Ghost Ups Her Game Page 11

  ‘We have some leads.’ I stared at Nicole.

  She met my gaze with a cool look which said not her murder, not her problem, she didn’t care.

  ‘I asked if you saw Lambert downstairs.’

  ‘No.’ Bored, totally bored. Not her problem.

  ‘Did you see anyone in the hallway?’

  ‘Nope. Like I said, I knew the ladies’ room would be empty. Sorry I can’t help.’

  I liked Iris’s house, an old-fashioned bungalow in a modest area adjacent to White Deer Park. Fancy homes on hillsides overlooked the park from the other side.

  Iris’s living room was small but charming, ivy twined wallpaper, a silver-and-rose Persian rug on the wood floor, several easy chairs, all with reading lamps, and, of course, filled bookcases. I noted some titles. Green Mansions. The Good Earth. Vile Bodies. Iris sat in a chair near a small piano. A half-dozen photographs sat atop the piano. Gage. Gage and Robert. An assured man with a warm smile in a major’s uniform. The husband who didn’t come home from Afghanistan. And now she had no men’s socks in her house. She was reading and suddenly she laughed, a light gurgle of amusement.

  I looked at the front cover. The Passionate Witch by Thorne Smith. ‘A laugh a page.’

  Her gaze lifted. For the first time in our short acquaintance, she smiled upon seeing me. She rested the book in her lap. ‘He’s famous for Topper, but he wrote several funny books. You aren’t as entertaining as George and Marion Kerby.’ The amusement slipped away. ‘They didn’t have to deal with murder.’ She tapped the page. ‘I needed some fun after yesterday and most of today. But, I have good news. The student I saw on the first-floor stairs at Rose Bower knows absolutely nothing about Matt’s murder. When I asked about the look on her face, she told me she was afraid she’d be late getting back upstairs and the boss was a beast. She had no idea where Matt was. She said he was the last person she’d ever try to talk to. So,’ Iris’s violet eyes looked hopeful, ‘don’t you think it’s OK to keep quiet about my sojourn downstairs? Nicole was the only person I saw. And there’s the weapon and Robert. I don’t see good things happening if I contact the police.’

  ‘I agree.’ I hoped Wiggins would approve.

  ‘They’re suspicious enough without admitting I was in that room.’ Iris was no fool.

  ‘That’s true. I hope to divert Sam from you.’

  ‘How can you do that?’ She looked bewildered.

  ‘Find out what really happened.’

  She studied me for a minute. A smile flickered. ‘Gumshoe Ghost?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ My tone was much more confident than I felt. So far I’d not discovered anything that convinced Sam of Iris’s innocence. I had to know more to find out more. ‘I need your help. Tell me what you did after Matt left the ballroom.’ So far I only knew she followed someone downstairs and ended up standing over the body with the improvised blackjack.

  ‘When Matt went out the door, I saw Nicole Potter and I thought she was watching him. Her face was … well, she was angry. I’ve sensed anger in her as a student. I think she’s one of those people who have always had to fight for what they want. It looked like she saw him and started after him. I thought this wasn’t going to end well. I started after her, but Ollie Baker stopped me. A Shakespeare scholar. He was livid, a new book about the Earl of Stratford.’ A sigh. ‘Honestly, after four hundred years, let it rest. He clamped his fingers on my arm and held tight. It took time to get free. When I finally reached the foyer, I didn’t see either Matt or Nicole. I suppose I was only a few minutes behind them, but they were out of sight. I hurried downstairs. I’d just reached the ground floor when Nicole came from the hall and started up the opposite flight of stairs. She didn’t see me. The look on her face bothered me. I wondered if she and Matt had spoken.

  ‘I got mad all over again. Here he was, a star at the banquet with all the money he’s raised and a girl who came up the hard way. I rushed on down. The ground floor was deserted. No lights in the offices. A student on duty at the welcome desk was working on a laptop. She never looked up. I turned right into that hallway. There are a half-dozen doors, two or three on each side. Several doors were locked. I opened three, the first two rooms were dark. The lights were on in the Malone Room. I stepped inside, saw the sock, picked it up. I’d just found Matt when Robert walked in.’

  ‘Did you see anyone in the hallway?’

  ‘No one.’ Her eyes were dark. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? There was no one down there but me.’

