Murder Under the Tree Page 16

  “The thought crossed my mind. Sounds like that would entail two people.”

  “Creepy! Something to think about.”

  Once in the car, I told Deirdre about my conversation with James Barnowski and played the tape for her.

  “Kay, you should go straight to the police with this tape.”

  “I haven't had the best of luck with the police in Sudbury Falls. Kirk didn't take me serious about the attempt on my life or about someone deliberately putting peanuts in Les' food, when everything points to that.”

  “And don't forget Deputy Chief of Police Bill Murphy being involved with the ginseng conspiracy. You sent him to prison. But I think the police should be informed. Nancy shouldn't be left free to take advantage of the men at the Home.”

  Had the police given me any reason to go against my instinct toward them. I can't trust Kirk would do anything. “If I took this tape to the police, Barnowski could say, what he said came out wrong. He's one person. I need to find others.”

  “Are you going to start a whistleblower campaign at the Hill?”

  “Maybe,” I said sarcastically. “I could put a sign up, WANTED: INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE RECEIVED SEXUAL FAVORS FROM MS. REINHARDT, PLEASE SEE KAY DRISCOLL.”

  * * * *

  After I arrived home, the phone rang. It was Sarah again.

  “Kay, after you left, I thought I better go and check up on Anne. She looked so distraught, mumbling to herself when she was here. She gave me a letter that Martin had given her a while back and wants you to see it. I have it in an envelope for you here.”

  “I wonder what it's about. Could you please open the letter and read it to me?”

  There was dead silence on the phone. “Sarah, are you there?”

  “I can't read it, Kay. I just can't.” She started to cry.

  “Okay, Sarah. Not to worry. It sounds important. I'll come by and pick it up.” I looked at my watch. Eleven o'clock. “After lunch. What time do you eat?”

  I could hear Sarah sniff her nose. “Usually at noon. Right now I could use some normalcy...like going to lunch. Thank you, Kay.”

  Normalcy, I thought after I hung up. That would be nice.

  I glanced through some Italian travel guides for a few minutes, but my heart wasn't in it. I kept thinking of Martin's death and the letter. What was in it?

  I decided to head over to Sarah's and try to catch her before she went to lunch.

  Sarah answered the door. When I went into her apartment she handed me the envelope from Martin.

  As I opened the letter, Sarah said, “Kay, when I go to lunch I'm going to see if Anne will even be able to go down to eat.”

  I started reading Martin's letter out loud.

  The information enclosed in this letter will be of the utmost importance in bringing down a monster in our midst. If anything should happen to me, please make this information public at the earliest convenience. I want to be on the record as saying that Nancy Reinhardt approached me October 15 of last year asking me to put her in my will in exchange for sexual liaisons. I declined her unsavory offer. I feel contrite that I have never breathed a word of this to another soul, until today to my good friend Anne Niven, but my embarrassment at the proposition was too great. I've asked Anne, to witness the writing of this letter, so it can be used as evidence against Ms. Reinhardt, should the need arise.

  Sincerely,

  Martin Khan Anne Niven, Witness

  Sarah looked embarrassed when the letter concluded. “Oh my. Do you suppose Nancy killed him because of this?”

  “I don't think so. She probably didn't even know about the letter.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  I put the letter in my purse. “Not sure. I'll have to think about it. I'll do something.” But there was no need to think about it.

  As I drove home, I knew what it was time to do. I had the tape of Barnowski and now Martin's letter. Chief of Police Kirk couldn't ignore both of these.

  Instead of going home, I headed over to the police station. When Kirk saw me, it looked like he tried to suppress a scowl, which he didn't manage very well. I told him about the recording with Jim Barnowski.

  “I want to show you that there are reasons to suspect Nancy, and that we need to act.”

  Exasperated, he began to listen while playing around with some pencils on his desk. After it was over he sat for a few moments without speaking.

  “Kay, this is one man's word. We need more residents to come forward, others who Nancy approached in a similar fashion.” He sat silent for several moments. “What Nancy Reinhardt is doing is unethical. It does cross a line.”

