A Puzzle in a Pear Tree (21 page)

37

THE MULTIMILLIONAIRE’S PUDGY FACE HAD AGED CRUELLY since his daughter’s murder. His cheeks were sunken, his eyelids sagged, and his skin was chalky. Taggart had evidently rejected makeup as inappropriate for the occasion, although his hair was plastered in place. He stood alone in front of Bakerhaven High School. The TV reporter was not in the shot. Instead, Taggart clutched the microphone himself, hung on to it for dear life, as if it were a lifeline that could pull him back into a more pleasant reality. Indeed, he might have resembled a doomed fish on a hook waiting to be reeled in were it not for his eyes.

His eyes were hard.

“My daughter is dead. And I don’t know why. There are an abundance of theories. One theory is that she was killed by accident, that she was tragically mistaken for someone else. That seems too grotesque to imagine. And yet it may be true. On the basis of that theory, the police have made an arrest.

“I have been asked not to comment on the police case, and so I will not do so at this time. Chief Harper may be right, he may be wrong. I simply do not know. But I assure you, I intend to find out. I assure you, I will not rest until I know what happened here.

“But that is not what I came to say. My beautiful Dorrie, my only child, the sum of all my hopes and dreams, is gone. My loss is overwhelming, impossible to comprehend, and yet, for my Dorrie’s sake, I must put my grief behind me and do something for her now.

“My Dorrie was a young woman of many passions, but perhaps none greater than her love for the theater. In two short years she had come so far. From walk-ons to leads. This year, she was to have starred as Nina in Anton Chekhov’s
The Seagull.
” His ice-chip eyes glittered with tears. “She took her script everywhere, was always working on her lines. She would have loved to play that part.”

Taggart snuffled, then pulled himself together. “And that is why I am here today. To announce that, with the approval of the selectmen and the board of education, I am hereby making a donation of nine million dollars for the establishment of the Dorrie Taggart Memorial Fund, in preparation for the groundbreaking this spring for the Dorrie Taggart Memorial Theater here at Bakerhaven High School.”

Taggart paused, cleared his throat. “With the proviso, of course, that the case is solved. And my sweet daughter’s murderer is revealed as the monster he or she is. I thank you.”

Cora clicked the TV on mute. “Well, at least he didn’t come right out and accuse you of murder.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Sherry said.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a small favor,” Becky Baldwin said. “Taggart was extremely careful
not
to accuse you of murder. ‘As the monster he
or
she is.’ There’s nothing in his speech that could be considered actionable. I’ll bet you a nickel it was vetted by his attorney.” Becky took a bite of the risotto. “This is good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Sherry,” Cora said. “Accept the compliment. We got work to do.”

Becky Baldwin was dining with Cora and Sherry in the living room in front of their TV. This unique social occasion had been prompted by Chief Harper’s tip that Taggart would be making a public statement. Becky had already heard about it from Rick Reed, so she was not entirely floored by the invitation.

“So, what do you think?” Cora asked with her mouth full. “Aside from not being libelous, what does this do to these murders?”

“Nothing directly,” Becky said. “How do you see it?”

Cora poked absently at a piece of asparagus. “It’s a squeeze play, and we’re smack in the middle. Taggart’s pressuring Doddsworth to crack this case. The more things implicate Doddsworth’s daughter, the more eager he will be to hang the crime on Sherry.”

“And that’s okay with Taggart?”

“Not at all. He’s counting on us to be slippery enough to wriggle out of it. He wants Doddsworth left on the hook.”

“Do you really think he planned all that?” Sherry asked.

Cora and Becky looked at each other. “Entirely too naive,” Cora told Becky.

Becky nodded. “I gathered that.”

“Hey,” Sherry protested. “The situation’s bad enough. You guys start double-teaming me, all bets are off.”

“Right,” Becky said. “Cora, lay off my client.”

Cora’s eyes widened. “Me? Well, I like that.”

“Say, what is this?” Becky was poking the chicken and vegetables.

