A deadly performance, p.19
A Deadly Performance, page 19
Spotting the kitchen clock, he smirked. Lexie had taken one of her numerous writing awards – engraved brass plate set onto a solid piece of mahogany – to a clockmaker and had him add brass hands, numbers and a clock mechanism.
Before Donner could make a snide remark, Nick set a bright blue mug in front of him. Lexie gratefully accepted her own yellow mug. Nick settled into the chair beside her, cradling a bright orange mug.
She’d purchased the six-piece set when they’d downsized because it reminded her of her grandmother’s Fiesta dinnerware. Grandma had explained that Fiesta created the bright pieces to lift people’s spirits during the Great Depression. Lexie thought of Grandma whenever she set the table.
Donner slurped his coffee and studied Lexie over the rim of his mug.
“Oh, you’ve done it now, Red.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where were you between midnight and two a.m.?”
“In my bed, asleep.”
“I was with her,” Nick said. “And before you ask, we’re both light sleepers. I’d have known if she left the bed and vice versa.”
Donner snorted. “Convenient.”
“But true.” Lexie sipped her coffee. Dealing with Donner on an empty stomach was bad enough. She needed her caffeine to function. “Now are you going to tell us what happened?”
“Martin Schultz is dead.”
The coffee cup slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor and splashing hot liquid on her robe and Donner’s pant leg. Donner jump up and, using a napkin, frantically brushed liquid from his pant.
“Damn it, Red, you could have scalded me!”
Lexie ignored him. She fought tears. The last thing she needed to do was cry in front of Donner.
But Martin? Dead?
“How?” she said.
Donner returned to his seat. For a moment, he studied her.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re honestly surprised.”
“We’ve already told you where we were,” Nick said. “What’s going on?”
“Do you own a gun?”
“Never.” Lexie’s shiver was real. “Those things scare me.”
Donner turned to Nick. “What about you?”
“I’m not a fan of anything that kills,” Nick said. “Are you saying that Martin Schultz was shot?”
Donner nodded. “Patrol found his body in the Annapolis Mall parking garage. Coroner’s initial estimate is that he was shot between midnight and 2 a.m.”
He glared at Lexie. “One of his last phone calls was to you.”
“Me? I never received . . . Give me a minute.”
Lexie trotted to the bedroom. Her phone lay in its charger on the nightstand. Lexie lifted it.
She’d forgotten to switch off the quiet theater setting.
She changed the setting as she walked back to the kitchen.
Meeting Nick’s eyes, she held out the phone.
“I forgot to turn off theater setting.”
“There you have it, Lieutenant,” Nick said. “A simple mistake prevented Lexie from receiving Martin’s call.”
“Did he leave a message?” Donner said.
Lexie checked voice mail.
“Put it on speaker,” Donner said.
“Lexie, it’s Martin. I have a brilliant idea to flush out the killer. You warned me not to go anywhere alone, but, well, I think I found a real source and since you’re not picking up . . . Anyway, wish me luck.”
Lexie groaned and sank into her chair. Tears formed, but she brushed them aside. She would not cry in front of Donner.
“It’s not your fault,” Nick said. “You warned him about the risks. He didn’t listen.”
“But if I’d remembered to turn off theater mode, he could have reached me and—”
“And I’d have two murders to solve,” Donner said. “Remember, Martin’s killer used a gun.
“Now, tell me who the owner of a two-bit internet publication was trying to flush out. And why he would call you.”
Lexie pushed aside the grief and self-recriminations. Donner could be a dangerous man. She needed to focus.
“Martin saw me at the senior center when Nick and the others were rehearsing,” she said. “He told me that he was researching Marlene Davis’s death, asked if I’d heard anything that might help.
“I told him that people didn’t want to talk about it. But that if I did hear something, I’d call.”
She stared Donner in the eyes.
“And if I do hear something that would help you catch a killer, I’ll tell you.”
