“One for us and one for them,” Nastasi said, as he, Dean Brown, and I walked back to Nastasi’s law office for lunch.
It was to be another shortened day in court. Judge Tapansky had announced that all Las Vegas courts were closing at noon to allow judges to attend the funeral of a colleague.
In Nastasi’s conference room, Evelyn had again arranged for a tray of sandwiches and assorted sodas to be delivered. “The subpoena for Jane Kildare’s phone records is being prepared,” she said as we took seats around the table.
“Good,” said Nastasi. He said to me, “Another example of the state rushing to judgment, Jessica. They subpoenaed only phone records for the victim and the person they decided had killed him. Glad you suggested getting Jane’s records.”
“Thank you. What’s next?”
Nastasi laughed. “For you? I thought you might like to spend the afternoon playing tourist.”
“Not on your life. Now that I’m a member of this team, I expect to play an active role.”
“Okay,” Nastasi said, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head, “how about telling me about this woman in your hometown who claims she saw Martha hit Victor and threaten to kill him. Name’s Joyce Wenk.”
“I really know very little about her, except that it’s doubtful she would be attending a social gathering with Martha and Victor. Martha says Mrs. Wenk is a recluse, lives outside of Cabot Cove with her husband and a mildly retarded son. I can make some calls.”
“Good. Do that. You can use the phones here, if you like. What else can you do?”
“I think it’s time I paid a call on Victor’s ex-wives, Daria and Bunny.”
“Both had alibis for the time of the murder.”
“Everyone seems to have had an alibi,” I said, “but if I can convince them to talk with me, they may give me an insight into the man they married, and who his enemies might have been.”
“I like that. Any chance you can give me a write-up on your interviews?”
“I didn’t bring my computer with me, but if you can manage to decipher my handwriting, I’ll try to put it all down for you.”
Nastasi slid a yellow legal pad across the table in my direction. “If you can manage to write it, I’ll manage to read it.”
“Any other interviews planned?” Nastasi asked me.
“I thought I’d also look up a woman who was at Martha and Victor’s wedding, Betsy Cavendish.”
“Why?”
“No special reason, but she was Martha’s good friend out here in Las Vegas. I’m surprised she hasn’t been in the courtroom. I’d just like to see how she is.”
“Go to it,” Nastasi said.
“Will we meet again later today?” I asked.
“No. I’m going to the funeral, too, and I have a dinner commitment with family and friends. I’ll see you in court tomorrow morning.”
I decided to make my telephone calls from the comfort of my suite at the Bellagio. With no end to the heat wave in sight, I wanted to change from the suit I wore to court into something more lightweight. I telephoned Seth as soon as I got in, hoping I could still catch him despite the time difference. He was in, and I was put on hold while he finished up with a patient.
“Working late today, I see,” I said when he came on the line. “I thought you were planning to take afternoons off this summer for golf.”
“Played yesterday, matter of fact,” he said.
“How did you do?”
“Was afraid you’d ask that.”
“That bad, huh?” I said, laughing.
“Tiger Woods is in no danger from me. In fact, I’m beginnin’ to wonder what the attraction is to chasin’ a little white ball around the lawn.”
“So it was not your best game. You’ll improve, Seth. You just need more practice.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself, but it’s a humbling experience, especially when Margaret Kenney’s youngest has a better score than mine. I brought that boy into the world. He should have more respect than to beat his doctor in a golf game. Anyway, you didn’t call to hear about my golfing woes, and I want to know how Martha’s doing. Knew she never shoulda married that guy.” I could visualize Seth shaking his head.
“She’s all right,” I said, “but the prosecution is piling up a lot of circumstantial evidence against her. They have a deposition from Joyce Wenk, swearing that during their visit to Cabot Cove last year, Martha hit Victor and threatened to kill him. I don’t know her. Do you?”
“I know the family, but haven’t seen them for a long time. They don’t come into town all that often.”
