Wolfe, She Cried

“I’ll be discreet and diplomatic.”

  “Once you determine Mom is not the killer, I’m going to say, ‘I told you so’.”

  “Uh-huh.” In fact, he looked forward to it. If Felicia was their killer, he didn’t like to think what effect it would have on Evie. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Mom and Dad’s having a dinner party. Can you wait until Boxing Day?”

  He shouldn’t, and if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t. All establishments were closed tomorrow, and since the murderer seemed to pick up her victims at bars, adulterous husbands would be safe, at least for the one day.

  “Okay.” He relaxed when she nestled against his chest. He stroked her arm until she sighed from fatigue. It had been a long, trying day for her. “I love you, Evie. Nothing or no one will come between us again.”

  “Not ever again. When I thought I lost you tonight ….”

  “Shh. Go to sleep, Evie.”

  “I’m so tired, Simon.” Her voice sounded husky. “I set the alarm on my watch for every two hours.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She fell into him and within a moment her breathing evened. He had a busy day ahead of him tomorrow. He’d get little sleep tonight.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  At his desk at the HPD, Simon studied the photocopies of Felicia’s charge cards. The woman loved to shop and had expensive tastes, but then, he had always known that. The charges she amassed wasn’t what held his interest or concerned him, though. With a red marker he circled the charges for gas at Sibett and Riverside-Westfield. On the day of Coulton’s murder, there were also charges for accommodations at the Comfort Inn in Concord. She could have had a drink in a bar in Sibett, met up with Coulton, rendezvoused at the motel, done the murder, all in time to check into the Comfort Inn at eleven that night.

  For the first time, he wished for a closer relationship with his future mother-in-law—his future mother-inlaw. Hell’s bells. He could see the headlines: Chief of Police Simon Wolfe, questions future mother-in-law, Anastasia, aka Felicia Madison, in the murders of Honeydale resident, Douglas Miller, Sibbett, Richard Coulton and Chesley resident, Harold Teed. Be that as it might, he couldn’t overlook Felicia as a suspect. He made a jab for the phone to call her to arrange a visit just as Evie came into his office.

  He yawned. What sleep he succeeded in getting last night was plagued with worry over what he had to do today. He hadn’t managed any shut eye the night before, either. Just as well. The phone ringing one ring every two hours beginning at midnight would only have disturbed his sleep. His mother, he suspected. Though she’d entrusted his care to Evie, she would want to make sure he was awakened every two hours.

  “Set those papers down,” Evie said, placing a cup of tea in front of him. “It’s time for a break. You don’t want to overdo it. The doctor said rest for twenty-four hours and to take it easy for the remainder of the week. You’ve been going non-stop since we came in at seven.”

  If everyone kept nagging and hovering over him, he would surely suffer further physical hurt, probably at his own hand. He plopped his feet on the desk, laced his fingers behind his head, forgetting about his injury and immediately withdrew his hands.

  Evie noticed. “Still tender, huh?” She tilted her chin, looking as though he proved her point.

  He narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’re getting some perverse satisfaction knowing that.

  “Not at all.”

  He arched his brows as though to ask, ‘Tell me the truth’.

  She measured a quarter of inch with her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe that much.”

  Tallulah stuck her head in the doorway. “How’re you feeling, Simon? Any headaches, dizziness or nausea?”

  Yes, yes and yes, but not from the concussion. “I’m fine, darlin’.”

  “Need anything?”

  “I’m good.” He sipped his tea.

  “If you need anything, just holler.”

  “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me not to holler?”

  “I’ll make an exception this once.” With that said, she left.

  Evie smiled. “She’s been running around all morning, wringing her hands, throwing Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s to Heaven and cursing your foolishness for going into the alley alone.”

  “Harrumph.” His mind was already focused on Felicia’s credit card charges. As soon as he could get rid of Evie, he would study them more closely. He was getting close. He could feel it. “Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

  “Aubrey’s covering for me so I can tend to you.”

  Great. Everyone pitched in on the coddling, bitching, pecking, and nagging. He grimaced, knowing how he sounded, but, Hell’s bells, he had work to do, a murder to solve. “Don’t you have last minute wedding preparations to make?”

  She took a sip of his tea and looked at him over the rim of the cup. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  He shook his head and, in a mindless, nervous gesture, ran his thumb up the corner of the twenty-some sheets of Felicia’s credit card charges for the past several months. The sound, psst, psst, rang loudly in the ensuing silence. Then he saw it on her face—the look that translates to an epiphany.

  She removed her hand from under her chin and motioned to his hand. “Whatcha got there?”

  Busted. Crap. He handed her the sheets of paper and braced himself for tsunami-like turbulence.

  Recognizing them for what they were, she asked, “How’d you get these?”

  “Not through legal channels.”

  She arched her brows. He knew what she thought. “The guy I get to do this kind of stuff is discreet. He won’t say anything to anyone, so it won’t get out I’m investigating your mother.”

  “As a murder suspect.”

  He didn’t let that hang in the air, not a nanosecond. “Thanks for understanding.”

