“How about Pepper Markley?”
“The same.”
“How about Alyson Mickels?”
“You should ask some of the male cast members, she’s a real head turner. Alyson was around a lot. She was just part of the usual scenery. I wouldn’t have especially noticed her.
“You know…and this just occurred to me, if someone wanted to get close to Malcolm, that would be the way to do it. For decades he’s been surrounding himself with his ‘special’ assistants. And they all come out of the same mold: young, beautiful, and ambitious. And they are smart, I’ve got to give them credit for that.”
“The tone of your voice, what are you suggesting?”
“Come on, Sheriff, you weren’t born yesterday. His special assistants…how should I put it? Of course, he was sleeping with them. I have been told that Malcolm bragged about a casting couch. It has also been rumored that he joked about a farm system where he developed new talent. You see, Sheriff, it’s about sex, but also a lot more than sex. It’s about dominance and control. He loved travelling around with a beautiful young woman attending to his every need. He liked to show off for his competitors. I don’t know if they were impressed or just thought he was an old fool.”
She paused and refilled their cups again. “This is what I’m thinking, Sheriff. If you wanted to get close to Malcolm, buy one of his assistants. Take Pepper, for instance. She handled his daily schedule, made all his travel and hotel reservations. And, of course, she was in the Murder at the Vicarage. Pepper could provide key information for anyone planning an assassination. And I imagine much the same could be said about Alyson. Two beautiful young women, who already have a track record for making their services available to the highest bidder. For a million dollars, maybe less, I’m sure you could buy their services.”
“Do you have anything to support this scenario?” asked Ray.
“No. But, Sheriff, you are such a provincial. I’m just trying to open your eyes to the possibilities. You’re not going to find the killer in the colony. You’re wasting your time.”
“How about Brenda, Mrs. Wudbine,” asked Ray, “why would she tolerate the behavior you are suggesting?”
“Brenda was one of those special assistants back in the day. Now she’s an incurable alcoholic with a very bad heart. The alcohol, that’s how she dealt with it. In recent years she’s been smashed most of the time. They lived separate lives. I imagine Malcolm was just waiting for her to go away. In fact, that thought had crossed my mind. I was wondering who Malcolm would end up with if dear, dear Brenda suddenly exited her worldly existence.”
She looked at Ray. “You see what this conversation has done. It’s brought back all the anger. For years I’ve done my best just to think about the positive parts of Malcolm’s personality. And now you have me blathering on about his heart of coal.”
“So tell me about the positive parts.”
“He has an extraordinary eye for beauty, and not just in women. Look at that house of his. Yes, he hired a gifted architect, but he was a major player in the design. And when you walk through the place, it’s a museum of the best modern furniture of the last 100 years. Every piece is iconic.”
“And the piano?”
“Yes, one of many he’s acquired along the way. If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Bosendorfer. Very contemporary, isn’t it. I imagine it was a custom design.” She paused, then continued, “Like I was saying, positive things. Malcolm was a terrific jazz pianist. He liked to spend time in New Orleans, hanging out in the jazz clubs, getting invited to sit in. His foundation has supported starting jazz programs at traditional Black colleges. See, he did many good things.”
“How about the bass standing next to the piano. Did he play that, also?”
“No, that’s my daughter-in-law’s, the ice princess. You wouldn’t know that watching her play. She dances with that instrument. And she smiles, most uncharacteristic of her. When she and Elliott decided to marry, there was a rumor going around that Malcolm had arranged the whole thing so he would have a bass player available at his beck and call. And she certainly has been more of a devoted assistant to Malcolm than much of a wife to Elliott, not that he probably noticed.”
“I’m not quite following,”
“It’s hard to follow, Sheriff. You are listening to an angry, rambling old woman. Elliott, my dear son. He’s smart, but he’s very weak. There came a time when I could no longer protect him from his father. He, too, was a faithful servant. And I’ve never understood that marriage. Elliott seems to be asexual, an absolute contrast to his father. When he was younger I wondered if he was gay. And his wife…well. Sheriff, I’m tired of talking. Is there anything else?”
“Not for now, thank you.”
“Remember, the killer is not among us. I’d call the FBI. You need some serious help.”
38
Sue parked her Jeep off the side of the road at the bottom of the drive and walked up the sandy two-track toward the cottage.
Alice Lea greeted her halfway up the drive. “I see you’re dressed in mufti today,” she commented, eyeing Sue’s jeans and light-blue polo shirt.
“Your son gave me an excuse to escape from my uniform for a day. This is a lot more comfortable.”
“Well, you look good in jeans.” Before they reached the cottage, Alice Lea paused and turned toward Sue. “I wanted to chat with you a few minutes before you meet with Thomas. First, I want to thank you and Sheriff Elkins for the way you handled that situation. I know that it could’ve ended quite badly for him.
“I have to take some responsibility for his meltdown. You see, Thomas was off his meds that day. I won’t always be around, so I’ve been working to have him take responsibility for his medication. That morning I didn’t check. This morning I did. There should be no problem. He’s looking forward to talking to you. I’ve got some coffee set up in the kitchen, and I’ve given him permission to smoke. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be in the area. If it looks like Thomas is going to have another meltdown, I can usually intercede and prevent it from happening.”
“That’s fine. I only have a few questions for him. I’m not sure he can answer them. But there is a chance he might have seen something on Saturday night that could help us find Malcolm Wudbine’s murderer.”
Unlike the last time, Tom Lea greeted Sue enthusiastically, shaking her hand and almost reluctantly letting go of it. They settled across the table, Alice pouring coffee and pushing a plate of cookies in Sue’s direction.
Sue pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and pushed against the power button. “I’m turning my phone off, Tom. I don’t want our conversation to be interrupted. I wonder if you could do the same?”
“I don’t have to do that. It’s got this built-in, artificial intelligence algorithm. It knows that when I’m having an important conversation I shouldn’t be interrupted. Fantastic technology. Absolutely cutting-edge.”
“We were interrupted in our last conversation,” Sue chided. Instantly, she thought that was probably not a useful thing to bring up, but it was too late to pull it back.
“Yeah, I remember that. An unfortunate interruption. It won’t happen. I downloaded the newest iteration of the software, 20.6.8. Now it knows when I’m having a significant conversation. No more interruptions.”
“Remember what I was asking you about? You were telling me that you were under the picnic enclosure. From your vantage point you could see the back of the Assembly Hall. You said that you could see someone near the electrical panels.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Tell me about the person you saw. Do you know who they were?”
“No, I didn’t know them.”
“What do you remember? Old or young? Male or female?”