Partners In Crime (14 page)

"Can you find out?"

"I'll try," he said. "But what would that
prove?"

"What I've been saying all along. The clue
to his death lies in his personal life—a closely guarded personal
life. What else did you pick up on?"

T.S. was ready. "That business with Jimmy
Ruffino."

"Yes. What a stingy man Robert Cheswick must
have been." Auntie Lil thought hard. "You know, for someone
supposedly reluctant to talk, Anne Marie certainly cast a lot of
suspicion on people."

"Bloody Marys have that effect, I
believe."

"Maybe." Auntie Lil searched her living room
as if a hidden clue awaited her behind the familiar knickknacks.
"We're missing something. I wonder if Anne Marie's holding anything
back."

"Auntie Lil—we gave her six or seven Bloody
Marys. I don't think she could have held something back if she
wanted to."

"Those Irish women. They can store their
liquor like camels store water."

T.S. reviewed the brunch conversation once
again. "We know he really liked Anne Marie. Holding her job open
and all."

"Yes. That is a bit unusual for that day and
age. A year and a half is a long time to keep a job open. That
would have been, when, T.S.?"

"Sheila is in her early thirties now. Let's
make it easy and say that it would have been around 1960."

"Did anything unusual happen in 1960?"

"That was the year Kennedy beat Nixon,
wasn't it?" T.S. said helpfully.

She looked at him. "I hope you're not going
to try to blame Richard Nixon for this, too," she said coolly. "I
meant at Sterling & Sterling."

"How would I know? I wasn't even there yet.
They were still struggling along without me." He was met by a
chilly stare. "I'm sorry," he protested. "But what are we looking
for anyway?"

"Clues. Did you catch what she said about
his wife?"

"It sounds like vicious gossip to me," he
replied stiffly.

"Oh, Theodore." Auntie Lil shook her head
and patted his hand. "You would have made such a romantic. It is
possible that Lilah was playing around, I'm afraid."

He glanced at the ornate clock near the
sideboard. It was later than he had expected and he needed to get
on the road.

"Am I running you off with my
philosophizing?"

"Not at all. It's just that you've reminded
me. I really must be going.'' He rose to retrieve his raincoat from
her hall closet.

"Where are you going?" She looked so small
and expectant sitting on the sofa, he was nearly tempted to bring
her along. Nearly.

"I told Lilah Cheswick I would stop by.
Express my official and personal condolences." His hat had fallen
from the shelf and he rummaged around the crowded closet floor in
search of it.

"How interesting. See what you can find out.
Ask her if…"

"I know what to ask her,"
he interrupted, calling over his shoulder as he groveled and pawed
through boots. "And I'll call you later to fill you in." He saw his
hat in the back on the floor and as he reached for it, a large
stack of hidden magazines tumbled to his feet. He stared at their
titles:
True Detective, Crime Watchers,
Detective Story, Real Cases, Private Eye
and several other similar titles. He quickly flipped through
the stack. Auntie Lil had saved several years' worth of
issues.

He piled them carefully back together and
concealed them beneath some scarves. This was information he'd save
for future ammunition. You never knew when you needed an ace card
with Auntie Lil. A little something to keep her in line.

Smiling, he jammed his hat cheerfully on his
head and popped in for a good-bye kiss on the cheek.

"Please give her my regards," Auntie Lil
murmured by way of good-bye. "Such a lovely woman," she added
vaguely. "Always has been."

He left before she could get started.

The Cheswick house was an immense affair,
wedged between a sloping green lawn and a strip of private beach on
Long Island Sound. The door was opened by a wizened old woman,
hunched over with age. Her white hair sprang out at odd angles and
she cradled a pair of long shears in her hands. A shawl was draped
about her shoulders and her feet were encased in dingy cotton
stockings and thick black leather shoes. She looked for all the
world like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. T.S. took a quick step
back and was rewarded with wheezy laughter.

