To the Grave (38 page)

“I'll do anything I can to help,” Dana said, following the woman down the hall. “I used to manage all of our bookkeeping, but as the business grew, Ken took over more, and then two months ago we hired a bookkeeper, Bridget Fenmore.”

“I see. Can we reach Ms. Fenmore today?”

“Well, she seems to be missing.” The woman turned and looked at her. “Not missing. At least I don't think so. She just didn't turn up for work on Friday or Saturday and didn't call. She's very reliable—at least she has been since she's been employed here.”

“Is she married?”

“No. I told Chief Deputy Montgomery about this. He said you'd check her personnel file to find the names of family.”

“Yes, I believe the chief did mention something about looking for a particular employee's file.” The office was tiny and the policewoman motioned to the most comfortable chair. “Please sit, Mrs. Nordine. You look very tired.”

“I am very tired. I don't think a whole bottle of sleeping pills could put me out right now, though.” The woman's eyes widened. “Not that I'm thinking of overdosing!”

“I know you aren't. But this is a time of terrible strain. Maybe it would be best for you to call a doctor.”

“I have a registered nurse. She's here for my daughter, who had an appendectomy last week. She'll get me through this. Physically, at least.” She tried to smile. “Now, what do you need to know?”

“It concerns two sales that were made last week.” Dana nodded. “The invoices caught my eye because they were sales for paintings by Nicolai Arcos. Naturally, because he was murdered this week, any movement of his work comes into question.”

“I understand,” Dana said slowly. “I saw the
Sold
sign on
Mardi Gras Lady.
I've been so distracted with my daughter's illness, though, and my husband has been handling everything himself with me or Bridget, that I didn't want to bother him with a lot of questions.” Naturally, the woman looked at her oddly. Asking who bought a painting wasn't asking a lot of questions, but she couldn't say more without revealing where things stood with her and Ken, and just hours after his murder certainly wasn't the time to even hint at trouble between them. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, the name of your company is Nordine Galleries, Inc., correct?”

“Yes.”

“This is the name on your company bank account and on your business license.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Do you have a separate account?”

“We have a personal account in the name of Dana and Ken Nordine.”

“Any other bank accounts?”

“No. We have had those two for years.”

“You haven't opened another in the last two months?”

“No.” Dana suddenly lost patience. “What are you getting at?”

“Is an account in the name KGN and Associates familiar to you?”

“KGN? Those are Ken's initials—Ken Guy Nordine.” She paused. “Are you telling me my husband opened a new account two months ago?”

“Apparently. And it was more like six weeks ago. The first bank statement just arrived on Wednesday.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course.”

Dana took the statement with shaking hands and saw that on Wednesday the account had a balance of $25,000. Paper clipped to the balance statement was a deposit sheet dated Friday for $150,000. Written on the slip in Ken's hand was: “Thank you, Mardi Gras Lady!!!”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

1

“Did you have nightmares about finding that dead body? Oh, I'm sure you do. Tell me about them!”

I knew it, Catherine thought as she looked down at her eggs Benedict. I knew I couldn't escape her. The woman had honed in on her as soon as Catherine set foot on the terrace. “I really haven't had any nightmares,” she said.

“Oh, I don't believe that!” the little woman proclaimed. “You're trying to tell me a thing like what happened to you wouldn't give you nightmares? Why, I'd have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

Which makes me even more happy that I'm not you, Catherine thought. “Maybe I've simply trained myself to shut out what frightens me during my sleep.”

“Oh, that's not possible!” Maud exclaimed. “Fear and repulsion all have to do with the subconscious. I read that. You're a psychiatrist. You must have read it, too.”

“I'm a
psychologist.
I don't have a medical degree.”

“So psychologists don't believe in the subconscious? Well, that's a surprise!”

“Hello, Dr. Gray.”

Catherine looked up to see the Blakethorne's housekeeper, Mrs. Frost. She liked the woman, although during the many times she'd stopped at the house to visit Ian over the years after his accident she and the woman had only spoken briefly and casually. “Mrs. Frost! How nice to see you. I haven't visited for months.”

