The April Fools' Day Murder Read online

  “Today?”

  “Yes. You had told me where you saw him so I came over and started ringing bells. He answered the door. He was very surprised to see me. I don’t know if he’ll move because of this.”

  “Then you’re not thinking of getting back together.”

  “We haven’t discussed it. I found him, Chris. I didn’t make a change in our lives.”

  “OK. Thanks for telling me.”

  “And I can assure you, Roger never knew that his father had a first wife. I was watching him when you told him. You really shook him up.”

  I had had the same feeling. “I wonder if Winnie knows,” I said.

  “Please don’t say anything. This has been so hard on her. Don’t make things worse.”

  “I won’t.”

  I guess one of the things I like best about trying to solve a homicide is the way facts surface one by one and little by little. You think you have a clear picture and then something else turns up and the picture is no longer clear. The incident involving the land was a good example. If what Roger had just told me was true, there was certainly bad faith on both sides. And I was now inclined toward Willard Platt’s side. I didn’t blame him at all for wanting to keep the land on the hill from being developed. And if he changed his mind, why shouldn’t he have been the one to benefit financially? He could have sold off some of the land to a developer, who would surely pay considerably more than a nursery that presumably wanted it for trees and flowers. No one in this whole mess was completely clean.

  Jack and I had a lot to talk about that evening. “Do you believe Doris Platt when she said she had just found her husband?” he asked.

  “I think I do, but I could be wrong. She certainly took pains to tell me exactly how and when she found him and that she started on the third floor, which meant the people I talked to hadn’t also talked to her.”

  “So now she knows where he’s living. You think he’ll bolt again? Find another place to live so she can’t find him?”

  “I think he may. Unless he changes his mind and decides to give the marriage another chance.”

  “I don’t know why he’d do that. He probably sees just enough of his family to suit him. But the land thing is intriguing, Chris. I have a feeling Roger may have told you more of the truth than anyone else.”

  “I agree. And it’s changed my feelings about Mr. Vitale. I really saw him as the victim in all this. But if he refused to promise not to develop the land, well, he’s just as duplicitous as everyone else I’ve talked to.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  I smiled. “Right or wrong, it’s always interesting.”

  It became even more interesting later that evening. We were just getting ready to go upstairs to bed when the phone rang. It was after ten-thirty and the sound of the ring scared me a little. We don’t get many late night calls.

  “Chris, it’s Toni. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour but I’m leaving tomorrow and I wanted to catch you while I could.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I don’t even know how to answer that question anymore. We’ve found something and it’s quite disturbing.”

  I pulled a chair over. “Go on.”

  “We suddenly realized over dinner that we hadn’t looked for Dad’s will. He wrote it so long ago that Mom couldn’t remember who the lawyer was, but she was sure there was a copy in the house. We found it.” She stopped.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t know how to say this. Dad wrote a will years ago and put it away. He told my mother that he was cutting Roger out because—well, because they didn’t get along and Roger refused to toe the line. I think we’ve talked about this.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we found it in the file drawer where Mom knew he kept it. It was exactly what she expected. Everything is left to her, and on her death it all goes to me and to the grandchildren.”

  “Then what’s the problem? It seems to me that a will cutting Roger off shows there isn’t much motive for him to have murdered your father. He was aware of the terms of the will, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes. Dad saw to it that he knew. The problem is—Chris, there’s another will in the drawer, a newer one.”

  “I see.” I waited, wondering what she was going to spring on me.

  “It was also written several years ago, but it’s much newer. It still leaves everything to Mom during her lifetime, but on her death, it’s divided evenly between Roger and me.”

  I was stunned. I had spent half an hour listening to this man talk about his unpleasant feelings about his father. “Do you have any idea why he might have changed it?” I asked.

  “None. And Mom didn’t know anything about it either.”

  “Amazing. Does Roger know about it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t called and I don’t think I want to. In fact, I really don’t want to tell anybody. Is that OK?”

  That was probably the reason she was calling. She didn’t want to tell the police for obvious reasons. “I don’t think you have to tell anyone unless you’re asked by the police. Then you’ll have to be truthful.”

  “I will be. I just hope they don’t ask.”

  She gave me her number at home in case there was anything I had to talk to her about, and I wished her a good trip.

  Then I told Jack what I had learned.

  “And she has no idea why Platt changed his mind?” he said.

  “No.”

  “But he’s got to know—Roger, I mean.”

  “I can’t get in touch with him, Jack. I don’t have his cell number, he’s not listed anywhere, and I don’t even know where he works. Doris isn’t going to help. If she does, he’ll just take his anger out on her.”

  “Well, maybe the old man just had a change of heart. It happens, you know. You get older, family becomes more important. You know the drill.”

  “But they didn’t get back together. Roger didn’t like him. He said so very plainly.”

  Jack shrugged. “Ask Sister Joseph. She’s the one with all the insights.”

