Grace in Hollywood: A Grace Michelle Mystery

by Kari Bovee

  The garden! Maybe there was something there that could prove that Lizzy and Daniel were innocent.

  I drank the rest of my coffee and hustled out to the garden, which was situated beyond the schoolroom. It was a modest size, about fifteen feet by twelve feet, with neat rows of green beans, lettuce, squash, and a variety of other things the kids and I had planted earlier that spring. I searched each row, looking under the plants and vines, but found nothing. I walked the perimeter of the garden and beyond. Nothing.

  Frustrated, I gave up and headed back to the house to get my things to go to the jail.

  I walked back into the house to hear the phone ringing. I hurried to the telephone niche in the hallway and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hi, darling.” It was Chet.

  “It’s so good to hear your voice,” I said, my own voice wavering. He’d been gone less than twenty-four hours, but given what had transpired last night, I wanted him home as soon as possible.

  “Grace, I have some news. I’ve tracked down the house in Reno.” His voice was exuberant. “Apparently, the deed I found in Travis’s office was a copy. He sold the place to the current resident, a Mr. Maddox. I told him I was working for the estate, and he said he had found a box in the garage that must have belonged to Travis and gave it to me. Guess what I found in the box?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “Receipts from 1912 for repairs to a house in Lake Tahoe, which is about thirty-five miles from here—substantial repairs.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Lake Tahoe? Did he have a house in Lake Tahoe as well? But that’s where Margaret and Lizzy lived before they moved here. I wonder if they knew Mr. Travis or if it is just a coincidence.”

  “Not sure. But Walton did say that Margaret showed up at the reading of the will, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It could be a coincidence, but it feels a little too convenient to me. I’m going to see what I can find out. How are things there?”

  I hesitated, wanting to tell him about my dream last night but figured it was a conversation best to be had in person. Besides, I was still trying to make sense of it. “Fine. They’re fine. I’m going to the jail to visit Lizzy and see if they will allow me to see Daniel this time.”

  “You sound tired.” There was concern in his voice. “Trouble sleeping again?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do. Goodbye, darling.”

  The click at the other end let me know he’d hung up. I placed the receiver back on its cradle, thinking about what Chet had discovered. Lake Tahoe was not a big town. Surely Margaret and Lizzy had crossed paths with Mr. Travis if he had owned a house there. But why lie about it?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The guard at the jail assured me I could speak with Daniel after I spoke with Lizzy, for which I was grateful. At least I would be able to see both of them today. I handed the officer the basket meant for Lizzy. He said that after examination, he would see to it that she received it.

  I tapped my fingers on the table until the door for the inmates opened. Lizzy came in, escorted by an officer, and walked over to me. She sat down while he stood guard.

  “Hello, dear.” I mustered a smile for her. She half-heartedly returned the gesture. Her mass of loose curls was an unkempt mess, and her skin was pale, accentuating the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Her eyes looked glassy, like she hadn’t had much sleep, and were rimmed with red. Dark circles under her eyes gave her a haunted appearance. “How are you?”

  She shrugged. “I want to go home to the ranch.”

  “I know. I want you there, too. So does Goldie. I haven’t had much time to ride her.” I tried to lighten the mood to no avail.

  I decided to change course. I was pretty sure Lizzy didn’t want to talk about how wonderful things were on the outside. All she could deal with was her own pain. “Has Detective Walton asked you any more questions?”

  “They sent the lawyer to speak with me,” she said.

  Finally. I breathed out a sigh of relief and offered her a warm smile. “That’s good, then.”

  Lizzy’s mouth tightened, and her eyes narrowed. “No. It’s not. It means I’m done for.”

  I reached my hand out onto the table. “No, it doesn’t,” I said, trying to use a soothing voice. The poor girl had all but given up hope, it seemed.

  “He’s awful,” she said, her eyes shifting away from mine.

  “The lawyer? In what way?” I asked, a little alarmed.

  “He’s old and smells of whiskey.”

  She looked so forlorn I wanted to hug her. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears and she buried her face in her hands. I felt helpless watching her in such agony.

  “Lizzy, I’m still trying to find out what happened on the night of the party and also what happened to your sister. Nothing has changed. I still believe you. So does Chet.”

  With her face still in her hands, she shook her head, hopelessness wafting off her in waves.

  “I want to ask you a question.” I scooted closer to the table. She peered at me over her fingertips. “Did your sister ever mention knowing or meeting Mr. Travis?”

  She lowered her hands. “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “How would she know him? She wasn’t in the movies.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “Do the names Greta and Elsa Mayfield mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you maybe meet them in Lake Tahoe? Maybe they were guests at the boarding house or perhaps your neighbors?”

  “I don’t know the names,” she said, impatience in her voice. She crossed her arms and then scratched at the inside of her forearm. My eyes traveled to the heart-shaped birthmark.

  “I wonder if Margaret knew them.” I was thinking out loud. At the mention of Margaret’s name, Lizzy’s face contorted with emotion, and she again burst into tears.

