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

by Marvin, Liz

Two had interviewed him and were seriously considering hiring him. The first of these was a woman who asked to send her regrets to Jarvis’ family and left it that. But it was the second person, a man who sounded like he should have a handlebar moustache and a tweed suit, who had let slip some very interesting information.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that!” He’d exclaimed at the news of Jarvis’ death. “We wondered why he didn’t return our phone call. We wanted to hire him! He’s been so reliable in sending us our orders, we wanted to keep on working with him.”

  “Orders?” Betty had questioned, her pen poised above the paper.

  “Yes, the antique theater equipment he’s been getting to us. Oh, but the lights must have been sent after he died. Please make sure to thank his business partner? It’s good to know there are good, honest folks out there still. Most companies would have dropped the order when the handler passed away, but not his company. If there’s any way you can get me the contact information of the person who sent the lights, I’d like to send them a personal thank you note letting them know they have our business for as long as they want it!”

  Betty had hung up the phone from that call in something of a daze.

  She felt very, very stupid for not thinking that Jarvis himself may have been the one stealing from the theater.

  And, apparently he had an accomplice.

  Any way she looked at it, that accomplice was looking more and more like Clarise.

  Betty sent Bill an e mail outlining what she’d found on the computer and the results of her phone inquiries. She left out her conversation with Andy and her growing suspicions about Clarise. She was certain there had to be another explanation. A different partner. And she was going back to the theater to find out who it might be.

  CHAPTER 32

  At the theater, Andy’s delivery truck was parked outside again. And what, she wondered, was in the packages he was delivering? And if she and Clarise were both gone, who was he giving them to? She stormed into the theater, immediately stumbling upon Andy giving packages to, surprise surprise, Walter Payone.

  Walter, the actor. Walter had confessed to Jarvis’ murder in such a way that no one, not the police or even Betty herself, had taken him seriously as a threat. It was the perfect cover, really. Hide in plain sight. Make yourself a laughingstock, and no one will ever think you’re a murderer. Not even when all the press of the murder is perfectly to your advantage.

  A white hot rage filled Betty and she stormed over to the pair, who watched her descend on them with expressions indicating a level of fear more appropriate to watching a rampaging dragon.

  “Open it,” Betty snarled, pointing at the package Walter held in his arms. How could she ever have been so stupid as to believe his sob story? She was willing to bet that box held the stolen items. Well, theft from the theater ended right here and now! And when she’d confirmed her suspicions, Betty would be only too happy to send Walter right back to jail.

  Walter clutched the package to his chest.

  “Open. It.” Betty ground out.

  Walter puffed his chest out. “It’s my mail. I don’t have to.”

  “You’re getting your mail delivered to the theater, which makes it falsification of address,” she said, glowering. “If you’re going to get packages here, you better damn well let me know what’s in them! Something’s going on in this town, and it’s all tied to shipments coming to and from the theater. So open the box, before I get the police to confiscate it and open it at the station!”

  By the end of her tirade, Andy was no where in sight. That was perfectly fine with Betty. Andy wasn’t the one in trouble here. Walter was the one with the illegal package. He wasn’t leaving until she knew for sure if he was the accomplice she was looking for.

  Walter deflated. He trudged over to a table and set the box on the table. “Fine, if that’s what you really think. But,” he looked at Betty with vulnerability written over every part of his features. “Just don’t judge me for it, if you please. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Betty looked at him uncertainly, some of her rage ebbing away. She approached the table cautiously, muscles tensed in case she had to make a quick getaway. Walter pulled his keys out of the package and swiped through the packing tape.

  He opened the box to reveal medical supplies. Glucose strips, to be exact.

  “I have Type Two Diabetes,” he said, shame faced. “I get my medicines delivered here so the people on my street don’t find out.”

  Oh, Betty thought. Well. That was… unexpected. Her anger crashed down around her. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or frustrated that she hadn’t caught Walter red handed and dealing with stolen goods. She also wasn’t sure how she felt that she and Walter had something besides an obsession with theater in common.

  Of all the things she’d thought might be in that box, glucose test strips hadn’t even been a thought. Walter seemed to crumple more the longer her silence went on.

  “I, I understand if you don’t want me getting them here anymore, but I’ve been doing it for years. Clarise knows I sometimes get packages here and she’s fine with it. Just ask her! And, well, you know how this town is. If I were to get it filled at the local pharmacy, everyone in town would know within a few hours. I don’t want that.”

  Betty realized that he thought she was going to stop him from getting his diabetes at the theater. She’d be within her rights to demand it. But… Betty knew exactly what he going through. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know about her diabetes either. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to hide it, when just a couple of days ago she’d been doing the exact same thing. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and withdrew it half way through the motion. That might be a little awkward, considering that she’d just practically accused him of murder.

  “It’s okay,” Betty said quietly. “I understand. I’m sorry Walter. I… I guess I’ve just gotten a little suspicious of people, what with the murders and all.”

