Homicide by Hamlet (Cozy Mystery) Book #3 (Chubby Chicks Club Cozy Mystery Series) (6 page)

Bezu and I took her car, following José in his. Yellow crime scene tape hung around the back of the theater, where several officers and bystanders were crowded around. Numerous times I tried calling Gerald, but all I got was his voice mail.

José chatted with his colleagues as I tried to keep from hurling the contents of my dinner in my belly. My mind raced as I scanned behind the stage. The scenery wasn’t disturbed, except for an overturned box that had once held a small dagger and skull prop.

Bezu held my arm. “Annie Mae, I’m so sorry. This must have your thoughts spinning like a twister.”

“And my stomach too,” I said.

The sound of a male voice screaming made me spin around.

Several feet away, Dwight was yelling, his arms thrashing in the air. He stood in front of José. “This is my fiancée we’re talking about. You need to find out what happened, now!”

José responded to Dwight, but I couldn’t hear him. Unlike Dwight, the detective spoke in a normal tone of voice.

“Let’s go over there,” I said. My mind was engaged in protective friend mode. Not that José needed any fortification; he stood six inches taller than Dwight and had way more muscle mass on him.

“Not you two!” Dwight sneered as Bezu and I approached.

“I know you’re upset, this is so awful. Please know that my heart goes out to you.” I reached to comfort him, but he yanked his arm away.

So much for trying to be nice.

“Murderer!” Dwight’s eyes were wide.

“What? Me?” I stammered.

“Yes, you. You’re the one who arranged the time and location that you wanted Priscilla to pick up the plywood.” Dwight glared at me. “You set her up!”

“Now, wait here, before you go and accuse people of wrongdoing, you need to know that Annie Mae has an airtight alibi,” José said.

“Yes, she does,” Bezu said. “We were all having dinner together.”

“How convenient,” Dwight snarled.

“But it’s the truth. I had nothing to do with this, I promise.” I crossed my heart with my index finger.

“Really? You’ve got to be kidding me. You had everything to do with this,” Dwight snapped.

“Hold on there, you’re so out of line,” I said.

“Am I? Aren’t you the one who told her to come to the back of the stage at six tonight to get the plywood?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

My stomach flipped. “Well, yes, I did.”

“So, you knew she would be here,” he continued. “And you hated her.”

“Well, it’s not like we were bosom buddies or anything, but hate is a strong word,” I said.

“So you have motive; your disdain of her,” Dwight said. “And the police said that the weapon was a skull, might I add, from your set of Hamlet props. You must have used it to crack her cranium.”

“Me? I’d never hurt anyone. Ever.” Tears welled in my eyes.

“Killer.” Dwight stabbed a finger into my arm.

“I’m not. You have to believe me,” I said. “I could never do anything like that.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But you could’ve arranged for someone else to do your dirty deed.” His voice shook. “You schemed and planned this all out. You’re nothing but a vile vindictive shriveled up old felon.” He pushed me.

“Watch your mouth,” said José. “And stop touching her, or I’ll arrest you for assault.” José moved in front of Dwight. “Why don’t you calm down and let me do the investigation?”

“Yeah, right, you’d never let your buddies get into trouble. You’re too biased to be any part of this investigation.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you call your silly group—the Fat Hen Club?”

How did he know about our little klatch? On the other hand, the four of us, José, Cat, Bezu and I were together quite often. And there was newspaper coverage about all of us after we’d solved two cases.

“Stupid name if you ask me,” Dwight said.

“You’re in shock, we all are. Maybe just take a minute to compose yourself,” I offered.

“I just can’t believe she’s dead. I can’t.” He hung his head.

“We’ll find out what happened, trust me,” José said. “I’m a professional.”

Officer Ray walked up. “That’s to be determined.” He stood an inch shorter than José, but had a stout, thick build like a tree trunk, and a blond crew cut.

José shook his head.

“You’re welcome to take over this case if you want to. Just lay off the sarcasm. It’s not helping.”

Ray huffed as he flipped open a notepad. “I need to ask these two women a few questions.” He motioned at Bezu and me.

“I’d be glad to help you out in any way I can,” I said.

“Me too,” Bezu added.

“We have absolutely nothing to hide,” I said.

“I doubt that.” Dwight stomped off as José trailed him.

***

Following Officer Ray’s questioning, Bezu and I found José.

“You survived Officer Ray’s interrogation?” With his gloved hand, he placed a crumpled piece of whitish translucent paper into a clear plastic bag.

“Oh my,” Bezu sucked in a breath.

“What’s wrong, Bezu?” I asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“José, when you’re done, is it okay if I take a look at that bag, please?” Bezu’s voice quivered.

