Tracy Kiely: Murder Most Persuasive

We’d just gotten to the scene where Ben Stiller’s character inadvertently sets fire to the chuppah, when something clicked. Of course! The chuppah! I leaped from the couch.

“What’s the matter?” Peter asked.

“I know who did it!” I cried. “I know who killed Michael and poisoned Bonnie and Julian.”

After explaining my theory to everyone, I called Ann and told her that I was coming over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the excitement in my voice.

“I think I’ve figured it out. I think I know who killed Michael!”

“Who?”

I paused. While telling her wouldn’t be easy, I didn’t want to do it over the phone—that wouldn’t be right. “I’m coming over,” I said. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Ann wasn’t happy but agreed. I told her I’d be there as soon as I could. Peter, Aunt Winnie, and I drove over to her house, where she answered the door with a worried expression.

“Okay, tell me,” she said once we were inside.

“Well, I think I know who killed Michael,” I said, suddenly loath to tell her who it was.

“You mentioned that,” she said in exasperation. “ Who is it? ”

“I’d be curious to hear your theory on that as well,” said another voice. I turned. It was Joe. I glanced back at Ann. She gave me a quick smile. Well, at least there was some good news tonight. Having Joe here would definitely make it easier for Ann. And for me.

Taking a deep breath, I quickly explained everything. When I finished, Joe said, “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.”

Ann slumped against the wall, her face pale. “Are you sure?” she asked.

I nodded. I knew it was hard for her to hear. “It has to be the explanation. It’s the only one that makes sense.”

“But how do we prove it?” Joe asked.

“That’s the tricky part,” I acknowledged. “There’s no proof. Only a few odd facts that could easily be explained away.”

“So what do you propose?” Ann asked.

“We pay a visit to Bonnie,” I said. “Maybe we can convince her to do the right thing.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Joe asked.

I paused. “It has to. It’s our only hope.”

“What exactly is your plan?” he asked.

When I explained, the room erupted in various levels of outrage and opposition. Peter was especially adamant. “This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard of!” he cried. “You can’t be serious.”

“Peter, it’s the only way. And you know it. Unless we do this, we’ll never be able to prove how Michael was killed,” I said.

“I don’t care!” he yelled back at me.

“Peter, please. If I don’t do this, then a murderer—a murderer who’s killed twice—goes free. Can you really live with that? Because I can’t.” Peter did not answer. “I’ll be fine,” I promised. “Besides, Joe will be there the whole time. Right, Joe?”

Joe looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s no more dangerous than to let a killer keep killing,” I retorted. “And what about Scott? He’s sitting in jail for something he didn’t do! There’s more proof against Scott than the actual murderer. If we don’t do this, there’s an excellent chance that he’ll be convicted.”

That seemed to win him over. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll give it a try.”

“If this is going to happen, then I want to be there, too,” said Peter. Joe grudgingly nodded.

I smiled reassuringly at them. I’d won the argument. I just hoped I was right.

We drove over to Bonnie’s in silence. To be on the safe side, we didn’t call first. The house was dark and I hoped that Bonnie hadn’t gone out. However, once we were at the door I could hear the faint murmuring of a television playing inside. Our first knock was ignored, but Joe knocked again and then finally yelled through the door.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” he called. “Please, open up. It’s Detective Muldoon. I have to talk to you.”

After a moment, we heard movement from inside and finally the sound of the door’s lock being slid back. The door then was slowly opened a crack. A blue eye peered out suspiciously from the other side. The door opened a few inches wider, revealing both Bonnie and Scarlett. Scarlett gave a happy bark at seeing Joe. From the faint scowl on Bonnie’s face, it was clear that she did not share Scarlett’s excitement. Upon opening the door even wider, Bonnie saw the rest of us huddled on her doorstep. Instantly, her expression changed from one of mild annoyance to outright fury and she moved to slam the door shut. Joe anticipated her and stuck his foot out to block the door from closing.

“I specifically told the police that I didn’t want to see anyone! Especially you people!” Bonnie hissed, as Joe nudged the door open. Bonnie scurried back into the foyer still glaring at us. She was dressed in a silky pink robe and holding Scarlett, who now happily wagged her tail.

“Get out of my house,” Bonnie said, backing farther away from us. “I don’t want you here. You people tried to kill me. You killed Julian!”

“Bonnie, I swear to you that none of us had anything to do with Julian’s death,” said Ann.

Bonnie scoffed. “You’re all a bunch of conceited, black-hearted varmints and I don’t know why I should let you come in my house.” Bonnie might still be suspicious of us, but she was apparently still happy to quote Gone with the Wind . Oh, well. I had Jane Austen. Bonnie had Margaret Mitchell.

Joe stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds, but I need to talk to you about the murder of Michael Barrow.”

Bonnie’s eyes flew open in surprise and then shuttered, but not before I caught the sly, knowing look that crept into them. “I have nothing to say to you about that,” she said, tipping her nose in the air.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Joe replied calmly. “Why don’t we talk in the living room where we can be more comfortable?”

Bonnie stared at Joe a moment before blowing an angry breath through her nose. Tilting her head in acquiescence, she turned on her heel and marched into the living room and settled onto the couch. Picking up the remote, she clicked off the television. We followed her and took seats on the chairs. Joe remained standing.

“What do you want from me?” she snapped.

“The truth,” said Joe.

Bonnie turned to him, her face incredulous. “But I’ve told you the truth!”

Joe shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you haven’t.”

Bonnie’s mouth pulled down into a stubborn frown. “I don’t see what you expect of me. After all, I’m the victim here.”

Joe explained what he expected. Bonnie’s eyes widened in shock. “But how did you know…?” she sputtered.

“That’s not really the point, is it?” Joe said.

“Well, it’s absurd in any case. I’ve done nothing wrong—nothing criminally wrong.”

“That’s not exactly true, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Joe. “I think I could make a very good case for your being an accessory after the fact.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened and she looked at Joe with real fear. “Is that true? I mean, could you really charge me—?”

“Yes,” Joe answered, cutting her off.

Bonnie dropped her head and focused on her hands. No one spoke. After a moment, she said in a low whisper, “Fine. I’ll tell you what happened.” As she recited her tale, Ann turned her head away in disgust. Bonnie saw the movement and threw her head back and glared defiantly at Ann. “Don’t you dare judge me!” she spat out. “Don’t you dare! You have no idea what a miserable man your father could be at times. He used me, plain and simple! He didn’t love me! I was nothing to him! Nothing!”