A Draw of Death (Helen Binney Mysteries Book 3) (18 page)

"She didn't need to kill him to get rid of him," Tate said. "She had legal recourse, and she was doing a good job of pursuing it. It might have taken a year or two, but she was going to win the case. Most of the time when a layperson represents herself in court, she skimps on the preparation, but not Freddie. She is one determined, smart woman. I've seen some of her filings, and she had Vic dead to rights. Metaphorically speaking."

"How was she going to prove he was doing more than just inviting a few friends over to play cards?"

A hint of a smile appeared. "She did just what I would have recommended. She's keeping a log of all the license plate numbers that go past her house, complete with the time of day and the state that issued the plate. She had more out-of-state plates than in-state plates on the preliminary list I saw, and she claimed to have time-stamped pictures to back it up."

"Was she still collecting the license plate numbers this weekend? She might have seen the killer's car go by."

Tate stopped fidgeting with the earplugs. "You're planning to go ask her, aren't you? I already suggested it to Hank Peterson. You should let him do it."

Helen waited a moment to see if he'd lecture her on all the ways that visiting Freddie would be a bad idea and lead to her getting arrested, but he didn't. She knew from past experience that he would have gone on at great length about the risks if he'd really meant to discourage her. He'd done it often enough before.

Tate always meant exactly what he said, and he chose his words carefully. He couldn't ask her to question Freddie in the middle of a police investigation, not without going against all his legal training. He had to warn her. But surely he also knew by now that a mild warning would only encourage her.

Helen was saved from having to come up with a non-answer by the arrival of Stevie. She barged through the garage door, her hands raised apologetically. "I'm sorry to interrupt your woodworking, Uncle Tate, but I think we've got a problem, and you did say I shouldn't talk to the police without you being present."

At first, Stevie hadn't even noticed anyone other than her uncle was in the garage, and Helen would have liked to keep it that way. Unfortunately, Tate was fully aware of her presence, and he explained that attorney-client privilege wouldn't apply if there was anyone else in the room. 

Despite Helen's curiosity, she wouldn't do anything to harm Stevie's defense. Tate would never forgive himself if he couldn't save her from being charged with murder.

Helen slid off the director's chair and left them to their private conversation. She could always grill Tate tomorrow for any information that wasn't confidential. Meanwhile, she could work on an excuse to question Freddie tomorrow about her list of license plate numbers.

First thing the next morning, Art gave her the opportunity she needed. He called to say, "I've run out of options. That cat is going to drop dead of a stroke if I can't get it back inside for its daily pills. It didn't actually eat the food with the pill in it yesterday, so it's been five days since the last dose, and I can't reach Vic's vet to find out how many missed doses will be fatal."

"Have you tried trapping it, like they do with feral cats?"

"That was the first thing I did after the police left on Sunday," Art said. "Broadway won't get near the trap, even when I put its favorite food inside. It's too busy teasing the fans by running back and forth on the front walls, just out of reach."

"Have they figured out there aren't any walls between Vic's property and Freddie's?"

"Not yet," Art said. "That's another reason why I really need to get that cat under lock and key. I hate to impose, but you're the only person it's shown the least little bit of affection for since Vic died. Could you try once more to find it?"

Finally, someone appreciated her assistance. Now she had a ready-made excuse for venturing into the yard next door, where she could casually ask about Freddie's list of license plate numbers from the night of Vic's murder.

Jay and Zee would be at the cottage in about half an hour, and it wouldn't take long to stop at the grocery store for tuna on the way to the mansion. Helen would need to reschedule her regular noon appointment with Rebecca to later in the day, but that shouldn't be a problem. "I can be at Vic's by ten."

"Perfect," Art said. "I'll be waiting to let you in the gates, and then I'll stay out of your way."

"The cat seems to really dislike Nora." It had good taste. "I'll have a better chance of catching it if she stays inside the house."

"I'll do better than that," Art said. "I'll make sure she stays inside her room. At this point, I'd do anything to get that cat under control. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. Vic loved Broadway so much."

Right after Art hung up, Lily called. She didn't bother with small talk. "You still haven't given us your schedule for the next couple of weeks. You did promise."

Helen had promised. And promptly forgotten. "I've been busy. I can tell you right now that there's nothing much on my agenda. Today, I'm going to help a friend search for a missing cat, and afterwards I'll be at the nursing home for Charity Caps Day. There's nothing else on my calendar until next week's Charity Caps Day."

