by Mary Bowers
He was nodding, blinking, pouting and wringing his hands. “I always feel that how I react in any given situation should have nothing to do with those around me. What they do is their own affair. What I do, I will have to answer to myself for later. You know how prone I am to feelings of guilt.”
“Yes, I know. You’re always too hard on yourself, Ed. Did Sherman tell you what happened at the hospital?”
“He told Gretel. I haven’t seen Sherman. Naturally, he’s the obvious suspect; the police are still questioning him. He was the only one in the house with her last night. As for the hospital, he told Gretel they checked her over, but they just told her to go home and rest. She’d brought the antihistamine pills to the Mystery Dinner, of course, since she knew what was going to happen and how to counteract it. And because of her minimal reaction, they suspected she hadn’t given herself much of the powdered cheese anyway.”
“At the last moment, she probably remembered how awful her allergic reactions were and held back.”
“Yes, that’s what all the neighbors were saying when you drove up. Living with allergies, she must have known that the most effective treatment is an injection of epinephrine, but she chose to bring the pills only. Most affected people carry the portable ‘pen.’ But she didn’t want to get better fast. She wanted to get good and sick, and then take legal action. Still, with only an antihistamine in her system, she recovered rather abruptly from her collapse on the floor.”
“It was all an act.”
“Yes. Even a minimal amount of an allergen should have brought on a bright red rash, and by the time she got to Flagler Hospital, she didn’t have any sign of a rash at all. Her face must have only been red and swollen in your office because she’d been rubbing it.”
“What about the house – were there any signs of a break-in?”
“Yes. Excessive signs of a break-in, or at least the fact that anyone wandering by could have walked right in. Almost every door was unlocked and the garage was standing open when Gretel got there. Sherman says he’s sure he closed it the night before. The door from the garage to the house wasn’t locked, and if you can believe it, there was a rope tied to the balcony outside Harriet’s bedroom going down three stories to the ground.”
“That is excessive. And suspicious. A rope? For what? Either Sherman wanted to show that anybody could’ve come in and done it, and then he over-did it, or the murderer wanted to protect him for some reason. How considerate! A considerate murderer for a nasty old lady. I have absolutely no idea what to make of all that.”
“Nobody else does either, except exactly what you just said: the murderer hoped to draw suspicion away from Sherman.”
“Does Sherman have any friends in Santorini?”
“No one’s even met him before. Apparently.”
“I suppose . . . .” I frowned, shook my head, then finished the thought. “I suppose you’ve considered the fact that Willa had ordered her out of the house and she claimed to be out of money and have nowhere to go. Could it have been suicide? Not that she was the type, but still, she might have gone into a funk after the hospital wouldn’t even admit her.”
“No. There’s no question of it. The murder weapon is gone, for one thing. And nobody commits suicide by stabbing themselves through the heart. Too iffy, too messy. There are other ways.”
I agreed. “And in spite of the fact that Willa was furious with her, she knew her well enough by then to at least hope that she would soften up again. Which she probably would have, even with you trying to run interference.”
“Willa is very kind.”
“Too kind. How did she seem on the way home last night? You drove her to the Mystery Dinner, right? What did you talk about in the car?”
“She was distressed. I didn’t press her.”
“No more discussion of marriage?”
“Unnecessary. She has my offer in hand; I made it clear that I would stand by her. Actually, I had also suggested in our private discussion that our engagement could be framed as a weapon if she needed to pull out all her guns, if I may refer to myself as such.” He put his glasses back on. “Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to discuss the fugue state into which you slipped while talking about Vesta last night.”
“What fugue state?”
“I regretted deciding not to bring my briefcase into Vesta’s bedroom. I wasn’t going to need my notes, of course, but when I saw you slipping into a trance, I deeply regretted not having my cell phone so that I could make a video recording. From now on, no matter where we are, I’m going to keep it in my pocket when we’re together.”
