The Murder Next Door Read online

  “Thanks for saying so, but I don’t think I can see very much at all. If I could, I’d know what dad was up to... Anyway, keep at it, Ester.”

  She frowned at the glasses as Philip started to roll himself away.

  Several hours later, Marshall finally emerged from his room, a thick, folded piece of paper in his breast pocket. Philip had changed into his suit and tie and accompanied his father to the garden path, where they stood by the entrance and waited for their guests to arrive, though Philip was still none the wiser about the occasion for their visits.

  A large, black limousine pulled up first and a tall man with graying dark hair, in many ways much like Marshall himself, stepped out.

  “Titus!” Marshall exclaimed, wringing his hand with vigor. “You look well. How are you doing?”

  “Perhaps as well as could be expected,” Titus answered cooly. “I’m afraid that I didn’t have time to get properly dressed up. There were a handful of minor crises at the office I had to take care of and I just didn’t have the time to change.”

  Philip stared at him. He was wearing a tuxedo.

  “Quite alright, quite alright,” Marshall said. “Come on in.”

  “What is it you’ve called me here for anyway, Marshall?” Titus asked, peering at the other man suspiciously. “You didn’t say. I’m not accustomed to receiving summonses, you know, like you’re some kind of king who can just demand my presence whenever you like.”

  “All in good time, Titus, all in good time.”

  “That’s one of the things I’ve never liked about you, Marshall. You and your damn games.”

  Titus began to walk down the path, Marshall beside him. Philip wheeled after them, trying to keep up with Titus’ long strides. Fortunately for him, Titus slowed several yards down the path and began to scrutinize the grass.

  “You’ve done something about your garden since the last time I was here, I take it? I seem to recall that the last time we met, you had the most horrendous infestation of crab grass.”

  “I remember that a little differently,” Marshall said lightly. “But our gardener has been hard at work all day.”

  “Has he? Well, you know Marshall, you’re no gardener-”

  “I’ve never pretended to be.”

  “-because serious gardeners would never let a layman like your boy whathisname touch their gardens. I seem to recall that you had a huge rambling rose bush over here. They require a particularly careful hand. Roses are difficult to grow, and the other day I saw it done particularly poorly in one of my colleagues’ lawns. The plant was half-dead, not from neglect, but instead from what I perceived to be a lack of soil nutrients.”

  Titus walked up to the rose bush that John had trimmed so carefully, fingered one of the roses, paced around it, nodded his head, and returned to the path.

  “Satisfactory,” Titus declared.

  “Did you say satisfactory?” Marshall repeated with genuine surprise. “Titus, I would have thought you would have found something to criticize.”

  Titus gave him a dangerous look.

  “Undoubtedly the rank amateur that you call a gardener has made an untold number of mistakes trying to cultivate your roses, Marshall, but since we are such very old friends, I think I ought to spare you any unnecessary scrutiny and criticism.”

  “How very kind of you,” Marshall said sardonically. “Why don’t we just get inside...”

  They showed Titus into the dining room, where he sat heavily at the foot of the table and began to pour out wine for himself.

  “Try to keep him company, won’t you, Philip?” Marshall asked nervously. “I’ll go out and wait for the rest of our guests, but Titus won’t like being left alone.”

  Philip nodded and maneuvered himself to his place at the table.

  “Good to see you again, Philip,” Titus said with none of the sentiment that his words suggested. “Still can’t walk, I gather.”

  “No, I can’t,” Philip said with a frown. “My legs are paralyzed.”

  “Well, it’s all a matter of willpower,” Titus said heavily. He glanced around the room, looking up at the crystal chandelier and the fine yellow-brownish wallpaper, tracing the swirling silver detailing with his eyes.

  “You know, I’ve never liked this room,” Titus remarked vaguely. “It’s the decoration, I think. That wallpaper is a hideous color. And this wine is off,” he said, passing it to Philip.

  “It’s a wonder you’ve never married, Titus,” Philip said as straight-faced as he could.

