To Catch a Leaf (10 page)

Lottie shook her head in disbelief. “A ten-grand book? I don't know what to say to that.”

“That's a drop in the bucket for the Newports,” I said, shooing Simon away from the greenery on the table.

“Who gets the house?” Lottie asked.

Grace shook her head. “It's unbelievable. Simply incomprehensible.”

“Gracie, I'm gonna get an ulcer waiting for you to finish this story,” Lottie said.

“I'm sorry, Lottie, dear. The fact of the matter is that Connie has directed that the mansion and its entire contents, including her husband's priceless Victorian art and antiques collection, go to Charity.”

“Constance Newport was enormously generous to the town, but I never knew she had such a giving heart,” Lottie said.

“You have no idea,” Grace said. “From what I gathered, the oil paintings alone are worth millions of dollars. A guard is to be posted at the house tonight and an art appraiser is to arrive tomorrow to assess the collection's value.”

“What's the rush?” Lottie asked.

“Perhaps Connie was afraid the collection would be spirited out of the house once the family was informed,” Grace said. “Whatever her reason, I can't begin to describe the mood in that office. Connie's daughter threatened to contest the will.”

“Sounds to me like Connie felt she'd given them enough already,” Lottie said.

“Leaving her entire fortune and all her belongings to charitable organizations is very altruistic,” I said. “But that seems to be in character with Connie's philanthropy.”

“I'm sorry, love,” Grace said. “I should have clarified that last part. Charity, you see, is her cat.”

I was beginning to understand Grace's shock.

“That's gotta be one pampered pet,” Lottie said. “I'm surprised her name isn't Duchess.”

“Connie adored the chubby little beast,” Grace said, “but from what I gathered, everyone else found her a nuisance.”

“How much of a nuisance could one little kitty be?” Lottie asked.

All three of us jumped as a glass vase fell to the floor and shattered. Simon crouched on the shelf, staring in fascination at the destruction below.

“Simon!” I snapped. He jumped off the counter and scooted under the worktable.

“Let me ask you this, Gracie,” Lottie said, as I went for the broom and dustpan. “If the cat inherited the house and everything in it, who gets the cat?”

“Well, that's the thing, you see,” Grace said, twisting her fingers together. “I did. Connie named me Charity's guardian.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
paused my sweeping to let Grace's news register, while Lottie just stared openmouthed.

“Dreadful business, isn't it?” Grace asked, wiping her eyes.

Simon jumped onto the worktable, padded over to her, and rubbed his nose against her chin, as though trying to cheer her up.

“What does being the cat's guardian mean?” I asked, emptying chunks of glass into the trash can.

“I'm to make sure that Charity is being properly attended to, that her house is maintained, and that her food and veterinary needs are seen to, even down to hiring a caretaker.”

“A cat nanny,” Lottie said with a laugh. “Can you beat that?”

“Will you have any authority over how Connie's money is spent on the cat?” I asked.

“Not just any, love,” Grace said. “I'll have complete authority. Can you understand why I'm all at sea?”

“Can you take the cat to your house to live?” Lottie asked.

“Connie's wish was for Charity to live out her life in the house. She has her own bedroom there, you see. But ultimately it is to be my decision.”

Lottie was right. That was one pampered pet. “Will you be paid a salary?” I asked.

Grace nodded. “An annual stipend of fifty thousand dollars.”

No wonder the attorney had asked for a cop.

Lottie let out a low whistle. “With that kind of money in your bank account, Gracie, you won't need to work here anymore.”

Yikes! I hadn't thought of that. What would I do without Grace?

“I work here for the enjoyment, dear,” Grace said, “not for the money. But there's a rather significant stumbling block to carrying out the terms of the will. The cat is missing.”

“The duchess abdicated?” Lottie asked.

Simon tried to stick his nose into Grace's cup, so I put him on the floor. “Simon, behave! Grace, maybe the cat I found is the missing heiress.”

“I doubt that's possible,” Grace said, plucking a cat hair from the hot liquid. “The family is of a mind that the cat slipped out when the paramedics arrived. In fact, Juanita believes the poor thing was run over by a car. She told the attorney that she heard the most awful screech of tires some time after the coroner got there. I didn't hear anything myself, but I was in quite a state of distress. Everyone agreed that Charity wouldn't stay away unless something dreadful had happened to her.”

“Did anyone actually check the street to see if that's what happened?” Lottie asked.

Grace scoffed. “I doubt they cared enough to check. They were probably hoping it was true. All I know is that Charity didn't escape when I let myself in because I would have noticed a fat cat darting past me.”

“That answers my question,” I said. “The cat I found is skinny and raggedy.”

“What happens if Charity doesn't come back?” Lottie asked.

“After a certain amount of time,” Grace said, “she'd be declared dead. The attorney didn't really go into it, but basically Connie's assets would be liquidated and the money distributed among the charities she'd named in the will. I would serve no further function and my stipend would stop.”

“Did you have any clue that Connie was going to appoint you?” Lottie asked.

“None,” Grace said. “However, once again, as I think back to our last meeting, I should have suspected something. Before I left, she quizzed me about my love of animals, whether I'd ever kept pets, and why I didn't have any now. I told her I'd owned cats and dogs, but that after my old cat passed on years back, I didn't want the heartbreak of losing another. Connie told me I was flat-out wrong, that having another cat would be just the remedy for me.”

“Were any family members present when you had this talk?” I asked.

