He shrugged. “His family moved away when he was thirteen or so, and Laurance didn’t move back fulltime until four or five years ago. Naturally, he didn’t want to publicize his family connection to Bill after they began working together on the Matanzas Bay project. Conflict of interest is how it would look.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“When you told me you’d met Serena’s uncle I thought you might find out who those two kids were.” His eyes shifted away from mine then back. “I told Kurtis about it.”
“You told him?”
“He’s family, so I figured I owed it to him. But only to give him a heads-up in case of any bad publicity.”
While my brain scrambled to link together the implications in Marrano’s admission, he jumped in again.
“I’m afraid that’s what provoked your attack at the Alligator Farm. It wasn’t Watts, it was—”
“Tallabois. Laurance sent Tallabois after me?”
“I don’t think Kurtis put him up to it. Anyway, we can’t prove anything, and Kurtis denies it all. He does admit telling Tallabois you were becoming a problem.”
“But killing me seems like a radical solution to the problem.”
Marrano picked up a stack of papers and tapped them against the desk, evening the edges, before laying them back down. “I went to his house last night after I left you and we had a long talk. Kurtis swears he had no idea Tallabois would attempt to kill you. He said Tallabois hated you and took it on himself after they talked.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. There’s no way I can prove Kurtis is linked to the attempt on your life. Hell, I’m not sure I could prove Tallabois did it.”
Laurence’s job offer now made a lot of sense. Tallabois botched the job, so Laurance figured he’d buy me off the case.
“I checked out Tallabois with the New Orleans Police Department and he had a reputation for running his own games and playing outside the rules,” Marrano said.
I still wasn’t convinced Tallabois had acted on his own. “What about the burglary at Erin’s house?”
“Kurtis said he and Bill had exchanged correspondence about the Matanzas Bay project, including emails, which might prove compromising if they were misinterpreted, is what he told me. So …”
“So, Tallabois to the rescue.”
Marrano nodded.
“Of course, Laurance knew nothing about that, either, did he?”
“It was all Tallabois’ idea. Told me the guy couldn’t control his temper, and he was sorry he’d ever hired him.”
“Did Tallabois find the letters?”
“I don’t know, but I think not. Probably why he went back last night. Bad timing. Watts shows up and maybe thinks Tallabois is the police or a private bodyguard and kills him.”
“So what happens now? With Tallabois out of the way and no proof of Laurance’s involvement, I guess he has a clear road to the governor’s mansion.”
Marrano stood and I did the same. “You probably don’t believe this, but I think he’ll make one hell of a governor.”
“Sure, like Hitler was one hell of a Chancellor.”
He walked me down the hall. “Thanks for everything,” I said, and left him standing in the lobby.
I pulled into Jeffrey Poe’s driveway later that afternoon. He was mowing the front lawn, but killed the engine when he saw me. He wiped his face with the front of a ragged T-shirt that looked like it might have come from his collections of ancient artifacts. Instead of his trademark wide-brimmed hat, he wore a Michigan Wolverines ball cap. A shadow fell across the top of his face masking his eyes.
I climbed out of my car and walked over to him. “How you doing, Jeffrey?”
“Much better today. I understand I have you to thank for getting me out of jail.”
“Erin Marrano should get the credit,” I said. “She’s the one who saved me from the embarrassment of having to explain how I got myself killed.”
Poe smiled at my sorry attempt at humor displaying the gap in his front teeth. “How ‘bout a beer?”
We sat on his screened porch while a ceiling fan spun overhead in wobbly circles and made hard clicking noises. I hoisted the bottle toward him and we clinked. “Here’s to what doesn’t kill us, making us stronger,” I said, and took a long swallow.
He peered at my injured face. “You seem to have taken the brunt of the damage, Quint. I’m sorry, but I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You were one of the few people who believed in my innocence. You and Erin Marrano.”
“It probably would have worked out even if I hadn’t been involved.” I looked at the half-mown lawn and gestured toward the mower. “I hope you’re going to take a few days off before heading back to work.”
A faint smile appeared on his face. “Taking a lot of days off,” he said. “I’m tendering my resignation in the morning. Figured I’d go ahead and do it before they fired me.”
“They wouldn’t fire you. Not after what you’ve been through.”
“It’s all right. I’ve overstayed my welcome in St. Augustine. It would always be awkward, and I’d rather put this whole mess behind me. This gives me a chance to find someplace where I can do some real research.”
We sipped our beers, only the clicking of the fan breaking the silence. Poe had taken off his cap, and his fleshy cheeks glowed a cheery pink. “Any idea where you’ll go?” I asked him.
“I have a lot of friends in the field. Maybe I’ll head southwest. They’re making some intriguing discoveries of the Anasazi people out there. Rewriting the history books.” A glint of excitement flashed in his eyes.
“Sounds like something you’d really enjoy. Just remember your old pal if you need a volunteer.”
***
Later that afternoon, I sat in my car in the shade of an old oak bearded with Spanish moss. The dark skies and heavy rains of the past few days had evaporated, and the sun had returned in full force. I knew there were more questions needing answers.
