The Bitter With The Sweet

by J A Whiting

  “What did you find in Perry’s case?” Angie asked.

  “Seven of the eight pieces of correspondence have the necessary similarities to be linked together as creations of Perry Wildwood. The eighth piece does not show the sameness of the others and therefore, I would conclude that Perry is not the author of it.” Dr. Lincoln clicked her laser pointer. “This is the one that does not belong.”

  The suicide letter showed on the board … it was the one that did not fit.

  Angie moved her hand to her mouth. “Perry didn’t write the note?”

  “I believe he did not.”

  The chief asked, “Would you feel comfortable testifying in court about these findings?”

  “Yes, I would,” Dr. Lincoln said. “You see here and here?” The woman used the light of the pointer to circle several words on the screen. “This is not how Perry communicated. Phrases and constructions like these are not seen in his writing.”

  “Then the note was written by someone other than Perry.” Courtney stated for clarification.

  “That’s correct.”

  “The author of that note put it together trying to make us believe that Perry took his own life.” Angie’s cheeks turned pink with anger and she turned to look at her sister. “If Courtney hadn’t pointed out the note’s differences, then we’d all think Perry had killed himself.”

  “Most likely.” Dr. Lincoln gave a nod and made eye contact with Courtney. “What made you think the note was written by someone else?”

  Courtney said, “I took a linguistics course in college. I thought it was fascinating. The professor gave a lecture on syntax and words and contrasted the language used in several pieces of correspondence. It was clear the classroom examples were not written by the same person. I wondered about the way this note was written. From what I’d heard about Perry, I didn’t think the note was written by him. It didn’t sound like something he would put together.” Courtney left out the part about how her paranormal skills might have had something to do with making the observation.

  “You’re very perceptive,” Dr. Lincoln said with an admiring smile.

  “Are you able to give us any clues about the person who might have written the false suicide note?” Chief Martin asked.

  “The person who wrote this is probably very intelligent. He or she has command of higher-level vocabulary and syntax,” Dr. Lincoln told them. “I made two observations … the writer might be an older person as some turns of phrase seem more akin to an older writing style … or the writer may just have a difficult time switching from formal language to informal language. Either way, from analysis of the seven other writing samples, I believe the author of this note did not do a good job of trying to sound like Perry.”

  “I never met Perry, but after hearing about him and reading that note, I could not believe he took his own life,” Courtney said, her eyes flashing. “Someone killed him and then tried to make it look like suicide. We all could have fallen for the deception and then the killer would have gotten away with it.”

  “Are there any hints in the writing that tell you if the author is male or female?” Chief Martin asked.

  “Unfortunately, not in this case.”

  After fifteen more minutes of questions and answers, it was clear there would not be any hints or clues as to who the killer might be so Angie, Courtney, and the chief thanked Dr. Lincoln for all of her help and left the university building and walked towards the parking lot.

  “Good work,” Angie told her sister. “You were right about Perry not writing the suicide note. Someone killed him.”

  “Two questions,” Courtney said. “Who did it? And why?”

  Chief Martin said, “There was no sign of forced entry into the boarding house so either a door was left unlocked, the killer was invited in by someone in the house, or the killer lives in the house. Dr. Lincoln suggests whoever wrote the note might be an older person. There are three people living in the house who are older. Maribeth, Mary Bishop, and Roger Winthrop. Some residents of the house have mentioned that Maribeth was angry at Perry, but it was because he was not helping out around the place. That doesn’t seem like a reason to kill. Mary Bishop was friendly with Perry, she admitted to occasionally helping Perry by filling his syringe for him when his headaches were kicking in. Roger says he and Perry got along well and no one in the house has disagreed with that. If the killer is one of those three people, then we need to figure out what was behind the motivation to kill.”

  They stood next to the chief’s car in the lot.

  The talk of murder brought the sights and sounds of the early morning when they were summoned inside to Perry’s room back into Angie’s mind, and for a few moments, she was a million miles away reliving the experience. The smell that floated on the air that day flickered in Angie’s senses and caused her stomach to lurch.

  Taking a deep breath, she shook herself and brought her attention back to the conversation. “Dr. Lincoln also told us the person who wrote the note may be someone who can’t switch easily to informal speech. Who have we met fits that description?”

  Courtney said, “Perry’s former girlfriend, Maura Norris, could come off that way. You said it seemed hard for her to relax.”

  “Charles Conte would fit that description,” Chief Martin said. “He was formal and stand-offish when we talked to him. Maybe when he’s around friends he’s able to use more everyday language, but he showed no inclination to do so when we had a chat with him.”

  Opening the car door, Angie gave a half-smile. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  17

  The sisters buzzed around the kitchen preparing picnic dinners for themselves and for some of the bed and breakfast guests who had plans to attend the summer solstice celebration on the town common. The popular annual event showcased multiple bands that would be playing on the bandstand through the evening and into the night.

  Tourists and townspeople brought lawn chairs and blankets and carried their own dinners in coolers or baskets, or bought food from the food trucks that parked at one end of the common. It was always a festive way to officially kick off summer and the Roselands and Mr. Finch never missed it.

