Murder Most Persuasive (22 page)

Bonnie’s arms fell to her sides and her coral mouth pursed in annoyance. “I’ll have you know this is one of this season’s most popular suits,” she said in a huff.

“Maybe for pubescent twelve-year-olds, but not recently widowed women in their sixties. Really, Bonnie, what’s gotten into you? Marty’s been dead just over a week.”

“Nothing’s gotten into me! If you haven’t forgotten, we are gathering here today to celebrate poor Martin’s memory, a celebration that was
my
idea.”

“Actually it was Ann’s,” snapped Aunt Winnie. “But that’s not the point. Who’s your friend?”

Bonnie turned to where Julian sat. He watched us with a faintly uneasy expression. “That is Julian,” said Bonnie. “He’s been absolutely wonderful.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet he has,” murmured Aunt Winnie.

Bonnie raised her voice. “Julian, dear? I’d like to introduce you to some people.”

As bidden, Julian rose and crossed to us. It was an awkward moment, as we all attempted not to stare at the very small woodland animal that appeared to be nesting in the front of his suit. Really, there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get me past
that
image.

“Julian,” said Bonnie, “this is Elizabeth’s friend Peter McGowan, and this is Marty’s younger sister, Winifred Reynolds.”

From inside the house, Ann poked her head out the door and called out, “Bonnie? There’s a phone call for you.” Bonnie quickly excused herself and disappeared.

Julian smiled and extended his hand, first to Peter and then to Aunt Winnie. To Aunt Winnie he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Winifred. I’m sorry for your recent loss. Bonnie told me a lot about Marty. He sounded like a wonderful man.”

“Yes,” Aunt Winnie said with a small nod. She shot Julian a syrupy smile. She didn’t let go of Julian’s hand, instead sandwiching it with her left hand. When she wants to, Aunt Winnie can appear quite innocent. Not to those who know her well, of course, but to those people she needs to glamour—people like traffic cops or fortune-hunting grifters—she can con the best of them. Julian seemed to relax a little at her smile. Rookie mistake. Peter and I stepped back, eager to watch the show unfold.

“Bonnie’s told me how attentive you’ve been to her,” said Aunt Winnie.

Julian tried to appear modest. He failed. “Well, I don’t pretend to be able to come close to a man like your brother, but I do take some small comfort in knowing that I could help out Bonnie during this very difficult time. She’s a very special lady. She has a magnificent aura.”

“Does she now? I never knew. You read auras?”

Julian nodded. “It is one of my passions. I don’t want to appear conceited, but it’s something of a gift as well. My abilities have been called unique by some.”

And utter poppycock by others, I amended silently.

“Excellent,” murmured Aunt Winnie. “Excellent.”

“I understand that you run a bed-and-breakfast in New England,” Julian continued.

“That’s right, I do,” agreed Aunt Winnie. “But Bonnie didn’t mention what
you
do.”

“Oh, my only job right now is to make Bonnie happy,” Julian replied.

“Really? How fortunate for her. Tell me, do you get dental with that?” Aunt Winnie’s voice lost its earlier sweet intonation. It was now hard and clear.

Too late Julian realized his mistake; so much for his ability to read people’s auras. His eyes narrowed and he tried to pull his hand away. Aunt Winnie held tight and leaned in close. “Listen to me and listen well, Mr. Julian St. Clair—if that is indeed your real name,” she said, dropping her voice to a low hiss. “Bonnie is not an accurate reflection of the intelligence quota of this family and by no means is she unguarded. Any designs you have on her or her money have been duly noted and protective steps have been taken. If I were you, I’d tread very carefully, or you may find yourself having more in common with my dearly departed brother than you ever imagined or wanted.” Julian’s eyes widened in surprise. Her message delivered, Aunt Winnie let go of his hand and took a step back.

“Well, how are we all getting on out here?” Bonnie sang out as she returned to the patio. Linking her arm through Julian’s, Bonnie looked from him to us. “Isn’t he just unbelievable?”

“I was just telling him the same thing, actually,” Aunt Winnie agreed serenely.

Julian said nothing. However, I noticed there was a fine sheen of perspiration across his forehead. There might have been a fine sheen of perspiration elsewhere as well, but there was no way in hell I was going to look for it.

