03 Murder by Mishap Page 17

  Peg shook her head. “Most of our assets are separate. In the two years we’ve been married, we haven’t acquired much common property. According to our prenup, I have no claims on his bank or his income, just as he has no rights to this house or any of my money.”

  “You signed a prenuptial agreement?”

  “Geoff thought it would be a good idea.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s never really been fond of Stephen. He’s tried to hide his feelings from me, but I’ve always thought Geoff wouldn’t like anyone who took his father’s place.”

  Edna thought Peg’s son would accept a more fun loving or emotionally compatible partner for Peg, as would she and Albert, but didn’t want to pursue that line of conversation either. Instead, she said, “How are you feeling? Would you like some more brandy and milk?”

  “Why not?” Peg grinned and nearly looked like her old self. Some color had even returned to her cheeks. “I think another might allow me to sleep, if I can crawl my way up to the bedroom.”

  They both laughed, and Edna rose to refill their mugs.

  A half hour later, as she turned off the bedside lamp, an earlier question of Peg’s popped into her head. Had Stephen knowingly been trying to push Peg out the window? No answer came to her, and the last thing she remembered that night was the cool softness of the pillow beneath her cheek.

  It was past ten o’clock the next morning before she awoke. The wonderfully drowsy feeling induced by milk and brandy the night before had been replaced with a slight headache. Rolling out of bed, she took a long hot shower and dressed in comfortable, green wool slacks and a white turtle-neck. Still feeling a chill that went all the way to her bones, she grabbed a sweater of multiple earth tones and pulled it over her jersey. In the kitchen, she found Peg sitting at the table, warming her hands around a coffee mug. Elbows on the table, she was staring out the window at the backyard as Edna entered the room.

  “Mornin’, Ed.” When Peg turned to greet her, the dark circles beneath her eyes made her look worse than Edna felt. “Help yourself to coffee. That’s a fresh pot.”

  “Were you able to sleep at all,” Edna asked, pouring a cup and bringing it to the table.

  Peg shook her head and bit her lip. “Not much.” Tears welled in her eyes, but didn’t spill over. After a minute of silence in which Edna knew her friend was trying to gain control of her emotions, Peg said, “I’ve been trying to understand what possessed Stephen last night. I’ve never known him to look or act like that. He was a complete stranger to me.”

  The tears did fall then, silently drifting down her cheeks as she looked at Edna to provide impossible answers.

  “Why don’t I make you some toast. You look exhausted. Maybe if you eat something and lie down, you’ll be able to sleep for a little while. We’ll talk later.”

  “I don’t think I could, Ed.”

  Not knowing if Peg meant eat or sleep or both, Edna ignored her and rose to make toast from a loaf of homemade bread she found in the bread box. Rummaging in the refrigerator, she came out with a partially-used jar of homemade, strawberry jam which she spread liberally on the toast before setting the plate in front of Peg. She thought the extra sugar would be good for the shock Peg must be feeling. She made herself the same breakfast and when they both had finished, she persuaded Peg to lie down on the couch in the library. This morning, she lit the fire in the hearth before sitting in the rocker and reaching for the copy of “Little Women” she’d left on the side table.

  So much had happened since she’d put the book down the afternoon before. Looking at the printed pages, her mind wasn’t on the story, but on the previous evening’s events. Why had Stephen been acting so crazy? Try as she might, Edna could not fathom a logical reason for his behavior except to wonder if he’d gone completely mad. She finally decided to force herself into the story on her lap and try to free her mind of the inexplicable happenings in the world around her.

  She was startled awake by the repeated chiming of the doorbell. The book had fallen from her lap and the fire had burned down to a few smoldering embers. As she rose from the rocker feeling a little muzzy-headed, she glanced at the mantel piece clock and was surprised to see it was nearly two o’clock. Noticing Peg’s eyes were open, she said, “I’ll see who that is. Try to go back to sleep.”

