Chapter 2
“Teddy,” Carole Lee scolded. “Be nice. These ladies are from the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club, and they’re interested in finding out what happened to Pandora.”
Nodding, Lori added, “We’re all mystery writers. We find this kind of thing gives us a better feel for real world mysteries and helps us to understand them better.”
“I’m a former homicide cop. Unsolved or cold cases just bug the shit out of me.”
“What does it matter, auntie? It was a long, long time ago.”
“Yes, and no one would listen to me. They wanted to say it was suicide, but I saw where someone bashed her over the head. If they labeled it a suicide, she wouldn’t have been able to be buried in consecrated ground. I told them I would make a fuss if they did that, so they just left it unclassified.”
Lori leaned forward. “That’s what caught my attention.”
“Well, like me, Pandora never married, but then, she was so young when she died.” Carole Lee shook her head and clasped her hands together. “She was so sweet to everyone. Never an unkind word—oh wait, there was that Rupert Simmons.”
“Who?”
“Rupert was Pandora’s boyfriend. I never could see what she saw in him. He was a drunkard and a mooch—always asking her for money. She was a fool for that man. She’d give him money so he could drink and gamble, and she’d be home eating watered-down soup.”
“What makes you think Rupert might have done it?” asked Christie gently.
“Well, earlier in the week Pandora found out something about him that really upset her, and she wouldn’t tell me what it was.” She stopped and looked around as if she was afraid someone might be listening in. “I think he was stepping out on her—if you know what I mean.”
Teddy shook his head and sat down. “It really was awful. They made my aunt feel like she’d done something wrong, and some people thought she had done it.”
Carole Lee smiled at him. “But not Teddy’s daddy. He made them and all the awful press people leave me alone. They trampled all over my petunias. I don’t know that they have ever been the same.”
“Did she tell you about Pandora’s housekeeper—Frannie White? She lived above the garage,” said Teddy.
Carole Lee nodded. “Frannie’s apartment had an outside, separate staircase, and also an entrance directly into the house so she could come and go as she pleased. I tried to tell the police about her.”
“They checked her out, Auntie Carole, but she had an air-tight alibi.”
“Did your dad think she did?” asked Christie.
“I don’t know, but I do know my aunt never trusted the woman, and she’s a pretty good judge of character.”
“Why did you hang up on me?” asked Jessica.
“I’m sorry about that. I thought you were some reporter from one of the big cities trying to rake this all up again just to make your name. It’s happened more than once.”
Jessica smiled sympathetically. “I can understand that.”
Carole Lee’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “Frannie was supposed to be out of town for her brother’s funeral, but I was pretty sure she was upstairs the whole time. She often needed to go somewhere to do something when she just didn’t want to work. She was as lazy as an old catfish.”
“When they questioned Frannie, she did mention she’d heard Pandora break up with Rupert Simmons.”
“Do you know when Frannie said she got back from her brother’s funeral? Did she even have a brother?”
“Not that I know of, but she and Rupert Simmons got married not long after Pandora died,” said Carole Lee. “They said they bonded over their shared grief.” Carole Lee snorted. “I never believed them.”
“Anybody know where we can find Frannie or Rupert?”
Teddy grinned. “It just so happens that Rupert saw the light and became a preacher. Personally, I think he and Frannie had a come to Jesus meeting, and she made him toe the line.”
“Any chance you know where his congregation is located?” asked Fiona.
“He’s retired now. He and Frannie moved back here to Granville late last summer.”
Christie smiled. “Carole Lee? How about if I leave Jess and Fiona to visit with you, and Lori, Teddy and I will go pay the pastor and his wife a little visit.”
Jessica tossed Christie her keys. “No speeding tickets. Thorn just about had heart failure until I told him it was you.”
“No promises,” Christie cackled.
With Teddy along to give them directions they were able to find Rupert and Frannie’s house easily.
They knocked on the door. It was answered by a woman about Carole Lee’s age, but time and circumstance hadn’t been as kind to her as it had been to Carole Lee.
“Can I help you? Teddy? Is that you lurking back there?”