  I couldn't believe what Kirk was saying, “crossing a line.” “I would think it is illegal. Sexual favors for money?”

  “It would be admissible in a court of law—”

  “And if you want more evidence...” I handed him Martin's letter.

  He continued talking as he held the folded letter. “The present owner of Hawthorne Hills Retirement Home is a friend of mine. Robert Peterson doesn't take over until the end of the month. I can give my friend a call and tell him about the recording. An investigation could be started.”

  “I would think your friend had better do something. The retirement home could face disciplinary action by the State Department of Regulation and Licensing.”

  Kirk cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  “Viktor Petruska, Les Hollings' partner, said that Les had overheard Nancy making “dates” with various residents, and had seen Nancy with James Barnowski through James' window. It might be why Les was killed. Think about it. And now Martin is dead as well. Maybe Martin also snooped around and found something out he shouldn't have. You should read his letter.”

  Kirk's face reddened. A blend of anger and annoyance etched lines adjacent to his mouth. His perpetual sheen of sweat on his forehead turned to drops. Then all of a sudden he snapped the pencil he was holding in half. “You're quite accustomed to having your way, Kay. I know you worked as a public health nurse and with the police department in Colorado before you moved here, but you can't keep coming in here and telling me my job.” He took in a deep breath. And unfolded the paper.

  He continued his rant. “Nancy Reinhardt reminded me the other day that it is very suspicious that you are the only connection to all the murders. You were always around when bad stuff happened.”

  “Me? What are you talking about?”

  He gave a ....smile. “You were there when Les died. She heard you were the one who discovered the professor in the ginseng case. And a couple of your other friends were murdered as well. Now you hand me a letter from Martin who just died last night, who you think might have been murdered by Nancy.”

  I wanted to slap his smile away and slap the next smile of Nancy's off her face. “You know the circumstances of the previous deaths. How can you say that? I'm the one who tried to help...actually solved the murders.” I hardly recognized my own voice. It sounded so harsh. “The police? They're either bungling the job or commiting the crimes themselves!” I put my hand over my mouth before I said any more.

  Kirk grew quiet, but he didn't seem any less angry. Actually, he seemed to sulk a bit; perhaps he finally recognized the great value that I had in our community's crime prevention efforts. Not likely. “Kay, all I'm saying is that death seems to follow you.”

  Still not reading the letter, he said, “Anyway, Nancy wasn't anywhere near the kitchen that day. She had just gotten back from a conference that was held in the Cities around one o'clock, the time the tea started. She was never in the kitchen nor the dining room until both she and Dr. Lee were called because of Les, after the fact. They were in a meeting together at that time.”

  My body tensed. Two deaths had occurred and no one was doing anything to stop it.

  I glared at Kirk as he proceeded to read. All was quiet for a few minutes other than my teeth grinding.

  I was debating whether I should have gotten up and left during his te
mper tantrum. But Kirk's face had changed quite a bit since he began reading the letter, which he looked quite engrossed in. When he finished, he looked up at me and then back down and read it through a second time. He tapped the paper excitedly with his middle finger. “With both of these, we have something to work with!”

  He walked over to the bookcase, pulled out a two volume thick set of books, and brought them over to his desk. The tomes must have been thousands of pages in all; about a foot wide together. He paged through one of them. “Okay, here. In the Wisconsin State Legislative Documents under Prostitution, Chapter 944.30, it reads, “...any person who intentionally does any of the following is guilty of a Class A misdemeanor: 1) Has or offers to have or requests to have nonmarital sexual intercourse for anything of value. 2) Commits or offers to commit or requests to commit an act of sexual contact for anything of value.”

  “Nancy fits the bill,” I said.

  “Looks like we have some work to do. If you will please excuse me, Kay. I might give my friend a call and give him a heads up on Reinhardt's activities before the warrant arrives.”

  When I stood up to leave his office I heard him say, “And, Kay...thanks for bringing this to my attention.”

