Tracy Kiely: Murder Most Persuasive

“You said Julian was wanted for larceny. Could someone from his past have tracked him down and done this?” Ann asked hopefully.

“With the same poison that was used on your stepmother?” came the dubious reply. “That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” agreed Ann.

“Well, that’s all I have for now.” Officer Daschle got up to leave. “Obviously, we’ll be in touch. I’d prefer it if neither of you went anywhere. I’m sure we’ll have more questions as we learn more.”

“Of course,” said Ann. “We’d be happy to do anything we can to help.”

From the cold expression in his dark eyes, it didn’t look like Officer Daschle believed her. I rather thought it was time to call Joe.

Joe arrived an hour and a half later. As soon as he appeared, I discreetly left. I don’t think either of them noticed.

I drove to the local Whole Foods, where I got an assortment of food and then brought it all back to Uncle Marty’s house. Ann and Joe were out back, so I slipped in unheard and unloaded the groceries. I left a note for Ann on the counter and then, after packing a small bag of gourmet goodies for myself, headed to Peter’s apartment. I let myself in with my key and, after putting the food and wine in the refrigerator, flopped on the couch and closed my eyes. Although I’d slept past noon, I was still exhausted.

Once again I tried to make sense of the events of the last few days. Bonnie had brought Julian back claiming that he was her soul mate and new investor. That had of course upset everyone, but apparently it had upset someone more than the rest of us and he or she had tried to poison Bonnie. Next Julian had been poisoned, this time successfully. Were both attacks because of the money? Had the poisoner hoped to prevent Bonnie from giving Julian the money? When it appeared that Bonnie was going to live, had the poisoner then killed Julian just so that Bonnie couldn’t go through with her plan? I knew that Ann had nothing to do with the attacks. But if money was the motive, that meant it had to be Reggie, Frances, or Scott. Reggie admitted to preparing the fatal drink but claimed to have merely made it and then placed it on the counter. Frances was in the kitchen when Reggie put the drink on the counter. Could Frances have poisoned it then? Frances and Scott needed the money to replace what they put into the business. Frances clearly had no problem stretching the truth—if not lying outright—if she thought it would help Scott. But would she go so far as to commit murder? Was she really capable of that?

My eyes grew heavy and my thoughts became fuzzy and disjointed. Reggie floated by in a wedding gown trimmed with lilies. She stood under an enormous arbor upon which wild animals twisted and curved in gaudy relief. Laura and Miles stood behind her. Laura was smiling at Reggie. Miles was laughing at the arbor. Frances and Scott stood to Reggie’s left. Upon further reflection, I saw that Frances was standing on Michael. Scott didn’t seem to notice. Bonnie walked past them, a glass of wine in her hands. She didn’t notice Michael either. I tried to cry out, but Peter kissed me and I woke up.

I blinked several times as Peter kissed me again. “Hey, sleepyhead, this is a nice surprise. I like coming home to you,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

I tried to sit up. “What time is it?” I asked upon waking for the second time that day.

Peter glanced at his watch. “Six thirty. I tried calling you on your cell, but it went to voice mail. I missed you.” He nuzzled my neck again.

I closed my eyes and gave in to Peter’s kisses. In a moment I’d have to ruin the mood by telling him about Julian, but for now it was a welcome escape. Sometime later (never mind how much later, thank you very much) I said, “I have some news.”

Peter caught the somber tone in my voice and groaned. “What now?”

“Julian’s dead. Murdered, actually. With the same poison that was used on Bonnie.”

Peter sat up in astonishment. “Are you kidding me? No, I can see from your face you’re not. Jesus Christ! And you’re just telling me now?”

“I got distracted.”

Peter smiled briefly. “When did it happen?”

“Last night, I guess. The hotel maid found him this morning.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“Not that I know of. They took Ann’s statement and mine this afternoon, but I haven’t heard anything else since then.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have. Your cell phone is going straight to voice mail. Is it dead?”

A nervous apprehension settled over me. I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my purse. As Peter said, my phone was indeed dead. I quickly unearthed my charger and plugged it into the nearest outlet. As the phone chirped to life, I saw that I had missed several calls. Four were from Peter. Two were from Ann. The first was to thank me for the food. The second was to tell me that Scott had been arrested for the murder of Julian and the attempted murder of Bonnie.

By the time Peter and I got to Uncle Marty’s house, everyone else was already there. Frances was hysterical, her usual poised tweedy façade in tatters. “He didn’t do it!” she kept crying to us all. “Scott wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Thing One and Thing Two hung on to their mother, their cries both loud and pitiful.

“What exactly happened?” I asked Ann.

“Apparently Scott went to the Ritz last night to talk to Julian,” she said. “They had a drink in the bar. The bartender remembered Scott.”

“But it was my idea!” protested Frances. “I was the one who told him to go! I told him to meet with Julian and see if he could get him to see reason about the money.”

“And did he?” I asked.

Frances’s face darkened in anger. “No. He basically told Scott to go to hell, but in more colorful words. Scott left and came home. That’s all that happened!”

But apparently Officer Daschle had other ideas. He’d arrested Scott and charged him with murder. Lawyers had been summoned, but bail had been summarily denied. With one murder and one attempted murder on their hands, the courts weren’t about to let the main suspect back on the streets.

“What am I going to do?” Frances cried. “They can’t think Scott killed Julian! Oh, God, what if they try and pin Michael’s murder on him, too?”

Miles put a fatherly arm around her shoulder. “Frances. Please, calm down. It’s going to be fine. The police have made a mistake—they’ve done it before and sadly they’ll do it again. But it doesn’t mean that the mistake can’t be rectified. We will get him out. There is no real evidence against him. Having a drink in a bar does not make him a murderer. No judge or jury would ever convict on such flimsy circumstantial evidence.”

Frances said nothing. She turned her face into Miles’s shoulder and quietly sobbed. “It’s all my fault,” she moaned after a minute. “I was the one who told him to go. He didn’t even want to. I made him go and now he’s in jail!”

At this, the boys began to cry louder. Hearing their cries jarred a memory from the night of the party. I’d already turned in for the night when I’d heard them crying—they’d been babies then. The crying kept up, and after a few minutes I got up and headed for their room. Scott was passed out on the bed and Frances wasn’t around. I was just soothing the boys when Frances appeared, somewhat out of breath. She’d quickly thanked me and hustled me out of the room. I hadn’t thought anything of it until now. The boys’ cries were so loud that she would have heard them had she been in the house. So if she wasn’t in the house, where had she been? And why had she lied about it? Was it just to cover for Scott, or was it to cover for her?