“It’s crime scene evidence. Don’t open it.” José handed it to Bezu.

“Heaven forbid.” Bezu held up the bag, and sucked in a breath. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What?” I looked at the bag.

Bezu replied, “That looks like the very same wax paper I wrapped Gerald’s dessert in.”

“All wax paper looks the same,” I said.

“But, on this one, I can see crumbs stuck to it that look like pecan pie,” Bezu said.

“Okay, but why would that be anywhere near a crime scene?” I asked.

“We’ll soon find out, after forensics takes a look at it,” José said.

She was onto something. Gerald had left to go to Armstrong before six. And at dinner, he’d seemed rather preoccupied. Could he be a killer? Perhaps I wasn’t as good a judge of character as I’d once thought. But then again, Gerald was innocent until proven guilty.

So what could I deduce so far? There were three aspects of a crime. Motivation, means and opportunity.

Gerald had the opportunity, because he worked on campus. Around five thirty, he’d told us he was heading to campus. So it seemed he was in the location of the crime, and could’ve seen it, or heaven forbid, committed it. And he had the ability to commit the crime, the means. It wasn’t like the skull prop had been locked up. Anyone could have gotten it. Two out of three so far, but what would’ve been Gerald’s motive?

“You’re awfully quiet, Annie Mae,” José said.

“I’m just in shock. It’s terribly tragic,” I said.

“I have to ask you, do you think that your friend, Gerald, could have had anything to do with this?” José said.

“No, of course not. It didn’t even cross my mind.” I lied.

“Then the wax paper found near the crime scene was just a coincidence?” José asked.

I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“José, I’m ashamed of you,” Bezu said. “You just had dinner with Gerald. He’s a charming, intelligent gentleman. You’re putting Annie Mae on the spot here. Please, talk to him if you must, but leave Annie Mae out of it.” Bezu squeezed my hand. “Look at her, she’s obviously upset.”

“I’m sorry, Annie Mae, I’m just doing my job. I wasn’t accusing Gerald of anything. But out of the three of us standing here, Annie Mae knows the most about him. You’re right Bezu, I’ll talk to Gerald myself,” José said.

I gave him Gerald’s phone number and his office room number. José gave us a quick hug before he left.

“José meant no harm,” I told Bezu. “He was just doing his job. But thanks for having my back.” My brain engaged in investigative mode. “I’m puzzled. Why was the wax paper here?”

“Let’s see. Maybe Gerald brought the pie into the building when he came back here after dinner,” Bezu offered.

“Sure. That’s what happened,” I halfheartedly said.

“Yes, of course. He did nothing wrong.”

I surveyed the area, paying half-attention to my friend. My mind tried to recreate what could’ve happened. “Let me think this through. Gerald’s office is next to mine, on the second floor.”

“Cozy.” She tapped me in the arm.

I rolled my eyes. Obviously, she was trying to lighten the situation a bit. “Let’s say he entered the building through the lobby’s double glass doors. From there, he could have gone left up the stairs to his office on the second floor, or taken a right to the theater on the main floor.”

“Okay, I’m following your train of thought,” Bezu said.

I laughed. “I just hope it’s not a runaway train.”

She grinned.

I went on, “He could have had the piece of pie in his hand. Let’s say he was eating it, and he was almost finished. But then, right before he walked up the stairs, he heard a sound coming from the theater.”

“Okay. This makes sense so far.” She nodded. “Pie in one hand, then the noise. He headed toward it.”

“Yes. Then Gerald, instead of heading upstairs to his office, stays on the first floor and enters the theater.” I paced in a circle. “Once inside, he looks around, trying to identify what made the sound.”

“Of course. And he finds Priscilla dead, but then he sees a person leaving. So, like the hero that I’m certain he is, he drops the wax paper and chases after them.”

I bit my bottom lip. “That could be one scenario.”

“Do you have another?”

“Yes. Back to Gerald entering the building while eating the pie. Before he goes to his office, he stops in the theater. And while he is there, he drops the wrapper.”

“And he sees Priscilla—alive?”

Sighing, I said, “Maybe. Maybe not. I really don’t know. I didn’t get that far in my thought process.”

“Call him,” Bezu said.

“I’ve been trying, it goes right to voicemail.”

“Didn’t José say that he was going to talk to Gerald?”

“Give me a second.” I called Gerald’s number and got his voicemail again. Then I called José. He picked up on the second ring. “Did you ever talk to Gerald?”

“No. And he wasn’t in his office. But I found the door wide open, the light on, and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Shoot,” I said. “Where is he? I’m worried sick.”

