A Hard Bargain (17 page)

“This looks more like a haunted house than a studio,” Jerry said.

The doorbell didn’t work, so I knocked. We heard the sound of shuffling feet and an odd tapping sound. The door opened, and there stood an elderly stoop-shouldered man with a cane. His dim eyes peered up at us.

“Yes? Who is it? What do you want?”

“Monroe McKittrick?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Madeline Maclin, and this is Jerry Fairweather.” I started to tell him the reason for our visit, but at the mention of Jerry’s name, he flinched.

“Fairweather. That was years ago. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Sir, we’re not accusing you of anything. We just have a few questions.”

He steadied himself with his cane. “Questions! The police bombarded me with questions. They called me to say the Fairweathers were dead. Said it was a fire and they wanted to know where Frye was.”

“Frye? Your assistant?”

“The police tried to blame me for what happened! Ruined my reputation in Parkland. I had to leave.” He fumbled for the door. “Now I have to ask you to leave.”

I already had my foot in the door, but I didn’t need to force my way in. Inside the dark hallway, I caught a glimpse of paintings. “We were considering buying one of your paintings.”

He stopped. “What’s that you say?”

Jerry took up my lead. “The painting you did of me and my brothers is wonderful. I was hoping to have another for my new house.”

McKittrick paused, clearly torn between our unwanted presence and the possibility of a sale. “I may have something.” He stepped aside to let us enter. “But just in the hallway, mind you.”

The house smelled musty. At the end of the hall, I could see a small room with a chair and a lamp where McKittrick no doubt spent his days. Leaning on his cane, he gestured with a shaky hand to the paintings on the wall.

“Here are some nice landscapes. There should be one of Natural Bridge. Some fall scenes of the Blue Ridge near the end here, if I recall.”

Jerry stopped in front of a landscape of woods. “I like this one. How much?”

“One hundred fifty.”

“All right.”

For once, Jerry’s money was going to pay for something useful. As he counted out the money into the old man’s hand, McKittrick squinted at him. “Yes, I remember you. You were the one who could never sit still. Or were you the baby? There were two of you who looked very much alike.”

“I’m the one in the middle,” Jerry said. “I’d really appreciate it if you could tell us more about your assistant.”

“That happened a long time ago. What difference does it make now?”

“Because I need to know exactly what happened.”

I felt sorry for this frail old man. “And wouldn’t it be worth something to you to finally be cleared of any suspicion?”

He nodded. “Yes. It still bothers me to this day, those little boys losing their parents like that.” He put an unsteady hand on Jerry’s arm. “It must have been rough for you, son.”

“Can you help us, Mister McKittrick?”

“He was a student from the college. Jackson Frye.”

“Why did you have an assistant?” I asked. “Was he learning your technique?”

“Even then, my eyesight wasn’t the best. I relied on others to help me with the fine details. Frye was just one of the eager young artists I knew back then. I thought I was doing him a favor, but I didn’t get much work out of him. Mainly, he wanted to hang around and flirt with the Fairweather girl. Hannah, was it?”

“Harriet,” Jerry said. His voice was subdued.

“Harriet. Yes, that’s it. I was to do her portrait next. Of course, that never happened.”

“So it’s possible Frye was at the house to see Harriet?”

“I don’t know why he’d be there at midnight, but I imagine so.”

“Do you know where Frye is now?”

“No. He ran off. I never saw him again. I suppose the police suspected him, too.”

I was beginning to suspect him, myself. Jerry took the painting down. We thanked McKittrick and went out and stood for a moment at the car. Jerry looked abstracted.

“Jerry?”

“I remember something, Mac. I remember Harriet laughing and giggling over some boy. We thought it was sickening, of course, and made fun of her. But I’ll bet it was this guy.”

“It could’ve been, but Harriet probably had lots of boyfriends to giggle over.”

“No, that’s just it. That’s why I remember. He was the only one. Harriet was dancing around the house. We’d never seen her like that.”

“The only boyfriend she ever had? That’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it? After all, she was a very wealthy young lady, and Frye was an artist’s assistant, so he may not have been so wealthy. Jerry, there may be something to this. Maybe Frye was flirting with Harriet because she was rich. Maybe he hoped to gain something from the relationship.”

