by Elaine Macko
“I’m sorry, Detective Van der Burg. I should have let you know I’d be out for a while. You remember Alex Harris from yesterday? She’ll be helping me in Chantal’s absence.”
John and I smiled.
“Yes, Mrs. Brissart, I remember her. Alex and I are dating.”
“Well, isn’t that nice! Detective, you’re getting a lovely girl. Whole family is a delight. Not that I know her parents well, but I served on several committees with Mabel over the years, and Harry handles all of our insurance.” She turned to look up at me. “All these tall people! How are your parents, my dear?”
“They’re fine, Mrs. Brissart. They’re getting ready to go on a trip to London. It was a Christmas present from last year.”
“Mrs. Brissart, I’d like to talk with you before everyone arrives,” John said.
“Ah, back to reality. Yes, Detective. I have as much time as it takes to catch the person responsible for taking Bradley away. Come. I’ll have Mrs. Platz bring some tea.”
We followed Mrs. Brissart into the old house and she directed us to the living room and then went off in the direction of the kitchen.
John and I each took a seat on the opposite side of the big sofa. John started to say something, but I cut him off. “Look, I know you don’t want me involved, but she needs someone right now.”
“It’s okay, but just for support, right?”
“Of course. Who have you been with all this time?” I asked, already forgetting the “just for support.”
“The gardener. Jim’s talking with a few of the neighbors. Maybe they saw something. I want to know what they have in their sheds, too. Mr. Kaminski says he keeps several things that are poisonous if ingested.”
“Is that where the killer got— What did kill Bradley?”
“Don’t know yet. I should be getting something today. We’ll get someone in here to go through everything out in the shed with a fine tooth comb and check for prints, but all that stuff’s been out there for years, according to Mr. Kaminski, and the shed is never locked.”
Mrs. Brissart came in carrying a tray with a pot of tea in a china pot with cups and saucers to match. We helped ourselves and then John asked his questions.
“Mrs. Brissart, first, I spoke with Mr. Kaminski. Yesterday morning the police found footprints around the house and some under the study window. Mr. Kaminski claims he just raked all the ground and put in potted mums a few days ago, so there would be no reason for footprints to be in the soil. Unfortunately, they weren’t very clear. Mr. Kaminski watered at the crack of dawn. Plus the fact that whoever made them must have walked over them a few times. Do you have any idea where they came from?”
“Well, I walk the garden quite a bit, but I would have no reason to be treading under the windows. Virginia and I washed all the windows about a month ago, so the prints couldn’t be ours. Do you think they belong to the person who killed Bradley? I don’t recall anyone out there that evening. And in all honesty, Detective, Ralph isn’t as young as he used to be, like the rest of us in this house. Maybe he just doesn’t remember walking in the area.”
John sighed. “That’s possible. We also found a bit of what looks like the same mud on the front door mat. We took that to the lab. No mud in the house, though.”
“Ralph is a bit of a perfectionist,” Mrs. Brissart continued, “when it comes to the yard, and if he saw something, a piece of paper or whatnot, he would automatically reach for it. I can’t imagine he would allow mud to be all over the front mat.”
“Maybe one of your family members had mud on their shoes when they arrived. Do you remember anyone taking their shoes off?” John asked.
“No. I don’t think anyone walked around without shoes,”
“Not to worry. At this point I don’t know if it means anything, but we’ve got to check out every detail. Now, I know we went over the events of Monday night, but if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me again and then give me a bit of background information on your family.”
Mrs. Brissart settled back into the well-worn sofa. “Monday evening, about five, my family started to arrive. Chantal left early and I sent Alex home too as I didn’t want to bother her with their drivel. I had Bradley here and Mrs. Platz for support if I needed them. And of course, Ralph is always in his room in the evenings. I can handle my sisters quite well, mind you, but with all of them together it can be a bit trying at times, especially at my age.”
She paused to take a sip of tea and gather her thoughts. “So by five-thirty they were all here. The vultures, I like to call them.”
“Who exactly was here?” John asked, consulting his notes from the previous day.
“Well, first came May and June, my sisters, and they brought along that despicable man, Mr. Smit.”
“That would be the developer?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Though crook is more like it. Anyway, after they arrived Steven showed up, that’s May’s son, and his daughter Trish. May’s other son, Larry and his wife, and Marsha, June’s daughter.”
By my count, there had to be eight additional people in the house Monday night. John sure had his work cut out for him. And so did I.
Mrs. Brissart continued. “They all got into it right away. Telling me I must sell the land, that it was the best thing all around, that no one used the land or the house anymore. All the same rubbish I’ve heard ever since that Mr. Smit came into their lives.”
“And how exactly did that come about?” John asked.
“June met him at some thing or another. One of her social events, no doubt. Pretends all is business between them, but I know better—they’re sleeping together. Though don’t bother to ask her. She’ll deny it till the day she dies. My sister likes to think she’s above scandal and indiscreet behavior. Actually, both of them are like that. I tell you, they invented it. Why, carrying on with a man that must be no more than forty-five and at her age.”
