My shaking hand sloshed tea into the saucer. I put the cup on the table in front of me and swallowed hard. “I have something to tell you about your husband's death.”
“Yes?”
Damn that mask. I couldn't tell what her reaction was. “I have good reason to believe his death was not an accident.”
“Do you mean you think Woody Woodruff murdered him?” Her voice was flat and unemotional, but I could imagine the turmoil going through her mind.
I shook my head. “No. I think your husband died by his own hand.”
“I don't think I understand what you're getting at.”
This was going to be difficult. I took a sip of my now-lukewarmtea. “Your husband committed suicide, Mrs. Macmillan.”
“That's preposterous! How can you sit here in my living room and say such a dreadful thing?” I expected her to leap to her feet, call her housekeeper, and have me bodily thrown from the house, but instead she stayed in her chair and glared at me through her mask. “Tell me what gave you this crazy idea.”
“I heard he took it very hard when he was told he had cancer.”
“How do you know that?”
“I'm not free to say.”
“Dr. Washabaugh's nurse, Vesta Pennsinger, told you, didn't she? That woman ought to mind her own damn business.”
“I agree with you on that.”
“Let me get this straight, Tori. You are telling me that my husband planned his own death because he was dying of cancer?”
“I also learned that this farm was up for sale until shortly after his death, when you took it off the market.”
“That's true. Mack and I had decided to move to Florida for his arthritis. After he died, there was no need to move, so I-”
“It wasn't up for sale because you wanted to move. It was for sale because Mack made a lot of stupid investments using the equity he had in the farm for collateral. He had no choice but to sell it to pay off his creditors.” Charlotte burst into tears, stopping my discourse.
“I'm right, aren't I?”
“Is this general knowledge?” she asked between sniffles.
I nodded. “I'm afraid so. You know how the Grapevine works.”
“So what does anything you've said have to do with Mack's death?”
“I think what happened was your husband wanted to commit suicide instead of dying slowly and painfully from cancer. But he knew you'd be saddled with his debts if he did, so he looked for a way to make his death look accidental. The mock execution came up at just the right time.”
“But a firing squad? No one would want to die in front of a firing squad.”
“He would if he were a Civil War buff like your husband. When he learned of the execution plans, it must have seemed like the perfect opportunity to stage his own ‘accidental’ death. As I see it, he first browbeat Janet Margolies into letting him play the victim, even though he was much too old for the part. He made sure he was present when the guns were loaded. He switched keys with Janet while she was in the rest room. And later that night, he returned and replaced the foam blanks with lead bullets from his collection.”
“You have no way of really knowing he did this… this dreadful thing to himself.”
“But I do, Charlotte. In your husband's desk at the college, I found proof that he was the one who loaded the guns with live ammunition. In his top desk drawer, I found the ammunition he took from the guns and also the missing storeroom key. He'd probably planned to switch the keys back again but never found an opportunity to do so.”
Charlotte wiped her eyes, and I saw that the mask she wore was dark with tears. I hated myself for what I was going to say next.
“ Charlotte, I think you knew what he was planning to do. That's why you were out of town that weekend, wasn't it.”
“No… no… no,” she moaned.
“If you did know, then you'll be charged as an accessory.” I wasn't sure what the crime was, but I think there must be one to cover insurance frauds. “I'm turning the Wonder Wads and the key over to the police. They'll be sure to ask questions. I hope you can answer them.”
Charlotte stood, looming over me. I suddenly realized how muscular she looked, how strong she probably was from tending to her horses. She stood there a minute as if undecided about what to do, then sighed and said, “I have his suicide note, Tori. I'll get it for you.”
She pressed a hidden button on the bookcase wall and one section of shelves opened like a door to reveal a six-foot-high safe door. She spun the combination lock several times and pushed down on the lever, and the door swung outward with a groan. I got up with the intention of peeking into the safe, but she blocked the entrance. “Nobody goes in here but me,” she said, her voice as cold and brittle as ice cubes.
I stepped back a few inches to show her I had no intention of barging into her safe. She went inside, and as her back was to me, I stood on my tiptoes and tried to get a look inside. The safe was actually a room about the size of my apartment in New York, with rows of shelves, much like the bookcases, stacked high with boxes.
Charlotte emerged, closed the safe, and spun the lock. In one hand she held a thin brown manila envelope. “Take it,” she said. “It's Mack's last message to me.”
I opened the envelope, which was not sealed, and pulled out a piece of paper covered with handwriting.
“Go ahead and read it.”
“Dearest Charlotte,” I read. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”
I took her silence to mean yes.
As you know, my financial situation has deteriorated badly. I trusted people who were not trustworthy, and I made some unwise investments. Unfortunately, I used our farm, the farm you love so much, as collateral, and the only way to settle my debts was to sell the farm and pay off my creditors. When I learned I had inoperable cancer and my days were limited, I worried about you, my dearest wife. You would lose first the home you have cherished, then have to face losing me from cancer.
When I heard about the plans for the mock execution, it came to me that I could leave this world on my own terms and you could still have the property. I cajoled Janet Margolies into letting me be the intended victim. Because I had watched Woody Woodruff's men put on other exhibitions, I knew he loaded the guns in advance, and I asked to be there when that was done. When we were finished, I followed Janet up to her office and switched one of my office keys for her storeroom key. If she hadn't gone upstairs on her own. I would have asked her to accompany me on some pretext. I knew she couldn't stay away from the bathroom for more than a few minutes, and that would give me time to exchange keys.
I loaded the guns with lead from my own collection. Before I locked the storeroom. I took one last look at the guns-it was my opportunity to change my mind-and I decided then to go on with my plan.
I stopped reading and said, “I wonder why he didn't get rid of the ammunition he took from the guns.”
“He probably meant to, then ran out of time. Mack was always late.”
“He was late the day of the shooting, I remember.” I read on.
I want you to put this letter in our safe, my dear, and save it if there is ever any suspicion cast on you. If that is the case, bring this out, to prove you had no knowledge of my actions in advance. I'm afraid if that happens, you will lose the insurance money, but my Civil War collection is extremely valuable, and I have left it to you in my will to dispose of as you see fit.
I looked up from the letter and asked, “Where is his will, Charlotte?”
“It's on file at Buchanan McCleary's office. He's our attorney.”
I read the last line. “God bless you and keep you safe, Your loving husband, Mack.”
“I had no idea he'd planned this awful thing,” she said. “I'd never have left town for the weekend if I'd had any inkling of it. Mack was my whole life, Tori.” She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex. “Now you know the whole sordid story, and Mack's carefully planned suicide was a wasted effort.”