The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (20 page)

I was able after a few redirections to get a hold of CSP
Browning and give him the information about Ivana Penny that we had gotten from
Michael.  He thanked me and rung off before I had a chance to ask him about his
meeting tomorrow with Maurice.

Peter had been conferring with the girls, and after a lot of
theatrics from Paz and negative head shakes from Noelle he walked out of the
room to make a few calls. I wondered what all that was about and feared I would
be getting an answer soon enough as an excited Peter returned to the room and
walked over to me.

“I set up a meeting with Maurice Sherborn at his office in
approximately thirty minutes from now.  Now that Father Williams is out of the
picture, I assumed you would still want to make this meeting.  What exactly is
your plan?”

I sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, fortunately
for me it was a chair.  My plan?  Bloody hell, I didn’t have a plan.  Father
Michael had the plan, no, I was going to plan, but Father Michael got shot. 
Peter’s question had gotten the attention of our group and they waited patiently
for me.

I stood back up on weak knees and addressed them.  “It
appears that we have two suspects now.  Ivana could still be a player, but I
don’t see her hiring a hit man to kill the man who sheltered her during her
defection from Russia and from the male society.  Michael, Maurice published
your work under his name.  He lied to you and Angie-Angela about each other
being dead.  He also published what we think are musical compositions of Horace
Beaufort, Donald Williams and Ivan now Ivana.  He’s presently up for a
knighthood for these very manuscripts.  He looks very dirty to me.  I’m sorry,
Michael, but he has some hard questions to answer.  He was in England at the
time of the theft of music.  He was in England at the time of Donald’s death.”

Michael waved his hand dismissively, “I’m very upset with
the man myself at the moment, but let me clarify one thing.  I was missing in
action, as happens sometimes in war.  He thought I was dead.  He was in a bad
way and borrowed my manuscript.  No harm done.  When I was found and sent back
to England, he came to me and confessed what he had done.  I had no need for
fame, and I thought my true love was dead so I let him have it.  He shares some
of the royalties with me.  It helps with the rents.”

“I want to know why he told me you were dead,” Angie spoke
out.

“Maybe he thought I was at the time.”

“Why did he tell you I was dead?”

“I dunno.  I’m not sure I can hold my temper long enough to
find out.”  Michael theatrically wrung his hands.

“I see this meeting between Michael and his brother still
needs to take place.  But, what would be my reason for being there?” I asked.

“Here, give him this.”  Angie drew out of her bag a large
paper tube.  She unrolled the original manuscript.  “Tell him you found it and
want an explanation as to why this one has Michael’s name on it.”

“I could have approached Michael first, and that’s why he’s
attending the meeting with me.  Makes sense.  Five minutes into the meeting I
want you to come in, Angie.  I want myself and Michael to see his reaction to
your being alive.  Then we take it from there.”  I looked at Noelle.

“You want to do this don’t you,” she said in her mommy
voice.

I surprised myself by nodding.

“I don’t think the police will take too kindly to you
interfering…”

“I’m just keeping a previous appointment.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“I’ll be with her.” Michael chimed in.  “I won’t let
anything happen to your mum or Angela.”

“First sign of trouble…”

“I’m out of there.”

“What about Angie’s protection?” Michael said as he walked
over and looked out the window at Constable Davis who was conferring with her
replacement.

“Bring her along.  After all I’m just going to an
appointment.  She can wait out in the reception area while I talk to Maurice. 
Michael can protect us, but it would be nice to have the constable as maybe
extra incentive for Maurice to behave himself.” Angie said.

It looked to me like it was all falling into place. 
Everyone was convinced that this was a good plan, everyone except for one, me.

As I waited for Michael on Angie’s porch I went over the
plan in my head.  Basically I would begin interviewing Maurice with Michael.  Angie
would ride over with Constable Core, Constable Davis’s replacement, and walk in
on our meeting to see if she could unbalance Maurice enough to come clean.  Noelle
and Billy were going to wait for me at Paz’s mother’s house.  Peter had given
me the address and phone number for when I was finished. 

