The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (12 page)

"No, thank you," I said softly.

* * *

After telling him I'd be back to the inn in less than an hour, I left Stone, who was
still sorting through the trash. I changed into a dressier outfit, put on a coat,
and drove my Jeep to the Rockdale Bank and Trust. I parked in one of the customer
parking spots, dabbed a little ChapStick on my dry lips, and strolled into the bank.

Inside, I told one of the tellers I needed to speak with Mr. Myers, the bank's president.
She asked me to have a seat and informed me Mr. Myers would be with me in a few minutes.
I sat and sifted through issues of
Money
and
Business Week
magazines for about ten minutes before I was called back into Mr. Myers's office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Myers. I've spoken with you several times on the phone but have
never had the privilege of meeting you in person," I said cordially. "I'm Mary Arnold
of Arnold Accounting. You know, Chad's friend's mother."

"Oh, but of course. You sound different in person than you do on the phone, Mary.
Do you have a cold?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." I smiled, sniffed dramatically, and then added,
"I think I'm past the contagious stage, however."

"Don't worry about passing it on to me. My entire family is just getting over it,
so I'm probably already immune. Have a seat."

"Thanks."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Ms. Arnold. Your son is a fine man. I just spoke with
him at a benefit dinner this last weekend," Mr. Myers said. "I certainly would not
have expected Roger's mother to be so young. What can I do for you today?"

Whoops, I hadn't taken Chad and Roger's ages into consideration. I'd just assumed
that the two "sons" were of school age, maybe ten or eleven, rather than grown men.
Now I was sure Mr. Myers was wondering if I'd become pregnant in the fifth grade.

"Thank you. I guess I did marry fairly young. And I assure you I'm older than you
may think. The reason I'm here, however, is to inform you one of your clients, Mr.
Prescott, of D&P Enterprises has suddenly passed."

"Horatio?" Mr. Myers asked. He was obviously stunned by the news. "How dreadful. He's
been banking here for ages. What happened? Heart attack?"

"No, Mr. Prescott was shot. Murdered, I regret to say. The homicide case is currently
under investigation by the Rockdale Police Department. It's not clear yet who the
perpetrator might be, but they're following several leads, and they already have a
suspect in custody."

"Oh, how dreadful. Is the suspect anyone I might know?" Mr. Myers asked.

"He's a financial consultant named Peter Randall."

"Peter Randall? No, not Pete. No, I just can't see Pete murdering anyone." Mr. Myers
shook his head, a scowl on his face.

"I've never met the man."

"I have, and I believe they've pointed the finger at the wrong person. Peter would
never... well, whatever. That's none of my business, and I guess the police know what
they're doing. It's quite dreadful, anyway," Mr. Myers repeated. Although he expressed
surprise at the mention of Peter Randall as a suspect, I sensed he didn't seem completely
shocked about the fact someone would want to kill Horatio. "How I can I be of help?"
he asked.

"Because of the situation, the company's finances need to be scrutinized and audited.
I'm sure you can understand the need for that," I said. I laid the signed consent
form down on Mr. Myers's desk. "I just need to pick up the particulars on D&P Enterprises
so we can begin the lengthy process. There's no reason to delay something that's going
to have to be handled in the near future, anyway. If you could just photocopy the
last few months' worth of statements for me, I'd appreciate it. Three months should
be sufficient. You can keep the original copies here at the bank."

"Certainly, Ms. Arnold. I'll get the files for you. It will just take a few minutes
to run Xerox copies of all the account statements. There are a number of them, you
know."

"Yes, of course," I said with an understanding nod.

"I'll have my secretary bring you a cup of coffee, if you'd like."

"Thank you, I could use a cup. It will soothe my raw throat."

"How do you take it?" Mr. Myers asked in a cordial tone.

"Black, please."

"Fine, I'll tell her and be back with the information on the account in just a few
minutes. I sure do regret to hear about Mr. Prescott's demise, Mary. He wasn't exactly
one of my favorite clients, but nonetheless, I don't like to hear he was murdered."

Why did this revelation not surprise me? I didn't think Horatio Prescott was on anyone's
list of favorite people.

Chapter 9

I arrived at the inn in less than half an hour. Driving back, I wondered if I shouldn't
drop off the account information at Arnold Accounting after I studied it. I'm sure
the way I obtained it wasn't entirely legal. If I dropped it off in a plain manila
envelope, perhaps no one would question how it got there. With any luck at all, Mr.
Myers and Mary Arnold would never have an occasion to meet in person; for then, Myers
would realize he'd been duped. Rockdale was a small town; we were bound to run into
each other again sometime in the future. But I would deal with that bridge when I
crossed it.

A few minutes later I sat with Stone in the basement and scanned through the file
of information on the D&P Enterprise account, while Stone continued to sift through
the trash. He hadn't uncovered anything else of interest in the bag of discarded paperwork.
Stone obviously assumed Boris had shredded important documents and stuffed them in
the trash bag. He was clearly disappointed.

Looking through the file I'd received from Mr. Myers, I discovered there were actually
fourteen different accounts in D&P's name at the Rockdale Bank and Trust, but the
sum total of all the balances was somewhat less than what I would've expected for
a company with over sixty employees on their payroll. I recalled that Robert Fischer,
the former loan officer at the bank, had remarked that a lot of their resources were
in Swiss accounts. I continued to plow through the information.

