Murder Me Twice

by P. J. Conn

  "Will you bill me for it?"

  "No, my house calls are gratis. I'll take that as a yes." She lured Mr. Cuddles out onto the back porch with the bowl of tuna and closed the door behind him. "You keep a very neat house, or Faye did."

  She went back into the living room to add the trait to her list for Faye. "Every detail is important. Please keep thinking about her."

  "I can't think of anything else."

  Hal thought Gladys's coffee was some of the best he'd ever tasted. He carried it into the dining room. "You make a fine cup of coffee."

  "Thank you, it's a rare gift." She set a plate of scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast in front of him. She'd made herself a similar plate and spread strawberry jam on her toast as soon as she joined him at the table. "Now hurry up and eat so we can get back to work."

  He salted and peppered his eggs. "I can eat and think." The eggs were light and fluffy, delicious really. He swallowed another bite. "I can't understand how Faye turned herself into someone as sophisticated as Pearl."

  "Let's turn it around. Could Pearl have pretended to be Faye?"

  He needed another swig of coffee to even consider such a far-fetched prospect, but it would have been much easier for a sophisticated woman to pretend to be naïve than the other way around. "What would have possessed her to do so?"

  She caught herself before she gestured with a slice of toast and placed it on her plate. "Maybe she didn't want to be found."

  "Why?"

  "A man probably," she responded, "undoubtedly a dangerous one."

  "So she married me and pretended to be a happy housewife to escape him? He could have been the one who killed her."

  "Seems likely. Maybe she felt secure enough with you to be herself briefly on Thursday nights and go to the Golden Bear for a drink."

  He pushed his empty plate away. "There was nothing fake or forced about Faye. She wasn't acting a part, she really was an innocent sweetheart."

  "And Pearl?"

  He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "The lady was as smooth as silk. There was nothing fake about her either. People are going to think me a fool, aren't they? Especially if I try to explain there weren't two women, but only one."

  She reached for his hand. "I don't think so."

  He squeezed her fingers. "But you're being paid."

  "That's a cynical way to look at it." She pulled her hand from his, picked up their plates and carried them into the kitchen sink. "I don't do dishes, so you're on your own there."

  Her manner had turned chilly, and he was quick to apologize. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you, but I once had such a pleasantly dull existence and now my life has become utterly unmanageable."

  "And you're paying me to keep it from going completely off the rails. I need to use your telephone to call my office. Keep adding to our list of differences while I do. You may think of something that will make everything fall into place."

  "The phone in the living room has a long cord, take it into the bedroom."

  "Thanks." She carried her briefcase into the bedroom with her. Hal did the dishes and put them in the drainer to dry. The window above the sink offered a clear view of the pretty spring flowers they'd planted, and he had trouble catching his breath. When Gladys rejoined him, he leaned back against the counter.

  "How am I going to have a funeral when it will be obvious to everyone that I barely knew my wife?"

  "You needn't concern yourself with that today," she advised softly.

  "I can't leave Faye in the mortuary indefinitely. I'll have to have her body cremated and scatter the ashes. I couldn't bury her at Forest Lawn with two names on her tombstone."

  "Maybe we've done enough for today and you simply need to gather yourself to better cope with what's happened. Why don't you call the detective you hired to let him know what's happened? Maybe he'll have some helpful ideas."

  He nodded. "I should call my boss and tell him my wife's been found dead."

  "That's a step, even if it will be a painful one. Don't provide any details. I'll call you later."

  He walked with her to the front door. "Thank you for making breakfast."

  She squeezed his arm. "My pleasure. Get some rest."

  "Rest," he echoed. "I vaguely remember sleep." He closed the door and watched her drive away from Mr. Cuddles' favorite window. He'd forgotten all about the cat and let him off the back porch.

  * * *

  Joe stared at Hal wide-eyed. "Let me get this straight, Faye and Pearl were the same woman?"

  "Yes, and if it strikes you as too absurd to be true, imagine how it sounds to me."

