Bad Reputation, A (13 page)

“Duh,” Honor said. “Fluttery fluffy little blonde gets rich man to marry her.”

“Rich man dies suddenly,” Jerry said. “Does she include murder in her cons?”

Honor shook her head. “It's not her style. Fleecing, yes. Murder, no. My money is on the ex-wife. Oh, and on the ex-husband, too. They could be in this together.”

“Do you mean Stan Bailey?” I asked. “What do you know about him? Another con man?”

“No, just some poor sap who fell for her charms. I imagine he was glad to be rid of her. I was just kidding about him being an accomplice. He wouldn't have anything against Wendall Clarke.”

I wasn't so sure. I recalled Larissa telling me when she'd seen Flora and Wendall together, she'd called Flora's husband to let him know about his wife's infidelity. Larissa had said Stan Bailey acted as if he didn't care, but what if he did care and wanted to do something about it?

“Do you know where he lives?” Jerry asked.

“Let's see, last time I heard of Lizzie, she was living in Bayside. That might be where he's from. She's quite good. Last time I saw her, she was a redhead.”

“She didn't seem to recognize you.”

“Nah. I never had any real dealings with her. Want me to help you catch Lizzie?”

I was glad to see that Jerry was not intrigued by this offer. “Why are you here?” he said. “Why won't you go away?”

“Hey, be nice.”

“Seriously, you need to leave. I'm trying to make a new life here, a con-free life.”

“Doing what? Playing for amateur musicals? Playing for church? Good lord, Jerry. Des was always the musician, and you know it.”

That was a low blow. I'd spent years trying to convince Jerry that he was just as talented as his older brother. I felt an almost overpowering urge to smack Honor's face, but Jerry remained calm. I could see his thoughts racing.

“Wait a minute. Are you still paying off Big Mike?” he asked.

“Don't be silly. That was years ago.”

“He's behind this, isn't he? And you had to go along, or he'd bust you.” His eyes lit up. “That's why you conned me. You were hoping to make some money. How many more do you have to play before you're square with him?”

For the first time, Honor looked uncertain. “I never said anything about Big Mike.”

“You didn't have to.”

I made the time-out sign. “I need an update. Who's Big Mike? King of the Con Men?”

“Something like that,” Jerry said. “When we all started out, we learned from the best, and that was Big Mike. As payment for his lessons, we had to give him a cut of our winnings. Well, of course, after a while, that got old, so he got less and less. Apparently, he's still annoyed. I haven't run that much lately, so he hasn't bothered me, but Honor still owes him, right, Honor?”

Another of her large shrugs. “A little.”

“Did he set up the D and S at Billie's?”

“No, he didn't.”

“And profits from that weren't enough to suit him?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Could we talk privately about this?”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Please settle whatever this is so you can move on. Jerry, I'll be in my studio.”

“Thanks, Mac. Honor, let's talk in the living room.”

Honor's not the only one with a secret language, I thought, as I went up the stairs.

Thanks to the kids, we had discovered that the heating vent in the studio carried voices quite well from the living room—if the eavesdroppers leaned in. I knew Jerry would make certain that Honor sat in the chair nearest the downstairs vent. Sure enough, in a few minutes, I could hear her distinctly.

“This is between you and me, right? I told you my little prank was more than payback. I needed to get in touch with you.”

“I've been living here for months,” Jerry said. “Del could've told you that.”

“Del might be just the teensiest bit mad at me for double-crossing him on The Widower.”

“Good grief, did you scam him, too?”

“That's not important. I need your help.”

“Well, you could've asked me instead of going to such elaborate lengths.”

“No, you owed me for the bank examiner.”

“And we're even. I'm not going to do anything else.”

“One more game, that's all. It'll be easy. The mark lives right here in Celosia.” Jerry must have started to say no because her voice became more frantic. “Jerry, this is serious. I played one too many pranks on Big Mike, and now he's after me.”

“Big Mike never killed anyone.”

“No, but he has enough on me to put me away for life. So I cut a deal with him. He says this woman in town owes him, so if I can get what he wants from her, he'll forgive the other things.”

“What woman?”

“Her name's Pamela Finch.”

I almost fell out of my chair, and from the sound of Jerry's voice, he almost fell out of his, too.

“Pamela Finch owes Big Mike? Now I know you're making things up.”

