The Ghost and the Dead Deb

“Tell me, Mr. Napoli,” Fiona continued, “was Angel Stark one of your customers?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Angel was already off drugs. She wrote that book of hers and everyone pretty much knew she was clean.”

“How about Bethany Banks? Was she one of your customers?”

Johnny nodded. “Everyone else in that clique was a customer at one time or another—Bethany, Georgette LaPomeret, Donald Easterbrook, Kiki Langdon, they were all regulars. But even if Bethany hadn’t been a customer, I would have noticed her. She was something special. She and Donald Easterbrook were the leaders of that pack, so I guess it made sense that they would hook up.”

Fiona began to pace again. “Let’s get back to that night,” she said, still in prosecutor mode. “You remained outside with Angel Stark while everyone else went back into the bookstore, is that correct?”

“That was because Angel—she just wouldn’t let go of me. Hung on like I was her lifeline or something. I thought maybe she was just scared, later on I found out differently.”

“We’ll get to ‘later on’ in a moment,” Fiona said quickly. “Just tell us what happened next.”

“Well, Angel asked me if I’d give her a ride to your inn. I wasn’t keen on the idea, seeing as I was supposed to meet Mina after she finished work. We were going to have some pizza, go for a drive.”

“But Angel convinced you to accompany her to my inn?”

“I felt sorry for her after what happened and all. And she kinda limped, so I thought she was hurt.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but, Mr. Napoli. Sounds like you’re holding back . . .”

Brainert slapped his own forehead. “Damn, I knew I forgot to do something. We didn’t swear him in.”

“We need a Bible for that,” said Linda.

“Where are we gonna find a Bible in a mystery bookstore?”

Aunt Sadie rose. “I’ll just go fetch mine . . .”

“Relax, Sadie, it doesn’t matter,” Seymour offered. “My client is here to tell the whole truth and nothing but, right Johnny?”

The frowning youth shifted in his chair, then nodded. “There was another reason I went with Angel,” Johnny continued. “Angel told me something . . . something that forced me to go with her.”

Fiona pulled a doubtful expression. “Forced, Mr. Napoli?”

“Angel told me she knew something about that night . . . the night Bethany was murdered. She claimed she found out stuff while researching the book, stuff that could clear me of the crime forever by pointing a finger at the guilty party.”

“So you drove Angel to my inn. But you never got there, did you?”

“We did,” Johnny insisted. “Angel didn’t go to her room though. She said it was a ‘resplendent’ night, said we should go for a walk around the pond. So we followed the path to the construction site.”

“You’re telling us that you went walking with Angel at the very spot where her corpse was later found?”

Seymour jumped to his feet. “I object!” he yelled.

“Too late, mailman. He’s already admitted he was the last to see Angel alive,” Fiona shot back.

“I said I went walking with her,” Johnny cried. “I never said I was the last to see her alive. The killer saw her last, and I didn’t kill Angel.”

“The kid’s right!” roared Seymour. “My client merely stated he was with Angel that night. He never said he was the last person to see her alive. You’re leading the witness, or the jury, or—I guess both.”

Fiona crossed her arms. “Johnny admitted that he was with Angel where her corpse was later discovered. I merely pointed that fact out.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Seymour. “But I didn’t like the way you pointed it out.”

Brainert rocked the podium with his hammer. “Order, order,” he cried.

Where’s the kangaroo in this courtroom?

“Easy, Jack. They’re doing their best.”

“To restate,” said Fiona, facing Johnny again, “Angel claimed she had information on Bethany Banks’s murder. Did Angel tell you what that information consisted of?”

“No. When we got to the construction site, she totally changed on me, got real nasty. Said she knew all about my drug pushing to her friends—how I always had something special behind the bar at the parties I catered. Angel said she knew I’d done the time for possession, but also knew I’d never been brought up for dealing—something she could prove to the cops, who were still looking for an excuse to lock me up forever. She even blamed me for Georgette’s cocaine addiction—but I knew Georgie was copping coke from everyone. She made two or three trips to Boston a month to buy powder.”

Johnny gulped from a bottled water Seymour handed him. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Then Angel brought up why Bethany came down the service stairs that night . . . that Bethany came there to meet me, which was true, but old news since the cops knocked it out of me the night of her murder.”

“Which is why they couldn’t use that statement against him,” Bud pointed out from his seat. “They violated Johnny’s rights a dozen times over that night.”

“Yes,” Fiona told Bud, “Angel discussed all that in her book. But she never actually said why Johnny was meeting Bethany.” Turning back to Johnny, she pointedly asked. “Was it a drug buy?”

“Bethany wanted to have sex—at least that’s what she told me,” Johnny replied.

This time it was Mr. Koh who moaned. “Time to leave, daughter,” he said, getting to his feet.

“I’m not leaving,” Joyce replied. “I want to find out what happens—”

“But—”

“Oh, come on, Dad. You only want to go because of the dirty talk. But it’s no worse than my soaps!” She tugged on his sleeve and he reseated himself with a huff.

“Go on,” said Fiona. Johnny shrugged.

Mr. Koh shook his head, muttering something in Korean while Joyce leaned forward, waiting to hear more.

“I didn’t think Bethany slept around,” said Johnny. “I mean, she was engaged to Donald Easterbrook. And she never came on to me. Not before that night, anyway. I should have known it was too good to be true. That something else was going on inside her head.”

“Please elaborate.”

“At the lake last night, Angel gave me the 411 on what had been going on the night of the New Year’s Eve ball—that Bethany had found out her fiance was cheating on her with one of her best friends—”

“Who?” asked Fiona.

“Angel claimed it was Kiki, and I believe her because there was gossip to that effect. Then Angel told me that Bethany had asked Donald to meet her in the utility room at midnight. Bethany wanted him to catch us both in the act—as revenge on him for cheating on her.”

An old story, said Jack.

“Wow! This is better than my soaps!” declared Joyce.

Mr. Koh grunted.

“Did you make the rendezvous?” asked Fiona.

“I got there, all right. But Bethany was already dead.” Johnny’s expression darkened. “When I found her, Bethany was just lying there. I almost didn’t recognize her. Her tongue was sticking out, her face was purple . . . a belt was wrapped around her neck—my own belt as the police told me later—”

“That’s right! Your own belt!” Fiona cried, jumping to her feet.

“I object,” barked Seymour, jumping to his feet. “It’s my turn to—”

“Let Johnny . . . er, the defendant, answer the question,” Brainert said, with a pound of his hammer.

Seymour frowned and sat down.

“She was killed in the utility room, a big storage area really. We—that is, the catering staff—we used it as a changing area. There were lockers to put your street clothes in. We all wore white-jacket uniforms for formal parties. My clothes were there inside the locker.”

“How did it get unlocked?” asked Fiona.

“Those lockers didn’t have locks.”