Murder Shoots the Bull

by Anne George

  Of course it was.

  Twenty

  Fred and I went out for brunch the next day. I was sure he sensed that I was cross with him, for no particular reason; therefore the invitation. And I don’t like to be cross with him; therefore the acceptance. I have to admit I’m sure there’s a lot about me that drives him crazy, too. So we dressed up and went to the Mountain Brook Inn feeling slightly celebratory.

  We were seated by a window, and I was having a last cup of coffee while Fred finished his key lime pie, when I saw Joseph Batson walking across the courtyard and toward the parking lot.

  “There’s Joseph Batson,” I mentioned to Fred.

  He rolled his eyes. “I hope he had the key lime pie. It’s delicious.”

  About two minutes later, just time for Joseph to drive off, Peyton Phillips crossed the courtyard.

  “Look, Fred,” I said.

  He looked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What do you want to bet that they’re not coming from the restaurant?”

  “Well now, you don’t know that, honey.”

  “You’re right.” I nudged his leg significantly with the toe of my shoe.

  “Yes, sir?” The waiter thought Fred’s sudden movement backwards was a signal for him.

  Fred pointed toward his cup. “Coffee?”

  The waiter obliged. While he was pouring the coffee, Arabella Hardt walked across the courtyard and headed for the parking lot.

  Fred smiled sweetly. “Reckon who else is here?”

  “I’ll bet Sue Batson isn’t.” And she wasn’t. But the three we had seen were interesting.

  I called Mary Alice as soon as I got home. Miracle of miracles, she answered the phone. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said, and told her about Joseph Batson, Peyton, and Arabella.

  “Wow,” she said. “Fred took you out to brunch?”

  “Yes, Fred took me out to brunch, Miss Smarty Pants. And I saw those three sneaking out.”

  “You think they’d been menage-a-troising all night?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Right where everybody in town would recognize them.”

  “Don’t be so damn smart. They were up to something.”

  “I agree.” Sister’s voice was suddenly serious. “You know Bessie McCoy?”

  “Of course. The one who got scalped.”

  “I don’t think she really got scalped, Mouse. I think she’s just plain bald, but scalping sounds like more fun.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

  “Well anyway, she says Peyton Phillips was engaged to David Sawyer, Sophie’s son that got killed. That was how Sophie knew her so well.”

  “Really? He was only nineteen when he died.”

  “Says he got her out of the cage in some go-go place on Twentieth Street. That sounds like something a nineteen-year-old boy would do.”

  “Peyton? In a cage?”

  “Well, it could have been on a pole. Bessie wasn’t sure whether she was dancing or stripping.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am not. Bessie says it’s My Fair Lady to a T. The Sawyers even paid for her to go to college after David died. Turned her into a lady. Well, a lawyer, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, they could afford it, Lord knows, and I guess they felt sorry for her.” She paused. “Have you heard from Arthur today?”

  I hadn’t; I needed to call.

  “What are you doing this afternoon?” I asked.

  “Taking Fay and May to the zoo.”

  “But you hate the zoo.”

  “I’m taking Richardena, too. She loves it.”

  “And you’ll wait for them at the restaurant.”

  “It works out fine that way. They have the best nachos in town.”

  It figured.

  “Well, can you cut it short and let’s go to the library?”

  “What for?”

  “Being nosy. Look, Sister. The Sawyers send Peyton to law school. Sophie makes her the trustee of her estate. The Sawyers set Joseph Batson up in business, making sure they retain over fifty percent of it, and just before she’s murdered, Sophie removes Peyton as the trustee. Now why?”

  “You think you’re going to find the answers at the library?”

  “I’m thinking I’d like to see what we can find out about David Sawyer and the wreck that killed him.”

  “Okay, I’ll just take the twins to look at the monkeys and go on one train ride.”

  Okay. Nosy time.

  I had thought it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but finding the story about the wreck turned out to be amazingly easy.

  “What year?” Mary Alice asked.

