Raisin the Dead (25 page)

“What do you mean?”

“For a while she showed up whenever Daniel did. Then she stopped. We called her, but she never returned our calls. I guess she lost interest. I'd forgotten all about Jill until you mentioned her. I'm curious as to why you have all these questions.”

I didn't want to tell him my reason, so I thought quickly. “I'm doing a project.”

“I see. I hope I've been of some help then.”

“You have.” I was grateful he didn't seem at all like the curious type who wanted to know what kind of project I was working on. “Thank you.”

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked when he opened his front door and saw me standing on his front steps. “If you've come to plead your mother's case, forget it. I don't want to hear about the damn expansion. I've got other things to worry about.”

In view of his situation, I forgave his hostility. “It's not about the expansion. It's about Philip Baldelli's murder.”

“The man I'm about to be accused of killing.” His voice was dull, flat. “Except that I didn't. I'm not talking to anyone without my attorney. How did you get my address?”

“I made my mother give it to me, and please don't be angry with her. I could have found it on the internet. I'm here for a good reason. You don't need an attorney. I'm here because I don't believe you killed Philip and I have some questions.”

“It doesn't matter what you believe, Ms. Tyler,” he snapped. “Why should I care what you think? It matters what the police think.”

“Can I come in? Or do you want Bobby Crandall driving by and snapping our picture for the morning edition of the newspaper?”

He grumbled something I was probably better off not hearing, then finally stepped aside to let me in. Fear jolted through me. Why hadn't I told Olivia, Emily, or Sergeant Jacoby I'd be here? Oh well, too late now. Gathering my courage, I entered.

I was surprised by his decorating. I thought it would match his disheveled look. Definitely too masculine for my taste, but it wasn't as if I were moving in. The furniture was good quality, attractive, and looked clean and neat. However, that was unimportant for why I was there.

“So what's this all about?” he asked.

“When I talked to Jill McGinley about Philip's murder, she mentioned you two had dated.”

“We did. It's been over for a couple of years. It didn't work out. The woman was obsessed with perfection and following rules. She was obsessed with me. She was upset that I didn't want to get married. I think she wanted a guy with money, a guy to take care of her. Heck, she should know librarians aren't ever going to be rich. That's not why we become librarians.” He glowered at me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Interestingly, they said almost the same thing about each other, about expecting perfection. After my recent discovery, I tended to believe him. He might not have been the nicest man I'd ever come across, but something still told me he wasn't the murderer. “Did she ever leave anything personal in your house, like lipstick?”

He stared at me. “What made you ask that?”

The words couldn't come fast enough. “I'm the one who told the police that the sign you were holding up in that newspaper article had the same handwriting as the writing on the mirror in Philip's bedroom.”

He looked askance at me. “What writing?”

I prayed Sergeant Jacoby wouldn't arrest me for divulging this and that Daniel would keep his mouth shut. “What I'm going to tell you is confidential. No one, and I mean no one, can know what I am about to tell you. Not family, friends, neighbors, casual acquaintances, coworkers, the police, your rabbi, your priest, your mother, etcetera.”

“I get it. Take a seat in the living room. I suppose you'd like a ginger ale?”

That was a strange way of offering me something to drink, but I took him up on it. “Sure. Thank you.” He probably thought I was a nutcase right about now.

“The living room is right there, to your right, as you can see. I'll get your drink.”

I sat. He was back in a few minutes with two glasses of ginger ale. I hoped mine didn't contain any antifreeze, in case he was the killer.

“What is it that you don't want me to say anything about?”

“Do I have your word you won't say anything, to anyone?”

“You have my word. I won't even tell du Maurier. Now what is it?”

“Who's du Maurier?” I was sure he wasn't referring to Daphne, the author.

“My cat. Get on with it, please. I don't have all night while you prevaricate.”

“It's my fault you're the number-one suspect in Baldelli's murder. Someone wrote
PAYBACK IS A BITCH, DADDY
in red lipstick on Baldelli's bedroom mirror. At least I'm reasonably sure it's red lipstick. I'd like to prove that's what it is.

“When I saw the sign you held up at the protest, I recognized the handwriting. I assumed you were the killer. When I spoke to Peter Delaney at the Destiny Trust for Historical Preservation he said a number of volunteers were painting signs, including Jill. That caught my interest. Do you remember Jill being there?”

“No, but it wouldn't surprise me if she was. As I told you, the woman was obsessed with me.”

