by India Ink
“What brings you out on a night like this?” my aunt asked Barbara.
Barb gave me a hesitant look.
Oh hell, I’d been hoping to wait until after dinner. I wasn’t good with things like this. “I asked her to come over. I’ve got something to tell both of you.” I set my fork down and pushed my plate back. “Kyle stopped by today, before I left.”
Aunt Florence gave me a quick look. “What’s wrong? Is it something about Trevor? I was going to go see the boy today, but now I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “No, Trevor’s fine . . . but there’s been . . .” I hesitated, not sure whether my aunt and Marta had been close friends.
Aunt Florence sighed. “Well, for heaven’s sake, out with it, child.”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Marta’s dead. They found her in her apartment. She’s been murdered. Kyle will be over in awhile; he needs to ask you some questions about her.”
My aunt’s jaw dropped open, while Barbara let out a little “Oh!” and covered her mouth.
“Murdered? You told me she had died, but you didn’t say she was murdered,” Barb said, aghast. “How horrible!”
Aunt Florence just closed her eyes briefly, a pained expression crossing her face. “Poor old dear. I don’t know what Gull Harbor’s coming to. Two murders in one week—” She paused. “Kyle thinks it’s related to Lydia’s murder, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, I think he does. Marta was hit over the head from behind, just like Lydia. She lived in the apartments across from the Delacorte Plaza, and that’s where the phone call on that message tape originated. Now Kyle is thinking maybe Marta was the one who made the call.”
Barbara bit her lip. “As in, she saw something?” She stared at the chicken for a moment, then shook her head. “I think I just lost my appetite.”
I put my hand on her arm. “Eat. There’s nothing we can do for Marta now.”
Barb nodded. She stared at the plate and, after a long sigh, finally selected a piece of chicken and three sushi rolls. As she passed the platter to me, I glanced over at my aunt. She looked dejected, but was taking it better than I’d hoped.
“I was worried about how you were going to handle this,” I said.
Auntie patted me on the hand. “My dear, I’ve lived through a lot of deaths, and many of them were far more painful. The older you are, the more you get used to hearing the news that somebody you knew died. It’s one of those little things they never warn you about when you’re young.”
She picked up her chicken. “You know, girls,” she continued, “if Marta was killed because she saw something, Kyle should let Trevor off the hook because there’s no way he could have hurt her.”
“I think this will help Trev’s case,” I said, “but then again, we can’t forget that the evidence is stacked against him, what with him having no alibi, and the bloody hammer, and Sarah’s report of what he said to her about Lydia. However, this should make Kyle think twice about rushing it through. There are too many loose threads, too many questions. And I intend to find out a few of the answers.”
My aunt regarded me solemnly. “I assume you’re talking about the Blue Dragon? I wish you wouldn’t go, Persia. It’s too dangerous, especially now that Marta’s been killed.”
“Blue Dragon? What are you talking about?” Barbara perked up, looking at me closely. “What are you planning that has your aunt so worried?”
I frowned. “I’ve learned that Lydia had a boyfriend on the side who’s rumored to work at the Blue Dragon, a club in Seattle. I talked to Winthrop about it and he did some digging.” I told her what we’d found out.
She frowned. “I see why Miss Florence doesn’t want you going up there by yourself. It sounds dangerous. Tell you what, I’ll come along. That way, you won’t be alone.” Her eyes glittered with a look I was beginning to recognize. Uh oh. Once Barbara made up her mind about something, she was unshakable.
“Barb, you don’t know what you’re getting into. I can blend into places like that. I don’t think you could. You’re too . . . too . . .”
She gave me a dark stare. “Say it, I dare you.”
I tried to repress a smirk but broke out laughing. “Oh Barb, you just wouldn’t fit. You’d stand out like a Tiffany lamp in a dungeon. Okay?”
Aunt Florence laughed gently, but then the laughter turned to tears and she rested her elbows on the table, leaning her forehead against her hands. “Poor Marta . . . poor Lydia. Who did this? I know Trevor didn’t have any part of it. I know it!”
I crossed behind her chair, rubbing her shoulders as I tried to think of something to say. She raised her head and gave me a pale smile. “Persia, please take Barbara with you tomorrow night. I don’t want to chance losing you!”
I blushed, feeling a flicker of guilt. Aunt Florence didn’t deserve the grief I was causing her. I leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. “All right, Barbara can go. I promise that we’ll be careful.” She let out a long breath as I returned to my chicken.
We’d barely finished dinner when the doorbell rang. Aunt Florence answered and, as expected, it was Kyle. He took off his raincoat and left it on the porch to dry out, then turned to Aunt Florence.
“Did Persia tell you why I’m here?”
She motioned him into the living room. “She told us about Marta. Would you like some tea or coffee? You look like a drowned rat.”
He flashed her a brief smile, but it disappeared quickly. “I’d love a cup of tea, if it isn’t any trouble.”
