Bells, Spells, and Murders

by Carol J. Perry

  I realized that Lilly was obviously not herself. It would be cruel to question her further. I put an arm around her shoulders. “Do you have a ride home?” I received a blank look. Handing my mic to Francine, I steered Lilly back toward the officer who now stood in front of the glass door.

  “Ms. Jeffry isn’t feeling well,” I said. “Can you find someone to assist her?” He gave Lilly a searching look.

  “Right away. Ms. Barrett. Does she need a doctor?”

  “Don’t talk about me as though I’m not here, young man,” she snapped. “I’m fine. No doctor. Just a little upset is all. How would you feel if your best friend wandered off and hanged himself for no reason? I’m just a little upset. Tell this boy that I’m fine, Lee. You tell him that. Now, where did I park my car?”

  She clearly was not fine, and more than a little upset. What could I do? Francine tapped her watch as the minutes to seven-thirty ticked by. Lilly Jeffry’s shoulders shook beneath my protective arm. The young policeman backed away from us. “I’ll get somebody. Wait right here,” he said.

  My sense of relief was enormous when Pete appeared behind the officer. He pushed the glass door open, taking in the situation at a glance. “This has been difficult for you, Ms. Jeffry. I’ll arrange for a cruiser to take you home. We’ll secure your car.” He turned toward me. “I can give you a brief statement, Lee. Will that help?”

  I nodded, relinquishing my grip on Lilly’s shoulder. Pete spoke into his phone and a cruiser, lights blazing, moved from the parking lot toward us. Pete assisted Lilly, who seemed to have regained her composure, into the backseat of the cruiser. “Thank you, detective,” she said. “Thank you too, Lee.”

  “Good night, Lilly,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Pete moved closer to me. “How about you, babe? Holding up all right?”

  “I am,” I told him. “It’s getting close to broadcast time. You said you could give me a statement?”

  “A statement.” He smiled his best smile. “No questions. Okay?”

  “Okay. Can I ask questions when we get home though?”

  “You can ask. Now where do you want me to stand?”

  Francine took over the placement issue, positioning both of us in front of a community bulletin board where notices of upcoming events were displayed. The Christmas Belles concert poster was prominent among them. It was decided that we’d share one handheld mic and we stood facing one another.

  Lights on. Countdown begun. “Five, Four. Three. Two. One.” Francine pointed to me.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Lee Barrett here, outside of the Salem Community Center. What began as a joyous evening inside this building, when the popular ladies musical group, the Christmas Belles, gathered for rehearsal of their annual holiday concert, has ended in tragedy. Here with me is Salem Police Detective Pete Mondello. Detective, would you tell our audience what’s happened here tonight?” I held the mic toward Pete.

  “Thank you, Ms. Barrett.” Sincere cop voice engaged. “I happened to be in the building this evening observing the Belles rehearsal. While there, I received a citizen’s tip that a person of interest might be on the premises. I immediately called for backup, and on investigating, I discovered an apparent suicide victim in one of the many first-floor offices here.”

  My turn with the mic. I had to ignore the no questions ultimatum. “Detective, has the victim been identified? Can you disclose the name?”

  He nodded, grim faced. “The man has been identified. We’re not disclosing his name pending notification of family.”

  “I see.” I pushed for more. “You mentioned that a person of interest had been seen on the premises. Any connection?”

  “Not that we can determine at this time.” Slightly annoyed look. He handed the mic back to me, and backed away. Interview plainly over.

  “Thank you for your time, detective,” I said, as he bowed slightly, politely toward the camera and walked away. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. An apparent suicide here at the community center. WICH-TV will continue to bring you the latest information on this unfortunate event.”

  Francine gave the “cut” signal and turned off the light. As I helped pack the equipment back into the van, a mobile unit from a rival station pulled in behind us. I couldn’t help smiling. It’s good to be first in this business.

  Another set of headlights illuminated the bulletin board. The medical examiner had arrived. He exited the long black vehicle and strode toward the door, his black bag at his side. He paused briefly as he passed me. “We meet again, Ms. Barrett,” he said, touching his fingers to the brim of his hat.

