by M K Scott
Donna never had a chance to protest against the side trip into Herman father’s journalistic aspirations because he held up one finger signaling her to wait.
“The next day with police crawling everywhere in search of the jewels,” Herman paused until she gestured for him to finish, “they discovered the bullet-riddled body of James Bancroft.”
Okay. Dramatic, but it didn’t make any sense yet. “Did they find him in the house? Was he a jewel thief?”
“Ah.” Herman stopped, rubbing his hand across his face. “That’s where it goes astray some. Newspapers just reported the man murdered, which was a huge scandal at the time. People assumed it was an organized crime hit because no one wanted the possibility of a rampant killer on the loose. Bancroft fits in because his sister was married to the original owner of the house.”
The whole story resembled a puzzle with significant pieces missing. “Do you think he was visiting his sister?”
“No one knows. My grandparents tried to shield my father from it, but people still talked and he listened since his goal was to be an investigative reporter. Bancroft hadn’t contacted his sister in years. Regular black sheep. He traveled the world sponging off wealthy, lonely women. My dad theorized he hid the jewels in his house for his sister. Corky shot him when he refused to tell him where the diamonds were.”
Herman grinned at her as if he’d given her a precious gift instead of a mishmash of news stories, ancient history gossip and the conjectures of a would-be teen journalist. Of course, the young kid would have a great imagination. “A jealous lover or even irate family member could have filled Bancroft with lead as he left one of his wealthy widows.”
“True.” Herman agreed without any resistance. “The widow could have shot him herself. People often underestimate the female need for vengeance.”
“Men often underestimate a woman’s ability for violence. Women never do. They work hard to keep up the façade of being the delicate feminine flower.”
Herman’s eyebrows shot up at her words. A throat clearing behind her indicated he wasn’t the only one to hear her frank summation of her gender.
Mark stepped up beside her, putting out his hand to the elderly man. “Detective Mark Taber.”
Herman grabbed the hand and shook it for all he was worth. Had to give Mark credit since he allowed the man to win the handshake contest, even wincing, acting like the octogenarian had hurt him.
“Herman Fremont. I live catty-cornered to Donna’s house.”
His comment made her blink. She couldn’t remember saying her name today. She had when they first met. The old codger was more mentally alert than she gave him credit for, but it didn’t mean his father’s story had any merit. Just one of those fabrications people made up trying to connect with someone or something in history. They retold the story so often, adding more detail with each telling, that they started believing it. Rather like a dream that felt so lifelike it became confused with reality. Yeah, that’s all it was.
“Oh. Really. I bet you see a great deal from your vantage point.” Exactly what she thought too. Herman would probably tell him the diamond heist story, but the man remained strangely silent on the subject.
Mark prompted him. “See anything unusual lately?”
An unreadable expression settled on his features. “I see a great deal. Most isn’t worth mentioning. Teenagers talking loudly as they jostle their way down the sidewalk. Young mothers full of too much wine staggering to their cars after the latest party, which featured the hawking of overpriced candles, costume jewelry, or marital aids. Carpet cleaners, landscaping services and exterminator trucks roam the neighborhood rather like feral cats, stopping at various houses for an influx of cash. Is that what you want to know?”
Odd. Herman had many facets. Instead of being the friendly, chatty neighbor, he turned all laconic and uncooperative when Mark questioned him. His behavior puzzled her. What could be his motivation?
“That’s good. You have excellent observational skills.” The detective wielded his compliments carefully, better than she had. “Sure could use someone like you with your talents. It would make the neighborhood a safer place.”
The elderly man’s frail shoulders went back with the praise. The front of his coat rippled as he tried to pull up his sunken chest without success. “Yep, what can I do for you?”
“On January 29, did you see a man sneaking around the house?” He pointed to the inn as if there might be some question what house he meant.
“If a man were sneaking about, then he wouldn’t want anyone to see him. I didn’t see anything.” Herman’s left hand landed on his coat zipper. His fingers played with the tab, unzipping a half an inch, then zipping it back and repeating the action. He could have seen something.
Even though Mark’s face didn’t display any real emotion, his posture sagged slightly as if he had developed a slow leak somewhere and all the air that held him upright had bled away.
“Did you see any women that night?”
Herman’s behavior indicated he considered himself a ladies’ man and would notice an attractive woman before he did a man. Besides, men didn’t have the corner on crime.
Herman’s eyes lit up as he launched into his description. “Boy, did I. Must have been two hen parties on the block that night. The women around here are always meeting about something from book clubs, arts and the inevitable sales parties. Lenora, an older woman who must have been a looker in her prime, has a book club.”
Did the man have a personal calendar of the neighborhood events? There might even be a website. A few of the pricier communities did that. Before she could ask, Taber did.
“How do you know it was a book club?” His pen hovered over his notebook page. The older technology suited the man. Certainly better than sticking a recorder in someone’s face.
“Simple.” Herman tapped his head. “The women parade in clutching a book, a bottle of wine, or some other covered platter. One of those modern novels that no one really reads but pretends they have. Something with a cover blurb about it being life changing and all that.”
It made sense. She nodded, encouraging the man to elaborate, which he did.
