Killer Investigation

by Amanda Stevens

  “Why not? I’m offering it to you as a gift. Although...” He returned the canvas to the easel. “I have one that you might appreciate more.” He set his drink aside and disappeared through another doorway. He returned carrying a small canvas, which he offered to Arden. “My welcome-home gift to you. I hope you like this one as much as I do. And before you say anything, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Arden went very still as he turned the painting and she got her first glimpse of the subject. Uneasiness crept over her as she took the canvas from his hands and turned toward the light. He had painted her mother in the moonlit garden at Berdeaux Place with the summerhouse dome in the background. Camille Mayfair looked just as Arden remembered her. The mysterious glint in her eyes. The dazzling smile. But there was a feeling of distance again. The perception of admiring her from afar.

  The red chiffon gown she wore appeared so soft and airy that Arden could almost imagine the frothy layers floating up from the canvas. Camille’s bare arms and shoulders gleamed softly in the moonlight and her blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a creamy magnolia blossom.

  A magnolia blossom.

  Arden was speechless.

  “Do you like it?” her uncle asked softly. “I tried to catch her whimsy and drama, but I’m not that talented.”

  “No, you are. It’s wonderful. I can’t stop looking at her.” Arden tried to swallow past the sudden knot in her throat.

  Calvin seemed overcome, as well. “Now you know why I was so taken aback when I saw you standing in the moonlight the other night.”

  Arden couldn’t tear her gaze from the canvas. “When did you paint this?”

  “A few years ago from a photograph that was taken on the night of the Mayor’s Ball. It was held at Berdeaux Place that year. I was away at school, but I remember reading about it in the paper.”

  “I remember it, too,” Arden said. “She came into my room before she went downstairs. She looked like a princess in that red dress. I can still remember the way the magnolia blossom smelled in her hair when she leaned over the bed to kiss me good-night. A few days later, she was gone.”

  Calvin gently took the canvas from her fingers. “I’ll wrap this up and have it delivered to the house.”

  Arden glanced up. “Are you sure?”

  “I couldn’t bear for anyone but you to have it,” he said.

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Uncle.”

  “You’re welcome, Niece. I have something else for you, too.” He placed the canvas on his worktable and took a key from a peg on the wall. “This is the key to the side gate. It was one thing for me to come and go as I pleased when no one was in the house, but the last thing I want to do is intrude on your privacy.”

  He offered her the key and she took it without argument. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Actually, I’ve been thinking about having all the locks changed. The house has been empty for so long. Who knows how many keys may be floating around?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, an emotion that unnerved Arden even more than the painting had. “Probably a good idea,” he murmured. “Your safety is paramount.”

  His mood had changed, though. Arden couldn’t figure out what had happened. Maybe he had expected her to refuse the key or to at least offer a token resistance. In any case, it was time for her to leave.

  “I should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you for showing me your studio. As for the painting...” She trailed away. “You have no idea what it means to me.”

  “I’m glad that it makes you happy.” He walked her to the top of the stairs.

  “I can see myself down,” she said. “Thank you again.”

  “Come back soon. I’ve a lot more to show you.”

  “I’ll do that.” She went down the stairs without looking back, but when she crossed the street, she couldn’t help glancing up at the studio. He stood at one of the long windows staring down at her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reid approached the house on Water Street on foot. He’d parked a block over so that his car wouldn’t be spotted entering or leaving the driveway. He opened the wrought-iron gate and strode up the walkway to the front door, glancing over his shoulder as he rang the bell. His mother played bridge on Wednesdays and the housekeeper had the day off. He expected the house to be empty, but he still had a key and the security code unless either or both had been changed since his last visit.

  He waited a few minutes and then let himself in, disarming the system as he called out to his mother. Then he called out the housekeeper’s name. “Anyone home?” He folded his sunglasses and slipped them in his pocket as his gaze traveled up the curving staircase. Nothing stirred. The house was empty except for the ghosts.

  Still, he felt uneasy being in his childhood home uninvited. He tried to shake off his disquiet as he headed to the back of the house where his father’s office was located, a rich, masculine room that looked out on the pool. The drapes were open and Reid could see the dance of sunlight on blue water as he stepped through the pocket doors. He had no idea what he was looking for. His father’s equivalent of a little black book, he supposed. The heavy oak desk was kept locked, but Reid had known since he was a kid that the key rested on a ledge underneath the smooth top.

  Plopping down in his father’s chair, he felt underneath the desk until he located the key. He was just about to open the top drawer when he heard a car pull up outside. He returned the key to the ledge and got up from the desk, slipping silently into the hallway. He heard the back door close and then someone moving about in the kitchen. Maybe Tess had changed her day off, Reid thought, and he quickly came up with an excuse for his presence as he eased down the corridor.

