Wound Up In Murder

by Betty Hechtman

  I got my cup of the sweet concoction and considered going back to my spot, but didn’t feel like pushing through the crowd. I looked at the clock and noted with dismay that it was almost eleven. Time was running out. Sammy wouldn’t really take off, would he?

  Bobbie had saved his biggest hit for last, which was also his first hit from 1963. I thought the lyrics were pretty dumb, but I guess it was a different time.

  Look into my eyes, honey. You can see I mean what I say,

  Words can lie, baby, but you know it’s true when I look this way.

  Remember the eyes have it when I tell you you’re the one.

  Remember the eyes have it, you’re my moon and sun.

  I tuned out the rest of the words as I was joined at the food table by Scarlett and her husband. I offered her a cup of punch but she shook her head. Her husband picked up one of the finger sandwiches and said it might help her headache before he turned to me. “Any more word about Jimmie Phelps? I hope he recovers; he’s the real thing.” Scarlett fumbled in her purse as Bobbie got to the end of his song. Norman Rathman and Kevin St. John came up on the stage. There was thunderous applause as Bobbie took a bow then held up a punch cup as a toast to the audience. The applause continued as he went to the edge of the stage and out the exit. Suddenly I thought of something so ridiculous it couldn’t possibly be true.

  29

  I crossed the auditorium and went out a side door. The fog had thickened and everything outside the area right around me was veiled in dense white moisture. Being dark made it even harder to see. But I had spent so much time at Vista Del Mar, I knew my way around by feel. I followed the building to the stage exit. A light above the door illuminated the immediate area shining onto the paved roadway which was edged by a low retaining wall.

  Bobbie had left the area, but as I’d hoped, he had left something behind on the ledge of the wall. The light reflected off the glass punch cup and the cloudy amber liquid inside. Now all I had to do was grab it somehow without touching it. I looked around for something to use. I’d balked about the evening bag but now saw it could come in handy. I opened the metal clasp and pulled the lining inside wide, kind of like when a snake got ready to swallow something big. Next I got rid of the liquid by using the purse to knock the cup on the side and then began to try to get the purse to swallow the cup.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a litterbug,” Bobbie said, stepping out of the fog. He held out his hand. “Give me the cup and I’ll get rid of it.”

  I tried to think fast. “It’s a souvenir for my friend Madeleine. She’s your biggest fan.”

  “I can give her a much better souvenir of the Bobberino than that.” He continued to hold out his hand and gestured with his fingers impatiently.

  “No, I think I’ll keep this.” I’d managed to get the purse all the way around the cup and started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and tried to pull the purse off it.

  “Somebody else is going to figure it out,” I said, “Bobbie, or whatever your real name is.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He seemed uncertain what to do next.

  “Diana Rathman figured out you were an imposter, didn’t she? And you were afraid she was going to let everybody know. There would be no Vegas lounge show. And there would go your gig at the Pebble Beach resort. They wouldn’t be happy about being deceived and could press charges against you for fraud. You’d have to pay back everything they’d paid you and maybe there’d be some jail time.”

  All the good nature had drained from his face, and he looked pale beneath the tan. “She came here to rekindle some old romance with Bobbie. It’s not the first time one of his women has showed up. It’s never been a problem. They do all the talking, reminiscing about their trysts. I was willing to go along with Diana’s plan for the weekend. I’d just keep to generic comments and let her fill in the blanks.” His face had grown hard. “I thought I’d been so careful about researching Bobbie’s shows. I don’t know how I missed the thing about the fireworks disaster at Candlestick Park. I thought saying they were beautiful was a safe response. I didn’t even know I’d made a mistake until later.”

  He paused for a moment. “We’d arranged to meet that night on the q.t. I’m expecting maybe a walk on the beach followed by some cuddling and she lays into me about those fireworks and how my comment made her suspicious. I thought I could talk my way out. You know, said my memory wasn’t what it used to be. She cut me off and said the jig was up. That when she saw me at that newsreel thing, she knew for sure I wasn’t Bobbie.

