Detour to Murder
By Suzanne Stauffer
“Have a seat, Miss Bates,” Detective Webb said as he opened the door to the hotel manager’s office. “Sorry to keep you up so late, but the sooner we can take your statement the better. The other members of your group are being questioned in the dining room, but I wanted to talk to you myself since you are the one who found the body.” He hung his hat on the coat tree in the corner and sat in the chair behind the desk.
The young woman with dark bobbed hair sat on the edge of the chair facing the desk. “I understand, Detective. Anything I can do to help. And please, call me Prudence.”
“You told me that you recognized the victim?”
“Yes, from the Detour.”
Webb looked at her quizzically. “The Detour?”
Prudence indicated her long-sleeved blue velvet tunic and heavy silver and turquoise necklace and belt. “Yes, I’m a Courier — a guide — for the Fred Harvey Indian Detours.” She smiled wryly. “I didn’t have time to change out of my uniform after dinner.”
Webb nodded in understanding. “I’ve heard of those. So, tell me, how did you happen to find the body?”
Prudence sat back in her chair. “I had gone to a movie at the KiMo theater after dinner with two of the women from the group. We arrived back here at the Alvarado about eleven-thirty. As we were walking through the courtyard, I saw what looked like a pile of clothes near the fountain, but then I saw the platinum blond hair in the light from the hotel windows, so I investigated.” She didn’t tell him that the year before she had literally fallen over the dead body of a woman in the alley behind the KiMo. “I knelt next to the body and felt for a pulse, but, of course, there wasn’t one. I also saw the blood on the back of the head.” She shivered as if in remembrance of the dark stain on the platinum hair. “I sent my companions to tell the manager to call the police and waited with the body until you arrived.”
“It’s too soon to say for certain, but it looks like the body hadn’t been there for long. Did you see anyone else in the courtyard?”
“No. There were people behind us, but no one in the courtyard or even entering the hotel. I noticed that the body was still warm and that the blood,” she shivered again, “the blood was still wet. Or at least it still looked wet.” Prudence looked smug at this display of detective acumen.
“Tell me more about this Detour. I gather it’s a Fred Harvey Company motor tour.”
“Yes. This particular group consisted of ten Detourists, three of them married couples, plus myself, and the driver. We were on the three-day Detour from Las Vegas through Santa Fe to Albuquerque. We left Las Vegas three days ago and spent the past two nights at the La Fonda in Santa Fe. We arrived in Albuquerque today. This is our final night.”
“So you’ve just spent three days in their company?” Prudence nodded. “I’d like your impressions, anything that might be helpful.”
“With pleasure. Mr. and Mrs. Walter High are a newlywed couple from Columbus on their honeymoon. Her name is Patricia, although we all call her Pat. I gather that they were given the Detour as a wedding gift. They only have eyes for each other and …” Prudence paused and blushed slightly. “I have had to ask them to … moderate their behavior on occasion.”
Webb grinned at her and nodded.
“Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Barry are an elderly couple from someplace in Nebraska, I think. Their children paid for the Detour for them as a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift. Her name is Elizabeth, but she prefers Mrs. Barry.”
“I guess after fifty years …” Webb joked.
“Yes, I guess so.” Prudence smiled. “They seem to be a very loving couple, as well. The third couple is Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Wright. He recently retired.” She paused, considering. “I wouldn’t ordinarily say this, but as it is a murder investigation. . . Mr. Wright is something of a, well, a lecher. I have had to reprimand him more than once for taking liberties.”
“With?”
“With me. With the Harvey Girls. With the other two single women on the Detour. Even Mrs. High on one occasion.”
“And his wife doesn’t object?”
“No,” Prudence shook her head. “His wife, Edith, is, well, a mousy woman who seems to be completely under his thumb. He even orders her meals for her.” She sighed, then continued briskly, “The other four are Dan Carlson and Rudy St. Claire, two college friends celebrating their graduation this past May and …”
“Friends?” Webb interrupted with a raised eyebrow.
“I suspect something more, although it’s none of my business and I certainly haven’t enquired.”
Webb nodded. “And the final two are the women you went to the movies with?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mildred Brown, a widow, and Miss Ethel Meredith. They are teachers at the same school who share a home and take a vacation together every summer.”
Webb raised an eyebrow again and looked at her quizzically. Prudence shook her head. “Again, it’s none of my business, but I would say not. I think it’s more a matter of finances. But I can’t see that it is relevant, surely?”