  The kitchen was spacious with gleaming stainless steel appliances and a marble island large enough to accommodate six people. His father stood behind the counter splashing whiskey into a tumbler. Watching him from the doorway, Reid wondered if he was catching a glimpse of his future. The notion was hardly comforting. His father had never been an easy man to know or love. He was brilliant and wildly successful, but he’d never struck Reid as particularly happy, which had not made for a particularly happy household. Yet, despite Boone’s failings as a parent and husband, he’d always taken as his due the devotion and respect of those around him.

  But credit where credit was due, the man seemed committed to keeping the years at bay. He was as sharp and ruthless as ever, and he kept himself in excellent physical shape. Reid would give him that. He worked out, played tennis twice a week and watched his diet. A cocktail in the middle of the day seemed out of character, but how well did Reid really know his father?

  He cleared his throat and Boone looked up in surprise.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I came to see Mother.”

  “Your mother has had a standing bridge date every Wednesday for the past thirty years. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I guess it slipped my mind,” Reid said.

  His father frowned at him over the rim of his glass. “How did you get in here anyway?”

  Reid sauntered into the kitchen. “I still have a key. You disowned me. Mother didn’t.”

  Boone scoffed as he downed his drink. “Disowned is a little dramatic.”

  “Is it? Let’s recap. You had Security escort me from the building after you fired me, and then you stood on the sidewalk and told me that I was no son of yours, that I would never see a penny of inheritance and that I shouldn’t even think about trying to capitalize on the Sutton name. I’d say that’s pretty much the dictionary definition of disowned, but we can agree to disagree.” Reid hadn’t realized until that moment how much his father’s words still rankled. He’d convinced himself the estrangement was for the best. Time away from the old man suited him just fine. But no son, no matter his age, wanted to be ostracized by his fath
er. A tiny part of Reid still craved a word of encouragement, no matter how fleeting.

  “I was angry,” Boone said. “And you were insubordinate and disrespectful. I treated you as I would have any other associate.”

  “I was trying to protect my client. The client you ordered me to drop because one of your cronies had a problem with my representing a man he considered an upstart competitor. Whatever happened to loyalty?”

  “Some might say I’m loyal to a fault,” his father countered. “That crony, as you call him, has thrown more work my way than you’ll ever see in a lifetime. So I made a judgment call. My firm, my decision.”

  Had he sounded like that much of a pompous ass with Arden that morning? Reid wondered. The term like father, like son had never grated more.

  His father glanced up from his drink. “You know what your problem is?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”

  “You’re too much like your mother. You personalize everything and then you cling to your grudges. Me? I let off steam and then I move on.”

  “You’ve moved on?”

  “Water under the bridge.” His father got down a second glass. “Come have a drink with me.”

  “It’s a little early for me,” Reid said as he straddled one of the bar stools.

  “What’s the saying...? It has to be five o’clock somewhere.” Boone poured a whiskey and slid the glass across the island.

  Reid cradled the tumbler in both hands, but he didn’t drink. “What are you doing home at this time of day anyway?”

  Boone shrugged. “I needed a quiet place to work. You know how it gets around the office. So much going on you can’t hear yourself think.”

  “Why not go to the apartment?”

  His father had been in the process of lifting his drink, but his hand froze for a split second before he took a sip.

  “Yeah,” Reid said. “I know about the apartment. So does everyone else in the office. I’m sure Mother knows about it, too.”

  Something hard glittered in Boone’s eyes as he polished off his drink and poured himself another. “I hear you sold your condo. Bought one of those old properties on Logan Street and opened an office. How’s that working out for you?”

  “It’s early days, but I’m staying busy.”

  “I also hear you had a meeting with Clement Mayfair yesterday. Trying to land yourself a big one, are you?”

  Reid frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

  “You know how things work in this town. Small circles, big mouths.” His father observed him for a moment. “A word of advice?”

  “Why not?”

  “Think twice before you get into bed with a guy like Clement Mayfair. He’s as vicious and vindictive as they come. You cross a line with him, you make an enemy for life.”

  Reid thought about Clement Mayfair’s earlier warning. “He told me he had dealings with you in the past. He called you overconfident and self-indulgent. To be fair, he said the same about me.”

  Boone smirked. “It’s not overconfidence if you can deliver.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Reid said. “You were his attorney?”

  “About a hundred years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  Boone made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Nothing seismic. Your mother and I were good friends with Evelyn. When they separated, it created a conflict of interest.”

  “So you chose Evelyn.”

  “It really wasn’t much of a choice. I was glad to see the last of Clement Mayfair.”

  Reid toyed with his glass. “Do you know why they split?”

  His father gave him a curious look. “It didn’t have anything to do with me if that’s what you’re implying. I thought the world of Evelyn. She was something back in her day, but I’ve never gone for older women.”

  Reid said drily, “Not everything is about you, you know.”

  “Just most things.” Boone grinned.

  Reid wasn’t amused. “From what Arden has told me, the separation was anything but amicable. Evelyn took the daughter and Clement kept the son. Sounds like a pretty screwed-up arrangement if you ask me.”

