A Season for Killing Blondes

by Joanne Guidoccio

  Grace nodded in agreement. “Carrie Ann wanted ammunition before confronting Anna May. I think she might have shared some of this with Melly Grace.”

  “Melly Grace came up here and started talking about auditing the books and investigating suppliers and clients,” Jenny Marie said. “She reprimanded Anna May a number of times on her gambling and drinking.” She managed a smile. “You remember that night at the restaurant, Gilda?”

  “How could I forget that tongue lashing I received from Melly Grace?” I shuddered as I recalled the events of that memorable evening.

  Grace frowned. “Did she think you had anything to do with Carrie Ann’s murder?”

  Jenny Marie shook her head. “She resented the fact that a certain detective might be interested in Gilda.”

  “I get the picture,” Grace said. “You were moving in on one of Melly Grace’s men from the past. And I think I know which detective we’re talking about. He’s pretty hot!”

  “Grace!” Jenny Marie’s eyes widened. “He’s old enough to be your father.”

  “Relax, I’m not putting the moves on him. So, Carlo and Melly Grace were once a hot item. How long did that last?” Grace asked.

  “That relationship lasted a couple of months,” Jenny Marie said. “But you know Melly Grace. She did love to maintain appearances and still be the object of everyone’s attention and admiration.”

  Grace sighed. “It sounds like Melly Grace created quite a stir the day of Carrie Ann’s funeral. I wish I had been there.”

  “It’s better you weren’t.” Jenny Marie shook her head. “Anna May spun more and more out of control. You did not have to witness that.” She turned to me. “It all started the day we came to visit you and Sofia. Had I known that she would fly into one of her rages, I would never have suggested it.”

  “It was your idea to visit?” All along, I assumed that Anna May planned to visit and pin the murder on me.

  Jenny Marie’s eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to spend some time with the last person who saw Carrie Ann alive. I wanted to hear her last words, thoughts—” Her voice trailed off, and she cried softly for several minutes.

  Grace hugged her mother and offered her some tissue. “You can’t blame yourself. Anna May is…was a grown woman and responsible for her own actions. She didn’t have to lash out at Gilda and Sofia and murder two other women.”

  Jenny Marie blew her nose. “She couldn’t deal with anyone else’s success. As soon as we got into the elevator, she started ranting and raving. And when she saw you and Sofia living so well, she lost it. I don’t think she thought of you as a possible suspect until then.”

  On its own, envy is a powerful emotion. Combine it with raging hormones, alcohol and drugs, and it can become toxic. It wasn’t too long ago that I dealt with these same issues, but with a much younger population. I could recall at least two or three meetings per year where I met with Students Services to discuss students with impulse control problems. Autism, Asperger’s, fetal alcohol syndrome, Tourette’s. Each year the list grew longer. I thought back to Anna May’s flushed cheeks and angry tirades. “Did she mix drugs and alcohol?”

  “She had a pharmacy in her purse,” Grace said. “Painkillers, antidepressants, sleeping pills, allergy medication. We found empty wine bottles in the trunk of her car and the back of her closet.”

  “She hasn’t been the same since our mother died.” Jenny Marie sighed. “Carrie Ann and I should have staged an intervention.”

  “Grandma died five years ago,” Grace said. “That’s a long time to be mourning and behaving badly.”

  “A lot happened to her in those last five years,” Jenny Marie said. “She had that bad car accident, went through menopause, gained fifty pounds, and started gambling.”

  A stubborn, judgmental look appeared on Grace’s face. “You had your share of stuff during that time. I don’t see you drinking, gambling, and begging for money.”

  “I am not too proud of the way I have handled my own stuff.” Jenny winced. “Getting older is not always a smooth passage, though I must admit Gilda seems to have found the fountain of youth.”

  I felt myself blushing “I’ve been lucky, I guess.”

  “It must be awesome to have all that money,” Grace said.

  “It has given me more choices. And it has also given my family and friends more opportunities.”

