The Deep End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 2) (5 page)

Rebecca peeled off her wet cardigan and held it at bay. “I don’t think Father was punishing us. He…” Rebecca faltered. She didn’t understand their father’s will any more than Charlotte did. “He wanted Jasmine to have it all, for whatever reason. That’s the end of the story.”

Kit returned with a bowl of microwave popcorn and set it on the coffee table. She took Rebecca’s cardigan from her outstretched fingers. “I’ll put this in the laundry room.”

Charlotte scooped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “So if Jasmine is my stepmother, then my step-uncle would also be my brother-in-law.”

Rebecca shot her a disapproving look. “Charlotte, we had one dinner together. I don’t even think it counts as a date.”

“Did he pay?” Kit asked, returning to the room.

Rebecca’s gaze dropped to the hardwood floor. “Yes,” she mumbled. Then she drew a breath. “I’m not going to pretend that it means anything, though. He lives in Connecticut. He’s Jasmine’s brother.”

“And he wanted to spend time with
you
,” Kit said. “He didn’t ask you and Charlotte to dinner.”

“Oh, stop it,” Rebecca admonished her. “This wasn’t anything more to him than a way to pass the time while visiting an insufferable sister.”

Charlotte opened her mouth in surprise but said nothing.

Rebecca pointed to the stacks of books. “Okay, now it’s your turn.” She reached into the bowl and grabbed a few kernels of popcorn. “What happened?”

Charlotte told her about raiding the library and Brendan’s rescue.

“You stole the books from Father’s library?” Rebecca repeated, aghast.

“It’s not like Jasmine will notice,” Charlotte argued. “She never goes in there.”

Although Rebecca was inclined to agree with her sister, she didn’t want to appear to condone her actions. The contents of the library belonged to Jasmine now, whether they agreed with the outcome or not.

“Charlotte, I don’t think we can keep these.” Rebecca glanced around the room, amazed by the number of books that Charlotte managed to ferret out of Oak Lodge. “It isn’t right. It isn’t legal.”

“If you’d reviewed the ethics notes from class, you’d know it isn’t ethical either,” Kit pointed out.

“Brendan thought it was perfectly justified,” Charlotte said, wearing an unusually haughty expression.

Rebecca glanced at her sharply. “And is Brendan a lawyer?”

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said slowly. “But that doesn’t make his opinion less valid.”

Kit watched the argument unfold, chomping happily on the popcorn. Who needed television when she lived with the Tilton sisters?

“I think you’ll find it actually does,” Rebecca replied. She shook her arms and water droplets flew across the room. “I’m going to take a shower now. You should get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow morning you’ll see sense. If not, then we’ll revisit this conversation.”

Rebecca marched upstairs, leaving a trail of water behind her. Kit observed Charlotte’s dreamy expression and knew she was thinking about Brendan. Somehow, Kit doubted that a good night’s sleep would change Charlotte’s mind.

Charlotte gripped the handle of the car door as Brendan roared down Kelly Drive on their way to the art museum. They valet parked and Brendan took her hand in his, guiding her toward the entrance.

“Are you sure you don’t want to climb the Rocky steps?” Charlotte asked. “It seems un-American not to.”

Brendan looked genuinely mystified. “Why would I exert myself just to run up a few flights of steps when I can hand off my Porsche and saunter in without breaking a sweat?”

Charlotte didn’t argue with his logic since she tended to avoid steps when possible. She’d had enough scraped knees as a child to last a lifetime.

Together, they toured the different rooms of the museum, chatting easily as they went. The contemporary art section. Prints and drawings. European paintings. By the time they reached the enormous painting, Prometheus Bound, Charlotte was ready for a break. She sat on a bench to rest her weary feet and he joined her.

“Prometheus was such a tragic figure,” Brendan remarked.

“But incredibly brave,” Charlotte countered. “He endured great suffering.”

“You admire him then?” This fact seemed to amuse him.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Of course. Don’t you?”

“He was tragic, but a fool. Why did he think mankind worth so much sacrifice? He was a god, but he believed in something smaller than himself. An absolute waste.”

“Have you ever read the play?” Charlotte asked.

“By Aeschylus? Yes, well, to be honest, one of my nannies read it to me. Esther was a classics major. That’s probably when I first became familiar with this painting.”

