Sleight of Hand (2 page)

Chapter 3

Sitting on Frank's back porch Sunday afternoon, watching him puttering around from his little greenhouse to the garden he was planting, Barbara began to trace the strange restlessness that now seemed to possess her.

She realized it had begun when she stood on a dock in Newport watching the McGinnis yacht leave. On board with a crew of six, her colleague Shelley and new husband Alex had set off on their honeymoon, a cruise around the Hawaiian Islands.

It had been a small wedding with only the two families, Barbara and Frank, and of course Dr. Minnick, Alex's mentor and doctor since his boyhood. Barbara had been Shelley's maid of honor. Mr. and Mrs. McGinnis had accepted Alex as their son without reservation, despite his grotesque disfigurement caused by a congenital birth defect. Since he didn't have to foot the bill for a lavish wedding, Mr. McGinnis had said, the least he could do was provide their honeymoon accommodations, thus the yacht at their disposal.

The two gold cats were sniffing around the newly planted garden rows, oblivious of mud. Barbara had always thought cats avoided anything wet, and especially anything muddy. They were an unholy mess, as if they had been rolling around. She got up and went inside for a glass of water that she really didn't want.

At the sink she mused that this was the first weekend since early March that she hadn't done something with Darren Halvord, or more likely with him and his son Todd. A bicycle ride, a bird-watching trip to the Finley Refuge, dinner and board games, something.

Too much, she thought suddenly. The guy was trying to domesticate her!

Frank came in with a colander filled with baby salad greens. He had left his muddy shoes outside the door. "Want to give these a quick wash while I go change clothes?

I overplanted. Lots of salad greens coming along. And don't let those fool cats in until they clean themselves up. I have the cat door locked."

More domestication, she thought savagely, and rinsed the greens. She returned them to the colander to drain and crossed the room to stand at the back door gazing out.

Both of them, trying to turn her into someone else. She cursed under her breath.

Later, as Frank prepared dinner, she told him about her visit with the insurance agent. "He's a reasonable enough guy," she said. "He'd already looked up Wally and knew about his past, of course. But they aren't going to do a thing until Mrs. Wilkins checks in. Looks like she took a powder, packed her bags, pretended a visit to an ailing sister and headed for parts unknown. Could be she swiped the boat. Could be something else. So there it's going to remain for the time being. The police aren't going to do a thing either unless Wilkins flexes muscles or something. They're not interested in gold boats or wives who pack bags and take off."

"Did you call Meg and Wally and tell them?"

"Yes. At least I told Meg. She's the deep one of the two, isn't she?"

"I think so. She's a good-looking woman and must have been a knockout when she was young," Frank said.

Barbara nodded. "I know where you're going with that. One of the what-ifs —Jay was hot for her and Wally got her. Payback time forty-some years later. Doesn't seem likely, but still.

Frank laughed. "The evil mind of the criminal attorney at work." 'You know the saying —it takes one to know one. Want me to set the table yet?"

On Monday, Barbara was considering the rest of her day. It was going on one and she was in her court clothes and wanted out of them. Home, she decided. Have a sandwich, change clothes, then back to the office to clean up a few details. She was grumpy from the morning's proceedings, a plea bargain with a tough prosecutor who had wanted more than the book thrown at her nineteen-year-old idiot client who had had pot not only in his pocket, but in his jalopy and his apartment. He wasn't going to sell it, he had whined, just wanted it handy when he needed it. He had a bad backache, he had said unconvincingly.

She sighed. She had argued that he shouldn't be sent up for ten or fifteen years for being stupid. So it went. She was leaving, her car keys in her hand, when Meg Lederer appeared on the outside steps. Meg was pale and looked terrified.

Barbara waited at the landing. "What happened?" she asked when Meg drew near.

"I have to talk to you. Jay's dead. Someone killed him Saturday night."

Chapter 4

Barbara wheeled about and hurried back to the office door, unlocked it and practically shoved Meg inside. She locked the door behind them and motioned toward her own office. Inside, she took Meg's arm and seated her on one of the chairs by the ornate coffee table, sat on the sofa within reach and said, "Tell me."

Meg's hands were shaking and her voice was faint. "I saw it on the noon news. Just that he was dead, probably killed Saturday night. I don't know more than that.

Barbara, first the boat, now this. They'll think Wally did it!"

"Pull yourself together," Barbara said brusquely. "Don't jump to conclusions.

Where's Wally now?"

"Home. He was clearing brambles all morning and a man came to see about the barn roof. It leaks. Cedar shingles, but we want to repair it, not get a new roof. We want it all the way it was..." She jumped up and crossed the room to the window, pulled the drape aside and stood there. "For God's sake, what difference does that make! Jay's dead. He could have sent Wally to prison for the rest of his life! Going back would kill him!"

Barbara stood up, went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. She put it on the table, approached Meg and took her arm. It was rigid, and her eyes were closed, her head bowed. "Come sit down, Meg. Calm down."

When Meg was seated again, Barbara put the glass in her hand and watched her take a sip. "Is there anything else you can tell me? You said Wally's at the house. Does he know about Jay?"

