“But you didn’t sleep there last night? Where did you sleep last night, Miss Kennedy?”
Claire bit her lip. Overruling her conscience, she had chosen not to admit that she and Tony had been driving from Benton Convent and sleeping in parking lots all night. Claire knew it was a crime not to confess that they were the ones who had found Patricia Snow’s body, but she could not bring herself to open that can of worms right now.
All she wanted to do was talk to Tony. The police had recounted. Tony’s story to her about the figure in black, and she believed it. But the cops did not. The only way out of this mess was for her to get back out there and find out who was trying to destroy them all. “I did not sleep at Mr. Nichols’s house last night. Now may I go?”
The captain tipped back in his chair, his belly overhanging his belt. “Okay, Miss Kennedy, but you’re going to have to come back. As soon as we catch that person who was shooting at you, there’s going to be a trial.”
“Fine.” Claire stood and walked toward the door, then turned and said, “I’d like to talk to Mr. Nichols.”
The captain laughed, and then settled his chair flat on the pockmarked linoleum. “Well, until we get a ballistics report on that gun’ we found in the boat shed, I guess that would be okay. We can’t charge him until we’ve got more evidence he was lying. Unless you have some reason we shouldn’t believe him?”
Claire’s mind raced through the doubts she had about Tony these past few days, her certainty he was a con man. But all her fears about him were now gone. “I believe him completely, and you should, too.”
Shutting the door behind her, she sighed. Then she saw Tony. The troopers had left him handcuffed by his left hand to one of the chairs bolted to the floor outside the captain’s office.
He did not meet her eyes, but turned away to fumble in his pocket. He took out his cigarettes and matches, clumsily managing to light one with one hand.
The tobacco smoke burned Claire’s chapped nose. She stared at him and felt irrationally miffed that he was smoking. Her reaction made her grin. People were trying to kill them and she was worried about his dying early from smoking.
“What’s funny?” He did not look at her.
“Nothing. I told these guys I believed your story, Tony. I’m sure they’ll let you go, once they verify where you were earlier today.”
Tony still did not look at her, just blew three smoke rings toward the peeling green ceiling. “Thanks.” His single word response was full of poison.
“I’m sorry I ran away from your house when I saw you. I was mad, and hurt.” Claire’s voice trailed off. She did not want to tell him about Tillie’s phone call and Damien Laurent’s revelation about Tony’s life as a cookbook writer. This was not the place for a heart-to-heart about his past.
Tony turned his gaze on her. He dropped the cigarette and ground it out. “Why don’t you stop the act? You guys are going to pull this off, there’s no need to keep pretending.”
“Pull what off?”
His laugh had a jagged edge. “The scam. Winesong’s reputation will be restored, you guys will give Newcastle a good deal on the company, and everyone will be happy. Except, of course, Patricia.”
“Tony, what... ”
“That’s enough. Don’t lie to me anymore. I’ve been set up once before, but that gal was an amateur when it came to a frame.”
Claire’s mind spun. His bitterness shocked her more than the gunman had. She swallowed back fresh tears. “I need to talk to you about Billings Newcastle as soon as you get out of here. I’ve got a couple of theories that might explain The Poison Pen Pal fiasco.”
For a moment, Tony stared at Claire. His cheek quivered as he clenched his jaw, and then relaxed it. “I found the letter from Roz, Claire. I know you stole it from Mrs. Snow.”
“Tony, it’s not what you think....”
“Give it up, Claire. Just tell me something. Did you know it was coming? Or was it just luck that the one piece of solid evidence that Patricia’s book was real fell into your hands?”
Claire crossed in front of Tony and sat beside him. Her heart was pounding. She could not stand for him to think she had lied to him. Used him. Her control was slipping and her voice shook. “It was luck in a way. I did take it, but I was going to tell you about it as soon as I talked to Mr. Harrison.”
“Sure. Mr. Harrison would have been delighted to let me in on Abramowitz’s letter, right? Please, don’t insult me any further.”