I realized he was pivoting away from the murder – and pretty clumsily at that – and was about to pivot right back when the doorbell rang. Ed’s office has a view of Santorini Drive, but I had my back to the window. He should have seen them coming but apparently he’d been too distracted by murder, fugue states and trances to notice.
“Who is it?” I asked as he went quickly to the window. “The police?”
“No. The neighbors.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them, I think. And the cleaning lady, too.”
Chapter 14
For such a large group, Ed’s office wouldn’t do, and most people didn’t like the atmosphere of his office anyway. Without any discussion or greetings, they came straight in and went down the hall to Ed’s family room, which he almost never used. It was full of a lot of furniture he never sat on and a television he never watched.
He started fussing around trying to play host, and finally Willa and I herded him into the family room and made him sit down. Nobody wanted coffee.
Everybody was there all right, with the exception of Sherman.
For the first time I remembered that rich people have minions. The fact that Harriet had shown up without a maid, secretary or even a companion should have raised red flags about her net worth, but it was too late to make a difference now. If I’d thought of that earlier, I would have never put on the Mystery Dinner until I had a check and it had cleared the bank. Yet another instance of Harriet getting away with things because of her famous name.
Of course, thoughts like that wouldn’t have been floating around in my mind at a time like that if Willa hadn’t whispered something to me about not having forgotten that $2,000 she owed me while we were prying Ed out of the kitchen. I was disconcerted. She gave me a wan smile and we let it drop for the moment.
I was curious to notice that Kip had once again taken up a position next to Linda, on the loveseat. I think of myself as a tough old cookie, but I guess I have my romantic side; I’m always interested when people start pairing off. Nosy, actually.
Trixie spoke first. Ed had seated himself as far away from her as he could get, in one of the chairs from the breakfast set which we’d dragged over. Trixie had flounced onto the sofa between Dan and Gretel. “Well, I guess it must have been some maniac who wandered in off the beach. I know the gate has a keypad lock, but it’d be easy to jump it when nobody would be awake to see. I mean, it simply couldn’t have been one of us.”
“Who else would have motive?” Kip asked. “To come in and move quietly through an occupied house until he found a woman sleeping in a bed on the top floor, then stab her and leave without even taking anything? It doesn’t make sense.”
Linda had looked at him anxiously, and he patted her hand. “It’s best to just face facts right up front,” he told her gently.
“Oh, I bet she’s made all kinds of enemies who knew how to find her,” Trixie said airily. “She wasn’t making it a secret that she was here.”
“Nobody came in through either gate,” Dan stated solidly. Trixie gave a little cry, and Dan ignored her.
“How can you know that?” I asked, but it was already dawning on me. Dan was a security freak. He had to have –
“Security cameras. I have one trained on the front gate from my property. It’s camouflaged by a rock. The other one I took the liberty of installing on comm
on ground, on the dune just below the walkover. It’s aimed at the beach gate. Unfortunately, I left a gaping hole in my coverage: I didn’t bother to set up surveillance on Santorini Drive itself. I was more concerned with people who didn’t belong here trying to get in than keeping track of those who live here.”
“And you’ve reviewed your recordings?” Ed asked.
Dan nodded, and after a pause, he added, “Naturally, I’ve already made them available to the police, and told them what they show. That’s why they’re being so thorough with Sherman, but we should all realize that we’ll be questioned too. I’m sorry to have to put it so baldly, but as a matter of fact, it did have to be one of us. Excepting Taylor and Gretel, since they weren’t here last night.”
“Well,” Ed said after another uncomfortable pause, “it’s a good thing we’ve got Taylor with us, anyway.”
I spoke up before he could add, “and her cat.” “I’m sorry, guys, I barely knew the woman. I have no idea who would have wanted to murder her. I mean, none of us liked her, but making the decision to kill – this was no impulsive thing – is another level altogether. And for that kind of a motive, I just wouldn’t know.”
