The April Fools' Day Murder (11 page)

The development in which the Strongs lived dated
back several decades. The houses were all built as small one-story affairs, each with a single car garage at the side. Over the years, the owners have transformed the little houses so that the area is hardly recognizable as a development. Many of the houses now have second stories. Most have two-car garages. Decks and additions have been built out back. It always pleases me to see that what some people sneer at as cookie-cutter housing can become so different, a reflection of the individuality of their respective owners. I think it says something wonderful about Americans.

The Strong house was one of those with a second story, the ground floor bedrooms having been converted into a large family room with a brick terrace outside. Mayor Strong and I sat there, facing the glass doors, and Mrs. Strong retreated to another room.

“I saw you at the funeral this morning,” I said.

“Were you there? I didn’t see you.”

“I was waiting outside the church. I was picking up Mr. Platt’s oldest friend.”

“Yes, I saw him with the family. This is a very sad affair and a great loss for our town.”

I wondered. “Tell me what you know about Willard Platt, Mr. Mayor.”

“Well, he’s lived in Oakwood much longer than I have. Must be close to fifty years. We’ve only been here about thirty. Years ago he worked in the city, but he’s been retired or semiretired for a long time. He’s been a big help to the high school, as you may have heard.”

“I have heard,” I said. “I also heard he’s been a difficult person.”

“Well …” The mayor smiled. “Let’s just say he’s looked out for his interests vigorously, as we all should.”

“Did it cost the town much to protect those interests?”

“If you expect me to speak ill of the dead, Mrs. Brooks, you’ll go away disappointed. Willard Platt was a good man and let’s leave it at that.”

“I’m trying to figure out who might have wanted to kill him.”

“Let the police do their job. They’re good at what they do and very dedicated.”

“Whose feathers may Mr. Platt have ruffled?” I asked. “There were some lawsuits I know of.”

“Who did he sue?”

“The nursery for one.”

“The nursery,” I repeated. “Will owned the land on both sides of the road.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He bought it years ago when you could have an acre for a song. He talked about developing the land one day, but he never did. He just thought it was nice not to have any nearby neighbors. The Vitales owned the land across the road at the bottom of the hill and opened for business a number of years after the Platts built their house. The nursery got pretty successful—they draw customers from all over—and they wanted to double in size. That meant buying land from the Platts, and Willard said no. The nursery offered a pretty good price for that land, but there was no deal.

“Then the Vitales started using some of the land just above their building so they could stock more trees. Apparently, they went over the property line and Willard was furious. He called them up and said to get off his
land, and they said it was theirs—well, you can imagine it was a mess.”

“Whose land was it?”

“Turns out it was Willard’s. He had the old survey and it was pretty clear the nursery had gone over the line, not just a foot or so, but a lot. They tried to make a deal to rent the land or just to use it till he wanted it back, but he refused. He said if he let them do that, they might claim it as their own someday. There are cases like that, you know. He said he just wanted what was his, and when they wouldn’t remove their plants, he hired a lawyer.”

“Did it go to court?”

“The Vitales backed off, but Will said they had to pay for his lawyer.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“Exactly. They refused and he sued them. In the end, they paid up.”

“What about the bond he made the town put up?”

“That was after the nursery fight. I think he was afraid of getting burned. We put up the bond, there was no problem. And we had to do a little landscaping on his property when we were finished with our work.”

He was certainly making it all sound inconsequential. “What were your relations with Willard Platt?” I asked.

“We were on the best of terms. Next question?”

“Do you know anything about why he walked with a cane?”

“I assume he had a problem. He was never without it. Why would you ask that?”

“Because the autopsy showed nothing wrong with either leg. And no one who’s known him for a long time
can remember anything happening that might cause him to need a cane.”

“We weren’t close, Mrs. Brooks. It’s not the kind of thing you ask a man about. You just accept that he has a problem and leave it at that.”

“His wife was in a terrible car accident some years ago. What can you tell me about that?”

“Just that it was terrible. It was a snowy day in a cold, bitter winter. I remember that winter well. My mother, God rest her soul, slipped on some ice outside her house and fell and broke her hip. She was never the same after that and she died a sad woman, unable to do all the things she had been doing with so much pleasure for so long.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Were there any charges filed against Mrs. Platt?”

“Not that I’m aware of. She’s had to live with great unhappiness since that day. I don’t think putting her through a trial would have done any good.”

I had begun to sense a defensive demeanor in the mayor. His usual ready smile was gone and he was speaking in a manner that indicated he wished I would get up and go. I decided to oblige him. “Thank you very much for your time.” I stood and shook his hand, a limp handshake if ever I’d had one. He raised himself from his chair and walked to the coat closet with me. His wife appeared from wherever she had been hiding and I thanked them both for letting me come.

I made up my mind that I didn’t like him very much.

Late in the afternoon, after I picked up Eddie, I called the Platt house and talked to Toni. “Is there any word on your brother?”

“Nothing. I told Doris I thought we should report him as a missing person, but she doesn’t agree.”

I could see why. “He’s probably just overwhelmed by what happened, Toni. Maybe he’s sitting in some little place thinking about his relationship with his father.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Roger I know. Tell me, did you learn anything from Harry?”

“A few things. I’m glad we got together. He’s a very nice man and he cared deeply for your father—and for all of you. He told me something quite fascinating about the canes.”

“That they open?”

“Then you know.”

“Oh, yes. They were Dad’s pride and joy. Some of them are very valuable, hand-carved, silver tops.”

