Murder at Royale Court

by G. P. Gardner

  He grimaced and shrugged. “I guess you call them. The worst she’ll do is harangue you if they’ve already found it.”

  Mary Montgomery answered this time, and it wasn’t a bad call. “Riley’s got something to tell you.” I passed the phone to him.

  Chapter 18

  Riley told Montgomery about the bike in Todd’s garage and then returned the phone to me.

  “He found another one of those printed investment invitations on the desk,” I told her. “It’s here at my apartment now and Wheat’s business name is written in.”

  “I want it. I hope you didn’t handle it. I may need a search warrant for the bike.” Montgomery sounded weary. “It would be a Sunday.”

  “Want to go to the pier?” Riley asked when I hung up. “I’d like to keep some distance from Todd until the bike’s out of here.”

  I got a jacket and my phone, hung my bag on my shoulder, and locked the door. As we stepped from the porch to the sidewalk, I glanced toward Riley’s apartment. “Can you look out your kitchen window and see me on my porch?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t even walk down the sidewalk without feeling like I’m stalking you.”

  I laughed. “So, if I were sitting here on my porch with somebody—a murderer, let’s say—I’m on my own?”

  He winced. “Cleo. I think you’re getting obsessed with this murder.”

  I thought so, too. And there was only one way out.

  It was breezy, and there were lots of cars still in front of L’Etoile Bistro for Sunday brunch. But in an interesting reversal, half the parking spaces around the circular drive at the pier were empty.

  “We should’ve asked if Nita wanted to ride with us,” I said.

  “It’s too cold for her. It may be too cold for us, too. You’re sure you want to walk?”

  “Let’s go.”

  It was cool but not too cool. The wind was out of the southwest, often a sign of approaching rain and definitely an indication that my hair would be in my face on the return walk. I pulled my jacket close and walked fast, thinking we could make one trip out and back, then warm up in the car.

  “Sailboats.” Riley pointed to the north, toward the yacht club. Half a dozen small boats were lined up and racing for shore. He got his hand back into a jacket pocket right away. The wind was stiff and my cheeks and lips were chapping with every step.

  We passed the restaurant at the middle of the pier and the little marina beyond it. Ten or fifteen boats were tied up there, bobbing with the waves, lines jingling and clanking.

  We met a group of walkers as we approached the fishing platform at the end of the pier. One woman spoke to me but kept walking. I’d gone several steps before I realized who she was.

  Prissy!

  The same age as Devon Wheat. Worked in the shop where his body was found. Knew he was buying Royale Court. Why wasn’t she on my list of suspects? There was the matter of physical capability—was Prissy physically strong enough to strangle someone? I turned to take another look at her, but her group had rearranged itself and I couldn’t identify her at such a distance.

  Riley watched. “What’s up?”

  “Ann’s niece. Could someone my size have strangled Devon Wheat?”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “You’re full of troubling questions today. I prefer to think that’s not possible.”

  A few people stood on the fishing platform at the end of the pier, a quarter of a mile out in the bay. All were bundled up, their lines strung out taut to the north. The resident pelican was there, too, supervising. It looked gigantic up close and hopped away when anyone came near.

  The sun was almost obscured by clouds. It was still hours away, but there seemed to be little prospect for a magnificent sunset today.

  “I guess they’re rare this time of year,” Riley said.

  We didn’t linger, just turned around and headed for shore, shoulders hunched against the wind. It didn’t feel quite so fierce coming from our back, but I was already half frozen.

  My phone rang before we reached the restaurant on the return leg. The ID was a surprise. Travis McKenzie? On a weekend? But Stephanie was in Houston, flying back to Birmingham about now. I signaled a stop to Riley, pulled my collar up in an attempt to shield the phone from the wind, and answered.

  “Hi,” Travis said. “How was the banquet?”

  “Good. Is there a problem?”

  “Does there have to be a problem for me to call?”

  “Sorry. I’m on the pier and it’s windy. But I’m glad you called. I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Did you know Devon Wheat? The man who was killed.”

  He hesitated but sounded normal when he answered. “I talked with him a few times. He was a friend of my sister-in-law when she lived there. We’d run into him at restaurants.”

  There was a long pause. So long that I thought I’d lost the connection, which happened sometimes at the pier. “I bought into that scam, Cleo. A quarter of a million. I can’t believe I did it. I’ve kicked myself to Waco and back, but yes, I knew him. Not well, obviously. Not nearly well enough.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I paced back and forth, a few steps in each direction. It was easier to hear when I faced east. “I guess that explains why you left early.”

  “My attorney’s working on it now. I hope he can salvage something, and I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll stick with what I know from now on.”

  “You visited him in Royale Court last week? It’s a good thing the security cameras weren’t working. Otherwise, the cops would be talking with you about now.”

  There was another pause. “Is that true? The cameras weren’t working?”

  “So I hear. Did you invest through Devon Wheat?”

  “He had a good line. My advisor tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen.”

  “Maybe your check hasn’t cleared yet.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Well, good luck.” I asked about his weekend.

