All Hallows Evil

by Valerie Wolzien

  “I thought,” Susan continued, turning to Rebecca, “that you must be the murderer. You were the only person who was connected both with Mr. Waterfield and with Jason, and then it occurred to me that I was looking at this from the wrong direction. Logically you were the only person who would kill Mr. Waterfield—you knew that, and I think that’s why you’ve been so concerned about those silly made-up stories from your past. A person as famous as Rebecca Armstrong is always being written about in those trashy weeklies, so there was no real reason for you to get so upset. Except, of course, that there was a true connection between you and the man who was murdered—and no one else in town had a previous personal relationship with Mitch Waterfield—”

  “It was merely a professional connection …” Hilda began in an indignant voice.

  “If you’ll just wait until I finish!” Susan insisted. The woman was the perfect pest. “What I’m trying to explain is that Rebecca was the logical person to kill Mitch Waterfield—only she didn’t.”

  “I’m glad you believe that,” Rebecca spoke up. “Mitch didn’t come to Hancock to see me—just like I said at the press conference. But I don’t know who else he might have been in town for.”

  “But there is someone who does,” Susan announced, opening the door.

  The homeless man, a policeman on each side of him, followed Rebecca into the room.

  Susan smiled at the man. He didn’t smile back. “When Marion Marshall was talking about this man, she mentioned that she didn’t feel comfortable around him because he just sat around the library and listened in on what everyone says. And you heard something that connected Mr. Grace with Mr. Waterfield, didn’t you?” Susan asked the man, praying silently that he would answer.

  “I know that the dead man came to see that tall, skinny, ugly guy sitting over there on the morning that he was killed, if that’s what you’re talking about, lady.” He waved his arm at Charles Grace. “And I’d suppose that he killed him after they had that fight in that bell-tower office he’s got.”

  “This man is ridiculous. Mitchell Waterfield wasn’t ever in my office that morning. I told you”—he looked at Brett—“I told everyone that I had no idea who he was.”

  “Then why”—Susan crossed her fingers hoping he would answer—“was Mitch Waterfield’s coat in your office?”

  “I …” Charles Grace got up, and, at a signal from Brett, the two policemen moved away from the homeless man and took positions in front of the door. Charles Grace looked at them angrily and then turned back to Susan. He waited a few minutes, apparently considering his options before answering. Then, as everyone in the room watched, he gave up. “That was the only mistake I made, you know. And this wasn’t an easy murder to carry out on the spur of the moment. That was the only mistake I made,” he repeated.

  To Susan’s ears it sounded almost as though he was bragging.

  But Rebecca had something more important on her mind. “But Jason … Why did you kill Jason?”

  “She’s so smart, ask her.” He pointed at Susan.

  “Because you were banking on everyone thinking that Rebecca killed Mitch Waterfield—or at least everyone would assume that he came to town to see her. But Jason knew differently, didn’t he? Jason was the person in the marriage who kept track of that type of thing—Rebecca also told me that. If Mitch had come to town to see you, Jason would have known. I don’t know how Charles Grace found out.…”

  “I called the Armstrong house as soon as the police left the library, if you must know. Jason answered, and I pretended to be from Waterfield’s office, trying to reach him. Jason (I recognized his voice from television) said that neither he nor his wife had heard from Mitch in months. He was very definite. I knew then that I had to get rid of Jason. Then everyone would think that Rebecca was the only person Mitchell Waterfield knew in Hancock, the only person who might have had a reason to kill him. I said that there had been some sort of confusion, and Mr. Waterfield was on his way to the Armstrong house. Jason promised to meet him there.

  “He was on the front porch. I introduced myself—no one ever suspects a librarian—and checked to see that no one was around—pulled out the knife I had brought, and killed him. I was back at the library in less than half an hour.”

  Rebecca was in tears, and Susan was madder than she had ever been in her life. How could Charles Grace talk so calmly about killing two men—just to save himself. But the tale continued.

  “I bought that stupid set of knives from some school kid, thinking that I would fit into Hancock if I supported the local charities—but it turned out to be a pretty good investment, didn’t it? Luckily I hadn’t even bothered to take them home; they were still in the bottom drawer of my desk.”

  “But why did you kill Mitchell Waterfield?” Marion cried out. There were tears running down her cheeks. “I knew that you did it, but I couldn’t understand why.”

  “Because he knew too much. I had been taking money from the library fund for a while, and I knew that the crunch was coming—I had to have some way to pay it back. Then I heard that the Armstrongs were coming to town. Well, it’s like Mrs. Henshaw says, everyone loves celebrities, and I figured that if I could get them to do something for the library—some sort of benefit or fund-raiser or something … I had to think of some way to raise a lot of money, don’t you see? I needed so much money that some of it could be used to pay back what I had taken without anyone noticing.” He looked around the group. “Look, I was desperate. I had even started to take our most valuable books home late at night and sell them to a dealer that I know in the city. He gave me only about half of what they were worth, but I thought if I could pay back some of the money, the losses wouldn’t be discovered quite so soon.”