  Fortunately for him, Titus seemed to miss the note of sarcasm in his voice and began to talk about his miserable experiences in the office and in life generally. Philip was nothing short of relieved when Georgia stumbled into the room.

  “Georgia, my dear,” Titus said as he spotted her. “Still letting a monkey do your makeup, I see.”

  “What?” Georgia repeated, apparently missing the critique as she sat down near the head of the table.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Titus said innocently. “I was just saying how nice it is to see you. I think you have a stain of something on your dress.”

  She looked down, startled. “Oh, yes, that’s just sherry - I mean soda water - I thought it was sherry - wait, no the other way around.”

  “Of course,” Titus answered politely, his smile nothing short of malicious.

  The door at the far end of the hall opened and Stacy walked in, wearing a gleaming new silver dress and matching earrings, her hair now done up fashionably. An immediate change came over Titus, and for a second a look of undisguised greed crossed his face. He stood and bowed low to her.

  “My dear Stacy,” he said, kissing her hand. “You are shining tonight.”

  “Thank you, Titus,” she answered, her voice cool. She drew up a chair on the opposite end of the table, sitting next to her stepmother.

  “Ah, the whole family’s here,” came Marshall’s booming voice as he re-entered the room. “Good. Two more of our guests have arrived. Here, this is Mr. Fred Winters. I don’t think any of you have met him before. He’s a - ah - business colleague of mine. Why don’t you sit here, Fred, next to my son.”

  A black-haired man with glasses sank into the chair next to Philip. He was wearing a brownish blazer and a slightly dazed smile, as if he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here.

  However, Philip had no time to acquaint himself with Mr. Winters, as Marshall was ushering a tall, straight-backed middle-aged woman into the room. Her graying fair hair was done up into a tight bun and she had an extremely severe glint in her eye.

  “I think most of you know Ruth McMullen already,” Marshall said with a slightly nervous grin, directing her into a seat next to Georgia.

  If Titus had smiled when Stacy had entered the room, he now positively scowled when he saw Ruth.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded of her the moment she had entered.

  “The same thing the rest of you are doing here I imagine, Titus. I was invited. I don’t suppose you know why Marshall has seen fit to call us here?”

  “No,” Titus muttered, frowning.

  “Whatever it is, it must be very important,” Georgia piped in. “He’s been locked in his study all day, not talking to anyone. Not even to me, and I had something very important to say to him.”

  Ruth fixed her with an extremely sharp look, which seemed to cause Georgia to deflate and shrink. The power of her stare could be felt across the table, where Philip suddenly shivered and Mr. Winters looked at his feet. A strange silence descended over the room and no one spoke - though Titus sipped his wine and glared at Ruth until Marshall returned.

  “And here are our last two members, at long last,” Marshall announced, grinning around at the faces at the table. “You probably all know Theo Watkins and Dorothy.” He indicated a very fat middle-aged man who had waddled into the room, followed by a wispy, red-haired woman. Theo took off a ridiculous black fedora to reveal a bald head and sat down across from Philip, next to his wife.

  “Sorry, who are they?” Fred Winters whispered to Philip. “Am I supposed to know them?”

  “You’ve never been over for dinner before, have you Mr. Winters?” Philip asked sympathetically.

  Winters shook his head.

  “Well, that’s alright. I’m Philip. I’m Marshall’s son.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Philip,” Winters said. “I’ve heard about you before - but only on paper. I’m Mr. Marshall’s accountant, and I’m not really sure why I’m here or who anyone else is.”

  “No one seems to know why they’re here,” Philip said. “But that’s Titus. He’s an old business partner of my dad’s. That’s my sister Stacy and my stepmother, Georgia, over there across from us. I don’t know who this Ruth woman is. I’ve never seen her before, but these last two people are Mr. and Mrs. Watkins. They’re old family friends. Theo is a diplomat and I don’t know what Dorothy does, but she doesn’t travel nearly as much as Theo.”