  17

  We got an early start Sunday morning after mass. I was so used to driving myself that it seemed strange to be on the passenger side of the car. It was a beautiful day, sunny and on the warm side for a change. There was talk of April showers, but not for a few days. Since we’d had plenty of snow earlier in the year, I was happy to do with less rain.

  We arrived before noon and greeted all my old friends as we walked in to the Mother House. They had arranged for Jack and Eddie to have lunch with a few of the nuns while I was upstairs eating off a tray in Sister Joseph’s office. Naturally, there were cookies for Eddie as soon as we arrived, but I didn’t worry about whether he would eat well or overdo the sweets. We didn’t make the trip all that often and I wanted this place to be as dear to him as it was to me.

  Joseph came down to say hello and marvel at Eddie. He had reached a point in his development where he could carry on a conversation, and that was very important to her. It created the kind of bond that just oohing and aahing over a cute little child could not make. We left them in the care of the nuns, and Joseph and I went upstairs and down the hall to her office.

  “I almost have the feeling your son may answer the telephone next time I call and tell me how his mom and dad are doing,” she said as we settled ourselves at the long table.

  “That may happen soon. He’s actually picked the phone up once or twice but he doesn’t quite know what to do when he hears a strange voice.”

  “Well, progress is wonderful and I’m glad to see you all looking so good. I gather you have a ticklish murder you’re trying to solve.”

  “A murder in which everyone seems to be lying or withholding the truth.”

  “Then it will be a challenge. Let’s begin.”

  And like an ancient ritual, I narrated my tale, starting with the embarrassing event on April Fools’ Day and finishing with my conversations with Roger Platt yesterd
ay afternoon and then his sister at night. As always, Joseph sat across from me with a pile of unlined paper in front of her and several well-sharpened pencils within reach. She wrote frequently but hardly interjected a question. When I was finished, she started back through her notes.

  “Amazing that Arnold was able to get you that very important piece of information,” she said first. She had met Arnold when Jack and I were married and they admire each other greatly.

  “It was actually Arnold’s intern who did the research, and he wasn’t particularly happy that she dug out my information before she worked on the client he’s representing.”

  “Well, it whetted her appetite for the paying customer. And how fortunate, in a country where everyone seems to move all the time, that this woman’s sister stayed put for half a century.”

  “Very fortunate. But I have no hope that Amelia will tell me who shot Willard. And I will not pay her for the information.”

  “I agree,” Joseph said. “I don’t like the taint of money either. But you might call during the week to inquire about her health. That might dispose her to be kind to you.”

  “I’ll do that, but I almost hate to ask her. She looks very ill and very weak. I have a feeling she’ll go to sleep one night with her secret and not wake up in the morning.”

  “Is it your feeling that she pulled the trigger?”

  “Yes. But it’s only a feeling.”

  “Is it also your feeling that Willard Platt carried a weapon with him every day of his life because he feared for his life?”

  “I think maybe he did at the beginning, after he was shot. Later, it became something of a game. He was the man with the cane. It distinguished him from other men. He was an actor at heart. This was a role he played for the rest of his life, a role he enjoyed playing.”

  “That does sound reasonable.” Joseph made marks next to some of her notes. “You’ve established that the wife was home when Willard was murdered?”

  “She admitted it. She didn’t try to hide it at all. It would be difficult to hide. She didn’t drive. Unless someone picked her up and brought her back, where else could she be?”

  “Does she know that you suspect her?”

  “Jack is the one who thinks she’s a strong suspect. I can’t bring myself to feel that way, but everything he says is very reasonable. But no, she doesn’t know. I haven’t said a word to anyone.”

  “And now that her husband is dead, she’s driving again.”

  “Apparently, she’s kept up her license all these years.”

  “I find that interesting,” Joseph said. “She stopped driving because she was involved in a terrible accident, but she kept renewing the license.”

  “It’s not very hard. It comes in the mail, you fill it out, you send a check. Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Having that license certainly makes her life much easier now. From the way you’ve described where she lives, she’d be in a real pickle without a car. It’s almost as though she were waiting for this moment.”

  “I know it looks that way.” It saddened me to think that Winnie could have planned this murder for so long.

  “The nursery land deal is also very interesting. It gives Mr. Vitale a motive for murder, but having killed Willard Platt, what does he get out of it?”

  “Just a feeling of revenge, I guess,” I said. “There’s no way he’ll ever be able to buy that land. If Winnie needs money, I expect she’ll sell it to the highest bidder.”

  “And there will be bidders,” Joseph said. “I see what they’re building around here, and the size of the houses and the prices they’re asking are almost unbelievable.”

  They would get those outrageous prices in Oakwood, of that I was sure. “So where does that leave me?” I asked. “Roger is still the one I think had the greatest grievance against his father. He endured years of what today would be called psychological abuse. His father cut him out of his will because, in his eyes, Roger wasn’t a good son. And now we find that the father secretly changed his will so that this son that he never got along with inherits as much as the daughter who was the apple of his eye.” Toni’s phone call had caused me a great deal of soul searching.