  Stephanie and her little family were already on their way back to Birmingham, he said. Their weekend together had been good. He’d call later, maybe tomorrow.

  After he hung up, I realized why he’d called. He was feeling lonely after Stephanie’s departure.

  Riley was waiting up ahead, sheltered by the corner of the restaurant, watching the last of the little sailboats blend into the coastline.

  I caught up with him as I dropped the phone into my bag. “Stephanie’s been in Houston for the weekend.”

  My hand was stiff with cold. He cradled it with his and tucked both into his warm jacket pocket as we walked toward the shore. I had a lump in my throat. I not only felt sorry for Travis, but I also felt guilty for misleading Riley. True, Stephanie had been in Houston, but saying it the way I did implied that the call had been from her. My teeth were chattering by the time we reached the car.

  Riley started the engine and turned on the seat heaters. “This wasn’t such a good idea, was it? I need better excuses to see you.”

  “You could just come to the apartment, you know. Everybody else did today.” I rubbed my hands together, then rubbed my arms with both hands. “That was Travis on the phone just now. Can you keep a secret?”

  He recoiled and stared. “What?”

  “Maybe it shouldn’t be a secret. Maybe the cops need to know. But I don’t want to tell them.”

  “Tell them what?” he asked again, putting his hand on my shoulder so I’d look at him.

  I told him about Travis’s investment in the Royale.

  He leaned back and relaxed, still holding my shoulder. “A quarter million? Ouch!” He gave me a squeeze. “I was afraid you might be going back to him.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. There’s a new man in my life.” />
  “Hmm.” He smiled, then took my hand and kissed it. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  On the drive home, Riley gave a last-minute signal and turned in at Piggly Wiggly. “Nita asked for some wine. I won’t be long.”

  I got out of the car to go with him and saw Vickie Wiltshire just coming out of the new drugstore.

  “Cleo! Long time no see!” she called. “Riley, I hope you’ve made a decision, sweetheart.” She wagged her finger. “Ticktock.”

  “How are you, Vickie?” He sounded remote.

  “I just got Todd’s house listed. I’ll put it on MLS tonight and there’s already another person interested. Don’t tell me y’all are hungry again! After that big dinner last night? Whew! I’ve got enough bread pudding to last a week.”

  Riley gave her an impatient wave and nudged me forward. “You want anything?”

  “I seem to have missed something.”

  As I was saying the words and going through the automatic door, I almost missed another thing. Mary Montgomery was charging toward the exit, carrying a bag from the deli.

  “Hey, Mary!”

  She looked up, frowning. “I just came from your apartment.”

  “A social call?”

  Riley gave a wave and went on without me.

  Mary snorted, as if the idea of paying me a social call was a ridiculous one. “Chief says you got more information about Wheat.”

  The woman at the nearest checkout looked up. “Wheat? That guy who got stabbed with knitting needles?”

  Mary gave the poor woman one of her stares. “You know anything about it?”

  I knew those stares were withering, but the checkout lady seemed unaffected. She shook her head. “I hear it all. Hope you find the guy.”

  Mary persisted. “You think it’s a guy? With knitting needles?”

  “Is that right?” She shrugged and scanned a bag of dog food, and I grinned at Montgomery.

  She rolled her eyes. “You going home? I’ll come by later.”

  “Bring your food and talk with us while you eat. We’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Hmm,” she grunted.

  She was on the porch a few minutes later, when Riley and I got there.

  I offered to open my bottle of merlot, but Montgomery was on duty. So we sat at my dining table and Mary wolfed down a barbecue sandwich while Riley and I built up our appetites. “You aren’t hungry?” she asked him.

  “I am hungry. But we’re going to dinner in a little while.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She started to pick up her food, but I put out a hand to stop her.

  “We aren’t invited until five thirty.”

  Riley looked at his watch. “Actually, I may go earlier. Jim’s watching football. Washington’s our team.”

  Montgomery thanked us for the tip on the bicycle. “The kid says he found it in the alley behind the Bistro. Any chance he’s telling the truth?”

  I said yes. Riley wasn’t sure. But we told her some other things we’d learned that day, most of which she already knew, and turned over the new investment invitation. I asked if Prissy had been interviewed.

  Montgomery gave an emphatic nod. “Oh, yes.”

  “You think a woman could strangle a man?” I asked.

  Montgomery held her arms out and looked down at her pumpkin-shaped form. “I’m a woman, if you haven’t noticed. Think I could strangle somebody?”

  There was no doubt.

  She hadn’t heard about the prowler in the knit shop Thursday night.

  “Ann said she hadn’t told you about it.”

  She bristled. “And why not?”

  “She thought it wasn’t important. Kids, probably, and they didn’t take anything. Not even some cash she leaves there.”

  “What were they doing? Trying to scare her? See, that’s what happens when people don’t open up about what they know. We could’ve questioned Prissy about it. Probably cleared it up.”

  Riley asked, “Did you get any fingerprints from the invitation Ann found?”

