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  Black Butterfly

  A Bogey Man Mystery

  by

  Marja McGraw

  Other Books by Marja McGraw

  The Sandi Webster Mysteries

  A Well-Kept Family Secret

  Bubba’s Ghost

  Prudy’s Back!

  The Bogey Man

  Old Murders Never Die

  Death Comes in Threes

  What Are the Odds?

  Having a Great Crime – Wish You Were Here

  The Bogey Man Mysteries

  Bogey Nights

  Bogey’s Ace in the Hole

  They Call Me Ace

  Awkward Moments

  How Now Purple Cow

  Non-Series Mysteries

  Mysteries of Holt House

  Choosing One Moment – A Time Travel Mystery

  BLACK BUTTERFLY – A Bogey Man Mystery, Copyright 2017, by Marja McGraw. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact Marja McGraw at [email protected].

  First Edition, March, 2017

  Cover by Marja McGraw

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Mary Blueberg, my lifelong friend without whom there wouldn’t be any Sandi Webster or Bogey Man mysteries. She talked me into trying my hand at writing, and she talks a good game.

  Thank you for being the original Church Lady in my life.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Once again I must thank Dorothy Bodoin, Jill Shelton and Judy Blinco for their input and attention to detail as they critiqued and proofread my work. I especially appreciate their honesty.

  Thank you to Patricia Gligor for her continued support and for many discussions about the process of writing and publishing.

  And, as silly as it sounds, thank you to that Red Admiral butterfly who came to visit and stayed in the yard for quite a while, posing for a few memorable photos and inspiring this story.

  Chapter One

  My husband and I have been involved in a few crimes, including murder, but…

  Let me rephrase that. My husband and I have been involved in solving a few crimes, but we decided to retire from crime solving, so to speak. We have a young son and he’d been in danger more than once, although the situations had taken us by surprise. We wouldn’t put him through that again.

  We also have a business to run. It’s a forties-themed restaurant and lounge, with live music and excellent food.

  My husband, Chris Cross, is a Humphrey Bogart look-alike, and there’s nothing he enjoys more than walking the walk and talking the talk. Our customers love his Bogey persona and occasionally show up for dinner dressed in forties garb.

  At one time he wanted to be a private investigator and that’s how we met. I was suspected of committing a murder, and he was on the case. Thankfully, a friend who’s a P.I. taught him a few hard lessons about the craft, and that’s when we ended up in the restaurant business.

  After that first case, he ended up with a reputation for figuring things out. People thought we could solve anything. We were quite a team, but reality spoke to us and we stopped listening when people wanted our help. I referred them to that P.I. friend of ours.

  That is, until one morning when a neighbor from down the street, Mary, approached us with a problem. We sat on the sofa in the living room and talked.

  “Pamela,” she said, “I need your help.”

  “Oh? I heard you were redecorating. Do you need some advice or an opinion?”

  “It’s not that, although I know you have great taste. No, I’m having a problem with the Black Butterfly.”

  “Black butterfly? What’s that?”

  “Not what, but who. The Black Butterfly was my cousin. Her parents died when she was young and we were raised together. She felt more like a sister than a cousin.”

  Mary Litton was in her mid-eighties, and as spry and energetic as they come. She still dyed her hair blonde, made a point of wearing make-up, and dressed stylishly, yet comfortably. She went to the beauty shop once a week and had her hair done. Sharp as a tack, not much got past her.

  “Your cousin? Why was she called the Black Butterfly?”

  “It’s a long story, and if you decide to help me, I think you and Chris should hear it at the same time.”

  “You know we retired from the sleuthing business, right?” I asked, hoping she’d let it go.

  “I know, but somehow I think you and your husband would be perfect for my issues. It wouldn’t jeopardize Mikey in any way, shape or form. I promise.”

  I sat and watched the woman for a moment before making up my mind. “I think Chris is in the garage. I’ll go check and be back in a minute. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  I walked toward the back door, but when I entered the kitchen, there was Mikey, eavesdropping.

  “Young man – “

  “I promise to keep my nose out of your business.” He spoke quickly and his face had turned pink from the embarrassment of being caught.

  “You know your father and I aren’t working on cases anymore. There won’t be anything to keep your nose out of, right?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  I walked past him and glancing over my shoulder, I saw that he had his fingers crossed behind his back.

  I shook my head and vowed to keep a close eye on him.

  Chris was in the garage, working on his forties vintage Chevy, his pride and joy. This time he was changing the oil.

  “Hey, Bogey Man, we have a guest.” I tried to sound casual, but I had a feeling I wasn’t succeeding.

  He glanced up but didn’t say anything. I wondered if the suspicious expression on his face had something to do with my tone of voice or the nickname I’d used.

  “Mary Litton is here. You know Mary, our neighbor?”

  “Uh huh. What’s up, toots?”

