Gemstone Butterfly

Not long after, Don Kimberley entered alone. Clearly, he had reserved a table. He sat down, casually surveyed his surroundings, ordered a cocktail, leaned back comfortably, looking every bit the man who had arrived early for a date. Paige glanced at her watch: 9:15. The entertainment series was scheduled to start at 9:30. She furrowed her brow. First, it was strange enough that Don Kimberley had brought Stella Lynn to this Royal Partridge Nightclub, and now, he was evidently not waiting for “Miss Cleavage” to walk in alone. There was something odd about the whole affair; if it were a date, he would have picked her up and brought her along. Paige was lost in thought, oblivious to the passage of time, when suddenly the lights dimmed, and a waiter brought her another cocktail. “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Castle. The management assures us it’s safe here, and no one will harm you. Please enjoy the show.” Paige thanked him. The dance troupe came on stage, their costumes teetering on the edge of legality, and the emcee pulled the microphone closer. Paige glanced at Don Kimberley. He wasn’t looking at the girls’ legs; instead, he was staring at his watch, his brow creased. Good heavens, Paige Castle thought, he wouldn’t make him wait, would he? Oh, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her. If she really was dating him, she, no, no, she wouldn’t be late. But clearly, Don Kimberley was waiting for someone who was late, whoever that might be. The intervals between his glances at his watch grew shorter, and he kept looking towards the door, showing signs of increasing impatience. After a while, the lights came up, and Paige suddenly realized Don Kimberley was scrutinizing her, a look of confusion in his eyes, as if to say, “Where have I seen that girl before?” She smiled and nodded at him, and when he stood up, she saw the recognition flash across his face. Then he walked over. “Oh, hello, Miss Castle,” he said, “I didn’t recognize you for a while. Waiting for someone?” “Oh, no,” she said, “I’m interviewing the club for my column, gathering material. Many WEFI officials frequent here. I believe you know the press has its eyes on you, Mr. Don Kimberley, and in my next column, the public’s relentless gaze will be on you—” “Oh, God!” Kimberley groaned, sitting down at her table without invitation, frowning at her. “Oh, what’s the matter?” Paige asked cheerfully, “You have nothing to hide, you’re not married, no attachments. I—I mean, you’re a bachelor.” “A bachelor indeed,” he grunted. “May I ask why you seem indifferent to being reported on in the ‘Air Castle’ column?” “Am I indifferent?” “I think you are.” He smiled, suddenly calm again. “I’m interested now, but not because of your column.” “Then you’re definitely not alone?” she teased, examining his face closely. “I’m waiting for some people. Why don’t you stop playing with that cocktail and let me order you another one?” “Goodness, this is already my second.” “Oh, at the rate you’re sipping that drink, the first one must have been finished an hour ago. Hey, waiter!” Paige didn’t stop him. She felt a surge of joy, not just from the alcohol, but also from realizing there was more to this situation than met the eye. Why was Don Kimberley meeting Stella Lynn covertly? Was he embarrassed to pick her up at her apartment—or was he afraid? Kimberley checked his watch again. “Oh, you look restless,” Paige said, “like a nervous cat. She wouldn’t stand you up, would she? Oh, I shouldn’t gossip like that! But you know, I’m hunting for news.” She genuinely felt the twitch in his heart. “News,” he said, “is something the person involved doesn’t want published. I believe a famous journalist said, ‘If the person wants it published, it’s not news. But if they try to keep it out of the papers, then it becomes news.'” “So, you’re planning to keep something about you out of the papers?” she asked.
