Wound Up In Murder (25 page)

“No, that's okay.” The rumpled cop started to move a little faster.

“I insist,” I said, linking my arm in his. He pulled free, but reluctantly followed me as I went across the street.

“I thought so,” the cop said as I knocked on the window.
“Officer Mangano kept saying he was sure Dr. Glickner wasn't here.”

Sammy opened the window. I had never seen him look so forlorn. In the background I saw that he had tied up his belongings into a sheet. His expression froze as he saw Lieutenant Borgnine standing behind me.

“Tell him,” I commanded the cop, a little surprised at my own gutsiness.

“You know we could have straightened this all out a long time ago if you hadn't gone into hiding,” Borgnine said.

“That's not what I meant.” I turned back to Sammy. “What he means to say is that he has a suspect in custody who allegedly did everything.” Sammy stood there for a moment as the information sank in. “It means you're not a fugitive anymore. You can go home and live your life again.”

“A fugitive?” the lieutenant said. “He was more like a person of interest.”

“Whatever, you're free!” I said. It was like Sammy had been holding his breath since the whole mess started and he let out the air all at once. The forlorn look melted into his usual smiley expression and he leaned through the window and hugged me so tightly my feet left the ground.

“I knew you wouldn't let me down, Case,” he said, waiting a moment before releasing me.

Just then Dane came up the driveway and shined his flashlight through fog on my bunged-up feet. “It looks like you need some first aid.”

“No problem,” Sammy said, going around and opening the door. “I'm a doctor.”

The fog was still hanging around in the morning, and when I looked out my bedroom window, it was like looking at the world through a veil. Sunday mornings were always quiet, but with all the moisture to absorb the sound, it was deathly silent.

Julius had the good sense to cuddle next to me instead of draping himself across my chest. Madeleine's apricot silk dress hung on the closet door. It was pretty much a dead soldier between the dirt, the pine sap and the shredded skirt. I don't even know why I hung it up.

The adrenaline that had blocked any pain was all gone now, and I felt bunged up. I was covered in spots of antibiotic cream and small bandages. Fortunately, the damage was all minor, just scrapes and a few cuts.

Though Sammy was free to go home, he had decided to spend the night in the guest house. I sat up and carefully slid my banged-up feet into my slippers. As I went down the
hall, I looked into the room I used as an office. Madeleine was asleep on the love seat, which had turned out to be a pull-out bed. She'd been too upset about everything to drive her golf cart home and I'd invited her to stay.

I still had the rest of the retreat to finish, but there was no reason to wake her or Lucinda, who was asleep on a couch in the living room. I'm not sure why my friend gave up her guest room for my couch unless she thought I'd need help dealing with Madeleine.

Julius followed me into the kitchen. I needed real coffee and pulled out the bag of grounds. I'd just pushed the brew button when Madeleine came into the kitchen wearing an oversized T-shirt that said
Chicago Bears
and her heels from the night before.

“I'm sorry about everything,” I said, but she shook her head.

“You can't go back in time. It was silly to suppose the Bobbie Listorie I saw in 1963 and 1977 would be just the same.” She caught herself and her eyes lit up. “I did think he would be the same person, though.” Julius had jumped up on the counter and was sticking close to me while staring at Madeleine. I'm sure he was trying to figure what was going on.

Madeleine pulled out a chair and sat. “Wow, this is my first sleepover with girlfriends.” Lucinda yawned as she came in right after and pulled out the chair next to her.

*   *   *

An hour later the three of us headed across the street. I'd given Madeleine clothes to wear; it was the least I could do after destroying her dress. She was shorter than me and rounder, but somehow the jeans and shirt fit, sort of anyway. Lucinda raided my closet and settled for some of my no-name clothes, though she managed to roll
up the pant legs and add some accessories from my aunt's stash and ended up looking very stylish.

We stopped in the dining hall for breakfast, though it was mostly empty. It had been a late night for everyone. Kevin St. John came in to make the rounds. He stopped at Norman Rathman's table before coming to ours. There was just a touch of bouffant left to my hair. His gaze stopped on it and he looked uncomfortable.

