A Minor Case of Murder Page 12

  "Omigod. You scared the crap out of me." Donna looked around expecting something more than one lone detective.

  "People are worried about you, Ms. Carter."

  Donna wasn't sure what she should say. "I'm fine. On vacation, sort of."

  Detective Sububie considered how she wanted to proceed. "So the man I saw earlier … the man with the suitcase … he isn't holding you against your will?"

  "Of course not." Donna laughed.

  Detective Sububie made a mental note that Donna's laugh seemed forced. "And you weren't trying to take his car and escape?"

  Donna laughed a second time, and this time the detective knew the laughter to be genuine. "I came up here to get something out of the car." And Donna reached in through the window to retrieve the pink multi-pack.

  "We need to talk, Ms. Carter."

  "We can talk at the cottage, detective." Donna set a brisk pace as the two women headed back along the boardwalk.

  Ten minutes later the two women were sitting comfortably on the dock, looking out at the ocean. After four days in hiding, Donna was grateful for the police protection and happy to answer the detective's questions.

  "Your friend covered for you at the ballpark. She died on the pitcher's mound in front of five thousand fans. Meanwhile you're here, 'on vacation, sort of,' as you put it. If you don't mind my saying, it just doesn't make sense."

  "Billy—that's my boyfriend—anyway, Billy had two tickets to a concert in Philly. He was pressuring me to skip the ball game and go with him to the concert."

  Detective Sububie nodded. "I guess I can understand boyfriend pressure. So why didn't you just skip work? I mean, no offense, but it's not like the world needs a Skeeter."

  Donna was offended by the detective's remark. "Maybe the world doesn't, but the fans in WhiteSandsBeach sure do. Mr. MacTavish has been good to me …"

  Detective Sububie interrupted. "You mean Andy MacTavish, the team owner?"

  "Yeah, I didn't want to disappoint him."

  "Okay, I understand. So instead of disappointing him, you decided to try to deceive him."

  Donna cringed. "It doesn't sound very nice when you say it that way."

  "It isn't." Detective Sububie returned to her questions. "So whose idea was it to get Heather to cover for you?"

  Donna tried to remember who said it first. "I think it was my idea. Maybe Billy suggested it. I'm not sure."

  "But at some point, you asked your friend Heather and she agreed, because … ?"

  Donna knew that the real answer was complicated. "Because it would be a hoot."

  Detective Sububie thought Heather got more than she bargained for, but the detective bit her tongue. "So did you enjoy the concert?"

  Donna stood up and walked to the edge of the dock. "I never went to the concert. Me and Billy had a fight. Heather died for nothing."

  The detective wondered, had Donna gone to the concert, would that mean that Heather had died for something? "So you had a fight with your boyfriend and the next thing you know your friend Heather is dead at the ballpark. So what do you do? You 'take a vacation, sort of.' "

  Donna didn't like the way it sounded, but the detective was essentially correct. "Yeah, pretty much."

  Detective Sububie decided to press the issue. "I still don't understand. Your friend died and you went into hiding. What am I missing here, Donna?" Detective Sububie didn't think she was missing anything, but she wanted to hear Donna say it.

  Donna struggled to explain. "Can I ask you a question, detective?" Without even a pause to catch her breath, Donna asked, "Do you think Heather's death was an accident?"

  Detective Sububie was impressed by Donna's question. "No, Ms. Carter, I do not."

  Donna appreciated the detective's honest appraisal. "Neither do I, detective."

  "So you went into hiding because you were worried you could be next?"

  "I went into hiding, as you put it …" Donna stopped, doubtful that the detective would understand about the Tarot, and certain the detective would not appreciate the importance of Blue Moon Odom.

  Donna started over. "I figured no one knew that Heather was filling in for me at the baseball game. I figured maybe it was supposed to be me."

  Detective Sububie tried to soften her response. "Your boyfriend knew."

  Donna was crying now. "That's why I'm hiding. Look, I know I've made mistakes, but I haven't broken any laws, have I?"