  “Dave mentioned that there was going to be an audit coming up—he seemed to think that it made his job easier. That he didn’t have to worry, since someone else would do it,” Susan explained.

  “I had to do something soon,” the librarian said. “So anyway, I was going through some of the financial magazines that we subscribe to one night in my office, and I stumbled on an article about Mitchell Waterfield and his public relations firm. The author mentioned that Mitchell was close friends with Rebecca Armstrong. I thought that if I hired him, he might talk the Armstrongs into doing fund-raising for the library. And he could probably get us publicity on ‘This Morning, Every Morning.’ ”

  “That isn’t the way things work in television.” Rebecca sniffed.

  “Are you telling me that it isn’t who you know? Ha! I’ve been watching people who know the right people get ahead all my life!” He glared at her.

  “So you set up an appointment with Mitchell Waterfield?” Brett asked, not terribly interested in Charles Grace’s view of the world.

  “Yes. But I had a feeling that he wasn’t going to do as I asked before I met him. He called early in the morning, and when I asked if I should invite Jason or Rebecca to the meeting, he was almost insulting. He said that he had traveled to Hancock because he understood that I was interested in hiring him for public relations, not as the Armstrongs’ agent. I was more than a little offended, I can tell you. And I let him know it.”

  “That’s the argument Chrissy heard on the phone between you and someone on the other end of the line,” Susan said.

  “Probably. But there are a lot of people who don’t seem to see things my way these days—it may have been someone else,” Charles admitted.

  “But Mitchell guessed that I was desperate to raise money, and he made some sort of comment about it. I had to kill him. I couldn’t let him leave and risk that he would tell anyone about the books at the library. There was nothing else I could do. After we talked, I suggested that he might want to look around. Luckily he agreed. The party in the children’s room was just coming to an end, and there were dozens of children running around acting as though no one had ever taught them to behave.” Charles Grace paused, apparently remembering the event. “I waited until Mitch Waterfield went
behind the stacks, and then I followed him there and killed him. One thing about that damn caterpillar costume: it was easy to hide the knife.”

  “You don’t understand other people—it’s one of the ways that you make things so difficult for yourself,” Marion cried out.

  “You knew that he killed Mitch Waterfield, didn’t you?” Susan asked. “Why were you in the office pretending to cry?”

  “I never was much of an actress,” Marion admitted. “I was worried that the office would be searched and something would be found that might incriminate Charles. I knew that there was something hidden in the office.…”

  “Because it was soundproofed—at Charles’s expense,” Susan suggested.

  Marion nodded at Susan. “He had to be hiding something. The library is quiet—noise wouldn’t bother him working there. And there were no personnel secrets. We’re a small place; we don’t hide things from each other. I thought if I was in the office, no one would search it—I wanted to protect Charles. But no one ever searched the office.”

  “Except for you,” Susan said. “The day of the murder, the office was immaculate, and a day later, it was a mess. Someone had searched it.”

  “I didn’t do that,” Marion said, “and I was astonished when it happened. I had worried about the police finding out something that would incriminate Charles, but I don’t have any idea why anyone else would be looking for anything in that place. Later in the afternoon, I went up to say something to Charles, and he was dressed to leave the building in his overcoat, and I noticed the other coat on the chair for the first time. And I realized that it must be Mr. Waterfield’s coat. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to anyone. But I thought if you spent some time in the office, you would realize what the coat meant.”

  “I should have known,” Susan said. “Mitchell Waterfield was lying on the floor in a business suit. He had left his coat in the office, and no one connected it with him.”

  “Until now,” Brett added quietly.

  “Until now,” Susan agreed. She stood. “I wonder who’s going to take care of all these birds from now on.”

  “I told you. I don’t take care of the birds—there are people who do that type of thing. I merely live in the house.” Charles Grace pulled himself up to his full height.

  “Not for long.” Brett stood up and nodded. One of his men put handcuffs on Charles Grace.

  “I think you’re going to be occupying my temporary home for a while,” the homeless man said. “Don’t worry. I kept the bed warm for ya.”

  Charles Grace merely shuddered as he was led from the room.

  FIFTEEN

  “They’re leaving.”

  “I had no idea that extra phone lines were strung up outside the house.”

  “They’re leaving.”

  “Who broke the microwave?”

  “They’re leaving.”

  “Someone spilled something black on the rug in the living room …”

  “They’re leaving.”

  “And on the couch and on the coffee table …”

  “They’re leaving.”

  “And on your new CD player.”

  “Don’t you want to say good-bye?” Jed turned from the window and looked at his wife sitting on their stained couch. “My CD player? My new CD player?”

  “Don’t you want to say good-bye?” She mimicked him but smiled.

  Jed looked back out the window. “I don’t think we’re going to get a chance for fond farewells. They’re driving away.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They left this envelope on the table in the hall. There’s a note inside and …” She shook the contents of the envelope onto her lap. “Something else.” They both looked at the shiny trinkets: large disks with the initials of Rebecca’s network embossed on them. “They’re freebies from the network, aren’t they?” Susan asked, handing her husband one of the twin key chains.

