The Skeleton Takes a Bow (A Family Skeleton Mystery) (18 page)

O
ver the course of the next week, I learned that being on red alert isn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds.

Mostly it involved a lot of texting back and forth between Deborah, Madison, and me so that we could coordinate our schedules to the nth degree to ensure that Madison and I were never alone. Deborah had decreed that having Sid around was good but not sufficient because his rescue powers were limited, especially when only his skull and arm were present.

I knew I shouldn’t complain, because Deborah was taking the brunt of it by going to every rehearsal with Madison, and once tech week started on Monday, that was a lot of hours. Still, it was wearing. I had the uncomfortable thought that if the sword of Damocles had been hanging over my head, I’d have pulled the thing down myself, just to get it over with.

At least I had one comfort. Since Sid had declared that he’d heard the murderer at the big meeting at PHS, that meant Charles was in the clear. My friend would have had no reason to attend that meeting, even if he’d known about it, and if he had been there, I’d have seen him. A man who dresses the way he does tends to stand out in a crowd.

Since I was still feeling guilty for having let Sid convince me that Charles was a suspect, I talked Charles into letting me buy him lunch at Jasper’s Diner on Wednesday. It was another wonderful spring day, and Charles is a fascinating companion. Though his area of expertise is the Pax Britannica, his knowledge of English history is broad. That day we were talking about the House of Tudor, but I was having a hard time keeping track of all the family connections.

“Allow me to illustrate.” He produced a pen and a Moleskine notebook from his pocket and started to sketch out the family tree.

At first I was just watching what he was writing, but then I noticed what he was drawing with.

“Charles, where did you get that pen?”

“Hm? Oh, the finger bone.” He held it out for me to take. “Amusing, isn’t it?”

“Hilarious. Where did it come from?”

He looked taken aback by my tone, and I couldn’t really blame him.

“It belonged to Patty Craft. You’ll remember that I assisted her sister in packing up her apartment, and there were a number of odds and ends she decided weren’t worth the expense of shipping to her home, so she offered them to me. I accepted a few as mementos, but I’ve been meaning to pass this particular pen on to one of our colleagues in biology or forensic anthropology.”

“Can I have it?”

“Certainly, if you like.”

“Thanks.”

He went back to the Tudors, but I had no idea what he told me for the rest of that meal, and I didn’t even look at the family tree he’d drawn for me. Instead I kept looking at the pen.

There were three of them just like it in my house, and all of them had come from Tristan’s father.

So had this one. The printing on the side said,
Adam McDaniel, Pharmaceutical Sales
.

I
t’s a good thing I didn’t have any more classes to teach that day because I don’t think I’d have done a good job. After lunch, I went back to my mother’s office and tried to work, but instead I kept twirling that blasted bone pen around in my hand, trying to figure out what it meant.

No, that wasn’t true. I knew what it meant—it meant that Adam McDaniel had known Patty Craft. The question was, did it mean anything else? I was afraid that it did. I made a phone call to gather one more piece of the puzzle, and after that, I was convinced. Then it was just a matter of trying to work out how everything must have happened.

I got home just as Deborah dropped off Madison and Sid, and though I considered asking her to stay to talk, I decided I wanted to speak to Madison and Sid first. If my theory didn’t hold water, I’d rather they be the ones to poke holes in it.

Hugs were exchanged, Sid’s bones were retrieved from the armoire, and I said, “Have a seat, both of you.”

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“There hasn’t been another murder, has there?” Sid asked.

“No, and I may have solved this one.”

They sat immediately. Even Byron seemed to be giving me his full attention.

“I had lunch with Charles today, and he pulled this out.” I held up the pen.

“Hey, that’s like the one Tristan’s father gave me,” Madison said. “Does Charles know Mr. McDaniel?”

“No. He got it when he helped Patty Craft’s sister clean out her apartment. Apparently Patty knew Mr. McDaniel.”

Judging by his sudden bone rattle, Sid got the point right away, but Madison wasn’t making the connection.

“So?” she said.

“Patty died of an overdose—it could have been suicide or it could have been an accident. Or it could have been murder, but the killer would have needed access to drugs. Like a pharmaceutical sales rep would.”

I waited for either of them to argue the point, but neither did, so I went on. “Mr. McDaniel also knew Robert Irwin, or at least they’d met. He was part of the PHS search committee that interviewed Irwin.”

“What about the Sechrest Foundation?” Madison asked. “What does Mr. McDaniel have to do with that?”

“I haven’t met Tristan’s brother yet, but you have, Madison. Did he seem particularly intelligent?”

“God, no. He didn’t even know what
Hamlet
is about.”

“That was the impression you’d given me. But according to Mr. Chedworth, Adam made ninety-fourth percentile on his SAT.” I’d had a hunch Chedworth would remember it if somebody like Adam had done better than expected, and sure enough, he’d been shocked enough that he remembered the score several years later.

