Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 9

"Captain, would it be possible for me to see the ME's results as soon as they are ready?" Ruth-Ann looked to Captain Sutter. "And I'd like to see the guest list and the staff lists, if you approve."

Captain Sutter c.o.c.ked her head. "Why? There's no federal case here?"

Ruth-Ann folded her hands. "Yes, Helen, I'm so sorry. You're right, of course. I am just a guest tonight. But many of your guests are from the Washington circles-as am I. Perhaps I can help. I don't want to intrude. I am very concerned for Andre, you understand."

Helen? No one ever called Captain Sutter "Helen."

"All right, Ruth-Ann." Captain Sutter nodded. "Maybe you can help."

Spence retrieved a file from another table where notepads and evidence bags lay. He flipped it open and dug through the inch-thick stack of papers. After finding what he was looking for, he slid a three-page printout across the table. "Guests and caterers."

As Ruth-Ann scanned down the columns of names, Captain Sutter caught Bear's eye and shook her head as the telegraph lines sent a clear message-there would be no more information sliding across the table.

"Yes, I know many of these names. Some quite well, too." Ruth-Ann didn't look up. "And you cannot account for a caterer and two other guests?"

Bear leaned forward. "We think the caterer left before the shooting. We're following up. There were two people who weren't on the guest list and didn't sign in-you were one of them. So we're only missing one now."

"Well, how very interesting." Ruth-Ann's head snapped up and her eyes found Captain Sutter's. Her charm and "thank you, yes ma'am" tone was gone. In its place, was an edgy, dry tone. "Andre was arrested when this man is present?"

Bear said, " 'This man' who?"

"Come now, Detective." Ruth-Ann stood up and stabbed her finger on the guest list. "You know full well who I'm talking about. I'm shocked he's even here. Let me see his statement."

Spence leaned over and followed her thin finger to the name. He rolled his eyes. "Ah, his guest is the one missing." He looked at Bear. "Sorry, Bear, I forgot to tell you."

"Who's missing, dammit?" Captain Sutter said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the list from Ruth-Ann's fingers. "If you have a point, make it."

"Nicholas Bartalotta." Ruth-Ann folded her arms. "New York mobster and killer extraordinaire. I a.s.sume the other missing guest is his thug bodyguard. Great work, everyone."

Oh, brother. Poor Nic was a suspect again.

nineteen.

"Nicholas Bartalotta isn't on our interview list, so he must have left the party before we started," Spence said, reviewing his notes for the third time. "I'm checking on him and I've sent a car to his place."

"Unbelievable." Captain Sutter cringed. "Spence, how the h.e.l.l did this happen?" Then she turned to Ruth-Ann. "We'll follow this up, but I have to tell you, Nicholas has proven to be a rather upstanding person-at least around here. I know his past-"

"Upstanding? Are you kidding me?" Ruth-Ann's face contorted. "He's a thug and a murderer."

Spence, never understanding the safety of silence, said, "Well, retired thug, I think."

I'm not sure whose look castrated him fastest-Captain Sutter or Ruth-Ann's. It's a shame, really, because while Spence was out of line, he was not wrong.

Nicholas Bartalotta was an aged New Yorker who retired a few years ago to Winchester after a forty-year hiatus. Poor Nic, as he was dubbed by some New York newspaper years ago, has become something of a local legend-part retired gangster who filled hearts with fear and part celebrity who filled charity coffers with cash. Somewhere in there, he ran a couple local businesses, was restoring his family farmhouse-a Civil War historical site-and helped solve my murder.

Nicholas Bartalotta was a man of many talents-or perhaps, many personalities. Some of those you could even talk about without risk of retaliation. And, despite his former life, he was Winchester's favorite, and only, mobster-retired or not.

"Retired?" Ruth-Ann shook her head. "Are you kidding me? He's mob-plain and simple. He's here and you arrest Andre? Detective, you need my help more than you know."

"Slow down," Bear said. "Let me check with Angela. She'll know the score on Nic." He didn't wait for permission and left the room.

Ruth-Ann said, "He's a friend of Professor Tucker?"

"Now, Ruth-Ann, let me-"

"No, Helen, don't you think you should focus on Bartalotta? If he's around, he's involved."

"Geez," Spence said, snorting a laugh. "Everyone said the same thing last time and he was-" Ice and daggers stopped him. "Sorry, Cap."

"Ruth-Ann, I know how to run an investigation," Captain Sutter said. "So does my team. Thank you for your advice, but we'll handle this. Is there anything else?"

Ruth-Ann stood and walked around the table. Without a word, she scooped up Spence's investigative file and fanned through the pages. A few seconds later, she looked up.

"Yes, there is something. I don't see where you finished canva.s.sing the area-"

"Manpower, Ruth-Ann." Captain Sutter took the case file from her. "This is Frederick County, not Washington DC. We have smaller budgets and only one crime scene team. We've called in a.s.sistance from Loudoun County, but it'll be a while."

"I can have the FBI-"

"No."

"No?"

"No, thank you." Captain Sutter threw a thumb over her shoulder for Spence to leave and stuffed the file in his hands. When he was through the doors, she stepped in close to Ruth-Ann. "Listen, Ruth-Ann, it's just us gals now."

"No," I said, "I'm still here, but feel free to slug it out."

Neither cared.

Captain Sutter went on. "Look, you asked for access because of Andre Cartier. I gave it to you. We're done. There's no federal case here. We can handle this and if we need your help, I'll be sure to ask. But until then, you are just a guest."