  Detective Sububie locked eyes with Donna Carter. "Not unless you murdered Heather Dean."

  Donna dared not look away. "No, detective. I did not murder my best friend."

  The detective answered with authority. "Then you haven't broken any laws."

  Donna was relieved. "So no one needs to know that you found me here?"

  Detective Sububie had been weighing that same question since they first sat down together on the dock. Until she could determine whether Donna was the next victim or the prime suspect, it would benefit the detective to keep Ms. Carter in hiding. "No, Ms. Carter, no one needs to know."

  "Thank you, detective."

  Detective Sububie walked back across the boardwalk to the dead-end roadway. She walked along the narrow roadway until it connected with the main road, where she found her Chevy waiting on the shoulder. Detective Sububie was pleased with her day's effort. Starting up the Chevy, the detective failed to take note of the car pulling onto the county road on the opposite side of the street.

  Our Next Guest

  Andy said goodbye to his attorney, the rotund Mr. Garibaldi, and returned the telephone to its base. He motioned for Cassie to turn on the television. Cassie found the remote and tossed it back to Andy, who turned the set to channel sixty-two. Mrs. Patterson, dressed in her wool plaid business suit, sitting straight and tall, was being interviewed by a soft-spoken gentleman with perfect hair and teeth.

  "Mrs. Patterson, when the Sand Skeeters first proposed to locate in WhiteSandsBeach, your group opposed their application. Could you explain the basis for your objection?"

  Mrs. Patterson, already sitting ramrod-straight, pulled herself up in the chair. "Thank you, yes. My concern was for the safety of our migratory flocks. Do you realize that nearly every hawk on the Eastern seaboard passes over this site during the annual migration?"

  Watching at home, Andy MacTavish was talking back to the TV. "And do you realize how much bird crap my stadium staff has to clean during the damn migration?"

  The newsman, however, was only listening to Mrs. Patterson. "I didn't realize that."

  "Not to mention that the heron and the cormorant rely on the salt marsh for their food supply."

  "And my hot dogs, my grilled chicken and the salted peanuts."

  "So your objection was based on your assessment that the birds would be negatively impacted by the baseball team?"

  "That is correct."

  "What about the negative impact the birds have on my team?"

  "And you were joined in your opposition by other birders?"

  "Every major birding organization joined in our complaint."

  "And yet, Mrs. Patterson, I understand that those other organizations no longer object to the baseball stadium. Why is that?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Patterson, why is that?"

  Mrs. Patterson looked directly into the camera. "I cannot speak for the motives of any other group. I can only say that I continue to object to the presence of the baseball team."

  "And why is that, Mrs. Patterson?"

  "Because she's an effing lunatic."

  "When I testified against construction of the baseball stadium, I predicted that a minor league baseball team in WhiteSandsBeach would lead to the death of shore birds." Mrs. Patterson paused for effect. "Even I didn't anticipate that putting a minor league baseball team in WhiteSandsBeach would result in the death of birders."

  "What the …"

  The TV newsman did his best to disguise his glee at the direction of the interview. "I assume you are referring to the recent dizzy bat accident."

&
nbsp; Mrs. Patterson looked through the TV camera, imagining Andy MacTavish watching from the comfort of his sofa. "I am referring to the dizzy bat homicide."

  "Homicide?"

  The soft-spoken newsman turned toward the camera. "We'll be right back with our next guest after this short commercial break. I hope you'll join us."

  During the commercial break, Andy dialed up his attorney. "She's a freakin' lunatic, that woman is."

  Andy barely had time to yell at his attorney before Cassie called him back to the television.

  "Our next guest," the newsman explained, "has his own perspective on recent events at the ballpark. Please welcome Mr. William MacTavish."

  "Billy!" He didn't know whom to yell at first. "I'll call you back." Andy threw the phone across the room.

  Billy sat there smiling into the camera, his hair green, his t-shirt burnt orange. "Please call me Billy."

  "Okay, Billy. I should explain to the audience that Billy MacTavish is the brother of Andy MacTavish, principal owner of the Sand Skeeters. Is that right, Billy?"