“One of your nannies? What was your childhood like?” Charlotte asked. She’d had a string of part-time nannies as well, but none had read her plays by Aeschylus. She’d been lucky to get
Little House on the Prairie
and that was thanks to Rebecca, her primary caretaker.

Brendan stood and stretched. “I thought we covered ‘Brendan, the early years.’”

“In terms of the forest, maybe, but I’d like to see the trees.”

“Truth be told, my parents were more interested in their own lives than mine. When I was ten, I had a mini-motorized Porsche, now it’s adult-sized. If not for a few stern nannies, I would be a complete monster by now.”

“Sounds sad to me,” Charlotte said. “How did it make you feel to be ignored by your own parents?” Charlotte couldn’t imagine it. Her mother had been doting when she was alive and her father had always been interested in her life, if not fully engaged.

Brendan put his arm around her waist and squeezed affectionately. “My future therapist.”

“I have a number of years to go,” Charlotte replied. “This is only my first year as a psychology major.”

Brendan sighed. “The truth is I felt lonely and I still miss my parents, even though they are very much alive.”

“At least you didn’t lose your father and your inheritance to a twenty-something bimbo.”

Brendan shrugged. “People do crazy things for love. I would think you’d approve of that.”

“I don’t care as much about the money. It’s the feeling that I lost my father’s love to her that really hurts. Daddy was everything to me and now he’s gone and he didn’t even leave me a token of affection. Nothing at all.”

Brendan kissed her forehead. “I am sure that he never stopped loving you. A sweet girl like you. A man would have to be out of his mind.”

Charlotte looked into his eyes and he kissed her softly on the lips. Content, she rested her head on his shoulder. In all the years she’d been coming here, the museum had never seemed as wonderful to her as it did right now.

Charlotte and Rebecca wandered through Oak Lodge, struggling not to notice the small changes that Jasmine had already made to the interior. When Charlotte had returned from the art museum with Brendan the day before, Rebecca had been waiting for her. She’d told Charlotte in no uncertain terms that it was time to grow up. She needed to return to classes and return the contents of the library. No choice had been given in the matter and Charlotte had felt too happy to argue. Her date with Brendan had been like living in a dream and she would’ve juggled fire if someone had asked her to.

Charlotte had attended her morning class, much to everyone’s relief, and now she and Rebecca were returning the books to Oak Lodge before swinging by the autobody for Charlotte’s car.

Charlotte hovered in the living room, staring at the ceiling. A tacky chandelier hung there like a silver spider in its web.

“Did she run up the American Express card before the funeral?” Charlotte wondered aloud. Judging from the speed of the decorating, she’d been planning for their father’s death for months in advance.

“Seems so.” Rebecca turned away, unwilling to give the room her attention. “Where is the lady of the manor, anyway?”

“Probably sleeping,” Charlotte said. “It is nearly noon, after all.”

“Should we call her on the intercom system?” Rebecca asked. The enormity of the house made an intercom system a necessity, especially once their father had fallen ill.

Charlotte groaned in frustration. “How does she manage to make everything so difficult?”

“She didn’t know we were coming,” Rebecca pointed out.

“Then why give them back?” Charlotte demanded. “Maybe we should just bring the books in from the car and leave them.”

“No,” Rebecca told her firmly. “You need to apologize for taking them.”

“Be honest,” Charlotte chided her. “You’re just hoping to run into Jake.” She spread her arms wide. “Well, he doesn’t appear to be here. Can we go?”

“This has nothing to do with Jake. I don’t want to end on bad terms with her. We have a family name to protect.”

“They’ll just collect dust here,” Charlotte complained.

“Lottie, please.” Rebecca’s tone was firm. “We need to be the bigger people. We can’t stoop to her level.”

“That’s because she’s always wearing those ridiculous heels,” Charlotte replied. She moved into the kitchen where a lone martini glass sat on the island.

“Still celebrating,” Rebecca murmured.

Charlotte pressed her nose against the back window, casting a baleful look at the pool. “I miss our pool.”

“Charlotte, don’t be silly. The season’s over anyway. Next summer you can swim at Francie’s.”

“Then why is the pool still open?” Charlotte queried.

Rebecca followed Charlotte’s gaze. “Because Jasmine has no idea how to take care of a house like this.” A flash of color caught her attention. “What is that?”

