Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(28)
Susan looked somber. “The police asked me that, too. I told them the truth. I’m a very ordinary person. I grew up here. I’ve known people my whole life. Lou Ann Crawford never liked me. I think it’s because I was president of the student council and she wasn’t. Or maybe it’s because I dated her brother for a while. But Lou Ann lives in Chicago and she doesn’t hate me. Not the way you mean hate. She just doesn’t like me. Her brother Ted and I were engaged, but we both broke it off and he has a job in Norway. I never stole anything from anyone.” A pause. “Until last night.” She sounded forlorn. “Except for this week, I’m boring. I never hit anybody with a car. I’m not dating anyone right now. There are no deep, dark secrets in my life. I don’t have a hidden enemy who decoyed Sylvie away just to upset me.”
“It’s ridiculous.” Sylvie’s cheeks flamed. “You can go around town and ask people. They know how good and honest and kind Susan is. And there was even a story in the Gazette a couple of years ago. This lady had put her purse on top of her trunk while she carried in some groceries. When she came back outside, she’d forgotten about her purse. She got in her car and drove off and the purse fell onto the street. Susan found it and took it to her house and handed it to her. Her wallet had three thousand dollars in it. To say Susan’s a thief and wants something that belongs to someone else is nuts. She was desperate and she wanted to keep me safe and she was going to tell Mr. Fitch about the money and she never took those stupid coins and she would have paid him back and I would have helped.”
Now Sylvie didn’t look as much like a frizzed cat staring down a big dog as a Valkyrie bent on destruction.
Susan tried to keep her voice steady, but her eyes held the knowledge that she was in a desperate situation. “The police believe the ransom call wasn’t meant to get money, just to upset me. The police think I went to Wilbur’s house and opened the safe and took the money and later came back and got the coins. I don’t know why they think I was there twice. But it doesn’t much matter. I’m afraid they aren’t looking at anyone but me.” She reached over, picked up the newspaper lying on the coffee table. “Did you see the story in the Gazette? I feel like I have an X on my back.”
The Gazette is an afternoon newspaper. This would be a story about the mayor’s news conference. I held out my hand. “May I see?”
Joan Crandall had written two stories, the first straight news about the butler’s discovery of the body, the ME preliminary report, death by blunt trauma by person or persons unknown, death estimated to have occurred sometime after midnight and before three a.m., a roundup of Wilbur Fitch’s life and accomplishments. The quote from Sam Cobb was unrevealing. “Inquiries are being made among Mr. Fitch’s acquaintances and business associates.” The second story covered Neva Lumpkin’s news conference. Crandall quoted the mayor’s naming of Susan as among those being questioned. I understood Susan’s grim expression. The story ended, “Mayor Lumpkin assured Adelaide residents there is no danger as the police are conducting around-the-clock surveillance.”
“Anybody who reads about the news conference will think the police are ready to put me in jail. I guess maybe they are. And it won’t help”—her voice was glum—“when they find out Wilbur left me a hundred thousand dollars. Me and a lot of people. The police will just see the will and think I wanted the money out of the safe and a bequest, too.”
“A hundred thousand dollars?” Sylvie’s eyes were huge.
Susan blinked away sudden tears. “He was the most generous man I’ve ever known. I told him I hoped the money came in when I was an old lady and I could help out my grandchildren. He clapped me on the shoulder, said if I kept saying nice things like that, he’d have to up my share to two hundred thousand. And now he’s dead and he shouldn’t be, and if they put me in jail I’ll never fall in love and get married and maybe someday be a grandmother.”
“You will,” I reassured her. “I’m here.”
The sisters, so strikingly different in appearance, curly-haired, blonde, incandescent Sylvie and restrained, responsible, dark-haired Susan, looked at me with a tiny burgeoning of hope.
I gave Susan a thumbs-up. “It’s helpful to us that the police are focused on you. The murderer is relaxed, thinks there is no danger.”
“How nice,” Susan said shakily, “for the murderer.”
“But I will burrow into the lives of the suspects—”
Sylvie was puzzled. “What suspects?”
“Seven people knew that Susan had the combination to Wilbur’s safe.”
Susan sat up straighter. “Detective Latham is talking about the lunch last week when Wilbur asked me to open the safe and bring the Roman coins. Anyone at the luncheon knew I could open the safe—”
Sylvie was excited. “So one of them made the fake ransom call knowing Susan could get pots of money.” She clutched Susan’s arm. “Who was there?”
“George Kelly, Wilbur’s lawyer. Todd Garrett, chief operating officer of Fitch Enterprises.” Susan spoke each name thoughtfully. Was she picturing that person, trying to see him or her as a stealthy figure setting a trap for her? “Alan Douglas, vice president in charge of projects and design. Wilbur’s son, Ben Fitch.” She stopped, shook her head. “He came out of the study last week and he was laughing. He saw me and gave me a kind of mock warning. Dad’s in the mood for a fight. Be sure and smile at him right. He’s in fine form. But he wasn’t mad or irritated. And I think Ben’s very nice.”