Murder, Take Two

by Carol J. Perry

“You must have been helpful to them,” I said. “I understand you’re an accomplished writer as well as a fine dancer.”

  He gave a modest little lifting of one shoulder. “I helped move a few commas around, straightened out some grammar, tried to blend their different styles. Things like that. It wasn’t a book in my field. It’s totally their baby. I just helped out a little here and there. Sam didn’t want it to be known around that I was involved at all. Called me a ‘ghostwriter’ and swore the other guys to secrecy. Guess it doesn’t matter now that he’s gone.”

  “Can you tell us about the book?”

  “A how-to book, more or less. A book for college kids. How to study for exams. How to prepare a term paper. Things like that. We call it You Can Do This.”

  “Was anyone else there? Besides you four?”

  “Sure. Cody and I brought dates.”

  “Did Professor Bond have a date?’

  “No. Neither did Alan.”

  Professor Dreamy without a date? Hard to believe.

  “Did you see any indication that night that there was any—um—any animosity between Professor Bond and Cody McGinnis?”

  “You sound like a cop, Lee,” he said, smiling again. “But no, no animosity. It was a little tense. Cody had found out that he wasn’t going to get the full professorship after all. But he understood how university politics works. He’d have to wait another year or so. That’s all.”

  “Cody—Professor McGinnis—seems to have a lot of friends on his side. They’ve already raised a great deal of money for his defense.”

  “Yes. Twenty thou I heard.” He whistled. “Lot of friends.”

  “So there were no arguments, no unpleasantness the last time you four were all together? Celebrating the new book?”

  He laughed. “Well, Cody’s date got a little drunk and smashed a shot glass in the fireplace. But she cleaned it up.”

  Chapter 22

  I wasn’t about to violate station protocol by asking who the dates were—at least while Jim was filming. Unless glass smashing was a popular new fad Lucy with the blue hair had been Cody’s date—which also provided an answer to the Alaska cruise gossip-fest question about which professor she favored.

  I let Eddie’s comment about the glass-smashing incident pass with a “Oh, well, those things happen,” and searched my mind for another question. His hand still rested on the book he’d been reading, his fingers covering part of the title. “I see that we interrupted your reading, Eddie,” I said, pointing to the blue paper cover. “Research for another of your many magazine articles?” He didn’t move his hand.

  “Uh, no. Not exactly. It’s nothing that interesting. A bit of academic fact-checking.”

  A portion of the title was visible. Without being signaled, Old Jim moved in for a closer shot, then smoothly backed away. Smart guy. Real pro. He knew I wanted to get a closer look at the few exposed letters.

  “I interviewed Professor Armstrong earlier, Eddie,” I said, reestablishing eye contact and smiling. “He told me that he hasn’t seen Professor McGinnis since this whole—unpleasantness—started. What about you? Have you visited or talked with him at all?”

  “Well, sure. We’ve been friends a long time.” Eddie moved the book down onto his lap and then eased it into a black backpack that lay on the seat beside him. “He’s staying at his mom’s. I went right over as soon as the buzz started about Cody being the one who killed Sam. I couldn’t stay long, but I talked with him long enough to know he’s telling the truth. He didn’t do it.”

  “Have you seen him since then?” I prodded. “He must be feeling pretty isolated.”

  “I haven’t,” he admitted. “I’ve kicked a few bucks into the fund, but no, I haven’t seen or talked to Cody.”

  I decided to get back to questions about the dead professor. “There have been some allegations that Samuel Bond had a bad temper. That he sometimes berated people, treated them badly.”

  “If that’s so, I never saw it.” Eddie leaned toward the camera. “Oh, Sam could be outspoken. He told it like he saw it. If a student did badly in his class, Sam took it personally. Like you were somehow disrespecting the subject if you didn’t do your best work on one of his history assignments. He might even suggest that you switch majors.”

  Lightbulb moment. “Were you ever a history major?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. “Freshman year,” he said. “Turned out journalism was a better fit for me.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Your success in writing would certainly bear that out.” Pop! Another lightbulb. “By the way, do you happen to know whether or not Cody McGinnis switched majors when he was a student at County U.?”