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and stepped outside. Charlotte watched her sister as she began to run toward the pool.

“Charlotte, call 911!” Rebecca yelled and jumped into the pool.

Panic shot through Charlotte and she picked up the kitchen phone and dialed.

“What is the nature of your emergency?” a man’s voice inquired.

“I think someone has drowned in our pool,” Charlotte said, observing her sister from the kitchen window as she pulled a body from the water. Charlotte gasped. “Oh my God. It’s Jasmine.” There was no mistaking her. She watched in horror as Rebecca began to administer CPR.

“Who’s Jasmine?” the man asked.

“She’s my…” Charlotte didn’t know how to explain Jasmine. “She lives here.” Charlotte gave the dispatcher the address and hung up.

By the time Charlotte arrived by her sister’s side, Rebecca had abandoned her efforts.

“It’s no use,” Rebecca said, staring at Jasmine’s blue-tinged face. “She’s dead.” She stood up and clasped her sister’s hand.

“I can’t believe it,” Charlotte murmured. “It’s both a dream and a nightmare.”

“I know,” Rebecca agreed.

“Why would she swim today?” Charlotte queried. Jasmine wore a black bikini. The coordinating sarong still floated in the water. “The temperature outside is warm today, but it rained again last night. Even with the heater on, the water would be far too cold.” She bent over the pool to check the thermometer.

“Be careful,” Rebecca warned, familiar with Charlotte’s penchant for misjudging distance.

Charlotte took her time and moved with caution. “Seventy degrees,” she exclaimed.

“Well, ice did run through her veins,” Rebecca mused. “I don’t think she was swimming, though. Why would her sarong be in the water?”

“Maybe she got drunk and fell in?” Charlotte guessed.

“Or someone pushed her.”

The sound of an ambulance blared in the distance and Charlotte shivered.

“Should we meet them out front?” Charlotte asked.

“I’ll stay with Jasmine,” Rebecca offered. “You bring them back here.”

Charlotte ran through the house to the front door, guilt pulsing through her body. She’d wished Jasmine dead on many occasions and now her wish had been granted. Charlotte knew she should feel sad, but she couldn’t help herself. The wicked witch was dead and Charlotte resisted the urge to dance on her grave.

Chapter Three

Charlotte recognized the tall, dark, muscular frame of Detective Romeo Moretti as he approached the pool area. The day’s beautiful weather kept everyone outside while waiting for the police to arrive. Richard Riley, Westdale’s chief of police, had been first on the scene. He’d been golfing nearby at the country club and was still wearing his plaid trousers and a V-neck sweater. Next to arrive had been a rookie, Officer Lucas Harley, and he’d cordoned off the area with yellow crime scene tape. Charlotte had rushed to help when a gust of wind sent half the roll spinning wildly into the pool. Chief Riley had observed the spectacle but said nothing.

Romeo noticed the grass cuttings as he walked across the expansive lawn toward the assembled group. He’d need to check with the Tilton sisters which company serviced their estate. Maybe one of the workers had seen Jasmine before she died. That would help establish time of death and maybe a potential witness.

“Chief, this is getting to be a bit of a habit,” Romeo said, greeting the chief with a handshake. They’d recently worked together on another murder case in Westdale, the one that had introduced Romeo to Kit. When Kit first had moved into the house on Thornhill Road in August, she’d unearthed a skeleton beneath the living room floorboards and was forced back to her childhood home until the investigation was nearly over. Thanks to Romeo’s help, she was able to move back into her house and even snagged a few dates with him in the process.

“I sure hope not,” Chief Riley replied. “A respectable town like Westdale doesn’t need that kind of publicity.”

Romeo suspected that the chief swept as much negative press as possible under the proverbial rug in order to protect his residents and the town’s reputation. Although he couldn’t prove it, he believed that Chief Riley had obstructed his previous investigation in order to protect certain powerful friends in Westdale society. Thanks to Kit and the earlier investigation, Romeo was getting a better handle on Westdale and its Pilgrim Society. The town was teeming with descendants of the Mayflower Pilgrims and it appeared that some of them were willing to go to great lengths to defend their tribe’s honor.

“Detective, I believe you’ve met Rebecca Tilton before,” Chief Riley said.