  “Do you understand?” Walter asked bitterly. “Do you really? Because if it gets out that I have diabetes, it’ll be even harder for me to land an acting job. No director wants an actor on set who has to take frequent breaks to manage their disease. And in Hollywood, well, you know.” He gestured grandly, voice booming like the Wizard of Oz. “There’s a miracle cure for everything.” He looked away, lowering his voice and directing his words to the air. “They’ll think that I should be able to push through it, that there’s no reason I should even be sick, much less have to pay attention to the symptoms.”

  A mixture of pity and sympathy welled up in Betty. She knew that feeling. She knew that feeling quite well. Suddenly, all of Walter’s posturing and overconfidence seemed like a very thin veneer for a person as insecure as she had been when she first learned of her disease. But, Betty realized, there was a huge difference between her and Walter. Walter appeared to have known about his diabetes for years, and he clearly still hadn’t come to terms with it. He still blamed himself. And, for the first time Betty realized she no longer had that problem. She didn’t feel guilty for her disease. With this realization, Betty felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. She could almost feel herself breathing easier.

  Suddenly, she wanted to help Walter get rid of his guilt as well. She wanted to help him see that he could get through this. If she could rid herself of that feeling of guilt in under a week, he should be able to after years of having known his own diagnosis.

  “Walter,” she said before her brain caught up with her mouth, “I really do understand. I tested positive for Type Two Diabetes this week.”

  Walter just stared at her. His expression didn’t change at all. Betty felt a sinking in her gut. What had she been thinking, opening up to Walter like that? Having diabetes didn’t change anything about who he was. This was still Walter. He was loud, annoying and brash Walter had a stick up his butt and his nose in the air. He’d use this against her. She was sure of it.

  “Never mind,” she said, her
cheeks burning. “I thought…”

  “Thought what?” asked Walter suddenly. “What did you think, Betty? That I’d feel pity for you?” Betty looked at him, confused by the sudden hostility in his voice. “I thought you were a nice girl, but turns out you’ve been the biggest actress of us all. That’s low, Betty. Lower than I thought you could you go. You’re not even twenty five! There’s no way you could have diabetes.” He looked at her like she was dirt, puffing up his chest and visibly regaining his stuck up composure. “I don’t like being mocked.”

  So that was it. Betty rushed to reassure him. “No,” she said, “I’m not mocking you Walter. It’s true! I thought… here.” She felt through her purse until she grabbed her blood glucose meter. “See?” she asked, holding it out to him. “I’m not lying. I wouldn’t lie about that Walter, I swear.”

  Walter’s eyes flicked back and forth between the meter and her face. “Ah,” he said. “That… that changes things.”

  “Listen,” she said earnestly. “I know it’s hard. I do. I mean, I’m still new to all this, and I don’t have the same career concerns that you do since I work mostly from home, but I know what it’s like to think it’s all your fault. But Walter, it isn’t. Oh, it just isn’t. It doesn’t matter if it was in your family, or if it just happened, or anything else. It’s just a disease Walter. It’s no more your fault than if you had the chicken pox.”

  She could see that he was still reeling from the news that he knew someone else with diabetes. Most of her pep talk seemed to have been lost on him. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you come over to my house for dinner some time? I’ll cook something diabetes friendly, and we can talk for a while.” She laughed shortly. “We can be our own diabetes support group.”

  Walter nodded. He still looked as though he was digesting her words, but at least he seemed to be hearing her. When he spoke, his words were a bit hesitant. “That sounds… nice.”

  Betty thought it might be just as nice for her as it was for Walter. Heck, maybe she could even get her mother to join them. A diabetes support group. That could be very helpful, for all of them. I wonder how many other people there are in Lofton with the same problem? CVS had had a lot of information very handy. Diabetes couldn’t be that uncommon in her area.

  It was certainly something to think about.

  And Betty did, all the way on her drive home. She was done snooping for the day. She just wanted to sit back and relax, maybe talk the support group idea over with her mother.

  As she drove, Betty used her wireless headset to check her voice messages. 3 Rings Organics had received the missing box of pants. Another customer was missing a box of shirts.

  She checked in her rear view mirror. The blue jeep was still there. A moment later, Betty found herself very grateful for that fact.

  Andy’s truck was parked in front of her house.

  Bait taken.

  CHAPTER 33

  Betty sat in the car in front of her house, letting the puzzle pieces fall into place. It made perfect sense. It was usually the person closest to the victim who was the murderer, right? And who better to help Jarvis cover up a business selling stolen theater equipment and electronics than Andy, who ran his own delivery service? Thoughts of Andy on the morning of the murder flashed into her mind, followed by the times she’d spoken with him since. He’d dropped the grieving persona pretty quickly, now that she thought of it. He hadn’t even taken any time off of work. In fact, after the murder date, the only emotion she’d seen from him had been when he’d tried to feed her a red herring.

  Why didn’t people understand that getting her to believe that Clarise was the killer simply wouldn’t work? She knew her friend better than that. For a moment, Betty indulged in letting herself feel guilty for doubting her instincts about Clarise even once. When she got out of this, she was doing something very nice for her best friend. She’d get them both away from work…

  Work. Andy was the one delivering her packages. If he was involved in one shady shipping deal, he could easily be involved in another. He was probably the one messing up her shipments.

