This Old Homicide (25 page)

“Okay, thanks.” I didn’t know what else to do. “Do you want another cup of coffee?”

“Thanks for the offer,” Eric said, “but I’ve got to get back to the station.”

“I’ll take one,” Mac said, and helped himself.

We sat at the kitchen table in silence for a moment. Robbie rested at his feet and Tiger was curled up in his lap. “I like your animals.”

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” I said, reaching over and scratching Tiger’s soft neck. “If you were writing a book and plotting out Jesse’s death and its aftermath, would you have things happening so haphazardly like this?”

“Actually I would,” Mac said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, human nature is pretty straightforward,” he said. “In real life, events and situations are often self-explanatory and relatively simple, even murder. But for a mystery novel to be intriguing, an author needs to write as complex and elaborate a plot as possible to keep readers guessing. Because believe me, mystery readers are so damn smart, they always figure it out.”

I sighed. “This situation is ridiculously convoluted.”

“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “I should be taking notes.”

I got up and found the little bag of shortbread cookies I’d coaxed out of Jane’s chef and put a few on a plate. “I so want to catch this person. Chances are he killed my neighbor and now he’s trying to steal something. And to do it, he’s destroying Jesse’s house. Or he was, until Jane changed the locks and Eric started having someone drive by a few times a night. But it’s still so frustrating because he keeps coming back and we never catch him.”

“Why doesn’t Jane just hire a security guard or two?”

I winced. “I talked her out of it.”

“You what?”

“It made sense at the time,” I insisted. “We weren’t going to catch Jesse’s killer if the intruder was scared off by a guard.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay, that makes sense in a perverse way.”

I fiddled with my coffee spoon. “I thought so.”

“What can they be looking for?” Mac wondered out loud.

I pressed my lips together, trying to decide how much to tell him.

His eyes narrowed. “You know something.”

What did I say? How did this guy read my mind like that?

“Look, Shannon. Whatever it is, we need to find the damn thing before anyone else gets hurt. Something tells me you know more about it than you’re saying. So spill.”

He was right. Besides, all of our girlfriends knew and so did Eric. And my father. Mac had a right to know after spending all these nights chasing down the intruder with me.

“Jesse found a necklace when he went scuba diving with Bob and Ned.”

“I heard that was an old wives’ tale.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not. I found it.”

“You… you found it.” He stared at me in disbelief and I could swear the temperature dropped ten degrees. “The necklace. And you didn’t tell anyone about it?”

“Jane knows, of course.” Along with half of Lighthouse Cove. But I felt too guilty to mention that fact to Mac.

“Jane knows,” he echoed as he absently turned his coffee cup around in slow circles, his gaze never leaving mine. “Of course she would, because at this point, it probably belongs to her. But you know, you and I have gone to Jesse’s house at least four times in the middle of the night to investigate what’s going on. So, when were you planning to tell me the truth?”

The guilt swept over me in waves. “I’m sorry, Mac. Jane and I swore each other to secrecy. I was so worried that if anyone knew the truth, her life would be in danger. But I should’ve trusted you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“I feel awful.” His warm palm felt good against mine.

“Good. As long as you’re feeling really guilt-ridden, I’m okay with that. Do the cops know?”

“I told Eric.”

“That was smart.”

“I know. You might not speak to me again, but he could throw me in jail.”

He allowed himself a half grin. “Makes sense.”

Was it my imagination or was some of the ice in his eyes melting?

“Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” he said. He let go of my hand and got up to pour more coffee. “You don’t know me really well, but I’m a good guy.”

I smiled. “I know that much.”

He sat down again. “But now you owe me.”

“Oh.” I frowned as he grabbed my hand again and pressed it lightly between his two palms. It felt secure and warm.

“You owe me the truth,” he said softly. “All of it. Right now. I want to hear the whole story.”

I told him how I found Jesse’s body. How a week later, I was checking the foundation for Jane and came across the cracked bricks in Jesse’s basement where he’d hidden the necklace. I told him about my conversation with Jane about keeping the discovery a secret so that Jesse’s killer wouldn’t come after her. And how we’d immediately put the necklace in the safe-deposit box.

“That was smart,” he said. “Good move. But here’s the deal. It doesn’t do any good to put it in the bank if the bad guy still thinks it’s somewhere inside Jesse’s house.” He gave my hand a squeeze and I liked it a lot. Not just the warm, solid contact, which was really nice, but also the feeling that I wasn’t in this alone. That Mac was willing and ready to charge into battle by my side.

