Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(56)
“—and so the man who murdered Mr. Fitch killed Carl Ross and then he called Susan and said he was Carl Ross and talked really nice to her and persuaded her to come to the cabin, but what you need to know—”
Neva Lumpkin slammed her hand on the lectern. “Hush. Get that person out of here. It’s against the law to interrupt an official public proceeding—”
Sylvie simply raised her voice. “—is that the medical examiner states Carl Ross was dead probably by nine thirty and not later than nine forty-five, and at nine thirty Susan and I were getting into her car at that new restaurant out by the lake. So a shot heard by the police after ten o’clock was the killer trying to make it look like Susan killed Mr. Ross. Write it down. Carl Ross was dead at the latest by nine forty-five. A shot at seven past ten was fake because—”
Ben Fitch was a little apart from Sylvie now, reporters squeezing between him and Sylvie. He already had an air of command about him, the confident expression of a man who mattered. He looked like the young scion of a wealthy family, dark hair nicely brushed, handsome features, expensive sweater and slacks. He watched Sylvie with an expression of amazement tinged with delight. Once he clapped.
“—Susan didn’t leave our house until almost ten and the police were watching her so she’s proved innocent. And more than that, we hired a private investigator—”
Uh-oh. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask Sylvie not to mention G. Latham.
“—and she knows who murdered Mr. Fitch and Mr. Ross and—”
Joan Crandall, shaggy brown hair swooping low on her cheeks, used a sharp elbow to butt her way in front of Deke Carson. “Who’s the murderer?” Her thin face had the intensity of a fox on the prowl.
Questions zinged at Sylvie. “Who’d you hire? Where can we contact her? Phone number? Have you informed the police?”
Sylvie realized she was the center of attention. She spoke even more loudly. “That’s what I’m doing right now. The murderer is a man. And he was at a lunch last week at the Fitch house when Susan was asked to open the safe and bring some coins to the dining room, and that’s how it all started because she had to open the safe Tuesday night to borrow some money because she got a call from a man who said he’d kidnapped me and Susan didn’t know it was all a plan to get her to go to the house the night the man planned to kill Mr. Fitch.”
“Your sister took money from the safe Tuesday night, the night Fitch was killed?” The AP reporter looked like a man trying to sort out what mattered in a welter of information.
“She was going to tell Mr. Fitch the next morning, but he was dead and—”
Ben interrupted. “I’m Ben Fitch, Wilbur’s son. Susan Gilbert returned the money when she realized the kidnapping was set up to put her in an incriminating position.”
Deke Carson gave a hoot. “She sneaks in the house, opens the safe, takes a hundred grand, and now claims it was all a mistake?”
Ben Fitch was firm. “My father would definitely have understood that Susan had no intention of profiting personally, that she was in an impossible position and took the cash only to secure her sister’s safety. In fact, and the police can confirm this, Susan Gilbert returned the cash of her own volition Wednesday morning. My father had the utmost confidence in Ms. Gilbert, and I do, too. I am here with her sister to try and prevent a grave miscarriage of justice.”
Joan Crandall hadn’t moved an inch away from Sylvie. She was like iron to a magnet. “Who killed Mr. Fitch?”
Deke Carson yelled, “What ransom call? When?”
A TV blonde implored, “Look this way, Sylvie. Tell us about you and your sister.”
Neva Lumpkin’s face was mottled with rage and frustration. She banged again and again on the lectern, then abruptly turned and stomped from the room.
? ? ?
The noon timing of the press conference had precluded lunch. Thankfully, I was aware of Sam’s store of M&M’S in the lower left drawer of his desk. I was pouring another handful when his office door opened.
He stepped inside, closed the door, stared. “Mobile M&M’S. That might be a great TV ad. When the spirit moves you, M&M’S are at the ready. How about I ask Colleen to order from Lulu’s?”
“A perfect solution.”
“Same order as yesterday?” He didn’t meet my gaze.
“Of course.” As Mama wisely instructed: “Don’t embarrass a man if you want him to cooperate.”
I was in the chair facing his desk when he flicked off the intercom. He leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. “Did you see Neva’s face? And then Joan Crandall got the girl off in a corner and put on her best sob sister routine. I can see this afternoon’s Gazette. ‘A Sister’s Passionate Defense. Questions Raised about Police Investigation. What Happens When a Medical Examiner Won’t Play Ball?’ Neva’s already sent out a memo demanding to know who leaked the ME timing to the kid. I like the kid, by the way. That’s the kind of family to have. Maybe the unkindest cut of all was when Ben Fitch introduced himself and said that his father had the highest confidence in Susan Gilbert and would certainly have understood about the ransom money and then”—Sam’s gaze was amazed and admiring—“he complimented authorities for their decision to protect Susan Gilbert by holding her as a material witness since she had the unfortunate experience of walking into a trap set by his father’s murderer and that it was despicable of the murderer to use the closeness of a family to direct suspicion at an innocent woman.” He started to reach for the M&M’S drawer.