  The tried to wrap her head around the idea. Andy was a thief and a murderer… a murderer who had killed twice. Melody must have found out about his scam. She’d thought that Melody’s sudden clamming up and pallor was due to her husband’s domineering presence, not Andy. But, Andy had always been there, hadn’t he? He was always in the background with a package to deliver at the most… opportune times. She wouldn’t put it past him to have orchestrated package deliveries to coincide with the most convenient timing. Or to have held off deliveries until it was convenient for him.

  He’d delivered a package the day Jarvis was murdered. She had been right about the murderer coming back to the scene of the crime. Betty’s blood froze in her veins as she realized that Andy would have had to go home, shower off the signs of his struggle with Jarvis, and change before the police called him. He’d had packages ready and willing to deliver. Had he sat in his truck, waiting for the call from the police?

  He’d identified the body of his murder victim.

  That was cold.

  Betty fought down nausea, feeling sweat start to break out all over her body.

  Andy was inside her house.

  A murderer was inside her house.

  Andy, a murderer, was inside her house with her parents.

  Betty’s hands started to shake. Now, more than ever, she was glad that Bill had gotten a tracker installed in her jacket and a car following her, because now she had to get Andy out of her house. She had to get him away from her parents, if her parents weren’t already dead.

  Panic sped up her pulse and Betty had to take deep breaths to calm her nerves as much as possible. Unfortunately, “as much as possible” wasn’t much. NO. No, she absolutely could not start to play the what if game. She had to be able to think clearly. She’d set herself up as bait. Okay. She’d put herself in this position, but not her parents. She had to get Andy away from them.

  If she left her house, the jeep would follow. Maybe she could even work out some way to signal her very much alive parents that they, and she, were in danger. They could call Bill and let him know.

  Actually, she could call Bill and let him know. Having a murderer in your house qualified as a reason to dial 9 1 1. Yup. It surely did. But she had a better number. She had Bill’s direct line.

  Betty dialed his number and held the phone to her ear with surprisingly steady hands.

  “Betty?”

  “Andy’s here.”

  “Andy?” Bill’s voice was confused.

  “It was him,” Betty said calmly. She stopped talking, unsure of what to say or how long she had before Andy’s homicidal nature kicked in on her unsuspecting parents. Her mother had probably invited him in for tea. Oh, God. Her mother.

  “Betty?” Bill sounded loud and worried, like it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name. “Betty, are you okay?”

  Betty shook her head to clear it. “He’s with my parents. I have to go. I wanted you to know. I have all the proof you’ll need on a USB drive in my glove compartment box. I’m going in. I have my jacket so,” her voice caught, but she forced herself to continue. “So you can follow me.”

  “Betty!” Bill commanded. “Stay right where you are. Don’t go inside!”

  Betty hung up her phone. Of course she was going inside. Her parents were inside. She wouldn’t leave them there. Bill should know that.

  She got out of the car before she could chicken out. As she walked to the kitchen door, she willed all traces of tension from her expression and posture. She wasn’t going to give Andy a reason set off. She was going to go in there and get him to come out.

  That’s all.

  Whatever came next… well. Whatever came next came next.

  She opened the door with a cheery, “I’m home!,” slamming it open as she would on any other day, and willed her knees not to buckle in relief when she saw her parents sitting, whole, al
ive and blissfully oblivious, at the table with Andy. Her smile became much less forced, and she held it in place as the delivery man turned to meet her eyes.

  His eyes were dark and dead. Betty felt a shiver run up her spine and forced herself to stand just a little straighter.

  “Hi Andy!” Betty chirped, hoping that she wasn’t overdoing it.

  “Hi Honey,” her mother said. “Want a cup of tea?”

  Betty put her purse down in the chair next to Andy. “That would be great.”

  Betty thought fast. How could she get him away without being too obvious?

  “Hi Andy,” she said, stalling for time.

  “Miss Crawford,” Andy said. “How are you this evening?”

  Betty wondered if he was plotting her death at that moment.

  Andy’s eyes flicked to her neck and back up to her face. Scratch that, she thought. He’s definitely plotting how to kill me right now.

  Strangely enough, now that she knew her parents were safe the thought of Andy’s murdering tendencies didn’t scare her too much. Was this numbness the equivalent of medical shock? Had she finally reached emotional overload and shut down completely? Well, if her emotions were going to freeze and leave her brain functioning rationally, who was Betty to question it?

  Although, given that she was trying to figuring out how to get herself alone with a mass murderer, she supposed that the rationality of her mind was somewhat questionable.

  “Oh shoot!” Betty exclaimed with a sudden spark of inspiration. “Andy, it’s a good thing you’re here. I actually have a package I’d like you to deliver. I’m just going to run out to the car and get it. Would you like to come? We can put it right in your truck.”

  Well, that was a thin excuse. But it was the best she could come up with on short notice.

  Her mother looked at her in confusion. Betty flicked her eyes to the phone, hoping that she would get the message. Her mother’s eyes widened in fear as she caught onto Betty’s meaning. Her father looked her between the two of them in confusion. And Andy, bless his little murderous heart, took the bait.