It wasn’t.
For one thing, it took Jerry and me two hours the next morning to drive to Bayside. For another, Stan Bailey drove a white Chevy truck. It was parked in the driveway of his large brick house next to a motorcycle and a riding lawnmower.
“There goes that theory,” Jerry said as I rang the doorbell. In honor of the mystery, he’d worn his brown tie with the multicolored question marks.
Stan Bailey was a medium-sized man with a large-sized grudge, but it was also apparent he was through with Flora Clarke aka Lizzie Bailey. When I explained I was investigating the death of Wendall Clarke, he smirked and spoke in a sarcastic tone. “Oh yeah, Lizzie. Let’s talk about her. To hear her tell it, I’m the best thing she’s ever had in her life. She’s so happy. Our future’s so rosy. Then a richer man comes along, and boom! Good-bye, Stan. If Clarke’s dead, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the culprit. She just about killed me.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Bailey?”
“Not literally,” he said. “She just about killed me financially. Overdrawing our credit cards, ‘forgetting’ to pay bills, traffic tickets. I’ll bet I went to the bank and police station half a dozen times to bail her out of some mess. Thought she’d bat those baby blues at me and all would be forgiven. Well, it was—for a while. Then I saw her game. She just loved me for my money, and when she found out I wasn’t as rich as she believed, she left me. I was glad to get rid of her.”
“So you weren’t upset when she married Wendall Clarke?”
“Hell, no. I even thought about warning him. Then I thought, why should I help any idiot who marries her? Why don’t I let him find out for himself what kind of conniving little gold digger she is? Why don’t I let her bleed him dry and toss him aside?” He paused in his tirade. “Well, I am sorry he’s dead. What happened?”
“He was struck on the head and died as a result of that injury.”
Bailey looked thoughtful. “Okay, you can eliminate Lizzie, then. She has the strength of your average mouse. She could barely lift a bag of groceries. Of course, she might have been pretending so I’d have to carry everything.” He was still sarcastic but running out of steam. He spoke a little calmer. “I really don’t think she’d murder anyone. She just loved money, and I didn’t have enough to suit her.”
“May I ask where you were Wednesday night?”
“That’s my poker night. If you need the names of my pals, I’ll get them for you.”
“Thanks. And that’s your truck?”
“Yep. I used to have a Mustang. Had to sell it to pay all that debt Lizzie had on our cards.” The understandable bitterness was back.
“I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Bailey.”
“Yeah, well, if you can do something about that woman, I’d appreciate that, believe me. She’s a menace. Let me write those names down for you.”
He went into the house. Jerry whistled softly. “And I thought we had money problems.”
“Is this typical con woman behavior—run up debts until the husband divorces her?”
“Yep. Then you move on to the next dupe.”
“Flora doesn’t strike me as that cold-blooded. What if she really loved Wendall?”
He shrugged. “It happens. That’s usually when the con artist starts making mistakes.”
“Has Flora made some mistakes?”
“So far, I’d say she’s been pretty slick. For instance, do you know for a fact she has a sister?”
“Why would she say she has one?”
“To keep people from coming to the house. You thought she was all alone, so you offered to stay with her, didn’t you? It gives her a legitimate reason to refuse, and then she can do what she wants.”
“You think she was sitting in that house, laughing about how she’d put one over on the town and counting Wendall’s money? She’s sincerely upset that he’s dead.”
“If she’s a pro, she can make you believe that.”
Stan Bailey returned and handed me a piece of paper. “That should get me off the hook. I never even met Wendall Clarke, and like I said, I’m sorry he’s dead. Even if Lizzie didn’t kill him, you need to make sure she doesn’t pull her scheme on anyone else. I hope she’s not playing you, too.”
After what Jerry had just told me, I wasn’t so certain.
“Wrote a couple more names down for you,” Stan said. “Come to find out, Lizzie was married three times before me. Wish one of them had warned me.”
The husbands’ names were Thomas Riley, Ryan Henderson, and Phillipe DuCoeur.
“Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”
“Good luck,” he said. “Hell, maybe they’re all dead.”
***
Jerry and I went to Deely’s for lunch, and while we waited on our order, I called Stan’s friends. They confirmed he’d been playing poker with them all Wednesday night.
I put my phone away and reached for my tea. “Stan’s alibi holds up. I’ll track down Flora’s other ex-husbands next.”
Annie set our baskets of cheeseburgers and fries on the table. “Thought you’d like to know, Aunt Louise won’t be bothering you anymore, Jerry.”
I thought she was going to say Aunt Louise had joined Aunt Gloria in the Great Beyond, and the two of them were thrashing out their money issues on another plane, but when Jerry asked what had happened, Annie said, “Oh, she’s found another medium she’s much happier with.”
Uh, oh.
Jerry was instantly alert. “Another medium?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s just moved to town. Maybe you know her. She calls herself Madam Mystere.”
Jerry put down his cheeseburger. “Is Madam Mystere a large woman with black hair and a bit of a lisp?”
“Yes, she is! So you do know her. I’ll have to tell Aunt Louise.”
“Is Madam Mystere planning to hold a séance any time soon?”
“I think she’s having one tonight. I can find out.” Another customer called for her, and she hurried away.
“Damn,” Jerry said.
I decided it was best not to say anything. I ate my cheeseburger while Jerry toyed with his, his expression preoccupied. After a while, Annie returned and told Jerry that the séance was going to be at midnight.
“Were you thinking of coming?”
Here was a great chance to expose Honor and make her leave town. I thought he’d readily agree, but he surprised me. “No, I’m pretty sure Aunt Louise doesn’t want me around.”
“How about you, Madeline?”
I gave Jerry a curious glance. He seemed completely uninterested. “Probably not.”
“Refills, anybody?”
Jerry said he’d like some more tea, and when Annie left, I leaned forward. “What’s going on?”
“I know you asked me to corral Honor, but she and Aunt Louise deserve each other. Maybe she’ll tell her something that will make her happy.”
“And take her money.”
“I’d like to see her get money out of Aunt Louise.”
I didn’t like the idea of Honor playing tricks on the locals. “Jerry, I really want you to do something about this. Tell Annie and Aunt Louise that Honor is a fraud.”
“I don’t think Aunt Louise would believe me.”
“Well, then, we’ll stop by her house after lunch and you can give it your best try.”
***
Unfortunately, Jerry was right. Aunt Louise lived in a large square house with a huge porch, but she refused to let him even come up the steps. When he tried to explain about Honor, she accused him of being jealous and said she had every right to use as many mediums as she liked to get through to Gloria. Then she told him to get his feet off her yard or she’d call the police.
“Told you,” Jerry said as we drove away.
Good grief, somebody had to handle this situation. “All right, then, maybe I can do something about it. Maybe I’ll drop in on this séance tonight.”
“That’s a great idea.”
He looked way too calm. “What am I getting into here, Jerry? What sort of séances does Honor perform?”
“She’s never done a séance, and she’s doing this one only to annoy me, so I’m going to ignore it.”
Oh, I think she has a different motive, I thought. She’s doing this one because she wants you back. “Maybe it really is better if I go. She won’t be expecting me.”
“That’s why it’s a great idea, Mac. Thanks.”
Still too calm.
***
This was Friday, the day planned for the gallery’s grand opening. Instead, it was the day of Wendall’s funeral. The service was to be held in Parkland that afternoon. Jerry and I had just enough time to get home and change clothes.
I pushed my clothes aside until I found my best black dress. “I wonder if Flora’s sister will be there.”
“Don’t be surprised if she’s too ill to attend.”
I was taking the dress off the hangar and paused. “Jerry, I have a better idea.”
“Anything’s better than going to a funeral.”
“While everyone’s there, why don’t we have a look in the house? I know which one it is, and there’s a deck out back. I’m sure you could get in the sliding doors.”
“Is there an alarm system?”
