Watchdog (17 page)

I know I could have called him and I'd certainly thought about it. Once that initial burst of righteous anger had cooled, I'd seen what had been so perfectly obvious to Aunt Peg. The only reason that Sam was butting into my life was because he cared about me.

I've been single for six years, long enough to know that finding a good man is about as easy as teaching a Jack Russell Terrier not to chew. So I wasn't about to give up this relationship without a fight. The problem was, right then, with my energies being channeled in so many directions, I just didn't have enough to spare.

Sam and I could figure out what to do about this problem, I was sure of it. But at the moment my brother had to come first.

 

Lunchtime at Howard Academy is a decorous affair. The students sit at round tables set with linen napkins and china plates. A hot meal is served family style; and a teacher is assigned to each table, supposedly to ensure that the conversation is of a sufficiently high intellectual level.

Sitting with the students is a rotating duty. Teachers usually have one week off after having served two. Practically speaking, however, most teachers avail themselves of the hot lunch. It didn't take me long to figure out why. The food at Howard Academy is far superior to anything I could pack in a brown bag.

The meal is followed by recess, which—for some reason—has always been monitored by male teachers only. It doesn't seem fair to me, but it's nice to have sex discrimination working in my favor for a change. For those who choose not to eat with the students, the midday break between classes runs nearly ninety minutes.

On Tuesday, I used the time to zip over to Belle Haven and visit Gloria Rattigan. I'd called that morning and she'd sounded perfectly pleased to hear from me. Lunchtime would be no problem, she'd insisted. Perhaps she could throw together a shrimp salad for us to eat in the breakfast room?

Either this woman was very lonely, or else she was more besotted with my brother than I would ever have thought possible.

Gloria met me at the door dressed in a chic black pantsuit. I wondered if its color was meant to indicate that she was in mourning. If so, the look would have been more convincing without the jaunty red carnation she'd placed in her lapel.

“Come right in,” she said. “Estella has lunch almost ready.”

“Estella?”

Gloria lowered her voice. “One of the perks of my new inheritance. You have no idea what a relief it is to go back to living in the manner to which I'd become accustomed.”

The breakfast room was off the kitchen. It was small but sunny, with a tile floor, trellis covered wallpaper, and floor to ceiling windows on two sides. A glass topped table in the center of the room had been set for two and as soon as we were seated, lunch was served.

“Wine?” asked Gloria. “I have a marvelous Pinot Grigio chilling. Estella?”

“I'd better not,” I said as the maid filled Gloria's glass. “I still have to teach this afternoon.”

“You're a teacher. I hadn't realized that. It must be wonderful to have a calling.” She laughed lightly. “I'm afraid the only thing I was ever called to do was be a wife. Your brother's darling.”

I swallowed suddenly and choked on a piece of shrimp.

“Drink some water, dear.” Gloria handed me a glass. “Your face is turning red.”

It took me a moment to get my breath back. As soon as I could, I sputtered, “Surely you don't ... that is, you and my brother aren't . . .”

“A couple?” Gloria looked vaguely shocked. “Of course not. Frank is darling, but he's a little young, don't you think? Not that I rule out younger men, mind you, just that I prefer ones who've already risen to a certain level of accomplishment. As it happens, I already have Marcus's replacement in mind.”

“You don't waste any time, do you?”

“At my age, I should hope not! Estella, pour me another glass of wine, please.”

The bottle was sitting on the table between us. I could have easily poured it myself. Estella walked in from the kitchen and refilled Gloria's glass.

“You said you had more questions for me. Detective Petrie has been back, too. I asked if he was close to making an arrest and he said they were still keeping their options open. If you ask me, that doesn't sound terribly promising.”

“I don't know,” I said. “I haven't been in touch with the police. The only information I have about their investigation, I've gotten through Frank.”

“Isn't he a dear? He and I are going into business together, did he tell you?”

I nodded. “He's very excited about the prospect. He told me you'd chosen a new name for the coffeehouse.”

