Sharpe Edge (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series)

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “And you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to add footnotes,” he said, stroking each key in order.

  Sandra smiled and nodded, always the polite shopkeeper.

  Come on, mister! Social cues, Deena thought. Can’t you tell I’m waiting for you to leave?

  At last, the man decided he had strolled far enough down memory lane and had no use for an electric typewriter. He thanked Sandra and left the store.

  “Finally. I thought he’d never leave.” Deena returned to her spot across from Sandra. “Like I was saying, Carolyn had a cat. On Wednesday, we noticed the poor little thing was bleeding from a few spots on her belly and paws.”

  Sandra winced at the thought as she picked up the typewriter and carried it back to the shelf. “You don’t think Marie would stab a cat, do you?”

  “No, but maybe the cat climbed into the box and got cut on the sharp blade. Does that sound like something a cat would do?”

  “Definitely. Cats love to get inside boxes. They’re very curious. But would Marie go so far as to break into the store to get the knife back?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m definitely going to talk to her again. The two incidents may be unrelated, or we just might have a cat burglar on our hands.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Discretion is important when dealing with financial matters, especially in a small town. Howard Collier had been the Fitzhugh’s accountant for the past twenty or so years. He was meticulous with his books and loyal to his clients. His reputation was impeccable. Carolyn had trusted him even more than her pastor.

  Estelle occasionally drove her mother to his office but rarely sat in on their meetings. This was the first time she would be seeing him as head of the Fitzhugh estate. She brought a copy of the will as well as all the bills and notices she had gotten in the past week. Mr. Collier took care of paying all of Carolyn’s expenses. She was the only person in town still allowed to have an account at the local grocery store and pay her bill once a month. She never liked dealing with money and just wanted everything taken care of for her.

  Estelle sat across from the gray-haired man in his gray three-piece suit on a gray winter day, exactly one week since her mother’s premature death. Like her mother, Estelle was not interested in details. She wanted reassurance that everything was in order: The staff were paid, the bills were paid, and she did not have to worry about the lights being turned off.

  “I can assure you, Miss Fitzhugh, that everything will be taken care of seamlessly. It will be like your mother is still here.” He caught himself and looked down at the papers on his desk. “Forgive me. Poor choice of words.”

  “I understand,” she said, leaning back in the tufted leather wing chair. “Will you be working with Jim Redmond in regard to mother’s will?”

  “Absolutely. You have nothing to worry about. I’ve prepared a brief summary of your current finances with an estimated total of your net worth.” He passed a folder across to her and she picked it up tentatively.

  She had never put a figure to her family’s fortune and wasn’t sure now that she wanted to know. She scanned the first two pages and turned to the last page. Her eyes widened and she caught her breath. The amount was nearly twice as much as she would have guessed. “Fine,” she said, and passed the folder back to Mr. Collier.

  “There are a few specifics I need to go over with you. First, do you plan on continuing the services of Irene Harrison?” When she hesitated, he looked over the top of his glasses. “Estelle?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about what to do with Irene. I offered to let her stay, but she said she would have to let me know. For now, she’s still working for us—I mean, me.”

  “If you would like to relieve her of her services, I can put together a generous severance package. Just let me know.” He turned to the next page in his portfolio. “What about Mr. Barnabus Bigelow? Do you want to continue the monthly payments your mother was sending him?”

  Estelle sat forward in her chair. “That’s the mysterious man named in Mother’s will.”

  Collier tilted his head. “You don’t know who he is?”

  “No. Who is he? Mother never discussed him.”

  Collier leaned back in his chair, swiveling side to side, staring at his Mont Blanc pen. “Let’s just discontinue the payments. I believe this was a personal matter your mother would have wanted kept private.” He leaned forward and wrote a note in the folder.

  Estelle glared at him, annoyed at his tight-lipped countenance. “Mr. Collier, you are working for me now, not my mother. I insist you explain who this Barnabus Bigelow is and what these payments were for.” Her tone left no doubt about the seriousness of her statement. Her estate was worth millions, and she knew Collier would not want to jeopardize losing her account.

