Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade (29 page)
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Authors: Jessica Fletcher,Donald Bain
BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade
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“You’ve been telling me one lie after another since you arrived,” I said. “Either you enjoy spinning yarns, in which case I will start to doubt the impression I formed of you two years ago, or you’re up to something and don’t want me to know about it.”
Rick laughed. “What have I lied about?”
“The Red Sox, for one.”
“You don’t believe I’m a Red Sox fan? I’ve been following them ever since I got a Ted Williams glove for my seventh birthday.”
“You may indeed be a fan of the Sox, but you didn’t stop in Boston to watch a game before arriving in Cabot Cove in time for Independence Day. They were on a ten-day road trip when you claim to have seen them in Fenway Park.”
The smile on Rick’s face became an ironic one. “I was hoping you hadn’t checked their schedule.”
“I didn’t. News of their road trip was all over the radio and television. Maine doesn’t have its own major-league baseball team. Everyone here follows the Red Sox.”
“Is that all? All right, I didn’t go to the stadium. I was eager to come up here. What’s the big deal? I’m branded a liar for that?”
“When we were walking on the shore after the fireworks and Amos told us about his trip to Africa, you acted as if you’d never been there. In fact, you told us you’d love to see it one day.”
“So?” His smile had now disappeared.
“Your passport was in the same sneaker as your wallet.”
“And you looked at it?”
“I did. You visited Sierra Leone last year. That’s in Africa. And three weeks ago you were in Zimbabwe, where you must have contracted an apparently difficult case of malaria.”
“You’re a hard lady to fool.”
“Why would you want to?”
He leaned back against the pillow and sighed.
“You’re not retired from the bureau, are you?” I asked.
His head came up. “Now why do you say that?”
“I think you’re still working for Uncle Sam. You showed the police your FBI ID and you’ve obviously kept up with your martial arts skills; otherwise I doubt you’d have been able to attack and disarm that mugger so efficiently the night you saved Seth from further harm. I think you’re working on a case in Cabot Cove, and unless I miss my guess, I’d say it has to do with Lennon-Diversified.”
“Sheesh, Jessica. Would you consider coming to work for the bureau? We could use more investigators with your powers of logic.”
“Compliments won’t get you out of this, Rick.”
“You’re only partially right. I am officially retired from the bureau. Put in my twenty years, qualified for the gold watch, if the national budget would ever supply them. But the bureau does hire back its retirees as independent contractors, especially if they’ve been working on a case for an extended time. No sense in putting another agent through a steep learning curve if it isn’t necessary.”
“And you’ve been investigating Lennon-Diversified for a long time?”
“If I reveal a government secret to you, you have to promise you won’t share it with anyone—not with Seth, not with Amos, not even with Mort.”
“I won’t make that promise if it’s going to hinder a murder investigation. Mort needs to be informed if a different governmental organization is asserting jurisdiction, especially if it’s impeding work on his case. There’s a man being kept in jail as we speak, who very well may be innocent.
Is
innocent, in my view.”
Is
innocent, in my view.”
“I can’t speak for Carlisle’s guilt or innocence.”
“Can’t you? I didn’t see the T-shirt you bought from Chester when I was looking for your wallet. It wasn’t among your clothes.”
“It’s in my car. Boy, you really went through my things, didn’t you?”
“You might still be in the emergency room hallway if I hadn’t.”
“You’re right. I apologize. I know you’re upset, but I really can’t discuss this with you. It’s an official matter.”
“Out of curiosity, where is the gun that goes with the ammunition clip I found in your other sneaker?”
I watched as color flooded Rick’s face. “It was stolen from my room.”
“Does Jill Thomas know?”
“God, no. I would never tell her I left a gun in the room. She would freak out.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
He shook his head. “Look, Jessica, I can’t think of anything more humiliating than an FBI agent’s being relieved of his weapon. It should have been on my person, but with the hot weather, there was nowhere to conceal it. Besides, I figured no one would break into my room in Cabot Cove, of all places in the world.”
“Are we going to discover that the gun used to kill Joseph Lennon and found in Chester Carlisle’s car is FBI issue?”
Rick crossed his arms. “Before you accuse me, did you check to see if the gun they found in Carlisle’s car is registered to him?”
“Are you trying to buy some time?”
“It’s a legitimate question.”
“No, it’s not. Maine doesn’t require gun registration, and as an FBI agent working in the state, I assume you know that. So I’ll ask again. Was your gun used to kill Lennon?”
Rick threw his head back on the pillow. “I hope not, but it’s possible.”
“If it’s the same gun, will the police be able to trace it to you?”
“No way. It’s not registered, and there are no identifying marks on it.”
“When was your gun stolen?”
“You mean when did I realize my gun had been stolen? The night of the murder, when I returned to Blueberry Hill from your house and checked to see if it was where I’d hidden it. That’s when I discovered it missing.”
“Yet you never reported the theft to Mort?”
“I had a feeling it might have been used in the murder, and I didn’t want to claim it just yet.”