Meg shook her head. "I just left. I put a note on the table for him. I wrote 'shopping'

on it. Shopping!" She drew in a breath. "Then I came here." Suddenly she looked down at herself, tan work pants, a paint-spattered T-shirt with a big sunflower on the front, old shoes covered with paint. "I never even thought about how I was dressed.

I had to get out, talk to you. I never even thought.

"You're fine, Meg." Barbara studied her a moment, then said, "What made you panic if that's all they said, that he's dead, murdered? For all you know they already have the killer, or know who it was."

The glass Meg was still holding began to shake and she bowed her head. Barbara took the glass from her and put it on the table. "What else, Meg?" she asked softly.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Without looking up, Meg shook her head.

"You and Wally came in here together," Barbara said. "Whatever either of you says in this office is sacred and will never leave this office. You have to trust me, Meg.

No power on earth could make you testify against your husband, and no power on earth could make me divulge anything you tell me."

Meg lifted her head, and gave Barbara a long searching look. Finally she nodded, but when she spoke her voice was no more than a whisper. "I was there Saturday night."

"Tell me about it," Barbara said, struggling to hide her surprise.

"Something you said when we were here, that maybe the boat would turn up at Jay's house. The day the detective and insurance man came, I was on my way to get the mail. We have a locked box down the street a way I had put on Wally's raincoat. His is so long on me, nearly to my ankles, it keeps my legs dry all the way down. The rain had started again, and I put on his coat and dropped the key to our box in the pocket. I had an umbrella in one hand and a letter to mail in the other. I told them to go to the door and I crossed the street and walked to the mailbox and when I put my hand in the pocket to get the key out, I felt the boat. In his pocket. I knew that was what they had come about. I was terrified. What if they had a search warrant or something? I.. .I put it in the mailbox with my letter."

Meg's eyes were almost perfectly round as she searched Barbara's face. Although her voice and words had been disjointed and hesitating, she was very clear when she spoke again. "We've been married forty-two years. I know him as well as I know myself. He didn't take that boat. He didn't. Jay put it in his pocket."

"Saturday night," Barbara said, ignoring the questions piling up in her head. They would get to them, but first things first, she thought grimly.

Meg nodded. "What you said, that it might turn up in Jay's house. I kept thinking of that, and decided to take it back and put it somewhere, behind a sofa cushion, or anywhere not too obvious, but where it would be found by the housekeeper. End it.

Jay would know we were on to him and keep his distance. That afternoon, as soon as they were gone I got it out of the mailbox. I was scared to death every minute that they would come back and want to search."

Abruptly she stood up. "I'd like to use your restroom," she said weakly.

"Sure. This way." Barbara showed her the door. Anything to avoid getting to Saturday night, she thought, but that was coming, however long it took.

She glanced at the coffeemaker, shrugged and didn't go near it. Later. She suspected they would have plenty of time for more intermissions a little later.

Meg did not hurry but when she returned, she walked swiftly to her chair and sat upright, composed. "On Saturday I knew I couldn't bear it any longer. We have been so busy working on the house. Early on we decided we didn't want to bring in decorators, let others do it. Our first real home, we wanted to make it ours from the start. Anyway, Wally was beat Saturday night, clearing brambles when it wasn't raining, painting, scraping woodwork. We're not used to such hard physical labor.

That night after dinner we were watching a movie and he fell asleep. I knew he would sleep on the sofa until I roused him enough to go to bed and I decided that was my chance. It was raining again so I wore his coat, and put on gloves. I wiped the boat clean. I didn't want my fingerprints on it. Something like that was on my mind."

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "When I got to his house I drove up and passed another car or van or something. I think it was a van, black, or very dark. I wasn't paying a lot of attention, and it was raining pretty hard. I thought Jay probably had company, and started to drive on out, but I stopped. It wouldn't matter, I decided. I'd make an excuse for being there, put the boat somewhere and leave. It seemed so simple as I thought of it. I went to the door and saw that it wasn't closed all the way."

She swallowed hard and grew more tense. "The door had been stopped by a sneaker, it looked like a kid's sneaker, little and muddy. I just pushed the door open and walked in and let the sneaker stop it again. That was even better. I could just walk in and maybe no one would see me. I thought whoever was there was in the bar, or some other room, because I couldn't hear anyone. The study door was open and that's where I went. That's where the cases are. I put the boat in the bottom drawer of his desk and walked out and I let the door catch on the sneaker again. I hurried back to my car and left."

"Have you told anyone?"

Meg shook her head, then leaned back in her chair, evidently relieved.

Barbara stood up and regarded her for a moment. "Relax a minute or two. I'm going to put on some coffee, and then I have some questions."

In the outer office she had gotten no further than putting water into the pot when Maria came back from lunch and quickly took over, making it clear that she was mistress of the coffee machine. "I'll bring it in when it's ready," she said.

For an hour Barbara asked questions and Meg answered, or sometimes futilely tried to answer. Maria brought in coffee, and when Barbara finally stood up and said that was enough for now, Meg looked exhausted.