With a wrench of understanding, she saw she was losing him. She had broken the law, and now it seemed as if she had broken any chance she had to reach Tony’s heart. “You don’t understand when I saw that letter from Roz; I just reacted.”
Tony turned away. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. The police have a lot of evidence against me. According to the captain here in Narragansett Bay, the cops in Benton Convent are going to put out a warrant for my arrest for Patricia’s murder.”
Blinking several times, Claire tried in vain to swallow. “That’s, that’s ridiculous. Didn’t you tell them I can give you an alibi for that hour?”
“No, I didn’t. Because you can’t. You were with me, and you’ve just given sworn testimony that I’ll bet didn’t say a word about our activities last night.”
“I’ll go back in and explain everything.”
“Give it up, Claire. They’ll never believe you now.” The truth of his words hit home. “What time did the police say she was killed?”
“About ten.”
“Well, tell them to check with Pearl Loney. We were with her. She’ll vouch for that and then they’ll let you go.”
“Right. Except that Pearl Loney has conveniently disappeared. I tried to reach her earlier today at the hotel in Benton Convent, and they said they hadn’t seen her all day. Her office is locked up tight.”
Claire got up and paced in front of Tony. She had to do something, anything to regain some control. “I’m sure she’ll turn up. And once the troopers check all the facts, you’ll be free. You can come to New York and we’ll find out who is really behind all this. Together. Remember what you said in your note?”
He shook his head. A part of him believed her, but a tiny doubt clung stubbornly. He decided to let the last bit drop. “You’ve done your job of sidetracking me and muddying the trail long enough. They’ve got the gun.”
“What gun? The one used to shoot at me?”
He nodded, waiting.
Claire stopped pacing to stand with her hand poised just above, the sleeve of his sweater. “So? They’ll trace it and find out who owns it. Once the ballistics tests are back, the police will probably give you a medal for recovering it from that nut.”
“No, they won’t. Because it’s my gun. It was stolen from my office yesterday.”
“Are you sure it’s your gun?”
“Yes, and it’s got five bullets missing. Since you’ve told them you heard four of them tonight, what do you want to bet the fifth is the one in Patricia Snow’s brain?”
It was back. The mistrust she had seen in his eyes when their glances met as he walked out of the boathouse. Claire now fully understood Tony’s sarcasm and anger. He thought whoever had framed him, and she fervently believed he was being framed for Patricia Snow’s murder, was working with her.
“I know you don’t want to, but you have to trust me to go back in there and tell them everything about Patricia Snow’s manuscript, and Sarah Winesong’s book, finding her body.”
“Then what? Offer me a deal? My silence about the Snow rip-off for your alibi? That duck isn’t going to fly.”
Claire was shocked at the extent he doubted her. “Why not? They’ll believe me, and we can tell them how we found Patricia’s body, how you called in the anonymous tip, and then they’ll know you’re innocent.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t help me anymore. Besides, you have your own problems to deal with. Someone’s trying to kill you, remember?”
Claire felt faint and would have fallen but for To
ny’s quick reflexes. He reached out and grabbed her with his free hand. Her arm tingled at his strong touch. But before she could lean in and wrap her arms around him, and convince him to trust her, his jailer walked in.
* * *
Tillie met the five-thirty train on Saturday as it pulled into Penn Station. If she was shocked at Claire’s appearance and weary greeting, she kept her feeling to herself.
“Well, Miss Kennedy, I presume. How you holding up, kiddo?”
Claire rolled her, eyes and pushed her bedraggled hair off her forehead. “Great. Rhode Island will be my first choice for a vacation spot next year. What have you been up to? I tried to get you late Thursday night.”
“Thursday? I was, uh, out. A lady in my building was ill. I took her soup.”
Everyone was acting abnormal, Claire thought to herself. Tension unhinges the strongest. “How’s Mr. Harrison doing?”