“I agree,” I said.

“Because someone is still breaking in and searching for it. He won’t stop until he either finds it himself or hears that someone else found it.”

“You’re right,” I said, still feeling the guilt seep back in. “And that’s why we didn’t tell anyone else. We didn’t want the bad guy coming after Jane.”

“I understand. But this time when he comes after Jane, we’ll be waiting for him.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, I dressed in my prettiest springtime frock, even though it was February. I’d been invited to a Sunday afternoon garden party at one of the “Grande Dame” Victorian mansions on the Alisal Cliffs. It was a beautiful sunny day, but I grabbed a sweater to wear in case the wind got too brisk out on the cliffs.

I’d invited Mac to go with me to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Perry, the art collectors who owned the house. My crew and I had recently done a bit of remodeling for them, turning their downstairs office into a glass-walled solarium. I was pleased with the work and had uploaded some pictures of the pretty, plant-filled room onto my Web site.

The reason for the garden party was to unveil a new sculptural masterpiece that the Perrys had shipped back from Florence. I couldn’t wait to see it after hearing Mrs. Perry rhapsodize over it.

Mac was an immediate hit, of course, and I was considered brilliant for bringing him. There was plenty of great conversation, luscious champagne, and waiters carrying trays of yummy hors d’oeuvres. The only fly in the ointment, so to speak, was that Whitney and a few of her unpleasant friends were among the guests. I should’ve known, since she was one of the Perrys’ neighbors as well as a charter member of the rich folks’ society. Those people really stuck together.

The good news was that Tommy was on hand, too, so I flirted with him every chance I got.

Whitney didn’t like that and she nailed me with a combination cold shoulder and haughty look down the nose. But she couldn’t have been sweeter to Mac, who caught on to her right away. He’d been in town long enough to figure out who was to be avoided. Whitney was one of those.

Which was only part of why he so appealed to me.

Mac was enjoying himself, perfectly at ease among the snooty and friendly alike, and the champagne was lovely. After an hour of socializing, Mr. and Mrs. Perry approached the large canvas-covered statue at the corner of the terraced patio.

“We’re about to reveal our masterpiece,” Mrs. Perry cried. A few people clinked their glasses together to get everyone’s attention.

We all gathered around and Mac grinned. “They’re really drawing out the suspense, aren’t they?”

“I’m breathless with anticipation,” I joked, but I really could feel the excitement building.

He chuckled, and Whitney, standing on the other side of Mac, turned and glared at me. I was happy to ignore her.

Mrs. Perry began to count. “Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Reveal!”

Mr. Perry and another man grabbed either side of the canvas covering and pulled, exposing the masterpiece to the world.

Whitney gasped.

I snorted with laughter.

The Perrys’ masterpiece was an elaborate fountain in the classic Italian tradition made of rich marble and beautiful copper—and an exact replica of my neighbor Mrs. Higgins’s huge backyard eyesore. Water spewed from the hands and mouths of the angels and tumbled down over the creatures cavorting below.

The only difference I could discern between the two fountains was that the Perrys’ was worth many thousands of dollars more and would age to a fine patina in those spots where the surface was burnished copper, while Mrs. Higgins’s was constructed of faux plastic and foam and would probably crumble and collapse in a year or two. Otherwise the two fountains were identical.

Whitney began to choke, probably from the shock of seeing a duplicate of what she’d once called “the most hideous, gauche piece of garbage” she’d ever laid eyes on. That was exactly how she’d described Mrs. Higgins’s version, the one she’d seen in the back of my truck in the supermarket parking lot.

Tommy and Mac grabbed her from both sides and gave her a few firm slaps on the back. She finally waved them both away, having recovered from her choking bout. But her face still looked a little green.

The crowd oohed and aahed at the splendid display, and as the angels began to hum shrilly, Mrs. Perry made the rounds, asking all the guests what they thought of her new treasure.

Whitney gulped, then exclaimed, “It’s beautiful! I’m so envious! The silhouette of the angels is so glorious against the afternoon sky. It’s all so… so stylishly whimsical, yet sensual. I’ve never seen anything so utterly splendiferous in all my life.”

“I’m so happy you love it, Whitney,” Mrs. Perry said, giving her an enthusiastic hug. “You absolutely must see the original fountain once before you die. The Boboli Gardens of Florence are beyond description.” She moved on to the next guest and proceeded to gush all over again.