José said, “When my sisters or I were troubled, my mother used to quote Erma Bombeck ‘Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.’ I’m not sure if that helps you at all.”

“I’m old, widowed and soon to be retired. Rocking chairs come with the package,” I said.

He laughed, “What I’m trying to say is, chill. Remember he is innocent—”

“—Until proven guilty,” I finished.

“Correct. So please promise me you’ll take a back seat on this and let me do my work, okay? This is my job, not yours.” José said, “Listen, I’m at the precinct now—I have to go.”

I hung up and told Bezu what José said.

“Can you really just sit back and do nothing?” Bezu asked.

“Heck, no,” I said.

She grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

“How can I? Number one, this happened at my campus, on my watch. Number two, a team leader is dead. And number three, a judge, my friend, could be a suspect.”

“Okay. However, you’re not trained in detective work.”

“If I recall correctly, while I was away in Chapel Hill, Mr. Phong died in your house. Didn’t you become an amateur sleuth to figure out who caused his death?” I asked.

“Yes that’s all true. I had to. But, Cat and I got in a lot of trouble and were nearly lynched by the killer.” She put a hand to her neck. “I mean, in the end it all worked out.”

“Yes it did,” I said. “I miss Cat. I know she’s having a great time in Korea with her family. Well deserved too, after the long hours they spend running their store. But all the same, I wish she were here. She and I were quite a team when we solved Lucy’s murder.” A pang ricocheted in my chest. One of our own had passed. I still missed her, too.

Bezu said, “Our sweet, dear fifth member of the Chubby Chicks Club.”

In silence we held each other’s hand.

“I know exactly what I need to do now,” I said.

“Leave it to the police.”

“No.” I straightened my back. “This matters too much to me. I need to solve this myself.”

“Good gracious.” Bezu exhaled.

“You could be my sidekick, like Donkey is to Shrek,” I said.

“Great, and I have a feeling if I agree to do this with you I will be the ass.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.

I chuckled. “Glad to have you on my team.”

Bezu and I hit the stairs, and we did, indeed, find Gerald’s office door ajar. We let ourselves in.

“What am I looking for exactly?” she asked.

“Anything at all that could prove Gerald’s innocence,” I answered.

“But what if I find the opposite? Like a smoking gun, so to speak?” Bezu picked up some papers and moved them around on his desk.

I turned around and scanned the bookshelf. “Then we figure that out if, and when, that happens. But I really doubt we’ll find anything here.”

“I do hope that your boyfriend had nothing to do with Priscilla’s death,” Bezu said.

“Firstly, he is a boy and a friend, not the words together. There is a space between boy and friend. Okay?”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why isn’t he more than just a friend?”

I turned my hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Look at me.”

She ran her gaze up and down me. “I am. And I see a gorgeous, smart, incredibly funny lady who anyone would be honored to have as their honey.”

Turning my back on Bezu, I continued my search on the bookshelf. “You must be looking through rose-colored eyeballs or something. I’m an old, frumpy put-out-to-pasture widow.”

“By the way, I found—” Bezu stopped as she slid something in the pocket of her dress.

“May I help you, ladies?” Gerald stood at the doorway.

I swallowed hard as I wondered how long he had been standing there. Did he hear our conversation? I felt embarrassed to be caught in his office invading his privacy.

I said, “Gerald, where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”

He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out his cell phone. “It was on silent. I put it in here so I could get work done.” He paused. “And you’re in here, because?”

“Oh, us?” I let out a nervous giggle. “We are in here, uh, because, well you see, um, the door was open. Yes, it was wide open. And, well, we, and we, we are—” I stammered.

“—Terribly sorry,” Bezu finished my rambling monologue.

“Yes, very, very, sorry. We had no business, whatsoever, in your office.” I shot my eyes toward the ground. I was so ashamed I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

Gerald put a hand on my back. “Annie Mae, you know you’re always welcome to come in my office anytime you want.”

The tension in my body released. “Thank you, but I should’ve asked permission first. By the way, why did you leave your door unlocked?”

“It’s safe here,” Gerald answered.

“Safe? So you didn’t hear?” I asked.

“Hear what?” he asked.

“Priscilla was found dead in the theater,” I said.

“Oh no. That’s horrible.” Gerald paled and his hand trembled. “How did it happen?”

“We don’t know. But because Annie Mae disliked her, and told Priscilla the time and place to pick up some building materials, Dwight thinks she committed the crime,” Bezu said.

“How crazy is that?” I said.

Bezu continued, “But Annie Mae has an alibi. After you left, she was still with José and me. That doesn’t seem to matter to Dwight, he thinks Annie Mae hired a hit man to kill Priscilla.”

