Veiled Passages (12 page)

Ashley smiled down on her. “Well, I might be able to do it sometimes,” she said. “Because we’re friends now.  But I probably won’t be able to do it every day.”

Clarissa grinned up at her. “Okay. And then, someday, will you teach me how to use your gun?”

“Well, that might be something your dad will want to do,” Ashley replied. “And why do you want to learn to use a gun?”

They entered the school, Ashley waved to the security guard, and they continued down the locker-edged hall towards Clarissa’s classroom.

“Me and Maggie have been talking about what we want to do when we grow up,” Clarissa confided. “And we’re going to be like my daddy, Bradley, and Mary.”

They walked past a collage of finger-painted works of art by the kindergarten class and turned down another hall, passing the glass walls of the library. “Do you mean you’re going to be a police officer?” Ashley asked.

“Nope, I’m going to be the shooting person and Maggie’s going to be the seeing person,” she explained.

“The seeing person?” Ashley asked.

Clarissa smiled up at Ashley again. “Yes, cause Maggie can see, just like Mary does,” she explained.

Nodding slowly, clearly baffled, Ashley smiled back at Clarissa. “Well, that’s a great idea,” she encouraged. “And I’m sure you and Maggie will be great at it.”

“Yes, we’re already working on our first case,” Clarissa said.

Ashley stopped walking and looked sternly at Clarissa. “You aren’t doing anything that could be dangerous, are you?” she asked.

Shaking her head, Clarissa looked up at Ashley, wide-eyed. “Oh, no, we would never do anything that was dangerous,” she said, slipping her hand discreetly behind her back and crossing her fingers. “I promise.”

 “Officer Deutsch and Clarissa, good morning,” Katie Brennan called from down the hall. “We were hoping we’d find you.”

“Clarissa,” Maggie called, running down the hall to meet her friend. “Guess what?  We’re going to get our dresses fitted today after school.”

Katie rolled her eyes and turned to Ashley. “I’m sorry, I told her we needed to ask your permission first,” she said. “I’d like to take both of the girls into Rockford for a fitting this afternoon.  Will that work?”

“I’ll check with Chief Alden and let you know,” Ashley replied. “But I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll call you once he and I have spoken.”

Maggie and Clarissa moved away from the adults and slipped into the empty classroom. “Did he talk to you again?” Clarissa asked Maggie.

“Uh-huh,” she replied. “He said he’s locked up somewhere, but it’s too dark for him to see.”

“That’s so sad,” Clarissa said. “He’s such a nice man.  Remember when he used to give us candy at church?”

“Yes. Mr. Rupp was so nice, we have to find his body, Clarissa,” Maggie said. “We just have to!”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Mary sat at the kitchen table and nearly groaned aloud.  How did she get into this situation?  She should have been sterner, she should have just said no!

“So, Margaret, how do you feel about having a daughter in such a dangerous profession?” Sally Hubley asked, brushing her black hair away from her face. “I don’t think I’d allow my daughter to do something like that.”

Margaret clenched her teacup a little bit tighter and smiled at the woman. “Well, now, we can’t all have wimps for daughters can we?” she replied politely.

Mary swallowed her laughter and took a quick sip of soda.

“Mary, I feel a presence here,” Honora said, as she walked slowly around the front room. “It’s a heavenly presence, I’m sure of it.”

“Mary, tell her to stop following me,” Mike pleaded, trying to keep several feet in front of the woman. “This is getting creepy.”

“Honora, I’d like to bring you all up to date on the coroner’s report,” Mary said. “Why don’t you come back over here, so we can discuss it?”

Honora scuttled over to the table, nearly walking through Mike on the way.

“She’s more sensitive than she realizes,” he said. “She actually doesn’t believe in herself, not the way she should. It’s too bad; she’s kind of a sweet kook.”

“I don’t see why we need her in on the discussion,” Sally snapped. “It’s not like she’s going to be of any help at all.”

Tracey turned to Sally. “Why don’t you give her a chance,” she suggested. “She is very sensitive.”

Mary turned to Tracey, surprised at her choice of words.  Was Tracey more than she was letting on?

“Humph,” Sally snorted. “She’s about as sensitive as this clod sleeping next to me.”

