Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (26 page)

* * *

Frisco raced back through the suburbs and headed for downtown Minneapolis. “I wonder if Freemont ended up using the money he received from the Womacks to kill Karen Bishop,” Jo said.

“Makes sense. Maybe his initial plan was to buy her off, like Womack said. But if she refused, then he might be desperate enough to have her eliminated.”

Jo pulled out her phone. “You know, I could swear Annie McDonald had an appointment in her calendar the day of her disappearance. Remember? We couldn’t figure out who it was because all we had were initials.”

Frisco nodded and said, “Yeah. That sounds right. What were those damned initials?”

“I’ll call my office right now and have them check.”

When her co-worker answered, she said, “Shane. Do me a favor. Dig out the evidence files for Annie McDonald, the op-ed columnist. I’m looking for her day planner.”

“Sure thing. Hang on.”

Jo stopped her leg from jiggling as she waited, listening to the hold music on the FBI’s phone system. Shane finally came back on the line a few minutes later. He said, “Okay, what am I looking for?”

“What’s the notation on her calendar the day before her murder?”

Jo could hear Shane flipping through pages. “Um, it looks like some initials and then 2:00 p.m.”

“Can you make out the initials?”

“N.P. No, wait, I think it might be M.P.”

Jo looked at Frisco and nodded. The detective smirked and high-fived Jo. She said into the phone, “Thanks, Shane. I owe you one.”

Clicking off the phone, she immediately dialed the phone number for State Representative Freemont’s head of staff, Kim Clark.

When she answered, Jo said, “Ms. Clark, this is Special Agent Jo Schwann. Did State Representative Freemont have any appointments the day of his disappearance?”

Jo was surprised when the woman answered without hesitation. “Why yes, he did. He had an appointment with Marjorie Payne.”

Jo’s heart sped up. “Are you quite sure? Don’t you need to check an appointment book to verify?”

“Oh, no. I’m quite certain. Um, and that appointment wouldn’t have been in his planner. You see, they had a standing appointment for the last three months. Ms. Payne was covering State Representative Freemont’s campaign for governor for her TV station.”

If Jo could’ve reached into the phone line to shake the woman, she would have. “Why didn’t you tell us this before? You didn’t think this was important in our investigation?”

Kim Clark’s voice sounded defensive when she replied, “I didn’t think that it mattered. It was most likely a man who killed him. It’s not like Marjorie Payne could have been involved, right? She’s so smart and attractive.”

Jo gritted her teeth. “Ms. Clark, I wish I could press charges against you for utter stupidity.”

When Jo clicked off the phone, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “God, help me.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Turners Bend

March

It was 5:00 a.m. and Chip gave up trying to sleep. He was on his couch along with Runt and Callie. His mother and father, who had finally arrived after midnight, were asleep in his bed. He turned on CNN and muted the sound on his TV. He didn’t need to hear the words to figure out that Masterson’s warning had materialized. There were replays of her press conference in Iowa City, and of Chief Fredrickson’s in Turners Bend, the chief repeating Masterson’s instructions to him almost word for word. There was a recap of the Tracy Trent story, and even clips from his interview with Amy Chang. There was an announcement that the governor of Iowa was sending a National Guard troop to Turners Bend to provide support during the premiere of
The Cranium Killer
, followed by a trailer for the movie.

His mother emerged from his bedroom in a pink fuzzy robe and matching slippers and went to the kitchen. Her hair was in rollers the size of juice cans. Pots and pans began to rattle and dishes clinked. His father in his matching silk pajamas and robe came and sat beside him. Chip turned the sound back on, and the two of them watched without exchanging a word, until his father uttered, “Quite a media circus isn’t it? Can’t say I’m very happy about the Collingsworth name being associated with all this sensationalism.”

Chip ignored the comment. It was so like his father to make everything about himself and their precious family name, yet he had to agree it wasn’t the kind of press he liked either.

The unmistakable aroma of frying bacon began to fill the house.

“I say, your mother never fixes me bacon anymore, too much salt, fat and nitrates. But I do love a strip or two of crisp bacon. Turn off that brouhaha. Let’s indulge in some breakfast before we get on with this auspicious day.”