  "Yes. Andy is my older brother."

  "And I understand that you yourself have an ownership interest in the team?"

  Watching from the comfort of Andy's home, Cassie was startled by the question and even more so by the answer.

  "Only in the sense that buying one share of stock in Bell Telephone makes you an owner of the phone company."

  The newsman was not entirely satisfied with Billy's answer. Watching at home, neither was Andy.

  "But the Sand Skeeters is not a publicly traded company, is it?"

  Billy was not a businessman, but explained as best he could. "The baseball team is owned by a group of investors under the direction of my brother Andy. I own a two percent share of the team, courtesy of my brother. For all intents and purposes, Andy MacTavish is the Sand Skeeters."

  "Damn right!"

  The newsman continued to press for some clarification. "So you would have us believe that you are a part-owner of the team, the younger brother of the principal owner, but you are not here today as an official team representative. Is that right?"

  "I am not here tonight to represent the team or my brother."

  "Thank heaven."

  "I understand that the dead girl, Ms. Heather Dean, I believe, was a friend of yours. Is that correct?"

  "Yes."

  "And like Mrs. Patterson, you and Heather were birders?"

  Billy smirked. "I don't think Mrs. Patterson would appreciate the comparison. She bird watches by day; we do it all night long."

  The newsman laughed uncomfortably. "Nocturnal bird watching, that's a new one on me."

  Billy explained. "I guess it's more like bird listening. We sit up all night in the salt marsh, listening for nocturnal bird calls."

  The newsman had been waiting for the right opportunity to ask his next question. "As a birder, do you share Mrs. Patterson's opinion regarding your baseball team?"

  "Shit. Here it comes."

  "My brother and I disagree on many things, but I don't believe that the baseball team is responsible for the death of birds or of birders …"

  "Hallelujah!"

  Billy completed his thought. "… at least not deliberately."

  Andy MacTavish, watching at home, was so busy yelling at the television, he nearly missed the conclusion of the interview.

  "And the other girl, the one that's still missing, Donna Carter, what is your relationship with Ms. Carter?"

  "Donna is my girlfriend."

  The newsman did his best to sound sympathetic. "So this last week must have been extraordinarily hard on you."

  "Yes, it has."

  "Could you explain to the audience why you agreed to come on the show tonight?"

  "Yes, Billy, why did you go on the damn show?"

  Billy looked straight into the camera, his green-tipped hair sparkling in the klieg lights. "Most of the media attention concerning this incident has focused on the tragic death of Heather Dean. And it certainly was tragic. But it is not the whole story. As you know, the team's regular mascot, Donna Carter, is missing. I hope that by coming on TV, I can bring some attention to Donna's case. I hope that someone in the TV audience has seen her this week."

  Billy looked directly into the TV camera. "Donna, if you're watching, don't worry. I'll find you."

  Tugging at the Edge of Cassie's Consciousness

  There was a great deal about Andy that Cassie had yet to learn, but when she rolled over in bed early the next morning, she knew she would find his side empty. Andy would already be in his office, listening to doo-wop and planning his response to the television interviews. Pulling on a nightshirt, she wandered down the hall, surprised only by Andy's choice of morning music. Sitting in his retro 'fifties office, talking on the rotary phone, Andy was listening to her Savoy jazz CD.

  Andy looked up at Cassie as she entered the office. "Some of it's not bad."

  Cassie gave him a kiss. "I'll make a pot of coffee."

  While the coffee brewed, Cassie hopped in the shower. With her shampoo and conditioner, her creams and lotions, Cassie marveled at how completely Andy had lost control of his bathroom. Life was good.

  When Cassie walked back into Andy's office, she was dressed in black low-rider jeans and a Princeton T, her hair was wrapped in a bath towel, and she was carrying two cups of coffee. Andy put aside his work and followed her to the enclosed deck overlooking the ocean.

  He took a long pull on the coffee. "You look wonderful."

  "You'd say that to any girl that brought you a morning cup of coffee."

  Andy grinned. "If she could fit into that pair of jeans."

