Too Much Blood

by Jane Bennett Munro

  However, a recent codicil stated that in the event of the deaths of all the children before age eighteen, all the money went to Mary Reilly outright. In the event of the death of any child after age eighteen who had not willed his (or her) money elsewhere, that share went to Tiffany.

  But what if Mary Reilly died?

  Well, there was a codicil for that also. Her estate went to Kathleen. If Kathleen predeceased her, it went equally to the four children, or however many of them were living at the time. If none of them were living, it all went to charities.

  Mary Reilly had not left money to Tiffany; but if she predeceased Kathleen, Tiffany would eventually inherit one fifth of it, according to the terms of Kathleen’s will.

  “Does Tiffany know about the codicils?” I asked.

  “I suspect not, unless Kathleen told her,” Elliott said. “I drew those codicils Monday. She didn’t say so, but I got the impression that she didn’t altogether trust Tiffany.”

  “Huh,” I said. “That’s interesting. I wonder why?”

  “Guess we’ll have to ask her when we get home,” Elliott replied.

  Right. Sometime when Tiffany wasn’t around, preferably.

  Next, we looked at Lance’s will, which looked pretty straightforward, at first.

  Half of the eight million dollars went to Jay. In the event of Jay predeceasing Lance, it was divided between Ruthie and Kathleen. The explanation given in the will was that it represented the earnings from the law practice, and therefore was half Jay’s anyway. In the event of Kathleen and her family predeceasing Lance, the entire eight million dollars went to Ruthie.

  “Jesus freakin’ Christ,” Elliott said. “What a motive!”

  “What motive?” the Commander asked.

  Elliott told him. Ruthie still had a reason to murder the Burkes.

  The Commander shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Pete? We need to get Mrs. Brooks down here pronto.”

  “On it,” Pete said. “I’ll take Bernie with me.”

  And a catcher’s mask, I thought to myself, in case Ruthie reacts poorly to a second visit to the police station. I hoped Elliott and I wouldn’t still be there when she arrived.

  Then we saw the rest of the story.

  In the event of the demise of Kathleen and her family after Lance’s death, the money also went to Ruthie. Motive squared.

  After that, Ruthie’s will was almost anticlimactic.

  Almost.

  Ruthie had left her entire estate to a Mrs. Mildred Atterbury, residing at 26 Princess Margaret Street, Bridgetown, Barbados.

  Chapter 26

  She never told her love,

  But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,

  Feed upon her damask cheek: she pined in thought.

  And with a green and yellow melancholy

  She sat like patience on a monument,

  Smiling at grief.

  —Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

  “Who the hell is Mrs. Mildred Atterbury?” Elliott asked.

  “We’ll ask Mrs. Brooks that when she comes in,” the Commander replied. “In the meantime, maybe you two better skedaddle before she gets here.”

  “We will, but there’s one more thing,” I said.

  Elliott looked surprised. “What are you talking about, Toni?”

  “Did you find fingerprints on the gas cans at the fires?” I asked the Commander.

  “Amazingly enough, we did,” he said. “We ran them through AFIS, the FBI’s national database, and there we found a match.”

  “Tiffany’s prints are in AFIS?” I asked incredulously.

  “Who said anything about Tiffany?”

  “Now you’ve done it,” Elliott said teasingly. “You better tell him all about it.”

  “Tell me about what?” the Commander said, clearly confused.

  “Well,” I said, “yesterday Hal and I figured out that the only person involved in all the fires is Tiffany, and we realized that we didn’t really know her very well or know anything about her, so we decided to Google her, and this is what we found.” I reached into my jeans pocket—luckily I was wearing the same ones—and hauled out a wad of folded paper. I separated out the one with the birth and death notices of Tiffany Sue Summers of Duluth, Minnesota.

  The Commander stared at it, uncomprehending. “I don’t get it,” he said. “This person’s dead.”

  “I know,” I said. “So then we went onto the Clarion’s website and found this.” I handed him the printout of Emily’s birth notice.

  “Okay,” he said, still mystified.

  “Then we went to the hospital, and I looked up Tiffany’s medical record, and here it is.” I handed him the last sheet, the printout of Tiffany’s demographics, next of kin, and so on. “Notice anything?”

  “Huh,” the Commander said. “Looks like there’s more to this young lady than meets the eye. Maybe we’d better get her down here too.”

  Elliott started the car. “Okay, now what?” he asked me. “Home? Or have you got more detecting to do?”

  “I want to talk to Mitzi and Rebecca and find out if they know they’re in Jay’s will,” I said.

  “You want to know if either of them has a motive?” Elliott asked. “Are you sure? It might be dangerous. You really should leave that sort of thing to the police.”

  In your dreams. “Okay,” I said meekly. “In that case, would you drop me off at the hospital? I want to get Lance’s autopsy sections into the tissue processor.” And talk to Mitzi, if she’s there. Damn. What if she was off this week too? Well, then, I guessed I’d just have to go to her house.