  “The Mayfairs are a pretty screwed-up lot,” Boone said. “I don’t say that to malign your girlfriend. I’ve always been fond of Arden.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  The denial didn’t seem to register. His father leaned an elbow on the marble countertop as he nursed his third drink. “Has Arden ever showed you the family photograph albums?”

  “I guess. A long time ago.”

  “Have her show you again. Take a close look at the faces, the eyes. Arden is the spitting image of her mother, just as Camille was the mirror image of Evelyn. Calvin takes after the old man but with enough Berdeaux blood to soften the hard edges. Ask yourself why Calvin favors both his mother and father, but there is nothing of Clement Mayfair in either of the girls.”

  Reid stared at him across the counter. “Are you suggesting—”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. It’s merely an observation.” Although Boone sounded sober enough, Reid wondered if his father had been drinking before he ever reached the kitchen door. There was a strange glitter in his eyes, as if he might be enjoying his disparagement of Clement Mayfair a little too much.

  Reid thought about the implications of his father’s observation. If Clement had found out that Camille wasn’t his biological daughter, that would explain the acrimonious separation and the lingering bitterness. That would also explain why Evelyn was allowed to take Camille and forced to leave Calvin behind.

  “Why are you so interested in Mayfair ancient history anyway?” his father asked.

  “Arden thinks Clement may try to take Berdeaux Place away from her.”

  His father lifted a brow. “Is that so? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always had a thing about that house. It represents everything he ever desired and could never attain. Legacy. Respectability. Acceptance.”

  “What are you talking about? Mayfair House is twice the size of Berdeaux Place, and it’s been a part of the iconic imagery of Battery Row for generations.”

  “His grandfather...” Boone frowned. “Or was it his great-grandfather? No matter. Some dead Mayfair lost the house and most of the family money in a series of shady business deals. Another family lived in Mayfair House until Clement made his own fortune. He bought back the property and had money left to burn, but he still wasn’t welcome in certain circles. Only his marriage to Evelyn opened those doors and he always resented her for it. After the divorce, he withdrew from society. Sent Calvin away to boarding school, and became reclusive and hostile. Lately, though, I’ve heard rumbles about efforts to rehabilitate his image. Maybe that has something to do with Arden. He is getting on in years. In any case, she’s smart to be on guard.”

  Reid declined to point out that Clement Mayfair wasn’t so much older than Boone. “You haven’t heard anything brewing in regards to Berdeaux Place?”

  “No, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. Arden will, too.”

  His father tilted his head, regarding Reid through bloodshot eyes. “This thing with you and Arden. It’s just business these days?”

  Reid lifted the glass and took his first sip, buying himself a moment. “I told her I’d ask around about her grandfather and, in turn, she’s helping me on another case. One of your old clients, as a matter of fact. Dave Brody.”

  Boone paused just a fraction too long. “Who?”

  “Dave Brody. He hasn’t tried to contact you?”

  “I’m a hard man to reach unless you have my cell number, and I don’t give that out to just anybody.”

  “Brody was sent up on a second-degree murder conviction ten years ago. He got out of
prison a few weeks ago and he’s been following me around, watching my house. Making a general nuisance of himself.”

  Boone’s face had grown tense and wary. “What does he want with you?”

  “He wants me to find Ginger Vreeland.” Reid saw the dart of a shadow across his father’s expression. “I take it that name rings a bell?”

  Boone lifted his drink. “What did he tell you?”

  “He thinks you’re the reason she left town the night before she was to take the witness stand on his behalf.”

  “What?”

  Reid nodded. “He claims Ginger kept a little black book with all her clients’ numbers and—shall we say—preferences? You were afraid of what she might reveal on the witness stand so you paid her to disappear.”

  “That’s ludicrous.” Boone slammed his glass to the marble counter so aggressively Reid wondered that the crystal didn’t shatter. “Brody was a real piece of work even back then. Guilty as hell, but always wanting to blame his misfortune on someone else. I suggest you keep your distance. Take out a restraining order if you have to.”

  “I can’t do that,” Reid said. “He claims someone is trying to set me up for murder and he’s the only one who can help clear me.”

  “Murder?” His father looked stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You heard about the body that was found Monday morning in an alley down the street from my place? Turns out, the victim and I were in the same bar on the night she was killed. I don’t remember her. I don’t remember much of anything about that night, but Brody claims he has photographs of the two of us together. He’ll take them to the police if I don’t help him find Ginger Vreeland. A restraining order wouldn’t stop him. It would only egg him on.”

  “Then just back off. Let me take care of Brody.”

  That was like him, Reid thought. Always thinking he knew best. Reid couldn’t help but remember Brody’s taunt about Boone Sutton swooping in to save the day. Or Arden’s tentative speculation that his father could be behind everything.

  “It’s not that simple,” Reid said. “One of the detectives on the case is a man named John Graham. He arrested me years ago for driving under the influence. He thinks you not only called in favors to get my record expunged, but you also meddled in his career. So you getting involved will only make things worse all the way around.”