"What do you think? I'm going to stab you or
something?" She wheezed some more, quite merrily, and T.S. thought
it prudent to smile back. The old woman's voice was as high as a
flute, reedy and cracking with age.

"No, of course not. I was expecting Lilah.
Mrs. Cheswick," he said hastily.

"I just bet you were. Must have been a rude
surprise." She cackled some more and shouldered past T.S. "She's
out back. I'll tell her you're here. Keep your pants on." She
inched her way around the bushes, snipping the shears ominously,
and made for the edge of the enormous house. T.S. watched her
disappear around the corner in astonishment. Not quite the
well-groomed butler he had half- expected.

Lilah Cheswick arrived around front
instantly to lead him breathlessly into the mansion. The house
itself was full of curving stone hallways, drafty rooms and antique
furniture that T.S. was sure had been passed down through both
family lines.

Lilah was as lovely as always, her now-white
hair smoothed off of a face flushed red with exertion. Perhaps she
had been outside riding to take her mind off of her predicament.
She was a tireless horseback rider and maintained a strong,
athletic figure. T.S. enjoyed watching her movements, the rise of
her arm, her confident stride, the well- coordinated twirl she
executed once she had seated him in the library.

He also admired her honesty. She was grave,
but hardly the grieving wife. She bore no signs of having been
crying, her green eyes were steady. Sorrow was not keeping her
indoors weeping.

She handed him a Dewar's and soda without
having to be reminded what he drank. He thought of the evening so
many years before when they had sat by themselves at the side of
the party and she had fetched him drinks all night while they
talked and laughed and made fun of the other guests.

"Did I remember correctly, Theodore?"

"You remembered." He smiled and raised his
glass in toast. Other than Auntie Lil, she was the only person in
his entire life who called him Theodore. He had forgotten what a
pleasure it was to hear her say his name.

"Who answered the door?" His voice contained
more bewilderment than he had intended to let escape.

Lilah laughed at his expression. "That was
Dieidre. I'm sorry if she startled you. She's been with Robert's
family for as long as I can remember. She even took care of him
when he was young and she was nanny to our daughters."

"Good heavens. She must be ancient." He
considered the tactless implications of his remark and had the
grace to blush.

She laughed away his uneasiness. "I'm afraid
you're exactly right."

"I'm terribly sorry, Lilah," he said simply,
growing serious. "It was an awful way for it to happen."

"Yes, it was." She sat on a stool near his
feet, staring into the fire that blazed in the enormous stone
fireplace. "It was very unlike Robert to die that way." She looked
up at T.S. "I know people didn't really like him and I can't say I
blame them. He could be very cold. But I didn't think anyone hated
him enough to kill him. To stab him. Did you?"

He could think of no suitably discreet reply
and merely shook his head.

"To me, stabbing indicates passion and,
believe me, there was no passion in Robert's life. I would have
been less surprised if he had killed himself. He had so little love
of life left in him."

"You seem to have accepted it well." It was
all he could think of to say.

She stared into the fire. "I hardly knew
him, Theodore. When he died it was almost as if a stranger had been
stabbed." She stared up at him. "I suppose that's sad. To have so
little feeling when your husband passes away. But it was his fault,
really. He kept himself a stranger for so many years. It must have
taken a real effort."

For the first time, a trace of bitterness
entered her voice. T.S. watched highlights from the fire dance in
her hair.

"Would you?" she was asking him.

"Would I what?"

"If you had married me, would you have
stayed a stranger? Am I so terrible? I always thought I was kind of
fun." She looked again into the fire and sighed.

"I always thought you were kind of fun,
too," T.S. admitted. He could not bring himself to say more.

"Well, Robert must not have thought I was
worth it. I know his parents pressured him to marry me. But I could
have been a real dog. I always thought I was reasonably
attractive."

"You are," he assured her.

"And intelligent."

"More than most," he hastened to agree.