  “It seems that she and Bobbie were drinking champagne on the sidelines when those blanking fireworks exploded. He was so startled he squeezed the glass in his hand and it broke. He got a couple of weird cuts that left scars she said were kind of shaped like a two. When she saw my hand and there were no scars, she said she knew for sure.

  “I tried to calm her down, but she just went off. It turns out she had more in mind than a weekend fling with Bobbie. She kept saying something about wanting to take the road not taken or something. She was hysterical that I’d ruined everything. She said I wasn’t going to get away with taking over Bobbie’s life and she was going to ruin me.

  “I tried to reason with her. I really did, but she just walked off saying, there was no use to me wasting my breath. She went rushing down some path and I followed her. The silk streamer fell out of her pocket and I picked it up. She must have realized she’d gone the wrong way because she stopped. When I caught up with her . . .” His voice trailed off and I filled in the rest.

  “You realized that Jimmie Phelps caught the remark about the fireworks, too, and he was going to tell me. You already had the caffeine pills. I saw them the night you had the headache and needed aspirin. I’m guessing it was a last-minute try after you tore the note off the message board.” I wondered if I should add that he’d made a mistake by not taking the whole message down. I’d recognized that the curve, dot, and curve were the tops of the f, i and r in fireworks when Madeleine had put her finger over most of the word while she showed me the old program. I decided to keep it to myself. I knew what I needed to do was get out of there, but I really wanted to get the rest of the story.

  “So then who are you?” I asked, taking a step away at the same time.

  “Frankie Listorie. Bobbie’s cousin,” he said.

  “What did you do with the real Bobbie Listorie?” I asked, backing away a little more.

  “Nothing. I didn’t do nothing to him. He’s in a home. He doesn’t even know that he’s Bobbie Listorie anymore. All my life, people have been saying I looked just like him. I didn’t have a dimple in my chin, but a few bucks to a plastic surgeon and I did.” His voice turned harsh. “You don’t know what it’s like to be told that your voice is better than his, but he gets all the fame. We started out as a duo and then some music executive blew in Bobbie’s ear and said he was the talent and he should lose me. So when the opportunity presented itself, I took it.” He looked directly at me. “You heard them applauding for me. Nobody has complained once. I got the pipes.”

  “Now that I know how much it means to you,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “It will be our little secret.” Before I could move, he’d stepped behind me. I felt something poking through the thin material into my back. It felt like the muzzle of a gun.

  “Now I’m finally getting my due. I don’t care what I have to do to keep it. The spotlight is finally mine.” He pushed against my back. “I think it’s time for us to get out of here and take a little ride.”

  He didn’t have to say the rest. I got it. There would only be one of us at the end of the ride, and it wasn’t going to be me. What was it they always warned people who were grabbed? Don’t leave the location. Maybe I could stall. “Aren’t you curious how I figured it out? It might be useful in the future.”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it. I should know w
here I screwed up.” I could feel the pressure against my back give up a little.

  “That night you had the headache. Something seemed off to me. I thought it was because you were in sweats, but tonight something one of my retreaters said made me think of that night again, and then when I heard the line in your song about the eyes don’t lie, I got it. It didn’t register then and you put on the tinted glasses so quickly. The dimple isn’t the only difference. You have blue eyes, not Bobbie’s famous green eyes. It’s all in the contacts, isn’t it?”

  “Good to know,” he said. I could tell by the pause after that he was going back to his plan. I tried to think of a means of escape and I heard the door to the stage open and the sound of applause and people chanting “Bobbie.”

  “You can’t leave them hanging like that. They’ve been clapping and chanting for five minutes,” Kevin St. John said. “You need to do an encore.” There was a pause and Kevin said, “Oh,” apparently seeing Bobbie wasn’t alone.

