Page 86 of Killer on the First Page
“I reminded the Portland crowd that they are here on the invitation of the HRPD, and that this was still our case until they were notified otherwise.”
“Good work, officer,” said Ned, sweeping in past the front desk. “We’ll take it from here. You stand guard. Andrew, come with me. You can take notes.”
And before he could tell Miranda towait. right. here., Officer Holly had waved her through, too. “You too, Nancy Drew.”
Ned was as surprised as she was.
With a wry smile, Holly explained, “She asked for you specifically, Miranda. Said, ‘If someone is going to play me in a shitty movie of the week, I want it to be her.’”
Flattered, Miranda joined Ned and Andrew. They walked down the hall past Ned’s office to the station’s single holding cell at the rear of the building.
Sitting behind bars was Wanda Stobol. She looked up, gave them a weary smile as they approached. “Here I was hoping it might finally be Compendium Cathy on the case,” she said. “Kid never shows up when I need her to.”
Before he could unlock the cell door, Miranda pulled Ned to one side and whispered, “Ned, this makes no sense. She masterminds a pair of devious murders, and then just strolls in and confesses?”
Ned squirmed. “Not confesses, not exactly.” He turned his back to Wanda so she couldn’t hear. “Officer Holly said her actual words were ‘Lock me up and I’ll tell you everything.’”
On a clang of the door, they entered the cell. Andrew dragged in some chairs as the police chief joined Wanda on the cot.
Not without sympathy, Ned said, “Somethin’ weighing on your mind, Ms. Stobol? We can talk in the interview room, would be more comfortable. But Officer Holly informs me that you want to stay right here.”
Her smile tightened. “Safest place for me,” she said.
“Tell me about the Idaho Seven,” Ned said, throwing a glance to Andrew, who sat, notebook poised and ready.
And now the smile turned wistful. Wanda Stobol, such a stout and imposing physical figure, seemed so vulnerable, so very much alone.
“We were young and nervous, full of panic and joy. Personally selected by the great John D. Ross to be his acolytes. Love and money are the two greatest motives for murder, with the love of money stronger still.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Love, money, andglory. He promised his franchise to the one of us who could work out the ending to his final book. He’d already written the last novel in the series, to be held in estate until his death, by his widow, I presume. We were to gather at his summer home on Cape Cod a year after he died, where we would be allowed to read his final manuscript,A Black Orchid to End With—but not the last page. Whoever among us could predict the final twist would get to take over the entire series. An iconic and lucrative series.”
“Helen doesn’t control the estate.”
“Who?
“Helen. His wife.”
“Ah.” Wanda nodded. “That would explain why she shuffled it off to you, Miranda. Decided to wash her hands of the matter.”
“Not to me, to my husband. Helen Ross sent the books and the manuscript to the bookstore, care of Edgar.”
“If not the widow, who does manage the Ross literary estate?” Wanda wanted to know.
“Sheryl Youngblut.”
“The overworked publicist?” She was not expecting that.
“From what I gather, she has a strained relationship with her grandmother,” said Ned.
“The publicist is John D. Ross’s grandkid?” said Wanda. “Go figure.”
“And Helen Ross is her grandmother.” Miranda remembered the look on Sheryl’s face when Edgar told her he’d only met Helen one time.“Well, you must have made quite an impression on her.”A look of sadness, of envy.
“She was alienated from her grandmother’s affections,” Miranda realized. “Most likely over her grandfather’s estate, over what to do with John D. Ross’s legacy, that final manuscript. Instead of gifting those first editions to her granddaughter, Helen Ross packs them up and ships them off to Edgar Abbott. That must have hurt Sheryl’s feelings immensely.”
“Not that it mattered,” said Wanda. “It was a poisoned chalice, his final act of cruelty. It dies with him.”
