Ghost on the Case

by Carolyn Hart

  Sylvie broke in. “Juliet’s my psych prof. You know, the one I thought set up the contest. She’s great. She’s as nice as can be and she reminds me of champagne—”

  Susan looked at her sister again.

  Sylvie grinned. “I don’t sit around drinking champagne out of a slipper. But that sure sounds neat. I’ve read all about champagne, how even one glass makes you feel like a helium balloon. That’s why Juliet—she asks us to call her that—why she reminds me of champagne. Fizzy and fun. I can tell you that she never in a million years ever hurt anyone.”

  Being in the same room with Sylvie was exhilarating and made me feel even younger than my favored twenty-seven, the kind of young that believes in unicorns and treasure maps and happy, happy serendipity. I hoped very much that Juliet Rodriguez never disappointed Sylvie. But here was a question that needed to be answered, and Wilbur Fitch’s secretary should know the answer. “Wilbur hired Juliet to catalogue his library. Did she have a background for that kind of work?”

  Susan this time carefully didn’t look toward Sylvie. “Juliet worked at the college library when she was an undergrad.”

  That scarcely met American Library Association standards for cataloguing. I continued to look inquiring.

  “Well,” Susan said, “he put an ad in the Gazette. Two librarians applied. He had some really valuable old books. I think a Shakespeare folio and at least one Gutenberg Bible. Then he met Juliet at a party. Of course”—a glance at Sylvie—“she’s very charming and quite beautiful.”

  I persisted. “Did he make any comment to you about Ms. Rodriguez?”

  That brought a quick smile. “He said she made him feel like he was sixteen again and that was a hell of a good year and he liked having her around and he didn’t care if she catalogued the books in Esperanto. And that was just between us because Minerva wasn’t pleased.”

  “Oh,” Sylvie breathed. “Do you think he was interested in Juliet?”

  Susan avoided looking at either Sylvie or me.

  “Come on,” her sister coaxed, “tell us.”

  Susan said reluctantly, “A couple of weeks ago, I opened the library door. He was kissing her. I closed the door and they never knew I saw them.” She added hurriedly, “Minerva had no way of knowing.”

  I didn’t dispute her conclusion, but I disagreed. A woman engaged in a long-standing affair, a woman who likely would have loved to be Mrs. Wilbur Fitch, would be highly attuned to the presence of a young and exceptionally beautiful woman in her lover’s employ.

  “Poor Juliet.” Sylvie looked sad. “I didn’t know she was interested in him like that. I mean, he was pretty old.”

  Susan said swiftly, “Wilbur wasn’t old. He was only forty-eight. He married when he was just nineteen. The first time. He packed more into one life than most people could in a dozen. He played racquetball and climbed mountains and liked to hang glide. And a lot of women like older men.”

  Especially, I thought, if they were worth mega millions. But if Juliet and Wilbur were on kissing terms in the last couple of weeks, likely she had no motive for killing him. The same could not be said of Minerva.

  Susan jammed her fingers together. “It’s awful to try and imagine someone killing Wilbur. Minerva’s smart and intriguing and hardworking. Her shop is a great success.”

  Her defense of Minerva meant she could indeed imagine that Minerva might struggle with jealousy.

  “One of seven is guilty,” I reminded her. “Give me Wilbur’s last comments about each one of them.”

  She looked like I’d asked her to throw a lobster into boiling water. I didn’t doubt that she’d march the creature right back into the sea.

  “Pretend you’re a reporter. A day in the life of a tycoon. Am I right that Wilbur didn’t mince words when he locked horns with people and he spent a lot of time locking horns?”

  “He made a lot of noise. But he didn’t hold grudges. He wasn’t mean. He just said what he thought.” Again a wisp of a smile. “Loudly.”

  “I want to know what he thought about the guests at that luncheon. Start with Ben Fitch.”

  Susan took a little while to answer, then said in a rush, “Wilbur was excited to have Ben visiting. He told me he thought Ben had a great future. I think he wanted him to stay in Adelaide.” But she didn’t meet my gaze.

  “George Kelly?” I remembered a photograph in the society page, big lanky guy, broad imposing face with a high forehead, bright blue eyes, bold nose, jutting chin. Easy to picture him wrestling down a calf or striding up and down in front of a jury, long arms gesturing.

