"Joanna," Apple said. "You've got to be careful. Someone is really dangerous—unhinged."
"I know, believe me."
"No, I mean it. I'd never felt so out of it last night, but I kept having dreams. Horrible dreams. It's cold and wet and I smell engine grease. I hear screaming. Warn the sisters, too."
"I know. I mean—obviously."
"Call the police again. I'm worried. See if they know anything new."
Detective Crisp. He'd be happy to hear from her. Right. Joanna hesitated, and Apple added, "Promise me."
Joanna sighed. Maybe he'd have news about the honey, at least. "Okay, I promise."
"Good. I need to go now. Gavin's bringing me breakfast in bed." She must have moved the phone away from her mouth. "Gavey? Don't let that steep too long." Then, into the phone's receiver, "Be careful, and call the detective."
Joanna hung up, then picked up the phone again and dialed.
"Foster Crisp."
"This is Joanna Hayworth. I—"
"Ms. Hayworth. I was just going to call you. We need to talk. In person."
In person? Alarmed, she said, "I was just going to the store."
"Fine. Can you meet me there right away?"
***
Despite being in such a rush to meet her at Tallulah's Closet, Detective Crisp was nowhere to be seen when Joanna arrived. Why was he so eager, anyway? He couldn't possibly know about last night at the Norths, could he? Her throat tightened.
The store's lights barely illuminated the gloom cast by the rain outside. The radio had broadcast a "severe weather alert" warning about floods. Not a very welcoming environment for customers. Replacing the window in the door would cost at least three cocktail dresses—or a part of one of Vivienne's suits. Hopefully she'd get some business today.
She flipped through her record albums to find something suitable for the morning. Maybe the Carpenters. That song about rainy days and Mondays would hit the spot. Record in hand, she started at the sharp knock on the plywood nailed over the door. The detective.
"May I?" Crisp shook out his umbrella and set it next to the door. He sat on the bench in the center of the store, the scent of wet wool rising from his pants. He motioned for Joanna to join him. "I'm sorry about your friend. Why don't you tell me what's been going on?"
Joanna picked up a gold lamé mule near her feet and set it on the bench. Another loose end, just like everything else in her life right now. She'd find its mate later.
"Apple was poisoned by honey that Helena Schuyler North gave me. I'm sure of it. I bet the honey was what killed Vivienne North, too. We need to figure out who poisoned it. I brought it to the station last night."
Crisp's cowboy boots scuffed the floor as he repositioned himself. "You have ideas?"
She couldn't tell if he was serious or just humoring her. "A few, actually."
"Let's hear them." He couldn't have seemed less interested.
"You don't care, do you?"
"It's not that, Joanna. It's just—"
The emotion of the past weeks teetered like a snowball on the top of a cliff. If she let go now, the detective was in for a real treat. "Poppy was my friend. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up dead. First you guys wrongly arrested her for selling stolen diamonds, so she spent time in jail. Some of her last days. In jail." She leaned forward. "That last night Vivienne was alive, she called Poppy. Did you know that?"
"Yes. We know."
"Poppy said she sounded delirious. It had to be the poison. Every night Vivienne drank a cocktail called a Bee's Knees. It's made with gin and honey. I know you tested the gin, but you must have forgotten the honey. That's all I can think."
Crisp's expression remain unchanged. "I know. We got preliminary results this morning."
"And?"
"No poison."
Joanna's jaw dropped. "Nothing?"
He shook his head.
"You said 'preliminary' results. You just haven't found the right poison yet. Apple—"
"She must have eaten something else. Maybe at lunch."
For a moment, Joanna couldn’t find words. "But I…" It had to be the honey. Had to.
He fastened his gaze on Joanna. "Speaking of telephone calls, the Norths reported a break-in last night. We discovered they'd received a call from a cellphone that evening. Your boyfriend's phone."
Joanna's anger melted into fear. She fidgeted and looked at her lap. "Really? A break-in?"
"You didn't ask if anything was stolen."
She drew a breath and looked him in the eyes. Less suspicious that way. "Was there?"
He paused, still watching, and said finally, "No. Nothing they could find. One of Gil North's paintings was damaged, though."
