A Real Pickle (7 page)

“I’m surprised that he didn’t share that with you, if you were as close as you’ve claimed,” Crane said.  “His entire family was unhappy with him.  They didn’t accept Curtis’s plan to get rid of his money, and I’ve got a suspicion that one of them had something to do with what happened to him.”

Chapter 6

“What!” Moose said, doing a credible job of feigning ignorance.  “You actually think that one of
them
might have killed him?”

“The man certainly didn’t stab himself,” Crane said.  “It’s not as outrageous as you might think.  He was just about to sign the new will when someone killed him.  I understand people commit murder for a great deal less than a hundred million dollars.”

Wow, Curtis really
did
have money.

Moose whistled.  “That offers a great
many
incentives, doesn’t it?”

“It used to be quite a bit more than that, but Curtis was dispensing it quietly for quite a while before anyone caught on to what he was doing.  He set up a dummy account in order to give his money away, and it took them some time to see what he was doing.”

“How long did it take
you
?” I asked him softly.

“Not all that long, but since I didn’t have a stake in it, I kept the information to myself.  I worked for Curtis—no one else.”

That was odd.  Jeffrey had said basically the same thing earlier.  “Was he truly that good a boss?”

“He was indeed, and a good friend, as well.  I’ll miss him.”

“What will happen to you now?” I asked.

“I’ll see this through, and then I’ll most likely take the modest retirement I’ve been promising myself for years.  I’ve managed to save up a nice little nest egg, and I’ve got an acre in the mountains near Asheville that I spend much too little time enjoying.  I’m not afraid to admit that seeing what happened to Curtis has been a wake-up call for me.  I’m not going to spend the rest of my life working for someone else.”

“I can respect that,” Moose said.  “Since I retired, I’ve never been so busy.”

I decided to let that one slide, since one of the things Moose did these days was help me in my murder investigations, as well as pitching in at the diner’s grill whenever I needed him.

“If you were to pick
one
of them out as a cold-blooded killer, which one would it be?” I asked him.

Crane frowned.  “That’s an odd topic for a tribute to him, isn’t it?”

“Think about how dramatic it will be if we supply Curtis’s killer in the closing chapter,” I said, making it up as I went along.

“Yes, I can see where he would have appreciated that,” Crane said with a slight smile.  He rubbed his chin for a few moments, and then the financial manager finally said, “If I had to guess, I’d say that it most likely was Charlotte.  It could be because I’ve never liked her, or trusted her, either.  Then again, Tristan isn’t a bad place to start, either.”  Crane glanced at his watch, and then he stood abruptly.  “I’m sorry, but that’s all the time I have right now.  I’ll be back later tonight though, so if you want to continue our conversation, we can do so then.”

“Do you live here on the grounds?” Moose asked him.

“No, I’m just a guest here for the next few days, the same as you two are.”

“How about the others?” I asked.

“Charlotte has a home on the property next to this.  It’s so grand that it makes this place look like the gardener’s quarters.”

“Do Sarah and Tristan live with her?” Moose asked.

“No, but they visit quite often.  They’re staying
here
at the moment, though.  Curtis insisted.  I heard that even Charlotte might stay.  How cozy that will be for all of us.”  Crane paused at the door, but before he opened it, he asked me, “Shall I send in your next interviewee?”

“That would be great,” I said.

“Which one would you like?”

“Like you said earlier, since Charlotte is busy, Tristan might not be a bad place to start.”

Crane grinned at that.  “I’ll tell him that it’s his turn.  Good luck.  I truly hope that you catch the killer.  Curtis deserved better than he got.”

“What can I possibly tell you about my uncle that isn’t already public knowledge?” Tristan asked as he walked into the library thirty seconds after the financial planner left.  There was a smug arrogance to the man, an outright cockiness that gave weight to his words.  He thought that he was important, and so help me, he managed to convey it to us without the slightest effort.

“How did you two get along?” I asked him.

He gave me that dazzling smile, but I wasn’t going to bite.  “Famously,” he said.  “Why wouldn’t we?  After all, we were kindred spirits.”

From what little I knew of Curtis, I doubted that most sincerely.