“Just give it to the cabbie.  He’ll find it no problem,”
Peter said and put a protective hand on Noelle’s arm.

“Be careful and try to come back with both shoes,” Noelle
cautioned.

“Don’t worry, I have a good feeling about this.”  I looked
at my brave daughter and envied her.  I motioned for her to walk to the cab
with me.  I whispered. “Be careful with Peter.  I think you hold his heart in
your hand right now.”

“Nah, it’s just hero worship.  He’ll duck out, wait and
see.”

She left me with only one backward glance.  Now I could stop
acting and be really nervous.  Note to self:  It is very hard holding sweat in.

“Are we ready, Michael?” I asked as he gave me his arm.

“Bloody hell, no.”

“Why do you Brits use bloody this and bloody that?”

“It’s for color.”

“It’s awfully red, blood red.”

“Sturdy up, Cin.  Remember you’re the holder of the Kernow
Daa.”

“Angie told you, did she?”

Michael opened up the door of the cab and gave him the
address.  He settled in his seat before speaking. “She told me it might have
saved your life.  I don’t scoff at the magic out there.  Just because we can’t
understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“I sure hope the Kernow Daa continues to do its stuff.”

“Me too because we have arrived.”  Michael paid the driver,
and I followed him up to a pleasant brick townhouse.  “These were row homes for
the rich and posh at one time.  The neighborhood fell into bad times, and
Maurice purchased the whole block.  He converted them into offices.  Brought
the neighborhood back I think.  The only way you know there’s a business here
is by the brass plaque.”

“Sherborn Enterprises,” I read off the plaque.  I let my
eyes wander down the street as Michael opened the door.  Nothing looked out of
place there but me.

We walked into a foyer and up to a very pleasant but prim
middle-aged secretary.

“Hullo, Mrs. Roberts.  Tell Maurice that Mrs. Connolly
couldn’t make it but Cindy Fin-Lathen is here to see him instead.”

“I didn’t know you were coming.  Your brother will be
surprised.”

“Yes, I think that he will.”

She rang up Maurice, explained that I would be replacing
Mrs. Connolly.  He said to send me in.  Mrs. Roberts got up to show me the way.

“Mrs. Roberts, I am expecting my secretary Angela with some
papers I forgot at the office.  Please, could you just show her in when she
arrives?  That way she can slip in and not bother our meeting.”

Mrs. Roberts nodded and took us down the hall to the
largest, most comfortable and well-appointed room I have ever seen.

“Holy cow,” I could not believe I said that out loud.

“I will take that as a compliment.  Come in sit down,” a
frail man said from the corner of the room.  He didn’t see Michael until he sat
down.  Then he popped right back up.  “Michael, you son of Satan.  I had no
idea you knew Ms. Fin-Lathen?”

“I don’t, I just met her today, Maurice.”

Truth within lies.  He did just meet Michael’s aunt today. 
Very nicely done.

“I don’t understand, but I’m sure you will enlighten me.”

Before I could sink myself further into hell with more
untruths I heard Mrs. Roberts say, right this way.  Angie walked in and closed
the door behind her.  “Hullo Maurice, remember me?”

“Come closer, you’re in the dark.”

Angie walked right up to the desk.  Maurice turned his head
and shook it.  “I’m sorry, I can’t place you.”

“Angela Bathgate.”

Maurice’s eyes widened.  He tried to speak several times,
but nothing came out.  He looked at her again.  “It’s impossible, you’re dead. 
He told me you were dead.  I don’t understand.”

This either was a great actor before me or a genuinely
confused man.

Michael got up.  “No, it’s Angie and I that don’t
understand.  Why did you tell her I was dead?”