"So what was it that Robert hated about me
so much? Do you know that in over twenty-five years of marriage, he
never once gave me a compliment. Never seemed to notice how I
looked. Never expressed an opinion on his children. Never brought
me chocolates. Never once sent flowers, not even on our wedding
anniversaries. He used to give me such gauche presents for
Christmas. Just whatever trendy fad was all the rage that year. I
never understood him and I certainly don't understand why he was
killed."

"Do you want to find out?"
he found himself asking faintly, his mind on her remark about the
flowers.
What had Anne Marie said about
flowers?

"Yes, I do," she said immediately. "I'd like
to find out what it was I missed in him for so many years."

"I'm trying to find out," he said gallantly,
responding to the plea in her voice.

She looked at him blankly. "Find out
what?"

"Who killed him."

"I thought the police were
investigating."

"They are. But I think they're quite wrong.
They say it's money behind it."

She laughed bitterly and gulped the rest of
her drink. "You're right about that. Robert would never stoop to
dispute about money. Why should he? If you count my money, we have
more than God. Big deal. The only real benefit is that you can
afford the best. Speaking of which, would you like another
drink?"

He nodded, primarily so that he could watch
her walk across the room. She was an extraordinary woman and had
been wasted on Robert Cheswick.

"Will you answer some questions for me?" he
asked.

"Fire away." She settled in again at his
feet. "But I warn you, you probably know more about him than I do.
I thought you had all kinds of surveillance in Personnel."

She was one of the few people ever to tease
T.S. and he quite enjoyed the sensation.

"No. We stop amassing intimate details once
a person makes partner."

She laughed again. "Not to worry. If
anything interesting ever happened to Robert, it was before he made
partner. Believe me. He was already a fuddy-duddy by then, but he
practically turned into his own grandfather once he made the big
P."

T.S. asked about Cheswick's personal papers.
He had none. They were all at the office. He had planned to stay at
the Yale Club the night he was murdered and she had not been
alarmed when he didn't come home. No, she was sure he had not been
having an affair at any point in their marriage. He was far too
prompt with his departures for work and arrivals home. She was
quite adamant on this point.

"Besides," she added for good measure, "he
knows that the one thing I absolutely would not tolerate would be
that. I'd agree to a robot marriage, but not that. The only thing
he cared about by the time he married me was appearances and he
would have done anything to maintain them."

He thought of Anne Marie's unfinished
comment about Lilah's own fidelity but was at a loss as to how to
approach the subject.

"Are you close to anyone?" he asked and
immediately felt like an ass.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, any other... partners." He stumbled
around for a way out. "Partners, as in Sterling & Sterling
partners. Or brothers or… fathers, maybe. Yes. Fathers. Someone to
help you make the arrangements and deal with the lawyers."

"1 suppose so," she said, cutting off his
babble. "John Boswell took care of the funeral arrangements
yesterday. I have no problem handling the lawyers myself."

"John Boswell?" he asked and his voice
nearly squeaked. What in god's name was the matter with him?

"Yes. John Boswell." She looked at T.S.
strangely. "Are you all right, Theodore? Is the fire too hot?"

"No. Not at all," he said, straightening up
and attempting to look cooler. "I'm fine." Had his voice actually
squeaked? "Did your husband leave behind any clue as to whether
something had been bothering him lately? A letter? A note? Did he
make any unusual phone calls? Anything at all?"

The desperation in his voice caused her to
consider his remark as carefully as possible. "Well," she said
slowly. "I don't know. It's possible. We slept in separate
bedrooms. He could have made a call late at night. I wouldn't have
known about it. Or perhaps he left something in his bedroom. Would
you like me to look?"

"Would you?" Of course he would. It wasn't
the fire that was blinding him. Heavens. Here he was fifty-five
years old and being left tongue-tied by a woman. He needed a moment
to regain his thoughts.

"Be right back." She left the room with the
sure grace of an athlete and bounded upstairs. A quick scurrying in
the main hallway alerted T.S. that their conversation had not been
as private as he had thought. It was more shame at having his
bumbling witnessed than anger that prompted him to investigate the
sound.