  “Oh no. I’m sorry if I upset you. You must be missing your sister—”

  “She wasn’t my sister,” she interrupted. Her teary, red-rimmed eyes met mine.

  I blinked. “What do you mean she wasn’t your sister?”

  “She wasn’t my sister. She was . . . She was my mother.” Her voice broke, and she let out a sob.

  I stared at her, stunned.

  She collected herself and then sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “I didn’t know it— Well, I didn’t know it until a few months before we left Lake Tahoe.”

  My mind reeling, I managed to close my gaping mouth. “How did you find this out?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I found a piece of paper—a hospital record. When I was seven, I had croup and went to the hospital for a few days. Anyway, under the title of ‘mother’ she put her name. There was nothing under the title of ‘father.’ When I asked her about it, she didn’t say anything at first, but I kept at her. Finally, she said it was probably time I heard the truth anyway.”

  I sat back in the chair, amazed at what I was hearing. “And?”

  She looked at me as if I were a simpleton. “She said he was dead.”

  “Oh, Lizzy. I’m so sorry.” I leaned forward and reached my hand out across the table again, and the guard cleared his throat. I quickly retracted it.

  “She also said we couldn’t let anyone know that she was my mother.” Lizzy’s face hardened.

  “But why?”

  “She said it was for my protection. That my father had been involved with some bad people and those people had killed him. She was scared they would come after us, and if everyone thought we were sisters, we’d be safer. That’s why we moved from New York to Lake Tahoe. But I didn’t believe her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think she just wanted me to stop asking questions.”

  My brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you believe her?”

  “Because she was a liar! She’d lied to me my whole life!”

 
I reached my hand across the table again, and this time, the guard didn’t do anything so I let it rest there. “But, Lizzy, don’t you believe she was trying to protect you?”

  She slammed her hand down on the table, prompting the officer to step forward. “No! I think she made it up. She was ashamed of me. She didn’t want to claim me as her child.”

  My heart wrenched. “Is that why you started to act out? Because you thought she was ashamed of you?”

  She nodded as her face crumpled again. She squeezed her eyes shut and took in a deep, gasping breath. “I was so confused, so mad at her. But now I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I still loved her.” Her eyes widened. “And I didn’t kill her, I swear it! I was mad at her but not mad enough to kill her. Why would I kill my own mother?”

  “Oh, Lizzy.” I choked back a sob and swallowed the walnut-sized lump that had formed in my throat, my own recent experience concerning my mother tearing my heart open again like a gaping wound.

  “I went to the house that day to talk to her. To apologize.” She ran her hands over her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “But I got scared and Daniel was worried about getting back to the farm. We’d been gone so long.”

  “Did you tell the lawyer this?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he believed me. He said he would look into it.”

  The guard walked over to us. “It’s time.”

  I looked up at him and implored him with my eyes. “Please. Can’t she stay for just a few more minutes?” I hated for her to have to go back to her cell in such a state.

  “Let’s go, Miss Moore.” He took her by the elbow, forcing her to stand up. With sad eyes, she gave me one last look and let him lead her out of the room.

  My visit with Daniel was no more uplifting than my visit with Lizzy. Already prone to sullenness, his demeanor was, dare I say, morose. He was so downcast, and his eyes had a vacancy to them that alarmed me. I tried my best to lift his spirits.

  “I promise you, I will prove you didn’t do this. You will be out of here in no time.”

  He hadn’t yet met my gaze but stared down at the table. “I’m never going to get out of here unless it’s in a pine box.”

  “Don’t say that, Daniel.” Like with Lizzy, I wished I could reach out and touch him, give him some kind of physical comfort.

  He shook his head. “I never should have told them that I had gone to the barn that night.”

  I was surprised at this declaration. “You did?”

  He nodded.

  I leaned forward in my chair. “Who did you tell?”

  “Detective Walton and the lawyer.”

  I nodded. “And what exactly did you tell them?”

  His raised his gaze to meet mine, his cheeks pink with emotion. “I was sick of seeing Lizzy flirting with all those men, so I went into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. R. and ask her if I could have another plate of food. While I was at the table eating, I saw Lizzy head out to the barn with that Travis guy. I was worried she might be getting herself into trouble, but I was pretty steamed about the whole thing so I decided to go upstairs to my room. But then I got to worrying about her again,” he admitted. “I went to your studio and then down the stairs, and hoofed it over to the barn. By the time I got there, Mr. Travis was dead and Lizzy was muttering something—like she was out of her head. I saw the broken glass lying next to Mr. Travis with the blood all over it. I was scared for Lizzy, that she’d be accused of his death, so I took the glass and threw it into the field.”

  “Oh, Daniel.” My voice deflated.

  “I was going to go back to the barn to get Lizzy, but then I saw you walking out there with Ned. I got scared so went back into the house. Anyway, because of that, Detective Walton charged me with withholding evidence and being an accessory to the crime.”

  I shook my head, worry clawing into my chest. I was still more dedicated than ever to helping these children, but I was feeling adrift as to how it would be possible.

  “Was there anything else?” I asked.