“Could she have drawn your sign?”

“It's possible. It's possible the mayor painted the sign. It was two years ago. I don't remember. We hadn't started dating yet. She was trying to reel me in, but at that point, I hadn't acquiesced.”

“If you have a lipstick of Jill's the police can have forensic testing for DNA done on it, then compare it to the substance on the mirror. If that was also lipstick, they may be able to get DNA from it and we can see if it's a match.”

“She left some makeup in the small set of drawers in my bathroom. For some reason, I never threw it away.”

“Thank God you didn't.”

“Do you want to take it with you?”

“Yes. I want the police to have it.”

He got up. “It's yours. I'll be back.”

“Can you put it in a small plastic bag?” I called after him.

He grumbled again, but as long as he cooperated, I didn't care. He was back in a couple of minutes with a bag. My heart leapt when I saw two tubes of lipstick inside. “That's Jill's, right?”

Red patches stained his skin as he handed the bag to me. “Not that it's any of your business, but I don't have women traipsing in and out of my bedroom, Ms. Tyler. It's Jill's.”

“Thank you.”

“You think she killed Baldelli?” he asked. “Can't say I'm not glad it wasn't me.”

“I don't know if she killed him, but if she made the sign you held up while protesting in front of the Westley House two years ago, the police will definitely want to talk to her. Please, don't say anything to her about this. It's really important that you don't.”

“Our relationship is strictly professional. I have no intention of saying anything at all to her.”

“Thank you.”

“If what you're doing helps nail the person who truly killed Baldelli, the thanks goes to you.”

***

I was sitting at Sergeant Jacoby's desk fifteen minutes later. He stared at the bag of lipsticks. “You're telling me these lipsticks belonged to Jill McGinley and you'd like a forensic test run on them?”

I nodded. “I got them from Daniel Bixby. He and Jill dated a couple of years ago. She may have made the sign Daniel was holding up, the sign whose writing matches the graffiti on Philip's mirror. If it truly is lipstick on the mirror, and there's DNA on it, you can compare it to the DNA on these lipsticks, and on the envelopes the letters came in. Do you still have the envelopes?”

“They're in the evidence locker at the Destiny P.D.”

“She may be our killer.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe Daniel used her lipstick to write on the mirror, in an effort to frame her?”

My throat went dry. “No.”

“That's why it's a fantastic idea to leave the policework to the police. It's not a good idea that you talked to Daniel. It could mess up our investigation, Molly. I want you to stay out of it.”

“At least get the DNA from the lipstick and compare it to the DNA from the envelopes. If it was Jill, then that will prove it.”

“I appreciate your efforts, but I don't have time to babysit you and work on solving a murder. I don't want you getting hurt, or doing the wrong thing and ruining our investigation.”

I bristled at his patronizing tone, and struggled to remain civil. “I'm trying to help.”

“I know and thanks for bringing these in, but I need you to stop trying to help.”

“Have you talked to the guy at the Phone Man store?” I pressed on.

“No. Detective Corsino did. I have his notes, so don't worry. Thanks for checking.”

The man did sarcasm as well as anyone I've ever seen. “I did.” I pulled out my phone. “See this picture?”

He looked down. “What is that, a Pippi Longstocking wig? My kids loved her books. Don't tell me she killed Baldelli.”

I rolled my eyes. “No. Jill played Pippi Longstocking for the kids at the library. She wore this wig when she was Pippi.”

“Delightful, I'm sure. Of course, there's a reason that you're showing me this.”

“I was just in the Phone Man store. Robbie, the clerk on duty, said a woman came in wearing an orange wig with a big floppy hat and sunglasses and bought a disposable phone as well as a smartphone. When I showed him this picture, he said it was the same wig.”

Jacoby slid his drawer open and fished out a bottle of aspirin. “He did, huh.” He held the bottle out to me. “Care for a couple?”

“No. If you're getting headaches on a regular basis,” I advised, “it might be prudent to see a doctor.”

“I'll consider it.” He downed two little white tablets.

“I still think Jill may have killed Philip.”

He raised his eyebrows and heaved a sigh. “I shouldn't even ask, but why do you think that?”

“My mother told me Jill had a bad relationship with her father. She was in a relationship with Daniel, which ended. I talked to Father Davidson at Our Lady of Perpetual Help. He told me Philip had asked for his engagement ring back. Who knows how many other men she was involved with; how many of those relationships went bad.”

