Homicide by Hamlet (Cozy Mystery) Book #3 (Chubby Chicks Club Cozy Mystery Series) (10 page)

Throughout dinner we chatted easily, like normal.

I wanted to wait until after we ate before I continued my investigation. After all, enjoying my favorite meal trumped solving a crime.

We cleared the dining room table, blew out the candles and went into the kitchen.

As he cleaned up, I said, “Those posters we did for camp are pretty hilarious, huh?”

He dunked a glass into the soapy water. “You mean the senior high school pictures? Or our current photo?”

“Mostly the high school pictures.” I handed him a plate. “Although, in my recent picture, I look like I am about to sneeze.”

“I think you look beautiful.” He took the plate with one hand, and held my hand with the other. “You were a knock-out in your high school picture, and you still are today.”

I pulled my hand from his. “You liked my old hairdo?”

“It suited you.” He nodded. “It was adorable.”

I took a handful of bubbles and put them on my head. “Here’s a remake—only this time it’s a Bubble fro.”

He took bubbles and put them on his cheeks. “Bubble mutton chops.”

We laughed.

I took a towel, dabbed the soap off of my head and then wiped his face.

How I wished that he wasn’t a suspect. I could really fall for this guy. “You were stylish too,” I said.

“You think so?”

“I loved your GTO.”

“A sixty-nine Judge, Carousel red with a V-8. My first car. I saved forever to buy it.” He stared out of the window over the sink, as though staring into the past rather than the darkness of night.

“My high school boyfriend had a Goat too,” I said. “His was a sixty-eight.”

Gerald returned to washing dishes. “A friend of mine is looking for that same car for me. He’s a car auction nut. I bet if there is one to be found, he’ll get it done. Would you go cruising with me if I got one?”

“Sure.”

“We could put dinner in a picnic basket, drive out to the beach, listen to the crashing of the ocean waves and smell the salty sea air while we sit under the twinkling stars.”

I took in a breath, almost thinking of the fresh clean scent of ocean air; instead I smelled lemon dish soap. “I’d love that.”

Happiness filled me as I thought about future adventure and travel. Maybe Bezu was right. Perhaps retirement wasn’t an end, but a beginning.

“Another idea is, we can rent a cabin in the mountains for a week or so. Go hiking and exploring, cook over a campfire,” he said.

Lost in the idea of travel with him, I nodded.

Quickly, I yanked myself back into reality. He was a suspect. Not a vacation buddy.

Shifting the subject I said, “Back to your high school picture. You looked cool leaning on the car, wearing your trendy clothes.”

“I remember that.” He stopped washing dishes. “A Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a hand-me-down parka from my cousin.”

“And a knit hat.”

“Yes, that too.” He scratched his nose leaving water behind. “I wore it all the time.”

Taking a towel, I dried his nose.

“What did you like about it?” I asked.

“My Uncle gave it to me. He was a huge Baltimore Orioles fan. It was their team color.”

“Baseball?” I had to lead him into telling me the team colors, even though I had a clue. When I told him the incorrect colors, surely he’d correct me. “Aren’t their colors red and blue?” I picked up my empty wineglass.

He smiled. “You’re thinking of the Chicago Cubs. The Orioles are orange.”

I nearly dropped my glass. “Your hat was orange?”

“Bright as a pumpkin.” He took the glass from me. “Do you want more?”

That was why, in the note, Priscilla had referred to him as ‘Orange Head.’ Should I run now? Call José?

“Refill?” He held the wine bottle. “There’s a little left.”

I waved my hand. “Sorry, no. I’m fine.”

Gerald set the bottle on the counter. “It’s here if you want it.”

“I was wondering though, it’s sort of random and weird, but I have to know something.”

“What?”

“Remember I said there were rumors about you and Priscilla?”

He grabbed a pot from the stove and dropped it into the sink. Then he turned the water on and squirted some soap. “Yes, so?”

“I’m just wondering about you and her.” I paused, trying to think of the best way to ask him if he was a murderer.

He grabbed a cutting board and knife and washed them with a soapy cloth. “And I told you there was nothing going on with us. I only have eyes for you.”

“But….” I let out a nervous cough. “Two people, on two separate occasions told me you had some conflict with her. A recent conflict about something in the past.”

He didn’t look at me.

“They think you not only had a past with her—but having that past made you kill her.” In a rush I said, “Did you?”

Gerald turned off the water, picked up a knife, and moved toward me.

“Are you going to kill me?” A woozy feeling filled my gut as I inched backwards.

“Seriously?” Gerald opened the drawer near me and pulled out a towel. He held it up. “You’re killing me.” He dried the knife and placed it in the wooden holding block on the counter.