“I didn’t see one.” I looked at my dress, debating my course of action. “Although, I may be able to find out something at the service. It would be interesting to see who’s there.”
“You go to the funeral, and I’ll break into the house.”
That had disaster written all over it. “No. Maybe we could leave the service early. Funeral first, then the house.”
Jerry sighed and reached for his plain blue tie.
***
I expected a large crowd at Wendall Clarke’s funeral service, but the church was only half full. Flora sat by herself in the front pew on the right-hand side. In the front pew on the left sat several large men and women who looked as if they might be Wendall’s relatives. Pamela and several other members of the Art Guild, including Bea and her son Ferris, were in the middle. Jerry and I sat behind them. I then noticed Larissa sitting across the aisle from us, staring straight ahead, her hands clasped in her lap.
I’m sure Wendall would’ve found the service too short and too plain; just a hymn, some brief words from the minister, a prayer, and it was over. There were no dark blue Hondas in the funeral procession. We followed the procession to Parkland’s Memorial Cemetery and stood off to one side while the minister offered another prayer. Then we expressed our sympathies to Flora, who thanked us for coming.
She introduced the large men and women. “These are some of Wendall’s cousins. He didn’t have much family, but they were able to come. I told them you were going to find out who did this to Wendall.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“We hope you can,” one cousin said. “We weren’t real close to our cousin, but we were definitely shocked by this sad turn of events.”
Throughout all this, Larissa had held herself apart, ramrod stiff and unsmiling. Pamela kept wiping her eyes with a tissue, but occasionally she’d shoot a glare in Larissa’s direction. Perhaps she thought Larissa should be more upset, or maybe she felt Larissa was responsible for Wendall’s death. At any rate, the two women didn’t speak to each other. Bea’s expression was the same: irate. Ferris looked bored, but caught my attention when he casually tossed the knitted scarf he was wearing over one shoulder. This action rang a little bell in my brain and started a train of thought down the tracks. Scarf tossing isn’t a genetically inherited trait, but Wendall and Bea had had a one-night stand in high school. Ferris, although he looked nothing like Wendall, was the right age to be his son. What if he was Wendall’s son, and Bea had wanted Wendall to acknowledge that? Maybe that’s what Wendall meant when he said, “That’s not going to happen.”
I needed to talk to Ferris. “I need a diversion.”
“No problem.” Jerry went up to Pamela and Bea. “I think you ladies are the very ones to help plan a memorial service for Wendall at the gallery.”
Their attention caught, I was able to speak to Ferris. “I’m sure your mother is sad to lose an old friend like Wendall.”
“Yeah. I never knew him, though, or any of these people. We lived in Raleigh with Dad until the divorce.”
“Your mother didn’t want to stay in Raleigh?”
“She had to come back to Celosia. Turns out Dad wasn’t as rich as he said he was. Then Mom got this crazy idea Mr. Clarke would help her out. She said he owed her.” He shrugged. “Too late now.”
“Why would she think he owed her?”
He turned to check where Bea was. She and the other Art Guild members were deep in conversation with Jerry. He lowered his voice. “She seemed to think Clarke was my father, but he wasn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“My real father had all the tests that proved he was my dad, but for some reason, after the divorce, Mom got this notion that he wasn’t. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Apparently, it hadn’t mattered to Wendall what Bea thought, but Bea could still believe she deserved something from his estate, however misguided this was.
“Learn anything?” Jerry asked as we got into our car.
“Bea thinks Wendall was Ferris’ father. She divorced her husband, Ferris’ real father, when the money ran out, so I’m guessing she wanted in on Wendall’s fortune.”
“Blackmail?”
“Possibly. And it looks like business as usual between Larissa and Pamela.”
“Flora didn’t have a sister. I hope you noticed that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So she could be running the long con. Do we have time to scope out her house before she gets back?”
Flora was still talking with Wendall’s cousins. “Looks like she’ll be busy for a little while. Let’s go.”