“The Coffee Klatch?” Gloria waved a hand dismissively. “I only came up with that off the top of my head. Afterward, I realized we should go with something younger, hipper. You know. These days I find I'm just brimming with ideas. So here's what I was thinking.”

She paused for effect. “Ready? We'll call it, Bean There, Done That. Isn't that just delicious?”

Luckily I was saved from answering when the phone rang and Gloria cocked her head and listened while Estella took a message. I didn't know which was funnier: the thought of my brother operating a coffee bar named Bean There, Done That, or the notion of Gloria Rattigan trying to be hip.

I waited until her attention had turned back to me, then said, “I went to see your neighbor, Roger Nye.”

“Good old Roger. What did you think? Could he have murdered Marcus? You know what they say. It's always the quiet ones who have hidden depths.” Gloria's eyes sparkled. Thanks to Rattigan's murder, she'd not only become rich, she'd also landed a ringside seat at the best show in town.

“He was very angry at your ex-husband. Roger said the only good thing Marcus had ever done for him was give him a puppy.”

“A puppy?” Gloria sounded surprised.

“Yes, Asta. A Wire Fox Terrier. I gather she came from a litter Marcus bred out of a top winning show dog. Do you remember her?”

“No, not in particular. We never had any dogs here. Marcus knew I wouldn't tolerate it. But of course I was well aware when he went through his show dog phase. Marcus was like that, you know. He went through phases.

“All sorts of things came and went, and each one interested him tremendously for a short while. There was his dog phase, his antique car phase, his golf phase. The trouble was, Marcus got bored easily. But even after he got tired of his toys, he could never bear for anyone else to have them. His golf clubs are still sitting in the basement, and his last two cars are moldering in a warehouse somewhere.”

“From what I was told, he seems to have given this puppy away.”

“I wouldn't know anything about that.” Gloria gave a delicate shrug. “I'm afraid I never paid any attention to those silly show dogs. I was perfectly pleased when Marcus's interest moved on.”

I finished the last bit of shrimp salad and set down my fork. The only way I'd have gotten the plate any cleaner was if I lifted it up and licked it. Across from me Gloria was picking at her food. Watching her chew each small bite methodically, I got the distinct impression she was counting the calories every time she swallowed.

“Last time I was here, you told me you had a spy in Rattigan's company. Were you keeping tabs on his business or his social life?”

“Both.” Gloria smiled complacently. “That was one thing I figured out early on. Take all the information you can get. You never know when something useful might turn up.”

“Does your spy still work at Anaconda?”

“I should say so. These days he just about runs the place.”

I thought back to my visit the week before: the harried, fair haired man who'd come striding out of his office and been introduced as Rattigan's second in command.

“Ben Welch?”

“You know him?”

“We met once, very briefly.” Interesting that Gloria had managed to co-opt Anaconda's vice-president. I wondered if Rattigan had ever realized that he had a stoolie in his ranks, especially one that highly placed. “He seemed to be a very busy man.”

“I should hope so. I'm planning to leave him in charge of the operation, and these days there's a lot to do.”

“His lack of loyalty doesn't bother you.”

Gloria's expression hardened. “Ben was loyal to
me,
that's what's important. Besides, he and I understand each other. Let's just say we have more than a working relationship.”

No wonder she'd found a replacement for Rattigan so quickly; she'd already been grooming a successor. Gloria had painted herself as the victim in their divorce, but from where I sat it looked as though she'd planned all along on having her revenge.

“Before Marcus died, did you know he hadn't changed his will?”

“Of course not.” Gloria laid her knife and fork neatly along the side of her plate, then waved to Estella to come and clear.

“Did Ben Welch know?”

Gloria didn't answer. Her gaze slid discreetly to the maid, then back. I paused, waiting while Estella gathered the plates and left the room. Gloria used the time to reach for a small leather case beside her place setting, shake out a cigarette and light up.