“How so?” Moose asked.

I noticed that Tristan’s smile wasn’t nearly as bright for my grandfather as it had been for me.  “We both loved life and tried to get the most of it in the end.”

“I know that your uncle had the means to indulge any whim he might have had, but what about you, Tristan?”

“Pardon me?” he asked Moose.  His tone was one of astonishment, as though it was impossible for him to imagine someone prying into his life so personally.

“He wants to know how much money you have,” I supplied.  I smiled at him this time, but I made certain that there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in it.  The quicker he realized that he couldn’t charm me, the better it was for our investigation.

“I’m comfortable,” Tristan said.

“Me, too.  The temperature is just right,” Moose said.  “Don’t change the subject.  Have you relied on money from your family all of your life?”

“I won’t answer that,” Tristan said petulantly.

Moose shrugged, and as he scribbled into his notebook, he said aloud, “Tristan Wellborne, most likely broke and living off relatives.”

“I resent that,” Tristan said.

“I don’t blame you,” I said.  “I can’t imagine not working for a living myself.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a very successful artist known in many corners of the art world.”

“Oh, really?” I asked.  “Which corners are those?”

“Watercolor and oil abstracts are currently my specialty,” he said.

“Interesting,” I said.  “Have you ever been accepted into any juried shows?  Which societies do you belong to?  Who have you studied under?”  I’d had a customer at the diner a few months before, a jovial heavyset older woman who came in with paint splattered on her hands and clothes during every visit.  It turned out that she was a traveling artist on retreat, and we’d had some fascinating conversations while she’d been in town.  It was only after she left Jasper Fork that I’d looked her up online and found that she was famous in her field.

Tristan waved a hand dismissively in the air.  “None of that really matters.  What counts is the fire of inspiration, the execution of brush to canvas, and imagination.  I’m ahead of my time.”

“I’m sure that you are,” I said.  I had a hunch that Tristan would have been lucky to be able to afford his paints with his income as an artist, let alone support himself.  “Still, it’s a tough way to make a living.”

“I’ll admit that I’ve had patrons from time to time,” he said.  “People who truly appreciate fine art.”

“Do you happen to be related to any of them?” I asked.

“I won’t answer that,” Tristan said.

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Moose said as he scribbled more into his notebook.

“Where were you when your uncle was murdered?” I asked him.  “We don’t need the police to supply a time of death, since I saw it happen myself.”

“I was in my studio painting, as a matter of fact.”

“Can anyone confirm that?” I asked.

“Of course not.  When I’m entertaining my muse, I don’t allow anyone to disturb me.  It’s a commune with the spirits.”

“Sure,” Moose said.  “So that’s a big no, right?”

Tristan stood.  “I’ve indulged this farce long enough.  I’m leaving.”

He stood there glaring at each of us in turn, as though he was defying us to try to stop him.  I didn’t have any interest in doing that at all.  Frankly, the man was giving me a headache.

“One last thing,” Moose asked before the artist left.

“What is it?” Tristan asked.

“If you didn’t kill your uncle, who do you think did?”

Before he answered, Tristan got the most wicked grin on his face that I’d ever seen in my life.  “You’ll have to ask Sarah that.”

“Your
sister
?” I asked.  Was he really throwing his own family member under the bus?

“She’s the only Sarah I know who had a beef with my uncle.  All I know is that they were fighting about money a few days ago, and today he’s dead.  What do you think?”

“I think we’d like to speak with her next,” I said.  “Send her in on your way out.”

“I’d be delighted to,” he said, and then Tristan left us, being sure to leave the door wide open after he walked out.

I whispered to my grandfather, “Can you believe this guy?”

“He’s a prince among men, isn’t he?” Moose asked with a wicked little grin of his own.  “That doesn’t make him a killer, though.”

“I’m starting to feel really sorry for Curtis,” I said.

Moose looked around.  “I’m not there yet myself.  Sure, he had a screwed-up family, but who doesn’t?  At least he had all of that money to comfort him.”

“Do you think that
we’re
messed up?” I asked my grandfather.

