Murder Most Persuasive (18 page)

Repressing the urge to deck Kit right there on the front lawn, I instead sweetly said, “Yes, but these days it’s Kit who has the extra weight, but, of course, that’s because she’s expecting. We’re all so excited.”

Distracted by Nana’s coos of congratulation, Kit didn’t have time to decipher if my comment was intentionally snarky (it was). Once she finished congratulating Kit, Nana invited us into her house. Although it was large and spacious, it had a cozy, snug feel to it. The foyer was simple, with a wide-planked wood floor and a high ceiling. Nana led us into a cheerful sitting room that boasted a vaulted ceiling with exposed beams and a wall of windows that afforded a stunning view of the water.

Nana directed us to take seats, before asking in a serious voice, “So, how are you doing, Ann? The truth.” Kit and I sat down on a canary yellow couch, while Ann took a seat on a club chair upholstered in red gingham. Nana sat down in its twin and studied her old charge with a concerned expression.

Ann shrugged before answering. “I’m not going to lie to you, Nana. The past few days have been terrible. It’s been bad enough dealing with Dad’s death and all the aftermath, but I’ve had to relive some really painful memories.”

Ann fell silent. Nana said nothing. She knew Ann well enough to let her talk at her own pace. After a moment, Ann told Nana of Michael’s attack. Nana’s blue eyes grew dark with anger. “That son of a bitch,” she muttered. Ann nodded in full agreement and then said, “But, honestly, the worst of it is that Joe is in charge of the investigation.”

A knowing expression crept into Nana’s eyes. Even after all these years, she didn’t need to be reminded who Joe was. “Ah, so Joe is back in the picture, is he?” she said thoughtfully.

Ann flushed. “He’s not back in
that
way.”

Nana looked unconvinced but did not press the topic. “Well, tell me then, what’s happened so far with the investigation?”

Ann quickly and succinctly brought Nana up to date with everything that had happened so far. Nana sighed and shook her head. “I always thought that Michael would come to a bad end, but I never envisioned this.”

“Did you never like him?” Ann asked.

“I have to admit that at first I thought he was charming. He knew how to work people. But after a while I sensed that his charm was all an act. There was an aspect of him that was closed off. I don’t know how to explain this, but there was something artificial about him that bothered me.” Nana looked at us as if at a loss for words. “You never got the impression of a true burst of feeling,” she finally said. “I tried to talk to Reggie about it, but she was beyond reason when it came to him. She was head over heels about that boy.”

“But she nevertheless ended it,” I pointed out.

Nana nodded. “True, but I always thought there was more to it. I sometimes wondered if they didn’t just have a minor tiff and Reggie overreacted and ended things. I don’t have to remind you about her temper. She may have assumed that he would come back, hat in hand, and that they would work it out.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Kit exclaimed excitedly. “I told Elizabeth almost the same thing! When my husband and I were engaged, we had several big fights. It’s just such a stressful time. I don’t think most people realize that.”

“Did Reggie ever talk to you about the breakup?” I asked Nana, ignoring Kit.

Nana shook her head. “No. She pretended not to care, but I remember the day the workman came and took back her wedding arch. At that point we’d learned about the embezzlement, but she still burst into tears when it was loaded onto the truck. Her pride may not have allowed her to ever take him back, but that didn’t mean her heart wasn’t hurt.”

“I have to admit to you, Nana,” said Ann, “I’m worried that the police aren’t going to focus on anyone besides me. I wondered if
you
remember anything about the weekend of Dad’s Fourth of July party—that’s the last time any of us saw him.”

Nana considered for a moment. “Hang on,” she said and rose from her chair. She went to a built-in bookshelf on the far wall. “I still have my journals from back then.”

“You kept your journals? This long?” Ann asked in surprise. “Why?”

Nana shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Hard to say, really. But every time I try to get rid of them, I end up feeling like I’m throwing away those years. But maybe it’ll help us out today. Maybe I wrote something that could be useful.” I was impressed. The extent of my record keeping is what I throw into my purse. Meaning at any given time you can find scraps of paper with phone numbers scribbled on them but no helpful accompanying name and crumpled Starbucks receipts from two years ago.