“He’ll survive. He always does. Sometimes I think none of us really knows just how strong he is, Claire. He tore out of the office yesterday morning after he threw Roz out and said he was going to take Newcastle head on. Maybe he’s found out something that will end this mess.” Tillie pulled her car into the traffic, heading in the direction of Claire’s place. “Do you want to stop and eat before I take you home?”
“Thanks, no. I just want to get home and shower and sleep. The police kept me up all last night.”
“Are they going to charge you with stealing the mail? They hanged Jesse James for that, didn’t they?”
“Very funny. I don’t know what they’re going to do. I admitted to Tony I took the letter, but I don’t know if he told the police about it or not. They never mentioned it.”
“You said on the phone they’re going to charge him with murdering Patricia Snow?” Tillie asked the question quietly, but Claire cringed as if she had shouted it.
“I thought so. However, I really don’t know what the police are going to do. I feel so guilty for not telling them we were the ones who found Patricia’s body. But that would have opened a whole new can of worms.”
Tillie frowned. “Maybe you should have.”
Something in the older woman’s voice unnerved Claire. “What is it, Tillie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pushed in the rusty chrome lighter on the dash and rummaged for her cigarettes. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Things have gotten too dangerous for you to keep poking around. Didn’t your close call make that clear enough?”
“The only thing that’s clear is that I’m going to try to reach Sarah Winesong first thing tomorrow. It’s time I sat down with her and asked her point-blank about The Poison Pen Pal.”
Tillie inhaled. “That might be unwise until you speak to Mr. Harrison.”
“Tony needs my help now, Tillie, but I have to make sure Winesong’s involved before I can be of any good to him.”
“Do you think she’ll stay with Cauldron Press after you talk to her?”
“I hope so, but that’s not the biggest issue here. There’s been a real murder. This is real life, not fiction.”
“How much do they have on your Mr. Nichols?”
Claire ignored Tillie’s deliberately chosen your. Romance was always on the sixty year-old spinster’s mind. “The trooper who drove me to the station said there’s a lot of physical evidence linking him to it. They found his fingerprints on the bottle the girl was drinking from before she was shot. And one of his cigarettes was found in the ashtray. Of course if the tests on his gun match up to the bullet.” Claire’s voice trailed off.
“This thing is as confusing as one of our mysteries.”
“You’re certainly right there, Tillie. And we’ve got to unscramble it, not only for Tony’s sake, but for the reputation of Cauldron Press, as well.”
“Did you talk with him again before you left?”
“No. He didn’t say a word to me when the police gave, us both a lift out to his place. .I just got my bag and stuff out of his car and the trooper took me back into town.”
“They must believe Tony Nichols is your boyfriend. You’d better explain to them you just met the guy.”
Claire shook her head, embarrassed at the disapproval in Tillie’s expression. Her assistant was conservative, from the sensible rubber soled shoes she favored to her love of Ronald Reagan. It was pointless to try to hide from the fact that her feelings for Tony had ruined her ability to think clearly. “I did tell them I was in town to see Patricia Snow about a manuscript. None of the rest of it came up, although it probably will.”
“Of course it will. Surely Nichols will voice his suspicions about Cauldron.”
“I don’t know about that. He hasn’t yet.”
“That’s odd. Why would he jeopardize himself?”
“I don’t know. But I think Tony has his doubts about Cauldron Press’s being the culprit. He mentioned Billings Newcastle this morning. I think he might have some evidence that implicates him in all this. Unfortunately he wasn’t about to share it with me. He hates me, I think.” Claire’s voice grew faint.
“I’ll bet. You don’t believe Tony Nichols murdered that girl, do you?”
Claire did not hesitate a second. “No. Of course not. I was with him at the time she was shot. But someone has gone to great lengths to make it look like he did. Which proves more than anything else that his story about Patricia’s manuscript is at least partially true.”
Tillie’s manner was guarded. “Which part?”
“She told the truth about showing the manuscript to someone. I think she must have sold it to someone. Someone who doesn’t want that fact proved. Why else would she end up murdered?”