  But Peg threw the afghan aside and sat up, looking and sounding groggy. “Let’s both go see who it is. I need to move around, clear my head. A little sleep is almost as bad as none at all.” She smiled wanly and held out a hand for Edna to help her up.

  The doorbell chimed again as the two women entered the foyer. Peg opened the door to a grim-faced Detective Ruthers.

  “Why ... hello, Detective,” Peg said, sounding puzzled at his being there. Then, as if understanding dawned, she said, “Have you found out who copied Mother’s brooch?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the only reason I’m here. When I got to the Division this morning, I heard about a complaint.” He nodded at Edna. “Seems you attacked Mr. Bishop last night. That right?”

  Edna wasn’t certain if she saw one side of his mouth twitch upward when she said, “Yes, sir. I did.”

  Ruthers looked back at Peg. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”

  She led the way back to the library after the detective declined the offer of coffee or tea. Once they were seated, Peg and Edna on the sofa with Ruthers in the rocker next to the fireplace, he said without preamble, “What happened here last night.”

  “Have you spoken with my husband?”

  Ruthers nodded. “Went to see him at the hospital this morning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I’d like to hear it from you, Mrs. Bishop.” He sat back and folded his hands in his lap, waiting.

  After staring at him for several seconds as if expecting the detective to change his mind and tell her what Stephen had said, Peg began her recital with the reason she and Edna had gone to the attic. She completed her story with the 911 call for an ambulance. Edna sat quietly throughout and watched to see if Ruthers would give away anything by his facial expressions. He didn’t. She thought she’d not like to play poker with him, amusing herself at the absurdity of the idea. Really, I must keep my mind on the matter at hand, she thought.

  A minute or two passed after Peg finished speaking before Ruthers pulled two small plastic bags from his jacket pocket and laid them on the coffee table in front of them. Each bag held one of the circle pins that had been the object of so much recent controversy.

  “One is a copy,” he said, pulling the rocker closer to the table. Peg looked up with a frown. “We know. The one with the bent backing is the copy. Right?”

  Feeling a twinge of impatience with the detective, Edna said, “We’d already figured that’s what it must be. What we’d like to know is who had it made and when.”

  “Mr. Bishop commissioned the fake,” Ruthers said, turning one over to show them the damaged clasp. “We located the jeweler who said he made it from a pen-and-ink design your husband showed him. We uncovered that bit of information late yesterday. I was planning to drop by today to talk to both you and your husband, Mrs. Bishop, but of course my plans changed with the events of last night.”

  “Stephen?” Peg spoke the name as a question, then said numbly, “Stephen had this made?”

  “That’s correct. Apparently your husband has had copies made of many pieces of your jewelry. Fairly good copies, but fakes, nonetheless. We had a long talk this morning in his hospital room. He’s decided to cooperate and gave us permission to examine the contents of his safe deposit box.”

  “Why would he do that?” Peg stared at the detective as if not understanding what he was saying. “Why would he copy my jewelry?”

  “He’s been paying extortion money to some pretty nasty fellows. Apparently, he couldn’t bring himself to embezzle bank funds, but he didn’t think you’d notice if he switched your jewelry for decent replacements. Said you didn’t wear them much anyway.”

&n
bsp; “That’s why he insisted on keeping everything at the bank,” Peg said, staring down at the pins on the table and seemingly speaking to herself.

  “You say someone was extorting money. Who was threatening him?” Edna spoke up, more interested in the cause of Stephen’s betrayal.

  “A small but well-organized bunch of cheap hoods, operating out of Chicago. They’ve hit small banks in five large cities from Chicago to Boston, according to the Treasury department. These sharks get someone, preferably the bank president, to lend them large sums with questionable pay-back terms. When the note comes due, our upstanding citizens refuse to pay and it turns out their collateral is phony. Any banker who tries to collect or bring in the authorities ends up in the hospital or worse. There’s at least one case of a home being burned to the ground. We also think, in a few cases, they’ve demanded more money before they let go.”