“Then he wouldn’t burn down the house, would he?”

“No, but there may have been something in the house he wanted.”

“And it wasn’t Harriet.”

“Sadly, no. This would explain why she’s so grumpy. If Frye’s innocent, if he really loved her, he would’ve stood by during the rough times, maybe even volunteered to help with you and your brothers, made himself useful. Instead, he disappears. We’ve got to talk to Harriet.” I checked my watch. “And I’ve got to talk to a lot of people in Celosia.”

We asked in several of the shops and cafés, but no one knew Kirby Willet or his cousin. Although this was frustrating, I was glad our trip had yielded some results in the Fairweather case. How serious had Harriet been about Jackson Frye? Had they planned a secret midnight meeting in the hopes of eloping?

When we got back, I dropped Jerry off at the theater and started with Ted.

He sat back in his office chair. “My God, Madeline, that was horrible. I’ll never be able to forget the look on Gaskins’ face. What was in that drink? Why would anyone want to kill him?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I said. “Did you see anyone else besides Rick at the van last night?”

“I didn’t pay any attention to that. I was watching you and the others run around the house.”

“Where exactly were you and the members of S.T.O.M.P.?”

“We were all by the trees.”

“Twenty was with you?”

He looked uncertain. “I thought she was. I really can’t say for sure.” He sat forward. “Dear God. You don’t think she did it?”

“She’s been awfully angry about anything having to do with Mantis Man.”

“Yes, but—that’s—that’s just not—I can’t imagine her killing anyone.”

“Me, either, but it looks bad for her right now.”

We sat in glum silence for a few minutes, and then Ted asked, “Have you talked to her?”

“I’m going to her house next.”

“Madeline, the only person anywhere near the van was Rialto. Does he have a good excuse?”

“He says Gaskins owed him money.”

“And he thought it would be in the van? That’s a little suspicious, isn’t it?”

I really wanted Rick to be the villain. “Everything about Rick is suspicious.”

***

Twenty wasn’t home. I caught up with her at Shana’s. Shana and Hayden live in a large redwood house in a wooden area of Celosia called Autumn Fields. Twenty and Shana were sitting on the porch. Despite the heat, Shana looked cool in a white shirt and red shorts, her long hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail. Twenty had on a green blouse decorated with brown fishnet and orange shorts with lace trim. Her black and white curls stuck out at odd angles as if she’d slept on her head. Shana started to say hello when Twenty interrupted.

“I know why you’re here, Madeline. You think I did it. Everyone thinks I did it.”

“Well, did you?”

She looked taken aback. “No!”

“Just thought I ask.”

“I hated what Gaskins was doing, but I didn’t hate him. He was just a greedy, misguided man.”

I sat down in one of the rocking chairs. “Exactly where were you last night when he took his last drink of soda?”

“With the other members of S.T.O.M.P.”

“Ted doesn’t remember seeing you.”

She gasped at this betrayal. “Of course I was there! It was my idea to picket the production.”

“So you were with the group the whole time?” Something in her expression made me push. “Twenty, I’m on your side. Please tell me the truth.”

She glanced at Shana, seemed to gather some confidence, swallowed hard and said, “Not the whole time.”

I waited.

“I wanted to disrupt the filming, so I went around behind the cameramen, hoping to see a cord I could unplug or something, but even with the moonlight, it was too dark. That’s when I heard the woman scream.”

“Did anyone see you?”

She shook her head. “Everyone ran to see what was wrong, including me.”

Shana tried to lighten the conversation. “I told her she should’ve had on one of her lime green outfits. Then everyone would have seen her.”

Twenty’s curls bounced as she rubbed her forehead. “This is all so awful. I just wanted Celosia to stay the way it is. Now we’ve had another murder.”

“That’s my fault,” I said. “People were safe till I moved to town.”

Shana got the joke, but Twenty was too upset for any attempts at humor. “Madeline, you’ve got to solve this mystery, too. If someone’s going around putting poison into drinks, you’ve got to stop them. That kind of news will ruin Celosia’s reputation just as badly as a horror film.”

“What about Lance Henderson?” Shana asked. “He’s been very vocal about his dislike of Gaskins and the movie.”

