He stood there for a moment, taking it in. The building was a two-story Greek Revival affair. Because the drapes weren’t closed, Sean had the feeling he was looking at a stage set. The furnishings in the rooms gave him the same feeling. Everything was for show. Banks must live in the other part of the house, Sean decided. No one’s dwelling could be that perfect.
He lifted his hand and rang the bell. He could hear the chime echoing within the house. No one came. He tried again, only this time he left his hand on the buzzer a bit longer. By the third time, his finger was on the buzzer for a full minute. Sean tried the door next. It was locked.
“He’s not here. Let’s go,” Marvin said eagerly.
Obviously, Sean thought, the kid could hardly wait to get out of there. But that wasn’t going to happen yet.
“First, let’s go around to the side,” Sean said as they got back in Marvin’s car.
“But why?” Marvin wailed.
“To see if the side door is open. Something’s wrong here, and I want to check it out.”
Marvin began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Then let’s call the police.”
“A valid suggestion,” Sean told him, “but the moment the police arrive, I’m going to be shut out, and I want to see what I can find out before that happens. We’ll call them when I’m done.”
“Great,” Marvin muttered, putting his car in gear.
Sean pretended he hadn’t heard Marvin’s last comment as they drove around to the side. After all, the kid was going along with Sean, and that was all that mattered. Marvin parked, and they both got out. He offered Sean his arm in support, but Sean waved him away. Damned if he wasn’t going to do this by himself.
The trick was to take slow, careful steps. The dark made seeing the path clearly harder, and he didn’t want to stumble and fall. Then Marvin would tell Libby, and she wouldn’t let him out of the house at all. Of course, she wouldn’t be too happy when she heard about this, anyway. Oh well. There wasn’t much he could do about that.
As he walked, he debated about what course of action he was going to take if the side door was locked. After all, there was no reason to think that it wouldn’t be. But it wasn’t. Sean could see the light spilling out from the space between the door and its frame.
“We should call the police,” Marvin repeated.
Sean nodded absentmindedly as he pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and pushed the door open.
“Why are you doing that?” Marvin asked.
“So I don’t contaminate the crime scene.”
“But you don’t know it’s a crime scene,” Marvin pointed out.
“Always assume the worst,” Sean told him. “And don’t touch anything,” he warned.
“I don’t think I want to go in,” Marvin said.
“Then stay outside,” Sean snapped as he took a step inside. God, what a pain in the ass that kid was sometimes.
“I can’t. Libby would kill me if anything happened to you.”
“And I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop talking. I can’t concentrate with you chattering away.”
“Okay.”
Sean watched Marvin get that hangdog look. He felt a small stab of guilt but managed to stifle it.
“I guess no one’s here,” Marvin said. Then he realized what he’d done and put his hand to his mouth. “Sorry.”
“I think that’s a fair assumption to make,” Sean said. “Given the amount of talking we’ve been doing, if anyone was here, they’d be pointing their rifles at us by now.”
Sean looked around. He was in the mudroom. There were four jackets hanging on the wooden pegs and three pairs of boots sitting on bootjacks. A wicker basket full of hats, scarves, and gloves sat on a bench. He took another step and found himself in the kitchen. Marvin was right behind him.
The kitchen was huge. The cooking appliances were at one end, and the family room, complete with a flat-screen TV large enough to cover the entire wall, was at the other end. CNN news was on, but there was no sound. Judging from the size of the stove and the fridge, you could feed a platoon in here and still have room for another couple of dozen people.
The kitchen table had been set for coffee. There was a French press, plates, mugs, and sugar and cream on the table. A platter of pumpkin bars sat in the center. Sean walked over and took a look at the cookies. They looked like A Touch of Heaven’s ginger pumpkin bars with ginger icing. Exactly like them. But just to make sure, he picked one up and took a bite.
“What are you doing?” Marvin cried.
“Eating,” Sean said. Yup. They were Libby’s. No one made them like she did. It was the Jamaican ginger that did it. “You want one?” he asked Marvin. “They’re Libby’s.”
Marvin shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass.”
“No appetite?” Sean asked as he ate another one.
“What happened to contaminating the crime scene?”
“I don’t think two cookies will make that big a difference in the scheme of things,” Sean said, wishing he had some milk to wash them down. There was probably milk in the fridge, but that would be going a little too far.
He wondered who had brought the cookies here. Maybe Amber or Googie would remember, but Sean doubted it. As he dusted the crumbs off his hands, he noticed that the floor by the sink was wet. He walked over. Three or four apples were bobbing in the basin. Very odd. Then he noticed a few brown-red spots on the lip of the basin. Dirt? He looked closer. No. He got that old familiar feeling. He beckoned Marvin over and pointed.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Marvin leaned over and studied the spots. He sucked in his cheeks as he concentrated. Finally, he said, “I think it’s blood.”
“Me too,” Sean agreed.
Marvin straightened up. “Someone could have cut themselves with a knife.”
“Yes. They could have.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” Marvin pointed to the apples. “What about those?”
