Fixing To Die

CHAPTER 29

“There’s a potential motive right there,” An’gel said slowly. “If the family holds Nathan Gamble responsible for Lonnie Jackson’s death, Alesha Jackson could have killed him out of anger. A life for a life.”

“Benjy, see if you can find out anything about the accident,” Dickce said.

“Already on it,” Benjy said.

An’gel and Dickce waited in silence while Benjy searched. They knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Got it,” he said in obvious satisfaction a minute later. He scanned the article he’d found. After a moment, he raised his head to look at An’gel and Dickce.

“I can tell by your expression that it’s bad,” An’gel said.

Benjy nodded. “According to the article I found, there were complaints about safety violations on the site where it happened. Some equipment that wasn’t up to standard. Scaffolding, actually. Collapsed with Mr. Jackson, and he fell six stories and died instantly.”

“Sounds to me like Nathan Gamble’s company could be liable,” Dickce said. “There’s no excuse for putting workers’ lives in danger with shoddy equipment.”

“No, there isn’t,” An’gel said. “I wonder if Mrs. Jackson is planning to sue the company.”

“According to the article, the widow is considering a lawsuit,” Benjy said. “This is dated about two weeks after the accident. I haven’t found a follow-up to it.”

“Maybe Alesha Jackson didn’t want to wait for the outcome of a lawsuit,” Dickce said. “No telling how long it might drag out. Unless the company agreed to settle out of court.”

“Based on what we’ve heard about Nathan Gamble’s love of money,” An’gel said, “he might not have settled, unless it would be cheaper than going to court. Now that he’s out of the way, whoever will be running the company might be more amenable to a hefty settlement. Who knows?”

“There’s prime motive for murder,” Dickce said. “For someone out for revenge and for a lot of money.”

“Alesha Jackson is the most likely suspect now, isn’t she?” Benjy set his laptop aside, and Peanut immediately put his head in the young man’s lap. Benjy began to stroke the silky head.

“Probably,” An’gel said. “I’m certainly not going to discount Serenity Foster or Truss Wilbanks. Either separately or together, depending on Nathan Gamble’s will, they could stand to gain a lot more in terms of money than Alesha Jackson.”

“If I had to choose,” Benjy said, “I’d rather it was Serenity Foster. She’s not nice at all. Alesha Jackson, even though we know she’s a fraud, isn’t nasty like the other one is.”

“I agree with you,” Dickce said. “The lawyer, well, I just feel sorry for him. Sounds like he wasn’t being treated well by his so-called partner, and having to deal with Serenity . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“True.” An’gel grunted in frustration, an unladylike sound to her ears, but it expressed how she felt. “If only we knew how Nathan Gamble died. Plus how the killer got into the room to do it, if the method called for it.”

“You’re not going to get the information out of Lieutenant Steinberg,” Dickce said. “If you think you are, then you ought to give up such a foolish notion.”

“I know the man isn’t going to tell me, or any of us, anything he doesn’t want us to know. Unfortunately that includes how Gamble died.” An’gel felt her jaw clench and made herself loosen it. The last thing she needed was damaged teeth, since they were all still her own.

“What about this project you were mentioning earlier, Miss An’gel?” Benjy asked. “You were pretty anxious about it. What is it exactly?”

“I want to find out if there is another way to get into the French room besides the bedroom door and the windows that look onto the second-floor gallery on two sides,” An’gel said.

“The problem with that is there isn’t space anywhere that I can see for a secret entrance.” Dickce frowned. “Other than the wall between the bathroom and the French room.”

“Exactly.” An’gel thumped the arm of the chair with her right hand. “That bathroom wall. If there’s a way through that wall, anyone could slip into the bathroom and get into the French room. As simple as that. Nobody locks the bathroom door unless they’re using it at the moment.”

Benjy looked puzzled, An’gel noticed. “What is it?” she asked him. “Something wrong?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m wondering why there has to be a secret door or entrance for the killer to use. Why couldn’t the killer simply use the door or one of the windows? I mean, I know they could be, probably were, all locked, but locks can be picked.”

“The Nancy Drew effect,” Dickce murmured.

An’gel sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m sorry, you lost me,” Benjy said. “What’s the Nancy Drew effect? Who is she?”

Dickce chuckled. “I’ll let Sister explain it to you.”

“Nancy Drew is a girl detective,” An’gel said. “She’s been around since 1930, I think, and still solving mysteries. In books, of course, but there were also movies and a television series.”

“Okay,” Benjy said. “That Nancy Drew I’ve heard about. I used to read the Hardy Boys when I was a kid.”

“We read Nancy Drew when we were kids,” An’gel said. “Many decades ago. At the time there really was no girl like her in the books we read.”

“Nancy was fearless. She would go anywhere, do anything, to help people in trouble,” Dickce said. “Adults listened to her and respected her, and she solved crimes that the police couldn’t crack. She was strong and independent.”

“That’s why several generations of women admire her and remember the books so fondly,” An’gel said. “Especially back in the times when Dickce and I were really young. Girls weren’t allowed to behave like that, to do such things on their own.”

Benjy nodded. “I get it. She was a great role model is what you’re saying.”

“Yes,” Dickce replied. “Now that you’ve got that, An’gel can explain about the secret door obsession.”

