A Premonition of Murder (24 page)

“But it must have been,” Sam insisted. “There are only two plugs in the room, Taylor. And the other one is above the mirror. And that one doesn't work; we already tried it.”

“I got a good look at the boom box when Lucy had it in the kitchen,” I said firmly. “It had a very short cord. In fact, it was so short I was afraid it was going to fall in the kitchen sink while she was washing dishes. You can ask anyone. The cord was only a couple of feet long; it could never stretch from the wall socket to the bathtub,” I said.

Sam looked puzzled. “Are you sure? The cord looked perfectly fine to me.”

“No, it was short. You should ask Nicky about it. Lucy borrowed it from him. She needed a charger for her iPod, so Nicky loaned her the boom box. She used to lug it from room to room as she worked.”

“I'll have the CSIs look into it right away,” Sam said. “I'm glad you mentioned that. There was something about the crime scene that was bugging me, and I couldn't decide what it was. This is a sad case, isn't it?” She led the way back to the living room. “Not really much to see here. We went through the second bedroom—I assume that's Nicky's room, but I bet he doesn't spend much time here. It was immaculate.”

“Maybe Lucy cleaned up after him,” I suggested, remembering how she tended to make excuses for her slacker son. She probably waited on him hand and foot. I wondered how he would take the news of her death and what he would do if he had to leave Beaux Reves. With no job, no education, and no skills, he would be out on the street.

We spent a few more minutes in Lucy's apartment and decided there wasn't anything more to see. Sam already had uniforms posted at the front door who would alert her if Nicky returned to the mansion. If not, she'd have to try to track down the address of his girlfriend so someone could notify him about his mother's death.

“We're still going over that letter you found tucked away in Desiree's room,” Sam said suddenly. “It's certainly interesting. If only the writer had signed it.”

“That would make it too easy,” I said ruefully. “I suppose Desiree had a lot of admirers. From what I heard, she was quite the girl about town.”

“But she saved that particular letter, which tells me it was significant,” Sam said. When we got to the first-floor foyer, she paused. “Anything else before we wrap things up here?”

The painting!
I'd nearly forgotten the phony William Gilbert in the basement. I whipped out my camera phone. “Can you have someone bring this painting upstairs? You'll want to take it as evidence.”

“Of course.” Sam gave me a strange look. “Care to tell me what's going on?”

I took a deep breath. It was embarrassing to admit that I'd been creeped out by being locked in the basement a few hours earlier and had nearly panicked. But there was no way I could keep this from Sam.

Sam always says every single detail could be relevant, and it's important to tell the police everything. Sometimes one clue leads to another and cases have been closed on circumstantial evidence. So I fessed up to my phobia and told her how Angus had led me down to the basement to work on the inventory. Noah looked worried as I gave a quick version of the events. I tried to leave out the emotional part and concentrated on the painting and why it could be significant.

“It was all about the steeple,” I said, wrapping up my story.

“So if it hadn't been for the Harper sisters, you never would have suspected the painting was a forgery?” Sam asked.

“Probably not. It looked legitimate to me, and I doubt anyone would send out every single painting to be appraised. This could be the tip of the iceberg. There may be dozens of other paintings here that are forgeries. Maybe someone was commissioned to paint the forgeries and they slowly were introduced into the mansion, one by one, replacing the original artwork. Or maybe someone was authorized to buy them as new acquisitions from a gallery and was getting a cut of the money Abigail laid out for them. It's just incredible that the Harper sisters remembered about the church fire and the missing steeple.”

Sam laughed. “I think I need to get back to the Dream Club meetings more often. You ladies are going to take over my job. You've all turned into detectives.”

“Not really,” I told her. “We just come up with things from time to time.” I suddenly remembered Dorien's dream about the fish. “And you know that fish symbol on the object you spotted in the crime scene photos?” Sam nodded. “Take a look above the kitchen sink before you leave. Lucy hung a blue ceramic plaque there. It has the same symbol as that shiny object in the crime scene photo. A line drawing of a fish.”

I didn't bother telling her about Dorien's dream about Big Mouth Billy Bass. As far as I was concerned, it was sheer coincidence, and I was sure Sam would feel the same way. “The plot thickens,” she muttered. “Thanks for the tip. I'll make sure we check it out before we leave.”

Noah moved closer to me, his eyes dark with concern. “Do you think someone deliberately put that board there, blocking your escape?”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “At the time I did, but now it seems a little silly. I wasn't in any real danger, but maybe someone wanted me to mind my own business.”

