Murder on Location

by Cathy Pegau

  “Thatta girl.” Charlotte tucked her notebook into her coat pocket and headed out to see Brigit.

  Chapter 10

  Charlotte hunched her shoulders practically to her ears and blew on her mittened hands as she passed Michael’s cabin and turned down the road that led to Brigit’s. There had been enough pedestrian and vehicle traffic to press the snow into a stretch of rough, compacted ice, yet slick in places that snatched your foot out from under you, if you weren’t careful.

  Safely on flat ground again, Charlotte was grateful someone had shoveled the walk leading to the front door of the unassuming house. She knocked, rubbing her hands together as she waited.

  The door opened. Wearing a kimono-style blue robe with orange and silver accents, Brigit herself had answered, rather than her young son, Charlie, or one of the girls. Though she appeared tired, Brigit smiled and gestured for Charlotte to enter.

  “You must be freezing out there. Come in and have some tea,” she said.

  The foyer, with its pretty wallpaper, could have been the entry to a modest house in any town. A door on the right marked PRIVATE led to Brigit’s office. To the left, the parlor proved the house to be a little less modest. Faro tables and several small couches and loveseats adorned the room. A piano butted against the wall below the stairs leading to the girls’ rooms. To the left of the stairs, a closed door led to the kitchen.

  Charlotte removed her coat, hat, and mittens. Brigit hung them in the hall closet, then handed Charlotte a pair of soft slippers to wear instead of her boots. After changing her footwear, Charlotte and Brigit walked through the parlor.

  A table and four chairs filled most of the floor space of the small but tidy kitchen. A narrow stove, a sink, and an icebox occupied space against the walls. A tea kettle burbled on the stove. Brigit reached up into an open cupboard for another cup and saucer.

  “I meant to come by sooner,” Charlotte said as she took a seat at the table.

  “I know you’ve been busy. It’s been all hustle and bustle here too.” Brigit poured the water into a blue and white teapot, then covered it with a cozy. She set it on the table along with the two cups, saucers, and a plate of cookies.

  Charlotte picked up a cookie. The buttery treat practically melted in her mouth. “Mmm. These are delicious.”

  Brigit sat in the chair to her left, smiling. “Thank you. I love the aroma of the cookies baking, but in all honesty I’m not fond of sweets.”

  “I’d be happy to take a few off your hands.”

  Her friend laughed. After a few minutes of catching up, Brigit poured them each some tea. The distinct aroma of bergamot wafted from the cup. Charlotte added a lump of sugar and a dollop of milk. Coffee she could take black if necessary, but for some reason her tea needed milk and sugar.

  “Have any of the movie people been by?” Charlotte asked.

  Brigit sipped her tea, nodding. “Several last night. Lots of chatter about the poor man who died. They couldn’t seem to talk about anything else, when they were talking.”

  “We think he was murdered.” Charlotte watched her friend’s reaction. Brigit knew who Charlotte meant by “we,” so she didn’t bother explaining.

  Brigit’s slender eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Do you? Why?”

  Charlotte relayed the basic details and theories of Stanley Welsh’s death, certain Brigit would keep the information to herself. “We’re still looking into a few things. Andrew wants me to cozy up to the crew, for obvious reasons, but they’re all a bit nervous at this point.”

  “Can’t say that I blame them.” Brigit shook her head. “I swear, Charlotte, in all the years I’ve lived here I don’t think there’s been so many suspicious deaths in such a short amount of time. Three since August.” She opened her eyes wide and covered her open mouth with her hand. “When you got here.”

  Charlotte knew her friend was teasing, and she put on an equally playful air of indignation. “Michael mentioned this as well. Are you saying I’m bad luck or a brilliant murderer who has pinned deaths on others?”

  Brigit laughed and laid a hand on her arm. “Neither. Though either one would make a wonderful serial or dime-store novel.”

  “Maybe I should try my hand at fiction,” Charlotte suggested.

