Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (31 page)

There was a loud click. Once again, Marjorie pushed at the disconnect buttons, but it was to no avail. “Hello? Hello? Creighton?
Creighton … ?”

Marjorie stirred at her cup of coffee pensively, the phone conversation with Creighton Ashcroft still looming in her mind. Her
thoughts slipped momentarily to the thin, dark-haired Natalie and
she thought she might burst into tears. “You needn’t have been so
rough on her, Robert. The poor girl’s been through enough.”

“And she’ll be through even more if she doesn’t tell us what she
knows,” Jameson argued.

Logan chimed in. “Miss McClelland, she has to realize she’s playing with a murderer. The chocolates were just a scare tactic, but next
time she may not be so lucky.”

“Yes, the chocolates…” Marjorie mused.

Jameson rolled his eyes. “Once again, I can’t know what you’re
thinking, honey.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to fit, does it? Our murderer kills Alfred
Nussbaum in broad daylight at a church fair, yet flinches at killing
Natalie-the only person who can identify this person as the killer.”
She shook her head. “Letting Natalie live seems awfully risky. Why
not get her out of the way once and for all?”

“It’s psychological,” Logan answered matter-of-factly. “Put the
fear of God into ‘em and they’ll keep quiet.”

“But it could have had the opposite effect,” Marjorie pointed
out. “Natalie could have been scared into telling everything. That’s a
huge chance to take, especially when the punishment for two murders isn’t much different than the punishment for one. Unless…”

“Unless… ” Noonan, who had until this moment been completely
absorbed in consuming a large slice of apple pie, pointed his fork at
Marjorie, his eyes wide in excitement. “Unless, Natalie poisoned herself to throw us off the track!”

His three tablemates stared at him incredulously.

“Hey, she works at a dispensary,” he reasoned. “And c’mon, it’s
not like it hasn’t happened to us before”

“Not this time, Noonan,” Jameson replied in a patronizing tone.

The officer shrugged and went back to his apple pie.

“It’s pretty obvious that Natalie’s covering for someone,” Logan
stated confidently. “That’s why she reacted the way she did when
Jameson asked if she had seen the murderer.”

“Mike’s right,” Jameson agreed. “Why else would she say she
couldn’t have’ seen the murderer? She’d just say she didn’t and leave
it at that”

Logan nodded. “She witnessed either her mother or brother
murdering her father and she doesn’t want to believe it.”

“Mother is more likely,” Jameson averred. “I don’t think she’d
be quite as upset if it were Herbert.”

“So you fellows believe Bernice is our murderer,” Marjorie declared.

Jameson and Logan glanced at each other and nodded in agreement.

Noonan looked up from his apple pie. “Hmph? Oh yeah, yeah.
It’s the only way it makes sense.”

“And what about the box of chocolates?” she challenged.

“What about the box of chocolates?” Jameson repeated.

“Why would Bernice poison her own daughter?”

“Same reason anyone else would: to keep her quiet,” Logan explained. “What’s more, Bernice would know that her daughter would
fall for the secret admirer ploy.”

It was Marjorie’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, because Natalie is
very unique for a girl her age in that she enjoys receiving presents
from male suitors,” she stated facetiously. “That’s a ridiculous statement. Besides, why would Bernice need to scare Natalie into silence
anyway? Natalie loves her mother. They may not get along very well,
but I truly doubt that she would want her to go to jail, or worse, the
gallows.”

“Yeah, Natalie also loved her father. Remember?” Jameson
pointed out. “Then something happened and she didn’t speak with
him for how long?”

“The `something’ to which you refer happening, was Josie
Saporito,” Marjorie rebutted. “Which just proves that Natalie is loyal
to her mother. She didn’t speak with him for-”

She stopped mid-sentence. How long had it been since Natalie
had spoken to her father? Natalie never did answer that question.
Why not?

“She didn’t speak with him for-?” the men asked in unison.

She looked up to find that all eyes were upon her.

“Nothing,” she dismissed. “I was just about to say that Natalie
and Bernice live under the same roof. If Bernice were the murderer and Natalie knew about it, why wouldn’t Bernice confront
her in private? Why make a big scene out of it by poisoning a box
of chocolates? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What about Herbert?” Logan suggested.

“I have to admit the idea has crossed my mind several times.
But, again, why the box of chocolates? He’s a clever boy. He could have scared his sister in other, less conspicuous, ways.” She shook
her head. “No, if the murderer were in that house, the chocolates
would only serve to call attention to him. But, on the other hand, I
can’t imagine our other suspects sparing Natalie’s life.”

“Well, someone had to do it, honey.” Jameson chuckled. “We
have a dead body on our hands.”
“

I know. There has to be something-something we’re missing.
Some piece of the puzzle we’ve yet to stumble upon.”
“

I don’t know. I think Bernice did it,” Logan opined.

Marjorie, however, was still lost in thought. “There’s so much
guilt involved-too much almost.”

“What do you mean?” Jameson probed.

“Well, first, that Bible passage Alfred used to encode the formula. All that talk about murderers facing judgment-it’s quite
ominous. And, if I’m not mistaken, Nussbaum was Jewish.”

“So?” Logan challenged.

“So, I would have thought him more likely to use a passage
from the Old Testament, rather than the New Testament, but that’s
just my opinion, of course.” She took a sip of coffee and resumed
speaking. “Then, there’s Natalie. Something isn’t right there. You’re
assuming she knew about the murder plot and tried to warn her
father, correct?”