I held a hand to my chest, in an attempt to slow my racing heart. “You scared me to death.”

“Getting a towel?”

Breathless I said, “Coming at me with a knife.”

He chuckled. “I wasn’t coming at you with a knife. I merely held it in one hand while I reached for a clean towel with the other.”

Catching my breath, I snatched the bottle of wine and guzzled what remained in it. Hoping to still both my overactive nerves and imagination. Wiping my mouth, I sighed with relief because I wasn’t gouged and bleeding to death.

“Why would you think I would stab you?” Gerald shook his head.

“You, are, or could be, or um…” My words stumbled out.

His eyes widened. “Do you still think I had something to do with Priscilla’s death?”

I studied the terrazzo tiled kitchen floor.

“That’s it. You and I are talking right now and laying it all on the table.”

“What exactly are we laying on the table?”

“You’re going to be straight with me and tell me what’s going on. Now, please.” Gerald led me into the living room, guiding me to a leather armchair. He sat on the coordinating footstool and held my hand.

I had nothing left to lose so just maybe I could trust him. After all, he’d had many chances to kill me, and he hadn’t even tried to hurt me.

I took a deep breath and told him everything. The note. The newspaper article. What Dwight and Winona told me. Everything.

He remained silent.

“Now you’re making me nervous. You’re not saying anything,” I said. “This would be a great time for you to simply say you had nothing at all to do with Priscilla’s death.”

Gerald hung his head and spoke slow and low. “No wonder you’ve been acting strangely. You really thought I could do something like that to another person?”

“Yes, the evidence pointed to something I didn’t want to accept,” I said.

When he looked at me, his eyes were red, as though he was fighting back tears. “I thought you knew me better, after all the time we’ve spent together.”

The poor guy seemed heartbroken.

“From my experience, good people aren’t all virtuous, and bad people aren’t all evil,” I said.

“Which kind of person do you think I am?”

“I’m really not sure,” I said. And that was the truth.

“Then it’s time I got things off my chest.”

“Can we at least get the biggest question taken care of first?”

He seemed to deflate. His body slouched. “No, Annie Mae. I did not kill Priscilla. There you have it.”

Could I trust him? No. Not until I had more information. “Then what in the world did she have on you?”

“The note and the newspaper article you and Bezu found, those were related.”

“I figured as much,” I said.

“From what I gathered, after she saw my high school picture, it brought back memories.” He took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “You see, I drove the getaway car, except I didn’t know it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” I asked.

He drove the getaway car—he was a criminal. It seemed as cut and dried as that. Or, was it? I scooted to the edge of my chair, ready to run away if I had to. Looking around, I quickly calculated that I sat about ten feet from the front door.

“Let me back up. That night, Thanksgiving, after the big family meal, when it gets boring and all the old guys watch sports and fall asleep sitting up on the couch, my buddy and I went cruising in my car.”

I nodded, as I continued planning my exit. I could knock him off the foot stool then dash to the front door, couldn’t I? No. There was no way I could push him off the stool, he was taller and bigger than me. I’d have to just run like hell.

“We drove around Forsyth and Daffin Park with the windows rolled down, my eight track player cranking out The Who. Zeppelin and Creedence.”

“That’s how I spent many nights in high school too,” I said.

I stalled with small talk as I tried to think of where I had left my purse with my car keys and phone. Remembering it was on the kitchen table changed my strategy. It meant I’d have to go to the kitchen first and grab it before I left. The plan was becoming more complicated than I wanted. Then again, I could just leave my purse, get out of the house and find someone to call the police for me. Yes, that’s what I would do.

My insides felt like they’d been ripped apart. He said he didn’t kill Priscilla, yet he was admitting involvement in a capital offense. I angled my body toward the door so that when the time came, my break away would be easier.

Gerald clenched and unclenched his hands. “My buddy wanted to stop at a grocery store on Waters to grab two packs of Marlboros.”

Trying to act nonchalant while I planned my escape, I said, “Two packs? You don’t strike me as a smoker.”

“I was. I didn’t quit until after college.”

“The first and only time I had a cigarette, I turned green and tossed my cookies,” I said.

“I’m glad you never picked up the habit—it was hard as hell to break.”

I nodded.

“While he went inside the store, I waited in the car,” he continued. “That’s when I spotted a little girl, maybe kindergarten age, standing catty-corner with her dog.”

I gasped. “Priscilla?”

“At the time, I didn’t know who she was.” He paused. “Then I heard shots and my friend ran out of the store and fell on the ground. I’m not proud. I panicked and raced away.” He locked eyes with me. “I had no idea my buddy had a gun and planned to rob the place. He never said a word about it.”