  “Darn near.” Headshake and a wry smile. “Cody almost flunked Sam’s world history class. He thought about switching to English literature, but he switched schools instead. Transferred to Boston University in his sophomore year. That’s where he got his history degrees.”

  “Interesting,” I said. And it was. Alan Armstrong changed majors after receiving a low mark from Samuel Bond. Cody McGinnis had almost done so and Lucy blue-hair had done the same.

  Is this a pattern? Of what? I made a quick mental note to pursue this line of thought—but certainly not at that moment—not with Old Jim recording every word. I tried another tack.

  “Eddie, you and Cody McGinnis and Alan Armstrong spent a lot of time with Professor Bond. Were those ‘working sessions’?”

  “Pretty much. When a group of writers gets together on one project, it can be difficult to accommodate everyone’s writing style.” He gave a helpless, palms-up gesture. “Then there’s the ‘he gets more space than I do’ complaint.” He smiled. “I got that a lot.”

  “You must be a good coordinator.”

  “I try to be. The meetings were sometimes a little contentious. Mostly we got together at Sam’s. He had the biggest house—a mansion, really—and a pretty good bar. I listened and took notes while the three of them hashed things out. Of course, Sam didn’t like it to be known that I was involved. He didn’t want anyone to think they were using a ‘ghostwriter,’ especially one he considered an untenured, Iowa cow-college-educated hack like me.” He shrugged and smiled. “It was okay. He paid me for my time.”

  Bet he took notes with that cool Tascam recorder. “But you all went on an Alaska cruise together, didn’t you?”

  He raised a surprised eyebrow. “Yes. We did. You’ve done your research, Lee.”

  “A friend was on the same cruise.”

  “I see. It was billed as a spring break cruise. Students and teachers got a hefty discount—even dance teachers! It was too good a deal to pass up.” He looked at his watch in that deliberate way people do when they want to get away from you. I took the hint.

  “Well, thank you very much for talking with us, Eddie. Do you have a website you’d like to share with prospective dance students?” He gave the Tabby’s site and mentioned a new YouTube video of a class in Haitian-Creole ballroom dancing.

  We shook hands all around, and Old Jim and I packed up our gear. We exited the Tabby via the front door, said goodbye to Susan, and zipped down Washington Street to Derby a good deal faster than Francine would have dared. “You’ll want to get with Marty about the editing right away, I figure,” Old Jim said. “With any luck this’ll make the five o’clock. The ten o’clock for sure. Might even get a smile out of Doan.”

  “It went better than I’d thought it might,” I admitted, “since we walked in on him with no prep time.”

  “Good-natured guy,” Jim said. “He seemed willing to answer all your questions.”

  “He did. Thanks for grabbing a shot of that book cover. Maybe we can take a close look at that frame and figure out the title.”

  “I saw you zooming those big green eyes in on it. You think it’s important for some reason?”

  I laughed. “Actually, I haven’t the slightest idea what it might be. I’m kind of nosy, I guess.”

  He gave me a stern look. “Not nosy
one bit. Instinct. That’s what you’ve got. Reporter’s instinct.” We made a fast turn into the station parking lot. “Mark my words. It’s important. You’ll see.”

  I liked his assessment. “Reporter’s instinct.” I liked it a lot.

  “Thanks, Jim,” I said.

  Chapter 23

  Marty was ready and waiting for us. She’d already done a quick run-through, taking out pauses, a couple of coughs, and some ambient sounds of clinking coffee cups and chatter from nearby customers. “Good job, Moon,” she said. “Take a look and see what else needs fixing. How come you get all the good-looking guys to interview lately?”

  “Lucky, I guess.” I sat beside her and peered closely at the screen. Looked good to me. I paused the video at the shot of the blue book. “We can leave this out of the broadcast,” I said, “but I’d like a blowup of it for myself. I want to try to figure out what the lettering says.”

  “Done,” she said. “Maybe I can help. Okay if I fool around with it too?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re the expert at this stuff. Fool around all you want.” I squinted at the screen. “Looks like so much alphabet soup to me. His fingers covered most of it. Can you send this frame to my e-mail?”

