The Ghost and the Femme Fatale (24 page)

People backed away, but I pushed forward until I saw Hedda on the floor, her face white, a tiny bit of foam flecking her glossy red lips. I noticed a bottle of Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc on the table.

“Where did this wine come from?” I demanded.

Harmony blinked. Then she stared at me as if I were crazy to ask such a question at a time like this. “It’s Grandma’s favorite,” she replied. “It was delivered special to our table, sent by an anonymous secret admirer, according to the card.”

“Did anyone drink from it?” I demanded.

“Just Grandma,” Harmony said.

Rubino nodded. “I opened the wine and poured a glass for her. Hedda was enjoying it when she fainted.”

“Don’t drink that wine!” I warned. “It’s poisoned!”

“Oh, my god, Mrs. McClure,” Dr. Rubino said in horror. “If that’s true, you just saved our lives.”

“But what about Hedda?” I asked. “Is she going to be okay?”

Rubino frowned, shook his head. “The ambulance is on the way. We won’t know until we get her to a hospital.”

“You’ve got to save her, Doctor,” Harmony cried out and began to sob into her hands.

I crouched down beside Dr. Rubino. He was cradling his patient’s head in his arms. She looked old now and frail, a shadow of her former self.

Just then, the woman gasped and coughed. She opened her famous catlike eyes. Their vibrant emerald color was washed out now, the whites stained with tiny trails of blood.

I wasn’t sure if she could hear me. But I thought, for a lot of reasons, that she should know the truth.

“Ms. Geist,” I said, “you’ve been poisoned by the daughter of Irving Vreen.”

Understanding darkened the femme fatale’s face. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Then the former actress gasped once more, and her fading eyes closed for the last time.

MAGGIE WAS ARRESTED
in the parking lot. I led Officer Eddie Franzetti to the woman while she was still unconscious. My elbow still hurt like a son of a gun, but I was happy Eddie would get the collar. Bull McCoy might be the chief’s nephew, but even nepotism couldn’t trump a cop who brought in a multiple murderer.

“So what do you think, Jack?” I quietly asked the ghost as Eddie radioed headquarters.

Well, I don’t know. Things got a little hinky there for a minute, but I guess you did all right.

“Just all right?!”

Don’t push it, partner. You jumped to the wrong conclusion about Maggie at the end there. And if I hadn’t been watching your back, you might have ended up with a cracked skull. Next time, bring the copper with you.

“Hey! Wait a minute! I heard that! You actually called me
par
tner
.”

Yeah, baby, I guess this time you earned it.

“You
guess
? Wouldn’t you say having a woman around who can clock a murderer is a tad more valuable than one who’ll fetch you packs of Luckies?”

Well, that depends on how long it’s been since I had my last drag.

Twenty minutes later, the Finch Inn looked like the triage zone of a disaster area. Local cops, state police, ambulances, a forensic unit . . . I lost count in the glare of the flashing emergency lights.

“It’s justice, what I did!” Maggie Vreen Kline yelled at the top of her lungs as she struggled against Eddie Franzetti’s handcuffs.

Oh, lookee. The broad’s come to.

“Yeah, Jack, and I’d say she’s royally ticked that she won’t be getting any frequent flyer miles for that Costa Rican getaway.”

I was looming in the background at the moment, amid a half- dozen curious members of our local QPD. A big state cop named Detective- Lieutenant Roger Marsh was there, too.

Maggie’s unhinged outrage appeared to calm when she realized so many people were hanging on her every word. She’d already been read her Miranda rights, but then a reporter on the fringes of the gathering called out, “Why’d you do it?” And Maggie suddenly seemed to understand that there was an audience here, one that wanted to hear every detail of her story. That’s when the screenwriter in her apparently kicked in.

“Pierce Armstrong was the easy one,” she announced, her eyes looking glazed and bright in the eerie red glow of the emergency beacons. “I beat him to death with that stupid prop. I wanted him to die a violent death, just like my dad.”

Chief Ciders stepped up to Maggie, clearly wanting to keep her talking. “And what about Hedda?” he asked quietly. “You didn’t kill her, too, did you?”

“Of course! Hedda had to be poisoned. Just like my mother, who drank herself to death, because of what happened to Dad. That’s why Hedda deserved to die the same way as Mom: poisoned by her favorite wine . . .”

Ciders made a show of scratching his head. “That’s all well and good, Ms. Kline, but you’re not going to claim you poisoned Barry Yello, too, are you?”

“Maggie leaned back against the patrol car, a shadow crossing her face. “Yello was a no- talent loser.” she said dismissively. “He agreed to do me a few favors this weekend in exchange for persuading my contacts at Paramount to produce his low- bud get horror movie.”

“And how did you gain access to the theater?” Ciders asked.

“Easy.” Maggie shrugged. “I had Wendell Pepper eating out of my hand—getting a set of keys to the theater from him was a cakewalk.”

“Was Dean Pepper aware of your plans, Ms. Kline?” Ciders asked carefully. “Did he help you?”

“Wendell Pepper? God no. I just slept with the man a few times to get him where I wanted him. He was too gullible to suspect a thing. Barry was the one who knew what I was up to. He helped me rig that speaker to blow, just as a little ‘thrill prank’— that’s what I told him when I set the timer. But the whole thing got screwed up!” Maggie struggled against her cuffed wrists a moment, and then let her arms fall limply behind her back again.