He grunted, closed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose.

I took that as encouragement to continue. “It sort of stands to reason that she killed him. She had bad relationships with men, starting with her father. Who knows how many other men ended relationships with her? Philip was the final straw. By killing him, she was killing every man who ever rejected her, including her father. Why else would she have written
Payback Is a Bitch Daddy
?”

“Is that so?”

“You have to admit it makes sense.”

“Thank you for coming in. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“That's all you have to say?”

“For now. I have work to do on this case. I'd like to solve it and put everyone's mind at ease.”

“Can you let me know what you find?”

He gave me a scornful scowl that said he clearly thought I'd lost my mind. “No, I cannot. From now on, you are off the case, not that I recall anyone putting you on the case in the first place. If you interfere again, I'm going to arrest you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Molly? Not that I don't like you, but it's for your own safety.”

His grim look, along with the clenched set of his jaw, defied me to argue. I didn't. You have to pick your battles, right? “I do. Consider me off the case.” By that, I meant there were a couple of more things I had to look into before I considered myself off the case, but no need to tell the good sergeant that.

“I have a few errands to run,” I told Sean. He'd arrived home yesterday. After eating most of his portion of the early breakfast I'd made us, he was now lying on the couch, wearing his comfiest sweatpants paired with his favorite almost threadbare t-shirt. He had mended in record time, according to Doctor Tryon. Once he was cognizant enough to complain about the food and demand his clothes, she knew she couldn't keep him. She was adamant, though, that he stay out of work for at least six weeks. Chief Carly agreed one hundred percent. “I might be gone for quite a while,” I continued.

I waited for a reply, but Sean had fallen fast asleep. I finished straightening up, gave him a kiss on the forehead, then left him a love note. I put leashes on Beau and Noelle. When I left, I clicked his door behind me as quietly as possible.

I knocked on Dottie's door. It was early, but thankfully, she was an early riser, so I didn't have to be afraid of waking her.

“Hello, dear,” she greeted me seconds later.

“Hi Dottie. Would you mind watching the pups? I'm going to be gone pretty much all day. I don't want Sean to have to walk them.”

Beau and Noelle hadn't waited for Dottie's answer. They'd already dragged me into her house. I took off their leashes and they woofed in glee, then headed for the kitchen where the good stuff was: food and toys. “Bye, guys, love you!” I called after them.

“Of course I wouldn't mind,” Dottie assured me as she laughed at their antics. “It's time you stopped asking me that, dear. I've got homemade chicken soup on the stove for Sean. Don't worry about him, either. I'll be checking on him routinely. I'd set him up on the couch in my living room, but I know he wouldn't stand for that.”

I hugged her. “Thanks, Dottie. And you're right about Sean. I can't picture him camping out on your couch. What would we do without you?”

“Oh go on now, don't be silly. The dogs and I will have a grand time, and the detective will be well taken care of.”

I trotted down the steps and slid into my car, feeling a little guilty that I hadn't told Sean my plans in detail, but who was I to awaken the man in the middle of a serious nap? Plus, I don't think he'd have given them his rousing approval. I just hoped in the end, it'd be worth it. I pulled the paper out of my purse with the names of the two references Jill had given the Destiny Public Library thirty years ago. What were the chances these women were still there? Strange she hadn't provided any phone numbers. Did they have to write letters to these women? If they even bothered with references, that is. It was eight a.m., and I'd be in Shepherdsville in three hours. I decided it was worth taking the chance. I slipped in a Taylor Swift CD and took off.

I'd never been in Shepherdsville before. It was a cute little town not unlike Destiny, except smaller. Stately Victorian homes lined their main street. The first person on my list, Sarah Redmond, lived on Birch Street. My GPS led me to a narrow, tree-lined street. The houses weren't as fancy as the ones on their main street, but they were nice. I exited my car, happy to stretch my legs. I walked up to the brick duplex and rang the doorbell on the left. My spirits sank as the seconds went by and no one answered. I tried again with the same result.

I was about to leave when the door on the right opened. “I thought I heard someone out there,” a woman called through the screen door. She was tall, thin, and looked around eighty. Her white hair was pulled back in a severe bun. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I'm Molly Tyler. I'm looking for Sarah Redmond.”

“I'm Alice Burrell. Sarah's sister. Why don't you come in?” She held the screen door open.

