Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(19)

As I’ve said before, it’s been my pleasure to assist Sam in several investigations. He has always been quite appreciative. Of course, he had no inkling I was currently in Adelaide, much less that I was present in the Fitch dining room. To say the whisper startled him put the situation quite mildly. He jerked toward the sound. “What—” he began, then broke off, clamped his lips together.

I’m afraid he almost exclaimed What the hell! and I was glad he caught himself. He stood like a bull pricked by a banderilla. I knew it took every bit of his iron discipline not to stare wildly about. But he knew what he’d heard. “On second thought,” he said slowly, “you may go to your car. Detective Weitz will escort you, then you will return here.”

I gave him an approving pat on the shoulder.

His eyes slid sideways, though he knew he wouldn’t see me.

Susan showed spunk that had not been evident last night when she’d labored under extreme fear. “I have every intention of returning here.” She whirled and hurried across the stone floor.

Hal held the door for Judy Weitz and Susan, then crossed to stand by Sam. “No shoe box in the safe. No bag or chest full of coins, either.”

I left as Sam and Hal returned to the table. Outside, I was next to Susan when she unlocked the trunk. I was torn. Obviously, she’d decided to tell the police what had happened. Certainly, that decision was admirable. But I didn’t see how this was going to end well.

Susan leaned into the trunk, grabbed the book bag. She pulled out the Reebok shoe box, dropped the bag on the floor of the trunk. She ignored the leather gloves lying on the floor of the trunk, but Judy saw them. “Gloves?” she inquired gently.

“I don’t need them.” Susan’s tone was crisp.

I was even more uneasy when we walked into the dining room.

Sam and Hal stared at the shoe box. Sam’s face was suddenly harder, his brown eyes colder. Hal’s lips pursed in a silent whistle.

Susan marched directly to the end of the table, plopped the box down in front of Sam. She stood and spoke fast, starting with the ransom call. “Last night . . .”

Sam interrupted after she described the demand for a hundred thousand dollars. “You should have called the police.”

Her dark brown eyes were defiant. “They said they’d kill Sylvie.”

“You talk about they. One person? Two?”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a real voice. It was high and metallic, like something out of a machine. I don’t know if the caller was a man or a woman. All I know is they said they had Sylvie and I had to do exactly as ordered or she wouldn’t live. I thought they had her tied up and hidden somewhere. But that didn’t happen. Sylvie said—”

Sam held up a broad hand. “We’ll talk to your sister. You’re telling us about last night.”

“Last night.” She took a breath. “The voice said I had to pay a hundred thousand dollars. I said I didn’t have that kind of money, couldn’t get it, and the voice said, Oh yes, you can get it. Go to Wilbur’s safe and bring the box. So I—”

Sam interrupted again. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may . . .”

Susan heard him out. “I don’t have anything to hide.” She pointed at the box. “There’s the shoe box from the safe. I intended to tell Wilbur what had happened when I got Sylvie home. I knew he’d understand. But everything’s changed. Sylvie is safe. I don’t have to pay ransom. There’s the money. I’ve returned it. And here’s the important part. I was in the study last night around eleven thirty. I came in through the door to the garden. The door was unlocked. The voice on the phone told me the door would be unlocked. I came inside and went to the safe. I opened the safe and took out the shoe box. Wilbur was not in the room. No one was there but me. I left through the garden and went home and waited for the kidnapper to call, but the call didn’t come. It’s crazy to think I got a fake call that Sylvie was kidnapped and told to get the shoe box out of the safe and there’s no connection to Wilbur being found killed and the safe open. But he was not in the study when I came. He didn’t enter the study while I was there. I never saw Wilbur after I left the house yesterday afternoon. Maybe this will help you.” She was suddenly eager. She pulled out her phone, swiped, tapped. “Here it is. Recent Calls.” She read off the number. “Maybe you can trace the phone, find out who called me, because the fake kidnapping has to be connected to Wilbur’s murder.”

Sam’s stare was skeptical. “Why that kind of charade?”

Susan brushed back a strand of hair. “I don’t know. The whole thing’s crazy. Maybe the person who called me planned to kill Wilbur and thought I’d take the shoe box and keep it and somehow the police would find out and think I was guilty. But I never intended to keep the truth from Wilbur. And”—she pointed at the shoe box—“I didn’t have to tell you about the box. Or return it.”

Sam was emphatic. “Returning the money doesn’t change the fact of theft.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.” He sounded almost angry. “Grand theft. A felony. You can go to prison for years.”

She stood on one side of the table, looked very young, very alone. She gave a huge sigh. “It doesn’t matter now. Sylvie’s all right. But you should listen to me. Whoever involved me must have done it to make it look like I killed Wilbur.”