Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder

by Marilyn Rausch

  Main Street had been closed to all traffic. The red carpet ran down the sidewalk in front of the theater and into the lobby. Photographs were already underway and reporters were testing their microphones. “Testing, one, two, three. Can you hear me yet?”

  In the lobby he spotted Lance with Lucinda on one arm and Jane on the other, all smiling for the cameras. Both women looked gorgeous, Lucinda in her white, New York designer gown and Jane in a deep teal dress, designed and made by Mabel Ingrebretson of Turners Bend. In Chip’s eyes, Jane took the prize. He stood back and gazed at her. She spied him, gave him a huge smile and a little wave of her gloved hand. He felt a pleasant swelling in his chest, and he gave her a finger wave in return.

  Sven, wearing a musty-looking tux and a beret, and a group of artsy-looking kids approached him. One boy sported what looked like an old smoking jacket, another a Grateful Dead t-shirt. The girl on Sven’s arm was wearing a black bustier and a pink tutu.

  “Chip, I want you to meet my friends from MCAD. Guys, this is the famous author, Charles Collingsworth, the guy who wrote The Cranium Killer, the book not the screenplay. He renovated this theater. Isn’t it sick? Chip, do you think you could introduce us to Howard Glasser when he comes?”

  Just then a stretch limo escorted by a State Patrol car pulled up in front of the theater, the door opened and out stepped Howard Glasser, a short, skinny man in his mid-fifties. He was dressed in black leather pants and bomber jacket, and he had the five o’clock shadow so popular with Hollywood types, but rarely seen in Turners Bend. He stopped mid-way to the door and posed for photographers in one direction, turned and posed again in another direction. There was a meteor shower of flashing cameras. Then the reporters lined up and he proceeded from one to the other for brief interviews. Lucinda finally came to rescue him and guide him into the lobby.

  The reporters then interviewed Chip and his parents. “Mrs. Collingsworth, you must be so proud of your son,” commented one reporter, as she stuck her microphone in Maribelle’s face.

  “Yes. Of course, we knew from the time he was a young boy that he was extremely talented. Men on his father’s side of the family are all physicians, but Charles got his creative talents from my side of the family. In fact, I was a budding author in my early days, but I gave it up to raise my boys.”

  Chip was stunned. He whispered to his father, “Where does she come up with this crazy stuff?”

  “I’ve lived with her for fifty years, and I still don’t know.” He smiled.

  Sven approached them, this time without his friends. He had a worried look on his face. “Chip, could I talk to you, like alone, for a second?”

  “Sure, let’s slip into the theater office; it should be empty right now.” Chip turned toward his father. “I’ll meet up with you later. You better get Mom away from that reporter. There’s no telling what else she might say.” He shook his head, smiling.

  Sven and Chip entered the small office off the lobby, and Chip shut the door. “What’s up, Sven?”

  “Do you think Dad is here someplace?”

  “I wouldn’t think Hal would be here, but why do you ask? Are you worried he might be?”

  Sven hesitated, took a deep breath and continued. “Remember those two undercover DEA agents I told you about, the ones who questioned me about my dad and drugs? Well, I think they’re here … not undercover as migrant workers … this time in black suits. Do you think they’re looking for him?”

  “I wouldn’t worry, Sven. The FBI has brought in a lot of agents to cover this event. Those two guys are probably just part of the crew.”

  “There’s one thing that’s kind of weird though. I heard them whispering to each other in Spanish.”

  “Well, DEA agents often work along the Mexican border, so speaking Spanish with each other may not be that unusual. If they approach you again and you’re uncomfortable, it’s probably best to tell Special Agent Klein, he’s the agent in charge today. Okay?”

  Sven didn’t respond. Chip sensed the boy had something else on his mind. He kept quiet and waited until Sven decided to speak.

  “On one hand, I wish Dad were here. I’d love for him to see the theater and watch the movie with us. But, for his sake, I hope he’s safe someplace else, far away from those two agents.”

  Chip put his arm around Sven’s shoulders and gave him a brief hug. “I hear you, man. Go join your friends and try to put all of this out of your mind for tonight.”