“It is, Mrs. Simmons. These ladies are with a murder club that looks into cold cases. They’ve been talking with my aunt and have some questions for you,” said Teddy.
“I have nothing to say about that old business.” The old woman tried to shut the door in their faces, but Lori got her foot in, heel down, and wedged her foot against the flat of the door.
“Well done, grasshopper,” said Christie. “You have learned well.”
“I have learned from a master,” said Lori, inclining her head to Christie.
“May we come in?” asked Christie. “We can do it out here if you like. Your neighbors are starting to peep through their curtains. Besides, it’s cold out here.”
“Let them in, Frannie,” said a slightly slurred voice from inside the house.
Frannie’s lips pursed into a tight line, and she stepped back.
Once they were all seated and introductions made, Christie looked to Frannie. “The report said you came back early from your brother’s funeral.”
“That’s right,” Frannie said.
“And did you see Ms. Pritchard?”
“I stepped inside the house to see if she needed anything; she didn’t. And I didn’t kill her.” Frannie looked mildly insulted.
“What’s the statute of limitations on that kind of thing?” asked Rupert Simmons.
“There is no statute of limitations on murder,” answered Christie.
“Carole Lee said that you reported that Ms. Pritchard had ended her relationship with your now husband earlier that day,” said Lori. “I have to wonder: if you’d been at your brother’s funeral, how you might know that?”
“Pandora and I were close. She told me she was going to end it with him.”
Mrs. Simmons squirmed in her seat. She was becoming uneasy.
“I think you should leave now,” said Mr. Simmons.
“We can do that,” said Christie, “but I’m a retired cop. If I go into town, my guess is I’ll be able to get someone to listen to me and then they’ll start asking questions.”
“No need for that,” said Lori. “We have friends at MCU—the Major Crimes Unit—I think they’d jump at the chance to hold to account whoever is responsible.”
“I didn’t do it,” repeated Frannie Simmons.
“I don’t think you did,” said Christie, looking pointedly at Rupert before looking back at Frannie. “But I think you know who did, and I think you helped him cover it up.”
“What time did you say you saw Ms. Pritchard?” asked Lori.
“About five-fifteen. I asked her if she wanted me to make her some dinner. Pandora told me there’d be no need as Carole Lee was coming by about six, and she would be bringing something.”
Teddy nodded. “She brought lasagna. She dropped it when she saw Pandora. She’s never been able to see, smell, or taste lasagna again.”
“You did it, didn’t you Rupert?” accused Christie in a very flat voice. “You killed her and got Frannie here to help you cover it up.”
“You can’t prove anything,” snarled Rupert, standing up and looking as though he wanted to punch them.
“Shut up, Rupert,” hissed Frannie.
Teddy stood and put himself in harm’s way.
“No need, Teddy,” said Christie as she calmly pulled her trusty SIG out of the holster she wore in the small of her back and pointed it at Rupert. It was one of the reasons she rarely wore anything tucked in. “Rupert Simmons, I’m making a citizen’s arrest and will ask that you be brought up on charges of murder in the first degree.”
Frannie stood up. “You can’t do that.”
“I’m pretty sure my SIG and the statutes say I can.”
Rupert shook his head, staring at his wife and bristling with anger. “Good god, if it’ll get me away from you, it would be worth going to prison. I swear nothing there would be worse than listening to you harp and complain for what’s left of my life. It’ll feel like a damn vacation.”
Sitting down, Frannie looked defeated. “You don’t know that it wasn’t done in the heat of the moment.” She looked at her husband. “You always said you only meant to intimidate her. You said it just sort of happened.”
Rupert said nothing to Frannie but turned to Christie. “Now what?”
“Now I get Teddy here to call the cops. Tell them a decorated, retired Baltimore homicide detective has arrested Rupert Simmons for the murder of Pandora Pritchard, and Frannie Simmons as an accessory to the murder.”
“What?” screeched Frannie as Rupert cackled. “Why me? I didn’t kill her.”
Christie shook her head. “No, but you benefitted from her death, helped Rupert get away with it and most likely opened the safe so you could steal Pandora’s money.”