  “I understand, Miss Fitzhugh.” He pulled another folder from the stack of files on his desk. “The truth is that Barnabus Bigelow is your mother’s brother, her twin brother, actually. Your uncle.”

  Her jaw dropped and she could not speak.

  Collier looked at the details in the folder. “On April 23, 1995, Mr. Bigelow contacted your mother and revealed his identity. She had no previous knowledge that she had a sibling, much less a twin. She hired a private investigator to check him out, and indeed, his claim was true.”

  Estelle could barely catch her breath. Her mind raced. How could Mother have kept this from me? I wonder if she told Father? I can’t believe this. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Apparently, when your mother was adopted, her birth mother had twins and chose to keep the boy only. When he tracked down your mother, he asked for financial assistance in exchange for staying away from her and not revealing their relationship. She gave him $10,000 up front and has sent him $500 a month—in cash—for the past twenty years.”

  “In cash?” Estelle’s mouth went dry and she felt light-headed. “May I have some water, please?” She reached in her handbag for a tissue and blotted her cheeks. How could this be possible? She took the glass of water from him. “Why would Mother keep this a secret?”

  “Mr. Bigelow was man of low character. He had been in and out of jail numerous times before locating Mrs. Fitzhugh. You can imagine how his presence would have disrupted her life here in Maycroft.”

  “Did you say he showed up in April of 1995? That’s just a few months before my father died.” Estelle’s mind reeled with this news.

  “That is correct.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Your father?”

  “No. Barnabus Bigelow.”

  “Yes, as far as we know. The sheriff in that county checks up on him and reports back to me from time to time.”

  “I want to meet him.” Estelle set down the cup, anticipating her accountant’s objections.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t care. Please give me his address and phone number so that I can contact him. I insist.” Estelle, who was as feisty as her mother, was fire-bent on meeting this man and wanted Mr. Collier to know it.

  “All right, Miss Fitzhugh. Here is his address. I do not have a telephone number.” He leaned across the desk like a concerned father. “Estelle, I’m warning you, though, do not go out there alone. He is unstable and could be dangerous.”

  “Thank you,” she said, putting the note in her purse. She saw another envelope she had brought and handed it across the desk. “One more thing,” she said. “What is this about? It appears to be a statement from a private investigator in Dallas. I found it in the drawer of Mother’s desk. It is marked as paid. Do you know anything about it?”

  “No, ma’am, I do not. Your mother had many dealings that she did not discuss with me. I just made sure the bills were paid.” He started to put the envelope in one of his folders, but Estelle reached out and took it back.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I want to contact this agency myself. Who knows what other secrets my mother could have been keeping from me.”

  Chapter S
eventeen

  Soft Christmas music, a blazing fire, and the enticing aroma of lasagna baking in the oven should do the trick. This was one of four dishes Deena had perfected over the years. As she layered pasta and filling in her prettiest Pyrex baking pan, she thought about her phone conversation with Estelle earlier in the afternoon and what Gary would say when she told him her plans.

  The idea that Carolyn had been adopted and had kept it a secret all these years was incredible. But add to it the fact that she had a twin brother made it simply fascinating. When Estelle asked Deena to go with her to meet Bigelow the next afternoon, she did not know what to say. After all, the relationship between Estelle and Russell still hung in the balance. Also, Carolyn may have had a very good reason for keeping this man away from her family.

  But Estelle could be very persuasive. Deena gave in. She was starting to get a picture of Estelle as head-strong and tenacious. Far from the demure Southern belle most people saw on the outside, she had a fire in her gut and a mind of her own. Now the problem was Gary. She could only imagine what he would say when he learned she was going with Estelle to meet this guy. Hopefully, the warm reception when he got home from work would butter him up.