An’gel frowned at her sister. “It’s not an obsession, so don’t use that word.” She turned to look at Benjy. “The second book in the series is called The Hidden Staircase, and in it Nancy is helping two sisters who live in an old Civil War–era mansion. Odd things are happening, and they’re frightened. It was a particular favorite of both of us.”

“And here we are in an old house that might have a hidden staircase,” Benjy said. “You want to be like Nancy Drew in your favorite book.”

An’gel could tell he was trying hard to suppress a grin. She couldn’t blame him because in her heart she knew that he was exactly right. She hadn’t allowed herself to realize the truth before, and now that she had, she could see that she had allowed wishful thinking to cloud her judgment.

“That’s basically it,” An’gel said.

“To be completely fair, though,” Dickce said with a quick sideways glance at An’gel, “in the book the villain was making use of secret passageways and hiding places to play tricks on the sisters. When Mary Turner asked us for help and told us what was going on, I think we both leapt to the same conclusion.”

“That whoever is behind the tricks going on here at Cliffwood is making use of similar passageways and hiding places to haunt the house,” An’gel said.

“I can see why you might think that,” Benjy said. “And it would be so awesome if we did find a hidden staircase.”

“My plan was for us to go over the bathroom wall carefully to see if we could find a movable panel or anything that would allow a person to get into the French room. It wouldn’t have to be the size of a whole door,” An’gel said. “Just big enough for a person to crawl through without getting stuck.”

“We can still look for it,” Benjy said.

An’gel shook her head. “Now that I’ve faced up to reality, I see it isn’t likely. You were right when you talked about the killer getting in through either the door or the window. That had to be the way, if he or she had to have access to Nathan Gamble in order to kill him.”

“We don’t know anything about how he spent his evening, do we?” Dickce said. “Whether he went anywhere, ate dinner out, brought food back with him. I don’t think Marcelline would have given him dinner, do you?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” An’gel said. “She didn’t care for him any more than she cares for Serenity, because he kept pestering Mary Turner about the contents of that room.”

“I wonder if anyone saw him last night before he went into that room for the last time,” Benjy said.

“Henry Howard wouldn’t have,” Dickce said. “He left in the afternoon and didn’t come back until late. So that leaves everyone else except the three of us.”

“I know that Truss Wilbanks saw him, remember?” An’gel said.

“Right, that was embarrassing, wasn’t it?” Dickce shook her head.

“Yes, it was.” An’gel didn’t care to remember the incident in detail. “I’m sure Mary Turner and Marcelline would be happy to answer questions regarding the period of time we’re talking about. Alesha Jackson, maybe. I can’t see Serenity Foster being accommodating, though, can you?”

Dickce shook her head. “No, but we could always try.”

“And then there’s Mr. Wilbanks,” Benjy said. “I could try talking to him. I’m a lot less intimidating than you are, Miss An’gel.” He gave her a cheeky grin and a wink.

An’gel was too amused to take offense. Also too self-aware. She understood how she came across to many people. She could be intimidating, but mostly when she knew she had to be in order to get a point across or to get a difficult situation resolved.

She looked at Dickce. “What do you think?”

“About you being intimidating?” Dickce laughed. “Of course you are. But you probably meant about Benjy talking to Truss Wilbanks. I think that would be fine.”

“Okay, then.” Benjy gently moved Peanut’s head off his lap and got to his feet. “Might as well look for him now and see if I can get him to talk.” He paused a moment. “Do you think I should take Peanut and Endora with me?”

“I think so,” An’gel said. “They’re usually better behaved with you. Dickce and I are about to head downstairs again and look for Mary Turner and Marcelline. We have enough time before we’re meeting with Alesha Jackson, don’t we?” She glanced at her watch. Almost three o’clock now. “Yes, plenty of time.”

“I’ll check in with you when I have something to report on Mr. Wilbanks.” Benjy took hold of Peanut’s leash, and Dickce stood with Endora to let the cat climb on Benjy’s shoulder. Armed with his laptop and accompanied by the animals, he left the room. An’gel and Dickce followed a couple of minutes later, after Dickce took time to remove some of the cat hair from her dress.

“Marcelline will probably be in the kitchen,” An’gel said as they walked down the stairs. “That’s where she told me she was headed when she left after we talked.”

“Good a place as any to start,” Dickce said. “Mary Turner might be there, too, helping with dinner.”

An’gel braced herself again for the sudden cold as she moved down the stairs but nothing happened. She glanced at Dickce when she reached the first floor. Dickce shook her head. No cold spot for her either.

They headed down the hall toward the kitchen. When they entered, An’gel saw Marcelline at the stove, focused on her work. Henry Howard and Mary Turner stood near the back door, obviously engaged in a heated discussion.

An’gel cleared her throat to alert them to her and Dickce’s presence. Mary Turner cast a startled glance their way, then with an expression of determination, she marched over to An’gel and Dickce.

Mary Turner pointed back toward her husband, slumped against the wall by the back door, his head down. “Y’all are not going to believe what that idiot of a husband confessed to me.” Her eyes blazed with anger, and An’gel felt briefly sorry for Henry Howard. “He told me not two minutes ago that he is the ghost that’s been moving things around in the French room.”