  She nodded. “You have a job to do just as you had when you considered me a suspect, which, by the way, I haven’t forgotten. You’re looking down the wrong rabbit hole again. The only thing that’s going to come of your investigation into my mother is hard feelings.”

  He virtually felt the sting of repercussions hitting his face from that. It was okay. At least then he’d know for certain. “Check the dates and charges circled in red.”

  She took the sheets from his hand and scanned the pages. “Uh-huh. Mom was in Sibbett the night Coulton was killed, but she also booked a room in Concord four hours later. Why do you have Riverside-Westfield circled? The third murder was in Chesley.”

  “It’s located outside Sibbett. About twenty miles or so. An hour’s drive to where she spent the night.”

  “I know where it is and if I remember the geography correctly, Chesley is in the opposite direction from Riverside-Westfield. You’re saying she went out of her way and drove to Chesley, met up with Teed, killed him, then backtracked to Riverside-Westfield?”

  “Maybe she had business in Chesley.” He watched her worry her bottom lip. “I already told you. She hates Chesley. She went there to shop once when I was little and has never been back. Besides, even if she had business there, which I doubt, that doesn’t mean she killed Teed.”

  “It could put her in the time and place, though.”

  She looked at him long and steady. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “It’s all I’m able to do.”

  “Aw. Is the patient feeling a little closed in?”

  His grimace came without intent. “Does your mother know anyone in Riverside-Westfield? She wouldn’t go there for anything else. I wouldn’t think, anyway. It’s a small place. Population four thousand nine hundred and forty-nine.” He watched her run her fingers along her scalp and knew the moment she concluded the possibility. He also knew the effect this had on her and sympathized.

  “You’re leaving no stone unturned.”

  He stood, walked to her and massaged her shoulders.

  “Any chance of it being a coincidence?” Her voice sound
ed sad, resigned.

  He wanted to tell her there wasn’t such a thing in police work, but couldn’t bring himself to remind her of something she already knew. She reached across the desk, grabbed the murder file and flipped through it until she found the sketch. He walked around her and leaned against the desk, his legs crossed at the ankles.

  “Mom does resemble this woman a little.”

  More than a little, but it wasn’t something he would tell her. “A little.”

  “When are you going to bring her in?”

  “I thought I’d go to her and question her informally. Show her the photo and take it from there.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Evie—”

  “I wasn’t asking permission.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  In the hallway outside his office, Tallulah asked from Checkpoint Charlie, “Where are you two off to?”

  Simon placed his hand around Evie’s waist. “For a bite to eat. Can we bring you back anything, darlin’?”

  “No. I’m good.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Turkey sandwich.”

  Evie turned and Simon followed her through the hall toward the rear exit.

  “You haven’t forgotten about Parker, have you?” Tallulah asked.

  “No. We can hold him a while longer.” Simon wanted the weasel to stew. Maybe then he’d be more cooperative when he talked to him.

  “He’s yanging for his lawyer.”

  “Leave him yang.”

  “He’s giving me a headache running his metal coffee cup along the bars.”

  “Then, darlin’, take the cup from him.”

  At her cottage where Evie changed out of her uniform and into a turtleneck, jeans and sneakers, Simon listened attentively as she suggested ways to broach the subject of the murders with Felicia. He told her what he had in mind. She liked his approach better.

  On the drive to her parents’ home, she proposed that she would speak to Felicia alone. He argued against it strongly, but appreciated that she wanted to protect him. She compromised. He offered concessions and made promises. She reciprocated. He’d listened to her reasons why he was mistaken. Very good arguments they were, and they discussed and argued until ending up agreeing to disagree.

  He hoped they’d get through this without fallout, but the odds of that happening would be the same as having an enjoyable picnic on the Siberian Tundra.

  Deep down, she knew he had to follow up and that he would be diplomatic and handle Felicia as he would blown glass. Right to the last minute, he thought she would back out. True, there had been moments when he second-guessed himself, as well. Was he seeing a resemblance to the killer and Felicia which didn’t exist? No, Evie saw it, too. Was it fate that placed Felicia in the three places where the victims were killed? Possible, he admitted. Did he see this as an opportunity to sock it to Felicia and release some of the pent-up animosity he felt toward her for all those years she ostracized him for his mixed heritage? No. Subconsciously? He searched his soul. No. Was it a stretch to consider Felicia the-do-gooder-who-gives-to-the-poor a suspect? No. History was filled with people who committed murders, yet led normal and fulfilling lives. Two faces.

  He pulled her Explorer to a stop in the Madison driveway, shut off the engine and sat back.

  “I’m glad Mom was at home and Dad isn’t. I want to get this over with and prove to you she didn’t kill those men.”

  He clasped her hand. “However this turns out, I want you to know I’m taking no pleasure questioning your mother.” Truthfully, he didn’t look forward to what he was about to do.

  She looked into his eyes. “I do believe it, and I also know you wouldn’t use your position to settle old scores or use this interview to hurt her.”

  He nodded and looked up at the Cape Cod-style home with its snow-topped roof, wreaths with red bows adorning every window and white smoke puffing from the fireplace chimney. The house looked warm and inviting, but the mistress of the manor was anything but. Felicia had a problem with him, always had, but he overlooked her prejudices and forgave her snide remarks. Her dislike for him would only intensify after this, whichever way the interview transpired.