  Jerk! Just like Nancy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After talking to Chief of Police Kirk, I ran several errands. Late afternoon, when I was pulling into our driveway, I saw John walking up to our front door. I called out that I would be with him in a jiffy and parked the car in the garage.

  John was red in the face when I opened the front door. “Kay, I need to speak with you!” His voice wavered. He brushed past me into the entryway.

  “Of course. Come in. Let me take your coat,” I said, taking mine off. “Would you like some coffee, tea? Decaf?” He sounded like he already had too much caffeine.

  “No, thanks. I don't plan on staying long,” he said in a terse manner. “Elizabeth's at a friend's home and I want to leave before she returns and sees my car over here.”

  Hmmm. “I see. What's this about?” He went over and sat down on the sofa. I sat in a chair across from him. “Doesn't sound like you are doing real well.”

  “I'm not...doing real well. I've been agonizing about your new neighbor. I don't understand what the deal is with him. It seems like he is always around Elizabeth. I can tell she likes the attention.”

  “John, I'm sorry. I do think Peterson is a bit overwhelming as well.” And Deirdre and I both think he's creepy and hiding something. “You know how friendly and generous a person Elizabeth is. She's just being Elizabeth.”

  “Do you think you can discourage her from seeing him?”

  “John, you know you can't tell Elizabeth what to do. I'll try to keep a closer eye out for her.”

  “Maybe I should go over and confront him. Tell him to leave Elizabeth alone.”

  I shook my head. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

  “Then what should I do? I bought an engagement ring for Elizabeth, then decided I didn't want to ask someone who was so unsure of her feelings towards me. I'm starting to think of returning it.”

  “John, Elizabeth loves you. Hang onto that ring. If you make a big fuss to her about Peterson, she'll just defend him. She just finds Peterson pleasant and interesting. I'm sure her fascination with him won't last long.”

  The next moment, the telephone rang. I glanced over at it.

  “I should get going.” John stood up, looking out the window in the direction of Elizabeth's home. “Thanks for listening.”

  I hurried to answer the phone and waved as he let himself out the front door.

  “Kay, something is going on here.” It was Sarah again.

  “What?”

  “I was in the hallway on my way to the library and overheard Dr. Lee tell the new nurse that Nancy will be taking a leave, and that he has been made the temporary director at the Hill. So I went past Nancy's office. She's packing her things. I came right upstairs and called you. Do you know anything about that?”

  That was quick. I thought Kirk meant a search warrant. It must have been an arrest warrant. “Sarah, I have something I need to do. I'll get to the bottom of all of this. For now, I think you and Anne should lay low and let me take care of things. Okay?”

  Again, I felt the desire for a little normalcy in my life. If only I had another wall to paint in Deirdre's shop; I wanted something normal to do. Well, almost normal...after all, it was Deirdre's New Age, tarot card, tea leaf reading, herbal shop I was referring to.

  Throwing on my coat, I grabbed my digital recorder from Will and jumped in the car. The snow was falling down fast. I drove as quickly as I could over to Hawthorne Hills, lucky not to slide into any cars or street curbs along the way. The arrest must have taken place earlier, and the bail already posted, since Nancy was out. I wanted to talk to her before she left; I may never have another chance. Hoping she was still there, I went straight to her office.

  Nancy looked surprised to see me. Before I could say a word she spoke. “Mrs. Driscoll, whatever it is,” she held up her hand, “now is not the time.”

  Short of breath from hurrying and being nervous, I rattled off, “I know you did it!”

  She took more papers out of her desk and and put them in a box. Then she looked up. “I'm afraid to ask…did what?”

  Trickles of sweat ran down the small of my back under my clothing. Conscious that my hands were trembling, I crammed them into my coat pockets. “I know you murdered Les.”

  She stopped what she was doing and gave me an incredulous stare. Then laughed. “Really?” Her voice rose in pitch. “How ridiculous! And why would I do that?”

  I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. “Because he killed your godson, Bobby. You must have planned this for some time.”

