Ornaments of Death (35 page)

The door to the room opened. Detective Brownley, Becca, and Max walked in. Detective Brownley said something and left, pulling the door shut behind her.

Max was tall and thin and always wore a bow tie. He held Becca's chair, smiling reassuringly at her. She sat with her back to the prisoner-ready cage. That was the same chair I had selected the first time I'd been interviewed by the police.

Max extracted a yellow legal pad from his briefcase and squared it up to the table edge.

Becca said something, but the audio feed wasn't on, so we couldn't hear it. Max nodded.

Ellis spun a dial, and a faint whirr sounded. He raised his smart phone. “If I get the phrasing wrong when I ask about the paintings or if I miss anything, text me.”

“Okay,” I said, and sat down.

Two minutes later, it began. I listened in as Ellis reviewed the logistics, turned on the two video recorders mounted near the ceiling in opposite corners of the room, got Becca to sign a form indicating she understood her rights, and asked if she had any questions. She didn't.

“Thanks for coming in,” Ellis said. “I'd like to start with this: Why were you on Cable Road the day Thomas Lewis was killed?”

“I was hoping to finish it. Thomas called me and said Cheryl and he had agreed to a settlement that would cost me nothing, but that because we were still married, I had to sign off on it.”

“On Cable Road?” Ellis asked, allowing his skepticism to show.

“Are you asking if that's where they arranged to meet?” Max asked.

“Yes.”

Max nodded at Becca.

“Yes.”

“Why not a lawyer's office?”

“If I'd thought of it at all,” Becca said, her voice strong and confident, “I would have assumed they worked the deal out on their own. Lawyers cost money.”

“What happened once you got there?”

“Thomas lied, as usual. The settlement they worked out was that I would sell the miniatures and give Thomas half the proceeds. He would pay Cheryl out of his half.” She shook her head, her disgust evident. “Since Thomas felt entitled to the money, he positioned it as good news. I told him to forget it. Thomas told me that I had no choice, that since we were still married, the inheritance from my dad was fifty percent his. I told him I would fight him to the highest court. Then Thomas called Cheryl and said I was refusing to hold up my end of the bargain. I wanted her to hear me, so I yelled that I hadn't made a bargain, that there was nothing to uphold. I was worn to a nub at being the heavy in all this. When Thomas rang off from Cheryl, he told me she wouldn't give up—ever—that she was determined to get whole, and if she didn't she was determined to get even. If I wanted them out of my life, I should consider this a fair offer, get it done, and move on. I told him never to contact me again and ran away.”

Ellis tap-tapped his pen against the wooden table for a moment, then placed it crosswise on top of his notebook. “Have you been in touch with the Christmas Common police?”

“Not since shortly after my dad died. Why?”

“I have news that's going to be hard to hear.”

Becca glanced at Max.

“Go ahead,” Max said.

“The medical examiner, the coroner, has ruled your father's death a homicide.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. Max gripped her shoulder and gave a little squeeze.

“I'm sorry,” Ellis said.

“It was Thomas, wasn't it?” she asked, tears beginning to well in her eyes and spill onto her cheeks.

“Yes.”

“Why? My God. My father was nothing but good to Thomas.”

“We think he did it so he could share in your father's fortune.”

She angrily wiped the wetness from her face. “How could he?”

Ellis slid a box of Kleenex from one end of the table toward Becca. “Greed is a strong motivator,” he said.

“Rapaciousness, not greed,” Becca said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He plundered my world like a pirate. Damn him. Damn him.”

“I know you were concerned that Thomas's heirs would come after you for money,” Max said. “Now you can rest easy. A person can't benefit from a crime.”

“That won't stop them from trying.”

“But it will stop them from succeeding,” Max said.

“I loathe him,” she said, her voice a thin whisper. “I will hate him until the day I die. If he were alive, I'd kill him.”

“Hyperbole,” Max told Ellis. “She's not confessing.”

“Of course I'm not confessing! I didn't kill him.” She pounded the table. “I never would have done so, no matter how angry I got.”

