Tippy Toe Murder (13 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #mystery, #holiday, #cozy

BOOK: Tippy Toe Murder
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“Couldn’t you go to your mother’s? Or stay
with a friend?” “I knew Mom would send me back to Darryl. She’d say my place
was with my husband. I didn’t have any friends, really. Nobody who’d want to
get involved. So I sat there in the car praying for a way out and it came to
me. I saw each step just as clear as could be.

“I stopped at the liquor store and bought a
bottle of whiskey. I left it on the kitchen table, along with a note that said
I’d be back at six. I knew that would make him mad—I was supposed to have
supper on the table exactly at five-thirty. I knew he’d start drinking.

“Then, just to make sure he’d go down in
the cellar, I left the dryer going. It had a real loud buzzer that went off
when the clothes were dry, so you’d know it was time to take them out. It was
real annoying, and I was sure he’d want to stop it.

“I worked out the times so he’d be drinking
for a good while when the buzzer went off. And just to make sure he’d fall down
the stairs I loosened the railing. Those cellar stairs were awful rickety,
anyway. They were an accident just waiting to happen, and I made sure it did.”

Lucy dropped her arm from around Franny’s
shoulders and moved over a few inches on the sofa, putting a little distance
between them. This was a side of Franny she’d never seen before.

“So he was dead when you found him?”

“No. I guess he was so drunk that he just
rolled down the stairs. He was coming around when I found him.”

“What did you do?” Lucy had to know.

“I went back upstairs and got out the
vacuum. That was one of the things on the list. ‘House must be vacuumed
thoroughly every day. Or else.’ I hadn’t done it yet.

“At first, when I turned it off, you know,
to unplug it and take it into another room, I heard him yelling. Shouting at
me. Real mad. Ordering me to call for help. I told him I’d call when I got done
vacuuming. Pretty soon he started asking for help. Promising he’d never hit me
again. I didn’t believe him. I’d heard that before. Then he was begging me. His
voice got weaker. By the time I finished vacuuming the bedroom I couldn’t hear
him anymore. That’s when I called the ambulance. Just like I said I would.”

“Oh, my God.” Lucy was stunned. “How could
you ignore him?”

“When I look back at it, it’s as if
somebody else did it. I felt as if I was following instructions or something. I
was sure they’d put me in jail, but nothing happened.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. After Darryl’s
funeral I went to live with Mom and got the job in the hardware store. I began
to feel better. The time I spent with Darryl was like a nightmare. I almost
believed it happened to somebody else, not me. Now I know that was an illusion.
You can’t get away with killing someone. Poor Mr. Slack’s become the instrument
by which I’ll be punished.”

It occurred to Lucy that Franny’s view of
the universe had become rather egocentric. Maybe jail did that to a person.
Lucy knew she wouldn’t want to be locked up with nothing but her thoughts.

“Did you kill Mr. Slack, Franny?” The
unthinkable now seemed possible.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“That means there’s a murderer out there.
If you take the blame for Slack’s death, his real killer might never be found.
That wouldn’t be right, would it?”

“I guess not.”

“I think you need to talk this over with
somebody professional, like a therapist.” Lucy took Franny’s hand in hers. “Have
you met your lawyer yet?”

“No. He’s coming this afternoon. His name
is Philip Roderick. He’s an old college friend of Fred Slack’s.”

A loud bell rang, startling the two women.
Lucy flinched as the baby gave her a hard kick, uncomfortably close to her
bladder.

“That means it’s lunchtime,” explained
Franny. “I gotta go.”

Lucy watched as the matron opened the gate
for Franny and locked it carefully behind her.

“Franny,” Lucy called to her. “Let this
lawyer help you, okay?”

Franny nodded and turned to go. Then it was
Lucy’s turn to go through the other gate and the metal detector once again. The
door swung open easily, it didn’t even clang behind her, but Lucy still felt an
incredible sense of lightness when she stepped outside. A languid puff of wind
ruffled her hair, she took a deep breath of clean air, and she suddenly
understood what prison was all about. She was free to go; Franny wasn’t.