“You got me. I’m going to have to think on that for a bit.” He motioned for Marvin to follow him. “Come on. Let’s see what else we’re going to find.”
“I think we might be finding Mr. Banks,” Marvin said.
“I think you may be right,” Sean agreed.
“Which is why we should call the cops.”
“Soon,” Sean said.
“You’re just placating me,” Marvin complained.
“Yup,” Sean said. “You got me. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Sean looked around once more just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he walked straight ahead, with Marvin on his heels. When he got to the corner, he turned down a hallway.
There were watermarks on the wallpaper every couple of feet or so, as if someone had bumped into it with his shoulder. He kept walking. About two feet farther, he came to a room. From outside the room, he could hear a fan running. The smell told him what he was going to find.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” Sean said.
He and Marvin stepped inside. A man was slumped over the toilet. His hands were tied behind him.
“I have a feeling that we’ve found Banks,” Sean said to Marvin.
“Me too,” Marvin said.
Banks was wearing casual attire: a pair of jeans, sneakers, a white shirt, and a blue crewneck sweater.
“How long do you think he’s been dead?” Sean asked Marvin. That was one good thing about Marvin, Sean decided. He wasn’t squeamish about corpses.
Marvin assessed Banks with a practiced eye. “Maybe three or four hours, but Wenzel should be able to narrow it down more closely.”
Sean just hoped that they hadn’t been standing by the gate when Banks was getting drowned. He watched Marvin take out his cell phone. “Calling the police?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I am a policeman.”
“You’re a retired policeman.”
“Not quite.” Marvin just looked at him.
“All I’m asking for is fifteen minutes to see if we can find Banks’s records. That’s it. I swear.”
Marvin didn’t say anything.
“Well?” Sean said after a minute had gone by. “Is it a yes or a no?”
Marvin let out a long sigh. Then he said, “I’m only doing this because you’re Libby’s dad.”
“And I can’t tell you how much Libby will appreciate this,” Sean said.
“That’s the point. I’m not sure she will.”
Sean waved away Marvin’s objections. “Come help me look. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done.”
“We’ll be arrested. That’s what we’ll be,” Marvin muttered.
Sean ignored him and led the way out.
Chapter 15
Bernie watched her dad’s friend Clyde settle back in his usual chair in their living room. He reached over and took another one of Libby’s ginger pumpkin bars. He took little bites and chewed slowly so he could savor every mouthful.
“Wonderful,” he said as he poured more cream in his coffee. “Simply wonderful. And that includes the cream. My wife only has skim milk in the house. It turns coffee the most unappetizing shade of gray.” He took a sip and then held up the ginger pumpkin bar. “This is the embodiment of Halloween,” he declared. “The color, the bouquet of spices, all suggest late fall to me.”
“You’ve been watching the cooking channel again, haven’t you?” Sean asked. This was a man who in his prime consumed cans of cold Dinty Moore stew, and now he was rhapsodizing about flavor bouquets the same way he used to talk about the Playmate of the Month. Old age was a terrible thing.
Clyde glared at him. “So what if I have?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” replied Sean.
“You’re also eating the evidence,” Bernie said.
“No. That was what I did last night,” Sean said.
Clyde shook his head. “Good thing Lucy didn’t catch you.”
Sean snorted. “Lucas never appears at crime scenes.”
“He did at this one,” said Clyde.
“I didn’t see him,” said Sean.
“That’s because he came after you left, and stayed for about a minute and a half.”
“Interesting,” Sean said as he moved his motorized wheelchair a little more toward the window. It was a little after ten on a Tuesday evening, and the street was empty. But it didn’t matter. He enjoyed looking at the Halloween decorations in his neighbors’ windows. Black cats, witches, ghosts—all were stuck to the windowpanes. They reminded him of when his daughters were young and they had helped decorate. “That must mean that Banks’s murder is important.”
Clyde reached over and took a third ginger pumpkin bar. “Well, Banks was rich.”
“That would do it,” Sean said. “What does Lucy think the relationship between the two homicides is?”
Clyde took a bite of the ginger pumpkin bar and swallowed. “Oh, the chief doesn’t think Amethyst’s murder and Banks’s murder are related.”
Bernie rolled her eyes. “That’s absurd.”
“He said they had dissimilar styles,” Clyde continued. “And the fingerprints don’t match. Not that there were many of them at either crime scene. Ergo, it’s just coincidence.”
Sean took a sip of his tea and put the cup down. “I, myself, have never believed in coincidence.”
“Me either,” Clyde agreed. “I don’t know how the homicides are linked, but they definitely are.”
“That’s for sure,” Sean said. “What are the odds of having two homicides in a town like this in one week and not having them be related?”
“It could be a statistical anomaly,” Bernie suggested. Her dad glared at her. “Or maybe Bessie Osgood came back to life and traveled over to Lexus Gardens.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” She pointedly turned to her dad. “What do you think happened?”
Sean took another sip of his tea and put the cup down. “On the most literal level, I think Ed Banks had a visitor, and that visitor brought some ginger pumpkin bars from our shop as a gift.”
