A Cutthroat Business (31 page)

A couple of cardboard boxes in the corner turned out to hold knick-knacks and assorted junk. Ceramic kittens, vases, framed family photographs. One showed a younger Clarice standing next to an equally young, somewhat weak-chinned man with prematurely thinning hair and eyes that were a smidgen too close together over a pointy nose. “This must be Mr. Webster,” I remarked, examining it.

“Looks like the criminal type,” Rafe agreed. He was watching over my shoulder, standing close enough to brush against my back. I moved away, fractionally.

“That’s pretty funny, coming from you. You didn’t get that good at picking locks without considerable practice.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He winked. I fought down a blush, resolving to try harder not to feed him all these straight lines. It was going to be difficult, however, since I had no idea I was doing it until he took my innocent remark and turned it into something I hadn’t intended.

“There’s a file box over there.” He pointed. “I’d guess that’d be where it’s at.”

“Where what’s at?”

“Whatever you’re looking for, darlin’. Unless you were planning to ask me to put this on my back and stagger out with it.” He patted a heavy dining room table with carved clusters of grapes like goiters on its legs.

“Thanks,” I said with a shudder, “but no. I don’t mind antiques, but that’s really too awful.”

“I didn’t notice many antiques in your apartment.” He was making his way toward the file box, and wasn’t looking at me.

“You weren’t there very long.”

“Long enough.”

“And you only saw the hallway.”

“I had a look around while you and Satterfield necked.”

“Todd and I didn’t neck for more than a second.”

Rafe arched a brow, and I sighed. “Our house in Sweetwater had nothing but antiques, but Bradley preferred things more modern. So we furnished our townhouse with leather and chrome and glass.” All very cold and angular. An apt metaphor for our marriage, come to think of it. Small wonder the relationship hadn’t lasted. “I left it all behind when I divorced him.”

“What happened?” Rafe didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other. I folded my arms and watched him navigate the obstacle course to the file box in the corner.

“Other than that
we had different tastes in home decor? He cheated.”

I know I mentioned that that fact was something I didn’t want to get around, but I figured it would be safe to tell Rafe. Who could he tell, after all? It wasn’t like we moved in the same circles. And ― somehow ― he was easy to talk to about things like this. I guess maybe because he wasn’t in a position to judge me for being less than perfect.

“Figures.” He shifted another, smaller box out of his way. It clinked, like it was full of porcelain or glass.

I sniffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m the kind of woman who gets cheated on? Thanks a lot!”

“I just meant that you pick the wrong guys to get involved with.”

“There was nothing wrong with Bradley,” I said, stung. I was no fan of Bradley’s either, anymore, but I was damned if I would let Rafe Collier lecture me about my love life. Bradley had turned out to be a jerk, yes, but while he courted me, he had seemed like my perfect match. “He was young, wealthy, reasonably good looking, came from a good family, was offered a very good job after graduation...”
 

Rafe murmured something. I couldn’t hear what it was, but I heard the tone, and decided not to ask him to repeat it.

“If something wasn’t wrong with him,” he said instead, “why’d he cheat?”

“Maybe he thought there was something wrong with me.”

He straightened up and looked at me. Up and down, for a little longer than strictly necessary. “Ain’t nothing wrong with you, darlin’. Any man who has you in his bed and goes somewhere else for his jollies, needs his head examined.” He turned back to the box.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

“No sweat. So when you and I get it on...”

“I should have known this was just another way for you to try to talk me into bed.”

“Can’t fault a man for trying.” He grinned at me over his shoulder.

“I can. Plus, I’m frigid.”

I couldn’t imagine why I’d blurted th
at piece of information out ― surely I wasn’t
that
comfortable talking to him! ― but on the upside, maybe it would make him stop asking.

“Just cause Bradley couldn’t get the job done, don’t mean I can’t.”

Or maybe not. I shrugged. “Are you finding anything
?”

“Papers. Old bills. College transcripts. Looks like she studied accounting half a century ago. Title to her house. She lived in
Sylvan
Park
. Any reason we have to go there?”

“None I can think of.” Breaking into Clarice’s storage unit was one thing; breaking into her house was something totally different.

“Glad to hear it,” Rafe said. “Houses are close together out there. Someone’d probably see us. Here’s a will: everything she owns to someone named Laura Curtis of
Des Moines
.”

“I doubt she had much to leave,” I said. “The house is probably worth something, if it isn’t mortgaged to the rafters, but her husband went bankrupt and left her destitute, and for the past fifteen years, she’s been a glorified file clerk for Brenda Puckett. Who wasn’t the world’s most generous employer, by all accounts. Alexandra told me she was always complaining about the money she had to pay Clarice. Which is
so
unfair, because if I know — knew — Brenda, she probably had Clarice earning $8.50 an hour!”

Rafe didn’t answer, and I turned to look at him. He was staring at something he had just pulled from the box.

“What’s that?” I picked my way closer to him.

He held it out. “IRA statement. Says she had just under four million dollars in her account.”

“What?!” I grabbed the statement. “But if she had that kind of money, why did she work for Brenda?”

“Maybe she liked her,” Rafe said. I snorted, handing the statement back to him.

“I don’t think there was a single person in the whole world who liked Brenda Puckett. Except maybe her family, and I’m not sure about them. Plus, Alexandra told me Clarice and Brenda weren’t friends.”

“So maybe Brenda had some kind of hold on her.”

“Blackmail, you mean? I suppose it’s possible. I wouldn’t put it past her. If Clarice was involved in her husband’s embezzling scheme, for instance, and Brenda knew about it... Clarice was an accountant; maybe she helped Graham cook the books. And maybe Brenda hired Clarice in order to squeeze as much work out of her as she could, knowing that Clarice couldn’t quit. Although that doesn’t explain how Clarice ended up with four million dollars...”

