Twisted at the Root--A Jane Lawless Mystery

by Ellen Hart

  Jane was already inside, strolling around, musing over the art on display. Their task: Find out if George had already come and gone. Cordelia saw no blood on the floor, which she took as a good sign. Then again, there were probably lots of back rooms. If she had to rough someone up at sword point to get an answer, she was the person for the job.

  As soon as she crossed the threshold, a somewhat gaunt man in a three-piece suit, his floppy brown hair parted in the middle, approached. “I’m Eli Chenoweth,” he said, smiling. He’d been looking at his cell phone when she came in. “Can I help you?”

  So this was the notorious Eli. He didn’t look like a murderer, though that remained to be seen. “Possibly.” She stalked up to a painting of two black-and-gray figures hunched together inside a puke-tan barn, or maybe it was a cupboard. One figure appeared to be pounding a large nail through the head of the other.

  “What do you think?” asked Eli.

  “Well, huh. Hard to find the right word, don’t you agree?”

  “I’d call it sensitive,” he said. “This artist is doing some amazing work.” He took another peek at his phone.

  “Something interesting?” she asked, nodding to it.

  “Oh, nothing really. I found a lost cat the other night. I took some pictures of her this morning.”

  Cordelia leaned over to see. “She’s cute.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  “A nice cat?”

  “Oh, yeah. Super friendly. And endlessly entertained by my dripping faucet in the bathroom.”

  Cordelia moved on to a frenetic orange owl on a messy red, green, and yellow background.

  “It’s a wonderful example abstract expressionism,” offered Eli. “The artist, Mayuri Naidu, is South African. I’d be happy to get you more information on her if you’re interested.”

  The dude was into the hard sell. Not appealing. Examining the note next to the painting and taking in the price, she couldn’t help herself. She hooted. The hoot caused Jane to look in her direction. Cordelia tugged on her cape. “Do you have a business card?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He slipped one out of his breast pocket and handed it to her.

  Squinting at the tiny print, she said, “And this John Henry. Who’s he?”

  “My father.”

  Jane was being followed around by a different pursuer, a young woman who gave off a decadent Zelda Fitzgerald vibe—curly hair, bright red lips, eccentric clothing.

  Following Cordelia’s gaze, Eli said, “That’s my mother-in-law.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No, I’m not joking. Kit Chenoweth. She’s married to my father.”

  Cordelia repositioned the earflaps on her hunter’s cap. “Moving on. A friend of mine, George Krochak, told me about your little operation here. He suggested I come take a look. Do you know him? George?”

  “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He was in today. In fact, I thought I might run into him.” She craned her neck and looked around. “Englishman. Looks a bit like Hugh Grant.”

  “Sorry. Maybe my father or Kit worked with him. Is there something specific you were looking for?”

  “Me? No, just, you know, browsing for deals. When do you have your sales? Probably before Christmas, yes? Memorial Day? For instance, if I waited for a sale, how much of a discount could I get on that owl picture?”

  “We don’t do discounts. Or sales.”

  “No sales? How do you move your merchandise?”

  “So … we don’t have that sort of business model. We work on a rather small margin—”

  “What about haggling? Surely you let customers haggle.” She ducked her head into a side gallery that was cordoned off by a red velvet rope. Seeing two men working on an art installation, she wheeled back around. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man entering from the rear. Thinking it might be George, she turned to face him. Sliding closer to Eli, she lowered her voice and said, “Don’t look now, but I think Jesus just came in.”

  He turned to look.

  “You might want to alert the media. This could be a huge break for your gallery.” Bending closer to his ear, she added, “I have to say, he’s really aged. I like the horn-rimmed glasses, but—don’t take this the wrong way—the biblical robes were a better look on him than the mauve suite and striped bow tie.”

  Eli drew away from her. “That’s my father.”

  “Jesus is your father?”

  “He’s not Jesus. I told you. His name is John Henry Chenoweth.”

  Cordelia stared at him a moment, then smiled. “Well, you could have fooled me. Does he always look that dour?”

  “Dour?”

  The Jesus figure pulled out a chair and sat down behind the antique desk, his hands pressed forlornly to the sides of his face.

  “Would you like more information on the Naidu?” asked Eli, trying but failing to hide his irritation.

  Fluttering her eyelashes coyly, she said, “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You do that. I should probably let you … browse. If you have any questions, just let me know.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “We try,” he said snidely, walking away.

  Cordelia milled around for the next few minutes, eyeing this painting and that as Jane continued to talk to Zelda Fitzgerald. Because breakfast, such as it was, had been so nutritionally limited, she began to think about restaurants nearby where they could have lunch. By the time her mental list had reached a dozen, Jane was heading for the door. Cordelia followed her out, hoping that Eli’s mother-in-law had offered more intriguing tidbits than Eli.

  * * *

  Marlo stood at the top of a remote hillside, staring down the snowy embankment at her husband’s Volvo. The police officer next to her appeared to be speaking, though she had to struggle up through her panic to hear him.

