The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

CHAPTER 12. Murder by the Book

"PEN, WAKE UP! Come on, wake up!"

Someone was patting my hand. I tasted dirt, felt a sharp pain in my back and a dull throbbing in my head. "Where am I?"

"You're in the woods beyond Charity Point," a male voice replied. "Don't you remember?"

"What year is it?" I murmured, wondering where Jack had gone.

"Uh-oh, she's acting goofy, Fiona."

I opened my eyes to find Seymour crouched over me, his face pinched with concern. I tried to sit up.

"Wait, maybe you shouldn't move," he said. "Something might be broken."

"I've got to sit up, Seymour. Rocks are digging into my spine, and I think I have a bug in my blouse!"

Seymour called over his shoulder. "I think maybe Pen has a concussion."

I pushed Seymour away. "I don't have a concussion. And who are you talking to, anyway?" I sat up, did a double-take.

Fiona was pale faced, standing beside the mud-splattered golf cart. Grass stains streaked the cart's bright finish. Torn vines clung to the headlights and dangled from the rearview mirror. A low-hanging branch had ripped a ragged hole in the pink-and-white pokka-dotted canvas top. Taking the golf cart off-road and into the woods had obviously exacted a toll on the fragile vehicle.

"Let me guess," I said. " Seymour was driving."

"No, it was me," Fiona replied. "I saw Seymour follow you into the woods. I knew I couldn't catch up unless I had wheels. I drove up the trail and picked up Seymour first. We heard you calling in the distance, but we couldn't find you. Then we heard you scream."

"That's when I grabbed the wheel and made Fiona go off-trail, right through the brush," Seymour said. "And we finally found you."

"I appreciate it."

Seymour and Fiona helped me to my feet. I gingerly touched my head, groaned when I felt the lump above my forehead.

"No blood," Seymour said, inspecting my skull. "Just a jumbo-sized egg." He stepped back, pulled a twig from my auburn hair.

"I think I'm okay," I said.

Seymour frowned. "What the hell happened, Pen? Why did you run into the woods like some nutcase?"

I told them about seeing Dr. Rubino from the top of the lighthouse, then following the man into the woods. I glossed over the part about getting lost. Left out the crazy dream of tracking down clues with Jack Shepard in 1948 Queens, New York, and simply told them that a speeding biker ran me down.

"I'm going to speak with Chief Ciders again," Fiona said angrily. "This is unacceptable. It's trespassing. How long before one of these careless dirt bikers runs down one of my guests!"

Fiona helped me brush off the remaining dirt and leaves from my hair and clothes. "Did you recognize the biker?" she asked. "Someone you maybe saw around town?"

I shook my head. "I don't know… it happened so fast."

Fiona pressed. "What do you remember?"

I closed my eyes, massaged my throbbing temples. "Darth Vader," I said.

Fiona whispered to Seymour. "What does she mean, do you think? That he was all in black?"

Seymour snorted. "Well, I doubt she means he was waving a lightsaber."

"He was a big man," I continued, my eyes still closed as I struggled to replay that split-second flash of memory. "He wore a black leather jacket. His head was completely covered with a darkly tinted visor, and his motorcycle was big. I don't know what brand it was, but it was black and chrome." I sighed and opened my eyes. "That's really all I remember… hey, wait a minute!"

I turned to Seymour. "Do you remember seeing Hedda's granddaughter, Harmony?"

"Sure." Seymour smirked. "I'm a man and I'm breathing. How could I forget seeing her?"

"I meant, do you remember when we saw her at Mr. Koh's fruit bins this morning? Do you remember what happened?"

Seymour 's eyes bulged. "Oh, right! A big motorcyclist in a black leather jacket was flirting with her." He paused and then shrugged. "Of course, there are a lot of motorcyclists in the area, especially in the spring and summer. He might be the same guy, or he might not. We need more to go on."

I nodded. "Right now we just have to go."

Seymour blinked. "Go where?"

"Back to the store." I rubbed my forehead. "I may have taken one in the cranium, but I haven't forgotten that we need to take a look at Dr. Irene Lilly's brand-new book."

IT WAS NEARLY four o'clock when Seymour dropped me off in front of Buy the Book. We'd taken his car to Finch Inn because mine was still crippled by a dead battery.

"I'll be back as soon as I find parking," Seymour said and pulled away from the curb.

The store was crowded with customers, which was certainly gratifying. But I felt a little guilty for having left Sadie and Mina alone for so many hours on such a busy day. On the other hand, Sadie was all for my investigating Irene Lilly's death, and that's what I'd been doing.