CHAPTER 21

There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.

—
EMMA

B
Y FIVE O’CLOCK
the rest of the guests had arrived and the tribute to Uncle Marty was in full swing. The weather had held; it was still a beautiful day only now a shade cooler. Soft music played from hidden speakers: Frank Sinatra was singing about a love affair gone wrong or one gone right; sometimes it’s hard to tell with him. The pool was open, heated, and inviting, but no one was swimming.

Miles and Laura sat with Nana under the poolside umbrella chatting amiably. Every once in a while Nana would look around, her expression almost wistful. It had been several years since she’d been to the house. My mother stood on the patio talking with Kit. Neither George nor Pauly came. One had a previous engagement and one didn’t do well in large social settings at the end of the day. To be honest, the excuse worked both ways. Frances and Scott sat on chairs they’d pulled up to the pool’s edge. Frances’s twins, the aforementioned Thing One and Thing Two, ran around in an unsupervised sugar high, having just finished stuffing themselves with cookies. Every few minutes or so, Frances would halfheartedly tell one or the other to “settle down, now!” This command was usually followed by a comment such as, “Oh, those boys!” or (even better) “My goodness, they are such typical boys! They have so much energy!”

The boys, who were only typical examples of poor parenting, ignored her and continued their game, the point of which seemed to be to zoom around the yard coming as close as possible to knocking one of the guests into the pool. They hadn’t succeeded yet, but the night was still early.

As I looked around, I realized that the group assembled today was almost identical to the group that assembled all those years ago for the Fourth of July. I just hoped that this time nothing untoward happened.

I can be really naïve sometimes.

Aunt Winnie, Ann, and I focused on keeping drinks refreshed and the hors d’oeuvres coming. Peter opted to man the grill, saying it was by far the safest place to be. The biggest surprise of the evening (so far) went to Reggie. She showed up with none other than Donny Mancuso. While he was wearing a light blue oxford shirt instead of a too-tight work polo, he still managed to give the impression of a midway transformation from Bruce Banner into the Hulk. Reggie, clinging to his massive arm, looked more like a Barbie doll than ever. Well, the kind of Barbie that would result if Mattel ever decided to create a line of sultry brunette dolls wearing a lusty come-hither expression.

“Hello, everyone!” Reggie called out when they arrived. “I’m sure you all remember Donny.”

We all did and various greetings were offered. Reggie smiled up at him. “Donny’s been an absolute dear the past few days. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Well, that was something to chew on, I thought. What exactly had old Donny been doing to help? Or was it something that Donny had done years ago—namely, get rid of Michael? Donny gave no indication. He merely smiled and said hello and kept his arm out for Reggie.

Bonnie and Julian, thankfully having changed out of their unsuitable cruise wear, now wandered from guest to guest, never staying too long with any one person. Bonnie wore a slinky white dress, while Julian had opted for a cream linen suit. Bonnie carried Scarlett with her like she was an accessory. At various intervals, Bonnie would talk about her “dear Marty” and then let out a little melancholy sigh. With a sad shake of her blond head, she’d then give Julian a significant glance and murmur about his having been taken “too soon.” Julian would nod sympathetically and stroke her hand. Not surprisingly, the tension they left in their wake was palpable, and I began to wish that one of the Things would push one of
them
into the pool.

After a while Bonnie and Julian sat down—alone—at the table. Bonnie sipped from a martini glass while Julian stared at the pool, idly smoking his foul-smelling European cigarette. Although most of the other guests stood nearby, no one seemed inclined to join them. Thing One and Thing Two continued to zoom about, blissfully ignoring Frances’s empty threats to “take you two home right now!” As I circulated with the cheese tray, cautiously staying out of the twins’ path, Bonnie glanced up at me. “Well, great balls of fire, don’t you look serious!” she chirped. Her gaze moving to Frances and Aunt Winnie, she added, “Why the long faces?”