  “Ready?” Evie asked.

  “If you are.” He looked at her.

  She nodded and opened the car door.

  He followed behind her up the snow-blown walkway and onto the front stoop.

  The sun sat high in an azure sky, the air sharp with the bite of winter.

  She turned to him and patted his chest. “You aren’t wearing your vest.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  The door opened and Felicia Madison, outfitted in a black silk pant suit, low-heeled black leather shoes and wearing the finest of jewelry, stood staring at him. Judging from the stunned expression on her face, she hadn’t expected him to accompany Evie.

  “Felicia.” He put on his best smile. I’m fine. Thank you for asking. Just a little blow to the head, and as you can see, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

  “Simon.” Felicia recovered quickly, patted her meticulously coifed hair and acknowledged him with a nod.

  Evie stepped forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

  Felicia turned up her nose at Simon’s boots. “Why don’t we go into the sitting room? After you called, Eve, I asked Martha to prepare lunch for us. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell her there’ll be three of us.”

  Simon stepped into the foyer, dried his boots on the red and black flowered Oriental rug and followed Evie through the hallway and into an expansive room filled with antiques, fine china and crystal. He sat beside her on the loveseat, unbuttoned his suede jacket and looked around. He had never been anywhere in this house except for the kitchen, and even then, the time was long ago, when he was a child.

  “This is nice.” He looked around. To his right, a Louis XV style walnut two door bibliotheque graced one wall. Tub chairs, matching the French Art Deco carved mahogany loveseat, sat on either side of the stone fireplace. Overhead a Louis XV style bronze and crystal thirteen light, eight arm chandelier shone down on the room.

  “Hardly a sitting room. I was never allowed in here as a child and now as an adult, I feel out of place.”

  He noticed how she sat on the edge of her seat and forced her back and close to him.

  “This is not going to go well.” Despite the warmth in the room, she shivered. “No matter how you direct the conversation, or how carefully you phrase your sentences, my mother’s going to be on to you like an anteater. She’s astute and intuitive. Don’t underestimate her.” She chewed on a thumbnail.

  With one hand, he rubbed the nape of her neck and with the other, he removed her thumb from her mouth. “Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me.” He squeezed her hand to reassure her.

  Felicia issued Martha last minute instructions, her sultry voice carried into the sitting room from the hallway. She entered with a flourish of authority and settled on the wingback chair across from them. “Lunch will be ready in a few.” She focused her attention on Evie. “All set for the big day, dear? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help more with the wedding preparations, but,” she flipped a perfectly manicured hand in the air, “my job demands so much of my time.”

  Simon settled back against the sofa, recognizing the excuse for what it was—paltry and phony. If she wanted to make time, she would. Felicia could take no pleasure in helping her daughter prepare for a marriage she would not sanction.

  “I understand, Mom. Simon and I decided on a small, intimate ceremony. Shelley and her partner have been a big help, buying in Concord what I couldn’t buy on the island, and they even hand-crafted the pew markers, keepsakes and wedding favors.”

  “That’s nice, dear. Didn’t you tell me Shelley’s friend is hearing impaired? A virus when she was a teen, if memory serves.”

  Evie nodded.

  “They’re having great success with cochlear implants.”

  “For her type of impairment?
”

  “Yes. It’s a small electronic device that sits behind the ear and a second portion that’s surgically placed under the skin. She might want to look into it.”

  “I’ll mention it to her.” Evie smiled.

  “When are they arriving?”

  “Tomorrow. Will you be coming to my bachelorette party?”

  Felicia took no time in answering as though the excuse were well rehearsed. “I’d love to, but I have a previous commitment, one I couldn’t postpone.”

  Simon envisioned Felicia slipping a twenty under the G-string of a male stripper and shouting, ‘Take it off. Take it all off.’ He stifled a chuckle. Like that would ever happen.

  Martha entered with their lunch. She rolled the brass serving cart to Felicia. “Will that be all, ma’am?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Felicia took the China teapot in her hand, fingers delicately poised on the pea-size ball on the cover, and poured two cups of tea. “What brings you both here today?” She handed a cup to Evie, then Simon and placed the tray of sandwiches on the coffee table before them. “I’m sure it wasn’t to pass the time of day.”

  With his free hand, Simon took a wedge of lobster sandwich. “I need your help, Felicia.”

  She arched a penciled blond brow. “With?”

  “Douglas Miller’s murder.” He bit into the sandwich and chewed.

  “The young man who was castrated? The murder you can’t solve?”

  Simon let the dig slide. “Yes. To both.”

  “I don’t know what help I can be.”

  He set his cup of tea on the crystal coaster on the Belker table beside him and chose his words carefully. He had Felicia’s cooperation and interest and didn’t want to lose it. “I’m led to believe Mr. Miller’s assailant might have suffered an injury from the knife she used. Assailants usually do in these circumstances.”

  She nodded. “I see. As head ER nurse I might know something. Surely you already checked with the staff on duty that night.”

  “You weren’t working?” He’d checked the duty roster and already knew Felicia had been on her days off.