Ph.D in Murder (A Cozy Mystery Short) Read online

  * * *

  By the time the coroner came and removed Camelia's body, the reality of her mysterious murder really began to set in as death hung over the house like fog.

  I had hoped Professor Fenkell would arrive before his wife was taken away. But, oddly enough, after trying his number several times, the police hadn't been able to reach him.

  Chief Rutger questioned me alone while Elliot stepped outside for some fresh air.

  "So I understand you were renting this house?" the chief asked.

  "That's right, but not to live in."

  "Oh...?"

  "I rented it for my independent study."

  He gave me a curious look. "What kind of independent study?"

  I explained to him in as few words as possible the nature of my project.

  Chief Rutger swallowed thickly. "You're telling me that you were staging the nineteen-fifty-something Marilyn Sheppard murder?"

  "It was 1954, and the reenactment wasn't scheduled till this afternoon."

  "And Ms. Fenkell was to be in it?"

  "Yes, and it's Mrs. Fenkell. She and her husband, Glenn Fenkell, are professors at the university."

  He took notes. "Let me guess, Mrs. Fenkell was to play the role of Marilyn Sheppard?"

  "Yes, that's correct," I acknowledged reluctantly.

  He chuckled humorlessly. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Maybe you should be. She wasn't supposed to be here till this afternoon for the rehearsal. The fact that she showed up here in the middle of the night is very surprising to me."

  "Why do you think she did that?" He stared at me unblinkingly.

  "I have no idea. I'm guessing she either came with the person who killed her or came on her own and was followed by the killer."

  "Those are reasonable assumptions. But they still don't tell us why. Do you have any idea who would want to kill Mrs. Fenkell?"

  A few suspects came to mind. I recalled Sharon Weiss's stormy accusation of her husband, Jason, having an affair with Camelia. Neither Camelia nor Jason confirmed this, but it didn't appear to be entirely without merit.

  What if Jason was having an affair with Camelia and then killed her to protect his marriage, shaky as it may have been?

  Or maybe Sharon was pushed over the edge with insane jealousy and went after Camelia.

  It was also hard to overlook Glenn Fenkell as the possible killer, even if I wanted to believe otherwise. Maybe he'd decided murder was more preferable than divorcing his wife, freeing him to be with his alleged young girlfriend, Tatum Douglas.

  Or maybe Tatum stepped way out of her league in pursuing an older man and was willing to do whatever it took to get rid of the competition.

  I ran these possibilities by Chief Rutger, not sure he'd take any of it seriously with nothing to go on in the form of tangible proof.

  "Well, that's certainly some food for thought," he said. "I'll check it out."

  Feeling on a roll, I decided to toss one more suspect at him.

  "While you're at it, you might want to run a check on Luther Pickford—the man who rented me the house."

  Chief Rutger rolled his eyes. "Why? You think he had something to do with it?"

  "I couldn't really say, since I never got a good look at the person who ran off. But he was acting pretty strange yesterday."

  "There are lots of strange people in Pearl's Village," he said dismissively. "Doesn't make them all killers."

  I sighed. "But it only takes one to fit the bill."

  "I'll have a talk with Luther Pickford." The chief flipped the page in his notepad. "Why don't you tell me about this car you claim the killer drove away in?"

  I ignored the swipe at my credibility. "It was dark-colored. I'm not sure about the make or model."

  "You didn't happen to get the license plate number or a partial, did you?"

  "Sorry. It was just too dark."

  "Too bad." He ran a hand across his chin. "Guess that's all for now. But I may need to talk to you later."

  "Don't worry, I won't be leaving town," I promised.

  "Good. Now as for your little reenactment, since this is now an official crime scene, you'll have to postpone it till we complete our investigation."

  "I assure you that I have no desire to interfere with your investigation or carry on with my independent study as though nothing happened."

  "Then we understand each other, Ms. Vensetta."

  "Perfectly."

  The front door burst open and a female deputy entered, followed by Glenn Fenkell and Elliot.

