Murder, Take Two

by Carol J. Perry

  So with the addition of Harrison I had my three females and one male lined up. If Mr. Pennington had convinced Professor Dreamy and Eddie to take the remaining two parts, we’d be good to go. Things were definitely looking up on the Clue party front.

  I headed for home in a pretty good frame of mind. I decided I’d pick up some nice pork chops and a bag of chopped salad at Shaw’s. Tonight I could grill the chops, bake my Hawaiian potatoes, and invite Pete for dinner. Maybe I’d get some english muffins too and we could try out the clover honey with breakfast.

  I did my shopping and made the ten-items-or-less line, even with the addition of two packages of fancy sardine-flavored snacks for O’Ryan and a brand-new flavor of Ben & Jerry’s for me. I also noted the fact that at least a dozen men in the store wore Red Sox caps.

  O’Ryan met me at the garage door. Unusual. He usually waits for me on the back steps. Must be the kitty snacks in my grocery bag, I decided. I tapped on Aunt Ibby’s door as I passed through the back hall, intending to drop off one of the fishy treats. O’Ryan enjoys them for happy hour. “It’s me, Aunt Ibby,” I called, fully expecting the “Come on in. It’s open” reply.

  “Wait a minute.” I heard the click-click signaling that she’d remembered to lock the door. Amazing!

  “You remembered to lock it!” I marveled, putting the bag on the table. “Pete will be proud of you. I invited him to dinner. Pork chops. I’ll tell him you took his suggestion seriously.”

  “He called and reminded me.” She struck a hands-on-the-hips pose I remembered from childhood. It usually meant I was in trouble. “What’s this about strange men trying to get your address? Pete is upset about it and so am I. Weren’t you going to tell me?”

  “Pete called you?”

  “He said it was a general reminder to keep my doors locked. You know. Because there could still be a murderer loose in Salem.” She gave a dismissive flap on one hand. “I knew it was more than that. Had to pry it out of him—about the men asking where you live. Have you any idea who they are?”

  “Well, one of them is Alan Armstrong. He wants to send me flowers because he thinks he offended me.”

  “Did he offend you?”

  “Yes. Kind of.”

  “Hmm. Might be a legitimate reason. Might not. And the other one?”

  “Haven’t figured that one out. Francine thinks it’s a fan. He told Captain Billy he’d seen me on TV.”

  “Pete sounded worried.”

  “I am too, a little bit,” I admitted. “The man was wearing a Red Sox hat.”

  “Everybody wears a Red Sox hat,” she said. “Oh, I see. You’re thinking of the man outside Samuel Bond’s house the night he was murdered.”

  “Yes. He wanted to know if I seemed especially interested in Bond’s murder.”

  “What did Captain Billy tell him?”

  “The truth,” I said. “That I was more interested in the giant game pieces.”

  “I see. Let’s hope Francine is right. He’s only a fan.”

  “Aunt Ibby?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you pry the information out of Pete? I never can do that.”

  “Dear child, I’m a reference librarian. I have a master’s degree in prying.” She clapped her hands. “Now scoot upstairs and put your groceries away, then come right back down. It’s almost happy hour. O’Ryan gets impatient if I’m late with his treats.”

  I did as I was told, leaving through the front hall instead of the back staircase so that she wouldn’t have to unlock her kitchen door again. O’Ryan trotted along, close beside me. Once on the third floor, balancing the grocery bag with one arm, I pushed open my kitchen door and started inside. The cat stopped short on the doorsill. “Come on, silly cat,” I prompted. “It’s almost happy hour.” He didn’t budge, but sat there, switching his tail, doing that cat-stare thing they all do.

  “Move it!” I commanded. “My ice cream will melt.”

  Without breaking eye contact, he sprawled out full length, effectively blocking the entire doorway. I frowned. “You want me to leave it open?”

  He did the equivalent of a cat eye-roll and voiced an exasperated sounding “Meh!”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, “but stay there if you want to. I have to put these groceries away.” I hummed a little of “I Hope You Dance,” sneaking peeks at him from behind the freezer door. After a moment, he changed positions. With a soft mmrrrow, hind feet still firmly planted on the sill, he stretched upward against the frame until his right paw touched the latch.

