Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  I sighed. I hated to admit it, but Claire was right. My so-called “case” against Linda was based completely on guesses and suppositions, with a few stray facts thrown in just for the heck of it. Circumstantial evidence.

  Before anyone would take me seriously, I had to confirm the possible link, that Davis Rhodes and Linda Burns were college classmates. Did I also need to prove that Linda had seen Rhodes when he moved into the area? And discover a motive for her eliminating Rhodes? No, this last part was definitely a job for the police. After all, I had to leave something for them to do.

  Means, motive, opportunity. The big three in every mystery story I’d ever read.

  I thought back to my visit to the Re-tirement Survival Center earlier this afternoon. The new alliance between Sheila and Grace was certainly peculiar. And surprising. Had they suddenly banded together to cover up for each other? Or had they been working together all along? Could Grace have killed Rhodes and Sheila was blackmailing her? Or the other way around? Both of them appeared to have motives. Each of them had admitted arguing with Rhodes before he died. And they certainly had opportunity.

  I couldn’t ignore the fact that both Grace and Sheila would have intimate knowledge of any medication Rhodes was already taking. With easy access to the Internet, anyone could figure out what drug could cause a fatal interaction with current medication. I wasn’t sure about their access to Enalapril, but it was not impossible.

  My head was starting to hurt.

  Okay, here was another theory, even more farfetched than the others. What if Linda, Grace, and Sheila were all in this together? Wasn’t there an Agatha Christie mystery about something like that, where more than one person was the murderer?

  Oh, Carol, you are really losing it now. Talk about a vivid imagination.

  I had pretty convincing proof (to me, anyway) that Linda had anonymously given the police my cell phone, had access to the drug that killed Rhodes, and planted the drug in my medicine cabinet. Why would she go to all that trouble if she weren’t involved in Rhodes’s death?

  Means, motive and opportunity.

  I wondered if I should just quit investigating right now. Mark Ander- son was convinced that Jim was being set up by someone. Hopefully, he’d managed to convince the powers-that-be at police headquarters of the same thing. And that should be the end of it, right? My family would be safe, and we could resume our normal lives again.

  I suddenly remembered someone had tried to call me while I was talking to Patty at the vet’s office. It was Jenny. “Mom,” she whispered on the voice mail, “the degree I saw isn’t on her office wall any more. But I know I saw it there just a few days ago. I can’t figure out why that one is missing when all the other diplomas and awards are still there. And it looks like she’s starting to do some major redecorating. Gotta go.”

  I sat down on the sofa in the office and thought about Jenny’s message. Why was Linda redecorating her office? Had she been officially appointed chair of the history department and was celebrating by sprucing up her digs at the college? What about the disappearing diploma? In light of what I’d learned today about Davis Rhodes’s “enhanced” degrees, was it possible that Linda’s degrees were “enhanced” too? Was she afraid that Rhodes would recognize her and know that she wasn’t part of the 1974 Papermill graduating class? Maybe he did, and he was blackmailing her. I was no expert on academic protocol, but I was willing to bet that if Fairport College found out that her degree was a phony, it would be grounds for immediate dismissal.

  Yes, that was a pretty impressive motive, all right. Even Claire would have to agree with that. I was being objective. Could I help it if the facts kept pointing more and more toward Linda?

  I had to ask Mike to check on Papermill University’s class of 1974 right away, to determine once and for all if Linda Burns had been a member of that class. “Time to fire up the computer,” I told the dogs. “I think we’re on a roll.”

  Lucy and Ethel obligingly rolled over for a tummy pat.

  “No, not that kind of a roll.” I laughed at them even though I had to step over their prone bodies to get to the computer.

  Scanning my email, I saw one from Mike.

  Rhodes/Retuccio, 74—Burns, 0. Hey Cosmo Girl!

