She hadn’t agreed to Mary Pat’s plea for help. She’d wanted to, but Paul’s words rang in her ears. “I’m on your team. Don’t forget it.”
And yet, she had committed—emotionally, at least.
When she arrived home, an older model Dodge sedan occupied her usual spot in front of the house. She parked across the street and, curious, opened the house’s front door. Sitting in the living room were Paul and Gene—and Foster Crisp.
“Foster, what are you doing here?” She dropped her purse on the table by the door and settled next to Paul on the couch. Gemma’s tailed thumped hello on the carpet. The bags of clothing in her car from the Stroden house could wait a few minutes.
“I needed to see Gene before deciding to take on your case for certain.”
“Wanted to make sure I was really going straight,” Gene said.
Joanna had to hand it to him. Some ex-cons when confronted with the policeman who’d put them away years ago might break a sweat. Gene’s expression was as crisp as the part in his Brylcreamed hair.
“What did you decide?” The day’s drama was not over yet. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. Paul put his arm around her and looked ready to say something, but closed his mouth again. She put her hand in his.
“I had to know he wanted my help as much as you did, Joanna,” Crisp said. “I’m convinced. So far, at least.”
“What’s wrong?” Paul whispered.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Crisp and Gene watched her. Crisp said, “You weren’t at the Stroden home today, were you?”
“How did you know?”
“I keep up with police radio. I heard there was another murder up there.”
“A what?” Gene said just as Paul swiveled to look at her.
“It’s true.” Joanna massaged her temples, her fingers trembling. She tucked her hands under her legs.
“You went up there again?” Paul asked.
“It wasn’t anything dangerous,” she said quickly. “At least, it wasn’t supposed to be. Luke, Stroden’s secretary, called and asked if I still wanted to buy Stroden’s clothes. I closed up the shop and met him.” She looked at Paul. “I left you a note. At least, I intended to.”
Crisp watched them talk. His gaze left an almost physical imprint. “Luke, huh?” he said. “The possible blackmailer?”
“Blackmail? Start at the beginning,” Paul said.
“Hold on. I’ll be back in a sec.” Gene left the room, his footsteps sounding on the basement stairs. He reappeared with a bottle of Four Roses bourbon and three highball glasses. “I thought we could use a drink.”
“I could,” Joanna said. “Don’t bother with ice.”
Crisp accepted a glass, but he kept his eyes on Joanna.
“I saw Luke,” Joanna said, “agreed to buy the clothes, and loaded everything into Old Blue. When I went back to get a receipt, he was dead.”
“Cyanide again?” Crisp asked.
“He didn’t eat anything. Nothing I saw, anyway,” Joanna said. “But there was a half-drunk cup of coffee next to him.”
“You didn’t have the chance to talk to him about anything else?”
“Not for lack of trying.”
“Talk to him about what?” Paul asked.
“Just a second, Paul.” Then, to Crisp, “I saw the memoir, and a few passages were bookmarked. Plus, Stroden’s sister is sure Luke was blackmailing people in Stroden’s name.”
“Hold on.” Paul pulled his arm from behind her and stood. “What are you talking about?”
“It gets worse,” Joanna said. “Mary Pat Stroden got a note warning her to ‘back off’ or she’d be next.”
Crisp examined his whiskey glass as if it were a crystal ball. “You don’t say. A note?”
“Should we be keeping you?” Joanna asked Crisp. “What’s your hourly rate, anyway? I’m not sure we should be chewing up time like this.”
“Stop!” Paul’s voice was loud enough that Gemma crossed the room and plopped down next to Gene. “Will somebody tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes,” Joanna said. “Sit down. There’s no reason to raise your voice. I was going to, but I didn’t expect Crisp would be here, and—”
“Never mind all that. What’s this about blackmailing and murder?”
“Let me try, Joanna.” Crisp leaned forward and set his tumbler on the coffee table. “When Joanna came to see me about Gene and the Greffulhe jewels, we talked for a few minutes about Stroden’s murder. She wanted to know what the homicide team would be doing to follow up.” He shot her a glance. “Her interest seemed natural, given that she was there when he died and given her past involvement in murder cases.”
“I told you about it,” she said.
“Conversation naturally drifted to motive and the idea that Stroden might have been using his memoir as a vehicle for blackmail.”
“And that’s what got him K.O.ed,” Gene finished. “I can see it.”
“His sister Mary Pat and secretary Luke also had access to the memoir,” Joanna said. Paul had settled again on the couch. “I admit, I did question Luke in a roundabout way. I wanted to know if there was anything in the memoir worth money to anyone. He didn’t take my questioning very well.”
“Explain,” Crisp said.
“He said if I didn’t back off, he’d tell Detective Roscoe I murdered Stroden.”
“What?” Paul let his hands fall hard on the couch cushions.
Joanna ignored it. “I glanced at the memoir, too.”
“Really?” Crisp said. “When did you manage that?”
“While I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive. By chance, I saw it in a drawer.”
“This has to stop,” Paul said. “I know you’re curious, but two people are dead already. It isn’t worth the risk.”
“I saw just a few paragraphs—”
“It’s not just the memoir, Jo. Paul has a good point,” Crisp said. “I’ll put my antennae up for what’s happening at the police bureau, and I’ll keep you up to date. But you need to step back.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she replied. Crisp sat, glass in hand, watching her with his usual inscrutable expression. Gene, one hand scratching Gemma’s head, was probably happy to find someone else on the receiving end of Crisp’s attention for a change. Paul sat stiffly beside her. She wasn’t finished. Not yet. There had to be a way out of this.
And then it occurred to her. Maybe there was. She’d heard of ideas crystallizing out of the ether, but she’d never experienced it, until now. She sat straighter. Her idea—it just might work.
“I have two things to tell you,” she said. “I’d like you to listen to both of them before you say anything. Agreed?”
“Fine with me,” Gene said.
Crisp nodded.
When it became clear that Paul wasn’t going to respond, she continued. “When I was at the Stroden mansion today, Mary Pat—Bradley Stroden’s sister—said she’s sure Luke was using information from the memoir to blackmail people, only he was making it look like Bradley was the culprit. As I said, yesterday she received a note she interprets as warning her not to divulge anything in the memoir, or she’d be killed.” Joanna tipped her glass toward Crisp. “Naturally, the same went if she talked to the police about it. She asked me to help her figure out who the murderer is.”
“No,” Paul said. “Crisp, you tell her. This is crazy.”
“Wait,” Joanna said. “You promised to listen.”
Paul reluctantly settled back. “Okay.”
“So, what about this? How about I talk to Mary Pat about making a public statement? She could invite reporters to the Stroden mansion—you know she’ll get a full house—and announce that she didn’t feel it was appropriate to publish the memoir. Then, in front of everyone, she could toss the memoir into the fire. That would send a public message that there will be no more memoir and no more blackmail.”
“Kind of hot for a fire these days,” Gene said.
“Or the shredder. Whatever.”
“It will be the real memoir,” Crisp said.
“Yes. Naturally. The police have a digital copy.” Joanna sipped her bourbon. This might actually work, as long as Mary Pat agreed. And why wouldn’t she? She’d be removing herself from risk.
“Why do you need to be involved?” Paul asked. “Mary Pat could do this by herself.”
Joanna set down her tumbler and raised a finger. “That was the first part. This is the second.”
Next to her, she felt Paul’s chest rise and fall as he expelled a long breath. “All right.”
“Maybe we can use the press conference to solve Gene’s situation, too.”
Crisp set his now-empty glass on the table, and Gene splashed a bit more inside. “I’d like to hear this.”
“Then listen up.”