  Finch stood at the kitchen counter assembling the potato salad while Angie frosted several flavors of cupcakes. Courtney had a long French bread loaf resting on the island to which she added sliced seasoned chicken, cheese, tomatoes, onions, arugula, pickles, and the homemade dressing, and then sliced the loaf into small sub sandwiches. She’d already completed a vegetarian loaf for those who preferred not to eat meat, and next up, was the Italian meats and cheeses option.

  Ellie prepared the yogurt and fruit by lining up the small cups, spooning granola into the bottom third, layering in the yogurt, adding the sliced strawberries and blueberries, and then topping with a dollop of whipped cream.

  When Angie had finished frosting the cupcakes, she frosted the pans of the everything-brownies and then sprinkled the chopped up cookies, pretzels, and peanut butter cups over the top. After placing them in the refrigerator for ten minutes to set, she used a sharp knife to cut the brownies into squares and then wrapped them individually with cellophane.

  Ellie removed the wicker picnic baskets from the storage closet and began packing them with the food and cold packs. When they were done, she and Courtney carried the four B and B guests’ baskets to the side table in the dining room for easy pickup.

  “Okay, everything’s ready.” Ellie took in a long breath. “We can head to the common.”

  Finch’s girlfriend, Betty, drove up to the Victorian right on time and the sisters packed her trunk with the goodies, blankets, and folding chairs while Betty walked around the car to help Mr. Finch maneuver himself into the front passage seat.

  “What a handsome man,” Betty cooed over Finch. “You look very nice in your new shirt.” The real estate agent could have an abrupt, slightly hard edge to her, but she was sweet and loving to the older man who had stolen her heart.
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br />   Finch’s cheeks turned pink and a wide smile spread over his face.

  “That’s everything.” Angie closed the back doors and the trunk. “We’ll meet you at the common to get everything out of the car. We’re going to walk. Just leave the things in the car until we get there.”

  “Oh, there’s Euclid in the window.” Finch leaned out the car window and waved to the big orange cat. “I hope he isn’t insulted that we’re not taking him and Circe along.”

  As Betty went back to the driver’s seat, she said, “For land’s sake, Victor, they’re cats. They don’t get insulted.”

  Angie and Finch exchanged knowing looks and she said softy, “I explained to them that they wouldn’t like the noise of the bands performing. They seemed happy to have the house to themselves for the evening.”

  Betty and Finch drove off just as Josh pulled into the driveway of the Victorian in his shiny red roadster. “Sorry I’m late.” He gave Angie a kiss and dashed into the house to change.

  Jack and Rufus walked down the street and onto the front lawn at the same time Tom came up the road from his and Jenna’s house. When everyone had assembled, they headed one block to the town’s charming and picturesque Main Street that would lead down to the common.

  Earlier in the day, Angie and Josh took part in the annual summer solstice 10k run which wound through town, down to Coveside, along the ocean bluffs, to the edge of Silver Cove, and then back to the finish line near the common. Despite having little time to prepare and wanting to do the race for the fun of enjoying the morning with the townsfolk and to support a charitable cause, they were both pleased with their finishing times.

  Once at the common, the group found Betty’s car, removed the items, and set up their things on the sweet lush grass of the common to the left of the bandstand and then dug into the food as the sun lowered in the pink and violet sky.

  Everyone shared bits about their workdays, and Angie and Courtney reported on the trip to the university to meet with the expert on forensic linguistics.

  “I never knew there was such a specialty.” Rufus bit into a brownie before dipping his spoon into the fruit and yogurt parfait.

  “So the professor believes the note was not written by Perry Wildwood,” Jack repeated what the sisters told him. “It makes sense since the syringe was never found. I don’t think any of us thought Perry killed himself after hearing what the man was like.”

  Courtney reported that Dr. Lincoln believed the author of the note was either an older person or someone who spoke and wrote in a more formal way.

  “From what you’ve told us,” Tom said, “there are three older people who live in the house.”

  Sitting together on the blanket, Jenna leaned against her husband as she finished her sandwich. “And there are two people who could be considered more formal in their speech patterns … Maura Norris and Charles Conte, Perry’s friend.”

  Courtney said, “None of us have met Charles, but Angie and I are going to the police station tomorrow to sit in when Chief Martin talks to Charles again.”

  “Law enforcement did not find any evidence of an intruder so the person responsible for Perry’s death either entered the home through an unlocked door or is a resident of the house,” Angie pointed out.

  “Or,” Ellie said, “was a guest who was let in by a resident.”

  “That narrows suspects down somewhat,” Josh said. “Did any of the residents admit to having a guest?”

  “Everyone denies it,” Jenna said.

  “Then that leaves only one person who might have had a friend or acquaintance over … Perry,” Mr. Finch said.

  “And he’s unable to tell you anything,” Betty said as she finished her sandwich.

  “Nobody heard anything and nobody saw anything,” Rufus said. “Is that hard to believe?”