  “Careened off the road,” she heard him say. “Must have rolled over because the top is partially crushed. Good thing it’s upright. Will make it easier. Have to hope.” Workman down below fought with the twisted metal around the door to remove George from the wreck.

  Marlo had spent a good part of the morning in the women’s room outside her office. She’d eaten some bad sushi yesterday and was paying the price. By midafternoon she’d recovered sufficiently to sit at her desk and nibble at the ham and Jarlsberg sandwich George had made for her. That’s when the call came in. The woman on the other end of the line said she was from the MPD, that they’d traced her through her husband’s cell phone. The cell had been thrown from the car and recovered by a teenager. The kid was the one who’d discovered the wreck and called 911. Marlo couldn’t recall, but felt pretty certain the word serious had been used.

  It was all a muddle after that. She’d jumped in her car and raced across town, blowing through stop signs, weaving through traffic. Now, looking down at the smashed Volvo, her entire body clenched and shivering under her coat, she waited to see if he was alive. The cop standing next to her was a talker. He kept saying things about people surviving all kinds of terrible accidents. She closed her eyes, praying that he’d shut up.

  George was eventually pulled ever so carefully from the wreckage and strapped to a board. There was no easy way to bring him up to the road, but the paramedics did their best. As he was carried past her, Marlo saw the damage up close. He was unconscious, bleeding from his nose and mouth, both eyes purpled by bruises. The paramedics assured her that he was breathing. “Still alive,” she whispered to herself. “Still alive.”

  Marlo drove to the hospital emergency room in a kind of daze. She squeezed into a spot too narrow for her SUV and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. How could this happen? George was a great driver. She’d overheard one of the paramedics say he didn’t have his seat belt on. That was just silly. Of course he had his seat belt on. He always wore a seat belt. He was extremely safety conscious, which was why he’d bought that particular car. It had stellar safe
ty ratings.

  The world tilted and blurred as Margo made her way into the hospital. She wasn’t allowed to see George because, in the time it had taken her to drive from the scene of the accident to the hospital, he’d already been rushed into surgery. She was informed that a doctor would come talk to her as soon as they had anything to report.

  Marlo found a place to sit in the waiting room. An hour went by. Then two. Numbness alternated with sickening adrenaline rushes that felt like panic. She took out George’s cell phone, given to her, along with his wallet, by one of the uniforms. The face of the phone was cracked, but it still seemed to work. She scrolled through his calls. Five were from the same number. Why the hell had Jane Lawless called her husband five times within the space of a few hours?

  When a man in scrubs finally came to the waiting room to talk to her, she stood. She did her best to force away the crushed feeling in her chest. She had to concentrate, take in every word for later analysis. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to steel against a reality that she knew, without a doubt, would change her life forever.

  24

  Eli bent his head against the wind as he made his way over the hill and down the gravel road from his house to his father’s place, annoyed to find that it was snowing again. His dash over to the main house left his shoes soggy and his clothing damp. He would much rather have stayed in and watched TV with Charlotte tucked in his arms, but this was an invitation he couldn’t turn down.

  Standing in the shadows just inside the back door, Eli caught his breath as he watched Kit read a magazine at the island. She had her back to him, so he was in no danger of being discovered and accused of voyeurism. That had always been a joke between them. She had no idea how close to the truth it was.

  Eli had been invited for dinner. Since he’d eaten his weight in a shrimp stir-fry last week, it was strange that he’d been invited again so soon.

  Kit turned around when the floorboards creaked. She had a martini glass in her hand, one that was nearly empty.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, smiling, giving himself a moment to gauge her mood. She’d changed into an ankle-length thing, part dress, part robe, made of some flimsy red fabric. Buttons ran from the top to the hem. The top was so large that it almost fell off her shoulders. He doubted she was wearing a bra underneath.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, floating him a disinterested look. “Barbecue.”

  “Take-out barbecue?”

  “John Henry’s picking it up on the way home. Sit down and talk to me.” She finished her drink and began making another.

  “So, we’re still speaking to each other after what happened yesterday? You seemed pretty cold all day at the gallery.”

  “Jeez, keep a lid on that,” she muttered.

  “Is Dad here?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. The walls have ears.”

  He pulled out a stool and sat down.

  “Do you know who that was who came into the gallery this afternoon?” she asked.

  He folded his arms and shrugged.

  “Jane freakin’ Lawless, Peter’s sister.”

  “Oh?”

  “And the fat woman in the stupid hat? That was her friend. The theater director. The one who was friends with Rashad.”

  That explained her ridiculous questions. “So? You said we have nothing to worry about.”

  “How come you listen to me, genius? I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she opened the freezer and removed a bottle of vodka.

  The grin helped. She wasn’t mad. “So are you worried or not worried?”