  "This is the victim's husband," the deputy told her boss. "We found him wandering around outside, almost in a daze."

  Indeed, Glenn did appear to be disoriented, disheveled, and intoxicated. I wasn't sure what to make of this, but it didn't look good.

  "Professor Fenkell..." I approached him.

  "Madsen," he said. "My wife...what happened to her?"

  "You don't know?"

  "No one's told me anything. Where is she?"

  I paused and glanced at Elliot, wishing there was an easy way to say it.

  Chief Rutger apparently had no such reservations. After identifying himself, he said bluntly, "Mr. Fenkell, your wife's dead. Someone murdered her in this house early this morning. Maybe you can tell us where you've been?"

  Glenn gazed at me blankly and drew a breath. "That's the thing, I'm not really sure."

  I turned to Chief Rutger and could plainly see that as far as he was concerned, Glenn Fenkell had just become the number one suspect in his wife's murder.

  * * *

  I stayed at Elliot's place for what was left of the early morning darkness, not wanting to be alone. Though exhausted, sleep was once again hard to come by. Tossing and turning, I kept coming back to Camelia's killer. The person seemed vaguely familiar, though I never got a good look due to the hooded sweater and the darkness. Obviously, the killer had wanted to hide his or her identity.

  After a while, I slipped from Elliot's grasp, got dressed, and went into the bathroom to wash my face. I grabbed a towel off the shelf and dried my face. As I was about to put the towel in the hamper, my eyes honed in on a balled up dark sweater. Curiosity made me pick it up. The sweater had a hood and looked very much like the one the killer was wearing when running from the rental house.

  My heart skipped a beat in that moment. Was Elliot Camelia's murderer? Or was this just a coincidence?

  Gut instincts told me there was more to the man I was involved with than met the eye—and none of it good.

  I thought about the fact it was Elliot who suggested that particular house to stage my reenactment. He must have known the house well—perhaps had even lived there once—and as such was able to make his escape through the back door when he realized I had a good view of the front door. He couldn't take the chance I might recognize him even with the hood on.

  The bathroom door opened and Elliot filled the space. There was a scowl on his face when he noticed I was holding the sweater.

  "The moment you went into the bathroom, I remembered the sweater," he said. "I was hoping you wouldn't find it."

  I colored as he confirmed my suspicions. "You killed Camelia? Why?"

  "She left me no choice. You see, working in the same department, she discovered I was embezzling funds from a research project and decided to blackmail me into keeping her silence. I went along with it till she got too greedy and stupid."

  I tried to process this group of crimes: embezzlement, blackmail, and murder. How could I have been so wrong about him? Or had I simply not looked hard enough?

  "Why did you have to involve me in your sordid criminal activities?"

  "It wasn't intentional." Elliot chuckled derisively. "You have to admit, though, the Marilyn Sheppard murder reenactment idea was perfect. I even hinted to Camelia that she should take the part, knowing she performed for the theater on the side and would find it too irresistible to pass up. Once I set you up at a place with a sure-fire escape route, I was in business. It wa
sn't very difficult to get Camelia to meet me at the house at a time when neither of us would attract suspicion. She thought I was going to buckle under to her unreasonable demands. Instead, my desire was to silence her for good." His eyes narrowed. "I hadn't counted on you coming there in the middle of the night, though you were too late to save her." His voice softened. "I didn't want this to come between us."

  I flashed him a hard gaze. "But it has, and there's no putting the genie back in the bottle."

  "I'm afraid you're right." He approached me.

  I took a step backwards, wishing I had the can of mace in my hands instead of the sweater.

  "Just let me go home, Elliot. I'll give you an hour to get away before I call the police."

  I saw no reason to insult his intelligence by suggesting my lips would remain forever sealed as to what I knew. I hoped that whatever we once had would be good for something.

  He laughed. "Why would I want to give up what's been a pretty good life thus far to become a fugitive when I can solve my one remaining problem right now? I'm really sorry it has to end this way, Madsen."