  Edna gasped, drawing Peg’s and Ruther’s attention. She shook her head to minimize her reaction. “I recently read about one of the cases. Wasn’t it in or near Chicago--the trial in which the photojournalist Carol James was the primary witness?”

  “That’s right.” The detective seemed satisfied with her explanation and turned back to Peg. “Mr. Bishop tells us that burning your house was only one of the threats he received. We’re talking with Illinois officials and Treasury agents to verify the M.O., but we’re pretty certain we’re all dealing with the same guys. Your husband claims he was trying to save the bank and didn’t know how else to put back the money in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicions.”

  “And when both the fake and the real circle pins showed up, his duplicity was almost certain to surface,” Edna speculated.

  “That puzzles me,” Peg said. “Why did he have a copy made of Mother’s brooch when it wasn’t among her jewels at the bank? It wasn’t very clever of him.”

  “According to your husband, he found the design for the pin with a notation of the jeweler and the date it was given to your mother for her birthday.” The detective picked up the little bag holding the original circle of precious stones and examined it. “It’s a nice piece,” he said before putting it back on the coffee table and looking up at Peg. “He thought you had it hidden away somewhere and that you would bring it out to wear sooner or later. He wanted to be ready with the copy, sure that this piece was one of the most valuable in the collection.”

  “How did it end up in the garden?” Edna thought back to the morning she’d spotted it gleaming in the sun. The thought also brought back a somewhat painful memory of getting her head stuck in the fence and, feeling a flush come to her cheeks, she pushed the memory away.

  Speaking to Edna, Ruthers flicked his eyes toward Peg for an instant before explaining. “Mr. Bishop had it locked in his desk here at the house. He thinks his wife has keys to both the office and the desk. He believes she found the pin and took it, but somehow lost it when she was working in the yard.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Peg sat up with a snap at the accusation. “I have never had a key to my father’s office or his desk and, if I had, I would never go through my husband’s things.” She scowled at the detective, shooting daggers at the messenger.

  Edna reached over and patted Peg’s forearm trying to reassure and calm her. “Would Virginia have gone into the office and rummaged in the desk?”

  “That’s a possibility, I suppose, although I don’t know where she would have gotten a key. Besides, I’ve never known Virginia to go snooping around the house.” Peg looked forlornly at Edna. “I guess we’ll never know.” Her look of desolation quickly turned to one of dread. “Do you suppose Stephen suspected her and killed her before she could expose him?”

  Edna shook her head, speaking before Ruthers had a chance. “I don’t think he had anything to do with Virginia’s death.” She gave Peg an apologetic look. “I admit that I’ve never been able to warm up to Stephen, but I don’t think he’d plot to kill someone.”

  “What about last night,” Peg insisted. “He seemed capable of killing me.”

  Edna turned to Ruthers. “What did he say about last night? Surely, you can tell us now.”

  “He says he had a blackout. Claims he doesn’t remember anything after wondering why his wife was in the attic so late at night.” Ruthers raised his eyebrows. “When we tried to press him on that part of his story, he clammed up and wouldn’t say any more without talking to his lawyer first.”

  “Convenient memory loss,” Edna muttered more to herself than to the others, although her remark was loud enough for them to hear.

  Ruthers looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What makes you think he wouldn’t have poisoned Ms. Hoxie?”

  “I don’t think he’d have been that subtle,” she replied. “And, I’d be very surprised if he knew anything about rosary peas, least of all that they are toxic. Besides, you said he thinks Peg took the brooch from his desk.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. He’s denying any knowledge of Ms. Hoxie’s death, and I tend to believe him on that score. Her homicide is still an open case.”

  “Did he tell you what he’s done with my mother’s jewelry,” Peg said. “He had copies made, but what happened to the real ones?”

  “He gave them to a go-between. The courier delivers the goods and each piece is broken down so as not to be recognized. They probably melt the silver and gold and sell the metal separately from the gems.”