I texted:
Does she know Marney Alred?

Ellis's phone vibrated. He read my message. “Have you ever heard of a woman named Marney Alred?”

“What?” Becca said, struggling to shift gears. “Who?”

“Marney Alred.”

“No. I don't think so. What was the name again?”

“I'd like to let my client have some time to assimilate this shocking revelation,” Max said. “Surely this can wait.”

“Just a few more questions, assuming that Becca will be available at a later date to give a full statement.”

“Certainly,” Max said.

Becca pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her eyes.

“Marney Alred.”

Becca clutched the tissue. “No. I've never heard the name.”

“Tell me about your relationship with Cheryl Morrishein.”

“I have none.”

“Was she there on Cable Road?”

“No.”

“When's the last time you saw her?”

She leaned in and whispered into Max's ear. He whispered back and nodded.

“I haven't seen her in years,” Becca said, “but I spoke to her an hour after I left Cable Road. She called me. She told me she was tired of being lied to, and that I shouldn't doubt for a minute she'd get the money she was owed. It scared me.”

“What did you say?” Ellis asked.

“Nothing. I hung up on her.”

“All right then,” Ellis said, standing up. “That's it for now. Thank you again for your cooperation.” He turned to Max. “If we could get a formal statement in the next few days.”

“I'll call you,” Max said.

Ellis walked them out. A minute later, Officer Meade opened the door to the observation room.

“Chief Hunter had to take a phone call,” she said to me. “He's asked that you wait for him in the lobby.”

I followed her out and took my same place on the hard wooden bench. Becca and Max stood huddled together by the bulletin board, talking.

Ethan walked in, and a blustery gust of wintery air blew in behind him. He saw me and smiled, then spotted Becca and smiled even more broadly.

“Becca!” he called. “You're here! You're safe!”

Becca looked up as soon as she heard her name, and her features froze for an instant. “Ethan.”

He walked quickly toward her, his arms open.

“This is my lawyer, Max Bixby,” she told him. “Ethan Ferguson, my roommate and my colleague.”

He dropped his arms, smoothly changing motions from a hug to a shake.

Max greeted him with his usual pleasant manner.

“I understand you've been looking after my clams,” Becca said.

“They're fine. Your data is looking good.”

“Thank you. We need to talk about the grant.”

“Nothing to talk about. I'll call the foundation as soon as they spring me loose and tell them the good news, that you're back.”

“What about your work?”

He grinned with unabashed delight. “They asked me to submit my own proposal. I just got word—it's been green-lighted.”

For the first time since she saw him walk in, Becca smiled warmly. “Oh, Ethan. That's fantastic news! Congratulations.”

“If they didn't love you so much, it never would have happened.”

She patted his arm. “We'll talk later. Right now, I need to finish up a conversation with Max.”

“Sure, sure. Just tell me, can I do something to help?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

Ethan gave her a final dashing grin and joined me on the bench.

“How you doing?” he asked.

“I'm okay. A lot going on. You seem to be in good spirits.”

“Always.” He looked around, pausing when he got to Cathy. “Guess I better check in with the dragon at the gate.”

Ethan got up and approached the counter. Cathy stood up to talk to him. They chatted for a few seconds.

He strolled back and sat down next to me. “Do they have new information? Is that why we're all here?”

“Everyone and his brother is being interviewed again,” I said.

“I can't imagine what they want with me.”

“Probably to talk to you about your alibi.”

“The one they busted open?” he asked, his eyes dancing. He lowered his voice and added a Teutonic cadence. “Why did it take you ninety minutes to make a twenty-minute trip?” He resumed his natural voice. “You want the truth?” He leaned in toward my ear and whispered, “I got talking to Nate.”

“The lobster fellow who reads about horseshoe crabs for pleasure.”

“Ah! I see you've met him.”

“That's it?”

“Why?” Ethan asked, amused. “What did you expect?”

“Nothing in particular. I guess I thought it would be more complicated than that.”

“I'm a simple man.”