  Elliott agreed. As he pulled up by the entrance, he said, “I’m going down to my office for a while. Are you going to walk home?”

  “Probably,” I said. “See you later.”

  Mitzi was at work. I found her in her office in the dark, looking at digital images on her computer. A plateful of Christmas candy sat on her desk.

  “Toni! I thought you were off this week.”

  “I am, but I wanted to finish up the autopsy on Lance Brooks, because his wife is suing us.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. “What on earth for? Does she think you screwed it up or something?”

  “Oh, she’s not suing us for that,” I explained. “She thinks the surgeons screwed up. But they didn’t. At least there’s nothing in the autopsy to suggest that.”

  “Oh, I see,” she teased. “She’ll sue you when she finds out the autopsy didn’t show anything for her to sue us for.”

  “You could be right about that,” I said. “Can I ask you some more questions about your experiences with that hedge fund?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “Those loans that you were supposed to take instead of salary? Did anyone address where you were to get the money with which to pay those back? Since all your earnings went directly into the Grand Caymans bank?”

  Mitzi shook her head.

  “So at this point you still haven’t paid any of the money back?”

  “Not so far.”

  “How much do you figure you owe yourself at this point?”

  “At least three million dollars.”

  “Does that include interest?”

  “Oh, no. With interest, it’s more like four point five million.”

  Jeez Louise. “How much of that do you owe taxes on?”

  “Just the three million.”

  “So you and Dave owe … how much?”

  “With interest and penalties, one point five million.”

  “Did you and Dave split that when you divorced?”

  “Yes,” Mitzi said. “We each owe seven hundred and fifty thousand. Plus I’m buying him out on the house, so I owe him two hundred a
nd fifty thousand for that. I want Jeremy to be able to stay in the same house and be in the same school with his friends.”

  Wow, a million dollars in debt. Mitzi was as deep in the hole as I would have been if Hal’s ex-wife sued him for punitive damages and won. Were Rebecca and Jeff in the same fix? Then I thought of Jodi and changed the subject.

  “What did Jay say when you told him you were pregnant?” I asked.

  “He dumped me,” Mitzi said.

  “Because he didn’t need you anymore now that you were pregnant?”

  Mitzi looked astonished. “How did you know?”

  “He did the same thing to somebody else I know,” I told her. “So did he make any provisions to support you and your child after you and Dave divorced?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mitzi said. “After all, I’m a doctor. I make plenty of money. I don’t need his.”

  “So if it turns out that he put you in his will, you’d be surprised?”

  “Very.”

  Back in my office, I looked up Jeff’s home phone number and address, but before I could call, Mike stuck his head in. “Hey, what are y’all doing here?”

  “I thought I’d finish up Lance’s autopsy, since Ruthie is suing us,” I said.

  “Hell, I can do that,” he said. “I can cut it in after I gross tonight.”

  “Don’t you have enough to do with all the surgicals and frozens and bone marrows?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve been hammered big-time today.”

  “All right then. I can do it. And I’ve already cut it in. All you have to do is make sure the cassettes get processed tonight and the slides cut tomorrow, and I’ll come in and read them and sign the case out.”

  Mike shrugged. “Okay. Y’all don’t have to twist my arm.”

  He started back to his own office. I called him back. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “Which surgeons are working this week?”

  “Sorensen and Jensen. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  After he was gone, I called Rebecca. She answered the phone, sounding breathless. “You sound like you’ve been running,” I said.

  “Oh, there was somebody at the door,” she said. “Who’s this?”

  “Toni Day,” I said. “I was just making my Christmas rounds, and I thought I’d bring you some Christmas cheer.”

  “Oh, how nice!” she said. “Do you know how to find us?” She gave me directions. I thanked her and hung up. Then I walked home to get the car.

  “What for?” Hal asked. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve just got a last-minute errand to do,” I explained. “You don’t ask questions like that at this time of year, remember?”

  “Oh, right, because it’s Christmas.”

  “I won’t be long,” I assured him.

  First, I went to the store and bought a bottle of nonalcoholic eggnog and a box of bakery cookies. Then I was ready for my mission.

  The Sorensens lived in The Willows, a rather upscale gated community on the northwest side of town near the canyon. It was not so posh that I had to have my retinas scanned to get in, but I had to push a button for the address I wanted, and Rebecca had to buzz me in before the gate would open and let me drive in. The streets wound around each other, making it very easy to get lost. However, Rebecca’s directions were easy to follow, and I pulled up in front of a large sand-colored house with white brick trim and at least two stories. There may have been more. There were so many gables and projections that it was hard to tell from the outside.

  Rebecca met me at the door, dressed in black knit pants and a baggy pink sweater that hid her belly. “Oh, how nice,” she said again when I gave her the eggnog and cookies. “I have such a sweet tooth, you wouldn’t believe. This is nonalcoholic, I hope, because—”

  “It is,” I assured her.

  “Well, how about we crack it open and have some right now,” she suggested, “and some cookies too.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Can I help?”