  Peg looked stricken. “They belonged to my mother and my grandmothers. Are you telling me they’re all gone now? Destroyed?” Her voice rose and her eyes filled.

  Ruthers spoke quickly, trying to reassure her and stem the flow of tears. “We don’t know the extent yet. We have an expert examining everything that was in the safe deposit box. We’ll give you her report in a day or two. We’re guessing about what they’ve done with your jewelry, but haven’t confirmed anything yet.”

  Edna felt her cheeks burn with anger over her friend’s loss, but in the midst of it all, something was beginning to nag at her subconscious. “Did Stephen identify the courier, the one who received Peg’s jewelry,” she asked Ruthers.

  He nodded. “Says it’s the gardener. Goran Pittlani.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “No!” Edna’s hands flew to her mouth as if she could catch the single word. She felt a cold, hard lump in the pit of her stomach.

  Goran’s got Jaycee. Has he handed her over to his gangster bosses like he turned over Peg’s jewelry? Surely, she wouldn’t have gone willingly. But Charlie said the gunman wouldn’t have come looking for her if he knew she was with Goran. I must speak with Charlie.

  The thoughts flicked through her head in less than a second.

  “Ed?” Peg’s voice broke her train of thought. “What is it?”

  Ignoring the question, Edna stood abruptly. “Excuse me, please. I must make a call.” She hurried into the foyer where she stopped to collect herself. “I must tell Charlie,” she muttered. Too many alarms had been raised by that one name. Goran Pittlani.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” Peg had followed Edna into the foyer and now came up beside her to put a hand on Edna’s back and rub gently. “If you’re upset about the jewelry, please don’t be. I’ll get over the loss. I valued them, yes, but they’re only possessions, after all.”

  “Mrs. Davies?” Trailing the women out of the library, Detective Ruthers approached Edna on her other side, the question in his voice apparent on his face. He, too, wanted to know what had caused her to react so vehemently.

  Edna forced herself to smile. Until she spoke with Charlie, she didn’t want to say anything to this other policeman. She also didn’t want to add to Peg’s worries. With that thought, Edna willed herself to appear unconcerned.

  “Absurd of me, really. I didn’t mean to cause such a stir. It’s only that I remembered something I forgot to tell my neighbor. The mention of the gardener brought it to mind.” She stopped there, realizing the less she said, the better. Her excuse sounded weak, ev
en to her own ears, but she looked up at the detective with wide and innocent eyes, she hoped. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go upstairs and make my phone call.”

  The detective looked at her sternly for several interminable seconds as Edna stared back with her expression frozen in place. Finally, he broke the glare and looked down at the baggies in his hand. He’d obviously picked them up before leaving the library. Stuffing them into his pocket, he looked back at Edna and then at Peg. “Do you know where I can reach Mr. Pittlani?”

  Peg shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since ...” She hesitated, thinking back. “... since he came in for lunch on Wednesday, the day Virginia died.”

  “If he shows up or you hear from him, call me immediately. I don’t need to tell you that he may be dangerous.” He looked again from one to the other, making the request of them both before turning toward the front door.

  Edna waited where she was while Peg showed Ruthers out, but as soon as the door closed behind him, she spun and hurried up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be down in a minute. I have to make a call.”

  In her bedroom, she closed the door and dialed Charlie’s number. When he answered on the third ring, she told him what she had learned from Detective Ruthers. Although she explained about the jewelry and Goran Pittlani’s involvement, she decided not to complicate matters by telling him about the scene in the attic, which would also mean explaining how Stephen Bishop had ended up in the hospital.

  “Do you think Goran might have tricked Jaycee into going with him, so he could turn her over to his gang,” she asked, ending her report. When Charlie didn’t say anything right away, she prodded, trying to impress upon him the urgency she felt. “Jaycee testified against them. They’ll kill her for that.”

  “I don’t think Jaycee is in any immediate danger.”

  “Why not? Have you heard from her?” He spoke so confidently, she wanted to believe him, but she also needed proof.