Sharon obediently set the black, accordion-pleated fan in motion.
“Sorry to hear it. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
She recovered from her torpor long enough to glare at him. “As a matter of fact, you have.”
Jameson cleared his throat. “Then, I’ll be brief. If it’s not too much for you, Mrs. Schutt, I’d like you to tell me what happened.”
“By all means, Detective. I had just submitted my famous strawberry pie in the baking contest when Reverend Price informed me that the man who was scheduled to operate the Ferris wheel called to say he couldn’t make it and would I be willing to take his place. Well, I say that if people have no intention of helping out, they shouldn’t volunteer. It put us in a terrible position. Simply terrible. I told Reverend Price that I didn’t know much about machinery and that I thought running a Ferris wheel was more of a man’s job, but if the church needed me, I would be more than happy to oblige. That’s the kind of person I am, Detective. I’m always there when people need me.”
“That’s very good of you, Mrs. Schutt.”
“Yes it is. Others wouldn’t have done, so mind you, but I did. The Reverend showed me how to work all the switches and how to lock and unlock the compartment doors so the passengers could get on and off. It was all very straightforward-but then, I always have been very clever-so I agreed to run the wheel until he could find a gentleman replacement. Everything was going quite smoothly. I gave three rides in succession without so much as a hiccup, and then, it happened. Oh! I can’t bear to think of it!” She covered her eyes with one hand; the other reached up to take the cup of water from Sharon.
“Please, Mrs. Schutt,” Jameson urged, “do try.”
“If you insist, but it is so very difficult” Louise swallowed a sip of water and followed it with a dramatically deep breath. “When the fourth ride was over, I began to unload the passengers. No one was waiting to board, so it wasn’t necessary to load any new passengers.”
“That man,” she gestured toward where the body had lain minutes earlier, “was the last passenger to be let off. I lowered the car to ground level and unlatched the door lock. I told him it was safe for him to disembark, but there he sat, staring blankly into space. I thought perhaps he had a hearing problem, so I repeated my words, only louder. Again, he did nothing, so I opened the door myself, and he came tumbling out of the car, landing on the ground exactly as you found him. It was all quite distressing” She motioned to Sharon to accelerate her fanning.
“I understand,” the detective sympathized. “Just one more question and I’ll be through.”
“Yes, yes,” the woman snapped impatiently. Sharon passed her the pink handkerchief, which she used to daub her wide, creased forehead.
“Did Mr. Nussbaum appear to be ill when he boarded the Ferris wheel?”
Mrs. Schutt stopped daubing. “Ill? No. I might have described him as agitated, but I suppose if one were to fall ill in a strange place, one would become anxious, wouldn’t one?”
Jameson smiled. “Yes, I suppose they would. Thanks, Mrs. Schutt. That’ll be all.” He tipped his hat at Sharon. “So long.”
The younger Schutt woman blushed bright red and giggled idiotically.
The detective gave her a curious look before turning on one heel to leave. Marjorie stood in his path: “Robert, I must speak to you.”
“Not now, Marjorie.”
“Please” She opened her eyes wide and tried on the most bewitching expression she could muster.
“Sweetheart, I’m very busy right now. I have to get back to the station and start on that paperwork. We can talk when my shift ends”
“But it can’t wait that long.”
“Then talk to Mrs. Patterson or Creighton. Whatever the problem is, I’m sure one of them can help you.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and took off across the fairgrounds.
Marjorie, frowning, stared after him. Discuss it with Mrs. Patterson or Creighton. Creighton …
She raised an eyebrow as an idea took shape in her head. Yes, talk to Creighton. That’s exactly what I’ll do!
FOUR
CREIGHTON WAS STILL STANDING near the kissing booth with Mrs. Patterson when he spotted Marjorie, running hell-for-leather in their direction. “Uh oh!”
Mrs. Patterson followed his line of vision. “My goodness, you’re right. She has gone all googly-eyed.”