Teddy grinned. “That is one phone call I’d be happy to make.”
It didn’t take the cops long to arrive and put Frannie and Rupert in cuffs. Christie agreed to work with the cops and said that the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club would lay out the facts and give affidavits, as would Teddy and Carole Lee.
Once back at Carole Lee’s, Teddy ordered pizza for everyone.
“How did you know?” asked Lori. “I mean I suspected, but I think you knew all along.”
“The floors were pretty much pristine, except for the spilled coffee, the open window and the lack of any footprints outside the window,” said Christie. “Did anyone check the coffee to see if it was poisoned?”
“No record of that, but honestly the bloodstained paperweight and the gash on her head seemed pretty clearcut that it was murder. I’m pretty sure the cops thought they had their murder weapon. Besides if it was poison, it was more planned than opportunistic,” said Christie.
Jessica nodded, “The open window was staged to make it look like a break in.”
“But what about what I saw?” asked Carole Lee.
“Classic misdirection,” answered Fiona with a smile.
“Of course,” said Lori. “It was a dark and stormy night—I swear, someday I’m going to start a novel that way—” her friends all groaned. “And the light wasn’t good. You were at an odd angle looking into a darkened room. Rupert or Frannie ruffled the curtains and you thought someone was escaping.”
“So, my aunt wasn’t right.”
“Not really. She saw something. She said it was a blur, which is exactly what it was,” said Christie. “Like I said, you have to listen to your witnesses,”
“But why?” asked Lori.
“Money,” her friends answered in unison.
“I googled Pandora,” said Fiona. “For the time, she was making a lot of money. I think Rupert courted her all that time with an eye to marrying her and living the good life. When she said they were through, he snapped. My guess is he’d been seeing Frannie on the side, just like Carole Lee suspected, so he went to her for help.”
“It wouldn’t have helped if they’d dusted for fingerprints. Rupert wasn’t in the system, and they never considered him a suspect,” said Christie. “But when I talked to the cops, they said they still had all the evidence, including the murder weapon. They don’t think they’ll have any trouble getting a conviction.”
“What happened to the money?” asked Lori.
“Best guess is that she had a lot of it in a home safe. There were still a lot of people who had lived through the Great Depression or had relatives who had. A lot of people no longer trusted banks. They kept their money in home safes,” said Fiona.
Jessica nodded. “And my guess is Frannie had the combination. She made a deal with Rupert: if he married her and agreed to become an upstanding citizen, she’d help him cover up what he’d done. They’d take the money and live happily ever after.”
“Happily ever after until the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club came calling,” cackled Carole Lee. She raised her teacup to the group. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You caught the killers and brought them to justice, and you have my gratitude.”
They left Granville and headed back to Badger’s Drift.
“So, what’s next on the agenda?” asked Fiona.
“It’s my turn, and I’ve got a cold case near and dear to my heart,” said Christie. “My partner was drummed off the force for killing an unarmed, innocent man.”
“You don’t think he did it?” asked Lori.
Christie turned to look at her. “No. He shot the guy. I saw him and had to give testimony about it. But I don’t believe he was unarmed or innocent.”
“You’re talking about Bryson Moss, aren’t you?” said Jessica.
“The criminal thriller writer?” asked Fiona.
“One and the same,” said Christie. “That case cost me everything. Bryson and I were planning a life together. He refused to let me go down with him—his words, not mine—so when he left the force he just disappeared.”
“Do you want him back?” asked Fiona.
“I don’t know. I just know that he isn’t the man they painted him out to be, and maybe, just maybe I can give him—and me—some peace. Well, now that I’ve depressed the hell out of everyone… Hey, Lori, don’t you have a reader/writer event coming up?”
Chewing on her lip, Lori said, “I do, but they asked me to speak. Who am I to be speaking at some event? Besides like millions of people, I think I’d rather die than get up in a room full of strangers as if I was some expert with vast knowledge.”
“Not to worry, kiddo, you’ll knock ‘em dead,” Christie assured her.