Suddenly, his expression turned serious. “Yes, I’m afraid I cannot be the subject of your column—not even if it means involving Mr. Halsey.” “Are you referring to the meeting here tonight?” He frowned, scrutinizing her. “Hey, hold on, Miss Castle. Why are you here?” She looked into his eyes. “Someone sent me an anonymous letter saying you were meeting Stella Lin tonight here. I thought I should come to the nightclub to interview, gather some gossip, many in the office think these kinds of stories are—um, interesting.” “You mean funny?” “Well, if you take it literally, funny is a form of interesting.” Kimberly pondered for a moment. “You must have heard of the nickname ‘Miss Cleavage,’ right?” he finally said. Peggy burst into laughter, then noticed his tone was somewhat odd, which she found amusing. “I’ve known her for 5 years,” Kimberly continued, “even before she started working here, even before she won that beauty contest. She’s a good kid.” “I’m sorry,” said Peggy, “I—” “You don’t need to apologize. I understand. She—I don’t know, I guess she’s a bit of a show-off. She has that kind of complex, like some people like to sing, Stella likes to show off her curves. She’s proud of her figure, but she’s a good kid.” Peggy said, “I hadn’t thought it mattered.” “It doesn’t matter.” “I know, but what I want to say is, I don’t think anyone at the company knew you’ve known her for so long. Of course, you are—um, qualified. I think everyone likes Stella, but no one would think you two would be dating.” Suddenly he said, “I like her, but this isn’t a date, I’m worried sick.” “What do you mean?” He explained, “You might know, my job is like a jack-of-all-trades, dealing with all sorts of things. If an actress reports losing $50,000 in jewelry, or claims someone entered her apartment and stole a necklace worth $100,000, the investigation falls on me. I’m in charge of the theft insurance department at WeFi Company, which handles a lot.” She nodded, her alertness growing. “Stella called me this morning. To understand the significance of this action, you need to know that Stella has always exaggerated the importance of my job. I think this was the first time she’s ever called me, and during office hours.” Kimberly paused, giving her a careful look. Peggy’s face was expressionless. “Oh,” he continued, “she told me she needed to see me about something very important. She asked where we could meet, and I said I’d meet her anytime, anywhere. She said it had to be a place where our meeting would look coincidental, so I suggested the Royal Pheasant Nightclub. She agreed, and said she’d be there at 9:30 sharp.” “She’s supposed to meet you here?” “Yes. I offered to pick her up at her apartment, but she said I couldn’t go near her place, that she was in a tricky situation, and I should wait for her here. If she was with someone, I was to pretend it was a chance encounter. She promised to be here at 9:30 sharp, and I’m very worried.” “I didn’t know you were friends. I guess no one else knew either.” “It’s not exactly a secret. Stella thought it would be better if we didn’t publicize it. You know, she might be a show-off, but she’s a person with values, she never lets her friends down. She’s a good kid, overly sensitive about our job ranks.” “I thought you got her the job.” “No, I didn’t. I don’t know who did. One afternoon, I bumped into her in the elevator. She told me she’d been working there for two weeks. I offered to buy her a drink, and she said she knew I was part of the upper echelons of the company while she was just a clerk in the archives. She wanted me to know she didn’t want to embarrass me.” “It’s these traits in Stella that make her likable. She’s very down-to-earth, always so honest and easy to get along with. Look, Miss Castle, I’m very worried about her. I’m going to her apartment to make sure she’s safe. If you could come along, that would be great.” “Maybe she’s just late—” “Stella wouldn’t be. If something held her up, she would’ve called. Waiter, check please.” Peggy didn’t tell him she hadn’t eaten. She just nodded, giving him a smile, hoping it would bolster his confidence. “I’d be glad to come with you,” she said, “but I was just thinking, Stella told you not to go near her residence.” “Yes, but I think with you there, it’s okay. We’ll just say you and I are on a date tonight—we’re together. And whatever you find, don’t let it make the papers. Let’s go.” The facade of the apartment building was ornate, but once past the entrance, it was rather shabby. Don Kimberly mechanically inserted the key into the front door, opened it, and escorted Peggy through the foyer. Back at the elevator, he pressed the button for the fifth floor. “You have a key?” she asked. “Don’t be silly. That’s the key to my own apartment. Almost any key can open these outer doors.” Peggy knew this was true, and she also knew Don Kimberly hadn’t hesitated or tried his key. He inserted the key with absolute confidence, turned it, and entered without any delay. After a moment, the clattering elevator stopped. Kimberly opened the door for her, then gently closed the steel gate of the elevator. “Turn left,” he said, “Apartment 519.” She turned left, and Kimberly caught up with her, ringing the bell of Apartment 519. They heard the bell ring, but there was no response. Kimberly waited a moment, then tried the door. The handle turned, the door opened, and Peggy glanced inside to see a neat, simply furnished apartment. “Anyone here?” Kimberly called out. Peggy grabbed his arm. “What do you see?” he asked. “The coat on the chair.” “What about it?” “That’s the coat she should’ve worn out tonight. Why would she leave it there?”