***
The deck’s sliding glass doors proved no problem for Jerry’s special keys, and no alarms sounded as we stepped into the Clarke’s rented house in River Ridge.
Jerry closed the doors behind us. “What are we looking for?”
“First, I want to see if there’s a button missing off Flora’s pink suit.”
We found the master bedroom. Flora had packed a lot of her clothes in suitcases, but her pink suit was still hanging in the closet. No buttons were missing.
“Check Wendall’s,” I said.
Wendall’s suits had all their buttons, and none were gold. While Jerry looked through the rest of the closet, I went into the study and looked on the desk. A stack of bills had been pushed aside to make room for a cardboard box filled with a few books, a paperweight, a stapler, and other office supplies. The bills were for clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Flora was an expensive little gal. I wondered if she would benefit from Wendall’s will, if he had one.
I continued to look through the box, thinking I wasn’t going to find anything useful when down at the very bottom was a cell phone. Was it possible this was Wendall’s? I turned it on. The phone still had a little battery power left, enough for me to check through the received calls. Most were from Flora, but there was one from Pamela made on Wednesday around seven-thirty p.m.
Jerry came in from the bedroom. “Find anything?”
“I think so. Judging from all the calls from Flora, I think this is Wendall’s cell phone. He got a call from Pamela about half an hour before we got to the gallery.” I turned off the phone and put it back in the box. “I need to know what that was all about.”
“The only thing I found was more clothes in suitcases. Most everything in the house has been packed up. She’s ready to move on.”
“I’m wondering why Wendall didn’t have his phone with him Wednesday night,” I said. “I know the police would’ve asked Flora about it.”
“Maybe they did. Maybe she lied and said she didn’t know where it was.”
“But why pack it in a box if it holds a clue to who killed her husband?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“I want to talk to Pamela, too. She hasn’t said anything about Wendall calling her that night.”
We left everything as we’d found it. Jerry locked the sliding door behind us. “I’m all warmed up now. Why don’t we have a look in Bea’s house?”
“She might be home.”
“We can drive by and see if her car’s there.”
“That could be tricky. Her house is down in a wooded area.”
“Even better. But we need to change clothes.”
“I don’t think I have any camouflage wear.”
“Jeans and sneakers will do.”
***
I wasn’t exactly sure what Jerry was up to, but we went home and changed clothes. On the way to Bea’s, he asked about the house.
“It’s a chalet style, right?”
“If Switzerland were bankrupt. It’s small and very shabby.”
“A shabby chalet.”
“Yes.”
“With a balcony.”
“A little one.”
“Let me know when we’re a couple of blocks from her house.”
I did, and he had me stop the car at the convenience store on the corner. “We’ll walk the rest of the way, and if anyone asks, we’re out for a stroll in the pleasant October weather.”
It was a pleasant stroll down to Bea’s driveway. The gray VW wasn’t there.
Jerry looked around. “Okay, we’ll wander through the woods and approach the house from the back. She doesn’t have a dog, does she? Bea strikes me as a bulldog kinda gal.”
“I think it would’ve attacked me if she did.”
The house was quiet and dark. Jerry eyed the balcony, and then, using a trashcan, climbed up. I waited below, expecting at any minute to hear the chugging sounds of the VW. Bea could come home at any time. How would we explain? Oh, we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d break into your house. It’s a little hobby of ours. We’ve already broken into Wendall’s. Or maybe she and Ferris had gotten home from the funeral, and he had the VW, and Bea was inside taking a nap. Or she knew we were here and was crouched behind a door with a brick. I was almost ready to call up to Jerry and tell him to forget it when he said, “You’re not going to believe this.”
“You can’t get in?” Maybe that was best. My imagination had us in jail for life.
“No, I can get in. I mean, you’re not going to believe what’s up here.”
Now I had to see. He leaned over the balcony railing and helped me up. He had removed the screen and unlatched the small window. He stood back so I could look inside. The sight was so unexpected it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Even though the upstairs room was dark, piles of multi-colored jewels glowed like phosphorus in a cave.