“What makes you think they’re sleeping together, Mrs. Brissart?”
“This past July, June stayed here for about a week. She hired some people to do some work on her house and they had everything all torn up. She could have gone to a hotel or over to May’s, but I think she wanted to be here so she could try to wear me down on this whole land thing.
“I came in to get my shawl. I’d been out in the garden working off some tension after one of their little get-togethers with the whole family again. An afternoon breeze came up so I went up to my room to get my shawl and a good book. Thought I’d relax out on the back porch. I heard voices upstairs. I knew everyone had left except for June, of course. She told me she needed a nap after her trying afternoon. Well, she was lying down all right, though I don’t know how much rest she got. Flat on her back with that weasel on top of her, naked as the day he was born! Arms and legs wrapped this way and that. And the moaning!”
I blushed at the bluntness of Mrs. Brissart’s description.
“Disgusting. And in my house. I’m no prude, Detective. But the sight of that wrinkled, bleached-hair sister of mine with that beady-eyed cad…” Mrs. Brissart shook her head in disgust.
“Did they see you?” John asked with just a hint of an amused look on his face. I had to turn away before I broke out into a smile as well.
“No. Too busy to notice. I went downstairs and the next day June went back to her house. Never again, I can tell you that much. Once it was over, I have to admit I got quite a laugh out of it. So did Virginia and Bradley.”
John coughed. “Getting back to the events of Monday night.”
“Oh, yes. Excuse me. Got a bit off track. Well, nothing much different happened than with all the other meetings they’ve held trying to get me to sell. May’s two sons tried to be more demanding than usual and one of them called me a greedy old witch. At least I thought he used that word,” Mrs. Brissart said slyly.
“Mrs. Brissart, excuse me for asking, but is the rest of the family so cash poor that they really need the money from the sale of the land, and would it
really be all that much? I mean, it would have to be split three ways, wouldn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes, it would. And yes, it would be a sizable enough amount. There’s a lot of land and the house. To answer your question about are they poor—no, I wouldn’t think poor exactly, though I believe June is having some problems. Not that she talks about them.” Mrs. Brissart shook her head.
“I know what we all got from our father, which was a lot to begin with, and their husbands left them in good shape, at least May’s did. I’m not too sure June fared so well. But they both live extravagantly. And June spent a lot of money after her husband died. They’re forever complaining about money, so to be honest, I can’t say I know for certain exactly what their financial situations are. To be totally truthful, I don’t really care. If they had all the money in the world, they wouldn’t do anything good with it. Guess that’s why I do so much charity work. I’ve had it good, wonderful, all my life. It’s not worth much if you don’t do good with it. They never have.” Mrs. Brissart paused to pour more tea into her cup.
“My husband probably left me with more than their husbands, and, like I said we all started out well, thanks to my father. More than any human being could ever need. I read somewhere that someone said we are stripped bare by the curse of plenty. That sums up my family.”
“Winston Churchill,” I interjected.
“Pardon?”
“It was Churchill. He said we are stripped bare by the curse of plenty. Sorry,” I looked sheepishly at John.
John gave me a tight-lipped stare then turned back to Mrs. Brissart. “You were saying, Mrs. Brissart.”
“I think something more than just the sale of the land got their interest. I think both May and June would be walking off with a bit of the action after the land was developed. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if May’s sons were in on it, too. Speaking of those two, Larry—he’s an inventor, or so he thinks—never made anything that works more than an hour. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could use some cash. Other than his inventions, and I use the word lightly, I don’t know how he makes a living. His brother, Steven, now he has a decent job but he likes to live the good life.”
“So there was a lot more at stake than realized?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
John got back into the conversation. “We’re analyzing all the food put out that evening, but it seems whatever killed your grandson came from the macaroons. When did you put them out?”
“Oh, dear. I made them especially for Bradley. I haven’t baked them for ages. I put them out early so he and Chantal and Alex could have something to nibble on while they worked. I made several more batches, and well, they followed us all evening. Bradley dragged the plate around to whatever room we were in. The cookies sat in plain sight for all to see. Oh, dear.” A small tear slowly ran down Mrs. Brissart’s creamy skin.
“Did anyone other than Bradley eat any?”
“Of course! They were free, weren’t they? The whole family ate them. There were hardly any left.”
“They looked odd, Mrs. Brissart. Was there any particular reason why you made them like that?”
I looked at John and wondered what he was getting at. Mrs. Brissart echoed my sentiments.
“It is Halloween, Detective. I thought we could all use a bit of frivolity what with my sisters’ actions of late. Some of the faces really bothered May. I must admit I got a kick out of taunting her like that.”
“What about the other food?”
“Well, Virginia brought out some bread and cheese and fruit. I hoped everyone would leave, but when it came up on eight o’clock and they didn’t take the hint, well, I didn’t want to feed them a proper dinner, but I was a bit hungry and I know Bradley and Kendra were, too.”