  “Bigger than life. I was surprised he and Wilbur got along as well as they did. But George always remembered who paid the bills. They did have a dustup a couple of weeks ago. George lost a lawsuit in Shawnee, and Wilbur was furious. He told George maybe it was time he found a new lawyer, that he thought he had a bull in the courtroom but it turned out to be a steer.” She looked at me questioningly.

  My uncle had a cattle ranch. A steer is a neutered bull. I gave a low whistle. “But George came to the luncheon.”

  “A luncheon invitation was a command performance.” She hesitated. “I overheard part of a call. I think he was talking to George. He was pretty rough. He said . . . out of patience. We’re going to have a talk. He slammed the phone down. I had just come up to the desk with a folder. He looked at me. Susan, let me give you a piece of advice. I think you’ll go far—Wilbur knew I’d been working on a greeting card business and he encouraged me—and you need to remember: If the work isn’t good, move on.” I suppose I looked blank. He laughed, that big booming laugh. In other words, if you hire an artist who turns in lousy designs, it won’t matter how well the artist plays golf or how nicely she smiles at you, it’s out the door. Slam. Bang.”

  Susan was likely right that Wilbur had been talking to George, but the golf reference interested me. Perhaps Wilbur was dissatisfied with his easygoing and likely unproductive stepson.

  “How about Todd Garrett? I assume he runs the company day to day.”

  “No.” The reply was quick and definite.

  I was surprised. “Isn’t he the chief operating officer?”

  “Todd and Wilbur were in high school together. Todd was a big deal then. Quarterback of the football team.”

  I needed no explanation of the status that conferred in Adelaide.

  “Wilbur was an ungainly nerdy guy from the wrong side of the tracks. A lot of the kids made fun of him or ignored him, but Todd was nice to Wilbur. Todd, well, I don’t think he’s very smart. To tell the truth, he was a figurehead. Wilbur made all the decisions for the business. Todd’s job was to speak at civic events and glad-hand everybody. Of course, Todd didn’t see it that way. Wilbur talked over everything with him, and the ideas were Wilbur’s, but he let Todd make announcements, send out directives. Sometimes Todd went out on a limb, made promises he shouldn’t have. Usually Wilbur could work things out, and he never embarrassed Todd or complained. Maybe Todd got to thinking he really was running the business. Anyway, the day before the luncheon I was coming back from an errand and I opened the study door, then I stopped. Wilbur was shouting. He said he damn well knew Fitch Enterprises was a tech company and nobody knew more about tech than he did and he didn’t need Todd telling him a SIMPLE Car wasn’t high-tech because that was the damn point and Todd making fun of Alan’s idea at the Kiwanis supper was disloyal to the company and he hadn’t made up his mind yet about the car but it was still a possibility and Todd better walk back any criticism he’d made, ASAP. I shut the door and went to the end of the hall. Todd came out. I guess I’ve never seen him without a grin. His face was red and he had his fists clenched and he stomped out the front door. Now”—and the words came quickly—“Todd was at the luncheon and he was being really charming to Juliet when I came in with the coins. Wilbur never held a grudge, so I guess everything was worked out.”

/>   “Harry Hubbard?”

  Her face lightened. “Harry’s the exception to the rule that you’re supposed to resent your stepfather. Wilbur loved golf, and Harry was always ready to play. I think Wilbur put Harry on the payroll—he’s in the PR office—mainly so he’d always have a game. Harry has the ambition of a sloth but buckets of charm. Even when Wilbur drew the line at buying him a Maserati, he managed to keep on Wilbur’s good side. Wilbur told me Harry gave him a salute and said, I know you have a big soft spot so I tried for a big one. Wilbur laughed and said, Harry never gives up. On his way out, he stopped at the door, grinned, and said, On my Christmas wish list, Pops. Wilbur thought that was priceless.”

  Sylvie’s tone was admiring. “Harry’s cute. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Can you imagine Harry figuring out a complicated way of killing Wilbur? He’s way too laid back to do something like that.”

  Susan blinked in surprise. “How do you know Harry?”

  Sylvie looked a little embarrassed. “Oh”—very offhandedly—“I met him one time when I came to see you and you were busy. We had Shirley Temples out in the garden. Last summer.” A mischievous grin. “I think his had gin in it.”

  Susan’s face assumed a big-sister look.

