Murder on the Bucket List (7 page)

eight

Francine and Jonathan were
famished by the time they got home. The crime scene tour fiasco with Charlotte, the trip to Friederich's garage with the police, and the homeowners' association incident with Darla had pushed them way past lunchtime. They threw together a midday meal of ham sandwiches, baked potato chips, and grapes and took their plates upstairs to the sitting area off their master bedroom. Not a big believer in television, Francine only had two places where TV could be watched: the sitting room and the great room. The sitting room was intimate and perfect for just the two of them, while the great room could hold a crowd watching a sporting event.

Francine balanced the plate on her lap after propping her feet up on the ottoman. She nibbled at the sandwich. Jonathan put the DVD into the player and returned to the love seat, mimicking her position. He aimed the remote at the television. A split screen with four panels, just as they'd seen at Friederich's shop, filled the display. The top left showed what the camera at the front of the garage
had recorded; the top right revealed the back lot; the bottom left held the front of the shop; and the bottom right the back end of the shop. A time stamp had also been embedded in the video display. The date was a week ago Saturday, the fourteenth of July, at eight a.m.

“Based on what you deduced from Jud, I started the copy a week before we think Friederich disappeared,” Jonathan said. “It's the weekend, and I'm pretty sure Friederich doesn't work weekends at his regular job. It shouldn't be long before he gets here.” He crunched on a couple of chips.

“I didn't know he had a regular job.”

“He works—worked—for Excalibur Racing as their chief mechanic.”

There was no activity on three of the split screens. The one at the front of the building showed cars passing by. Jonathan fast-
forwarded.

“Whoa, wait a minute. There's Friederich,” Francine said.

Friederich got out of his vintage Corvette in the upper right panel. Jonathan pressed a button and the recording returned to real time. The time stamp showed it was 9:47 a.m. Friederich vanished from the top right and moments later appeared in the lower left as he went into the shop. He transitioned to the lower right, picking up his coveralls from a hook outside the restroom. He went in and emerged shortly afterward in the coveralls. Because the camera had a wide view, Francine couldn't make out Friederich's face, but she could tell his full attention was on one of the racing cars on the stands. He worked on the area where the right front tire would be located.

They watched him work for two or three minutes.

“Do you know what he's doing?” Francine asked.

“Something with the shock absorber. Let me speed this up.”

Friederich worked until about noon, when he received a call on his cell phone. He seemed animated by the call. He went over to a workbench where his tools were stored and organized. Suddenly the entire screen went dark.

Francine and Jonathan sat up.

“A remote?” Francine asked.

“Let's watch it again.” He backed the video up to where the call came in and slowed down the action. As Friederich approached the workbench, he picked up something and aimed it at the corner where Larry had hidden the computer that recorded the video input. Almost immediately afterward the darkness hit. The time stamp showed it was three minutes after twelve. Jonathan backed it up one more time, and this time zoomed in on the workbench right as Friederich reached it.

“Look at that,” he said, freezing the action.

“It
is
a remote.”

“Exactly. We suspected Friederich had one.”

He stepped through the sequence until the darkness appeared. The time stamp remained. Jonathan sped through the period of no input until the shop appeared again. Friederich placed the remote back on the bench. It was two thirty. He resumed work on the shock.

“It's like nothing happened,” Francine said.

“But something must have, something he didn't want anyone to see. That's a two-and-a-half-hour gap.”

Jonathan sped through until shortly before five, when Friederich wiped his hands on a shop towel and then went to the restroom. He returned with his coveralls in hand. He hung them up, then exited the building. The camera feed remained on. The top right panel showed Friederich as he got in the Corvette and drove away.

“I wonder how long he's had a remote?” Francine asked.

“We might be able to answer that by going back further, but we should wait until Larry gets home. I need to get hold of him, tell him what we've seen, and ask what he wants me to do.”

“Can we watch the rest of the video?”

“Sure.”

They settled back in, finishing their lunch while speeding through the video until Friederich reappeared the next day, Sunday. He got an earlier start, before nine o'clock. This time he had a brown sack with him. He worked on two of the other shocks. After a while, he reached for the sack, but then stopped himself. He reached for the remote and the screen went dark.