  “Hi, doc.” I returned his greeting, a little embarrassed by the circumstances. I’d been present for the discovery of two bodies in one month. How bizarre.

  “Want to hang around and see if we can come up with anything new for the eleven o’clock news?” Francine asked.

  “Maybe. First I need to see if they’ll let me back inside to get my purse and jacket.” I approached the officer at the door who must have been sufficiently impressed with press pass, clipboard, and acquaintance with the lead detective to believe I was worthy of admission. “You’ll have to go around to the street door though,” he said. “That’s how the choir ladies all left. I’ll call over there and tell them to let you in.”

  I followed his instructions and since Officer Marr, who I already knew, recognized me, I was indoors right away. I approached the auditorium and was surprised to see that the set of hand bells was still on the table. These were the super expensive bells. I knew that they were too valuable to be left out in plain sight. Once again, I called Pete.

  “You still here, Lee? Do you need a ride home?” He didn’t sound annoyed about the questions I’d asked. That was good. I’d almost forgotten that I didn’t have my car.

  “Maybe later. I just came back inside to get my jacket,” I told him, “and I noticed that nobody has put the bells away. They’re pretty valuable. I know where they’re supposed to go. Maybe you can get somebody to unlock the storage room and stick them inside for now.”

  Patient cop voice. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  I walked onto the stage, cut across to the dressing room, and found my belongings just where I’d left them. I pulled on my gloves and tossing the jacket over my shoulders, I waited for Pete by the long padded tables and the bright brass bells. I reached for the largest bell, the C-3 which would only be used in “The Carol of the Bells.” I hadn’t yet had a chance to use that one. I had gloves on. I guessed it would be all right to touch it. I hefted it in my right hand. Heavier than the others, I guessed it weighed eight or ten pounds. Not too heavy to swing back and forth though. I was confident I could handle it at the concert—if there’d be a concert, with the music director dead. The two sheets that had covered the bells were neatly folded on a nearby chair. I picked them up, holding them in front of me with both arms.

  Pete appeared from the wings. “These are valuable, huh?” He pointed to the bells.

  “Lilly says so. They belong in the storage locker at this end of the main corridor. The door is marked. You’ll need the key I suppose.”

  “Somebody must have a set,” he said. “The tables have wheels. I’ll push them one at a time if you direct me to the locker.” Pete unlocked the wheels and moved the first table easily, almost silently, not even disturbing the bells, still upright on the cushioned surface. I directed Pete to the storage locker. “So far, so good,” I said. “Now to get it open.”

  Pete tried the door. It swung open at his touch. “Looks like nobody bothered to relock it after they got the bells out,” he said. “Maybe the bells were the only valuable things in there.”

  He maneuvered the table inside. I tossed one of the sheets over the bells, carefully tucking it in around the edges, the same way Lilly had. We repeated the process with the second table.

  “Probably we should lock it now,” I said. “Lilly will know where the key is when—if we need the bell
s again.” I took one more look around the narrow room, noticing a rack of Halloween costumes, a penguin-shaped piñata, and a sprinkling of blue glitter on the floor. Pete was right. The bells were the only things of value in the locker. He pressed the lock button, then escorted me back to the front door.

  “I’ll be working around here for a while yet,” he said. “Are you going to do the late news broadcast from here?”

  “I expect so. We have a couple of hours before then. Francine will drive me home first so I can get a warmer coat then she’ll pick me up later. Any more information to share right now?”

  “We’ve contacted Conrad Gillette’s family,” Pete said. “It’s okay for you to release his name if you need to.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Call me later?”

  “I will.” There were too many people milling around for us to kiss, so we said a polite good night, and I went out the front door and walked around the building to where Francine waited in the van with the heater running full blast. It felt good.

  CHAPTER 44

  On the way to Winter Street I phoned the new information to Mr. Doan. “Come in and do it live on Covington’s show,” he said. “Let Francine go home and you lose the sorority girl sweatshirt for this one, okay?”