“Ed Banks could have bought them himself,” Libby pointed out.
“I don’t think so,” Bernie said. “We pretty much know everyone that comes into our shop, and when I asked, Amber and Googie said no one unfamiliar came in that day. Given the fact that we’ve never done business with Ed Banks, I think the conclusion is self-evident.”
“Which means whoever brought them is one of our customers,” Libby observed.
“Unfortunately,” Sean said.
“Well, that narrows the field,” Bernie said, thinking of the hundreds of men, women, and children who went through the shop each day.
“Maybe we could put out a sign reading WHOEVER BOUGHT COOKIES FOR ED BANKS COME TALK TO US,” Libby suggested.
Sean laughed. “That’s what I call wishful thinking.” He turned to Clyde. “So what do we know about this guy Banks?”
“The most obvious fact is that the guy was a recluse,” Clyde said.
Bernie leaned forward. “But he let his house be photographed. Recluses don’t usually do that.”
“True,” Clyde said. “Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to anyone around here.”
“Then why buy a house here?” Bernie asked.
Sean waved his hand impatiently. “Let’s come back to that question later. What else do we know about him?”
“Really not that much,” Clyde replied. “At this point, we know that Banks has no known next of kin. Both parents are deceased. He never married. He didn’t seem to have a girlfriend….”
“Maybe he had a boyfriend,” Bernie interjected.
“He didn’t have anyone that we’re aware of,” Clyde said, with a touch of asperity.
Bernie shrugged. “It was just a suggestion.”
Clyde went on. “Anyway, he was born here, in this town, but his family moved to Hawaii when he was in his teens…Evidently, his dad was some kind of expert on sugarcane…and he only came back recently. He did hedge funds, which is where he got his money. He has a clean record. No priors. And that’s about all we know at this moment.”
“Who is claiming the body?” Sean asked.
“A distant relative in Hawaii. She wants the body flown to Oahu as soon as it’s released,” said Clyde.
“How about the staff?” Sean asked. “Where were they last night?”
“There is no live-in staff,” said Clyde.
Libby took a sip of her mulled cider and asked, “He lived in that huge house all by himself?” Her voice was incredulous.
Clyde ate the rest of his ginger pumpkin bar before answering. “Yes, he did. He had a personal assistant that he brought with him. The guy came in six days a week, from nine to six. He had Sundays off.”
“Did you talk to him?” asked Sean.
Clyde nodded. “We managed to track him down. Conveniently for him, he’s been on vacation in Maui for the last two weeks. According to the hotel manager, he hasn’t left the island.”
“Did he sound upset when he found out about his boss?” Sean asked.
“Very. They’d been together for a long time. Maybe there’s something there, but I don’t see it,” said Clyde. “More interestingly, however, is the fact that Banks contracted with the same firm that cleans the Foundation to do the cleaning up there.”
“Inez?” Sean said.
“It’s a definite link,” Clyde said, turning to Libby. “How’s the pumpkin cheesecake?”
Libby put a piece on a plate and handed it to him. “Try it and see.”
Clyde took a bite. “Delicious,” he said. “I have to come over to the Haunted House to try your waffles.”
“Anytime,” Libby said. Then she turned to her dad. “I’ve been thinking. It must have taken a really big man to hold Banks’s head under water like that. And what were the ap
ples about? Are they a symbol of some kind?”
“They could be,” Bernie said. “The Celts used bobbing for apples in marriage divination ceremonies. The first person to bite the apple was the first person to get married. It was their version of throwing the bouquet.”
“Are you saying that Banks was planning on getting married?” Libby asked her sister.
“No. I’m just sharing a little information with you,” replied Bernie.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t see the relevance,” said Libby.
Sean looked away from the street and settled himself in his wheelchair. He had a pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket, which he would have very much liked to light, but he wasn’t going to do it and risk the wrath of his daughters.
“It is relevant, just not in the way that Bernie said,” Sean interjected.
Libby shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It tells us what happened,” said Sean. He held up his hand as Libby started to speak. “Let’s go back to the beginning. Banks and his friend, and I’m putting friend in quotes here, had made an appointment. We know this because Banks had already set the table. I think that they sat around and talked for a while, and then his friend probably casually introduced the topic of bobbing for apples. You know, he said something like, ‘I bet you can’t bob for apples,’ or something to that effect, and Banks took him up on the challenge. So while Banks was bending over, his friend slipped a plastic tie out of his pocket and cuffed him. Easy enough to do.”
“Then why didn’t he drown him right there? Why take him to the bathroom?” Clyde asked.
Sean thought about the blood on the kitchen sink and the marks on the hallway walls. “I’m thinking that Banks got away from him, and they had a scuffle. I figure Banks started running, and his friend finally caught up with him in the hallway, near the bathroom. He managed to get Banks in there and hold his head in the toilet.”
“You think the toilet was a metaphor?” Bernie asked.
Sean laughed. “No. I think the toilet was convenient.” He took another sip of his tea. “So Lucy sees no connection at all between these two crimes?” he asked Clyde.
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