“How did it get screwed up?’ Ciders asked. “I don’t understand.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “It was
supposed
to kill Irene Lilly! It didn’t, so I had to take care of that myself the next morning.” Maggie shook her head. “After that, I sent Barry to get me the woman’s research—he stupidly assumed she died in an accident, so he didn’t think it was a big deal to take her research. But after I made him open a trapdoor under the stage, he started getting antsy. Even with my bribe of getting his movie produced, big brave Barry started getting ner vous, asking me too many questions. He wanted out. So I
put
him out—
permanently
.”

Maggie laughed. “Barry Yello is no loss to the world, believe me.”

“What about Dr. Lilly then?” Ciders asked. “What did she do to deserve death?”

“Irene Lilly started it all. Don’t you know that?” Maggie’s face contorted in the shadows, her expression turning into something ugly. “Lilly called me up one day. Tells me, ‘I know who you are!’ She had the whole story down, she just wanted some actors to fill out her little play. Wanted us all here in one town, in one place, so she could stand in the spotlight. Well, when I found out Hedda and Pierce were going to be
honored
at this festival . . . that did it.”

“That made you decide to kill them?” Ciders pressed.

Behind her bright red glasses, Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “How would
you
feel? To hear that your father’s murderers were invited to some festival to be
celebrated
? To hear the people responsible for your mother’s misery, the ones who drove her to drink herself to death, were being honored.
Applauded?!
Oh, no. No, no,
no
!”

Maggie vehemently shook her head; her bouncy curls fell into her eyes. She hurled them back with a violent head toss. “I started making my plans as soon as Dr. Lilly contacted me. Only I was the one who would be using Irene Lilly, not the other way around. She didn’t care about my father. She was set on resurrecting the scandal for her own recognition and profit.

But, you see . . . she
knew
who I was, and that’s why she had to be first. Before anyone else went,
she
had to go. And she did. All it took was one little push off a ladder.”

Ciders noticed me then, standing among his officers. He met my eyes, nodded his head. It was the closest thing to official recognition I’d ever get. But, frankly, for this little town, it was good enough for me. Anyway, I had to hand it to the chief: For all his faults and bluster, he certainly knew how to keep a perp talking!

“And what about those innocent people at Hedda’s table?” Ciders added tightly, his contained outrage starting to leak through. “They could’ve drunk that poisoned wine and died to night, too.”

Maggie frowned, looked away. “Collateral damage,” she muttered. “Crap happens.”

Ciders cursed. He’d finally heard enough. “Take her away.”

Two giant state police officers in gray uniforms and Smokey the Bear hats opened the door of the patrol car and guided Maggie inside. Then Detective- Lieutenant Marsh stepped up to Ciders.

“Who made this collar?” his voice boomed. “I have a few questions.”

“It was my se nior officer, Eddie Franzetti,” Ciders said. “Eddie! Front and center!”

I wasn’t worried about Eddie knowing the case. I’d briefed him well before anyone arrived. He was a smart guy. Always was. My brother, Pete, had loved him like a brother, too.

“Yes, sir?” said Eddie, standing tall, legs braced in front of the brawny state detective. “You have questions?”

“Dozens, son,” replied the detective- lieutenant. “But at the moment I just want to say: Good work!” Marsh shook Eddie’s hand. “You ever think about coming over to the state police, you let me know. Investigations can use a good man like you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, so can the town of Quindicott,” said Chief Ciders, breaking the two men up. “Eddie’s on track for a big promotion.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “I am?”

“Doggone right!” Ciders insisted, slapping Eddie on the back. “You’re a valuable member of the department, Eddie. I’m not about to lose you...”

As the lawmen continued to polish their laurels, I yawned and noticed my aunt Sadie hurrying up to me. She was looking quite smart in a forties- style wool suit and matching hat, white gloves on her hands, red gloss on her lips. Bringing up the rear was Bud Napp. My jaw dropped at the sight of him.

All that talk of dressing like Tarzan was obviously a joke; I’d never seen the man more stylishly attired. A charcoal- colored double- breasted suit hugged his tall, lanky form. He was clean-shaven (for once), and his usual ball cap with the frayed brim was replaced with a sharply boxed fedora. He wore a pearl silk tie with a diamond stick pin and a handkerchief to match.

“Penelope!” Aunt Sadie cried. “Are you all right? We heard what you did!”

“Who, me?” I said with a shrug. “I just bumped my elbow while I was waving to Eddie for help.”

Bud folded his arms. “That’s a load of crap, Pen. I know it was you who did the dirty work. You were on this case from the very beginning.”

I smiled and lowered my voice. “Let’s just keep that between friends, okay?”

I gestured to Eddie, who was getting patted on the back by the state officers and his fellow cops, including a petulant-looking Bull McCoy. That alone gave me satisfaction.

“So,” I said, turning back to my aunt and her beau, “who are you two dressed as? You both look great.”

“I’m Kay Bentley,” Aunt Sadie said. “The brash and beautiful reporter from
Sleepers West
.”

“And I’m Detective Mike Shayne, Irish- American private eye, who can’t keep his eyes off the brash and beautiful reporter—same movie.”

I laughed for a second, and then I wanted to cry. “The dinner’s totally ruined, isn’t it?”

Sadie and Bud shook their heads. “Not at all. Fiona’s serving now. Brainert’s announced the dinner will be a tribute to Dr. Lilly, Barry Yello, Hedda Geist, and Pierce Armstrong. Don’t forget, dear, this is a crowd of film noir fans. Everything that happened this weekend pretty much reinforced their view of this bitter little world.”