“Because you were!  Father got the letter, and I went right
away to tell Angela.  I wanted her to hear from family.  It was my duty.  When
you finally came home, I couldn’t tell her because he said she killed herself
after she heard from my lips that you were dead.  I didn’t want you to hate me
so I said the Germans killed her.  I didn’t know.  He said...”

“Who said?” I asked.  “Angie, Michael, sit down, you’re
scaring Maurice.  Do you want some water, a drink, something?”  I felt
horrible.  This man was going to have a coronary.  I walked around the desk. 
“Please, Maurice, sit down and breathe.  Slowly, in and out, in,” I waited
longer each time, “and out.”  When I thought his color looked better, I asked
him again, “Maurice, who told you Angela killed herself?”

“My wife’s brother, Bentley Hughes.  Why did he lie to me? 
I’m so confused.  I feel so horrible.  Michael...”  He just shook his head and
started to cry.  “Oh, Angela, I have mourned you every day for the last fifty
years.  Bentley showed me your grave, and I took Michael there.  Who the hell
is in that grave?”

“Probably no one.  Why would Bentley do this Maurice?” I
asked.

“I dunno.”

“Okay, I hate to press on here, but I have to ask you some
other questions.  Maybe the answers will help us figure this out.  Can you bear
with me?”

“Yes, yes I have to.”  Maurice blew his nose.

“We already know from Michael why you published his
masterpiece under your name.  I have no problem with that.  You and Michael
made your peace.  But what about the others’ music?”

“Bentley came back from the war early and was shocked to see
his family in such a bad state.  Poor chap had a small breakdown.  The
responsibility of taking care of his family fell solely on his shoulders.  I
tried to help him, but he didn’t want to pull me under.  In the end he managed
to pull himself and his family’s company together.  Shear grit and hard work. 
I was really surprised, didn’t think he had it in him.  No one did.  I asked
him later on about what happen to bring him out of his depressed state. 
Bentley was an a-b-c, one-two-three, kind of a lad.  He went on a trip to visit
places that had made him happy in his childhood.  He found happiness, and it
drove the demons away.  On one of his jaunts he ended up at Bathgate.  Much to
his dismay there was no one around.  Ever the clever parker, Bentley dug into
his pocket and produced his old set of keys.  Luck was with him because the
Bathgates hadn’t changed their locks.  So, he walked in and toured our old haunts. 
He ended up in the file room, and he looked for his music.  He wanted to feel
again, maybe write music again.  He thought if he could channel up the old
memories that he would be all right.

“He took his manuscripts and everyone else’s too from our
class.  He brought yours and mine to me.  I think his original intention was to
send them home to the students or to their families, if the students hadn’t
survived that horrible war.  That way they would have a part of the lads to
remember.  That is what he told me he was going to do.  Meanwhile, I was all
dried up.  I couldn’t write my address let alone a symphony.  I was under a lot
of pressure, so I recopied yours in my own hand.  I had Bentley help me with
some problems in the arrangement.  Remember how he used to help us in school? 
Well I did it.  I plagiarized your work.  And when I thought you were dead I
felt I could live with my crime by telling myself that it was what you would
have wanted.  Your work would live on even though you were dead.  Father and
Mother were so proud of me.  I was the toast of the town.  I still mourned you,
but the parties, the booze and the attention from the women made me feel
better.

“I married Bentley’s sister, and as long as I was on top she
was so happy.  It was about that time we heard the wonderful news that you were
alive and were on your way home.  I didn’t care if I was drummed out of society
as the fraud I was.  All that mattered was that you were alive and coming
home.  When Bentley found out he took me aside and told me about Angela.  I
felt your death was my fault, Angela.  I had to tell my brother that you were
dead.  I was a weak man.  I made up the story about the bomb, so he would never
find out that you killed yourself because of what I told you.  Michael, you
died in front of my very eyes.  When you did come around months later, I told
you about the music.  Bentley had already published the piece and it was a hit
in a world starved so long from beautiful music.