  “Maybe someday,” Brigit said, “but I do enjoy your articles and editorials in the Times. What do you think of the film people? Which one could have killed the director?”

  “At least three have reason, I think, as do Caleb Burrows and Miles Smith. All had opportunity as well. We just don’t have anything about motive and opportunity. Not a lick of physical evidence.”

  “Burrows is an odd duck, isn’t he?” Brigit said.

  Charlotte didn’t hide her surprise. “You know him?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” her friend said, lifting her tea to her lips. Her dark eyes danced. Brigit wasn’t one to share names of her customers, so Charlotte wondered what she meant. Anticipating a request for clarification, Brigit continued. “He’s represented friends of mine in the past. A very good lawyer, I understand.”

  “I’ll give him a call if I ever get nabbed for those murders,” Charlotte said wryly.

  Brigit laughed again. “If I hear anything pertinent to Mr. Welsh’s death, I’ll let you know. So far, the crew who’s come in here have been trying to impress us with their connection to the film and all the movie people they know.” She rolled her eyes. “As if railroad magnates, politicians, and judges haven’t passed through this house.”

  Again, Charlotte itched to ask for names, just to satisfy her own curiosity, but knew Brigit would say nothing more than she already had.

  Charlotte ate another two cookies and they both drank more tea as they chatted about local happenings and mutual acquaintances. Brigit seemed to know most everyone in town, particularly the men, but was also a member of the Women’s Business Guild and sat in on nearly every city council meeting.

  “Pen and Rowena are having a brunch next Saturday,” Brigit said. “You should come along with me.”

  Charlotte liked the two women who ran the ladies’ finery shop. She’d written about them in one of her articles for The Modern Woman Review. The two had met in Nome years before, during the gold rush there, became friends, then moved to Cordova and started their business. They even shared a home.

  “Their partnership makes me think of Cicely Welsh and Roslyn Sanford. They started out working together and became friends as well.” Perhaps more than friends. The obvious dawned in Charlotte’s brain. “Are Pen and Rowena together? I mean, together together?”

  Brigit gave her a knowing smile. “I was wondering when you’d figure it out. You’re usually more astute than that.”

  “They don’t make it all that obvious, not that I blame them. Having such inclinations would be difficult here.” Charlotte imagined it was easier in a large town or city, rather than a place like Cordova where everyone knew you and your personal habits. Friends back east, whom she knew to be involved in similar relationships, fiercely guarded their private lives.

  Her friend’s smile faltered. “Quite. Pen and Rowena have mastered their façade of being business partners and spinster friends. Some might suspect their true relationship, but as long as they maintain propriety in public, they’ll be left alone.”

  Charlotte recalled how Cicely and Roslyn could easily be seen as just friends, their public affection limited to the occasional hug or touch of the arm or smile. But once she realized there was likely more to their relationship, it was obvious in the looks they exchanged that their feelings ran much deeper. Now, when Charlotte went into the ladies’ shop she was sure she’d find herself scrutinizing Pen and Rowena for such exchanges.

  “How long have you known?” Charlotte asked. She felt silly for not having realized it before. Wasn’t it part of her job to be more observant of people and their behavior?

  “Almost from the time I arrived here,” Brigit said. She patted Charlotte’s arm. “Don’t doubt yourself. They’re
very good at keeping it quiet. It took me a few times of seeing them in more intimate settings before it became obvious. Those who know, and there aren’t many, take care to maintain the ladies’ privacy.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep my head when I next see them,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m sure you will. So, will you attend the brunch with me? Pen and Rowena really admire your work. They want to bring you into the Women’s Business Guild.”

  Charlotte shook her head, not in refusal of the invitation, but to confusion as to why they’d ask her into the Guild. “I don’t own a business.”

  “No, but you’re essentially a partner at the newspaper. Everyone knows you do the bulk of the writing these days. Andrew Toliver must be thanking his lucky stars you arrived here.” Brigit quirked a slender eyebrow. “Though I know he’s not the only one.”

