Our planning committee turned into a coffee klatch with four adults, four dogs and one highly agitated feline. Pruett captivated Sheila right away by focusing his considerable charm squarely upon her. He even feigned enthusiasm for Cecil although he kept a safe distance from the Ridgeback pup.
“Beautiful animal,” he said. “My daughter is dog-crazy, so we’ve studied every breed. She feels the same way about horses. Takes lessons every week.”
Sheila launched into a soliloquy about animal companionship and the therapy provided by horses. “They’re not the right choice for everyone,” she said. “Rather a lot for novices to handle but worth it.”
Babette heaved an enormous sigh. “We all need love.”
I leapt to my feet and played hostess in order to stave off another bout of melancholia by my friend. “Why don’t we start by sharing information? That way we’ll all be on the same page.” I gave Pruett a hard stare. “Needless to say, this is all off the record.”
Babette gave an exhaustive and somewhat exhausting account of her interview with Bascomb. Although she didn’t mention it per se, her infatuation with the police chief was obvious—flushed cheeks and head tosses gave her away every time.
“No kidding,” Sheila said. “I always pegged him as the village idiot. You know, Inspector Clouseau without the Gallic charm.”
“Certainly not!” Babette bristled. “Titus zeroed in on the fact that I was the likely target instead of Ethel. He asked me all about my will and those nasty emails too.” She curled her lip. “Believe me, he took old Jakes very seriously as a suspect, especially since the creep is a big phony too. Doesn’t even own a gun!”
Pruett’s eyes met mine and he nodded. I told my tale about our horse show exploits, focusing on Jakes and his angry outbursts.
Sheila leaned forward with her elbows planted firmly on her knees. “Wow! So that guy is a misogynist and a creep! Quite a combo. Too bad he’s an animal lover. Normally that’s such a good sign.”
“Admittedly the guy’s a loser but unless we find a link to Ethel, it doesn’t mean anything.” Pruett described our undercover operation at Hamilton Arms, clearly and concisely, omitting his encounter with the amorous Jacqui.
Once again, Sheila’s mouth flew open. “Ethel a thief? Mousey little Ethel McCall who faded into the woodwork? I don’t believe it.”
“It kind of makes sense,” said Pruett. “Ethel was the invisible woman, there but never noticed. An amiable drudge. Maybe she used it to her advantage. How many embezzlers are quiet, industrious ladies who nobody suspects—until it’s too late?”
“She never took a penny from me,” Babette said. Emotion mottled her normally flawless skin as she leapt to her feet and began pacing. “Those broads are a bunch of gossips. I told Perri that and it’s true.”
I stroked Poe’s back and zoned out as they debated the pros and cons of the issue. Suddenly something new occurred to me—something that might explain the Ethel enigma.
“Maybe Babette’s right,” I said. “Maybe you’re all right. What if Ethel wasn’t a thief? Sheila said she blended into the woodwork. Remember? Someone like that hears everything because people forget that she’s there. What if Ethel heard incriminating information and acted on it?”
Pruett shot a snarky grin my way. “Of course! Blackmail! That’s perfect. Check out her bank balance and safety deposit box. She had to stash it somewhere.”
“Maybe it wasn’t about money,” Sheila said. “Some people like power over others. Nothing is more powerful than holding secrets.”
As the executrix of Ethel’s estate, Babette had access to all her records if she chose to study them. Unfortunately, loyalty had clouded my friend’s normally incisive mind. She refused to even consider anything that implicated Ethel.
I poured each of them another espresso and gingerly suggested another approach. At first there was only a deafening silence. They were a tough trio to read: Sheila, wide-eyed and excited; Babette, tense and unresponsive; Pruett, totally inscrutable.
“Think about it,” I said. “We’ve got dual tracks here. Either Babette was the intended victim, or Ethel was. Each possibility leads to entirely different motives and suspects. I say we divide up and explore each one independently of the other.”
Instead of the explosive reaction I’d anticipated, the room became tomb silent. It was uncomfortable and somewhat insulting, but I waited patiently for their verdict.