“No, you’re right,” Webb looked slightly ashamed. “Well, we can count them out as suspects, as they were at the theater with you.” He pushed the chair back and started to rise.
“There is one more person associated with these particular Detour,” Prudence said. Webb settled back in the chair “Her name is Gladys. She’s in her mid-twenties, I would say. Platinum blond. Flapper. She was, well, hanging around outside the La Fonda that first night after dinner.”
“Ah.” Webb nodded in understanding.
“Do you know her?”
“Oh, I know lots of Gladyses. Go on.”
“Well, the Detourists go to a lecture at the Art Museum after dinner as part of the tour. She was there when we left the hotel and I noticed that she was still there when we returned. And so did…”
“Mr. Wright,” Webb finished for her. Prudence nodded.
“Yes, and Mr. Barry, although Mrs. Barry scolded him.” She laughed. “So, we all returned to our rooms at the hotel, except …”
“Except Wright.”
“Except Mr. Wright.”
Webb shook his head. “Hard to believe his wife didn’t object like Mrs. Barry did. My wife certainly would!”
“She didn’t say anything in my presence,” Prudence replied. “Gladys was there the second night as well and she and Mr. Wright went off together again. And,” she leaned forward, “I’m sure that I saw her in the lounge of the Alvarado when we arrived back from touring Isleta Pueblo this evening. I think she followed us here. That’s why I thought of her immediately when I first saw the body.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
A police officer entered with several sheets of paper in his hand. “Here’s the notes of the interviews with the staff,” he said, handing the papers to Webb.
“Thanks.”
The officer nodded and left the office, closing the door behind him.
Webb perused the sheets one by one. “Nothing much here, except …” he stopped and re-read one page, then set it aside. “I won’t keep you any longer, Miss Bates. Thank you for your help.”
Prudence looked disappointed but stood and walked to the door. “My pleasure, Detective. Let me know if I can help in any other way.” She opened the door.
Webb nodded absentmindedly. “I will. Good night now.” Prudence left, closing the door behind her. Webb continued to read through the statements until there was another knock at the door. A man entered with another stack of papers.
“Got these interviews with the suspects,” he said, handing another pile of papers to Webb.
“Have a seat, Hank.”
Hank closed the door, then sat in the chair Prudence had vacated.
Webb read the first sheet that Hank had handed him. “So, the Highs went to their room immediately after dinner and stayed there.”
Hank sat back and crossed one foot over a knee. “Yeah, well … honeymooners, ya’ know.” He smirked.
“None of the staff reported seeing them, so I think we can accept their statement as fact, unless we hear something else. Now, this IS interesting,” Webb continued as he read through the second sheet. “Says here the Barrys did a little shopping in the Indian Building, then went to their room.” He picked up the piece of paper he had set aside earlier, “But, according to this, one of the porters saw him leaving the building through a side entrance.” He put the two pieces of paper down. “Miss Bates told me that Barry made eyes at Gladys. Looks like we need to have a little chat with Mr. Barry.”
Hank pushed himself up using the arms of the chair. “I’ll get him, boss,” he said and left at Webb’s nod.
Webb continued to read the interviews and set a second sheet aside. When he had finished, he leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. He stared off into space, pondering, until there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Hank opened the door and ushered in a thin, grey-haired elderly man wrapped in a dark dressing gown tied with a cord around the waist. Webb pointed to the chair.
“Have a seat, Mr. Barry. I’m Detective Webb. I’m in charge of the investigation of the murder earlier tonight.”
Barry sat on the edge of the chair, looking confused and afraid. “How can I help you, Detective?”
Webb picked up a sheet of paper, “Well, in your statement you say that you and your wife went to the Indian Building and then to your room and stayed there.”
Barry nodded.
Webb set down the paper he was holding and picked up another one. “But, here, one of the night porters says that he saw you leave the building by a side entrance at eleven o’clock and return forty-five minutes later.” He set the sheet down and looked at Barry. “Where’d you go, Mr. Barry? And why did you use the side entrance?”
Barry looked panic-stricken. “It’s not—it’s nothing to do with the murder! I didn’t even know the young woman, not really, not to talk to.”
Webb nodded skeptically.
Barry leaned forward, confidentially. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell my wife. Please!”
“I can’t promise anything at this point, Mr. Barry.” Webb waited quietly, toying with a pencil on the desk.