He gestured in the direction of a brick Federalist house that appeared out of place surrounded by restored Victorians or newer reproductions that resembled the grand dames. “The real action usually happens over there.”
The three of them stared at the red brick home with the green shutters. The sharp-edged blocks didn’t sport the softness of faded quality of an older home. Taber whistled before commenting, “Looks like a fox among the chickens.”
The elegant houses could hardly be compared to farm animals. Donna added, “I don’t know, I think it is more of the fox among the peacocks. Being mean birds, the peacocks would set upon the fox.”
Herman gave her a hearty slap on the back for her remark, propelling her forward a step. “Good one,” he chortled. “Pretty much what happened, too. Dr. Winston bought the property about twenty or so years ago. There was an aging Victorian on the property that he had demolished with much outcry from the historical society. He bulldozed the whole place to the ground, which explains the lack of mature trees.”
The green lawn unfurled around the red brick shoebox-shaped house spotted with a few slender magnolias and a weeping mulberry close to the house. Not exactly brand new trees, but they didn’t even compare to the majestic oaks and maples shading the other residences. “Neighbors snubbed him?” Part of her expected similar treatment.
Herman glanced up at a tree where a crow lighted. His hand went up toward it. “Crows are considered a sign of impending death. This one must be late.”
Crows. Apparently, Herman needed help staying focused.
“What happened to the doctor?”
The man regarded her with a bewildered expression until something clicked. “Ah, Dr. Winston didn’t care what the neighbors thought. Not exactly a social butterfly, besides he pulled down major money nipping and tuckin
g the aging affluent set. Good chance he did a few of his neighbors, too. May not have liked his house, but they left him alone pretty much until he married.” Herman grinned broadly as if the idea of marriage amused him.
“They didn’t want him to marry?” The neighbors appeared invested in the doctor’s personal affairs. She hardly saw her own neighbors, except in the summer when the roar of lawnmowers brought everyone out of hiding.
“Don’t know if they cared if he married, but they didn’t like who he married. A woman more than half his age whose last job required hanging upside down from a pole. There’s nothing old money about Bambi.”
Her eyebrows went up at the name, thinking anyone with sense would create a name a little more traditional such as Barbara or even Stella.
“Yep,” Herman rubbed his hands together. “The good matrons do not like Bambi at all. I felt sorry for her at first. The women rebuffed her friendly overtures. Dr. Winston never attempted to be friendly or liked. At best, if I see him out, he’ll give me a short nod. For the most part, I think people preferred it that way as opposed to Bambi dashing out of the house to greet anyone she saw strolling by.”
Mental note to self. Be standoffish to neighbors. Apparently, Bambi had plenty of parties, which made her wonder where the guests came from.
Mark inadvertently inquired for her. “So where did all the women come from who attended her parties?”
“Not from around here, that’s for sure. They arrived in modest cars and the occasional pickup truck. The big hair, heavy makeup and revealing clothes indicated they could be former co-workers. The constant parties with endless parades of females in sequined tops, skirts tight enough to be painted on and clear Lucite heels enraged the local female populace. The men probably enjoyed the show, which would have made the wives angrier. Have to give Bambi credit. If she wanted to upset her snooty neighbors, she did exactly the right thing.” A door slammed, causing Herman to glance down the street. A diminutive white-haired elderly lady stared in their direction.
The fragile woman reminded her of her grandmother a little, except for the bright fluorescent orange object in her hand. “What’s she holding?”
“The tape measure. She’s off to measure her parking area. Anyone parked too close merits a call to the police. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Herman waved in the direction of the woman, but she turned her back as if she didn’t see him. How rude. Apparently, the neighbors were every bit as snobby as indicated.
“Do you think anyone would be upset enough to kill over Bambi’s parties?”
Donna threw a sharp glance at the detective. Sounded like a stupid question, not one worth asking.
Herman’s brows knitted together. “Hmm, good question. Not the parties themselves, but a few people felt Bambi was ruining the neighborhood.” He angled his head to the elderly woman who squatted at the curb measuring the edge of a car bumper to the area in front of her house. “She might, but why kill a stranger?”
An icy chill whipped down her coat collar at his words. The man had to be exaggerating as people did to make a point. No way could the frail woman have murdered a large man. A strong wind could have blown the would-be parking inspector over.
“Yeah,” Taber agreed. “Doesn’t matter how angry your neighbor is, I wouldn’t label her a killer for a second.”
“You’re right.” Herman agreed with a long sigh punctuating his comment. “Loretta used to be nicer than she is now, but something bad happened to her, which soured her on life.”
What could it be? Could it be pertinent to the case? “Do you know what happened?”
A weariness swept over the elderly man’s face, rearranging the easy grin into a melted frown sliding down his chin. “I do. Guess you could say she didn’t marry well.”
Anyone living in the neighborhood married well enough. Her first instinct was to probe deeper when a suspicion she’d be treading into a personal area stopped her. People had secrets buried deep in the past they’d not like to see paraded around similar to a moldering corpse on display for public inspection. Yeah, she could identify.