20

 

Toe students, be
sure to stretch out before rehearsing.

 

Lucy couldn’t get away from the prison fast
enough. Safely back in her Subaru, she wanted to press the gas pedal to the
floor and fly along the country roads as fast as the silver car would go.

Instead, she kept an eye on the speedometer
and let up on the gas whenever the needle approached fifty. She switched the
radio to a rock station, turned up the volume, and pounded her hands on the
steering wheel in time to the beat.

What would she do, she asked herself, if
she were trapped in a marriage like Franny’s? Could she actually kill someone,
even to save her own life? Looking into her heart, Lucy wasn’t sure how far she
would go to defend herself, but she knew without a doubt that she would use
every last shred of strength she possessed to protect her kids.

Repelled as she was by Franny’s story, Lucy
wasn’t about to judge her. The way she saw it, Franny had acted in self-defense
when she killed her husband, and she didn’t believe Franny could have killed
Slack.

If only Ben didn’t have an alibi, he would
be the prime suspect. From what she’d seen, Slack’s death had been the result
of a violent confrontation. It hadn’t been premeditated or planned; it had all
the signs of a clash of tempers that got out of hand.

If old Slack had viewed the tape and saw
the boy stealing, he would certainly have confronted him. From what the medics
said, it hadn’t taken much of a blow to kill him. Ben was young and strong, and
he could have just overreacted to his grandfather’s accusations.

That would explain the argument between
Fred and Annemarie that Sue had overheard, too. As parents they wanted to
protect their son, but Fred didn’t want to see Franny punished unfairly.

Lucy couldn’t understand why the police
were so sure they had a case against Franny. She decided to talk to Barney as
soon as she could.

Convinced she had neatly solved Slack’s
murder, Lucy turned to the tantalizing question of Caro’s disappearance. She
turned into the parking area in front of Tatiana’s studio, grabbed the albums
off the passenger seat, and hurried inside.

“Hi, Lucy,” said Tatiana, who was standing
with one foot hooked over the barré in what looked to Lucy to be an impossible
position. The dancer didn’t turn to face her but made eye contact in one of the
floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined the studio. “I was just about to have some
lunch—want to join me?”

“Thanks,” said Lucy gratefully. “I forgot
to eat. These are the albums.”

“Let’s go upstairs to my apartment. We’ll
be more comfortable there.”

Inside Tatiana’s immaculate little
apartment, Lucy pulled a chair up to the low counter that separated the kitchen
from the living room. Tatiana busied herself pulling containers of food out of
the refrigerator and produced a lunch of rice cakes, fruit salad, cottage cheese,
and sparkling water.

“How did you get these albums, anyway?”
asked Tatiana, pulling them toward her.

“My daughter discovered them when I was
helping Kitty Slack close up Caro’s house. I probably shouldn’t have taken
them,” admitted Lucy, reddening slightly.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure. You know her better than
anyone. I thought you might find some sort of clue.”

“These must be family,” said Tatiana. The
first page of the album featured studio photographs of an attractive couple. From
their age and clothing Lucy thought they must be Grandma and Grandpa. The next
page included a photograph of a substantial house. “Sylvan Lane” read the
spidery handwriting underneath it.

Tatiana leafed through several pages before
she came to a snapshot of a young woman proudly holding a very plump baby.

“This is Caro,” exclaimed Tatiana, pointing
to the caption. It read, “Dear Caroline—Her First Visit.”

“There’s a picture exactly like that of me
in my mother’s album,” said Lucy.

“My mother has one of me, too,” said
Tatiana, laughing. “Sometimes I think all families have the same photo albums.”

“All happy families, anyway,” said Lucy,
pushing her plate away and bending closer to study a series of photos taken at
a summer place, a log cabin somewhere in the woods.

