Death by Hitchcock (17 page)

“Remember when you told me,” she continued, “that Milo Marcus rushed into the projection room on the night of the murder, and told Aaron Farb to stop the movie? Before anybody else knew what was happening?”

“Yes,” Will replied.

“It was because he already knew Bunny’s body had been found. He didn’t have to wait to find out what was happening, because he already knew. He knew the body would be discovered sometime during the movie
––it was just a matter of time until somebody left the auditorium to use the ladies’ room and discovered her body behind the slightly open door of that middle stall.”

“Incredible!” Will exclaimed. “I’ve got to get this to my Chief right away!”

“Damn!” he said, glancing at his watch. “She’ll be at her granddaughter’s birthday party.”

“So what?” Edwina said. “Let’s go!”

Charging up the stairs, Edwina quickly changed out of her pajama pants into jeans, and slipped on a pair of shoes. She grabbed a jacket from the coat rack as they flew out the front door. 

During the drive
, Will and Edwina took turns stringing together a narrative of the murders, beginning with how Milo lured Bunny Baldwin to Hexley Hall on the night of
Spellbound
, texting her from Rita Clovis’s phone, making sure she’d show up before anyone else arrived. All the while, Franky McGill was impersonating Milo at Lattimer’s Pond, with no idea of the real reason. Wallace Duncan and Hugo Hitchens acted as witnesses, unwittingly corroborating Milo’s alibi, even getting ‘Milo’ on film. Milo had taken a chance that Wallace Duncan and Hugo Hitchens would not be able to differentiate between himself and Franky from a distance in the shadowy landscape of Lattimer’s Pond, and it worked. After Milo killed Bunny, he must have felt it was necessary to silence Franky for good––or perhaps that was part of his plan from the beginning.

“Motive?” Will said.

“He was completely obsessed with Mary Buttery,” Edwina replied. “He figured the best way to win her affections was to prove his undying love and devotion by killing Bunny, whom he knew Mary hated.” 

“The motive for Franky McGill’s murder was more straightforward,” Will said. “Since Franky was the only person who knew Milo’s secret, Milo had to eliminate him. Maybe Franky even guessed the connection, and was blackmailing Milo. So Milo enticed Franky to a desolate spot by the river at night
––with the promise of drugs or money, or both––rendered him unconscious with a few beers laced with Xanax, and strangled him.”

The rain was falling steadily. They arrived at Lightening Strike Bowling Alley, and made a dash across the parking lot. The place was noisy and packed to the gills. Will looked from side to side across the cacophonous horizon of crowded bowling lanes. Brightly
-colored balloons announced a birthday party in progress at Lane Number Twelve.

Chief Valerie Burnstein was helping her daughter portion birthday cake and ice cream onto princess-themed paper plates, and set them around a table covered with a princess tablecloth. A tense-looking young man, the Chief’s son-in-law, was sitting at the scoring table while eight jubilant little girls, beside themselves with delight, took turns bowling. The Chief looked up and saw Edwina and Will. She said something to her daughter, and approached them.

“What’s up?” the Chief said with a taut expression.

“You remember Edwina Goodman?” Will said. “Chief Valerie Burnstein.”

The women briefly shook hands and smiled.

“Edwina has cracked both murders,” Will said simply.

Without a word, the Chief walked back to the birthday party. She spoke to her daughter, who looked at Will and Edwina with an expression of annoyance.

“Let’s go someplace we can hear ourselves talk,” said the Chief. “It’s deafening in here.”

They headed toward the main entrance, and paused in the dingy vestibule where they discussed the investigation in low voices. Will walked the Chief through Edwina’s discoveries, with Edwina chiming in from time to time.

The Chief grew visibly excited.

Chapter 44

The rain had not let up, and it was getting dark outside as Edwina and Will made a run back across the parking lot.

“The Chief’s meeting me at the station in a little while,” Will said, shifting the truck into reverse. “We’ll find Milo and arrest him.” 

“Milo must truly be crazy,” Edwina sighed. “I can’t help feeling bad for him––such a good brain, gone totally feral.”

Rainfall pounded the roof of Will’s sturdy truck. Twenty minutes later when they turned into Edwina’s driveway, Will pulled up the driveway as close to the house as he could so Edwina would not get soaked on her way inside. 

It was nearly dark. The green glow from the dashboard light softly illuminated the front seat of the truck. As Edwina reached for the door, something moved her to speak in a way that surprised both of them. Perhaps it was the words of Nedda Cake, coming from some remote place in Edwina’s mind.

“I was just thinking, Will,” she said. “It seems kind of a shame for me to spend such a stormy night at home, when I could be enjoying it from
––from––the inside of a tipi, for instance.” 

Edwina’s hair was damp and stringy, and a few strands clung to her cheeks. Will reached across, and tenderly pushed her bangs to the side. 

“What a good idea,” he said. “I’ll come back as soon as I can and pick you up. Just as soon as Milo is safely squared away.”

As the storm continued to bluster and roar through the night, rivers and streams overflowed their banks, and there were reports of a number of roads flooding. Hundreds of homes lost electricity as power lines were downed. But Edwina and Will were dry and safe on the high ground of Will’s tipi. Nature kept the show going for them, as strong gusts of wind pelted the canvas with loud sheets of rain, and thunder crashed all night long. A wood stove, its chimney vented out through an opening in one of the sides, kept them warm, and provided a place to cook. By morning their bodies and blankets were infused with the musky sweet smell of ash wood smoke.

Chapter 45

After receiving news from the college of their son’s arrest, Milo’s parents arrived from Chicago on a private plane the following morning, and grimly headed straight to the jail before checking themselves in at the New Guilford Inn. Milo knew his parents would spare no expense on his legal defense. He confidently expected to walk away from this whole, irritating business, imagining there would be any number of legal maneuvers his lawyers could come up with
in order to reunite him with Mary Buttery. 

