Murder Most Persuasive tkm-3

by Tracy Kiely

  I called Peter and told him what I’d done. After laughing at the various expressions and suggestions I used in my resignation to Dickey, he, too, offered to house me while I looked for a new job. While I knew that I could never live with Kit for more than two weeks, Peter was another story.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “You really want me to move in while I look for a new job?”

  “No, I just want you to move in. Permanently.”

  My heart gave a flop. Then a flip.

  “Really?”

  “Really, really.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Take all the time you want,” Peter said. “Just don’t think I’m doing this because you’re out of a job and might be forced to live in the Jungle Room. Although those are compelling reasons. I’m doing this because I love you and want to be with you. Even if you do snore.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “You do. Like a jackhammer. But that’s my point. I don’t mind.”

  My next call obviously was to Aunt Winnie, not to talk about my new status as unemployed but about Peter’s offer. “Peter asked me to move in with him,” I said. “What should I do?”

  “Why the hell are you asking me?” she replied, laughing. “That’s for you to decide.”

  “I know, but I’m confused.”

  “Do you love him?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s a start. Only you know what’s right for you, honey.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. I need to figure this one out on my own.”

  “Damn skippy you do.”

  * * *

  That night Kit outdid herself, making roast beef, scalloped potatoes, and carrots. For dessert she served apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was times like these when the difference in our lifestyles became all the more apparent. Kit made domesticity look both glamorous and feasible. I thought about Peter’s offer again and wondered if I was ready to settle down and create a home with him. Later, as I helped Kit clean up the kitchen, I told her about Peter wanting me to move in with him.

  “What?” she cried, pausing with a dish in hand.

  “He wants me to move in,” I repeated.

  “You aren’t seriously considering it, are you?”

  “Well, actually…”

  “You know Mom will freak,” she persisted.

  “I doubt that. After all, she’s living with George.”

  “But that’s different! She’s older. She’s already been married and had kids.”

  I paused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You know what they say, don’t you? Why buy the cow if you’re getting the milk for free?”

  I stared at her. “You didn’t just really say that, did you? You did! I can’t believe you! Do you really see me as the cow in this scenario?”

  Kit sighed. “No. You know what I mean. Well, you’ll do what you want, of course. You always do anyway. But let me just say, you won’t get this time back. I don’t think you realize what you have. You’re free to come and go as you please. You can do what you want. You have so much freedom! There are times when I’d give anything to get that freedom back again.”

  I stared at her in near shock. “Wait. You think my life is great? I thought you thought I was some colossal screwup.”

  Kit laughed. “Well, you are a screwup at times, but I don’t think you’re a colossal screwup. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I love Paul and little Pauly. But sometimes I just wish I could run off and check into a hotel for the weekend.” Kit paused and rubbed her belly. “I guess what I’m saying is, I know you love Peter and he’s a great guy. But think about what you have before you go changing it.”

  I was stunned. Here was my perfect sister, the one who constantly tried to run my life, telling me that she envied what I had. Not every day or every minute, of course, but at times. It certainly put a new spin on how I viewed her and our relationship. “Thanks, Kit,” I said finally. “For everything. I really appreciate it.”

  She smiled at me before turning back to finish loading the dishwasher. “No problem. Besides, you can’t move in with Peter until you learn how to cook something besides spaghetti.”

  * * *

  After the kitchen was cleaned, we all gathered in the living room where we settled in front of Paul’s fifty-two-inch plasma flat-screen TV to watch Meet the Parents.

  We’d just gotten to the scene where Ben Stiller’s character inadvertently sets fire to the chuppah, when something clicked. Of course! The chuppah! I leaped from the couch.

  “What’s the matter?” Peter asked.

  “I know who did it!” I cried. “I know who killed Michael and poisoned Bonnie and Julian.”

  Chapter 29

  It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.

  —Sense and Sensibility

  After explaining my theory to everyone, I called Ann and told her that I was coming over.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the excitement in my voice.

  “I think I’ve figured it out. I think I know who killed Michael!”

  “Who?”

  I paused. While telling her wouldn’t be easy, I didn’t want to do it over the phone—that wouldn’t be right. “I’m coming over,” I said. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  Ann wasn’t happy but agreed. I told her I’d be there as soon as I could. Peter, Aunt Winnie, and I drove over to her house, where she answered the door with a worried expression.

  “Okay, tell me,” she said once we were inside.

  “Well, I think I know who killed Michael,” I said, suddenly loath to tell her who it was.

  “You mentioned that,” she said in exasperation. “Who is it?”

  “I’d be curious to hear your theory on that as well,” said another voice. I turned. It was Joe. I glanced back at Ann. She gave me a quick smile. Well, at least there was some good news tonight. Having Joe here would definitely make it easier for Ann. And for me.

  Taking a deep breath, I quickly explained everything. When I finished, Joe said, “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.”