As soon as I entered the store, Brainert Parker cornered me. His brown hair was neatly combed and his scarecrow frame was dressed as smartly as ever. He had no bow tie today, but his khaki pants displayed a knife-sharp crease and his salmon-colored button-down appeared to be pressed within an inch of its life beneath his favorite blue blazer.

"Pen, you've got to tell me what happened this morning," he said in a whisper. "I tried to get the details out of Sadie, but she's been busy with the store. She simply told me that Dr. Lilly had a fatal accident, and I should talk to you."

"Yes, yes. How much do you know?"

"I know that the woman died in a fall from a ladder."

"And what do you know about her new book?"

"Excuse me?" Brainert frowned. "What does that have to do with her accident?"

"Listen to me, Brainert. I'm convinced that what happened to Dr. Lilly in our store this morning was no accident. I'm sure she was murdered and the scene was staged to make it appear as if she died in a fall."

Eyes wide, Brainert gripped my arm. "You'd better fill me in."

"I will. But first we have to take a look inside Dr. Lilly's new book. I'm betting it will give us a clue why someone wants her dead."

Brainert scanned the sales floor. "Where is the book? I don't see it on display."

"Because of what happened to her, we decided to keep the shipment boxed up in the storeroom." I waved at Aunt Sadie and called to her. "If you need me, I'll be in with the stock."

She nodded and went back to ringing up a customer's purchases. When I turned back to Brainert, Seymour was walking up to us.

"Hey, Parker, did she tell you?" he called. "Pen was run down in the woods by a mad biker!"

A few customers curiously looked our way.

"Keep your voice down, Seymour," I whispered.

"I call it as I see it," he said with a shrug then glanced at Brainert. "So? You in on the case?"

Brainert frowned. "It's a case, is it?"

"Sure," said Seymour. "Pen's running the investigation, and I'm her right-hand man."

Brainert rolled his eyes. "You have a right hand, Seymour. That's all I'm willing to concede."

"I have a fist, too, Parker. You want me to show it to you?"

"Stop bickering!" I commanded. "Just be quiet, both of you, and follow me."

I led the pair into the stock room and closed the door behind us. The cramped space smelled of ink, paper, and cardboard. The boxes delivered from San Fernando University Press were stacked where our delivery man had left them. I ripped open the top carton, gave one book to Brainert, one to Seymour, and took one to look at myself.

The three of us fell silent for the next five minutes as we examined Dr. Lilly's newly published work. As she'd promised in her speech at the theater, the dust jacket of her book featured the poster from Wrong Turn, which meant Hedda Geist's strikingly beautiful image dominated the cover. Her blonde hair flowed over her hourglass curves, encased in the shimmering silver gown she'd worn in the movie-the one that had gone missing from Gotham Features's wardrobe, if I could trust the dream that Jack had given me.

I flipped the book over. There was no text on it, only a large color photograph of Dr. Lilly-very unusual for an academic book. I opened the front, read the flap copy, and my jaw dropped.

"This isn't a film study," I said, finally breaking the silence. "Yeah," agreed Seymour. "Looks like a biography of Hedda Geist."

"You're both mistaken," said Brainert. "It appears to me that Murdered in Plain Sight should be filed under true crime."

"What are you talking about, Brainiac?" Seymour asked.

Brainert shook his head. "You two don't know the first thing about speedy evaluation. Contents reveal the outline, then skip to the last few chapters for the conclusion." He tapped his copy of the open book, his finger running down the middle of one page after another. "From what I gather, Dr. Lilly has written an expose that accuses Hedda Geist of the calculated murder of Irving Vreen back in 1948. She claims Hedda planned and executed the entire murder."

"But Pierce Armstrong was tried and convicted of manslaughter for that crime," I pointed out.

Brainert squinted at the page. "Dr. Lilly seems to be saying that Hedda Geist manipulated Pierce Armstrong and Irving Vreen into the confrontation. Her goal all along was to see Irving Vreen dead and Armstrong convicted of his murder."

"I knew it!" Seymour cried, slapping his knee. "Pierce Armstrong was a fall guy. He was railroaded. Hedda was the real vixen. She arranged everything."

Brainert shook his head. "This is quite disturbing. And, frankly, it's very difficult for me to believe that the Hedda Geist-Middleton I've gotten to know could be capable of this. As a young woman she was a gifted actress playing femme fatales to perfection, but I can't believe she actually was one. Look at the quiet, respectable life she's lived for decades. She's been an esteemed member of the Newport community for years. She's a beloved mother and grandmother. She's given tens of thousands to charity-"

Seymour snorted. "Not to mention your own pet project: restoring your movie theater."

Brainert put a hand on his hip. "What are you implying?"

"That you have an agenda."

