Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (11 page)

Falcone finally clicked his pen closed. “Give me a few minutes to get organized here, Mrs. Merrywood. Then I’d like to speak to each of these individuals, someplace private. And for now, at least, I’d like everybody to stay here on the island.”

“Of course,” she agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll go tell them all what to expect.”

When she was gone, Falcone turned to me and said, “So whaddya think?”

I blinked. “What do
I
think?”

“That’s right. After all, you’ve already been here awhile, right?”

“I only got here last night,” I explained, “so I haven’t really—”

“Yeah, but I know you, Docta Poppa,” he interrupted. “And I’d bet the farm you already got the low-down on each one of these people.” His mouth stretched into a grin that actually bordered on playful as he added, “So d’you think the butler did it?”

Before I had a chance to reply, he laughed. “Y’know, I always wanted to say that. But this is the first chance I ever got.”

“Actually, it’s possible the butler
did
do it,” I said.

“Really?” He looked pleased. “Tell me more.”

For a second or two, I was too shocked to speak. Was it possible that Lieutenant Falcone was asking my opinion? I was tempted to look out a window to see if pigs had started to fly.

But that impulse passed as I realized I did have a lot to say. Even though I had, indeed, been on Solitude Island for less than twenty-four hours, I’d already learned quite a bit about the intrigues of the Merrywood household. Falcone added to his notes as I filled him in on what I’d observed so far: Missy and Tag’s disdain for their little brother, Charlotte’s protectiveness of Brock and her general role of peacemaker, Tag’s reputation as a playboy, Missy’s over-the-top adoration of her husband, Scarlett’s devotion to her
boss, Harry’s concern that Linus had begun showing signs of aging, even the quirks of the hired help.

I didn’t say a word about Aunt Alvira. I was so intrigued by the notion of a crazy aunt locked in the attic that I wanted to explore it on my own before I sicced the chief of homicide on her.

When I’d finished, Falcone actually looked impressed. Grateful, too.

“Thanks, Docta Poppa,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll talk to every one of those people myself.” Checking his notebook, he added, “Starting with the cook.”

“That’s Cook,” I corrected him, “not
the
cook.”

“Whatever.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “She’s the one who made all the food around here, right? Including that last dinner the victim ate Wednesday night? She was also perfectly aware that Mr. Merrywood had a serious allergy to eggs. So if anybody tampered with the cuisine that night, it was most likely her.”

He was right; she was the most obvious suspect. Which was precisely why I would have bet
my
farm that she wasn’t the guilty party.

But I wasn’t the one in charge.

“Maybe you can point me in the direction of the kitchen so I can get started,” Falcone said. Glancing around, he muttered, “Jeez, ya practically need a map to get around in this place!”

“Go down this hallway and turn left,” I advised. “And I’ll be around after you’ve finished, if you need me.”

•  •  •

Even though I was doing my best to act nonchalant, I was dying to know what Falcone found out during his interviews with Cook, the other two servants, Harry, Scarlett, and of course the entire Merrywood clan. I spent the next couple of hours in the front sitting room, pretending I was catching up on back issues of
Town & Country
. In reality, I was doing little besides watching the clock.

I also did plenty of fidgeting, squirming around in a comfortable upholstered chair. From my behavior, you would have thought I was a dog whose owner had tied his leash to a parking meter while he dashed into Starbucks. In fact, I did more wiggling around than did Corky and Admiral, who were lying on the floor next to me, as still as a pair of bookends.

When I finally spotted Falcone again, he was making a beeline for the front door. I jumped out of my chair, sending a cloud of dust flying. The two dogs looked up in surprise but were apparently too comfortable to budge.

“Well?” I demanded as I dashed into the front hallway.

“Well, what?” Falcone countered. He seemed to have forgotten all about his initial interest in my assessment of the situation. Instead, he was back to looking irritated, as if he found my mere existence on the planet a source of distress.

“Did you talk to everyone?” I asked anxiously. “What did you find out? Did the butler do it? Or
Linus’s pretty young assistant? How about one of his children?”