  I’d have time to change into something appropriate for studio TV, and to catch Aunt Ibby up on what was happening. I called Pete yet again and told him what I was doing. “I don’t want to drive my car with the weather so iffy, so I’ll take a cab to work,” I told him. “I should be through by eleven-fifteen if the offer of a ride home is still good.”

  “Works for me” he said. “It’s been a really long day. Looks like that storm is stalled offshore. Maybe it’ll miss us after all.”

  His “maybe” was doubtful. If the witches believed it was going to be a bad one, I was pretty confident that it would be. “Anyway,” I said, “I hope it holds off long enough for Aunt Ibby and her girlfriend to get on that flight to London.”

  Francine dropped me off in front of the house. O’Ryan greeted me in the foyer and my aunt’s cheerful voice called to me from her office. “Hello, Maralee. I’m just printing out my boarding pass. I’m so excited! My flight is on schedule. Rupert will pick me up here at five in the morning and Nigel will be at Heathrow to meet us. Everything is falling into place as it should.” She appeared in the doorway. “It’s dreadful about Conrad. I’ve spoken to Lilly. She’s completely distraught and no wonder. Come in and sit down for a minute. Is it true that he hanged himself with that joke necktie? Do you think it’s because he actually was the man the whole city’s been looking for?”

  “I’m afraid it is. It’s up to the police to figure out why, I guess. Did he kill Mr. Eldridge or did he know who did?” I sat on the living room couch and she sat in her usual chair. “It’s a mystery piled onto another mystery.”

  “What does Pete say about it?”

  “Not much.” I said. “You know Pete. Did you watch my little interview with him?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He wasn’t very forthcoming, was he?”

  “Goes with the job.” I stood. “Speaking of jobs, mine isn’t over for the day yet. Mr. Doan wants me to do a few minutes with Buck Covington at eleven to talk about what happened. I’m going to change clothes and call a cab. Pete will bring me home.”

  “I’m glad you’re not driving. Lilly said that she had to leave her car at the community center. A policeman drove her home.”

  “Yes. Pete arranged that. She wasn’t quite herself.”

  “I should think not. Losing two friends in one month—what a shame.” She made a “tsk-tsk” sound. “What do you suppose will happen with the concert? I know the music director we had before Conrad took over is still available, and they say he directs a hand bell chorus at a church in Marblehead. ‘The show must go on’ and all that.”

  “They’ll have to make a decision quickly. Tomorrow the witches celebrate Winter Solstice, the concert is scheduled for Saturday and Sunday is Christmas Eve. Busy weekend ahead, and maybe a blizzard to boot.” I started for the front stairway. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Aunt Ibby? Your weekend begins early tomorrow morning.”

  The bells on the garlands and the one on the cat all jingled merrily as we climbed the stairs. “Pete’s right about the bells,” I told O’Ryan. “There’d be no sneaking in late around here when there’s a ring-a-ding-ding with every step.” I unlocked the kitchen door, clicked on the TV on my way to the bedroom, and opened my closet. I decided on a red wool midi with knee-high boots and was about to check my jewelry box for earrings when I heard Wanda’s voice. I hurried back into the kitchen. “This storm, which formed off the coast of South Carolina, has the appearance of an extratropical cyclone,” she said. “There’s also an Arctic cold front bearing down in our direction.” Wanda sounded anxious. Unusual for her. “If the cold air mass merges with the storm,” she warned, “it can create a dangerous low-pressure system. Stay tuned for an update from the National Weather Service at eleven.” She didn’t give her usual trademark low bow at the end of her comments, even though the deep V-neckline of her hot pink satin mini was obviously designed for it.

  “Wanda’s worried,” I spoke aloud. “That’s not good.”

  “Mmm-mmm,” O’Ryan said. That didn’t sound good either.

  I called the cab company and requested Jim Litka, my favorite cabbie. He’s not only a good driver but also an amazing source of all kinds of information. I looked forward to the short ride, partly because I didn’t want to drive, but mostly because I wanted to hear what Jim’s “sources” had to say about Conrad Gillette’s death.