This case began with Elizabeth Henderson’s drowning in Oxford, Mississippi. It erupted again decades later. Most families remain together long enough to learn how to cope with the stress that builds and distorts the bedrock of their lives. Henderson’s decision to abandon his twins created invisible seismic waves in his family, erupting with disastrous consequences generations later.
I approached the house, knocking on the door with the decorative wreath. Erin Marrano seemed surprised to see me, but she stepped aside and invited me into her home. I followed her to a breakfast nook off the kitchen where several manila folders lay beside a partially empty glass of what looked like iced tea.
“Sorry to interrupt you,” I said. She’d combed her dark locks of hair into improvised bangs covering most of the bandage on her forehead. Her makeup couldn’t cover the ugly bruise on her cheekbone where Watts had punched her. Otherwise she seemed to be in good spirits.
“No problem.” She pushed the folders aside. “How about a glass of tea?”
“Thanks.”
She busied herself getting a glass from the cabinet and a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator. Considering everything she’d been through over the past week, she carried herself with a surprising grace and confidence.
She placed the tea on the table and sat down across from me. “How’s your head?” she asked.
“Healing. It looks a lot worse than it feels.”
“I’m glad to hear that because it looks terrible.”
“Yeah, actually it hurts like hell.”
She laughed loudly, the sound bubbling up from her throat. “An honest man. How refreshing.” Erin waited until I took a drink of my tea before asking, “So, what brings you here today? Delivering my bill for your services?”
“Actually, there are a couple of things I was wondering about.”
She picked up her glass and took a dainty sip. A glint of moisture sparkled on her upper lip like a sliver of glass next to the dark red lips. “What
’s that?”
“How long did it take you to put Henderson and Watts together?”
Surprise danced across her face. Her eyes hardened. No more pretenses of vulnerability. No signs of the affection she’d displayed during my other visits.
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know. You sent me Henderson’s codicil, didn’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Let’s not play games, Erin. Somewhere along the line, Henderson admitted he was your father. Surely, he confessed everything to you, about your twin brother and how he’d followed you here to St. Augustine. He probably gave you the codicil to his will, which means you were in a position to copy it and send it to me.”
She folded her arms across her chest and stared while I waited for her reply. A moment later, she relaxed, letting her arms drop.
“I first met Clayton at a poetry reading at the library a few years ago. He called me several days later and invited me to lunch. He said something about us being kindred spirits living in a cultural desert. That we should get to know one another better. We talked for two hours. Clayton shared stories of his career, people he knew, gossip about the fine citizens of St. Augustine.”
“Is that when he told you he was your father?”
“No, it wasn’t until months later. We’d meet for lunch or he’d take me to a concert when Bill had a late night meeting. We enjoyed each other’s company. Bill was gone all the time and I was lonely. Clayton seemed to like me and I appreciated having someone to talk with. I guess he was probably building up his nerve to tell me. When he finally did, I had a hard time believing him.”
“You knew you were adopted.”
“Of course, but the idea of finding my birth father in St. Augustine, hundreds of miles from home, seemed too much of a coincidence.”
“But it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
“No. He said he’d hired a private investigator to find me, and then moved here to be close to me. That he regretted what he’d done and wanted to set things right.”
“And the will?”
“The bequest was his way of making amends for my brother’s death, for waiting so long to reenter my life.” She picked up the glass of tea, started to drink, but put it down again.
“Clayton sent me a letter with the will asking me not to make it public. At least while he was still alive. He was very protective of his reputation, and didn’t want the world to know he’d put his children up for adoption.”
I compared her words with my own scenario of this bizarre and sad chronicle. She seemed to be telling the truth—up to a point. “When did you figure out Watts was your brother?”
Her eyes reminded me of blue calcite tumbled and polished by a lapidary’s wheel—beautiful, but cold and unfeeling. “Clayton told me my brother died. You said the same thing. So why would I think he was my brother?”
“The family resemblance,” I said. “A psychic bond. Maybe he approached you.”
“After Clayton’s knee operation, Watts appeared out of nowhere. They were always together, more than just a patient and a physical therapist. I thought it strange.” She looked at me with one questioning eyebrow raised. “I’ll admit Jarrod bothered me, but I never had any inkling we were related. And neither did Clayton.”
“What happened then?”
“I noticed the way Jarrod always seemed to be hovering around Clayton like a protective hen. After Clayton’s death, I re-read the will and wondered if Watts had anything to do with it. After all, he didn’t have much and if Clayton died he’d inherit a lot of money—at least it was a lot of money for someone in his position.”
“So you sent me the codicil?”
She inhaled deeply before answering. “Yes. I thought you might see a connection there and find out if Jarrod was involved.”
“Of course, it didn’t have anything to do with getting Watts out of the way so you’d be sole beneficiary of Henderson’s estate?”
“Not at all.” The words erupted from her mouth as harsh pellets of sound. “I didn’t care about Clayton’s money. Bill left me quite comfortable.”