  Lord, now I have to be on the lookout for Elizabeth Brown and Hal Swanson, too.

  * * *

  The events of the evening proceeded just as planned. Howard Glasser gave a charming and witty introduction to the movie, praised the actors and thanked the town for the warm reception. He mentioned the theater renovation, “This place brings back wonderful childhood memories. It reminds me of watching Star Wars on Saturday afternoons and eating Dots and Junior Mints.”

  Glasser paced across the stage with a handheld mike. “Ms. Patterson persuaded me to read The Cranium Killer, and I knew from the first chapter that it would make a blockbuster film. I’d like to announce that I was smart enough to snap up the movie rights to Mr. Collingsworth’s next book, too. I hope to return to your lovely town for the premiere of Brain Freeze in about a year and a half.”

  After his speech, he was swiftly whisked away in his limo. One hour and thirty seven minutes later the movie ended, and the audience burst into applause. The crowd stood and shouts of “Bravo” echoed around the theater.

  Jane was waiting in the lobby and she planted a kiss on his cheek and took his arm. “What’s wrong, Chip? You look like you didn’t like the film. I thought it was quite well done and the audience seemed enthralled.”

  “No one told me they were going to change the ending,” he said. “I bet you anything Lucinda knew. How could they do that? I’m steamed. There was no way that Dr. Goodman would hook up with that detective; she just wasn’t his type.”

  “Don’t be. I think Hollywood does that a lot. Remember how they changed the ending to The Horse Whisperer, where Tom wasn’t killed like in the book … that’s Hollywood for you. Let’s go to the gala. We can dance your troubles away. The dance band I booked is very good, and I asked them to play lots of slow numbers for us.”

  When they arrived at the high school, Chip was amazed at the transformation. He had to admit that Lance had outdone himself again. The 1930s theme was beautifully executed, Art Deco lamps on each table, Erte posters and antique mirrors on the walls, even a 1931 wooden Phillips radio on display. He and Jane danced in the gym, and ate shrimp toast and chicken wings. They played Black Jack in the lunchroom and drank champagne toasts everywhere. Jane stayed by his side all evening. He did not spend one second thinking about the killer until he saw Chief Fredrickson surveying the crowd

  When Jane visited the bathroom, Chip sought out the chief. “Any sightings of our suspect?”

  “Negative. Maybe the heavy police presence kept her away.”

  The two scanned the room. A woman Chip had never seen before caught his eye. Unlike the other women at the gala, she wasn’t wearing a ball gown, just a simple black dress. She was tall and slender and had short-cropped brown hair. My God, could that be her? Elizabeth Brown? Chip’s heart started to race. “Chief, that woman, the one over by the punch bowl. Check her out,” he said in a shaky voice.

  The chief laughed. “Yup, Ms. Stensrud. She’s the middle school PE teacher. She’s lived here in Turners Bend all her life, never coached up in Minnesota, I’m sure, if that’s what you were thinking.”

  Chip watched as Tom Whittler, the high school coach approached her. They did not appear to be on friendly terms. The woman made a short remark, tossed her head and abruptly departed.

  “That’s Whittler isn’t it? What’s he like?” asked Chip.

  “He’s tough. Hard on the girls, but he gets results. He’d be a good match for Ms. Stensrud, but I hear the two are not on good terms, bitter enemies, in fact.”

  Jane
returned to his side, and they watched the dancers. One of the biggest surprises of the evening was Chip’s parents. They seemed to be completely enjoying themselves … even his father was laughing and dancing. They drew a lot of attention with their tango and foxtrot. The floor cleared for them as they executed the tricky two-step.

  “Oh, it’s just like Dancing with the Stars,” said Flora Frederickson, who was no slouch on the dance floor herself.

  Chip asked Ingrid to dance. She blushed but willingly followed him to the dance floor where he tried to execute his version of the lindy.

  “No offense, Chip, but I don’t think you inherited your parents’ dancing skills,” said Ingrid, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at him.

  “You’re right there, but I do know how to pick the prettiest dance partners in the place. You look lovely tonight. With your tiara and blue gown, you look like a princess.”