"I'm an academic. I need to see evidence. My own observations tell me that Hedda's a class act. This alleged crime she committed was sixty years ago. Pierce Armstrong was tried and convicted of manslaughter for that crime. How in the world could anyone prove that conviction was false after all these years?"

"Dr. Lilly was an academic, too, Brainert," I pointed out. "I doubt she would have published a book without new evidence. She invited members of the press to our store today. I think she must have had solid facts to present. We just need to read them." I held up the book. "Consider this exhibit A."

"Exhibit A, huh?" said Brainert, paging through the final chapters. "All I see here related to the letter 'A' are Allegations" Brainert was silent for a minute, continuing to skim. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't even see a motive for Hedda to have supposedly perpetrated this heinous crime."

Seymour grunted with skepticism. "It sounds to me like you're more than willing to overlook your business partner's past. Obviously Dr. Lilly saw things differently."

Brainert smirked. "Obviously."

"What are you saying, Brainert?" I asked. "Do you believe Dr. Lilly based an entire book on unsubstantiated gossip?"

Brainert sighed. "If there's any real evidence in here, I'll be willing to consider it. Until then, I'm putting this theory about Hedda on the level of Frannie McGuire's story that she sold Elvis Presley take-out quahogs at the Seafood Shack in 1992."

"What's so hard to believe?" Seymour said with a wrinkled brow. "Everybody knows Elvis staged his own death."

"Now you're being ridiculous," Brainert sniffed.

"And you're being naive," Seymour charged, "to trust a spiderwoman like Hedda Geist-"

"Wait one minute," said Brainert, loudly snapping shut Lilly's book. "It's one thing to speculate about a woman's past. It's quite another to insult her with a name like that. I'll not have you slander a major contributor to the history of motion picture arts, not to mention an upstanding member of our community-"

"Our community?!" Seymour cried. "The old bag lives in Newport. Since when can we afford to live in Newport?"

"Hold the phone," I said.

"What?" they asked together.

"Hedda Geist may live in Newport now, but she didn't come from money. Not even close." While the two men were bickering, I'd continued to skim Dr. Lilly's book. I pointed to one of the early chapters. "It says here that Hedda was the fourth daughter in a family of seven. Her father was arrested for robbery when she was nine and died in a prison brawl. Hedda's mother cleaned houses to make ends meet."

"Then how'd she get into the movie business?" Seymour asked.

I continued skimming the text. "Seems Hedda's two older sisters were known to make, uh…'dates' with men for money. They encouraged Hedda to do the same."

"That's a libelous accusation!" Brainert cried.

"Dr. Lilly claims it was one of Hedda's 'boyfriends' who got her a break at sixteen, a bit part in a Gotham Features film that was shooting exteriors near Hedda's neighborhood. Apparently, Hedda worked hard after that first break. She took speech lessons, dance lessons, and kept on moving up the Gotham ladder of players until she finally landed a leading lady role at twenty. You know the rest."

Brainert frowned. 'The rest is an unsubstantiated charge of cold-blooded murder. And I still don't believe it."

I exhaled, trying to puzzle out a next step. How could I or anyone else prove-or disprove-Dr. Lilly's theory of Irving Vreen's death? Irene Lilly herself was dead, so we couldn't ask her to back up her accusations. And the crime happened so far in the past, pretty much everyone connected to the crime was dead. Everyone except Hedda and-

"We could talk to Pierce Armstrong!" I exclaimed.

"And ask him what?" Brainert demanded.

"We can ask him if Dr. Lilly's charges are true!" Seymour replied. "That's a great idea, Pen!"

I vigorously nodded. "If Pierce Armstrong was railroaded, then he has a powerful motive for wanting to see the truth about the past come out and Hedda Geist brought to justice."

"I suppose so… " Brainert reluctantly admitted.

"It would also prove that Hedda Geist had a reason to want Dr. Lilly out of the way," Seymour said.

Brainert frowned. "Surely you're not suggesting that frail old woman murdered Dr. Lilly?"

"Okay, maybe she didn't do it herself," said Seymour with a shrug, "but she is rich enough to buy an accomplice."

"Or keep it inside the family by using someone like her granddaughter, Harmony," I noted.

Seymour shook his head. "So sad to think that a hottie like that could actually be a hellion. But I guess rotten apples don't fall far from the tree."

Brainert tightly folded his arms. "I don't like this."

"Then there's something else you won't like," I said and informed Brainert about the break-in at Dr. Lilly's rented bungalow. "Her laptop, tape recorder, and a number of audio cassettes appeared to have been stolen. I'm betting Dr. Lilly had damaging evidence in her possession-all the more reason we should speak with Pierce Armstrong as soon as possible."