The sun shone on the woman's silver hair. “I know you've been busy setting up your new counseling practice. I only wanted to say hello.”

“Well, we must say more than ‘hello' at another time soon. You know, you're always welcome at my house.”

“Oh, I don't leave here often, especially in the evenings, and during the day everyone is busy.”

“Then I'll come here to visit. I know Ian doesn't live here anymore, but I can always visit with you and Lawrence.” The woman smiled. “And Patrice, of course.” The smile immediately vanished. “And maybe we can arrange a time for it to be just you and Ian and me. Or maybe some pretty Saturday afternoon we could go antiquing.…”

Catherine had never gone antiquing in her life, but Ian had once told her Mrs. Frost loved to visit antique shops and had even made some purchases over the years, which were kept safe and well preserved in a building at Blakethorne Charter. Occasionally, Ian or Lawrence drove her out to look at them.

“Well, I am glad to see you again. I saw you at the wedding and reception, but there were
so
many people, I stayed out of the general melee. I wanted to tell you how lovely you looked, though. That green gown fit you perfectly and the jewelry was beautiful.”

“Thank you. The jewelry was my mother's.”

“Bless her soul.” Miss Frost looked around a bit anxiously. “I'd must be going now. There are a hundred things to do.…”

She took a few steps away before Maud burst out, “What's her story?”

Catherine noticed Miss Frost's slight head movement. She'd started to look back, then stopped herself.

“She is the Blakethornes' housekeeper. She's been here for many years.”

“You must know her pretty well. You talked about coming here to visit.”

“Yes, I've known the Blakethornes slightly since I was young. I became closer as I got older.”

“There you are, Maud.” Luckily, Patrice had come to Catherine's rescue once again, leaning over Maud. “I thought I might find you with Catherine, but there was another woman here looking for you—I can't remember her name—short, frosted-brown hair, blue eyes, just a bit taller than you.”

“Oh,
her.
” Maud looked disdainful. “She's such a gossip, I usually try to avoid her. Besides, Cathy and I are having a great conversation about the subconscious. She doesn't think it exists.”

“That's not what I said,” Catherine replied.

“Another mimosa, ma'am?” a waiter interrupted. Catherine felt like kissing him.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I love mimosas,” Maud informed about ten people eating nearby. “I'd have mimosas every Sunday morning, but my husband Ed says we shouldn't have champagne on our breath when we go to church. After church, he says it's too late in the day. I say it's
never
too late in the day!” She turned to a slightly wilted-looking Patrice. “Lawrence must feel the same way about champagne, considering how he was carrying on last night. I think he would have whirled that pretty girl with the dark hair right through those windows if they hadn't bumped into Cathy and Ian first.”

A short, embarrassed silence followed. Patrice's smile looked as if it had been set in concrete, and the little bit of natural color beneath her blush faded.

“Yes, Maud would like another mimosa,” Catherine said gaily, and loudly to the waiter. “Maybe we should each have another one, Maud.”

“I'm for that! Now where was I? Oh, Lawrence. Patrice, did your groom get drunk on you?” Maud asked coyly. “That couldn't have made for a great wedding night. But I know you two have been living together for a couple of months, so it probably didn't matter to you.”

“Lawrence wasn't drunk. He didn't feel well,” Patrice said stiffly.

“Okay, honey.” She gave Catherine a conspiratorial wink. “We'll back up your story, won't we, Cathy?”

Exactly which level of hell have I reached? Catherine thought, by now too embarrassed to be embarrassed. But she felt bad for Patrice, whose lips looked thinner, her eyes narrower.

Then a woman with brown frosted hair and blue eyes walked by, tripped, and dumped a plate of Italian sausage and creamy scrambled eggs in Maud's lap. Maud squealed and leaped up, spilling the food mixture onto high heels dyed to match her hot pink suit. Her gaze clashed with the woman's—obviously the “gossip's.” Amid an arguing match, the two walked off together, Maud headed inside to clean off the food clinging to her suit.