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Wenk?”
“There’s not much to tell about her. She’s married to Larry Wenk. He used to work over at the mill in Twin Harbors. Not sure if he still does. One child, a son, who’s a little slow. I tried to get him in a special program some years back and she vetoed it. Home-schools the boy. They keep pretty much to themselves.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all that comes to mind, but I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows more.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I said. “Martha says she doesn’t remember seeing Joyce Wenk when they were in Cabot Cove, and absolutely never raised a hand to Victor.”
“Can’t see Martha being violent. It’s not in her nature.”
“You know that and I know that, but we have a jury to convince. Here’s where you can reach me.” I gave Seth the telephone number of the hotel and my room number, as well as Vince Nastasi’s office number. “I’ll be moving to Martha’s house tomorrow. You have that number.”
“I don’t like that idea one bit.”
“Why, Seth?”
“A murder took place in that house, Jess.”
“The housekeeper has been living there all this time,” I said. Not wanting to get into a debate with Seth, I didn’t mention that she might be leaving soon. “And Victor’s bodyguard lives on the property,” I added. “So I think I’ll be quite safe.”
“It would give me the willies living there, I tell you that.”
We spoke for a few more minutes and then rang off.
After changing into a cotton shirtwaist, I pulled out the Las Vegas telephone directory and looked up the numbers and addresses I needed, jotting them on a pad the Bellagio provided. Bunny Kildare was out and I left a voice message for her. There was no answer at Daria’s house either, but considering our last encounter, I decided that personal contact would increase my chances of getting an interview. I hung up before an answering machine picked up. My third call was more successful.
“Of course I remember you, Jessie,” Betsy Cavendish said when I reached her at home. “I’ve been following the trial on TV, saw you there, too. Told my friend Winnie, ‘There’s that mystery writer I met at Martha’s wedding.’ Poor Martha. Who would believe that lovely girl could hurt a flea? It’s just a damn shame. If I could walk, I’d be in the courtroom, too. She needs all the support she can get. Thank goodness you’re there. That Fordice character has it in for her, I can tell.”
When I was able to get in a question or two, I learned that Betsy had fallen and broken her hip. She was recuperating from a hip replacement operation and confined to her apartment. She eagerly accepted my suggestion that I come to visit her, and after stopping at the Bellagio’s flower shop, I took a cab to her apartment house.
Betsy’s friend Winnie answered the door. She was the opposite of Betsy in every detail, tall where Betsy was short, round where Betsy was thin, and taciturn, an adjective that never could be applied to Betsy. I introduced myself, and after greeting Betsy, who was propped up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her—the apartment air-conditioning was turned to high—gave Winnie the flowers I’d brought. She took them without a word and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Those look just like the roses from Martha’s wedding,” Betsy said, smoothing the blanket over her knees. “I’ll never forget them. From Ecuador, right? It’s so ni
ce of you to come. Have you played the slots at all since you got here? That’s the worst part of sitting home all day. I can’t get out to my activities. I haven’t been to a casino in months. I miss my slots. No clink-clink-clink to inspire me. Haven’t been to the chapels either, but at least I have my scrapbook. If it weren’t for Wmnie, I’d be bored out of my mind. Take a seat. Tell me how Martha is. I hope she doesn’t think I deserted her. Do you think she’ll get off? She doesn’t look too good on the television. Pale. Tell her to put on a brighter lipstick and some blusher.”
I sat on a chair across from the television, hoping I hadn’t taken Winnie’s seat. The TV was tuned to the Court TV channel with the sound turned down. I waited till Betsy paused in her discourse before saying: “Martha was concerned about you. She was worried something had happened. I told her I’d check on you and report back.”
“What a doll. Didja hear that, Winnie? Martha was worried about me.”
Wmnie emerged from the kitchen with the roses artfully arranged in a glass vase. She placed them on the coffee table and took a seat on the end of Betsy’s couch. Conversation halted while the three of us admired the floral display.