Maribelle had outdone herself with buttermilk pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. “Heaven knows when we will get another decent meal today. You boys eat up. I suppose I should have invited that nice Lance Williams and your agent. She certainly seems to be attracted to him. She was all over him like Saran wrap when she came off the plane from New York. Your father thinks she is quite attractive, don’t you, Doc?”

Ignoring his wife’s comment, Chip’s father reached for a third strip of bacon. Chip followed suit as his mother prattled on and on, as only she could do.

“I brought your tux for tonight, as you requested. I bought a new dress for this occasion, an understated gown, of course. I wouldn’t want to look out of place. Now, your father and I will be at the ribbon cutting. Then we’ll return here to rest and go back to town for the red carpet events. Imagine us on a red carpet, and with Howard Glasser. I remember when he was that cute little guy on the TV series in the ’60s. What was the name of that show? We saw the last movie he produced, didn’t we, Doc? What was the name of that movie? Do you think I should prepare something witty to say, if I’m interviewed?”

She never seemed to notice when no one responded to her questions.

* * *

When Chip and his parents reached town it was so crowded you could barely walk down the street. There was a policeman or guardsman every five feet, and FBI agents roamed around, their eyes constantly scanning faces.

The ribbon cutting went on as planned. Cameras rolled and flash bulbs popped as Chip and Mayor Johnson held a pair of over-sized scissors and snipped the wide red ribbon. When the Mayor’s speech started to get a little long, Myrtle Bauer gave him the cut-throat sign, and he abruptly ended.

As the ticket holders for the first showing started to line up, Chip gave his parents a quick tour of the theater. The first batch of popcorn was underway, this time without the burnt aroma. The hallway to the restrooms had a strong floral smell. No ‘Out of Order’ sign on the men’s room door. All was right with the world so far.

“What do you think of the renovations?” asked Chip.

“Oh, darling, it’s just like the theater where your father and I used to go when we were dating, isn’t it, Doc? We saw
Lawrence of Arabia
. I had such a crush on Peter O’Toole. They don’t make movies like that anymore.”

“For once I have to agree with your mother, Son. The theater is quite an accomplishment. You should be very proud of yourself,” his father said.

That morning over breakfast Chip had felt the beginnings of an alliance with his father, and now this.
Had the healing process Iver mentioned begun? Could he step-up and meet his father halfway?
For the first time, he wanted to try.

Maribelle was off on another tangent, as Chip led them out of the Bijou and down to the Bun.

Chip kept scanning the crowd, looking for Elizabeth Brown, but also looking for Jane. He hadn’t seen her or talked with her for two days. He missed her. He needed her to help him get through this day. There was no place to sit down at the Bun, so he drove his parents back to his house, and took Runt for a walk.

* * *

Shortly after 5:00 p.m. Chip dressed in his tuxedo and glanced in the mirror. Nothing like a custom-made tux to make a guy look classy, he thought. Chip and his parents headed back to town, he and his father in their tuxedos and Maribelle in her black gown. Her dress may have been understated, but her ruby and diamond jewelry reeked of wealth and sophistication.

Main Street had been closed to all traffic. The red carpet ran down the sidewalk in front of the theater and into the lobby. Photographs were already underway and reporters were testing their microphones. “Testing, one, two, three. Can you hear me yet?”

In the lobby he spotted Lance with Lucinda on one arm and Jane on the other, all smiling for the cameras. Both women looked gorgeous, Lucinda in her white, New York designer gown and Jane in a deep teal dress, designed and made by Mabel Ingrebretson of Turners Bend. In Chip’s eyes, Jane took the prize. He stood back and gazed at her. She spied him, gave him a huge smile and a little wave of her gloved hand. He felt a pleasant swelling in his chest, and he gave her a finger wave in return.

Sven, wearing a musty-looking tux and a beret, and a group of artsy-looking kids approached him. One boy sported what looked like an old smoking jacket, another a Grateful Dead t-shirt. The girl on Sven’s arm was wearing a black bustier and a pink tutu.

“Chip, I want you to meet my friends from MCAD. Guys, this is the famous author, Charles Collingsworth, the guy who wrote
The Cranium Killer,
the book not the screenplay. He renovated this theater. Isn’t it sick? Chip, do you think you could introduce us to Howard Glasser when he comes?”