  “Done,” she said again, and I knew it would be. By then I felt pretty good about my day. I was glad to learn that the poodle sitter hadn’t had much of anything new to share with Scott and that my interview with the dance teacher had gone so well.

  “Guess I’ll see if Rhonda has anything else for me, then I’ll head for the barn.”

  “Have a good evening.” She gave a little salute. “Too bad you missed covering the announcement about the history teacher getting bail though. You would have milked it a little more than Scotty did.”

  “Bail? What? Cody made bail? When did this happen?”

  “Late this afternoon. They haven’t made a big deal out of it. A police spokesman read an announcement. Didn’t take any questions or give any details. Just said that the man had been released on bail.” She shrugged. “Scotty was the only one here so he took it. He just read the same announcement word for word. You’ll see it on the evening news I suppose.”

  Scooped again. Twice in one day. I bit my tongue, pretended it really wasn’t a big deal and headed for Rhonda’s office.

  Rhonda didn’t have anything else with my name on it on her white board, so I ducked out early. Apparently, the twins had managed to bail Cody out and that was a good thing, no matter who reported it. Besides, I had several thoughts in mind for the ever-growing outline that I’d left at home on the kitchen table. I hoped my aunt was right—which she usually is—and that the outline was a good way to put my thoughts in order, because right about then I truly needed some order to my seriously jumbled thoughts. Broken shot glass. Is Lucy dating her professor? Rampant course switching. Vision blue paperback book. Real blue paperback book. Mean, swearing Sam. Beloved mentor Sam. Innocent Cody. Guilty Cody. New murder. Old murder. Is the merengue a Haitian-Creole dance?

  Maybe what I needed was a nap.

  Aunt Ibby’s Buick was in the garage when I got there and I knew she’d be busy making preparations for our six o’clock meeting with the twins, the Angels, and Pete. O’Ryan met me at the back steps, then hurried back inside through his cat door. He paused in the hall, looked back at me, then scampered through the next cat door into my aunt’s kitchen.

  I knocked. “It’s me,” I called.

  “Hold on. I’m coming.” There was a click as she unlocked the door.

  “You always remember to lock it when you’re expecting Pete,” I said. It was true. He reminds her regularly to keep her doors locked. The front door—on the Winter Street side of the house—is always secure, but the kitchen door? Not so much.

  “Nobody uses it except you, the cat, and the paper boy,” she said. “You and Pete worry about me too much.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” I said. “Do you need help with anything before everybody gets here?”

  “I think I’m all set. I have soft drinks and wine and cheese and crackers for nibbling. It’s too early for anything heavy.” She smiled that sly smile I know so well. “If we happen to work right up until dinnertime, I have a lovely coq au vin simmering in the slow cooker, homemade rolls ready to pop into the oven, and a fresh-baked apple pie in the pantry.”

  “Sounds delicious. And you look quite gorgeous.” She definitely did, in a slim-fitting emerald green sheath. “I’m pretty sure Pete and I can be talked into staying for dinner,” I said. “I’ll run upstairs and change. I’ll be back before six. I can hardly wait to see the twins.” Roger and Ray had been more than simply students in one of my classes at the Tabby. They’d become my friends, and a couple of times actual lifesavers, and I’d been delighted with their success on Boston television. I dashed through the shower, clothes selection, makeup routine and—as I’d promised—was on my way down the front stairs by five-forty-five.

  I’d been watching the twins’ show, Street Beat, fairly regularly, and I’d noticed that they’d both lost weight and that they still dressed identically. I’d always had trouble telling them apart and assumed that would still be the case. They’d never seemed to mind; in fact, they seemed to get quite a kick out of confusing people.

  I’d just stepped into the foyer, when the doorbell chimed. O’Ryan was already positioned at the long vertical windowpanes beside the door, and I’d arrived there in time to welcome my old friends. I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  “Roger! Ray!” I held out my arms and hugged them one at a time. “It’s so good to see you both.” They accepted my enthusiastic greeting with somewhat embarrassed pats on my shoulders and stepped inside the house. By-the-book, just-the-facts-ma’am police officers, they’d never been much for affectionate gestures—but I knew they were every bit as fond of me as I was of them. “Come right on in here. Aunt Ibby is in the kitchen. She’s dying to see you too.”