“Michael, you told me you didn’t care.  You didn’t want to
have anything to do with music anymore.  You let me have the manuscript.  I
used the money to send you back to school for horticulture, like you originally
wanted, before Father and Mother made you change to composing.  This was the
only way I knew how to help you.  ‘Spring Water Music’s’ popularity held on,
but the world was waiting for my next piece.  I had no talent - it was evident
even to me by then.  Bentley had always been my confidant.  When I told him my
worries he just smiled.  He said, ‘Maurice, remember when I took those
manuscripts.  I sent one home to Ivan.  I heard he was killed in action and
thought his mother would appreciate the gesture.  Guess what?  She sent three
of his pieces back with a note thanking me for my kindness.  She felt the
western world would have a better chance to hear Ivan’s work and asked me to
publish it.

“I was in shock.  I couldn’t take Ivan’s work, but Bentley
insisted that if we put all the work into making his Russian opera into an
English opera then we should have our names on the music too.  I didn’t know
that he left his and Ivan’s name off the score and copies till I went into
rehearsal.  I told my wife, and she said that her family couldn’t stand another
scandal.  She begged me to let it go.  I did, and we all made a lot of money
off Ivan’s work.  I gave Bentley letters and checks to send Ivan’s mother.”

“I don’t think she ever received them, Maurice.  Ivan’s
mother died before he attended university here,” Michael informed him.  

“I didn’t know.  I never much paid attention to him.  He was
a little different for my tastes.  Anyway, Bentley’s business was now making
money.  It was about that time that I received a letter from Donald.  It was
1950, maybe 1952.  Anyway, he wrote he was in severe financial trouble.  He
couldn’t get published in the United States because of a family scandal.  I
took this letter to Bentley, and he listened and looked at the material Donald
had sent.  "Let me take care of this," he said.  Two weeks went by, and
Donald wrote me again.  He said he had spoken to Bentley and agreed with him
that the UK didn’t know Donald Williams from dirt, so he agreed to have his
work published under my name.  He would accept half of the royalties.  His
family needed the money.  I thought, what was the harm?  Hymns.  Who was going
to buy a hymn?  The best stuff was written centuries ago.  But I was wrong. 
Bentley did a spin job, and the next thing I knew the C of E was revising
hymnals just to include Donald’s hymns.  I received half the money and I
assumed the other half was sent on to Donald because I received a yearly letter
thanking me for doing this for him.”

“Do you have these letters?” I asked.

“Yes I do, they’re over at the house.  I looked them over
just after my wife died.  They made me happy.  Even if I was a fake, I could at
least aid this family in distress.”

“You honestly believe that, don’t you?” Angie asked him.

“Yes.  Why?”

“You said the letters were dated in the 1950’s?”

“1952 through 1963.”

“Did you ever talk to Donald?”

“No, just the letters.”

I looked at Michael and Angie.  I didn’t know if Maurice
could stand another shock.

He stared at us.  “What?  Tell me.  Don’t you dare hold
anything back, Michael.”

Michael nodded at me to tell him.

“We found Donald’s body in the bog behind the music school a
few days ago.  He had been there for a long time.  The FSS found that Donald
was shot and left to sink to his death in 1945.”

“That’s impossible.  That would make Bentley a liar, thief
and a murderer.”  Maurice sunk back in his chair. 

“There’s more.  Tell us what you know about Horace
Beaufort?”

“Heebeegeebee, why he was very big during the war.  Big Band
music didn’t fade till the Korean Conflict in the United States.  Horace came
over here and worked with me on my arrangements.  He actually took the time and
brought out the talent in me.  He was younger than I, but I think he felt bad
for me.  The tunes I can call my own are the Big Band arrangements.  I owe it
all to Horace.  Bentley had him over here to try to seduce him away from the
publisher he’s with now.  The United States is in the midst of a resurgence in
Big Band music.  The old retirees are still playing them in community bands,
plus almost every high school that has a marching or symphonic band also has a
Jazz or Big Band.  Horace’s arrangements are on fire right now.