“Creighton!” Marjorie cried when she was within arm’s distance. “Creighton, I need you”
For three months he had longed to hear those words. The setting wasn’t quite as he had anticipated, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He opened his arms wide. “Yes, darling?”
She stopped just short of his embrace and endeavored to catch her breath. “Dr. Heller’s lab… ” she gasped.
His blue eyes narrowed. “Hmm, `Dr. Heller’s lab’ Is that like `Alexander’s Ragtime Band?’ If it is, it might be helpful if you hum a few bars.”
“Stop goofing around. This is important. I might have found some evidence in the Alfred Nussbaum case.”
“Ohhh, the Alfred Nussbaum case,” he sang in mock understanding. He shrugged at Mrs. Patterson before asking, blindly, “Who’s Alfred Nussbaum?”
“The man on the Ferris wheel,” Marjorie replied impatiently.
“And you’ve discovered something related to his death?”
“That’s right.”
“I see,” he stated. “Very interesting. Just one thing confuses me though: who is Dr. Heller?”
Marjorie clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Really, Creighton, you must try and keep up. Dr. Heller is the coroner examining Alfred Nussbaum. I need you to drive me over to his lab, so I can talk to him.”
“The coroner? You’re asking me to take you to the morgue?”
“That’s precisely what I’m asking.”
“Marjorie,” Mrs. Patterson chastised. “The morgue? What would your father say if he were alive?”
“He’d probably congratulate me,” she averred. “You know how Dad enjoyed a good riddle.”
“Might I ask you something?” Creighton ventured. “Why do you want to talk to Dr. Heller when you possess influence over a certain member of the Hartford County Police Department?”
“Robert’s too busy to listen to a word I say.”
“That’s ridiculous. You just got engaged. He should be giving you his undivided attention.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Patterson chimed in. “If he’s like this now, imagine what he’ll be like after the wedding.”
Marjorie pulled a face. “True, but he is awfully busy. He’ll learn to listen to me eventually. Especially when he finds out I’m usually right.”
Creighton cleared his throat.
“What? I’m not usually right?”
“When it comes to murder,” he answered evasively.
She smiled radiantly. “Then you’ll take me to the lab?”
“That depends. What are you so keen on discussing with Dr. Heller?”
“A bunch of things. First, Nussbaum was on the Ferris wheel by himself, which, in itself, is very strange. A man wouldn’t normally go on a ride like that by himself. With a child or sweetheart, maybe. But alone? Not likely.”
“So, he lived locally, had no one to ride with and still wanted to have fun. Not a big deal.”
“But he wasn’t a local, Creighton. He was from Boston. What was he doing here?”
“Just passing through?” the Englishman offered.
“I doubt it. Then there’s the way Nussbaum died. Robert’s convinced that he suffered a heart attack while the Ferris wheel was in motion. But Mrs. Schutt described Nussbaum, not as sickly, but agitated and anxious before he boarded the ride. Why? Was he already feeling ill, or was there some other reason? And, if Nussbaum fell ill in the compartment as Robert assumes he did, why didn’t he try to summon help? He may have been too weak to yell, but the cars are completely open. All he needed to do was turn around and gesture to the people in the car
behind him, but he didn’t. In fact, Mrs. Schutt claims that when she stopped the ride to let him off, he was seated in the upright position, face forward and eyes staring straight ahead, as though he were paralyzed.”
Creighton stared at her pensively. “You have some good questions there, but I’m sure there are logical explanations for all of them. Did Dr. Heller say anything before he left?”
“Only that he thought it was a heart attack,” Marjorie replied reluctantly.
“Then it sounds to me as though you’re grasping at straws. People do die from things other than murder, Marjorie. You can’t live your life looking for wrongdoing around every corner. Pretty soon, you won’t be able to watch a ball game without wondering if the bat was ever used to bludgeon someone to death.” He grasped her shoulders and stated slowly: “Take it from me-sometimes a baseball bat is just a baseball bat.”