  “Thank you, kind sir. You don’t look too shabby yourself, Chip.”

  One of Sven’s friends tapped him on the shoulder and cut in to finish the dance with Ingrid.

  Jane glided into his arms. “That was so sweet of you to dance with Ingrid. She’s lovely isn’t she?”

  “Yes, you’ve raised two great kids. You should be very proud of yourself.” Chip danced her off toward the bar. “Now how about one last glass of the bubbly?”

  At the end of the evening, Lance drew the name for the trip to Hollywood. Bernice shrieked and jumped up and down when her name was drawn. “Hollywood here I come. Universal City, Rodeo Drive, Disneyland, the Ellen Show.”

  Lance remained on the stage. “Friends, I have another announcement. Tonight I have asked Lucinda Patterson to marry me, and as luck would have it, she accepted.”

  Lucinda joined him on the stage and flashed a three-carat pink diamond ring to the crowd. Cheers went up from everyone except Chip, who stood still, not knowing exactly what to think or how to feel. He was relieved it was Lucinda, not Jane, who was the object of Lance’s affection. He was happy for Lucinda, but wondered how her changed status might impact their working relationship. At this point, he just wanted to wrap up the two storylines in Mind Games and get her off his back.

  He looked at Jane and saw that her eyes were glistening, and again he was somewhat puzzled as to what that could mean. Was Jane disappointed in Lance’s choice or happy for the couple? Her behavior told him it was the latter, so he decided to be happy for Lance and Lucinda along with everyone else that evening.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mind Games

  Minneapolis, Minnesota

  Early August

  Frisco turned on the siren as they sped across the Hennepin Avenue Bridge, into the heart of a section of Minneapolis known by locals as “Nordeast”. As they drove past Nye’s Polonaise Room, Jo couldn’t help but wish they were racing toward rescuing John, and immediately felt guilty for the thought. Kent Womack was obviously distraught over the disappearance of his wife. And with good reason.

  Frisco parked on the street in front of the The Bean Counter. It was located in the row of shops and restaurants facing the Mississippi River a couple of blocks from the Stone Arch Bridge.

  When they walked into the coffee shop, Jo’s eyes quickly scanned the crowded room, but she did not spot Payne or Womack. She strode up to the barista, a young guy with a nose ring and dirty-blonde dreadlocks. His name tag read, Trent.

  As she and Frisco pulled out their identification, Jo said, “We’re trying to locate two women.” She pulled out the photo of Sandra she had gotten from the pastor and a printout of Marjorie Payne’s TV promo shot. “Did you see either of these people in here this morning?”

  The barista wiped his hands on a towel and squinted at the pictures. He said, “Sure did. They were here for about twenty minutes or so.” He pointed at the picture of Marjorie Payne. “She comes in here a lot. Always orders the Skinny Vanilla Latte.”

  Frisco said, “Never mind that. Did you see them leave?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. I always watch her leave, ‘cuz she’s hot. Makes a great exit.”

  Jo rolled her eyes and said, “Look, this is important. Which way did they go?”

  Trent came around the counter and walked to the open doorway at the rear of the coffee shop. When Jo and Frisco followed, he pointed to a red brick building across the parking lot. On the far side of the building, Jo could still make out the faded letters of the flour mill company that had once been housed in the rehabbed building. “They went into that entrance, over there. I see Skinny Vanilla Latte head that way almost every time she’s in here. They left several hours ago.”

  “Do you know what’s in that building?” Jo asked.

  “Not sure what’s in it now. Some rich dude bought it awhile back, thinking he’d renovate it and make a killing. Put in a music recording studio and some offices. Then I heard he failed epically during the recession. It’s been empty over there until Skinny Latte showed up.” He shrugged. “I figured she bought it and was picking up where the not-so-rich dude left off.”

  Trent paused, and then said, “Hey, I really probably should get back to work. People get crabby when they can’t get their caffeine fix. You guys need anything else?”

  “Nah, we’re good. Thanks,” Frisco said.

