Murder Most Persuasive (27 page)

She nodded. “Yup. Lily of the valley. Again.”

I rubbed my eyes in confusion. “But how?”

Ann sat down heavily on the bed next to me. “They don’t know,” she said, and then reconsidered. “Or if they do know, they’re not telling me.”

“How…”

“The hotel maid found him this morning.”

I looked around for the clock. “Wait, what time is it?” I asked.

“Twelve thirty. I let you sleep in.”

“God, I haven’t slept this long in ages.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve had a rough week,” Ann said kindly.

“Me? You’re the one who should be sleeping in.” I shook my head. “So Julian is really…?”

“Dead. Quite dead,” Ann said, with a hint of a smile. “Oh, except it turns out his name isn’t Julian St. Claire.”

“Imagine my astonishment,” I murmured. “What is … sorry, what
was
it?”

“Melvin Gibs and he was from Trenton, New Jersey, where he is wanted for six counts of larceny.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better.”

“I guess that depends on your definition of the word ‘better,’” Ann said with a sigh.

*   *   *

Word spread quickly about Julian’s (aka Melvin’s) death. By unanimous consent, it was decided that Bonnie not be told right away. According to Dr. Moser, she was resting comfortably and probably could receive visitors later today. “That’s only if,” he added somberly, “it’s okay with the police.”

Officer Daschle came by the house around one thirty to take additional statements from both Ann and me. His attitude toward us had decidedly chilled since yesterday. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been a fan before, but compared to how he glared at us as he took our statements, yesterday’s interview seemed almost chummy. Of course, it probably didn’t help Officer Daschle’s mood that Julian had practically screamed for police protection, been dismissed as a crackpot, and then turned up dead. Some days you just can’t catch a break, I guess.

“As you know,” said Officer Daschle, “Mr. St. Claire, as you knew him, was found dead this morning. Preliminary reports indicate that he died from the same kind of poisoning administered to Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Could he have drunk from her glass after all?” asked Ann.

Officer Daschle shook his head. “He would have already been ill by the time we arrived. No, it seems that Mr. St. Claire was poisoned later—
after
he left the hospital.”

“But why?” I asked.

Officer Daschle fixed his gaze on mine. “Well, that’s what we’d like to know as well, Miss Parker. I do remember Mr. St. Claire mentioning something about an investment?”

I turned to Ann. It was probably better if she explained it.

Ann took a deep breath. “Before my father died, he sold his property in St. Michaels. The proceeds were to be split among the three of us—Reggie, Frances, and me. For some reason, Bonnie thought it should be split four ways, with her being the fourth. Our father sold the property before he died, but he didn’t have a chance to distribute the proceeds. The split is not mentioned in the will. Anyway, when Bonnie got back from her spa retreat”—Ann tried to keep the disgust out of her voice when she said this—“she brought Julian back with her. She told us that he was some kind of ‘whiz investor’ and would be investing
all
the proceeds from the sale. There were some among us who objected to this arrangement.”

“Some?” said Officer Daschle.

“Okay, all,” Ann amended. “We were discussing it when she collapsed.”

“What exactly was said?” asked Officer Daschle.

“Nothing really. We just told her that we didn’t want her investing our share of the money with him. We didn’t think he was legit.”

“Well, you were right on that count. He was most certainly
not
legit.”

“But we didn’t poison him! Just like we didn’t poison Bonnie! None of this makes sense!” cried Ann, burying her face in her hands.

Officer Daschle was unmoved by Ann’s distress. “Do you know if Mrs. Reynolds had given Mr. St. Claire the money to invest yet?”

“No. For some reason, I thought that she hadn’t, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.”

Officer Daschle did not answer right away. He appeared to be caught in some kind of internal debate. “We were able to access Mr. St. Claire’s bank accounts,” he finally said. “It appears that your stepmother had not given him the money.”

“Oh,” said Ann. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“You had no idea of this?”

Ann shook her head. “No. I only knew what she told us, which was that she was planning on it.”

“Well, I suppose whoever killed Mr. St. Claire wanted to make sure that she didn’t get the chance. After the failed attempt on your stepmother, it appeared that the plan was to prevent her from continuing with her original plan,” said Officer Daschle. “I need to know your whereabouts last night.”