“This does.”

He handed me another piece of paper. I looked at it and gulped. “What on earth...? But this isn’t... Oh, my God!”

Rafe arched a brow. I took a breath. “Heidi told me that she’d seen Clarice’s contract with Brenda, and that it was the same as her own. Heidi pays Brenda 40% of her income, and keeps 60% after
Walker
takes out the company’s share.”

Rafe nodded encouragingly.

“But this doesn’t say that, does it? This says that Brenda has to pay Clarice 40% of everything she makes. Everything
Brenda
makes. Right?”

Rafe nodded.

“But that’s... that’s
criminal
!
No wonder Brenda complained!”

“Explains a lot, don’t it?”

“It sure does! Brenda sells a couple of million dollars worth of real estate every month, and sometimes a lot more. Three percent of two million is... um...”

“Sixty grand,” Rafe said. “Sounds like I’m in the wrong business.”

“We’re not all that successful.
Walker
gets 15% off the top; that’s... um...”

“9 grand.”

“Which leaves... um... $51,000?”

He nodded.

“Brenda keeps 60%, and Clarice gets 40%. That’s... um...”

“$20,400 for Clarice, $30,600 for Brenda.”

“Thank you. Over a year, that would be...”

It didn’t take him more than five seconds. “Just less than 245 grand for Clarice, just over 367 for Brenda.”

“You’re good at this. Are you in banking? A CPA? How about a bookmaker?”

“Shame on you,” Rafe said lightly, “don’t you know that gambling is illegal in
Tennessee
?”

“Like that would stop you? $245,000; that’s not bad for typing and filing and keeping track of Brenda’s appointments.”

Rafe agreed. “For that kind of money, I’d go to work for her myself.”

“I wouldn’t. There’s not enough money in the world to pay me to work for Brenda Puckett. Plus, she didn’t like me.”

I hesitated for a second before I added, “She wouldn’t have liked you either.”

“Most women like me just fine.” He grinned.

“Brenda wasn’t most women,” I said. “All she cared about was money, and you don’t have any. All the sex appeal in the world wouldn’t make up for that. Plus, she liked people she could bully, and you’re just not pliable enough.”

“Depends on who’s doing the plying, darlin’.”

I rolled my eyes. “Give it a rest, would you? It’s getting almost as old as my family throwing every eligible bachelor they can find at me.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead he looked around. “We done here?”

I did the same. “I guess we are. Unless you think there’s something else we might find if we keep looking?”

“I think we’ve found enough, don’t you?”

I nodded. I guess we had.

So we locked up again, and hoofed it back to the office, where Rafe went back inside and put the master key wherever he found it and just generally made sure no one could tell we’d been there. If they came through with a fingerprinting kit, they’d find his prints, of course, but as long as everything looked normal, there was no reason why anyone would suspect we’d ever been here.

“All right,” I said when we were driving down Dickerson Pike again. “Let’s see if we can figure this out.”

Rafe nodded encouragingly.

“Fifteen years ago, Clarice’s husband got involved in a business deal with Brenda. When it fell apart, he killed himself.”

Rafe nodded.

“Clarice filed a suit with the real estate commission. But nothing ever came of it, because Brenda paid Clarice to withdraw the charges.”

Rafe nodded.

“So Clarissa Webster became Clarice Webb, and went to work for Brenda. As the years went by, Brenda — thanks in no small part to Clarice — became more and more successful, and Clarice became richer and richer. She had every reason in the world to help Brenda make money, because the more money Brenda made, the more Clarice made.”

Rafe nodded.

“And she had absolutely no reason to want Brenda dead. Brenda was much more valuable to her alive. So Clarice didn’t kill her.”

“Unless there’s something you don’t know,” Rafe said.

“Like?”

“I dunno. Maybe Brenda got tired of sharing and fired her.”

I nodded, grudgingly. “That’s true. What did you think of Maurice Washington, by the way?”

“Nasty tick,” Rafe said, but without excitement. “I don’t think he killed Miz Puckett, if that’s what you’re asking. Not man enough. That prob’ly happened as soon as she got to the house. Whoever did it’d wanna get it over with, just in case Maurice was early. It don’t take long to cut someone’s throat.”

I swallowed. “Not to be rude or anything, but... how do you know that?”

“Not cause I ever had occasion to do it to anyone. Old Jim used’ta take me out hunting. Ain’t much difference when it comes to it.”

“Ugh!” I said. He shrugged. “All right. So the murderer cut Brenda’s throat and then got in the Lincoln Navigator and drove it down to the Milton House, where he or she exchanged Brenda’s car for his or her own car. Then he or she drove home, and waited. Meanwhile, Maurice showed up and found Brenda dead. He rifled her handbag, just to be sure she hadn’t written his name anywhere, and made off with the check she was presumably planning to use to make him stay away from Alexandra. You realize that he had every reason in the world to do away with her? She wouldn’t have stood for Alexandra continuing to see him. The poor girl would have been on her way to finishing school in
Charleston
before you could have said
boo
.”

Rafe looked at me askance, but didn’t ask. “He don’t have the guts,” he said instead, dismissively.

“I’ll take your word for it. By the way, do you think whoever killed Brenda missed the check, or did they leave it on purpose, to implicate Maurice?”

“Depends on whether they knew about Maurice or not. If they didn’t, maybe they were hoping to pin it on me.” He didn’t sound too bothered by the possibility.

“Clarice knew,” I said. “She was the one who saw Maurice and Alexandra together, and told Brenda. Although she might not have known that Brenda had set up an appointment with him that morning.”