Gone But Knot Forgotten (17 page)

C
HAPTER
24

I loaded the dog in the car Sunday morning and stopped for two lattes and a couple of fresh donuts on my way to Brentwood. The weather had cleared and Carl had parked his Harley in Harriet's driveway. He met us at the door and ruffled Arthur's fur. As I handed Carl one of the cups of coffee, the donut bag fell out of my hand and landed on the floor. A round glazed buttermilk rolled across the foyer and stopped next to the stairway. Arthur ran over and scarfed it down before I had a chance to stop him.

Carl snorted. “Once a cop, always a cop.”

We sat in the library. I looked at the remaining donut wistfully, broke it in half, and virtuously handed a piece to Carl.

Motes of dust danced in a shaft of sunlight warming the top of the yellow oak table. A book sat facedown next to Carl's computer,
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
By the fraying on the paperback cover, this book must have been a favorite of his. I pointed to the well-worn volume. “I've never read that.”

“Every time I read this, I pick up something new.” He scooted his chair closer to the table and opened the book to a dog-eared page. “Like this morning, I came across this passage:

“And that means . . . ?”

“Sometimes we're so sure we know what we're looking for, we become blind to new possibilities—and we miss out.”

Carl had a point. I needed to be open to the unexpected to prove Harriet didn't kill her husband. Who else besides the people I'd already considered might have a motive for Nathan's murder? Since Abernathy helped Harriet get her husband declared legally dead, he probably knew a lot about their marriage.

I shifted in my seat and looked at the handsome young man sitting next to me. Carl Lindgren was a complex guy. He loved motorcycles and fast cars, yet he treated with tenderness Birdie, an arthritic woman in her seventies whom he'd adopted as his grandmother. He owned a successful software business, yet he volunteered to be a mere security guard to help me out. Because of his work, he probably had top security clearance with the government, yet he carried a gun and hung out with bikers.

Carl, a technological genius, earned a degree from Caltech, one of the top two science universities in the country. The other was MIT, where Quincy's boyfriend taught. Would Carl know of him?

“What do you know about theoretical physics?”

“What part? Quantum? Cosmology? String? Particles?”

“Never mind. I have no idea what you just said. Have you heard of a professor at MIT by the name of Naveen Sharma?”

“Yeah, Dr. Sharma's only the world's smartest string theorist. He made his chops early. PhD by twenty-two. I heard rumors he was up for a Nobel last year. Why do you ask?”

Okay, so at least I could tell Uncle Isaac they'd have really smart children.
“He's a friend of my daughter, Quincy.”

Carl whistled. “Awesome. I'd like to meet him sometime.”

Harriet's doorbell rang at precisely ten.

Carl looked out the window. “You expecting someone?”

“An estate manager. She's going to give me an estimate on selling everything in the house.”

“You mean like a garage sale?”

I laughed. “Yes. A very fancy one. I'll get the door.” Carl followed me to the foyer.

Arthur snuffled around the floor, near the stairway. “Forget it, pal. Your owner would be upset if he knew I allowed you to eat a whole donut this morning.”

I opened the front door to a very pretty young woman.

Susan Daniels parted her perfectly straight blond hair on the side, letting it hang over one eye. She offered me a dazzling smile and a slender hand with a French manicure. “I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Rose.”

I opened the door wider. “You came highly recommended by Julian Kessler. Please come in.”

She stepped into the foyer on long, elegant legs and black stiletto heels. Carl cleared his throat behind me. I turned to look at him, and he gestured with his head toward the stunning young woman.

“Susan Daniels, this is Carl Lindgren. He's part of a private security team guarding this house.”

“Hi.” She smiled, then began to scan the house with an expert's gaze.

Carl darted his eyes back and forth, sending me a clear message. I'd screwed up.

“Of course Carl's just doing me a huge favor.” I scrambled for words. “In real life he runs a successful company developing software for the SEC.”

Carl nodded encouragement in the background.

“If in the coming days you see a yellow Corvette parked in front, you'll know Carl's here.”

He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Pleasure to meet you.
Believe
me.”

Susan looked down and her cheeks colored.

The dog still snuffled around the floor as if someone had smeared a pot roast there.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Arthur.” I clucked my tongue. “Give up. There are no more donuts.” I turned to the others. “Let's sit in the living room and you can explain the process to me.”

Susan sat on the green leather sofa and crossed her legs. Her slender skirt rode up her thigh. Carl switched to mouth breathing.

“Well, technically”—she folded her hands in her lap—“an estate manager is like a chief of staff or head butler. I'm an Estate Liquidation Specialist. My company oversees the appraisal and sale of personal property, typically after the death of an individual.”

Carl fixed his eyes on hers and flashed an engaging smile. “Fascinating.”

At his point he'd find dust fascinating if she said she swept porches for a living. Susan smiled back.

I handed her a copy of the insurance rider. “Mrs. Oliver owned some very valuable items. They've already been appraised.”

