To Catch a Leaf (34 page)

Good line! I made a mental note to add that to my growing repertoire.

Virginia sank onto a nearby chair and put her hands over her face. “How did I get myself into such a mess? How? I loved my mother. I never meant to hurt her. I didn't know those paintings meant so much to her.”

Mrs. Dunbar came to the doorway with a cup of tea, glancing at us uncertainly. I motioned for her to put it on the table. She hurried in, set it down, and hurried back out.

Virginia drew a shuddering breath. “I know what everyone will think of me, but I really did try to stop Francis. After my mother confronted me with her suspicions, I told him I couldn't go through with it any longer, but he said Mother's suspicions meant nothing without proof. Trust him, he said, and when I said I was too afraid to continue, he threatened me.”

“Threatened you how?” Marco asked.

“He didn't come out and say it, but I feared he would kill me. I knew then that Francis was no longer the man I fell in love with. He was ruthless and cruel, and I truly believed I had no choice.”

“Tell me how the plan worked,” Marco said.

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “A flower arrangement sent to the house Francis had rented told his men which painting to copy. Dot would call me from a disposable cell phone, and that night I'd let J.J. into the house to take the original. When the duplicate copy was completed, Francis would send another arrangement to let them know the next painting he wanted. Then J.J. would return to the house with the forged copy, and take the next original.”

“How did Frank decide which painting he wanted?” Marco asked.

“I'd foolishly given him a catalog of the art,” she said in a defeated voice. “He found the buyers.”

“You told me there was no catalog,” I said.

Virginia said nothing.

“Did you know from the beginning that Francis was Frank Talbot, a professional art thief?” I asked.

“I had no idea, and neither did anyone else here. When Francis came to dinner, Mother was so impressed with him that she showed him the art collection. I'm sure that was when he started planning the theft, but he didn't say anything to me at that time. Mother must have sensed something because the next day she told me to stay away from him.”

Wow
. I'd hit the nail on the head. I glanced at Marco and he gave me that little flicker of a grin. Score another for the redhead.

“I voiced my concerns to Francis,” Virginia continued, “but he assured me that she'd never catch on. According to him, he'd had an acquaintance in a similar situation who had sold off valuable art and replaced it with exact replicas. He said no one had ever found out, and all I had to do was leave everything to him.”

My cell phone rang, momentarily distracting all three of us. Not wanting to stop Virginia's confession, I slipped out of the room as I answered in a whisper, “Hello?”

“Abs, I watched
To Catch a Thief
again last night and came up with the perfect solution for you,” Jillian said. “If this doesn't help you catch the cat burglar, nothing will.”

“I'm in the middle of a very important conversation, Jillian, and your interruptions are not helpful.”

“This one will be, I promise. First, take each family member, individually, into the art room. Then ask, ‘Doesn't it make you nervous to be in the same room with all these paintings?'”

“What will that do?”

“An art thief in a room full of art? He'd give himself away immediately.”

“Nope, not helpful. I have to go now. Please don't call again.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Well, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but it looks like I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Whatever.” I closed my phone and returned to the sitting room, where Virginia was saying vehemently, “I hope Francis rots in jail for this. I hope he and his two men and his mother all rot in jail.”

A lot of rotting for one jail.

“You said you apologized to your mother about the stolen art,” Marco said. “So she knew about all the forgeries?”

“No, she knew only about
Splendid Beauty
. She came to me with her accusation and said if I didn't get it back, she'd go to the police.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Last Sunday.”

“Walk me through the events on Monday leading up to your mother's death,” Marco said.

Virginia picked up the cup of tea and took several sips, as though collecting her thoughts. “I saw Mother briefly at breakfast on Monday, and again at lunch. We didn't talk much. She was very distracted because of the situation with Juanita and Griffin.” Her gaze flickered over to Marco. “I suppose you know about that, too.”

“We know,” I said.

“How did your mother find out about their affair?” Marco asked, not missing a beat.

“She saw Nita sneaking across the yard to Griffin's apartment.”

“Were you aware of their affair?” Marco asked.

“Yes,” she said wearily.

“Did your brother know?” I asked.

“Burnsy? He couldn't care less what Juanita does as long as it doesn't interfere with his gambling.”

“Why was Guy Luce told to leave his apartment?” I asked.

“Griffin wants to rent out both garage apartments. He thinks we'll be able to keep the house that way.” Virginia scoffed. “Next he'll want to open the lower level to the public as a museum.”

“You said your mother was distracted because of Juanita and Griffin,” Marco said. “Were you present when she argued with Juanita at lunch?”

“Briefly. I took my food and went back to my studio.”

“How do you think your mother died?” Marco asked.

“She was pushed to her death, as you well know. And if you think I had anything to do with it, you're dead wrong. The only possible person is Grace Bingham.” With a scowl, she sipped her tea.

Marco motioned for me to meet him at the doorway for a conference. “Keep her talking. I want to call Reilly and get the cops out here to take her statement.”

“Will they arrest Virginia?”

“
Nah
. She'll call her lawyer and he'll keep her out of jail. She may be indicted later, but my guess is that she'll remain free.”

“I think she's telling the truth about not pushing her mother, Marco.”

“I think so, too, but let's work on one thing at a time.”

“Good, because I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry.”

“Yet you love me anyway.”

“That goes without saying.” He turned my shoulders to face the sofa, gave me a light nudge, then stepped out of the room to make his call.

I sat in a chair adjacent to the sofa and waited while Virginia blew her nose with a big honk. I wouldn't have been surprised to see geese peering in the windows.