Aunt Winnie rolled her eyes in annoyance before answering. “Let’s see, Bonnie. Where should I start?” She pretended to ponder the question. “Well, one reason might be that we are gathered here today to pay tribute to my dear departed brother. As it’s been only a little more than a week since his funeral,
some
of us might still be mourning his passing.” She deliberately paused to glance meaningfully first at Bonnie’s white dress and then at Julian. A faint stain of crimson appeared on Bonnie’s tanned cheeks. Aunt Winnie went on. “A second reason might be that during your absence, the family has been thrust into a rather unpleasant murder investigation involving someone who was once very close to many of us.” Aunt Winnie sat down in one of the empty seats at the table and assumed an exaggerated attitude of naïveté. Clasping her hands in her lap and opening her green eyes very wide, she said, “So, gee, now that I think about it, I guess
some
of us might not be in a celebratory mood today.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. I don’t know what, if anything, she was going to say because it was Julian who spoke. “So true. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths,’” he began and then soulfully continued, “‘The valiant never taste of death but once.’” He looked around expecting us to be impressed by his quotation. We weren’t. “Words from the great Sir Walter Raleigh,” he added.

“Actually, they’re words from the great William Shakespeare,” said Ann.

Julian blinked, then gave her an oily smile. “But of course, my dear. If you say so. Far be it from me to contradict someone as lovely as yourself.”

Oh, puke. I glanced at Ann. Her mouth curled in irritation. Through gritted teeth she added, “
Julius Caesar,
Act 2, scene 2.”

Julian smiled brightly. “But of course it is, my dear. Shakespeare wrote some wonderful tragedies, did he not? And speaking of tragedies, this business with that young fellow Michael is quite tragic. However, I understand that in the end, it was discovered that he was not, shall we say, a gentleman.”

“Amen to that,” sniffed Bonnie.

“But do the police really believe that a family as illustrious as yours could be involved in such a sordid crime?” asked Julian after taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

“That’s exactly what I say,” said Bonnie. “It’s preposterous. I’ve never heard of such bad taste.”

“I didn’t realize that ‘illustrious’ families, as you call them, are immune from baser human instincts,” snapped Aunt Winnie.

Ann sighed. “Bonnie, the fact remains that Michael was found on our property. From what the police have been able to piece together, he was either killed at the party or the next day. That puts us all in an uncomfortable spotlight.”

“Well, fiddle-dee-dee,” Bonnie persisted. “We all loved him—we didn’t know then that he was embezzling! Everyone loved him … well, except for Scott, of course.”

What? I looked over to see Scott’s reaction to this, but he’d gone inside. Frances, however, was here so I saw her reaction. Her body went rigid. “What do you mean, except for Scott?”

Bonnie looked up at Frances with innocent eyes. “Well, they fought, of course. Don’t you remember? Michael and Scott got into a terrible fight at the party.”

Frances kept her eyes trained on Bonnie. “You must be mistaken, Bonnie. There was no fight. Why on earth would Scott fight with Michael?”

Bonnie shook her head like a stubborn child. “No, they were fighting. It was about the business.” I glanced at Frances. Her face was devoid of color, her cheeks were almost white, and her lips were pressed into a hard, thin beige line. Bonnie continued with her tale. “Michael was taunting Scott. He was saying that Marty wouldn’t have picked Scott to take over the business under any circumstances. Michael said something to the effect that he was better than Scott and everyone knew it. Scott was pretty angry.”

Frances said nothing. Fury radiated from her.

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame Scott for arguing with him,” Bonnie said. “I mean, Michael was being nasty. It’s just that…” She trailed off as if unsure what to say.

It’s just what? I wondered. That it could look bad? That Scott was pretty drunk and clearly angry? That Scott has either blanked out the fight or is lying about it? None were particularly attractive options.

Frances’s eyes narrowed and she leaned toward Bonnie. “That never happened,” she said, tapping out each syllable on the tabletop with her finger for emphasis.

“Frances, what are you saying?” Bonnie asked.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I am saying. I don’t know what you
think
you remember from that night, but Scott and I came upstairs together. I was with him all night and there was no fight with Michael. You are mistaken.”

A chill settled over me as Bonnie protested this. “But Frances, that’s simply not true. You can’t lie about this. It’ll only make it worse.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” she said. “And if you repeat that ridiculous story to anyone, you could ruin everything Scott and I have worked for. I won’t let you do that.”

Over the years, the family had joked about Frances’s resemblance to Lady Macbeth where Scott’s career was concerned. Never had it been more apparent than now.