“Wow.”
Jerry bent over and stepped inside. I forgot all my apprehensions and followed, entranced. We stood surrounded by a wealth of bracelets, necklaces, and rings, heaps of beads separated by color and size in bowls and dishes, more of the silver spacers, larger glass pieces shaped like leaves and fish and stars, and finished projects arrayed on black velvet. I’d had friends into jewelry making, and I recognized the trays for organizing beads, the coils of wire, and the little scissors and pliers. Propped in a fancy silver holder was a stack of business cards with “Bea’s Baubles and Beads” written in glittery silver letters.
“Jerry, Bea makes these.”
“They’re fantastic. Hey, what about this necklace. Look familiar?”
The necklace was a collection of jagged yellow and gold glass crystals, a companion piece to the little leaf bracelet Bea had snatched from Flora.
“Maybe Flora bought the bracelet somewhere, and Bea couldn’t stand to see one of her creations on Wendall’s newest conquest.”
Next to that necklace was another of chunky pastel beads in frosted glass. Jerry pointed out a red and black pendant slashed with silver and a spiky green and coral bracelet fit for a mermaid queen.
“These are works of art,” I said. “I can’t imagine why she keeps this a secret.”
“Maybe she really is a jewel thief.”
“No, as gorgeous as all this is, it’s costume jewelry. There may be some sterling silver and some gold, but the beads are glass. Still, she could ask some high prices.” I looked around at the little room filled with a Fourth of July holiday’s worth of sparkle. There was another stack of business cards on Bea’s desk from various jewelry stores and dealers. “Jerry, here’s a card from the TSN, the Television Shopping Network. That’s the network that bought Wendall’s perfume bottle design.”
“Bea’s stuff would look great on TV.”
“Here’s another TSN card. There are six of them.” Bea had scribbled dates on the backs of the cards. “My guess is she wrote down each time she contacted them.”
“No luck, maybe?”
“I don’t watch the shopping networks, so I don’t know, but I would imagine if her jewelry was on TV, the world would hear about it.” I didn’t want to push our own luck and stay any longer. “We’d better go.”
We climbed back out onto the balcony. Jerry closed the window and replaced the screen. We’d both gotten down when we heard a car.
Jerry grabbed my hand. “This is why we came through the woods.” We quickly hurried into the safety of the trees. We watched as the VW ambled down the driveway and parked. Bea got out, carrying a plastic bag.
“More loot,” Jerry said.
Ferris drove the VW back out the drive. Bea went into her house, and after a while, a light came on downstairs. We waited a few more minutes then circled around to the main road and walked to the convenience store.
“It’s official,” I said. “I have now gone into mystery overload.”
***
We’d managed to grab a quick snack on the way to Parkland, but that had been hours ago, and my stomach was growling. Growling, but not upset.
We decided to eat in the living room. There was one serving of casserole left over, which Jerry heated for me. He preferred a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chips. I sat down on the living room sofa, kicked off my shoes, and tucked my feet underneath me. Jerry put his feet up on the coffee table. Blue Moon Garden gleamed from its place of honor over the fireplace, its tones of blue and white complementing our walls and furniture.
I pointed my fork at the painting. “My artwork is out for everyone to see. Why would Bea choose to hide her wonderful creations? She enjoys lording over the other women in the Guild. You’d think she would love to flaunt her jewelry.”
“Maybe she’s saving up for a big reveal.”
“Or maybe she’s planning some big con. What do you think?”
“I think I will never figure out why women do anything.”
As I munched on the casserole, I thought of something else that puzzled me. “If Honor hadn’t known Flora was a con artist, I certainly never would’ve guessed, but wouldn’t you say that was genuine grief we saw at the funeral today?”
“Sure looked like it. You want something to drink?”
“Oh, I forgot my tea. It’s on the table.”
Jerry returned with my tea and a bottle of cola for himself. “What’s Pamela’s part in all this?”