“I’m in,” Pruett said. “Perri and I make a pretty good team so let’s stick with that.”
Babette shot me a sly look of triumph before grudgingly agreeing to do her part. “Okay. But I refuse to investigate my own possible murder. Sheila and I can rifle through Ethel’s life for all the good it’ll do.”
“One of Ellis’s companies has an internal security branch,” said Sheila. “I’ll put them on Ethel’s past. Unless you can pry the info out of Bascomb.” I visualized Sheila wearing a deerstalker cap and brandishing a magnifying glass. Not a great visual but close enough. “There’s one other possibility,” she said. “Maybe it was a random attack. You know, an intruder. What if Ethel was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Pruett had the solution to that approach. He offered to check the police logs for reports of burglaries or robberies in the Great Marsh area within the past six months. It was a good idea although I suspected that some minion—probably female—would do the legwork for him. There was also a simpler way to get the data. If Bascomb was half the wizard Babette claimed he was, he would have already scanned the files for the same information.
The next hour was a productive one as we sketched out a plan of action. Pruett and I agreed to tackle the irascible Jakes again at the first opportunity. I fired up my computer and checked the registrants for the weekend show in Leesburg. One name immediately caught my eye—Cleopatra was competing with Jakes astride her. I hadn’t rented a stall for that day, but another vendor had agreed to sell some of my products, so no one would be surprised if I were to turn up.
“I’ll swing by the show this Saturday,” I said. “Jakes is registered in the hunter class that afternoon.”
Pruett curled his lip before I had even finished the sentence. “Hold on. Is that your definition of teamwork, Perri? I’ll go too. Lord help me, Ella will be thrilled at another animal outing. Besides, that Jakes guy has a nasty temper. You might need reinforcements.”
Sheila turned away, hiding a half-smile. “We’ll have quite a little party then. One of my jumpers is competing.” She frowned. “I’m not riding this time. Just cheering my trainer on.”
Another task demanded our immediate attention. A visit to Cavalry Farms was a necessity. Who knew what that horsey crowd might know about Ethel?
“Change of plans,” I said. “I’ll amble over to the horse farm and chat with them. Ella might enjoy a trip too if you guys are free.”
“Don’t need to ask,” Pruett said. “That kid will be over the moon.”
I expected a reaction from Babette, but she stared out the window as if she were a million miles away. She had agreed to get Ethel’s will and with Bascomb’s permission, to access her safety deposit box as well. Both of these essentially personal tasks would be difficult for her. I flashed back to the time when I had fulfilled the same sad duties after Pip’s passing.
“I’ll go with you,” I said, taking Babette’s hand and squeezing it. “We can do this together just like we did before.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “Tomorrow. Let’s do it tomorrow.”
After dividing up our various tasks, the committee dispersed. Sheila grabbed Cecil, waved jauntily and hopped into her Rover while Pruett hovered over his cell phone.
“I just got another assignment for Saturday,” he growled. “Looks like I can’t make the horse farm.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll connect with Sheila and text you if anything turns up,” I replied.
Pruett narrowed his eyes and stared at me for a moment as if he were puzzled. “Okay. But be careful.”
When he left, Babette doubled over with ill-concealed mirth. “Honey, you made my day. That man just got the shock of his life. Bet he hasn’t met too many women who brush him off like you did. Not looking the way he does. No ma’am!”
“You’re delusional. Pruett and I understand each other. That’s all. We’re both busy professionals, not joined at the hip.” I folded my arms and glared as if that settled everything. “Now I’ve got work to do and you need to set up an appointment with Lieutenant Bascomb for tomorrow. Make it early if you can. I promised to deliver some belts out to Middleburg in the afternoon.”
Babette saluted and sped off with Clara at her heels. Gone were her doldrums and teary rants. She was clear-eyed and firmly focused on the prize.