I hied myself into the kitchen to fetch the teapot and more of Barb’s cake while he settled himself on the sofa. I carried the tray into the living room, where we all settled around the fireplace.
“Cream? Lemon?”
“Lemon, please.” He turned to Barbara. “I’m glad you’re here, Mrs. Konstantinos. I need to ask you all a few questions.” He accepted the cup I handed him and shivered as the hot liquid met his lips. I slipped over and added a couple logs to the fire.
Kyle took out his notebook. “As you know, Marta Mendoza was killed in her apartment this afternoon. The blow broke her neck and fractured her skull. It looks like she put up a fight, but the door wasn’t forced, so we think she knew her assailant. Mrs. Fairweather reported a scream coming from the apartment, but that’s all she knows.”
Barbara raised her hand. “Mrs. Fairweather? Who’s that?”
He glanced over at her. “A neighbor. Blind woman.”
“Did you find the murder weapon?” I asked.
A combination of embarrassment and hesitation flickered over his face as he stared into my eyes. “No, we haven’t. Marta lived across from the Delacorte Plaza and she didn’t have a phone in her apartment, so I’m thinking she made her phone calls from the Plaza. Which is, of course, the same place where the call to your shop originated.”
Auntie broke in. “Did you find any fingerprints off that note that was in our mailbox?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We dusted it but found nothing except Persia’s prints where she opened it. Nor did I find any matching paper in Marta’s apartment, but that really doesn’t prove anything. I’m inclined to believe that she knew something about Lydia’s murder, something that made her unwilling to come forward to the police.”
“Why would she keep it a secret? Trevor never did anything to hurt her.” Barbara looked confused. “Marta could be a dingbat, but she wasn’t cruel. If she could get Trevor off the hook, wouldn’t she have tried harder than making an anonymous phone call or sending a note like that?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, but we did find something interesting,” Kyle said. “Yesterday she made a five-thousand-dollar deposit to her checking account. We found the receipt.”
“Five thousand dollars?” Aunt Florence sat up. “Where did she get that kind of money? Marta was always starved for cash.”
Kyle nodded. “You’re right. When we checked the bank, they said she deposited the funds in one-hundred-dollar bil
ls, which is fishy enough by itself. I also found a blank deposit slip on her dinette table when we searched her apartment, with tomorrow’s date written on it, but no amount filled in. Was she expecting a paycheck from either of you?”
Auntie shook her head. “No, I pay her a hundred fifty dollars every two weeks. She spends about two hours a day at my store. Payday isn’t until a week from this coming Monday. What about you, Barbara?”
Barbara shrugged. “We pay her the same rate, and on the same day that you do. When we first hired her, she asked us to coordinate payday with her other jobs, so she wouldn’t have to make so many trips to the bank.” She stared at the floor. “It’s hard to believe that she’s dead.”
Florence patted her hand somberly. “Marta wasn’t terribly bright. It’s easy for me to believe she got herself into a situation over her head. I remember having a conversation with her a year or so ago. She told me that years ago she’d deliberately gotten herself knocked up so she could drop out of high school. She knew that her parents would insist she get married—they were Catholic.”
I kept my mouth shut, but silently thanked Auntie for raising me to be independent and to think for myself.
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “And look where it got her. Working past retirement, alone and trying to help support her kids long after they should be supporting themselves.”
Florence shrugged. “It’s not Marta’s fault she’s alone. Her husband died while working a construction job. I think he fell off a building.”
With a sigh, Kyle said, “I know she didn’t have it easy. She lost one son to the streets. She only hears from him when he’s begging for a handout, and then there’s her daughter. The girl means well but she’s not very stable.”
My aunt glanced at Kyle for a long moment before speaking. “Yes, Delia can’t cope very well with the problems life has thrown her and Marta tries to help out. What with her grandson and his disabilities—well, it’s just been one hard turn after another.”
“So I understand,” Kyle said. “And it takes a lot of money to pay for his care. Brentwood Manor isn’t cheap.”
I stood up and took the teapot into the kitchen to freshen it. Thoroughly depressed, I made a fresh batch of tea, added more cake to the plate, and returned to the living room. Kyle jumped up and took the tray, setting it on the coffee table for me. I must have looked surprised because he winked as if to say, “Want to make something of it?”
Returning to his seat, he tapped his notebook with his pencil. “Miss Florence, Mrs. Konstantinos, did Marta ever talk to you about any troubles she might be having? Anybody who might be mad at her?”
Barbara and my aunt glanced at one another. Auntie spoke up first. “Marta kept most of her troubles to herself.”
Kyle jotted down the information, then turned to Barbara. “And you?”
Barb squinted, trying to think. “You know, I seem to recall her saying something yesterday morning that struck me as odd. She was talking to Ronette, who works the early morning shift. What was it . . . let me think for a moment.”
The chief set his notebook on the table and bit into a slice of cake. “This is wonderful,” he said to me. “Did you make it?”
