Homicide by Hamlet (Cozy Mystery) Book #3 (Chubby Chicks Club Cozy Mystery Series)

by Lois Lavrisa

  “So that’s why she seemed obsessed with her appearance,” I added.

  Winona nodded. “Do you know the worst part? She wanted to leave her family home to me, so that I would have that as a legacy, as a part of her family. It’s like she was attempting to right some wrongs. Of course she thought I’d get it when she died, like decades from now, not…. ” Tears filled her eyes.

  I touched her arm. “But instead, she left her family home to Dwight?”

  She bowed her head. “He convinced her to put him as beneficiary on everything she owned.”

  Would that give Dwight enough reason to kill her and claim all of her assets? “Why did she allow him to do that?”

  “He insisted, and she gave in.”

  Why would a strong woman like Priscilla, buckle under the pressure of a man? “That’s too bad.”

  “I know. But the prenup would’ve overruled it. I haven’t found it yet. As long as I stay by his side, helping,” she grumbled the last word. “Maybe I’ll get a hold if it, and honor my mother’s wishes.” Winona stopped, wide-eyed. “You know that’s the first time I called her mother out loud?”

  “Did it feel good?” I smiled.

  “Too bad I couldn’t say it when she was alive.”

  “Yes, too bad. I can’t imagine how you must have felt having your own mother not publicly acknowledging that you’re her daughter.”

  “It was our arrangement. I didn’t like it, but I got used to it.”

  “Did Dwight know?”

  Winona shifted her stance. “I think he had his suspicions.”

  “Oh.” If he knew that she was Priscilla’s daughter, a daughter who could be entitled to her inheritance, maybe it was enough for him to kill Priscilla and harm Winona.

  “Listen, I’ve got to get going. I have a million things to do. Dwight is running me ragged. I’ll see you at the ceremony tonight.” She waved goodbye.

  Was Winona sincere? Innocent?

  Or had she provided me with all the information to further throw Dwight under the bus as a suspect, in order to divert the attention away from her?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I entered the auditorium and took a seat. Putting on my reading glasses, I pulled out Priscilla’s papers from the manila envelope Winona had given me. There were several handwritten notes on legal paper, some on smaller stationery and other various sizes of paper.

  Scanning through the first few sheets, I read about the arrangements for her wedding. The three-piece band she had reserved and various phone numbers of vendors for the event. A list of food she wanted her brother to make for the reception, prime rib, twice-baked potatoes, creamed corn, three-bean salad and a multitude of petit fours.

  My stomach growled just reading the menu.

  I thumbed through additional notes on wedding details, from the flower arrangements to the placement of chairs. Another piece of paper had information on her salon appointments, including a massage, facial, full-body wax, hair color and cut and a visit to a plastic surgeon. I speculated that she was getting her face freshened up with injectables like Botox and fillers to keep her face flawless.

  I decided this wasn’t relevant to the case, so I’d return the papers relating to Priscilla’s wedding back to Winona or Dwight. Perhaps they needed the contact information about who she hired so they could cancel plans, if they hadn’t already.

  There was also a stack of papers correlating to this week’s theater camp competition. I thumbed through them. Blocking notes. Casting ideas with her reasoning behind each suggestion, she had jotted down each student’s name and their strengths followed by the reason they’d work best in what part. Additional notes related to costumes, props and set.

  Nothing stuck out as unusual.

  Actually, it was quite the opposite. I was rather impressed Priscilla had had such insight. It appeared she’d taken her job as team leader very seriously, considering she was getting married the same week.

  Was getting married.

  A wave of sadness washed over me. We hadn’t gotten along, but all the same, I would never have wanted her dead. But someone did. And this happened in my camp, on my watch. I was determined to get closure on her case, as my own farewell performance before I went softly into the night of retirement.

  Then it occurred to me that the police might have already solved the case. Or at least were close to doing so. I had not spoken to José recently.

  Setting the pile of papers on my lap, I called him.

  He answered on the first ring. “Annie Mae, please tell me you’re just calling to say hi and that you’re keeping out of Ms. Woodham’s case.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m glad you brought up Priscilla. Have you solved her murder yet?”

  I heard him grumble. “Annie Mae, you know that I’m not going to tell you if we did or didn’t.”

  “What can you tell me?” I asked.

  “That when we close the case, you’ll know.”

  “I bet you can share with me a little itty bit now, can’t you?” I asked, using my sweetest voice.

  “I would if I could, but I can’t, so I won’t.”

  “Got it.” I hesitated a second. “Just know that you can call me anytime.”

  He laughed. “I know. Bye for now.”

  Flipping through the last few sheets of paper, I found a scrap, and on it Priscilla had written Wilbert’s name.

  Wilbert?

  Next to his name, she’d scribbled the word father with several question marks it.

  Was it the same Wilbert as my high school student team member? And if it was, why was his name written on her paper? Why did Priscilla want to know about his father?

  On the same paper, circled three times, were the words two shots.

  Maybe what she’d written wasn’t significant, but merely her random thoughts jotted down. Upon hearing a door open, I turned around and spotted Gerald.