  “Gilda has paid off mortgages and major debts for a number of people, some even total strangers,” Jenny Marie explained. “She has changed a lot of lives.”

  “That’s the best part of it, seeing people who are struggling under mountains of debt suddenly coming up and breathing normally. I would have paid off all of Anna May’s debts.” Despite our differences, I would have helped Anna May.

  “After all that happened, you would still have done that?” Grace asked.

  I could empathize with Anna May. Before winning the lottery, I experienced one lean year where I had to count the pennies. “If I knew about all of this a few weeks ago, I would have paid off all her debts, anonymously, of course.”

  “But you wouldn’t have helped her. Within a month, she would have gambled everything away again. She needed professional help that none of us could give her.” Jenny Marie’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Her back was up against the wall,” I said. “Two things I have learned since I won the lottery: money talks and lack of money screams. Anna May was screaming for help, attention, love. Money doesn’t solve every problem, but life can be made more comfortable, and I am happy to be in a position to help anyone who needs it.”

  Grace chuckled “I wouldn’t advertise that, Gilda. You might have a lot of takers and be left with nothing.”

  “Not to worry. The money is well-invested, and I sign all my checks. When I decide to give money away, it’s always after careful deliberation.” I wondered about the state of Jenny Marie’s finances. Did she need an infusion of money in her account?

  Grace stood. “We should get going. I want to finish going through Anna May’s closet tonight. I won’t have time tomorrow. We have that early appointment tomorrow morning with Ronald Carruthers over at the Bank of Montreal.”

  “Ten o’clock is not that early.” Jenny Marie shook her head. “I can’t believe you still sleep in each morning. In my day—”

  “You were up with the chickens and walked five miles to school,” Grace said.

  We laughed, and my eyes met Grace’s as they left. We were on the same wavelength. I would send off an email tonight, and call Ronald first thing tomorrow morning. He had already helped with several of my other bank transfers.

  Chapter 20

  Friday, November 4, 2011

  Ronald Carruthers called a few minutes after nine. He didn’t share any details of the Three Sisters Decorating account, but listened as I tossed out different amounts of money. I intended to cover any outstanding debts and provide a small cushion of comfort for Jenny Marie. I had learned, the hard way, not to overwhelm friends and family members with extravagant amounts of money. I still cringe when I think of the fifty thousand dollars I gave a young relative who proceeded to spend all of it within three months. And when I refused to give more, her entire family stopped speaking to me.

  Ronald and I decided on a transfer of three hundred thousand dollars. This would be enough to pay off all accounts payable and Anna May’s gambling debts, and leave Jenny Marie with a severance. She would need the extra money after she closed down the business. Ronald assured me that he would be discreet and not mention my name to Jenny Marie. After last night’s conversation, she might suspect my involvement, but knowing Ronald, he would offer a complex but convincing explanation about “found” money.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, Belinda buzzed to let me know my first client of the morning had arrived. After the second appointment, I glanced at my schedule and realized I didn’t have any appointments scheduled until two o’clock. I could phone and ask Adele out to lunch. She liked spur-of-the-moment invi
tations. We could pop over to Culpeppers.

  Before I could punch in Adele’s number, Belinda buzzed and informed me that Grace Robinson had arrived. The name sounded vaguely familiar. As I tried to recall where I had met her, Jenny Marie’s Grace entered the room. I rose to greet her, and before I could speak, she hugged me close. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” When she let go of me, I saw tears in her eyes.

  We both sat down, and she continued to gaze at me adoringly. For several moments, neither of us said anything. “Does your mother know?”

  “Ronald rambled on and on about special circumstances and insurance on some accounts. He even brought up one of Grandpa’s investments from way back. I didn’t understand a word he said, and Mom frowned and shook her head several times. She thinks Grandma’s spirit had something to do with it.”

  I smiled as I thought of the kind, generous woman who had worked tirelessly on fund raisers and taken in foster children and other strays. “Good, let her think that.”