  He lifted his arms like Frankenstein, prepared to strangle me with his bare hands. Having literally been backed to the sink, all I could think to do was toss the sweater at him, which he easily blocked.

  I began to scream at the same time his hands wrapped around my neck. He succeeded in muffling my cries by applying more pressure.

  Knowing Elliot had every intention of adding me to his collection of murder victims, I tried kicking and clawing, but it had no effect on him. Then I remembered seeing a can of shaving cream by the sink. Somehow I managed to grab it and in one swift motion sprayed it liberally at his eyes, covering them with the white foam.

  He yowled and released his grip on my neck, wiping his eyes and face. I took what I believed to be my last chance to escape and kneed him as hard as I could in the crotch.

  He bowled over in pain, allowing me to slip by him and race for the door.

  I unlocked and opened it before I felt him grab my hair from behind. Elliot tossed me to the floor.

  I felt lightheaded and wondered if all my efforts would prove for naught and Elliot would get away with not one, but two cold-blooded murders.

  "Why couldn't you have made this simple?" he asked, clearly not expecting an answer.

  I gave him one anyway. "Go to hell!"

  Just as he was about to lunge at me, the front door burst open. Chief Rutger stood there, gun drawn.

  "Hold it, Arness!" he demanded. "You're under arrest for the murder of Camelia Fenkell."

  Elliot rounded on him. "I don't think so."

  He rushed toward the chief like a madman, leaving him no choice but to shoot Elliot, twice. It was the second bullet to his neck that proved fatal.

  Chief Rutger helped me to my feet. "Are you all right?"

  I nodded, though I doubted I'd ever be the same again. "How did you find out?"

  "With Glenn Fenkell's help. Once the booze began to wear off, he remembered Camelia had confessed to him about the blackmail and embezzlement schemes. Apparently, she had agreed to meet with Arness to convince him to turn himself in as she planned to do. But Arness had something else in mind."

  I forced myself to look at the man who had been my lover. Lying on his back, his eyes were still open but empty. What a tragic waste. I wondered what could possess someone who seemed to have everything to want so much more at such a terrible price.

  I hoped I never had to find out.

  * * *

  Two months later, my completed independent study was now history. Circumstances had made me change the focus somewhat. Instead of a reenactment of a famous old murder case with the perpetrator being a bushy-haired intruder, I re-created a modern true murder mystery, complete with enough twists and turns to make for a bestselling book where the dynamics were equally riveting.

  Glenn Fenkell and I were dating now. Turned out we had more in common than not. Neither of us wanted to rush into anything. We were quite content to take it slow to see how things developed. I'd learned not to look too far ahead, well aware there were no guarantees in life.

  So far, so good.

  # # #

  The following is a bonus mystery suspense short by R. Barri Flowers

  KILL AND SAY GOODBYE

  He stood alone on the beach in the wee hours of the morning. Barefoot, with his trousers pulled up to just below his knees, he watched as the waves rolled across the body he had dumped there. It gave him great pleasure to give back to nature in a way that only the fish could love. Having a dead body to feast upon was like Thanksgiving Day for them.

  All in a day's work.

  Make that day and night. After all, it took him hours to catch his pretty prey off guard, render her unconscious with his handy stun gun, and take her back to his place for some real fun before finally putting her out of her misery. Then he took the lifeless body to the beach, placing her at the water's edge.

  So long, lady, he mumbled to himself. Hate to kill and say goodbye, but I didn't really have much choice. And, unfortunately, neither did you.

  He gazed out at the ocean a bit longer, contemplating his next move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone rapidly approaching, tracking footprints in the sand. He assumed the jogger was trying to get a head start on other runners at this early hour.

  He turned and quickly headed in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  Gena LaCrosse barely avoided stepping on a bigger than average snail during her early morning run on the beach, which surely would have given her the heebie-jeebies. She hated the thought of taking any creature's life, no matter how gross they were.

