“Actually, dear, it’s good that he’s here. We’re going to need extra security for this event, and we’re going to need the Sheriff’s assistance in handling the traffic, too.”
Ray opened the folder and handed Elliott a search warrant. Elliott quickly scanned it and handed it back.
“Sheriff, can I hold you off on this for about an hour? As soon as this meeting is completed, I promise to be totally at your disposal. In the meantime, I’d like you to join us. We need to know what resources your agency can provide.”
Ray nodded his assent. He moved away from the group and quietly observed as the room filled, extra chairs being carried in by Pepper, Alyson Mickels, and Grubbs. Most of the faces were familiar to Ray: members of the family, including Verity; Wudbine employees; and members of the cast and crew of Murder at the Vicarage. There were a few others he had no memory of ever seeing before.
Elliott stood at a lectern. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you being here on such short notice. As you no doubt have heard, the purpose of this meeting is to begin planning my father’s memorial service. We are looking toward the week after Labor Day. That gives us about three weeks. An enormous amount of work has to be accomplished in a very short time. And each of you will be called upon to play an important role in this event.
“The Mission Point Summer Colony was an important part of my father’s life. Many of his happiest days were spent on these beaches, in the colony, at his cottage, and, of course, on his beloved sailboat plying the waters of Lake Michigan. It is most appropriate that we celebrate his life here at Mission Point.”
Ray, sitting off to the side, watched the faces of the audience as Elliott continued his remarks. Ray’s phone vibrated, and he looked at the text message on the screen. B.W. Cause of death: Cranial Bleed, blunt force trauma to skull. Ray thought about the scene in the greenhouse; Elliott rattled on in the background.
Did she fall or was she pushed? If she was pushed, is the assailant here in the room?” Ray wondered as he looked around. Pepper Markley was sitting near him, carefully inspecting her manicure. Jill Wudbine was in a swivel chair, one brought in from an adjoining office. She was slowly rotating from side to side, her gaze fixed on the carpet just beyond her sandals. Alyson Mickels’ stared off through the window in the direction of Lake Michigan. Verity Wudbine-Merone was focused on her knitting. She would look up toward her son, then back at her needles.
“With the help of my good wife, Jill, and our resourceful concierge, Pepper Markley, we are currently developing a task analysis for the event. Multiple venues will be required. As soon as the task analysis is done, we will be providing each of you with job descriptions and a calendar of events. Needless to say, you will be generously compensated for your time. Pepper will be looking after the HR responsibilities for the event. Alyson Mickels will be handling the transportation arrangements. If you have any questions, they should be directed to these women.
Elliott looked in Ray’s direction.
“We are going to have many important people in attendance. And we live in a time when we have to be aware of every possible threat. Ms. Mickels will be heading our security team, and we will bring in more personnel from Chicago. But we are grateful that Sheriff Elkins is here, and I know his assistance will be invaluable.” Elliott gestured in Ray’s direction.
“Are there any questions?” He scanned the room.
“Elliott, we’ve had two deaths,” noted Sterling Shevlin. “Is this service for Brenda Wudbine, too? Surely there needs to be a way of remembering your stepmother.”
Elliott was not quick to answer. He looked at Jill, holding her in his gaze for many seconds. Finally, Jill responded. “Brenda’s sudden death is most tragic. We will celebrate her life in a family ceremony as soon as her body is returned to us. Brenda was a very private person, and we will honor her passing in a manner consistent with the way she lived.”
“So your logic is if you’re private you get private, and if you’re public you get public?”
“Sterling, we can have this conversation at another time,” said Elliott.
Ray watched as Shevlin came to his feet. “This question is for the Sheriff. The events of the last few days have been horrendous for all of us. And now we are dealing with a second death. Brenda—initially we were told that she died of natural causes, but there are reports to the contrary. Would you put the rumors to rest?” Shevlin dropped back into his seat.
Ray stood so he could see all the faces in the room.
“We are aware of the fact that Brenda Wudbine had some major health issues. However, at this time we are still treating it as an unexplained death. We are looking at every possibility. I will be able to tell you more when we have the complete results from the forensic autopsy.” Ray studied the faces carefully.
“Sheriff, before you sit down, I have another question.” Shevlin was on his feet again. “Malcolm’s death. It just happened a few days ago. I know that you and your people have been working on this with great diligence. But there have been no arrests. True?”
“True.”
“So let me voice the concerns of many in this room. There’s a killer loose. He or she might even be in this room. None of us has ever confronted this kind of violence. Quite frankly, I’m frightened to even go into the theater. Our colony, it’s not the same place. Sheriff, can you provide any assurance that this crime will be solved in the near future?”
“That’s a good question, Mr. Shevlin, a question that the public has a right to ask. I can tell you that we are making progress. This was a complex, carefully planned and executed crime. The pieces are starting to fall together.”
“Sterling, can we get back to the task at hand?” pleaded Elliott.
“This is the business at hand. How can you consider bringing all these very important people here when a killer is running lose?”
“Maybe the Sheriff should have started with you,” said Elliott. “This play, casting my father in the role of the most hated man in the village…was all your idea. You put him in that chair. Defenseless. A sitting duck.”
“Why, Elliott, why?” shouted Shevlin. “I had nothing to gain. Your wife, your minions, they were all in the theater. Was this a team building exercise for the Wudbine Group? You’d free yourselves from that SOB. Become fabulously rich in the process.”
“Can we all just settle down? There’s work to be done,” pleaded Grubbs in a conciliatory tone.
“If you killed him, Grubby,” roared Shevlin, “we’d all be supporting you. Justifiable homicide. Why didn’t you do it years ago?” He paused, dropping his voice. “And then there’s Brenda. Battered wife? And her dying, just too convenient. Like I was saying, Elliott, how can we go forward with this memorial service when the killer is still at large?”
“If you’d like to confess, we’d get this all behind us.” Jill’s tone was shrill and hostile.
“The only thing I have to confess to is allowing that bastard to run over me.”
“Sterling, enough,” scolded Verity.
“Enough, my ass. We all remember those bad old days.”
“We don’t need to do this in front of….”
Shevlin cut her off. “Yes, I know. We need to protect the children. And that’s what we’ve done for decades, protect, been cowed. Or perhaps been cowards.”
“Are you done, Sterling?” asked Elliott.
“Actually, I’m just warming to the topic. But maybe we should throw this back to the Sheriff.” He stopped and made a slow, dramatic gesture with his right arm toward Ray. “You’ve been snooping around for days. We’ve all been interrogated several times. I imagine a lot of dirty linen has been aired. I’m sure you’ve heard every titillating rumor that’s circulated around here for the last 50 years. The Mission Point Summer Colony is hardly a Peyton Place. That said, we’re not totally boring. What can you tell us, Sheriff? Do you think I’m the guilty party? Is a murderer sitting next to me?”
Ray sat silently and considered if this might be an opportunity to flush out the killer. Then he stood. Before starting to speak he carefully regarded the crowd. Every face was turned in his direction. One by one, he gazed at each individual. He was tapping his foot, thinking Largo. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, observing the tension in the room.