  “But I know, and someday I’ll tell Mom.”

  “Nothing wrong with believing in angels,” I said.

  “I’m glad we have a chance to chat without Mom around,” Grace said. “If we don’t do something, the murderer will go scot free. The police don’t have any leads, and they’re willing to accept all those alibis at face value.”

  Last night, I had gone through all the possibilities but still had trouble coming up with a suspect. One large piece of the puzzle still troubled me. “I’ve considered all possible suspects but keep coming up with the same question: Why would anyone help Anna May kill three women? She didn’t have money to give them. What could they possibly gain by going along with her?”

  Grace shrugged. “Knowing Anna May, she manipulated or bullied some man into helping her. And when he had enough, he killed her.”

  While I didn’t like the bad boys, I didn’t think any of them capable of murder. “Do you think one of Anna May’s ex-boyfriends killed her?”

  “Maybe or maybe someone we’ve been overlooking.” She leaned closer. “I’m hoping you and I can work together to catch the killer.”

  Nothing would give me more satisfaction than catching the person who helped Anna May frame me for those deaths. While I hadn’t shared that concern with anyone, it still rankled that someone would go to such lengths to set me up. While Anna May was the instigator, the accomplice did agree to cooperate. “I don’t see how I can help. And I don’t know what you can do. Aren’t you leaving for Toronto soon?”

  “I’m leaving after lunch today.” She took out a black notebook. “This is Anna May’s diary. I found it last night while cleaning out her closet and chest of drawers. I’m going to read through it and try to make some sense of the last two months of entries.”

  I gasped. “You need to turn that over to that police. It’s evidence!”

  “Not in its present form.” She handed over the diary.

  As I flipped through the pages, I saw what she meant. There were squiggles, doodles and scattered initials and jumbled words. “She must have been drunk or stoned when she wrote in this diary. I don’t mean to sound negative, but I don’t think you’ll find any clues here.”

  “Oh yes, I will. I know some of that code she used.”

  “What code?”

  Grace explained. “When they were all teenagers, Melly Grace came up with a code their parents wouldn’t understand. One summer at French River, they spent time practicing it on those cool, rainy days. Whenever they sent letters to each other, they would use the code to talk about their boyfriends and other personal stuff. Melly Grace and Carrie Ann stopped using it when they left home, but Anna May continued journaling all her life. There are more diaries in Mom’s basement, but I’m not interested in Anna May’s distant past.”

  “Why don’t you ask Jenny Marie to decipher it?”

  “Mom doesn’t know about the code,” Grace said. “She was the youngest and the tattler of the family. Anna May and the others didn’t trust her with it.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “After I graduated from Ryerson, I spent three months with Melly Grace in Tennessee. One day, I found an old diary of hers, and she explained the code to me. A corresponded to Z, E to Y, and there was a twist with the consonants. I don’t remember all of it, but I know it’ll come back to me. I’m good with puzzles.”

  I hated to think that Grace would waste her time on such a fruitless endeavor. “That would be helpful with some of the words that Anna May used, but I don’t know how you can make sense of the squiggles.”

  “That’s Pitman shorthand. Anna May and Mom studied that in school.”

  “You know Pitman shorthand?” I hadn’t heard of anyone taking shorthand in years.

  “Well…no…but, I can get a book and figure it out.”

  “Okay, so you figure out. What then?”

  Grace winked. “I prepare a transcript and show it to your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve never gone out.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Grace pointed to the phone. “Call him up and invite him over to dinner. Dazzle him with manicotti, fettuccine Alfredo, or one of your other signature dishes.”

  The confidence of youth! I didn’t have it back then, and I often wondered if I had it now. As for signature dishes…I didn’t want to go down that road. “What do you think I should be doing here in Sudbury while you are decoding in Toronto?”

