Рита Браун - Murder On The Prowl

"Mom, Karen didn't kill Mr. McKinchie. Really. It's nuts."

"How do you suppose the costume got in her locker?"

"Easy. Everyone on the team knows everyone else's combination. We're always borrowing stuff."

Susan hovered over Brooks. "What do you know about Karen Jensen that we don't?"

"Karen's okay. She's not a druggie. The only thing I know about Karen is that she was dating an older guy from UVA this summer and got a little too close. Really. She's okay."

Susan put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "I hope you are, too."

Later Susan called Harry, relaying the conversation with Brooks. Harry treated her to a synopsis of Rice Sky.

"Sounds boring."

"Made a lot of money. I think the real reason Roscoe was pushing the film-department idea was to punch up Maury. He was so overshadowed by Darla. Roscoe was smart. Cater to Maury and good things would follow."

"Money. Tons of money."

"Sure. They'd name the department after Maury. He'd donate all his scripts, round up old equipment; the whole thing would be an ego trip."

"How much do you think an ego trip like that would cost?"

"It would take at least a million-dollar endowment, I'd think. Probably more." Harry scribbled on a brown paper bag. "I'm not too good at knowing what it would be worth, really, but it would have to be a lot."

"What's Fair think?"

"Millions," he called out.

"Sandy Brashiers can't be that stupid," Harry said. "For a couple of million dollars even he would cave in on the film-department idea."

"I doubt Roscoe put it in dollars and cents."

"Yeah. Maybe it's in April's books."

"Susan, if that's all that's in there, what's to hide?"

"Damned if I know. We called about Sean, by the way. No change."

"I called, too."

"That kid has to know something. Larry Johnson said he'd heard the main swelling was diminishing. Maybe he'll snap out of the coma once the swelling is down."

"He's lucky to be alive."

59

"Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Rick rapped his fingers on the highly polished table.

"You have no right to push me like this." Naomi Fletcher had her back up.

"You know more than you're telling me." He remained cool and professional.

"No, I don't. And I resent you badgering me when I'm in mourning."

Wordlessly, Cynthia Cooper slid the packet of envelopes, retied with a neat bow, across the table to Naomi. Her face bled bone white.

"How—?"

"The 'how' doesn't matter, Naomi. If you are in on these murders, come clean." Cynthia sounded sympathetic. "Maybe we can work a deal."

"I didn't kill anyone."

"You didn't kill Roscoe to clear the way for McKinchie to marry you?" Rick pressured her.

"Marry Maury McKinchie? I'd sooner have a root canal." Her even features contorted in scorn.

"You liked him enough to sleep with him." Cynthia felt the intimate information should best come from her, not Rick.

"That doesn't mean I wanted to spend my life with him. Maury was a good-time Charlie, and that's all he was. He wasn't marriage material."

"Apparently, neither was Roscoe."

She shrugged. "He was in the beginning, but men change."

"So do women." Cynthia pointed to the envelopes.

"What's good for the gander was good for the goose, in this instance. The marriage vows are quite lovely, and one would hope to live up to them, but they are exceedingly unrealistic. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't kill anyone. I played with Maury McKinchie. You can't arrest me for that."

"Played with him and then killed him when you learned he wasn't serious about you and he was sleeping with another woman."

"BoomBoom." She waved her hand in the air as though at an irritating gnat. "I'd hardly worry about her."

"Plenty of other women have." Cynthia bluntly stated the truth.

"BoomBoom was too self-centered for Maury. One was never really in danger of a rival because he loved himself too much, if you know what I mean." She smiled coldly.

"You were at the car wash the day your husband died. You spoke to him. You could have easily given him poisoned candy."

"I could have, but I didn't."

"You're tough," Rick said, half admiringly.

"I'm not tough, I'm innocent."

"If I had a dollar for every killer who said that, I'd be a rich man." Rick felt in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I most certainly do. The whole house will stink when you leave, which I hope is soon."

Cynthia and Rick shared a secret acknowledgment. No Southern lady would have said that.

"How well did you know Darla?"

"A nodding acquaintance. She was rarely here."

"If you didn't kill Roscoe, do you know who did?"

"No."

"How does withholding evidence sound to you, Mrs. Fletcher?" Rick hunched forward.

"Like a bluff."

"For chrissake, Naomi, two men are dead!" Cynthia couldn't contain her disgust. Then she quickly fired a question. "Was your husband sleeping with April Shively?"

"God, no," Naomi hooted. "Roscoe thought April was pretty but deadly dull." Naomi had to admit to herself that dullness didn't keep men from sleeping with women. However, she wasn't going to admit that to Shaw and Cooper.

"Do you think Kendrick killed Maury?" Rick switched his bait.

"Unlikely." She closed her eyes, as if worn-out.

Cooper interjected. "Why?"

Naomi perked up. "Kendrick doesn't have the balls."

"Did you love your husband?" Rick asked.

She grew sober, sad even. "You live with a man for eighteen years, you tend to know him. Roscoe might wander off the reservation from time to time. He could indulge in little cruelties—his treatment of Sandy Brashiers being a case in point. He kept Sandy in the dark about everything." She paused, "Did I love him? I was accustomed to him, but I did love him. Yes, I did."

Cynthia mustered a smile. "Why?"

Naomi shrugged. "Habit."

"What did Roscoe have against Sandy Brashiers?"

"Roscoe always had it in for Harvard men. He said the arrogance of their red robes infuriated him. You know, during academic ceremonies only Harvard wears the crimson robe."

"Do you have any feeling about the false obituaries?" Cynthia prodded.

"Those?" Naomi wrinkled her brow. "Kids' prank. Sean apolo gized."

"Do you think he was also responsible for the second one?"

"No. I think it was a copycat. Sean got the luxury of being a bad dude. Very seductive at that age. Another boy wanted the glory. Is it that important?"

"It might be." Rick reached for his hat.

"Have you searched April Shively's house?" Naomi asked.

"House, car, office, even her storage unit. Nothing."

Naomi stood up to usher them out. "She doesn't live high on the hog. I don't think she embezzled funds."

"She could be covering up for someone else." Cynthia reached the door first.

"You mean Roscoe, of course." Naomi didn't miss a beat. "Why not? He's dead. He can be accused of anything. You have to find criminals in order to keep your jobs, don't you?"

Rick halted at the door as Naomi's hand reached the knob. "You work well with Sandy, don't you? Under the circumstances?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that Sandy got a student pregnant at White Academy, the school he worked at before St. Elizabeth's?"

Cooper struck next. "Roscoe knew."

"You two have been very busy." Her lips tightened.

"Like you said, Mrs. Fletcher, we have to find criminals in order to keep our jobs." Rick half smiled.

She grimaced and closed the door.

60

Mrs. Murphy leaned against the pillow on the sofa. She stretched her right hind leg out straight and held it there. Then she unsheathed her claws and stared at her toes. What stupendously perfect toes. She repeated the process with the left hind leg. Then she reached with her front paws together, a kitty aerobic exercise. Satisfied, she lay back on the pillow, happily staring into the fire. She reviewed in her mind recent events.