Fearing her lower lip would quiver, she put a hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream and blurt out that it was already destroyed when they arrived. But she couldn't. "That's awful. He must be really upset."
"Strangely, he isn't. That doesn't mean we won't find out who broke in. People try to hide things from us all the time, and we find them out." He stood. "I suppose you'll want to be opening the store now." He headed toward the door, then turned around. "One more thing. Where were you last night? We tried to call."
"Me? I went to the hospital, of course. Then I—" Flustered, Joanna paused. "I guess I was in shock and went to sleep. The concussion, you know. The last thing I was thinking about was talking on the phone." Now she was lying to the police. Again.
"I see. Oh, I almost forgot. One of the Norths' neighbors reported seeing a pickup truck in front of their house last night. Not a truck she recognized, either, although she said she's sure she would know it again if we showed her a photo."
Paul's truck. Damn. His phone, and now his truck. There's no way she was letting him take the blame for her terrible plan. No way. She drew a shaky breath.
"Maybe I didn't tell the whole truth. I didn't want to tell you where I was last night because—because it was embarrassing. I needed to ask Helena something... personal, so I used Paul's phone to call her—you know I don't have a cell phone—then borrowed his truck to go see her." Should she have called a lawyer before talking to Crisp? He wasn't taking notes. Too late now. "She wasn't home, so I left."
Completely unconvincing. Even as the words left her mouth she knew how bogus they sounded. Despite the blood hammering at her ears, she felt faint. He would surely reach for the handcuffs now and take her away.
Instead, Detective Crisp picked up his umbrella. "I see." He stood and stretched. He pointed behind her. "By the way, that other gold shoe? It's under the chair."
She turned her head. The lamé mule's toe peeked from under the chair's ruffle.
Crisp looked at her for a moment longer than necessary, then left the store.
***
Rain pounded on the aluminum awning and gushed down the gutters. No one had been in the store for hours. Joanna had already spaced the dresses evenly along the racks and tidied the hat and jewelry displays. She moved a lamp to illuminate the shadow caused by the plywood nailed over the door. Now she was scrubbing the seams of a pair of patent leather stilettos. They were already clean, but she'd do anything to keep from thinking of the mess she was in. Maybe Detective Crisp was talking to Helena right now, and maybe Helena was telling him she saw Joanna running through the backyard when her house was broken into. She pushed the stilettos to the side.
Just as Joanna had decided to sort through a jar full of buttons, the bell jangled. It was one half of the nearly indistinguishable couple who usually shopped together. Natalie—or Nicole.
Natalie or Nicole shed her coat by the door. "Is it okay if I leave this here? I'm drenched. What happened to the door?"
"Accident. I'm hoping to get the glass replaced some time this week." Change the subject. "Where's—uh—"
"Nicole? Cleaning the gutters. They're predicting floods. The mayor's even talking about stacking sandbags along the river." Natalie smoothed her wet hair and set down two to-go
cups with tea bags dangling from them. "I just dropped in to see Apple."
"She's—she's not feeling great today." Big understatement. "Can I help you?"
"I brought her some tea, that's all. There's a Zandra Rhodes caftan I wanted to show her a picture of, too."
Joanna expected Natalie to pull out her phone with the photo, but she wasn't paying attention. She stared at Vivienne's peach dress behind the counter. Joanna hadn't had time to price it and put it out.
"Did Eve sell you that dress?" Natalie asked.
Eve? "No, I picked it up a few days ago from the owner's daughter-in-law. Why?"
"I could swear I saw it at Eve's. Is it an Adele Simpson?" She pulled the dress from the rack. "It is."
Joanna grabbed the dress's right sleeve and fingered the seam near the wrist. Yes, there it was, the tiny, telltale hole left by a price gun. She dropped the sleeve as if it were molten metal. The truth took a moment to sink in.
Helena had lied to her. Why?
Natalie slipped on her raincoat. "Well, tell Apple I stopped by, and I hope she’s feeling better soon. I'll leave the other tea with you. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like you could use it."
"Thanks, and stay dry," Joanna said absently.