  I was working out times. Matt Lambert left the ballroom shortly before seven. Iris was delayed, likely didn’t arrive downstairs for another five minutes. Within those five minutes, Matt Lambert was struck down and his murderer escaped.

  Iris looked frightened. ‘I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t hear anything. It seems unlikely Matt could meet someone in those few minutes and quarrel.’

  My voice was quiet, but firm. ‘There was no quarrel. The time for quarrels was past.’

  She stared at me. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The decision to kill Lambert was already made. The murderer likely greeted him pleasantly, perhaps with a rueful comment about there being a lot of different reasons to contribute to the college. There would have been no hint of threat, more a sense of resignation. Lambert had only a few minutes to live. The killer likely said something about a noise outside. Lambert looked toward the French doors. The killer pulled out the sand-filled sock from a pocket or purse and swung. The weighted sock slammed Lambert’s throat. He was dead within a minute or two of the time he walked into the room. The murderer left by a French door on to the terrace and returned to the ballroom by a back stairway.’

  It took more than an hour for Officer Loy to track down the clerks who were behind the counter at the ice-cream shop last evening. My third attempt was successful. A redheaded girl – I liked her at once – stood at the side of the Olympic pool, swim cap and goggles in her hand.

  I introduced myself. ‘If I could speak with you for a moment.’ I smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Practice starts in just a couple of minutes.’ She shot a glance at an angular man in his forties who stood at the deep end, looking down at a clipboard. Likely a coach who didn’t tolerate late arrivals. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Simply a matter of information. Last night at the ice-cream shop, do you remember making a sundae with a dip each of vanilla, butter brickle, and pistachio, caramel sauce on the vanilla, chocolate fudge on the rest.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He ate real fast. I think maybe he hadn’t had any dinner.’ A quick smile. ‘He’s real thin and tall like my brother. But my brother has short hair and this guy had kind of long brown hair.’

  ‘Can you tell me about what time that was?’

  She quickly nodded. ‘Ten to seven. Just before I clocked out.’

  I settled on the parapet and took several deep breaths. Heat radiated from the asphalt roof of City Hall. Whew. Double whew. Not a choice locale at noon in early July. I’d often conferred here with Wiggins. Usually he sought me out. I didn’t know if I could summon him. I don’t meditate. That requires sitting still for too long, but I concentrated hard: Wiggins, Wiggins, Bailey Ruth here. Wiggins—

  Whooo. Coal smoke. The clack of wheels on silver rails. ‘Wiggins!’

  ‘Ah, Bailey Ruth.’ His voice came from near a structure a few feet away that housed the trapdoor to the building. There was a small patch of shade there. I resisted envy.

  ‘You have made great progress.’ His voice was approving.

  I basked in the geniality of his tone. If I were visible. I would have stood straight and saluted. I spoke in that sort of voice. ‘Pleased to report that Lambert’s stepson is alibied for the time of the death and that there’s no need for Iris Gallagher to reveal her presence at the crime scene.’

  ‘Well done, Bailey Ruth. Glad that young artist is all right. That sundae sounds rather good.’

  On impulse, I urged, ‘Come with me, Wiggins. I’ve not had lunch. It’s
a very nice ice-cream shop.’

  There is Heaven and there is heaven. Wiggins looked quite sporting in a blue polo and khakis and loafers. Without his stiff blue station cap or green eyeshade, he looked much less formal. He took a spoonful of chocolate-fudge-topped butter brickle. ‘Interesting tastes.’ I doubt soda fountains in the 1910s had quite this array of flavors. In the spirit (couldn’t resist) of summer and sodas, I wore a sleeveless white dress with bright yellow, lime, pink, red, blue, and gray stripes. Pink wedge sandals matched the pink stripe.

  Our red leather booth at the front of the shop offered a view of the Fine Arts building across the street.

  The pistachio flecked with fudge sauce was beyond delectable. ‘Try the pistachio.’

  Wiggins studied the boat-shaped bowl.

  I pointed. ‘Green.’

  He took a bite, nodded approval. ‘It’s nice to conclude in this cheerful spot. Except for your evasion of the Express early on …’

  Clearly my defection still rankled.

  ‘… this has been a successful mission.’ He put down his spoon and beamed at me. ‘When you finish, let’s hop aboard.’

  Coal smoke. Clack of wheels.

  ‘Not yet.’ If a plea can be firm, my reply qualified.