  “I don’t worry, Eli. It’s a waste of time.” Removing a tray of olives, cheese, and cherry tomatoes from the refrigerator, she set it on the island next to a bowl of salted nuts and a sleeve of Ritz crackers. After mixing her drink, she said, “What did the theater director have to say?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Good evening all,” boomed John Henry, coming through the back door. He set several white sacks smelling of barbecue on the island, then removed his coat and scarf tossed them over a kitchen chair.

  Eli pulled the bowl of nuts closer and began digging around for pecans.

  John Henry patted him on the back on his way to give Kit a kiss. “I have a present for you, my love,” he announced, holding up a liquor bottle.

  Kit flashed her eyes at Eli. “See how well my husband treats me.”

  “I’ve made an important discovery, Eli. My wife likes cordials.”

  Didn’t seem like a much of a revelation. She liked anything sweet.

  Kit took the bottle from him and read the name. “Limoncello.”

  “Add it to that nightly cocktail of yours. It’s Italian. A nice, bright lemon flavor.”

  “Looks like some bad scratches on your hand, Dad,” said Eli, nodding to them.

  “Yeah, I was helping Mason unpack some crates when I was attacked by the binding wire. Anna put some antibiotic cream on it. Should be fine.”

  “Is something up?” asked Eli. “You don’t usually invite me back so soon.”

  His father laughed. “I guess the old man is pretty transparent.” Scratching the back of his neck, he continued, “I suppose I might as well get this over with before dinner.”

  “Please do,” said Kit. She continued to maintain her bored expression, but Eli thought he saw some real concern.

  “The gallery is in a bit of financial trouble. I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s not good. I took out a loan a few years ago to help us through a rough patch. Borrowed from a friend with deep pockets. I’ve been paying him back little by little, but apparently he’s having a bit of a shortfall himself. He wants his money back.”

  Eli pushed the bowl of nuts away. “How much?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Okay, then how long do we have to come up with it?”

  “Two months.”

  “What were the terms of the loan?”

  “Exorbitant interest, the principal paid back upon demand. Like I said, he was a friend, so I thought he’d carry me as long as I needed.”

  “What do we do?” asked Kit, swirling the olive in her martini glass.

  “I’m talking to a banker on Monday morning. Anna suggested I cancel all my appointments for the day. The fact is, we’re in much better shape than we were when I borrowed the money, so I might be able to finesse something. I’ll keep you posted. I don’t want either of you to worry.”

  “So Anna knew all about this but we didn’t?”

  “There was no need to worry you.” He popped an almond into his mouth. “I need to make a phone call, and then change into something more comfortable. I won’t be long.” Before he left the room, he opened the bottle of Limoncello and poured some into Kit’s martini. “Enjoy.”

  Kit stared daggers at his back as he walked out.

  “You’re pissed?” asked Eli.

  “What do you think?”

  “Because of Anna?”

  “She’s a troll. An ugly, aging, fat little woman, and he thinks the sun rises and sets on her.”

  “They’ve been friends forever.”

  “Whoopee.”

  Eli found her reaction excessive. Surely she wasn’t jealous of his dad’s friendship with Anna. “I suppose, if he can’t raise money any other way, he can always sell this place.”

  She snorted. After taking several hefty swallows of her drink, she said, “First time I saw this house, I thought it was a palace. It’s not. It’s old and dumpy and the basement smells like mold.” Picking up her drink, she nodded for Eli to follow her.

  Once settled on the carpet in front of the fire, she finished off her martini.

  “How many of those have you had?”

  “Not enough.”

  “Dad’s news isn’t worth getting sick over. Why don’t we change the subject?”

  “Works for me.”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are we having an affair
? Or was yesterday a one-off?”

  “You have a one-track mind, Eli.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Instead of responding, she began to unbutton her dress.

  “Jeez, Kit.” Three buttons down, she stopped and pulled it off over her head. Underneath, she was naked.

  “I feel like dancing,” she said, running her hands through her hair.

  “Put your clothes back on. What if Dad comes back?”

  “He likes to see me naked.”

  “What the hell. Are you drunk?”

  “He likes that, too. Thinks it makes me more interested in sex.”

  Eli couldn’t breathe.

  Kit jumped up. “Come on, genius. Dance with me.” She tried to tug him off the floor.

  “Put that back on,” he said, tossing the dress at her.

  “You used to be more fun.”

  “That was before you married my dad.”

  She twirled around and around, then began to move more slowly, more seductively.

  Eli knew he shouldn’t watch, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Finally dropping down next to him, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Your dad is creepy.”

  “Come on.”

  “And he has a secret.”

  “You said that before. Don’t keep dangling it in front of my face if you’re not going to tell me.”

  “If I did tell you,” she said, slipping back into her dress, “he’d kill me.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Is she or isn’t she?”

  He decided to joke back. “You can tell me because I have a cape. I’ll protect you.”

  She turned to look him full in the face. “Will you? You’d really do that?”

  John Henry picked that moment to breeze into the room. He was wearing pajamas and a silk bathrobe. “Hey, you two. I do have some good news,” he said, warming his hands by the fire.

  “Oh?” said Eli, instantly pulling away from Kit.