Murder Most Persuasive (19 page)

“What’s this I hear about you and Kit teaming up to solve Michael’s murder?” she asked as soon as I answered.

“What…?” I sputtered, confused. Then the light dawned. “Oh, wait, let me guess. Kit called you, didn’t she?”

“Bingo. Apparently you two are doing a little investigating?” I could hear the amusement in her voice.

“It’s not like that,” I said with a groan. “Ann wanted to check out a few ideas and asked me to tag along. When Kit found out—”

“She decided to tag along as well,” Aunt Winnie finished.

“Exactly.”

“Elizabeth, I’m forever grateful to you for your help last New Year’s, but please be careful,” she said, the amusement now gone from her voice. “You are not a trained detective. You have a sharp mind and a good sense of people, but there’s something you don’t have.”

“What’s that?”

“A detective’s license and a gun,” she said bluntly. “As you are already well aware from experience, someone who has killed once might do so again, especially if they think they are going to get caught.”

“I promise you, Aunt Winnie, I’m not in any danger. I am just helping Ann. I think she’s conducting her own limited investigation partly to prove that she had nothing to do with it but mainly as a reason to keep in touch with Joe. I’m pretty sure that he still has feelings for her. My only real goal here is to help get them back together.”

Aunt Winnie laughed. “One word, honey: bullshit. I know you too well. If you really think that’s your only motive, you are kidding yourself. You’re bored and looking for some excitement. Please, for my sake, go take up bungee jumping or hang gliding. They’re safer.”

“I’m not—” I began to argue, but she cut me off.

“Yes. You. Are.”

I was silent as I thought about what she was saying. I
was
bored. I knew it and apparently so did she.

“What’s the matter with me?” I asked wearily.

“Nothing at all, honey,” she said gently. “Twenty years ago, you would have been told to settle down and raise a family. God knows, I heard that enough times. It’s utter crap, of course. You need to start doing what you love, that’s all. You hate your job and Peter is gone a lot. You’re just trying to fill the void. But for my sake, don’t fill it with dead bodies.”

I laughed. “Okay, point taken. Maybe I’ll check the want ads tomorrow.”

“An excellent idea. I’m not saying you shouldn’t help Ann. I just want you in one piece. Remember, I need you this fall.”

“So this isn’t about my safety, then, it’s just about you getting some free labor out of me, isn’t it?” I joked.

“Damn skippy it is,” she said.

*   *   *

Over the next few days, Ann and I spent hours hunting down and cataloging all the items listed in Uncle Marty’s will. Many of the pieces were easy to find, such as jewelry, paintings, glassware, place settings, and flatware. Other objects, such as letters, cards, and artwork the girls did as children, were more difficult to locate and necessitated searches of both Uncle Marty’s office and the attic.

The attic was jam-packed with boxes, trunks, and discarded furniture; among which there were a fair number of mirrors. Ann and I rearranged the space somewhat, pushing back boxes and dragging a few chairs together to create a kind of work area. From there we could sit and sort through some forty years of mementos. Uncle Marty had saved everything. Every report card, finger painting, and Father’s Day card was tucked into labeled envelopes. There were some boxes that coordinated with years, others with vacations or holidays. We went through it all.

I noticed at one point that Ann had pulled a small shoe box onto her lap and was digging through the contents with a wistful smile on her face. “Anything interesting?” I asked.

Ann looked up as if surprised to find me there. She seemed a million miles away. “Oh, no,” she said. “Just some old letters from Joe.”

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I will be. Let’s keep going.”

I grabbed the next box nearest to me. It was simply labeled
REGGIE/WEDDING/M.
“Hey, here’s a box full of plans for Reggie and Michael’s wedding,” I said.

Ann looked up. “Do you think there would be anything in there that could help us?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. There might be.”

Although I looked carefully through the contents of that box, hoping for some clue about Michael’s murder, there was nothing. All I discovered were detailed plans for Reggie’s scrapped wedding to Michael. I found invitation mock-ups, guest lists, catering menus, music selections, flower choices, and a photo of the arch (there were indeed woodland creatures but, alas, no Nessie), but no clues as to why the bridegroom had been murdered.

