Murder Most Persuasive (24 page)

In addition to clenching her hands, Reggie’s jaw now bunched. “That is not the same as investing! You are playing with people’s futures here!”

“Actually, I’m
helping
your futures.”

Reggie’s eyes clenched shut in frustration. Soon her entire body would be one big clench. “I can’t take this anymore,” she muttered. “I’m getting a massive headache. I need an aspirin. And a martini. And not necessarily in that order. Excuse me.” She turned and stalked angrily into the house. Donny looked at us in hulkish silence for a moment before lumbering after her.

From her chair, Aunt Winnie eyed Bonnie suspiciously. “What are you doing here, Bonnie? The truth.”

Bonnie gave an innocent shrug. Offering Aunt Winnie an almost feline smile, she said, “I have no idea what you mean, Winifred. We’re here to celebrate Marty’s memory, and as a special surprise, I’ve arranged for the children to receive a lovely return on their inheritance. It’s the least I can do for them.” Picking up her martini glass, she delicately swallowed the last sip like a cat finishing its cream.

Suddenly I understood exactly what Bonnie was doing. It was revenge pure and simple. Revenge for years of being dismissed as a bubblehead. Revenge for being called “McClueless.” Revenge for an unhappy marriage to a man whose children despised her. We had it all upside down.

Julian wasn’t using Bonnie.

Bonnie was using him.

CHAPTER 23

Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.

—
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

M
Y EYES FLEW
to Aunt Winnie’s, wondering if she’d had the same idea. From the way
her
eyes were widening with appalled shock as she stared at Bonnie, I was pretty confident that she had.

“I think I’m in need of another martini,” Bonnie said, setting her empty glass on the table. “Julian, how about you? Would you like one?”

Julian made a show of checking his watch. “Why not? After all, it is past five o’clock!” He chuckled appreciatively as this apparent witticism.

Bonnie smiled at him. Picking her glass back up, she looked my way. “Elizabeth? Would you be a dear and ask Reggie to make me another drink and to make one for Julian as well?” Bonnie turned to Julian, saying, “Reggie makes the best martinis.”

I was happy to run that errand. It gave me an excuse to go into the house and tell Ann my theory about the real reason behind Bonnie’s relationship with Julian. I took the offered glass and headed inside, where I found Ann basting a platter full of thick steaks with some kind of sweet-smelling marinade. Reggie, Donny, and Frances sat on stools at the counter. Reggie was holding her head in her hands. Donny was gently rubbing her back. From the hard line of Frances’s mouth and her ramrod posture, she appeared to still be angry at Scott … or Bonnie … or the world. From upstairs I could hear the twins’ howls of indignation as Scott enforced the time-out.

Holding up Bonnie’s empty glass, I said, “Bonnie has requested a refill on her martini and one for Julian. She asked that Reggie make them.”

Reggie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I can make them,” I offered hastily. “Just point me in the right direction … and remind me what’s in a martini.”

Reggie pushed her stool back and stood up. “No, better let me do it. I need one anyway. Besides, she’s pretty particular about how she likes them. God forbid we anger the little diva. After all, she holds all the cards.” Taking the glass from me, she headed to the dining room where the liquor cart was located.

“What can I do to help?” I asked Ann.

Ann looked around and said, “Would you mind starting the tomato and mozzarella? The tomatoes are in the bowl on the table and the mozzarella is in the refrigerator.”

I grabbed a cutting board, a knife, and the tomatoes and mozzarella, and began slicing them. Taking a plate down from the cabinet, I began to arrange the tomatoes and mozzarella in what I hoped would result in a spiral pattern. “I had an idea outside,” I said, then stopped, unsure exactly how my idea would be received. I was basically about to tell them that I thought their stepmother was trying to avenge herself of years of familial abuse. That might be a tough pill to swallow.

“Does your idea involve committing Bonnie?” Reggie called from the other room. “Or better yet, just killing her?”

“Reggie!” admonished Frances. “That’s not funny!”

“Who said I was trying to be funny?”

Reggie returned with the drinks in her hands. Setting two on the counter she said, “What was your idea, Elizabeth?”