Helena had used the dress to lure Joanna to her house. She wanted to tell Joanna about Clary, cast blame on him. And give her the honey.
No. Couldn't be. Crisp said the honey wasn't poisoned. Plus, the killer had tried to implicate Helena by making Joanna tell the police she'd seen her leaving Poppy's body.
Joanna circled the store, straightening hangers and spacing dresses evenly along their rods, even though they didn't need it. If the killer were Helena—ridiculous, but consider it a moment—she would have known the police would clear her immediately. By calling Joanna and forcing her to lie to the police, she made Joanna look bad, not her. After all, Joanna herself had seen Helena at her table before she went to the green room in search of Poppy. But earlier, Helena had been away from the table. She could have killed Poppy then.
And Helena let Ben find her in Poppy's office. The bit about a call from Gil could have easily been an excuse. She didn't want Poppy cleared. No, she wanted her in jail not just for selling diamonds, but for poisoning Vivienne.
Joanna shivered. Why? Why would Helena do it? Poppy’s voice came back to her. "Voyeurs," Poppy thought Vivienne had told her. What if it wasn’t "voyeurs" at all, but "voyageurs"—or, in English, travelers? Leo was a traveler and knew Helena. Could she be one, too? She pictured Helena’s patrician features and New England-touched accent. But what her features were bleached white? Albino? Helena and Leo might be twins.
She returned to the tiki bar and took a deep breath. The killer wasn't Clary or Gil or Tranh at all. It was Helena. Helena murdered Vivienne and Poppy. Joanna had to talk to Crisp. Immediately.
Her hand nudged a package next to the phone. Natalie must have set it down and forgotten it. Through the plastic bag showed the lurid, 1950s-style cover of a battered paperback. My Gun is Quick by Mickey Spillane. The book on the Mother's nightstand.
The breath went out of her like she'd been hit. The Mother. She must call the convent to warn them. First the convent, then Crisp. The dial took forever to spin then click each number. Come on, come on, pick up.
Mary Alberta's voice sounded distracted. "Hello, Sisters of the—"
"Mary Alberta? Joanna. Listen, you—"
"Thank the Lord you called. It's the Mother. She's missing."
CHAPTER FORTY
"Hold tight. I'll be right there." Joanna fumbled for her keys and locked up the store. She ran to dodge the rain, and the inside of the car began to steam up as soon as she started the engine. She mopped at the windshield with a rag. Old Blue’s windshield wipers batted weakly at the downpour.
Apple had warned her to tell the nuns. Of course, Helena would make sure the Mother wouldn't repeat to anyone the story about Oaks Park.
Joanna swerved and pushed the horn when a car tried to move into her lane. How could the Mother have disappeared? She couldn't even walk. Helena was solid and the Mother was frail. Still, it was hard to imagine Helena sneaking into the convent and hauling the Mother out over her shoulder.
Ten minutes later Joanna pulled up by the convent's kitchen entrance. Mary Alberta stood at the door, her usually placid expression twisted with worry.
"Come in, come in." She gestured toward the kitchen.
Joanna dashed in, holding her coat over her head. "What happened?" Water streamed from her coat to the linoleum.
"About an hour ago Vivienne's daughter-in-law, Helena, came by. We weren't expecting her. Mary Frances and I were finishing up lunch. Helena said she was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop in for Vivienne's sake. She wanted to see Mother."
Helena must have left the house right after the detective's visit, Joanna thought.
Mary Alberta paced. "Mother didn't seem surprised she was here at all. I led Helena upstairs, then came down to clean up the lunch dishes." The dishes in the drainer shone in the kitchen's yellow light.
"Yes?"
"She didn't stay long—Helena, that is. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes. After she left, I made the Mother a plate of leftovers from last night's supper and brought it up to her. She wasn't there."
"Are you sure she's really gone?" It seemed impossible she could have left on her own. "Maybe she just went down the hall. Maybe she's still here."
"She's not, I'm telling you. I searched the whole house."
"You're certain Helena left alone, right? How long was it from when she left and you discovered Mother was gone?"