The wind pushed the lilac coat around the elderly woman as she hurried up the walk. The temperature sped up her steps. The two men beside Donna both considered the elderly woman a nuisance, reporting petty grievances and starting frivolous lawsuits. Good heavens, could she ever turn out like that because she failed to marry well? A shiver racked her body as she considered the possibility. No way, she shook her head trying to shake off the image of her older shelf running outside in a plaid robe to measure the distance of cars from her curb.
Another image of her yelling at her neighbor to pick up after his dog after his pet crapped in her yard replaced the last picture. Wait a minute! That happened last week. Her mouth dropped open. Mark nudged her with his elbow, drawing her back to the present.
“Hey, if you’re trying to catch flies with that open mouth, you’re out of luck in this weather.”
Her mouth snapped shut with a bone-rattling jar. Her eyes stayed on the tiny lilac-garbed woman as she disappeared into her home. To think she worried about turning into the crotchety old lady of the neighborhood when she was already there. Okay, the younger version, but still there.
The rasp of whiskers under a dry hand meant the detective must be running his hand over his chin again. Funny how she already recognized that trait about him. He tended to do it when he mulled things over. The two men could be discussing something pertinent to the case, which she needed to hear as opposed to becoming the cranky biddy everyone whispered about. Pay attention, she mentally reminded herself, this could be significant.
Herman’s face reddened as he choked out the words between guffaws. “Bambi’s proportions, never tiny to start with, have swelled since she married the doctor, probably two cups sizes.”
This is what they were discussing? Donna didn’t bother to hide an eye roll, which Taber noticed and addressed with a smirk. Obviously, no great clues dropped from Herman’s mouth. Why would anyone care if the plastic surgeon inflated his wife’s measurements?
A mechanical chirp had both Donna and Mark reaching for their phones while Herman pointed to his beeping watch. “It’s time for me to take my pills.” He waved at them before heading off to his home.
Donna watched the man, waiting until he reached his steps before speaking. “Any clues in all his neighborhood gossip?”
“Yes and no.” His hand returned to his chin, giving it a good stroke but dropping when he noticed her gaze fixed on his actions.
Personally, she didn’t see merit in the comings and goings of the members of the book club or the former stripper club either. “I can guess the no. What about the yes?”
Mark gestured to the houses near hers. “Lots of movement in the neighborhood the night the murder took place. People trotting back and forth to their cars.”
Donna’s head swiveled, measuring the distance from the houses to hers. Someone could have taken a turn on the way out and slid around to her house, taking advantage of the shadows. Her lips pursed as she considered the possible scenario, but she had an issue with it. “Only women went to these parties. Did you think the murder could be the work of a woman?”
Mark’s fingers moved across his chest, searching for the pocket that hid the cigarettes. The outside lights winked on, creating blossoms of light in the approaching twilight. A dark shroud of shadows surrounded her house. No wonder it had become rendezvous central. That and being empty. Did the clandestine visitors know the house would soon no longer be vacant? Had to, since the real estate agent stuck a large SOLD sign onto the regular wooden post sale sign. The woman even asked to keep the sign planted for another month.
Rock bottom prices sold the house. Location sold it. The fact it had eight bedrooms and bathrooms sold it. A real estate agent who wore enough jewelry to set off airport security had nothing to do with it. It was more of a case of buying the house despite the agent.
Instead of pulling out the smokes, as he wanted,
his hand flattened on his chest with the pack resting under his fingertips. He cut a slightly chagrinned look at her. Was she that bad? A regular dragon?
“Go ahead and smoke if you want.” That made her sound more tolerant. Her shoulders went back with a sense of pride. She could do empathy if she tried.
Mark’s eyebrows suggested his surprise as his fingers delved into his sports jacket in a hurry to shorten his lifespan.
“Go ahead and complicate health issues already compromised by your age, gender and occupation.”
His eager expression dropped as did his hand.
She hurriedly added on. “It’s your life, isn’t it?”
Her tone should have sounded conciliatory, but instead it sounded sarcastic. Might as well have said, “Go ahead and kill yourself.”
“Never mind.” He grumbled the words as he thrust his hands into his pants pockets. “Could a woman have murdered our victim?”
“Yes. She’d have to be strong to overpower the man though.”
“True,” she agreed, thinking of some oversized female wrestler type. Surely, Herman would have noticed such a woman. Not the kind of woman to escape scrutiny. Too easy. Had to be something else. “A woman could have surprised him. What if he were on the floor and she came up behind him and strangled him using her full body weight?”
“I never mentioned he was strangled.”
“Ah-ha, you did now.”
The cigarette pack appeared in his hand as he shook out one. “Your fault with all your smart answers.” She kept her lips sealed as he lit the smoke and inhaled, getting a glowing tip for his effort. Using the cigarette as an extension of his hand, he waved it in her direction. “Tell me, how did you know?”
Her shoulders went up with a shrug. “Well, I knew it wasn’t poison. No signs. Definitely not bludgeoned or shot. No signs of electrocution, either. There were no visible signs I could see and you kept going on about someone being as big as he was to kill him. Strangulation is the only thing that made sense. The mock turtleneck he had on would have covered the marks.