  "Do you have to go to the ballpark today?"

  Andy thought for a moment before answering. "People call me a workaholic, and I guess I am. I love going to the ballpark. All season long, whether or not it was a game day, I'd get up early and head to the park. But now that the season is over and I have a good reason to stay home …" Andy looked at Cassie and blushed. "I would love to take some time off and spend more time with you, but I can't right now … Heather, Donna, Billy, the birders …"

  Cassie and Andy sipped coffee and looked at the water.

  "So what will you do today while I'm at the ballpark?"

  Cassie didn't respond right away. She was still trying to formulate a plan. "I thought I'd pay a visit to your brother Billy, if that's okay with you."

  "Better you than me."

  Later that morning, dressed in her black low-rider jeans and Princeton T, Cassie knocked on the door of Billy's apartment. She waited patiently before knocking a second and then a third time.

  Billy was pulling on his blue jeans as he opened the door. "Yeah?"

  "Billy MacTavish?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "I'm sorry. My name is Cassie O'Malley. I'm a friend of Andy's."

  Billy smiled. "Are you the new girlfriend? I don't see Andy with a looker."

  "Do you mind if I come inside?"

  Billy motioned for Cassie to come in, allowing her to pass so he could watch her butt as she walked into the apartment.

  Billy tossed a pile of clothes off the sofa, clearing a spot for Cassie to sit. "I thought I might hear from Andy today. Did he like my TV appearance?"

  "Your brother is worried …" Cassie stopped mid-thought, distracted by the girl in panties and a t-shirt who stepped out of the bedroom.

  "Your brother is worried about Donna."

  Billy seemed to miss the irony. "So am I."

  Cassie looked at the half-dressed girl in Andy's apartment. "I guess we each deal with worry in our own way."

  Billy grinned. "Oh, that's Cheryl. She's just sex."

  Cassie was appalled. She decided it was her job to teach this rude young man some manners. "Listen to me, Billy MacTavish. It's bad enough you think about this girl that way, bad enough you're willing to talk about her that way, but it's unacceptable to do so where she can hear you."

  Billy didn't share Cassie's c
oncern. "Don't worry about Cheryl. She's deaf."

  Cassie needed Billy's cooperation if she was going to find Donna. "Whatever. It's really not my business."

  Billy realized he still didn't know what Cassie wanted. "Just what is your business?"

  "I'm looking for Donna."

  Billy made an elaborate show of looking around the room before responding. "She's not here."

  Cassie struggled to mask her mounting frustration. "Relax, Billy. You say you're worried about Donna. Andy's worried too. Give me a chance here, okay?"

  Billy stood up and walked over to Cheryl, touching her lightly on the cheek to get her attention, looking her straight in the eye as he spoke to her. Cassie couldn't hear what Billy was saying, but when he was finished, Cheryl nodded and went back into the bedroom. Billy walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Cassie.

  "Maybe you don't approve of me having sex with Cheryl. Under the circumstances, maybe I don't approve of me either. Look, I am worried about Donna. If you're serious about finding her, I want to help."

  "Thank you, Billy. What can you tell me about the night that Donna disappeared?"

  "I had two tickets to a concert in Philly. Donna didn't want to miss the final game of the season, but I talked her into it." Billy recounted the events of the day, leading up to the argument at the ballpark.

  Cassie interrupted. "So you drove off, leaving Donna standing in the parking lot?"

  Billy nodded, remembering the stupidity of the fight. "Yeah."

  "Do you know where she went, Billy?"

  Billy remembered watching her in his rearview mirror, driving slowly so he could watch until she was out of sight. "She went back inside the stadium."

  Cassie struggled with her own dizzy memories of the night at the ballpark. "She went back inside? You're sure?"

  Billy was sure. "Yeah."

  Something about the dizzy bat race had been tugging at the edge of Cassie's consciousness since the tragic evening, something fleeting and discordant, ethereal, a dream. She could not retrieve the memory that lurked just beyond reach of her conscious mind. She could barely remember that she was trying to remember. Something about Donna …