“And they all have sharp-edged instruments inside.”

“Yes. Dad kept us away from them till we were old enough to be trusted. Then he showed us. We were forbidden to play with them, as you can imagine.”

“Toni, the cane your father had out in the garage the day he was killed is missing. I think the killer used it and then took it away with him.”

“I—Wait a minute. What you’re saying is that the killer knew the cane had a weapon inside. You think Roger did this.”

“Not necessarily,” I said, although Roger was certainly a likely suspect. “It’s possible that your dad saw someone coming or got into an argument with whoever was there, pulled the knife out of the cane to protect himself, and the killer wrestled it from him.”

“I see.” I let her consider this. “So it could have been someone who didn’t know about the cane.”

“That’s right.”

“Which means we’re back where we started.”

“I’m afraid so. Did your father let many people in on the secret of the canes?”

“No. I’m not surprised Harry knows, but Dad kept it in the family. I think he felt it was like money. It wasn’t anybody’s business but his.”

“How is your mother doing?”

“We’re all pretty low. She’s very upset about Roger. Doris hasn’t the faintest idea where he is. I have the strangest feeling something is going on, but I don’t know what.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Till the weekend. I’m going to have to arrange to have my mother picked up so she can do her shopping and get around. She keeps telling me she can walk—and I know she’s done it—but that’s not what I want for her. I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about selling the house, but that’s just too traumatic right now.”

I told her we would be in touch before she left and I got off the phone. Eddie was exhausted from his long day and I thought it would be a good idea for him to eat and go to bed before Jack came home. As it happened, he agreed with me.

12

I finished my rather long narration after dinner.

“You’ve learned a hell of a lot in one day,” Jack said. “Talking to the old friend was a real brainstorm.”

“I can’t take credit for that,” I admitted. “Toni suggested it.”

“You’ve got a lot of good stuff. The canes, the nursery, the first wife.”

“I wish I felt it was leading me toward a killer. It’s nice to learn interesting things, but I’m no closer to figuring this out than I was yesterday.”

“Hey, you’ve got a bunch of new suspects—the owner of the nursery, this mayor you think was telling you what you want to hear. How about the bereaved wife?”

“Winnie Platt? That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not so ridiculous. She admits she was in the house that afternoon but claims she didn’t hear when you rang the bell and called.”

“Toni said she’s deaf in one ear.”

“Fine.” He dismissed the excuse. “She was there, she knew that whatever cane her husband had out in the garage had a weapon in it. She could go out, unscrew the top, and stab him with it. Or she could take one off the
rack you described, go out with just the knife portion, take it back inside, wash it, put it back on the rack—hey, why not?”

“Then where’s the one her husband had with him?”

“Maybe that’s back on the rack too. Maybe she wanted someone to discover that the cane in the garage was missing so they would think that an outsider came along, used it to kill her husband, and took it away.”

“That’s a very frightening scenario, Jack.”

“Fits the facts,” he said philosophically.

It did fit the facts and I didn’t like it at all. Whether Winnie was hard of hearing or not, she was in the house at the time of the murder. I didn’t have a motive for why she did it, but she certainly had the means and the opportunity. It answered the question of how the killer got there without being seen, the choice of weapon, the time it happened.

“Who found the body?” Jack asked.

“She did.”

“No one else could have, right?”

“Right.” They lived alone. There were no neighbors. There were acres of empty land and the nursery down the hill. “She would be crazy to do it.”

“Why?”

I hate it when he asks why at times like this. “Because she would be an obvious suspect.”

“It wasn’t obvious to you. It wasn’t obvious to the police. You all assumed she was a bereaved wife whose husband had been murdered by an outsider.”

Jack has never been easy to argue with. First, he had all those years of police experience. Now, as a new lawyer, he has honed his argumentative skills—sometimes I think
he’s honed them using me—and left me feeling he’s clever but I’m right, even if I can’t prove it. “She didn’t do it because she would be worse off without him than with him.”

“Says who? She’s got a house that she can sell for a lot of money. He’s probably got a nice nest egg stashed away that she can live on. Think about it.”

I didn’t want to. “She loved him, Jack,” I said.

Jack leaned over and gave me a kiss. “That’s just what she would want you to think.”

“It has to be someone else,” I grumbled. I looked at my watch. “Jack, I’m going to take a drive over to the apartment complex where Roger lives. He’s still missing, as far as I know, and I’d just like to see if his car is there.”

“OK. Watch yourself.”

I gave him a kiss, got my coat and went out to the car. I started with a short detour to check out the Platts’ house on the hill. Many lights were on and there were several cars in the driveway and on the road in front of the house. That meant there were visitors, and I was glad to see that. Just to make sure I wasn’t on a wild goose chase, I checked the cars for one that looked like Roger’s. There were a couple that might have been his but neither had his license plate. I made my U and went down the hill.

Five minutes later I pulled into the parking lot where Roger had parked the other night when I followed him home. There were a lot of cars and I drove slowly, looking left and right for his. And then I saw it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Roger wasn’t missing. He was just staying home. I followed the drive around the buildings until I found the exit. Then I went home.

Jack was dismayed when I asked him about trying to trace Amelia Platt, Willard’s first wife. If they had married in the Forties, it was the era of paper records, none of which had ever been put on a computer.

“You could try Arnold,” he said. “I know he’s done some digging into the dim distant past. Maybe he’ll give it a try.”