Grace sipped her tea, thinking. “It's possible. We had our book discussions in the dining room, over tea and petit fours. I know there were occasions when Connie's daughter and daughter-in-law were around, but they were never in the room with us for longer than it took to say hello. That's not to say they weren't listening in from the other side of the door.”

Said the master eavesdropper.

Grace checked her watch. “Oh, good heavens, it's almost five thirty. Richard must be waiting outside for me.”

Yikes. And Marco would be wondering where I was.

“I've got to get home and start supper,” Lottie said. “Four hungry teenaged boys can wipe out the contents of a refrigerator in an hour flat if they're not fed on time.” She gave Grace a hug. “I know this has been a tough day for you, Gracie. If you need me, I'm as close as a phone call.”

As Grace rose to take her cup to the kitchen, her cell phone began to chime. “That's probably Richard now.”

While Grace answered her call, I did a quick cleanup of the worktable and fed Simon, then put my purse over my shoulder, grabbed my jacket, and walked through the shop.

“Was it Richard?” I asked, as Grace slid her phone into her purse.

“Dave Hammond, actually. He said the detectives want to talk to me in the morning. After being informed about the provisions in the will, the police have more questions. I'm so glad I retained Dave this morning. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of telling Dave that you and Marco will be investigating. He asked that one of you contact him tomorrow.”

“When are you supposed to meet with the detectives?” I asked.

“Dave said he'll let me know,” Grace said, a deep worry line forming between her eyebrows. I knew she was doing her best to put on a brave front.

“How would you and Richard like to walk over to Down the Hatch and have a bite to eat with us?” I asked. “I know Marco will want to talk to you before he sees Dave.”

“I'm sure Richard will be in favor of it, but I should do him the courtesy of asking. I spotted his car parked across the street. I'll meet you outside.”

 

Ten minutes later, we were seated in the last booth at Down the Hatch, Grace and Richard on one side of the table, Marco and I on the other, with a bottle of wine in the middle, courtesy of Richard. The handsome Texan had on a blue denim shirt and string tie, jeans and snakeskin boots. With his tanned, leathery face and thick white hair with long sideburns, he looked just like he'd ridden out of a Western movie.

We avoided the topic of the murder while we ate, but as soon as we finished, Marco brought a legal pad to the table so I could take notes.

“I put in a call to Sean Reilly,” Marco told us, “asking him to find out if the police saw any evidence of theft at the Newport residence. It would help to know that before we start investigating. He said he'd contact me as soon as he had any news.”

“Sergeant Reilly was among the police at Connie's house yesterday,” Grace said, “but I wasn't able to talk to him. Please pass along my thanks for his help.”

“Abby told me a little of what you said about Connie's children's laziness,” Marco said. “Did she mention anything specific as it related to their inheritance?”

“Only at our last meeting,” Grace said, “when Connie said she feared there would be terrible fighting among them. She wanted them to remain close to one another, but because of their greedy natures, was afraid that was something of a pipe dream.”

“Would you give me a list of everyone living on the Newport estate?” Marco asked.

As Grace went through the names, I wrote fast, trying to get it all down.

Mrs. Dunbar lived in an en-suite bedroom at the back of the mansion on the main floor, giving her a private bathroom plus easy access to the kitchen. Constance's son, Burnett Jr., and his wife, Juanita, lived on the second floor in the east wing. Constance's divorced daughter, Virginia, had a suite across the hall from her third-floor studio, accessible from the back or front staircase.

Luce the chauffeur's quarters were in one of two apartments on the second floor of the garage, which had ten car bays. Constance's grandson, Griffin, occupied the other apartment. And last but not least was Charity the cat, who occupied the former nursery, connected by an inner door to Constance's master suite and accessible from a separate door off the second-floor hallway.

Marco looked over my shoulder as I wrote, asking questions as he thought of them.

“What do you know about Burnett Junior?” he asked.

“Only the bits I've picked up from Connie,” Grace said. “Burnsy, as she called him, took over the management of their rental properties after his father died. Then he retired at the ripe old age of fifty so he could spend his time as he saw fit, which was primarily to lose money at the racetrack.”

“Whose money?” I asked. “His mother's?”

“It came down to that, yes,” Grace said, “but in the form of a salary paid to him by the Newport estate. Connie complained that Burnsy was not a chip off the old block. She said her husband hadn't amassed his fortune by gambling away either his time or his assets.

“She was also displeased with the way Burnsy ran through wives. Connie seemed to be quite fond of Burnsy's first wife—that would be Griffin's mother. Unfortunately, she moved to Florida after the divorce. Connie also liked Burnsy's second wife, and I can't remember what she said about wife number three, but she barely tolerated Juanita, who is a great deal younger than Burnsy. I believe she's thirty-two. Connie referred to Juanita as
the shopaholic
.”

“How long have Burnsy and Juanita been married?” Marco asked, as I scribbled to keep up.

“I can't say exactly,” Grace said, “but Connie did remark that she doubted the marriage would last to its third anniversary, so my guess is around two years.”

“Just out of curiosity,” I asked, “how old is Burnsy?”

“Sixty-two,” Grace said.

Sixty-two and people still called him Burnsy?

“As Connie was wont to point out,” Grace continued, “with thirty years between them, Juanita could be his daughter.”

“How old was Constance?” Marco asked.

“She had just turned eighty-seven,” Grace said. “A remarkable woman for her age, too. She swam daily in the indoor lap pool and attended yoga classes three times a week. The grass certainly didn't grow under her feet.” Grace's lower lip began to tremble. “She was such a vital woman.”