Death Leaves a Bookmark (2 page)

Columbo went out, and Troy sat down on the davenport, keeping his distance again from his cousin.

That guy seems a pushover, he thought. But you never know with these cops. He had never dealt with one before, but maybe, just maybe, he had lucked out with this forgetful guy. He had a premonition it was going to be a very interesting experience.

He finally led Marcella to the stairs. “Do you want me to help you go up?” he said.

A weak smile. “No, I can manage it. When will I see you?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll call and make sure you’re up and okay.”

He chanced a light kiss on her cheek. She didn’t mind, giving him another weak smile. Then she slowly mounted the stairs.

The next morning Troy called his cousin and found out she was feeling “okay.” He said he would be over, take her out for lunch if she was up to it.

He hung up the phone and it rang immediately. It was the cop, Columbo.

“Could you meet me down at your uncle’s store?” he asked.

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

Troy hesitated. “I promised my cousin I would take her out to lunch. It’s important that I do that.”

Columbo said, “I understand, sir. But I’m afraid this has to come first. Can you tell her you’ll pick her up a little later?”

Irritation curled his words. “I guess. I certainly hope I can I help you.”

“You never know, sir. I’ll be waiting for you at the store; I’m there now.”

“Okay.” Best to play along with this bird. He called Marcella and told her he’d be delayed, helping the cop with his investigation. She understood. What a doll, he thought.

A half hour later he joined Columbo at the bookstore. There were other plainclothes people poking around, probably a forensic team. The bookcase was still on the floor, the book he had used on Rodney was now on the old man’s desk.

“Any clues?” he asked Columbo.

He had half a dead cigar in one hand. “The book on the desk was used by the killer to bash your uncle’s head in after the bookcase fell on him.”

Troy made himself wince. “How awful!”

“Yeah, not pretty. The killer pushed it over on him. That’s the only explanation.”

“Any prints on its back?” A very safe question.

“Nah. Nothing so far. The murderer no doubt wiped them off.”

Troy took time to supposedly mull this over. “You already dusted the book?”

“Yeah. We’re waiting for that new electronic gadget for finding prints that hasn’t come into our jurisdiction yet.”

“No kidding. Gee, the whole world’s going electronic these days.”

Columbo nodded, vaguely.

“What kind of a book was it?”

“A big, fat, art book. But I think he just picked a book at random, didn’t notice what it was.”

Troy knew that was true—it just had to be big and heavy. He took a look back at the art book lying on the desk, placed there by the forensics guy. It was Rene Magritte’s
Catalogue Raisonne, Volume I
. “Well, you know about these things, lieutenant. You’ve probably investigated a lot of murders like this.”

Columbo frowned. “A book case falling on a victim? Nah, never. This is a new one on me … Oh, by the way, Mr. Pellingham …”

“What’s that?” He braced himself.

“You didn’t tell me you were working here.” It was a neutral statement, seemingly nothing behind it.

“I’m sorry. After you announced last night what had happened, we were both in shock. I don’t think Marcella or I had a clear thought in our heads.”

“How long had you been working here?”

“About a year. My uncle was getting old and needed some help mailing packages, keeping the place clean, organizing things, dealing with clients, various stuff like that.”

Columbo was scratching the back of his neck. “That reminds me. Where were you when this thing happened? I know you couldn’t have been here, but just where were you?”

He knew he was well prepared for the question. “I guess at the post office, mailing some books out to some of the collectors. Dayton, Ohio. Bangor, Maine. Places like that.”

Scratch. Scratch. “And what time do you think you left for the post office?”

“I probably left here around three or so. You can always check at the post office.”

“If you’re wondering, I’m trying to figure out a time when the murderer came in here. He sure didn’t want you around.”

Troy nodded, his expression dead sober. “Hell, no, I’m sure he didn’t. Anything else I can tell you?”

“The blinds on the door to the street,” Columbo said, not looking back at them.

“What about the blinds?” Now there was a question that came from the bleachers. What was it with him?

“I’m not here to annoy you, sir, but the blinds were closed when we got here.”