“No way he scored that high!” Madison said.

“Mr. Chedworth also said he didn’t take the test at PHS. He couldn’t remember exactly why, something about going out of town that weekend and it being easier to use another testing location. It’s allowed, so nobody questioned it, not even when they saw his score.”

“You think he hired somebody from the Sechrest Foundation to take the test for him?” Sid said.

“I think his father did. I went back and found that picture of Robert Irwin from your dossier, Sid.” I’d left it on the coffee table, and now I handed it to them. “That’s what Irwin looked like around the time Adam got that SAT score.”

“He looks like Adam,” Madison said.

“I don’t know exactly how the Sechrest Foundation runs their scams, but maybe each parent involved gets to meet the person impersonating his or her child, just to make sure it’s a close enough match. Even if that never happened, Irwin would have to have known Adam’s name—it was on the fake ID he was using. Then, years later, he runs into Mr. McDaniel—Adam McDaniel Sr.—and he remembers Adam Jr.”

“Okay, there’s a connection,” Sid said, “but—”

“Remember what we know about Irwin. He’s sleazy and he needs a job. And what do you know—there’s a guy on the PHS search committee who he can put pressure on. He makes a point of talking about the SAT in the meeting, even though it isn’t relevant. Mr. Chedworth knew right away he didn’t want to hire him, and I don’t think he’d have been subtle about letting Irwin know. But despite that, Irwin is so sure he’s going to get the job that he spends hours looking at apartments. Unless, of course, he’s just killing time until he has a chance to go back to PHS and meet privately with McDaniel. The two men argue; McDaniel snaps and kills him. Or maybe he intended to kill him from the start. Either way, Irwin is dead.”

“And what about Patty Craft?” Madison asked.

“I think that goes back to Sechrest, too. Frisenda said Craft had done some work for him in addition to taking the tests—maybe she was the one to make arrangements with McDaniel or maybe she collected payment. That had to have been done in person, in cash—nobody would want a paper trail for that. She wasn’t sleazy—or at least Charles didn’t think she was—but she was sick and she was desperate, and she knew McDaniel had paid somebody to take his son’s SAT. I think she might have been blackmailing him—not for money, but for medicine. A pharmaceutical sales rep has access to all kinds of sample drugs, but surely McDaniel’s bosses would notice at some point. And Craft was dying anyway. It wouldn’t take much to push her right over the edge. It could even have been a mercy killing.”

“Yeah, right,” Sid said.

“Whatever his motives, the woman was dead and he was safe. But that same week, here comes Irwin, and he’s threatening a different kind of blackmail: ‘Make sure I get this job or I’ll tell people about your son’s amazing SAT scores.’ It’s no wonder McDaniel lost his temper.”

Sid said, “Okay, this all works for me, but why would McDaniel go to so much trouble to hide the body? He could have claimed it was an accident or just run off and left the body to be found the next morning.”

“I don’t know if McDaniel knew that Craft and Irwin had dated, but he knew they were both connected to Sechrest. So he must have been afraid that the police would find that connection if they investigated Irwin’s death, and it might lead to him. Why take the chance? He’d killed twice—hiding a body is small potatoes compared to that.”

“You don’t think Tristan knows about this, do you?” Madison said in a small voice and pulled Byron over to hold on to, as if he were a teddy bear.

“Sweetie, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“He’s a good actor—he could have just been acting like he was interested in me to find out what we were up to. I was texting him that night you were at the parent-teacher meetings—I may be the reason you were almost hurt.”

“Madison,” Sid said, “am I or am I not the most annoying eavesdropper you have ever met?”

“Um—”

“I am, and I listened in on all your mother’s dates when she was growing up, and all Deborah’s dates, too. I can tell the difference between when a guy is really interested in a girl and when he’s not. Tristan really likes you.”

“Really?”

“Sure as sacrum.”

She smiled, but then said, “None of that matters now, anyway. The important part is that Mom caught the murderer.”

I hated having to say it, but I had to. “No, Madison, I haven’t. I know who it is, but I can’t catch him because we can’t prove any of this. There’s no proof of anything. Unless something changes, McDaniel is going to get away with it.”

Sid, bless his bones, didn’t even hesitate. “Then we’re going to change something.”

Several hours, a pepperoni pizza, and most of a carton of red velvet cake ice cream later, we knew what we were going to do.

By the time we had our plan worked out, I was exhausted and both Madison and the dog were asleep on the couch, but Sid was jumping up and down in excitement.

“Can I say it? Can I say it?”

“Go ahead. I know you’ve been resisting the impulse.”

He struck a dramatic pose. “The play’s the thing wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the killer.”

G
etting the pieces into place wouldn’t have been possible if Deborah hadn’t already established herself as an invaluable member of the tech crew for
Hamlet
. She was able to sneak in what we needed and hide it backstage in the midst of the last rehearsals.