“They’re gorgeous. Thanks, Jessie.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “How are you feeling? I’m sorry to see you off your feet.”
“Oh, I’m mending just fine,” she said. “Taking a bit of a break right now. I’ve gotta exercise every day. A lady from physical therapy comes and tortures me three times a week, but I’m making progress. Right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded.
“The biggest problem is boredom,” she continued. “These four walls get old real fast. Know what I mean? I can only use the walker for a short time. Then I poop out. But me and Winnie’re gonna rent a wheelchair and hit the slots this Saturday. Lots of casinos are set up for the handicapped, and I’m one of them now. We’re gonna test out their services.” She winked at me. “One of these days, when I’m steadier on my pins, we’ll make it back to the chapels, too.”
“I remember your telling me you like to go to weddings,” I said.
“One of my favorite things—besides playing the slot machines—is sitting in the downtown chapels and watching the weddings. I just love seeing the people who get married. They’re so comical, some of them, and sad sometimes. Winnie and I used to go every week. We were usually the only ones there besides the bride and groom. I’d take my camera and shoot snapshots of the happy couple as they left the chapel in their wedding finery. I must have more ’n a hundred pictures like that in there.” She pointed to an old-fashioned scrapbook with a pale green cover and black pages tied together on one side with green string. “I bet those pictures would make a good book, you know, the kind people have stacked up on their coffee tables. I’d call it Marriage Las Vegas Style.”
“That’s a good title,” I said.
“I bet you’ve got connections in the publishing business. Want to see my pictures?”
“Perhaps later, if you don’t mind,” I said. “What I’d really like is to talk to you about Victor and Martha. I’m hoping you can give me some insights into their life that might help me help her.”
“Oh, how exciting,” she said. “What can I tell you?”
“Of course, you already have a guest,” I said, smiling at Winnie. “Please tell me if this isn’t a convenient time. I can come back.”
“No! This is perfect. This is great. Winnie doesn’t mind. Right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded.
“I’ll be a witness if you want,” Betsy said. “I’d be a great witness. We’d whup that Fordice good.”
“I don’t know if Martha’s lawyer will need you, but I’ll certainly let him know you’re willing to testify.”
“Great! What else?”
“First, I need to know if you saw them together enough times to gauge their relationship. The prosecution is suggesting that Martha and Victor were on the brink of a breakup. How often did you visit? And did you see any evidence of friction between them? Or any evidence to the contrary?”
“Before I got laid up—and before Martha got arrested—I used to see her at least once a month, sometimes more. A couple of times when Victor was away, I stayed at the house with her for a week. Most of the time I saw Martha by herself because Victor traveled a lot. And when he was home, she was jealous of her time with him.”
“Did you ever seen them together?”
“Oh, sure. Sometimes, after he’d been home for a while, I’d go out there, or they’d take me for dinner at a hotel on the Strip. Victor was always whispering how grateful he was to me for keeping Martha company when he was away. He even brought me a pearl bracelet as a thank-you gift. Winnie, go get my bracelet so Jessie can see it.”
Betsy’s friend left the room.
“When they were together, how did they get along?”
“It was so romantic to see them. They were like a couple of newlyweds. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, always pulling her to his side for a hug or kissing her hair. And she blushed a lot, but I could tell she liked it.”
Winnie returned with a blue leather box, which she snapped open and handed to me. Nestled on black velvet inside was a heavy gold bracelet; each link was a flower, and each flower had a pearl center.
“Pretty spectacular, huh?”
“It’s very beautiful,” I said.
“Martha was so happy with him when he gave me the bracelet, she was gushing. ‘Isn’t he thoughtful? Isn’t he wonderful?’ That’s the way she talked all night. He gave her something, too, but she was more excited about mine. Not that she wanted it for herself, but she was genuinely happy for me that he’d gotten me a gift. They don’t make ’em like my friend Martha, right, Winnie?”