  After the barista left, Frisco turned to Jo and said, “They might not still be in there, but you never know. We should probably put on our body armor before we head over, just in case. I’ll go grab the gear and meet you out here.”

  When he returned a few moments later, they donned their Kevlar vests and dashed across the lot. They entered the building and looked around. The lobby was unfinished and scaffolding still lined the double-story walls. As they walked down a long hallway, offices were in various stages of construction; some areas were still delineated by studs, rather than drywall.

  Frisco had his hand on his gun holster. “Got any ideas?”

  “No. Guess we’d better search each floor, just to be …” Jo was interrupted by a crash on the floor above their heads.

  Jo pulled out her Glock and they silently climbed the steps to the second floor. Moving quietly toward the area that was the source of the of crash, they swept their weapons back and forth to verify that there was no additional threat to them in the unfinished offices on either side.

  They reached a closed door at the end of the hallway. There was a brass sign on the wall to the right that read, PDK Music Productions. Jo pointed to a line of yellow light escaping from the bottom of the door.

  Frisco nodded and carefully tried to turn the knob. It was locked.

  A muffled scream came from the other side of the door.

  Jo’s hands felt clammy as she griped her gun. It’s got to be now. We wait any longer and Sandra Womack’s going to die. Jo took a deep breath and silently motioned to Frisco to break down the door. She stood aside, with her weapon raised.

  This is the moment where everything can go sideways. She looked at Frisco and nodded. He counted silently to three with his fingers. As Jo yelled, “FBI”, the detective drew back his leg and slammed his heavy shoe into the door, shattering it on impact.

  Sandra Womack was tied to a chair at the far end of the room. Her frantic eyes located them and she shrieked, “Help me, please!”

  Marjorie Payne whirled around as they rushed into the room with their guns drawn, stepping past the damaged door frame.

  The TV reporter was almost unrecognizable. Her bright blonde hair that had always been beautifully styled for the cameras now hung in hanks around her face, lifeless and dull. A shiver went down Jo’s spine when she saw the madness in Marjorie Payne’s eyes.

  Jo’s eyes flew to the shotgun in Payne’s hand and she aimed her Glock at the reporter. She shouted, “Put down the weapon!”

  Payne ignored her command and pointed the weapon at Sandra Womack’s head. The woman’s eyes were wide and Jo noticed some bruising on her jaw. It reminded Jo of the marks on Annie McDonald’s chin and neck and she briefly wondered if Payne
had tried to force a note into Womack’s mouth, just like the other victims.

  Jo said in a firm voice, “Ms. Payne. We just want to talk. That’s all. But you’ve got to put down the gun and let Mrs. Womack go. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  For the first time, Marjorie Payne spoke. “Go away! You can’t have her. She has to pay for her sins.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this. We can help you, but you’ve got to help us in return,” Frisco said.

  Jo quickly assessed the situation. She briefly glanced around the room and saw dried blood spatter on the back wall. A spent shotgun shell lay next to the baseboard. This has been her kill zone.

  With the weapon pointed at Sandra Womack, Jo had to calm the situation down quickly. She offered up a brief, silent prayer that she would take the right actions in the next few moments.

  Jo spoke in a modulated voice, “Marjorie. Please. You don’t want to do this.” Never taking her eyes away from the reporter, she slowly crouched down and set her gun on the floor by her feet. She raised her hands in front of her, showing that she posed no threat.

  For a fleeting moment, she was relieved when she saw Payne’s eyes track Jo’s gun to the floor and lowered her shotgun a fraction. Then Jo’s mouth went dry when she saw that she was now the target. She fought to keep the panic out of her voice when she said, “Let me help you. I know … I know about your father. We know he abandoned you and your family.”

  Marjorie Payne sneered. “The bastard didn’t just abandon us. He had my mother killed, did you know that? Put down, like a dog, just because he decided to go into politics. Wouldn’t be proper to have a second family, would it?”

  Jo took a wary step forward, her palms still up in the air. “We just found that out. I’m sorry no one figured it out, years ago.”

  “My brother tried to tell them. He was just a kid, but he saw. They wouldn’t listen.”

  “I would have listened to him,” Jo said.