by Lee Bellamy
I sat silent, waiting for her to go on. It was tough, watching. She was such a fragile little figure, so helpless sitting there. My heart went out to her until I reminded myself of the hideous things she'd done. I was curious. "I know how you feel about abortion, but under the circumstances—?"
"Never!" For the first time since I'd met her, I detected flash and fire in her eyes.
"But what did you intend to do? You couldn't fool Jay."
Miserably she nodded. "After I discovered I was pregnant, I spent two weeks in hell. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. All I could do was pray—and go around in circles feeling utterly trapped, not knowing which way to turn. Jay always had me on a pedestal. He would be devastated if he realized the baby wasn't his—and of course he would know—and then I would lose him, and that would be...that would be..." A look of despair spread over her face. "I love him so much! If I lose him I shall die."
You pretty much have, I thought, but refrained from saying so.
In a pleading gesture, she pressed her hands together and raised them towards me, almost in a prayer. "But how could I get an abortion? It's wrong. It's murder. How could I abort my own child?"
"You were in a tough spot." The understatement of the day.
"Oh yes." Her voice shook with bitterness. "A very tough spot. So when Mother Champion died, can you imagine how I felt? I was sad and overjoyed, both at the same time. Jay could come home now. Only for a few days, to attend his mother's funeral, but long enough, I assure you. Now he wouldn't question that the baby was his." Her eyes glowed with a radiant light. "God answered my prayers. Nevada was old. She didn't have much time left anyway. He called her home a little early, that's all. So you see, it's all working out now. Please! Promise you won't tell."
"I can't do that, Velia."
Her glow faded. She slumped back. "You can't?"
I took a sip of tea, allowing myself a little time before I rained on her parade. "Problem is you gave God a little help."
"I...what?"
"You murdered Nevada."
Velia gasped and turned more pale. "I did not!"
"Yes you did," I answered, not bothering to keep the disgust out of my voice. "Bill gets you pregnant. Your husband's stuck overseas. You're desperate to get him home and into your bed. So what do you do? The only thing you can do—you murder Jay's poor old mother so you can get him home on emergency leave."
"No, no, no," she cried. "That's hideous...evil...that's just not so."
"What's the matter, Velia, didn't you want a scene? Were you so afraid of the truth you had to kill a nice old lady?"
"You're guessing."
"No, not guessing." I set the china tea cup down, signaling we were through with politeness. "You killed Nevada. You killed Rudy. You're responsible for Tyler's shooting—it was Bill, wasn't it? And that's not all. Somebody told Sereno Ghementi where to find Crystal. Who could it be but you?"
"You can't—"
"Tyler knows the truth, which is why you wanted to kill him." I stood and started pacing the floor. "We don't know his whole story yet, but I can guess what he's going to say. After he found that pregnancy kit, he confronted you, didn't he? You denied it—smoothed it over—tried to pretend nothing had happened. Only Tyler's no dummy. He knew his grandmother died a little too conveniently. He was positive you killed her, wasn't he?"
"You'll never...you'll never..." Her voice faded away. She shifted her eyes from me, running her slender fingers nervously through her hair. "Oh, please...please...just go away."
"Tyler was torn apart," I continued. "He was in a horrible dilemma. He knew how much his father loved you—how hurt he would be if he knew, but on the other hand, you murdered his grandmother whom he happened to love very much. Tyler didn't know what to do, so he went to his good friend Rudy and confided the whole sordid mess, not realizing that Rudy, being the high-minded fellow he was, would try to blackmail you."
"Try?" she asked wearily. "He did."
"And that's why you shot him." I held my breath, waiting for her reply.
Velia inclined her head, slowly, painfully, as if she realized she had just lost the game. "And that's why I shot him," she repeated in a voice so dead it was devoid of all hope. "There was no other way."
From the door of the study, an anguished male voice rang out, "There was another way, Velia. HOW COULD YOU!"
Jay. Standing in the doorway in his uniform, his face tight with shock, his voice shaking with rage. Tears glistened in his eyes.
Velia clutched at her heart. "You! What are you doing here?"