  Sylvie wriggled a little on the sofa. “I’ve seen him a time or two. He drops by the campus and we go for a Coke in the student center.” She sat up straight. “Now don’t tell me he’s too old for me. I’m eighteen.” She spoke as if an aged sophisticate.

  “Harry’s too old for you.” Rather sternly. Then more equably, “But I agree that casting Harry as a villain is silly.”

  I didn’t ruin this moment of agreement by suggesting that charm was no guarantee of innocence. More to the point was Harry’s obvious lust for the fine and the fancy, and he likely knew quite well that Pops wouldn’t put the keys to a Maserati in his Christmas stocking. Harry sounded like a first-class mess, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I, too, found him charming. What is it about good-looking men who make no secret of their indolence and expectation of pleasure?

  I ended the diversion. “Alan Douglas?”

  Susan was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.” She spoke slowly. “Once Wilbur told me he admired Alan because Alan was like a bear trap, once he got an idea in his mind, he never let go, and that could be good. But you always had to remember with a one-track mind that you better both be on the same track or something would smash up.”

  “Juliet Rodriguez?”

  “Wilbur liked beauty. She’s beautiful. He talked to her on the phone that last day about flying to Dallas, and he was smiling.”

  “Minerva Lloyd?”

  Susan looked miserable. “I don’t like talking about people like this.”

  Sylvie patted her shoulder, gave me a swift look. “Susan’s the biggest softy in the world. She never says anything bad about anyone. But”—and she was emphatic, her young voice high—“it isn’t mean to tell the truth. You always say, Tell the truth and you’ll never have any regrets. So you tell Ms. Latham and me everything you know about the people at the lunch, and if they are innocent, well, no harm done. But maybe something you say will help Ms. Latham find out who killed Wilbur. That’s what matters.”

  Susan took her sister’s hand. “You’re right. After all”—she glanced at me—“you aren’t the police. What I tell you won’t get someone else in trouble. So”—she drew a breath—“I’ll tell you about Minerva.”

  “Last week, I think it was Wednesday or Thursday, there was a knock on the study door. I got up to go see and the door opened. Minerva came in. She was her usual spectacular self, wearing a soft green wool dress and a pearl necklace and tall green heels with gold buckles. She looked like a Vogue model. She turned her eyes on me, and that’s when I knew something was up. Her eyes kind of burned with fury. She spoke nicely enough, I’d like a latte, Susan. I started for the door. Wilbur barked, I have staff. Sit down, Susan. Minerva walked up to his desk. Wilbur dear, some words are not meant for employees. Susan will run right along. I looked at Wilbur. His face was getting red. I thought it was better if I left, so I murmured something about a morning break and headed for the hall. I heard Minerva say, Are you taking Juliet to Dallas next— as I closed the door. She was terribly angry.”

  “Ooh.” Sylvie practically bounced on the cushion. “You have to call that big man, tell him. Minerva is smart enough to plan anything. She probably knows all about you and me from Wilbur.”

  Susan looked skeptical. “Somehow I doubt Wilbur regaled Minerva with tidbits about his secretary and her sister. Anyway”—Susan shook her head—“the police can’t arrest Minerva because she had a spat with Wilbur.”

  Sylvie said darkly, “A mad mistress is a good place to start.” She looked at me. “You’ll go after Minerva, won’t you?”

  “Minerva. And the other six luncheon guests.”

  As Sam Cobb tartly observed, Crimes are pretty simple, Bailey Ruth. Sex or money.

  I decided to start with sex.

  Chapter 7

  Juliet Rodriguez opened her apartment door on the third knock. Instead of G. Latham, Private Eye, I was equipped with a lovely leather folder containing a police ID for Detective Sergeant G. Latham. Happily I could remain in street clothes for both the Crown investigator and the Adelaide homicide detective.

  She was, as Susan said, drop-dead gorgeous, hair the color of wheat in sunlight, huge dark brown eyes. I am not a connoisseur of women’s figures, but my husband had a word for women like Juliet: stacked. The fawn sweater was molded to her and a nice foil for scarlet slacks.

  She beamed at me, a bright, engaging smile. She was clearly eager to meet the unknown redhead at her threshold, an attitude that likely had opened many doors for her. People like smiles.