Sam motioned to a young officer and showed him my camera phone. “Go downstairs to the basement and find this. It's covered with a drop cloth, leaning against the wall. The entrance to the cellar is at the back of the house. It looks like the opening to a root cellar. Bring a flashlight and use gloves,” she called as he headed outside. “We might be able to dust it for fingerprints.” She thought for a moment. “Did Angus give you any idea who bought the painting?”

“No, not a word. He admitted it was a new acquisition. Of course, I'd already figured that out for myself because it didn't have any dust on it.” I suddenly remembered the hidden passage in the alcove. “And Angus showed me a hidden staircase here in the house that goes down to the basement. It's right around the corner from where we're standing. Would you like to see it?”

“You know I would,” Sam said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “You don't need to come with me, Taylor,” she said, giving me a sympathetic glance. “You're looking a little peaked, as they say.” She turned to Noah. “I think we're done here. Why don't you take her out for a nice cappuccino or a white wine?”

“I'm on it,” Noah said, looping his arm around me.

26

“Cappuccino or white wine?” Noah asked. We were standing at the bar of a little restaurant down by the Riverwalk.

“Cappuccino, please, and make it to go. It's such a nice night, I'd like to take a stroll.” I wandered back outside to wait while Noah ordered the drinks. It was one of those perfect early summer evenings when the air is sweet with the scent of magnolias and the breeze is soft as a caress. It was good to get away from the tragic scene at Beaux Reves. I could still feel the darkness and sense of evil; it was as though a malevolent presence was hanging over the once-dazzling mansion, and now it was somber as a tomb.

Noah appeared a few minutes later, and we strolled along the waterfront, lost in thought.

“You were pretty impressive back there at the mansion,” he said, breaking the silence. He shot me a look, and his mouth quirked in a sexy little smile. “I think you missed
your calling. If you ever want to join me in the detective agency, I could use a partner.”

“Me, a detective?” I laughed and shook my head. “I don't think so. You should have seen me in the basement today when the lights went out. I was as frightened as a mouse.”

“I can do the heavy lifting if you join the agency,” he said, placing an arm around my shoulders. “You can do all of the analyzing, the strategizing. After all, you're the one with the MBA. I'm just an ex-Bureau guy trying to make a living as a detective.”

We moved to one side of the walkway as a young couple with a double baby stroller passed by.
Twins.
Noah smiled at the parents, and I wondered if he and I would ever tie the knot and have a family someday.

“You notice things other people miss, Taylor,” he said. He steered me to a bench under a banyan tree. The Riverwalk was crowded with tourists tonight, and a band was playing nearby, the sound of soft bluegrass drifting in the evening air. “The cord to the boom box could be the key to Lucy's death.”

“I don't know,” I said, suddenly wondering if my memory was correct. “Do you suppose I could have made a mistake?”

I'd been so sure I'd seen the boom box perched on the colorful tiles over the kitchen sink, and I'd been afraid it might tumble into the water. Or had I imagined the cord being short? Sometimes our minds play tricks on us and add details that aren't really there. Memories are as elusive as dreams. If Dorien heard my story about the boom box and the kitchen sink, she'd insist that I'd had a “premonition” that Lucy would be electrocuted. Dorien fancies herself a psychic and believes in precognition, the ability to foretell events that haven't happened yet.

“I don't think you made a mistake,” Noah said. “Close your
eyes and picture the kitchen. Lucy is washing dishes at the sink and the boom box is on the counter. What do you see?”

I tried to bring the kitchen scene into focus. “I see the cord,” I said. “And I'm amazed the boom box hasn't fallen into the sink yet. It looks dangerous.”

“Then trust your instincts, Taylor.” He leaned close and planted a kiss on my neck. “I know I do,” he murmured in a husky voice.

“I thought we were here to talk about the case,” I said, unconvincingly. I felt myself tingling just being near him and wished we were someplace private.

“Ah, the case,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I got a text from a friend whose uncle went to college with Norman Osteroff. He scanned a page of the yearbook and sent it to me. Take a look.”

I edged close to look at the screen and saw a much younger Norman Osteroff posing with his friends. Even as a young man, he looked austere, forbidding, his lips firmly pressed together. Did the man never crack a smile? I read the text aloud. “‘Norman Osteroff. Career plans: future attorney. Clubs and hobbies: debate club, Adam Smith Society, Phi Beta Kappa, the rowing team. Astrological sign: Pisces.' No surprises here, except I didn't think he'd be involved in anything athletic.” I started to pass the phone over to Noah when I gasped. “Wait a minute,” I said, snatching the phone back. “Look at what his classmates called Norman. His nickname. I almost missed it.”

