Requiem Murder Part 32

Before I could tell her about Roger, Judith's strident voice drown my words.

"How could you let her tell those lies? You've ruined my life." Her voice grew louder. "Marcie Simpson,

where are you? I'm not finished."

"I'm talking to Mrs. Miller."

"Get rid of her. She's the one to blame. How am I going to face people? My daughter entices a man, a

gifted musician, a man who loves her mother. Then she cries rape. Jealousy, that's what it is. He wants me."

"Judith, you don't mean a word of this," Martin said.

Judith strode into the hall. She held a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Mother, for once, I wish you'd think of someone other than yourself."

"Roger wasn't the man he presented on the surface," I said. "We should have investigated his background more thoroughly."

Judith laughed. "Please, you're being ridiculous. Roger's too good for St. Stephen's. My daughter invented her story and she's going to confess her lies to the police. He must be protected from scandal."

"I didn't lie." Marcie faced her mother.

Judith stabbed the cigarette at Marcie's face. The girl evaded the thrust and dashed to the stairs.

"You'll pay." Judith glared at me. "I warned you not to spy."

"Roger's dead."

Judith screamed. Martin dropped the gla.s.s he held.

Marcie gasped. "Dead? How? Mrs. Miller, you didn't --"

I shook my head. "He fell from the choir loft this afternoon."

Judith drained her gla.s.s. "It was an accident."

"Of course it was," Martin said.

My next words were for effect. "The police are still investigating. I'm sure they'll talk to you. Judith, did you go to work today?"

"We both did," Martin said. "Judith even worked late. She got in just before Marcie and I returned from

the hospital."

"Dead...He can't be dead. He wanted me. I know he did." Judith strode to the bar and grabbed the bottle. Scotch splashed into her gla.s.s and onto the bar. "Oh lord, that wonderful man is dead."

Marcie vanished upstairs. Though I wanted to follow her, Judith blocked the way to the stairs.

"Why did you come here?" she asked. "Get out."

I stepped onto the porch and turned to Martin. "Tell Marcie to stop by tomorrow."

He followed me. "Thanks for taking care of Marcie this afternoon. She has a therapy session Sat.u.r.day

after her cla.s.ses in the city. Do you think she'll be all right?"

For once I heard concern in his voice for someone other than his wife. "She's strong. What are you going to do about Judith?"

His shoulders straightened. "I don't know." He met my gaze. "If Roger wasn't already dead, I'd make

sure he was. He has some kind of power over Judith that I don't understand. She's not herself."

I heard steel in his voice and I wondered if my thoughts about Roger's death were wrong.

Judith screamed. The sound of gla.s.s breaking made Martin turn away.

"Send Marcie home with me."

"She'll be all right. She's in her room with the door bolted. Judith will have a few more drinks and pa.s.s

out." He sighed. "She loves me, you know."

I left the porch and walked home. Was alcohol his way of keeping Judith chained to his side? Rain beat against the umbrella. The wind sent gusts to wet my coat and my face.

At home I made the proverbial mint tea and sat to wait for Pete's arrival. I was sure he'd arrive on my doorstep with demands and accusations.

*His arrival took longer than I'd expected. The next morning, I'd just returned from my walk when

Robespierre pushed through his entrance. I reached for a can of food. A staccato knock sounded at the

door and diverted my attention. I crossed the room and answered the summons.

"You're meddling again," Pete said.

I emptied the can of food into Robespierre's dish. "Tea's ready and so are cinnamon rolls. Good

morning to you. What took you so long?"

He rolled his eyes. "Explain."

After filling two mugs, I pulled the pan of rolls from the oven. "What makes you think I'm meddling?"

"Excuse me. What else can I infer from the way you flitted around the neighborhood spreading the news

of Roger's death."

"It was hardly a secret. The local radio had already made the announcement."

"You told Beth about her scarf."

I shrugged. "I needed to know when she wore it last and you know very well she had no part in his

death. Her alibi is solid and well-doc.u.mented."

"And the Simpson's?"

"I went to check on Marcie."

"Another little detail you neglected to mention yesterday." He reached for the cinnamon roll.

"She didn't kill him."

"How do you know that?"

"When I arrived for my first attempt to see him, she ran from the church. I'm almost certain I heard the

organ. I brought her here and made arrangements for her to see a counselor. Martin came and took her to meet the woman at the ER."

He leaned his elbows on the table. "Why did you want to see him?"

"I'd discovered some things about his past."

"Such as?"

I told Pete the things I'd learned. "So I was going to force him to resign. But I arrived too late."

Pete drained his cup. "Always knew he was a sicko. So who killed him?"

"I have a theory but no proof."

"Finding proof isn't your job." He finished the cinnamon roll. "The chief wants to list this as an accidental

death. It could have been. Either he was startled by someone or something."

"I vote for something."

"Mrs. M! What else haven't you told me? Has someone

arrived at your door with a confession?" His voice held a note of exasperation.

But I wasn't ready to expound my theory. "Not yet."

"Tell me what you know."