Death By A HoneyBee (16 page)

   
I then reviewed everything I had about Richard.
 
All information led to a man who was angry, frustrated and in declining health.
 
He was a prime candidate for a major heart attack.
 
Maybe Tellie didn’t want the additional burden of a physically disabled husband.
 
Or maybe Taffy had learned of the insurance policy, and decided that her father stood in the way of her mother and herself living well.
 
No, that couldn’t be.
 
She had an alibi on the morning of his death, but so did Tellie.
 
I’d bet my farm that one of them or both had something to do with Richard’s death.

  
That night, my daughter called me.
 
“Mother, what you’re doing is going to boomerang on you.”

  
“Shaneika ratted me out, huh,” I said.
 
“Isn’t my stuff with her supposed to be confidential?”

  
“Don’t change the subject.
 
What you are doing is irresponsible.
 
You are going beyond badge work.”

  
“Badges, badges?
 
We ain’t got no badges.
 
We don’t need no badges!
 
I don’t have to show you my stinkin’ badge.”
 

  
“The case is closed,” responded my daughter tersely.
 
Apparently, she did not think I was funny quoting from the
Treasure of the Sierra Madre
.

  
“There is no statute of limitation on murder.
 
The police can reopen the case any time they like.
 
Do you want someone to send the cops a little note causing them to reopen the case two years down the road?
  
No, this needs to be settled now.”
  
                                                                                                                         
 
          

  
“What if your theory is wrong?
 
Without substantial proof, Tellie can sue you for defamation of character if you go to the police with it.”

  
“What if I’m not?
 
I don’t think I am, but I need to check on some things first.
 
I won’t do anything without talking with you.”

  
“You can’t involve me!
 
I can’t know anything.
 
Understand?
 
I am even going to cut off Shaneika.”

  
“Yes.” I knew she must not be connected in any form.
 
It would ruin her.
 

  
There was silence on the phone.
 
“All right, be careful,” she said.
    
As if she had to tell me.

14

 
    
Knowing that Agnes would never receive me at her office again, I tried a different ploy.
 
For several mornings, I camped out on the immense marble reception porch of the Carnegie Center waiting for Agnes to park her big Cadillac that Officer Kelly had so nicely described for me.
 
But I tired of standing against a massive pillar as the public skirted around me going into the building while giving me the once-over.
 
So I retreated to my van.
 
The first couple mornings, I had missed her as her car was already parked in her parking spot.
 
Other mornings, she didn’t show up at all.
 
It seemed that she had a cushy job; she could come to work when she wanted.
 
One morning, though, at 7:30, her Caddy rolled in.
 
I slid down in my seat to prevent her from seeing me and calling the police.

  
  
Agnes parked some distance from me, so I silently got out, hoping to intercept her before she entered the Kentucky limestone building that housed her business.
 

  
  
“Good morning, Agnes.”

  
  
She looked like a million bucks in her fur-trimmed suede coat, swinging a Kate Spade purse.
 
Agnes recognized me immediately and reached for her cell phone.

    
“Before you call security,” I added quickly, “you might want to know that I plan to tell the police that you omitted certain facts when you told them your story.”

    
“Still drinking the blood of children?” Agnes said with quiet confidence.
 
She unnerved me, but I was determined to have the last word with her.
 
I had no idea why she was so hostile.
 
A vampire – really!

    
“Look, we can do this in the cold or go somewhere warm.”

    
“Get in my car and be quick about it,” she commanded, looking down the tree-lined street.

    
She unlocked her car, and I slid into the passenger side. It had been a long time since I had been in a luxury car that had all the bells and whistles.
 
I sank into the creamy champagne leather seat.
 

    
“What do you want?”

    
“One thing about being an academician is that one knows how to do research,” I said reaching into my pocket, “like about your accident.”
 
I pulled out a copy of a newspaper article and handed it to her.
 
“It seems that you lied to me, Agnes.
 
There was, indeed, a car accident in which you and Richard were injured, but there was no other third party.
 
You were the drunk driver.”
 