"What about the murder investigation? I haven't been able to reach Adam. Has his sister been cleared?"

"Not yet."

"Then you must have other plans," Lily insisted. "I can't believe you're going to sit around making hats while Detective Peterson is putting together a bogus case against Stevie."

"I never said I would. You'd be amazed what a person can learn at a nursing home that's full of retirees who used to work for the town," Helen said. "What about you? Did you find out anything useful about Nora Manning?"

"Is she still your prime suspect?"

"Not anymore. She had the means, but not much of a motive, and I'm pretty sure she has an alibi. Tate's double-checking it, just to be sure."

"Too bad," Lily said. "I'd much rather see her in jail than Stevie."

"So you've met Nora?"

"A couple of times. At charity events. I don't have anything personal against her, but she seems kind of…" The normally decisive Lily paused. "I don't know. Not exactly sleazy, but a little too slick to be believed. What I found out about her only reinforced that impression. She's got absolutely no footprints online. Not even a bio or employee description. I couldn't find out anything from my offline sources either. She's got a driver's license and birth certificate and all that, so she's not a robot or an alien, but I couldn't find anything else. No social media presence, no news articles mentioning her as representing the gaming industry, nothing. That sort of complete invisibility doesn't just happen. It has to be intentional."

"It sounds like she used her PR skills to get her name forgotten, instead of getting it remembered." Nora must have done that sort of thing plenty of times for other people, covering up her clients' gaffes. Vic reveled in his bad boy reputation, so she hadn't had to cover for him, at least not until the library event, but there had to have been other clients who did need to erase their bad conduct. "What could she be hiding?"

"I don't know, but that's why I thought she might be a good suspect," Lily said. "Maybe she did something awful and she's afraid something from her past would catch up to her if there was any public mention of her whatsoever. Or maybe she had an ex who turned into a stalker and went after any man she was involved with. He could have thought she had a relationship with Vic and killed him for it."

"I'm pretty sure Vic and Nora were just business acquaintances, nothing personal."

"Stalkers aren't known for being rational," Lily said. "They don't necessarily wait for evidence that would hold up in a court before they act."

"Much as I dislike Nora personally, it's more likely that she's really good at her job, and she uses those skills to maintain a bit of privacy for herself." Helen hadn't had that luxury during her long marriage, but she rather enjoyed being anonymous now. At least, as much as she could be living in a small town where everyone seemed to know her or think they did. "I'm the last person to criticize anyone for wanting to maintain a little privacy. Not that you and Laura would ever let me go completely off the grid."

"Hey, someone's got to keep you out of trouble," Lily said. "Don't forget to send us your schedule. If I don't have it by the end of today, I'm coming down there to make sure you're okay."

"You'll have it."

Lily hung up, the silence reminding Helen that there was something else she'd meant to ask Lily, but she couldn't remember what it was.

The sound of a car in the driveway interrupted the paralysis of indecision. Helen grabbed her yarn bag and cane on the way out of the cottage.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, after a quick stop at the grocery store for more tuna, Zee parked the Forester next to Nora's car and left with her brother to go find Marty to see if he needed any help while they were there.

Art was waiting for Helen on the front steps of the mansion, and he nodded at where Jay and Zee were jogging down the driveway toward the gate. "Do they know to stay out of sight while you're searching for Broadway?"

As far as Helen could tell, Jay and Zee were oblivious to everything except their work and their Hollywood dreams. They wouldn't wander off to look for cats or clues. "They won't be a problem. Have you got Nora locked up tight?"

"Yep." Art stuffed his hands in the pockets of his designer suit jacket. "In her room, talking to someone about a guest appearance someplace."

"You'd better get out of sight too."

"Ungrateful creature," Art said and then laughed. "That didn't come out right. I was talking about the cat, not you. I feed it, keep it healthy by making sure it gets its pills, and what do I get in return? A lot of hissing and disrespect. I owe it to Mr. Rezendes to take care of his beloved pet, but I can't wait until it's someone else's problem. You didn't think of anyone who wanted a cat, did you?"

She hadn't even remembered until now that he'd asked her about it. "Don't you need to keep the cat until the heirs are determined?"