  Joe got up to pour them each a cup of coffee. "Unbelievable, but no matter what her name was, her death is tragic."

  Hal nodded. The coffee Joe brewed tasted bitter and was too strong, but he didn't care. "You met Faye. Did she seem like an actress playing a part?"

  "No, she was a gentle soul who adored you and was greatly worried she might lose you. What are you going to do?"

  Hal shrugged. "Have her body cremated and find a place to scatter her ashes. I can't bear the thought of putting her in the ground. We'd never talked about what we'd do if one of us died. Couples ought to make plans, even if it is a stressful subject. I give the same advice to people purchasing insurance. It's important to plan ahead so you won't be blindsided, but I didn't take my own advice."

  "Have a funeral for her. Your friends will come," Joe urged.

  "A funeral is to celebrate a life, and I don't even know who Faye was. That will make for a very short obituary."

  "Nevertheless, you should write one." Joe reached for a yellow notepad. "Faye Renee Marten, beloved wife of Harold Marten, passed away on, what was the date?"

  "The third. I don't know where she was born, or grew up, or who her parents were, so there's nothing more to add. We'd been married less than a year, but that's still pathetic, isn't it? I should have learned those things while we were dating." He gave up on the coffee and placed his half-filled cup on Joe's desk.

  "We could say she'll be remembered for her beautiful smile and pleasant manner," Joe suggested.

  "Yes, that's true. She loved to sew, but she wasn't very good, and we can't say that."

  "How about she loved to sew and was known for her sweet smile and pleasant manner?"

  "That's good." Hal stood and began to pace. "Maybe I should have some sort of a memorial for her at our home, my home. There's no need to include that information in the obituary. Lord knows who'd turn up if I gave my address."

  "That's wise. Saturday afternoon would be good. Let me know when you decide the time, and I'll be there. I did meet Faye, after all, and I'm so sorry she's gone."

  "Thank you. I'll let you know." Hal left with the obituary they'd written, and he'd call the paper to have it printed. It was so little to say about Faye, but sadly, he'd not known anything more. He felt sick clear through. It didn't matter that Faye hadn't been what she'd seemed. She'd been his wife, and he ached for her loss.

  * * *

  Joe made notes of their conversation, but the case had taken such a bizarre twist, the summary lacked even a hint of sense. When CC came by that afternoon, he had to share what he'd learned. "You're not going to believe this," he began.

  "What's that, sir?" CC picked up the wastebasket beside Joe's desk and waited to hear.

  "The little lady who disappeared, the one who was so worried about her husband and another woman, she was that other woman."

  CC frowned and shook his head. "I don't understand. How could she have been two people?"

  "It beats me, and while I hate to speak ill of the dead, she must have been badly confused, or just plain crazy."

  The janitor responded with a blustery sigh. "Don't that beat all. She sounded perfectly sane to me."

  Joe sat forward and rested his arms on his desk. "I didn't realize you'd spoken with her."

  "No more than a word or two." He emptied the wastebasket in the big trashcan in the hall and returned it to its plac
e. "Bet you'll remember this case, Mr. Ezell."

  "It's definitely going in my book, if I ever write one."

  "You have yourself a nice afternoon now." CC closed the door on his way out.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning, the Los Angeles Times again ran the pretty high school photograph of Faye that Hal had given Detective Lynch. The headline read, "Murdered Housewife Led Double Life". Her gruesome death was briefly described, and the remainder of the article focused on the puzzling nature of her double identity. The reporter painted her as a talented actress who had fooled her husband into believing she was two separate individuals. Or so her husband claimed. Hal tore up the whole paper and dropped the confetti-sized bits into the trash. The telephone soon began to ring. He didn't answer.

  His doorbell rang, and looking out he saw two men, one holding a camera. He ignored them as well. Carmen came to his backdoor in tears, and he welcomed her in.

  "Oh Mr. Marten, I'm so sorry. Faye was such a delightful girl. How can anything they said about her in the Times be true?"