She pointed to a double-leaf spring door, obviously leading to the kitchen. Her voice rose with excitement: “Let’s go see if she’s in there.” Kimberley pushed the double-leaf spring door. Through the half-open door, Peige could see inside from where she stood, and she called out. There lay a girl on the floor, legs stretched out, wearing socks. A bottle of whiskey was placed by the sink, and a glass cup had rolled out of the girl’s limp fingers, leaving a trail of liquid on the oilcloth. She was wearing a strapless bra, a loose skirt, shoes, and socks. Kimberley suddenly burst into laughter, shouting, “Stella, wake up! You’ve missed your date!” The woman didn’t move. Peige stepped forward, noticing something off about the girl’s skin color. She quickly knelt down, picked up the limp hand, and then dropped it to the ground: “She’s dead.” “What?” “Dead. She must have had a heart attack.” Kimberley said, “Call a doctor quickly.” Peige replied, “Calling a doctor won’t help; she’s already dead. Feel her; you’ll see. We’d better—” “Better what?” “Better call the police.” Kimberley hesitated: “What’s that on her leg?” Peige looked at the girl’s right leg. On the reinforced hem of the sheer nylon stockings was a beautiful butterfly ornament, its diamonds, rubies, and emeralds sparkling. “Oh my God,” Kimberley exclaimed, “How did she get that?” “What’s wrong?” Peige asked, noticing Kimberley’s face had turned pale. “Have you heard of the Garrison jewelry theft?” he asked. “Who hasn’t?” “Our company insured those Garrison jewels. We had to pay out $250,000 in compensation—that butterfly looks very much like the famous Garrison Butterfly Gem. How on earth did Stella get hold of it?” Peige removed the butterfly ornament and put it into her wallet. “Letting the police find it won’t do any good,” she said. “Hey,” Kimberley protested, “You can’t do that. It might be evidence.” “Evidence of what?” “I don’t know, I just know you can’t do that.” “I’ve already done it.” “But—come on, let’s call a doctor—we don’t need to wait. Let the doctor handle what needs to be done.” Peige said, “That’s police business. Did you notice the foam around her mouth? And there’s a smell, I’ve been trying to identify it, and now I know what it is.” “Smell, what do you mean?” “The smell of bitter almonds. That means cyanide. Her skin color also indicates the same problem.” He looked at her, half in doubt: “You seem to know a lot about—suicide.” “Yes,” said Peige, “I’ve been in the newspaper business. Well, since we’re already so deeply involved, let’s see it through.” “For what?” “To protect ourselves. First, let’s check if there are any more bodies here.” She quickly surveyed the apartment, her eyes quickly noting every detail inside. “If it’s suicide, what you’re doing now might be very illegal,” he said. “And if it’s murder?” “Then it would be doubly illegal.” She said nothing, quietly moving around the room. She wore gloves, occasionally touching something very carefully, but most of the time her hands hung by her sides. The air was thick with the smell of pure whiskey, probably from the spill in the kitchen. But the smell was even stronger in the bathroom. Peige knelt on the tile floor, picked up a small piece of glass, then another, and finally placed both back on the tile. In the bedroom, Stella’s clothes to be worn were laid out on the bed, the neckline almost to her waist. Kimberley stood before the dress, looking at the V-neck, and softly said, “Peige,” he finally said, casually using her name, “this will be all over town. If it’s murder—I don’t know how it happened, but I’m scared.” “What if it’s suicide?” she asked. “Then don’t make a big deal out of it—a few light words on the second page or a report on the second edition would suffice. Halsey doesn’t like articles reporting bad news.” “Do I need to be told that?” “Well,” he said, “do you really think we have to notify the police? Can’t we just call a doctor and leave?” “Do you want to be the prime suspect in a murder case?” “Oh God, no!” “What you’re saying now is certainly inviting others to think you are the prime suspect. The phone is over there, call the police.” He hesitated: “I want us to stay completely out of this. Since she’s dead, there’s nothing we can do…” Peige walked to the phone, dialed the operator, and asked to be connected to the police headquarters, soon hearing a deep male voice answer. Peige said, “My name is Castle, I want to report a death. We just found a body under very strange circumstances—” “Where are you?” Peige gave the address. “Wait there,” the voice said, “Don’t touch anything, watch for a police car, I’ll contact the dispatcher immediately.” The two officers who arrived were very understanding. They listened to Kimberley’s rough account of the events, where he carefully omitted Peige’s suspicions of poisoning, only stating some facts: Stella Lynn was “a friend of theirs,” they came to visit her apartment, found the door open, went in, and saw her body on the floor: they weren’t exactly sure how to handle such a situation but felt they should notify the police. The officers looked around, nodded solemnly, and one of them called the coroner. Peige hesitated, then ventured, “Do you—do you know how she died?” “Do you think it was suicide?” She hesitated: “I couldn’t help but wonder if she died of a heart attack.” “Was she depressed or something before?” “I didn’t know her that well,” Peige said, “but I’d guess she was quite optimistic.”
But—oh, look at the foam on her lips, and the peculiar color of her skin—” The officer shrugged. “We’re not thinking about the problem now, we’re just going through the motions, collecting routine reports and statements.” Then came a period of waiting. People came and went, and finally, a homicide team arrived, followed by a photographer who took several pictures of the body, and a detective who asked Paige and Kimberley some detailed questions. Kimberley was the first to give her account. Since no one thought to separate them for questioning, after hearing a very cursory statement from Tang about the night’s events, Paige, in her own statement, closely adhered to some basic, simple facts. These officers naturally assumed she was Tang Kimberley’s girlfriend; they had visited Stella Lin’s apartment after dinner simply because they were friends and Stella Lin worked at the same company. Tang Kimberley drove her home. Paige hoped he would speak up and offer some additional explanations, but he was lost in thought, focusing on driving at night, so it was up to Paige to bring up topics. “You spoke first,” she said, “so I had to tailor my statement to match yours, but I feel we might have gone a bit too far.”