Gerald’s eyes were wide as he looked at me. “You’re not a killer.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes?” Gerald’s voice rose as he took one step back.

“I mean yes, I’m not a killer. I mean, no I did not kill her. ” I noticed a small cut on the top of his hand. Where had that come from? It looked like a recent laceration. There was still blood around the area.

“She’s dead. That’s dreadful.” A bead of sweat formed on his forehead.

“So, what happened to your hand?” He ignored my question and his eyes dashed around the office.

“Where were you?” I asked. “I mean, after you left dinner at Bezu’s? Did you come right up here to the office? Did you go into the theater at any time?”

“That’s a lot of questions all at once.” Gerald scowled. “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated?”

Bezu interjected, “Annie Mae has taken it upon herself to do her own investigation.”

“There are people actually trained to do that. They’re called police.” Gerald leaned against an office wall.

“Yes.” Bezu looked at me.

“But, I could put fresh eyes on the situation,” I said. “And Gerald you never answered my questions.”

“Do I need to?” Gerald asked.

“No, you don’t,” said Bezu. “Because you’re not a suspect.” Bezu played with her pearl necklace.

“We’re all suspects, until I can prove otherwise,” I said.

Had Bezu forgotten about the wax paper left at the crime scene? Did she not see the fresh cut on his hand?

“Guilty until proven innocent, huh? I think it’s the other way around.” Gerald laughed.

“You’re right, Gerald, and on that note, I think that we’ve taken up plenty of your time already,” Bezu said. “We’ll get out of your way now.”

Bezu grabbed my hand and led me out of the office.

“Can I walk you ladies to your car?” Gerald called after us.

“No. No need to, it’s parked right outside the door,” Bezu said.

He stood in the doorway and waved as we made our way down the hallway.

When we had reached the bottom of the stairs and were out of earshot, I said to Bezu, “Why were we in such a hurry to get out of there?”

She opened the lobby door into the humid night air that smelled like soggy fresh cut grass. “Get in the car. I’ll tell you then.”

Once seated in the car, she pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to me. “This is why.”

“What is this?” Written on the outside of the envelope was ‘To GG From PW.’ I opened it, and pulled out a note, holding it up so it was illuminated through the car window by the streetlight overhead. I read it out loud.

“I know what you did, Mr. Orange Head. I was there. And soon everyone else will know too. Your life, as you know it, is over. I already told you what you need to do to keep me quiet—pay up. Your move. PW”

“Holy smokes!” I said. “PW must be Priscilla Woodham, and GG is Gerald Gill.”

Bezu buckled her seat belt. “That’s what I thought too, and that’s why I grabbed it.”

“Good job. It definitely sounds like blackmail.” I paused as I thought. “It also seems like there is or was a common, I don’t know, thing between Priscilla and Gerald. And whatever it was, it could ruin him.”

“The message was clear.”

I held up the note. “Where did you find it?”

“While you were looking through the bookshelf, I discovered it in a pile of papers on his desk. I saw the writing on the envelope and it looked like it might be something. So, I shoved it in my pocket right before Gerald walked in on us. But the whole time he was talking, I felt like the note was burning a hole though my clothes, and any second he’d figure out I had it. I was crawling out of my skin. I had to get out of there,” Bezu said.

“You’re one heck of an actress. I had no idea you had any evidence on you. Good job, sidekick.”

“Thank you, but it was pure accident. I really thought we were just wasting our time in his office.”

“In the letter it says, ‘Orange Head,’ who is that?” I asked.

She put the key in the ignition. “Someone who likes eating oranges?”

“The color of hair? Like a redhead?” I thought for a moment. “Gerald has white hair now, but he could’ve been a red head. Although for a white guy, he tans really well. And most redheads have super pale skin which tends to burn in the sun.”

“And did you see the cut on his hand?” Bezu started her car.

“Yes, I did.” I was impressed that she noticed the same detail that I had. “The note ended with ‘your move.’ Do you think his move was to end her life?”

“That would eliminate the blackmail.” Bezu pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street. “Annie Mae, I’m so sorry. This doesn’t look good for your boy, space, friend.”

“I know. Right now, everything leads to Gerald as the number one suspect in Priscilla’s murder. And to think, you and José wanted me to date him.”

“Remember, my fiancé, Luiz, was once a suspect in a murder. And I was certain he was a killer. Of course, I found out he wasn’t. I’m just saying, Gerald may very well be innocent,” Bezu said. “Then, you can date him.”

I chortled. “You’re telling me the new criteria for dating is to clear a guy of murder first?”