  It’s your faithful research assistant reporting from sunny South Beach. Was able to find some things about Dick Retuccio/a.k.a.Davis Rhodes. His official bio on the Center’s website doesn’t match what I found out from my other research. ????? I can send you everything I found out as an attachment, if you want details. But briefly, he’s originally from La La land—I mean, Los Angeles—and got his undergraduate degree from Papermill University, which is in one of the many L.A. suburbs. Graduated in 1974 with degree in history. Then went on to grad school at a variety of places, and finally got Master’s and Ph.D. degree through Las Vegas U. in Lifestyle Management. Whatever that means. His career really took off in the late eighties, and you know the rest about his Re-tirement theory. Married Grace Baker in 1983. No children. Struck a blank wall about Linda Burns until 1979, when she came to Fairport and started teaching at the college. Couldn’t get any early bio or educational info about her at all. Tried all my usual websites and came up empty. Do you have any specific leads on her you want me to check out?? How’s Dad??????? Is he wearing prison stripes yet? Ha, ha!

  So far, what Mike had, or rather hadn’t, found out about Linda, confirmed my suspicions even more. I hoped that Papermill University’s alumni records were available on the college website. I didn’t know if that was common practice these days, but with all the websites I’ve seen popping up all over the Internet advertising how to find lost classmates, I figured maybe Papermill provided that service gratis for graduates.

  I hoped Mike was online now, and instant messaged him. To my delight, he responded right away that he would try to get that information and to stay tuned. Ah, the age of instant communication!

  Within fifteen minutes, I had another message from Mike.

  Burns, Zip. The Plot Thickens?

  Papermill U. doesn’t have a very friendly website and doesn’t offer alumni information online. I took a chance and called the college alumni office on my cell phone. What the heck. Told the woman who answered that I was Dick Retuccio, a member of the class of 1974, and was trying to track down a fellow classmate. I was lucky that news of his death hadn’t reached the West Coast yet, right? Anyway, she was very helpful, and checked the alumni records for me. She found no record of Linda Burns graduating from there in 1974, or in any other year, for that matter. She assured me the college keeps very accurate alumni records because of fundraising requests. Fortunately, before she could get into any more specific questions with me, she had to take another call and put me on hold, so I hung up. Now what?

  Good question. I had no idea. But I didn’t want to leave Mike hanging, so I quickly emailed him back.

  Now What, Indeed?

  Thanks for the detective work, sweetie. I think you’ve uncovered something very important. By not uncovering anything, if you see what I mean. Jenny was positive that Linda went to Papermill U and had a degree from there hanging on her office wall. Your dear sister, also working as a private eye for dear old Mom and Dad, has just reported in that the diploma is no longer in Linda’s office. Will be back in touch as soon as I can. Dad is doing better. Things are looking a little brighter here in the Nutmeg State. More details later. Love you.

  Mom

  I logged off the computer and did a quick time check. Almost five thirty. Jim and Jenny would probably both be home soon. And ravenous, especially Jim. I was still pretty full from my lunch at Maria’s Trattoria. But I had to put something on the table for dinner. Time to put my detecting on temporary hold. And not a minute too soon. My head was swimming with everything I’d found out today.

  I checked the refrigerator and, as I suspected, there were no leftovers. Alas. But then, that was no surprise, because I hadn’t cooked a full meal in days. No cooking, no leftovers.

&nb
sp; Preparing a home-cooked meal was not an option. Not enough time, even if I had the inclination, which, after the day I’d had, I quite honestly did not. Quickly, I dialed Seafood Sandy’s, a local restaurant that specializes in the most delicious seafood on this part of the Connecticut shoreline. Plus, they delivered. At least, for me, they did. Sandy guaranteed me that my order would be at my door in thirty minutes. Or it would be free. Can’t argue with service like that.

  Then, just so my family wouldn’t think my snooping had completely interfered with my ability to cook, I decided to whip up a batch of ice cream bread. That’s right, bread. This is the simplest recipe known to man, and when Jenny and Mike were little, they used to love to help me make it.

  Hmm. Come to think of it, Mark Anderson used to love my ice cream bread, too. And just like that, because I’m impulsive to a fault, I made a snap decision. I wanted to brainstorm with Mark about all I’d found out. Right now. So I decided to call Mark and invite him over for supper.