“Could that be because you killed Lennon yourself and tossed the murder weapon into the back of Chester’s car?”
“I know it may look that way to you right now, Jessica, but I swear that’s not the case. And as soon as I get out of here, I’ll go talk to Mort and tell him about the gun.”
“How long are you going to be in the hospital?”
“Seth didn’t say, but let
me
talk to your sheriff. It should come from me.”
me
talk to your sheriff. It should come from me.”
“Am I supposed to hold on to information about crucial evidence in this case until you feel you’re well enough to walk out of here? How do I know you won’t skip town and leave Chester languishing in jail?”
“Look. I’ll call up the sheriff and see if I can get him to release the old man, or at least get him to let Carlisle out on bail. I offered before to work with Mort’s office on this case, and I swear I’ll help him find the real killer.”
“I’ll give you time to talk with the sheriff,” I said. “But if you don’t tell Mort your gun is missing, I will.”
“What’s this all about?” Seth stood in the doorway looking from Rick’s face to mine. “Are you upsetting my patient, Jessica?”
“I think the upset is mutual,” I said, standing.
“Well, visiting time is over for today. This man needs his rest if he’s to get better.”
“Then I’ll leave him in your competent care,” I said.
Rick looked at me imploringly. “I didn’t do it, Jessica. Do you believe me?”
“I hope that’s the truth, Rick,” I said. “But I don’t know that I’m ready to believe anything you say.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Jessica? It’s Jed Richardson. The Cessnas are back in service, and since I have some time, I thought I’d give you a call and see if you want to go up for an hour or two today.”
I took the phone to the window and looked out at a beautiful blue sky. “You know, Jed, I think that’s a wonderful idea. I need to keep my skills sharp. I’ll see you in about an hour.” Smiling, I hung up the phone.
Yesterday had been a long and difficult day. While my visit to Mrs. Lennon had been informative, my confrontation with Rick Allcott had been just the opposite. I’d left the hospital feeling guilty that I’d harassed a sick man and frustrated that I hadn’t been able to get answers from him. One thing was clear: The FBI was here in Cabot Cove on official business. Rick wouldn’t admit it, but I was convinced it had to do with Lennon-Diversified. At one time the company had been the target of a fraud investigation by the Food and Drug Administration. Those charges had never stuck. Had the FBI sent Allcott to Cabot Cove to follow up? He had visited Zimbabwe around the same time the Lennons had been there. It couldn’t be a coincidence. If Rick’s gun had been used to kill Joseph Lennon—something I couldn’t prove yet—who had fired the fatal shot? Rick? He’d been at the fireworks, but I had no idea with whom he’d met up or whether he’d left at any time and wandered off behind the building to confront Lennon.
Unless someone had seen him.
But the hundreds of people there all had their eyes trained on the brilliant displays. The loud pop of a 10 mm gun would never have been heard above the explosions in the sky. And if Rick’s gun truly had been stolen, who could have taken it? Who had access to his room other than Jill Thomas and her maid? Dante had visited the inn to arrange for rooms for the company’s visitors—or so he told Jill. According to my friend MaryJane, who worked at Lennon-Diversified, the company rarely had visitors. If Dante went to the inn to break into Rick’s room, did that mean he knew who Rick was and why he was here?
Had Mrs. Lennon really gone straight from the airport to her lavish home, skipping the fireworks show altogether? She was now in charge of Lennon-Diversified. Had that been her goal all along? Had she believed her husband was cheating on her, perhaps with Cynthia Welch? She’d hinted that he had an eye for a pretty woman, and she was determined that her son would head up the company. While Cynthia Welch may have underestimated Denise Lennon, I certainly did not.
Or had Cynthia Welch tried an end run around both Lennons to ensure her place running Lennon-Diversified? Without his mother’s support, Paul was no match for Ms. Welch’s forceful personality. But then again, Paul had been badly treated by his father. Was Joseph Lennon’s death merely the revenge of an abused child? Could Paul’s sister, Josie, also have a motive? It didn’t seem logical that she would kill the parent who supported her stage career, but murder is rarely logical.
And where did that purveyor of a closetful of pills, Dr. Warren Boyle, stand now that his benefactor was gone? Would he gain or lose by Joseph Lennon’s death?
I’d gone home that night with my head ringing with questions but without any answers. I’d left a message at the sheriff’s office for Mort, but I hadn’t mentioned Rick’s gun. Instead, I asked him to call Rick at the hospital and told him that Allcott had something he needed to discuss with him. I would give Rick a chance to come clean with Mort, and I hoped he’d do it.
A hot bath, a cup of tea, and a light dinner had done little to calm my mood, and I’d slept fitfully. But by morning I was feeling better. The prospect of going up in the air sounded delightful. Being at the controls of a plane heightens your senses, making you aware not only of the beauty of the landscape below but also of the infinite sky above and your small place in this universe. Perhaps alone, with only the buzz of the engine to intrude on my thoughts, I could unravel this twisted knot. And if I couldn’t, at least I would have nurtured my spiritual side and achieved the practical goal of keeping up on my flying skills.
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