  “Nineteen seventy-four. But I’m not sure where it happened. Probably Chicago.”

  “He’ll be in the Chicago Tribune obits, anyway. They’re alphabetized for the year.”

  One click. David had died on June 3, 1974.

  Another click and we had the June 4, 1974 Chicago Tribune. The story was on the front page under the headline WRECK CLAIMS LIVES OF TWO. The story must have been written as the news came in. It stated simply that David Vaughn Sawyer and Jerome Wesley Hinds were killed late the night before when their car crashed into a tree on Abingdon Road. A third man, Joseph Batson, had been transported to a hospital, but his injuries were not considered life-threatening. David Sawyer was the son of noted financier Milton Sawyer.

  “Let’s look at the next day,” I suggested.

  The three men had just left a fraternity party. The driver, David Sawyer, traveling at excessive speed, had lost control of the car and hit a tree. Funeral services had already been held for Sawyer. The services for Hinds would be at Martin’s Funeral Parlor at three o’clock this afternoon.

  “They leave a fraternity party, slam into a tree, and no mention is made of alcohol or drugs?” Sister clicked off the page. “Hard to believe.”

  “They wouldn’t have wanted to embarrass the Sawyers.”

  “Boy, things have changed. Let’s see if there’s anything else.”

  There was. Two men who had seen the wreck and stopped to help had reported that they had helped a girl out of the car. She had appeared uninjured. Joseph Batson, the survivor, had said, however, that the three men were the only occupants of the car, that the girl was not with them, but had also stopped to help.

  I looked up. “Peyton?”

  Sister nodded. “Or Arabella or maybe even Sue.”

  “Or it really could have been someone who stopped to help.”

  “True.”

  I tapped the desk in disgust. “So we’ve learned a lot.”

  “We probably have. We just don’t know what it is.” Sister turned off the machine. “Let’s go get some frozen yogurt.”

  The TCBY shop was crowded since the movie next door had just let out. We found a table back in the corner by the rest room doors, a noisy place. It wasn’t conducive to talking, so we waited until we were back in the car.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Sister said. “What if it really was Arabella in that car? What if she was the one driving it?”

  “Then Joseph Batson could have blackmailed the hell out of the Sawyers.”

  “But did he?” She swung onto the Red Mountain Expressway.

  “They set him up in business, sure, but he married Sue.”

  “Maybe she was his ace in the hole.”

  “Possible. I still think Peyton’s the secret, though. Why did Sophie suddenly remove her as trustee?”

  “You think Arthur might know?”

  “Of course. Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re not a very good detective, Patricia Anne.”

  “You mean my lawyer, Peyton Phillips, is the same one that was handling Sophie’s estate?” Arthur looked much better, sitting up straighter on his doughnut. “Hell, yes, I know why Sophie got rid of her. Her name was Peyton Hinds on the will, though.”

  Hinds. The boy killed with David Sawyer’
s name was Hinds.

  “Sophie thought she was too buddy-buddy with Joseph Batson. Got herself put on the board of directors of Bellemina Health. Sophie decided she didn’t want her handling the estate, that she might not do right by Arabella and Sue. She was as worried about Sue as she was Arabella. Never trusted Joseph.”

  “Did you tell the police this?” Sister asked.

  “I told him to,” Mitzi said. “But he didn’t think it was important.”

  “Arthur, do you know how much money you’re talking about here?” I asked.

  “Quite a bit, I imagine.” Arthur reached for a glass of water. “That’s not why I agreed to do it though, Patricia Anne.”

  “Well, I know that, Arthur. But it could have been a reason for Peyton Phillips to kill Sophie. What do you know about her anyway? Was she engaged to David Sawyer?”

  “Might have been, but I doubt it. I remember Sophie told me the Hinds boy who was killed when David was had a sister. She didn’t say anything about her being engaged to David, though, and I can’t even remember now why she mentioned it.”

  “Maybe she said the girl was dancing in a go-go club on Twentieth Street.”

  Arthur actually laughed, wincing in pain. “Commuting from Chicago? Hell, Patricia Anne. That’s funny.”