"I left the luncheon early." He stalked to the wet bar, hauled out a bottle of scotch and slammed it on the counter. "You were sick. I was worried about you." He grabbed a shot glass, poured, and drank it neat. "I've been standing in the hallway listening. My God!" He poured another shot, gulped it down, and swiped at his eyes with his palm. No new tears appeared. A muscle quivered angrily in his jaw. His blue eyes glittered, hard as volcanic rock. "Tell me about it, honey," he said, his voice bitter and mocking. "Describe to me how you murdered my mother."
"Jay, please, please..." Velia extended her arms to him.
He repeated, "Tell me about it," in a voice so savage it frightened even me.
"She was old, Jay—"
"TELL ME!"
Velia nodded, accepting defeat, beyond any tears. In a voice barely above a whisper, she began, "It was Bill, more than I. He was running scared. He kept hounding me and hounding me to get an abortion. When I wouldn't, he started looking for a way to get you home. He came up with the idea that all we had to do was murder Nevada. I knew it was wrong, but I went along. I had a terrible time, deciding how I'd do it. I decided poison. Old people, you know...it doesn't take much to carry them off, and who would even question, at her age, that her death wasn't natural?"
I said, "You poisoned her with nicotine, didn't you?"
"It seemed the simplest way. I bought a package of cigarettes. Ick—!" Velia made a face "—that was the worst part, smoking those stinky things. Anyway, I smoked maybe five and put the butts in a glass of water and soaked them overnight. The next morning, I sneaked a tiny bit of that nicotine water into Mother Champion's tea. Just a little, all day, each time she had some tea. That night she died." She paused and looked over at me. "I got the idea from Agatha Christie."
"Murder in Three Acts," I said grimly. "Hercule Poirot to the rescue."
"Hercule wasn't around. Too bad you were," she said, her lips twisting into a parody of a smile. Serious again, she continued, "Nicotine causes death by respiratory failure, due to paralysis of the muscles. I was sure the doctor would never notice. As it was, he hardly examined her."
Through clenched teeth Jay asked, "And Rudy?"
"What could I do? Rudy was blackmailing me."
I asked, "How did you do it, Velia?"
"Rudy came to my house that morning. Oh, it was horrible! I was about to leave for the airport to pick up Jay. When he demanded money for his silence, I gave it to him, hardly thinking. That afternoon, while Jay was running around town visiting his friends, Rudy called again. He said he wanted even more money. It was then I realized Rudy was not trustworthy, no matter how much money I gave him, and he might still tell Jay, money or no. I drove to the trailer yard in a panic—came in through the side gate—went to his trailer and tried to reason with him. I begged him not to tell Jay. He said he wouldn't, but I knew sooner or later he would. And so, oh, dear, there's no other way to say it—I pulled out my little pistol that you gave me, Jay, and shot him in the head.
"I saw a copy of Virgin in the Pines lying on Rudy's couch. Wanting to protect my sister, I grabbed it up and ran. Just as I expected, I got out of the trailer yard without a soul seeing me."
Her tears were gone. I could see she was warming to her task, her confession a catharsis to her guilt. As if seeking Jay's approval, she asked, "Now shall I tell you about Crystal?"
Jay stared with loathing at his wife, appearing frozen for a second in
time, until his arm shot out for the telephone. "Sure I want to hear about Crystal. While we're waiting for the police, you can tell us."
Chapter 18
My daughter Ashley is a feminine little creature (can't imagine where she gets it from). Even on the coldest days she hates wearing pants to school. Each morning she must have her frilly dress, her matching necklace and tiny earrings, her hair in an Alice-in-Wonderland, or braided, or pulled high in a ponytail tied with a velvet bow.
I love dressing her in the morning. The pink dress or the yellow? The lace-edged socks? Clasps or bow? That bleak morning after Velia was arrested, though, my heart wasn't in it. I felt terrible about the Champions. I'd seen their marriage disintegrate before my very eyes, and Velia's life, possibly Jay's, destroyed. She deserved it, but still, I couldn't get my mind off that excruciating moment when the police led Velia away. Hands cuffed behind her, tears staining her exhausted little face, she kept calling, "Jay, please, Jay please!" in her pitiful sweet voice, but he would not answer. Stony-faced, unmoving, he stood beneath the Hero sign still tacked to his garage door—it seemed to mock him now—and watched the police car drive away, his wife's bowed head barely visible in the back. He would hardly speak. I couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. Had Velia totally destroyed him? How could he ever be the same man again?
