Murder by the Book (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 15) Page 10

  “Let’s try his apartment,” Agatha suggested before we climbed into the waiting car.

  As we pulled away down the drive, I looked back to the front doors of the mansion. Randolph Rankles was standing before those doors with his fists planted firmly on his hips, watching us. I wondered then what it would take to bring such a man down. I wondered if I had what it was going to take to do it.

  “I don’t mean to be insulting, but Lawrence is the better man—hands down.”

  “I know,” Agatha said.

  Chapter 16

  We arrived at Eddie’s apartment complex soon after we left the Rankles compound. I saw no classic Corvette parked on the street, but then such a beautiful car would probably be parked in the underground parking structure. The complex was extremely elegant, catering to the professionals who work downtown. Presumably these professionals would be moving into the new Rankles and Edwards project as soon as units became available. I envied them their excessive lifestyles and then I remembered we were here for a reason.

  I pulled to the curb and we got out of the car. Using the key, I popped the trunk. It was crammed full of Alex’s things. I pulled a couple of light tennis bags from under a golf bag full of clubs.

  “You think you can carry these?” I asked Agatha.

  “Of course, dear. But what for?”

  “I’d like you to carry them like they’re really heavy. Use them to get someone to let you into the apartment complex. Then come back to let me in.”

  “Oh my,” Agatha breathed, but she was game.

  Agatha may have appeared surprised by my proposal, but she took to her role like a fish to water. I watched from afar as she approached the door carrying her heavy bags. It didn’t take long before a young couple came out of the complex and offered to hold the door for her.

  “I’m going to see my grandson,” she explained to the couple as she slowly eased herself through the portal.

  When she returned to let me in, I took the bags from her and left them by the door. Eddie’s apartment was just down the hall. My first knock on the door produced no response. My second caused a note that had been wedged between the door and its frame to flutter to the floor. I picked it up and read.

  Eddie,

  If you’ve got the goods, meet us at the old theater downtown.

  Rasputin

  Rasputin was most likely the person Eddie had been in such a rush to meet. And they were set to meet at the old theater downtown. This Rasputin must have really wanted to meet Eddie badly to have left a note on his door and to have called him. I slipped the note into my purse and led Agatha back to my car. All my senses were tingling, which had always indicated to me that there was something wrong.

  I looked to Agatha when we made it to the car.

  “Yes, dear,” she responded to my silent plea. “We can go to the old theater in search of Eddie. I am beginning to feel rather worried.”

  We shared a troubled smile before I started the car. The old Fox Theater was at the other end of town near the construction site. Traffic was light to begin with and became even lighter as we neared our destination. The only car parked in the street anywhere near the old theater was a classic red and white ’67 Chevy Corvette. I assumed that we had found our boy. Based on the neighborhood, I also assumed that I was right about the kid being in trouble. I was going to suggest to Agatha that she wait in the car, but I knew she’d refuse to stay behind even if I tried to reason with her.

  The theater itself was shut down. I’d been to the last performance at the place, a rather weak production of Our Town. I didn’t know what to expect now that the curtain had come down in its final call. Even worse, I didn’t know how to get in. Figuring that Eddie was easily able to enter, Agatha and I started trying all the doors. The front ones were all locked. That meant having to go down the side alley and check the back. I didn’t relish entering dark side streets in this part of town, but I had my pepper spray and Agatha by my side, so I rounded the corner and entered the trash-strewn alleyway. The side door to the theater stood open not thirty feet away.

  “I don’t like this, Chloe,” Agatha said as we crept down the alley toward the door.

  “I don’t like it either, but it has to be done.”

  Expecting to find it dark inside the theater, I was surprised to discover that all the lights were on. Still the place was creepy with all the seats empty. Agatha and I slipped inside and headed for the stage.

  “Eddie, are you in here somewhere?” I called.