I studied her for a few seconds, the indignation mirrored on her face, the tilt of her chin, the eyes holding mine for a moment then skidding past my shoulder. I leaned in to get her attention before saying, “You put me on the case to get rid of Watts.”
“You truly are hallucinating, Mr. Mitchell. That blow to the head must have caused amnesia.”
“How so?”
“Have you forgotten Jarrod wanted to kill me? He was the one who wanted to inherit.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe he came to your house to reconnect with his family and you turned him away.”
“Jarrod Watts was a sadistic sociopath who murdered my husband, killed his own father, and, if I hadn’t shot him, would have killed you.” She glared at me, adding, “You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
She had a point, but as much as she denied it, I knew the answers to this puzzle were more basic than the emotional attachments of a long lost father and daughter. That’s why I’d asked Jack Fuller to not only check out Christopher Henderson, but his sister, Amelia Faye, and her family background.
“Your brother may have been a sociopath, but I don’t think he was crazy. There are a lot of reasons why we do the things we do. Jarrod was surely influenced by his horrible childhood. How about you, Mrs. Marrano?”
“Me? I had a perfectly normal childhood.”
“Not quite true. I understand your father had an accident when you were quite young.”
Her eyes narrowed and the brittleness returned to her face. “He fell off the roof of our house and broke his back.”
“The accident left him crippled, unable to work. In fact, he needed constant medical attention.”
Erin Marrano remained silent, her clasped hands resting on the table.
“Your father’s medical bills demolished the family savings, and your mother was forced to sell the house. For several years, your family lived on welfare and you moved from one low rent apartment to the next.”
“What’s your point?”
“You were what, eight years old when your adopted father had his accident? Living on welfare, wearing hand-me-downs, seeing your mother humiliated taking money from family members she knew she’d never be able to repay. That sort of thing has an impact on an impressionable child.” I glanced over at the large pretzel container half-filled with pennies.
“It might even be the reason a young, attractive woman marries a successful man twenty years her senior.”
“You’re out of your depth, Mr. Mitchell.” She pulled her hands apart and pressed them against the table. “I don’t need any pop psychology lessons from a second-rate private detective.”
“When Henderson died, you’d inherit the Malaga Street property. And you knew the value would skyrocket once the St. Johns Group began the Matanzas Bay project.”
“Ridiculous. I didn’t know anything about the property until Henderson showed me the codicil.”
“No? Your husband had a city employee research that property months ago. He knew who owned it. I’m guessing he told you.”
She glared at me, one hand gripping the glass so hard her knuckles whitened.
“And there were a few other things that never added up in this case. Like your husband calling a special meeting to announce he’d changed his mind about supporting the Matanzas Bay project. You said there was nothing to it. Laurance told me the same thing. Yet Henderson seemed convinced the vice mayor had changed his mind. Where would he get such an idea if not from you?”
“I told you the truth when I said my husband wouldn’t have changed his mind.”
“You’re right. Your husband hadn’t changed his mind. He called that meeting to push the city into taking Henderson’s property by eminent domain. But you told Henderson your husband had second thoughts about supporting the project and would put it on hold at the special city commission meeting.”
“Why would I tell him that?”
“That’s what I wondered. It didn’t seem to make any sense until Kurtis Laurance told me Henderson owned several large pieces of property adjacent to his new development. I finally made the connection between Laurance’s disclosure and the generous gift Henderson left you in his will. The same property.”
“So what?”
“Laurance also told me he’d discussed Henderson’s demands with your husband and would be willing to raise his offer for the property to maybe a million dollars. Your husband told you all of this. Of course, he had no way of knowing Henderson was your father or that you’d inherit the property after Henderson’s death.”
Erin’s nostrils flared and I watched a flush of red spread across her cheeks. “Pure fiction,” she said.
“Is it? When your husband told you they were going to take the property by eminent domain, you realized you’d lose much of the value of that land and you panicked. Henderson had to die before the city took action.”
She shook her head in denial.
“By this time, you and your brother had connected. Watts wasn’t stupid. I’m guessing he figured out why Henderson had been paying so much attention to you. He learned he had a twin sister after he broke into the record center of child services back in Huntsville. Do you remember what Watts said last night? He came to see you again after Henderson showed him the will. Again. And he called you a ‘lying bitch.’ What did he mean by that?”
“Just a crazy man’s rantings.”
“I don’t think so. I’m betting he told you about growing up in foster homes, the abuse he suffered, and his plan to kill Henderson.”
“This is preposterous.”
“Is it? What kind of deal did you make? Offer Watts half of the money from the sale of the real estate if he moved up his timetable to do away with dear old dad? Maybe you even told him Bill Marrano abused you, hoping—”
“No, I wouldn’t do that,” she screamed at me.
“You told Henderson a fairy tale about your husband changing his mind about Matanzas Bay so he’d think Laurance would no longer have any interest in purchasing his property. In the meantime, you waited for Jarrod to do the deed.”
Matanzas Bay Page 27