Patrice sat down beside Catherine. “I'm so sorry about her. She's just awful, but her husband is a dream and very important to Lawrence's negotiations with Star Air. No matter how important he is, though, I had to get her away from you.”

“You don't know how much I appreciate it,” Catherine said. “I just hope Lawrence doesn't suspect that you arranged the
accident.
”

“Oh, I'm sure he does, but as long as Maud's husband isn't angry, he won't care. And the two are talking seriously as we speak, and I don't think it's about Maud's embarrassment. I don't know how a nice guy like Ed puts up with her. I guess he spends a lot of time at the office.”

Catherine laughed. Then she looked to the head of the table where Lawrence sat. Ed Webster had taken Patrice's vacated chair on Lawrence's left.

Patrice looked for a moment at Lawrence. “Does he seem all right to you?” she asked softly.

Catherine glanced at Lawrence, talking animatedly with Ed Webster. He seemed steady, strong, and his color was good. “I think he seems fine.”

“Well, I heard about the little incident last night. If I hadn't already heard about it, I would have from Maud talking to you.”

“I think Lawrence just had a bit too much champagne,” Catherine said carefully. Lately, though, he'd looked pale and strained and she planned on suggesting he get a complete checkup, but she wouldn't say so with the suddenly quiet people sitting near her and Patrice. “And he'd had two big nights in a row, plus a
wedding
!” She longed to ask Patrice how Lawrence had seemed when they got home, which she couldn't ask now or maybe ever. The question seemed too intimate. Perhaps she could put James up to the task. “After all, Lawrence has been a bachelor for a long time, Patrice. He was just excited, in high spirits.”

“Yes. And he overestimates his dancing skills,” Patrice said lightly. “I think he tried a tango move that didn't work out as planned.”

When Catherine saw the smiles around her, she knew she'd been right about eavesdroppers. “Well, maybe one of the first things you can do together is take ballroom dancing lessons. I've always thought they'd be fun.”

Patrice gave her a droll look. “He's taken them
twice.
You saw the results. No, I'd rather live at least through the first year of my marriage. No ballroom dancing with Lawrence for me!”

*   *   *

An hour later, as the brunch seemed to Catherine to be mercifully winding down—a few people began wandering over the grounds toward the hedge grouping and others went for that last cup of coffee and Danish—Lawrence stood up at the head of the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed, tapping a spoon against a china cup of coffee. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?”

The people walking over the grounds headed back for the table and the others drew nearer, all looking expectantly at Lawrence. All except Mrs. Frost, who caught Catherine's eye with what she thought was a bit of worry or even dread, which puzzled her. Lawrence seemed fine, if a bit louder than usual, and Catherine saw no sign of Maud. Maybe she fell in the fishpond in the middle of the hedge fortress, she mused, wondering if anyone would try to save her.

“As you know, Star Air and Blakethorne Charter have been negotiating a merger for several months. Although we have a few things to iron out yet, things are looking very positive for the merger!”

Everyone clapped. Patrice stood beside Lawrence looking slightly wary, and Ed Webster's smile seemed false, a polite smile with no heart behind it. He's not glad about this announcement, Catherine thought suddenly. Lawrence has jumped the gun, assuming the merger is a done deal when it isn't.

“As I don't have to announce to any of you here, I am now a married man,” Lawrence went on. “People have expected this for a long time, but I wanted to be sure that I was not making…” Oh God, don't say a
mistake,
Catherine thought, feeling her breath stop for an instant “… that I could make this wonderful woman beside me happy.”

Catherine was certain she wasn't the only one whose breath had nearly stopped. Marissa caught her gaze and closed her own azure eyes as if in relief. It seemed that Patrice had gone even a shade paler, although her smile was wide and she drew closer to Lawrence, putting her arm around his waist.

“How about this, honey?” Lawrence blasted to Patrice. “I get you
and
Star within a matter of hours. Maybe we should show everyone we're not old fogies. We'll get you a star tattoo right here!” His right hand swept past Patrice's pubic area, hovered, then rose to her shoulder. “Oh, sorry, folks. I meant
here
!”