Noah leaned over and his eyebrows shot up. “
Norman the Conquerer?
A bit pretentious, but maybe it refers to his debating skills.”

“No, that's not it,” I said excitedly. “Norman the Conquerer! Remember the love letter I found in Desiree's room?
The person signed it, ‘your conquering hero.' That
can'
t be a coincidence!”

“I'm not so sure,” Noah said, his dark eyes earnest. “Norman and Desiree? I know they say opposites attract, but don't you think that's a bit of a stretch? He's a stuffy lawyer, and she was a girl who loved to drink and party, from what I've heard.”

“It wouldn't have to be a love affair,” I said. “At least, not on his part. Think about it. Desiree was an heiress. He might have pretended to be enchanted by her to use her in some way.”

“How?” Noah drained the last of his coffee.

“I don't know. This seems to add another layer of complication to the case.”

“We can check the financials again,” Noah suggested. “Osteroff had a lot of power with that family, and if he could pull the wool over Desiree's eyes, maybe he fooled Abigail, too. I think at the end she might have lost trust in him and that's why she asked you and Ali to do the inventory.”

“I think so, too.” I felt as if the whole case had gone topsy-turvy. “Where do things stand right now with our suspect list?”

“If we take Norman out of the mix?” Noah sat back, resting his arm along the back of the bench. “Nothing's changed with the other suspects. What's the latest on Laura Howard? She stood to make a lot of money from the tontine.”

“No, she didn't.” I filled him in on my conversation with Laura about the Savannah real estate she'd won and how it wasn't the gold mine she'd expected it to be.

“But she didn't know about property values sinking until after Abigail's death, right?” he asked.

“Right. So she still could be a suspect, but somehow I just can't see her as a killer.”

“You can't see past the white gloves and pearls,” Noah teased me. “Some famous socialites have murdered people. Don't be fooled by their ladylike appearance.”

“I know. If we take Laura Howard out as a suspect, we're left with Angus.”

“You told Sam there's something shady about him,” Noah said.

“I know there is. He and Lucy were upset when Ali and I were wandering around the mansion. I think they were afraid we'd find something that would incriminate them.”

“And now Lucy's dead.”

“I know. I have the feeling this is a game changer, but I can't figure out who would want to kill her.”

“Someone who felt threatened by her,” Noah offered. “Who stands to gain from her death?”

“Could it be her son, Nicky? He probably was helping himself to things from the mansion, but I don't think she would ever turn him in. And Angus wasn't threatened by her. I think they were involved in something together. They seemed thick as thieves.” I paused. Sunset had passed, and a cool violet color was slowly taking over the evening sky. “I suppose we should consider Jeb Arnold, the estate manager. We know he was selling off antiques from Beaux Reves, or at least trying to.”

Noah nodded. “I was glad you told Sam about what you heard from Gideon. They may be able to run a sting operation and catch Jeb. I just don't see him as a killer, though. And if he really was trying to peddle stolen goods, Lucy and her son must have been in on it. Lucy was there every single day, and she knew what came in and out of the mansion. So Jeb wouldn't have had any reason to kill her. Unless she was blackmailing him. Was that possible?”

“I don't think so; he was flat broke. He had awful gambling
debts and didn't have any funds to pay them off. So there wouldn't be any motive for Lucy to blackmail him. We have a wild card,” I said. “Sophie Stanton.”

“Sophie Stanton. Did anyone dig up anything on her?”

“The Harper sisters are on it,” I said, “and Sara is calling in some favors to figure out if she's really who she says she is. There's just something about her that's a little off.”

“As in crazy-killer off? She's not in any criminal database.”

“No, she's probably not a killer. I just can't get a handle on her, and it's annoying to me.” Noah glanced at his watch, and I knew we both were ready to wrap up the conversation. Noah had already told me he had to go back to the office to finish up some paperwork, and I wanted to get back home to talk with Ali. I knew she'd be waiting up, eager to hear what had happened at Beaux Reves.

“I always think of you telling me to ‘follow the money' in any investigation,” I said.

“I still stand by it.” He smiled. “I'm flattered you remembered.”

“It's a good strategy, but in this case, I don't see where it's leading us.”

“I don't, either,” he said, standing up and reaching out his hand. “The one thing I'm sure of is that it all goes back to Desiree. Somehow the three deaths are connected. If we can find out what happened to Desiree, we can find the killer.”