  I waved a hand over my head. He joined me, settling into an adjacent chair. He always smelled like fresh laundry.

  “What are you doing in here all alone?” he asked.

  I stuffed the papers back in the envelope. “Winona gave me some of Priscilla’s things.”

  “Oh? What kind of things?”

  I held up the envelope. “A random assortment of papers and notes.”

  “Why did she give them to you?” He crossed his legs.

  “She was going to throw them out, but since it was marked theater camp, she thought I might find something useful to pass along.”

  “Did you?”

  “Not really. There were a bunch of wedding related notes, some theater notes and some random things jotted on scrap paper. Although, I’m wondering if they meant anything important.”

  “Like what?” He stretched his legs out.

  “She wrote the name Wilbert, then the word father followed by lots question marks.” I bit my lip. “Weird, huh?”

  He gave a slight shrug.

  I hesitated. “On that same scrap of paper she wrote the words two shots and circled it three times, like for emphasis.”

  Gerald looked away. “Sounds arbitrary to me.”

  “I’m not sure.” Why did the words two shots trouble me so much? I had to talk it out, and I was glad that I could confide in Gerald. “Do you think it could have anything to do with what she saw that night your friend tried to rob the convenience store?”

  He glanced at the ceiling. “I doubt it.”

  “Well, she witnessed it. She must’ve heard the shot, or shots.” I stopped. “Was your friend shot once? Or twice?”

  He touched his mouth. “I don’t remember. I sped off.”

  “So, you think when she wrote, two shots, it meant nothing?”

  “Yeah, probably just some nonsense.” He rubbed his mouth. “It’s adorable that you’re still playing detective. Annie Mae, I think you not only have a brilliant mind, but also a very active imagination.”

  I teasingly punched his arm. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
>
  “Yes, stop your investigation. Let it go. Relax.” He put on a flirtatious grin as he rubbed my arm. “Enjoy the last day of camp, then get on with your retirement and have fun.”

  I slouched into my chair. “Maybe you’re right.”

  He slung his arm over my shoulder. “And don’t you forget that.”

  I beamed. “I like us being like this. Friendly.”

  “Me too.”

  “Too bad it won’t last.” I thought about his confession.

  He pulled away and straightened his back. “Why?”

  “You said you were going to the police, after camp, and tell them about what happened in sixty nine.”

  His body tensed. “That’s right I was. I mean, I am. I guess I pushed it out of my mind until we finish today.”

  “I know you think you have to tell them because you want to clear your conscience. But I also think you should take your own advice and just let it go. What good will it do? You had done nothing wrong.”

  Gerald scratched behind his ear. “Let’s forget about all of that.” He stood. “I’ve got to finish up some things here before I change into my tux for tonight’s ceremony.”

  “I have a few things to do, too.” I gathered the envelope and rose from the seat.

  “Why don’t you give me that?” He extended his hand. “You said you’ve already gone through it and there was nothing important in it. And Winona wanted you to pass it along.”

  “Yeah.” I felt a sense of uneasiness snake through me. I couldn’t pin down why.

  Gerald smiled broadly. “Then I’ll take it off your hands.”

  My stomach knotted as I handed him the envelope.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Once Gerald left, I called José. “I need a tiny favor from you.”

  “Does this have anything to do with my investigation?” he asked.

  I let out a nervous chortle. “No. Yes. Not really. Maybe.”

  José sighed.

  “It’s about a robbery on Thanksgiving night, on fifty first and Waters Avenue, in nineteen sixty-nine,” I said.

  “Now, why would you be interested in that?”

  “I promise I have my reasons. But I can’t tell you them right now. Just trust me. Okay?” I softened my voice. “I know you love me.”

  “Playing the friend card, are we?” He let out an audible exhale. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  “Can you look up the police report, maybe if there were any witness statements …I don’t know any stuff like that.”

  “You’re pretty technical,” he laughed.

  “You’re my favorite man in the Chubby Chicks Club,” I teased.

  José chuckled. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Then he grumbled, “I’ll call you back after I take a look at the report.”

  After exiting the auditorium, I saw Wilbert heading toward the lobby door. “Wilbert, hold up.”

  He whirled around. “Hey. I was just leaving.”

  “Do you have a minute?” I asked, somewhat breathless after jogging over to him. Maybe when I retire, I’ll up my water aerobics classes and get in better shape.

  “Sure.” He stretched his arms over his head. “What do you need?”

  “It’s a little personal, and you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What can you tell me about your parents?” I asked.

  “They’re great. I mean, you know, for parents,” Wilbert said.

  After having taught college for three decades, I’d learned teenagers and young adults often had a love-hate relationship with their parents. “What can you tell me about your dad?”

  “He’s pretty cool. I mean strict as can be, but he’s okay. I guess he’s just protecting me from being wild like he was in high school.” He raked a hand through his mop of hair. “I guess he got in a lot of trouble back then.”

  “May I ask what kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, stupid things. Teepeeing trees, ditching classes, being a ladies man, and other things like that.”

  “Has he lived here long?”