“Now why do I have trouble believing that?” Donner stood and nodded to Nick. “Thanks for the coffee.”
To Lexie, he added, “Don’t leave town.”
Beneath the table, Lexie’s hands clenched into fists. Donner might be oblivious, but Nick read her body language and quickly escorted the idiot cop to the front door.
Returning, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Do you want to go back to bed?”
“Doubt if I could sleep.” She ached all over.
Nick crossed to the coffee pot and returned to fill their cups.
“Want me to fix some breakfast?”
“I couldn’t eat.”
Nick sat down. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But it’s still so darn sad! I knew him when he’d just started out. He was so excited, so ambitious, so . . . alive.”
Tears fell.
“Martin wanted to be the next Woodstein,” Lexie said, using the nickname of Woodward and Bernstein, the two reporters who’d broken the Watergate story. “I can imagine him suggesting meeting someone in a parking garage, thinking he was dealing with Deep Throat.”
“Instead, he got Norman Bates.”
Lexie brushed aside the tears and straightened. “I agreed to look into this murder because I don’t want Donner to arrest an innocent person. But Martin was innocent. I will find out who killed him.”
She looked at the clock. Six forty-five.
“Martin’s second-in -might know what he was doing.”
“Think he’d talk to you?”
“She.” Once again, Lexie looked at the clock.
“I have no idea what hours internet-only news services keep,” Nick said. “But if they’re going to keep ahead of the print news, surely they have someone available 24/7.”
Lexie pulled out her phone and looked up the number for The Weekly Flyer.
An operator answered and told her that Thelma Dorsey, Martin’s second-in-command, wasn’t expected until 10 a.m.
Lexie thanked the woman and hung up the phone.
“There’s nothing you can do until you talk to Thelma,” Nick said. “You won’t be able to focus unless you get a few more hours’ sleep.”
Lexie nodded and followed her husband into the bedroom.
When she finally woke, she felt fuzzy and disoriented. Light filtered through the bedroom window.
“Morning sleepyhead.” Nick set a cup of tea on the bedside table. “Or should I say good afternoon?”
“Mmmm.” Lexie sat up and reached for her tea. “What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty.”
Lexie froze. “I slept all morning?”
Nick stroked her hair. “You obviously needed the rest.” He frowned. “Which is what I told that crazy woman who started calling an hour ago.”
Lexie turned to where she always kept her phone. It wasn’t there.
“When the ringing didn’t wake you,” Nick said, “I checked to make sure you were still breathing. Then I took the phone into the kitchen so you could sleep.”
Lexie swung her legs off of the bed. “Thanks. I guess I needed that. Give me a minute to take a shower.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
Fifteen minutes later, clean and dressed in fleece-lined leggings and fuzzy tunic, Lexie followed the smell of frying eggs into the kitchen.
“Hope you don’t mind an everything scramble. We had some vegetables that needed to be used.” Nick pushed the concoction into a serving bowl, set it on the table, then refreshed Lexie’s tea.
Lexie’s stomach grumbled.
“This actually looks fabulous.” The tasty combination of eggs, cherry tomatoes, spinach and cheese revived her.
She waited until they’d both finished eating before reaching for her phone. The missed calls had come from Martin Schultz’s newspaper.
Lexie hit the redial, then asked to speak to Thelma Dorsey.
She came online immediately.
“Martin’s dead and it’s your fault.” Thelma’s cold voice sent chills up Lexie’s spine.
“Thelma, you know me. I did not kill Martin.”
“I don’t believe that you pulled the trigger. But you set him on the path to destruction. I have proof.”
A chill ran up Lexie’s spine.
“How about I come to the paper,” she said. “It’s better if we talk in person.”
“You’re darn right it is. Be here in an hour.” The phone clicked off.
“You’re white as a standard poodle in show coat.” Nick grimaced. “Sorry, that’s the best I can do right now.”
Lexie smiled. “Thanks for the effort.”