I looked down at my plate before answering. It looked like a close-up of an Impressionist painting. All spots and swirls. I sighed. Like this day, my cheese/tomato pattern had spiraled out of control. I wonder if somewhere in the Hamptons, and for no apparent reason, Martha Stewart was overcome by a shudder of domestic horror. “Well,” I said, “what if Bonnie
knows
Julian is a fake? What if she
wants
you all to lose that money?”

“I don’t follow you,” said Reggie, taking a sip of her drink.

“I do,” Frances said slowly. “You think she wants to screw us, don’t you? But why? Why would she do that?”

“Because she hates us,” Ann said, putting down the marinating brush, her expression thoughtful. “Now that Dad’s gone, she can do what she likes. Under the terms of the will, Bonnie has the use of this house until her death. When she dies, the house comes to us. In addition, she received a small inheritance. It really wasn’t much. She might see this as an opportunity to make some more money. She takes the money from the sale of the house and purposely gives it to a con artist—in this case, Julian. Julian pockets the money and claims that he’s lost it in a bad investment. None of us would be surprised—that’s what we think is going to happen anyway. But do you really think she wants Julian to take all the money, or do you think she’s in on it with him?” she said, turning to me.

“What? Do you mean like a fifty-fifty split?” asked Reggie, her drink frozen halfway to her mouth.

I looked at Reggie and nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

“That bitch!” expostulated Reggie, putting down her drink and angrily slapping the counter with her hand.

“I bet I don’t need to guess who we’re talking about,” said a voice from the doorway. It was Miles, dried and in new clothes. “I gather it’s about Bonnie. What’s happened?”

Ann looked at me questioningly. I signaled for her to tell Miles. I saw no reason to keep my theory a secret. “Elizabeth was wondering if Bonnie could be giving Julian that money as a form of revenge on us,” Ann said. “I mean, let’s face it, we’ve never gotten along with her. Now that Dad’s gone…”

“I see what you mean,” Miles said thoughtfully. “She could give the money to Julian and then somehow split it with him. Yes, it’s not completely out of the question.”

“Well, if that’s the case—and even if it’s not the case—what do we do to stop her?” asked Frances.

We all looked to Miles for the answer, but for once he had none. The patio door opened and Laura walked in. “Goodness, so this is where the party’s got to. What are you all doing in here?” Seeing our dour expressions, her voice dropped and she added, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” said Miles. “Just a theory on the true relationship between Bonnie and Julian.” The ringing of the doorbell prevented Miles from expanding on this theory.

Ann went to answer the door. I heard her give an exclamation of surprise, an exclamation of happy surprise. Seconds later she reappeared with Joe in tow.

“Hey, everybody,” Ann said, her face more flushed than it had been moments before. “Um, Joe stopped by to bring me up to date on the case with Michael.”

“Really?” said Miles. “Have there been any developments?”

Joe cleared his throat before answering. “Unfortunately, no. But I was in the area, so I thought I’d stop by. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were having a party. I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just see myself out.”

As it was clear to me that Joe had used the pretext of the case as an excuse to see Ann, I said, “You’re not intruding, Joe. It’s just a simple cookout. Please stay.”

Joe glanced at Ann. “You’re more than welcome to join us,” she added with a shy smile.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Ann’s.

Everyone voiced agreement that Joe should stay. Well, everyone except Laura. Her lips pulled down into a faint frown and she folded her arms across her chest. From the doubtful glance she shot Miles, it was clear that she still harbored doubts about the wisdom of Ann’s involvement with Joe.

Miles shrugged away her unspoken message of concern. “You’re always welcome here, Joe,” he said. “Come on outside and join the party. You can meet Bonnie’s new friend, Julian. In fact, I would love to hear your opinion of the man.”

As Ann led Joe outside, I grabbed the platter of steaks. “Miles, can you get those drinks on the counter?” called Reggie. “They’re for Bonnie and Julian.” Miles did so and deposited them at the table. Bonnie and Julian thanked Reggie for making the drinks. Joe was introduced to Julian, and his reaction was studied by most everyone else. From the way Joe’s face became almost studiously blank, it was clear (to me, anyway) that Joe held the same low opinion of Julian that most everyone else did.

However, if Bonnie and Julian picked up on Joe’s negative opinion, they hid it well. They chatted in contented oblivion and sipped their drinks. Within a few minutes, however, Bonnie’s bubbly mood changed. “Julian, do you think you could put that thing out?” she snapped, indicating his cigarette. “It’s very bothersome.”