Ian, seated next to Sally, his arms on the table and his head nestled on top of them, was sound asleep and happily snoring away. 

“Considering he guarded the house all night, so we’d be safe,” Margaret inserted before Mary could, “I have no problem with his snoring. If it offends you, you’re more than welcome to leave and come back another time…or not.”

“Well, I never,” Sally sniffed.

“Oh, darling, I’m sure you have,” Margaret replied sweetly.

Mary cleared her throat loudly. “Perhaps we could all concentrate on the case we’re working on,” she suggested. “I’ve got several pieces of information I can share with you and I’d like your input.”

She opened the manila folder on the table and picked up the first document. “I checked on the publishing house in Madison that had a relationship with Peter,” she explained. “I was surprised to find that after Peter’s death they closed up suddenly and didn’t even publish Peter’s last book.”

“It was probably a scam operation set up in Peter’s name,” Sally said caustically. “It was probably one of those vanity presses that charges people to be published. And he always bragged about it. The imposter.”

“Uh, Mary, I didn’t realize you were going to check on the publishing company,” Peter said. “That’s not a good idea.”

Mary looked over at Peter. “Why?” she asked.

“Why?” Sally replied. “Why do I think he was an imposter? Because his writing was never very good.  His plot lines were always very thin. His characters were unbelievable, and his grammar atrocious.”

“Were not,” Peter pouted.

Mary stared at him and lifted her eyebrow.

“Okay. Well, the publishing house was a vanity press of sorts,” he said slowly. “Their interests were…varied…and my books were only a small portion of their portfolio.”

“But his books sold well,” Mary said. “Sales numbers were high, not only in the United States, but throughout the world. Why would he need a vanity press?”

“How many were discounts or giveaways?” Sally asked. “His income from book sales was very low.”

She paused and rolled her eyes. “He always told me he made money by his work with the alphabet agencies. Like anyone would believe that.”

“Well, I did check his bank account,” Mary said. “He did have a regular sum of money deposited into his account from the publishing house in Madison.  He made a very comfortable living from his books sales, according to his banking records.”

“I wonder if he was scamming other authors, like he scammed us,” Honora said. “Maybe that was his kickback from the publishing house.  He was very convincing, you know.”

“Is that possible?” Mary asked. “Would that many writers be willing to pay money to have their works published?”

Tracey nodded. “Oh, yes,” she said. “To be published, actually published, is a dream that has enticed thousands of authors to throw away their money just to have their names in print.  There are a number of legal cases against vanity presses who perpetrated fraud into the millions of dollars.”

“I had no idea,” Mary said. “But, this company in Madison had no lawsuits against them.  And I thought the money Peter had taken from all of you was actually found in his room.  Weren’t you all reimbursed?”

Sally sniffed. “Well, yes, we were,” she admitted. “And I actually contacted the publishing house myself after Peter’s death. I thought they might want to offer me the same deal they offered Peter, now that he was … indisposed.”

“You called to get Peter’s deal?” Honora asked. “And his body wasn’t even cold yet. That’s…that’s…that’s…”

“Despicable,” Peter said.

“Brilliant,” Honora finished. “I never even thought of that.”

“Well, it didn’t do me any good,” Sally admitted. “They never returned my call.”

“Okay,” Mary interjected. “Let’s move on. I also have the coroner’s report.  As you know, he died from drowning…”

“Well, there’s something we didn’t know,” Sally said sarcastically.

“But the water in his lungs did not contain the same chemicals as the water in the bathtub,” Mary continued.

Tracey shook her head. “What did you say?”

“The water in the bathtub had a chemical additive; it was basically a sodium chloride, magnesium sulfate combination with some essential oils and smaller, trace amounts of other chemicals.”

Sally threw back her head and laughed. “Peter was taking a bubble bath,” she hooted with glee. “Peter ‘I-worked-with-alphabet-agencies’ Swift was a closet bubbler.”

“I really wish you hadn’t brought that up,” Peter moaned. “I’ll never be able to live that down.”

“Dude, you’re dead,” Mike reminded him.

“Oh, yes, quite right,” Peter said. “Never mind.”

“How did you know it was bubble bath?” Mary asked.