Barry took a deep breath, then said in a rush. “I waited until my wife was asleep and I nipped out to the speakeasy at the KiMo theater. Just for a quick snort, you know? Mrs. Barry, she doesn’t approve. I didn’t want the desk clerk to see me, you understand, in case he said something to Mrs. Barry.”
Webb and Hank grinned at each other. “I suppose someone there can vouch for you?”
“I would imagine. To be honest, I was probably the oldest person there. I’m sure they’ll remember me.” He blushed. “One young woman greeted me with, ‘Hello, Gramps.’”
Webb nodded toward Hank, who nodded back and left. “Well, we’ll check with the bartender, and if he verifies your story, we won’t need to take it any further.”
“No? Even though I broke the law?”
“Even though you broke the law. I investigate murder, not bootlegging. Now, good night, Mr. Barry.”
“Thank you, sir,” Barry said as he left, closing the door behind him.
Hank returned. “Olsen’s checking with the speak.” He shook his head. “Guy sounds a little henpecked to me.”
Webb nodded. “After fifty years, he’s bound to be used to it. Bring Mr. Wright in, will you? According to Miss Bates, he did more than just ogle Gladys, and he’s another one who ‘left his room.’” Webb sat contemplating the case until Hank returned, this time with a middle-aged man in a nondescript suit who gave new meaning to the term “average.” He was average height, average weight, averagely good-looking, with average light brown hair.
“Now, see here,” he began, before Webb could say anything. “What right do you have to drag us out of bed and corral us in that dining room …”
“Out of bed, Mr. Wright?” Webb asked, looking him up and down. “Do you usually sleep fully clothed? This is a murder investigation, which gives me the right to question suspects. Now, I suggest that you have a seat and tell me where you were this past evening before eleven thirty.”
Wright jerked his arm out of Hank’s hold and plopped in the chair. Hank raised his eyebrows and retired to the corner near the door.
“I told that other officer. I was in my room all night.”
“Indeed?” Webb picked up a sheet of paper. “The desk clerk says that he saw you leave through the main doors to the lobby just before eleven. He also says that he did not see you return.” Webb picked up a second sheet of paper. “However, the night porter says that he saw you return through the side entrance at just before midnight.” Webb leaned back. “Care to explain?”
“They are lying, of course.” Wright dismissed their testimony with a wave of his hand. “I never left my room.”
“Both of them? For what reason? Are you also suggesting that they colluded on the times?”
Wright snorted. “How would I know?”
“We have the murder weapon, you know,” Webb said. “It’s being fingerprinted now. What would we find if we compared your prints with the ones on the weapon?”
“How would I know?” Wright repeated, with a shrug. “All I know is, you wouldn’t find mine.” He held his hands out, palms up, fingers spread. “Go ahead. Take my prints.”
Webb and Hank looked at each other. Webb leaned forward, arms on the desk. “Can anyone vouch for you being in your room before eleven-thirty?”
Wright rolled his eyes. “My wife, of course. She was there the whole time.”
“She can testify that you never left the room between eleven, when the desk clerk says you left, and eleven-thirty, when the body was discovered?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll just see about that. Hank, bring in Mrs. Wright.” He looked at Wright, “You can go.” Hank opened the door and waited.
“Hey, wait,” Wright turned anxiously in his chair. “When I said she was there, I mean, she was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. But I was there when she went in at eleven and there when she came out at eleven-thirty.”
“So she can’t actually testify that you were in the room that entire half hour.” Webb did not make it a question.
Wright opened his mouth, then closed it again. He twisted in the chair. Webb sat silently, once again toying with a pencil. He looked at Wright from under his eyebrows. Wright looked over his shoulder at Hank, who was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
“All right. Look. I don’t want this to go any further, you understand?”
Webb shrugged without saying anything.
“Okay, it was like this.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low, confidential tone. “The wife was in the bathroom, like I said. And I was looking out the window—our windows overlook the courtyard—and I saw—I thought I saw someone I know. So, I thought I’d go down and surprise her, you got it?”
Webb nodded.
“So, I scooted down to the lobby and out the doors and I came up behind her, put my arms around her, and whispered in her ear,” he paused. “It doesn’t matter what I whispered. Next thing I know, she’s turned around, and it’s not a she, it’s a he! It’s that Rudy from the tour, all decked out like a dame! And he grabs my face in his hands and plants a big one right on my kisser!” Wright rubbed the back of his hand across his lips at the memory. Hank snorted in laughter behind him.
“And then what happened?” Webb asked calmly.
“Then, he says ‘How’d you like another, big daddy?’ and I, well, I hauled off and socked him in the jaw, that’s what happened!”