  “Michael seems pleased as well—” Again, a lightbulb seemed to suddenly flicker to life and Charlotte grinned. “You mean James.”

  “Of course I mean James,” Brigit said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe Charlotte’s denseness. “Why, that man hadn’t smiled as often in all the years I’ve known him as he has in the last six months. You must be doing something right.”

  “Actually, we aren’t doing much of anything except kissing.” The taste and touch of James’s lips filled her brain and heat infused Charlotte’s cheeks. Surprise dropped Brigit’s mouth open into an O. “I know, I know, but you can understand my reluctance, can’t you?”

  Charlotte had told Brigit all about Richard and her “delicate operation.” In fact, Brigit, Michael, and Charlotte’s childhood friend Kit, back in New York, were the only people who knew. That was plenty of people, as far as Charlotte was concerned.

  Brigit’s expression changed. She narrowed her gaze and studied Charlotte for a few moments. “But you want to be with him. You want there to be more than kisses.”

  “I do. Or I think I do.” Charlotte stood and tried to pace the limited space of the kitchen. The movement helped her to sort out her thoughts as well as release some sudden pent-up physical itches she often experienced when James was near or his name came up. “I’m so confused, Brigit. I like him. A lot.”

  “And he likes you, a lot,” Brigit added.

  “I know. Every time we kiss, I want more. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me.” That desire flooded her body on a constant basis. “But then something in my brain brings everything to a screeching halt. It’s madness.”

  Charlotte realized her fists were clenched and her breathing had increased. She stopped pacing and took a deep breath.

  “He feels the same, I’d reckon,” Brigit said quietly.

  Charlotte sank into her chair. Elbows on the table, she covered her face with her hands. “I know. And I feel awful about denying him. Denying both of us.”

  “You haven’t told him yet, have you?”

  She knew what Brigit meant without needing to ask. “No, I don’t know how. I don’t know what he’ll say or do, and it scares me.”

  “So don’t tell him.” Charlotte looked up. Brigit continued. “You are under no obligation to tell him anything you don’t wish to share.”

  “Isn’t that a lie of omission?” Charlotte was sure it was something like that.

  “He knows or suspects you’ve been with at least one man, yes?” Brigit shrugged. “Let him draw his own conclusions. You’ve told me he’s not pushing you for details, so don’t give him any you aren’t ready to give.”

  “Even so,” Charlotte said, “I don’t know if I’m ready to risk it.”

  “Risk what? Having feelings for someone?” Brigit’s laugh was tinged with sadness. “We all have to take chances there, dear.”

  “That, yes, but I was also thinking of a more . . . physical risk. I can’t put myself in that situation again, Brigit. I just can’t.” Charlotte barely managed to keep the fear out of her voice, though her entire body trembled at the thought of getting pregnant. She still had no desire to be a mother, but her feelings for James were so very different from those she’d had for Richard. What would she do if the circumstances reoccurred? She had no idea, and honestly didn’t want to find out.

  “We can take care of that.” Brigit rose and headed out of the kitchen before Charlotte had the chance to ask what she meant.

  Her footsteps faded once she left the parlor. While Charlotte waited, she poured herself another cup of tea. The trembling in her hands abated by the time Brigit returned.

  “These are the best on the market,” Brigit said, holding three packets of folded paper. “I get them imported from Germany. Better than anything you can find in the States. Been using them for years myself, and none of my girls who use them regularly have gotten pregnant or fallen ill.”

  Condoms weren’t infallible, even when used regularly, but if Charlotte took them, that would be one less barrier, so to speak, between her fears and desires.

  Brigit set the packets on the table between them, then sat once again. She took Charlotte’s hand and squeezed gently. “Pregnancy isn’t your biggest worry, Charlotte, because you and I both know there are other ways to enjoy the company of a man without ever risking pregnancy or disease.”

  Charlotte nodded absently. If she couldn’t be honest with James quite yet, at least she could start being honest with herself.

