Wound Up In Murder Read online

  “Rathman brought Bobbie Listorie up next. They played a clip of him on the Ed Sullivan Show and a newsreel of him arriving at the airport.” Scott laughed and rolled his eyes. “He was a lot thinner in those days, though the suit and the hairstyle were the same. Those women were frantic, and one of them fainted when he reached out and touched her hand. That guy sure loves the spotlight. At the end of the segment, he re-created the moment and reached out to touch Scarlett’s hand. Only she didn’t faint. Personally, I liked watching the old sports shorts that featured Jimmie Phelps the best. It’s amazing how much he looks the same.”

  “Anything else?” I asked. Scott thought it over.

  “I saw Rathman’s wife had come in. She was standing on the side of the room near where I was sitting. Then she said something.”

  I suggested that Scott close his eyes and see if he could remember what she had said. “It’s important.”

  He did as I asked. By now, the whole group had fallen silent. After a few moments his expression got troubled and he shrugged his shoulders as if he was confused. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. “She said, ‘You’re not going to get away with that. I know how to ruin you.’”

  The whole group seemed to suck in their breaths at once. I looked around and was relieved nobody outside our group seemed to be listening to us.

  Scott couldn’t say who she was looking at when she spoke and said she wasn’t there at the end of the program, but he didn’t notice when she left. The only good news was that Sammy definitely wasn’t there.

  Lucinda slipped in and plopped down next to me. “What’s going on? Did I miss something important?” I quickly filled her in on what Scott had said. “What about after that?” Lucinda asked.

  “That’s what I want to find out.” When I looked up, one of the 1963 people had snagged Scott for a knitting lesson. He took teaching very seriously, and even though I was impatient to hear the rest of the story, I waited until he had the woman knitting rows on her own before I pulled him aside.

  “As you were saying about that first night,” I said, trying to prod him to continue, “what about after the celebrity stuff?”

  Scott launched into talking about some tapes of old TV news shows they played. He couldn’t get over how boring they seemed. The newscasters didn’t joke with each other or throw in their own opinions. “They just read the news,” he said with distaste. It was all very interesting, but not what I was after. With some effort I guided him back on topic and he said he’d stayed the whole time, but had noticed that people seemed to be going in and out.

  “You didn’t happen to notice who came and went, did you?” I asked hopefully.

  He seemed to be struggling to answer. “Here’s the problem. I was watching the news films, not really what was going on in the room.” He had been knitting the whole time we were talking. I have to admit, I had stopped in the middle of a row to give him my full attention. He looked up at the stone fireplace but his fingers kept moving. I could tell by his expression he was thinking. “The celebrities left as soon as their pieces were done. I think Norman Rathman was there the whole time. I saw him in the beginning and at the end when he came to the front and thanked everyone for coming.” It seemed like Scott was finished, but then his long face became animated.

  “I remember another detail,” he said as he automatically reached the end of a row and started on a new one by switching his needles. “Rathman’s wife never sat down. She hung back by me. She was a still a little loose from the martinis and she knocked into my chair as she turned to go. Her pocket was close to my eye level and I remember seeing something stuffed in it that was brightly colored. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now I bet it was the Amazing Dr. Sammy’s trail of scarves.”

  “She had Sammy’s silks,” Lucinda said. “That must prove something.”

  “I wish,” I said. “I already knew that. Unfortunately it doesn’t exclude Sammy; it just means everyone had access to the string of scarves, including him. I think the thing to focus on is that she was planning to ruin someone.”

  “That sounds like a motive if I’ve ever heard one,” Lucinda said. “The big question is who.” She turned to me. “Any ideas?” Scott seemed to be relieved to be out of the spotlight and moved closer to the rest of the group.

  “I have one possibility. Diana’s father was the announcer for the Giants and she hung around the team.” I told Lucinda about my conversation with Jimmie Phelps earlier. “He said something really odd. He said that nothing went on between them when she was underage.”

  Lucinda’s eyes were as round as the Swarovski faceted jet-black buttons on her tunic. “Wow. So you think something did happen between them and she was going to expose him?”

  “Even if it was too late to bring any criminal charges against him, that energy drink company would drop him in a second if anything tarnished his squeaky clean reputation.”

  “And he seems like such a nice guy.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but who knows? It could just be an act. And he’s not the only one she might have something on,” I said. “Just because Kevin St. John is acting like he doesn’t know that Diana Rathman was his half aunt doesn’t mean it’s true. Remember, Maggie said his grandmother died under suspicious circumstances. She was the one who was found at the bottom of a stairway. Suppose Kevin pushed her and somehow Diana knew.” Lucinda automatically looked toward the front of the big room where Kevin St. John usually hung out. For once he wasn’t there.

  “We’ve always thought there was something sinister about him. If he killed his grandmother, it probably wouldn’t be that hard to kill someone else.”

  “That’s pretty much what my ex-boss said,” I said, along with reminding me that Kevin’s mother could be the secret heir and that, if Kevin found out, he’d try to claim the place as his.