  She hated even more that she'd gotten involved with a control freak who didn't know when enough was enough. Fortunately she did, breaking off their nine-month relationship after he threatened her with bodily harm. As expected, her ex, Colin Murray—a bodyguard and former bartender—didn't take it very well.

  His words replayed in her mind...

  Don't even think about leaving me, Gena. I mean it! I'll say when it's over and it ain't.

  Like hell it wasn't.

  Gena refused to allow herself to be a prisoner in a relationship that was going nowhere other than down a dangerous path she wanted no part of. After contacting the authorities and being told she could get a temporary restraining order that they admitted wasn't worth the paper it was typed on if someone really wanted to hurt you, Gena did the next best thing.

  She took a leave of absence from her job as a financial analyst for a Chicago firm and escaped under the cover of darkness.

  Her boss, Phil Vale, believing she was overstressed and needed to get away for a while, offered Gena the use of his summer cabin in Fortune Beach, Oregon. Having never been anywhere in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, other than a brief stop in Seattle once, she jumped at the chance to disappear. At least until Colin cooled down and accepted the fact that they were never going to get back together.

  The only condition was that Phil had to keep her location just between them, so no unwanted guests would find her. Phil agreed, and five days ago Gena made the cross-country trip. She was getting settled into the quaint, picturesque coastal community that was a haven for artists, retirees, and plenty of tourists looking for out of the way places to visit.

  Being an active runner, Gena was able to pretty much fall back into step from day one. The beach, save for a snail or crab that found their way to shore, was pristine and a good, open space to jog before the late August heat took over with a vengeance in the afternoon.

  Who knows, she thought, I might even find that Fortune Beach is a place where I could hang my proverbial hat for good.

  Gena shrugged off the thought. For one thing, she couldn't imagine finding a local job that paid nearly as much as her current job. But what if circumstances, being as they were, prevented her from ever going back to work for Phil again? In the short-term, Gena expected to eventually be able to do her thing fro
m afar. Thank goodness for computers and the Internet.

  Beyond that, she would just have to wait and see what happened.

  Then there was the question of romance. Yes, Colin had done a good job of turning her off relationships for the time being. But that didn't mean she was prepared to become a nun at thirty years of age.

  Just get through this leave of absence and stop trying to dissect what it means to your personal and professional life down the line, she thought.

  Whatever happens, will happen.

  Gena noticed the tall man who hurriedly made his way across the beach, glancing back once, before disappearing over the horizon. For some reason she felt unnerved, though there was no basis for it. He was entitled to be there early in the morning just as much as she was.

  I must be overly paranoid, she thought. But what if Colin found me and is now hell bent on carrying out his threats?

  Aside from Phil, the only other person who knew she was there was her best friend Roslyn Rodriguez. But Roslyn, who felt Colin wasn't good enough for Gena from the start, would never disclose her location.

  I'm safe. For now, she thought.

  Gena spotted something ahead on the beach near the water. She stopped running to take a closer look. Her first thought was that it was some sort of giant creature from the ocean that she wasn't familiar with. As she moved closer, she jumped back involuntarily, quickly realizing that this was no ocean creature.

  It was a woman.

  Gena gasped.

  The woman was around her age and had the same general appearance, including long blonde hair. Her naked skin had a grayish tint to it, but there were no obvious signs of physical trauma.

  Reaching down, Gena felt her neck for a pulse, ignoring the creepiness of it all. She got nothing. The woman's blue eyes were half open, as if trying desperately to stay alive, but had lost any sign of vitality.

  Gena thought about the man she had seen in this general area. He had left quickly when he spotted her coming. Had he killed the poor woman and dumped her in the ocean?

  Glancing down the beach, Gena's heart skipped a beat when she realized that the man hadn't gone away and could still be seen in the distance.

  And he could see her as well.

  He seemed to be coming her way. And he was picking up speed.

  Gena sucked in a deep breath as panic hit her like a strong gust of wind.

  Don't just stand there, stupid. Run like hell!