  “Sorry to interrupt you and your lady,” Kevin faltered. In this outfit from the back, he didn’t recognize me and it must have looked like Bobbie and I were having a moment. The manager said something about leaving the romance for later and coming back inside. By then I wasn’t listening, but instead thinking. Bobbie/Frankie had turned to face Kevin and was distracted.

  My mind flitted through possible escapes, hopefully without me being shot. And something Sammy had said about human nature came to mind and I made a move.

  “You go on back in,” the singer said to Kevin. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Much as I knew that he wanted to go back in and do an encore, I also knew he was set on erasing me from the scene.

  As soon as Kevin was back inside, the singer turned forward, and he saw that his gun was pointed at no one. “Hey,” the fake Bobbie yelled, starting to run down the path after me, or so he thought. I had thought of Sammy’s story about the falling fire escape and that it was human nature to go forward to try to escape getting hit, when the right thing to do was go sideways. And that was what I had done. I stepped off the path and slipped behind one of the Monterey pines. In the darkness and fog, I was invisible, not that Bobbie/Frankie even looked as he ran down the path.

  I was pretty sure he was going to keep to the plan to get out of Vista Del Mar with or without me and was headed to his car. I didn’t want to try to stop him myself. I needed help. I went through the brush to the front of the building. Lieutenant Borgnine was still standing just inside the door. His expression darkened when he saw me.

  “I know who you’re looking for,” I said. “And I know where he is.” The lieutenant’s face came to life.

  “Finally, you’re showing some sense.”

  “We have to hurry, though, he’s trying to make a run for it.” I rushed to the door and the rumpled cop caught up with me. “Follow me.”

  Bobbie/Frankie would stick to the path that wound through the grounds, but I knew a shortcut. I actually grabbed the lieutenant’s hand and pulled him off the path. The heels weren’t going to do and I kicked them off before taking him through the underbrush.

  I could only imagine what was happening to Madeleine’s beautiful dress as it caught on bushes while we serpentined through the trees. I had too much adrenaline pumping to feel any pain from my bare feet stepping on twigs, dried pine needles and who knew what else.

  We finally came out in the small parking lot near the Lodge. I looked over a line of cars around Madeleine’s golf cart, but there was no one.

  The lieutenant had long since pulled away from my hand and looked around the empty parking lot with a grumble. “You’re doing it again. This is some kind of diversion, so the Amazing Dr. Sammy Glickner can do a disappearing act.”

  Just then there were footsteps on the paved road, and a moment later, Bobbie/Frankie came into the parking lot and sprinted toward a light-colored Corvette.

  “Not staying for your encore,” I said, stepping out of the darkness.

  “There you are,” he said angrily. The gun was still in his hand and he waved it in my direction. “Get in the car.” I took a few steps and then a noise behind me made me turn back. The low lights around the edge of the parking area were enough to see that Lieutenant Borgnine had stepped behind the singer and had him in a choke hold. After a moment, the singer dropped to the ground unconscious and the gun fell from his hand.

  “We’re not supposed to use a choke hold, but seeing that he had a gun aimed at you, it was the best alternative.” He looked at the figure on the ground. “He’ll come to in a minute,” Borgnine said. He leaned over the fallen singer and pulled his hands behind him, handcuffing him.

  The rumpled bulldog-shaped cop shook his head at me. “Ms. Feldstein, you deceived me. You said you were taking me to Dr. Glickner.”

  “No,” I protested. “I said I was taking you to who you were after—that’s Diana Rathman’s killer, isn’t it?”

  There were more grumbling sounds as he said something about evidence.

  It turned out not to be a problem. When Bobbie/Frankie came to, he was escorted to the backseat of a cop car. Before the cruiser could drive away, he began to spill his guts, and Lieutenant Borgnine got an earful. Apparently the singer wanted everyone to know that the crowd at the dance had been chanting and cheering for him—Frankie Listorie. So there was no need to get his DNA off the punch cup I still had in my purse and see that it didn’t match the real Bobbie’s DNA on Madeleine’s ancient champagne glass she’d snagged as a souvenir. He admitted to strangling Diana. He repeated pretty much what he’d told me, but the kicker was when he insisted it was really some kind of self-defense because she was looking to kill his career. The lieutenant tapped on the side of the car and told the officer to take him downtown.