“I murdered someone by putting a chemical additive in their bubble bath,” she answered calmly. “It was inert in its dry form, but when it was added to water, it acted like an acid.  It was fairly devious, if I do say so myself.”

Mary inhaled sharply. 
Sally murdered someone?

“I figured it out halfway through the first chapter,” Peter said. “She’s the braggy kind of writer.  Always drops too many clues because she believes she’s much more clever than her readers.”

Mary released a soft exhale. “In a book,” she said. “You murdered someone in your book.”

“Of course,” Sally replied. “What else would I mean?”

“That you murdered someone,” Tracey inserted. “How would she know that you were talking about a book? And, considering what you said to Peter the night he was killed, you really ought to be more careful.”

“She’s right,” Peter said. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“What did you say?” Mary asked Sally.

“Oh, oh, I remember,” Honora said, waving her bejeweled hand in the air. “She said he was not going to get away with it.”

She paused for a moment, searching her mind for the rest and then smiled brightly. “And that he would regret his words,” she finished proudly. “She was so dramatic, standing by the door, hate oozing out of her pores. I actually used her words in one of my later novels.”

Sally sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not murder Peter Swift,” she stated tersely. “That’s not what I meant when I threatened him.”

Peter sighed. “She meant I would not be able continue with our little liaison,” he said sadly. “And I truly regretted that…and missed her…for about sixty minutes, and then I was killed.”

“You were still having an affair with Peter?” Mary asked.

Sitting straight up in her chair, Sally’s eyes widened in surprise and she quickly looked around the room. “How did you...”

“The spirits must have told her,” Honora said, fascinated. “I told you I felt heavenly beings in the room.”

“Yeah, she should have seen me when I was still alive,” Mike said, a self-assured look on his face. “Talk about a heavenly being.”

“I must add, I was quite a ladies man when I was younger,” Peter added. “You might not be able to see it now, but I had women breaking down doors to get to me.”

“I broke down a few doors in my day,” Mike said, flexing his arms and then he stopped and turned to Peter. “But, you know, I was a fireman.”

Mary, listening to all of the conversations going on in the room, wanted to run screaming from her chair, but instead took a deep breath and turned back to the across the table from her. “Sally?”

Sally, her face slightly ashen, faced Mary. “I did not kill Peter,” she said. “I was hurt and I was angry.  I was also embarrassed. Peter humiliated me in front of the entire group.”

“Yes, she’s right, I did do that,” he confessed. “It was not well done of me. Perhaps I was feeling a little guilty.”

“I stormed out of the restaurant, went to my room…and cried,” she said.

“Could anyone verify that you were in your room during that time?” Mary asked.

“Of course not,” Sally snapped. “I wanted to be alone, so I didn’t have witnesses.”

“You realize, of course, this makes you a suspect,” Mary said. “And it precludes you from helping us with the investigation.”

“But…but…I didn’t kill him,” she insisted.

Mary nodded. “Even though I believe you,” she said. “You had motive and opportunity. Allowing you to continue on this case could jeopardize any of our findings.  A jury might feel that you had a vested interest and altered any evidence to point in another direction. I’m sorry, Sally.”

Sally’s face hardened and her eyes drew together in anger as she looked slowly around the table. “Well, if I’m a suspect then so is she,” she spat, pointing at Honora.

“Well, let’s just throw everyone under the bus, shall we?” Mike quipped.

“Honora?” Tracey asked. “How could Honora be a suspect?”

“She’s right,” Honora sobbed, dabbing ineffectually at the torrent of tears streaming down her face. “I confess. I killed Peter.  I killed Peter.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Now just hold on a moment here,” Mary yelled as she stood up in the midst of a cacophony of screams, shouts and wails. “Everyone be quiet!”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room, but the tension was thick.  Sally had a slight smirk on her face that Mary really longed to slap off.  Honora was crumpled into her chair, sobbing silently.  Tracey had risen from her chair and put her arms protectively around Honora.  Peter had a look of shocked disbelief on his face. Mike was staring down at the group in wonder and Ian was still snoring.

Margaret stood up, wiped her hands together and looked at her daughter. “I believe I’ll put the tea kettle on,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing like a good cup of tea when trouble calls.”

“Thank you, Ma,” Mary replied, sitting back down in her chair.