“I'm glad that everything is settled. The good news is that Jimmie Phelps is out of intensive care and expected to make a full recovery.” He started to move away and then looked back. “If I'd realized that was you and the singer had a gun stuck in your back, I would have done something.”

“I know Diana was your half aunt,” I said. His placid face didn't show any emotion.

“I barely knew her,” he said before moving on. I had a lot of questions I would have liked to ask, like what really happened to his grandmother and was there evidence that might show she was Edmund Delacorte's mistress, but I knew I might not like the answers. The best thing to do was leave the door shut on that whole inquiry.

Everyone was there for our last workshop session and, despite all, seemed sorry to see the retreat end. I was glad that Wanda and Crystal had made peace and they worked together making sure all the worry doll people got the hair attached to their dolls and figured out how to do their faces.

I slipped out during the free time before lunch and went to the hospital. I was relieved to see Jimmie Phelps sitting up in bed doing some kind of arm exercises.

We talked about how he felt for a few minutes before I got down to why I was there.

“I don't know if anyone has filled you in on last night,” I said before telling him about the singer's confession. “You
remembered about the fireworks. That's what you put in the note and would have told me. Right?”

He nodded. “I didn't really pay attention at first and then I heard him tell that Delacorte woman how nice the fireworks were and it struck me as odd. Just so you know, I was always polite to Diana, but I tried to keep a distance.”

“You mean because there was something between you and Diana when she was underage and you were afraid it would come out now?” He gave me a puzzled look and I mentioned what he had said.

He shook his head in disbelief. “There were just rumors because she hung around the dugout so much. Not that she didn't try to make them true no matter how many times I nicely told her I wasn't interested. The one she was involved with was Bobbie Listorie. They met the night of the fireworks debacle. She was seventeen and her father couldn't stop her from going off with him. I'm just guessing, but I think when she came for the weekend, she was hoping to pick up with Bobbie again.”

I nodded to let him know that he was right. Then I wished him a speedy recovery before I left, glad that it had turned out that he was really the good guy everyone thought he was.

I didn't get back until lunch was over and I met up with my group in the Lodge as they and the 1963 people were all checking out. Dotty Night rushed past me, pressing a brochure of her inn on me as she said good-bye to everyone. Sally Winston was practically an appendage to Norman Rathman as he spoke to Kevin St. John. He didn't blame Vista Del Mar or the manager for what had happened to his wife. And he was interested in using the place for further retreats with one change.

“We simply arrange for the rooms and meeting space with you. We plan the program and special activities and
special guests,” he said. He gestured toward Scarlett's husband and said he was the new co-president. Sally Winston didn't take the news well.

Kevin St. John was caught in a bind. He had made it clear to me that aside from my retreats, which were sort of grandfathered in, he was going to be in charge of any other retreats held there. Was he going to be insistent he couldn't work the way Norman Rathman wanted to? I'm not sure if he used good sense or it was because he saw that Cora Delacorte had arrived looking for her sister. “Of course, any way you want to do it is fine,” the manager said.

The early birds were in the middle of my people and the talk was that my future retreats should be longer and they wanted me to add outside activities such as whale watching and wine tasting. I promised I would. Olivia Golden showed me the huge bag of squares everyone had made and promised to send pictures of the blankets before she brought them to a shelter. Scott Lipton was pleased with himself that he had actually given some knitting lessons. Bree Meyers couldn't wait to take the signed baseballs home to her boys and husband.

Cora was horrified to see her sister wearing my clothes and being so familiar with everyone. She was upset that she'd missed church and wanted to make sure she was home in time for their Sunday dinner since the minister and his wife were coming for the meal.

Madeleine let it all roll off her back and suggested that Cora wait by the door for her. She hugged me and Lucinda and thanked me for the most exciting weekend of her life. “Consider me signed up for the next retreat. Whenever it is.”

It was hardly good-bye with Lucinda. It was more like see you later. Even so we hugged and she congratulated me on another retreat under my belt. “These weekends are so
great. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I can't wait to get to the restaurant and watch Tag straighten the silverware,” she said with a laugh. “By the way, I used one of the landlines to call him so he'd know I would be there soon. He was thrilled to hear that Sammy was off the hook. And he wanted me to give you a message. He said he was the anonymous tipster who sent Lieutenant Borgnine on the wild-goose chases looking for Sammy. Tag said he wanted to be sure you knew so that you'd realize that he could be involved in the sleuthing, too.”