“Thank you,” I said, stepping into her home. “Sorry to impose on you, Ms. Burrell. Is Sarah home?”

“Do call me Alice.” She smiled and her faded blue eyes twinkled. “I guess you could say she is, yes. She died a month ago. I own this duplex; she rented the section next door. I'll need to get busy and find another renter.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. About Sarah, I mean.”

She brushed off my apology. “No need to be sorry. Sarah's with our Lord and the rest of our family who's gone ahead. You don't look familiar. Are you from Shepherdsville? Why are you looking for Sarah? You aren't looking to rent a house are you?”

I smiled. “I'm from Destiny. No, I'm not looking to rent a house.”

“I'm not familiar with that town. I grew up here, married my husband here, and we raised our kids here. Before you continue, why don't you sit down? Can I get you anything? I'm afraid I'm out of gin.” She tittered, winking at me.

I liked this lady. “Nothing, thank you. I'm fine.” Her living room was small and filled with furniture. I took a seat on the couch. “Back in 1985, your sister provided a reference for a librarian in Destiny. Her name is Jill McGinley. I was hoping to ask her some questions. Sarah, that is.”

Alice's sharp eyes peered at me for a few seconds. “I remember my sister doing that. But the woman's name wasn't Jill McGinley, if we're talking about the same person.”

My heart skipped a beat. I pulled out the picture I had of Jill and held it out to her. “Do you recognize this woman?”

She took it from me. “I may. I'm not sure why. Who is she? If she's a long-lost cousin looking for money, I don't have any.”

“I believe she's a librarian who worked at the Shepherdsville Library until 1985. Why do you remember your sister provided a reference for a librarian? Was there something odd or special about her doing so?”

“Are you with the police?”

“I'm working with the police in Destiny to help solve a matter.” It wasn't a total lie.

She sat in the only other chair in the living room. “I didn't know police hired helpers.” She stared at me for a few seconds before settling back in her chair. “I guess it's so long ago, it doesn't matter if I tell you.”

The skin on my scalp tingled. I pulled out a notebook and pen from my purse. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Not at all, I'm glad you came by. I don't have many visitors, what with Sarah being dead. Not that I let strangers in my house all the time, I want you to know. You seem harmless. My boys, God bless them, come every Sunday for dinner with their wives and my grandchildren. I'm blessed that way. Nice women, too, my daughters-in-law.”

I let her ramble. As I've mentioned, sometimes you learn a lot that way. “That's nice for you.”

“Pshaw.” She dismissed my comment. “Thank you for listening to an old lady. Now, you let me know if I talk too fast. I believe the librarian's name was Julia Melrose. She wasn't from around here. No one seemed to know exactly where she was from. Too bad that our library closed about ten years ago. Now you have to go to the county library, which, I must admit, is much nicer. Anyway, soon after her husband died, she moved away. She and Sarah—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, did you say her
husband
?”

Alice nodded. “Yes.”

I wondered if we were talking about the same woman after all. “Sorry. Go on.”

“She and Sarah became friendly. Sarah was always in the library. When Julia's husband died suddenly, everyone thought it somewhat strange.”

“Strange why?”

“He was too young to keel over and die like that. It seemed impossible. I thought the police should investigate. Sarah said I was reading too many Agatha Christie books and to stop thinking I was Miss Marple. I let it go.”

“Did the police question this Julia woman?”

“Not that I heard. His death was listed as heart failure. That was that. We don't have crime here. We don't even have our own police department. We call the next town for help. Julia buried him quickly and the next thing we knew she'd left town. It bothered me for a while. She seemed to want to bury him too fast. What do I know? We weren't close, and I'm no Miss Marple, as Sarah so kindly pointed out.” She leaned back in her chair. “I'd forgotten all of this until you arrived.”

I didn't comment and she went on.

“This town used to be like a big family. You could be out walking, and if you got thirsty, you popped into someone's kitchen for a nice glass of water, or iced tea, without knocking on the door. Not so now. Everyone keeps to themselves. You say she ended up in Destiny?”

“Yes. I think so, if we're talking about the same woman. Except she goes by the name Jill McGinley.”

“Oh my! You may be right! Let me continue. My sister always made a point of talking to Julia. I never did, really. I got the impression Julia wasn't popular with the rest of the staff at the library. Or with many people in town. There was talk that she was bossy and a little strange. Even secretive. Back then, being secretive set off a red flag. There was even talk about her stealing money from the library.”

