Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries)

by Marvin, Liz

  Something was wrong. Betty’s palms started to sweat. She approached the receptionist, hoping that the feeling of dread growing in her gut was misplaced. Maybe the whole office had just gone out to lunch. In the middle of the afternoon. “Is Bill in?”

  “Nope,” the woman said through her chewing gum. “He’s over at the crime scene.”

  “The theater?” Betty asked. She hadn’t seen any police cars there when she’d driven by.

  “Nope,” said the receptionist. “The Biel place.”

  No.

  “Where?” Surely she’d heard wrong.

  “The Biel place,” the receptionist repeated. She huffed when Betty didn’t respond. “Can I help you?”

  Betty’s laptop case dropped onto the counter, released from her nerveless fingers. Melody.

  “Who?” she asked, barely able to choke out the word. Though, in her gut, she already knew. Guilt seemed to spread from her stomach to every part of her body, until Betty was surprised that she couldn’t see it seeping out of her pores. She had done this. Shouldn’t there be some sort of black mark on her? Some sort of visible sign of how stupid she was? She should have just gone to Bill in the first place with what she knew. She should have insisted that he take Melody into protective custody the moment Betty suspected she knew something.

  The receptionist refused to give any more details of the case, so Betty left. She got in her car and forced herself to calm down before she drove. She could be wrong. She had to be wrong. She’d just seen Melody a few hours ago.

  There was no way Melody was dead.

  Surely not.

  CHAPTER 27

  For the second time in a week, Betty found herself pulling up to a crime scene. The yard that had been so immaculate just a few hours ago was now covered with tire marks from emergency vehicles. Fire trucks, ambulances and police cars flashed their bright lights into the day. A news crew stood with cameras rolling. It seemed as though half the town had shown up to wait at one end of the driveway. With a crowd of Lofton residents this size, Betty would’ve thought to hear the hubbub from a quarter mile away. But she couldn’t hear a single word from the crowd, or even see a single mouth moving. The whole crowd stood, staring towards the house with rapt attention. Silent tears ran down the faces of a few people who Betty recognized as actors from the theater.

  It was eerie.

  When she got out of her car, Betty understood why. Sounds of shouting from the house barely reached the crowd. They weren’t being silent out of respect, or grief, but out of curiosity. Betty had a sudden urge to smack them all. Instead, she joined them, listening to the unearthly wails of grief coming from the mansion. They were horrible, and Betty recognized the voice.

  Lawrence.

  Lawrence was the one making those cries, the wordless screams and sobs.

  Tears pricked at Betty’s eyes. Melody. It had to be. No one else’s death could send Lawrence over the edge like that.

  Melody was dead.

  She had been so beautiful today. Her purple dress fluttered in Betty’s memory. Tears tightened her throat, ran down her cheeks. How could this have happened?

  Betty couldn’t help but feel that she was responsible. Oh, she hadn’t pulled a trigger or stabbed Melody with a knife, but she had been so frightened. So very frightened and secretive. And what had Betty done? She’d marched right up to her house and asked for answers. She’d brought a third party with her, and questioned Melody’s help. She’d been as discreet as a monsoon in the desert.

  Melody would never be able to give her evidence to the police.

  Betty felt a scream of grief and anger welling up. She forced it down. And down. She didn’t stop pushing until all of her emotion was pushed into a tiny, tight ball somewhere in the middle of her chest. There, she could control it. She could lock it up. Keep it from exploding.

  Looking around at the other faces in the crowd, Betty saw a mixture of emotions. There was grief, yes. And anger. And, perhaps worst of all, suspicion. It wasn’t that noticeable, not unless you knew what to look for. But Betty saw it. Whoever this bastard was, they were tearing Betty’s home apart. They were ruining the peaceful feeling of small town trust that had been so precious to Lofton before. She could see it in the sidelong glances people were giving each other, each wondering if they were standing next to a killer. If they had grown up in the same town as a killer, eaten at potlucks with a killer, gone to plays with a killer. No one had really known Jarvis very well. People had been able to view his death as an oddity, a one time thing to make the papers and whisper about. But this was Melody Beil. This was the town’s darling.

  The rage was almost palpable.

  The sounds coming from the house stopped. Slowly, people began to talk. Betty heard the reporter speaking into a microphone.

  “The victim is thirty two year old Melody Biel. In the 9 1 1 call her husband placed, he said he found his wife strangled with her cheerleading outfit from high school. We have yet to receive any confirmation from police. But the noise you just heard seemed to be her husband overcome with grief…”

  Betty felt sick to her stomach.

  Bill left the house and came out towards the crowd. He held up his hands, as if he could push them all away with only willpower. “Alright everyone,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you would all go home. Or, if you have to stay here, at least get out of the way so the ambulance can leave.”

  No one moved.

  Well, Betty wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. She had information, and Bill needed it. She wasn’t about to let anyone else die for her silence. Betty pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Bill!” she called

  Bill searched her out, eyes lighting on her just before she made it to the edge of the wooden barriers where he was standing. “Betty, I can’t really talk right now. So, unless you have news related to Melody’s murder…”

  “That’s just it,” she said breathlessly. “I do. And about Jarvis too.”