Hell. He had forgotten to open the damn blinds before he high-tailed it out. “The murderer undoubtedly closed them before he did his dirty work. He certainly didn’t want anyone on the street looking in.”

“That’s what I thought too, Mr. Pellingham. Just wanted to check with you.” He hesitated, thinking. “But you know …”

This guy was starting to drive him crazy. But at least he wasn’t scratching his damn neck any more. “What?”

“If he was smart he probably went out that back door. If he went out the front somebody might’ve remembered him leaving.”

“Makes sense. Now anything else before I pick up my cousin?”

Columbo pursed his lips, reflecting again. “No, can’t think of anything else I wanted to ask you.”

Troy quickly turned away and was about to head for the rear door when Columbo said, “Oh, just more thing, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“We gotta get your prints before you leave.”

“They’re all over the store; after all, I worked here.”

“I know that, sir, but we have to separate yours from others, just in case the killer was a little careless and left us one.” Columbo was staring guilelessly at him.

“Okay, but please make it fast. My cousin’s in a shaky condition and I want to get her out in the world, get some fresh air, before she breaks down again.”

“Excellent idea, getting her out. I promise it won’t take a minute.”

One of the plainclothesmen took his prints and Troy was out of there.

He picked Marcella up at the mansion and took her to Spago in Beverly Hills. She seemed a lot better than before, with her careful makeup and stylish getup. He had requested a table near the back wall so they could have a private conversation.

“What do you suggest I have?” she asked, looking candidly at him over her menu. He was taken again by her beauty.

“Everything on the menu’s great, the salads, the fish, chops, whatever you’re in the mood for.”

She told him she would have the North American plaice, a fish Troy had never heard of.

The prescient waiter was there at almost that instant. “What can I get you two?” he asked.

Troy ordered for both of them, deciding on a steak for himself.

“Very good,” the waiter said. “How would you like that steak done, sir?”

“Ah, medium rare.”

“May I get you some starters?”

Troy looked at Marcella, who shook her head no.

“Not today,” Troy told him.

“Very good.” The waiter melted away in the crowded restaurant.

“You seem much better,” Troy said to her.

“I guess I am. A good night’s sleep cures a lot. But I’ll never get over Uncle Rodney’s death. Murder, I
should
say.”

“Neither will I,” he lied. “What do you think about this Lieutenant Columbo? Is he up to the job?”

“I only spent a few minutes with him. How did you size him up?”

Troy shrugged. “Hard to tell, never having had any dealings with cops before. I guess he’s par for the course. Sort of disorganized, though, forgetful. Did you see how he couldn’t find a pocket to put his notebook in? And the way he shuffled around like he didn’t know what to do. If he’s in charge of finding Uncle Rodney’s murderer, God forbid, I wouldn’t want to take any bets.”

She smiled. “That’s not very encouraging.”

“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?” He wanted to reach across and take her hands, but he resisted the impulse. “Let’s just have a nice meal and try to forget what happened for a little while.”

She nodded in confirmation.

When their food arrived, they were silent as hen they ate.

The waiter suddenly appeared as they finished. “May I tempt you with some desserts?”

Again Marcella shook her head.

“Some other time,” Troy said.

“Very good, sir. I hope you enjoyed your meal.”

Troy nodded. “We did. We’ll be back soon.”

Pleased, the waiter drifted away.

“How about a drive?” Troy asked her. “It’ll keep you away from the house for a few hours, take your mind off things.”

She mulled this over. Then: “Yes, let’s do it. Change of scenery.”

He drove them out to the ocean, turning north up the Pacific Coast Highway. “You want to go as far as Santa Barbara?” he asked her.

“No. Maybe half-way and then turn back.”

“You’re the boss, Boss.”

At approximately the half-way point, he turned around and headed back.

“Who would kill Uncle Rodney?” she mused.

“Good question. I don’t think he had any enemies.”

Her hand rested near her side and he noticed she hadn’t applied any polish on her nails. “People, his customers, really liked him. He was always fair in his business dealings, as far as I know.”

