Clueless Chase Read online

  Betty closed the book she was reading. “No luck either,” she confessed.

  Mitchell continued to rub his eyes. “P.L. Wording had a son by the name of Edward Gavin Wording. I can check out the name and see what I can dig up, but I’ll need to go down to headquarters.” Mitchell rubbed his chin. “No mention of a wife or daughter?” he whispered to himself.

  “What does all this mean?” Betty asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mitchell confessed. “Look,” he said and showed Mary and Betty a very old black-and-white photo of a man standing beside a woman on a boat dock. The woman was holding a baby.

  Mary leaned forward and read the caption resting under the photo: “‘Mrs. Wording said she and her husband were happy to be back home with their son, Edward Gavin Wording, after spending a week at sea.’”

  “That’s the only mention of P.L. Wording’s son I can find,” Mitchell explained. “P.L. Wording never referred to his son by name.”

  Mary leaned back in her chair. “Mitchell, Ellie Wording was mentioned in a very vague article, in a passing tone. P.L. Wording, like with his son, never mentioned his wife by name. I found her name in an article written by a friend of P.L. Wording.” Mary closed her eyes. “In the article, a Mr. Pearson said that his friend P.L. Wording, along with the encouragement of his wife, Ellie Wording, was going to help establish a new orphanage. The article then focuses directly on P.L. Wording’s desires to help house abandoned children.”

  “When was that article written?” Mitchell asked.

  Mary opened her eyes. “Let’s see,” she said and studied the article. “Here’s the date.”

  Mitchell leaned forward, spotted the date the article was written, and then examined the photo he had found of P.L. Wording and his wife standing in the boat dock with the baby. “This photo was taken after that article was written,” he announced.

  Betty looked at Mary and then at Mitchell, then back at Mary. As she turned her head back and forth, a thought rushed through her confused mind. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed, “maybe Mr. Wording adopted the baby his wife was holding?”

  Mary turned her head and smiled at Betty. “You took the words right out of my mouth, honey.” Betty blushed.

  Mitchell closed the book he was holding. “I think we have uncovered a very deep secret,” he said in a low whisper. “Ladies, we’re digging into a dark hole that someone wanted to be filled in.” Mitchell glanced around. “Not only are we after a deadly woman, but we might also be uncovering a hidden murder…two hidden murders, that had been placed in a dark corner and covered over with dirt.”

  Mary chewed on Mitchell’s words. She felt her investigative mind rear to life and run out onto the playing field. “Edward Gavin Wording killed P.L. Wording…maybe even his own mother…and then, what?” she asked. “Maybe a detective was getting too close and he faked his own disappearance?” Mary closed her eyes and saw Gregory Walsh appear in her mind. “Could it be?” she whispered.

  “Could what be?” Mitchell asked.

  Mary opened her eyes and made eye contact with Mitchell. “Could Gregory Walsh be Edward Gavin Wording?” she asked.

  Mitchell’s eyes grew wide. “Mary…” he said and felt the weight of the moment silence him. After a couple of moments, he was able to speak. “It’s possible.”

  “Mitchell,” Mary asked, “how did that woman know there was a hidden hallway in the mansion?” Mary felt excitement surge through her heart. “She had to be familiar with the mansion,” she insisted. “She claimed that no one knew about the hallway…so how did she know about it? And Mr. Walsh,” Mary added, “earlier when he arrived to the mansion…he arrived like a man who was very familiar with the street. Also,” Mary pointed out, “when he looked at the mansion…his eyes…they seemed to say he was very familiar with the mansion…but there was sourness in his eyes toward the mansion, too.”

  Mitchell quickly stood up. “I need to get to headquarters,” he said in an urgent tone. “You ladies take a cab back to your hotel. That’s an order.” Mitchell gathered up the books on the table. “Do not go back to the mansion, is that clear?”

  “Clear,” Betty promised. “I don’t want to ever step foot back in that creepy place.”

  Mitchell eyed Mary. “I have the keys to the mansion, Mary,” he warned.

  Mary sighed. “Okay, Mitchell, you have my solemn word that I won’t go back to the mansion unless you’re with me. I’ll take Betty and go back to the hotel and lounge around the pool until you come for us.”

