The tourists peered down into the well and walked around the well and asked if they could sit on the sleigh. Which was a ‘yes.’ The museum believed in interactive exhibits. Made the experience more real and more memorable. A few hardy souls asked if they could climb into the well but there the museum had drawn a line. Too risky. Insurance wouldn’t cover it.
A hand rose. “Was Weeks really guilty?”
“Great question! Sadly, no one knows. He certainly never admitted anything after the trial. Went on to marry and have four kids and, as I’ve stated, became quite a respected architect. Was never accused of dumping any bodies into any wells in Mississippi. So the murder of Ms. Sands is still considered unsolved. For any budding lawyers, this is a great case in learning how to attack circumstantial evidence.”
“Circumstantial evidence. Blaming others. No wonder you’re so enamored of this case.”
I turned. Todd Kittredge was standing next to the sleigh. Too bad it wasn’t the well. I could casually bump him and wait for the splash that wouldn’t happen because the water was as fake as the Elma Sands mannequin residing in that silvery swirl of special effects. The fall wouldn’t kill Todd but he’d have a helluva time getting out without help and the humiliation, while not as grand as the underwear in the snow with the drag queens photo spread, would still be lovely as a New York tabloid headline.
I blinked away the vision. “Todd.” I turned to the tourists. “Thank you all for visiting Hollywood FX and the Scene of the Crime. Please check out the brochures at the front of the museum if you’re interested in learning more about these crimes, including the actual court case for the State of New York versus Levi Weeks. And if you’d care to be a witness to the Burr-Hamilton duel, you may watch a re-enactment over in the north corner of Scene of the Crime twenty minutes from now.”
The tourists headed toward the north corner. Everyone loves watching a good duel between politicians and the two actors playing Burr and Hamilton were awesome. Todd didn’t move.
“So. Todd. Are you here to soak up the atmosphere of crime and wild special effects? I don’t see the betrothed next to you. Is she pissed because y'all moved the wedding to June? You do keep the society pages busy with your calendar. Or is she out getting registered for her Wedgewood china and booking the Capitale Bowery for the reception?”
Todd snarled and stated, “Karalynn is having a fitting done for her dress. I came here to ask you to tell that sleazy detective Laramie to quit harassing me.”
That perked my interest. “Laramie? Harassing you? Whatever for?"
He glared at me. “Don’t play innocent here, Bootsie. I can’t believe Laramie doesn’t report to you once a day with the details of how many times he’s dragged me into the station to question me about Minerva’s death.”
I couldn’t hide the grin I could feel forming on my face. “Really? How . . . interesting.”
The glare turned darker. “No. It is not interesting. It is humiliating and aggravating and disruptive to my life.”
“And you’re telling me all this—why? I’m supposed to feel sympathy?”
“I’m telling you this because I’m sure you’re the one who’s put Laramie up to this and I want it to stop.”
My grin faded. “First of all, Toddy, my . . . friend, I have no control over the actions of Sebastian Laramie. I do not see him on a daily basis and the last time we chatted was on a matter concerning my own safety. Your name wasn’t mentioned.” This, sadly, was all true. I hadn’t seen Sebastian since New Year’s Eve when we shared that damned fine kiss. And I hadn’t spoken to him in over two weeks. That had been the day I'd called after Babs and I had had our chat with Lionel because I wanted Sebastian to know what was what. He wasn’t thrilled with the fact that we could have been in danger trying to trap Lionel in the pub but glad we’d identified Lionel since he seemed harmless.
Todd gifted me with his sneering superior stare. It used to intimidate me. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, golly gee, Todd, guess what? I don’t care. Since you wouldn’t know the truth if it shot you in the butt, I’m not surprised you can’t comprehend that others don’t spend their waking hours coming up with elaborate lies with which to deceive.”
He inhaled and his face flushed. For a second I was afraid I’d be meeting the same fate at Elma Sands and find myself at the bottom of the well.
I hurriedly continued, “So, why you? For questioning, that is. What's the motive? Did Detective Laramie say?”
“I’m not sure,” he mumbled.
“Oh bullshit. Let me speculate. You were afraid Minerva would spill the beans that you’d been having an adulterous relationship with Karalynn. That she knew it. Karalynn knew it. The only one who didn’t know was the trustingly stupid wife here. So, uh, you worried that if Minerva told the world that you’re a slime-bucket, you might have to pay me some alimony?”
“I don’t think it works that way, Bootsie. I don’t believe alimony is retroactive to a divorce.”
“Is it? Or isn’t it? Neither of us knows the answer to that since we’re not in the legal profession. But maybe you started pondering and discovered that it actually is retroactive. Or if not alimony, maybe you were worried that if word got out to your future father-in-law that you’d cheated on me there'd be trouble? What’s the phrase? Once a cheater always a cheater. Daddy Van Desso n might not be thrilled with offering you a wonderfully lucrative position in his company, then spending the next few years waiting until his darling daughter gained some weight or simply aged like a normal human being and you trotted off to find a younger model. That could be worth silencing Minerva.”