Tillie shook her head as she turned onto Claire’s street. “Beats me, honey. But don’t worry about Mr. Nichols. All the police will have to do is locate this Pearl Loney, and he’ll be in the clear, fingerprints and cigarettes notwithstanding. It’s you I’m worried about. Do you have any idea why someone would shoot at you?”
“The more I think about it the more I’m sure they’d intended to get Tony. The door of his place was open when I woke up, and I’d bet that whoever was shooting at me had been in the house. They could have killed me then if that was their true intention.”
Riding the horn to move a stubborn taxi away from the curb, Tillie swung her battered Oldsmobile into a space in front of Claire’s apartment building. “I’ll bet Tony Nichols shows up at your door as soon as they let him loose.”
Claire shook her head. “The police said he had to stay in Rhode Island. I may never lay eyes on the man again.”
Inside Claire’s apartment, Tillie left her sitting on her bed while she ran her a bath and made tea. Leaning back, Claire closed her eyes, racking her brain for the answers to the questions that seemed too numerous to address.
Quite suddenly, she saw Tony in her mind’s eye, blowing out the lit match as he had stuffed an unsmoked cigarette into his pocket that night at Patricia’s.
How could the police have found a cigarette butt with his prints on it? Someone must have planted one there, after stealing it from his house or office.
“Come on, kiddo, into the tub. Then it’s omelet time.” Tulle’s raspy voice propelled Claire into the bath, away from all the questions clamoring in her head.
After a meal that Claire did not taste but dutifully ate, Tillie marched her back into her bedroom and tucked her under the lace-trimmed sheets.
“Now close your eyes and forget about everything. I’ll stay here with you and that canine impersonator of yours, and then we’ll run down Mr. Harrison tomorrow. By Monday this whole thing will be a bad memory.”
“Stop being mean about Woofer.” Claire smiled at her cockatiel, who was soaring around her bedroom. The bird loved to roam free, and he had been ignored ever since they came in.
“Thanks for taking care of him while I was gone, Tillie. You don’t have to stay with me, though. My guard-bird will handle security.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And don’t worry about dealing with Mr. Harrison on your day off. I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow, and then fill you in on everything at the office Monday. But before you leave, tell me about Roz.”
Tillie grimaced, and then lit another cigarette, her fifth in the last half hour. “Well, although the rumors are really flying, I can’t figure out what she’s up to. Everyone says Billings Newcastle sent her over Thursday morning with the contracts that would cement the sale of Cauldron Press to Usherwood Publications.”
“What? Mr. Harrison agreed to sell?” Tony’s veiled accusations about her supposed ties to Newcastle came back to Claire’s exhausted brain.
“Now don’t get excited. I think it was just Newcastle’s usual guerrilla tactics; carried out with fitting ability by Abramowitz. But I’m sure it didn’t work, because Mr. Harrison’s secretary said she heard a lot of screaming and yelling corning from his office. When Roz left, she shouted, ‘You’ll be sorry you ever tried to pull this off, Vincent!’ and slammed the door.”
“Why would Newcastle entrust Roz with something that important?”
“Rumor has it she’s been promoted to editor-in-chief at Usherwood. When I called Damien yesterday, he asked me straight out if it was true Mr. Harrison was selling Cauldron. He also asked me how you made out with Tony Nichols. It’s obvious he suspects we’re up to something with the guy, although he thinks Nichols is going to try his hand at mystery fiction instead of cookbooks.”
Ruefully Claire shook her just washed hair. She still had so many questions, and she wished Tony was with her now.
“What are you up to with this guy, Claire?”
There it was. The direct question Claire had been dreading. Carefully she framed her answer. “I believe him, Tillie. I have no proof that his wild claims are true, but after spending some time with him, I believe him.”
“You’re going to try and prove Sarah Winesong stole The Poison Pen Pal from that poor dead girl?” As she spoke, all the life drained from Tillie’s face. She looked like a doll made from a dried apple.
“I just want the truth, Tillie. If Winesong did steal it, or buy it, or hire someone else who did, we won’t be able to publish the book.”
Stranger Than Fiction Page 12