  A few townspeople turned around to look at her. Betty belatedly realized that it might not be the best idea to let everyone know exactly what she knew. Bill moved the barrier to let her in before pulling her a several yards up the driveway. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes before speaking to her. He kept his voice low.

  “This better be good Betty. I’m in the middle of a crime scene.”

  Briefly, Betty explained everything she knew about Melody’s panicking and the inventory book and the online auction. She told him all about her visit to the Biel residence in the morning with Clarise. “It proves that the murders are connected” she finished; “Bill, don’t you see? This might not be the end of it. This person, they might keep on killing!”

  Bill shook his head. “It’s a good theory Betty,” he said, “but the two murders are completely different. One was the clubbing of a man, and the other is the strangulation of a woman. If it were a serial killer, or if the murders were done by the same person, normally they’d be done in at least similar ways. The victims have nothing in common.”

  “They have the theater in common! And I told you, Melody was about to come forward with some evidence. I think it’s all connected to these online auctions.”

  Bill sighed and steered her back towards the barrier. “I’ll look into it Betty. But it’s a long stretch. We don’t even know that those items were from the theater.” He hugged her around the shoulders. “And as for thinking that the visit you had with her somehow caused her death… don’t even think it. This was not in any way, shape or form your fault. Got it?”

  Betty pulled out of his arms and glared at him. How could he be so cavalier about this? She was right. She knew she was right! There was no way that everything was a coincidence.

  Well, if he wasn’t going to take her seriously then she would have to take matters into her own hands. She’d have to prove to him that the murders were connected. She eyed the crowd. Many of them had already left, but a few handfuls of people had hung back, waiting to se
e the outcome of their conversation. The camera crew was still there, but Betty was willing to bet that the murderer wasn’t going to have to wait and see the story on the night time news. They were probably right in front of her, getting a thrill off of being so close to being caught.

  Feeling a rush of adrenaline, Betty said loudly at Bill’s back, “You know I’m right! I know why these people are being murdered, and I have the proof to back it up!”

  Bill spun to look at her. His face grew red, his mouth opening and closing mutely. He strode forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward and forcing her to keep walking until they were hidden behind the fire engine.

  “Are you insane?” he said, his voice shaking. “Do you want to die?”

  Betty shook his hand off. “Bill, don’t worry about it. It’s perfect! Now, if I’m right, someone will come after me. Only you’ll be right there to catch them. And besides, it’s true. I know the auctions have to do with this Bill.”

  Bill stood back and looked at her. “Betty, do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?”

  Betty cocked her head and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned closer to her, looking down into her eyes. His gaze was hard.

  “Elizabeth Crawford, I’ll be damned if you’re going to die. You’re bait, fine. You set yourself up on live television, and there’s nothing I can do about that now. But I will make every minute of being bait as miserable as I can for you. I will be on you every minute of every day until this breaks. You won’t be able to piss without me knowing how many pieces of toilet paper you use. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you miserable enough that you will never, ever, even dream of doing something this stupid again.”

  Bill took Betty’s hand and pulled her towards his police cruiser.

  “Starting now,” he said, opening the front passenger side door for her. “You’re going to wait here until I’m done in the house.”

  Betty got into the car, not saying a word as Bill slammed the boor shut. She watched Bill walk into the house. He muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair and pulling it ever so slightly. He was right, she hadn’t thought. She’d just acted. But, if she could help catch the murderer this way then Betty was determined to do so. Then, maybe the nagging idea that her actions had killed Melody would leave her alone.

  Betty sank back into the seat and closed her eyes. Melody.

  CHAPTER 28

  Bill was as good as his word. The first thing he did was take Betty into the station and get her outfitted with a tracker chip for her jacket and a wire with an ear bug.

  “Just in case,” he told her wryly. “I’ve given up trying to predict how much trouble you’ll get in.”

  He could talk directly with her any time he wanted, and he would hear everything that she said or that was said to her. All the high tech equipment made Betty feel like an undercover spy. As Bill adjusted her wire, Betty admitted aloud that she had yet to see the drawbacks to being bait. Bill paused before brushing her hair behind her ear. This close, Betty could see that his hair had three different shades of brown in it. He had a small scar in the corner of his mouth. Bill cleared his throat and stepped back. It wasn’t until he left that Betty realized how much warmth he’d been letting out. She fought the impulse to rub her arms for warmth.

  “Well, we’ll just have to work on that, won’t we?” Suddenly, he grinned. “You know, I’ll be able to hear everything you say, but you’ll only be able to hear what I want you to. I’m sure I can come up with some fascinating ways to pass the time.”

  Betty wasn’t sure that she liked the mischievous look Bill got in his eye just then. It reminded her of a fourth grade boy planning to put a frog in a girl’s desk..

  It wasn’t until they were in the car ride home that Bill started humming. And he wasn’t humming just any song. He wasn’t humming a rock song or a pop song that he’d heard on the radio. He wasn’t humming a musical. He wasn’t even humming absent mindedly. No. He looked at her side long, gave the most evil smile she’d ever seen on his face, and started humming “The Song that Never Ends.”