  Ann slumped against the wall, her face pale. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  I nodded. I knew it was hard for her to hear. “It has to be the explanation. It’s the only one that makes sense.”

  “But how do we prove it?” Joe asked.

  “That’s the tricky part,” I acknowledged. “There’s no proof. Only a few odd facts that could easily be explained away.”

  “So what do you propose?” Ann asked.

  “We pay a visit to Bonnie,” I said. “Maybe we can convince her to do the right thing.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Joe asked.

  I paused. “It has to. It’s our only hope.”

  “What exactly is your plan?” he asked.

  When I explained, the room erupted in various levels of outrage and opposition. Peter was especially adamant. “This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of!” he cried. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Peter, it’s the only way. And you know it. Unless we do this, we’ll never be able to prove how Michael was killed,” I said.

  “I don’t care!” he yelled back at me.

  “Peter, please. If I don’t do this, then a murderer—a murderer who’s killed twice—goes free. Can you really live with that? Because I can’t.” Peter did not answer. “I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Besides, Joe will be there the whole time. Right, Joe?”

  Joe looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. It’s dangerous.”

  “It’s no more dangerous than to let a killer keep killing,” I retorted. “And what about Scott? He’s sitting in jail for something he didn’t do! There’s more proof against Scott than the actual murderer. If we don’t do this, there’s an excellent chance that he’ll be convicted.”

  That seemed to win him over. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll give it a try.”

  “If this is g
oing to happen, then I want to be there, too,” said Peter. Joe grudgingly nodded.

  I smiled reassuringly at them. I’d won the argument. I just hoped I was right.

  * * *

  We drove over to Bonnie’s in silence. To be on the safe side, we didn’t call first. The house was dark and I hoped that Bonnie hadn’t gone out. However, once we were at the door I could hear the faint murmuring of a television playing inside. Our first knock was ignored, but Joe knocked again and then finally yelled through the door.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” he called. “Please, open up. It’s Detective Muldoon. I have to talk to you.”

  After a moment, we heard movement from inside and finally the sound of the door’s lock being slid back. The door then was slowly opened a crack. A blue eye peered out suspiciously from the other side. The door opened a few inches wider, revealing both Bonnie and Scarlett. Scarlett gave a happy bark at seeing Joe. From the faint scowl on Bonnie’s face, it was clear that she did not share Scarlett’s excitement. Upon opening the door even wider, Bonnie saw the rest of us huddled on her doorstep. Instantly, her expression changed from one of mild annoyance to outright fury and she moved to slam the door shut. Joe anticipated her and stuck his foot out to block the door from closing.

  “I specifically told the police that I didn’t want to see anyone! Especially you people!” Bonnie hissed, as Joe nudged the door open. Bonnie scurried back into the foyer still glaring at us. She was dressed in a silky pink robe and holding Scarlett, who now happily wagged her tail.

  “Get out of my house,” Bonnie said, backing farther away from us. “I don’t want you here. You people tried to kill me. You killed Julian!”

  “Bonnie, I swear to you that none of us had anything to do with Julian’s death,” said Ann.

  Bonnie scoffed. “You’re all a bunch of conceited, black-hearted varmints and I don’t know why I should let you come in my house.” Bonnie might still be suspicious of us, but she was apparently still happy to quote Gone with the Wind. Oh, well. I had Jane Austen. Bonnie had Margaret Mitchell.

  Joe stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds, but I need to talk to you about the murder of Michael Barrow.”

  Bonnie’s eyes flew open in surprise and then shuttered, but not before I caught the sly, knowing look that crept into them. “I have nothing to say to you about that,” she said, tipping her nose in the air.

  “Oh, but I think you do,” Joe replied calmly. “Why don’t we talk in the living room where we can be more comfortable?”

  Bonnie stared at Joe a moment before blowing an angry breath through her nose. Tilting her head in acquiescence, she turned on her heel and marched into the living room and settled onto the couch. Picking up the remote, she clicked off the television. We followed her and took seats on the chairs. Joe remained standing.

  “What do you want from me?” she snapped.

  “The truth,” said Joe.

  Bonnie turned to him, her face incredulous. “But I’ve told you the truth!”

  Joe shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you haven’t.”

  Bonnie’s mouth pulled down into a stubborn frown. “I don’t see what you expect of me. After all, I’m the victim here.”

  Joe explained what he expected. Bonnie’s eyes widened in shock. “But how did you know…?” she sputtered.

  “That’s not really the point, is it?” Joe said.

  “Well, it’s absurd in any case. I’ve done nothing wrong—nothing criminally wrong.”

  “That’s not exactly true, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Joe. “I think I could make a very good case for your being an accessory after the fact.”

  Bonnie’s eyes widened and she looked at Joe with real fear. “Is that true? I mean, could you really charge me—?”

  “Yes,” Joe answered, cutting her off.