“Just a mishmash,” Sherry told her.

“Yeah, but what’s the recipe?”

“No recipe. I just threw it together.”

“You can do that?”

“Girls,” Cora said. “I hate to interrupt, but we have these murders. . . .”

“Of course.” Becky straightened up, wagged her finger in reproof. “Listen up, now, Sherry. Go on, Cora, we’ll be good.”

Sherry smiled in spite of herself.

“You get anything else out of Doddsworth’s statement?” Cora asked.

“No. He just seemed to be extolling the virtues of his daughter.”

“I notice he didn’t mention she was knocked up.”

“Aunt Cora!”

“Well, he didn’t. And it happens to be a fact. One worth considering. Particularly with a hunky boyfriend headed for the Ivy League.”

“Who hardly seems the type to write that kind of poem,” Sherry reminded her.

“True. But if old Lancelot had an
ex-
girlfriend helping him . . .”

“You’re back to Maxine Doddsworth.” Becky was frowning.

“Everything leads back to Maxine Doddsworth,” Cora insisted.

“Suppose she is guilty,” Sherry said.

“Then her father will move heaven and earth to convict
you
,” Cora told her.

Becky speared some chicken. “Just
why
does Maxine Doddsworth do in her best friend?”

“Jealous,” Cora said promptly. “Dorrie stole Maxine’s boyfriend.”

“That was some time ago. And Maxine didn’t even seem to care.”

“But now Dorrie’s gotten herself preggers.”

Becky shook her head. “If Dorrie was in trouble, Maxine wouldn’t be jealous, she’d be gloating.”

Sherry and Cora exchanged glances.

“Or so I understand,” Becky amended.

“Suppose it wasn’t that,” Cora said. “Suppose Maxine’s jealous of the fact Dorrie is a spoiled little rich brat who always gets everything she wants. Suppose Maxine doesn’t even know about the baby? If she did, she’d be gloating, and she’d let it live, to prolong Dorrie’s public humiliation. But she doesn’t know Dorrie’s knocked up, so she puts her carefully designed plan in motion.”

“Carefully designed because of the poems?”

“Exactly.” Cora’s eyes gleamed as she worked it out. “So this crime could date back to the theft of the boyfriend. Or it could be something else. . . .”

“Such as?”

“What did Taggart say on TV? About Dorrie being a star in the school play—what was it
—The Seagull
? Suppose Maxine’s in
The Seagull
too. With Dorrie’s death, would she get the star part?”

“That’s absurd,” Becky said.

“Is it? Someone tried to drop a sandbag on your head. Could it be someone who wanted
your
part?”

“Not Maxine Doddsworth. She isn’t even
in
the Christmas pageant.”

“Forget Maxine. How about anybody else?”

“It doesn’t work,” Sherry objected. “There’s no high school girls in
The Twelve Days of Christmas.
And there won’t be grown-ups in the high school play.”

“I don’t mean both,” Cora insisted. “I mean either.”

“
Either
makes absolutely no sense,” Becky argued. “In terms of a motive. If someone wants my part in the Christmas pageant, why knock off Dorrie?”

“Because they thought she was you,” Cora said. “Unfortunately, the only one who fits that criteria is Sherry. You wouldn’t kill to get a bigger part, would you?”

“Cora—”

“I, on the other hand, would
kill
to get a
smaller
part.” Cora cocked her head at Becky. “You know why Doddsworth left town?”

“Sure. His wife had an affair with Taggart.”

“You knew that?”

“
Everybody
knew that.”

“You must have been pretty young at the time.”

“His daughter was pretty young at the time. I was old enough.”

“Hmm.” Cora’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you thinking?” Sherry asked her.

“What if that was the whole point in killing Dorrie? What if someone wanted
Taggart
to suffer?”

“You mean Maxine?”

“Or her father.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sherry said.

“Why is it ridiculous?”

“Why would Doddsworth kill Dorrie and implicate his own daughter?”