  Eventually, the DA charged him with Diana’s murder, malicious intent for spiking Jimmie’s drink, and fraud for masquerading as his cousin. He ended up making a plea deal and looked forward to being locked up for a long time. I wondered if they had prison talent shows.

  But in the present, I peeled back the soiled white glove and looked at my watch. It was five minutes to midnight. “You wanted to see Dr. Glickner?” I said to Lieutenant Borgnine, who was headed to his car.

  “No, that’s okay.” The rumpled cop started to move a little faster.

  “I insist,” I said, linking my arm in his. He pulled free, but reluctantly followed me as I went across the street.

  “I thought so,” the cop said as I knocked on the window. “Officer Mangano kept saying he was sure Dr. Glickner wasn’t here.”

  Sammy opened the window. I had never seen him look so forlorn. In the background I saw that he had tied up his belongings into a sheet. His expression froze as he saw Lieutenant Borgnine standing behind me.

  “Tell him,” I commanded the cop, a little surprised at my own gutsiness.

  “You know we could have straightened this all out a long time ago if you hadn’t gone into hiding,” Borgnine said.

  “That’s not what I meant.” I turned back to Sammy. “What he means to say is that he has a suspect in custody who allegedly did everything.” Sammy stood there for a moment as the information sank in. “It means you’re not a fugitive anymore. You can go home and live your life again.”

  “A fugitive?” the lieutenant said. “He was more like a person of interest.”

  “Whatever, you’re free!” I said. It was like Sammy had been holding his breath since the whole mess started and he let out the air all at once. The forlorn look melted into his usual smiley expression and he leaned through the window and hugged me so tightly my feet left the ground.

  “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Case,” he said, waiting a moment before releasing me.

  Just then Dane came up the driveway and shined his flashlight through fog on my bunged-up feet. “It looks like you need some first aid.”

  “No problem,” Sammy said,
going around and opening the door. “I’m a doctor.”

  30

  The fog was still hanging around in the morning, and when I looked out my bedroom window, it was like looking at the world through a veil. Sunday mornings were always quiet, but with all the moisture to absorb the sound, it was deathly silent.

  Julius had the good sense to cuddle next to me instead of draping himself across my chest. Madeleine’s apricot silk dress hung on the closet door. It was pretty much a dead soldier between the dirt, the pine sap and the shredded skirt. I don’t even know why I hung it up.

  The adrenaline that had blocked any pain was all gone now, and I felt bunged up. I was covered in spots of antibiotic cream and small bandages. Fortunately, the damage was all minor, just scrapes and a few cuts.

  Though Sammy was free to go home, he had decided to spend the night in the guest house. I sat up and carefully slid my banged-up feet into my slippers. As I went down the hall, I looked into the room I used as an office. Madeleine was asleep on the love seat, which had turned out to be a pull-out bed. She’d been too upset about everything to drive her golf cart home and I’d invited her to stay.

  I still had the rest of the retreat to finish, but there was no reason to wake her or Lucinda, who was asleep on a couch in the living room. I’m not sure why my friend gave up her guest room for my couch unless she thought I’d need help dealing with Madeleine.

  Julius followed me into the kitchen. I needed real coffee and pulled out the bag of grounds. I’d just pushed the brew button when Madeleine came into the kitchen wearing an oversized T-shirt that said Chicago Bears and her heels from the night before.

  “I’m sorry about everything,” I said, but she shook her head.

  “You can’t go back in time. It was silly to suppose the Bobbie Listorie I saw in 1963 and 1977 would be just the same.” She caught herself and her eyes lit up. “I did think he would be the same person, though.” Julius had jumped up on the counter and was sticking close to me while staring at Madeleine. I’m sure he was trying to figure what was going on.