“You frickin’ bi . . .!”
“Watch it, Todd. This is a family museum. We may show off our tableaux of gruesome murders here but we do it with nice language. Do I need to call security and have you bounced?”
He visibly began to try to calm himself down. I continued to act as though I was calm as well. Good acting on my part. I was terrified. Todd in a temper is not a pretty sight. He’d never physically hit me but his verbal abuse had been pretty verbal and I also remembered a time he’d thrown a fist into the wall of our apartment after one of our few arguments. I hadn’t argued much after that incident.
I also knew I’d hit it squarely in the center of the ballpark with my theory. Todd indeed had a motive to kill Minerva; more than I did anyway. Mine was just emotional pissedoffness. His was financial. But something wasn’t right here.
“Are you calm, Todd? Or are you planning on tossing the sleigh?”
He nodded. “I’m calm.”
“Fine. I still don’t understand something.”
“What?”
“You have a motive. But you didn’t have opportunity. After all, you were lying in the snow in your skivvies huddling with the boys when Minerva flew off the roof? Right?”
“You really haven’t been in touch with Laramie, have you?”
I inhaled. “I told you I hadn’t. Why?”
Todd’s expression darkened more than it had when I’d hit him with the motive. “An autopsy was performed on Minerva Krempowsky. She did not die from a push off the roof. In fact, there is some question whether she was even pitched from the roof.”
“Seriously? If not the roof, then what?”
“Detective Laramie has spent the last few weeks hounding me for the whereabouts of that Irish walking stick which was a prop in that god-awful cabaret thing we did ten years ago. The shillelagh. I repeatedly told those clowns I’d left it with you. Apparently the prevailing theory now is that it was used to bash Minerva’s skull in. And since she was lying in snow, which had the effect of cooling the body, there is some debate as to exactly when the skull bashing occurred.” He glowered at me.
“The shillelagh? Oh my. So, the cops now have you with both motive and opportunity?” I smiled sweetly then made sure the museum guards were in shouting distance before stating, “Watch out, Toddy. You might just end up here as Exhibit A in Hollywood FX Scene of
the Crime. And we’re very careful to keep our scenes as accurate as possible. That means every effort would be made to create a scene that included a nice layout of the snow, four heavily made-up young boys, a crumpled-looking Minerva Krempowsky—and you in your corset and garters. Tour over.”
Chapter 2 6
Babs handed me another fluted champagne glass to store in the back of the top cabinet of our new kitchen. “I assume you did not tell Todd that you knew exactly where the shillelagh had been the night Minerva was murdered?”
“Hell, no. It does bring up interesting possibilities though.”
“Hmm?”
“Okay. I gave the stupid walking stick to Chuck after the divorce because I didn’t want it anywhere near me. That cabaret only brings back painful memories for me and I didn’t need a reminder of how nuts Todd had been that night when people kept complimenting me on my singing and ignoring him. Anyway, I know Todd knows Chuck kept it in his apartment rather than in his office. I didn’t want Todd to know that I also know that. And I don’t know who else knows it was at Chuck’s apartment that night and I’d prefer no one know that I know.”
“I’m getting a headache. What was that old song from the Sixties with the twenty-something ‘I knows’ in it? Now I’m singing it to myself and you know I can’t sing!” Babs grinned. “Wish I could have seen Todd’s face when you told him off about the cheating. Shit, he’s the major triple threat for murder when you think about it. Means, motive and opportunity. Love it. I hope Laramie throws his ass in Rykers for at least a week of playtime with the inmates.”
“Well, there’s a downside to this.”
“What?”
“Me. I also have means, motive and opportunity.”
Babs nodded. “True. But so do at least five other people from Chuck’s party. Have means, motive and opportunity, that is. Most of whom are buddies of ours. Plus, if we’re talking means, motive and opportunity, there’s yours truly Ms. Babs Harrison, although my motive would be your motive so that ties us together instead of getting you off the hook.”
I carefully placed two more glasses on the top shelf. “What I’m wondering is why Sebastian is riding herd on Todd every other day, bringing him in for questioning? I really can't believe he thinks the man whacked Minerva with an Irish walking stick, then gave himself an alibi by dressing like a Rocky Horror reject and playing snow angels with the guys from Tres Fabulous! Which reminds me, we have comp tickets to that we need to use when our schedules mesh.”
Babs nodded. “Yes to the tickets. As to Todd and questioning? I’m just glad Sebastian is hauling Kittredge’s butt down there to ride herd as you say —and not ours. Although I firmly believe he wouldn’t mind doing riding with one Bootsie Kittredge—as long as it's not in the interrogation room of the Tenth Precinct.”
“I’m going to ignore that and instead bring up the question of the day. Do you think we’re still suspects?”
