“Why were you in her room?” Rafael asked. “Did you kill her that night?”
“No!” Victor said. “I swear I didn’t. I don’t think she killed herself, either. But I don’t know what else to think. I went to her room because, well, let’s just say because I loved her. Afterwards, I left. I was walking down the hallway when I heard her scream, and a gunshot rang out. I jumped to the door, but it was locked. You came out then…and that’s the true story. I didn’t kill her! I would never have killed your mother. I truly loved her.”
“Well if you didn’t kill her, who did?” Rafael asked. “And why didn’t you tell the police all this?”
“I didn’t want them to arrest me.” Victor hung his head in shame. “I was in shock, and I was scared. I thought nobody would believe my story. When they ruled it a suicide, I was relieved. I could never go back to my old life because Ayla’s ghost would haunt me… but at least I wouldn’t go to jail.”
“You coward!” Rafael tried to swing at him again, and Martin hauled him backward.
“I know I am a coward.” Victor nodded. “I’m very ashamed of it, too. But I’m not a murderer, Rafael. Believe me.”
“You have to be,” Rafael said. “There’s no other solution, is there? Who killed my mother if not you!”
Nora stepped forward. “I think it’s obvious who the mastermind was, Rafael--you’ll realize it too, if you think about it.”
Rafael blinked, looking at her as though he’d forgotten she existed. “Who is it?”
“The person who killed your mother is the same person who killed Seth Sultan,” Nora said.
“Who?” Lenu exclaimed. “It has to be one of us, so who is it!”
“It’s Seth Sultan himself.”
*****
Chapter 11
The Killer Unveiled
“A lot of things didn’t add up for me,” Nora said. “Starting with why Seth chose me to attend his party instead of, say, a real detective. He could have easily made that arrangement with a high-level detective, but he chose me instead.”
“What are you talking about?” Lenu looked confused.
“I’m an amateur detective,” Nora said. “Seth read an article about me in a magazine, and told me he hired me so that I’d help him find the killer. That’s not the truth. Since I’m only an amateur, he was hoping that I’d be easier to trick, and also that the police would be swayed by my testimony and start looking at the wrong lines of investigation. From the start, his intention of calling you all here was for one purpose only—to get Victor arrested.”
“Wow.” Martin’s mouth hung open.
“Seth was obsessed over Ayla, but I suspect he knew something was going on between her and Victor,” Nora said. “The night he killed her; I believe it was a spur of the moment crime. I don’t think he planned it. It’s possible that he was hiding in the bedroom all along, and when Victor left, mad with jealousy, Seth jumped out and shot Ayla. Then, in a panic, he locked the room from inside, wiped his revolver and placed it in Ayla’s hands, and left the room the same way he’d come in--through the open window.”
Lenu was open mouthed too.
“I think part of Seth was relieved when the police declared the death a suicide. But I think part of him was slowly going insane, too. Ayla’s death didn’t lessen his obsession with her. If anything, that obsession only grew. He admitted it himself, several times, that life after her death was a kind of half-life. All the fame and money in the world couldn’t buy him happiness. What was worse, the one person that he wanted to suffer, seemed to take another path to happiness. In Seth’s mind, Victor escaped. He broke away from the money and the fame, and lived a quiet, happy life on a farm. All these years, Seth was jealous and hated Victor for his happy life.”
“No.” Rafael shook his head. “I refuse to believe it. If it was true, Seth would have killed him earlier. Or… I don’t know. Killed himself earlier.”
“Ah, but Seth was a narcissist,” Nora said. “He couldn’t bear to live, but he couldn’t bear to die either. Nor could he bear the thought that he might go to jail if he killed Victor. No. He had to go on living his half-life, growing more and more bitter as the years passed by. Then, one day, he found out he had cancer.”
Lenu gasped.
“That’s right.” Nora nodded. “He mentioned it to me in an effort to get sympathy when I first arrived here. He pretended that because he only had a few months to live, he was making a last ditch effort to find out who killed Ayla. He told me he didn’t want justice, he just wanted to know. Truth is, he already knew. He always knew. But I think now that he only had a few months to live, his hatred for Victor only intensified. If he was going to die anyway, he’d take Victor down with him.”
“You have no proof of any of this!” Martin exclaimed.
“There’s some proof,” Nora said. “One sign he was obsessed is how carefully he trailed all of you, how carefully he set up this meeting in this isolated place, how carefully he chose me, hoping I’d be influenced by him and believe Victor was the killer. He was careful not to be too obvious about his intentions, and I think if it weren’t for luck, I might have fallen for his trap.”
“Luck?”
Nora nodded. “At first, when I saw Seth’s body, I was immediately convinced it was a murder. Any detective with half a brain could see it was not a suicide. He was holding the gun in the wrong hand, he was standing in the middle of the room instead of sitting down, and the key was in a seemingly random place. It all pointed to murder.”
“So how did you realize it wasn’t?” Lenu asked.