“It occurs to me that both you and Ben have benefited a great deal from your ex-husband's death,” I said.

“So what? I lived with Marcus for fourteen years. The way I see it, I did my time. I deserve everything I got.”

“And Ben?”

Gloria smiled as she pulled in a lungful of smoke. “I guess he just got lucky.”

Maybe, I thought. Maybe not. I'm not a big believer in luck, good or bad. I don't buy lottery tickets and I don't avoid black cats. For the most part, I think people make their own luck.

So how much of his current good fortune had Ben Welch stumbled into, and how much might he have manipulated to his own ends? I already knew he'd been willing to betray his boss. Had that been the sum of his treachery, or just the beginning?

 

Back at school I practiced reading with a second grader and worked on a topographical map of South America with a little girl from fourth. It wasn't the kind of work that kept my mind constantly engaged. I had plenty of time to mull over my one short meeting with Ben Welch and decide that I needed another.

I slipped out twice during the afternoon to call Anaconda Properties, reaching Liz both times. Ben wasn't there, she told me the first time. Would I care to leave a message? It was a good thing I hadn't, because she hung up the phone almost before I had a chance to respond.

On the second try I asked to make an appointment with Ben. Liz was ever so sorry she couldn't help me. Due to the demands of his current schedule, Mr. Welch wasn't seeing anyone unless it was absolutely urgent.
Click.

Feeling annoyed and increasingly frustrated, I waited until school got out and then did what any upstanding citizen would do. I drove down to the Stamford Police Station and asked to speak to Detective Petrie.

Actually, bearing in mind that I was a mother first and an upstanding citizen second, I also called Alice Brickman and asked her to nab Davey when the bus came by. To my delight, she offered to get my spare key out of the garage and take Faith for a walk, too. The combination cleared my way for a guilt free encounter with Stamford's finest.

The Stamford Police Station is located on Bedford Street, around the corner from the courthouse. The U-shaped brick building always looks busy, and parking space out front is minimal. Only the truly foolhardy would think of flaunting regulations in the police lot, and I ended up driving several blocks before finding an empty spot. As a concession to my destination, I didn't even jaywalk on the way back.

The reception area inside the wide doors was bustling. An officer hunched over a tall counter in the middle of the room and took a statement from a worried looking girl whose ex-boyfriend was calling her at all hours of the night. Youth Court was on the right, and the line for information on the left.

The woman behind the glass barrier took my name and asked me to wait. Benches lined one wall, and I perched on the edge of one. I'd barely sat down when Detective Petrie came to get me. We rode the elevator up to his office on the second floor.

The room he led me to was small and exceedingly neat. The desktop was uncluttered, the two chairs neatly aligned. A window behind the desk looked out over the street. Petrie's coat hung from a hook on the back of the door. He pushed it out of the way as he closed the door and waved me to a seat.

The detective walked around behind the desk and sat down opposite me. There was an air of calm deliberation in everything he did, and I could see how potential suspects might have found him unnerving. Detective Petrie didn't move quickly, but he gave the impression that he always got where he wanted to go.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, folding his hands on top of the desk.

“I came to talk to you about your investigation into Marcus Rattigan's murder. I've uncovered a few things that I thought might be useful to you.”

“How's that?”

“Pardon me?”

Detective Petrie leaned back in his chair. He did not look pleased. “I was just wondering how it was that you might have come up with some knowledge about the case. Unless you mean that your brother told you something that he might not have passed along to us.”

“No, that's not it.” I cleared my throat nervously. “I'm sure Frank told you everything.”

Petrie's only response to that was a noncommittal grunt.

“It's just that my brother's been concerned about your viewing him as a suspect.”

“Considering the extent of his involvement in the circumstances surrounding Mr. Rattigan's murder, we would be foolish
not
to think of him as a suspect.”

“Yes, of course. But I thought you might want to consider some other possibilities. I imagine you know that Rattigan's ex-wife, Gloria, inherited nearly his entire estate?”