Usually I drive Ashley to school. That day, thinking to exercise out of my dejection, I walked the three blocks with her, clear to her classroom. It helped, but only a little. When I got home I climbed into my Camaro and headed for B & P. Jay was due at ten o'clock with a check for fifty thousand, twenty-five of which was mine. Heading down the on-ramp to 41, I forced a "Whoopee!" from my lips, but the word fell flat. Yeah, whoopee. So depressing. Such a tragedy. Poor Velia...poor Jay. Then I had to remind myself: poor Nevada, and Rudy, and Tyler, and—my heart wrenched—Crystal. God help her, where was she now?
At ten o'clock we gathered in Reece's office: Himself behind his desk, sitting up straight for a change to impress the client. Perez, arms crossed, slouched against a wall. Jay, sitting across the desk, checkbook in hand—amazing, how undaunted he appeared, and I beside him, dressed corporate again, in an outward state of togetherness, concealing the depression that weighted me down.
Jay wrote out a check and signed his name. "Here you are, Reece, fifty-thousand dollars." With a wink at me, he ripped out the check with a flourish and slid it across the desk. "As promised." He tucked his pen into his uniform pocket, tapped it lightly, and reached for the mug of coffee brought by Tish.
Barnicut's swift fingers eagerly claimed the check, stroking lover-like across the Fifty thousand and 00/00. "Happy to be of service. Holly gets half, as agreed. Sorry about your wife."
I said, "This is so sad for you, Jay."
"Hey, you got to roll with the punches." Jay sat back loose and easy in his chair. He sipped his coffee and ruefully shook his head. "You know, the ironic part is I would have forgiven her. If she'd come to me and said, 'I blew it, I'm pregnant,' I'd have given her a hard time, you bet, then I'd have told her, 'Honey, you made a bad mistake, but it's not the end of the world. We'll have that baby and it'll be mine. Just don't do it again.'" He shrugged, adding reflectively, "Everybody's human. I've made enough mistakes in my own life. I didn't expect her to be perfect."
"Too bad she didn't realize that," said Perez.
"Yeah. She tore it when she murdered my mother." Jay's face tightened. "Some things you don't forgive."
I asked, "What do you think will happen to her?"
"They'll convict her, sentence her to death probably, but they won't execute her, this being bleeding heart liberal California. She'll go to prison for life and so will Bill. Someone will adopt the kid." Jay set down his coffee mug extra firmly. "Won't be me."
I was wising up fast. "You're going to be all right, aren't you? I've a feeling this won't ruin your life."
"Absolutely not." He peered at me intently. "We only walk this way but once, honey. You women think you've got to sit around and weep. For what? Knock me down, I get up quick and get on with my life. Anything else is a waste of time."
Suddenly I felt better. If ever there was a man who meant exactly what he said, it was Jay. I thought of my depression that Sunday afternoon at the zoo. Maybe I should apply a little of Jay's philosophy to my own life.
Barnicut jumped into the conversation. "I'm not clear on a couple of things, Holly. You were getting threats?"
"Yes, on my car phone. I didn't recognize the voice, but I know now it was Bill. When Velia told him she was pregnant, he freaked...well, they both did. He made those calls to scare me off."
"Son-of-a-bitch really blew it," Jay remarked. No anger. He could have been discussing a tennis game. "Bill was my friend from way back—my Las Vegas buddy. The guy was down and out when he came to Fresno and asked me for a job. Just like Rudy, he'd been in and out of jail a dozen times. I was planning to bring him into the business—give him a fair-size chunk of Champions' Trailers. Just work for me for a while, I told him. Show me you can keep your nose clean."
"That's why he was so panicked," I explained to Barnicut. "He wanted that partnership badly. He'd have done anything to keep Jay from finding out he'd—" hastily I searched for a tactful phrase "—uh, had a relationship with his wife."