“We don’t know everything,” he said. “Some people you treat fair and they still have problems with you.”

“How would you know, Troy? You never ran a successful business, did you?” She smiled to take some of the sting out of it.

What was she getting at? “No, but I goddamn tried. And I did deal with some people you could never please.”

“But now you’re going to come into a lot of money when the estate is cleared.”

What the hell was she getting at? Did she think he had murdered Rodney? “So are you. But it’s a hell of a way to inherit, wouldn’t you say?”

“If I remember, Uncle Rodney never thought you tried hard enough.”

“Well, he never said anything to me.” But he had. Many times. Luckily, Marcella hadn’t been present at any of those. But why was she bringing this stuff up?

He decided to take the deer by the antlers or whatever the hell the saying was. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“No reason. Just seems you got lucky when Uncle Rodney died. The inheritance, I mean.”

“I’m not even sure I’m in his will. He certainly never mentioned anything about it.”

She lowered the window slightly and the wind was not kind to her hair. “I think he had millions. How does it feel to maybe becoming a multi-millionaire?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. But if he left some money to me, I do know I would get rid of the payments on this old rattle-trap. First things first, though.”

She smiled to herself. She removed a scarf from her handbag and tied it around her blowing hair. Making her look even more adorable, he noted.

He decided to show her some balls: “What about you, Marcella? Did
you
ever have a paying job in your life?”

The question didn’t seem to disturb her in the least. “No, I haven’t. I was a pampered brat ever since Uncle Rodney took care of me. And that, of course, was Uncle Rodney’s choice. We loved each other.”

“Pretty soft life,” he said, looking over at her. Better not over-do this, he thought. How the hell am I going to make her fall in love with me? Seems all she wanted to do was pick on him.

“Yes. Pretty soft. I’ve had a life wrapped in cotton-wool. But that’s the way he wanted it. I majored in political science in college and that prepares you for nothing.”

He met her eyes. “Did Rodney think you’d meet some rich young man who would sweep you off your feet? You are quite beautiful, you know.”

Her smile brightened. “Why thank you, Troy. I never thought you noticed.”

“I’ve got two eyes, don’t I?”

“Do you think you could fall in love with me?”

Jesus, she was really putting him on the spot. “What makes you think I’m not already in love with you? That I was in love with you ever since you were no taller than a toadstool.”

“I never knew that,” she said. It was hard to tell if she was sincere or not.

“Well, now you know.”

“How come you never told me this before?”

“Because I’m good at hiding things.” Like committing murder, he thought.

“I’m really surprised.”

He was having trouble keeping his eyes on the road and also glancing at her. She looked like she had more color in her face. God, was he turning her on?

“Well, now you know,” he said, dangerously taking his eyes off the road again for a quick moment to look at her. “So what are we going to do about it? Do you feel anything for me?”

“You know you’re quite handsome,” she said. Her slight teasing tone had vanished. “Want to call each other’s bluff?”

“What do you mean?” He could feel his heart jumping.

“We could stop and take a motel room. Just for the afternoon.”

My God, was she kidding? Was this really happening to him? Much earlier, he had thought his lucky star had disappeared somewhere in the firmament.

There was a row of motels on the side facing the ocean. “Take your pick,” he said.

“Any one’s as good as another. Let’s try this one right here.”

He waited until a few speeding cars had passed before he swung into the motel’s driveway.

“I’ll see if they have a room,” she said, getting out of the car.

He waited, his pulse racing. Was this his day or not? Sometimes Lady Luck smiled when you weren’t even looking.

She came out of the manager’s office and gave him a thumbs-up. He drove into one of the empty stalls and parked.

He practically floated out of the car like he was on a magic carpet.

She had a key with a tag and she opened door number four. He followed her in, breathing deeply. If she couldn’t read his surging desire she was both blind and deaf.

The room was typical with moldy green drapes open to the highway and a double bed with a bleached-out russet bedspread. But who gave a damn?

She closed the drapes and pulled the bedspread and blanket to the foot of the bed. The sheets looked fresh and clean.