Lucinda and I shared a laugh. “You are definitely having an effect on him,” I said before she followed Madeleine out.

The staff went around the room and took down all the posters and pictures from the 1963 group as the large room emptied. I spent the afternoon clearing up the meeting rooms and it was starting to get dark when I finally went home.

When I went up my driveway, there was a figure on the stoop outside my back door, but he wasn't slumped and this time I knew right away it was Sammy.

“Hey, look at my new pal,” he said. When I got closer, I saw Julius was sitting next to him eating stink fish from a spoon. “How can I ever thank you for what you did?”

“What I did?” I repeated. “All I did was mess up your life.”

“No way,” Sammy said. “None of this was your fault.” He scooped another spoonful of food for the cat.

“Well, at least when you leave, it won't be on the lam,” I said. “After all this, I guess Cadbury must have lost its appeal for you. I suppose you'll be packing up and heading back to Chicago.”

Sammy seemed surprised at my comment. “Case, I thought you knew me better than that.

“The Amazing Dr. Sammy is back in business, or so I hope.” He glanced in the direction of Vista Del Mar. “C'mon,
sit down for a minute.” He patted the spot on the other side from Julius.

“I have to get ready to go to the Blue Door,” I said. But I sat down next to him anyway. I wanted to tell him what Tag had done for him.

“That's part of the reason I'm not leaving,” Sammy said. “I have friends here, work, hopefully my magic job. A life.” It was twilight now and darkness was settling in. “I know you have to go to work, but could I show you my new trick?”

“Sure,” I said with a laugh. Sammy really was amazing. After all this and he'd come up with a new trick.

“I'll start off with a bunch of patter. Something about how I'm so upset because my heart is missing. Then I'll look over the audience to see if maybe it's out there.” He turned to face me. “After I've built up the tension, I'll turn to the person closest to me.” He pointed to my lap. I was totally surprised to see something heart shaped and red was pulsing with light. “And I'll say I knew you'd stolen my heart.”

I was speechless. “You can keep it,” Sammy said, getting up. “You can keep my heart.” He started down the driveway and turned back. “You know, anytime you want to rent the guest house, I'm first on the list.”

When he was out of sight I looked down at the pulsing red heart and hugged it to myself. Sammy really knew how to get to me. What was I going to do with him?

Julius followed me when I went inside. “Don't try to tell me you're hungry,” I said as the cat glanced at the refrigerator.

I called Frank first and told him how things had ended up. “A fake Bobbie Listorie—Feldstein, you get involved in a lot of weird stuff. I'm glad that Jimmie Phelps is okay. Do you think you could get me a signed ball?” I heard the creak of his recliner chair and voices. “Got to go, the boys are here.” I wanted to ask what boys and what they were there for, but he'd hung up.

And now to call my mother. “Sammy's free and clear,” I said when she answered, even before I said hello.

“Thank heavens,” she said, and I waited for what she would say next. I was expecting something along the lines that, after all I'd put Sammy through, I really owed it to him to marry him. But my mother surprised me, by not saying anything close to that.

“I never thought I'd say your name and
detective
in the same sentence. But I have to admit, Casey, that if you got him out of all that trouble, you must be a good detective.” I heard her rustling some papers. “You know, honey, there's a detective academy in Los Angeles. You could go to school and get your license. You seem to like it so much.”

“I have a profession, actually two,” I said. “I put on retreats, and I bake desserts and muffins. Any investigating is really coincidental.” I heard myself. Here my mother was actually complimenting me and I was being difficult. I tried to soften what I'd said by thanking her for her confidence in me.

“Casey, I think you can do anything if you put your mind to it and stick to it. You just need to pick it carefully. If putting on these yarn retreats is what you want to do . . .” She left it hanging, which was her way of saying that she thought I could do better. I waited for her to get to the usual ending of our calls, when she said at my age she was a wife, a mother and a doctor and what was I, but instead she said, “Your father is grabbing for the phone. He wants to hear all the details about how you saved Sammy.”