“I realized it when Martin told his story right now,” Nora said. “He said that when he broke into Seth’s room, the keys were already placed underneath the bed. Now that’s a very significant thing. Why were they there? The only possible reason is that Seth placed them there, deliberately. Why would he do that? The answer is obvious. He wanted to frame Victor. He deliberately killed himself in a manner that appeared false. Not only that, he deliberately called Victor upstairs, and waited until Victor was at the door to kill himself. That way, everyone naturally suspected Victor of doing it. It does seem like too big a coincidence that Victor was at the door, doesn’t it? It’s not. It was engineered that way. Seth set him up.”
“My God.” Victor was pale. “I—he tried to kill me! Even from beyond the grave!”
“He was an arrogant man,” Nora said. “He thought he could predict human nature, and he was wrong. He didn’t predict that Martin would sneak into his room. He didn’t predict that I would not be so easily fooled. He didn’t predict the rain that would trap us in this house, either.”
As she spoke, the rain seemed finally to dull, slowing down to a gentle drizzle. Nora stared outside the window, wondering if the rain had indeed been a coincidence, or divine intervention of sorts.
“We should call the police,” Martin said gently.
“Yes,” Nora agreed. “If my theory is right, and the police are looking for the right clues, I’m sure they’ll find more telltale signs that Seth had indeed taken his own life.”
“If not?” Rafael asked. “What if you’re wrong? What if Martin or Victor has done it?”
“The one way I know they haven’t done it,” Nora said, “is the lack of blood on their clothes. But when the police come with blacklights, it should be easy enough to tell. If Martin or Victor were the killer, they would have had to get close enough to Seth to at least have a few drops splattered on their clothes. My hunch is that the police will find nothing. I’m confident Seth did it, and we’ll know soon enough if I’m right.”
*****
Epilogue
“It’s incredible,” Tina said, slamming the paper down on the table in front of her. Nora only smiled, sipping her coffee quietly.
“It’s the biggest scandal the music industry’s ever had!” Tina said. “What a pity that Seth Sultan killed himself! He had so much to live for!”
Nora nodded, but didn’t comment.
“You were there,” Tina said. “Why won’t you tell me anything about what happened?”
Nora shrugged. “I respect the others. They want their privacy.”
Indeed, as it turned out, privacy was what the others had wanted most. Once the police had cleared them of any crime, and confirmed that Seth had indeed killed himself, Lenu, Martin, Victor and Rafael had debated whether they should release all details of the story to the public. On the one hand, Rafael wanted very much to expose his mother’s killer to the world. On the other hand, he understood the media backlash that would follow.
“In the end, it’s your decision,” Lenu had said. “Seth was a cruel monster, but he loved attention. It’s up to you to decide whether he should get more attention after his death or be allowed to eventually fade away into the annals of history as just another musician who killed himself.”
“We’ll support you, no matter what you want,” Martin said.
Rafael had given it a lot of thought before he finally said, “Seth’s suicide should just be attributed to his cancer. That’s the best way forward. It’s not out of respect for him, either. I’d love to unmask him to the public. It’s you, Victor; I think you really loved my mother. If there’s a media storm around this case, and you lose the quiet happy life you worked so hard to build, it’s like Seth will win, in a way. I won’t let that happen. I’d rather he just…fade away.”
“Thank you,” Victor had said gratefully.
As she sipped her coffee now, Nora reflected that Rafael had done the mature thing. It might have been satisfying to unveil Seth for the evil mastermind he truly was, but what would really become of it? Justice had already been done. Ayla’s killer was already dead. Now, the best way forward for the survivors was to live their own lives in peace and happiness, without Seth’s shadow stretching out over them.
Nora sighed, wondering if Rafael, Victor, Lenu and Martin would ever find happiness. She certainly hoped they would. As for her, Tina pushed forward a slice of rich, moist chocolate cake, and Nora dug into it with a fork. As for Nora, there was this coffee, this cake, and this diner—her happy little world.
The End (of Death Of A Rock Star)
Continue for Death On Bingo Night…
A MURDER IN MILBURN, BOOK 12:
Death On Bingo Night
By
Nancy McGovern
Chapter 1
Bingo Night
A hundred years ago, Covington Hall, built by one of Milburn’s founding fathers, had been a gorgeous building that even outshone Milburn’s beloved town hall. Made with yellow granite, the distinctive clock-tower would chime out a complex series of bells every hour, reminding town folks of the money that had gone into building it. Now, the building generally stood empty, shades drawn down on it’s windows, so that it looked as though it were in a deep slumber. The wide marble steps leading up to the main door were cracked in places, and the paint on the inside was chipped. There was only one night a year, when the building lit up, and once again wrapped an aura of grandeur around itself. This night was the night the Milburn Ladies’ Club hosted their Annual Bingo Night.
Today, Nora noticed a bright red Chevy parked in the square in front of the hall, with a thick, red rope cordoning it off from the general public. A few kids were leaning on the rope, their nose almost touching the shiny waxed exterior of the car.
“It’s a beauty!” One of them exclaimed.
“Vintage cars are the best,” the other agreed. “Dad said this one’s a ’71 Corvette. One of the good ones.”
“Heard it’s up for raffle tonight?”
“Naa. Whoever wins at Bingo gets it.”