  “Oh dear, heaven help us if Kevin St. John manages to get hold of this place.”

  “Back to who else Diana could have wanted to ruin. What about her husband? I don’t know exactly what she might have on him, but she is half owner of the My Favorite Year business. They make a lot more profit on their retreats than I do,” I said. “I got the feeling they were battling over how to split it up. He seemed to think he was the business. Maybe she wanted to ruin him out of spite.” I noticed that the knitting group seemed to be putting away their work and the others in the room started to head toward the doors as the dinner bell began to ring.

  I put my hand on Lucinda’s arm to hold her back a second. “That’s just what I know about. Who knows who else Diana had a grudge against?”

  24

  I had a mission when I went to the dining hall. Frank’s advice had been right on and I wanted to continue checking with other eyes and ears from that first night. And I had someone in mind who had a different perspective than Scott’s. As soon as I got inside, I took up a position next to the group of tables our retreat had been using and watched as people came in. I greeted my people as they arrived, though by now they’d made friends with each other and knew the ropes about getting their food. As soon as Lucinda joined me, she picked up the pitcher of ice tea and started making the rounds.

  I kept my eye toward the door until Scarlett came in. She had been at the newsreel event, too, and might have noticed things Scott had missed. She had been going back and forth eating with our group and the 1963 people. I wanted to make sure she chose to eat this meal with us. I started across the room, hoping to direct her our way, but then I saw she’d walked in with Dotty Night and Bobbie Listorie. All of them were headed toward the table with Norman Rathman, Sally Winston, and Scarlett’s husband. I quickened my pace, hoping to grab her before she sat down.

  I was too late and got behind her chair just as she’d sat in it. “Scarlett, I was hoping you’d sit with our group,” I said, touching the shoulder of her shirt, which was in a color that matched her name. Maggie would
have loved the shade of red.

  She looked from Dotty Night on one side of her to Bobbie Listorie on the other. “I kind of want to stay here,” she said.

  Bobbie Listorie looked up at me and beamed a big smile. “This lady is the one who saved the old Bobberino the other night.” He told everyone how I’d given him the aspirin. He looked at an empty seat. “Why don’t you sit with us. Dotty was just going to give us the inside scoop about her co-star Stone Garner.”

  He got up, gallantly telling Dotty he’d get her food. “I hope you’ll be here when I get back,” he said to me with a wink. I found myself blushing from all his attention. I could see why the Pebble Beach resort paid him to hang out there even if, as Wanda insisted, he wasn’t the best golfer. He knew how to charm the crowd.

  Close-up, Dotty Night’s platinum blond hair was practically blinding. It suited her sparkling personality. She repeated Bobbie’s offer and pointed to a chair next to Norman Rathman. No surprise, Sally Winston immediately stepped in and said they were saving the seat for someone.

  It was pretty much now or I’d have to wait and try to talk to her the next morning. After dinner I was just going to spend a few minutes making sure my group all got to the screening of Dotty’s movie before I left to start baking. How was I going to get her to leave that table and come to ours?

  I thought back through my multitude of jobs for something that could help now. There was nothing from when I’d worked as a teacher, but maybe something from the time I’d spent spritzing samples of perfume on customers coming into a department store, not one of my more stellar positions. The point was to get them to go to the perfume counter so the clerks could try to sell them. When all else failed, I’d gone with the truth. As I gave out a sample of the perfume, I told the shopper that I was going to lose my job if I didn’t get a certain number of people to go to the counter. They didn’t have to buy anything, just make an appearance and look at the perfume for me to get credit. I was amazed at how many people agreed to do it to help me out. Maybe the same thing would work with Scarlett.

  “I really need your help with something at our table,” I said. Just like with the perfume people, Scarlett’s attitude changed and she popped out of her chair, telling them she’d be back in a few minutes.

  As soon as we were out of earshot, I brought up the newsreel event. “You were there, weren’t you?” I asked.

  She fluttered her eyes in surprise at my question. I suppose it did seem a little out of the blue, but I didn’t have a lot of time to segue into it. “Yes, but I was a little loopy. The martini had gone right to my head,” she said, using her finger to point to her temple. Frank had said it was all about phrasing the questions right. I zeroed in on what I really wanted to know. I knew that Norman Rathman was there at the beginning and someone had told me they saw him there at the end, but I wanted to know if he’d been there the whole time.

  “I know that Diana Rathman left during the program. Did you notice if Norman left, too?”

  Scarlett understood what I was after. “You mean, did he follow her out?” She shuddered. “It’s so much more comfortable to think it was the magician who strangled her. I don’t know him. But the idea that someone I know did it.” She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thought.

  “Do you know if Diana had a reason to want to ruin Norman?”

  Scarlett’s eyes looked at me as if it was an absurd question. “Are you kidding? Their marriage was breaking up and I’m sure they were fussing about the property settlement. I can only guess, but I bet Norman was claiming he was entitled to a bigger share of the retreat business.”

  “Why? I thought they were partners?” I asked.

