“Like kill her father!” Noonan exclaimed, pie crust crumbs shooting all over the table.
“Umm, no Noonan, I don’t think Natalie killed her father,” Jameson stated as he leaned back in his seat in an effort to avoid the crumbs.
“All the same,” Marjorie interjected, “I’d like to speak with her or Bernice again.”
Jameson shook his head. “I doubt either of them will see us.”
“Oh they will,” Marjorie stated self-assuredly, as she gathered her purse and gloves. “I’ll make sure they speak with us. Don’t you worry.
Jameson smiled. “That’s my girl!”
“Now I know you’re all nuts! Including you, Bob!” Logan exclaimed. “Noonan thinks the girl poisoned herself. Your girlfriend is giving us an English lesson: `guilt is something you feel about an action’ And you’re going along with the whole thing!” He raised his arm and summoned the waitress for the check. “You’re all a load of crackpots!”
Marjorie wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue in the detective’s direction, just as the waitress presented him with the check.
Logan read it with surprise. “Four dollars? What do you mean, it’s four dollars! We ordered coffee and a piece of pie, not four turkey dinners!”
Something instantly clicked inside Marjorie’s brain. “Four!” she said aloud. “Four months! Bernice said Natalie hadn’t smiled in four months. Oh, we need to catch her before she leaves!”
TWENTY-NINE
MARJORIE RUSHED INTO THE emergency room waiting area to find Mrs. Nussbaum seated in the same chair, with Herbert’s head upon her knee.
“Herbert,” Marjorie commanded, “we need to speak with your mother.”
Herbert lifted his head in defiance. “Anything you need to say to Mother, you can say to me.”
Marjorie stared the boy straight in the eye. “Herbert, I won’t tell you again. Go away!”
Bernice Nussbaum, sensing the tone of Marjorie’s voice, urged her son to leave. “Go, Herbert. Mommy will be all right.”
Herbert rose to his feet and sulked out of the room, his eyes focused on the young writer the entire time.
When he had gone, Bernice spoke up. “What is this about Miss McClelland? Is it your wont in life to frighten young boys away from their mothers?”
“As if I could possibly frighten him,” Marjorie scoffed. “I’m here about your other child. Your daughter.”
Bernice took a cigarette from her well-polished cigarette case. “Oh, Natalie,” she said, as if the subject were an affliction rather than a human being. “I thought we had finished discussing her.”
“Not quite. I still have some questions regarding your daughter’s relationship with her father.”
Bernice lit the cigarette and took a long drag before answering. “I already told you I was finished answering your questions.”
“Yes. And I’m here to say that you aren’t. Are you so jealous of your daughter that you’d rather she were dead?”
The older woman dropped the cigarette from her hand. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean! Your daughter is in danger. You know she is!”
Bernice rose from her seat and crushed the smoldering cigarette with the point of her shoe. “Natalie’s always been melodramatic. Nothing she says ever means anything! She just-she just…” The woman fell back into her chair.
“This isn’t some ploy to get your attention, Mrs. Nussbaum. She didn’t poison herself.” Marjorie knelt down. “Natalie is in danger. Unless you can answer some questions, she will die. The killer will succeed.”
The woman nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you anything.”
“When was the last time Natalie spoke with her father?”
Bernice shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know, she might have spoken with him and not have told me… “
“No, I mean the last time that you know of. Think, Bernice. Think!”
“A while ago”
“When exactly?” Jameson inquired.
“Oh, four months ago. Right before Alfred ran off with that floozy of his.” Bernice ran her fingers through her dark hair and stared off into the distance, as though watching the entire exchange. “Alfred came home one night-it was very late and he was quite shaken. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me-at that point, relations between the two of us had already gone downhill. I didn’t press the issue any further; I knew he had a girlfriend so I assumed he had a fight with her, and I went to bed. Natalie must have heard her father come home, and she went downstairs to greet him. She often did that; she and Alfred were close … very close. I used to imagine that Alfred cared more for Natalie than he did for me,” she punctuated the thought with a small laugh. “What they discussed that night, I don’t know, but from that night on, Natalie’s attitude toward her father changed. There was a distance, a reserve, and a general distrust on Natalie’s part.”