“You are so full of it,” I muttered in Whitney’s ear.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

A minute later, Mrs. Perry approached me. “What do you think, Shannon?”

“It’s truly unique, and yet…” I paused. “It reminds me of another work I’ve seen recently.”

I gave Whitney a quick glance and saw her eyes shooting poison-tipped daggers at me.

I turned back to Mrs. Perry. “Now I remember. I believe it’s similar in style and grace to something I saw in the Boboli Gardens in Florence, Italy, a few years ago.”

“Yes!” Mrs. Perry cried. “Exactly! We took our inspiration from the Boboli.”

“I knew it!” I said. “It’s truly… splendiferous.”

“Thank you, my dear.” She walked over to another guest and I took a big gulp of blessed champagne.

Whitney tried to walk away, but I grabbed her arm and yanked her back, saying, “You owe me one.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she snarled. “Splendiferous, my ass.”

I laughed and downed the rest of my champagne.

Jane called early Monday morning as I was pouring my first cup of coffee. “It’s bad news. Bob has slipped into a coma.”

I must’ve been half-asleep, because I shook my head and stared at the phone for a long moment. “Who? What?”

“Bob Madderly. Jesse’s navy pal. He’s slipped into a coma. They’re not sure he’ll survive.”

“Survive?” I gulped at my coffee, hoping for clarity. “What the heck happened to Bob? How did he get into a coma? And how did you find out so early in the morning?”

“Bob’s a diabetic and they think he forgot to take his insulin. Or maybe he took too much. I’m not sure.”

“That’s so sad.” I’d grown to care for the sweet old guy. I remembered him winking and flirting with me at Jane’s party.

“I know.”

“Does he have any family nearby?”

“A younger cousin, but Ned and Jesse were his real family. And Stephen. He’s taking it hard.”

“That’s horrible for everyone.” I gulped down my coffee because if I didn’t, I would never figure out what happened to Bob.

“How could he forget to take his insulin?”

“I don’t know. He’s old. Maybe he forgot.”

I frowned. Like Jesse, Bob was somewhere in his seventies, which could be considered old, I guessed. But he was still spry and had all his faculties. If he’d been dealing with diabetes for any length of time, he was not going to “forget” his meds. What was going on around here?

Coming so soon after Jesse’s “accidental overdose,” Bob’s mishap with a prescription drug was indeed suspicious, but I didn’t say anything to Jane, because she was so upset. I was upset, too. I wondered if Jane might be flashing back to the moment when she first heard about Jesse’s death. If that was the case, I didn’t want her suffering alone.

“I’m coming over,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’ll be here.”

Ten minutes later, I walked into Hennessey House and found Stephen and Jane sitting in the living room, commiserating. Jane jumped up and hurried over to greet me. “Oh, Shannon, thanks for coming.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I was planning to call you later. I set up a lunch with Althea for tomorrow and I was hoping you’d come with me. But now with Bob in the hospital, I think we’d better cancel.”

“Yes, we should,” I said. “Do you want me to call her?”

“No, I can do it.” She pressed her hands together and glanced around. I could tell she was on her last nerve.

“Jane, sit down, please?” I said quietly. “You’re entitled to relax once in a while.”

“I’m fine. It helps to keep busy. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

“No, I’ll grab a cup in the dining room and join you in a second.”

“Okay.”

I really wanted to know what Stephen was up to. Why was he always just there, by Jane’s side, like a new puppy looking for treats? I knew that now wasn’t a good time to dwell on it, but the guy was really starting to bug me.

I sat down with my coffee and tried to smile at Stephen. “I’m really sorry. I know you and your dad are close to Bob.”

“I’m going to miss him,” Stephen whispered. “He was a great guy.”

I frowned at Stephen. “Did he die?”

“Well, no, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“But he could still come out of it,” I insisted. “Don’t write him off just yet.”

Jane clutched her hands together. “Shannon’s right. As long as he’s alive, there’s hope.”

I was familiar with diabetes because my mother had had it. I was too young to know much about it at the time she died, but as I grew up, I did a lot of reading on the disease. I was willing to bet that I knew as much about it as anyone else who didn’t actually suffer from it.

One way Bob could’ve fallen into a coma was if he overdosed on insulin. I was tempted to call the hospital.

“My dad said that he found Bob passed out in his silk boxer shorts,” Stephen said, with a feeble grin. “That’s all he was wearing when he was rushed to the hospital.”

I didn’t find that tidbit of news worth smiling about. Especially when it reminded me that Jesse was dressed the same way when I found him.