"I'll turn my bloodhound loose and see what we can find out," Barbara said. "I'll want to talk to you and Wally tomorrow. I'll call first. Meanwhile, try to take it easy."

"I should tell the police, shouldn't I?" Meg asked in a low voice.

"Did you witness anything? See anyone?"

"No. Nothing."

"So mum's the word, at least for now. We need some information. Are you going to tell Wally?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. Your decision. Just let me know how you decide. I'll call tomorrow."

They went to the door, where Meg paused. "I didn't see anyone, but someone could have seen me."

"We'll keep that in mind," Barbara said, opening the door.

After Meg left, Barbara said to Maria, "See if you can reach Bailey."

Maria nodded. "Have you had any lunch?"

"No time. I'll get to it later." She entered her office and sat at her desk to make notes and to study a crude map of the drive and the only rooms of Jay Wilkins s house that Meg had seen. A semicircular drive from the street, the other car or van roughed in a dozen feet from the entrance, on to where Meg had parked, about the same distance past the van. A very large foyer with the study off to the left, the room with the bar on the right. Broad carpeted stairs in the center rear, and narrower halls on both sides of the stairs. Both back halls and the head of the stairs were dark, Meg had said. She was right, someone could have seen her while remaining unseen.

Maria buzzed, Bailey was on the line. Barbara was still talking to Bailey a few minutes later when Maria brought in a sandwich from the shop across the street.

At fifteen minutes before six Barbara called Frank to say that if he was free she would drop in, and ten minutes later she was in his kitchen where he was pouring her a glass of wine. He already had a plate of cheese set out.

"What's up?" he asked, handing her the wine.

"I want to watch the six-o'clock news, local news," she said. "It seems that on Saturday night Jay Wilkins was killed. Let's catch the broadcast, and I'll spring for dinner somewhere quiet and tell you about my interesting day."

"Christ on a mountain," Frank said softly. "I hope to God it's just a coincidence."

She made a rude sound and headed for his study to turn on the television.

When the news item came on details were almost as scant as what Meg had reported. Wilkins was killed sometime Saturday night, his body discovered Monday morning by his housekeeper. He had died of a blow to the head. Apparently robbery was not a motive. The police asked for anyone who knew the whereabouts of Mrs.

Wilkins to please call in. She was traveling, they said. There was a number and her photograph, with a brief description: five feet five inches, one hundred thirty pounds, shoulder-length blond hair, brown eyes, forty years old. She was very attractive with clearly defined cheek bones and a wide, generous mouth, smiling in the photograph.

"How do you figure in?" Frank demanded.

Barbara was reaching for his phone. "I'll give Martin a call and get him to hold a back booth for us. I don't want you futz-ing around in the kitchen while I tell you about it." She believed cooking took superhuman concentration, and she wanted his full attention when she told him the predicament Meg presented.

Later, waiting for shrimp gumbo in a back booth at Martin's Restaurant, Barbara told Frank about Meg's visit. He did not say a word until she finished, then he cursed in a low undertone. Martin came with a tray and they were both silent while he chatted, placing the food on the table. He had beamed when they appeared. As big as a grizzly bear, black as a human being could be, he could have served as a bouncer if the need had ever arisen. He was an ex-NFL linebacker and looked it. And that night he had a bottle of Italian Soave. "I've been saving it for a special guest," he said pouring it. "My treat, this one time only," he added quickly when Frank started to protest.

"That's why we don't come here more often," Barbara said. "There go your profits for the week. We can't bear so much responsibility."

Martin laughed. "Let me know how you like it," he said, moving away.

As he had done so often in the past, Frank wondered what on earth Barbara had done for Martin that had earned his undying devotion to her. He suspected that he would never find out.

Barbara sipped the wine and closed her eyes, then sipped again. "I knew it would be good, but I never knew how good it could be," she murmured. Then, between bites of gumbo she told him what she had been doing the rest of the day. "Bailey, for starters," she said. Frank nodded. They both knew Bailey Novell was one of the best private investigators to be had.

When she finished, he asked, "Did you believe Meg?"

Barbara stopped the bite she had been about to take and put her fork down. "I want to believe her. We both said she's deep, and she's also sharp. She knows exactly what Wally was facing if Wilkins had pressed charges. At best the ruination of Wally's career, at worst a long prison sentence, which she likens to a death sentence.

And now she knows that when the boat is found, the decision could go either way.

A bit of a mistake on Wally's part, a practical joke gone bad, all forgiven, or a malicious, mean-spirited frame-up, initiated by Wilkins and intended to destroy Wally. Justification for murder possibly. Or," she continued more slowly, "she suspects or knows that Wally took it and she, in trying to save his skin, might have made the problem worse. Or she might have knocked off Jay herself thinking no one would see her coming or going, only to come to believe a witness had been lurking about." She finished off the wine in her glass and refilled it. "In other words, I haven't got a clue about Meg yet."

"Fair enough," Frank said. Then, soberly, he went on, "But I hope we agree that Meg is in possession of evidence that could be vital in finding a murderer. And you're aware of the fact. Obstruction of justice can be a serious charge."

She nodded. She knew.