Marjorie took the woman’s hands in her own. “Now think Bernice. Was there anything else occurring at that time. Anything you can remember?”
Mrs. Nussbaum took Marjorie’s hands in her own and squeezed with all her might. “I don’t want anything to happen to Natalie. You do know that, don’t you Miss McClelland. It would kill me if…”
Marjorie nodded her head solemnly. “I know it would. That’s why you need to remember.”
Bernice nodded and took a deep breath. “Oh, I don’t know, it was … it was right around the time of that big fire at Alchemy. The one where that man died. Yes, that’s it. I remember I was reading about it in the paper when Natalie came down for breakfast the next morning. She was in a terrible state.”
Marjorie’s eyes grew wide.
Mrs. Nussbaum continued her tale. “I thought she’d get over it, but a few weeks later, Alfred left town and moved to Hartford with Josie. I was quite distraught, as you could imagine, but Natalie was devastated. She hated her father, she said. Hated him for what he had done. I tried to comfort her. I explained that her father’s actions weren’t directed toward her but toward me, but she would hear nothing of it. She went on this way for months, until finally, the day before the murder, her mood changed dramatically. She was happy, cheerful even. She went out shopping, or so she said. She came back later than usual without making a single purchase. I asked her where she had been-she answered that she had gone to see someone in the hopes of righting her father’s wrongs. I asked her what she meant and she just smiled and went upstairs to her room. Later that night, she went out again … I’ve tried! Honestly, I have, but I haven’t been able to get anything else from her.” She looked at Marjorie again. “Girls that age, you know, are very secretive.”
Marjorie smiled sympathetically.
Bernice continued her story. “When she didn’t come home that Friday night, I went into her room and saw that she had jotted some things down on her desk blotter. There was a time, 11 a.m., a location, the Ridgebury Fair, and the name of a hotel-the Hideaway Hotel. I didn’t know what to think! I wondered if she had run off to meet some boy-she’s done it before, you know! Or worse, I wondered if they had run off together. I don’t want Natalie falling for the first boy who tells her that she’s pretty or buys her a cheap twenty-cent pink carnation. I don’t want her to end up like I did. “
She cleared her throat and blinked back the tears that had welled up in her dark eyes. “I dialed directory assistance and found out that the Hideaway Hotel was in Hartford. So, the next morning I bought a bus ticket to Ridgebury, with a stopover in Hartford. Between buses, I wandered over to the Hideaway Hotel and spotted Alfred in the parking lot, getting into a cab.” Her eyes slid to Jameson. “That’s how I knew where he lived, Detective, because I saw him. I was stunned, but I immediately realized that Natalie was not meeting a boy-that this was something entirely different. I hurried back and caught the bus to Ridgebury, but it arrived a few minutes behind schedule. When I got to the fair, it was already too late. Alfred was dead. I can’t tell you how shocked I was, but
I was even more shocked to see Natalie standing in the crowd. And she was just as shocked to see me.”
Bernice fumbled for another cigarette and lit it. “And that’s how it’s been since. Natalie and I were never as close as she and her father were? I suppose all this time that I thought she was the murderer, she was suspecting me of the same thing.”
“And what about Herbert?” Jameson prompted. “You forget he was there too.”
She shook her head. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I was so upset that Natalie might have run off with another boy, that I went into one of my tirades. I told Herbert everything-including how I planned to drag her back home by her ears. My son has always been extremely curious. He can’t bear to think of being left out of things, especially when it involves his sister getting into trouble. I thought he was at home-that’s what he had told me-but after that cab driver came forward, he confessed that he had taken a direct bus to Ridgebury and arrived just about the time of his father’s murder.”