  “Oh, no, I can do it,” she said. “You just make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right back.”

  I amused myself by wandering around her living room, looking at the pictures on the walls. They were all black-and-white sketches. This was obviously the front room that never got used, because it was white. All white. The carpet was cream-colored, the wallpaper a subtle cream-on-white pinstripe, the upholstery of the formal chairs, couch, and love seat a subtle cream-on-white paisley pattern. White vases filled with white lilies, orchids, and daisies were scattered about on tables, and the coffee table was topped with a white marble slab. The only color came from the green of the flower stems and leaves. Even the Christmas tree was flocked with white and covered in white-and-silver ornaments. Probably had white lights on it too, I thought.

  I couldn’t help wondering whose idea of decorating that was. I hoped the rest of the house had some color, or else how the hell were they going to keep it clean with a new baby?

  Rebecca returned with a silver tray upon which were two goblets filled with eggnog and two white plates containing a selection of cookies. She put it down on the coffee table and invited me to sit. I picked one of the white chairs.

  “This is a lovely room,” I said.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I’m so glad you like it. My mother decorated it, and Jeff keeps bugging me about how hard it is to keep it clean.”

  I picked up my glass of eggnog and took a sip, wondering how to start this conversation.

  Rebecca started it for me. “Jeff says when the baby starts crawling, we’ll probably have to redecorate.”

  “When are you due?” I asked.

  “May fifteenth.”

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “It’s a boy,” she said. “Jeff is so excited.”

  “Have you picked a name yet?”

  She looked thoughtful. “Jeff wants to call him Brent Alexander after his father and grandfather, but I want to call him Jeffrey Allen Junior. What do you think, Toni?”

  “I like Brent Alexander,” I said. “I don’t know, but I think if I were a boy, I’d really hate being called Junior all the time.” Besides which, I really didn’t like the idea of this baby, who wasn’t even Jeff’s, being called Jeff Junior. Should I mention that? Rebecca would probably throw me out bodily.

  Oh, what the hell. Was I going to just sit here in this sterile room, eating Christmas cookies and getting crumbs all over it? “At least you’re not going to call him Jay Junior.”

  She nearly choked on her eggnog. “What did you say?”

  “Rebecca. I’ve seen Jay Braithwaite Burke’s will. You’re in it.”

  She stared at me, shell-shocked, and then burst into tears. “Please don’t tell Jeff,” she sobbed. “He’ll divorce me, and then what will I do?”

  “I’m not going to tell anybody,” I said. “Did you not know you were in Jay’s will?”

  “I had no idea,” she said. “Why would he do that?”

  “In case Jeff did divorce you,” I said. “Jay meant to see that you and your child were provided for.”

  “Well, what’s Jeff going to say when I inherit money from Jay?” she demanded. “Did he ever think of that?”

  “According to the provisions of the will, you won’t inherit as long as you’re married,” I told her.

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “How much money are we talking about here?” she asked.

  “It depends,” I said, “on how many other women inherit. I really don’t know how much your share would be.”

  “Would it be enough to live on if Jeff divorces me?” she asked.

  “Probably,” I said. “Like I said, I don’t really know. I don’t think you’d have to declare bankruptc
y, anyway.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she said. “I haven’t talked to Kathleen since she moved out. How is she?”

  “She’s fine, as far as I know,” I said. I didn’t feel like getting into the saga of the Burke family with Rebecca. Kathleen could tell her all that herself, if she wanted to, but I didn’t feel it was my place.

  Well, that was the most interesting part of the conversation, until I drained my eggnog and stood up. “Well, I won’t keep you,” I said. “I should be getting home.”

  Rebecca saw me to the door, and from my vantage point on her doorstep I noticed a house a few doors down that looked as if it had been burned. “Whose house is that?” I asked.

  “Lance and Ruthie Brooks,” she said. “Such an awful thing. He died, and then she had a fire. The fire department said she couldn’t stay there because it was unsafe. I don’t know if she plans to try to salvage it or rebuild it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “That is an awful thing, especially at this time of year. Where did she go, do you know?”

  “She’s staying at the Blue Lakes Inn,” she said. “But she was here just this morning, making brownies in my kitchen. She said they were a Christmas gift for Kathleen and the kids.”

  Brownies full of rivaroxaban. Oh goody. Oh shit. I hoped I wasn’t too late. I thanked Rebecca again for her hospitality and left.

  “Well, you have a nice holiday,” she called after me as I went down the walkway to the car.

  “You too,” I called back as I unlocked the door and got in. I pulled away from the curb and drove down the street toward Ruthie’s house. I drove around the corner and parked out of sight of Rebecca’s house, where I hauled out my cell phone and called home. Hal answered.

  “Don’t eat those brownies,” I said without bothering to identify myself. “They’re full of rivaroxaban.”

  “Toni?” Hal said. “What are you talking about? What brownies? We don’t have any brownies.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “Where are you?”