Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) (3 page)

Elizabeth turned slowly from the window. “And now what do you think?”

“That it was his way of grieving. He never stopped loving her, but he needed something to look at, something to talk to as he mourned. Eventually, the pain began to ease a little. Years later, after I left home, he remarried. She’s a very nice lady.”

“And the portrait?”

“It’s still in his office. I’m not sure, but I think he still talks to her. He probably can’t wait for my mom to meet Sherri, the woman he married.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid that will never happen to Preston. He seems incapable of putting anything behind him, and quite frankly, women don’t seem to find him very attractive or appealing.”  Then she delivered the sucker punch. “Of course, if someone who knew his background and understood what he’s been through, if someone like that spent some time with him—”

Dear God, tell me what I thought was happening wasn’t really happening.

“Uh, Elizabeth, I think Preston would prefer to find his own dates. He doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy being set up. Matchmaking seldom works, you know.” I was starting to babble, but that was because a heavy dose of panic was constricting my chest.

“My dear child, Preston doesn’t have the first idea of what is good for him. Never has. He spends his days in that dreary office downtown, hating every minute of it, and hating me for securing the job for him. But what choice did I have? The boy never applied himself in school and made terrible grades.  Where else could he go?”

As she talked, I drew several firm strokes and fleshed out the woman’s leg, smudging the charcoal lines with the side of my palm as I went along. “Besides that, Preston has never been very friendly towards me.  I really don’t think he likes me.”

Elizabeth left her spot by the window and came to stand next to me. “The calves need more definition, Maggie.”

As much as it annoyed me to admit, she was right.  As usual.  I added a few short lines, tensed up the slender muscle, and arched the foot.

She paced the floor behind me. “Maggie, Preston hates everyone, me especially. Quite frankly, I’m not all that wild about him or his sister, but it is my job to do the best I can, and I think a woman is called for in this instance.” She stopped and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Please say you’ll try it one night, something casual like dinner, and if it doesn’t work out, I promise to let the matter drop.”

So I capitulated like the spineless excuse of a woman that I was.

Of course, it came as no surprise that dinner was a total disaster.

And now, watching that bony little twerp navigating his way across my lawn, I wanted to reach out and pummel his nose just like the bullies of his youth because I couldn’t stand to see his mousy little face sully the memory of a woman who lovingly badgered me every day of my life. A woman now zipped into a body bag.

I stood up before he reached the porch. “Hello, Preston.”

He shot a venomous glare my way and then spoke directly to Villari, who rose to stand next to me.

“Just what the hell are you doing about my grandmother’s death? We have a murder here and the two of you are sitting on the steps gabbing like teenagers.”

“I’m well aware of what we have here, Mr. Boyer.”

“Then shouldn’t you be testing for fingerprints and whatever else one does in a murder case?” he retorted, “something other than wasting time with a wannabe artist?” His insolent gaze swept up and down my body like I was a piece of rotting fruit.  “My grandmother may have wasted her time with this woman,” he spat, “but I see no reason for the rest of us, especially the police, to do the same.”

Apparently he didn’t enjoy our date any more than I did.

“I realize this is difficult for you,” Villari began, “but hostility will get us nowhere.”

“And exactly where do you see this little chat with Ms. Kean taking us?”

Villari was doing a masterful job of keeping his temper in check. I glanced at his profile and, judging by the clenched jaw and protruding vein in his temple, realized he was one step away from tossing Preston in the septic tank himself.

“Mr. Boyer, the police are doing everything possible right now,” he explained in a very calm, well-modulated voice. “Your grandmother is being taken to the medical examiner’s office, where an autopsy will be performed. In the meantime, we are scouring the grounds and interviewing neighbors for information, which is why I was talking to Ms. Kean here before you interrupted. A police investigation must seem interminably slow to the victim’s family and I apologize for that. But being methodical and thorough is a necessity.”

“You sound like a cop speaking to a class of third graders on Career Day. My grandmother just died.  She was
murdered
, for God’s sake, and I want to see my tax dollars going to something other than a dozen donuts and a cup of hot coffee.”

“Then I suggest you go back home and write the mayor, Mr. Boyer, and get the hell out of my way.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Preston to blanch, not with that bleached-out, pasty skin of his. But sure enough, the little color he did possess simply drained from his face, leaving a chalky-white complexion that was even less attractive than before.

“You have no right to talk to me that way,” he sputtered. “I want to speak to your captain and I want to speak to him now.”

Villari stepped down until he was standing eye to eye with Preston. The Shaggy Mane not only topped six feet, an easy five-inch advantage, but his lean, athletic body was powerful enough to squash Preston like the annoying gnat he was, without breaking a sweat.

“If you want to talk to my captain, look him up in the phone book. In the meantime, crawl back into that hole you emerged from until I’m ready to question you.” He leaned forward. “And trust me, Mr. Boyer, I will be questioning you very soon." Villari stared a minute longer and then looked up and over.  At me.

“Don’t leave town, Ms. Kean. I’m sure we’ll be talking again.” He put two fingers against his brow and sent me a lazy salute before turning and walking away.

“Why would he want to talk with you, Maggie?”

I remained on the porch.  Without Villari’s height advantage, I was as close to Preston as I wanted to be. The little weasel gave me the creeps.

 “Gee, it’s hard to imagine. I wonder if it could have anything to do with a dead body that showed up in my yard?”

“You always were such a smartass. I never could understand what Grandmother saw in you.”