I snorted. “If I had, you’d be using a sledgehammer instead of a fork. It’s from Barb’s shop.”
He laughed and Auntie joined in as Barbara snapped her fingers.
“I remember now. Yesterday, Marta was chatting with Ronette while I was arranging stock in the display cases. Usually Marta’s always asking us if we know of other people looking for cleaning ladies. Well, Ronette mentioned that a friend of her mother’s is looking for a full-time housekeeper. The pay is good, nice benefits . . . no children —an ideal job for Marta.”
Kyle quickly began jotting down notes. “Go on.”
Barbara frowned. “I don’t remember her exact words, but Marta thanked her, then said something to the effect of, ‘I’ll take her name and number, but if things turn out right, I may be able to retire sooner than I thought.’ I remember wondering if she won the lottery. Come to think of it, I don’t think she even wrote down the name of the woman looking for help.”
Auntie finished her tea and set her cup down on a coaster. “That is odd. Marta would normally jump at a chance like that.”
I ticked off facts. The blank deposit check. Lack of interest in a job that might have helped ease the stress in her life. A belief that she might be able to actually retire. A word was beginning to form in the back of my mind. One that had a nasty little feel to it—that might cast a new light on Marta and make her petty thievery out to be more than just a poor old woman trying to get by.
“Did you know Marta was a thief?” I blurted out. Auntie gasped as Barbara blushed and stared at the ceiling.
Kyle frowned. “A thief? How so?”
“Go on, Auntie. Tell him what you told us. It won’t hurt her now, and it might shed some light onto her murder.”
Aunt Florence gave me a quick glare, but quietly told Kyle about the petty thefts. Barbara added in her observations.
When they both finished, I leaned forward. “Auntie, I’m not trying to smear her character, but think about it. What if she found out something that she might think was worth money? Maybe someone threatened to turn her in for stealing and she countered with some secrets of her own? Or maybe . . . just maybe . . . she saw something and decided to make a few bucks by promising to keep quiet about it?”
“Blackmail?” Kyle’s eyes lit up. “That thought had crossed my mind. Blackmail is serious business and usually leads to somebody getting hurt. If Marta was attempting extortion, she might just have opened the door for her own demise.”
My aunt jumped up, her hands on her hips. “How dare you say that, Kyle Laughlin? She was a poor old woman looking for a way to get by.” She abruptly fell silent and stared out the window. The storm had taken full hold, shaking the trees.
I slid over next to Aunt Florence and pulled her back down on the sofa, next to me. “Auntie, if we’re on the right track, this information might lead to her killer. And maybe help Trevor. If Marta saw Lydia being murdered and now she’s dead, then that means that the murderer is still running around loose. That it’s not Trevor.”
Barbara murmured agreement.
Auntie wrung her hands. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Marta wasn’t terribly bright. She might have seen what she thought was an opportunity to take care of her daughter and grandson.”
“Then I suppose the next step is to figure out who her friends are,” Kyle said. “If you can make up a list of anybody you knew, people she hung out with, I’d appreciate it. We’ve talked to her daughter, but the woman is totally distraught. After all, her mother’s just been murdered. We’re talking to her neighbors to see if anything comes up.”
He folded his notebook shut and tucked it away in his pocket. “If you think of anything—no matter how trivial it sounds—call me.”
“Winthrop and I’ve decided that I should hang out at the Blue Dragon tomorrow night. Maybe there’s something going around the grapevine there.” I escorted him to the door, stepping out on the porch with him.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He picked up his raincoat, which was still damp, and shrugged into it.
“We talked it over. He thinks that a P.I. would just attract attention.” I shivered as the wind bit into my skin, raising goose bumps along my arms.
“And you won’t attract attention?”
I gave him a slow smile. “That’s the idea, actually.”
With a frown, he said, “Well, if you have to go, I can’t stop you, but for God’s sake, be careful.”
“Hey, if you aren’t willing to send out an officer to investigate, then somebody else has to pick up the slack. You told me to go to Winthrop, and I did.” There, I’d caught him. How could he complain if he wasn’t willing to do the job himself?
Kyle started to say something, then closed his mouth. He glanced out at the yard. “Gale blowing in tonight
. Hope the boats in the marina are tied down safe.” He glanced back at me and bit his lip. “Persia,” he said softly. “About this afternoon . . .”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry. It’s forgotten. I’m not mad.”
He sighed, as if I’d said something wrong. “I don’t care if you’re mad or not. I was kind of hoping . . .”
Hoping. Hoping what? Now it was my turn to frown. “Kyle, if you want to say something, just come out and say it.” I shivered, pulling my shawl tight around my shoulders. The wind was raging at a steady forty to fifty miles per hour.
He stared at me for a moment, holding my gaze, then roughly shook his head. “Never mind. Just never mind. If you, or your aunt or friend remember anything else that might be important, give me a call.”