“Perfect timing,” Logan remarked.
“He didn’t do it!” Bernice insisted. “I know what you all think of my son. You think he’s `strange,“creepy,’ `weird.’ But he’s harmless. He’s a bright boy-an inquisitive boy. He’s always been fascinated by rather morbid things. But when his father left, he really threw himself into his hobby. And now, since his father’s death, he’s been trying to catch the murderer.”
Logan and Noonan chuckled.
“No, I mean it, gentlemen,” she maintained. “Those darts? He’s been working all week trying to figure out what the killer could have used to make them. You see, he’s convinced that the killer used a cigarette holder to fire the darts.”
Marjorie leapt to her feet. “A cigarette holder? Why?”
“Because he saw the killer do it.”
“Aw, c’mon!” Logan cried.
“Son of a-” Noonan threw his hat on the floor.
“What!” Marjorie shouted.
“Saw the killer?” Jameson exclaimed. “Why didn’t he say anything before?”
“I told him not to,” Bernice explained. “And it’s a good thing too-look what happened to Natalie. Natalie had suspected the same person, but she hadn’t actually seen them do it. After Herbert confirmed what she suspected, suddenly poisoned chocolates appear on our doorstep. Coincidence? I don’t think so! Besides, it’s not like the description he’d have given you would have been very helpful. He couldn’t say anything about the woman except that she was dressed head to toe in white and that she wore a hat with a veil that covered her face.”
The foursome stood in numb silence.
“I am sorry.” Bernice grasped Marjorie’s hand tightly. “I know I should have had Herbert tell you, but I’ve been afraid. You won’t tell Natalie and Herbert that I told you, will you? Herbert wanted to present his findings personally-he’d be devastated if he couldn’t. And Natalie … well, I’d hate to lose her trust. I do love her, Miss McClelland. I really do.”
Marjorie gazed into the older woman’s eyes and nodded before pulling her hand away.
“We won’t say a thing;” Jameson assured. “Thank you, Mrs. Nussbaum.”
“Yes, thank you, Bernice,” Marjorie smiled at the older woman. “And don’t worry, your children shouldn’t be in danger much longer.
Mrs. Nussbaum wept openly. “Thank God. Thank God!”
Jameson made his leave as quickly as possible. Shaking the Boston officer’s hand, he excused himself: “Mike, I’ll be in touch.”
Marjorie and Noonan took off after him.
“In touch? Hey, where ya all going?” Logan shouted after them.
The trio did not reply.
THIRTY
ROBERT PULLED THE POLICE car slowly out of the hospital parking lot and onto the streets of Boston. Marjorie, seated in the passenger seat, was lost in thought. Noonan, however, hadn’t stopped talking since they left the hospital.
“Son of a gun,” the officer remarked from his place in the back seat. “Those Nussbaum kids, I tell ya. Herbert saw the murderer and said nothin. And Natalie? Here I was feelin’ sorry for the kid, and it sounds like she might have known about her old man’s work as a spy. The thing I don’t get is, if she did know about his job with Cullen Chemicals, where did she go that Friday? Not that night, but the afternoon-what would have made her that happy?”
“I guess she could have hired someone to kill her father,” Noonan continued. “But that would have required an awful lot of money. An awful lot of money that Natalie didn’t have. And then who would have poisoned the chocolates?”
“Natalie didn’t hire a killer, Noonan. She wanted her father to pay for leaving her family, but I don’t believe she wanted him dead. I think she went to see someone-someone who had an axe to grind with her father-and things got terribly out of control,” Marjorie speculated.
“Murphy seems to be doing all right for himself,” Jameson ventured. “And he wanted Nussbaum dead. He may even have been willing to do it for free.”
Marjorie shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking of Murphy. I was thinking of what Natalie said earlier.”
“About what?”
“`I couldn’t have seen the murder. I couldn’t have’ Think about it. Think of the words she used. She `couldn’t.”’
“Yeah, it’s like Mike said-” Noonan began.