“Even if you have appraisals, we'll want to update them as these items may have increased in value.” She scanned the list. “Why are some of them circled?”

Carl tented his fingers. “They were stolen.”

Susan looked up sharply. “What did you say the name of this family was?”

“Oliver,” he said.

Her forehead furrowed in concern. “Is this the house where they discovered the body buried in the backyard last week?”

“Yes.” I let out my breath. “Does that make a difference?”

“It will probably make a big difference. Didn't they say the wife was also murdered recently? Is this her estate? I mean, are we safe to even be here?” Her eyes widened as she looked from Carl to me.

Carl puffed his chest out a little. “Don't worry. As long as I'm here, you'll be safe.”

Oh, for pity's sake.
“The circled items wouldn't be for sale, anyway. With the exception of a few specific objects, I'm anxious to liquidate everything else remaining in this house.”

Susan let out her breath. “Okay. I'd like to do a walkthrough and take pictures and notes as we go.” She took an iPhone out of her bag. “When we're through, I'll give you a rough estimate.”

Carl insisted on accompanying us, lagging just behind.

After an hour, we ended up back in the living room.

Susan typed something on her iPhone. “The household furnishings can be tagged and sold at an estate sale. We probably won't gross more than a hundred thousand. My company takes thirty-five percent.”

Did I hear her correctly? “Thirty-five thousand seems a little steep. The proceeds from the estate are going toward building a wing at Children's Hospital. Can't you give me a better price?”

Susan hesitated. “Thirty-five percent is the industry standard. We incur a lot of expense because of all the preparation, staffing, overhead, and insurance.” She looked at the ceiling and bit her lip. “I can reduce the fee to twenty-five percent since the money's going to such a good cause.” She smiled. “This is my own business, so I can be flexible.”

“I really appreciate it.” I liked her. Susan Daniels possessed a generous spirit to match her generous smile.

Susan consulted the insurance rider. “The really valuable things listed here should go to our auction house. Competitive bidding results in the best price. According to the last appraisals, they should bring in a minimum of over two million dollars. I'll give you the same break on the auction fee and only charge you fifteen percent, instead of our usual twenty.”

“You're very generous, Susan. How soon can we get started?”

“I can bring a dozen packers back here tomorrow to start boxing everything. I estimate we'll be here two days. Meanwhile, I'll launch an advertising blitz. We'll be ready for the sale by this weekend.”

She put her iPhone in her purse. “You should be aware, however, that because of the recent notoriety connected to this house, two things are bound to happen. First, serious buyers might stay away because of the murder. Second, hundreds of lookie-loos will probably show up out of morbid curiosity but not to buy. So I think it's best to relocate everything you want to sell to our warehouse showroom.”

“Will the items still be insured once they're removed from the house?”

She waved a graceful hand. “Oh, yes, our insurance will cover everything, but I'll need you to sign off on each individual box.”

I tapped my lips with my finger. “Okay. Before we get started, I need to clear up one more thing with the attorney.”

“Fine, but if we don't proceed in the next day or two, we may have to push back the sale one week. I still need time to price each item.”

We stood and shook hands. “I'll call you once the attorney gives me the go-ahead.”

Carl escorted her to a cream-colored Escalade and returned with a business card and a grin on his face. “Dinner tomorrow.”

“You work fast.”

Arthur sniffed around the foyer again, nose to the floor. “Carl, remember what you said about looking for truth but being blind to possibilities?”

“Yeah.”

I pointed to the dog. “What if he's not sniffing for donut crumbs? Remember how he discovered Nathan's grave? I think Arthur's sensing something hidden there. He's confirming what we already suspect. The stairway is the portal to the secret room.”

Carl tapped his temple. “Smart dog. But we still have to find the way in.”

I attached Arthur's leash and headed for the door. “We will when those blueprints turn up.”

C
HAPTER
25

When I arrived back home in Encino, I telephoned Abernathy. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I have several urgent things to discuss with you.”

“Not at all. I'm anxious to explain the unfortunate business with Harriet's account. I guarantee I knew nothing about it. We're close to finding the culprit. And when we do, you can be sure we'll turn him over to the police.”

“Well—”

“Furthermore, I'm working closely with Kessler to repair any damages done. My office is replacing the money in Harriet's account with interest. I sure am grateful for your understanding on this. If you have any concerns—any concerns at all—I want to put your mind at ease.”

Plus, you don't want me to report you to the DA or the California State Bar.
“You're right, Deke, I am concerned. What I do about the embezzlement will depend on the final audit of Harriet's estate. Right now, however, I need to talk to you about a couple of other things. We should talk in person.” I wanted to gauge his reactions.

“Okay. I can meet you in my office this afternoon.”

“I've already made one trip over the hill today and I don't want to make another. You'll have to come to my house.” I figured Abernathy would do anything at this point to make me happy.