“With your right hand?”
“Yeah, with my right hand!” Wright shook his hand at the memory.
“And then?”
“And then? I hightailed it to the speak at the KiMo. I needed something to take away the taste of that freak!”
“He was alive when you left him?”
“Of course he was alive when I left him, laughin’ fit to bust. Whaddaya’ mean? Why wouldn’t he …” Understanding dawned on Wright’s face. “Hey, you don’t mean that he was…?”
Webb nodded. “I’d appreciate if you’d keep that to yourself for now, Mr. Wright.”
“I thought they said it was a dame. I kinda figured it was Gladys.” His eyes opened wide. “Aw, I get it now! Just looked like Gladys but wasn’t Gladys. Yeah, sure, I’ll keep it to myself. Just like you’ll keep what I told you quiet.”
“You can go now, Mr. Wright.”
Wright stood to leave. “Hey, who do ya’ figure they meant to kill? Rudy or Gladys?”
“Good night, Mr. Wright,” Webb said.
After Wright had gone, Webb asked Hank, “Did you see the pinkie ring he was wearing on his right hand?”
Hank nodded. “Yeah, that explains the bruise and cut on the victim’s jaw.”
“Have someone check with the speak about what time Wright showed up and what time he left, not that it will prove much. We only have his word for it that the victim was still alive when he left. Still, we now know that the victim was last seen alive just after eleven.”
Webb leaned back and looked thoughtful. “I think I need to talk to this Dan Carlson, the dead man’s ‘friend’ before I go any further. Could be he was also looking out the window, saw what happened and got jealous. No one reported seeing him in the lobby, but we can’t rule it out.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Hank pushed himself off the wall. “Although, I never heard of one ‘uh them getting physical, ya’ know. Just cryin’ like a girl.”
Webb jerked his head toward the door and Hank went out, returning shortly with a young man dressed in navy blue silk pajamas with white piping, a dressing gown to match, and kidskin slippers. He took the seat Webb indicated.
“Just a few questions, Mr. Carlson, to clarify some things you told the officer earlier.”
Dan nodded.
“You told the officer that you went to your room after dinner and stayed there reading.”
Dan nodded again.
“But that isn’t true, is it?” Webb sat back. “I think you and Rudy went out on the town. Two young college men like you, on your own, away from home. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you spent the night reading?”
“It’s true,” Dan said, weakly. “You can’t prove it isn’t.”
“Oh, I think we can. There are only so many places you can go in Albuquerque and you two are strangers. We just need to start asking and we’ll find someone who saw you, or you can save us the time by telling me the truth.”
Dan looked down and swallowed, then looked back up. “Yes, you’re right. We got dressed up and we went out dancing at a club we heard about.” Webb and Hank looked at each other at the phrase ‘dressed up.’
“How long were you there?”
“We left here about nine and I came back around ten-thirty. The desk clerk can verify that!” He said excitedly. “He can tell you what time I left the keys and what time I picked mine back up!”
Webb nodded, as he picked up one of the pieces of paper on his desk and laid it back down again. He signaled to Dan to continue.
“Well, I got a headache from all of the smoke, so I decided to come back to the hotel. Rudy stayed behind. He’s the one who enjoys the clubs. He’s still there. He’ll probably stay until they throw him out.” He smiled slightly. “Believe it or not, Detective, I actually would have preferred to stay in my room reading, which is what I did once I got back.”
“Do the windows of your room overlook the courtyard?”
Dan looked puzzled. “I think so. I can’t say I’ve noticed. We only arrived this afternoon.”
“And did you happen to look out of those windows around, say, eleven o’clock?”
“No.” Dan shook his head. “Why would I do that?”
“So, you didn’t look out and see a platinum blond in a black sheath dress and black boa kissing Mr. Wright?”
Dan wrinkled his face and shook his head. “No, I told you that I didn’t look out the window.”
Webb leaned forward and spoke forcefully. “And did you maybe get jealous? And maybe go downstairs to have it out with him?”
“Why would I care if Mr. Wright kissed …” He turned pale. “They said that a woman was murdered … I thought from the description that it was Gladys.” He started breathing more rapidly.
Webb sat back and shook his head. “No, the victim was a man. A man in a platinum blond wig and a black … Catch him, Hank!”
As Webb was speaking, Dan’s eyes had rolled up into his head and he started to slide out of the chair. Hank grabbed him from behind under the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, then bent him forward so that his head was between his knees. Webb hurried around the desk.