Marjorie turned around to face the officer. “No, Noonan. No it isn’t. She didn’t say she `couldn’t have seen the murderer’ because she doesn’t want to believe she did. She’s saying it because she honestly can’t believe she did. She can’t believe she saw the murderer because the person she saw shouldn’t have been there-couldn’t have been there!”
Jameson spoke up. “But Herbert claims that the murderer is the `Lady in White.”’
“Yes, and he’s right. Think about it. Natalie and Bernice saw each other at the fair immediately following the murder. If either of them had been in disguise, they wouldn’t have recognized each other. Josie is another possibility, but the fact that her bags were packed and she had already checked out of her room when Noonan picked her up, doesn’t give her a very large window of opportunity…”
“You think Saporito was wearing a dress?” Noonan ventured.
Jameson rolled his eyes.
Marjorie continued. “Creighton insisted the peashooter wasn’t the weapon. How did he know? And that phone call from Creighton to Mrs. Hodgkin, there was no reason for it. Calling me would have been quicker. Unless…”
“Oh no,” Jameson jumped in. “You’re not thinking-no, you can’t mean you suspect Vanessa Randolph!”
“You have to admit, Alfred’s spying on Alchemy gives her a pretty strong motive.”
“There’s no way she could have done it,” Jameson argued. “You saw for yourself how sick she is. She can’t even walk.”
“Herbert and Natalie couldn’t have seen her,” Noonan exclaimed.
“Yes…” Marjorie bit her lip in silent thought and smiled. “Exactly.”
Jameson sighed noisily and then sent the police car barreling toward the neighborhood of Beacon Hill. “You’re right. I don’t believe she did it, but it might be worth our while to pay her another visit and find out if she knew about Nussbaum’s double dealings.” He asked excitedly, “Do you think that’s where Natalie went that day? Do you think she told Vanessa what Alfred had been doing?”
Marjorie stared blankly into space.
“Marjorie? Have you been listening?”
Indeed, Marjorie had been listening, but she had also been ruminating over a certain fact in Bernice’s story-something that made her wonder … Suddenly, she recalled the Bible passage that had helped them to decode the note: “You have heard it said to those of old, `You shall not murder, and whoever murders will be in danger of the judgment.”
“I think,” Marjorie averred, her green eyes flashing, “that the heart of this case has nothing to do with stolen formulas, jealous children, or secret lives. This is a case of murder for revenge
. The only question left is … how?”
THIRTY-ONE
CREIGHTON RUSHED INTO THE dining room, where Martha, the young kitchen maid, was in the process of serving dinner.
“You’re right on time,” Vanessa announced from her place at the head of the table. “I had the cook prepare your favorite: fresh Dover sole.” She noted her guest’s sulky demeanor. “Creighton, what’s wrong?”
Without a word, he stepped forward and placed the hypodermic needle on Vanessa’s plate. The kitchen maid hastened from the room.
“Where did you get that?” Vanessa demanded.
“That’s unimportant. What are you doing with it?”
“Why, it’s for my medication. I told you the doctor prescribed something for my condition.”
“What’s the name of your medication?”
She grew flustered. “I can’t remember. All those medical names sound alike to me.”
“No more lies, Vanessa!” Creighton roared, causing his friend to wince. “What is it? Morphine? Opium?”
“Heroin,” she answered softly. “I don’t expect you to understand, Creighton. That’s why I tried to hide it from you…”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how my best friend could have succumbed to this poison. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking! I couldn’t think. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. That’s how bad the pain was. Do you know what it’s like, Creighton? Do you know what it’s like to see your body deteriorate with each passing day? To feel your life slipping away from you?”
“Surely the doctors-” he began.
“Ha! The doctors? I saw every physician from Switzerland to the Mayo clinic. Each one said the same thing: multiple sclerosis-no cure. I bathed in hot springs, drank herbal potions, allowed myself to be covered with bees, all to no avail.”
Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance Page 22