  “Professors are like rock stars to their students. And you’ve seen him. He’s got looks and charisma. The whole business took off because of him. People joined the club because of him. Diana started out as one of his students and she was like a groupie.” We’d stopped near a window by then, and people brushed past us on their way to the food line. Scarlett seemed to have forgotten her rush to get back to her table as she continued. “I have an opinion about people like Diana. I think people like her can’t quite become somebody important themselves, so the next best thing is to latch on to somebody who is.” Scarlett was on a roll now and I just nodded to show I was listening. It was becoming increasingly apparent that while she thought Norman Rathman was charismatic, she didn’t really like him.

  “Norman was the one who wanted the divorce and told her not to come to the retreats anymore. She cramped his style and made a fuss every time she saw people hanging all over him. Sally Winston doesn’t have that problem. So, yes, I’m sure Diana would have loved to ruin him and the business even if it ended up costing her. She was a vindictive person.”

  I really wanted to ask Scarlett more about who else Diana’s comment about ruining someone could have been referring to, but Scarlett suddenly seemed to remember where she was and started walking to our group of tables. “I’m sorry I got off track. You said you needed my help with something.”

  For a moment I got that deer in the headlights feeling and froze. Think fast, I told myself. By the time we’d reached the first table with our people, I’d come up with something.

  I pointed to all the balls of yarn on the table. “They are still fussing around with swapping yarns. I thought if you could show them the scarf you’re making with what came in your bag, they might realize the whole point of the retreat was the serendipity effect.”

  “You should have said something before. My tote bag is back at the table.” She rushed back to get it and happily showed off her work in progress while explaining that half the fun was being surprised how it came out instead of planning too much. As an example, she picked up one of the worry dolls in progress off the table. Instead of trying to do the body in one color of yarn that seemed vaguely skin colored, the woman had mixed the yarns so that the doll’s body was done in shades of blue and lavender.

  Since the yarn swapping hadn’t really been a problem at the table, the group seemed puzzled by Scarlett’s rant. I stepped in before anyone said anything and pulled her aside, thanking her profusely and letting her go back to her table.

  “What was that about?” Lucinda asked as we headed to the back to get our food. I explained all as we picked up our lasagna and salad. “I really wish I could have asked her more. She added to the motive that Norman might have had, but she didn’t say if he’d left and come back during the program. Scott said it ended at midnight, so judging by the time of death that Dane told me, it seems like she was killed while the program was going on. Norman could have slipped out and followed her. The 1963 people were all in there, our people had gone to bed or were inside knitting somewhere, so even if there was a struggle, who would have heard it?”

  We clammed up when we got back to our table. The lasagna didn’t come close to Dane’s version.

  I hung with my people after dinner. A few of them were skipping the movie, more anxious to spend the time together working on their projects, but I walked with most of them to Hummingbird Hall. The auditorium was built into a slope on the grounds. Like the Lodge, it was designed in the Arts and Crafts style and one of the original buildings. The inside seemed bright and inviting after the darkness outside.

  Kevin St. John had outdone himself. He had turned the large space into a movie theater. The first thing I noticed was the scent of fresh popcorn along with the sound of popping coming from a red cart. As fast as it came down into the glass case, one of the kitchen help scooped it up and put it in a cardboard container and handed it to the next person in line. A glass counter had been set up with candy that was available in 1963. There were boxes of Good and Plenty, Dots, Tootsie Rolls and Milk Duds.

  Rows of plush seats had been set up. There were no drink holders and they didn’t recline like the modern movie theater seats did. I watched as the crowd filed in and, after getting their treats, fo
und their seats. I saw that Madeleine had returned and had her sister, Cora, with her. Madeleine carried popcorn and candy and looked around in awe. Cora appeared more critical of her surroundings, but I saw her smile in spite of herself.

  Kevin St. John came in and stopped next to me. There was so much more going on in my mind about him now. Before I had just been concerned with how difficult he tried to make it for me and how he wanted to push me out of the retreat business. His personal life had been a mystery to me. Now I knew that he had a teenage mother who had abandoned him and a grandmother who died under suspicious circumstances. The dead woman at the retreat was his relative, and there was a possibility, which I was doing my best to deny, that Edmund Delacorte might have been his grandfather. I tried to act as if nothing had changed.

  Certainly he wasn’t acting any different. “This is how you put on a retreat,” he said, gloating as he gazed over the treat setup and the seats. “The movie screen and projector are vintage, the movie is from the correct year, and we even have the star to talk about it.” He looked around the open framework of the wood building, and I could feel the love he had for the place. And the pride he felt in a job well done for this event. We’d had our differences and he might be a double murderer, but I just couldn’t bust his moment.

  “You really did re-create an old theater,” I said.

  He had the best smile I’d ever seen. “Wait until you see the dance tomorrow night.” He turned and looked at my black jeans and matching turtleneck under my toast-colored fleece jacket. “But if you want to come, you’ll have to wear something from that year.” I waited to see if he was going to add a snippy remark, but all he said was, “Casey, you have no idea what I’m capable of when it comes to Vista Del Mar.” Then he went to the front and introduced Dotty Night.