Divas and Dead Rebels (22 page)

“I see,” I said even though I really didn’t. There was obviously something she wasn’t saying.

Catherine shook her head. “No, you don’t. I don’t blame you. It’s too bizarre even to me, and I’ve lived with it for far too long.”

“This all sounds like the plot of a really bad TV movie,” I said after a moment, and Catherine smiled.

“Exactly like it. But this is true. I can’t prove it, but I know it happened. Just like I know Breck is behind the murder of Sturgis. Not that I blame him much. Spencer was an obnoxious little man.”

“No one deserves to be murdered,” I said rather primly, and Catherine’s smile reminded me of one of Mama’s feral cats. Her nickname suited her.

“Please. I can name five world leaders right off the top of my head that deserve to be killed. However, that’s not why I’m telling you this.”

“Yes, why
are
you telling me this when you should be telling the police?”

“Because the police have already closed the case of Monty’s death and ruled it a suicide. They aren’t going to listen to me again, and they aren’t likely to reopen it without strong evidence. You seem to have a way of ferreting out the truth about mysterious deaths. My other reason is purely vindictive. I’d love to see Breck Hartford living in a small prison cell with a mountainous inmate named Bubba.”

“Forgive me, but this seems too much like a spurned lover, a quarrel that’s turned to hate. It happens all the time. That may be why the police aren’t investigating it. Are you sure some of your accusations aren’t motivated by bitterness?” I asked, and this time her smile was positively feline.

“Honey, you’re absolutely right. I
am
bitter. But despite what some may say, I’m not crazy. I didn’t invent this. I know Breck a bit too well for that.”

“Then you should be able to get the information needed to prove that he’s the killer. If you know him that well, it might be easier for you.”

“He’d know immediately what I was doing. It has to be someone he doesn’t know well. Maybe this is my way of making sure he doesn’t kill me next.”

A beat went by while I tried to absorb the implications. “Why would he kill you?”

“I know too much.”

“About a murder?”

She hesitated and reached inside her purse for another cigarette. I waited until she lit it before I said, “I know I keep saying this, but if you have any information that the police should know, I think you should either tell them yourself or get an attorney to do it for you.”

“And I told you I’ve already tried that. It hasn’t helped. I need you to find proof that Breck is involved in not just the murder of Spencer Sturgis, but two others.”

I was aghast. “
Three
murders? Are you serious? And the police won’t do anything about him? Surely if what you’re saying is true, they’re at least investigating.”

Catherine sighed, a heavy, frustrated sound. “The first two deaths have been ruled on by a coroner. The first was an accident, the second a suicide. Unless I can come up with solid evidence, he’ll get away with not only their murders, but that of Sturgis as well. I don’t put it past him to have covered his tracks very well. He’s used to weaseling out of situations. And if I don’t pursue this, no one else will. He needs to be in jail. He’s dangerous.”

A shiver went down my spine at her tone. She sounded serious. Dead serious.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” I asked.

Catherine hesitated. “I can’t afford to be,” she said after a moment. “Breck’s the kind of man who feeds on the fear of others. The worst thing I could do is let him know that he terrifies me.” She leaned forward and said softly, “But he does terrify me. I know what he can do.”

“My God,” I said, matching her low tone. “You
must
go to the police! They can protect you and—”

She cut me off with a harsh laugh. “Right. They think—or say—that I’m seeing guilt where none exists.”

“I don’t understand. Why won’t they take you seriously?”

She waved a hand, and then said, “Because I had a breakdown a year ago. I went Looney Tunes, okay? I spent some time in a hospital sorting things out. I’m fine now. Or at least, I can hide my ‘paranoia’ better.”

She sounded very bitter. I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound trite or too placating.

So I said simply, “I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do. I told everyone I was going on a cruise. Some people are like sharks. If one sees a little blood in the water, they all try to take a bite. I’d just as soon not have to deal with that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Catherine’s smile was brittle. “So here I am, asking for help from an almost total stranger. I don’t know where else to turn. There are days when I think I should just give up and let it go, but then, who would be left to see justice done for Monty?”

“You’re talking about the student who committed suicide.”

She lifted one finger. “The death was ruled suicide. It was murder.”

“Have you tried hiring a private investigator? They have all kinds of techniques to get information. Access to private records, even recording devices that can get valuable evidence to give to police gives them an edge I wouldn’t have.”

“That could be fatal. Some stranger going around asking inconvenient questions would just give Breck Hartford the warning he’d need to get rid of evidence. Not to mention getting rid of more witnesses. Like me.”

“You saw—?”

“I didn’t have to
see
it done to know what happened. I saw the aftermath. It was brutal. Look. You’re smart, and you’re familiar enough to people not to arouse suspicion.”

Since I wasn’t at all certain I was the kind of smart she needed, I said, “I don’t know that I’m who you need to do this, Catherine.”

“I do. I’ll pay you. I have money. Just name your price.”

There was such desperation in her tone that it took me back. All I could think to say was, “What did the student’s parents have to say about his death?”

Before she could reply, I knew what she would say. It hit me suddenly, that the pain and desperation in her eyes could only mean one thing: “Monty was my son. My only child.”

The raw emotion in her voice left me speechless and understanding a lot more than I had up until this point. So I nodded.

“You’ll help me?” she asked hoarsely, and again I nodded.

Relief flooded her face, and she actually smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the bitter or cynical smiles of earlier.