“I was here,” said Ann. “With Elizabeth,” she added.

I nodded. “After we left the hospital, everyone came back here and had a late supper. Everyone left around nine thirty, I guess,” I said. I didn’t see the point in revealing the part where we’d learned that Reggie had been lying all these years about ending things with Michael. I didn’t see how the two could be related.

“You said Julian was wanted for larceny. Could someone from his past have tracked him down and done this?” Ann asked hopefully.

“With the same poison that was used on your stepmother?” came the dubious reply. “That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” agreed Ann.

“Well, that’s all I have for now.” Officer Daschle got up to leave. “Obviously, we’ll be in touch. I’d prefer it if neither of you went anywhere. I’m sure we’ll have more questions as we learn more.”

“Of course,” said Ann. “We’d be happy to do anything we can to help.”

From the cold expression in his dark eyes, it didn’t look like Officer Daschle believed her. I rather thought it was time to call Joe.

*   *   *

Joe arrived an hour and a half later. As soon as he appeared, I discreetly left. I don’t think either of them noticed.

I drove to the local Whole Foods, where I got an assortment of food and then brought it all back to Uncle Marty’s house. Ann and Joe were out back, so I slipped in unheard and unloaded the groceries. I left a note for Ann on the counter and then, after packing a small bag of gourmet goodies for myself, headed to Peter’s apartment. I let myself in with my key and, after putting the food and wine in the refrigerator, flopped on the couch and closed my eyes. Although I’d slept past noon, I was still exhausted.

Once again I tried to make sense of the events of the last few days. Bonnie had brought Julian back claiming that he was her soul mate and new investor. That had of course upset everyone, but apparently it had upset someone more than the rest of us and he or she had tried to poison Bonnie. Next Julian had been poisoned, this time successfully. Were both attacks because of the money? Had the poisoner hoped to prevent Bonnie from giving Julian the money? When it appeared that Bonnie was going to live, had the poisoner then killed Julian just so that Bonnie couldn’t go through with her plan? I knew that Ann had nothing to do with the attacks. But if money was the motive, that meant it had to be Reggie, Frances, or Scott. Reggie admitted to preparing the fatal drink but claimed to have merely made it and then placed it on the counter. Frances was in the kitchen when Reggie put the drink on the counter. Could Frances have poisoned it then? Frances and Scott needed the money to replace what they put into the business. Frances clearly had no problem stretching the truth—if not lying outright—if she thought it would help Scott. But would she go so far as to commit murder? Was she really capable of that?

My eyes grew heavy and my thoughts became fuzzy and disjointed. Reggie floated by in a wedding gown trimmed with lilies. She stood under an enormous arbor upon which wild animals twisted and curved in gaudy relief. Laura and Miles stood behind her. Laura was smiling at Reggie. Miles was laughing at the arbor. Frances and Scott stood to Reggie’s left. Upon further reflection, I saw that Frances was standing on Michael. Scott didn’t seem to notice. Bonnie walked past them, a glass of wine in her hands. She didn’t notice Michael either. I tried to cry out, but Peter kissed me and I woke up.

I blinked several times as Peter kissed me again. “Hey, sleepyhead, this is a nice surprise. I like coming home to you,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

I tried to sit up. “What time is it?” I asked upon waking for the second time that day.

Peter glanced at his watch. “Six thirty. I tried calling you on your cell, but it went to voice mail. I missed you.” He nuzzled my neck again.

I closed my eyes and gave in to Peter’s kisses. In a moment I’d have to ruin the mood by telling him about Julian, but for now it was a welcome escape. Sometime later (never mind how much later, thank you very much) I said, “I have some news.”

Peter caught the somber tone in my voice and groaned. “What now?”

“Julian’s dead. Murdered, actually. With the same poison that was used on Bonnie.”

Peter sat up in astonishment. “Are you kidding me? No, I can see from your face you’re not. Jesus Christ! And you’re just telling me now?”

“I got distracted.”

Peter smiled briefly. “When did it happen?”