“But,” she countered with a gleam in her eye, “as my great-uncle Clancy could tell you, sometimes it’s a shillelagh.”
“I’m not going to argue with your great-uncle. With a name like Clancy, I’m sure he knows much more about shillelaghs than I ever will. However, I do know a thing or two about evidence, and yours is entirely circumstantial. Dr. Heller is a scientist; he deals with cold, hard facts, not speculation and conjecture. The only thing that interests him is physical proof, and if you can’t provide any, I’m afraid he won’t pay any more attention to you than Jameson did.”
“And what if I show him this?” Marjorie smugly extracted a wadded handkerchief from her purse and opened it. There, in the middle of the starched white linen lay a tiny, pointed brass object.
“Looks like a miniature dart,” Mrs. Patterson declared as she leaned over the Englishman’s shoulder to get a better view.
“Take a closer look at the tip.”
As Mrs. Patterson adjusted her glasses, Creighton’s eyes focused on a reddish-brown spot at the point of the object. “Looks like dried blood,” he asserted.
The elderly woman gasped and took a step backward.
“Where did you find it?” Creighton inquired.
“On the ground near Alfred Nussbaum’s body. When I was waiting for Robert to arrive, I happened to catch a glimpse of something sparkling in the grass. I thought it might be an earring, so I picked it up.”
“Hmm mmm … you just `happened’ to catch a glimpse of it?”
Marjorie’s face broke into a broad grin. “Okay, so I was looking.”
“Sweetie, if you had been any closer to the ground you’d have been under it.”
“Maybe, but not for my own sake. When I realized what this might be, I wrapped it up so I could give it to Robert.”
“Only he didn’t give you the chance,” he completed the story.
“Right. So, now will you take me to see Dr. Heller?”
“Yes, but under one condition. We drop off the dart, or whatever it is, and then we leave.”
Mrs. Patterson nodded her head in silent approval.
“Leave?” Marjorie repeated incredulously. “But this is my piece of evidence. I want to stick around long enough to know whether or not it’s valuable.”
“You can find that out from your betrothed, Detective Jameson.”
“He won’t tell me.”
“That’s your problem;” Creighton replied unsympathetically. “All I know is I’m not about to get mixed up in police business again. I should think you’d feel the same way. Need I remind you what happened last time?”
“No, you needn’t remind me. I remember everything.” She gazed wistfully into the distance. “The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of unearthing a long-buried secret, the giddiness we felt upon finding a new clue.”
Creighton had to admit the whole thing was pretty damn exciting, and he might have said he enjoyed it too, if it hadn’t ended so badly. “Do you remember how the case closed?”
“Of course I do. We solved it. And we did a brilliant job, if I do say so myself.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’m working on a book detailing the case. My agent says it should sell like hotcakes.”
“Hotcakes? Wonderful,” he proclaimed. “With all that money you’re going to have in the bank, there’s no need to tag along on another police investigation in search of a story.”
“Oh, but Creighton,” she moaned.
“Don’t `Oh, but Creighton’ me. You’ve conveniently forgotten one minor detail about the last case: you were nearly killed.”
“Well, if you’re going to hold a little thing like that over my head,” she grumbled.
“A little thing? You spent three weeks in the hospital,” Creighton shrieked.
“I’m feeling much better now. In fact, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been”
“Good, let’s see that you stay that way.”
“Oh, come now. What harm could possibly come from hanging around a coroner’s office?”
“For a normal person? None. But I know you. You start out innocently enough, hanging around the coroner’s office and spewing a few wild theories. Before we know it, you’re interrogating suspects and insinuating yourself into their homes. Pretty soon, that evolves into getting blitzed on sherry, accosting dogs with lemon drops, and accepting checks for fake charities. Then, before you can say ‘Sherlock Holmes’-bang! Someone decides that the world would be a happier place without you in it.”
I admit I got carried away last time,” she conceded.
“Yes. Into an ambulance, by a bunch of medics.”