“Don’t know about you, boss, but I’d say that it was news to him,” Hank remarked as they watched Dan for signs of recovery. “Want me to see if they got smellin’ salts at the desk?”
“No, he seems to be coming around now,” Webb said as Dan moaned. He leaned down. “Do you want a doctor?”
“No.” Dan held his head in his hands. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” he moaned.
Hank looked at Webb in surprise. Webb shook his head.
“What do you mean, it’s your fault?”
“As I told you, cigarette smoke gives me a headache, so I always made Rudy go outside to smoke.” He choked down a sob. “It’s my fault that he was there in the courtyard. If I’d just let him smoke in our room, he would still be alive.” Hank rolled his eyes.
“If someone hadn’t hit him in the back of the head with an ashtray, he’d still be alive,” Webb said. “It’s no one’s fault except the murderer.”
“I would like to go to my room,” Dan said.
“Sure, sure.”
Webb pulled Hank aside. “Don’t let him talk to anyone. We don’t want the others to know the victim’s identity. Send one of the men up with him and tell him to stay outside the door. We know that Carlson was in the hotel at the time of the murder, so we can’t cross him off the suspect list yet.”
Hank nodded, held the door open, and followed Dan out. He returned a few moments later.
“Jeeze, you’d think we were in Santa Fe,” Hank started, but Webb shook his head.
“As Miss Bates would say, it’s none of our business. Our business is to catch a murderer.”
“Sure, boss, whatever you say.”
Webb stood, his lips pursed. “We still don’t know who the intended victim was. Could have been Rudy. Could have been Gladys.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “And we don’t know that the murderer was a member of the Detour, either. Still, we need to eliminate them as possibilities, and if it isn’t one of them…it could be anyone in the hotel or off the street. I don’t know where to go from here. No one except Wright and Barry was seen leaving at the right time and no one seems to have a motive except maybe Wright, but he didn’t seem worried about prints.”
Before he could say anything further, they heard a woman screaming. Hank pulled the door open and they both rushed out into the lobby and headed for the dining room, where the screams originated. They arrived to see Mrs. Wright standing with her back against a wall, shaking her head violently and shouting.
“No! No! You can’t be here! You’re dead! I killed you!” She screamed, then she began to sob. “Take her away! Take her away!” She said, waving her arms wildly. “She’s dead! Take her away!”
Prudence was standing a few feet away, accompanied by a heavily made-up platinum-haired woman wearing a black sheath dress and black feather boa. The woman looked around in confusion and shrugged. All of the Detourists except Wright were looking at each other and muttering in confusion.
“I thought she …”
“They said it was Gladys …”
“No, they said it was a platinum …”
“Who was killed?”
“Why is she screaming?”
“That’s enough,” Webb said, holding up a hand for silence. “Do as she says, Miss Bates. Take Gladys out of here. Hank, would you take Mrs. Wright to my office? I’ll be right there.”
“Right this way, Mrs. Wright,” Hank said softly, steering her by the elbow. She came willingly, leaning on his arm for support.
Webb looked after them, then turned back to the Detourists. “There’s no more reason for secrecy. The victim was Rudy St. Claire.” There were gasps among the Detourists.
“But, they said it was a platinum blond …”
“In a black dress?”
“Yeah,” Wright said loudly. “Yeah, he was one of those.”
Mrs. Barry looked at her husband. “One of those what?”
He patted her on the hand and shook his head. “Later, dear.”
“A pervert,” Wright declared with pleasure. “A man who dresses up in women’s clothing.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Barry said. “Do you think someone should tell Dan?”
Webb looked at Wright in disgust but said nothing before returning to his office.
Mrs. Wright sat in the chair, staring at the ground. If her husband were the epitome of “average,” she exemplified “dowdy.” She was wearing a drab, threadbare dressing gown, scuffed mules, and a hairnet over her greying hair.
“Mrs. Wright?” Webb bent his head to peer at her face.
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
She shook her head.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about where you were around a quarter after eleven tonight.”
“In my room,” she whispered.
“Yes, that’s what you told the officer, but it isn’t true, is it?” He spoke kindly, but firmly.
“Of course it’s true,” she mumbled, looking at the floor.
Webb leaned back in his chair. “Can anyone vouch for that? Your husband, maybe?”
“Yes. He was with me.”
“No, Mrs. Wright,” Webb leaned forward. “Your husband has already told us that he was not in your room between eleven and eleven-thirty.”