Petrie nodded.

“Are you aware that she is romantically involved with Rattigan's vice-president, Ben Welch, who spied on Rattigan for her before the divorce? And that now that her ex-husband is gone, Gloria's planning to appoint Ben to run the company?”

I'd been hoping my information would surprise and amaze him. Unfortunately, judging by the expression on the detective's face, I hadn't succeeded in eliciting either emotion. Instead of asking for more facts, Petrie asked, “How do you know all this?”

“Gloria told me.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked her.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“No. But there's more.” Somehow this was not going the way I'd hoped. I rushed on before he could ask any more questions. “At the time that he died, two of Rattigan's projects were being protested by different groups that were hoping to shut them down. There were the neighbors who didn't want the coffee bar conversion to take place, and also Preserve Our Wilderness—”

“The old Waldheim estate,” said the detective. Now he looked almost bored. “We're aware of all that.”

“Then you've spoken to John Monaghan?”

“We've spoken to everyone we feel we need to. Mr. Monaghan's concern for the quality of life in his neighborhood seems quite understandable.”

“Did he tell you that he and Marcus Rattigan were old friends? That they used to own a dog together?”

Not one for large gestures, this time Petrie lifted a brow. “One dog? For the both of them?”

“A show dog. Champion Wirerock Winter Fantasy. Monaghan was the breeder and Rattigan paid the bills so that she could have an extensive show career.” Petrie pulled out a pad of paper and made a note. “And this was a source of contention between them?”

“No. As far as I know, they got along fine and the dog did a lot of winning.”

He laid down his pen. “So what's the problem?”

I tried to figure out how I could phrase what I wanted to say without dragging my brother into it. “Don't you think it's odd that Monaghan would organize a protest against a building owned by an old friend?”

“Perhaps a little. But no more so than that two friends could be Democrat and Republican, or black and white. Some friendships thrive on their differences.”

I sat back and sighed. This wasn't getting me anywhere. “I guess you know that Rattigan and his secretary had an affair.”

“We've interviewed Ms. Barnum several times. She said the relationship ended almost a year ago. We saw no reason not to believe her.”

“Okay, I give up.” As we'd talked I'd managed to ball up my jacket in my lap. I shook it out and got ready to put it on. “Do you have
any
other suspects besides my brother?”

“I'm afraid I can't comment on that.” Detective Petrie's voice was firm, but his eyes were sympathetic. “The investigation is still ongoing at this point. The best thing your brother can do is make sure he's told us everything he knows.”

“I'll tell him.” It hadn't escaped my notice, as I was sure it wasn't meant to, that this was the second time Petrie had implied that Frank might be holding something back.

The detective stood and extended a hand. “You do that.”

 

When I reached the Brickmans' house, I could hear the noise coming from within as soon as I got out of the car. Of course it helped that the front door was standing open. I walked up and stuck my head inside. “Hello? Everyone alive in here?”

“Come on in,” yelled Alice, her voice barely discernible above the din. Music from a CD warred with the Mario Brothers' theme and was punctuated by the shrieks of three children at play.

As I walked through the door, the two boys came flying into the hall and went up the stairs. A moment later, Joey's two-and-a-half-year-old sister, Carly, appeared, her chubby legs pumping hard as she ran after them. Seeing me, she slid to a stop.

“We're playing tag,” she announced, touching my arm, then jumping back. “You're it!”

Alice came walking in from the kitchen. “Ms. Travis doesn't want to play, honey. I think you'd better try and catch one of the boys.” She looked up at me. “Shut that door, would you? Our oil bills are through the roof. Joey just can't seem to get it through his head that summer's actually over.”

Alice was several years older than me, an age gap that would have seemed insurmountable in high school. Now, with all we had in common, it made no difference at all. She had beautiful strawberry blond hair, which she usually wore pulled back out of the way, and lightly freckled fair skin. Today she looked paler than usual.