He cast me a stony look. “I’m still workin’ on it.”

“What about Cook?” I demanded, just in case the most obvious suspect did turn out to be the killer. “She knew as well as anybody that Linus was allergic to eggs, and as you pointed out she’s the one who made the meal—”

Falcone shook his head. “First of all, it turns out the cook has a real name: Margaret Reilly. Second of all, she doesn’t appear to be the perp.” With a smirk, he explained, “And that’s mainly because one important
ingredient
is missing.”

I wasn’t nearly as impressed by his cleverness as he was. “What’s that?” I demanded.

“A motive.” Frowning, Falcone added, “From the looksa things, she thought the worlda the guy. She worked for him and the rest of this family for almost forty years. She even followed them back and forth between this horror show of a weekend house and their place in the city while the kids were growing up and goin’ to school in Manhattan. Then she moved out here full time when Linus and Charlotte started spendin’ most of their time on the island. Not that I won’t be keepin’ an eye on her. But at the moment I got nothin’ solid on her or anybody else.

“Speaking of horror shows,” he continued, glancing around, “this place really creeps me out. What about you?”

“Actually,” I said with a little shrug, “I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”

His face flushed. “Not only do I have a problem with this freakin’ house, I also don’t like the fact that it’s on an island. See, I also have, uh, kind of a problem with, uh, seasickness.”

He looked around as if he wanted to make sure we were still alone before adding, “Comin’ over here on that boat, I thought I was gonna hurl.”

“How awful!” I said, doing my best to sound sympathetic without admitting that I’d had a similar experience myself.

Suddenly a strange smile crossed his face. “Y’know, I just had an idea.”

“Really?” I said, fighting the temptation to express my surprise over something that I suspected was a pretty rare event.

“Maybe you could do me a favor.”

“Ye-e-e-s?” I asked suspiciously.

“This is not a case I’m gonna solve instantaneously,” he said. “Since you’re gonna be spending the next couple days here anyway, I’m thinkin’ maybe you could keep your eyes and ears open. Both of us know that buttin’ your nose into other people’s business is something you’re pretty good at. So maybe you could see if you pick up on any information that could turn out to be relevant.”

In other words, conduct an investigation.

I was floored by Falcone’s request—even though it was couched in an extremely backhanded compliment. After all, up to this point, all I’d ever gotten from him concerning my interest in poking around murders was complaints. So I didn’t know whether to
throw his offer back in his face like an unwanted gift—or run with it.

I chose option B.

“Sure,” I replied casually. “I could do that.”

“Good.” He shrugged his shoulders a couple of times, meanwhile straightening his tie. “This’ll help cut down on the amount of time I gotta spend here. Bein’ stranded on this island is startin’ to make me claustrophobic. Even if these people are richer than creases.”

Uh, I believe that’s richer than
Croesus, I was tempted to say. I also found it hard to resist explaining that, despite the similar pronunciations, the expression he was attempting to use referred to an ancient Greek whose wealth became legendary—not a dry cleaner who wasn’t very good with a steam iron.

But I was too taken aback by Falcone’s invitation to worry about the man’s tendency to mangle the English language—as well as the Greek language. Not only was I astonished by what he’d just asked of me, I was positively tickled.

Even though the main reason Betty and Winston had brought me here had been to look into who might have wanted Linus dead, my role as an ad hoc investigator in the case of Linus Merrywood’s murder was now official.

•  •  •

I stood at one of the narrow stained-glass windows that framed the front door, watching Falcone’s silhouette disappear into the fog, still marveling over what
had just transpired. But the sound of someone clearing his throat behind me caused me to turn.

I saw that Winston had wandered into the front hallway, probably not noticing me because of the dim light. He had stopped in front of one of the portraits hanging on the wall at the back of the house—one of a somber-faced woman who looked physically incapable of cracking a smile. From the expression on his face, his thoughts were a million miles away.

“Are you all right, Winston?” I asked, going over to him and linking my arm in his.