  His brows wrinkled in a frown. ‘You arrived to safeguard Iris and Robert. You have done so. She need not reveal her presence at the crime scene since she has no critical evidence to impart to the police.’

  Wiggins was right. My job appeared to be done.

  As Mama always told us kids, ‘If you suddenly feel frightened, pay attention. The angel at your shoulder is tapping.’

  I leaned forward, reached across the table to touch his arm. ‘I’m afraid for Iris.’

  He looked into my eyes, made his harrumph noise. Men dismiss feminine intuition. Of course, if a man has a hunch, that’s different. I added hurriedly, ‘A hunch, Wiggins. There’s trouble ahead for Iris.’

  ‘Hmm. A hunch. Very well. See what you can do.’

  In Sam’s office, I relished the air conditioning, serious air conditioning as befitted a hot July afternoon in Adelaide. I plopped on to the brown leather sofa that faced the windows. Perhaps I gave a soft sigh of relief.

  Sam’s office chair squeaked.

  I turned to look at the desk.

  Sam held a half-eaten hamburger in one hand, a can of Mountain Dew in the other. ‘Bailey Ruth?’

  ‘It’s hot outside.’

  ‘July.’ He took a bite. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’ He sounded like a blackjack player with a king in the hole and a bright diamond ace in his hand.

  ‘How’s everything going?’

  He looked in the direction of my voice. ‘Is that a tactful way of asking whether I’ve found a suspect other than Iris Gallagher? I’ll bring you up to date on the investigation. The widow’s in the clear. The lover had opportunity, but there’s no evidence of a motive on her part and we’ve asked people who would know. A lot of people. And there was a little love note from him to her on her computer Thursday morning. The acting president never left his table. We haven’t found any disgruntled former employees, estranged friendships, debts, or quarrels. He and the stepson didn’t get along but no recent problems that we know about.’

  ‘Officer Loy can report that Jack Wells was eating a sundae at the campus corner soda shop at seven o’clock.’

  Sam made a note on his pad. ‘Good to know.’ He glanced again at his pad. ‘When assured of confidentiality, some people were pretty frank. Lambert was something of a self-important ass, but that usually doesn’t lead to murder. His humor was on the mean side, but it takes a pretty big insult to get you a broken neck. No serious debts so no money motive.’

  That gave me the opening I wanted. I pushed up from the sofa, walked to the chair that faced his desk.

  His eyes moved with me as he listened to my footsteps. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’ His voice held a hint of discombobulation.

  I laughed, Appeared in a loose – so cool – white linen tunic, very short A-line skirt with bright scenes of Paris, and open sandals.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took a last bite of hamburger, followed by a gurgle of Mountain Dew.

  I was direct. ‘Let’s talk money. How about a five million gift coerced to hide a donor’s secret?’

  ‘Dog with a bone,’ but his voice was pleasant. Sam finished the soda, crushed the can, dropped it in the wastebasket.

  I refrained from asking if the discard met the city standard for recyclable items. This was no time to aggravate him.

  ‘But,’ Sam was good-humored, ‘it’s cheerful to have you here. You are much better company than my most recent visitor. The mayor just left. On her way to a campaign picnic. She hates to be hot but she’d do a tap dance on a griddle if the donations were big enough. She’s on a cut-the-budget binge, thinks it will help her re-election. She’s threatening to make us keep the thermostat at seventy-two. I told her she didn’t want riots in City Hall.’ He gave me a wicked smile. ‘I put the thermostat down another notch.’

  Sam and Neva Lumpkin were not soul mates. The mayor longed to replace Sam and their relations were frosty.

  ‘She arrived breathing fire. Homicide at Rose Bower apparently is far, far worse than homicide anywhere else in town. You’d think she might understand I don’t pick the location for bodies. Or the time homicide occurs. Yeah, the nine-one-one came after hours. I had to call in some detectives who’d already put in a full day. She’d rather hug Dracula than pay overtime. She was practically in tears as she figured out how much it cost for the crew out at Rose Bower last night. But it soothed her down when I told her I have a suspect in sight and I’m looking for some physical evidence before I make the arrest.’

  I didn’t have to ask the suspect’s name.

  ‘Sam, it’s ab—’ I broke off. Men do not appreciate having their actions termed absurd. ‘Absolutely unreasonable to think a woman like Iris Gallagher would haul a homemade weapon to a banquet and murder a man because she was upset about the way he treated a student who applied for a job.’