  "I'm as confused as you are, Carmen. You were a good friend to Faye, and I want you to remember her as the charming young woman you knew. Reporters have come to my door, and I'm not speaking with them. If they bother you, please don't reply to their questions or Faye's story may become even more distorted."

  She nodded. "I won't say a word to them, it's none of their business. I just don't understand how Faye could have been someone else too."

  "None of us do. I'm sorry I've nothing to offer you."

  "Oh no, I don't need anything. I'll bake some cookies and bring them over so you'll have them should someone you want to see come by."

  "Thank you, that would be very nice."

  When she left, he picked up the list he'd made and checked her name. He'd put off calling George Sharp, and his secretary, and now he doubted that he needed to. He decided to do it anyway. George's secretary put him right through.

  "Hal, I saw your name in the paper with a preposterous story about your wife. That's not good for California West's business. You know that."

  Hal counted to ten before replying. "I'd like to take off the rest of this week, and return to work next Monday."

  "Well, I don't know, Hal. I'll give it some thought and call you later in the week. Good-bye."

  Hal hung up the phone and checked off George's name. He called Lorraine Adams, and she burst into tears. "Oh, Mr. Marten, the story in the paper is so awful. I kept hoping, everyone in the office did, that your wife would be found safe. Is there to be a funeral? I want to come."

  "Thank you, Lorraine." He told her he planned only a simple memorial on Saturday afternoon. "You have my address."

  "I'll tell everyone. While we're on the phone, you were right about Mr. Sharp. He hasn't come by to speak to your salesmen even once, but they've been doing their best work for you anyway. Will you be able to come back to work soon? Is that an awful thing to ask?"

  "No, not at all. I'm afraid it's up to Mr. Sharp, but I'm hoping for next Monday."

  "Don't you worry, Mr. Marten. I'll give him a talking to."

  Hal covered the phone so she'd not hear him laugh. "Thank you, Lorraine, but I don't think it would help."

  She whispered, "Sharp is a stubborn fool, if you don't mind my saying so, but he can't argue with your sales figures. We have him there."

  "Thank you, you've made my day." He said good-bye and checked off her name.

  He needed to get out of the house, if he could sneak by the reporters who'd soon gather like sharks. He went out his back door, and through Carmen's back yard to go out her gate. He walked up the block and then turned down the way he wanted to go at the next corner.

  He'd not met Fiona until Faye disappeared, but she'd known her, and he invited her to come to his home on Saturday afternoon.

  "Faye was one of my best customers, and I'll be there," she promised. "I don't believe anything they said about her in the Times. They just want to sell papers."

  "You're right." He left the fabric shop sorry he'd not had a chance to come there with Faye. He went to the library next, and found the librarian equally sympathetic.

  "I enjoyed knowing Faye, and I'll have someone cover my shift and come over for a few minutes. We don't have any mysteries on our shelves that are as complicated as the story in the Times. Is any of it true?"

  That wasn't an easy question for Hal to answer. "Only that my wife is dead, that much is true."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so insensitive. I'll look for a poem to read at the memorial. Would that be all right with you? I'm thinking something sweet about life or nature."

  He hadn't thought of what he'd say himself, and welcomed her idea. "Thank you. That would be a nice touch." He left thinking he ought to invite the men who'd known Pearl at the Golden Bear Lounge, but none of them had really known her. Lou King had been helpful, and he'd let him know. He bought some vanilla ice cream on the way home and wondered if he should serve some on Saturday.

  * * *

  Mary Margaret waved a copy of the Los Angeles Times at Joe. "Was Faye Marten your client who disappeared?"

  He'd been careful not to reveal Faye's name, but now a few details wouldn't matter. "She was. It's the strangest case I'm ever likely to have, and I have a sinking feeling it isn't over."

  She refolded the paper. "I feel sorry for her poor husband. I know what it's like to be lied to, and it's no fun."

  "Faye didn't lie to him. She simply led two lives and left him out of one. Crazy dame. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to fall for a woman who is sane."