After the attic, we tackled the office. Here, too, we found a complete and organized cataloging of the past forty years. Each year was captured into a leather-bound volume, much like the kind that Nana employed. I pulled out the year that Reggie’s wedding was to have taken place and opened it to July. I don’t know what I was looking for, but there were no telling notations about Michael. There were notes about business transactions, including Miles’s trip to New York City, with a meticulous account of his receipts. Not only were the airfare, hotel bill, and several restaurant meals itemized, but also were all the miscellaneous tips to the hotel staff. Lord, what was it with some people and their organizational skills? I felt more ashamed than ever of the contents of my purse. However, the meeting apparently went well because there was a notation underneath it all that read: “Mtg. success/signed on 7/6!!”

There were also several notes about the bills coming in for the wedding. Although Reggie was obviously working under the premise that the sky was the limit for spending, it appeared that Uncle Marty was growing concerned at the spiraling costs. The fabled arch alone cost $20,000, and there was a note reading “talk to Reg re: $wans.” From the scribble that followed this entry, I realized that Reggie apparently not only planned on renting real swans for the reception, she also was having someone called a “marzipan master” create individual swans for the guests’ dessert.

“It looks like Laura was right about Reggie’s budget for the wedding,” I said to Ann. “The bills were out of control! Take a look at these.” I handed her the journal. Ann shook her head in disbelief as she read. “Lord, it’s all so silly. Seventy thousand for flowers! My mother would never have allowed this.”

I smiled at her. “Was there method, moderation, and economy employed when she was alive?”

Ann laughed, handing me back the book. “Something like that. There sure as hell weren’t baby swans frolicking about the back lawn.”

I read more. After the notations about the bills, there were several angry entries of the various meetings with the Board of Directors that took place after Michael’s embezzlement came to light. From the venom that laced Uncle Marty’s entries, if Michael weren’t already dead, Uncle Marty would be my top suspect.

It was all very interesting, but other than an odd fact or two, it didn’t bring me any closer to finding out who killed Michael.

*   *   *

The rest of the week progressed slowly, and the only thing I was able to make progress on was my promise to Aunt Winnie. I scoured the want ads, contacted a headhunter, and updated my résumé. I kept my promise to Kit and babysat little Pauly while she and Paul went out to dinner, during which I incurred only minor injuries. Peter’s work crisis seemed finally to be coming under control and he expected to be home by the end of the week. Joe and Ann continued to talk—ostensibly about progress on the case (of which there was absolutely none, of course), and Ann seemed happier than I’d seen her in years. While life hadn’t gone back to normal per se, it was definitely heading in the right direction.

And then Bonnie called and it all went to hell in a handbasket.

CHAPTER 18

It was a struggle between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the better.

—
PERSUASION

“S
HE’S MET SOMEBODY!”
Ann shrieked into the phone.

I pulled the receiver away from my ear and said, “Who’s met somebody?”

“Bonnie!” came the hysterical answer. “Apparently he’s her ‘soul mate’ and she’s bringing him home with her! Can you believe it?”

I stared unseeingly at the article on my desk. “Wait. Bonnie is bringing home a guy? Who is he?”

“His name is Julian. Can you believe it? And not just Julian
—Julian St. Clair,
if you please! Dad’s funeral was only last week! Not only does she run off to a spa the day after the funeral, but now she’s coming back with her soul mate!”

“Whose name is Julian St. Clair,” I added. I admit I was somewhat at a loss for words. Granted, Bonnie certainly had outdone herself this time, but I didn’t quite understand Ann’s extreme reaction to it. “Ann, I’m sure it’s harmless. Bonnie has always been daffy. And besides, so what if she’s met someone? I mean the name does sound like a character out of a Harlequin romance novel, but where’s the harm?”

“Where’s the harm?” Ann repeated in astonishment, her voice growing shrill. “Where’s the
harm
? Well, aside from the general horrible
tackiness
of it all, there’s the potential for a great deal of harm! I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet. Julian is not only her soul mate, but her new financial adviser! Apparently he’s, and I’m quoting here, ‘an absolute genius with money.’”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, God.”

“Oh,
shit
is more like it! What am I going to do? They’re coming home today!”

“Okay. Don’t panic,” I said, hoping to calm her down. “Nothing has happened. Yet. Maybe Julian is actually a nice, stable accountant. Maybe he
is
her soul mate.”