“That’s the only explanation I could think of,” Jameson replied.

“But Creighton described her as expressing guilt at the wake
today; remorse for something she had done. If she had gone to
Ridgebury to warn her father about an intended murder plot and
then backed out, she couldn’t describe the situation that way could
she?”

Robert was totally confounded. “Huh?”

“I mean that Natalie was discussing something she had done
that she felt sorry about, not something she hadn’t done. If she were
talking about her failure to warn her father, she couldn’t say that
she felt guilt over some wrongdoing. She could say that she was experiencing `regret,’ but guilt, as she described it, implies actionsome kind of action for which she feels remorse.”

“I see what you mean,” Jameson concurred. “Kind of… “

I don’t,” Logan said.

“I don’t either,” Noonan chimed in. “I think you’re nuts.”

Marjorie held her aching head and wished with all her might
that Creighton were there; he always understood what she was trying to say. She sighed noisily. “The short version: Natalie is the key.
She knows something that almost got her killed-most likely the
identity of the killer-and she knows this because she did something that, intentionally or not, set the murder in motion.”

“Like kill her father!” Noonan exclaimed, pie crust crumbs shooting all over the table.

“Umm, no Noonan, I don’t think Natalie killed her father,”
Jameson stated as he leaned back in his seat in an effort to avoid
the crumbs.

“All the same,” Marjorie interjected, “I’d like to speak with her
or Bernice again.”

Jameson shook his head. “I doubt either of them will see us.”

“Oh they will,” Marjorie stated self-assuredly, as she gathered
her purse and gloves. “I’ll make sure they speak with us. Don’t you
worry.

Jameson smiled. “That’s my girl!”

“Now I know you’re all nuts! Including you, Bob!” Logan exclaimed. “Noonan thinks the girl poisoned herself. Your girlfriend is giving us an English lesson: `guilt is something you feel about an
action’ And you’re going along with the whole thing!” He raised his
arm and summoned the waitress for the check. “You’re all a load of
crackpots!”

Marjorie wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue in the detective’s direction, just as the waitress presented him with the check.

Logan read it with surprise. “Four dollars? What do you mean,
it’s four dollars! We ordered coffee and a piece of pie, not four turkey dinners!”

Something instantly clicked inside Marjorie’s brain. “Four!” she
said aloud. “Four months! Bernice said Natalie hadn’t smiled in
four months. Oh, we need to catch her before she leaves!”

MARJORIE RUSHED INTO THE emergency room waiting area to find
Mrs. Nussbaum seated in the same chair, with Herbert’s head upon
her knee.

“Herbert,” Marjorie commanded, “we need to speak with your
mother.”

Herbert lifted his head in defiance. “Anything you need to say
to Mother, you can say to me.”

Marjorie stared the boy straight in the eye. “Herbert, I won’t
tell you again. Go away!”

Bernice Nussbaum, sensing the tone of Marjorie’s voice, urged
her son to leave. “Go, Herbert. Mommy will be all right.”

Herbert rose to his feet and sulked out of the room, his eyes
focused on the young writer the entire time.

When he had gone, Bernice spoke up. “What is this about Miss
McClelland? Is it your wont in life to frighten young boys away from
their mothers?”

“As if I could possibly frighten him,” Marjorie scoffed. “I’m here
about your other child. Your daughter.”

Bernice took a cigarette from her well-polished cigarette case.
“Oh, Natalie,” she said, as if the subject were an affliction rather than
a human being. “I thought we had finished discussing her.”

“Not quite. I still have some questions regarding your daughter’s relationship with her father.”

Bernice lit the cigarette and took a long drag before answering.
“I already told you I was finished answering your questions.”

“Yes. And I’m here to say that you aren’t. Are you so jealous of
your daughter that you’d rather she were dead?”

The older woman dropped the cigarette from her hand. “What
do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean! Your daughter is in danger. You
know she is!”

Bernice rose from her seat and crushed the smoldering cigarette
with the point of her shoe. “Natalie’s always been melodramatic.
Nothing she says ever means anything! She just-she just…” The
woman fell back into her chair.

“This isn’t some ploy to get your attention, Mrs. Nussbaum.
She didn’t poison herself.” Marjorie knelt down. “Natalie is in danger. Unless you can answer some questions, she will die. The killer
will succeed.”

The woman nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you anything.”

“When was the last time Natalie spoke with her father?”

Bernice shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know, she might have spoken with him and not have told me… “

“No, I mean the last time that you know of. Think, Bernice.
Think!”

“A while ago”

“When exactly?” Jameson inquired.

“Oh, four months ago. Right before Alfred ran off with that floozy
of his.” Bernice ran her fingers through her dark hair and stared off
into the distance, as though watching the entire exchange. “Alfred
came home one night-it was very late and he was quite shaken. I
asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me-at that point,
relations between the two of us had already gone downhill. I didn’t
press the issue any further; I knew he had a girlfriend so I assumed
he had a fight with her, and I went to bed. Natalie must have heard
her father come home, and she went downstairs to greet him. She often did that; she and Alfred were close … very close. I used to imagine
that Alfred cared more for Natalie than he did for me,” she punctuated the thought with a small laugh. “What they discussed that night,
I don’t know, but from that night on, Natalie’s attitude toward her
father changed. There was a distance, a reserve, and a general distrust
on Natalie’s part.”