"I was in the kitchen, but I heard the front door close, and right after that I heard a car on the street in front. It had to have been her. I admit I wasn't paying a lot of attention. Mostly I was thanking the good Lord that even in this rain the exhaust fan in the kitchen doesn't leak anymore."
The good Lord and Paul, Joanna thought.
"We've looked everywhere—downstairs, the garden, even the basement," Mary Alberta said.
If Helena took the Mother away, they might never find her. She was undoubtedly desperate enough. Joanna should have warned the nuns. Instead of wasting time at Tallulah's Closet, she should have been at the convent. "Mary Alberta, there's something I have to tell you."
Mary Alberta gestured, indicating Joanna should get on with it.
"I think Helena killed Vivienne and my friend, Poppy."
"What?" Mary Alberta and Mary Frances said in concert.
"It takes too long to explain, but Mother shouldn't have been left alone with her." Joanna's voice choked in frustration. "Listen, is there any chance the Mother could have left on her own?"
The Marys shot glances at each other across the hall. "Well—" Mary Frances started.
"She didn't like to advertise it, but she could get around a little better than she made out," Mary Alberta finished.
So there was at least a small chance that Helena didn't take her. "Could she get downstairs?"
"I don't know about that," Mary Alberta said.
"I have noticed a little pie missing some mornings," another Mary said.
"But that would have been Mary Catherine, don't you think?"
"And found a plate and fork in the Mother's room," Mary Carmen added.
"If she went anywhere, she had to have taken her cane." She trotted up the stairs to the second floor where Mother's bedroom was. "It's not here. She took it. Mother took her cane and went somewhere," she shouted from the landing.
If the Mother left the house on her own, in this rain, she had to have a good reason. Something sparked by Helena's visit. "Is there a cab company you guys use?"
"Mother likes Radio Cab. A lot of veterans drive for them. She likes to talk to the older drivers about the war," Mary Alberta said, downstairs again. "Their number's in there."
In the kitchen, Mary Alberta handed her a small notepad with Radio Cab's number and logo printed across the bottom.
"
May I use your phone?" Joanna asked.
"Right here." Mary Alberta pointed to a mustard yellow phone affixed to the kitchen wall.
Joanna dialed the cab company's number. "Hi, yes. I'm calling about a customer you picked up at the Sisters of the Mary Salome the Myrrh Bearer convent."
The Marys looked at each other. Another Mary joined them in the kitchen, and Joanna heard the front door close. Business at the rectory must be over.
"Yes." Relief washed over Joanna. Mother had taken a cab. "I know you don't normally give out this kind of information, but we need to know where the customer went. You see, she's the Mother Superior." She grasped the phone more tightly. "Me? I'm, uh, the Mother Superior's secretary, and we urgently need to get in touch with her. She doesn't carry a cell phone." The dispatcher paused. "It’s very important. God's business. Thank you. I'll be right here. Yes, that's the number."
Joanna hung up the phone. "We were right. They picked up Mother a little while ago. They're going to call the driver of the cab that took her." She wanted to get in touch with Detective Crisp, but didn't want to tie up the line until the cab company called back.
"What happened?" a short, plump nun Joanna vaguely remember as having the unlikely name of Mary Marsha, asked as she shook rain off her habit.
Mary Alberta hesitated. A few more Marys joined the group in the kitchen. "I guess you'll find out sooner or later. Mother has disappeared." A clamor of voices rose.
As if on cue, the phone rang. Joanna grabbed it and took a breath to relax her voice. "Sisters of Mary Salome the Myrrh Bearer here. May I help you?"
"We never answer the phone like that," a voice murmured at the back of the kitchen.
Joanna nodded. "Yes, thank you. Oh, and God bless." She hung up and reached for her coat.
"Where is she?" Mary Alberta asked.
Joanna ignored her question. "I'll come back with her, don't worry." The sisters were too mixed up in this as it was. She slapped Crisp's card on the counter. "Call this number right away and tell the detective everything I told you about Helena. Tell him to meet me at the Rose Festival’s Fun Center." She slid on her coat and opened the kitchen door to a thunder of rain. A half-inch sheet of water flooded the driveway, the lawn unable to absorb it.
Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) Page 24