“Thank you, Trinket. It means a lot to me that you’re going to help. I have a lot of notes I’ve made since Monty died, and I’ll bring them to you. I would have brought them with me today, but . . . but I wasn’t sure you’d help, and I didn’t want to risk someone else getting their hands on them. I keep them hidden. I even use codes.”

It was faintly startling that she’d resorted to codes and hidden information for fear of discovery. Hartford had seemed arrogant when I met him, but not especially evil. Had I misjudged him, or was Catherine creating guilt where there was none?

“Do you really think Breck Hartford would do harm to you? Is he that dangerous?”

“He’s that manipulative. He likes to be in control of everything—the people around him, his job, his athletics department . . . and his lovers. He may come across as charming, but he’s always on a power trip. Breck would have no compunction about getting rid of those he considers his enemies.”

“But—
murder?
Are you sure?” I asked.

“I suppose it’s the ultimate challenge for him.”

“He certainly does hide it well. I would never have guessed.”

“Very few would. You’d have to know him well to realize what he is.”

Catherine stood up and leaned over to gather her Jimmy Choo tote and sunglasses. My head was whirling with everything she’d said.

“How are you so sure Breck was responsible for your son’s death?” I asked as she slid Gucci tortoiseshell sunglasses over her eyes.

For a moment she didn’t reply, just stared at me through the dark lenses. “Because Monty wouldn’t have hung himself for
any
reason,” she said at last.

“Had he been depressed, or seen a doctor recently? A recent breakup with a girl, maybe? He could have been sick, or—”

“No. None of those things made him hang himself from his closet rod while I was out of town.
I know that.
”

The last three words were said so harshly that I recoiled a little. “I’m only asking questions that the police either will or have already asked you,” I said. “These are things that may have contributed to his death being ruled a suicide instead of—”

Catherine interrupted softly, “Monty had no signs of depression, no tragic loss, no mental imbalance, just an overwhelming need for approval from a father figure.”

“Breck Hartford,” I said, and she nodded.

“Yes. And Breck used him, then discarded him when he was done. He deserves to pay for that.” She slung her tote bag to her shoulder, paused, and said fiercely, “I want to be a witness at his execution!”

For several minutes after Catherine left, I sat staring into space, mulling over all she’d told me. If she was right about her son being murdered, then it was possible that Hartford was also involved in the death of Professor Sturgis. But what motive would be enough to kill a respected, if not loved, professor? A love triangle made the most sense. But that didn’t take into account the deaths of two other people. What was really the fatal link between all of them? Someone else should know about it, someone who wasn’t as close to Sturgis and Hartford as Catherine obviously was. Maybe that was who I needed to talk to next. I needed a fresh, unbiased perspective.

Instead, I left Tupelo and went straight to Bitty’s house.

Chapter 11

“I thought you went to lunch,” Bitty said, watching me as I scrounged through her refrigerator for something to tide me over until my date with Kit.

“I did. I had several wine spritzers and some bread. How old is this?” I held up a plastic dish for her to see.

“If it’s not green and fuzzy, it’s edible. That’s Chen Ling’s food, by the way,” she added when I started to pop the top. “Oatmeal, long-grain rice, veggies and chicken. It’s not bad.”

I stuck the plastic dish back in the meat drawer. “Thanks anyway. If I eat after your dog I might start barking and sniffing butts.”

“A vast improvement of your social skills. Oh for heaven’s sake—move out of the way, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Never mind. I’ll just eat some of this.” I paused before I peeled back the foil on a container of fruit and yogurt. “This isn’t Chitling’s food too, is it?”

“Don’t be silly. She only eats plain yogurt.”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t care if she saw me. “I hope I come back in my next life as your dog, Bitty, I swear I do.”

Bitty smiled. “So do I, dear.”

After a mental eye roll, I found a spoon and dug into the raspberry-yogurt cup. As I leaned back against the granite counter, I thought about whether or not I should share what I’d learned with Bitty. Most of the time she’s a help, but the times that she isn’t can have catastrophic consequences.

Bitty put both hands on her hips. “Okay, don’t even think about not telling me what you’ve been up to. I know you had lunch with Catherine Moore, and now I want to know why and what you said. Or she said.”

“When did you take up mind-reading?” I asked around my raspberry-yogurt.

“When you came in the door with that secretive look on your face. So spill it. Is Cat trying to get you to help her prove that Monty’s death wasn’t a suicide?”

I must have looked astonished because she said, “Your lower lip is hanging. Don’t dribble yogurt on my clean floor, please. Well? Is she?”

“How did you know?” I managed to ask while wiping raspberry colored yogurt off the front of my blouse.

“Everyone knows Cat was devastated by his death. She can’t or won’t believe that it was suicide.”

“What do you think it was? Suicide or murder?”

Bitty paused a moment before saying, “Well, Monty certainly had everything to live for, but isn’t that true of most suicides? He was very bright and always made the Dean’s list until not long before he died. Cat pushed him, but she was a single mother who had big plans for him, and I can’t fault her for that.”

“What about Monty? Was he ambitious as well?”

“He must have been. You’d have to ask the boys. They’d know more than I would about it. You know how college kids are, letting everyone but their parents know what they plan on doing.”

That was true. When I’d quit college to go roaming around the country with Perry, my parents were the last to know. Fortunately, my daughter kept me in the loop about her plans, so I wasn’t surprised when she cut her education short to get married and go to work. Now she’s back in school and going for a degree in Business Ed. She’s a lot smarter than I was about that kind of thing.