Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance

by Amy Patricia Meade

  “So the salesman thing was just a front,” Marjorie opined from her position atop a nearby desk.

  “No, Miss McClelland,” Kenneth corrected. “Mr. Nussbaum was a salesman, all right. Only he didn’t sell chemicals, he sold secrets. That’s why my brother hired him.” He made a face of disgust at Charles. “It started out as simple reconnaissance work-finding out what our competitors were doing-but we soon realized that it wasn’t enough just to know what new products our rivals were developing. If we wanted to stay alive in this industry, we had to develop the same products and release them before anyone else did. That’s where we ran into difficulty. We didn’t have the resources to sink into the area of research and development, so Charles devised a plan. We would pretend to lay Nussbaum off from his job, due to a slowdown in the company-in reality it wasn’t too far from the truth. He would then secure a position with one of our competitors and steal the formula for one of their up-and-coming products”

  “And you sent him to Alchemy Enterprises,” Marjorie filled in the blank.

  “That’s right,” Kenneth confirmed. “However the choice was purely accidental. We hadn’t even thought of Alchemy until we read their advertisement in the Boston Globe, stating that they were seeking to hire a new salesman. It fell together perfectly.”

  “What did Nussbaum get out of the deal?” Jameson inquired.

  Kenneth deferred to his brother.

  “Originally $7,000 up front,” Charles grudgingly confessed, “then $7,000 upon delivery of the formula.”

  “You said `originally’ Did that arrangement change?”

  “Yes, a few months ago, Nussbaum contacted me and increased the final payment to $10,000.”

  “Why?”

  “It was right around the time of the fire over at Alchemy labsthe one that killed Stewart Randolph. The police were poking around everywhere, making sure foul play wasn’t involved. As it turned out, the fire was an accident, but Nussbaum felt he deserved more money in return for all his trouble.”

  “How did you react?”

  “We consented.”

  “You were willing to pay $17,000 for this formula?” Marjorie asked. “Why didn’t you take that money and invest it in developing your own?”

  “Because, even after $17,000 worth of research and development, it’s still possible to wind up with a product that fails. Or, worse yet, you could work months on a product, only to be scooped by a competitor. This plan was foolproof-it would have earned us millions. Well worth the investment.”

  “So you weren’t at all upset at this change in your agreement,” Jameson prodded, “even though Nussbaum substantially increased the amount of the last payment.”

  Charles smiled. “That’s business.”

  “You call it business, others might call it extortion,” Marjorie opined.

  The elder Cullen shrugged.

  “In your, um, `business agreement’,” Jameson cleared his throat, “where were you and Nussbaum scheduled to swap the formula for the cash?”

  “At the Ferris wheel of the Ridgebury fair,” the younger brother replied. “According to Nussbaum’s instructions, first thing Saturday morning, we were to place the money under the cushion of the green car. At approximately eleven o’clock, Nussbaum would ride that car, reach under the seat, take the money, and replace it with the formula. Charlie and I would then ride the car and retrieve the formula.”

  “So you were the two businessmen our witnesses described,” Marjorie presumed. “And you were Nussbaum’s eleven o’clock appointment.”

  “Did you know Nussbaum had put the formula in code?” Jameson quizzed.

  “Yes,” Charles replied. “Since Alchemy had been crawling with police, and the swap was to take place in a public area, we felt it would be best to encrypt the formula, just in case it were to fall into the wrong hands … which it apparently did.”

  “Hmm … incredible foresight on your part, Mr. Cullen. Tell me, just how did the formula happen to fall into the, um, `wrong hands’?”

  “You know how,” Kenneth interjected. “Nussbaum was murdered.”

  “Yes, quite.”

  Charles’ mood darkened. “What are you driving at, Detective?”

  “Just this: you and your brother had a very good reason to want Nussbaum dead.”

  “You mean the money he tried to bilk from us?” Charles chuckled. “I admire your initiative, Detective, but I’m afraid killing Nussbaum would have been a cross-purpose, what with him having the formula and all.”