“That poor man,” Jane said.

Stephen stared into his coffee mug. “Who knew old Bob was sporting silk boxers all this time? I must admit, silk does feel nice against the skin, although I prefer going commando.”

I exchanged a look with Jane. Did he say stuff like this on a regular basis? Was he nuts? He was socially inept for sure.

But Jane, always the perfect hostess, took a steadying breath and tried to smile. “Silk is wonderful, isn’t it? And if it made Bob happy, where’s the harm?”

Perfect hostess or not, Jane couldn’t possibly be buying in to Stephen’s weirdness, could she? I supposed some people behaved oddly in crisis situations, but discussing fabrics and boxer shorts and—God help us—going commando was a whole new level of bizarre.

*   *   *

Later that day, I posed the question to Mac over a couple of bottles of ice-cold beer. “Are boxer shorts a navy thing?”

He looked at me as though I were crazy, and I had to wonder if I was nuts, too. Had I drunk the same Kool-Aid as Stephen and Jane?

“A navy thing?” Mac laughed. “Uh, no. You can wear tighty whities or anything else in the navy if you want to. Uncle Sam’s not all that interested in your underwear.”

“Right, right,” I said, feeling a rush of embarrassment at the conversation I’d started. “Of course not.”

“Is something going on, Shannon? I mean, you’d tell me if you were onto something else, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not.” I frowned at the beer bottle, then gazed at him. “It’s just that Jesse died wearing only his boxer shorts. They were white and cotton, but I guess that’s not relevant. And now Bob was rushed to the hospital wearing only a pair of silk boxers. Just seems weird, that’s all.”

I glanced over and saw him looking at me in precisely the same way I’d been looking at Stephen a few minutes ago.

“Never mind,” I said quickly, waving away the question. “Oh, hey, there’s a game on TV. Want to watch?”

“A woman who loves to watch sports?” Mac grinned. “Count me in.”

*   *   *

A few hours later, Jane telephoned. “I spoke to Althea. We’ll schedule a lunch sometime next week.”

“Good,” I said.

“I told her about Bob. I think she met him a few times with Jesse, so I wanted her to know he’s not doing too well. She was so sweet, said she was going to send a card to Ned because they’re buddies.”

I remembered seeing Bob and Althea together the day of Jesse’s memorial. I told Jane about how they’d been talking so intently the day Jesse was buried.

“And she patted his cheek?” Jane said.

“Yeah,” I said. “It looked like they knew each other pretty well.”

“I guess that makes sense. Jesse would’ve introduced his girlfriend to his best friends, right?”

“Sure.”

Something in the tone of my voice must’ve alerted Jane. “Okay, Shannon, I know everyone is a suspect in your view, but I really like Althea. And Bob is a sweetheart.”

“I totally agree. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“I appreciate that,” Jane said. “But it sounds like they were having a completely innocent conversation. Probably just commiserating with each other. After all, both of them just lost a close friend.”

“That’s all it was, I’m sure.”

“I can tell you’re placating me, but I’m going to let it go. I like Althea a lot and I don’t want to think that someone I care about might turn out to be the bad guy.”

“I like her, too.” That was the problem, I thought. I liked a lot of the people on my suspect list.

“Listen,” she said. “Do you want to go out for an early dinner tonight?”

“Yes. I won’t even talk if you don’t want me to.”

She chuckled weakly. “I won’t hold you to that.”

“Thanks.”

I picked her up at five thirty, and we headed for our favorite spot, Bella Rossa on the square. Dinner was wonderful, as usual, and we chatted easily through the meal. Nothing heavy, no worries, just idle chitchat. I think we were both a little burned out by everything that had been happening lately.

But there was one thing I needed to talk about. “I know I promised to keep the conversation light, but I need to ask you something and I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“It’s about Stephen. What’s his deal? Is he going to live there indefinitely? I’m concerned that he’s monopolizing your time.”

She thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “It’s odd having a man around who notices when I walk into the room. A man who watches my every move, who comes to my rescue when any little thing goes wrong. I spilled a drop of wine on the tablecloth at happy hour the other day and he instantly removed all the glasses and carried the cheese platter away. Then he whipped the tablecloth off and ran to the laundry room to clean it.”

I frowned at her. “That’s downright peculiar.”

She shook her head. “It’s sad. I always thought I would love to have a man pay attention and take care of me like that.”

“Not like that.”

