The Final Victim (40 page)

    
"Who?
Phyllida
?"

    "Bingo."

    "You think she took the radio? Why would she do that?"

    Now he shrugs.
"Out of spite?
Because she knows that of everything in this house, it had the most sentimental value to you?"

    The light dawns blatantly on Charlotte's face… along with unmistakable outrage. "You're right. I bet she did take it. I can't believe that. What should I do?"

    "Write it off as a loss, and good riddance to your cousin?"

    "No. I'm not going to just drop it." She looks at her watch. "It's still too early to call California. But believe me, as soon as it's a reasonable hour, I'm going to get
ahold
of her and ask her about it."

    Having finally worked up her nerve to call the telephone number she had committed to memory in her misguided youth, Mimi is immediately discouraged when a recorded voice greets the call.
"We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this reading in error, please check the area code and the number and try your call again."

    All right, so maybe her memory isn't fail-proof.

    Still, she gives the memorized number another try, pressing the buttons more slowly. After all, it's not as though her hands weren't shaking like crazy when she dialed the first time, nor was she taking her time.

    Once her mind was made up to take the plunge and make the call to
Oakgate
, she couldn't connect fast enough.

    But she's going to have to wait a little longer.

    Once again, the voice informs her that the number isn't in service.

    She hesitates only briefly before calling directory assistance. They'll have to come up with the extra fifty cents, or whatever it costs, when the bill comes next month. This is important…

    Life or death
, she thinks, brooding as she waits to bypass the automated response.

    When the operator comes on the line, Mimi requests the number for the
Remingtons
, only to be informed that it's unlisted.

    Plunking the phone back into its cradle, she paces across the kitchen to the doorway and peeks into the next room.

    Jed is still sound asleep on the couch, courtesy of the prescription painkillers he finally agreed to take during the day, but only after she showed him that he still had plenty to spare.

    Mimi's mother, God bless her, kept Cameron overnight again and promised to bring him home tomorrow morning, first thing. Today, she insisted on having him stay for church and a little picnic at the playground.

    Maude Gaspar has been a godsend these past few days, keeping her grandson happily occupied so that Mimi can attend to Jed-and the newly complicated matter at hand.

    
I have to speak to
Gib's
cousin
, she thinks resolutely, watching Jed's chest rise and fall in reassuring cadence.
The second Mom gets here
tomorrow,
I'm leaving her here with Jed and Cam and going straight over to
Oakgate
.

    She's never officially met Charlotte Remington Maitland, but she used to see her at the beach when she was a lifeguard. She remembers watching the beautiful and sophisticated Charlotte in admiration as she sat reading in the shade of her beach umbrella. She remembers wondering if it was hard for her to be on the beach at
Achoco
, after losing her son in that awful drowning accident there.

    She remembers, too, daydreaming about what it would be like to be a Remington herself.

    As if
Gib
ever would have married the likes of Mimi Gaspar.

    
Well, thank goodness he didn't want me
, she thinks now, acknowledging what's become of her former boyfriend.

    She shudders and pushes away the very thought of him, as she has all week, not even wanting to acknowledge
Gib
Remington's role in her past-let alone hers in his apparently dismal future.

    But that hasn't stopped her from reading the papers. Not this time.

    There's been no mention of the tip that led to
Gib
becoming a suspect in the first place, thank God.

    The accounts are full of background about the illustrious family, with details about every player-from Royce Maitland's twenty-five-year-old daughter, Aimee, rushing to his bedside from New Orleans to
Gib's
sister,
Phyllida
, age respectfully omitted, and referred to as a Hollywood starlet, though there's never any mention of which films or TV programs, exactly, she has starred in.

    There is, of course, plenty of media speculation about what could have driven the disgraced scion to such violence.

    But
Gib
is no longer the family member who is most important to Mimi.

    Nor, at the moment, is the secret that is far more likely to destroy what is left of her husband's life than to save it.

    Charlotte is the only Remington Mimi is interested in contacting.

    
First thing tomorrow
, she promises herself again, wishing she didn't have to wait that long. But she can't leave Jed here unattended, no matter how pressing her need to get over to
Oakgate
.

    
It's all right. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.

    
It has a way of doing that lately
, she thinks grimly, wondering why time seems to stand still only when you long to savor precious moments. These last few weeks have flown by, each day seeming to alight fleetingly before being swept away, like the rapidly flipping calendar pages in a silent movie scene depicting the swift passage of time.

    Yes, tomorrow will dawn all too soon
, Mimi tells herself, brushing away the tears that spring to her eyes.

    I just have to ask Charlotte what she knows about her mother… and just hope it's not too late
.

    
Gib
is lying.

    Tyler is certain of it.

    
Alone with his client at last, he looks
Gib
in the eye.
"Let me make one thing clear. Your grandfather is the only reason I'm even here in the first place. He was a close friend of mine throughout my life."

    "I realize that."
Gib's
tone is sullen.

    Standing over him, Tyler slaps his hands, hard, on the table and lowers his face to
Gib's
level. "If I'm going to even consider being remotely involved in your defense from here on in-and I'll say right now that it isn't looking likely that I am-you're going to tell me everything you know about your grandfather's death. Got it?"

