up.”
“Then they control what happens.”
“They’re all so timid, though. It’s as if Amanda has this secret power over them.”
“Maybe they don’t understand if they control the money, they have the power, not Amanda. It’s not something she’d want them to know. But we could tell them.”
“I just told Amanda if she pays Britney back, I wouldn’t tell anyone she’s broke.”
His smile widened. “You won’t have to tell them she’s broke. They only need to know they’re rich.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I saw my chance the next morning at Deely’s when the older remaining members of the Improvement Society, including Eloise Michaels, came in for breakfast and sat in their favorite booth. Jerry took a moment from his cooking to join me as I explained to them what had happened with Constance. The real version, not Amanda’s.
I knew the women would be curious. They were shocked that someone like Constance would commit murder, and unlike Amanda, they expressed pity for Megan and were happy the whole ordeal was over.
“Amanda, of course, is upset,” I said, leaving out and hopes Constance gets the chair. “Jerry and I were hoping to clear up some things about Flower of the South, so maybe you can help us. You’ve got the cast you wanted? Everyone happy with their parts?”