  Initially there was no response to my call, but then we heard something crash nearby, as if someone had knocked something over. Agatha and I jumped at the sudden noise. Then we held hands as we moved closer to the source of the sound. I stopped when I heard the sound of footsteps running away behind the massive curtain. I dug my pepper spray out of my purse and held it at the ready in my free hand. We worked our way to the edge of the stage and stepped around the curtain.

  The lights were also on backstage. They weren’t as bright as the house lights, which left shadows for people to hide in. We walked slowly forward toward a repetitive squeaking sound. A shadow moved back and forth across the floor. Looking up, I saw Eddie Springer high above the stage, kicking and choking, suspended by a rope tied round his neck. Rather than panic, I looked to the rope coming from his neck. I continued to eye the rope as it almost disappeared into the shadows above before descending to a far wall where it was tied to a cleat. I ran to the cleat to release the rope. By the time I had the rope in my hands Eddie had stopped kicking. Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared for Eddie’s weight. When I released the rope he fell to the stage like a sack of potatoes.

  “Agatha, call 911,” I instructed, removing my cellphone from my purse and handing it over.

  Meanwhile, I went to work trying to keep Eddie alive. I began with the ABCs—airway, breathing, cardiovascular. Leaning over the body, I quickly determined Eddie wasn’t breathing. Though I was concerned that he might have broken his neck in the fall, I positioned his head to open an airway. I then began breathing for him. After five stiff breaths, I checked for a pulse at his neck and wrist. Not finding one, I began chest compressions. I fell into a rhythm of breathing and heart compressions, barely aware of the phone conversation going on beside me.

  As I worked to keep Eddie alive, my mind naturally began to interpolate the new data. Eddie is called by a stranger named Rasputin to meet in a closed theater downtown. Eddie shows up but is hung by his neck. What was the meeting about? Why here? And why was this situation sending up red flags?

  My mind naturally began to review the books by C. J. Masterson. It didn’t take long to uncover a scene in which a snitch is hung to death from a rope in a local theater. Murder Backstage was the name of the book. And the murderer? He went by the name Rasputin.

  I was exhausted by the time the paramedics arrived to relieve me. As they attended to Eddie using a breathing bag and a portable crash cart, I sat back on the stage panting and sweating. Agatha came to comfort me. The paramedics eventually got Eddie’s heart started and had him breathing under his own power. By the time we left the theater following Eddie’s gurney it appeared the young man was going to live.

  It made me shiver when Agatha and I approached our car and I noticed that Eddie’s Corvette was gone.

  Chapter 17

  “So, you’re saying this latest murder attempt, the one on Eddie Springer, is based on another C. J. Masterson book?” the Chief asked.

  “Backstage Pass to Murder,” Agatha clarified for both of us, getting the title right.

  “And the name used on the note to Eddie, this Rasputin, was the same name used by the murderer in the book?” asked Agent Stillwell.

  “That’s right,” I confirmed.

  “Well, then it would appear our serial killer has struck again. This time to silence a mole buried within the Rankles and Edwards organization. There’s that Rankles connection again.”

  “Yes, a snitch, hung to death on stage for all to wit
ness,” Agatha told him, obviously reciting from her novel.

  “Charming,” said the Chief. “Just how many of these books did you write before you quit?”

  “Seventy-three.”

  The Chief whistled at this impressive number.

  “So, what’s the status of the Springer kid?” Stillwell asked.

  “He’s in the intensive care unit in a coma. If he had any information for us, it’s locked away in his head.”

  “By the way, Chief, did you get any results tracking down the fake minister from the wedding?” the agent asked.

  “That proved to be a dead end. We found someone who saw the man get into a taxi. We pulled the records for the firm and found that the fare was dropped off downtown at the theater. We suspect his car was parked there. We found no witnesses to interview in the area.”