  “Thank you,” Mitchell said and rushed them outside into the bright day. A half hour later, a yellow cab stopped in front of the Flamingo Inn—a bright pink hotel shaped like an actual flamingo. The hotel was located close to the beach and offered decent rates…rates that Mary and Betty could afford; poor people’s rates. Mary and Betty didn’t seem bothered that they were staying at a hotel the rich considered tacky. To them, the hotel was bright, lively, and fun. Even if the pool was small and the rooms were a little cramped, at least the palm trees were tall and full of life and the sun was bright and dazzling.

  “Home sweet home,” Mary teased Betty.

  Betty smiled. “I like this hotel a lot,” she confided as they walked down a sidewalk toward the pool. The pool area, which consisted of a square pool and eight weather-ridden lounge chairs, faced the ocean. In the far distance, across a busy highway and through many palm trees, you could actually see the ocean…well, a little bit. No matter, Betty thought, a quick walk across the highway and the ocean was all hers—if she didn’t get hit by a car first. “I could stay here forever.”

  Mary watched Betty glance up at the bright sky with her oversized sunglasses on. She couldn’t help but smile. “Los Angeles is different,” she agreed.

  Betty worked her way to a pink lounge chair and sat down. “We have the pool to ourselves,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe later we can take a swim.”

  Mary studied the pool. The pool was very clean, and the water was very blue and inviting, yet she couldn’t see herself swimming out in public in a bathing suit in front of a busy highway. Too many eyes, she feared, would be watching her.

  “Maybe not,” she said, sitting down next to Betty and looking up at the blue sky. For a few seconds, all her troubles faded away. And then trouble appeared right before her very eyes.

  Gregory Walsh walked up to Betty and Mary, casually glanced around, and then spoke: “I was…hoping…we could talk,” he said in a deep, tough voice.

  Mary raised her eyes and spotted Gregory standing over her wearing his suit and fedora. The man looked oddly out of place. “I…” she began to say as confusion and fear gripped her heart. She wasn’t sure what to say or do. Then her investigative, fighting side took hold of her mind. “What about, Mr. Walsh?” she asked, picking up her purse and setting it down on her lap.

  Gregory studied the busy highway and then turned his back to Mary, looking at the pool. “Why did you go to the library after you left the mansion?” he demanded. “I ordered you to stay away from the mansion, didn’t I?”

  Mary sensed more worry in Gregory’s voice than anger. “You assumed we would because you’re a powerful man,” Mary answered. “You assumed your threat would force us to retreat.”

  “Yes, I did,” Gregory replied in a low growl.

  “But,” Mary added, “you really didn’t want us leaving the mansion, did you?” she asked. “Sure, you had to act tough and make your threats, but if you had really wanted to keep us away you would have brought extra manpower…put guards around the mansion…taken extra measures to ensure we listened to you.”

  Gregory kept his eyes on the pool. “I can see that you’re a very smart woman, Mrs. Holland.”

  Mary wasn’t surprised that Gregory knew her name. She was sure that the deadly woman who had escaped Pineville had confided a great deal of information to Gregory; at least, information she was willing to confide. “Mr. Walsh, please sit down.”

  “Are you crazy?” Betty asked in a shak
y voice and nearly passed out. “That man is a killer! He killed his daddy!”

  “I didn’t kill him!” Gregory yelled so loud that he made Betty pass out right in her seat.

  “Oh dear,” Mary moaned and began fanning Betty with her hands. “Did you have to scare her like that?” she snapped at Gregory. “If apples ain’t red!”

  Gregory looked panicked. “Is that lady…dead?” he asked.

  “No, no…she fainted, that’s all,” Mary fussed. She glared up at Gregory. “What did you mean, you didn’t kill him?” she demanded.

  Gregory searched the pool area and then shoved his hands down into the pockets of his pants. “Mrs. Holland, Detective Burbank didn’t go to the library to chase down book thieves.”

  Mary nodded her head. “You’re right. We went to the library to conduct research,” she explained in a newspaper reporter tone. “We discovered—”

  “P.L. Wording was my adoptive father,” Gregory finished for Mary. “I assumed the worst.” Gregory fished out a Lucky Strike and lit up. “Mrs. Holland, you’re way off base if you think I murdered that man. He was good to me—real good.”

  Mary watched Gregory take a drag off his cigarette. “Mr. Walsh, please, sit down.”

