“Alberto dies months after he leaves, but over time these people forget how much time had passed. The high emotions could do that, I guess. I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. Is there another option here?”
“Another option?”
“Yes,” I said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I looked at Sage, waiting for her to answer. She seemed to be in deep thought and I allowed myself to imagine that she may have cracked the case or had a breakthrough. I didn’t want to rush her. I knew that feeling of having an important thought just on the edge of my consciousness, ready to run away if I startled it. I stood patiently and waited for her.
“Thinner, prettier and younger, you said? The Holy Trinity?” She finally said. “I need to see!”
13
I gave in and accepted whatever sugar high was hiding in the second enormous can that Derek offered me. I’d refused several times, but my eyelids were feeling heavy and I felt right on the cusp of a breakthrough, if I could just stay awake for it.
“Connie?” It was the velvety voice of Bob Ballinger speaking my name, and for a moment I didn’t need anything artificial to perk me right up. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course!” I said. I jumped up from the seat and noticed Sage do the same. “You wait here, sis.”
She raised an eyebrow but did as I asked.
Bob lead me over to the corner of the room that seemed to have become his makeshift office. His pen and paper were still out, waiting for more inspiration to strike, and he reached on to the table and picked up a book.
“I thought you might like to see this,” he said.
I felt my eyes begin to close despite my proximity to a gorgeous man.
“It’s the first edition of Come What May. A little someone told me it’s your favourite of my books? I read from it at every single event.”
I wanted to listen. I’d probably never wanted to listen to anything more in my life. But I was suddenly so, so tired.
I glanced uncertainly at the can, then realised I had little other choice. I opened it up and watched, in horror, as the luminous green contents of the drink foamed out of the can and all over the book Bob was holding out towards me.
I dove forward and tried to wipe the bright liquid off the spine, off the pages, but the damage was done. The pages had softened and bled together and that awful drink transformed the colour of everything it touched. It also smelled like enough sugar to give a person diabetes right away. Who would drink such a thing?
I carefully placed the can on the floor so not another drop spilt, and then covered my mouth with both of my hands.
“I am so sorry!” I exclaimed.
Bob let out a laugh. “Guess I need another copy.”
“But -”
He reached out, and his ghostly hand squeezed my shoulder. It was more of a paternal gesture than a romantic one, unfortunately, but I appreciated it all the same. “Connie, accidents happen. Don’t worry about it.”
We filled a few minutes with awkward conversation interspersed with me apologising again and Bob reassuring me again, and then I returned to Sage, who grinned at me like a mad woman.
“That was amazing! What a great idea. You wanted to check his temper, right?”
“What?” I asked.
“Ruining his book like that! Great plan.”
“You think I damaged a book deliberately?” I asked her, my mouth open aghast.
“Didn’t you?”
“Oh my goodness Sage, I can’t believe we’re sisters sometimes. There’s an important lesson in life. Never, ever damage a book. Not even if it helps you solve a murder.”
“Okay,” she raised an eyebrow.
“But Bob did just give me some vital information. I know who did it.” I revealed.
14
Raucous laughter came from outside the house and a quick glance revealed teenagers, a whole hoard of them, parading around the overgrown lawn. Without saying a word, everyone came to the same conclusion: ignore them.
“Can I have your attention?” I asked. Derek sat straighter in his chair, giddy with excitement. Bob’s earnest face gazed up at me from his writing station. The others appeared disinterested; Jessica slouched in a chair and hiccuped, and Rita reluctantly put her phone away.
“It’s time to reveal the killer!” Sage exclaimed. Derek whooped and fist pumped the air as if he was at a sports game and his first born had just scored the champion-winning touchdown. I raised an eyebrow at them both.
“Is that true, Connie?” Bob asked. The thrill of Bob Ballinger knowing my name would never get old, even if murder was required to get me on his radar.
“I believe so,” I said.
“Please, go on,” Bob said. His voice wavered a little but he offered me a smile.
“This wasn’t an easy case,” I admitted. “Alberto had betrayed all of you. Heading off to Hollywood as soon as success found him was bad enough, but to steal your book idea, Bob…”
“He really didn’t steal it,” Bob said. “The ideas themselves are meaningless.”
“So you said,” I agreed. “But I couldn’t believe you were really so relaxed about his betrayal. And then I spilt my drink on your own book, the one you always read from…”
“So you did do it on purpose!” Sage exclaimed.
“I accidentally ruined that book and you were less angry than I am when someone leaves mud on my welcome mat at home,” I said. Derek laughed, then hushed himself and mouthed an apology to me.
“Well, I just…”
“You just don’t have a temper,” I finished for him. “Whereas Jessica, it’s clear you were furious with Alberto. You still are.”
“Of course I am! Bob’s opinions about ideas are nonsense. Ideas are all I make money from. Ideas get sold and I get a cut. And that no-good weasel did me out of my cut!” Jessica exploded from the corner of the room.
Wild laughter came from outside; we all continued to ignore it.
“You had a good motive to want him dead,” I agreed.
