File M For Murder

“Maybe Laura should stay here in the house until this thing is over.” Sean’s hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke. “Or send her somewhere out of harm’s way, like Tierra del Fuego.”

“Can you imagine your sister consenting to do either of those things?” I shook my head. “As much as I agree with you, I know she’d never go along with it.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Sean sighed. “But one of us is going to have to stick with her every minute she’s out of the house.” He laughed, albeit grimly. “I even made her stand right outside the men’s room today, whenever I had to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t happy about that, I can tell you.”

“No, I imagine not. Maybe both of us should stay with her.”

“Either that, or flush out the killer somehow and end this thing as soon as possible.”

THIRTY-TWO

“Not a bad idea,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s going to be necessary.”

“Why not?” Sean frowned. “Have you figured out who the killer is?”

“I believe so.” I told him the gist of Lawton’s play, the Rafe/Maggie story. “There’s motive enough right there, even if Lawton hadn’t been having an affair with Magda Johnston.”

“That I’ll agree with. But the play can only be considered a motive if either or both of the Johnstons were aware of its content.”

“True,” I said. “I’ve thought about that. Frankly I think there’s enough motive for Ralph, in particular, even without foreknowledge of the play.”

“Agreed.” Sean thought for a moment. “Plus, who’s to say Magda Johnston didn’t snoop around on Lawton’s computer at some point.”

“Or Damitra Vane, for that matter. I wonder what she knew—or saw, perhaps—that put her in danger? Maybe she had read the play and said something that alerted the Johnstons.”

“Possible,” Sean said. “But do you know if she ever met either of them? If she didn’t meet them, I can’t see them having a reason for getting rid of her. Why would they consider someone they’d never met a threat?”

“You’re right.” I thought for a moment. Something niggled at the back of my mind. It had to do with Damitra Vane. What was it?

Sean didn’t speak, evidently aware of my effort to concentrate.

A vision of a gold earring flashed in my mind, and I had it. “Damitra Vane visited Lawton before he died. That earring of hers was found under his body.”

“Yes,” Sean said. “And how does that connect her to the Johnstons?”

“It might not,” I had to admit. “But if she realized she’d left it behind and went back to Lawton’s apartment, she could have seen or heard something then that would implicate the Johnstons. Maybe she saw one or both of them coming out of his apartment, and they saw her. She was hard to overlook.”

“Again, possible.” Sean frowned. “There are still too many maybes in this. The dots need to be connected, and I guess Kanesha Berry will have to be the one to do it.”

“No doubt she will.” I shrugged. “She’s read at least part of the play. I called her about it.”

“Let me guess: She was thrilled to have your help.” Sean quirked an eyebrow at me as he spoke.

“As much as ever.” I pushed back from the table and went to the fridge. “Time to figure out dinner. I don’t know about you, but I need a break from thinking about murder, plus I’m hungry.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sean said with a laugh. “What can I do?”

As I expected to, I found a note from Azalea on the door of the fridge. “Not much. There’s a roast in the oven, with potatoes and carrots, and green beans on the stove. All it needs is warming up.”

“Are you ready to have dinner now?” Sean glanced at his watch. “It’s just about five-thirty. A little early.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. I’m hungry, but I can wait. Let’s give Laura another hour, and we’ll eat around six-thirty.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sean stood and stretched. “In the meantime I think I’ll catch up on e-mail. I’ll be on the back porch if you need me.”

I nodded, and he disappeared—probably headed up to his room to fetch his laptop and a cigar from the large humidor he kept there.

My noble intentions about dinner aside, I was still hungry. I checked the cheese drawer in the fridge and found one of those small, individually wrapped cheeses that I loved. One of those would satisfy me until it was time for dinner.

I unwrapped it, removed the wax covering, and disposed of the waste. Nibbling at my cheese I wandered back to the den, intent on examining more of Lawton’s files. I was pretty convinced now, perhaps against reason, that one or both of the Johnstons were guilty of double murder. There could be more evidence—although I wasn’t really clear on what it might be—in Lawton’s other files. I might as well have a go at them.