Brainert nodded. "I suppose Mr. Armstrong could shed some light on all this. He'll be at the festival sometime this weekend. He's a surprise guest, you know. It was my colleague who arranged his appearance."

"Which colleague?" I asked.

"The dean," said Brainert. "Dr. Wendell Pepper."

Seymour blinked. "Dr. Pepper? The man named after the soft drink that uses prunes for flavoring?"

Brainert exhaled in disgust at Seymour 's relentless needling.

"We should strike while the iron is hot," I quickly suggested. "Has Armstrong even arrived in Quindicott yet?"

Brainert nodded. "Oh, yes," By now he should be here.

"Great!" I said. "Where's he staying?"

"With Dr. Pepper," said Brainert. "He has plenty of room. He owns a very large house on Larchmont Avenue and-"

"He's the most original soft drink ever in the whole wild world-"

"Stop it, Seymour!"

Seymour laughed. "It's just too easy to get a rise out of you, Parker. So, Pepper lives on Larchmont, eh!" Seymour clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Man I'd love to see the inside of one of those giant old mansions. Ring Dean Soda Pop up and get us an invite."

Brainert wrinkled his nose at Seymour 's disheveled postal uniform, now stained with grass and dirt. "Shouldn't you go home and change your clothes?"

"That's a great idea. I want to look my best when I meet Pierce Armstrong-Big Mike O'Bannon-in the flesh," Seymour said, grinning. "Lucky for me, I don't have to go home. I have civvies packed in the trunk of my car."

"But don't you still have mail to deliver?" Brainert pressed.

"I already called in a favor, asked a colleague to finish my route for me," Seymour replied. "I'm free to pursue this case for the rest of the weekend. I'll just run along and fetch my clothes, and we can be off."

Scowling, Brainert pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his blue blazer. Before he could dial Dr. Pepper's number, however, Aunt Sadie stuck her head through the stock room door.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said softly.

"Aunt Sadie!" I approached her with a copy of Murdered in Plain Sight. "Do me a favor. Is Spencer home from his Little League clinic?"

"Yes, he just got back. He headed upstairs to play a video game, but he asked for permission to go to his best friend Danny's house tonight for dinner and a sleepover in Danny's new tent. Sounds like fun. Apparently, Mr. Keenan just set it up in their backyard."

"A sleepover in a tent…?" I frowned, my mind shifting gears to mother mode. I couldn't help worrying about everything Spencer might need for an outing like that-PJ's that were warm enough for a May evening, his sleeping bag, toothbrush, underwear. It might get pretty chilly so he'd need extra blankets, a sweatshirt. And all of that would be hard to carry. I checked my watch and shook my head. I couldn't drive Spencer over to Danny's house! My Saturn's battery was still dead, and-

You're being a real Killjoy Jane, you know that?

"Excuse me, Jack," I silently told the ghost, "but this doesn't concern you-"

That kid's no infant. He can carry his own kit across town, for cripes sake. What's the problem? He got an invite from his best friend. Let him play Davy Crockett for a night if he wants to.

"The problem is…" I started to argue, but then I stopped myself. "Wait. Did you just say he got an invite from his best friend?"

Wake up, Wanda.

I blinked. Spencer never had a best friend before. Oh, he'd been friendly with classmates back in the city, but he'd been so shy and morose when Calvin was alive-wilting in his father's depressive shadow.

Things were different now. And Spencer was different, too. He'd been in the same class with Danny Keenan for the past year, but it was only lately, since Little League had begun, that the two had become really tight. I hated to admit it, but Jack was right. This invitation was important. And it was exactly the reason I'd moved back to Quindicott, so Spencer could get away from his worries, make friends, enjoy the world around him, enjoy living.

I faced Aunt Sadie. "Do you think Danny's mother or father could pick Spencer up? My car's battery is still dead."

Sadie smiled. "I'm sure they'd be happy to do that."

"Well, if not… I can always ask Seymour to help out and drive him over. Either way, it's okay." I nodded. "Tell Spencer he's allowed to spend the night at Danny's.

Nice call, baby.

"Thanks, Jack," I whispered to the ghost-and then I remembered Dr. Lilly's book in my hands. "Oh! Aunt Sadie, one more thing: Ask Spencer to run this book over to Fiona Finch. She'll know what to do with it."

Overhearing me, Brainert groaned. "You're not bringing Fiona into this?"

"She's already involved, Brainiac," Seymour informed him.

"And she's a true-crime expert," I added. "I want her opinion of what Dr. Lilly's written."

"Good idea," said Aunt Sadie, taking the book from my hands. "But the reason I came back here wasn't to tell you that Spencer was home."

"What's up?"

"I wanted to let you know that Ms. Hedda Geist-Middleton has just entered the bookshop with her granddaughter, Harmony."