“Of course I did,” Jessica said. She looked at Bob. “I never understood why he was so calm about it all.”
“He’s a true artist,” Rita came to Bob’s defence, as normal. “You value the money, he values the art.”
“Well, thank you Rita,” Bob’s cheeks flushed at the compliment.
“Ah, Rita,” I turned to her with a smile. “The jilted woman. You had your own motive.”
She scoffed. “I’d be a serial killer if I murdered every man I broke up with.”
“Yes,” I said. I chose my words carefully. “Your love life does make it seem unlikely that you’d be the kind of woman so upset to lose a man. And then we have Derek.”
His face blanched of colour. “Me?”
“You were interning when the murder happened. Could that really be just a coincidence, I asked myself.”
“Oh, it really could,” he insisted enthusiastically. “It definitely could. It was!”
“I know,” I said. “But thinking about you made me question the specifics. Where were you all when Alberto was killed? And that’s where things started to fall into place. You people told me that Alberto was dead within a few days of leaving you all.”
“He was,” Derek said. “I remember it well. When the news came in, we were stunned.”
“But everything online suggests he died several months later.”
“That’s odd,” Rita said.
“Curious indeed, isn’t it? Alberto wasn’t the A-lister he wanted to believe he was, but there was enough interest in him for the papers to report on his death when it happened. Somehow, news of his murder didn’t reach them for several months,” I said. “Or, you were all lying to me about when he was killed.”
“And you four being liars is much more likely than the newspapers being silenced,” Sage said.
“A conspiracy, then,” I said. “All four of you in on it together.”
“What?!” Jessica spa
t.
“A conspiracy! So exciting!” Derek clapped his hands together with glee, then grabbed his phone. “Can I Tweet that?”
“No you cannot!” I used my best stern voice and he slid the phone back into his pocket.
“Could the four of you have worked together?” I asked. “It seemed more likely than the alternative, but then I remembered a chance remark by Jessica. She talked about how much powerful men get away with, and I thought she meant Alberto. Maybe you did, Jessica? But there’s another powerful man involved here, isn’t there?”
“Thank you very much,” Derek said in a weak Elvis impersonation. Even he cringed afterwards.
“Rita, your father is the great Ian MacKenzie, Pharma scientist and the true love of your life,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. Her expression was mainly confusion, but she couldn’t hide the slither of pride that developed whenever her father was mentioned.
“He was here right after Alberto’s death.”
“Was he?”
“He bought you a new bag and a dog,” I prompted.
“Oh, you mean Moet? I still can’t believe Jessica wouldn’t let him stay in the office. Such a sweet baby!”
“That animal was an overpriced rat,” Jessica mumbled.
“How dare you!” Rita shouted. Her expression darkened and then, as quick as it appeared, the storm passed and she gave a laugh. “I’m a little protective of my babies.”
“Rita, you may or may not have loved Alberto. My guess is that you didn’t. But it’s clear that you’re used to deciding when a relationship ends. You couldn’t handle the rejection of Alberto leaving you. So, you asked your dear daddy to come over and bring a little anthrax from the labs.”
“What? That’s nonsense!”
“I don’t know if you told him why you wanted it, or whether he guessed. But here’s the thing, when he heard about Alberto’s murder, he knew for sure what you’d done. And he’s a powerful enough man that somehow - probably with money - he convinced the media to delay any reporting of the murder for months.”
Derek began a slow round of applause, then stopped when nobody else joined in.
“You can call the police now, Derek,” I said. He beamed with pride to have a job to do. His telephone voice was markedly more well-spoken than his regular voice, and I was sure I heard him say that he had just solved a crime.
“This is ridiculous,” Rita said. Her cheeks had grown red.
“Rita MacKenzie, you killed Alberto not because you wanted him, but because you couldn’t forgive him for not wanting you,” I said.
Rita gasped and then was up from her seat. She’d already wiggled out of her heels and ran bare foot out of the room. I gave chase but was a moment behind her. I watched as she pulled open the heavy front door.
For a second, I was confused. Had it been snowing? And then I realised - the teenagers. They’d been out there TPing the house! Rita slammed into the toilet paper and became caught. She crashed on to the path, her body entwined in layer after layer of thick-ply tissue.
And then the sirens came.
15
The two officers climbed out of the patrol car and gazed down at the mummified figure that was Rita MacKenzie.
“This her?” one of them asked me.
I nodded and they cuffed her.
Rita glared at me, steely-eyed. “I don’t regret a single thing.”
“I didn’t think you would,” I said.
Across the street, a bulb flashed and I turned to see the reporter from earlier snapping photographs, a manic grin on his face. He noticed me and raised a thumbs up, as if I’d arranged the whole scene for his benefit.
“Connie,” Bob’s velvet smooth voice was near my shoulder, and I felt my cheeks flush.
“Yes, Bob?”
“Do you have a copy of the book? I’d love to get you a signed first edition, if you’d like one. It seems like the least I can do.”
“Oh,” I gushed. “That would be wonderful. Yes. Yes, please.”
“Alright then,” he said with a smile.