Could I believe him? “You didn’t?”

“Of course not. Like I said, I’m not that kind of person.” He looked away from me. “I hadn’t a clue.”

I snapped my fingers. “Priscilla saw your high school picture, and figured it all out.”

“Then threatened me,” he said.

“Did you talk to her about it?” I asked.

“I planned to talk to her the night I left dinner at Bezu’s. I knew she was going to be at the theater at six to pick up plywood. I hoped to catch her there.”

“That’s the reason you left early?” And that must’ve been why he kept looking at his phone—he’d been keeping track of the time.

“Yes. I’d planned on telling her I wasn’t going to pay her. That I was going to the police to tell them everything—no matter what happened to me.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“And then…” I encouraged him to continue.

“I got there before five-thirty and walked around backstage waiting for her, eating the slice of pecan pie Bezu gave me.” He grinned. “Might I add it was the best slice of pecan pie I’ve ever had.”

“Aren’t you glad she insisted that you take it?” I remembered a clue at the crime scene. “You left the wax paper from the pie there?”

“You haven’t missed a thing have you?” Gerald smiled.

“I’m pretty sharp for an amateur sleuth.” I hesitated. “Why’d you leave it?”

“I didn’t intend to be a litter bug, I set it down while I moved some boxes that were in front of the plywood so they’d be easier to get at. When she got there, I planned to load them into her car.”

Recalling the fresh wound I’d seen on his hand. “You cut yourself that night?”

“You’re very observant.” He arched an eyebrow. “Yes, on a rough edge of wood.”

I shook my head. “I’m confused. Did you, or did you not, talk to Priscilla?”

“I never got a chance, Dwight and Winona were with her. I offered to help load the sheets so they could haul it over to the gym where they had their set. They told me they didn’t need my help. I couldn’t get time alone with Priscilla, so I headed back to my office.”

He seemed so sincere. But if he truly wasn’t a suspect, then who was?

“Was there anyone else in the building besides Winona, Dwight, Priscilla and you?”

Gerald rubbed his eyes. “Two of your students were there—a tall skinny kid with glasses and a girl with long black hair. I’m not sure when they left.”

“Wilbert and Umika.”

“You don’t think that they had something to do with—”

I interrupted him, “Absolutely not. They told me they left between five-thirty and six. Although, Priscilla was there. Wilbert told me he’d seen someone run into the wing. But he couldn’t see who it was.”

He glanced at the rug. “Do you think it was the murderer?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Who could’ve done that to her?” He shook his head. “She wasn’t the most popular person. Actually, she was rather feisty. She picked a fight with me the first day of camp.”

“Oh?” This was another layer in the murder puzzle. “What was it about?”

“She wanted your team’s practice space, claiming it wasn’t fair that you had it. Not only that, she also threw around that I might be biased since you and I spent time together outside of work.”

“She said the same to me.”

Gerald hung his head. “Even though she wasn’t very pleasant, she didn’t deserve to be killed.”

“But she was, and I need to know why,” I said.

Dwight had means, motive and opportunity. My pulse picked up speed as I remembered when Winona had told me how Dwight had made himself beneficiary of Priscilla’s property before they were to be married. And Gerald just said that Dwight was there the night Priscilla was killed.

It all led to Dwight as the main suspect, assuming Gerald was being truthful, and I could rule him out as a suspect.

“It’s clear what I need to do.” He stood. “I’ve got to tell the police what happened on Thanksgiving night, 1969.”

“Why didn’t you tell them that night?”

“Trust me I wanted to, but I thought I’d wait a day. It was my word against theirs, and whom would they believe? I was a nineteen-year-old punk. Even though I had nothing to do with it, I looked guilty by just being there. I could’ve ended up in jail, and ruined my whole life. So I waited to talk. Then a day turned into a week, then a week into month then months into years and, well, here it is over four and half decades later. I guess it’s never too late to admit my role in that night.”

“You did nothing wrong.” I paused. “Well, except you fled the crime scene, unknowingly aiding and abetting a felon, which could make you an accessory.”

“You forgot to add, coward.” He looked away.

I reached out and touched his shoulder. “You were a scared kid. That’s not a misdemeanor.”

He took in a deep breath. “My confession is long overdue.”

“I think the statute of limitations on that crime ran out a long time ago.”

“But my conscience has not,” Gerald said. “And Annie Mae, because of my involvement in that crime, I think it’s for the best if you don’t associate with me outside of work. You don’t need to be dragged down by me when this all comes out.”

If it had been audible, he would’ve heard my heart break.