Читать книгу Murder, Take Two - Carol J. Perry - Страница 17

Chapter 9

I sat down for breakfast in Aunt Ibby’s kitchen—still nothing much in my refrigerator—when my phone dinged. A text from Roger Temple announced that he and Ray would be in Salem on Wednesday night. “The twins will be here tomorrow,” I told my aunt. “It looks like Cody’s about to be formally charged with the crime.”

“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good,” she said. “I’ll talk with Rupert and the Angels and see what they’ve learned so far that might be helpful.”

I smothered a snicker at the casual way she mentioned “the Angels,” and spread homemade strawberry jam onto a thick slice of sourdough toast. “Did you see Scott Palmer’s interview with Chief Whaley on the late news? About the knife?”

“I didn’t, but it’s in this morning’s paper. Strange.”

“Sure is. At least we know the murder weapon wasn’t Cody’s letter opener,” I said. “But why would one of the professor’s kitchen knives turn up in his office?”

Aunt Ibby sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I know my kitchen knives have turned up occasionally in the break room at the library,” she said, “when I’ve baked a birthday cake for someone and brought a knife along to cut it.”

“I hadn’t thought of anything like that,” I said. “It probably isn’t the murder weapon anyway.”

“If it is,” she pointed out, “it could have Samuel Bond’s blood on it somewhere. Bloodstains are pretty hard to get out.”

“They should be through testing it by now. We’ll probably know today whether it had prints or blood or birthday cake or anything interesting on it.”

“There wasn’t anything about it on the morning news,” she said, “but I saw your report on the candy store. Made me hungry for chocolate.”

“I need to go shopping,” I said. “I’ll pick some chocolates up for you. Need anything else?”

“I’ll give you a list. I want to get some of those sardine-flavored treats for O’Ryan, and I’ll need a few things if Roger and Ray want to get together with all of us on Wednesday evening.”

“Oops. Hope not. Pete and I have tickets to the Sox game. The twins will probably want to spend time with their sister anyway.”

“Of course. Maybe I’ll have the Angels over and we can work on the case.”

I smiled, thinking of Pete’s book title—Nancy Drew and the Case of the Murdered Professor. “Good idea,” I said. “See if they have any ideas about who the editor is. Jot down your grocery list, and I’ll see you after work.”

* * *

It was such a pleasant day that I thought about putting the top down on the Corvette, but decided against it. Maybe on the way home I would, though. Salem can be lovely in late spring/almost summer. Pleasant weather, and the traffic isn’t too bad before the annual influx of tourists begins in earnest.

I pulled into my parking space, locked the car, and took a couple of deep, refreshing breaths of salt air. For me, that works as well as one of those energy drinks. I skipped the elevator and climbed the metal staircase, wondering what Rhonda’s white board would offer for my day.

“Glad you’re here a little early,” Rhonda said. “Scott’s out with a sore throat. So you and Francine are kind of doubled up with his assignments as well as your own.” I didn’t question that. Wasn’t even surprised. Mr. Doan would be happy if everyone did double jobs every day. As it is, almost everyone at the station wears more than one hat. My job is sometimes like that of a substitute teacher. I’ve subbed for Scott many times, and he’s done the same for me. I’ve answered phones for Rhonda, done investigative reports on short notice, and once even filled in for Wanda the Weather Girl.

I looked at the white board and read aloud the items neatly printed in purple marker. “City council meeting at city hall: 10:00 a.m. Mayor meeting with mayor of Salem’s Japanese ‘sister city’ at noon: Hawthorne dining room. A new mural to be unveiled at the El Punto neighborhood: 2:00 p.m. Police chief will hold presser about McGinnis arrest: TBA. As time permits, visit the no-kill animal shelter, the new display of figureheads at the Peabody Essex Museum, and schedule another interview with Professor Armstrong.” That last one was underlined in red, probably by the station manager.

“Is Francine here yet?” I asked. “Maybe we have time to visit the animal shelter on the way to city hall.”

As though on cue, Francine arrived, joining me at the white board. “Holy cow! We’d better get rolling right now.” I agreed, told her about my animal shelter idea, and we hurried down the metal staircase and out to the parking lot. We climbed into the mobile van and began our workday.

“Shall we promise each other that neither of us will fall in love with a puppy or kitty this time?” Remembering the difficulty I’d had passing up an adorable black kitten the last time we’d visited, I raised my right hand and promised. Anyway, I wasn’t sure how O’Ryan would feel about welcoming a new pet.

The volunteers at the shelter gave us an excellent tour of the facility. We met the veterinarian on duty, petted a sweet St. Bernard and a pair of brother and sister cock-apoos. I didn’t cuddle any kittens, and we came away with a good twenty minutes of material, which would get edited down to a couple of short spots that could run almost anytime a filler was needed. Mr. Doan calls those “evergreens.”

City hall was already in full swing, dealing with a citizen’s committee demanding that the city council arrange for more neighborhood security. There were several FREE CODY signs being waved with enthusiasm, mostly by young student types. The committee spokesman gave an impassioned request for more patrol cars. “There may still be a vicious, house-breaking killer wandering our streets, looking for another victim—like poor old Sam Bond.” I managed a short interview with the spokesman, a few words with a young sign-carrying girl who’d taken Cody’s Salem history course, and a longer Q and A with Councilor Lois Mercer, who’s helped me out several times when city business rated prime time, front-page coverage—which this murder clearly did.

“We’ve already passed on the request to the police department,” Mercer told my audience. “We’ve been assured that the chief will address the situation later today. Although the police have arrested a person of interest, it seems entirely possible that there is still a killer loose in Salem.” She waved a hand toward the crowd, which had begun to leave the chambers. “We listen to our citizens. They are frightened.”