  “Keep your ears and eyes open. Find out where some of those men hang out and—”

  “Stop right there! I have no intention of getting involved with Ray Centis and any of that crowd. I didn’t hang out with them during high school, and it would look very suspicious if I started to do so now.” And if one of them did turn out to be the accomplice, I would be in danger. “Your mother said they all had alibis.”

  “Their wives provided those alibis. I’m willing to bet one or two of them lied.” She frowned. “But I can see your point. If you’ve never socialized with them, it doesn’t make too much sense to start doing that now.”

  “They’re not the only suspects,” I muttered.

  “You know something. Tell me.”

  “This may sound farfetched to you. These people are close to your mother’s family, and I don’t want to point any fingers—”

  “Spill it.”

  “Jean and Michael Taylor.”

  Her eyes widened, and she paled. She said nothing for several minutes, and then she spoke more softly. “I can’t see her directly involved in any way. She’s too fragile. But she could be covering for him.”

  “You know something about him. Do you want to share it with me?” I watched as different emotions appeared on her beautiful face. Shock. Anger. Fear. The confident young woman started to unravel.

  “Only Melly Grace and Carrie Ann knew about this,” Grace said. “You must promise not to tell anyone else, especially not my mother.”

  I nodded and watched as she swallowed hard and forced back tears. “When I was about three years old, Michael Taylor tried to molest me. He and Carrie Ann were babysitting me while my parents were out one evening.” Her lower lip puckered, and tears pooled in her eyes.

  I reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “Carrie Ann came into the room just as he unzipped his pants while standing next to my bed. She made him stop and didn’t let me out of her sight for the rest of the night. The next morning, she phoned Melly Grace for advice, and they both decided not to tell my parents.”

  “Carrie Ann left him the following week.” Tears streamed down her face.

  I went over and hugged her. While I had heard variations of this story during my teaching career, it still shocked me. For several minutes, we sat there locked in a tight embrace. Her thin body shook as she sobbed. I didn’t want to share a troubling thought with Grace. Michael could have molested her on other occasions before Carrie Ann confronted him. When she stopped crying and sat up straighter, I continued the conversatio
n. “When did they tell you?”

  “Melly Grace visited the summer of my twelfth birthday. She and Carrie Ann told me the whole story then. They believed I had a right to know.” Her jaw tightened. “Michael and Jean were getting married that fall.”

  “Did you have any further contact with him?”

  “After Carrie Ann divorced him, my parents cut off ties with him. Grandma continued to support him, through his depression and suicide attempts.”

  “Why didn’t Carrie Ann tell her parents about Michael?”

  “That would have scandalized Grandma and Grandpa. You remember how straight-laced they were.” She shuddered. “God only knows what they would think about the four deaths and Anna May’s behavior.”

  “Did you ever confront him?”

  Grace smiled triumphantly. “Years later, after Carrie Ann agreed to mend fences for Jean’s sake, I told him what I knew, and what I was prepared to do if he ever tried anything again.”

  “Did you get any counseling?”

  “Carrie Ann arranged for some sessions with a social worker. I went a couple of times and then stopped. I didn’t remember the incident, and Michael was not part of my life.”

  “You were fortunate to have those strong women on your side, but I think Carrie Ann should have told your parents and reported him.”

  Her eyes widened. “I wonder if Anna May found out about it. She had a habit of sneaking around and eavesdropping on conversations. If she had something, anything on Michael, she would have used it to get what she wanted.”

  This was becoming too uncomfortable for her, so I decided to let it go for now. “When Jean and Michael dropped by the other day, he mentioned seeing Carrie Ann earlier in the afternoon.”

  “Does Carlo know?” Grace asked.

  I doubt that would have come up in any phone conversation. When he called the Taylor household, Carlo would not have thought to ask about Michael’s whereabouts. His primary concern was Jean’s visit to my office. I started to share this information and then stopped. Now that I knew about Michael’s disgusting behavior, I felt the need to protect Grace from the Taylors. “I’m not certain what Carlo knows. He did call Jean several times, so he might have suspected something.”