  Gregory shook his head. “I’m supposed to be at a private screening right now,” he explained in a nervous voice.

  “You’re afraid,” Mary pointed out as she continued to fan Betty. Suddenly the sun felt very hot and the bright day very dangerous.

  “Not of who you think,” Gregory snapped at Mary. He spun around and pointed a hard finger at her. “I’m a man of power in this town, Mrs. Holland. When I say jump, people ask how high, do you understand me? This isn’t some peasant town in Tennessee. This is Los Angeles and I’m the one who rolls the dice around here!”

  “Then why are you so afraid?” Mary asked, remaining calm even though she felt very afraid herself.

  Gregory stared at Mary for a very long time. “I didn’t kill P.L. Wording,” he finally spoke and turned his back to Mary. “That man was good to me. He raised me as his own.”

  “Then who did kill him?” Mary asked, expecting no reply. To her shock, Gregory fired a direct answer at her.

  “My daughter,” Gregory confessed. “The woman Detective Burbank is after.” Misery soaked into Gregory’s voice. “She was only ten years old.”

  “Mr. Walsh,” Mary begged, “please talk to me. Lives are at stake. Many innocent people have already been murdered.”

  “Don’t you think I realize that!” Gregory roared in misery. He soaked down his Lucky Strike and tossed it into the air. “My daughter…she…she drowned Ellie. I was upstairs in the main bedroom talking to P.L. I just happened to look out the window and I saw—I saw her push Ellie into the deep end of the pool. Ellie was afraid of the water, couldn’t swim at all. P.L. loved to take trips on his yacht but Ellie, no, she feared the water.”

  “What did you do?” Mary asked Gregory.

  “I…watched Ellie drown,” Gregory replied in an agonized voice. “I was too shocked to…say a word. I kept wondering…did I really see my own daughter push Ellie into the pool?” Gregory slowly turned around. “She looked straight up at me,” he told Mary. “My daughter looked straight up at me…and then walked away.”

  “Who is your daughter?” Mary insisted. “Mr. Walsh, work with me.”

  Gregory’s eyes remained in the past. “P.L. found Ellie dead. I didn’t confess to him what I had seen. Instead, I made a lousy excuse, found my daughter, and left the mansion.” Gregory kept his eyes low. “I confessed to my wife…about two months later…what I had seen our daughter do…the murder she committed.” Gregory closed his eyes. “My wife packed her bags and left a week later…she didn’t say a word…she just left me alone with our daughter.”

  “Mr. Walsh—”

  “Our daughter? No,” Gregory interrupted Mary. “We adopted her. P.L. adopted me and gave me a chance. My wife and I, because we couldn’t have children, decided to adopt. She’s not my real flesh and blood.”

  Mary decided to listen. “Keep going,” she pushed at Gregory in a steady voice.

  Gregory walked back to the pool. “The torment inside of me was so great,” he continued. “I decided to tell P.L. that my daughter had killed Ellie. I called him up and told him that I had to see him right away.” Gregory threw his memory back into a stormy night. “It was raining heavily,” he told Mary as he fished out a second Lucky Strike and lit it. “I decided to take my daughter with me…hoping P.L. would forgive me and…tell me what to do. My daughter kept asking why we were going to visit P.L. I told her a lie.”

  Mary heard Betty moan. “It’s okay,” she whispered to Betty.

  Gregory ignored Betty and continued to confess and clear his conscience to a woman he didn’t know. Each word he spoke seemed to lift a thousand pounds off his tormented heart. “When we arrived at the mansion, P.L. let us inside. He had sent all the hired help home…he was alone.” Gregory worked on his cigarette. “I…sent my daughter to play in an upstairs bedroom and then I…I told P.L. everything.”

  “How did P.L. react?” Mary asked as she slowly stopped fanning Betty and felt her friend’s forehead.

  “P.L. erupted,” Gregory said. “He ran into the kitchen and got a butcher’s knife and threatened to kill me.”

  “Why you?”

  Gregory closed his eyes and walked into a dimly lit kitchen soaked in the shadows of pouring rain. “He kept yelling, ‘We could have saved her…we could have saved her…we could have saved her…’ He was right…we could have saved Ellie.” Gregory nearly began to cry. “P.L. had every right to kill me. He…chased me out of the kitchen and then, all of a sudden, I heard him yell out. I spun around and saw him hit the floor. I saw the knife sticking out of his back…” Gregory dropped the Lucky Strike he was holding. “Then I saw my daughter. She was standing just outside of the kitchen door. She had apparently grabbed the knife right out of P.L.’s hand and stabbed him in the back.”