“Earlier, this time,” Francine said. “Nine thirty.”

“Let's see how long it lasts.”

Jonathan sped up the video until the feed resumed. “Wow. Much later. It's five in the afternoon.” He slowed the video to real time.

“Wait a minute. There's no one there.”

Together, they stared at the four panels. Friederich's Corvette was gone. No action on any screen except the one that showed the front lot. A few cars drove past, the light traffic one would expect at that time of day. “How did the cameras come back on?” she said.

“Let me zoom in on the workbench.”

Francine watched as he did that. They both searched but saw nothing other than Friederich's organized tools. “It's gone,” she said.

“Yep. Whoever unblocked the feed was out of camera range. And that person took the remote with them.”

“Jonathan, I'm thinking that there's a reason Larry's pool shed was chosen as the place to leave Friederich's body.”

“Because the person who did it knew he could be made to look suspicious?”

“Exactly. And while I hate to sound like Charlotte, if that's the case, the person responsible for Friederich's death may not be finished yet.”

The phone rang. Francine got up and looked at the caller ID. “Speak of the devil.” She answered the phone.

“You need to come over to Alice's house right away. There's a situation here,” Charlotte said.

“Is she having a breakdown?”

“She will if Joy gets her way. She came back from lunch with a reporter in tow.”

“I'll be over.”

nine

This time Francine drove
her Prius over to Alice's. The situation merited a quick response.
If I had a Transporter Room like on the old
Star Trek
series, Alice's house would be on my “frequently
beamed” list,
she thought. Alice opened the door before Francine had climbed the last step. Alice looked like she'd had time to pull herself together. She was dressed in black
Michael Kors slacks and a white crewneck top. Her ever-present silver cross necklace glittered against the white fabric
. “Thank heavens you're here.” She pulled Francine into the foyer, closed the door, and nudged her into the corner where they couldn't be seen from the living room. “I don't know what to do. Joy's hired a public relations consultant.”

“Consultant? Charlotte said it was a reporter.”

“You know how Charlotte only hears what she wants to hear sometimes.”

“I do. Why would Joy hire a PR consultant?”

“Exposure, fame? Who knows? None of us has been able to figure out her need for attention. She wants to use this dead body discovery, combined with our Sixty Lists, to get articles written about us. The consultant even asked me point-blank what was number one on my list.”

Francine grimaced. “I'm sorry. I know how protective you are about it.” Alice wouldn't tell any of them what her #1 was, not even her best friend Joy. And she wasn't sure how long Joy would continue to be a best friend if she kept up this nonsense.

“The PR consultant thinks we could hit national airwaves with our story.”

“Bet the lawyer doesn't like that.”

“I haven't told him yet.” Alice slipped her hand through the crook of Francine's bent arm. “I'm still hoping we can talk some sense into them.”

“With Charlotte involved, that may be difficult. Are they in the living room?”

Alice snorted. “That room's seen more company in the last twenty-four hours than it has in the last twenty-four years. Let's go.”

They stepped through the double French doors into the expansive living room.

“There you are,” Charlotte said. “I was just telling Marcy here that we've been involved in murder investigations before.”

The PR consultant crossed the room, shook Francine's hand, and thrust a business card toward her. “Marcy Rosenblatt. Nice to meet you.” She looked Francine up and down.

Like she's trying to decide where to filet me
. Since the woman was being rude, Francine assessed her as well. Despite being in her fifties, the woman wore her hair long and straight, down to her shoulders. It was pure black, obviously dyed, and she had bangs that started a good four inches north of her eyebrows and flopped down into her eyelashes. The woman desperately wanted to look young and vital,
desperate
being the operative word.

“I love the big glasses,” Marcy said. “Makes you look smart. I hear you're the sensible one in the group. Have a seat, let's talk.”

They all sat.

“Tea?” Alice asked.

“Please.”

Alice sailed out of the room and into the hall.

Marcy sat next to Joy and, like her, was perched on the couch so that her knees touched the coffee table.
Eager.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Francine. I already know you were the first one in the pool skinny-dipping.”

“I was just trying to put everyone at ease. I'm really not an exhibitionist.”