“Now I wonder if I’ve been lying to myself all this time.” With her elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her hand. “I thought I wanted that kind of deeply romantic care and concern from a man, but it turns out I don’t. Stephen’s behavior is a little disconcerting.”

“No, Jane. It’s downright creepy.”

She grimaced. “Unfortunately I agree.”

“Look, you can still have all that stuff you’ve always dreamed about. Just not with Stephen. He’s nice-looking and probably a decent guy, but he’s not the one for you, so it doesn’t feel right when he behaves so obsequiously around you. Another man doing the same thing might make you feel differently.”

“Obsequious,” she said with a smile. “A ten-dollar word.”

“Hey, I’ve got hidden smarts.”

She laughed and sat back in her chair. “Enough about Stephen. Let’s find something more interesting to talk about.”

I took a sip of wine and swirled it for a moment. “Okay, let’s talk about us. We’re both healthy, our businesses are thriving, we have good friends, we live in a beautiful place, and of course, we’re both totally hot.”

She lifted her glass to mine. “Totally.”

*   *   *

It was almost nine o’clock when I dropped Jane off at Hennessey House and drove home. I hoped she would be able to sleep tonight, but I was afraid she was too upset about Bob to be able to relax. It was too damn bad that all this horrible stuff with Jesse and the necklace had coincided with the opening of her B-and-B. There was no way for Jane to enjoy her moment in the sun when there was death and destruction happening all around her.

As I was locking up the house before heading to bed, the phone rang.

It was Jane. She was sobbing. “My things. My rooms. Everything’s a mess! I—I’ve been robbed.”

“Call the police,” I shouted. “I’ll be right there.”

*   *   *

Mac caught me racing down the driveway and ran after me. When he heard what was going on, he jumped in the truck to go with me.

“This is about the necklace,” he said.

“I can’t argue with that.”

We drove in silence until I pulled to the curb outside the B-and-B just as Eric screeched to a halt in his cop car. Tommy and two other officers drove up behind him and parked a few doors down.

Eric, Mac, and I ran inside and rushed upstairs. At the end of the long, wide hall, Jane’s double doors were thrown open. I exchanged looks with Mac. This was just what I’d been afraid would happen if we revealed that the necklace had been found. But we’d been careful to specify that the necklace had been taken to a safe place. Okay, we didn’t exactly identify the safe place as
my safe-deposit box
, but how smart did someone have to be to figure that out?

Did Jane’s intruder not understand the part where we told everyone the necklace had been put somewhere for safekeeping? Did he actually think Jane would hide it in her bedroom?

So we weren’t just dealing with your run-of-the-mill intruder. We were dealing with a stupid one.

I grabbed Jane and hugged her tightly. “We’ll find whoever did this and they will pay.”

“I hope so. I really do.” She let go of me and leaned against the wall of her room, looking completely exhausted. This was one more horrific incident in her life, and I didn’t know what to do to help her.

I stood inside the doorway and tried to contain my fury as I surveyed the mess. Jane’s suite had been tossed quickly and without regard for any of her beautiful furnishings. Every last thing was on the floor, chairs were upturned, shelves and tables were flipped on their sides, and whatever had been on the surface of the tables and the bookshelves against the walls were now scattered across the carpeted floor.

“It can all be put back,” Mac whispered in my ear. “If anything’s broken, it can be replaced. Jane wasn’t hurt. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s right.” I repeated his words over and over until they sank in.
Jane wasn’t hurt. That’s all that matters.

Eric walked into the room and pulled Jane into his arms. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

She sniffed, but nodded. “I’m fine. Or I will be as soon as this nightmare is over.”

“Were any of the other rooms touched?”

Jane’s eyes widened. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even check. When I got home I went to the kitchen and wound up talking to my chef for fifteen minutes or so. Then I came upstairs and saw this.” She whirled around, gazing at the wall-to-wall chaos. “I have no idea if anyone else was robbed. I’ve got to check on my guests.”

“You go ahead and do that,” Eric said, “then come back here. I’ll be looking around.”

She rushed out of the room.

I didn’t bother offering to go with her, because I knew she would want to visit each suite personally to assure herself that her guests were all safe and sound.

Instead I stayed in her suite, so livid on Jane’s behalf I could barely take it all in. My gaze met Eric’s and I could see that his anger matched my own.

“They were looking for the necklace,” I said, saying what had to be obvious to both Eric and Mac.

Eric gazed at me. “We let everyone in town know it had been found and put in a safe place.”