  “It wasn’t locked!” I said. “My door to the front hall wasn’t locked!”

  O’Ryan immediately strolled into the room, hopped up onto the chair beside the window, muttering a cat-comment that sounded remarkably like “duh,” and proceeded to groom his whiskers.

  “O’Ryan, you are so darned smart!” I crossed the room, picked him up, and hugged him. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He gave me a fast lick on the chin and squirmed to get down. He was right, of course. If Aunt Ibby left her downstairs door unlocked, and I left my upstairs door unlocked, what was there to stop some unknown someone from walking right into my apartment? As Councilor Mercer had pointed out, it was entirely possible that there was still a killer loose in Salem. Properly cat-chastised, I closed and locked the door and put the keys in my pocket.

  With the ingredients of a good dinner refrigerating, I texted Pete, feeling sure he’d accept my invitation, and smarty cat and I headed down the front stairs to happy hour.

  Aunt Ibby had been doing some extra research at the library on the long-ago Captain White murder and had checked out several books on the subject for me. She’d spread them out on the table next to the wineglasses and the snack tray. “Several of these had been checked out recently,” she said. “There’s even a waiting list for a couple of others. The recent murder has apparently sparked a good deal of interest in the eighteen-thirty one.”

  “I can see why,” I said. “Even the Boston newspapers and TV stations are covering it. I heard that a team from the History channel is in town too.”

  She made the familiar “tsk-tsk” sound. “Not the nicest publicity in the world for our lovely city, is it? As if there wasn’t already enough hype about the unfortunate witchcraft delusion.”

  O’Ryan left his treats long enough to investigate the library books. He walked around the display, tapping each one lightly with a paw, then returned to his red bowl. It gave me an idea. “Aunt Ibby, did all of these books get popular after the Bond murder? Or were some attracting attention before that?”

  “Professor McGinnis’s class members borrowed a good many of them. Professor Armstrong checked out a few too. Cody McGinnis has probably read them all, along with nearly every academic history publication in the stacks,” she said. “Edwin Symonds reads academic papers too but not so much focused on Salem. I’ve brought a few of the academic ones, a random selection. We have plenty of them. Other than that, I hadn’t noticed. But I can check the borrowing histories easily enough.” She gathered the books together and pushed the pile into the center of the table.

  “Good. I’m not sure what it might prove, if anything, but I’d like to know who’s been reading what lately.”

  She raised her glass of Chablis. “To all readers everywhere, may their tribe increase.”

  “To readers,” I said, and we touched glasses. O’Ryan looked up from his bowl and gave a gentle mew. “Especially readers of books about cats,” I added.

  “Is it my imagination, or is O’Ryan being particularly attentive to you recently?” she asked. “He was doing his nervous pacing thing this afternoon until he heard your car in the driveway, then he absolutely bolted through his cat door.”

  “He came all the way out to the garage to meet me,” I recalled. “I thought it was because he smelled those fishy treats.”

  “He didn’t try to race you upstairs either,” she said. “He stayed right beside you. I think he’s worried about you.”

>   I told her how he’d reminded me to lock my kitchen door. “He was quite insistent about it. Wouldn’t come all the way into the apartment at all until I got the message.”

  “I’m trying to be careful,” she said. “It must be important if both Pete and O’Ryan are concerned about us. Here. Eat something. If Pete’s coming over, your dinner will probably be late.” She passed the vintage painted tole tray across the table, carefully avoiding the books. I selected a couple of wheat crackers with neat squares of extra-sharp cheddar and a stalk of cream-cheese-and-olive-stuffed celery.

  “I love the way you make everything so pretty for happy hour,” I said, “even though it’s usually only you and me and O’Ryan here to appreciate it.”

  “Not always,” she reminded me. “Everybody knows O’Ryan and I celebrate at about the same time every evening. Occasionally a friend or two drop in. I like to be prepared.”

  “All the more reason to lock the doors, I suppose,” I said, “if you don’t know exactly who might drop in.”

  “Never thought about it that way,” she said. “Not a happy thought.”