  I spoke quickly as I flashed my badge. “Detective Sergeant G. Latham. If you have a moment, Ms. Rodriguez, I hope you can assist the police department in the investigation into the murder of Mr. Wilbur Fitch.” In the past, I’d sometimes appeared as Officer M. Loy, a tribute to Myrna Loy in her role as Nora to William Powell’s Nick Charles in the film version of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man. To pursue Wilbur’s killer, I awarded myself a promotion.

  Her smile was replaced by a moue of distress. “It’s so awful about Wilbur.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He was the nicest man. I didn’t know until I went to the house after my class.” She held the door, welcoming me inside. “I’ve been cataloguing Wilbur’s library. I can’t believe someone killed him. And I saw the police”—her brown eyes were huge—“take Susan Gilbert away. I suppose they needed information from her.” She gestured toward an easy chair, took her place opposite me on a rattan sofa. The decor was inexpensive, bright travel posters and everyday furniture likely picked up secondhand, but a comfortable room in a small apartment. “Susan’s sister, Sylvie, is in one of my classes.” Juliet was a luncheon guest who knew enough about Susan and Sylvie to make the fake ransom call. Ditto Harry Hubbard, the charming ne’er-do-well stepson. But what of the others? It was time to test out my theory. “I understand you were among Mr. Fitch’s guests at a luncheon last week.”

  Juliet brushed back a tangle of honey-colored hair, looked young and appealing. “It makes me so sad that Wilbur’s gone. He laughed and boomed and kept everything fun. He loved sharing. It could be an eagle feather he found on a camping trip or a 1929 stock certificate. That was one of his most appealing qualities. He was always himself and he loved having people for lunch and showing off his things.”

  “I understand he asked his secretary to open the safe and bring some coins.”

  Juliet nodded eagerly. “They were gorgeous. I love old coins. They make me think of castles and dusty roads and caravans. Susan brought them to the table in a red velvet bag. That was so Wilbur. Red velvet. Susan placed the bag on the table and said, Here you are, sir. As I told everyone after she left, she could be the perfect secretary in a TV s
how, and it just goes to show how different siblings can be. I told them all about Sylvie and how she’s always game to try anything and how she didn’t tell Susan when she and Harry, you know, he’s Wilbur’s stepson, went out to the airport and went up and parachuted into a field and there was a bull and, golly, it was a near thing. But she and Harry grabbed up their chutes and shook them and that distracted the bull and they got over a fence and she’d never ever tell Susan because Susan was always so cautious. Harry laughed and said I had to promise not to tell Susan because she still didn’t know, and I was right, Sylvie was the closest thing he’d ever known to a human glider, just going whichever way the wind blew and loving every minute of it.”

  Juliet’s lovely face was open and cheerful and quite disarming. I wondered if I was being played by an imaginative and clever killer. In any event, I now could be sure that everyone at the luncheon was well equipped to place the ransom call. Including Juliet.

  I looked at her pleasantly. “I understand you and Mr. Fitch had travel plans.”

  A slight flush stained her cheeks, and her dark brows drew down in a frown. “He was taking me to Dallas to go shopping. He said it was a bonus for making his library a fun place. I can’t believe how Minerva Lloyd acted. Everyone knows they’ve been having an affair for years, but she’s certainly not a very nice person. She told Wilbur I was a little gold digger just because he gave me a fancy necklace for my birthday. Well, it was his idea. He asked me what I liked and I told him I just loved pretty emeralds and I had no idea he would go right out and buy me this gorgeous necklace.”

  I maintained a pleasant expression, but I saw a gleam of satisfaction in those dark chocolate eyes, whether at the acquisition of a fine necklace or the pleasure of denigrating Minerva. “Perhaps Mr. Fitch was interested in you as a companion.”

  She tossed her head, such an exquisitely feminine—and revealing—gesture. “That’s what she was afraid of. He told me he’d settled her down, made it clear he’d take me to Dallas if he wanted to.” A sigh. “He was fun. I hate it that someone hurt him.” And perhaps hated it more that a wealthy man was no longer eager to please her with baubles far beyond what she could ever afford. I had a sudden hunch. Susan mentioned her bequest and how that added to the police conclusion that she murdered Wilbur for money. Obviously Wilbur had told Susan about her inclusion in his will. Did he tell other beneficiaries? That seemed in character. Wilbur Fitch was outspoken, impulsive, fast-moving. He’d only known Juliet for a short while, but obviously she attracted him.