“You just lost your assistant,” I said. “What will you do?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure I need to replace her. Jessica and I can get by alright. Unless you’re…”
I waited. Every part of me wanted to jump in and fill the pause, but I resisted.
“… you’re not looking for a job?”
“I’m not,” I said. “As wonderful as that would be, I have my life all set up.”
He nodded. “We’d better get going.”
When everyone had gone, I felt a presence behind me and turned.
Alberto Duncan-Smythe’s ghost hovered by the door, a sly smile on his ruddy face. “I wanted to say thank -”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “You deserved what you got.”
And with that, I turned and walked away. Sage floated along beside me. We were silent for most of the walk home, the night air chilly and the streets deserted.
As we approached our street, she let out a laugh. “You know, maybe you can choose a fun night out after all.”
MONA MARPLE has an exclusive short story for you to read next.
* * *
Get your free copy at http://www.monamarple.com/vip-readers
When Maggie finds an old compass among her aunt’s latest estate purchases, her best friend Spencer recognizes it right away ~ along with the unsolved murder attached to it. Their investigation leads them to a shipwreck, and a stranger who will do whatever it takes to keep them from discovering the truth.
1
“Are we done yet? This is taking forever.”
Maggie Mulgrew smiled at her friend’s muttered complaint. Even after ten years of friendship, Spencer Knight hadn’t changed much. He still threw out dramatic overstatements.
They’d been working on her Aunt Irene’s latest estate haul for less than an hour.
“Remember the end goal, Spence. You get to keep three items, with no final veto from Aunt Irene.”
“Right.” He kept muttering under his breath, but he dug into another box with renewed interest.
Maggie shook her head and kept sorting.
Her aunt owned The Ash Leaf, a consignment shop in the middle of the village of Holmestead. She also sold antiques she found at estate sales, often recruiting Maggie to go through them during her yearly summer visits.
Maggie loved everything about the tidy, picture postcard English village she considered her real home. Someday, she wanted it to be home, for good, even if it meant cutting ties with the parents who never really—
“Ho—what’s this?” Spencer’s excited voice broke into her thoughts. Before she could ask what, he jumped to his feet and ran over to her, nearly tripping over the box in front of her. “Look—it’s some kind of captain’s log book.”
He waved the small, stained book at her. It looked like it had been waterlogged at one time; the pages swelled, turning the book into a paper triangle.
Maggie managed to grab the book, and opened the warped cover. “No ship name, but there’s a date.” She turned the book around, so he could see it.
“1798. I don’t—” Spencer stared at the ceiling of the carriage house, the building in Aunt Irene’s yard where she kept her back stock. “No, I can’t think of a famous shipwreck, or any famous ship story.” His shoulders slumped. “Another dismal find to throw on the pile.”
He shuffled back to his box, and dropped the book in the growing collection of items her aunt would either store in the already overstuffed carriage house, or donate to a local church sale.
“Cheer up, Spence. We still have six more boxes to go through.” She laughed when Spencer groaned. “Here,” she pulled the last item out of her box. “This might interest you.”
The metal object, covered in dried mud and rust, would keep him occupied for a while.
“What—” He took it from her, turning it over. “It’s a compass, Mags.” His disappointment faded as he grabbed a rag and started scrubbi
ng at the caked-on mud.
Maggie left him to his clean up job and pulled another box closer. So far, she hadn’t found much worth selling, or keeping. Aunt Irene had bought the lot sight unseen. Sometimes that worked in her favor. This wasn’t turning out to be one of those lucky finds.
The new box held a creepy assortment of doll parts—including at least a dozen heads, the flat doll eyes staring up at her.
“Ugh.” She closed the box and wrote on the top with a pen. Warning: contains doll parts. Aunt Irene found old dolls just as creepy as she did. “That whole box is going straight to the charity shop.”
Spencer didn’t comment, so she glanced over at him. He was hunched over the object, delicately removing what looked like the last of the mud. Maggie turned to the next box—and almost jumped out of her skin when Spencer shouted.
“Yes!” He scrambled to his feet and ran over, hauling Maggie up. “It’s a compass. A ship compass.” He held up the compass, and she saw the name engraved on the back. The Maritime Queen. “This is from a shipwreck, Mags—one that happened just off the coast of Castel Bay. One that involves an old murder mystery.”
“Of course it does. That’s not far from here, if I remember right.”
Spencer grinned. “A quick train ride away.”
“Spence—we can’t. I promised Aunt Irene I wouldn’t go off on one of your hare-brained adventures—especially one involving murder. Her words, not mine.”
His grin faded. “It is not hare-brained. There’s loads of information at the town museum. The shipwreck and the murder associated with it were a huge deal, and,” he waved the compass, “most of the survivors settled in Castel Bay.”
“I guess—I could tell Aunt Irene that it’s an educational trip, since there’s a museum. There is a museum, isn’t there, Spence?” He’d told her more than once that he was taking her to a museum, or a gallery, to get her to join him on some wild goose chase.
Cold Cases and Haunted Places Page 34