“What I want to know,” Gretel said, “is why that rope was hanging down from the balcony. If the killer made his getaway by rope, why were all the doors open?”
“I think I can answer that,” Dan said. “It would have been to avoid an exit that would have been covered by one of my security cameras. Coming down and going over the dune would have avoided any conventional exits. Again, I’m afraid, it points to one of us. You all know me. You know I’m very security-conscious. I’m sure some, maybe all of you figured out that I’d have surveillance.”
There was an immediate uproar and a lot of denials, with Carr Edgeley topping the voices off by saying that he did not know Dan and knew nothing about hidden cameras, and wasn’t interested in the petty scandals in Santorini.
He was sitting alone in another of the chairs from the breakfast set, next to Ed, and I studied him for a moment. It struck me that if he was that uninvolved, uninterested and improbable a suspect, he could just get up and leave. Yet he stayed.
“Mr. Edgeley,” I said when everybody else piped down. “Carr – why are you here? In Santorini, I mean. You obviously don’t know anybody here, and you say you’re not interested in them. So why have you decided to rent that house instead of one of the vacation condos up the road, where you’d be much more private? People come and go from them so fast, they don’t try to get to know one another. This is a neighborhood, with . . . well, neighbors. Permanent residents, who are bound to be curious about you.”
All heads turned toward him intently, and Kip said, “Excellent question, Taylor.” I hadn’t been the only one wondering about him.
He looked trapped, first staring at me, then swiveling his head around at everyone else.
“It’s all right,” Ed said encouragingly. “You know, in a murder investigation, everything is going to come out. About all of us. And nothing is as damning as murder. If you’ve had psychological issues, no one will think the less of you for it. As a society, I think we’ve gotten past all that.”
“Psychological issues?” he said, looking at Ed indignantly. “Why would you say that?”
Ed smiled upon the poor man. “It’s obvious to me you’ve suffered a breakdown. It’s all right, Carr. We understand.”
Carr recoiled. “I have not suffered a breakdown, and you can keep your pity and your attitude to yourself.” After a moment, he calmed himself a little, and when nobody else spoke, he grudgingly went on. “But I suppose you’re right about one thing: it’s all going to come out now. I’m here at Sherman Frey’s direction, keeping an eye on Willa Garden.”
“You’re a detective?” Willa asked incredulously. “You’ve never even spoken to me. Just how were you keeping an eye on me?”
“Some detective,” Trixie said, enjoying herself.
“I am not a detective! I’m an estate lawyer. I work for Sherman Frey, and I have been . . . reporting developments. Such as Harriet’s arrival. We anticipated that, and I was set to intervene, if necessary. The gossip-mongers of this neighborhood,” he said, glaring at Trixie, “are exceptionally loud. It was easy to keep track of what was going on here. As for my general comportment, my habit of solitude . . . I have been suffering from . . . I’d been overworking. It suited everyone’s needs for me to come here and see what was going on in Santorini. We represent the Strawbridge Foundation, after all, and are naturally concerned about Ms. Garden’s welfare. And I was able to have a bit of a vacation at the same time.”
“What made you think Willa needed to be protected?” Kip asked.
Carr addressed his answer to Linda. “We knew you were here, of course, and who you are.”
“Frazier told you about me? When?”
He straightened his tie, which wasn’t there, then adjusted the collar of his polo shirt instead. “We knew who you were. Again, I refer to the fact that we represent the Foundation. And that you had settled here, near his, um, cousin. Then, when he died, his sister Harriet found herself in dire straits, financially. She began to speculate wildly, managing to damage her portfolio even further, and then she met with Sherman and began to talk about wild schemes to get at Willa Garden’s money. We thought it prudent,” he said, slowing down a little and fooling with the button band of his shirt, “for a member of the Foundation’s team, somebody unknown to Harriet . . . in short –”
“You were sent to spy on Willa and make sure she didn’t let Harriet confiscate all her money,” I said. “Or to make sure that she did? Just what were you hoping to accomplish?”