  “A bunch.” She looked at me. “Yours, probably. We need to get your prints for elimination.”

  “Remember Todd wanted to invest in a Royale, the car mentioned in the invitation.”

  “Royale as in Royale Court.” She frowned. “Was this car at the show?”

  “No. Only six or seven were made, eighty years ago.”

  “And worth millions?” She shook her head. “Ain’t no car worth millions. How does that happen?”

  “Scarcity and demand,” Riley answered, “if economics is anything to go by. Why are people willing to pay so much? For that, you’ll need a psychologist. Probably something related to toilet training.” He told her about Grandfather Barnwell’s list of approved investments. “There were about forty options. Blue chips. No exotic automobiles.”

  Montgomery shrugged. “Well, there was some sense in the gene pool at one time. And Devon Wheat was managing the money? Odd choice for the old man.”

  Riley agreed. “The kid’s immature. His grandfather probably thought Wheat would relate better.”

  I reminded her that Handleman claimed the particular car cited in the investment invitation didn’t exist. “Wikipedia disagrees.”

  “But the scam’s real,” Riley said. “There’s always somebody willing to take your money, and Todd would’ve been easy prey.”

  His phone rang as I was seeing Montgomery off. He stayed inside talking for a minute, then followed us out to the porch and told Mary good-bye.

  “That was Jim,” Riley said. “You want to go over now?”

  “Football? I guess not.”

  He left, and I went next door to talk with Ann.

  “I was just thinking about heating some soup. You hungry?”

  “Starving, but I’m going to dinner soon. Fix something for yourself if you want to.”

  She waved me to the couch and I asked about Evie.

  “She’s got a cold, but it’s not flu. I told her to stay home a day or two. I hope you’ve got something to tell me.”

  “I’m working on it. I want to know what happened Thursday night. What makes you think someone went into the knit shop?”

  “There’s no think about it, honey. Somebody was there.” She went back to her chair. “First of all, the lock’s not commercial quality. A credit card can open it. I figured there’s no point installing dead bolts on a knit shop. Anyway, if somebody wants in, they don’t have to break the glass. And this was a polite prowler Thursday night. He even locked up when he left.”

  “So how do you know he was there?”

  She rolled her eyes. “There’s no doubt. Somebody went through everything. Special orders, invoices, yarn substitution guides. Laid everything out on the counter, even customers’ measurements and design notes.”

  “But didn’t take anything?”

  “We’re planning this February retreat, with menus and class schedules and supply lists. It’s a huge undertaking. If I’d had any idea—well, just say he took it all apart, spread things out everywhere, and left it. If we had anything confidential, I’d be worried. But there’s not. No social security numbers, no bank account information. And nothing was taken.”

  “Not even money, you said.”

  “We leave thirty dollars in the register every night. That’s the change fund for the next day. It was all there. No indication he even touched the register.”

  “And you know it wasn’t Prissy? Maybe she went in late and did some planning for the retreat.”

  She was shaking her head. “That was my first thought, but Prissy lacks initiative. If the place were on fire, she’d wait to see what I thought about calling the fire department. I asked her anyway, and asked Usher, too. By the way, he came to see Evie this afternoon. He says you gave him courage.”

&nb
sp; “Really?”

  “Did he rave the whole time?”

  I shook my head. “No. He seemed better today.”

  Ann sighed deeply. “Cleo, did Usher murder that man? If he did, I hope you’ll give him the strength to admit it.”

  I didn’t know the answer to that question, and I didn’t want to tell her his name was still on my list of suspects.

  * * * *

  Scooping the cat box and walking to the garbage bins was a daily chore. It was only a week since Daylight Savings Time had ended and now it was getting dark by late afternoon. I lifted the lid of the container, dropped the plastic bag into the bin, and let the lid drop back in place with a soft thud.

  Todd Barnwell stood a few feet away, watching me. Goose bumps shot up my arms.

  “You startled me.” I brushed my hands together.

  “I saw you coming. Are you going to town?”

  “Well, no, I wasn’t. Are you looking for a ride?”

  He looked taller at such close proximity, but slender and boyish. While he was on my list of possible suspects, he was a bit like Travis—someone I didn’t quite take seriously as a bad guy.

  He nodded about wanting a ride and jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “The cops took the bike. I wasn’t riding it anyway.” He walked beside me, up the sidewalk toward my apartment.

  “How did you come to have Devon’s bike?”

  “Just took it. Like, to bug him. But when I heard he was dead, I was afraid people might think…you know. I was going to put it back, but I had to figure out when, so I wouldn’t have to explain stuff. It was just easier to put it in the garage and cover it up. I guess Vickie saw it when she looked at the house. Or Riley, maybe. You didn’t turn me in, I know.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He did a full-body shrug with a laugh.

  “And do the cops suspect you?” I asked. “Have they interviewed you yet?”

  “Yeah, yeah. But I don’t know anything.”

  “You know where you got the bike, and when. That could be pretty important to the investigation.”

  “That’s what they said, and I told them, behind the Bistro, Wednesday night. We went over and over all that.”