  "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked. "I'd say it's the bare minimum. I'm making the last pot roast until fall. I hope you're not tired of it."

  "Does anyone ever tire of your wonderful pot roast?" He stood at the kitchen door and watched her finish the last of their dinner preparations. "May I help with something?"

  "Take the butter out of the fridge, would you, please?"

  "Be happy to." He set it on the counter for her. She was a treasure, and he knew he ought to propose, but not tonight over a pot roast. That wouldn't be romantic at all. "Hal is having a memorial for Faye at his house on Saturday afternoon. Would you like to go with me?"

  She looked over her shoulder. "You're inviting me to a memorial?"

  "Is that insulting?"

  "No, not at all," she responded. "Saturday is my day off and I'd love to meet Hal, but I'll pretend you never whispered a word about him to me."

  "That should work. I'll set the table." He felt as comfortable in her cozy apartment as he did with her. He really ought to do something about it, but not tonight.

  * * *

  Detective Lynch came to Hal's home Wednesday morning, and waited impatiently as Hal checked out the front window before letting him in. "Have you quit answering your telephone?" he asked.

  Hal hadn't again been caught in his pajamas, but the detective had come close. He gestured toward a chair. "I didn't want to encourage the reporters by answering. Would you like some coffee, what about the man you left in the car?"

  Lynch remained standing. "No, neither of us wants coffee. That's not why I'm here."

  Hal bit his tongue rather than respond with his first thought. "If you have more questions, I'm all out of answers." He walked into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee and took his time rejoining Lynch in the living room.

  The detective paced with a restless stride. "I keep wondering how a man can be so oblivious he didn't recognize his own wife when she'd simply changed her clothes. It keeps going around and around in my mind like a dog chasing his tail."

  Hal gave a noncommittal shrug and sipped his coffee. "I didn't think you'd come to pay a condolence call. You mentioned clothes, and I'd like to have the ones you took from Pearl's trailer."

  "No, Pearl's things are still part of an open investigation, as is Faye's photo. Dispensing sympathy isn't my job. Solving your wife's murder is. I still think you're hidin
g more than you're admitting."

  "You've just called me too oblivious to recognize my own wife, so how can I possibly know anything of value?" Hal was sick of the man's hostile opinions, and he didn't need Gladys there to back him up.

  "I think you're simply being clever."

  "How can I be both oblivious and clever? Make up your mind."

  Lynch looked around the room and saw the Agatha Christie book on the coffee table. "Maybe you got the idea for a perfect murder from a book."

  "I want the killer caught even more than you do," Hal countered. "Someone wanted Pearl dead, and maybe they had no idea she was also Faye Marten."

  "Unlikely," Lynch responded with a barely contained snort. "I suggest you start answering your phone, otherwise people might think you've left town."

  "Is that why you came by, just to see if I'd be here?"

  "No, I wanted you to know your wife's murder is an open case I intend to solve."

  "I'll cheer when you do. I hope to return to work next week. Call my office if I'm not here."

  The detective regarded him with an accusing glance. "Going back to make certain you receive the insurance money you're owed?"

  Hal sucked in a deep breath. He'd not been in a fistfight since junior high, but he was sorely tempted to slug Lynch before the man could pull his hands out of his jacket pockets. He chose sarcasm instead. "I'm so relieved you're not in my family, so I don't have to see you during the holidays."

  The detective yanked open the front door. "You're not half as glad as I am."

  Another car had already pulled up at the curb, and knowing it had to be another reporter, Hal closed the door behind Lynch and left it locked the rest of the morning. Another far more interesting story had to grab the reporters' attention soon, and he'd ignore both the doorbell and ringing telephone until then.

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday evening, Gladys came by with take-out boxes from a Chinese restaurant. "I tried calling you earlier, and when you didn't answer your telephone, I was afraid you might have fainted from hunger."

  Hal took the white bags from her and carried them into the dining room. "Are you this concerned with the welfare of all your clients?" He filled Mr. Cuddles' bowl with tuna and shut him on the back porch.