“I promise you I am dead serious, Jerry. They were an item years ago, they had some sort of spat, and she took off with his cash. You know her?”

“Yeah, she's a local businesswoman. But it can't be the same woman. Pamela Finch is thin and wispy, not his type, at all.”

“That's her. He said she was skinny and nervous. Who knows why he took up with her?”

“Why doesn't he come talk to Pamela?”

“Oh, he's done with her. He never wants to see her again. And you know as well as I do he has to keep a low profile. He really doesn't need to show up in this kind of town.”

“Well, you could scam her. You don't need me.”

“Yes, I do. I got it all figured out. Does she know about your séances? You could get her to tell where she hid the jewel.”

“First, of all, I promised Mac no more séances. Second, what jewel are you talking about, and third, why should I help you?”

“Jerry.” Her voice was hurt. “Have you forgotten I saved your life?”

“Oh, my God. Are you going to hold that over me?”

“That terribly cold winter, that crazed man with a shotgun. Our only chance for survival was to run through the frozen swamp. I dragged you for miles and gave you my coat because yours snagged on the door when we ran, and if I hadn't helped you out of it, he would've caught you. You had pneumonia and a broken arm, and I got you to a doctor before it was too late.”

I wanted to say, oh, my God. I hadn't heard this story.

“Yes, it was cold, and yes, I'd broken my arm, but we were not chased by a deranged gunman through a frozen swamp. It was an angry farmer with a slingshot. And you didn't drag me for miles. Maybe one mile. And you did get me to a clinic, but I didn't have pneumonia.”

“You could have.”

“All right, all right. What jewel?”

“Big Mike gave Pamela Finch a pink sapphire engagement ring. He wants it back. He said if I got it, he'd forgive all my debts.”

“Look, I can't promise anything, but I'll try to find out if she has this ring.”

“Thanks, Jerry.” Her tone changed and became softer, more cajoling. “This will be like old times, right? You and me working together? I know you miss it. You have to.”

“Sometimes,” he said, “but not enough to go back. Remember the close calls, too, like that night with the angry farmer. We're lucky we weren't ever caught. That luck has to run out eventually, and I don't want to be there when it does.”

“But the two of us, we can do anything.”

“I'm married now, Honor. It's a whole different game.”

Bitterness came back into her voice. “I noticed. And I never would've guessed you'd get married, and I certainly never would've guessed you would marry Madeline, not after all those fancy blondes you went after. What's the deal? What do you get out of it? It has to be boring.”

“I want a family.”

This set Honor back a moment. “We had a family at Big Mike's.”

“Kids. I want kids. As many as Mac's willing to have.”

“Is she willing to have any? She doesn't strike me as the mothering type.”

Thanks a lot, Honor. I thought Jerry might counter with, “She'll make a great mom,” or “She can't wait,” to throw Honor off. What he said made me want to run down the stairs and hug him.

“That's for her to decide,” he said.

There was a period of silence, in which I imagined Honor was wondering what she could possibly say to change his mind, or what she could offer that could trump his plans for his life as a father. I wasn't sure what upset her more, the fact that he didn't want to join her game, or the fact that he was married. I suspected it was a little of both, with that good chunk of jealousy thrown in. Finally she said, “I guess I'd better go,” and then I heard the front door close.

In a few minutes, Jerry appeared at the door of my studio. “You heard all that?”

“Yes, and you'd better believe I've got questions.”

“Fire away.”

“Did Honor actually save your life?”

“I hate to say it, but it would've been difficult to get out of that particular situation on my own. Considering some of the cons we played, we should both be dead ten times over.”

“Pamela Finch and Big Mike. This is not a connection I would ever expect.”

“Me, either. Guess I'll find out. We can't let Honor take anything from Pamela, even if Pamela has this pink sapphire ring she's talking about.”

“Thanks for what you said about my decision to have children.”

“Well, I thought about telling Honor you were already pregnant, but it would be just like her to check up on that six months from now.”

“If Honor is still around even one month from now, we will have words.” I checked my watch. “Come on, you're going to be late for rehearsal.”

***

As we drove to the theater, I asked another question, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. “What's The Widower?”

“On occasion, I would set myself up as a wealthy widower in search of that one woman who could make me happy again.”

“And then take her money.”

“Del was always much better at that game than me. It won't work with Pamela because she knows I'm married to you. I'll have to come up with something else.”