  “You’re a young woman with a healthy appetite who’s been denying herself sustenance for too long.” With her free hand, Brigit slid the packets closer to Charlotte. “You’re due for a feast, my friend.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Charlotte walked up the steps to her house, shoulders aching from being hunched against the blowing snow. It didn’t seem to matter how many layers one wore when the wind was so wet and biting. Spring was nowhere near as close as the calendar indicated.

  When she opened the interior door, the warmth and aroma of baking cookies filled her senses. She smiled as she unwound the scarf from her neck and pulled off her mittens.

  “I’m home,” she called out.

  “We’re in here,” Becca replied from the kitchen.

  “We” meaning Esther was with her. Esther often came home with Becca after school, more frequently on Fridays, like today. Charlotte enjoyed the banter and laughter that filled the house when the two girls were together. It reminded her of her own school days with Kit.

  In the kitchen, Becca and Esther were seated at the table, eating cookies, drinking milk, and giggling over a magazine.

  “Look at what Becca has, Miss Charlotte.” Esther’s bright smile lit her entire face. It had taken a little time for Esther to get used to her, but now the child was positively chatty when Charlotte was around. “Aren’t they handsome?”

  Charlotte peered down at the movie magazine. It was open to a page showing Peter York and another young actor from a film they’d starred in the previous year. “They are. And Mr. York is a very nice man on top of that, isn’t he, Becca?”

  “Oh, yes,” Becca said around a mouthful of cookie. “He treats everyone like they’re his friend.”

  “Did you know Angus Melin was from Nome?” Esther asked, pointing to the other actor’s picture. “His father and my father went to school together.”

  “How exciting,” Charlotte said. She sat down at the table and took a still-warm cookie from the plate. “What other films has he been in, do you know?”

  The girl shook her head. “I just know about this one. That’s why we were so excited to get the magazine. Mr. Carter at the drugstore let us go through a box of old issues.”

  Becca continued the story while Esther chewed. “Esther’s father told us Angus Melin was in one of the issues from a few months ago but didn’t know which one. Took us over an hour to find it.”

  “I salute your success,” Charlotte said, raising her cookie. The girls giggled and went back to the pages. “Are you staying for dinner, Esther?”

  That was another somewhat regular occurrence.

  “Her mot
her said it would be all right for me to eat there, then spend the night,” Becca said. She and Esther exchanged glances. “There’s a special get-together tomorrow starting early in the morning.”

  “Is there?” Had that been what Mary meant when she said she’d see Becca tomorrow?

  “Is it okay?” Becca asked.

  “Of course it is. Make sure you remember to bring your toothbrush with you this time.” Becca seemed relieved that Charlotte had agreed. “Did you think I wouldn’t let you go?”

  Both girls’ cheeks pinked.

  “Well,” Becca said, “with the way people are starting to talk about the AEC, like it’s some sort of group of hooligans, I wasn’t sure.”

  “I’m sure Esther and her family aren’t about to be part of a group that would do bad things.”

  Esther shook her head. “Oh, no. Mama doesn’t even spank us. Much.”

  “I know,” Becca said, “but sometimes Mr. Burrows can get a little . . .”

  She seemed at a loss for words.

  “Passionate?” Charlotte suggested.

  Becca smiled and Esther giggled. “Yes.”

  “That isn’t a bad thing,” Charlotte said. “It’s good to be passionate about something you believe in, as long as you aren’t condoning harm. I appreciate that Esther and her family are able to help you stay connected to your heritage.”

  The girls fell silent. Sensing their reluctance to continue in that vein, Charlotte took another cookie and rose. She hoped Becca understood that Charlotte was available to talk whenever she needed.

  “Clean up the kitchen before you head over to Esther’s,” Charlotte said as she left the room. “And take the cookies with you. If they stay here I’ll eat them all.”

  “That would be bad for your stomach,” Esther said, giggling.

  Several treats at Brigit’s and now two at home? Charlotte had better have a healthy supper. “And my waistline.”