  O’Ryan looked up from his dish and ran toward the kitchen door. My aunt and I each jumped a little at the sound of knocking. “Hello?” she called. “Who is it, please?”

  “It’s me, Ms. Russell” came a masculine voice. “Eddie Symonds. We met some time ago at a bookmobile fundraiser. You invited me to drop by some evening for your regular happy hour. Remember?”

  Chapter 30

  “Did you really?” I whispered.

  “Maybe,” she whispered back. “I mean, I guess so. He’s quite attractive, you know. I didn’t expect he’d actually take me up on it.”

  “Well, you’d better let him in,” I said, remembering Pete’s comment that Eddie enjoyed the company of wealthy older women. I folded my arms. “I’ll stay right here to chaperone.”

  She stood, smoothed her dress, and patted her hair. “Coming,” she cooed, unlocked the kitchen door, and welcomed the “quite attractive” dance teacher. “What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Symonds. I’m so pleased that you could join us.” She waved in my direction. “I believe you know my niece, Maralee Barrett?”

  He stepped into the room. “Please call me Eddie,” he said, “and yes, Ms. Barrett and I have met. How do you do, Lee. I had no idea you two were related, although now I see a definite family resemblance.” He grinned. “Two gorgeous redheads.”

  My aunt blushed. I stifled a rude snort. “Can I get you a glass of wine, Eddie?” I asked. “That’s what happy hour’s all about.”

  “Thank you, yes,” he said, choosing the chair next to Aunt Ibby, and helping himself to crackers and cheese. “Lee, I take it you’re a regular at Ms. Russell’s happy hour celebrations?”

  “Pretty much,” I said.

  “Maralee lives right upstairs,” she announced with pride. “She has her own apartment.”

  I heard a soft mrroow, from under the table as O’Ryan sat on my foot. He couldn’t get much closer to me than that. Maybe he was truly worried about me. “Red or white?” I asked.

  “Whatever you’re having will be fine,” Eddie declared. “It’s good to be with family. My folks are still in Iowa, and I miss them a lot. My mom still teaches ballroom dancing. My dad’s retired from the aerospace program out there. I sure miss them.”

  “I’m sure they miss you too,” my aunt said, “and that they’re very proud of your accomplishments both in your dancing and your writing.”

  “And possibly a bit of playacting,” I added with fingers crossed, “if Mr. Pennington has convinced you to be part of our upcoming Clue game party. Will you do it?” I poured a hefty amount of Chablis into his glass.

  “Will I! Would a ham like me turn down an onstage appearance? I guess I’m going to be Mr. Green.”

  “I’m so pleased,” I told him. “We had such a short time to pull this together, I appreciate your help.”

  “Happy to do it. I’m trying to figure out how to work a few dance moves into the story. Rupert tells me it’s possible, Ms. Russell, that you’ll be part of the cast too?”

  Is that the reason for this surprise visit?

  “I will,” Aunt Ibby said, “as will Mrs. Abney-Babcock and our friend Betsy Leavitt. It sounds like such fun!”

  Sounds to me like a feast for a man who likes wealthy older women.

  He beamed. “I’m sure it will be. It’s my hope that Cody will be cleared in time to join us. I’m quite sure the police will figure out soon that he couldn’t have killed Professor Bond.”

  “You seem quite confident about that,” my aunt said.

  “I am.” He swirled the wine around in his glass, then took a swallow. “Mmm. This is good. Cody and Lucy both have perfect alibis. I don’t understand why either of them is being held.”

  “Alibis?” By this time O’Ryan had stretched out so that he covered both of my feet.

  “Sure. They were together at a play in Boston that night.”

  It was the first time I’d heard a word about that. “A play? Are you quite sure?”

  “Positive,” he said. “What kind of cheese did you put in the celery?”

  “Cream cheese and olive,” my aunt said. “What play?”

  “Olives. Interesting. Hmmm. It’s delicious. Shear Madness at the Charles Playhouse. They loved it. Ever seen it?”

  “Of course. Everybody has seen it.”

  “They hadn’t.” He took another bite of celery.