I'd had enough. “No, Jerry, you do not have to come up with something else. You are going to let me handle this. Your job is to keep Honor away from everyone.” I could tolerate Jerry's other friends, but Honor really worried me. Someone who was still carrying a torch for him and going to such elaborate lengths to enlist his help was someone I needed to get rid of fast. “Pamela is part of my murder investigation, so I'll have the chance to ask her about Big Mike. Does he have a last name?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, if Honor's telling the truth, and Pamela had a relationship with him, then Pamela ought to know.”

When we reached the theater, I parked the car. I took Jerry by his purple tie and pulled him in close for a kiss. “I heard you tell Honor no more séances. Thank you.”

He returned the favor. “The least I could do, considering I've managed to bring another criminal element into the house. Too bad she doesn't drive a dark blue Honda.”

“Or wear a jacket with a missing button. Maybe Stan Bailey drives a dark blue Honda. That would make more sense.”

“And he drove over to kill the man who stole his Baby Flo.”

“Losing a button off his jacket in the process.”

“Damn, you're good,” he said and gave me another kiss. “Case closed.”

“I have an idea it's not going to be that easy.”

Chapter Fourteen

It wasn't.

For one thing, it took Jerry and me two hours the next morning to drive to Bayside. For another, Stan Bailey drove a white Chevy truck. It was parked in the driveway of his large brick house next to a motorcycle and a riding lawnmower.

“There goes that theory,” Jerry said as I rang the doorbell. In honor of the mystery, he'd worn his brown tie with the multicolored question marks.

Stan Bailey was a medium-sized man with a large-sized grudge, but it was also apparent he was through with Flora Clarke aka Lizzie Bailey. When I explained I was investigating the death of Wendall Clarke, he smirked and spoke in a sarcastic tone. “Oh yeah, Lizzie. Let's talk about her. To hear her tell it, I'm the best thing she's ever had in her life. She's so happy. Our future's so rosy. Then a richer man comes along, and boom! Good-bye, Stan. If Clarke's dead, I wouldn't be surprised if she's the culprit. She just about killed me.”

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Bailey?”

“Not literally,” he said. “She just about killed me financially. Overdrawing our credit cards, ‘forgetting' to pay bills, traffic tickets. I'll bet I went to the bank and police station half a dozen times to bail her out of some mess. Thought she'd bat those baby blues at me and all would be forgiven. Well, it was—for a while. Then I saw her game. She just loved me for my money, and when she found out I wasn't as rich as she believed, she left me. I was glad to get rid of her.”

“So you weren't upset when she married Wendall Clarke?”

“Hell, no. I even thought about warning him. Then I thought, why should I help any idiot who marries her? Why don't I let him find out for himself what kind of conniving little gold digger she is? Why don't I let her bleed him dry and toss him aside?” He paused in his tirade. “Well, I am sorry he's dead. What happened?”

“He was struck on the head and died as a result of that injury.”

Bailey looked thoughtful. “Okay, you can eliminate Lizzie, then. She has the strength of your average mouse. She could barely lift a bag of groceries. Of course, she might have been pretending so I'd have to carry everything.” He was still sarcastic but running out of steam. He spoke a little calmer. “I really don't think she'd murder anyone. She just loved money, and I didn't have enough to suit her.”

“May I ask where you were Wednesday night?”

“That's my poker night. If you need the names of my pals, I'll get them for you.”

“Thanks. And that's your truck?”

“Yep. I used to have a Mustang. Had to sell it to pay all that debt Lizzie had on our cards.” The understandable bitterness was back.

“I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Bailey.”

“Yeah, well, if you can do something about that woman, I'd appreciate that, believe me. She's a menace. Let me write those names down for you.”

He went into the house. Jerry whistled softly. “And I thought we had money problems.”

“Is this typical con woman behavior—run up debts until the husband divorces her?”

“Yep. Then you move on to the next dupe.”

“Flora doesn't strike me as that cold-blooded. What if she really loved Wendall?”

He shrugged. “It happens. That's usually when the con artist starts making mistakes.”

“Has Flora made some mistakes?”

“So far, I'd say she's been pretty slick. For instance, do you know for a fact she has a sister?”

“Why would she say she has one?”

“To keep people from coming to the house. You thought she was all alone, so you offered to stay with her, didn't you? It gives her a legitimate reason to refuse, and then she can do what she wants.”