“Ha-ha,” said Marcy, faking a laugh. “It would be better, though, if you were.”

“Better for who?”

“For us. For the publicity,” said Joy. “We're trying to think of angles that Marcy can use to get TV shows interested in us.”

“I'm not sure this is a good idea. For one thing, it's a murder investigation.”

Marcy doodled with her smartphone. “I've already thought of the murder investigation angle. We're maxed out on that one. The
Hendricks County Flyer
, the
Indianapolis Star
, all the local stations. They've all signed on. They'll continue to follow the story until it's resolved. What I'm looking at is the Sixty List thing. I think we can hang the whole campaign on that and get national exposure. Skinny-dipping is fun! It makes a nice place to start. What else was the group planning to do? Or maybe we should look at what you've done in the past.”

Joy had a stack of three photo albums sitting in front of her on the coffee table. She picked up one of them. “Well,” she said, starting to flip through it.

Marcy's phone rang. “Hold that thought,” she said, looking at the phone number. “I've got New York on the phone.” She took the call. “This is Marcy. Yes, I represent the skinny-dipping grandmas.” She got up and paced. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.
The Today Show
is offering us Hoda and Kathie Lee on their last hour, but we view this as more newsworthy. We'd certainly prefer to work with
Good Morning America
. Can you give us an earlier time slot?”

At first Francine thought she was joking. But as Marcy continued to argue, she realized this might actually be happening.

“Can you be more specific? We'd love between eight thirty and nine. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No, you'll love them. They're very colorful. They went skinny-dipping, for heaven's sake, and the Convention & Visitors Bureau is trying to get them to do a nude calendar as a county fundraiser. They've still got more than fifty bucket list items each to finish.”

Francine stood up, shaking her head. “No, no calendar.”

Marcy shushed her. She indicated the cell and listened a bit more. “It's a deal. You'll have a producer from the local affiliate call? Great. We'll get it arranged. Thanks.”

Alice came in carrying a cup of tea. Marcy beamed at them. “It's a done deal. You're all going to be on
Good Morning America
tomorrow.”

Alice dropped the teacup. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered. Tea and ceramic shards spread everywhere. “
Good Morning America
?”

Francine rushed to clean up the mess because Alice was still staring at Marcy. She headed into the kitchen to get a sponge.

“Ohmigosh!” Joy said, a huge smile evident in her voice. “It's exciting, isn't it?”

Alice's voice pitched high. “No! No, it's not.”

Francine grabbed a handful of paper towels and rushed back into the living room. Marcy was tapping her right foot on the floor. Her arms were crossed. “Well, that kind of attitude is not going to get you any subsequent segments.”

Joy was delirious with enthusiasm. “Are you serious? It might be a series?”

“No promises. They want to see how tomorrow's segment goes. But they're considering it. Might make a great recurring story about how senior citizens live their lives, having no regrets.”

“I have regrets,” said Alice. “I regret letting you in the house. Joy, how could you do this?”

“But Alice, this is great exposure. Haven't you ever wanted to be on national television?”

“I don't think I've ever wanted that.”

Marcy patted Joy on the shoulder. “I'll leave you to straighten all this out. I've got to make arrangements. We can leverage this into even
more
publicity. I'm thinking we need to do the
GMA
broadcast out by the pool.” She turned to Alice. “Make sure you've got your cell phone with you the rest of the afternoon. I'll probably have to show a producer the remote location as soon as national gets this straightened out with the affiliate.” Then, to Joy, “Make sure everyone is here by seven tomorrow. I know it's early, but we'll have a lot to go over before we go on at eight thirty. I'll see myself out.”

And with that she was gone.

A moment of calm passed as though the women couldn't believe what had just happened. Then they went to work. Francine mopped up the liquid. Charlotte gingerly picked up pieces of the teacup. Joy helped Alice to a chair.

“Sit down,” Joy said. “It's going to be all right. Trust me.”

Alice was breathing hard. “I don't want to be famous. I don't want people to know my name. Right now, I just want the police to find out who did this horrible thing so that my life can go back to normal.”