  “I guess not,” Angie said. “It’s a big house. Everyone has rooms on the second floor except for Perry and Megan Milton. If a friend arrived later in the evening, the other residents were probably asleep at that time.”

  Courtney said, “Charles was at the boarding house to borrow a book on the night Perry was killed. He doesn’t remember what time he was there. He told Chief Martin he always loses track of time. I don’t believe him.”

  The discussion about Perry’s death ended when the first band took the stage and began to play. Tom and Josh stood up to speak with a businessman they knew, Courtney and Rufus rested side by side on the blanket, Jack and Ellie strolled around the common, and Finch and Betty held hands sitting next to each other in lawn chairs while tapping their toes to the beat of the music.

  Angie and Jenna decided to walk to a food truck for some hot tea and on the way, they ran into their friend, Francine, an attractive blonde with emerald green eyes who ran the stained glass shop in town.

  “How are things with the new boyfriend?” Angie asked.

  Francine’s eyes twinkled. “Everything is just great. Edgar went to get us some ice cream sundaes.”

  After talking about what was new with each of them, the conversation turned to the murder of the young man at the boarding house.

  “How can a murder happen with other people in the place?” Francine asked. “Nobody noticed or heard a struggle or an argument?”

  Angie shrugged. “It seems not.”

  A frown tugged at Francine’s lips. “I walked by the boarding house a couple of weeks ago. It was early evening. I was delivering a stained glass piece to the restaurant down the street.”

  Angie and Jenna listened with interest wondering why their friend had a look of concern on her face.

  “There was a young woman on the wraparound terrace heading towards the front door. A man was behind her. He said something. I couldn’t hear the words. The woman turned around to face him. She turned so fast that he almost bashed into her. He said something else and looked like he was going to lean in to kiss her.” Francine paused.

  “What happened?” Jenna asked.

  Francine blinked. “The young woman slapped him across the face. Then she stormed into the house.”

  “Wow,” Angie said.

  “Their exchange really bothered me. I hurried by on the other side of the street. It was dusk. There are a lot of shade trees on that road. Neither one of them saw me. The interaction shook me up.” Francine shuddered recalling the incident.

  “What did the guy do after the woman went inside?” Jenna asked.

  “He walked down the steps and headed in the direction I had come from.”

  “What did the woman look like?” Angie asked, her heart pounding.

  “She looked to be in her mid-twenties, auburn hair to the shoulders. Fit looking, pretty.”

  “What about the man?” Angie asked.

  Francine said, “He was tall. Late twenties, maybe? Very light blond hair. Sort of gawky looking. I wouldn’t describe him as athletic. He moved a little awkwardly, a little uncoordinated, like he’d never played a sport in his life.”

  “How did he react when the woman slapped him?” Jenna asked.

  “It was almost like he had no reaction at all. He stared at her until she disappeared into the house, then he walked away.”

  “Did he give the impression he was angry?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. He seemed sort of … resigned? Not quite that. He almost gave the impression that it was a setback, but he wasn’t going to give up. Like I said, the whole thing lasted a minute. It’s the impression I got.” Francine rubbed at the side of her face. “Something about the whole thing seemed … ominous? I was upset by it. I couldn’t shake it off until I went to bed that night. I know it’s foolishness, but when I heard someone died in the boarding house, I have to say I wasn’t a bit surprised that something bad had happened in there.”

  18

  Charles Conte was tall, thin, and gangly with nearly white blond hair and brown eyes. He was almost thirty, but his long, lean look and the way he moved his body made him seem almost a teenager. In addition to his awkward
physical appearance, he was awkward socially, not always making eye contact when it was appropriate, sometimes taking a long time to answer questions, responding in a blunt, almost impolite manner.

  Before Charles arrived at the police station, Chief Martin gave Angie and Courtney a brief overview of the man. “Mr. Conte is considered by many to be brilliant, a genius. His plan is to become a neurosurgeon, although the medical school instructors have encouraged him to go into research. They think Conte will win the Nobel Prize one day.”

  “Wow.” Courtney’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  The chief went on. “Conte skipped a grade, seemingly has the ability to look at material and know it within minutes. His teachers felt he never had to try in class. Science and medicine come very easily to him. Social skills do not come easily, however. He can come off as abrasive, not a team player, downright rude, but is oblivious as to why people think such things about him.”

  Angie pushed at a pencil on the table. “Behavior like that can lead to a lot of trouble.”

  “Indeed, it can.” The chief went out to the lobby and brought the gifted, talented future doctor into the conference room.

  “Why do I need to talk to you again?” Charles asked the chief as he looked from person to person.

  “We often speak to people multiple times,” Chief Martin said. “It can be very helpful to us.”

  Charles asked why the two young women were present and Courtney explained their roles as consultants to the police department.

  “What are your qualifications?” Charles asked.

  Courtney stared him down with a wilting look and said, “We aren’t allowed to discuss that. It’s classified information.”

  Charles blinked several times while processing what Courtney had said. He didn’t ask a follow-up question.

  “Have you had a chance to think back on your visit to Perry on the night he died?” Chief Martin asked. “Have you been able to recall the time you made the visit to the boarding house?”