“You think she was sitting in that house, laughing about how she'd put one over on the town and counting Wendall's money? She's sincerely upset that he's dead.”

“If she's a pro, she can make you believe that.”

Stan Bailey returned and handed me a piece of paper. “That should get me off the hook. I never even met Wendall Clarke, and like I said, I'm sorry he's dead. Even if Lizzie didn't kill him, you need to make sure she doesn't pull her scheme on anyone else. I hope she's not playing you, too.”

After what Jerry had just told me, I wasn't so certain.

“Wrote a couple more names down for you,” Stan said. “Come to find out, Lizzie was married three times before me. Wish one of them had warned me.”

The husbands' names were Thomas Riley, Ryan Henderson, and Phillipe DuCoeur.

“Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”

“Good luck,” he said. “Hell, maybe they're all dead.”

***

Jerry and I went to Deely's for lunch, and while we waited on our order, I called Stan's friends. They confirmed he'd been playing poker with them all Wednesday night.

I put my phone away and reached for my tea. “Stan's alibi holds up. I'll track down Flora's other ex-husbands next.”

Annie set our baskets of cheeseburgers and fries on the table. “Thought you'd like to know, Aunt Louise won't be bothering you anymore, Jerry.”

I thought she was going to say Aunt Louise had joined Aunt Gloria in the Great Beyond, and the two of them were thrashing out their money issues on another plane, but when Jerry asked what had happened, Annie said, “Oh, she's found another medium she's much happier with.”

Uh, oh.

Jerry was instantly alert. “Another medium?”

“Oh, yeah. She's just moved to town. Maybe you know her. She calls herself Madam Mystere.”

Jerry put down his cheeseburger. “Is Madam Mystere a large woman with black hair and a bit of a lisp?”

“Yes, she is! So you do know her. I'll have to tell Aunt Louise.”

“Is Madam Mystere planning to hold a séance any time soon?”

“I think she's having one tonight. I can find out.” Another customer called for her, and she hurried away.

“Damn,” Jerry said.

I decided it was best not to say anything. I ate my cheeseburger while Jerry toyed with his, his expression preoccupied. After a while, Annie returned and told Jerry that the séance was going to be at midnight.

“Were you thinking of coming?”

Here was a great chance to expose Honor and make her leave town. I thought he'd readily agree, but he surprised me. “No, I'm pretty sure Aunt Louise doesn't want me around.”

“How about you, Madeline?”

I gave Jerry a curious glance. He seemed completely uninterested. “Probably not.”

“Refills, anybody?”

Jerry said he'd like some more tea, and when Annie left, I leaned forward. “What's going on?”

“I know you asked me to corral Honor, but she and Aunt Louise deserve each other. Maybe she'll tell her something that will make her happy.”

“And take her money.”

“I'd like to see her get money out of Aunt Louise.”

I didn't like the idea of Honor playing tricks on the locals. “Jerry, I really want you to do something about this. Tell Annie and Aunt Louise that Honor is a fraud.”

“I don't think Aunt Louise would believe me.”

“Well, then, we'll stop by her house after lunch and you can give it your best try.”

***

Unfortunately, Jerry was right. Aunt Louise lived in a large square house with a huge porch, but she refused to let him even come up the steps. When he tried to explain about Honor, she accused him of being jealous and said she had every right to use as many mediums as she liked to get through to Gloria. Then she told him to get his feet off her yard or she'd call the police.

“Told you,” Jerry said as we drove away.

Good grief, somebody had to handle this situation. “All right, then, maybe I can do something about it. Maybe I'll drop in on this séance tonight.”

“That's a great idea.”

He looked way too calm. “What am I getting into here, Jerry? What sort of séances does Honor perform?”

“She's never done a séance, and she's doing this one only to annoy me, so I'm going to ignore it.”

Oh, I think she has a different motive, I thought. She's doing this one because she wants you back. “Maybe it really is better if I go. She won't be expecting me.”

“That's why it's a great idea, Mac. Thanks.”

Still too calm.

***

This was Friday, the day planned for the gallery's grand opening. Instead, it was the day of Wendall's funeral. The service was to be held in Parkland that afternoon. Jerry and I had just enough time to get home and change clothes.

I pushed my clothes aside until I found my best black dress. “I wonder if Flora's sister will be there.”

“Don't be surprised if she's too ill to attend.”

I was taking the dress off the hangar and paused. “Jerry, I have a better idea.”