  Agatha and I sat facing the Chiefs’ desk while the Chief and Agent Stillwell brainstormed. Earlier, while we drove to the station, I’d had Agatha call Lawrence on my cell to tell him she’d be late. I wasn’t sure what the Chief had in store for us but was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to let Agatha leave on her honeymoon any time soon.

  “Ms. Boston, you said you picked up on another potentiality,” Stillwell added. “What was that?”

  “The masquerade ball that Rankles is having,” I said.

  “Yes?” the Chief and agent asked in unison.

  “Murder at the Masquerade Ball?” Agatha offered without any prompting.

  “Not another book?” the Chief moaned.

  I noticed Agatha slip her shoes off as if her feet were beginning to hurt. I felt sorry for the poor soul, stuck here at the police station when she should be on her honeymoon. The arrival of Lawrence cheered the two of us up immensely. Lawrence immediately went to his bride to see if she was alright.

  She was getting much better at this name the plot game, I thought to myself.

  “Another murder mystery novel plot?” the Chief asked.

  “You’ve got it,” I replied.

  “Then I suppose the last thing we’d like is for Mrs. Jackman to attend,” the Chief clarified.

  “Unless.…” Agent Stillwell interjected.

  Everyone looked to Stillwell to see what he had in mind.

  “If we know the plot to the book then we know when and how the murder will take place.”

  “You can’t seriously be considering sending Agatha to this party as a lure,” I complained.

  Stillwell didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest in defiance of any shock his statement might have provoked. He glared back at anyone daring enough to look him in the eyes. I didn’t see how our remaining in the Chief’s office was doing any good.

  “What do you want us to do next, Chief?”

  “I suppose it would be too much to have you write a summary of all C. J. Masterson’s book plots. But maybe you could write a summary of the plot to this masquerade book.”

  “Come on, Agatha. We’ll use the computer at Bryce’s desk.”

  Agatha and I rose and left the office. Fortunately, Bryce wasn’t at his desk so we gathered two chairs round his keyboard and began to work. In under and hour we’d produced a detailed summary of the plot to Murder at the Masquerade Ball, which culminated with a midnight kidnapping during a magic show. I dropped it off with the Chief and drove Agatha home to begin her honeymoon.

  Chapter 18

  Agatha and Lawrence had been gone three days on their honeymoon to Seattle. During that time we’d made hardly any progress on the case. We’d ruled out a lot of possibilities, but hadn’t ruled in many of them. Eddie Springer remained in a coma at the hospital, so we didn’t know what he knew. With little new information to go on, I could tell that both Stillwell and the Chief were getting frustrated. I went about my rounds with Blue as usual; only during these rounds I spent much of my time thinking about the case and trying to draw new correlations in my mind. Instead, I drew nothing but new questions.

  Here’s the way I had things figured so far.

  Randolph Rankles was running a corrupt organization. He’d gotten into trouble which put his latest project in Hope Falls in danger of being canceled. In response, he’d had several people murdered to get them out of his hair. And he hadn’t had them murdered in any ordinary way. No. He’d had them murdered according to the plots of C. J. Masterson books. The connection to Agatha would seem to draw Rankles into the equation again as the brains behind the murders.

  But who actually committed the murders? I didn’t see Rankles performing his own dirty work. I suppose it could be any of his thugs, but something told me that wouldn’t be good enough for Rankles. And why had Agatha been involved and what was the connection? These issues gnawed at my nerves, wanting to be answered.

  It wasn’t until after dinner that I realized two facts regarding the approaching time. First, it was after the time Agatha and Lawrence had planned to return home. Second, I recalled that this was the night of the Rankles and Edwards Masked Ball. I decided to call Agatha to see how the honeymoon had gone and to find out how she planned on spending the night. I tried her home since both she and Lawrence preferred living at her place.

  “Hello,” I heard Lawrence answer the phone.

  “Hi, Lawrence. How was the honeymoon?”

  “Wonderful. We took the ferry to Victoria and had drinks at the Space Needle.”

  “That sounds great. Is Agatha there?”