“Look at those swimsuits!” she said,
pointing to a photo of a group of smiling children wearing old-fashioned black
jersey bathing outfits. A shot of a waterfall looked vaguely familiar, but Lucy’s
attention was caught by a photograph of Caro as a little girl with bobbed hair,
clutching a huge beach ball. In another picture she was dressed in a ridiculous
starched and ruffled dress, standing with one hand at her waist and her elbow
jauntily cocked.

“You can see she had a mind of her own,
even when she was very young,” observed Tatiana.

Turning the page, the two women stared at a
formal portrait of a handsome man in a military uniform. His picture took up an
entire page. It was followed by several snaps of him and a group of his
teammates in jersey swimsuits with a “Y” on the chest.

“A Yale man,” said Lucy, and Tatiana
nodded.

In the last photograph he leaned casually against
a vine- covered wall, seemingly without a care in the world, holding a tennis
racket.

“What happened to him?” asked Lucy.

“He died in the war.”

“She never married?”

“No. She turned to dance. ‘Dance is my
husband,’ “ recited Tatiana dramatically, “ ‘You students are my children.’ It
sounds kinda corny, but she really meant it.”

“Besides you,” asked Lucy, “who were the
students she was closest to?”

Tatiana stood up and went to the table that
stood behind her sofa. She picked up a framed photograph and showed it to Lucy.

“This was taken at her retirement dinner.
Here’s Jennifer Whitman, Bonnie Freed, Maria Bondi, Ludmila Oberanskaya. Maybe
you recognize them, they’re all successful dancers. This is Louise Comden. She
could do incredible fouetté turns, but she married a lawyer or something. Janet
Waters got pregnant and left school. She’s a librarian now. Sally Liberty
writes for
Dance
magazine. That’s me.”

“Have you spoken to them? Do they know she’s
missing?”

“I didn’t think of that,” exclaimed Tatiana.
“I can get their numbers from the alumnae office. I’ll call them tonight.”

“If nothing else, maybe you can get them to
chip in and hire a real investigator,” muttered Lucy, going back through the
book. She stopped at the picture of the waterfall. It looked so familiar. She
propped the book on its edge and leaned back in her chair to study it. A comer
of a folded piece of paper slipped out from behind the snapshot.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a map,” said Lucy, smoothing out the
brittle paper. “It looks like something out of an A. A. Milne book.” The crayon
drawing included a cabin, winding trails, a carefully marked Snake’s House, a
creek, and a waterfall labeled Crystal Falls. “Our Summer Heaven” was written
in large letters across the top.

“Caro must have drawn this.”

“Did she ever talk about her childhood?”
asked Lucy.

“No. She really didn’t talk about herself
much. This stuff is fascinating. Do you mind if I keep these books for a few
days?” Tatiana glanced at the clock. “I’d like to take my time and go through
them.”

“Why should I mind? You have more right to
them than I do,” said Lucy. “It’s late. I better get going.”

“I’ve got a class in a few minutes. I’ll
see you tomorrow at the rehearsal.”

“Maybe you’ll have some news,” said Lucy,
picking up her bag.

“I hope so,” said Tatiana. “She’s been gone
for too long. I’m really worried about her.”

21

 

The use of the
auditorium is a privilege which can be withdrawn by the school administration.
Leave the facilities in the same condition you found them.

 

On Tuesday, Lucy decided she hated
mornings. She’d forgotten to set the alarm, so everybody got off to a late
start. The family no longer sat down to breakfast together—these days everybody
grabbed their own. Bill fried himself a couple of eggs, Toby ate a bowl of cold
leftover spaghetti, Elizabeth refused to eat anything but peach yogurt for
breakfast, and Sara always had a bowl of Cheerios. Lucy sipped at a cup of
decaf and wrote notes.

“Dear Mrs. Wilson,” she scribbled on a
piece of notebook paper. “Toby should not take the bus home today, as he is
going to a friend’s house after school.”

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