Ferrina asked Ellen Boudreaux to handle the gathering after the funeral, but Ellen, still smarting from Chase throwing her out of the Landau’s house, refused. What a peach!
So Ferrina asked Franklin to help so the staff could attend King’s funeral, and I volunteered to help Franklin. See how that works. I had more investigating to do and what better time to do it than while everyone was attending King’s funeral.
Yes, it is unethical, but if sleuths always acted ethically, we would never solve any crimes. See. It’s a conundrum. We act unethically to catch unethical people.
Franklin and I entered the kitchen to find a list of errands we were to do and food to prepare. The cook had already made items for the wake. All we had to do was set out the dishes and beverages on the buffet table.
One of the errands listed was to check all of the bathrooms and make sure there was adequate toilet paper.
Franklin looked at me, saying, “You get that gig. I’m going to heat up the meatballs.”
No problem. It would allow me to roam the house. I passed through the dining room to the main foyer. I checked the hallway bathroom, which was spotless with its gleaming marble floors, sparkling sink, and luxurious hand towels. I had to think for a moment how many bathrooms were on the first floor. Ah, there was King’s bathroom in his study. Great. Maybe his desk would be unlocked, and I could go through its contents.
I pitty-pattered down the hallway gleefully only to gasp when I stepped into King’s study. The French doors were flung open with glass from a busted frame on the floor. Books were scattered about the room, and King’s treasured mementos were in tatters. Paintings had been ripped from their places on the walls with the backings cut from the frames. King’s portrait torn from the wall exposed a safe.
Shocked at the damage to the room, I stepped deeper inside not thinking. Oh boy! I shouldn’t have taken that extra step.
“Don’t move or I’ll blow your brains out,” came a raspy voice from behind.
Yes, it was a corny and trite thing to say, but it certainly caught my attention, especially when a gun was pressed to my temple. “Don’t turn around.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Who are you?”
“I just came to help prepare for the wake.”
“Who else is here?”
“No one. I’m by myself.”
“You’re lying. I heard you talking to someone.”
“Then why are you still here?”
The stranger pressed the muzzle of the gun into my flesh. “I will have no compunction in killing you, lady.”
“I believe you.” This is when I kind of wet my panties.
“Who else is here?”
“Two other people came to help. They’re probably outside bringing food in from the catering truck. If you leave by the French doors, they won’t even see you.”
“Do you have the combination to the safe?”
“Why would I have the combination? I’m just a caterer who will be missed soon if you don’t let me go.”
“Let’s go see your friends.”
“Did you look through the desk? The combination is probably written down somewhere.”
“I did.”
“Did you look under the drawers? Sometimes elderly people write on the underside of wooden drawers.”
The man grabbed my neck and dragged me over to the desk. “Not a bad idea. You look for me.”
I ignored the impulse to turn around and see the man’s face, knowing that if I did he would kill me for sure. I pulled out each drawer and turned it upside down. On the third drawer, I found faint marks on the underside. Do I know people or what!
The man instructed, “Sit in the chair and face the other wall. Read me the numbers.”
Shielding my eyes and bowing my head, I sat in King’s chair and read the marks recorded in pencil. I heard the man head over to the safe and try the numbers.
“It’s not working.”
“No need to get excited.” I bent over closer to read the numbers. “The markings are faint. Try this.”
Grunting and cussing, the man worked the combination while I pondered if I could make it to the door and down the hallway before the intruder caught up with me. I decided it was too much of a chance. With my bum leg, I wouldn’t be fast enough. There was a sterling letter opener on the desk. I surreptitiously palmed it while I felt around with my feet. I came upon the phone, which he had thrown onto the floor. It had an intercom connection with the kitchen. Slowly taking off my shoes, I pressed on the receiver with one big toe and pressed the kitchen button with the other big toe. Please, please, Franklin. Pick up. “Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked in a loud voice.
“What’s it to you?” the man replied.
I heard items being dropped on the floor. “Look, the Landau family and guests will be arriving very soon. In fact, I think I hear cars in the driveway now. You can go out this door. I haven’t seen your face. You have no reason to hurt me. You can make a clean getaway.”
The man jerked me out of the chair, dragging me toward the dining room.
“Stop! What are you doing? You got what you want. Just go.”
The man’s grip was like iron, and I couldn’t pull away. Talk about feeling like a rag doll being jerked around. The only thing I could do was to drop to the floor like a dead weight, screaming, “RUN, FRANKLIN!”
I looked up and saw the man was startled but he collected himself in a split second. It was time enough to point the gun down at me. Unlike Shelby Carpenter, I saw the gun coming toward me, so I did the only thing I could. I reached up and grabbed the man’s privates. Boy, did I squeeze and twist like there was no tomorrow because if he didn’t drop that gun, there would be no tomorrow for me.
The man gasped and sputtered in shock, trying to smack my hands away. Furious, he pointed the gun at me again.
Oh, God! Oh, God! Don’t let me die like this. Shrieking like a banshee, I took my fist and punched him in the you-know-what as the coup de grace. The gunman dropped the gun and sank to the floor in agony.
Franklin ran from the kitchen with an iron skillet in his hand ready to do battle. Seeing the man writhing in pain on the dining room floor, Franklin kicked the gun away out of the man’s reach and ran back in the kitchen, returning with a roll of Duck tape. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll live,” I said, grinning, “but I think he might need medical attention. I might have squished some things rather important to him.”
“Where he’s going, he won’t need them. Who is he?”
The attacker groaned.
“He’s the man King Landau hired to murder Shelby Carpenter. Isn’t that right?” I asked as I wrapped tape around the man’s feet while Franklin taped the man’s hands still clutching his “personal life.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“I would bet he hadn’t been paid by King. Let’s check the man’s pockets, shall we?”
Franklin and I rummaged through the killer’s pockets and wallet as he unleashed a vile stream of curses prompting Franklin to tape the man’s mouth shut. “Well, mister, we’re just going to have to plug up that potty mouth of yours. No one calls me that and gets away with it,” Franklin said.
We found several bundles of cash he had taken from the safe and a wallet with six different ID’s.
“Ooh, he’s been a busy lad,” I said, looking at each of the names on the driver’s licenses. As much as we wanted to go through everything, we had to stop as the police stormed the house with guns drawn.
Apparently, our gunman had tripped the security alarm.
Franklin and I raised our hands.
“Hi, guys. What took you so long?” Franklin asked, smiling.
The police were not amused.