    "I'm not going to say anything to you that I didn't already say in front of them," is the wrathful response, as
Gib
jerks his head in the direction of the door through which the two detectives had just departed. 'This whole thing is bullshit."

    "Watch your tongue," Tyler says sharply.

    To his credit,
Gib
apologizes.

    "I hope you know that I'm this close to walking out of here." Tyler presses his thumb and index finger together and thrusts his hand into
Gib's
face.

    "Please don't." Slumped in his seat, appearing more exhausted than dejected, he tells Tyler, "I just can't believe they're trying to pin this on me, now, too."

    
"Who?"

    
"The detectives, who else?
Just like they planted those shoes, shirt, and cufflink in my room."

    Tyler says nothing, having heard that ludicrous claim repeatedly ever since
Gib's
arrest.

    He again hears an echo of his own voice, so long ago.

    I don't know how the cigarettes got into my room, Headmaster Swift. I didn't put them there.

    I don't know how the answer key got etched onto my desk, Mr. Anderson. Somebody in another section must have left it there.

    "My grandfather had a heart attack,"
Gib
goes on, gazing at the Persian carpet. "We all saw the autopsy report."

    "And we all know that cardiac arrest can mask other things." At least, they know that now, thanks to Williamson's ever-informative spiel.

    "We also know"-as Williamson also pointed out- "that bodies can be exhumed for a number of reasons, not the least of which is suspected murder."

    
Gib's
head is still bent. He doesn't flinch. It's impossible to gauge his reaction to that news, but Tyler would stake a hefty bet that there was one.

    What
Gib
doesn't grasp-but what Tyler has come to realize, having spoken with the detectives prior to the confrontation-is that Williamson and Dorado are operating purely on a hunch.

    There's no evidence that Gilbert Remington's death was anything but accidental. But in checking out all the avenues leading to
Gib's
possible motivation for Royce Maitland's shooting, the detectives aren't about to avoid this one.

    As Dorado put it, it's awfully coincidental that the old man died just a few weeks before Royce Maitland was shot, and that the assault occurred shortly after
Gib
learned for the first time that he had been disinherited.

    
He was willing to do anything to get his hands on that money,
Dorado told Tyler.

    And Tyler couldn't bring himself to argue the point.

    Having witnessed
Gib's
reaction to the will that day in his office, Tyler has no doubt that his surprise was as genuine as his dismay, which transformed right before the attorney's eyes to full-blown rage.

    Tyler, of anyone, saw firsthand how much that money meant to
Gib
.

    Tempted as he is to walk out of here and never look back, Tyler needs to take care of a few details first. There's no telling what might come to light if there's an ensuing investigation into Gilbert's death-and his life.

    He owes it to his late friend-and to the memory of the Telfair Trio-to at least attempt to unearth the truth that lies beneath this latest Remington calamity, while making every effort to keep the near-miss of the past safely buried, where it belongs.

    That doesn't mean he's going to represent Gilbert's grandson in court. But perhaps he can help him locate a criminal lawyer who has no potential conflict of interest-and nothing personal to lose.

    No matter the eventual outcome… whichever way this turns out-whether
Gib
is exonerated or proven guilty-Tyler's loyalty to Gilbert will remain
unsevered
.

    Yes
, he thinks,
but if there really is the slightest bit of hard evidence that Gilbert's death was anything other than from natural causes…

    Then
Gib
Remington is
entirely on his own
.

    Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Charlotte nearly slams into someone.

    "Oh, I'm sorry!" Aunt Jeanne's nurse exclaims, taking a big step back, clutching a steaming mug. "I'm so glad I didn't burn you!"

    Surprised to see her, Charlotte asks, "What are you doing here?"
'Just fixing your aunt some hot cocoa.
Not the kind from the mix. I brought everything to make it from scratch. She likes a nice hot drink in the afternoon, and she was telling me that her mother used to make it for her that way when she was a little girl, so I-"

    "No," Charlotte cuts in, not in the mood for idle chitchat, "I meant, what
are you
doing working today? I thought Sunday was your day off."

    Melanie lowers her gaze to the mug. "It is. I just thought your aunt needed me here today. She's been so down, so it seemed like a good idea to come."

    Charlotte digests this news with a twinge of guilt- she has neglected her elderly aunt these last few weeks, with all that's gone on-but also with a speck of suspicion.

    It's not as though she can't afford to pay the nurse overtime. But that wasn't part of the original arrangement made by
Grandaddy
, and she can't help but wonder if Miss Sunshine, here, might not be a bit
more shrewd
than she comes across.

    "Melanie," she says, after contemplating the best phrasing, "my grandfather had budgeted Aunt
Jeanne's,care
and until I can look more closely into her daily needs to see if that warrants a change, I'm afraid-"

    "Oh, you think I'm here today for the money? Don't worry, Mrs. Maitland. I wasn't expecting to get paid. I'm just visiting."

    
Really?
Or are you an opportunist who cleverly shifts gears when put on a spot?
Charlotte wonders as she looks into Melanie's big, seemingly earnest, blue eyes.

    She decides to keep her suspicions to herself, at least for now. "Well, it certainly is nice of you to give up your day off," is all she says.

    "Oh, I don't mind at all. Your aunt is such a wonderful woman. I love spending time with her." Melanie's tone isn't the least bit reproachful, but Charlotte gets the silent message loud and clear.