She glared at me. “What now?”

“I believe you, Virginia. I don't think you caused your mother's death.”

“I don't much care what you believe.”

No doubt about it. Virginia was just not a nice person.

Marco came back into the room and said, “Virginia, the detectives are on their way here to get a statement from you. This would be a good time to call your lawyer.”

“I assumed that was coming.” She set down the cup and waved us away. “See yourselves out.”

As we walked to the car, Marco told me that two other detectives were heading up to Chicago to talk to Dot and Frank and, with any luck, MacShane and Cole, too. With Virginia's admission, the police were certain to get a confession from one of them.

But there was still a murderer to be found, and our suspect list had grown short. However, we made a pact not to discuss anything related to the Newports until after lunch, and instead, turned our attention to the upcoming nuptial event—namely the big fat Italian-Irish-English bridal shower. We'd pick up our investigation at dinner.

“We're right on schedule,” I said. “We've chosen the invitation. I'll provide the flowers. My dad said he'd reserve the Fraternal Order of Police hall for us. All we need to do is to decide on food and guests.”

“Let's decide right now that there won't be any games,” Marco said. “If I have to attend this thing, I'm not playing games. I've heard your horror stories and that's enough for me.”

“No games,” I promised. “But for food, how about finger sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, a wine punch, a selection of teas and coffee, and a chocolate sheet cake?”

Marco smiled.

“What?”

“I was just picturing my mother's reaction.”

“And?”

“You know she'll want to make the food and serve lots of Italian wine.”

“But it's our shower, remember?”

“Have you ever attended an Italian family event, Abby? There are certain expectations.”

“Come on, Marco. We're not in Tuscany.”

He seemed about ready to counter that, but instead said, “Okay. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

Why did I get the feeling the battle was not over?

 

At three o'clock, Francesca showed up with Tabitha the cat wrapped in a baby blanket. “Abby, bella,” she said, “we have a problem.”

Francesca put little Tabitha on the worktable, cooing to calm her, and then unwrapped the blanket.

There was no cast on the cat's leg.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She chewed it loose and somehow—I do not know how exactly—got out of it.” Francesca threw her hands in the air. “I cannot believe it. I told you I would care for her and now this! And look. The poor little creature got pink paint on her leg.”

“Pink paint?” I looked at the injured leg, and sure enough, there was a long streak of hot pink color that had been hidden beneath the cast. “It looks like nail polish.”

Francesca held out her hands. “And see? I don't wear polish.”

Hmm
. Pink nail polish that looked a lot like the color Juanita wore. On a stray cat. A stray
tabby
cat. My inner antennae began to quiver. Was it possible that Tabitha was the missing heiress after all? But Grace had been told that the cat had escaped on Monday, and Tabitha had been missing for days longer than that.

Maybe they lied about when the cat went missing,
a little voice in my head whispered.
If the cat vanished, they could contest the will.

But there was a flaw in that idea. What would be the point of getting rid of Charity before Constance's death? The family hadn't known about the cat inheriting everything until the will was read.

Unless Constance had told them. That would be a powerful motive to do away with the feline. But was Tabitha really the missing cat?

“Do you want me to take her to the vet?” Francesca asked.

“Actually, I have to run an errand anyway, and I'll be going right past the veterinary clinic.”

“But you're so busy, bella, and I have nothing else to do but make supper for my precious bambinos, those little angels, and drop off another load of laundry for my boys.”

Nothing else to do? “In that case, would you mind giving Lottie a hand in the shop again?”

She clapped her hands together. “Yes! I love working here. It's paradise.”

Yeah,
my
paradise. I'd have to make sure that Francesca didn't get too comfortable in it.

“I'll go tell Lottie now,” Francesca said.

“Would you also ask Grace to come back here?”

Francesca nodded and sailed through the curtain.

“Who are you, Miss Tabitha?” I asked, petting the cat, who was looking around the workroom with interest.

“Yes, love?” Grace asked as she stepped into the workroom. “Oh, my! Where did that cat come from?”

“This is the cat I found, Grace. Francesca brought her in because she chewed her cast off. What do you think of her? Does she remind you of Charity?”

“Absolutely. But for the lack of her pink collar, she could be Charity's double.” Grace scratched the cat beneath the chin, and as little Tabitha lifted her head for more, Grace exclaimed, “Abby, look! This cat had a collar at one time. See how her fur is matted?”

“That's not all.” I pointed out the pink streak on the cat's hind leg. “This looks like the same color of nail polish Juanita wears.”

Grace put on the half-moon glasses that she wore on a chain. “If this cat is Charity,” she said, “then the family lied to me.”

“Do you remember who told you that Charity had gotten out when the paramedics arrived?”

Grace tapped the side of her nose, thinking. “I seem to remember them all being in agreement about when she escaped, but Juanita was the one who said she'd heard the tires screech and thought Charity had been hit. And now that I think about it, I believe Juanita first suggested the idea of Charity escaping during the rush of people coming in and out.”

“Maybe that's what Juanita wanted everyone to believe. Do you remember the position of Connie's body when you found her?”

She sighed. “How I wish I could forget it.”

“Was her right hand curled?”

“Yes, I believe it was. Why?”

“The investigators found cat hair in that hand, Grace, and evidence that she'd been holding on to something like a leash.”

“It wouldn't have been a leash, dear. Connie never let Charity outside. There'd be no reason to have a leash.” Grace suddenly put out her hand to steady herself. “Good heavens. I know what Connie was holding.”