Nick gestured to her phone.
“What’s going on?”
“Thelma Dorsey claims she has proof that Martin’s death is my fault.”
“No way. You warned him to be careful.”
“Yet he’s still dead.” Lexie stood. “I need to go to The Weekly Flyer, talk to Thelma and see why she thinks I’m responsible.”
“You’re in no condition to drive. Give me a minute to change my clothes.”
Lexie glanced down at her tunic and warm leggings, then shrugged. If she was going to get reamed out by an editor, she might as well be comfortable.
Thirty minutes later, Nick found a parking spot near The Weekly Flyer’s office. The receptionist said Thelma was expecting them.
As she walked through the small newsroom, a wave of nostalgia swept over Lexie. Unlike The Washington Daily’s newsroom with its dozens of desks and computer monitors, the Flyer’s contained only three desks and computers. But the reporters hunched over their keyboards and the deadline tension in the air swept her back to her old life.
Would she ever stop missing it?
Through the glass interior window, she spotted Thelma Dorsey bent over her desk. Unlike many women entering their so-called golden years, Thelma had allowed her short, dark hair to turn gray. Every time Lexie saw her, the salt-and-pepper color had more salt in it. The color – or lack thereof – added years to an animated, sun-damaged face.
Yet Lexie couldn’t help but admire Thelma for rejecting the convention that demanded women cover gray hair. Lexie had been coloring her hair for so long that she had no idea what shade of gray lay underneath the red-brown tone of her youth.
Thelma looked up, smiled and waved them into her office.
She stood and shook Lexie’s hand, then turned to Nick.
“So this is the fabulous Nick Morie we’ve heard so much about.”
“Fabulous?” Nick grinned at Lexie.
“Thelma, please, don’t encourage him.” Lexie swept a hand, encompassing Nick from top to bottom. “Why do men age so much more gracefully than women?”
“They didn’t have to carry babies around.” Thelma gestured to her two guest chairs.
“Sorry for the earlier tantrum,” she said. “I’d just gotten Martin’s ridiculous message and was feeling guilty because I wasn’t here last night to receive it.”
“Message?”
Thelma slumped back into her seat. “When I got here this morning, the police were waiting to tell me that Martin had been murdered. We tussled over whether they could remove Martin’s computer. Our attorney is working on that as we speak.
“Anyway, because of the police interference, I didn’t check my messages right away.”
Leaning over, she clicked a button on her answering machine.
“Thelma, hi, it’s me, Martin Schultz.”
The excitement in Martin’s voice brought tears to Lexie’s eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away.
“I’ve finally figured out a way to save the Flyer. I’m going to unmask Marlene Davis’s killer!”
Nick reached over and grasped Lexie’s cold hand.
“I called all of the suspects,” Martin continued. “And I told each one ‘I know what you did. If you don’t want me to tell the police, meet me at the lower level of the Annapolis Mall parking lot at midnight.’ Don’t you see how brilliant this is? Whoever shows up is the killer!”
Lexie groaned. Thelma met her eyes and nodded.
“Anyway,” Martin continued, “I’m telling you this in case something happens tonight. I tried to reach Lexie. She warned me to not go anywhere alone. But she didn’t answer her phone. So I guess the Lone Ranger rides again.
“Don’t worry; I’ve got a gun.”
The message ended.
For a minute, silence filled the room.
“I’m going to need to turn this over to the police,” Thelma said. “After I make a copy, of course.”
“Of course.” Lexie’s voice sounded flat. “I’m so, so sorry. I knew Martin was trying to find the killer and I warned him about the danger. Maybe if I’d have allowed him to come to the interviews with me—”
“He still would have done something hairbrained,” Nick said.
“Nick’s right,” Thelma said. “I underestimated Martin’s ambition. Once he came up with this idea, nothing could have stopped him. I’m sorry for my earlier accusation. I was reeling from my own guilt.”