  I ignored the warning voice in my head that told me this wasn’t a good idea, and punched in Mark’s number. His outgoing message indicated he was working the 10 a.m.-6 p.m. shift today. I left him a cheery invitation. “Hi, Mark. It’s Carol Andrews. I know this is very short notice, but I’m calling to invite you for supper tonight if you’re free. It’s nothing fancy. I’m making ice cream bread for dessert, and I suddenly remembered how much you loved that when you were a kid. Hope to see you any time after six tonight. You don’t have to bother calling me back, unless you can’t make it. Hope to see you later.”

  There. How could anyone refuse an invitation like that?

  TWENTY-NINE

  Too many folks want to retire before they actually start working.

  Mark showed up on my doorstep at six thirty sharp. The dogs greeted him suspiciously, sniffed him thoroughly, then curled up over the air conditioner vent to take a nap.

  Mark looked as nervous as I felt. “Mrs. Andrews, you may not want me to stay when you hear what I have to tell you. Finding that pill bottle was pretty conclusive as far as my boss was concerned. There’s a warrant being issued for Mr. Andrews on a charge of murder. He’ll probably be arrested tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  Oh, God. Mark had completely blindsided me. Suddenly, my attempts at sleuthing appeared pretty pathetic. And those ridiculous fantasies I’d had about rushing in and saving the day were just that—ridiculous.

  I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. “I know you’ve done your best,” I said, all the while thinking that he could have tried a lot harder to help Jim. “I still want you to stay for dinner. There are a few things I’ve discovered that I want to share with you. Maybe they’ll convince you to change your mind.” They probably wouldn’t. Still, I had to try, didn’t I? “Can we keep this warrant business just between us for now?” I pleaded. “At least until you hear what I have to say?”

  Jenny arrived home next, interrupting our conversation. She must have recognized Mark’s car in our driveway, because she came into the kitchen all smiles. Fortunately, he’d come in his own car this time and not a police cruiser. Our neighbors had enough to talk about as it is.

  “Hi, Mark. Mom, don’t tell me you’re making ice cream bread? We haven’t had that since my fourteenth birthday party!”

  Fortunately, Jenny was so happy Mark was here that she didn’t notice how terrible I looked. Ignoring her teasing, I gave her cutlery with orders to set the kitchen table. No eating in the dining room tonight. Jenny and Mark put out the place mats, plates and silver. It was quite a domestic scene. And the condemned man will eat a hearty meal?

  By the time Jim came home, the takeout meal had arrived and was ready to serve. And the ice cream bread was cooling on a rack beside the stove.

  “Carol, there’s a strange car…” Jim stopped as he realized that Mark was sitting at the kitchen table next to Jenny. For just a second, he appeared panicked, then recovered himself. He looked at me and telegraphed silently, “What’s he doing here?”

  I gave Jim a quick peck on the cheek. “Do you want to sit down right away? Or go up and change first? I invited Mark to supper on the spur of the moment and he was able to come. Isn’t that nice?” I telegraphed back to Jim, “Just play along.” I hoped he got the message, but with men you never know.

  “Is that food from Seafood Sandy’s I smell?” Jim asked as he pulled out a kitchen chair. “You know me, I’m salivating already. I just want to sit down and eat. Nice to see you here, Mark.”

  Ha. If only he knew.

  “Mom made ice cream bread for dessert, Dad,” Jenny added. “Chocolate. Your favorite.”

  We all busied ourselves piling our plates high with the crispy fish and chips. I tried to eat, but everything seemed to stick in my throat. I wondered briefly what kind of food Jim would get in jail. Then I mentally slapped myself.

  Maybe that mental slap lodged something loose in my brain, because I suddenly realized that I had overlooked something very important about Linda Burns. How stupid I was. When she was at Papermill University, she wasn’t married, so her last name wasn’t Burns. Oh, God, no wonder Mike hadn’t been able to confirm she’d graduated from there. My whole “case” was about to blow up in my face because I had given him the wrong name to check.