  “Ah,” Robert replied, “but there was a way to have it all, wasn’t there? You could have waited until Nussbaum made the swap to kill him, claimed the money found on his corpse, and then later, when things died down, retrieved the formula from the cushion of the green car.”

  “It would explain why the two of you were so keen on finding out whether we found any cash on the body,” Marjorie interjected.

  “Yes,” Charles admitted, “but that’s not what happened-otherwise you wouldn’t be holding that formula right now, would you?”

  “A miscalculation on your part,” Jameson alleged. “Nussbaum probably leaned down, perhaps to tie a shoelace, but you and your brother, being more than a bit eager to get him out of the way, assumed he had made the trade and popped him.”

  Kenneth jumped out of his chair. “That’s not what happened!” he exclaimed.

  “Shh! Sit down!” his brother ordered.

  “No, Charlie! They think we did it. They think we killed Nussbaum.”

  “Pull yourself together, Ken,” the bespectacled man beseeched. “Detective Jameson has no proof that we were involved in Nussbaum’s murder. He’s simply theorizing.”

  “That’s close enough to an accusation for my liking.” Kenneth appealed to Robert: “Look, Charlie and I thought about killing Nussbaum, but it didn’t happen that way-not the way you said.”

  “Ken!” the elder Cullen shouted.

  “Sorry, Charlie, but it’s time we came clean … with everything.”

  “Go on,” Jameson urged.

  Kenneth Cullen sat back in his chair. “You’re right, my brother and I had planned to kill Nussbaum-we even brought a gun with us. The idea was to wait until Nussbaum made the switch and then follow him as he left the fairgrounds. When we were far enough from the crowd, we would shoot him, take the cash and then go back to the Ferris wheel for the formula. It was a perfect plan, and it would have worked, too, only… only Nussbaum never got off the Ferris wheel. He boarded the green car as planned, and we watched as he bent down to switch the formula for the cash, but, all of a sudden, he sat up and slapped his neck, as though a bug had bitten him. He didn’t make a move after that. We assumed it was because he had successfully made the trade. We didn’t think anything was wrong until the woman operating the Ferris wheel started to scream and we saw Nussbaum lying on the ground. Needless to say, we got out of there as soon as we could.”

  Jameson bit his lip. “Pretty story.”

  “It’s true,” Kenneth insisted. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t have that formula right now.”

  “And the cash?”

  “Still under the cushion of the green car. We came back for it last night, but some man must have heard us. He came out of the church to investigate.”

  “So you clobbered him with a tire iron,” Marjorie surmised.

  “Not a tire iron, a crow bar,” Kenneth admitted. “We brought it with us in case we needed to pry open a crate or a lock. I tried not to hit the fellow too hard-just enough to stun him. Is he okay?”

  “A concussion and an ugly bump to the head,” Jameson answered. “But you took a chance. The gentleman you attacked is getting on in years; a blow to the head might have been fatal.”

  I didn’t know he was an old man until after I hit him,” Kenneth offered as defense.

  “That `old man’ is also a minister,” Noonan countered. “A man of the cloth.”

  “Terrific,” Charles muttered. “Now not only do the police have
it in for us, but God does too.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to apologize to the man upstairs while you’re in prison,” Jameson quipped. “Lock’em up, boys.”

  Two burly officers grabbed the brothers by the arms and handcuffed them.

  “Wait!” Kenneth screamed. “You can’t do this! What are you locking us up for?”

  “Assault and fraud for starters”

  “But you said if I told you everything, you’d go easy on us”

  “No, I said I’d think about it.”

  “Nice going, Ken,” Charles griped as the policemen led them toward the door to the holding area. “You talked us right into the gallows.”

  “He gave me his word!”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Marjorie and Jameson stood among the crates and trailers on the fairgrounds, watching as Noonan, kneeling upon the grass, felt beneath the cushion of the green compartment. The Ferris wheel had been dismantled and all the passenger cars now rested upon the ground.