  Her mouth opened but then she waved her hand as in a dismissal. “What, for almost five years? Les had been in my employ for almost five years.” She shook her head and returned to putting things into her box. “I see you and 'Miss Marple', Anne Niven, have been busy.”

  “Les was planning to move on. You waited for the opportune time and then struck. You knew about his peanut allergy. And I know, Sheila Harris is your niece, Bobby's sister.”

  She looked up from packing her box and suddenly turned bright red, looking more worried at this statement than anything else I said. Anger appeared in her face, hardening her eyes, her hands drawn into fists. “Get out of here! You're out of your mind!”

  She stammered as she marched over to the door. “Out! Stop making accusations! And leave Sheila out of this! Or else!”

  The door slammed behind me. Or else what? Or else I was next?

  Out in the hallway, a few of the residents looked over at me and whispered to each other as they walked by. I smiled at them. Lola, standing outside the dining room putting up the menu, stopped and glanced in my direction. Guess Lola wasn't the only one with anger management problems.

  Sorry and upset that I hadn't gotten a confession from Nancy, I started for home, stopping first at the grocery store, where I picked up some chicken breasts for a quick stir-fry.

  * * * *

  It was dark by the time I turned onto our block. Our neighborhood took pride in their abundant Christmas light displays. Robert Peterson was going into his house when I pulled into the driveway. As I approached the house, I noticed a string of lights that weren't lit halfway up our yew tree. Once parked, I left the grocery bag in the garage and came back out front, proceeding to test each of the bulbs in the string.

  I heard Phil playing his guitar in the lower level just on the other side of the yew tree, and could even make out his shadow through the blinds. As I pushed in each light on the string, I thought of Les when he did the same thing, the afternoon of the tea. Then I thought of Martin, poor Martin, teasing Les about the lights being upside down. And now they were both dead. I continued testing each bulb, lost in my thoughts, when all of a sudden, I heard the crunching footsteps of someone approaching from behind m
e. I turned my head.

  Two dark arms came from behind and grabbed the string of lights out from the tree, and strung them around my neck, pulling tight, squeezing my throat.

  Intense fear overcame me, then panic. Couldn't breathe! I was going to die at the hands of an assassin; probably the same one who tried to skewer me! A few seconds later, my movements seemed automatic, each linked to the next. I grabbed at the string around my neck and tried to loosen it with both hands. The person clawed at my fingers, then pulled all the tighter. I desperately sought to draw air into my tortured lungs, but I was denied by the decorative noose that strangled me. Oh, the pain!

  Struggling, I managed to twist my body around and saw a person dressed all in black, wearing a ski-mask. I wanted to reach for that mask and reveal the identity of this person who had twice assailed me, but I had both hands occupied, fighting the wire around my throat. The person pulled the string of lights even tighter. I kept hearing Phil's guitar. Would this be the last thing I heard: Phil playing that damned guitar? Then he started singing. My strength began leaving me and so I steeled myself for one final push for freedom. I kneed my attacker in the groin. That seemed to work; the person loosened their grip and took a step back for a second, moaning.

  Tears streamed down my face as I gasped for air. A fleeting feeling of hope came over me having bought myself a brief reprieve from the onslaught. And then, with everything I had left in me, I went for the eyes with my thumbs.

  I heard a scream. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. The attacker let loose. Lightheaded, I fell to the ground acknowledging that not many moments lay ahead for me. Next, I heard footsteps retreating in the snow, towards the wooded area behind our home. Why hadn't they finished me off? In the distance I heard another sound. Angels singing. The angels kept singing, coming nearer. Singing. Maybe I was dead. Whomever it was, must have finished me off. Why else would there be angels? The angels kept singing, then everything went black.

  When I opened my eyes, I was lying flat with a group of girls, teen-angels, starring down at me. Relief came over me when I recognized Rebecca's daughter, Angie. Angie, with braces on her teeth, from two doors down. I felt the texture of the sofa with my hands and realized I was in the living room.