Smiling, Nora headed up to the hall. When she entered the hall, her eyes were immediately drawn to the corner, where Mrs. Hanes was scolding a nervous young girl who looked ready to cry. Mrs. Hanes, a bony woman with over-large spectacles and an extremely short bob, was waving her hands about expressively, brandishing a sandwich with a tiny bite taken out of it.
“You ought to be ashamed! Theft, I’d call it! The nerve of you lot, trying to cheat us!”
Nora gulped. Tina had warned her even before she’d taken on the order, that catering bingo night for the local ladies’ club would be tough. Nora, with her usual confidence, had assumed she could handle it. Mrs. Hanes, however, had so far been a constantly meddling pest- she’d demanded three different taste tests before she placed the final order, and she’d written Nora five emails changing her mind about the food she wanted.
Nora pasted a smile on her face, and walked up to her sous chef Angela, who had tears swimming in her eyes as Mrs. Hanes fiercely proceeded to point out her incompetence.
“Thank you, Angela. Why don’t I take care of the situation now?” Nora asked.
Angela gave her a grateful smile and skittered away quickly, careful not to meet Mrs. Hanes’ eyes. Mrs. Hanes took a deep breath, puffing out her chest as she turned to Nora.
“Problems, Mrs. Hanes?” Nora asked.
“Problems? Yes, indeed, Nora! These are anchovies, not salmon- we paid for salmon! The décor is absolutely terrible too, the paper napkins are pink and we’d ordered red! Nothing matches! We’ll be the laughing stock of the town at this rate!” Her every sentence seemed to end on an exclamation, and her glasses drooped lower and lower down her nose as she spoke, dangling precariously on the very edge, until, with a brisk movement, she swept them back up.
“Well I’m very sorry to hear you aren’t satisfied,” Nora said. She whipped out her phone and scrolled through her email, pointing out, “Our final agreement, the fifth email you sent me- specified that you wanted the anchovy and lemon butter sandwich instead of the salmon and cream cheese.”
Confronted with proof in the form of her own terse emails, Mrs. Hanes grew petulant. “Well, how about these paper napkins! Pink! I’m sure you promised us red!”
“The napkins are branded in our signature magenta-mint combination, Mrs. Hanes,” Nora sighed. She wished Tina were here- her partner had a knack of turning sour old ladies into smiling champions that Nora didn’t possess. Outside, the church bells began to ring. Mrs. Hanes’ eyes grew wide. “Not seven o’clock already! Out of my way! We’ll discuss this later.”
Nora stepped aside and gave a silent shake of the head to Angela, who was standing behind a long rectangular table, arranging platters of sandwiches on it.
“She’s so mean,” Angela said. “I felt like a little kid who hasn’t turned in their homework!”
“That’s because she was a teacher once,” Nora said. “Never very popular with us students, in case you were wondering.”
“It’s easy to see why!” Angela said. “She told me you’d need to refund her the money-”
“Ignore her,” Nora said. “Mrs. Hanes has a habit of using people as punching bags when she’s bored. There’s no basis to her claims. Did you try out any of the sandwiches?”
“I snuck a couple,” Angela admitted shyly. “I love the ham, fig and brie cheese combo.”
The sandwiches were cut into tiny triangular bites, each topped with a toothpick and a tiny cherry tomato, jalapeno or olive. There were five different styles of sandwiches, although Nora’s personal favorite was the triple-decker cornbread sandwich with roasted eggplant, zucchini and red peppers- a bit hard to swallow in one bite, but delicious nevertheless. Next to the sandwiches sat a large pumpkin pie with a gingersnap crust, and little tubs of vanilla ice-cream to serve with it. Nora looked at her creations with some satisfaction, wondering if the diners would enjoy it as much as Harvey had enjoyed her sample last night.
“They’re pouring in now,” Angela commented. “Yeesh. One snob after the other.”
The doors to the hall had opened, and Mrs Hanes was now greeting people as they entered, occasionally asking to see a ticket.
The particular lady Angela was talking about had her hair cut in a short, snow white boy cut, and wore a thick fur coat that seemed overkill in the mild September weather. Mrs. Strathclyde had only
recently moved back into town after forty years of being away, and Nora knew her return had caused some excitement. When she’d left Milburn at thirty, Jane Seymour had been little more than a miserable young girl with two babies and a cheating husband. Now, long-ago divorced from the cheating husband, “Seymour” had become “Strathclyde” and the misery of all those years ago had become a cloud of well-being. The first thing she’d done on returning had been to buy back her old family house on Willow street, and start constructing a new wing. As soon as she’d settled in, Mrs. Strathclyde had joined half a dozen clubs, and there were already rumors that she might sit on the town council soon. There had been some jealousy from her old friends. Some people had even said she was trying to buy her way into people’s good graces.
Nora wasn’t one to listen to gossip, but she’d been startled too, when Mrs. Strathclyde had announced that the first prize for Bingo Night this year would be her vintage 1971 Chevrolet Corvette instead of the normal trinkets that were usually given away. As a result, interest in bingo night had tripled, and instead of the normal trickle of gossipy ladies that attended Bingo night, almost all of Milburn had gathered in the hall, eager for the game to begin.
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