Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) (11 page)

On the ride home, I wondered if Amy would be calling today with news about Jack and his fellow actors.
The trouble was, I didn’t know what her shooting schedule was or if she could come up with an excuse to hang around the set and ask questions if she wasn’t needed, so I had no idea when I might be hearing from her again. There was no message waiting on my voice mail when I got home. Frustrated, I took Wendy for a hike after supper. It tired me out, but didn’t do anything to improve my state of mind. It was still bright when we got home, so I left Wendy inside the house and walked to the Post Office to pick up my mail. The usual stuff was waiting in my box: one bill and three grocery store fliers.

Leaving the
post office, I walked over to Hank’s Hearty Home-Cooking to see if anything had happened at that crime scene. Nothing had changed except for the removal of the orange traffic cones. I assumed that the police weren’t letting Henry begin the clean-up until they had gleaned every scrap of evidence they could find. Some of the green plastic covering the damage had torn loose in the wind and was flapping against the grey siding. It was a depressing sight, and gave the impression that the investigation had been abandoned.

Henry’s accusation against Frank was just plain crazy.
Had Henry accused Frank just because the two men never got along? The only two things they had in common was their membership in the Crane town council and their ownership of restaurants. Frank was laid-back, a survivor of the “flower-power” generation, while Henry was priggish and nervous. I knew that Henry drove Frank crazy on the town council with his resistance to change and overly-cautious attitude. For example, Frank was all for promoting Crane with Alberta Tourism to bring more business into our sleepy little town, but Henry was afraid of attracting the “wrong kind of folks.” It took Frank forever to pass anything new through council with all of Henry’s questions and foot-dragging, even when it was something as innocuous as a municipal garden contest. There was definitely some animosity between the two men, but Frank would never have driven a truck through Henry’s restaurant. Wondering if my friend, May, had heard anything new about Henry’s restaurant since her store was just across the street, I wandered over to May’s Groceries and More for a chat.

May was alone that night.
Her son, Gerry, had helped out in the store during the day and on alternate weekends ever since May’s husband died of an unexpected heart attack six years ago. May lived in a snug apartment over the store while her son and his family owned a two-storey a couple of blocks away. My friend was a huge Calgary Flames hockey fan and had erected a sign with the team’s trademark red “C” on the store’s roof. Every time the Flames won, May lit up the sign for a whole week. That bright red light cut through blowing snow like a beacon on blustery evenings and let me know that home and safety were not far away when I was driving back from the city.

The store interior had an old-fashioned appearance thanks to the painted green plank flooring and the original green wooden shelves that May’s husband had built twenty-eight years ago.
Three wide windows across the front of the building provided lots of daylight, while fluorescent lights illuminated the store at night. A garish red and blue lottery machine glowed beside the cash register next to the front door. May was sitting on a stool behind the register, her slippered feet propped up on a shelf, engrossed in our next book club selection. We were working our way through the mystery classics, and this month’s selection was Dorothy Sayers’ Gaudy Night. I was a big fan of Sayers, so I didn’t mind reading the book again. As a matter of fact, I had a soft-cover collection of her novels in my living room bookcase, right next to the Agatha Christies.

“Hi, May, how’s it going?” I asked, crossing the narrow space between the door and the cash register.
I took a moment to study the candy bar selection, and decided that the dollar-sized bar wasn’t going to be big enough for tonight. Tonight I needed the $2.50-sized bar with caramel and almonds.

May looked up, her blunt-cut grey hair swinging away from her square, rosy face.
She had given up smoking six weeks ago and always had something in her mouth these days. Tonight’s treat was a lime sucker. “Hi doll, what are you doing wandering around? It’s pretty chilly out there.” Her button brown eyes crinkled up at the corners as she smiled at me.

“I just couldn’t settle down, May – too much on my mind.
How’s business?”

“Can’t complain.
Having a movie crew over in Longview sure helps bring in the tourists. DVD rentals on Viggo Mortensen’s movies are way up, too.”

“Oh yeah?
Have you got a copy of Hidalgo? I’ve always liked that movie.”

“I’ll check.
Chocolate and Viggo Mortensen – sounds like a great evening to me.” She climbed down off her stool and hunted through the DVD collection stacked on the shelves behind the counter. Fortunately, she was tall and could reach all of them. I couldn’t have done it without a stool.

“So, what have you heard lately about Henry’s hit-and-run?” I asked.

“The wheels of justice grind slowly,” she replied as she ran a finger over the movie case titles. She grabbed the correct DVD and turned back to me. “Frank said that the police traced all the vehicles that he and Judy ever owned, but didn’t come up with anything. Now they’re combing through all the driveways and garages in town, looking for a green pick-up truck. See, the police found some green paint scraped onto one of the studs at the crime scene, so they’re thinking the vehicle that did it was green.”

“Makes sense,” I said with a nod.

“Yeah. Erna rushed right over as soon as she heard, and we wracked our brains over who owns a green pick-up, but we couldn’t come up with anyone. I have a theory, though.”

“What’s that, May?”

“I think that the hit and run driver isn’t local.”

“Really?
How come?”

“Well, how do we know that it wasn’t someone from Calgary, say?
Henry might have blamed Frank to shift suspicion from some unsavoury part of his life that we don’t know about – yet.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe Henry is involved with illicit drugs and owes money to a gang. Maybe some thug was trying to rub him out.”

I smiled.
I couldn’t think of anyone less likely to be tied up with the drug scene than Henry. “That’s pretty imaginative, May.”

“Well, who knows?
Or maybe it was a woman. You know how they say ‘cherchez la femme’ whenever there’s a murder, or an attempted murder, in this case.”