 
 
  
Before she could respond, I produced a copy of her divorce decree.
 
“And it wasn’t you who wanted the divorce, it was Richard who wanted out - who told you to get lost.
 
The only thing you told me that was true is that you loved him, which I believe you still do.
 
It must have galled you that Richard went on with his life, married again and had a child.”

  
  
Agnes was quiet.
 
She started the car.

  
  
Not knowing what she was up to, I pulled my taser from my pocket.
 
“Don’t try anything funny,” I said.

 
   
“You sound like a cheap detective novel,” she quipped.
 
“Relax. We are just going around the block while talking.
 
I don’t really want to be seen sitting here talking to you.”
 
She settled back in the luxurious captain’s chair and pulled out into the traffic.
 
“I told you many truths.
 
The accident did aggravate Richard’s condition.
 
It made him unbearable to live with.
 
He began hitting me.
 
One day, I hit back.
 
Thought I had killed him.
 
I never loved anyone but Richard, but I refused to let any man use me as a punching bag.
 
What was there for us to do?
 
Richard thought we should live apart before something awful happened.
 
He loved me too.
 
He was willing to let me go until he got better.
 
He wanted the best for me.”

 
    
“Yeah. He was a saint.”
 
I rolled my eyes.
 
“So he divorced you.”

  
  
“The plan was that when he had conquered his condition, we would remarry, but the thing is he didn’t get better.”
 

  
  
“And not only did he not come for you, but married a younger sweet thing.
 
That must have been hard for you to take.”

  
  
“Richard never really loved Tellie, but he wanted a child and . . . Tellie was convenient.”

  
  
“You actually fell for that line of bull?”

  
  
“Tellie was what he needed.”

   
 
“You mean someone compliant.”
 
An idea came to me. “Wait a minute!
 
You and Richard never stopped seeing each other.
 
You stayed in touch. You were always the real wife.
 
Tellie was merely the woman who bore the child, cooked and cleaned for Richard, essentially a maid for him.”
 
I pointed a finger at Agnes.
 
“But you were the one he loved.
 
That is why you were going to make Richard the beneficiary of your will.
 
I bet he was always the beneficiary of your life insurance and pension as well.”

  
  
“We had a standing date every week for the past twenty-seven years.
 
We both got what we needed.”
 

     
“Good Lord, you sound as though you’re proud of this.”

     
“I’m not ashamed of my love for Richard nor can you make me ashamed.
 
I made the best of the cards dealt to me.”

  
  
“How does Tellie play into all of this?”

  
  
“I lent him money to consult with the best doctors but no treatment ever helped him. It seemed like he was just hardwired to be a jerk but . . . other times, he was so sweet.
 
We had been divorced for years when I told Richard I didn’t think we were going to get married again. He would be wonderful for months and then without warning, he would be a monster and then go back to being wonderful again.
 
I couldn’t take it.
 
Richard accepted that I loved him but I wouldn’t live with him again.
 
But he was still relatively young.
 
He wanted a child, a family.
 
Finally, he met Tellie.
 
She was very passive and seemed to like being told what to do. She was what Richard needed.”

    
“Did you ever meet her?”

    
“No, but I knew what she looked like.”

    
“Did she know about your, uh, accommodation with Richard?”

    
A shrug.

    
“And your relationship with Richard was ongoing. You got the best from Richard while poor Tellie got the butt end of the stick.”

    
Agnes said nothing, but concentrated on driving.
 
It started to drizzle.
 
She turned on the windshield wipers.

 
   
I tried another tact.
 
“Do you think he beat Tellie?”

    
“I know that he sometimes slapped her, but not hard.”
 

    
“He told you?”
  

    
“Yes, he had no secrets from me.”

    
“On a regular basis?”

   
Another shrug.
 
“It was none of my business what went on between them.”

    
“You didn’t call the police?”

    
“If Tellie wasn’t going to call, who was I to interfere?” defended Agnes.

    
“He ever hit Taffy?”

    
“God no!” Agnes answered disgustedly.