"It's been so crazy here I didn't get a chance to tell you. Vic's attorney has the will, and she's been in touch with the beneficiaries. She's been authorized to keep paying my salary until the end of the year, and all I've got to do is keep an eye on this place and find a new home for Broadway."

"Did Vic set aside any money to take care of the cat?" Francesca might be able to take it if she had financial help with its food and veterinary expenses.

"A little. Most of the money went to the Compulsive Gambling Recovery Group, with a few smaller amounts for his fan club and Broadway."

"He gave money to an anti-gambling group?"

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"More than ironic, it's a motive for murder." Helen needed to have another chat with Donald Glennon to see what he knew about the inheritance and whether anyone in the group might have grown impatient while waiting for Vic to die. Money was less likely to be a motive for the other beneficiary, the fan club. Its members seemed genuinely saddened by the death of their idol. Of course, Vic did have a reputation for being abrasive, and he might have ridiculed his fans during one of his television appearances. She'd have to ask Betty and Josie more about Vic's relationship with his fans.

"I'm leaving the investigation to the police," Art said. "I've got enough to do just finding the cat and keeping the fans from breaching the gates. Before I go inside, let me show you where I last saw Broadway." Art took one hand out of his jacket pocket, pointed toward the side of the house facing Freddie Wade's property, and started walking in that direction. "The cat was over there, taking a break from teasing the fans."

The corner of a scarf peeked out from the pocket Art had just taken his hand from. It was distinctive enough to be immediately recognizable from the tiny bit of fabric that was visible. Nora had been wearing it yesterday. What was Art doing with her scarf?

Art must have noticed Helen wasn't following him. He turned and took in her puzzled expression as she stared at the scarf. He pulled it out of his pocket and wrapped it around his hand, as if worried that the silk would slide out of his grasp otherwise. 

Or as if he were going to use it as a garrote.

Helen didn't know where that thought came from. Only someone as paranoid as Marianne would think Art was dangerous simply because he was part of the Millennial Generation. He was as mild-mannered as his late boss had been aggressive. Even if Art were a violent psychopath, there were too many witnesses nearby for him to try anything here. Nora might not care, but Jay, Zee, and Marty were close enough to hear if she screamed.

Art laughed. "I don't usually walk around with women's scarves in my pocket. It's just one more reason why finding a home for Broadway will be a challenge. It likes to steal people's stuff. I found this with the rest of the cat's stash this morning, and I recognized it as belonging to Nora. My pocket's about the only place that's safe from Broadway's little burglaries. Come on, let me show you where the cat likes to hang out, and then I'll leave you to find it."

Helen took a step in his direction, only to be brought up short by Detective Peterson coming around the corner of the house where Art had been heading. Detective Almeida was right behind him.

*   *   *

"Imagine finding you here, Ms. Binney," Detective Peterson said. "I could swear Almeida here told me she'd made it clear that you were to stay away from the crime scene."

"She did," Helen said, and almost apologized for being there until she realized exactly what he'd implied. "I'm nowhere near the crime scene. Unless you're saying Vic was killed outside and then moved to the poker room."

There was a hint of a smile on Detective Almeida's face. Art looked confused, and then said, "I'd better go return Nora's scarf to her. Unless you need me for something."

"No, no, you can go." Peterson glared down at Helen. "I don't have time to deal with you right now. I've got important things to do." He raised his hand to gesture his new partner forward. "Almeida, take care of this. Perhaps she'll listen if you explain it woman to woman." 

"Good idea," Helen said. "We'll share a little girl talk, maybe give each other a manicure, and that'll scare the killer into confessing."

"No need for that," Peterson said smugly. "We'll have a confession by the end of the day."

He took off, and Helen turned to Almeida. "I know he's usually pretty confident about his theory of a crime, but that sounds pretty extreme, even for him. Does he really believe he's closing in on an arrest, or is it just a bluff?"

"Peterson's not that good at bluffing," Almeida said. "He really thinks he'll have a confession by the end of the day."

"You don't sound convinced."

She shrugged. "It's not me he has to convince. Besides, I'm new to homicide cases. Until I moved here, all I'd ever worked on were minor crimes. Mostly shoplifting over at the outlet mall, plus some burglaries and a few minor assaults, no dangerous weapons."

"There isn't much theft here in Wharton. The biggest crime wave in years was the Remote Control Burglar, and the stolen items weren't even worth the effort it took for him to break into houses."