  Mary could hardly believe her ears. “Mr. Walsh—”

  Gregory shook her head. “I was terrified…I panicked. I took my daughter and ran out the back door. I…I sent her away to a boarding school in Europe.” Gregory turned and locked eyes with Mary. “I had to escape her. Boarding school wasn’t enough,” he said in a panicked voice. I…faked my own disappearance and began a new life under the name of Gregory Walsh. I took P.L. Wording’s money, money I had begun to hide, and bought a studio. I was a small fish at first but now I’m the man in town people come to for work. I own Los Angeles, Mrs. Holland…at least, I did.”

  Mary nodded. “Somehow your daughter found you.”

  Gregory nodded his head. “I don’t know how,” he confessed. “I was very careful not to leave a trace…not a single trace. Somehow…some way…she found me…and began demanding money.” Gregory shivered all over. “She was so bitter and angry. She threatened to go to the police and tell them I killed Ellie and P.L. if I didn’t give her money. So I did. I gave her money. I gave her a house sitting on the back lot of my studio…a house we built for a movie that I had never torn down. I bought her a car. What choice did I have?”

  “How did Monroe Baker come into the picture?” Mary asked as Betty opened her eyes. When Betty saw Gregory, she fainted all over again. “Oh, not again, honey,” Mary exclaimed.

  “Monroe Baker was a face to sell pictures and nothing more,” Gregory told Mary in a sour voice as his mind returned back to the present. “A handsome face and a little acting talent can make me a lot of money, Mrs. Holland.” Gregory shook his head. “Monroe Baker assumed he was a star because I put him in a few movies. It’s true a lot of women began to notice him.”

  “When did he meet Bridget Carson?” Mary asked.

  “Monroe Baker met my sweet Bridget while they were filming a beach movie. I warned Bridget to stay away from that rat, but she fell for his charm…at least until she learned the truth. I was very relieved and thought that was the end of the
matter. Only—I swear—I didn’t know my daughter was obsessed with Monroe. I didn’t know Monroe had taken her out to dinner and applied his charm to a woman who…is mentally ill.” Gregory looked down at his hands. “My daughter killed my sweet Bridget…drowned her the same way she drowned Ellie. It’s like…reliving the past all over again. She drowned Bridget…stabbed Monroe…and now she’s determined to kill you.”

  “She could have killed me in Pineville.”

  “Yes, she could have,” Gregory admitted. “But what about Detective Burbank? Mrs. Holland, my daughter is a devious woman but she’s highly intelligent. She knew she was in way over her head after she killed Monroe Baker, so she called me and explained this plan she had conceived that would get rid of you and Detective Burbank. I was given a choice: help or die.” Gregory kicked the ground. “She’s ruining my life!” he yelled. “I’m a prisoner in my own studio!”

  Mary wanted to feel pity for Gregory. Instead, she felt disgusted. The man was playing the victim when in fact he was a criminal. She didn’t want to admit her thoughts or even hint that her mind was walking in that area. Instead, she continued baiting Gregory for information. “Your daughter wants Monroe Baker’s body.”

  “All part of her plan to frame Detective Burbank for the murders,” Gregory confessed. “All this over a face and a photo.”

  “You know about the photo?” Mary asked.

  Gregory nodded. “My daughter believes you are in possession of the photo she’s after.”

  “I don’t have the photo,” Mary said. “I told her that back in Pineville, but she wouldn’t believe me. Monroe Baker was planning to make a run for his life before your daughter killed him. He never gave me a photo, Mr. Walsh, and that’s the truth.”

  “Of course, he didn’t,” Gregory told Mary, “because I have the photo. I went to Monroe privately after I found out he was going to headline your talent show. This was after my daughter had words with him and after he went to the police. I told Monroe I would help him if he helped me. You see, my daughter told me about the photo and I formed a plan of my own.” Gregory went for a third Lucky Strike. “Monroe agreed to my plan and gave me the photo. Finally, I thought, I had a weapon I could use against my daughter if—”