  Oh no. He wouldn’t. Not really.

  Right?

  Bill raised an eyebrow at the expression of horror on her face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Betty choked out.

  He smiled and turned back to the road. “Good,” he said. And then he switched songs. “I Am Henry the Eighth I Am.”

  Second verse, same as the first.

  Betty had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  Then, as though sent by divine messenger, Betty received her own sudden stroke of inspiration. It was genius, really. If Bill wanted to play at “most annoying,” she could at least make herself a contender.

  “Hey Bill,” she said. “Is it okay if we pick up Clarise on the way to my house? I mean, if I’m right then she might be in danger as well. She did go with me to Melody’s after all.” Actually, now that she thought of it having Clarise under police surveillance wasn’t just part of her diabolical plan. She really should be kept safe, especially if Betty was a target. Genuine worry tinged her words. “She is connected to the theater, and someone could always try and use her to get to me. I’d feel better if she stayed with me overnight, since you’ll be watching my place.”

  It turned out that Bill didn’t need much convincing. “I’d feel better if she was under wraps as well,” he said. “We don’t have enough cars to have two stake outs, but if you think she’d be okay with staying over at your house it’s a good idea.”

  Betty grinned. “Oh,” she said, “she’ll be fine. We’ll make a regular girl’s night of it.”

  Bill turned his head and raised an eyebrow at her. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  Bettty was too busy plotting to answer.

  When Clarise opened the door to see the police chief, her face drained of all its color. Belatedly, Betty realized that having Bill be the one to ring the bell might not have been the best idea. She rushed to step into Clarise’s sight.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, holding up her hands as praying that Clarise wouldn’t panic. She kept her voice silly, in the hopes that Clarise wouldn’t pick up on the undertone of worry in her expression. “Nothing’s happened. We’re just picking you up. You and I are having a sleepover!”

  “Oh really?” Clarise said as her color returned. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Nope!” Betty said brightly. “Not even a little bit. See, Bill here is going to be watching me all night, and I thought it might be good if you were some place safe too.” She winked conspiratorially. “And, after all, it’s been a very stressful week. I’m thinking that you and I could use a real, girly sleepover.” She turned a sadistic grin on Bill, whose wide eyed expression seemed to indicate that he had just realized what she was planning. “I’m thinking bad pop music, chocolate, and shopping. Lots of shopping.” She looked back at Clarise. “You in?”

  “Of course I’m in!” she said. “I’ll bring Oreos and Mulan.”

  “Sounds great. Why don’t you pack your stuff, and we’ll wait here?”

  While Clarise ran around gathering what she wanted to bring, Betty leaned on the doorjamb. She smiled sweetly at him. “Aren’t you looking forward to being my shadow tonight?”

  Bill mirrored her posture on the other side of the door and leaned forward a little. His eyes were dancing. “You’re one sadistic girl Betty, I’ll give you that. Will there be Truth or Dare?”

  She laughed. “Oh no,” she said. “You won’t be hearing anything juicy tonight Bill. Clarise and I are both going to regress to preteens.”

  “Well,” he said, “just remember, I’ll hear everything you say.”

  “I plan on it,” she shot back.

  He hummed a bar of the Barney theme song, and she grinned.

  Let the games begin, she thought. She doubted Bill would be her shadow by morning.

  Clarise showed up with her flowered
backpack full of everything she needed for the overnight.

  “I brought my copy of The Little Mermaid,” Clarise told Betty.

  “Oh good,” Betty replied. “I haven’t seen it in forever. I wonder if I still know all the words to the songs?”

  Bill grimaced. He’d heard her try to sing before.

  Back at the house, Betty briefly explained to her parents that Bill would be staying there that night, patrolling the neighborhood and listening to a wire on her. Her parents weren’t exactly thrilled with her actions at the Biel residence, and made sure she knew it. Bill backed up their admonishments whole heartedly. Only Clarise came to her defense.

  “It makes sense,” her friend said.

  Betty placed an arm around her friend’s shoulders and started spurring her up the stairs. “We’re going to have a good night,” she said. “You all can have a “be mad at Betty” party down here if you want.”

  She could hear Bill explaining the security measures he was going to place around their house in the morning as she mounted the stairs. She felt a little warm spot in her chest as she noted the real concern in his voice. She supposed that she should really be touched by the personal interest he was taking in her case. Not every citizen could say that they had the police chief looking out for their safety personally.

  She almost called off her more annoying plans.

  But, when he left her parents to go find a place to stand watch, she heard him start to hum “Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer” in soft tones that only she could hear.

  Oh yeah. They were on.

  “Clarise?” she asked. “I can’t find my Abba CD. Want to make a playlist on freemusic.com and do our nails?” Together, she and Clarise picked a list of the most girly, annoying songs they could think of. Abba. Aqua. Backstreet Boys. Grease.

  Who said she couldn’t tap into her inner child?

  They watched chick flicks, and Betty even let herself have a couple Oreos. She made sure to check her blood sugar every so often to make sure she wasn’t overdoing it. She was getting used to using her new meter, and Clarise didn’t mind in the least. She let herself have free reign of the no sugar gum and candy she’d bought.