  “Ah, okay,” the accountant answered, nodding his head. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but Marshall suddenly advanced to the front of the table and cleared his throat. Everyone fell quiet and looked at him expectantly.

  “Thank you all for joining us tonight,” Marshall projected, his words smooth and well rehearsed. “I know you’re all curious why I’ve invited you to dinner, but before I get to that, I’ll ask you to suffer through an old man’s rambling. Forty years ago, I was a young man with little more to my name than the clothes on my back, a hunch, and a crazy dream. I was walking through a dingbat little town called White Badger, Texas. It had one barber shop, one gas station, and one little hostel where I stayed the night - and even though everyone from Sacramento to St. Louis told me I was crazy, I knew I could smell oil on the air there. So I scraped together some savings and found a few friends and crazies who were willing to back me, and I bought a hundred acres of land in White Badger. And I struck oil. And then bought another field, and another, and I struck oil again, and again. Forty years later, White Badger isn’t such a dingbat little town anymore. Where there used to be one gas station, now there’s enough derricks to supply half the northwest. That one barber shop is now a mall to service a thousand workers. And as for the hostel - well, I don’t really know, to be honest. I don’t stay at hostels anymore. Now I stay in five-star hotels.”

  He nodded and looked around at his guests. “White Badger, Texas, was the place I made my fortune. There’s no doubt about it. I’ve invited you here tonight because you’re the people who helped me make it possible - my family, and my friends who were crazy enough to loan me the cash on nothing more than a blind hunch. Titus, Ruth, Theo, Dorothy - I’ll never forget what you did for me. Stacy, Philip - and of course my darling wife, Georgia - I’ve been working so hard all this time for you. But now, I’ve been at the helm of this oil enterprise for more than forty years, and I think it’s finally time to lay down my arms. It’s been a very long time coming. Age has been creeping up on me, one day at a time, and I’ve been doing less and less. I can’t do all the things I used to. So, with a heavy heart, I’ve finally decided to retire.”

  There was a pause after he said this, the significance of his words falling on everyone at the table.

  “I’m going to step down from the helm,” he said finally. “But, the ship needs a new captain, as you all certainly know. After a lot of thought, I’ve decided that I want control of the company to stay in the family. Philip,” he said suddenly, and Philip started, staring at him. “I love you very much, but I don’t think you can ever run the business. I knew there was oil in white Badger Texas by walking through the fields outside the town, smelling it on the air. You won’t ever be able to do that. I’m sorry, son. I hope you understand.”

  “I do understand, Dad,” Philip said, bowing his head low. Just at that moment, he didn’t feel anything. The words had left his mouth but no other part of him seemed to know quite how to respond.

  Marshall nodded briefly back to him. “Stacy, I want you to take over control of the company. It won’t be easy. It’s very much a man’s world out there, but I think if anyone can do it, you can. I’ll bring you into the business, a little at a time, show you the ropes, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind that you’ll make a fantastic leader. You’ll take over the business some day, and when I die, majority control will pass to you.”

  Stacy was staring at her father slack-jawed.

  “Dad,” she managed eventually. “I don’t know what to say. Really - I don’t.”

  “You’ll do fabulously, dear,” the iron-haired Ruth said from across the table. “Just don’t let this one keep you down.”

  She shot a sharp glance at Titus, who scowled back at her.

  “I hope you’ll put your faith in her, just as you put your faith in me all those years ago,” Marshall continued. “And so, let’s have a toast. To Stacy.”

  Wine glasses raised all across the table.

  “To Stacy,” the entire table echoed as one. However, Philip noticed that the toast was given in wildly different ways by different people. Titus’ eyes, for example, never left Stacy. He continued to regard her hungrily as he lifted his glass. Ruth, on the other hand, was staring suspiciously at Titus. Georgia did not look at Stacy at all, and indeed barely spoke, as if she’d forgotten Stacy’s name, while Winters said Stacy’s name only with great confusion. Theo and Dorothy Watkins both put their glasses down extremely fast.

  Philip looked around at them all and frowned.