  Sam’s stare was level. ‘How do we know their discussion had anything to do with that job interview?’

  I tried not to preen. ‘Officer Loy talked to Clarisse Bennett. Matt Lambert told her all about the interview, that’s how we know.’

  ‘Lambert told her?’ He wasn’t troubled.

  ‘Yes.’ I was emphatic.

  ‘Clarisse Bennett said Lambert told her that was the reason Iris came to see him?’

  I felt uneasy. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Would he tell Bennett if there was a darker reason for that talk? Like maybe sexual advances? Bennett didn’t actually hear Lambert and Gallagher, right?’

  I was silent.

  He nodded in satisfaction.

  I began to sense I was on a raft tipping over in a stormy sea and I was almost in the water. I tried again. ‘The call Gage overheard on the terrace is a much bigger deal than Iris quarreling with Lambert. Iris said what she had to say, went on from there. She isn’t a neurotic woman nursing a huge grudge. But demanding a mega-million gift qualifies as a big-time motive.’

  ‘Like I said, you’re like a dog with a bone. What Gage claimed to overhear could be perfectly innocent. OK, let’s agree Lambert said the donor had to show up last night and there would be a big celebration. Everything depends on Lambert’s tone. Maybe it was a donor he knew well. Maybe he was having a little fun to encourage a reclusive donor to come. I talked to the donors who were there …’

  The Mayers, the Kirks, and the Prichards.

  ‘… and not one of them had spoken with him recently and all were attending the dinner because they always did, not because of any announcement to be made that night. Maybe he struck out and a reclusive donor stayed home. Your idea of a homicidal donor is a bust, Bailey Ruth. But you can’t say the department doesn’t follow up. Mrs Prichard, her son, Alexander, and daughter-in-law, Winifred, never left their table. August Mayer remained at the table
. Jill Mayer went to the ladies’ room about a quarter to seven. George Kirk, ditto. Melissa Kirk, ditto.

  ‘I even printed some photos from the Gazette. Just for you.’ He rummaged and pushed a sheet across his desk.

  Jill Mayer smiled in a studio portrait. I estimated her age at sixty-five to seventy. Silver-frosted brown hair was drawn back into a chignon. Her face was thin, sensitive, intelligent. She was lovely in a cashmere sweater set and I thought the strand of pearls on her throat was real.

  George Kirk was muscular in white tennis shirt and shorts, holding a racket, broad face red from sun. Curly brown hair. Smiling. A man accustomed to having fun. Melissa Kirk stood in the shadow of a huge redwood, hands on her hips. Dark windblown hair. Her face was thin, intense, nervy.

  I don’t know why I expected older people. There are young rich, too.

  Perhaps Sam understood my expression. ‘A different world for some. But money doesn’t make people the brightest bulbs in the marquee. George strikes me as a good-time Charlie and I bet someone else made the money. He went downstairs and stepped out on the terrace, said banquets bore him. Pleasant guy, though. Speaking of the terrace, we found the seed pod Robert Blair threw. R heart G. Plus, his fingerprints. So, that’s that. As for Melissa,’ there was a trace of distaste in his tone, ‘she thought the whole exercise was funny, said, “I never thought I could add Interrogated by police re homicide to my bucket list. That’s a hoot.”’

  ‘Three donors left the ballroom.’ I said it with as much force as I could muster, but even I had to admit that no one in that small photo gallery looked a likely killer.

  ‘During the critical period,’ his tone was indulgent, ‘several people were absent from the table hosted by George Kirk.’ He rustled through a sheaf of papers, ‘In addition to George Kirk and Melissa Kirk, Camille Dubois and Alice Harrison also left the ballroom. Those four were among the thirty-six people known to have left their tables. The point is, thirty-five of them had no quarrel with Matt Lambert. That brings us to Iris Gallagher.’ He ticked off the charges, one by one. ‘She quarreled with him Thursday afternoon. She refuses to admit she went downstairs. She refuses to discuss the quarrel. My guess is that Gallagher lit into him over the daughter, one way or another. Maybe not sex, but he was overseeing an internship, maybe he was treating the girl wrong. Gage Gallagher went to his office at midnight, which shows she was pretty desperate about something in there that could jeopardize her scholarship. Anyway, Iris Gallagher’s seen too many cop shows on TV. When we ask a question, she says, “I decline to answer.” Of course, she declines to answer. And that, Officer Loy, is where the investigation is.’