  “I feel something,” the officer declared as he thrust his arm, up to the elbow, into the narrow recess between the upholstery and the metal bench, “but I can’t reach it. It’s pretty far back. It must have slid back there when they took this thing apart.”

  “Let me try,” Marjorie offered.

  Noonan extricated himself from the padding and moved aside to allow the young woman a chance at the parcel. Marjorie pushed her slender, bare arm through the tight opening with little difficulty and felt around until the cool hardness of the metal bench was replaced with the supple resilience of cloth. “I got it!” With a deft motion, she grabbed the fabric in her fist and gave it a firm tug. Marjorie’s hand emerged in the fading daylight. Clutched in it was a burlap bag.

  Jameson grabbed the sack and turned it upside down. Two thin stacks of tightly bound one hundred dollar bills tumbled out onto the ground.

  “Why, look at that,” Marjorie commented as she rose from the kneeling position. “Bank night!”

  “Is that $10,000?” Jameson asked his officer.

  “How should I know what $10,000 looks like?”

  “Count it.”

  Noonan set about the task and carefully counted out one hundred, one-hundred-dollar bills. “Yep, that’s it. Looks like the brothers’ story checks out.”

  Jameson pulled a face. “Still doesn’t mean they didn’t kill Nussbaum. They could have miscalculated.”

  “I admit they’re no criminal masterminds,” Marjorie argued, “but to kill Nussbaum before he even exited the Ferris wheel? It’s difficult to conceive of anyone making that big a blunder.”

  Jameson sighed. “Then it’s back to square one.”

  A faint voice crackled from the police radio in Jameson’s squad car. The detective ran to the vehicle to retrieve it. When he returned a few moments later, his mood had darkened and a frown had fixed itself across his face. “That was headquarters. Logan just telephoned.”

  “What’s wrong?” Marjorie asked.

  “It’s Natalie Nussbaum. She’s been poisoned.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  BERNICE NussBAUM WAS SEATED in the emergency room waiting area of Massachusetts General Hospital. Detective Logan stood a few yards away from her, scribbling notes in a small memo pad. Jameson gave the detective a firm pat on the back.

  He looked up from his notebook. “Hey, Bob. Didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

  “I left as soon as I heard,” Robert explained. “Mike, this is Officer Noonan, my partner with the Hartford County Police Department. Noonan, this is Detective Logan. And you remember Marjorie, of course.” The threesome exchanged greetings. “So, what have we got?”

  Logan filled them in on the details. “Family came home from the wake and found a box of chocolates on their doorstep. Girl ate a couple of the chocolates. Half an hour later, she was as sick as a dog. Her mother called for the doctor, thinking it was food poisoning. The doctor recognized the symptoms immediately and ordered an ambulance. He also requested that the chocolates be analyzed. Good thing he did, too-they were laced with arsenic.”

  “Arsenic!” Marjorie gasped. “How is she?”

  “It was close, but she’ll be okay. Doctor says she’s resting comfortably.”

  “Did any of your men happen to see who delivered them?” Jameson asked.

  “No,” Logan replied. “They were busy watching the mother and the two kids at the wake. And I was busy babysitting Josie Saporito- or Nussbaum as she insists on being called.” He placed a hand on his lower back and shook his head in disbelief. “I tell ya, Bob, that was the most work I’ve ever done at a funeral. Minute I got back to the station, I called my wife and asked her to pick up some liniment. Do you know, she didn’t believe me? Said I must have been up to no good to throw my back out again! Can you imagine?”

  Marjorie and Noonan snickered to each other, while Robert patted his friend on the back again. “I’m sorry, Mike,” he started. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word with your wife when this whole thing is over.

  Logan winced in pain. “Yeah, thanks, Bob. I’d appreciate it.”

  The group approached Bernice. Logan, walking gingerly, lagged behind the rest of the foursome, but eventually caught up.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter, Mrs. Nussbaum,” Jameson apologized.

  “Thank you” she sniffed as she dabbed at her moist eyes with the corner of a handkerchief. “The doctor says it was arsenic. Can you believe it? Arsenic! He said it was in those chocolates. First Alfred and now this! I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “If there’s anything we can do…”

  “There is something you can do.” Her voice became scolding. “You can stop pestering me and my son and arrest that `Josie’ per„ son.