“Anything's better than going to a funeral.”

“While everyone's there, why don't we have a look in the house? I know which one it is, and there's a deck out back. I'm sure you could get in the sliding doors.”

“Is there an alarm system?”

“I didn't see one.” I looked at my dress, debating my course of action. “Although, I may be able to find out something at the service. It would be interesting to see who's there.”

“You go to the funeral, and I'll break into the house.”

That had disaster written all over it. “No. Maybe we could leave the service early. Funeral first, then the house.”

Jerry sighed and reached for his plain blue tie.

***

I expected a large crowd at Wendall Clarke's funeral service, but the church was only half full. Flora sat by herself in the front pew on the right-hand side. In the front pew on the left sat several large men and women who looked as if they might be Wendall's relatives. Pamela and several other members of the Art Guild, including Bea and her son Ferris, were in the middle. Jerry and I sat behind them. I then noticed Larissa sitting across the aisle from us, staring straight ahead, her hands clasped in her lap.

I'm sure Wendall would've found the service too short and too plain; just a hymn, some brief words from the minister, a prayer, and it was over. There were no dark blue Hondas in the funeral procession. We followed the procession to Parkland's Memorial Cemetery and stood off to one side while the minister offered another prayer. Then we expressed our sympathies to Flora, who thanked us for coming.

She introduced the large men and women. “These are some of Wendall's cousins. He didn't have much family, but they were able to come. I told them you were going to find out who did this to Wendall.”

“I'll do my best,” I said.

“We hope you can,” one cousin said. “We weren't real close to our cousin, but we were definitely shocked by this sad turn of events.”

Throughout all this, Larissa had held herself apart, ramrod stiff and unsmiling. Pamela kept wiping her eyes with a tissue, but occasionally she'd shoot a glare in Larissa's direction. Perhaps she thought Larissa should be more upset, or maybe she felt Larissa was responsible for Wendall's death. At any rate, the two women didn't speak to each other. Bea's expression was the same: irate. Ferris looked bored, but caught my attention when he casually tossed the knitted scarf he was wearing over one shoulder. This action rang a little bell in my brain and started a train of thought down the tracks. Scarf tossing isn't a genetically inherited trait, but Wendall and Bea had had a one-night stand in high school. Ferris, although he looked nothing like Wendall, was the right age to be his son. What if he was Wendall's son, and Bea had wanted Wendall to acknowledge that? Maybe that's what Wendall meant when he said, “That's not going to happen.”

I needed to talk to Ferris. “I need a diversion.”

“No problem.” Jerry went up to Pamela and Bea. “I think you ladies are the very ones to help plan a memorial service for Wendall at the gallery.”

Their attention caught, I was able to speak to Ferris. “I'm sure your mother is sad to lose an old friend like Wendall.”

“Yeah. I never knew him, though, or any of these people. We lived in Raleigh with Dad until the divorce.”

“Your mother didn't want to stay in Raleigh?”

“She had to come back to Celosia. Turns out Dad wasn't as rich as he said he was. Then Mom got this crazy idea Mr. Clarke would help her out. She said he owed her.” He shrugged. “Too late now.”

“Why would she think he owed her?”

He turned to check where Bea was. She and the other Art Guild members were deep in conversation with Jerry. He lowered his voice. “She seemed to think Clarke was my father, but he wasn't.”

“You're sure?”

“My real father had all the tests that proved he was my dad, but for some reason, after the divorce, Mom got this notion that he wasn't. Doesn't matter now, does it?”

Apparently, it hadn't mattered to Wendall what Bea thought, but Bea could still believe she deserved something from his estate, however misguided this was.

“Learn anything?” Jerry asked as we got into our car.

“Bea thinks Wendall was Ferris' father. She divorced her husband, Ferris' real father, when the money ran out, so I'm guessing she wanted in on Wendall's fortune.”

“Blackmail?”

“Possibly. And it looks like business as usual between Larissa and Pamela.”

“Flora didn't have a sister. I hope you noticed that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So she could be running the long con. Do we have time to scope out her house before she gets back?”

Flora was still talking with Wendall's cousins. “Looks like she'll be busy for a little while. Let's go.”

***

The deck's sliding glass doors proved no problem for Jerry's special keys, and no alarms sounded as we stepped into the Clarke's rented house in River Ridge.

Jerry closed the doors behind us. “What are we looking for?”