“How does four sound? I have your address.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon with graph paper and colored pencils, working on the first step in engineering Quincy's Wedding Ring quilt. I plotted the placement of the different colored rings. I drew the yellow one in the middle of the quilt about two thirds of the way up. Yellow was the brightest color and immediately drew attention. Dividing the quilt into thirds created the
golden mean,
the point where the design reached a balance most pleasing to the eye. All the rings would be linked, and no ring of one color would touch another ring of the same color. How many rings I ultimately constructed would depend on the size of her bed—a detail I didn't yet care to think about.

Abernathy arrived at exactly four. We drank coffee in the living room and I told him about Henry Oliver's telephone call.

“Is he right? Can he nullify Harriet's will on the grounds the police think she killed her husband? Does he have any legal claim to family heirlooms or any of the property Harriet inherited from her husband?”

“Relax.” Abernathy leaned back. “This is an easy one. It doesn't matter what the police think. Since Harriet was never
convicted
of her husband's murder, she inherits everything. Neither of Nathan's siblings have a right to any part of the estate. Even family heirlooms.”

“What if they go to court and manage to convince a judge Harriet killed Nathan?”

Deke gave a short laugh. “You can't convict a dead person of murder. She has to be alive before you can potentially seek the death penalty on her.”

“Well, what about wrongful death, like the O. J. Simpson case?”

“Same answer. You can't sue a dead person. Anyway, the Olivers don't have evidence to prove wrongful death. Just relax and continue on with what you're doing, Martha. No one can invalidate Harriet's inheritance. The relatives have no grounds to challenge her will.”

“I'm still worried. Nathan's brother tried to bully me over the phone. When I told him most of the family heirlooms were missing, he threatened to sue me and file a criminal complaint. I don't look forward to telling him when he comes to LA next week that his only legitimate claim is for Nathan's remains, not his estate.”

Abernathy swiped dismissively at the air. “You don't have to deal with him. You have me, remember? The guy's trying to do an end run around the will. Bring him to my office, and I'll take care of him. You can sit on the sidelines and watch from the bench.”

I thought about Estella's request for the antique Spode china and the silver candelabras from Spain. “I'm actually considering letting the family keep some items. As I understand the terms of the will, I don't have the authority to give those things away, but I can sell them. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“I plan to offer some of the family heirlooms to Estella for the price of one dollar. Will that satisfy the terms of the will?”

“No. The law is clear. You have to sell them at fair market value. Anyway, the whole question of heirlooms is moot since you say most of the items are missing.”

“Maybe not. Did you know Harriet built a safe room in her house in 2005?” I watched his face closely.

Abernathy pulled his head back and stared at me. “No, I mean, I recall something about work being done, but I just assumed she remodeled her kitchen.”

“I think the missing items could be inside that room. I'm pretty sure the entrance is under the stairway.”

“Amazing. Let's hope Harriet's killer didn't get there first.”

If Abernathy faked his surprise, I couldn't tell. “There's one more thing, Deke. The police think Harriet killed Nathan. They're not going to investigate his murder.”

“Yeah, I can understand why they came to that conclusion.”

“According to Detective Farkas, they're basing their decision on something Harriet's friend Isabel told them.”

Abernathy looked confused. “Do you know what she said?”

“No, but Isabel told me how Nathan abused Harriet.”

Deke looked up sharply. “So you know about the abuse?”

“Yes. And I believe the police concluded Harriet reached a breaking point and attacked her abuser.”

“I suppose . . .” Abernathy rubbed his jaw.

“Deke, you and I both know Harriet didn't have a murderous bone in her body. I want to know everything about Nathan. Who might have had a motive to kill him? Who were his enemies? Give me names.”

The attorney pursed his lips. “Client privilege—”

“They're both dead! This is Harriet's reputation we're talking about.”

Abernathy took a deep breath. “Nico Grimaldi is the name of the charter boat captain where Jonah died. Oliver refused to testify on Grimaldi's behalf at a hearing. As a result, Grimaldi was forced to sell his business to pay a huge fine. The captain swore he'd get even.”

“Harriet kept the secret of Nathan's murder all those years. She knew his grave was in the backyard and made sure nobody else discovered it. She kept silent all those years to protect Nathan's killer. If Grimaldi killed Nathan, what would make her protect Grimaldi? He was a stranger.”

Abernathy shrugged. “You knew Harriet. She might have felt sorry for the man and guilty for what her husband did to him.”

“Anyone else you can think of Nathan screwed over?”

“Oliver was an SOB. Plenty of people hated the guy. But no one stands out at as a possible murderer.”

“I want to talk to Grimaldi.”

Abernathy did a double take. “He'll never talk to you.”

“I'll pretend to offer him money. I'll say Harriet wrote in her will that she wanted to make restitution for an old injustice.”

“Not very wise. He could be dangerous.”

“Not if he thinks I'm only carrying out Harriet's last wishes.”

Before he left, Abernathy promised to call me with Grimaldi's last known address.

I called Susan Daniels with the go-ahead for the sale. Tomorrow would be a very big day. Susan would clear out Harriet's house, and I'd finally get to see the blueprints. As for the secret room, I was almost there.