“I’ll be talking to him, too.”

***

Everyone involved with “Curse of the Mantis Man” was in the lobby of the Wayfarer Motel. They were having a community gripe session about having to stay in Celosia.

The minute Henderson saw me, he said, “I’m not sorry he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “I’m not accusing you. I just want to ask everyone a few questions.”

“Why should we talk to you?” one of the cameramen asked.

“She’s a detective,” Davis said. “Though we don’t really need to say anything. I don’t know why Henderson doesn’t just confess.” He turned to Lance. “We all know you hated him. Why don’t you admit you got rid of him so we can all get out of this backward little town?”

Henderson snarled. “I’d just worked out a deal with him to narrate the stupid movie. You had an equal chance to kill him yourself.”

Davis laughed a short laugh. “Why would I kill him? He was giving me my big break in show business.”

“Oh, yes, your big break. ‘Curse of the Mantis Man.’ Well, it turned out to be a curse, all right.”

Davis poked his finger at Henderson’s chest. “In case you’ve forgotten, old man, we were right out in front of everybody filming a scene when Gaskins died.”

Henderson pushed Davis away. “And how did he die? We don’t even know if he was murdered. He could’ve had a heart attack.”

“He was poisoned,” I said. “Anyone could’ve put the poison in his drink at any time.”

Stephanie sat by herself, crying into a wad of Kleenex.

“Where did you keep his sodas?” I asked her.

“We have a little fridge in the van. I always bought the kind of cola he liked and kept at least six bottles in there.”

“So you’d open one of the big bottles and keep his cup filled all day?”

“Yes. He always drank it up before it became flat, so buying big bottles was cheaper.”

And easier to slip something in. “Who else knew about this?”

“Everyone in the cast and crew. It’s a running joke how much soda he drinks—used to drink.” She wiped her eyes. “I always put in just the right amount of ice. He liked the plastic straws with red and white stripes. He said they were much better than just plain straws.” Her voice quit. She sobbed. “I really liked him. He never yelled like some directors.”

“Were you happy as his assistant? You didn’t want to be in the movies?” I thought Stephanie might harbor some desire to be in front of the camera, and Gaskins had refused her request.

She shook her head. “I was very happy with my job. I liked being the one he depended on. Now what am I going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Davis said. “You’re going to do what the rest of us are doing, sit around wasting valuable time while that hick sheriff bumbles through the investigation, assisted by Miss Beauty Queen here.”

How could I have ever thought this man was remotely handsome?

“You didn’t seem very happy with Gaskins’ decision to have Lance narrate the film,” I said.

Davis’ eyes narrowed. “Not a very solid motive to kill someone, is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. My last case involved a woman who wanted to be a porn star. I think people are capable of just about anything.”

“Well, why was that other guy hanging around the van?”

“He says Gaskins owed him money.” I turned to Stephanie. “How did Gaskins finance this film? Did he ever talk to you about that?”

She nodded. “I looked after the accounts, too. He had a backer.”

“Who was it?”

“Some fellow he knew from here, a man named Kirby Willet.”

Finally, a connection. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He and Josh went to high school together. Josh said Willet would advance him some money to get started. That’s why we came to Celosia.”

“Did you ever meet Willet?”

“Here’s the odd thing. We were supposed to, but Willet never showed. Josh was very upset. I guess he thought Willet had backed out.”

“So he didn’t get his money?”

“No, and there isn’t a record of it anywhere. We had to go ahead and start filming and hope Willet would show up with the money.”

“Wait a minute,” Davis said. “There isn’t any money? How are you planning to pay us?”

Stephanie looked at him as if she couldn’t believe he’d be so crass. “There’s enough money for your salary, Davis. Willet isn’t the only backer.”

“I’m looking for Willet, too,” I told Stephanie. “If he gets in touch with you, let me know.”

***

I went back to the theater to pick up Jerry. I also wanted to speak to Cathy and Mitch. They were thrilled to have been part of the drama, but even more thrilled I had agreed to speak to the contestants.

Cathy almost galloped down the aisle of the theater. “Madeline, we’re so happy you changed your mind! Here we thought you were out of the pageant world, and Evan tells us you’re coming to coach all our girls.”