Murder At the Cubbyhole. Alice Zogg
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know all about every single one of you down to the last detail.”
Member Five said, “We had no choice. She saw - -”
Their leader cut in, “You had tons of better choices than jumping the gun the way you did.”
“I tell you, Megan realized that the - -”
“No names, please!”
“Like I said, she got wise to me. I couldn’t take the chance of her going to the police; we had to act fast.”
Member One exploded, “Without consulting me? How dare you?”
He obviously did not expect an answer and pointing his thin, long finger at Member Six continued, “And you couldn’t wait to try out your explosives. Both of you are idiots. Sooner or later someone will make the connection. If not the police then somebody else.”
Member Six was about to speak up in an attempt at justification, but Member One stretched out his arm in a silencing gesture and stated, “Enough said. Our only option is to lay low for a while. Next month’s job is therefore postponed until further notice. Don’t forget to leave at your assigned intervals nor remove your masks until after you’ve exited. Meeting adjourned.”
Chapter 3
Six weeks later, R. A. Huber and her husband Peter enjoyed a leisurely evening at their home in Merida, located in the San Fernando Valley at the foot of the Angeles National Forest Mountains. They were sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table, each absorbed with his own project. Peter peered into his laptop screen, doing research for a current manuscript, while his spouse was busy sorting photo prints in chronological order and adding them into an album. After over four decades of marriage, the couple felt comfortable spending long periods of time in close proximity without uttering a single word.
Regula suddenly broke the silence and said, “Guess who took me to lunch today?”
Peter looked up, slightly disoriented, “Hmm?”
“Remember Sergeant Wolf?”
“Of the South Pasadena Police Department?”
“Yes, him. He called me out of the blue and we met for lunch.”
“How is he these days?”
“Getting older like the rest of us. He still looks impressive, though.”
“So why did he want to see you?”
“He had a favor to ask.”
Peter chuckled, making his graying mustache wriggle, and said, “That’s a switch; you’re usually the one to ask favors of the police.”
“Sergeant Wolf is retired now. He wants me to investigate a murder case.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Want to hear about it?”
“Sure,” he replied, “I’m at a dead-end in my research, so shoot.” He shut down his computer, leaned back, folded his hands behind his white head of hair, and was ready to listen.
His wife said, “Remember the news around Valentine’s Day about an explosion at the Cubbyhole Theater, killing a young actress?”
“Yes, I sure do.”
“Her name was Megan Maguire and she is a distant relative of the Sergeant. The police are investigating but so far have not made much progress, and Megan’s parents begged Sergeant Wolf to look into it. He doesn’t feel right about meddling since he’s no longer on the force and suggested that they hire me. The way he put it, ‘This case is right up your alley, Mrs. Huber.’”
“Well Regula, what case isn’t?” Peter teased.
His spouse ignored the remark and related all she had learned during her luncheon that day. Sergeant Wolf still had connections and was able to give her plenty of information.
“Evidently, the explosion had been caused by a device hidden inside a potted orchid arrangement that was delivered to the actress’s backstage dressing room. The entire room and part of the adjacent hallway was destroyed, and there was hardly anything left of the flower pot for analysis. Since the bomb, or whatever explosive device was used, self-destructed, there was no evidence of how exactly it had been activated. The assumption is that there was either a timer attached or most likely the device was set in motion by a cell phone.
“Consequently, the young lady perished. At least the Sergeant was positive that her end came swiftly. Megan was 22 years old, a college dropout, born and raised in Portland, Oregon of Irish immigrant parents. She moved to Southern California in search of an acting career. She shared an apartment with another young woman in Pasadena and supported herself as a salesclerk at an upscale fashion boutique. The young woman took acting lessons and joined an amateur theater group where she landed the lead role in From Sin to Virtue.”
Peter said, “The play sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“We saw it a long time ago on Broadway during a visit to New York. It centers on the seven capital vices and virtues.”
“Oh, I remember now; it was an excellent show.”
She explained that Mr. Wolf had given her the names of all the people the police interviewed. The list was long, starting with Megan’s parents, several theater group members, the acting school instructor, the proprietress of Le Monde Fashion where she worked, her roommate, and an old discarded boyfriend who had followed her to the Southland.
Coming to the end of her narrative she said, “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“You’ve got your work cut out for you; if you’re taking the case, that is,” Peter remarked.
“You bet I’m taking it. Sergeant Wolf helped me out a lot in the past. The Worthington file comes to mind and another at North Shore Lake Tahoe where my investigation took us all over Central Mexico.”
“As I recall, we had a great time on that trip!”
“Don’t get me off the subject, Peter. Like I said, Wolf held my hand more than once, the least I can do now is try giving his relatives some closure.” She added, “Besides, getting a taste of the acting world might be interesting.”
“Is it a pro bono job?”
“I offered, but Megan’s folks, the Maguires, insisted on paying for my services.”
Peter raised an eyebrow and said, “You already talked to the victim’s parents?”
“When I got back to my office after lunch, Sergeant Wolf put through a three-way call to me and the Maguires in Portland.”
“Are you going to let Andi help you with the investigation?”
“Probably, unless she’s too busy studying for her semester finals.”
Regula had kept up her photo project while talking, and now she closed the album with a bang and said, “Done!”
Chapter 4
Antoinette LeJeune, known to her friends as Andi, was riding her Harley-Davidson from Santa Monica to R. A. Huber’s office in Pasadena. At three in the afternoon, traffic was already advancing toward a peak on this Friday at the end of March. Thankfully, as a motorcyclist, she could use the diamond lane. Plus, she had perfect weather for riding, with not a cloud in the sky and temperatures in the upper seventies. Andi would not have traded her Harley for any luxury car. No way!
After making the transition from the 405 North Freeway to the 118 East, traffic eased a tad and Andi let her mind roam. She thought of the different places she had called home in the last three and a half years. At eighteen, following the passing of her Daddy, she had ridden to California on his Harley. The bike was not her only inheritance. Daddy also left her three pieces: a hunting rifle which she sold to a pawn shop before hitting the