  Bonnie dropped her head and focused on her hands. No one spoke. After a moment, she said in a low whisper, “Fine. I’ll tell you what happened.” As she recited her tale, Ann turned her head away in disgust. Bonnie saw the movement and threw her head back and glared defiantly at Ann. “Don’t you dare judge me!” she spat out. “Don’t you dare! You have no idea what a miserable man your father could be at times. He used me, plain and simple! He didn’t love me! I was nothing to him! Nothing!”

  Ann glared back at her with contempt. “You could have left. You didn’t have to stay.”

  “And do what? Go back to being a secretary? I don’t think so.”

  “Seems to me, then,” Ann replied, “that he wasn’t the only one doing the using.”

  Bonnie closed her eyes and said, “Fine. See what you want. Paint me as the bad guy. Why should any of that change now? Go ahead, what exactly do you want from me?”

  Ann turned to Joe. Clearing his throat, he said, “We need you to do something for us, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “What?” came Bonnie’s wary reply.

  When Joe told her, Bonnie blanched, then called him a son of a bitch and Ann far worse, but in the end she agreed to do what we asked. In silence, we watched her make the phone call.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I lay in the bed nervously readjusting the sleep mask on my face and the wig on my head. The room was unnaturally silent. I couldn’t hear Joe or Peter, and I had to restrain myself from calling out to them. When I finally heard the bedroom door ease open, I pretended to be asleep and forced my breath into a calm and even rhythm. Everything depended on how the next couple of minutes went. I had to sell this. My heart began to pound furiously and I prayed that the figure I sensed slowly easing my way couldn’t hear each terrified thump and beat.

  The figure drew closer. I could hear the breathing; it was now practically next to me. My nerves were frayed and it took every ounce of my self-control not to fling myself out of the bed and run screaming for the door. Then I thought of everything that had happened, of the people killed and hurt, and I forced myself to remain still.

  Suddenly a low voice hissed, “You stupid, greedy bitch!” and a pillow was roughly pushed down over my face. I flung my hands up to push the pillow off, but the hand that held it down wouldn’t budge. Panic overtook me and I frantically tried to get out from under the crushing pressure. Where was Joe? Within seconds, the pillow was yanked away and the hands holding the pillow were secured, but those seconds felt like an eternity. I sat up and pushed off the sleep mask and wig, blinking at the bright lights that now flooded the room. Before me, the figure struggled in Joe’s steely grip. Peter ran over to me. “Are you all right?” he asked, cradling my face in his hands. “I can’t believe I let you do this. You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him, although it would have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t come out in a scratchy croak. After taking a restorative breath of air, I glanced at the figure across the room from me, now being handcuffed. I studied the face; it was the same old face, but there was a ruthlessness in it that seemed new to me. Who knows? Maybe it had always been there and I’d just never noticed.

  Seeing me in the bed and not Bonnie, the figure sputtered, “Elizabeth! What the hell is going on here?”

  No remorse, just surprise. I was suddenly furious. “It’s over,” I said. “That’s what’s going on. It’s done. You’re done. You’re not going to hurt anyone anymore, Miles.”

  Chapter 30

  What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.

  —Emma

  Miles glared at me and struggled against the handcuffs.

  “How could you?” I asked. “How could you do this? You were a part of this family! And yet you stole, and killed an innocent man to cover your crime.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miles said. “I didn’t steal…”

  “Shut up,” I snapped, pushing myself up and out of the bed. “Just shut up.” Standing in front of him, I continued to berate him, my voice shaking with anger. “Bonnie told us what happened between you two. You were at the house in St. Michaels the night afte
r the party. You didn’t expect anyone to be there, but someone was—Bonnie. You seduced Bonnie and convinced her never to reveal what happened between you two.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” cried Miles. “What did Bonnie say? She’s an idiot, for Christ’s sake! You can’t trust anything she says!”

  I couldn’t believe him. He was still trying to pretend he was innocent. “Miles, for God’s sake! You just tried to kill me thinking I was Bonnie!” I yelled. “Don’t you get it? It’s over! We set you up! We were there when Bonnie called you earlier. We heard everything. You came here to kill her. You shoved a pillow over my face thinking it was her! It’s over!”

  Miles turned away from me. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered. I didn’t know if he was referring to me or Bonnie. I didn’t care.

  “Does Laura know?” I asked. That got his attention. His head whipped back to face me. “No!” he cried, finally showing some real emotion. “She has nothing to do with any of this. You have to believe me about that at least. She knows nothing. I did this for her. I did this alone.”

  “Do you really think that was what she wanted? For you to steal and kill for her?”

  He looked at me, his eyes suddenly pleading. “I had to, don’t you understand? I had to! She never would have married me unless I was a success.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong. She loved you for you, not your business.”

  “I couldn’t take the chance.”

  “That’s your justification? Did you never stop to think how Laura is going to react to all this? You’ve destroyed several lives, including hers!”

  Miles lowered his head and said nothing.

  Joe read him his rights.