“I suppose I am, all things considered,” he replied, patting my arm and forcing a smile. “Having to address the entire household this morning, delivering such bad news, was a disquieting experience. I never expected that I’d be forced to tell anyone something so terrible. Especially with respect to a man who’s been such a close friend for so many years, not to mention a member of such a distinguished family.”

His eyes returned to the woman in the picture. “The Merrywoods go way back,” he said. “They’ve been prominent in this area for nearly four hundred years.” With a sigh, he added, “How very sad that one of them met with such a tragic end.”

“It is sad,” I agreed. “I’m sure everyone who knew Linus feels that way and is anxious for the truth about what happened to come out.”

“Hopefully Lieutenant Falcone’s involvement will help make that happen,” he said.

Lowering my voice, I said, “As a matter of fact, I just talked to him. He’s already questioned everyone
who was here the night Linus died.” I hesitated before adding, “But I plan to do the same, since it’s the best way for me to figure out who might be the culprit.”

Winston frowned. “Is it still necessary for you to worry about any of this, Jessica? When Betty and I asked you to accompany us here to see what you could find out about Linus’s death, we were motivated by nothing more than mere suspicion. But it no longer seems necessary for you to be involved now that the police have launched a full-scale investigation.”

“Actually,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was lurking nearby, “Lieutenant Falcone asked for my help.”

“Really!” Winston exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up to the sky.

From the way he reacted, I couldn’t tell if he was horrified by the idea—or simply surprised that Falcone had asked me. “Isn’t that rather … unusual?” he said.

“I’m sure Falcone will put as much effort into this case as he would into any other,” I assured him. “But he felt that since I was staying here at the Merrywoods’ house, I might have access to some information, or even come up with some insights, that someone on the outside wouldn’t be privy to.

“Besides,” I added, “he’s well aware that I have a bit of a track record when it comes to solving murders.”

What I didn’t mention was how much my interest in Linus Merrywood’s murder had been piqued. Now that I’d gotten to know the members of his immediate circle, I was intrigued. I found them to be a fascinating
group, not only because of their individual quirks but also because of the way they interacted with one another. In less than a day I’d become completely absorbed in the puzzle of which of them might have wanted the man dead.

Then there was Linus himself. As the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, he was one of the wealthiest and most powerful industrialists in the nation. Yet from all accounts he had earned the respect, admiration, and even love of many of the people who had known him. That unlikely combination made the fact that he had been murdered all the more provocative.

Besides, there was something about a murder occurring in a big, creepy old house that made investigating it irresistible.

I suddenly remembered a thought that had popped into my head as I’d sat with the other members of the household, watching them react to Winston’s report.

“Winston,” I said, lowering my voice even further, “has anyone mentioned Linus’s will?”

He looked surprised by my question. “No. And to be perfectly honest, ever since Linus’s phone call I’ve been so dumbstruck by everything that’s happened that it hasn’t even occurred to me to think of anything that practical.”

“Do you know anything about the provisions he made?” I asked.

As I expected, he shook his head. “There was never any reason for him and me to discuss something like that. But I do know that the man’s personal fortune
was somewhere in the millions. It’s very possible that his money played a role in all this.”

With money generally being considered the root of all evil, that wouldn’t surprise me in the least. But given the diversity of murder suspects, along with Tag’s speculations, I had a feeling there were plenty of other possible motivations, as well.

The challenge before me was finding out what they were.

•  •  •

Now that I’d been officially charged with conducting my own murder investigation, I knew exactly what I was going to do next—climb the hidden staircase I’d stumbled upon in my bedroom, which I suspected would lead me to the mysterious Aunt Alvira.

It sounded like a good idea until I went into my bedroom, locked the door, and pulled
Frankenstein
off the shelf. As the shelf began to move, just as it had the night before, I suddenly got a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.

Who knows what I’ll find up there?
I thought nervously, staring at the door that had just emerged and picturing the shadowy staircase I now knew was on the other side. Chances were, there was a good reason why the Merrywoods kept Aunt Alvira locked away.