  I had to get Mike on the phone right away. So I started to cough. I mean, I really coughed, like I was choking on a piece of fish. I grabbed my throat dramatically and jumped up. “Bathroom,” I whispered. “Not feeling too well.”

  I snatched the cordless phone on my way through the family room, headed for the master bathroom and locked myself in. I turned the water on, just for effect, and kept on coughing.

  Jim banged on the door. “Honey. Are you all right?”

  “Just give me a little time alone,” I said. “I feel dizzy from all this coughing. I’ll be okay in a few minutes. I’m drinking some water.” I sighed with relief as I heard Jim walk away from the bathroom door.

  Now, if I could just remember Linda’s “maiden name,” an archaic term if I ever heard one. Nobody had “maiden names” any more. Desperately, I dialed Nancy, Claire and Mary Alice, but all I got were their voice mails. I don’t curse a lot, but allowed myself to whisper “shit” ever so softly. That made me feel a little better. So I said it again.

  I massaged my forehead. Sometimes that helped me focus. I realized I was hyperventilating. I also realized I was screwed. And so was Jim. Except he didn’t know it yet.

  I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Unfortunately. I had no choice but to go back and give Mark my skimpy information. And the quicker, the better. Sort of like taking a band aid off a cut.

  Just get it over with, Carol. And, for God’s sake, don’t show everyone how scared you are.

  Both dogs raced up to greet me when I came back into the kitchen. The three humans jumped up, too, but I waved everybody away. “I’m really fine now,” I fibbed. I stared down at my unappetizing fish dinner, which had congealed into a cold greasy mess on my plate.

  Stop stalling. All you need to do isgive Mark enough information to convince him that arresting Jim tomorrow morning would be a big mistake. There are other suspects for the police to investigate.

  I topped off Mark’s iced tea glass, then plunged right in with my story. “You know that I’ve talked to some people about the Davis Rhodes case,” I said, looking directly at him. “I know you didn’t want me to, but I’ve found some more information the police may not have. For instance, did you know that Grace Retuccio and Sheila Carney have become allies? Are they both still on your suspect list?” I stopped and waited to see what Mark’s response would be. It was predictable.

  “Mrs. Andrews, you know I can’t answer that. It’s part of our ongoing investigation.”

  Hmm. So, even though the police were planning on arresting Jim tomorrow morning, the investigation was still “ongoing.” Maybe there was hope after all.

  I rapidly switched gears. “I respect that y
ou need to keep the official investigation confidential. But Jenny and I believe we have a pretty good idea who’s been giving you false information about Jim. And as of this afternoon, I may even know why.” I looked at Jenny and she nodded her head. “We didn’t say anything last night, because the person we suspect is someone we know, and we didn’t want to accuse her until we had concrete information. But from what we’ve been able to piece together today, there’s definitely something fishy going on with her.”

  I took a deep breath. It was now or never. Oh, well, if I was wrong, we could always sell our house and go into the Witness Protection Program.

  “The person we suspect is Linda Burns.”

  Jim, who until now had been very quiet, sat up very straight in his chair and let me have it with both barrels. “Are you crazy? We’ve known Linda and Bruce Burns for years. Bruce has been commuting with me every day since I started working in New York. What the hell are you talking about?”

  I knew I had to be very organized about how I presented my case. No emotion. Just the facts.

  “Fact Number One. Davis Rhodes, then known as Dick Retuccio, graduated from Papermill University in California in 1974. That’s been confirmed by the university. Last night, as you know, his office was broken into. The only thing that Sheila Carney can determine was taken is his 1974 college yearbook.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Trust Jim to be argumentative at a time like this.

  I held up my hands. “Just wait. Please. Fact Number Two. Jenny recently saw a diploma from Papermill University on Linda Burns’s office wall at the college. The diploma said that Linda was also a member of the class of 1974. That’s the same graduating class as Davis Rhodes. Isn’t that a remarkable coincidence?