“Kendra?” I asked. “Oh, Bradley’s girlfriend, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right. They had plans to marry.” Mrs. Brissart wiped at another tear slowly making its way down her beautiful skin. “A lovely girl. She’s taking this all very hard. As are we all.” Mrs. Brissart whispered this last sentiment. “Finally about nine-thirty everyone left except Bradley. He usually stays a few nights a week here. He always has. He has a standard meeting with a colleague every Tuesday morning. Since they meet at one of the coffee shops nearby, he usually stays here on Monday night. Kendra stayed for a while and I went up to bed.”
“Mrs. Brissart, why don’t you want to sell the land?” John leaned forward on his chair to pour himself more tea.
“Well, in the first place, I don’t need the money. I, for one, do not think we need another mall or another business center or whatever all they planned on putting there. And then there’s the house. You’re more than welcome to go up and see the house, stay there if you’d like.” She nodded at both me and John. “It’s just beautiful. My father built it as his retirement home and my parents spent the last years of their lives living in it. It’s big. Bigger than this house. I used to go up there a lot, but well, I’m getting older. Bradley and Kendra go a lot. Especially since he started working on the family history.
“You see, the land belongs to all of us, but the house and its surrounding acreage are mine. But that Mr. Smit wants the whole thing or no deal. I can understand why. My house and its land are the best. The other land was mined at one time for ore and it’s somewhat wild. My personal acreage has always been maintained and is quite lovely, though that shouldn’t make any difference if he’s planning on developing it and tearing the whole thing down.” She spat these last words out.
“I don’t think my sisters ever forgave my father for leaving it to me. Maybe this is just their way of getting back at me, but my father knew I appreciated it for what it was. All May and June could see were dollar signs every time they went up there.”
She refilled her teacup along with mine before continuing. “I planned to give it to Bradley and Kendra as a wedding present. I think the place meant a lot to them since Bradley started working on the history. As it turns out, Kendra’s family ties go back to ours. Her great, great, great, great grandfather along with Bradley’s are the two that started everything. Of course, I knew most of our family story before Bradley got started, though not about Kendra. And he so enjoyed working on it. Not much there really, just a couple of French immigrants starting a business and investing wisely.”
I thought that was probably the understatement of the century given the surroundings in which I now sat.
“Mrs. Brissart,” John said, “the others should be arriving shortly. Can you give me a bit of a background on them?”
“Of course. First there are my two sisters. Both married and both widowed, though June and her husband had been separated for years before he died. They never bothered to divorce because June wouldn’t hear of such a thing. That would tarnish the family reputation. Family ties and reputation mean everything to June. Of course, the absence of a divorce never stopped her husband from continuing his various affairs. May fared better in her marriage. Both their husbands died of cancer, isn’t that odd?
“Then we have May’s two sons, Steven and Larry. Larry is married to April and they have two children who go to a private school out west. Steven is divorced and has a daughter, Trish Hollander. She’s divorced as well after only a year of marriage. Larry and April are okay, though April’s a little dingy and Larry’s pretty useless. Then we have—”
But Mrs. Brissart didn’t have a chance to continue. The doorbell rang and a few minutes later Mrs. Platz came in to announce that everyone had arrived.
Mrs. Brissart and I spent the afternoon in the study working on funeral arrangements and the death announcements the printer delivered that afternoon. John and Detective Maroni spent the afternoon interviewing the other parties.
Shortly after six they came into the study with some disturbing news. John took Mrs. Brissart’s small hand in his and looked into her eyes. This didn’t look good but I couldn’t figure out how it could get much worse.
“We’ve don
e a preliminary interview of everyone and need to talk again with certain people. We still haven’t received the lab results, but...”
“But what, Detective?” Mrs. Brissart asked with a trembling voice.
“It’s our opinion that your grandson was not the intended victim. You were.”
“Oh, dear God, oh, dear God.” Mrs. Brissart sobbed uncontrollably while I held her and John looked on helplessly. “If I had just agreed to sell that land this never would have happened! I killed him with my self-righteous principles. My dear, sweet Bradley, it’s all my fault. Which one of my precious relatives did it?” she demanded looking up at John and pleading for an answer.
“We don’t know that yet. But it seems everyone is harboring animosity towards you because of the land. So far no one has said anything that would lead us to believe Bradley was the intended victim. We will find out who is responsible, I promise you.”
“Then it was one of them?” Mrs. Brissart asked, as tears streaked her face.
“I’m afraid we don’t know that yet, either,” John admitted. “But we have to start somewhere and this is the direction we’re taking for the moment.”
The door to the study opened and a man in his early fifties walked in.
“Kenneth!” Mrs. Brissart jumped up and threw her thin arms around her son, both of them crying softly.
Leaving the family to grieve in private, John, Detective Maroni and I left the study.
“John, do you really think someone from her own family could have done this?”
“We’re contacting some of the local charities that Mrs. Brissart worked with, though I doubt we’ll find any connection there.”
“But it is possible that someone, a total stranger, could have come in. The door is always unlocked.”
“With a batch of poisoned macaroons? Highly unlikely.”
I blushed at the inanity of my statement. Of course there was no one walking around Indian Cove with contaminated cookies.
At least, I hoped not.
CHAPTER ELEVEN