“All the more reason for you to come with me,” Marjorie continued. “If I recall correctly, when I was injured last time I was completely alone, with neither you nor Robert around to help me. But if you keep an eye on me this time-”
“Save the doe eyes and innocent look for your future hubby,” Creighton interrupted. “They won’t get you anywhere with me. You can take care of yourself just fine. If anyone around here needs protection, I do.”
“Protection from what?”
“You,” he stated firmly, “and your overactive imagination. My word, you’re good at twisting things. If your literary talent ever evaporates, you could easily find work as a pretzel-maker.”
“Well,” she huffed. “If you’re going to be rude about it, I’ll just find someone else to drive me to Dr. Heller’s lab. I’m sure there are lots of men who wouldn’t mind giving me a ride.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Creighton quipped. “I say, how do you think Jameson is going to react to you interfering with his investigation?”
“He’ll be upset at first, but he’ll get over it.”
“I don’t think he’ll `get over it’ Why, if he finds out you went to see Dr. Heller behind his back, he’ll be-ugh!” He grunted as an elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
“He’ll be furious.” Mrs. Patterson lowered her elbow and gave a surreptitious wink in Creighton’s direction. “Positively furious. He may even call off the wedding.”
The Englishman returned his accomplice’s wink. “Oh, I think you’re overstating it a bit, don’t you Mrs. Patterson? Jameson is a levelheaded chap; I don’t see him reacting that strongly. Besides, Marjorie should set things straight before the wedding. Let her future husband know that she’s not the type of girl who plans on sitting quietly at home. Right, Marjorie?”
Marjorie’s face registered complete bewilderment. “What? Why, yes. Yes, he needs to learn that I’m my own person.”
“Thatta girl! Well, don’t just stand there dawdling. Let’s get a move on.
“A move on?”
“Yes, I’m driving you to Dr. Heller’s lab.”
“You are? But you said-”
“I know what I said. You think women are the only people who are entitled to change their minds?”
“No, I don’t, but-”
“Then let’s go.” Before Marjorie could protest any further, Creighton took her by the arm and began to lead her away from the kissing booth. Sharon Schutt, however, had dif
ferent plans.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she snorted. “Mother’s tired and wants to lie down. I told her you’d drive her home.”
“I would, Sharon, but I can’t right now. Marjorie and I have some business to attend to”
She eyed Marjorie contemptuously. “Marjorie? What business could you possibly have with her?”
“Very important business. Now if you’ll excuse us, we must be off.” He gently stepped around her, towing Marjorie behind him.
“Off? Off where?”
With a devilish grin he shouted over his shoulder: “To find ourselves a shillelagh!”
FIVE
MARJORIE AND CREIGHTON STOOD in the corner of the laboratory, drinking coffee from heavy earthenware mugs. They had been at the coroner’s office for nearly two hours-a far cry from Creighton’s original promise to deposit the evidence and then leave. What had occurred to change his mind, she couldn’t say, and she certainly wasn’t about to ask, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Creighton enjoyed a good mystery as much as she did. How else to explain the grin that crept across his face when Dr. Heller announced that the dart was, indeed, a party to murder? And, moreover, how else to account for the Englishman’s jubilation when it was announced that Robert should be summoned, immediately, to share the news?
As if on cue, the detective breezed through the doorway. “I didn’t expect to hear from you this soon, Doc. Must be something good.” Upon glimpsing Marjorie and Creighton his demeanor suddenly darkened. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s a nice hunk of welcome for the woman you’re going to marry,” Marjorie quipped.
“I thought I asked you not to interfere,” he countered.
“I wouldn’t treat Miss McClelland too harshly, Detective,” Dr. Heller interjected. “Her `interference, as you called it, has proven vital in unraveling Alfred Nussbaum’s true cause of death. In fact, her discovery is the reason I sent for you.” The doctor waved his hand toward a tray of white cotton gauze resting upon the stainless steel counter.
Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance Page 3