Charlotte straightened her back while holding on to a couple of bigger shards she'd picked up. “You can't beat national attention for keeping the public interested in figuring out who did it. We'll probably get lots of tips that will lead us to the killer.”

Francine held a mass of wet paper towels in her hand. “You mean lead the
police
to the killer. The only thing we're likely to get with national exposure is more visits from Darla telling us it's a violation of our homeowners' agreement.” She headed out toward the kitchen, cupping one hand under the paper towel to keep it from dripping on the floor.

“You and Alice need a new outlook,” Charlotte said, following her.

The other rooms in Alice's house may have had kitschy themes, but the kitchen was modern all the way, with stainless-steel appliances, quartz countertops, and a big preparation island in the middle. Francine had no shortage of commercial-like trash cans to dump the soggy towel into. “No, you need to get a grip on what's happening here. This isn't a book you're reading. This is a real murder investigation.”

Charlotte moved carefully across the hardwood floor without her cane. “Someone knows something. Media attention will encourage that person to talk.” She dropped the broken teacup pieces into the same trash container.

“It's more likely to bring out the cranks. The police will probably get plenty of false leads from people who believe in conspiracy theories rather than real leads. If anything, it'll slow them down.”

“If that happens, it'll be all the more important for us to solve the crime.”

“If that happens, it'll be all the more important for us to support Alice. It's possible someone is trying to frame her husband.”

“What are you saying, Francine?”

“I can't tell you what I know, so don't ask that. But Jonathan says Larry could be made to look suspicious. Maybe even more than he looks now. If that happens, it will be hard on Alice. She'll need us.”

Charlotte grinned triumphantly. “What she'll need is for us to solve the crime! It's the only way to protect her and Larry. I've got some ideas on how to gather background information too. Let's go back out and talk with the others.”

“We are
not
getting involved, other than to support Alice.”

“If you're not going to help, Francine, I'll just go around you.”

The two women faced each other. Charlotte had a bull-like expression on her face. Francine thought her curly silver wig looked like smoke that had risen out of her nostrils and gathered above her head. “Okay, but we can't let her know what we're going to do. She stays in the dark.”

“The first thing we'll do is hold a meeting of the Bridge Club tonight.”

“Without Alice,” Francine insisted.

“Yes, without Alice. Mary Ruth ought to be available this evening. What are we going to do about the
Good Morning America
interview tomorrow?”

“I'm hoping it won't come off.”

Charlotte disagreed. “We either do it voluntarily or they'll show up and ambush Alice. Joy's publicist may have hooked them with the bucket list angle, but trust me, it's the murder that's reeled them in.”

“I'm confident Larry's lawyer will have something to say about this.”

“Let's just focus on the Bridge Club meeting tonight. We'll have it at my house, say eight o'clock. You persuade Mary Ruth to come, and I'll work on Joy.”

Francine grabbed another wad of paper towel as they left the kitchen. When they got back to the living room, Alice was sitting on the couch, her elbows propped on her knees, her head in her hands. Joy was gone.

Francine put an arm around her. “Are you all right?”

She didn't remove her head from her hands but made a nodding motion.

Charlotte looked around. “Where's Joy?”

Alice pulled out of her stupor. “I told her it was okay.”

“To do the
Good Morning America
interview?”

“It's so important to her. And she's my friend. I couldn't say no. But I told her I won't appear on camera, and they have to stick to the bucket list angle. That's the only way we'll get it past the lawyer anyway. She's gone to talk to the publicist about it.”

“Have you even talked to the lawyer?” Francine asked.

“I'm going to call him after I get his name and number from Larry.”

“Do you need us to stay?”

“No, thank you. Really, I just need to be alone.”

“You've made a good decision to let
Good Morning America
come,” Charlotte said. “It'll help us—I mean, the police—figure out who did it.”

Francine glared at her. “We'll be leaving then.” She stood up and put a hand on Charlotte's back. “Won't we?”

“If you say so.”

“Call me if you need me,” Francine told Alice.

“Or me,” added Charlotte.

Alice leaned back into the couch and put her forearm across her forehead. “I will,” she said, but Francine thought it did not sound sincere.

“I hope you don't come to regret what you said,” Francine said, when she finally got Charlotte out of the house.