  “Yeah. But it wasn’t because I was trying to hide anything. It was because I forgot.”

  “What was that?”

  “That waiter guy? The one who was also talking to Lizzy.”

  Mr. Johnson.

  “When I came downstairs from your studio, I saw him heading toward the back of the house, like kind of by the schoolroom. I thought it was strange because why would he be out there . . .”

  He had a point. The partygoers who were outside were either on the back porch, in the side yard in front of the kitchen, or—as in Miss Lange’s and Mr. Smith’s case—out near the field. Mr. Johnson could have killed Mr. Travis. Maybe he and Florence had been working together, thinking Florence would get the entire inheritance if her husband was out of the way.

  “Did he see you?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. It was pretty dark.”

  “And you told the detective this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what did he say?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  I didn’t have much hope for this revelation because it didn’t put Mr. Johnson at the scene of the crime, or anywhere near it, but it was odd that he was out by the schoolroom away from everyone else.

  “Was there anything you didn’t tell Detective Walton about the visit to Miss Moore’s house?” I braced myself for the worst.

  “No. We didn’t go in. I swear it. Lizzy said she changed her mind, that she would talk to her sister later.”

  I sighed, relieved their stories matched. “I believe you, Daniel. Don’t give up hope.”

  He gave me a half-hearted smile.

  “I brought over a basket of food. Did you enjoy the last one? I’m sorry I couldn’t see you that day. They wouldn’t let me.”

  He scoffed. “Never got to taste anything. The guys in my cell took it all.”

  I worried my bottom lip, my heart breaking for both Lizzy and Daniel. They were just children, really. My insides churned at the thought of them being taken advantage of in this horrid place.

  My pity for him was quickly replaced with anger. “Well, something has to be done about that.”

  He leaned forward and looked over his shoulder, shaking his head. “Don’t say anything about it. Please, Grace. It will make things worse for me in here.”

  “But—” I pleaded.

  “Please!” His voice cracked. “I’m begging you.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Okay. But it’s not right.” I had half a mind to say something anyway, but I had to trust him.

  The guard at the door stepped forward, signaling that our time was up.

  Daniel stood. “Well, I gotta go. Thanks for coming by.”

  “Of course,” I said, forcing a small smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He nodded and turned to go, despondent.

  “Daniel,” I called after him. “Chin up.” The words felt insignificant and hollow, but he gave me a tight-lipped smile as the guard took him by the elbow.

  As I left the visitation room, I spotted Detective Walton at the end of the hall talking to a uniformed officer. Then he began to walk away so I picked up my pace.

  “Detective Walton,” I said loudly and in a way that demanded he see me. I broke into a jog.

  He turned, and when he saw me, he took his fedora off with a sigh of irritation. “Can I help you, Mrs. Riker?”

  I tightened my hold on the basket handle. “I’ve just been to see both Lizzy and Daniel.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  I wasn’t sure but I thought I detected a smirk on his face.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is it true that you’ve charged Daniel with accessory to murder in the case of Mr. Travis?”

  “Yes, and hiding evidence, given that he admitted to disposing of the murder weapon.”

  “So it’s been determined that the broken glass was without a doubt the murder weapon?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He puffed up his chest. “The coroner has confirme
d it. There were bits of glass in Mr. Travis’s wound.”

  “And you are still determined that Lizzy killed him?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice. My nerves were on edge and my emotions right at the surface, threatening to spill over like lava bubbling up from a volcano, ready to erupt.

  “There has been no evidence to prove otherwise. She was the last to see him alive, she was in close proximity to the body, there was no witness, and she had blood on her hands. Literally.” Another smirk.

  I had to admit, it was hard to argue the point. And what evidence did I have that she didn’t do it? I was just going with my gut, and I couldn’t ignore it. Still, I pressed on. “But what motive would she have for killing her own mother? She said she went over to apologize, to make amends.”

  Detective Walton put his hat back on his head, signaling to me that he was done with this conversation. “Things get out of hand sometimes. Let’s call it a crime of passion.”

  I hated the way he was so cavalierly confident in his conclusions. It made my blood boil.

  “But Daniel told me he saw Mr. Johnson outside that night, at the back of the house. He could have committed the crime.” I realized I sounded defensive, but . . . well, I was defensive.

  The detective held his hands up in the air. “Johnson said he wasn’t outside, other than earlier in the evening when he was helping to carry items into the house for the party. So either he or Daniel is lying.”

  I wanted to scream at him, he was so arrogant. I took a breath and said as steadily as I could, “I believe Mr. Johnson and Florence Thomas are having an affair.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “And?” The look of condescension on his face left me flustered.

  “Well, what if they colluded to kill Mr. Travis to get Florence her inheritance?” I lifted my chin.

  He heaved a great sigh, obviously growing more and more impatient. “Can you say with certainty that they are having an affair?”

  I blinked several times, knowing I would never be able to prove this. “Well, no, but you could—”

  The detective thrust his hand toward my face, stopping me in my tracks. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Mrs. Riker?” His jaw twitched, and I knew I had pushed him too far.