“He said he brought a gun to the meeting?” Lexie said.
“Police found it next to his body. It hadn’t been fired.”
“Did he give you any indication of who he suspected?”
“Martin always held his cards close,” Thelma said. “Being the boss allowed him to come and go as he pleased with no explanation for where he’d been.”
She frowned. “Come to think of it, he did say something about ‘follow the money.’ But I don’t know if it was in relation to the senior center murder or something else.”
“Senior center murder? Is that what everyone’s calling it?”
Thelma shrugged. “That’s Martin’s phrase. I assumed he picked it up from the cops.”
“What’s going to happen to the Flyer now that Martin’s gone?” Lexie said.
“That’s the irony. We’re going to be better off. Martin had the Flyer insured in case of his death. It’s enough money to keep us going for another year or two.”
She looked at her watch. “That’s assuming I can keep everyone on track. I need to check on Martin’s obituary. We’re giving his death the front page.”
Standing, she held out her hand. “Thank you for coming down and, well, for putting up with my unfair accusation.”
Lexie and Nick said goodbye to Thelma, waved at the reporters and receptionist and headed for the car.
“I can hear the wheels turning in your head.” Nick opened the passenger-side door. “Martin’s death is not your fault.”
“I know that intellectually.” Lexie snapped on her seatbelt. “But I just feel so awful. The poor man.”
“You can’t stop someone from self-destructing.” Nick snapped on his own seatbelt, then guided the car into traffic.
“Martin was shot,” Lexie said. “That’s very different from poisoning someone.”
“Our killer is getting bolder,” Nick said. “Maybe it’s time we stop investigating.”
“Martin’s dead. Donner is not likely to find his killer.”
“Martin told Thelma that he’s ‘following the money,’” Nick said. “That must point right back to Bob-Bob.”
“If Bob killed Martin . . .” Lexie breathed in, pushed the air out. “No. I still don’t believe Bob would bring us into this if he was guilty. He knows anything we discover will get turned over to the police.
“Then there’s Duncan Davis. Shouldn’t he want us to help find his daughter’s killer? Instead, he ordered me to back off.”
“We need to get some distance from this,” Nick said. “Why don’t we spend the rest of the day in front of the fire? We could read or watch movies.”
Lexie grinned. “If we had our puppy, we could play with him.”
Nick smiled. “Soon. Very soon.”
They returned home and snuggled by the fireplace. Lexie tried to read, but her mind kept wandering to an image of Martin Schultz laying alone in an empty parking lot.
She knew that she shouldn’t make the investigation personal. That way lay madness. But Martin had been a friend.
After dinner, Nick started switching television channels, searching for a good movie.
Lexie’s mind drifted.
Martin had said he was following the money. What money? The Fulton money? Marlene’s inheritance? Or—
“Of course!”
Nick jumped. Lexie glanced at the screen. The murder scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window was playing.
She grinned. “You’ve only seen this movie 100 times.”
Nick tossed her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, but Hitchcock’s music is so riveting.” He turned off the television. “So what’s on your mind?”
“Martin said he was following the money. We assumed he was talking about Marlene’s inheritance.
“What if he was referring to the blackmail money?”
“But how would he know about Marlene’s blackmail journal?”
Lexie waved the question away. “The police station is like a sieve. If Robyn’s cousin knew, then so did others. Martin had his own contacts at the station.”
Reaching for the phone, she opened the photo app and scrolled to the photo she’d taken of the page from Marlene’s blackmail journal.
For a moment, they studied the page in silence. Nick flopped back onto the couch.
“We’ll never identify all of these people. And we don’t even know if the killer’s initials are on this page. Martin could have had someone copy the whole journal.”
“Doubtful. Like Robyn’s cousin, whoever helped Martin wouldn’t have risked photographing the entire journal.
“It’s more likely that someone revealed the existence of the journal. And Martin simply contacted all of the suspects and threatened to reveal all.