  “Yes. His whole life. Did you know he went to high school with Ms. Woodham?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, he told me that he dated her, like the summer before their senior year. It’s kind of strange, but my dad asks a lot of questions about her assistant, you know that lady who follows her around. I mean used to follow her around all the time.”

  “Your dad asks questions about her, do you know why?”

  “Not sure.” He tugged at his shirt collar. “But, the first day of camp he walked me in to make sure I was registered and all that. Anyway, Ms. Woodham was there and so was her helper, um—”

  “Winona,” I added.

  “Yeah. Winona. And my dad saw them together and he sort of turned white.” He rubbed his cheek. “This is the first year Winona has worked at theater camp, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” My heart screamed to a halt. Maybe it was a far-flung hunch, but then again, maybe not. Could Wilbert’s dad also be Winona’s father? “Why do you think he reacted like that?”

  “Not sure. But he sure asked me a lot of questions about her. I thought he, you know, might have the hots for her. But, my mom and him are really tight. So I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “What’s your dad’s name?”

  “Kevin, well actually Angelo, but he went by his middle name. And, of course, the same last name as mine.”

  “Mandalari, right?”

  A car horn beeped.

  Wilbert put his hand on the door. “That’s Umika, my ride. See you tonight.”

  Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I wondered if I could dig around Pricilla’s office and find anything to ease the itch I had about Winona and Wilbert being related.

  Priscilla’s office door was ajar when I knocked on it. “Anyone here?”

  A voice behind the door said, “C’mon in.”

  I found Winona bent over a stack of books. Boxes stood nearby.

  Winona greeted me and said, “I’m determined to get her office cleared out today. But she had so many things, it might take days to sort through all this.”

  “I bet. How’s it going?” The desk drawers were open, the top piled with an assortment of knickknacks.

  “You know, after I told you my secret, I felt a bit lighter. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Nope. I bet it’s a relief not to hold that in anymore.”

  She straightened and squared her shoulders. “You know, it is.”

  “Maybe you should consider telling everyone?”

  “Maybe.” She hung her head. “I don’t know.”

  “No pressure. You’ll know when the time is right.” Like when I tell you that you have a half-brother and that I found your biological father.

  Winona knelt on the brown carpeted floor and shuffled through a pile of papers. “Now if I could just find the prenup.”

  “Do you know who her attorney was?”

  She slumped. “Nope. And Dwight is keeping tight-lipped about the name. There are like a million attorneys in Savannah. I can’t call each one. But you didn’t come here to hear me ramble on about my problems. What can I do for you?”

  “Did Pricilla happen to have any of her high school yearbooks in here?” I said.

  She pointed at the packed bookshelf. “Help yourself.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try not to bother you.”

  “No problem, I’m leaving anyway. I need a break.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Would you please lock up when you leave?”

  The shelves sagged under the weight of the books. I scanned through each and every title on the spines. Several minutes later, on the bottom shelf, I found four high school yearbooks. Their covers faded and pages yellowed. I selected the one from Priscilla’s senior year. Upon opening the book, a whiff of mustiness filled my nostrils.

  Turning the pages, I looked for anything at all to do with Priscilla and Wilbert’s fat
her. I went to the index and looked up Woodham. I flipped to the corresponding pages. It buoyed my spirit when I saw pictures of Priscilla and realized how much Winona resembled her.

  Finding a stack of post-it notes, I stuck one on each page that had a picture of Priscilla. I wanted Winona to see them. Maybe it would help her feel connected to her mom. I put a sticky note on the outside that said, ‘Winona, you might want to keep these, take a look at the pages I marked.’

  There were a section of formal portraits of the senior class. Under Priscilla’s picture she had her favorite color: Purple, her favorite food: French Fries, and a quote from the movie Stripes, Bill Murray’s character, John Winger: “We are Americans with a capital A, huh? You know what that means? Do you? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refugees. We’re the underdogs. We’re the mutts.”

  Why had she chosen that quote? Was it because she felt like a misfit? As though she didn’t fit in?

  I choked up with sorrow.

  She must’ve felt so out of place. I bet all her classmates were moving on with their lives, perhaps going on to college, trade school or jobs. Still hanging onto their dreams and innocence. No doubt, Priscilla’s pregnancy had greatly changed the trajectory of her life.

  Skimming through the pages, I found Angelo Kevin Mandalari’s senior picture. Under his name was his nickname: “The K Man.”

  K-Man.

  Cayman.

  When Priscilla gave the father’s name for Winona’s birth certificate, she must have given his nickname. And the clerk could have very well spelled it, ‘c-a-y-m-a-n.’

  Excitement coursed through me.

  Winona was not alone. She had a father and a half-brother. I had to tell her.

  The buzzing of my cell phone startled me. I checked the caller ID. It was José.

  “Hey, do you have good news?” I asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said.

  “So?”

  “After a lot of digging, I found a few things,” he said.

  “Like what?” I could hear my own impatience.

  “For the Thanksgiving night, 1969, attempted robbery on fifty first and Waters Avenue which ended in a fatality.” José paused. I could hear him breathing deeply. “There was a witness. And what a coincidence. It’s the very same person in our current investigation, Ms. Priscilla Woodham. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”