“I needed a rest!” he blurted, as if he’d been holding it back. “I was suffering from overwork. When I went to Sherman and asked for a leave of absence, he suggested Santorini. There was a rental house available, and it suited both our purposes.”
“How?” Dan asked.
He took a glance at Linda before he answered. “The Foundation is somewhat – our resources are shrinking, of late – the recession hurt us badly, since our portfolio was heavily invested in real estate, which has not yet recovered its value, though we are confident that it will – eventually – in short, we felt it was our duty to look after the interests of what after all were the intentions of the original Strawbridge brothers. These may not have been clear to Willa. We thought that an informal approach might have been best, since Willa is known to be rather, er, shy, and unsophisticated about money.”
“You didn’t want her giving away her money before she could make a will leaving it all to the Foundation, is that it?” Linda asked.
“But that would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” Willa said thoughtfully. She looked around for confirmation. “I mean, it’s what my grandfather would have wanted, don’t you think? Maybe the Foundation should have my money.”
“Not if Harriet had anything to say about it,” Carr said. “Or Linda, here.”
“I wasn’t after Willa’s money,” Linda said calmly. “I never even told her about my connection to the Strawbridge family. When Frazier realized he didn’t have long to live, he set up an account for me, so I wouldn’t have a fight with Harriet if he included me in his will. It was enough for me to buy my house and live in comfort for the rest of my life. I don’t want anything from the Strawbridges.”
“You could actually say,” Kip interjected, “that you have a vested interest yourself, Carr. After all, if the Foundation folds, you’re out of a job.”
“With my skills and education, I can get any job I want,” Carr said sharply.
“But,” Kip said, “you just said you came here because you needed a rest. You did have some kind of a breakdown, right? From overwork? You mentioned that it suited both the Foundation’s purposes and your own. Something happened. Perhaps a quiet stay at a rehab facility? And for some reason, Sherman kept you on anyway.”
We all stared at Carr, waiting for an answer, and finally he
said, “The collapse was from exhaustion, nothing else. My drug use was a case of self-medication, pure and simple, and it never got out of hand. I needed to keep myself going, keep myself focused. After I got out of law school, I needed to establish myself. And I’m clean now. I haven’t used in over six months.”
“And . . . .” Kip stared at Carr, waiting. “Sherman Frey kept you on, even after that, because . . . ?”
“He’s my uncle. Okay? He’s my uncle. Not that it’s any of your business, but you would have found out eventually anyway.”
For some reason I couldn’t put my finger on, I suspected that Kip had already known, and that’s why he’d been so persistent.
It made me wonder about Kip, rather than Carr.
In fact, it made me wonder about both Kip and Linda, since it was becoming obvious to me that they were a couple.
* * * * *
After everybody else left, Gretel and I helped Ed get the breakfast table chairs put away.
“Who moved here first, Linda or Kip?” I asked him.
“Kip. Linda’s only been here a month or so. Kip moved in almost a year ago. Ten months. Something like that.”
“They seem to know one another pretty well.”
He shrugged. “They hit it off.”
“They hit it off right away,” Gretel said, giving me the eye. “Like they knew one another all along.”
“Oh, really?”
“Now ladies, I must protest,” Ed said. “There is nothing suspicious about a man and a woman becoming friends. It’s natural and normal, and does not mean they set to work plotting murders together.”
We ignored him.
“Anyway, when the squatter showed up,” she continued.
I looked askance, then said, “Oh, right, Harriet.”
“Yeah, Harriet. When she showed up, they started spending more time together. Going out for dinner. Walking on the beach. Heads together, talking all the time, real low, so nobody could hear. Even when I was cleaning their houses, I’d find them together. Mistress of one man, then when he dies, she hops right over and takes up with another. Makes you think, don’t it?”