On Thursday, I had to teach a class at PHS that included Tristan without giving anything away, but that was nothing compared to Madison’s situation. She had to rehearse with him, and since their characters were nearly inseparable onstage, she was side by side with him all through those last rehearsals.

Finally it was Friday night. Rather than just drop Madison off at her call time, I stayed so I could get into the theater as soon as they opened it to the audience. This was nothing particularly unusual—I like to get the best seat I can wrangle and have often had to save seats for my parents and Deborah, too. But this time I wanted to be off to the side, where I’d be able to see both the stage and McDaniel. To make sure he sat where I wanted him to, Sid had printed up two cards that said,
PTO President
and
Guest
, and in the middle of her other duties, Deborah had left them in second-row seats on the aisle. There’s something about school events that makes people oddly obedient. Any number of people saw those cards and grumbled about them, but nobody moved them.

I saw McDaniel arrive and start chatting with people in the crowd. Somebody pointed out his reserved seats, and he looked surprised but not suspicious as he made his way to the plum location. He nodded in my direction as he came down the aisle, but I pretended I hadn’t seen him. I’m not the actress in the family, and I was afraid he’d know what I’d figured out about him just by looking at me.

Adam Jr. wasn’t with his father at first, so I thought he’d come up with an excuse to keep from attending—something that would please Madison and probably his brother, Tristan, as well. Then, a few minutes before the show was due to start, he came stumbling down the aisle looking for his father. He ran into one woman, and I saw her recoil and say, “He’s drunk!” to her companion. Perhaps the boy had decided that since he couldn’t avoid watching the play, he could at least deaden the pain with booze. His father muttered at him angrily once he sat down, but all he did was shrug, pull out his phone, and start texting.

Finally the house lights dimmed, and Deborah came rushing in to sit in the seat I’d saved for her. “Everything okay backstage?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“All set, except that Ophelia ripped her dress again and needed a quick repair job.” Then she whispered, “Is he here?”

I nodded.

And the show curtain raised.

Madison had been in theater since she could first toddle across a stage, so I’d long since lost track of how many plays I’d sat through. Admittedly the performances had varied in quality widely, but I’d always enjoyed them before. This time, I honestly didn’t know if the production was any good or not. I was too focused on what was coming after the play.

Finally Fortinbras arrived, sadly surveyed the corpse-strewn scene, and gave his lines. Judging by the enthusiasm and volume of the applause as the curtain went down, apparently the cast had done a fine job.

The curtain calls began, starting with the smaller parts—of course I cheered as loudly as I could for Madison as Guildenstern—and working up to the Prince of Denmark himself. When the boy playing Hamlet came onstage, he was holding Sid’s skull, and after he bowed he assumed the traditional pose of Hamlet regarding the skull of Yorick. Madison had suggested the bit and had been worried that she’d have to talk people into it, but both Becca and Hamlet had loved the idea. So did the audience. Flashes from cameras and phones lit up the audience, and even Adam Jr. showed enough interest to take a picture.

The official plan was for the cast to then join hands to bow en masse, but before they gathered and as the applause for Hamlet quieted, Sid started speaking.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.”

In fact, Sid wasn’t actually speaking—we’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to project well enough. Instead he was moving his mouth to a recording that Deborah was playing—she’d left her seat in the middle of the second act to sneak backstage and handle the effects we needed. Sid was, however, moving his jaw to the words—lip-synching, without the lips. Hamlet was staring at the skull in his hand in astonishment, and I was just hoping he wouldn’t drop it, or worse still, throw it. Madison had promised to catch it if he did, but I wasn’t sure if she was close enough.

At first the audience thought it was a joke, and there was laughter. But the voice went on. “Murder hath no tongue, nor do I, but both murder and I doth speak this night. Here in this humble place of entertainments, murder has been committed, foul murder for a foul purpose. You there, you near the door from theater to school, canst thou not see the blood, feel the violence, know what has been done? ’Twas a Thursday when death did come here, and though the body be not present, still the stench of murder lingers ’til murderer admit his sin. Reveal yourself, O killer, for though thy victim be a blackmailer, ne’er did he deserve to be treated so. Confess. Confess.
Confess!
”

A spotlight suddenly lit McDaniel’s seat, and there were gasps all around.

But nothing else.

I was watching McDaniel the whole time, waiting for him to break, but it never happened. He jerked when Sid first said “murder” and he stayed stiff the entire time, but that was the only reaction from the man. Adam Jr. looked as if he’d seen a ghost, but his father expressed only bafflement. Then in a display I’d have admired had it been in a good cause, he started laughing.

The rest of the audience hesitated for a second, then most of them joined in. The cast made their belated bow in confusion, and the applause was even louder now that everybody thought they’d pulled off this amazing bit of theater.

In the middle of it all, McDaniel turned toward me and caught my eye, and then the vicious bastard winked at me.