  This was puzzling. If while Sam Bond was being murdered Cody and Lucy had been in Boston at a theater where plenty of people could see them, where they would have undoubtedly been caught on multiple security cameras, why were they still the prime suspects? I could tell that Aunt Ibby was puzzled too. I wanted to ask more questions, but waited to see what the professional information-prying librarian would do with it.

  Oddly enough, she changed the subject. “Mr. Symonds,” she began.

  “Eddie,” he interrupted.

  “Eddie.” She favored him with a smile full of sweetness and light. “Tell us some more about the book the professors wrote.”

  “The book?” He frowned. “Oh, the how-to? Nothing much to say. It’s kind of basic.” He took what could only be called a gulp of his wine. “It might be helpful to students.” Sly smile. “And to some teachers too.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “I understand that my friend Mrs. Abney-Babcock sometimes joins you at around this time.”

  “She does,” my aunt said. “But she’s busy with some of her grandchildren tonight. I understand you two met on an Alaska cruise. That must have been a wonderful adventure.”

  “That’s the cruise Cody and Lucy were on,” I said. “Louisa shared lots of pictures with us.”

  “And Professor Armstrong was there too.” Aunt Ibby refilled his glass. “Here, Eddie, try one of the stuffed figs.”

  “No thanks, Ms. Russell,” he said, looking at the clock again, this time pointedly. “I have a dinner date pretty soon.” He refused the stuffed fig, but tossed back the wine in a hurry.

  “I’m glad you stopped by, Eddie,” my aunt said. “Don’t hesitate to come again.”

  “Thank you, Ibby. May I call you Ibby?” He stood.

  “Of course you may.” She stood too, and unlocked the door.

  “Nice to see you again, Lee.”

  I realized that with the cat on my feet, I couldn’t stand (at least not without rudely dislodging O’Ryan and possibly hurting his feelings). “Nice to see you too, Eddie. My friend River and I are thinking of joining one of your classes.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” he said as my aunt closed the door behind him and relocked it.

  O’Ryan immediately abandoned his foot-warming position and left the room via the cat door. “He’s watching to be sure that man leaves,” my aunt said. “I wonder what Eddie is up to. Mostly I wonder why he suddenly decided to drop in here.”

  “I’m wondering the same thing, and I’m wondering on several levels.”
>
  “Of course, it’s possible that he’s telling the truth. I guess I did tell him about happy hour, and I probably did say he was welcome to drop in.”

  “Uh-huh. But what if he was one of the men who wanted my home address? Average height, average weight, sunglasses, and a ball cap. Could be almost anyone.”

  She put on her wise old owl look. “But your address would have taken him to the Winter Street side of the house. He came to the back door, on the Oliver Street side. How did he happen to know about that?”

  “We always leave that door unlocked during the day, don’t we?” I worried. “Maybe we should keep that one locked all the time too.”

  “This is becoming so inconvenient,” she said. “What ever happened to the good old days when we used to leave all the doors unlocked all the time?”

  “I’m afraid those days are gone forever,” I said. “But, back to Eddie. Pete told me that he often dates older women. Women with money.”

  “I thought of that too. He was interested in Louisa, and she’s sure it was because of her wealth.” She refilled both of our glasses. “I’m certainly not in Louisa’s league, moneywise.”

  “You’re very attractive. And single. Eddie’s not the only man showing an interest in you.”

  She looked thoughtful. “True,” she said, not exactly modestly. “Now what about his story about Cody and Lucy being at a play in Boston while Samuel was being murdered. Has Pete said anything about it?”

  “No, and as far as I know, neither have the twins.”

  “Eddie seems so sure about it. He said he was positive. Will you ask Pete about it?”

  “Sure. If he comes for dinner, I’ll tell him tonight,” I promised. “I’ll tell him about Eddie knowing his way to our back door too.”

  “Good idea,” she said, “and when Ray calls, I’ll see what he has to say about it.”

  “Ray is calling you now?”

  “Yes, every night since they’ve been here.” She’s blushing. So cute. “But this time it’s to confirm a nine o’clock brainstorming meeting tomorrow morning. The Angels are coming over too. Roger and Ray seem to find us helpful.”