* * * *
Bascomb looked the worse for wear when we met him the next day. His shabby suit had seen better times and his wrinkled shirt badly needed the services of a dry cleaner. His manners could have used improvement too. Despite Babette’s attempts to vamp him, Bascomb glowered at us and gestured brusquely toward the faux leather couch in his office. Perhaps he was not a morning person. More likely, he resented the interference of civilians in an active murder investigation on his turf. Either way, his days with the welcome wagon were long since gone.
“Make this quick, ladies. I have a meeting with the mayor in one hour.”
Babette’s dimples immediately went on display. “We won’t need much of your time, Lieutenant. The bank manager is waiting to open Ethel’s safety deposit box for me and I wanted to clear it with you.” She preened a bit. “I’m her executrix, you know.”
Bascomb’s hands, larger than a Smithfield ham, blocked out the sunlight. He held them in front of our faces in a “stop” gesture. “Hold on, Mrs. Croy. Halt right there. You can’t open that without a police witness and I need a court order to do so.” His repressive frown stopped Babette in her tracks, but it only inspired me.
I trotted out my customer friendly techniques. “Maybe we can both get what we need. Since Mrs. Croy has a key and power of attorney, she can give permission for you to witness the contents and seize anything relevant to your investigation. No need for a warrant.”
He gave me a speculative look and pursed his lips. “Why are you here, Ms. Morgan? Recall anything more about your assailant?”
My smile widened. “Unfortunately, no. I’m only here to support Mrs. Croy. You know how difficult it is to do these things.”
He grunted and checked his watch. “Ms. McCall used the SunTrust down the street you said?”
Babette nodded.
In a rare gesture of cooperation, Bascomb agreed to follow us to the bank. “Make it snappy though. I’ll need to inventory everything in there.” He loped through the door and into his cruiser, leaving Babette and me far behind. Fortunately, her flame-red sports car was parked right at the curb.
“Titus certainly was cranky,” Babette grumbled. “It must be you, Perri. He was a lamb when I met alone with him.”
Babette’s fragile emotional state saved her from a tongue-lashing. Normally I would have mentioned her impaired judgement where men were concerned, citing chapter and verse starting with her ex-spouse. Today, I merely rolled my eyes. Bascomb was as tough as an old Army boot, but my dear friend was too naive to sense that. Lamb, indeed!
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said. “You know the bank manager?”
“Darlin’ when you have my kind of money, bank managers know you. That’s their job.” She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That sounded bad. Maybe those stuck-up heifers at Hamilton Arms are rubbing off on me.”
She swung into a space in front of the bank, right next to Bascomb’s cruiser. He was slouched on the fender, scowling as usual. Come to think of it, I had never seen the man smile. Had some genetic quirk made him incapable of it?
Smiling was not a problem for the bank manager, however. His fulsome grin, a tribute to her hefty account balance, was a beacon beaming directly at Babette. With a minimum of fuss, he escorted her and Bascomb into the secure area that housed the safety deposit boxes. I stood guard in the lobby while checking my email. When the trio emerged, I got an unanticipated shock. Babette’s face was ashen, Bascomb’s grim, and the bank manager’s positively frozen.
“Are you okay?” I asked. It was an automatic, essentially worthless question, especially since I knew darn well that something was wrong.
Babette grasped my arm with fingers colder than a Yukon night. “Wait’til we get out of here.” She tossed me her keys. “You drive. We have to go back to the station.”
I fired up the Mercedes and followed Bascomb in a somber procession back to the cop shop. Babette sat staring silently, stonily, into space. After sixty seconds, I lost control and cracked.
“Tell me what happened right now, or I swear I’ll run this fancy hunk of metal into a post.” The look on my face must have convinced her, but instead of speaking, Babette began to sob—big, honking sobs, that attracted attention. Instead of comforting her, I pulled over to the side of the street and glared.
“Oh, Perri,” she said. “It’s horrible.”
“Skip the drama and fill me in before Bascomb sends out an APB for us. What was in that box? Drugs, cash—what?”
Babette hiccupped, wiped her eyes and blew her nose almost simultaneously. “None of that stuff. There were four drivers’ licenses, birth certificates and passports in four different names.” She paused. “And they all had Ethel’s face on them.”