Just then a stretch limo escorted by a State Patrol car pulled up in front of the theater, the door opened and out stepped Howard Glasser, a short, skinny man in his mid-fifties. He was dressed in black leather pants and bomber jacket, and he had the five o’clock shadow so popular with Hollywood types, but rarely seen in Turners Bend. He stopped mid-way to the door and posed for photographers in one direction, turned and posed again in another direction. There was a meteor shower of flashing cameras. Then the reporters lined up and he proceeded from one to the other for brief interviews. Lucinda finally came to rescue him and guide him into the lobby.

The reporters then interviewed Chip and his parents. “Mrs. Collingsworth, you must be so proud of your son,” commented one reporter, as she stuck her microphone in Maribelle’s face.

“Yes. Of course, we knew from the time he was a young boy that he was extremely talented. Men on his father’s side of the family are all physicians, but Charles got his creative talents from my side of the family. In fact, I was a budding author in my early days, but I gave it up to raise my boys.”

Chip was stunned. He whispered to his father, “Where does she come up with this crazy stuff?”

“I’ve lived with her for fifty years, and I still don’t know.” He smiled.

Sven approached them, this time without his friends. He had a worried look on his face. “Chip, could I talk to you, like alone, for a second?”

“Sure, let’s slip into the theater office; it should be empty right now.” Chip turned toward his father. “I’ll meet up with you later. You better get Mom away from that reporter. There’s no telling what else she might say.” He shook his head, smiling.

Sven and Chip entered the small office off the lobby, and Chip shut the door. “What’s up, Sven?”

“Do you think Dad is here someplace?”

“I wouldn’t think Hal would be here, but why do you ask? Are you worried he might be?”

Sven hesitated, took a deep breath and continued. “Remember those two undercover DEA agents I told you about, the ones who questioned me about my dad and drugs? Well, I think they’re here … not undercover as migrant workers … this time in black suits. Do you think they’re looking for him?”

“I wouldn’t worry, Sven. The FBI has brought in a lot of agents to cover this event. Those two guys are probably just part of the crew.”

“There’s one thing that’s kind of weird though. I heard them whispering to each other in Spanish.”

“Well, DEA agents often work along the Mexican border, so speaking Spanish with each other may not be that unusual. If they approach you again and you’re uncomfortable, it’s probably best to tell Special Agent Klein, he’s the agent in charge today. Okay?”

Sven didn’t respond. Chip sensed the boy had something else on his mind. He kept quiet and waited until Sven decided to speak.

“On one hand, I wish Dad were here. I’d love for him to see the theater and watch the movie with us. But, for his sake, I hope he’s safe someplace else, far away from those two agents.”

Chip put his arm around Sven’s shoulders and gave him a brief hug. “I hear you, man. Go join your friends and try to put all of this out of your mind for tonight.”

Lord, now I have to be on the lookout for Elizabeth Brown and Hal Swanson, too.

* * *

The events of the evening proceeded just as planned. Howard Glasser gave a charming and witty introduction to the movie, praised the actors and thanked the town for the warm reception. He mentioned the theater renovation, “This place brings back wonderful childhood memories. It reminds me of watching
Star Wars
on Saturday afternoons and eating Dots and Junior Mints.”

Glasser paced across the stage with a handheld mike. “Ms. Patterson persuaded me to read
The Cranium Killer
, and I knew from the first chapter that it would make a blockbuster film. I’d like to announce that I was smart enough to snap up the movie rights to Mr. Collingsworth’s next book, too. I hope to return to your lovely town for the premiere of
Brain Freeze
in about a year and a half.”

After his speech, he was swiftly whisked away in his limo. One hour and thirty seven minutes later the movie ended, and the audience burst into applause. The crowd stood and shouts of “Bravo” echoed around the theater.

Jane was waiting in the lobby and she planted a kiss on his cheek and took his arm. “What’s wrong, Chip? You look like you didn’t like the film. I thought it was quite well done and the audience seemed enthralled.”

“No one told me they were going to change the ending,” he said. “I bet you anything Lucinda knew. How could they do that? I’m steamed. There was no way that Dr. Goodman would hook up with that detective; she just wasn’t his type.”