Of course, neither of us believed that. Nevertheless, we weren’t prepared for the horrible reality that was Julian.

*   *   *

After work I went straight to Uncle Marty’s house. Ann looked terrible. Her eyes appeared dazed and her color pale. Her hair stood out in various directions in a manner that suggested she’d been pulling at it. A lot. In lieu of a greeting, she handed me a large glass of white wine. “Here. You’re going to need this,” she said.

I took the glass. “He’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

I trusted Ann’s judgment. I took a sip. “Where is he?” I asked.

“They’re both out on the back patio. Come on,” she said wearily, turning and heading that way.

With some trepidation, I followed her. I caught sight of Bonnie first. Wearing cream linen pants and a coral silk blouse, she was reclining on the chaise longue with Scarlett curled up at her feet. Oversized sunglasses hid most of her face. In her right hand, she held a martini glass; in her left, a cigarette. Seeing me, she smiled and sat up a little straighter. “Elizabeth, darling! How are you? Annabel tells me you’ve been just a wonderful help to her this past week. She certainly looks better than she has in years! Her face has gotten some color in it.” To Ann, she asked, “Ann, dear, did you start using that new moisturizer I gave you? It’s supposed to work wonders.”

“No.”

“Oh, well. You should, you know. You know what they say about the face. It’s the gateway to the soul.”

“That would be the eyes, actually,” said Ann.

Bonnie crinkled her nose and considered this. “Well, the moisturizer is supposed to help with crow’s-feet, too.” Shifting her gaze to my direction, she said, “Anyway, thank you, Elizabeth, for all your help to Ann. It’s all such a ghastly mess. I know I could never stomach it. I’d be hopeless at it.”

It was unclear if she was referring to the murder investigation or the cataloging of Uncle Marty’s things. Not that it really mattered. Either way she was right—she would have been hopeless at both.

Bonnie continued, “Now, I’d like to introduce you to someone very special. Elizabeth, this is my friend Julian St. Clair.” With a smoky flourish, she gestured to the man sitting languidly at the table.

I now understood the reason for Ann’s distress. I’d heard the term
lounge lizard,
but until now I had never visualized one. Next to the definition in the dictionary, there should be a picture of Julian. I judged him to be in his early to late fifties. He was fit, deeply tan, with slicked black hair and predatory blue eyes. His mouth was full, his cheeks were artfully stubbled, and his chin was weak. He wore an expensive beige linen blazer, tight black jeans, and Italian loafers. I revised my earlier categorization of him as someone out of a Harlequin romance novel; he was more like the villain from one of the cheesier Bond movies.

As I turned his way, he politely rose to his feet. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m so looking forward to meeting all of Bonnie’s extended family,” he said in a voice that hinted at a foreign accent. From where I couldn’t tell, but I would bet money that it was about as authentic as his tan. Glancing over at Bonnie, he whispered confidentially to me, “She’s quite a special lady.”

Oh, please. I took a quick sip of wine to hide the disgusted grimace I was quite sure was visible on my face. Bonnie simpered. Scarlett ignored us all and slept. For once, she had the right idea.

Julian continued. “Bonnie tells me that you have been helping Ann sort out this unfortunate business with the murder of the young man, Michael?”

“Well, we’ve been doing what we can to help the police,” I answered, taking a seat at the table. I was unsure how much Ann had actually shared with Bonnie and how much Bonnie had made up.

“Such a terrible tragedy,” he murmured. “Bonnie mentioned that she had concerns about her own dear husband’s death.”

I looked over at Bonnie in annoyance. Was she really still pushing her ridiculous theory that Marty was murdered? Bonnie met my glance with an innocent wide-eyed gaze.

“I told Julian all about it,” she said breathlessly. “He agrees with me about poor Marty. Tell me, do the police think there’s a connection?”

“No,” I answered firmly. Changing the subject, I turned back to Julian and said, “I understand that you two met at the spa?”

“Yes,” said Julian. “I noticed Bonnie one morning at the pool. I could see right away from her amazing aura that she was a singular individual. I introduced myself and our connection was instantaneous—almost cosmic.” He smiled at Bonnie, his small white teeth flashing brilliantly in the sunlight. From the doorway, Ann made a noise and abruptly went back inside.