I looked at Winnie. “I’d say you’re fortunate in all your friends, Betsy.”
“Anyway, it’s gorgeous, but I can’t wear it.”
“Why not?”
“Too fancy, that’s why. I’d be terrified someone would steal it right off my wrist. Those things have been known to happen, you know. Especially at some of the older casinos, where the security isn’t as high-tech as the new ones.”
“That’s a shame,” I said. “You should enjoy it. It’s too lovely to sit in a box and never get worn.”
“I enjoy just looking at it, and knowing it’s mine. Right, Winnie?”
I closed the bracelet box and handed it back to Winnie, who immediately went to put it away. “Betsy,” I said, “I know Martha was unhappy about Victor’s traveling so much without her. Did she ever confide in you? Were there other problems in the marriage?”
“I don’t think they had a lot of problems between them, but there were a lot of pressures on her.”
“What kind of pressures?”
“Jane, for instance. Martha was always trying to make friends with Jane. Not to speak disrespectfully, but Jane is a bit of a brat, and she’s a little old to be so childish. Didn’t I say that, Winnie? Jane behaves like a spoiled child, making Martha jump through hoops for her.”
Winnie sat down again.
“What kind of hoops?” I asked.
“That business of not keeping their lunch date, for instance. I don’t believe that she didn’t get the message. One time she didn’t show up at a dinner party Martha threw for Victor’s birthday, because Martha hadn’t sent her an invitation. They were living in the same house at the time. And Martha had included her in the planning, too.”
“What other pressures were on Martha?”
“Oh, his ex-wives demanding attention. I told her to put them off, tell them to talk to Victor when he got home. But she was too polite to do that, always trying to solve their problems.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, Bunny, for instance, is always running out of cash. Victor paid her good alimony, too. They weren’t even married that long. She was always whining about needing more. Me, I think she’s got a bit of a gambling problem. Probably should be in GA—that’s Gamblers A
nonymous, if you didn’t know.”
“I’ve heard of it. Would Martha give Bunny money?”
“Yeah. She’d call Victor’s lawyer and authorize a transfer. Victor never complained about it. I think he was just happy he didn’t have to deal with Bunny himself.”
“And the other wives? Did they pressure Martha, too?”
“Daria probably the least, but she gets the most alimony. After all, she was the mother of his only child. Then again, she didn’t have to harass Martha. She could have Jane do it. I think she was jealous of Martha. She’d show up at the house, supposedly to see Jane, and start ordering the housekeeper around.”
“That seems to be a common pattern on the part of Victor’s exes,” I said, remembering my odd encounter with Cindy at Martha and Victor’s house.
“Martha was very upset. She was afraid Isobel would leave them.”
“Do you think she would have?”
“Left? Never! Not while Victor was alive. Now? I don’t know. But she was very fond of Martha. So maybe she’ll stay.”
“And Cindy?” I asked. “What about her?”
“Cindy’s a leech, always borrowing things and forgetting to return them. Made Victor store her stuff when she moved so she wouldn’t have to pay for storage. Cheap is what she is—with her own money. When she had Victor’s, she spent it like crazy.”
“They’re quite a trio, aren’t they?”
“You could say for a bright guy, Victor didn’t have a lotta luck with his wives—except his last one.”
“Unless she’s the one who killed him,” a soft voice said. They were the first words I’d heard from Wmnie.
Chapter Thirteen
I left Betsy’s apartment with her green scrapbook under my arm. She had insisted I take it. “I’ll look it over and send it back to you,” I told you.
“No hurry. You don’t have to look at it right away. Take it home, and when you have nothing to do, page through it. You’ll love my pictures, I know it. But if you don’t, I won’t be offended. Don’t worry about that. We can still decide together where to send it. With your connections in the publishing business and my talent, that book’ll be on our coffee tables in no time. You’ll see.”
You Bet Your Life Page 13