“Simple, huh? I think you're a pretty cool customer, if the truth be told.”

“That's me. Mr. Cool.”

A police officer whose name I didn't know appeared from behind the counter and said, “Mr. Ferguson? This way, please.”

Ethan got up and, with happy-go-lucky waves for me and Becca, disappeared down the corridor that led to Rooms One and Two.

Max and Becca approached me, and I stood up.

“I'm off now,” Max told me. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will,” I said. “Thank you, Max.”

Max turned toward Becca. “You, too.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed in red.

We watched Max leave.

“I need to hang here for a while longer,” I said. “I can give you a key, though, and the alarm code, if you want to go home.”

“Thank you ever so much, Josie. I truly appreciate all you've done for me. Max tells me I'm free to be myself again, to use my credit cards and so on.” She sniffled, holding back tears. “I think I need to be alone for a while. I hope you're not offended, but I'm going to go to a hotel.”

“I'm not offended at all—are you sure, though? I wouldn't pester you. You'd have your own room.”

“Thank you. I'm quite certain.”

“Where will you stay?”

“The Austin Arms. Do you know it? I went to a lunch meeting there once. It's quite posh.” She smiled. “I'm tired of roughing it. I need a few days of luxury.”

“If you change your mind, don't hesitate to call.”

“Thank you.”

She leaned in for an awkward hug, tugged on her gloves, zipped up her coat, pulled a watch-cap-style hat over her hair, and pushed her way out.

I sat back down and checked e-mail again. Nothing urgent had come in. I sat and thought and thought and no brilliant ideas came to me. Some of the brush was cleared away, but not enough that I could see my way.

I called work to check in. Gretchen answered and immediately started giggling.

“I put out Hank's presents today,” she said. “I Bubble-Wrapped his new catnip mouse so that he wouldn't know what it was, and guess what?”

“He knew what it was.”

Her laughter grew louder. Her joy was contagious.

“The naughty boy! He didn't merely know what it was. He clawed his way through the wrapping paper
and
the Bubble Wrap, shook that little mouse silly, trotted up the stairs, and hid it under one of the wing chair cushions. I know because I spied on him.”

“That's like a dog hiding a favorite bone!”

“Hank doesn't know he's a cat,” she said.

“You know Maine Coons! We've always known they fetch. Now we know they stockpile. What else did you get him?”

“You're going to have to wait until after … well, you know … just like Hank is, aren't you, you bad boy?”

“Until after our luncheon?”

“Exactly.”

“That will be fun! Is Hank there? Put the phone to his ear.”

“Okay.” Her voice grew fainter. “Hank … here's Josie…”

“Hi, Hank. It's me. I hear you've been a bad boy, but between you and me and the gatepost, I don't believe it. Not my little Hank. You're a good boy, aren't you, sweetheart? I miss you, baby. I'll see you soon, all right, darling? I love you, Hank.”

He mewed. Gretchen came back on the line.

“His ear twitched,” she said. “He was really listening.”

“Good. So is anything else going on I should know about?”

“Nothing urgent. Wes called. No message, just a request to call him back as soon as you can. And a man named Mitchell Glascowl called.”

“Mitchie Rich! What did he want?”

“Cara took the message. She wrote that ‘he has another one.' Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, indeed. Let me have the number.”

As I pressed the
END CALL
button, a wave of gratitude and appreciation washed over me. A mark of achievement, perhaps, was having people in your life who helped raise your spirits, people you could trust.

I called Mitchie Rich.

“Josie Q!” Mitchie Rich said with warm familiarity. “How you doing up there in Yankee town?”

“Good, good. ‘Josie Q'? What's with the
Q
?”

“Like Susie Q. I just can't get over a nice gal like you missing a name.”

“You're too funny, Mitchie Rich. I'll tell you something not many folks know. I have a middle name but I don't use it. No reason. I like it. It just is a little cumbersome. But I'll let you use it. Kay.
K-A-Y.
My full name is Josie Kay Prescott. So how about you call me Josie Kay?”