“Last night, I guess. The hotel maid found him this morning.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“Not that I know of. They took Ann’s statement and mine this afternoon, but I haven’t heard anything else since then.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have. Your cell phone is going straight to voice mail. Is it dead?”

A nervous apprehension settled over me. I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my purse. As Peter said, my phone was indeed dead. I quickly unearthed my charger and plugged it into the nearest outlet. As the phone chirped to life, I saw that I had missed several calls. Four were from Peter. Two were from Ann. The first was to thank me for the food. The second was to tell me that Scott had been arrested for the murder of Julian and the attempted murder of Bonnie.

CHAPTER 28

Oh! dear; I was so miserable! I am sure I must have been as white as my gown.

—
EMMA

B
Y THE TIME PETER AND I
got to Uncle Marty’s house, everyone else was already there. Frances was hysterical, her usual poised tweedy façade in tatters. “He didn’t do it!” she kept crying to us all. “Scott wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Thing One and Thing Two hung on to their mother, their cries both loud and pitiful.

“What exactly happened?” I asked Ann.

“Apparently Scott went to the Ritz last night to talk to Julian,” she said. “They had a drink in the bar. The bartender remembered Scott.”

“But it was
my
idea!” protested Frances. “I was the one who told him to go! I told him to meet with Julian and see if he could get him to see reason about the money.”

“And did he?” I asked.

Frances’s face darkened in anger. “No. He basically told Scott to go to hell, but in more colorful words. Scott left and came home. That’s
all
that happened!”

But apparently Officer Daschle had other ideas. He’d arrested Scott and charged him with murder. Lawyers had been summoned, but bail had been summarily denied. With one murder and one attempted murder on their hands, the courts weren’t about to let the main suspect back on the streets.

“What am I going to do?” Frances cried. “They can’t think Scott killed Julian! Oh, God, what if they try and pin Michael’s murder on him, too?”

Miles put a fatherly arm around her shoulder. “Frances. Please, calm down. It’s going to be fine. The police have made a mistake—they’ve done it before and sadly they’ll do it again. But it doesn’t mean that the mistake can’t be rectified. We
will
get him out. There is no real evidence against him. Having a drink in a bar does not make him a murderer. No judge or jury would ever convict on such flimsy circumstantial evidence.”

Frances said nothing. She turned her face into Miles’s shoulder and quietly sobbed. “It’s all my fault,” she moaned after a minute. “I was the one who told him to go. He didn’t even want to. I made him go and now he’s in jail!”

At this, the boys began to cry louder. Hearing their cries jarred a memory from the night of the party. I’d already turned in for the night when I’d heard them crying—they’d been babies then. The crying kept up, and after a few minutes I got up and headed for their room. Scott was passed out on the bed and Frances wasn’t around. I was just soothing the boys when Frances appeared, somewhat out of breath. She’d quickly thanked me and hustled me out of the room. I hadn’t thought anything of it until now. The boys’ cries were so loud that she would have heard them had she been in the house. So if she wasn’t in the house, where had she been? And why had she lied about it? Was it just to cover for Scott, or was it to cover for her?

“Frances, you had no idea that it would end up like this!” said Miles. “You were just trying to get the family’s money back. Don’t beat yourself up. That’s not what Scott needs right now. He needs you to be strong.”

Frances gave a teary nod and made an attempt to pull herself together. “You’re right,” she said. “I can do this. We can clear all this up.”

“Of course, we can,” Miles said.

I knew I was probably going to regret this, but I had to ask. “Frances? The night of the party you said you were with Scott…” I paused, unsure how to continue.

Frances looked at me in teary confusion at first, but then a seed of comprehension took root in her brain. She knew I’d remembered her absence. “Yes,” she said with deliberation, “I was with Scott all night. He and Michael fought, but he couldn’t have killed Michael.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding. In a sense Scott’s fate was in my hands. I shut up.

I glanced at Peter. I saw the doubt I felt about this statement reflected in his eyes. I had to admit, it didn’t look good.

*   *   *

We were allowed to visit Bonnie the next day. Ann, Aunt Winnie, and I arrived with flowers in hand. Bonnie lay quietly in her hospital bed, pale and dazed. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. Seeing us, she merely said, “Who did it?”