Maeve Meets Murder

Chapter 5: New Evidence

When she returned to her apartment, she came upon her husband, Gerald. He was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, reading a book and smoking a pipe. When he saw Maeve, he guiltily took the pipe out of his mouth and glanced up at her imperiously raised eyebrows. He had very few opinions, but he held to a strong belief that a man could smoke a pipe if his wife wasn't home to smell it. Of course, his faith in this almost always dwindled when Maeve stepped foot over the threshold.

"Now Gerald, what did I tell you about smoking? Alice Wemberly two doors down has lung cancer, and have you ever seen her without a cigarette hanging from her mouth?"

"Well no, but-"

"No buts, Gerald, I mean it. How many times do I have to say it to get it through your head? I say this out of love, dear, but you really are signing your death warrant. Do you want to end up like Alice? She has such bad skin."

Gerald, cowed, meekly replied, "No, dear. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," sniffed Maeve. She confiscated the pipe and gave Gerald a peck on the cheek.

Now, she thought, where is that sheet music?

For Maeve, unbeknownst to Dexter, had taken the sheet music with her after she had interviewed him. She found it in her handbag and, upon pulling it out, looked at it. It was glaringly normal. In fact, there was nothing particularly different about it at all. Maeve got out Gerald's crossword-designated magnifying glass to examine it more closely. Maeve found this: Lucy's handwriting was small and precise, and she had used black ink. That was it. Maeve took a deep breath to calm her frustration- and in doing so inadvertently smelled the papers. In shock, Maeve sniffed them again. "What-" and then it dawned on her. Quickly throwing on some shoes, Maeve scurried down to Lucy's former apartment, only to find it empty.

They must have cleared out her things as evidence, she thought.

So Maeve ran back to her apartment to put on her coat and grab the handbag. Then she went downstairs, started her car, and raced to the station. She tried the door, and found it locked.

Knocking on it, she yelled "Ben! Benedict Finchley, open this door!"

Ben appeared in front of her, a confused and drowsy look on his face. He opened the door.

"Maeve? What are you doing out at this hour?"

"Do you have Miss Montgomery's violin case here with you?"

"Well yes, but it's evidence."

"I need to see it."

"What? No, Maeve, you can't tamper with evidence. This case-"

"Is closed, right? You arrested an innocent man to save face. I might know who actually killed her. I need to see that case. Ben- I am on the verge of solving this, you don't dare stand in my way."

Ben folded his arms. He wasn't about to give in to nosy Mrs. Maeve Lewis.

"Maeve, I said no."

"Mr. Finchley. Do you really want to get on my bad side?"
"Aren't I already?"

"I mean the side that gets you on the front page, Benedict."

"Oh."

"Yes. Now, the case?"

Benedict, defeated (his record wasn't as clean as he might have wished it), went to get the violin case.

"Have you looked at it at all?"
"No, it's just a violin case."

"Just a-" Maeve looked up at the ceiling and asked the good Lord for patience. "Mr. Finchley, do you have any gloves on hand?"
"Yeah, hold on a sec."
When he returned with the gloves, Maeve put them on and opened the case. She felt along the lining, tugging at a corner. It came away, and revealed tightly packed plastic bags of marijuana.

"Oh my stars," whispered Maeve. She stepped back. Ben just stared.

"Maeve- what's going on here?"

"I think that Miss Montgomery's death is bigger than we had imagined, Mr. Finchley."