Babs handed me another glass. “I’d give that a yes. Something tells me that your Detective Laramie does not throw away his list of ‘who-coulda-dunnits’ until any and all perpetrators are incarcerated for life. He does not strike me as the trusting sort.”
“Well, that makes two of us." I stopped. "Here, help me down off the stepladder. I’m suddenly feeling the need to vent and I'd rather be seated, with a glass of wine in one hand and the leftover pizza in the other.”
“I like it.”
We grabbed the box containing the leftover everything-but-the-sink-toppings-pizza and a bottle of wine from the fridge and headed for the living room. We had to move a ton of DVDs and CDs and books off the couch so we’d have a place to sit but that was okay. Babs and I had agreed that no matter what happened in our lives, the bathroom and kitchen would remain pristine, so those were the first areas we’d tackled in the move. We still wanted neat bedrooms and a neat living room but they weren’t priorities.
I tore off a pepperoni and popped it into my mouth. “Trust.”
One reason Babs and I have been friends for thirty years is that I don’t need to explain when I speak in fragments or single words. She nodded. “Go on.”
“It hit me when Todd was telling me about his best beloved’s fitting for her wedding dress that I don’t love him anymore. I don’t want him back. I’m glad we’re not married. I’m not even sure there’s enough emotion for hate. I despise him. I’m still furious at him but the hate’s gone. But what gets me is that what he did to me is something I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from. Trust. He stripped that from me like vultures strip hide from a dead cow. In this world, at this moment, I can truly say there are two people I trust without reservation. You and my dad. That’s it. And that makes me sad and it makes me really angry because I used to be a person who trusted. I will never forgive Todd Kittredge for taking that away.”
Babs' eyes watered a bit. “Bootsie, I get it. Totally. And it really makes me want to find bigger and better ways to remove Todd Kittredge from this world. I hate watching you push people away now. I understand it. I’ve been there although I was never as trusting a soul as you. You put the ‘G’ in gullible and the ‘N’ in naïve." She leaned over and gave me a hug, then sat back and crammed a half of slice of pizza into her mouth. She mumbled, “sharesonon you outta conshider.”
“Say what?”
She chewed vigorously then swallowed. “Sorry. That was rude. There is someone you ought to consider giving an exemption to the trust issue.”
“And that would be?”
“Sebastian Laramie.”
I stared at her as I crammed my own half-a-slice into my mouth to refrain from speaking too soon.
She took this as a sign of approval although she knew damned well it wasn’t. She smiled. “Yep. The good detective. He likes you and there’s something ultimately trustworthy about the man.”
“He’s trying to put me into jail for murder. Jeez!”
“No he’s not. It’s the opposite. He’s trying to find suspects who are anyone but you. Plus, I like the fact that he’s been hauling Todd’s immaculately dressed presence into the station every other day. He knows darn well Todd didn’t kill Minerva. He knows Todd didn’t kill Clay. He knows Todd didn’t kill Monica Travers. Nonetheless, there’s Todd being forced to plunk his ass down into those interrogation room hard-backed and hard-bottomed chairs like he was a gang banger from L.A. here to recruit new members.”
I grinned at her. “I do like that image. And you’re right about those chairs. They need to buy some pillows before there’s an outbreak of hemorrhoids from elderly prisoners.” I shook my head. “As to trusting Laramie? Not yet. Aside from the whole business of him perhaps arresting me while I’m in the middle of regaling tourists about Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel and the infamous mob shootout in a restroom in a Coney Island restaurant, there’s another issue.”
“Which is?”
“He’s a man. As I’ve previously stated, right now the only man on my trust list is my father, who has never once in fifty-five years of my life has abused that trust.”
She nodded. “I understand. But I can still hope that Laramie will find his way to the list someday. You’re cute together. Sort of a Bogie and Bacall couple except that Laramie is taller than you are and he's better looking than Bogart.”
“Cute is one thing. Being around and ultimately working to trust a man who has the opportunity to put handcuffs on someone he might be considering as a future girlfriend, not to mention that woman’s best friend, is a bit too much of a stretch for me.”
“Well, think about it anyway.”
“Besides, I haven’t even heard from Laramie since I called him a couple of weeks ago to ask if the cops were following us when it turned out to be Lionel. Oh! Shit!”
“What?”
“Lionel. It’s time to call Rodrigo to give him the daily doin’s of Babs and Bootsie.” I got up and headed toward the end table by the window. It held our phone, an assortment of pens that may or may not still provide ink, and numerous bits
of scrap paper for taking messages, assuming one of the pens worked.
Babs waved at me. “Forget it.”
“Forget it?”
“Yeah.”
“Babs, if we forget it and Lionel doesn’t have a report, then Joey’s dad is going to know something’s up and send someone else to track us down. Someone who might not be as cute, as dumb or as understanding as Train Boy. Doesn’t that worry you?”
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