  I’d almost closed the door behind them, when I noticed that they weren’t alone. “We brought our nephew, Cody, along,” Roger/Ray said. “Hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course. Please come in, Cody,” I said, extending my hand, wondering how this had come about. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Lee.”

  Cody McGinnis had a nice smile and a firm handshake. “I know this is unexpected. I’m as surprised to be here as you are to see me. I recognize you from television,” he said. “And my uncles are probably your biggest fans.” He bent and patted O’Ryan, who proceeded to give his hand a lick. “This must be O’Ryan, your very smart cat. My uncles talk about him sometimes too.”

  I faced the twins. “I’m more than surprised,” I said. “How did you do it?”

  One of them answered. I think it was Roger. “We called in a couple of favors.” He gave a little shrug. “Cody has no past arrests. He’s not a flight risk. We posted bail, and he’s been remanded to our custody until a trial date is set. He had to turn in his passport and wear an ankle bracelet, but for a while at least he’ll be able to help us prove his innocence.”

  “You say Ibby is in the kitchen?” said the twin I guessed (by the interest in his tone) was probably Ray.

  “That’s right, Ray,” I said. “Right through the living room and the door to the right. You can follow O’Ryan.”

  “I remember,” he said, and the three men walked single file behind the cat.

  I dared a glance at the hall tree as we passed. Nothing there but a reflection of me. Relieved, I joined the parade to the kitchen. A rhythmic knock at the back door announced that the rest of the Angels had arrived, and soon the kitchen rocked with the happy sounds of old friends greeting one another, along with polite introductions between those who were still strangers. Since by then it was six o’clock and Pete hadn’t arrived yet, Aunt Ibby suggested that we all adjourn to the dining room where Merlot, diet cola, cheese, crackers, pencils, and notebooks, along with a laptop, were arranged on the table. “Pete Mondello will be joining us, but we may as well
get started.”

  Since none of us had expected that Cody would be with us for this meeting, things were a little awkward at first. After all, we were discussing murder, a quite violent one, and the man who might or might not be the killer was sitting there eating cheese and crackers and sipping wine with us. Awkward for sure.

  Aunt Ibby had seated Roger at the head of the table, and all of us looked silently toward him. “Thank you all for being here,” Roger began. “Ms. Russell, Mrs. Leavitt, and Mrs. Abney-Babcock, I especially appreciate your willingness to help us prove Cody’s innocence.” He tilted his head toward his nephew, who so far hadn’t said anything except “How do you do?” each time he was introduced. Louisa reminded him that they’d met before, but by then he had a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes and it was hard to tell if he remembered her at all.

  “Cody, want to say a few words?” Ray encouraged the man.

  I knew that Cody was a teacher, and a popular one at that. It was unlikely that the near paralysis we were witnessing was his normal classroom demeanor. This poor guy is terrified. It must be horrifying for an innocent person to be suspected of murder—to realize what the penalties could be if he was convicted of such a crime.

  “Cody, Professor McGinnis,” I began, hoping I’d be able to find the words to put him more at ease. “It must be gratifying for you to know that you have so many friends eager to defend you—to be there for you during this difficult time . . .”

  Holy crap! I sound like a Hallmark sympathy card. I tried again.

  “Look, Cody. Roger and Ray are the best in the business. They dot every i and cross every t. They believe in you. We—all of us in this room—we believe in you too, and we want to help in every way we can. These women”—I gave a wave of my arm toward my aunt and her girlfriends—“they’re not cops. They think outside the box. They color outside the lines. You might say we’re all kind of nosy—and sometimes a few nosy women hear things—see things—professionals might miss.”

  “She’s right, son,” Ray said. “These ladies have agreed to do a little . . . well, unofficial ‘snooping’ on your behalf. I’ve seen Lee and Ibby in action before, and believe me, it’s good to have them—and their friends—on your side.”