  “She wants to talk to us about the Black Butterfly.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s not a what, but a who. She has a cousin who was called the Black Butterfly. That’s all I know. She thought she should tell her story to both of us at the same time so she wouldn’t have to repeat it. I don’t know what it’s all about. Oh, and I found Mikey in the kitchen listening in on our conversation.”

  Chris frowned. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  I shrugged. Our son has an unnatural interest in the unusual, and mysteries, and it’s our fault. He’s seen and heard too much for a child to really comprehend. We were trying to change that.

  The Black Butterfly? Oh, come on. What could Mary possibly want us to help her with that had to do with her cousin and a butterfly?

  My husband wiped his hands on an old rag and followed me back to the house.

  Our two yellow Labrador Retrievers, who are mostly white, ran across the back yard to greet us.

  Chris gave them some pets and scratches before telling them to stay outside. Sherlock and Watson sat and looked up at him. If a dog can look disappointed, then that’s the way they looked.

  “The very least we can do is listen to what Mary wants. She’s a nice woman, after all. How bad could things be?”

  “How bad could things be? I think we’ve said those words before – just before our world fell in on us. Besides, she’s always struck me as a dame who keeps things close to the vest.”

  “Mary? She’s
always been very open with me. I never got the feeling she was keeping secrets.”

  “Calling her sister – “

  “Cousin, but like a sister.”

  “Whatever. Calling her cousin the Black Butterfly reeks of secrecy to me. The nickname sounds ominous, like a gun moll.”

  I laughed. “Listen to you. You’re already moving into your Bogey persona, Chris. Let’s just hear her out before we decide if we want to get involved.”

  We found Mary patiently waiting in the living room with Mikey telling her about the latest child’s mystery he’d read.

  “Okay, Ace, why don’t you go upstairs and take care of your homework,” Chris said. Mikey never got tired of Chris calling him Ace and he smiled at his father before slowly climbing the stairs.

  I knew he was hoping we’d start talking before he reached the top step. I watched him and held up my hand for silence.

  Chris waited until our son was out of sight before turning to Mary. “Okay, let’s have the lowdown. What is it you need?”

  “Chris, that was kind of rude,” I said. “You could at least tell our neighbor ‘hi’,” I said.

  “Hi,” he said. “Now what’s the skinny?”

  I started to say something but Mary shook her head. “It’s okay, Pamela. I know he’s a busy man and wants to get down to business.”

  She seemed to stop to gather her thoughts for a moment, rubbing her lips together while she massaged her knees with her hands.

  I heard some sounds from upstairs. “Mikey, go do your homework,” I said, loudly.

  I heard footsteps racing down the hallway.

  Mary took a deep breath. “I was out in my backyard a couple of days ago and saw a Red Admiral. Do you know what that is?”

  “No,” I replied. “I’ve never heard of anything by that name.”

  “It’s a butterfly that’s mostly black, with some red and white spots on the tips of its wings. I haven’t seen one in years, and it made me think about Meredith. In the days when women didn’t get tattoos, Meredith got one of a black butterfly on her shoulder. People knew about it – word gets around fast – and that’s where she got the name the Black Butterfly.”

  “What’s the significance?” I asked.

  “I guess there’s no tactful way to put this, but my cousin was a hit man, or I guess you’d say a hit woman. At least, that’s what I was told after she disappeared. Like I said, the tattoo earned her the nickname.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  Pete reached over and tapped my lip.

  I closed my mouth, only to reopen it to ask questions, and I had plenty, beginning with, “What?”

  Pete grinned at me. “Wasn’t it just a few minutes ago when you asked how bad it could be? Got a clue now?”

  Chapter Two

  I took Mary’s hand in mine. “You can’t be serious.”

  She nodded affirmation. “I’m deadly serious. Oh, sorry. I guess you’d call that a play on words, or maybe a pun. She disappeared a long time ago and it broke my heart. No one ever heard from her again, and the word was that she’d gotten back what she’d been giving out. I heard she crossed someone of great importance in the mob.”

  “Listen to you,” I said. “What happened to that sweet woman from down the street? Now you’re talking about mobs and hits and – “

  “Let me back up,” she interrupted. “When Mer, I always called her Mer. When she was about eighteen she took off for Chicago. She always did have a wild streak in her. She wanted me to go with her, but I didn’t have that same streak and I preferred to stay with my mother and father. She’d write to me and she always had these fantastic stories about the people she’d met there. She hinted that they were gangsters, but early on she never came right out and said it. She was excited. She said she was having the time of her life.

  “At some point her letters took on a different tone. She sounded more serious and less innocent. The postmarks on her letters began to show she was traveling around the country. She sounded hardnosed instead of like the sweet girl I grew up with, if that makes sense.” She watched us intently, appearing to try to gage our reaction to her words.