  Mary Alice and I looked at each other. So much for Miss Crocheted Hat’s information. Well, she’d gotten some stuff right.

  Mitzi took the glass away from him before he spilled the water. “Arthur, I think there’s a whole lot of stuff you need to tell the police.”

  “I told them I didn’t kill Sophie.”

  “They may need some more help.”

  “Hmmm. So Peyton Hinds is Peyton Phillips and she’s my lawyer. Damn. I’m on my way to the electric chair.”

  “The Yellow Mama,” Mitzi agreed. “Arthur, it’s time you started helping yourself.”

  “I just didn’t think it was important.”

  “Arthur, your brains are located where you got shot,” Sister said.

  He frowned.

  “What about Arabella, Arthur?” I told them about seeing Joseph, Peyton, and Arabella at the Mountain Brook Inn.

  “Arabella’s staying there. I forgot to tell you,” Mitzi said. “She said she was staying with a friend because she didn’t want us to worry about her being alone.”

  A forty-year-old woman? Nice of her.

  “And you think Joseph and Peyton were there visiting her?” Sister asked.

  Arthur nodded. “Might have been there to see her. Or it might have just been a coincidence.”

  “Yellow Mama,” Sister mouthed to me.

  I pointed to my rear end and mouthed back, “Pain.”

  “Arthur,” I tried again, “is it possible that Arabella was in the car when David was killed?”

  “Not that I know of. Why? What makes you think that?”

  “We just looked the wreck up in the library. The story mentioned that there might have been a girl in the car.”

  “No. It was just the three boys. All of them drunk or on something. David was driving.”

  Mitzi startled us by saying, “Arthur, I’m not so sure. Arabella doesn’t drive, says it scares her to death.”

  “It scares me to death, too, Mitzi.” Arthur switched from one cheek to the other. “Doesn’t mean a thing. In fact, I know it was the three boys. Sophie had a picture someone took of them as they left the party. Sent it to her with a sympathy card.”

  “You saw it?” Mary Alice asked.

  “No, but she told me about it.”

  Mitzi frowned. “And she still had it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And no girl was in it?”

  “I told you I never saw it.” Arthur shifted his weight again. He suddenly looked startled. “You know what? Sophie told me she kept a packet of pictures and letters hidden behind the access door in her closet. I’d totally forgotten about it.”

  “What kind of door?” Sister asked.

  “That little trap-door thing at the bottom of closets that back up to bathrooms. You know, so plumbers can get to the pipes. She said she was telling me in case anything happened to her.” He slapped the arm of his chair. “Damn, I can’t believe I forgot that.”

  “I never knew what those doors were for,” Sister said. “Did you, Patricia Anne?”

  I nodded that I did.

  “Why would she keep them hidden?” Mitzi asked. “If she kept them hidden, they must be important.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Mitzi rolled her eyes at us. “I’m going to go find out, Arthur. Damn it, I don’t want to be a rich widow.”

  “Rich is fine. Widowed depends on who the husband is,” Sister said. We were waiting in the Jaguar outside Mitzi’s apartment.

  “I think Mitzi wants to keep Arthur.”

  “I guess Debbie will have to recommend another lawyer then.”

  “She meant well.”

  Sister turned the rearview mirror and put on some lipstick.

  “It was Peyton’s fault,” I said “She should have told Debbie she was already involved in the case.”

  “Involved like poisoning Sophie Sawyer, maybe.”

  “But how could she have done it? She wasn’t even there.”

  “Good question.”

  Mitzi came out of her apartment and got in the backseat. “Thanks for going with me, y’all. I swear sometimes I think that man’s got room temperature I.Q. He says if there’s anything there that will hurt Sue or Arabella, he doesn’t want the police to see it. I told him I’d decide. I’m fed up with this stuff, I’m telling you. Imagine having to change Arthur’s bandages twice a day.”

  Yikes. Mary Alice took off for Sophie’s apartment.