Milo used his one phone call to contact Mary.

“Hello, Mary; it’s Hans Beckert calling,” he giggled.

There was a short silence on the other end of the line.

“Milo?” Mary said.

“Listen, Mary; I wanted to let you know something before you heard it elsewhere,” he said excitedly.

“Oh? What’s that?” Mary asked, anticipating something wonderful. Perhaps Milo had been offered a teaching position after graduation at some prestigious school, she hoped, or gotten a contract to write a book, or––dare she think it?––was he going to propose?

Milo hesitated, stifling another giggle. He could hardly contain his joy, imagining Mary’s infinite pleasure at his remarkable announcement. 

“Milo, are you still there?” Mary said.

“You’ll never guess, Mary!” he said breathlessly.

“Well––what is it, Milo?” 

“I’ve been arrested for Bunny’s murder! And for killing that townie, Frank McGill!”

There was silence on the other end.

“Mary? Mary?” Milo implored. “Oh, Mary, I did it for
you
!”

Chapter 46

Ned Partridge was brewing coffee. Its delicious, roasty aroma filled the domed house. He poured two mugs halfway full, filled the rest with hot milk, and carried them outside.

Will backed down the ladder when he saw Ned approaching. The men stood on the frozen ground and gazed up at the storm-damaged, triangular-shaped panels that covered the exterior of the dome. They sipped the milky coffee in silence, assessing the extent of repair work needed.

“It’s lucky the frame wasn’t damaged,” Will said. “A few dings, but nothing much. The plywood looks okay
––I don’t think we need to replace any panels. We just need to put up some shingles that got blown away. Two dozen or so. I’ll get over to Dan’s when I finish my coffee and pick some up.”

“No need,” Ned replied. “I’ve got a bunch of shingles left over in the shed.”

Ned returned to the house and fixed a fresh cup of coffee with hot milk. He took it around to the back of the house this time, and called up.

“Coffee?”

Edwina peered down from atop a second ladder, where she was removing branches and leaves from triangular skylight windows.

“Be right there,” she called down.

Her nose was red from the cold, and she gratefully held the hot mug in both hands.

“Cheers, Ned.”

The sky was overcast and brooding. A clammy and pervasive dampness made the chilly temperature feel even colder. Will appeared, coffee in hand, and the three stood, sipping their coffee, gazing at the domed building.

“I was thinking we could move those tree branches out of the driveway tomorrow,” Will said.

Repairs to the dome’s exterior were finished by the time it started getting dark. Edwina and Will said their goodbyes and got into Will’s truck.

“See you tomorrow, Ned,” Will waved to the old man.

“I’m famished,” Edwina said. “Want to stop at Earl’s?”

“Sure,” Will replied.

They rode in companionable silence along back roads, slowing to avoid fallen branches and detritus from the storm. Half a mile outside of town, Will pulled into the parking lot of a sprawling home improvement store. He parked at the far end where there were few cars.

“What are we getting?” Edwina said.

“Not a thing,” Will replied, hopping out of the truck.

“Move over to the driver’s seat,” he said, climbing into the passenger side. 

Reluctantly, Edwina took the wheel. She would soon discover the depth of Will’s patience, as onlookers observed the truck lurching forward repeatedly, gears screeching and grinding. She concentrated mightily, trying to get the knack of working the clutch with one foot, the accelerator with the other, and at the same time operating the gearshift, but the engine kept cutting out. Will sensed her growing frustration.

“Stick with it
––you’re doing fine,” he muttered.  “Tell you what. You focus on working the clutch, and I’ll shift gears for you. Once you get comfortable with the clutch, you’ll be all set.”

“It’s too complicated!” she moaned, her stomach grumbling.

“Edwina,” he replied quietly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you––do you know how a particle accelerator works?”

Edwina looked at Will quizzically, and nodded her head.

“Then you can master this,” he said calmly.

A klatch of regular patrons drifted into Earl’s Cafe most evenings. All were men of a certain age whose most productive years were behind them. Shelby Adams from the bookshop had gotten into the habit of wearing an ascot to hide his sagging jaw line, an affectation his friends found delightfully risible. Dan Jackson had recently relinquished the daily running of Dan’s Bridge Market to his sons, leaving him with not quite enough to do most days. Along with retired Postmaster Hank Billings and Earl Dufresne, they formed the core of this casual social club. A retired chemistry professor from Cushing College joined them on weekends, and a handful of Kiwanis dropped in from time to time, too.

Not surprisingly in a small town like New Guilford, there was shared history among these men, and not all of it good. There had been indiscretions and misunderstandings along the way that, like sleeping dogs, were better left alone. The creeping loneliness of old age had forged an understanding among them that the need for companionship trumped the sting of old injuries. 

“Hey, fellas,” Earl said, motioning them over.

The New Guilford Duffer Society gathered at the window in time to see Will’s battered pickup truck lurching up the street at fifteen miles an hour, its engine straining in low gear. The truck suddenly halted and shimmied as the engine made a scraping sound, followed by a loud coughing sputter. Once again
Edwina restarted the truck, and steered it, tottering in first gear, the rest of the way. By the time she and Will walked in the door of the café, she was famished and enormously proud of herself.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elissa D. Grodin is a children’s author and novelist, and has written for the
Times Literary Supplement
.  She lives in New York City and Connecticut with her husband, actor/commentator/activist Charles Grodin. They have a son, Nicholas. Her first cozy mystery
Physics Can Be Fatal
, introduced her heroine Edwina Goodman.

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