  O’Ryan and I waited in the downstairs foyer for the green and white taxi to roll up to the curb. I opened the front door the moment I saw it, but Jim was already bounding up the front steps, taking my arm. “Careful, now, Ms. Barrett. Wouldn’t want you to slip and tumble down these stairs.” He bent to pat O’Ryan, who licked Jim’s hand and purred a happy greeting. “Hi there. How’re you doin’, old boy?” Jim saved O’Ryan’s life once, so it’s no wonder the cat loves him.

  Jim lets me ride up front with him, so he opened the passenger door and handed me in as carefully as though I was an egg. “Okay,” I said as soon as the cab started moving, “what do you think about it?”

  “About which? About is the storm going to bury us in snow and knock out the power for a week or about who offed that Gillette guy?”

  “Offed Gillette? You think Conrad Gillette was murdered?”

  “I don’t think anything about it one way or the other, but one of our dispatchers dates a guy whose brother’s roommate is one of the cops who was at the community center when they cut down the man who was hanging in the closet. He says Gillette was strangled before somebody strung him up with a necktie.”

  “Whew. I don’t know what to say.” I was really shocked. “If that’s true, somebody did it fast. I was there when Mr. Gillette told us to take a ten minute break. Whoever it was must have been waiting for him in that office.”

  It was Jim’s turn to look surprised. “You were there?”

  “I was,” I said. “My aunt is one of the Belles and she has to be out of town on Sunday. I’ve been taking a crash course in hand bell ringing so I can take her place.”

  “Gotcha. ’Course, I don’t know if any of that strangling stuff’s true. I’m just sayin’, but if it was murder, somebody was trying to shut Gillette up about something, right?”

  “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” This was a whole new puzzle to solve. If Gillette had become more than a person of interest—perhaps a suspect—in Albert Eldridge’s killing—was that the reason for someone to kill him? We arrived at the station too soon for any discussion about the oncoming storm. Too bad because he undoubtedly had some special insight into that too. I paid my fare with a generous tip and promised to call Jim if I needed a ride home. “Doesn’t matter how late it is, Ms. Barrett. You know that.”

  Rhonda was at her desk when I got upstairs, even
at this late hour. “Do you ever sleep, Rhonda?” I asked—only halfway kidding. Does she?

  “Mr. Doan is still here too,” she said. “He’s nervous about the storm and now the second person associated with Historical Charities is dead. It’s all too interesting for either of us to leave. Afraid we might miss something.” She lowered her voice. “Besides, I’m getting time and a half pay. It helps with the Christmas shopping.” She handed me a sheaf of papers. “Here. I transcribed what you said in your earlier spots about the thing at the community center. Thought you might be able to reuse some of it.”

  I thanked her and headed for the news room hoping I’d have a chance to see River. Since she and Buck Covington had become an item, sometimes she arrived early and watched his show in studio. I was in luck. She was there, already in full late-night show glamor mode—a concoction of black velvet, black lace, and black feathers, provocatively arranged. I imagined it might be difficult for poor Buck to read his teleprompter with such a vision within sight.

  “River,” I said as I slipped into a chair beside hers in the audience area. “It’s good to see you. I’m tempted to ask you to read my cards sometime soon! There’s so much going on lately, it’s getting hard for me to think straight.”

  “I’ll do it whenever you like.” She reached for my hands and held them both. “Take deep breaths. Meditate. Call me whenever you need me.” I took her advice about the deep breaths.

  Buck invited me to sit beside him at the anchor desk. (I liked the view from there. Maybe someday?) He led with a brief question, asking about what I’d observed while I was at the Community Center. Using Rhonda’s transcript and my own impressions, I was able to fill five minutes easily. I revealed Gillette’s name this time, mentioning that he and Mr. Eldridge were both associated with the Historical Charities of Salem, and asked once again for viewers to call the scrolled police station number on screen if they had information to share. “Stay tuned to WICH-TV for continuing coverage. We’ll also keep you informed as to the status of the Christmas Belles concert.” Buck thanked me. River waved and blew me a kiss. I hurried back to the reception area and texted Pete that I was ready to go home if he was.