  “Funny you should ask, because she isn’t.”

  “Where is she?”

  “The thing is, she got this call from that FBI agent earlier today. As a result of their conversation, we came home several hours early. I dropped her off at the police station. She told me not to worry, that she’d be back later tonight. Now, it’s starting to get dark and I’m getting worried.”

  The police station? Agent Stillwell? The night of the masquerade ball? One of my intuitive mental blasts told me that there was plenty to worry about. Alex saw the concern on my face and I flashed him a smile in an attempt to hide it.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” I assured Lawrence. “Do you have her cellphone number handy?”

  “Chloe, Agatha doesn’t carry a cellphone. Is it urgent? Is it something I can help you with?”

  “I just had something I wanted to discuss with Agatha. You know, girl to girl. Maybe I’ll head down to the station to see her.”

  “Want me to meet you there?”

  “No. You stay put. I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve gotten in touch with her.”

  “You do that,” Lawrence concluded before we said our goodbyes and hung up.

  I left Blue with Alex, telling my husband that I had to head down to the station to find a report the Chief wanted. I kissed Alex goodbye never realizing how close this night’s actions would come to being my last. When I arrived at the station, things were dark in the bullpen. I headed straight for the Chief’s office where I saw a light was on. I let myself in without knocking as I tend to do when I’m angry. The Chief took an immediate defensive stance.

  “Look, Boston,” the Chief said. “Don’t blame me. I tried to argue with him.”

  Sometimes the Chief is as intuitive as I am.

  “Where is Agatha?” I demanded.

  “They’ve gone to the party. Stillwell and his partner too, Agatha with them. I sent Bryce and Gordon along as extra security outside the building.”

  “You sent Bryce and Gordon along to patrol the outside? And what good do you think that’s going to do when the murderer kidnaps Agatha inside the party?”

  “That should be covered by Stillwell and his partner.”

  “Chief, you have two options right now. You can let me drive as fast as I can for Seattle and live with the thought that you let me die a horrible and violent death in an auto accident or you can drive me to Seattle as fast as you can in your squad car with the lights and sirens on. Better yet, give me Stillwell’s cell number.”


  “He won’t talk with you.”

  “Then let’s get moving,” I urged.

  The Chief released a sigh then rose from his seat and put on his coat. By the end of the day, his suit looked like he’d slept in it. I didn’t care, I mean, it’s not as if he was my date for the evening. I was only concerned with whether he could get us to the venue in Seattle lickety-split. I led the way out of the station to the Chief’s unmarked patrol car. The old Ford Predator was equipped with lights mounted behind the front grill and inside the back window. A loud enough siren had also been hidden somewhere within the chassis. And the Chief liked to drive fast. That was good because we had only three hours to get to the party in Seattle before the stroke of midnight when the kidnapping was to take place.

  The drive was a long and often windy one. The Chief drove fast without bothering to turn on the lights or siren. I must admit to having fallen asleep part of the way through our journey. I was jolted awake when we pulled into the driveway of the Grand Marque Hotel. I had been here earlier this year to celebrate New Year’s Eve. That evening concluded with me falling through the skylight. I hoped things worked out better this time. The car came to a smooth halt before the front doors of the hotel. I jumped out immediately and marched for the hotel doors, leaving the Chief to deal with valet parking. I was stopped by an off duty Seattle police officer.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s not admission without an invitation.”

  “I’m here to see a friend,” I argued. “It’s very important that I get in touch with her as soon as possible.”

  “Have you tried her cellphone?”

  “She doesn’t carry one.”

  The officer returned a skeptical glance.

  “Officer, it’s alright, she’s with me,” the Chief said, flashing his badge.

  “Hold on a second, let me see that ID,” the officer cautioned.

  The Chief handed over his wallet.

  “Chief of police, Hope Falls,” the officer commented. “You’re a ways out of your jurisdiction, Chief.”