“Gee, May, there’s got to be a better way to kill a man than driving a truck through his restaurant.”

“Yeah, but that’s what we’re supposed to think, Anna. Of course, anyone who did that had to be a psychopath. A psycho is probably the only kind of woman who’d be attracted to Henry in the first place.”

I laughed.
“Poor Henry. First this happens, and now he’s got you speculating about his love life.”

May tapped her nose.
“Between Erna and me, we’ll figure it out. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe you two should open your own private detective business.
You could run it out of the store.”

“Well, if I ever retire, I may just do that.”
I handed May a $10 bill and she handed me back my change.

“Thanks for the news, May.
I feel a lot better now.”

“That’s good, doll.
A little juicy gossip always cheers me up. Enjoy your evening.”

“You, too,” I said before heading out the door for home.

Chapter Eleven

I didn’t hear anything from Amy until the following night.
I was putting a load of laundry into the dryer around 9:30 when the door bell rang. Wendy padded down the hallway to meet me at the front of the house so that we could check out our visitor together. I turned on the outside light and opened the door to find a woman standing there wearing big, black sunglasses, a head scarf, and a trench coat.

“Can I help you?” I asked, wondering who would be wearing sunglasses at night.

“Anna, it’s me – Amy,” she giggled, whipping the glasses off.

“Wow.
I didn’t recognize you. What are you doing in that get-up? Come on in, Amy,” I said. “Can I take your coat?”

“No thanks.
I’m cold, and I’m not wearing much underneath.”

I didn’t want to know any more about that, so I didn’t respond as I led her into the living room.
I indicated the couch and turned on a lamp while she sat down. She took off the head scarf and released her golden auburn hair.

“I like your living room, Anna, it’s very soothing,” Amy said, getting comfortable.
My decorating taste ran to a minimalist style with stream-lined furniture and very little clutter. A couple of large, pewter-framed pictures of poppies gave the room a splash of colour. “The grey and white on your walls is real pretty. I have a lot of chintzes and prints in my place because I like my house to feel cozy, but I like the cool tones in this room, too.”

“Thanks.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, “Amy, why are you dressed like a 1950’s movie star?”

“I’m in disguise, Anna.
I left my car at home and walked over so that no one would recognize it outside your house. I figure that we can’t be too careful with a murder investigation.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said, sitting down on my white faux-leather recliner.
“So, did you hear any gossip about Jack on the set?”

“I sure did, Anna.
I was talking to the make-up lady – her name is Patty – and she was very helpful. She said that Jack had been very attentive to the movie’s leading lady, Karen Quill. She said that Karen was bawling her eyes out in the makeup trailer the day after Jack died, and had to take a pill and go lie down in her trailer.”

The name tweaked a dim memory.
“Karen Quill – she’s a Canadian actress, right?”

“I think so.”

“What does she look like, Amy?”

“She’s real pretty, about 5’3”, late twenties, blond hair with ash streaks.
Her eyes are a gorgeous violet colour, but I think she wears coloured contacts.”

The description solidified my memory.
“Yes, I remember Karen. She and Jack did a play together in Ottawa about seven years ago. I had my suspicions about them even then.”

“Wow, do you think she and Jack had a history of – you know?”

“Yes I do, Amy. Did the make-up lady have anything else to say about Karen?”

“Uh huh.
She told me that Karen’s husband is one of our cameramen – Connie Primo.”

“Connie?” I asked, confused.
“Are they a lesbian couple?”

“No, that’s ‘Connie,’ short for ‘Constantine.’
He’s Greek. Anyway, Connie and Karen have been married about four years, and he’s the jealous type. Seems to have a real temper, too. Patty said she’s heard Connie yelling at Karen in her trailer.”

“Interesting,” I responded.
“Did your make-up lady say Jack was seeing anyone else?”

“She did mention a stuntwoman – Jessie Wick – but she said that Jack and Jessie were an item years ago on another movie he did in Longview.
She didn’t think there was anything going on between them now.”

I cringed.
Jessie Wick – I hadn’t forgotten that name. Four years ago, Jack and I had separated because he was having an affair with Jessie. I had never met her and hadn’t wanted to know anything about her, at the time.

“Are you okay, Anna?
You look kind of pale all of a sudden,” Amy said.

I looked at her and shrugged; that was water under the bridge.
“I’m okay. Their affair happened while I was still with Jack, that’s all. It’s not anything I didn’t know about.”

“I’m sorry, Anna,” Amy said, getting up to put an arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. You did really well getting that information about Jack. Did Patty mention anyone else?”

“No, that’s it.
Of course, you already know about Jack and me. So, what do you think?”

I thought that Amy was pretty clueless to remind me about her and Jack, but out loud I said, “I think that Karen sounds like our best bet.
Maybe we could go talk with Karen – find out what her relationship was like with Jack and if her husband knew about it.” Amy nodded. “So, where can we find Karen? Is she staying at the Creekside Motel and Spa?”

“No, she and Connie rented a house on some acreage outside of Longview.
I’m sorry, I don’t know the address.”

“Never mind.
Where does the movie crowd hang out these days when they’re not working?”

“A lot of them like the Silver Spur.
We could try going there tomorrow night. It’s always popular on Fridays.”

The Silver Spur was a Longview bar decorated to look like an old-time Western saloon.
The storefront had a facade of timber logs and a railed wooden porch complete with hitching post, no doubt for folks who rode their horses into town and wanted to drop by for a drink. The inside was furnished with rustic tables and chairs, a massive wooden chandelier with electric candles, and a bar with a brass foot rail. The back room had a couple of pool tables and some electronic gambling machines, a concession to modern times. May and Erna had taken me there for a drink a couple of years back. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but it was good for the tourist trade.