After studying the shelves for a few minutes, Nana pulled out a thick leather volume and returned to her chair. Opening the book, she flipped to the week in question and read over her notes. “Hmmm…” she said, tapping a slender finger on the page, “I have here that after the party on the fourth, the family returned to the house in Georgetown on the fifth, as construction on the pool was scheduled to begin later that day. Oh, apparently though, your father and Bonnie had a fight on the night of the fifth because I have here that Bonnie returned to St. Michaels that night.”

“She left? The fight was that bad? Do you remember what the fight was about?” Ann asked.

“No. I’m sorry to say that fights between them were not uncommon. Depending on how bad they were, Bonnie usually took off for St. Michaels to pout for a day or so.” Nana looked back to the journal and read some more. As she did, her lips pulled into a frown and her brows pulled together.

“What is it?” asked Ann.

Nana didn’t answer right away; she seemed to be internally debating something. “I don’t know if I should say this,” she finally said. “Normally I wouldn’t, but given the circumstances…”

“What?” Ann asked impatiently.

“Well, I have a note here that when I went back to the St. Michaels house on the fifteenth to supervise the pickup of Reggie’s wedding arch, I found that Bonnie had had company. She’d left two wineglasses and an empty bottle of wine out on the back porch. Of course, it would never occur to her to clean up after herself.”

No one spoke at first. I knew what I was thinking: Bonnie had entertained a male visitor while away from Uncle Marty. I wondered if anyone else shared my view. “Do you think…” I began.

Nana tipped her white head in acknowledgment at my unfinished question. “I’m sorry to say that it wouldn’t surprise me. Neither of them was happy in that marriage. Your father had a mistress of sorts with his business. Bonnie was left largely bored and with a lot of free time. That’s never a good combination.”

Ann sat with a bewildered expression on her face. “Bonnie with another man? I guess it doesn’t surprise me, given her selfish personality, but she always made such a big production of adoring my dad.”

“That she did,” Nana said noncommittally.

Ann glanced up. “You think it was just that, don’t you? A production—an act.”

“I think that she was a foolish young woman who could be easily led astray,” Nana said. “I also think she was very lonely.”

Ann slumped against the chair’s cushioned backing. “Wow. Bonnie and another man. But who? Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

Nana shook her head. “No. And before you go off half-cocked, my dear, remember this is all rank speculation,” she said with an admonishing wag of her finger. “We have no proof of anything. Two wineglasses and an empty bottle doesn’t necessarily add up to an affair.”

“No, but it means she had company,” Ann replied.

“Which is not a crime in your own home,” Nana pointed out reasonably. And giving Ann and me a pointed look, she added, “I daresay you young ladies have been known to finish a bottle yourselves.” Ann and I studiously looked at each other as if we had no idea what Nana could possibly mean. She laughed and changed the subject. “Now why don’t we move out to the back patio? It’s still warm out. I thought we could eat lunch out there.”

We all moved to the kitchen to help Nana with lunch. By unspoken agreement, the subjects of Bonnie and Michael’s murder were dropped. Unfortunately, they were replaced by the subject of Kit’s pregnancy (two guesses who brought
that
up). As we helped to bring the Cobb salad out to the porch, Kit began to discuss in detail her preferred birthing method (natural) and her reasons for it (immediate bonding with the baby). Perhaps to tune out a monologue that I already knew by heart, I found my brain focusing on something else: could Bonnie’s visitor have been Michael?

CHAPTER 17

We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.

—
MANSFIELD PARK

A
FTER OUR VISIT
with Nana, Ann, Kit, and I headed back to Uncle Marty’s house. Kit wanted to hang out, but she had to get home to Pauly. Even though I was going to stay with Ann, Kit nevertheless left in a good mood. “Let’s plan to get together later this week for lunch and compare notes on the case,” she called out cheerily as she left. “I’ll come by later with my ideas.”

