I looked slowly around the living room at the beige walls decorated by travel posters and the shabby sofa and chairs. The police search would have unearthed the envelope had it been tucked beneath a cushion or slipped into a drawer.
Travel brochures lay askew on the table next to her chair. She’d looked at them, planning a wedding trip to the Riviera. The lure of foreign lands was vividly revealed in the posters of the Parthenon, the Cathedral at Chartres, Castle Hill in Nice.
Tucker had dallied with Kim to anger Mitch. Kim had responded to Tucker’s charms, chosen him over Mitch, the scion of the wealthy family. After Ellen’s death, perhaps Kim blamed Tucker’s defection on pressure from the family. When she offered Tucker the will, she wanted marriage in exchange.
I felt a sweep of sadness. So much sorrow and despair. Kim had likely smiled happily as she worked to frame the posters of exotic destinations. Monday night she must have felt that she was taking the first step toward the French Riviera and a new life as Mrs. Tucker Satterlee. I gazed at the travel posters. The Riviera…
Abruptly I was across the room. I unhooked the framed poster of Castle Hill in Nice. I turned the frame over. I moved the prongs holding the backing in place and slipped the cardboard free.
Susan Flynn’s monogrammed envelope lay against the slick white back of the poster.
I opened a window, loosened a screen, and then I was out into the night, carrying the envelope. Stars spangled the cold night sky. I zoomed from the apartment house to downtown, enjoying the sounds and sights of the holidays, carolers, car motors in store parking lots as last-minute shoppers drove up and down seeking a space, Salvation Army bells, partygoers calling out cheerful farewells, and the brilliant panorama of decorated yards and strands of bright lights on lampposts and strung across downtown streets.
It was time for Officer Loy’s last appearance. On the second floor of City Hall, I waited until the dispatcher turned to answer a call. “…please repeat the address. I can’t help you unless I have an address…” I swirled into being. If she looked up, she would see the familiar French blue uniform with a hand raised to punch the electronic keypad at the door to the police offices. I swiftly bent down, as if tying my shoe, and placed the envelope on the floor.
I disappeared, moved through the panel, opened the door from the inside. The dispatcher was absorbed in the call. I scooped up the envelope and closed the door.
The hallway was empty, though a mutter of voices and ringing phones sounded from the squad room. I walked down the central hallway to Chief Cobb’s office. As I’d expected, the frosted glass gleamed from light within. He had many tasks to accomplish with the arrest of Tucker Satterlee.
The small square envelope seemed oddly heavy in my hand. I would be relieved to deliver it to a safe haven.
Officer Loy once again disappeared. I put the envelope on the floor, slipped through the door and into the office. Chief Cobb sat behind his desk, several folders opened and spread out. His face was intent as he wrote briskly on a legal pad. His gray suit was more rumpled than ever. He’d discarded his necktie and his white shirt was open at the throat. With his left hand, he plucked M&M’s from a half-emptied sack.
I eased the hall door open, retrieved the envelope, and shut the panel.
The phone rang.
Without looking up, he punched the speakerphone. “Cobb.”
“Got the transcripts of the Satterlee tapes from the Butler house.” Detective Sergeant Price’s pleasant tenor sounded ebullient. “Do you want me to bring them to you?”
I picked up the envelope and moved close to the wall.
Cobb’s mouth spread in a satisfied smile. “I can wait until tomorrow. I was there. I didn’t think it would do any good to wire Leon. I thought for sure there would be a shot with no warning like the brick plant.” He paused, a frown tugging at his brows. “That’s probably what would have happened except for Peg Flynn showing up. My guess is that when Satterlee saw her car, he decided to come inside and see what was up. That changed everything.”
“Yeah.” There was an odd tone in Price’s voice. “You know, that was strange at the end, when a woman shouted for help.”
Cobb’s expression was uneasy. “Yeah. Strange.”
“Thing about it is,” Price ruminated, “the shout seemed to come from the stairs, from right beside Satterlee. Peg Flynn has a high sweet voice. The voice that called out was throaty, kind of husky. Kind of…unforgettable.”
Cobb scrambled in the M&M bag, grabbed a bunch, tossed them in his mouth.
“In fact”—Price was emphatic—“if I hadn’t seen what happened, I would have said Cain getting to Satterlee without being shot was impossible. Cain ducked past me like he was running downfield with the ball but he was a good ten feet from the stairs. How did he get there without being hit?”
“Crazy guy,” Cobb muttered.
Price’s laughter was wry and rueful. “Known as woman power, Chief.”
“I understand. But he’s a brave kid.”
“Brave and lucky. Or”—Price’s tone was thoughtful—“blessed. Satterlee fired into the wall. Why’d he shoot into the wall? If he’d shot straight, a slug should have caught Cain in the chest.”
Cobb munched M&M’s. “Cops have to work with facts.” His voice was indistinct. “All we know is, Cain got there in time.”
“Who was the woman who called out for help?”
“Let’s keep it simple. There was a woman in the room. A woman shouted. Let’s leave it there.”
“Whatever you say, boss. That’s not the only odd thing.”
Cobb grabbed more M&M’s. “Yeah?”
“Who moved Susan Flynn’s body?” Price demanded. “For sure it wasn’t Tucker Satterlee. Why would he? But if the body hadn’t been moved, nobody would ever have suspected murder. If somebody found Mrs. Flynn dead and staged that fake crime scene, it almost has to mean someone saw Tucker on the stairs when he shouldn’t have been or near the chocolate pot and was worried about murder. So there are three women in the house. Who would protect Tucker Satterlee but still want police to suspect murder? The only likely person was Gina Satterlee. Yet I don’t think she would have upset the applecart or done anything to jeopardize inheriting.”
Chief Cobb doodled on the legal pad, a series of question marks. “Well”—his voice was hearty—“all we have to know is that someone did us a big favor.”
Price suddenly laughed. “I get you. Be grateful for favors and don’t try to figure everything out. Right. But I’ve got some ideas about what happened and I keep thinking, one of these days I’ll walk into a room and there will be a gorgeous redhead smiling at me. I’d like that, Sam.”
“Next time there’s a tough case, maybe she’ll show up. Anyway”—Cobb was abruptly brusque—“wrap it up for tonight. Have a good holiday.”
“You too, Chief.”
Cobb flicked off the speakerphone.
I was standing next to the blackboard. I placed the envelope in the chalk tray, picked up a piece of chalk, wrote in looping script:
Compli—
At the first squeak of the chalk, Chief Cobb shoved back his chair and was on his feet, striding to the blackboard.
—ments of Officer M. Loy
I returned the chalk to the tray, next to the envelope.
Chief Cobb watched the chalk in its downward swoop. His eyes locked on the envelope. As he picked up the letter with Susan Flynn’s monogram, I moved out of the way. He pulled out Susan Flynn’s handwritten will, then looked in every direction. “Officer Loy?”
I blew him a kiss and blew another for Detective Sergeant Price, my favorite blond homicide detective. I paused at the window and called out, “Merry Christmas, Sam,” then whirled into the brightly lit night.
I was alert for the whistle of the Rescue Express as I stopped at Keith’s bedside where he slept curled next to Big Bob. I settled on the chaise longue, thinking I would soon be gone, but the next morning was happy to realize that I’d apparently been granted one more day on this earthly sojourn.