“I was in the bathroom. He was in the room when I went in and in the room when I came out.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t there in the time in between, was he?"
She didn’t respond.
“Shall I tell you what happened?” Webb asked. “I think what happened is you came out of the bathroom to find your husband gone. So, you decided to look out of the window, to see if you could see him.”
She nodded. “It’s like you were there.” She seemed relieved to follow Webb’s lead.
“And you saw your husband putting his arms around a blond woman in a black dress.”
“Yes.”
“And then kissing her. And it made you angry.”
“Why did she have to follow us here?” Mrs. Wright looked at Webb for the first time. “Why couldn’t she just stay where she belongs? I know that men have their needs and I accept that … but I couldn’t have her following us home. Not to my home.”
“So you went downstairs, and in the lobby, you picked up a brass ash tray.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t pick up the ash tray in the lobby. I was going to tell her to stop following us and threaten her with the police if she didn’t. But, the ash tray was there, on the edge of the fountain. It was shining in the moonlight, almost like it wanted me to see it. And then I saw her there … smoking … and laughing … and I knew that she was stronger than me so … I just picked it up and hit her with it as hard as I could.”
“And then you dropped it and you ran back to your room.”
“Yes. Mr. Wright wasn’t in the room when I got back, so I went back into the bathroom and washed my hands and waited until I heard him come in. He never knew I had left.” She looked at Webb slyly. “No one saw me in the courtyard, did they? Not even those girls.”
Webb realized that she was referring to Prudence and the two school teachers. “No, no one saw you in the courtyard, not even those girls.”
“And no one saw me in the lobby, either?”
“No, no one saw you in the lobby.”
“No, no one ever sees me.” She paused. “I don’t understand. How is she still alive? She fell so hard and then I saw the blood. So much blood. I know I killed her.”
“No, Mrs. Wright. You killed someone else. That wasn’t Gladys you saw with your husband. If you’d kept looking, you’d have seen your husband punch that person in the jaw and leave.”
“Oh!” She looked pleased. “He punched her in the jaw?” She smiled to herself.
“Not her, Mrs. Wright. Him. Rudy St. Clair.”
“Rudy? Oh, no, that wasn’t Rudy! I killed a woman. I killed Gladys.”
Webb looked at Hank. “Now, the officer here is going to take you down to the police station so that we can get your statement.”
Hank walked over and gently took her by the arm. “You just come with me, Mrs. Wright.”
She smiled up at Hank. “You’re nice. I like you. Nice and polite.” Then she looked concerned. “Oh, but, Mr. Wright … he’ll wonder where I am.”
“I’ll let him know,” Webb said. “And Hank, if you see Miss Bates, send her in.”
***
Prudence knocked then opened the door and poked her head around. “Hank said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, come in.” Webb nodded at the chair in front of the desk.
She closed the door behind her and sat in the chair. “I feel like I’m in the hot seat,” she laughed nervously.
“Do you want to explain what that was all about?” He asked sternly.
“Well,” she sighed. “I started thinking that we didn’t know whether the intended victim was Rudy or Gladys.” Webb raised his eyebrows at her use of “we,” but said nothing. “And it occurred to me that, if the murderer thought that Gladys had been killed, then being confronted with her in the flesh might have an effect.” She smiled beguilingly. “And I was right.”
“Only because Mrs. Wright is the susceptible type. I expect she’ll get off on a plea of insanity—I don’t know how temporary,” Webb said. He shifted in his seat. “In any case, you might have been wrong.”
“But I wasn’t. It also occurred to me that if Rudy had been the intended victim, then everyone except the murderer would be shocked to see Gladys alive and well,” Prudence said, smugly. “I did notice that Mr. Wright did not seem surprised.” She looked expectantly at Webb.
“Hmm,” he said noncommittally.
Prudence shrugged. “The worst that could have happened would have been for everyone or no one to react. And that didn’t happen,” she finished happily. “So, everything worked out for the best.”
Webb sighed and stood up behind the desk. “I know when I’m beaten,” he said and held out his right hand. Prudence stood and took it. “Well, thank you for your assistance, Miss Bates. We can put this case to bed now.”
“Just where I was heading myself, Detective,” Prudence laughed.
After 20 years as a librarian and another 20 as a professor of library science and library historian, Suzanne Stauffer is moving on to her third career as a novelist. She currently lives in Albuquerque with her Australian husband and brown and white spotted rat terrier dogter, Treme. https://couriersseries1926.blogspot.com/