"All right, Helen," Ruth-Ann looked down. When she looked back up at Captain Sutter, she painted a plastic smile on her face that fooled no one. "You're right, of course. I trust you'll still keep me informed. If Bartalotta is involved, this will be a federal matter. And I want him. We've been after him for years. And Helen, one call to the sheriff and you're washing cars until retirement."

"Yes, of course we'll keep you informed. But Ruth-Ann, the sheriff's up for reelection soon and I'm dating the town news-

paper's editor."

She was?

"How wonderful for you. Remember, Captain, we feds decide what we're interested in and what we're not interested in." Ruth-Ann sauntered to the door. "And I choose interested."

twenty.

It was four thirty in the morning when the last of the guests and catering staff were checked off Bear's list and released. Bear, too, took an instant dislike to the catering manager, Petya, so they released him last. As Petya's catering van pulled away from the rear of the mansion, Bear went room-to-room checking, double-checking, and triple-checking every bit of cop work he could think of.

There was nothing more to do tonight.

"Spence, what's the word on Poor Nic?" Bear said, walking into the kitchen where Spence was draining another cup of coffee.

"Jeez." Spence spilled coffee all over his shirt. "You scared the c.r.a.p out of me, Bear."

"And what about this Kravitz guy and Jorge-whoever?"

"Bartalotta ain't home and there's no word on Kravitz yet. Our boys are sitting on both places."

"He isn't home? At this hour of the morning?"

"Nope."

"Bulls.h.i.t, you tell our people to-"

"Bear?" Angel walked in. "What's wrong?"

"It's almost five a.m. and Bartalotta isn't at home." He gave her a quick summary of his argument with Ruth-Ann. "Are you sure Nic was even here last night? I don't recall seeing him."

"Yes, and he donated a very sizable check," she said. "Twenty-five thousand dollars, I think."

"Wow." Bear poured two coffees from a large pot on the stove and handed one to Angel. "Do you remember him leaving?"

Angel thought a moment. "No, but he must have. I don't even recall seeing him after the evening got underway. But then, I was busy and didn't have much time to speak with you or-"

Bear rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know-him."

"Him" would be me. "Your loss, Angel. No worries, I'm making new friends, dear. You can throw fancy parties and make new friends if you like. But so can I. In fact, I already have."

"I was going to say Andre," she snapped. "But him either."

Spence stood up. "I'm going to check the guys again." He said, and walked off.

"Angela, you should go home," Bear said, "We're not through here, but no need for you to hang around." He left in Spence's wake.

I watched him go. "He just won't give in about me, will he?"

"No, and he won't talk about it either."

"He knows I'm here, and he can hear me sometimes, too."

"Yes, he can. I'm sure of it." Angel laughed. "Ever since the day-that was a lot for him. Give him time, Tuck. Give him more time."

"The day," as Angel referred to it, was when Ernie Stuart got justice. After killing me, some of Ernie's victims came back and helped catch him. In the end, at Kelly's Dig where he started his decades of killing with Caroline and Amy, they came back and scared him to death. He died of a ma.s.sive heart attack. We were all there-Angel, Bear, and even Spence and Clemens. Something happened out at Kelly's Dig. Something no one ever spoke about afterward. Not Bear for certain. You see, there's something about admitting you're seeing ghosts that always makes the room go a little icy. Everyone on "that day" saw me. No one could bring themselves to admit it.

But Bear's coming around. He doesn't have a choice. I'm not easy to ignore.

"I guess I'll leave, Tuck," she said, yawning. "I'll look for you later."

"Sure, go. I'll be home soon." Something tickled my ears like the jingle of a far-away bell. That was my spirit-radar telling me something was afoot. "Or maybe not."

Fats Waller played It's A Sin To Tell A Lie and I turned. Sa.s.sy stood in the kitchen doorway and walked off toward the hall stairs. She beckoned me with a whistle, and being a former red-blooded, all-American male, I obeyed. "I'll see you at home. Don't wait up."

I walked into the hall as Angel headed for the front door.

Sa.s.sy was waiting on the stairs. "Hey, Tuckie, don't be going nowheres yet. I gotta show you something. It's just the cat's pajamas."

Huh? "Sa.s.sy, you're gonna get me in big trouble. What do you want?"

"Come on, Tuckie." She winked and strutted up the stairs. "You'll see. Shake a leg."

I did.

On the third floor, she led me to the mansion's west wing and a bedroom at the end of the hall. There, she flung herself on the huge canopy bed and laughed like a schoolgirl.

"Okay, baby, take a look around."

Baby? If Angel heard this, I'd really be dead. "Come on, Sa.s.sy, just tell me. No more fooling around."

"Nope. You gotta play, Tuckie. Look around."

The room was furnished with a few antiques like every other room in the house. There was a small bureau near the windows, nightstands on either side of the bed, and a built-in armoire taking up a third of the wall opposite the bed. Nothing gave off any bells and whistles-just another room in a mega-million-bucks mansion. If you've seen one, you've seen them all.

"What am I looking for?"

She laughed again. "Silly, in there." She pointed to the armoire. "Inside, Tuckie. Look inside."

"Sa.s.sy, Vincent's gonna re-kill both of us. I don't think he'll-"

"Tuckie, let me worry about Vincent. He's busy with other stuff." She jumped up and went to the armoire. "Here, silly, I'll show you."

She opened the double-doors revealing an empty cabinet except for a few old hangers and cobwebs. Then she pulled on one of the garment hooks on the side panel. A rear panel opened and revealed a narrow staircase leading up to the attic.