  “She’s already in jail, Mrs. Nussbaum. What else do you want me to charge her with?”

  “Murder, attempted murder … God only knows what else! She killed Alfred and now she’s poisoned my Natalie. Herbert and I would never have done this! I love my daughter and Herbert loves his sister. It’s obvious Josie is the one behind this whole thing.”

  “What reason could Josie have for poisoning your daughter?”

  “Do I need to draw you a picture? The woman hates me! Why, she and I had a fight just this afternoon-only a few hours before Natalie ate the chocolates. Coincidence? Not very likely!”

  “As much as I’d like to charge someone in this case, Mrs. Nussbaum, I can’t do so without evidence. Now, these chocolates that Natalie ate-I understand they were delivered to your house while you were at the wake.”

  “That’s right. We came home and they were on our doorstep.”

  “Did they arrive in the mail or were they hand delivered?”

  “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “I told you we were out when they arrived.”

  “Yes, I know, but did you happen to notice if the box was postmarked?”

  “No,” Bernice replied, “no, I don’t think it was. The box was wrapped in plain brown paper and addressed to Natalie, but I don’t think there was a postmark.” “

  I don’t suppose there was a return address,” Noonan said hopefully.

  Mrs. Nussbaum shook her head. “Just a note inside, saying that they were from a secret admirer.”

  “Your daughter wasn’t suspicious?”

  “Natalie’s a smart girl, Detective, but she’s just that-a girl. She didn’t give a second thought about the chocolates. She was swept away with the romantic notion that she might have a secret beau.” She slid her eyes toward Marjorie. “You know how it is at her age. Boys are the most important things in the world.”

  Marjorie nodded sympathetically.

  “Silly really,” Bernice went on. “Especially when you come to realize what men are really like.”

  “What about you, Mrs. Nussbaum?” Jameson continued. “Didn’t you think there was something odd about a box of chocolates appearing on your doorstep?”

  “I had my misgivings initially, bu
t Natalie was so happy. It was the first time in four months that I had seen her smile…” She added defensively, “I never dreamed they might be poisoned. If I had…” Her voice trailed off as she brought the hankie to her mouth. “Really, Detective, when will you arrest that woman?”

  “I told you, she’s already in jail.”

  “When will you charge her with murder?”

  “When I have enough evidence to prove that she killed your husband and poisoned Natalie.”

  “Evidence! What more evidence do you need? Who else would have poisoned Natalie?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Nussbaum, but considering she’s been in jail for the past twenty-four hours, I can’t imagine it was Josie. Now, can you think of anyone else who might have done it?”

  A strange chill took Marjorie. She looked up to see Herbert Nussbaum lurking in the doorway of the waiting room. He yielded a self-satisfied grin before retreating to whence he had come.

  “Someone who wanted her out of the way,” Marjorie suggested as she watched the figure of Herbert disappear down the corridor. “Tell me, what did Natalie know about her father’s murder?”

  “Nothing,” Bernice answered sharply. “She didn’t know anything.”

  “This afternoon, at the funeral parlor, when speaking with Mr. Ashcroft,” Jameson pursued, “Natalie expressed guilt for something she had done. What did she feel guilty about, Mrs. Nussbaum?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Marjorie knelt before the woman. “Please, Bernice. There’s already been one attempt on your daughter’s life. If you know something, tell us!”

  The dark-haired woman cleared her throat as though she were about to speak and then shook her head violently. “I don’t know anything, I tell you! I don’t know anything!”

  Marjorie rose to her feet. “Then we’ll speak to Natalie directly.”

  “You can’t! She’s sick. She was poisoned.”

  “Doctor says she’s well enough to speak,” Logan interjected.

  “I won’t let you! She’s my daughter!”

  “She’s over eighteen,” Jameson pointed out. “We don’t need your permission. Besides, you have some explaining to do yourself.”