  I had lain awake for a long time trying to figure out what had prompted Willard to reinstate his son.

  “It would be nice to know if Roger knew about the change,” Joseph said.

  “It’s crucial, Joseph. If Roger knew, he had a motive. If Roger didn’t know, if Roger thought he didn’t benefit financially from his father’s death, why would he kill him?”

  “There are other things in the world besides money.”

  I smiled. “Which you and I know well. I don’t think Roger knew about his father’s change of heart. I think something happened last week and he went to talk to his father and they argued. Roger knew about the canes. He grabbed the one in the garage and killed his father with it in a fit of anger.”

  “And then pulled the flag on the mailbox down before he left so the mailman might not stop.”

  “Someone did,” I said. “I think it could only be the murderer.”

  “Chris, tell me again about the accident that killed the child. There’s something about it that bothers me.”

  I went through it again and finished by saying, “There isn’t much.”

  “I think that’s what troubles me. Such a terrible thing happens and it’s all the fault of a piece of ice and a tree. I suppose I feel that when a child dies, there should be more. The world should quiver. Nothing can be more terrible than that.”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” I said, “but I’m not sure where to go for more information.”

  “You’ll find it,” she said with the confidence of one who believes anything is possible.

  Our lunch arrived just then and we settled into eating and chatting about what was going on in the convent. The college, happily, was thriving, full of young women who wanted an education separate from men, although there were plenty of young men on campus on weekends. But at the convent the number of novices had dwindled to practically nothing and the fate of the convent was no longer certain. There was talk of a merger with another Franciscan convent, but at the moment it was only talk. Since this place was so much a part of me, I could not imagine an influx of new people with their own long history who would want at least some of their ways and habits to be adopted by St. Stephen’s.

  When we were done, we went downstairs. Jack and Eddie were out walking with a couple of the nuns, so Joseph and I started out on our own walk. We stopped briefly at the chapel where I had prayed as a nun and had been married almost five years ago. There I lit my three candles, for my parents and Aunt Meg, and left a gift in the box.

  Three nuns, sitting separately, were deep in prayer or thought. It struck me how old the nuns had begun to look, not just the retired women in the Villa, but the ones actively running St. Stephen’s. There were hardly any in their twenties anymore, only a few in their thirties. Joseph herself was about fifty, although to me she always seemed younger, a woman who lived a life according to old customs, but who was knowledgeable about the new and embraced it when it suited the needs of the convent. I felt a kind of fear in my gut, almost a panic. From the way Joseph had spoken, it no longer seemed a question of whether the convent would survive by itself, but when measures would have to be taken to ensure its survival by changing its very nature.

  I turned to find Joseph. She was standing in the back, near the door, looking thoughtful, as though she had all the time in the world. When she saw me coming toward her, she smiled and pushed the door open.

  “Did you see the young couple sitting in a pew on the right?” she asked.

  “I noticed them. Is she a student?”

  “A sophomore. I assume that’s a boyfriend. He comes frequently on the weekends and they always sit in the same place, holding hands and whispering. There are other places they could sit, places they could be warmer and more comfortable. The cafeteria is open to guests. But they always co
me here. It’s rather a sweet mystery.”

  “It is sweet,” I said.

  “Do they talk about religion? I wonder. Or about themselves? Or perhaps some problem they have that they share with no one else.”

  “Sometimes just being in love is a problem. He’s in one place, she’s in another. It’s nice that they feel comfortable in the chapel.”

  “Yes it is.”

  We walked toward the college buildings. A few hardy students were out reading under leafless trees. Others were walking alone or in groups. I listened to the sound of girls’ voices, happy voices.

  “I hope the convent survives the way it is,” I said.

  “We all do, but we must be realists.”

  “That’s not easy.”

  “No, but it’s less disappointing than being an optimist in a bad situation.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Don’t sound so sad, Chris. I’m working very hard to keep things the way we all want them. Father Kramer is working with me. The bishop is familiar with our needs. We won’t give up.”

  My eyes were full of tears. This place had saved my life. These women had given me a home. This particular woman had helped me make something of myself while letting me believe I had done it on my own. I wanted this place and these people to exist forever.

  Near the cafeteria we ran into Jack and Eddie and their escorts. It gave me a lift.

  “You’re very quiet,” Jack said on the way home. “It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Joseph talking so seriously about whether the convent will survive.”

  “That bad?”

  “There are so few novices. I hate to think what the average age of the nuns is today.”

  “She have any ideas?”

  “Nothing that I like.”

  He patted my hand. “Eddie and I had a good walk. It’s a beautiful place. Kind of makes me feel good just to be there.”

  That was my point.

  18

  At home I told Jack what Joseph and I had discussed. I didn’t know how to find information on the fatal accident Winnie had been involved in without going through police files. There are local newspapers where we live, but they are not the quality of the major papers in the metropolitan area. Besides being poorly written and copy-edited, they have little of the kind of information I was looking for.