I noticed each account at Rockdale Bank and Trust had a different name, such as "Mineral
Rights" and "Precious Gems." It was clear D&P Enterprises had their fingers in many
different pots. The account intriguing me the most was labeled "Miscellaneous." Among
other things, it showed a monthly deposit of fifteen hundred dollars, drawn from the
account of Harry Turner. Could this have something to do with the dirty laundry Alma
Turner didn't want to have aired in public? I left Stone sorting through wads and
slivers of paper, and went upstairs hoping to find the answer to that question.

* * *

I was walking down the hallway toward the parlor because I wanted to put the bank
statement copies in my room. As I passed Boris Dack's suite across the hallway from
mine, I heard the sound of a shower running. I knew I wasn't in my bathroom taking
a shower, so I assumed it must be Boris taking one in his. Except for Rosalinda Swift
and Cornelius Walker, Boris and I had the only bedroom suites on the first floor.
The upper floor of the two-story home was made up of six guest rooms, all with private
bathrooms attached. The top-story suites were slightly larger than the ones on the
first floor, making them ideal for couples and distinguished guests. Stone used the
owner's quarters, which included two sets of the upper-floor suites. The second set
had been renovated into an office and large storage closet.

I tapped lightly on Boris's door. When he failed to answer, I gave it a nudge. The
door was not locked and opened with a squeak into his room. I peeked inside and could
see a light under the door of the closed bathroom. Steam escaped from the small gap
above the door's threshold. Glancing around his room, I saw he'd laid a fresh suit
on his bed, and atop his night-stand were his wallet, keys, pocket protector, and
cell phone.

Quickly I picked up his cell phone, which was a Nokia model similar to mine, and clicked
on "calls" and then "outgoing" and found a number dialed at exactly six minutes after
one that afternoon. I took a fancy ink pen from his pocket protector and copied the
number onto the inside of my left wrist. While I was copying the last digits, I heard
the shower stop. I tossed the pen on the nightstand, and quickly exited the room.

Halfway down the hallway, I realized I'd left the stack of bank statement copies on
Boris's bed. I'd set them down to free up my hand to write the phone number on my
wrist, and then forgot them in my haste to vacate the room. Now I had no choice but
to risk being caught in Boris's bedroom because I had to retrieve the papers, if at
all possible.

I rushed up the hall, nudged open his door again, relieved to discover the door to
his restroom was still closed. What I'd have done had he been standing stark naked
in the middle of his room, I'm not sure. Fortunately, for me, that wasn't the case.

I heard sounds coming from behind the still-closed bathroom door. It sounded as if
Boris was hanging a towel on a towel rack and stepping into bathroom slippers. I grabbed
the file off the bed and headed back out the door in one swift motion. As I stepped
into the hallway, I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the bathroom door
opening. I felt lightheaded after my frightfully close call as I unlocked the door
to my room and quickly stepped inside.

I stashed the papers in the outer zippered pocket of my suitcase, and collapsed on
my bed. My knees were shaking, and it took me several minutes to calm down. I went
to the bathroom sink, splashed cold water on my face, and ran a brush through my hair.
When I looked in the mirror I saw curly, highlighted hair that appeared dull and dry,
and bloodshot, light-brown eyes with dark bags beginning to form beneath them. I was
stunned by my own appearance. I needed a good night's sleep to recharge my internal
battery.

Finally, I felt collected enough to make my way toward the parlor. I looked through
the glass doors, as I passed the library, and noticed Alma Turner removing a book
from the history section. Harry was not with her.

In the parlor, Rosalinda Swift was conversing with Cornelius Walker as they sat on
high-backed chairs in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. I heard Rosalinda
titter after Cornelius said, "You see, I've always felt I was a lesbian trapped in
a man's body."

I gave Cornelius's statement some consideration and then asked the pair if they'd
seen Harry Turner recently. I soon realized Rosalinda wasn't tittering with amusement
from Cornelius's quip, but rather, she was tanked out of her gourd. "Tarry Hurner?"
she asked, as she tried to focus on me with her glazed and bloodshot eyes. "Tarry's
not in dis woom white now, Wexie."

"Uh, yes, I can see Harry's not in the parlor, Rosalinda. Do you happen to know where
exactly he is?"

Cornelius draped his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me toward him. "Rosalinda's
had a long afternoon, my dear," he said. "Harry's out on the back porch, I believe.
Would you like me to take you to him? Perhaps we can duck into the hall closet on
the way. We should spend a few minutes getting better acquainted."

"No thanks, Cornelius. I can find him on my own. You stay here and keep an eye on
Ms. Swift. She seems to be a bit under the weather."

"Don't worry, Lexie, she'll be all right. Doctor Walker will take care of Rosalinda."

I pulled away from Cornelius's embrace and excused myself. I was relieved Harry was,
indeed, resting on the back deck, and he was alone. He was bundled up in a thick woolen
scarf and a heavy parka, and was staring off into space, seemingly deep in thought.
He stood next to the dirt-filled planter Otto had run his fingers through.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Turner," I said, in greeting. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he said, turning his attention toward me. "How are you feeling today,
Lexie? You had us all worried last night. I can't imagine how you would come to swallow
a poison like tansy oil. That's highly unusual."

"I know. I can't imagine it either, but I'm fine now. Thanks for asking. Do you mind
if I ask you a personal question? It's something that's just come to my attention.
It has me perplexed and more than a little curious."