“He’s not trying to implicate his daughter. He’s trying to implicate
you.
”

“But he killed Dorrie in a manner in which his daughter would be likely to be implicated. Never mind that.
How
did he kill her? Unless he’s some super blowgun champ who could hit a bee at fifty paces.”

“A bee?”

“The point is, Doddsworth couldn’t have done it. Neither could Taggart. Basically, the only ones who could have done it are Maxine, the boyfriend Lance, and the wrong techie guy.”

“Wrong techie guy?” Becky said.

“Well, the one who’s still alive. Alfred. If the dead tech director is important, what could he have possibly known?”

“We’re going around in circles,” Becky said.

“That’s because there’s nothing to come up with.” Sherry sighed. “We listened to Taggart’s statement, and it didn’t tell us a thing.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Cora’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “We know he’s got nine million bucks to build a theater.”

“That’s no big news,” Becky said. “The Taggarts have always been filthy rich.”

“He also mentioned Dorrie was his only kid,” Cora pointed out. “As such, she stood to inherit his dough. Now that she’s dead, who gets it?”

“I would assume his wife,” Becky said.

“So would I. I wonder if that’s true.”

“Now you’re suggesting her
mother
killed her?” Sherry said it skeptically.

“Someone did. Who profits from her death?
Cherchez
le dough,
I always say.”

Sherry frowned. “That motive only works if Taggart dies too.”

“Well, why not?” Cora said. “We’ve had two killings already. And an attempt at a third. Whoever’s behind this ain’t exactly respectful of human life.”

“That’s for sure,” Becky agreed. “But from a monetary standpoint, the only one likely to gain
is
Mrs. Taggart.”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “Yes and no. Remember, Taggart and Mrs. Doddsworth bumped their uglies. Suppose Mrs. D’s still got the hots for Mr. T. Mr. T digs her too, but Mr. T and his wife have stuck together for the sake of the kid. Well, that obstacle to their romance just got removed. The big winner could be Mrs. Pammy Doddsworth.”

“Good God, you have a devious mind!” Becky exclaimed enthusiastically. “So, your theory is Pamela Doddsworth kills her daughter’s best friend with a poison dart to give herself a shot at her daughter’s best friend’s wealthy father?”

Cora disentangled that sentence, then shrugged. “Some people are basically not nice. Those who kill tend to fall into the not-nice category.”

“Uh-huh,” Becky said. “And those are the only suspects you can come up with who gain financially?”

“Not at all. You’ve got my favorite director, Rupert Winston, who gets nine million bucks toward a new theater.”

“Winston couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“He might have surmised it. And he’s so obsessive about his, quote, art, unquote, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You just don’t like him because of the Christmas pageant.”

“Well, do you hear how he talks to me? How he talks to everybody, for that matter. Everybody except you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Becky said. “Then you haven’t been listening lately. According to Rupert, I haven’t done a thing right since someone dropped that damn sandbag. Thank God there’s no rehearsal tonight.”

“Yeah, well, don’t thank Rupert. He’d have had one if the theater wasn’t a crime scene.”

“Of course he would,” Sherry said. “The show’s in only two days.”

Cora made a small noise. “Two days?”

“Well, when did you think it was? It’s the
Christmas
pageant. They’re usually
before
Christmas.”

“With everything that’s happened, I just lost track of time. Two days?”

“If there
is
a Christmas pageant,” Becky reminded her. “Maybe they won’t have one, in light of the killings.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Cora said fervently. “But that will never happen. People don’t sit and brood. Not in Bakerhaven. Life goes on,” she added glumly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to be a star.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Becky protested.

“Yeah, right.”

Aaron Grant arrived, swiftly took in the situation, and did a heroic job of hiding his shock at seeing the three women together. If anything, he was a bit too casual about it.

“Hi, girls,” Aaron said. “You see Taggart’s statement?”

“I just came for the food,” Becky replied. “My client is an amazing cook.”

“Yes, I know. So what did you think?”