"Call a spade a spade," Jay told me, "the word is screwed."
Barnicut asked, "Holly, those threatening phone calls—why didn't you say something? They didn't bother you?"
Somehow I knew he'd ask that. "I was not scared, Reece, if that's what you mean. I wanted to handle them myself."
"I don't get it. You didn't suspect anything about Velia's...problem, did you? Crystal's disappearance is what you were investigating. So why did Velia go after you?"
"Would you believe, because we're both Agatha Christie fans? That first time I visited Velia, I noticed Agatha Christie's Murder in Three Acts lying open on her couch. When I merely commented on it, Velia looked nervous—guilty almost. Well, I thought, some people are embarrassed to be caught reading such non-literary stuff. Her reaction seemed a little strange, though, and I tucked it away in the back of my mind. Then yesterday it dawned on me: Velia got the idea for using nicotine poison straight out of that Agatha Christie mystery. After she killed Nevada, she suddenly realized that I, Christie fan that I am, might remember the murder method in that book and put two and two together. That's when she put Bill up to phoning those threats. Talk about two-faced! Velia did a great job convincing me she was desperate to find Crystal—"
"When in reality," Jay interrupted, "she and Bill were in a panic, trying to get Holly off the case."
Perez spoke again. "Sounds like their dike was breaking and they were running around like crazy trying to plug up the leaks."
I nodded. "At the end, Velia was a woman obsessed. She'd poisoned Nevada...shot Rudy...anything, anything to keep her secret. She even sacrificed her own sister, although—sounds strange—she really did love Crystal."
"You're right," Jay agreed. "Lord, I can't tell you the many times over the years Velia tried to help her."
"But when Crystal became a real threat, Velia didn't hesitate to get rid of her."
Barnicut asked, "Why?"
"Crystal still loved Jay and Velia knew it. She was afraid that if Crystal discovered she was pregnant, she'd tell Jay in a minute—a second! Velia wasn't sure exactly how much Crystal knew. Maybe she'd talked to Rudy, or to Tyler, and they'd leaked some of the truth. So Velia was just petrified that Crystal either knew about the pregnancy or would soon find out. What it boils down to is that Crystal was just too dangerous to have around, so when Velia saw Crystal cozying up to Jay at the funeral, she decided Crystal had to go."
"And how easy," Jay remarked. "All she had to do was lift the phone. The minute she called Sereno, Crystal's fate was sealed."
Barnicut asked, "Jay, has there been any word?"
"No, and there won't be. Crystal's history. Someone might discover her bones scatt
ered in the desert someday. Don't count on it."
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, a single shaft of morning sunlight burst through the ersatz jungle outside, beaming a bright circle onto the carpet. I fought a battle with myself, trying hard to concentrate on the tiny dust particles floating in the light, trying not to picture Crystal's gruesome end. The silence lingered. The others must be thinking, too. Finally Barnicut asked me, "Who do you think shot Tyler?"
"The police think it was Bill," I answered, happy for the diversion, "although he hasn't confessed yet. Tyler knew the truth, so he was their biggest threat." I turned to Jay. "Did Velia know Bill planned on killing Tyler?"
"I'd prefer to think she didn't—that she wasn't the complete monster—that she might have had some hesitancy about—" Jay paused as the words seemed to stick in his throat "—killing my only son." A vein stood out in his temple. Not without a struggle did he get his indifferent expression back on his face again.
He left soon after, saying goodbye in his jovial, out-going way, standing ramrod straight, shoulders square—still the awesome hero in his uniform. "So long, Reece...Gil." His eyes twinkled when he looked at me. "So long, Holly Keene, Private Eye. Thanks for your help. Without you, I might never have found out about Mother. Tyler's fine. I leave tomorrow, thank God. After all this I'll be glad to get back to camels and sand."
I got up and gave him a hug—an impulsive gesture I don't often make, but he was headed for one of the most dangerous spots in the world. Such broad shoulders, I thought when I put my arms around him, what a solid chest. "Good luck. We'll be thinking of you every day."