“The Jill I know is outgoing and popular.”

She cackled. “People can pretty much be who they want to be, can't they? My daddy once said you can't truly know another human being. Sometimes not even yourself.”

“That's true,” I acknowledged.

“Right after her husband's death, Julia told Sarah she was leaving town and needed a reference for her new position. Sarah wanted to know why the head of the library wouldn't provide one for her. Julia said she was told that it wasn't library policy.”

“So Sarah agreed to give Jill, or Julia, a recommendation.”

“Yes.” Alice looked down and fiddled with the afghan lying on the arm of her chair.

“Is there something else you were going to say? You look troubled.”

She looked up. “My sister did it because Julia paid her. I'm ashamed that my sister did this, but she needed the money. Julia gave her twenty thousand dollars in cash to pretend she was a librarian who had once worked with her, and give her a glowing recommendation.”

I gasped. “Why would she ask Sarah to do something like that? This is confusing.”

Alice's eyebrows shot up. “You're telling me. I don't know why she would do any of it. All I can tell you is Julia told Sarah that she was escaping a man who was blackmailing and threatening to kill her. Because of that, she'd have to change her name to Jill McGinley. She told Sarah that Jill was the childhood nickname her parents gave her, and McGinley was her maiden name. Sarah was always gullible.” She snorted. “Personally, I always thought Julia got that story out of some book she'd read. I believe she threatened my sister, but I could never get Sarah to admit anything. All I know is, she was never the same after Julia left town.”

“How so?”

“Julia had given Sarah an exact script to follow should anyone call, not that Sarah shared it with me. After Julia left, my sister was scared of her own shadow. She began leaving all the lights on when she slept. Every time her phone rang, she'd jump a mile in the air. Years later, when Sarah told me what Julia had asked of her, I was so angry. Oh, I was fit to be tied. I thought right away it was a load of crap, excuse my salty language, but by the time Sarah told me, what could I do?”

I was about to speak, but Alice wasn't done.

“Two things about this have always bothered me. The first is that I found out from another librarian who came in after Julia that it was not against library policy to give a recommendation. The second thing is, no one from any library ever contacted Sarah about Julia, unless she didn't tell me. It's not like we shared everything.”

“No one in town knew where she went?” I asked.

“Not until you showed up and told me she was a librarian in Destiny. If Julia and Jill are indeed the same woman, I mean.”

I pulled the piece of paper out of my purse. “She gave another name as a reference. Helen Kazar. Do you know her?”

Alice blanched. “My Lord. Helen was a dear friend of mine. She wasn't friendly with Julia. She died in 1984.”

I frowned. “Why would Jill use her if she was already dead? Or Julia. Whoever she is?”

Alice grimaced. “I have no idea. Maybe if your town's library had written to Helen, Julia could say she hadn't realized Helen was dead. This whole thing is most perplexing. It makes me wish I did have some gin. I'm worn out talking about it.” She gave a short laugh. “At least you've given this old lady some excitement today.”

I smiled. “That's one way of looking at it.” I had taken up enough of Alice's time. Instead of getting answers to my questions, I had more questions, ones Alice couldn't answer. Maybe no one could, except Jill. I got up. “Thank you for speaking to me, Alice. I'm sorry to barge in on you.”

She got up with me. “No problem. I hope I've helped. I hope you find whatever you're looking for. Feel free to write me with an update.”

“Thank you. I'll do that. I hope you get a tenant soon.”

I drove home, leaving the music off. My thoughts were enough company. So, if Julia was Jill, that means she could be a double murderess. I shivered. Had she hated her father that much? If the story my mother had told me about Jill's relationship with her father was even true. Maybe she wanted to run around killing people for no reason.

At this point, I didn't know what to believe. If killing every man she was with or every man who rejected her was her modus operandi, I'm surprised Daniel Bixby was still walking around. Even if Julia wasn't Jill, it was still weird that she paid all that money to get a reference. Where had it come from? Her dead husband's insurance?

I pulled into the bakery parking lot and mulled over calling Sean. If I did, he'd want to know exactly where I'd been. I didn't want to tell him. Yet. I wouldn't put it past him to put me under house arrest. Instead, I called Dottie.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dottie. It's me. How are Sean and the dogs?”

“Fine. Just fine. Noelle, Beau, and I came back from a walk a few minutes ago and Sean was happy with his soup. I left him watching one of those judge shows on TV.”