“No, not us.  We’re the exception to the rule.  Our family has
always
been perfectly normal.  Don’t you agree?”

I had to laugh.  Leave it to Moose to make me smile at a time like that, but I’d meant what I’d said.  Curtis deserved better, and I had to wonder if having money offered him any solace in the end.

Sarah walked in, or floated, if I were to describe it more vividly.  She looked frail in her wispy dress, and I wondered for a moment if she had the strength to kill her uncle.  Then I realized that if the placement of that metal stake was just right, it wouldn’t take an impossible amount of strength to do it.

“So, we hear that you were fighting with your uncle about money just before he died,” Moose said.  That was my grandfather, jumping right into the fray.  Sometimes I wondered about his direct approach, but not now.  Sarah’s smile was extinguished quickly as her face contorted.  “My brother is a liar and a thief,” she said.  “If he tells you that it’s raining outside, I wouldn’t reach for an umbrella if I were you.  Did he say that I was fighting with Uncle Curtis?”

Moose shrugged.  “I’d rather not reveal our sources of information,” he said.  “That way you can feel confident about what you tell us.”

“Shout it from the rooftop if you’d like.  I don’t care.  Tristan was a little leech, and when Uncle Curtis finally cut him off, I thought he was going to go for the man’s throat right there on the spot.”

It appeared that these siblings were also bloodthirsty rivals.  This was going to be interesting.

“Does that mean that Curtis was his art patron, his angel, so to speak?” I asked.

“My uncle supported him financially for years until it became clear that my brother’s sole talent was getting money from him.”

“You don’t care for your brother’s art then?” I asked.

She shook her head.  “No one, and I mean no one, calls what Tristan does art.  I’m certain that a child could do better, an untalented one at that.  Sure, I indulge him by posing for him from time to time, but I know that it’s all just a colossal waste of time.”

“Would you mind elaborating on the fight you had with Curtis?” Moose asked.

“There’s really nothing much to tell,” Sarah said.

“Then it won’t take long,” I replied.  “We’ve got time.”

She thought about denying our request, but finally Sarah shook her head and spoke.  “I asked him for a loan, okay?  It wasn’t much, and I knew that he could easily afford it, but he turned me down cold.  I got angry, and I told him so.”

“How much are we talking about here?” I asked.

“Twenty thousand measly dollars,” she said.  “Can you imagine?  I would have paid him back at the end of the month when my stipend came through from my trust, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“Did he give you a reason why he said no?” I asked.

She looked as though she were about to stamp her foot before she spoke.  “He told me that I needed to learn to budget my expenses better.  I’m living as frugally as I can, but twenty thousand dollars a month just doesn’t seem to last until I get more.”

I couldn’t help myself; I laughed long and hard, and Moose caught the fever and began to chuckle himself.

“What’s so funny?” Sarah asked belligerently.

“You poor thing,” I said.  “I know people who would kill for that kind of money.”

Moose followed that statement up with a question.  “Would you, Sarah?”

“What?  No, of course not.  My trust has nothing to do with my uncle.  It was set up by my grandfather.  Tristan gets the same amount, and he
always
runs out of money before I do.”

“Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“How can you not know?” Moose asked.  “It was today!”

“Don’t yell at me,” she said in a hurt voice that I was certain worked on many men.

Just not my grandfather.

“Where were you, Sarah?”

“Well, I wasn’t anywhere near your
diner
, that’s for sure,” she said.  “I was tied up somewhere else.”

“I’m afraid that we’re going to need something more concrete than that,” I told her.

“I’m sorry, but right now, that’s all that I care to say.”

“You’re not being very cooperative; you know that, don’t you?” Moose asked her.

“I just lost someone I loved dearly.  Answering your questions isn’t a priority for me after the horror of losing my uncle.”  She started to cry then, big crocodile tears that I didn’t buy for one second.  “It’s too painful for me.  I can’t go on.”  Sarah rushed out of the room, and I was certain that we’d just seen a performance instead of a display of her true emotions.

“What did you just say to my niece?” Charlotte asked us both twenty seconds later.  “She ran out of here in tears.  I won’t have you disturbing my family in this tragic time, do you understand me?”