“And I never could understand how you could be carrying her genes.” The little runt had a big mouth and nothing to back it up. His nasty demeanor didn’t intimidate me, but it angered me enough to throw diplomacy to the wind. Marching down the steps, I stopped in front of Preston and poked my finger in his chest. “Listen, you little twerp. Why don’t you cooperate with the police so they can find out who did this to your grandmother? Try dropping the haughty attitude for a change. You might discover that people don’t find you nearly as repulsive as they do now." 

"I don't give a damn what people think about me," he sneered, grabbing my arm as I started past him.

I stopped. “Sure you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t work so hard at trying to make them hate you.”

He tightened his grip. “You’re going to psychoanalyze me?” he asked incredulously.

“I don’t have the time or the interest, Preston. Right now I have a friend to mourn.” Emotions I couldn’t read flitted across his face. I stared straight into his eyes without flinching until he released his grip. I headed across the yard, taking a wide turn around the septic tank, which was still open and surrounded by cops. Apparently they had grown accustomed to the stench. The gravel driveway crunched under my feet as I passed a few feet behind Detective Villari. He was talking to the serviceman, the same one who had found my neighbor this morning.

“Didn’t notice anything,” I heard him say. Villari jotted a few notes down and asked something I couldn’t hear. The guy in the striped shirt shook his head.

“Nope. It was my first appointment.”

Not wanting to hear any more, I hurried past and followed the sidewalk toward what I called my backyard. A crooked row of shrubbery, trees and scrub oak separated the front section of my property, where my house stood, from that of my neighbor, but the back was wide open. Elizabeth Boyer had requested that it be kept that way. All the previous occupants agreed, as I did, and the land was left alone, unmarred by rock, brick, or barbed-wire fences. It was left as nature intended, wild and spacious, overflowing with ponderosa pines and blue spruce trees. I liked having a private forest behind my house and took long walks following a narrow trail whenever I could get away. I was headed there now, looking forward to the cool shade and fresh pine scent, when my stomach lurched at the very loud, very familiar sound.  It was the slam of expensive brakes and the pings of little rocks ricocheting off the underbelly of a car as it fishtailed on the gravel road. I didn’t have to look back to know who it was.

“Maggie!”

“As if Preston wasn’t bad enough, Queen Bee just arrived,” I muttered, picking up speed until I was practically jogging toward the back forest. The last thing I wanted was a scene. Cassandra Boyer was the antithesis of her brother. She inherited all the looks in the family and all the dramatic flair. If she wanted something, she went after it, even if it meant parking her car in the midst of thirty or more cops milling around a taped-off crime scene. Cassandra ignored the whole bunch of them to pursue me with a vengeance.

“Maggie! Maggie! Wait up!”

Power-walking now, I ignored her calls. I figured I’d be safe just beyond the row of pines that stood up ahead like three unadorned Christmas trees. A few steps past them was a sharp incline that would protect me like a shroud against unwanted visitors, especially those with spiked heels. Cassie, a nickname I used just to provoke her, would never venture far enough to actually touch a tree or follow a trail. Imagine the damage to freshly painted nails and silk stockings.

“Maggie! Stop! I’ve got to talk to you!”

On any other day, I would have kept walking, but today there were extenuating circumstances. I reluctantly turned around and waited for Cassie to pick her way across the uneven ground. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as she hopped over, looking very much like a kid skipping on hot asphalt.  But I managed to control myself, knowing Cassie would take it the wrong way, calling me "common" or "uncouth" for laughing on the day of her grandmother's death.

“How can you even think about leaving when Grandmother just passed away?”

Typical Cassie.  This was the Cassandra I knew—instantly on the attack; always ready to dig her polished talons into my neck.

“I’ve talked to the police until I’m blue in the face. I didn’t see any reason to stick around.”

“Of course there’s a reason. This is a horrible situation that needs to be taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and nudged a small rock with the toe of my tennis shoe. “And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

She gasped and brought her hand up to her chest as though I’d triggered a minor heart attack with my stupidity. “This has everything to do with you. This unfortunate situation occurred at your house, on your land, and we need to discuss how to keep it from turning into a media circus. Those reporters would just love to latch onto a story like this and blow it completely out of proportion.” She took one look at my face and realized she’d gone too far. “Please, don’t misunderstand me. This is completely dreadful and I’ve been an absolute mess ever since that awful policeman showed up at my door with the news. Of course, I will miss Grandmother so. She was such a dear lady,” she whimpered, actually managing to squeeze out a tear, “but I know she would be just horrified to have her picture plastered all over the newspapers during this horrible incident.”

Where do these people come from? “Do whatever you need to do. I’m going for a walk.”

“Aren’t you listening? You can’t just ignore this and let things ‘fall as they may.’ It’s imperative that we speak with Preston, have a meeting with just the three of us, and discuss how we should present this to the media before the Boyer name gets dragged through the rumor mill and ugly accusations are made.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what are you talking about?”

She lifted one thin, pale shoulder. “People are always eager to tear down the wealthy, even if they have to make up lies to do so.”

“Call me dense, but I still don’t understand what you, Preston, and I need to talk about. The facts are there for any journalist to report, or at least the facts we know so far, and I really don’t see what you can do about it.”

“Ah, Maggie dear, you are so naive.”

I sighed. I could hear a lecture coming on, detailing the tremendous problems trust fund babies must endure, problems regular people couldn't possibly understand, blah-blah-blah.  It was becoming clearer than ever why Elizabeth visited me so often. It wasn’t to see me. It was to get away from them.

“Maggie, I know you think I’m exaggerating, but the truth is, people will make up reasons to explain why and how Grandmother died. They’ll say she squandered all the Boyer money and committed suicide, or that she had an affair with a married man and the jilted wife killed her, or even that Preston and I hired someone to get rid of her in order to get our hands on the trust money.”