  Twenty-One

  The apartment looked exactly the same as it had the last time we were there, of course. No one was staying there. One lone philodendron that I hadn’t noticed before was wilting on the counter. I poured some water on it. Maybe I would take it home.

  “I declare I love these colors,” Mary Alice said as Mitzi opened the draperies. “I’m definitely going to have a decorator come look at them.”

  “Y’all wait a minute,” Mitzi said. “I don’t know if I’ll need something to open this trapdoor with or not.”

  We followed Mitzi into the bedroom, watched her open the closet door and get down on her knees.

  “I wonder what’s in there,” I said. “This is sort of like when Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone’s vault. Remember that?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a dumb place to hide something.” Mitzi’s voice was muffled by clothes. “I’m going to need a screwdriver. Maybe a kitchen knife will do.”

  I went to the kitchen and came back with a knife. In a moment we heard a pop as the door came loose. There was the sound of paper being ripped, and then Mitzi came backing out, a medium-sized manila envelope in her hand.

  “Here it is.” She stood up and brushed off her knees.

  We walked back into the living room.

  “You don’t have to show it to us,” Sister lied. “But I think you ought to see right away what’s in it.”

  I gave Sister a hard look. Truth to tell, I wanted to see whatever it was.

  “Oh, I’m planning on it.” Mitzi sat down on the beige and white sofa and flicked back the metal clasps. She reached in and pulled out what seemed to be several pictures with a piece of paper around them.

  Mitzi opened the paper. “It’s a letter to Sophie.”

  “What does it say?” Sister asked. So much for not wanting to know.

  “It says, Dear Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, I can only imagine how grieved you must be at David’s death. These pictures were taken as he was leaving the party. I hope it will console you some to see how happy he was that night. He was a wonderful person and will be missed by us all. Sincerely, Ralph Addison.”

  Mitzi looked at the pictures and then handed them to us. Each showed a smiling young man waving from the passenger side of a convertible. In one, all yo
u could see was that the driver had long, red hair. In a second one, she too, was turned toward the camera. Arabella. In a third, taken as they drove away, the two passengers in the back seat were turned and waving, but you couldn’t make out their features.

  “Oh, my,” I said.

  There were tears in Mitzi’s eyes. “And Sophie couldn’t throw them away. They were the last pictures she had of her son.”

  We heard the door open and looked up as Sue Batson came in.

  “Hi,” Sue said. “What are y’all doing here?”

  We were caught red-handed is what we were doing there.

  “Arthur sent us to get these.” Mitzi handed the picture she was still holding to Sue.

  Sue smiled. “What is this?” Then, “The pictures. Where did you find them?”

  “Behind the trapdoor in the closet,” Mitzi said.

  Sue nodded as if everybody hid stuff behind trapdoors in closets. Then she reached over, took the picture Sister was holding, and sat down on the arm of the sofa to look at it. “I told Joseph that Mama would still have these.”

  This was not the reaction I had expected. Here was proof that her sister had been driving the car when two people, including her brother, were killed, and she seemed calm.

  She studied the picture. “Wasn’t he beautiful?”

  I looked at the picture I was holding. David Sawyer had, indeed, been a beautiful young man.

  “Of course he was beautiful.” We all jumped. None of us had realized that Arabella had come into the room. She walked over to Sue and took the pictures.

  “It was an accident, Arabella,” Sue said. “A horrible accident.”

  “An accident that Mama and Daddy covered up. Let everybody think that David was driving. And I let them.”

  “Mama and Papa were trying to protect you.” Sue said this quietly. “Just as Joseph was trying to protect you and me both.”

  “Bull. He was covering his own tail. Tell her about the drugs, Arabella.” Peyton Phillips had come into the room unnoticed by any of us. “The ones that sweet Joseph was selling everyone.”

  “Shit,” Sister muttered. “What kind of a tea party is this?”

  Peyton yanked the pictures from Arabella. “Good. Thanks, girls. And, Mitzi, tell Arthur I appreciate him telling me where you were.”