  “They’re nice,” he said.

  “The key chain Rebecca uses comes from Tiffany’s,” his wife said slowly. “I recognized it from their Christmas catalog.”

  “After all, she didn’t have to give us anything,” Jed reminded her.

  “True.”

  “And this has been a difficult week for Rebecca.”

  “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me—or you—or the rest of the family.”

  “Susan?” he asked when his wife didn’t respond.

  She sighed loudly. “Look, I don’t want to sound selfish, and I certainly didn’t get involved in this whole situation looking for some sort of material reward. But the woman could have at least left a nice hostess gift, don’t you think?”

  “Well …”

  “After all, she moved into my house with her own entourage; she made a mess of more than one room; she asked me to go with her to identify her husband’s body at the morgue, for God’s sake.…”

  “She …”

  “And, damn it, she mugged me!”

  “She what?”

  “She stole my purse.”

  Jed gave her a look of disbelief. “Charles Grace,” he said slowly. “I thought that was Charles Grace.”

  “No, Chad overheard Hilda Flambay and one of the network men talking about it. She definitely did it.”

  “But why? And why was she even staying here?”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but I can guess. I think she was hoping that by being here, she would learn more about the investigation. I know Charles Grace tried to use me as a conduit from the police department—he told me so when I met him at the library yesterday—and I think Rebecca was trying to do the same thing.”

  “Right away? From the very beginning of all this?”

  “Yes. Practically the first thing she said to me when we met in the library that morning was that she had heard that I had been involved in murder investigations. And one of the first things that impressed me about her was how well she relates to her fans—her public. She picks up on people almost immediately. Someone probably told her about my background, and, instead of just offering a few polite comments to me, she tried to use my experience for her own benefit. There had to be a reason that Rebecca refused to go back to New York City despite the fact that everyone from the network wanted her to go. I think she moved in here so that she could find out what was going on and then possibly try to manipulate the investigation as well. She was desperate. When she asked me to go help her identify her husband’s body, she sat in Brett’s office and told me how scared she was—and she had good reason to be. She really was the only person in town who was connected with both murdered men. And her fame wasn’t going to protect her from prosecution for very long.

  “But, for Rebecca, her fame was a handicap when it came to finding out what was going on,” Susan continued. “She could impose on us because we were polite—and maybe just a little awed by her celebrity status—but she couldn’t run around without being noticed.…”

  “Except on Halloween!”

  “Exactly! She’s so tall that I thought at first the person in costume was a man, but then she reminded me of her height when she explained why she could see Mitch Waterfield over the crowd that had gathered around him. And, of course, in costume and on Halloween, she could run around town and even back to her own house without anyone suspecting her true identity.”

  “Of course,” Jed said slowly. “She even admitted that she hadn’t been lying down after she had insisted on being left alone in our guest room. I just assumed that she wanted to spend some time alone coming to terms with her husband’s death,” Jed added. “But what reason did she have for mugging you?”

  “I’m not sure. I think she grabbed my purse out of desperation—maybe she just didn’t know what to do when she found herself standing so close to me on her own porch.”

  “And what about your library card?”

  “The library card shows what a fabulous opportunist Rebecca was. I’m not sure what happened, but I think she probably got worried that something in that office might c
onnect her and Mitch Waterfield—that was before she was forced to admit that she knew him—so she …”

  “She’s the one who searched it—who made such a mess!”

  “Yes. And to make doubly sure that she wouldn’t be suspected, she left my card behind. Rebecca Armstrong made the most of every break in her career to reach her position at the network. She did the same thing in this case. Only this time it almost got the wrong person convicted of murder.”

  “Funny how that office has popped up so frequently in this investigation.”

  “Hmmm. It’s a great office—interesting architecture, wonderful ambience, fabulous view of the town. It would be nice if the next person who worked there was worthy of it.”

  “Hi! Looks like your houseguests have gone home!” Amy Ellsworth appeared in the room’s doorway. “I knocked on the back door, but you didn’t seem to hear me, so I just walked right in. I hope you don’t mind … ?”

  “Of course not.” Jed stood up, and Amy perched herself on the arm of the chair he had occupied.

  “You were talking about the murder,” Amy began in a more hesitant voice than the Henshaws were accustomed to.

  “Yes, we were.” Jed glanced at his wife.

  “Did you come over for a reason?” Susan asked.

  Amy took a deep breath. “A confession. I came over to make a confession.… Well, they say confession is good for the soul, don’t they?” she asked rhetorically.

  “So what do you want to confess to?” Susan asked, hoping this was going to be short but doubting it.

  “Oh, Susan, I feel so stupid. You’ve worked so hard putting together all the pieces of the story and figuring out exactly what happened …”

  “And?” Jed prompted when Amy’s dramatic pause continued longer than necessary.

  “And I was helping Charles Grace. I was helping a murderer! Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I suppose so, but I sure don’t understand what happened. Did you know that Charles Grace was the killer?” Susan asked.