The Hawthorne Hotel, where the mayor’s meeting with the Japanese mayor was due to start at noon, was only about a mile away, but parking could be a problem because the hotel is close to the Witch Museum, where lots of tour buses line up every day. Francine lucked out with a space, and we had five minutes to spare before the dignitary was supposed to show up.

Meanwhile, the “Free Cody” group had learned about the mayor’s meeting, grown in number, and had lined up across the street from the hotel. I did a quick standup commentary while Francine zoomed in on the chanting protesters. There was a significant presence of security on both sides of the street. When a black limo bearing a Japanese flag pulled up at the front entrance, I was in a perfect position to see the expected dignitary step from the limo. He looked quite young against a background of sign-waving, noisy students calling on him to tell the mayor to free Roger and Ray’s imprisoned nephew. I recognized the blue-haired girl.

Rhonda hadn’t had time to fill me in on the visiting mayor’s name. I was only a couple of feet away from him, so I had to wing it. “Good morning, your honor,” I said. “I’m Lee Barrett. WICH-TV. Is this your first visit to Salem?” I held the stick mic toward him, belatedly hoping he spoke some English. He did. Turned out he’d been an exchange student in California for a year and spoke it well enough for us to have a conversation.

“It is, indeed,” he said. “An interesting city. But tell me, Ms. Barrett, what is a ‘cody’?” he gestured to the loud crowd across the street. “And why must it be freed?”

OMG! Hasn’t his staff briefed him on what’s going on in his sister city? Or is he having fun with the lady reporter?

“Local story, sir,” I said. “A sad one. A prominent citizen has been murdered, and a popular history professor is a suspect. His name is Cody McGinnis, and some of his students believe—quite strongly—in his innocence.”

His expression was appropriately grave. “Yes. A sad business.” He moved toward the open doorway of the hotel. “Thank you, Ms. Barrett.”

Francine and I flashed our press credentials and, along with reporters and cameras from a couple of Boston stations, followed the procession of dignitaries, both Japanese and American, to the dining room where our mayor waited to greet the guests. A polite guy wearing a Red Sox cap and carrying the latest Tascam DR-44WL audio recorder held the door for us. I pointed to the neat portable unit and whispered to Francine. “Way better than mine, and we’re supposed to be professional.”

We made ourselves as unobtrusive as possible, and Francine began filming. I’d do a voice-over later at the studio. For the moment I was an observer. The welcoming speech was the usual kind, with translator and signer helping. Our mayor is excellent at this, and her Japanese counterpart responded with similar goodwill. He reached what appeared to be the conclusion of his remarks, then added, “I noticed the gathering of students outside. It reminded me of my student days in California. It is a very good thing for citizens to make known their feelings to those of us in office, isn’t it?” He paused, then smiled. “So often the young people are right.”

What had started as an ordinary piece of fluff filler TV had suddenly become news.

Once back in the van, I put my phone on speaker and called Rhonda. “Do we have any idea when the chief’s presser is going to happen? The student protest about Cody McGinnis being held is growing, and our sister city mayor dropped a good pro-student quote we can use along with whatever the chief has to say. Besides that, the city council is dealing with citizens’ groups who want more protection from a killer who might be loose in Salem.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Listen, why don’t you two get over to the police station now? I’ll send Old Jim over for the mural unveiling. That way you’ll be on hand as soon as Chief Whaley is ready.”

“We’re on our way.”

“Okay if we stop for a hamburger?” I asked. “The mayors didn’t invite us for the dinner.”

“Sure, but don’t forget to get that interview with the hot professor. Doan is expecting it.”

“I know. I’ll get it done,” I promised. “See you later.”

I fumbled in my purse for the card Professor Armstrong had given me. Francine had already turned the van in the direction of McDonald’s. “While we wait for the chief to show up, I’ll try to get in touch with Professor Dreamy.”

“He gave you his number?” Francine gave one of her raised-eyebrow smirks.

“It’s a business card, silly. He probably gives them to everybody.”

“I saw that look he gave you.” We joined the fast-food line. “Want the usual?”

“Sure.” She ordered two number fives with Diet Cokes. “All our viewers saw the look too,” I said. “He probably gives that look to every woman he meets.”

“Go ahead and call him. I’ll bet he answers right away.” My call went to voice mail. It was my turn to smirk. I left a brief message, as instructed, and we headed for the police station. When we arrived, the lectern the chief uses was already in place, and it looked as though his mic was being installed. We were the only media vehicle there so far, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. I’d taken my first mouthful of hot fries, when there was a tap at my window. I rolled it down quickly. Pete’s office is on the street side of the building, and he must have seen us drive up.

“Hi, babe,” he said. “Saw you rolling by. You’re early. I think Chief’s still busy putting on his dress uniform for the occasion. Hi, Francine.”

“Hi, Pete,” she said. “Doan’s got us doing double duty today.”

“I see that. Lunch and presser at the same time?”

“Triple duty,” I said. “Lunch, presser, and trying to set up an interview all at once.” I pointed to my phone in its holder on the dash. “Have you talked to Professor Armstrong at the university yet?”

“Not personally. I know we took a statement from him. Said he was friends with McGinnis and Bond both. Kind of conflicted there, I suppose.”

“I guess so. Mr. Doan seems to think he’s important. He’s being quite insistent that I talk to the man. I hope he’ll return my call. I don’t want to have to chase him around the campus.”

The phone, still on speaker, buzzed. “Hello?” I said.

The male voice was smooth and a little husky. “Hello, Lee. This is Alan. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

Raised-eyebrow smirk again from Rhonda. “Told ya.”

Pete raised his eyebrows too.