“Sasha Gregory said Sasha left the gallery at four o’clock. Larissa went back around four-thirty, found the door unlocked, went in, decided to smash Bea’s pictures, and then apparently went home. Wendall called her around eight, but according to his phone, he got a call from Pamela at seven-thirty.”
“So maybe whatever Pamela told Wendall made him call Larissa.”
“Then Larissa hurries over to the gallery and finds Wendall dead around eight-thirty.”
Jerry dug in the bag of chips for a handful. “That’s her story. She could’ve bonked him on the head first.”
“Wouldn’t we have heard that? That’s the same time we were there with Nell. We would’ve heard some sounds of a struggle, voices, something.”
We pondered the mystery for a while. “I wonder what kind of car Pamela drives? The owner of the gift shop saw the dark blue Honda at six o’clock. Larissa said she parked out front, and her car is beige. Wendall drives a black sports car. Bea has that old VW. Someone else must have been in the gallery.”
“Or maybe someone just randomly parked there. Ask Nell.”
“I’ll go over to her house and see for myself.”
“Do you need backup? I can skip rehearsal.”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Speaking of fine, how do you feel?”
“Great. One hundred percent.” One hundred percent confused, I wanted to add. I set my empty dish on the coffee table. “We discovered Bea’s secret, but I’m not sure what I can do with the information. People keep a lot of things private. Those things don’t necessarily make them murderers.”
“They may lead to something else.”
“And how in the world do you stay so calm? I didn’t mind looking around in Wendall’s house, but I did a little hyperventilating at Bea’s.”
“That’s because you are an honest person, Mac. You have what I believe are known as ethics.”
“You have ethics, too.”
“I do now.” He set his sandwich down. “When I ran cons, I never used my name, so I was playing a character. It was easy to get away with things when you were someone else.”
“But you weren’t playing a character when you broke into Bea’s. You were Jerry Fairweather on her balcony.”
“Ah, yes, but I had a story ready. Always have some reasonable explanation for why you are doing whatever you’re doing.”
“Checking for termites?”
“That’s good. That might work. I was going to say that our cat had run away, and I thought I saw it on her balcony.”
“She wouldn’t have believed that.”
“But she couldn’t prove it wasn’t true. Have a story ready. Like the Boy Scouts. Be prepared.”
“You are the least likely Boy Scout I’ve ever known.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve got five Breaking and Entering badges.” He gathered the empty dishes. “Want anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
“We’re all out of snacks, so I thought I’d make a cake.”
“Chocolate, please.”
He leaned over to give me a kiss. “I’ve also got two Dessert badges.”
I sat for a while, gazing at Blue Moon Garden and thinking about the beautiful one-of-a-kind jewelry I’d seen at Bea’s. Was there some connection between those creations and Wendall’s murder? Or maybe Bea didn’t feel her work was ready. Oddly enough, I could sympathize. For a long time, I didn’t want anyone to see my paintings. I knew something about rejection, and if Bea had been constantly turned down by the TSN, she might have decided not to show her jewelry to anyone.
Not long after Jerry’s cake was done, someone gave him a ride to the theater, and I started my search for Flora’s other ex-husbands. My computer search program found long lists of Thomas Rileys and Ryan Hendersons. It was going to take a while to sort through all of them. There were only sixteen Phillipe DuCoeurs in the states, so I started with them. Eliminating the very young, I wound up with ten. Luckily, most of them were home when I called. The fifth Phillipe was the one I wanted. Speaking with only a trace of accent, he informed me that yes, he had been married to a beautiful young blond woman named Lizzie Fountaine. She had been too expensive for him to keep, however, and he divorced her after a year. I had an idea that would be Thomas’ and Ryan’s story, too.
After a while, my eyes began to cross. I needed to get up and move around. I needed to go to Pamela’s house. Besides wanting to see what kind of car she owned, I was curious about her relationship with Big Mike. Was the story of the pink sapphire ring another of Honor’s scams, or was it possible Pamela had ties to the underworld—connections that may have led to Wendall’s murder?