Julian appeared startled at her annoyed tone but graciously put out the offending embers. “But of course, my dear. I am terribly sorry,” he said as he ground down the tip.

Bonnie pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I’m sorry, Julian. It’s just that I have a sudden headache. I think this sun is getting to me.” She squinted sullenly at the offending orb in the sky.

Julian was quick to react. “Would you like me to get you some aspirin?”

Bonnie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

Julian glanced at the rest of us, his face pulled down in an expression that indicated his grave concern. I’m sorry to say he did not find a similar sentiment on ours. Bonnie was no stranger to issuing complaints. “My dear, why don’t you trade places with me? I am in the shade, while you are in the sun. I have been very thoughtless. Come, I insist,” he said, getting to his feet. He moved behind her chair. “Let me help you.”

Bonnie allowed herself to be gently moved to the shady chair. Julian took his new seat and peered anxiously at her. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

But it wasn’t. Minutes later, Bonnie began to complain that her stomach hurt. “You must be hungry.” Julian said. “Perhaps the steaks are almost ready?”

“Just another minute,” Peter called from his post at the grill.

“Perhaps you should go inside and rest until the steaks are ready,” suggested Julian. “I will bring one in to you once they are done.”

“No,” replied Bonnie, pulling her lips into an obstinate line. “I’m fine.” However, no sooner had she said this than she let out a low groan and clutched at her stomach. “This is silly,” said Julian. “I insist that you go inside and rest.”

Bonnie stubbornly rejected this idea, adamantly shaking her head in refusal. “This day is for Marty,” she said. “I can’t forget that. In fact, why don’t we have a toast? I propose a toast to Marty’s memory.” She raised the glass in front of her. When the rest of us had done likewise with ours, she stretched out her arm a bit straighter. Then in a voice low from either emotion or stomach cramps, she said, “To Martin Reynolds—a man like no other!”

As toasts go, it wasn’t a particularly memorable line. No, what made it memorable was the fact that seconds after she said it, Bonnie collapsed to the ground, her glass shattering into thousands of pieces beside her.

CHAPTER 24

Well! Evil to some is always good to others.

—
EMMA

I
N ALL THE CONFUSION,
it’s hard to remember exactly what happened next. There were screams, of course, and people running and one small dog barking incessantly. Someone called 911. I think it was Joe. Ann ran over to Bonnie and tried to revive her. She wasn’t dead, but she sure as hell wasn’t very responsive either. Her skin was gray beneath her tan, and her face was slack.

Finally the paramedics came bursting onto the patio and we all stood back and let them do their job. They were able to get a pulse on her and rapidly loaded her onto a gurney and out to the waiting ambulance. Julian tried to go with Bonnie but was firmly, albeit politely, denied access. Peter, Aunt Winnie, and I drove to the hospital in my car. Joe drove Ann. Everyone else formed various car pools as well. Julian also went to the hospital, but I think he went by cab.

We arrived at the hospital and quickly made our way to the reception desk. A large woman with an expression that suggested a genetic link with the subfamily Bovinae listened apathetically to our story and then told us to take seats in the waiting room. We were duly informed that someone would be with us “shortly.” Someone wasn’t. Miles joined us, as did Reggie and Frances. Kit also came. I was surprised at first but then realized Kit would sooner cut off her left foot than miss out on any potential drama. Scott had taken the twins home, and Donny apparently had better things to do than hang out at a hospital. Laura drove Nana back to her house in St. Michaels and my mother returned to her house.

As the ten of us sat huddled together in the drab waiting room, ignorant of Bonnie’s condition, we offered various explanations of what had happened. Heart attack seemed the most popular guess, with stroke being a close second. It wasn’t until I saw the grim-faced doctor coming our way accompanied by a policeman that I began to suspect the truth.

“Hello,” the doctor said stiffly when he got to us, “I’m Dr. Moser. I’m taking care of Mrs. Reynolds.” Dr. Moser was about six two with wire-rimmed glasses and a scattering of gray hair. He studied our little group with a guarded expression. Gesturing to the officer next to him, he added, “This is Officer Daschle.” Officer Daschle was about five ten, with a stocky build and a blond crew cut. Unlike Dr. Moser, Officer Daschle watched us with an expression that was much easier to interpret. Angry suspicion radiated from his dark brown eyes.