  “With her traveling, were you able to write back to her?” Chris asked.

  “I’d send letters, but they were often returned. I had her address in Chicago, but she wasn’t always there. Someone would mark ‘Return to Sender’ on the envelope, but it wasn’t her handwriting.”

  “They must have been keeping a close eye on her,” I said.

  “That’s what I thought, but she did answer some of my letters.”

  “So what do you want from us?” Chris didn’t sound quite like himself. He sounded a bit uncomfortable. “Why would seeing a Red Admiral make you think about all of this?”

  Now it was Mary’s turn to look uncomfortable. “About two months ago I started receiving letters; three altogether. Someone seems to think I’m Meredith. Even after all these years, whoever it is believes that I know too much and I could cause problems. At first I thought it was silly, but for some reason when I saw the Red Admiral, it brought it all home to me. I could be in some real trouble.”

  “No offense, but surely you don’t look like you did when you were young,” Chris said, “so why would someone think you’re your cousin?”

  I studied Mary while she sat quietly, seemingly decided about how much to tell us. I could imagine that when she was young, she was a beautiful woman. She’d aged quite well.

  “My features are recognizable, Chris, and Mer and I looked quite a bit alike, except she had dark hair, almost black. There was an article in the newspaper about me, along with a photo, a few months ago. I’d done some volunteer work and the paper wanted to do a story about me.”

  “I saw that,” I said. “As I recall, you were helping the homeless find shelter.”

  “That was me. It must be so humiliating to stand on a street corner holding a sign and begging. I wanted to try to give some of them a little dignity back, and I did what I could. I even found a few businessmen who were willing to take a chance on some of the homeless by giving them jobs.”

  My husband wanted to move on. He could be impatient sometimes. “Okay, so what did the letters say? Why would they make you think back to your past?”

  “Actually, they made me think back to her past. I was approached by the law all those years ago. They wanted to know if I’d heard from her and if I knew what she’d been up to. I hadn’t heard from her in about six months, and they heartlessly told me she’d been ‘fingered’ in a number of mob killings.”

  “Why did they contact you?” I asked.

  “Because they’d found some of my letters in her apartment. From their questions, I figured they thought I knew something. I didn’t. Really, I didn’t.”

  Did I hear fear in her voice?

  “I knew Mer had changed, but I couldn’t accept what they were telling me. That is, until a gangster showed up a few days later and started asking his own questions. At first he thought I might be my cousin and that I’d dyed my hair and tried to change my appearance. After talking to me, he seemed to decide he’d made a mistake. His questions made me draw some ugly conclusions about my cousin. In his own way, he gave away too much information.

  “It seemed like everyone was looking for Mer. No one ever heard from her again.”

  “What about the letters you recently received?” Chris rolled his upper lip under, in perfect Bogey style.

  “They were threatening and told me to keep my yap shut. Someone seems to think I know something that could still hurt someone, even after all this time.”

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “Of course not. What could I possibly know? My cousin never shared anything important with me.”

  “What about the postmark?” Chris was on a mission. I recall him asking pointed questions in other situations. He’d find out all he could and sort it out later.

  “There was no postmark. The letters were left in my mailbox, hand-delivered. So whoever
is doing this knows where I live. Last night my phone rang and when I answered, whoever it was hung up.”

  “That’s not unusual,” I said. “That happens to me, too.”

  Mary raised her eyebrows. “Not long after that I looked out the window and saw someone watching my house.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anything else?” Chris asked. “Was that the first time you saw someone watching your house? Any other hang ups?”

  “This was a first. I don’t like what’s going on, and I don’t like what my cousin became. I certainly don’t want someone coming after me for something she did. I’m too old to defend myself and I need some help. Will you? Will you help me?”

  Chris nodded and I knew he was hooked. “Are you sure your cousin was a hit lady? Could there have been a mistake?”

  “No, sir, I’m not sure. The authorities made it quite clear that she’d become what they called a contract killer. I still can’t believe it. Like I said, her letters changed. She sounded harder, not like the sweet little girl I grew up with. There was one man she seemed to admire quite a bit, but I’m embarrassed to tell you about him.”

  “Why?” Weren’t the facts she’d presented to us embarrassing enough?

  “Because she always called him Lefty. It sounds like the name of a gangster in an old second rate movie. Maybe she thought she was being funny. I don’t know. Lefty. Can you imagine? She only referred to him by his name once. I believe she called him Gabriel, if memory serves. I remember thinking about the Angel Gabriel, but this man sure didn’t sound like an angel.”

  “Do you still have her letters?” Knowing what few facts we did, the letters might explain even more, or so I hoped.

  “No. I threw them out. After she disappeared, I wished I’d kept them.”

  Chris leaned forward. “Mary, let us think about this and talk about it. We’ll get back to you. In the meantime, if you see anyone hanging around your house again, call us immediately.”