  “And now, to get to our excellent meal,” Marshall said, and called for food. Caterers began to bring out dishes and an air of chatter returned to the table, but next to Philip, Fred Winters was shaking his head.

  “I still don’t understand why I’m here,” Winters remarked to Philip, then winced. “Oh - I’m sorry - how insensitive of me - I’m sorry that your father didn’t choose you as his - er - successor -”

  “That’s alright,” Philip said with a small smile. “Dad’s always protected me. I didn’t know what he was going to do when he retired but I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to try to put me in charge of the company. It’s funny. Just this morning, Ester, our maid, was telling me that I would have trouble in the outside world because of my legs, that people wouldn’t treat me as seriously.”

  “That certainly might be true,” Winters agreed. “People can be cruel. I’m sorry that I’m so out of sorts this evening. I just really do wish I knew why I was here. I’m only an accountant after all, and I’m not even your father’s company accountant. Do you think he made a mistake inviting me?”

  “Oh no,” Philip said, shaking his head. “Dad doesn’t make mistakes like that. Besides, he introduced you, remember?”

  “So he did.” Winters frowned to himself, then shook his head. “Ah well. I’m used to mysteries.”

  “Are you?” Philip asked with surprise. “Do you get many mysteries as an accountant?”

  “No, but I hear about them a lot. At work, I’m next door to a real sleuth - a private detective named Felix Green.”

  Chapter 2

  Sam Alders started his mornings as he always did, picking up a paper and glancing at the headlines before heading into work. Unfortunately for him, his journey to work was neither simple nor normal. After driving to his office, he had to summit two flights of abnormally narrow, precarious stairs, then walk across the hall and, dodging a ridiculous twenty-pound doorstop, push open the strangest door in the building. This door was strange not because of any physical abnormality, but rather because it bore the message: “Felix Green and Sam Alders, Private Investigators - We Specialize In Murders.” In the past, Alders had often noted to Felix that this could be construed by an uninformed observer to mean that they committed murders, not that they solved them. Felix had turned a deaf ear to his complaints and instead suggested that they add the phrase, “No Murder Too Small,” to the bottom of the script. Mercifully, Felix had yet to act on that impulse.

  The inside of Felix’s office appeared as strangely decorated as the door. The same uninformed observer who had misread the door plaque might question why Felix had an empty wedding ring box on the shelf beside him, or an antique clock on his desk next to a hideously out-of-place silver display bowl. That observer might conclude that Felix was a bit odd. In fact, Alders knew that Felix Green was more than a bit odd - he was a kleptomaniac, and practically every item in the office had been stolen, including the clock, the bowl, and the ring box, all of which were tokens of previous cases. Even the photograph on Felix’s desk, which showed a smiling young girl watching a small boy on a bicycle, did not belong to Felix.

  However, as Alders had long since become accustomed to Felix’s petty thievery, he did not spare Felix’s desk - or the pale, dark-haired man in the baggy jacket that sat behind it - more than a momentary glance before sinking down into his usual chair and opening the paper.

  “So cold, Sam,” Felix scolded as Alders began to read the front page. “Not even a good morning?”

  “I’ll give you a good morning when you finally manage to steal a coffee maker for the office,” Alders snapped. “Have you seen this headline today?”

  “As you well know, Alders, I rely on you for my local news. What’s happened?”

  Alders turned around the front page so that Felix could read it, revealing a large black-and-white photograph of a tall man, perhaps in his early sixties. Above it were the words, “Billionaire Oil Magnate Dies.”

  After Felix had looked at the photo, Alders flipped the paper back around.

  “It says that Marshall Reed - that’s the billionaire oil magnate they’re talking about - has died unexpectedly in his sleep. He made his money investing in a town called White Badger, Texas, and he moved here to Great Redmond.” Alders tutted. “He could have lived in any city in the world and he chose Great Redmond? He really must have been a little nuts, you know that? Oh, but of course he lived in that gentrified, suburbanized zone, the same area as Agatha Bellinger.”