With her departure, Ann and I headed for the living room and flopped down on the couch. Scarlett, who had been sleeping on the middle cushion, leaped off the couch and stalked off in an apparent huff. Neither of us spoke for several minutes; it had been a long day.

“You know?” Ann said after a few minutes. “Even though I recognized that Bonnie and Dad didn’t have a happy marriage, I never suspected her of actually seeing someone else. I mean, she flirted and everything, but I thought it was more to make Dad notice her. I never thought she’d actually have an affair.”

“But what about Miles?” I asked. “Didn’t you tell me that you thought Bonnie had a crush on him?”

“Yes, but that was different somehow. I don’t know how to explain it, but with Miles I always got the impression that her feelings were ultimately harmless.” Her hands fluttered in front of her as she struggled to explain. “I think she liked him, yes, but I also think she knew that nothing could ever happen because of my dad. I think she also wanted to make my dad jealous.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know,” she amended. “Maybe I’m just being a revisionist. Thinking something and knowing something are two different things.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t know that she actually did anything. Nana is right that an empty bottle of wine and two glasses don’t mean anything more than she had company,” I said.

“But you don’t believe that, do you?”

I sighed. “No, not really.”

“Neither do I. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t see that it has any bearing on Michael’s murder.”

When I didn’t respond, Ann turned and studied me closely. “What are you thinking? Do you think Bonnie might have seen something? Do you think she might actually
know
something?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I guess I wondered if
Michael
could have been her visitor.”

Ann sputtered in astonishment. “Michael! You think
Michael
was Bonnie’s visitor? Why?”

I held up my hands, palms up. “Whoa! I said I wondered
if
he could have been her visitor. I don’t know anything for sure. I just thought that Bonnie may have been at the house around the time that Michael died and…” I trailed off, not sure how to finish.

Ann considered what I’d said. “Do you mean you think Bonnie might have had something to do with Michael’s death?”

I shook my head. “Again, I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. It could be that Michael visited her or it could be that when Bonnie was at the house she saw something. Or it could be nothing at all.”

Ann closed her eyes in concentration. “So wait. Let’s say it was Michael. He leaves the party on the morning of the fifth—that fits in with his car being gone. Then he comes back later that night and meets with Bonnie. They have wine—why? I can’t see them as lovers. Michael was a pig, but Bonnie was twenty years older than him.”

“Maybe as a form of celebration?” I ventured.

Ann’s eyes flew open. “Celebration? For what?” My meaning sunk in. “You mean Bonnie might have been Michael’s accomplice in the embezzlement?”

“It’s only a theory.”

“But why steal from my dad in the first place?” Ann asked. “She had everything she could want—clothes, cars, jewelry. Dad gave her a generous allowance.”

“Some people always want more,” I said. “She might have wanted more freedom than her allowance provided. She might have also looked at it as a kind of revenge on your father—Nana said it wasn’t a very happy marriage. Maybe Bonnie was tired of being put down and ignored.”

Ann thought about this. “Okay, I see what you’re saying. But even if Bonnie was Michael’s accomplice, do you really think she could have killed him? How could she overpower Michael? He wasn’t a small man.”

“According to the police, he was killed with a blunt instrument. That’s not hard to do if you catch someone by surprise,” I said, adding, “or drug his wine first. But we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. They might have been accomplices—they might not have. Bonnie could have been in on the embezzlement and still not have killed Michael. Bonnie could also have done nothing more sinister than have a glass of wine with a sympathetic friend after a fight with her husband.”

Ann sank back against the couch’s cushions. “Jesus. I don’t know what to think. This is all becoming surreal. I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to
do
anything. Just call Joe and tell him what Nana told us. After all, it’s
their
investigation.”

“You’re right,” Ann said, brightening. “I’ll call Joe.”

*   *   *

Ann’s call to Joe lasted much longer than one would expect a simple exchange of information to take. I took that as a good sign. From the smile that played on her lips as they talked, I took it as a really good sign. Leaving her to finish her conversation in private, I headed for my room to call Peter. Unfortunately, he was in a meeting and couldn’t talk. I had just hung up when my phone rang again. It was Aunt Winnie.