  *

  “Are you serious? No way you two girls are driving out there by yourselves to meet some stranger who’s spent the past twenty years blackmailing his own sister!”

  She thought his head might explode. Maybe I should have waited to tell him after dinner, Deena thought. Too late now. “I know what you’re thinking, but let me explain.” She poured a generous amount of Chianti. “The man is seventy-five years old. How dangerous could he be? Don’t answer that,” she added quickly. “Now that it seems obvious that Carolyn’s death was an accident, we don’t have to worry that he’s a killer or anything. Besides, he hasn’t bothered the family in all these years, so I doubt he wants anything now. Also, he just inherited $100,000. He’s probably a pretty happy camper.” She hoped these arguments would put his fears to rest.

  Gary shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for you two women to show up there alone— unannounced and uninvited. And I’m not being sexist. I’m just being realistic.” He pushed his plate away and crossed his arms.

  She had one last weapon in her arsenal to try. “Well, what do you want me to do? If I tell Estelle I’m not going, she might just go out there all alone. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  Gary hesitated and blew out an exasperated sigh. “What about Russell? Can’t he go with you?”

  Deena had considered this option. “I don’t know how Estelle would feel about that.”

  “I really don’t care. It would be much smarter to take Russell. I’d go with you myself, but I’m booked with clients all day. Please, Deena, just think about it.” He reached his hand over to hers.

  “You’re right. I’ll call Estelle and work it out with Russell.” She looked down at Gary’s dinner plate. “Will you finish eating now? I put an ounce of love into every bite.” She batted her eyes and grinned.

  “Sure,” he said and pulled his plate back. “I thought I tasted something sweet in there.”

  She laughed and took another sip of the fruity red wine. I hope I’m right, she thought. After all, Barnabus Bigelow was a blackmailer who apparently cared more about money than his own family. If he had wanted to meet his niece Estelle, he probably could have found a way.

  Just two days until the funeral and then Marie could talk to Estelle and tell her about the cat and the knife and the coats and the vase and the breakin and everything else about this crazy case. On Thursday, they would lay Mrs. Carolyn Fitzhugh to rest, and on Friday, they would do the same with all the questions surrounding her death. Deena took a big bite of pasta and thought, let’s just hope nothing else unexpected comes up before then.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Apprehension, the kind that makes your stomach quiver and your throat tighten, gripped Deena the minute she left her house to pick up Estelle Wednesday morning. She had stopped at the Coffee Depot to get fresh brew for herself and her two passengers. As she waited at the stop light, she raised the plastic lid and blew on her vanilla latte.

  What was going to happen between Estelle and Russell? Would they be cordial at least? An hour-and-a-half drive each way would be brutal if they weren’t speaking. Gary was right to insist Russell come along, but she wished the circumstances were better.

  Fluffy white clouds kept the sun at bay, but a cold north wind would push most of them aside by noon. The weatherman predicted a high of just forty-five degrees. Estelle had asked Deena to pull around to the back of the house to pick her up in case there were patches of ice from the overnight drizzle.

  Deena parked near the back door and was surprised at how unkempt the rear of the house looked compared to the front. Parked in the gravel was the oversized black SUV Carolyn had used to get around town. She had a driver, Leonard Dietz, who stayed on-call to run her to various appointments and social gatherings whenever Estelle was unable to take her. The car had been modified so that the wheelchair could easily be stowed in the back. Deena wondered if Estelle would sell the car now that she no longer needed it.

  Two rusted-out golf carts and a tin shed seemed forgotten years ago and were surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds. A metal fence barely stood with several sections laying almost flat on the ground. Interesting, Deena thought. All prim and proper on the front, but behind the scenes, everything is neglected and falling apart.

  Estelle came out the back door and walked tentatively along the wet pavement. Deena thought she was seeing someone ten years younger. It was the first time she had ever seen Estelle in jeans and boots. She had on a red sweater—possibly cashmere—and a navy wool jacket flanked by a colorful scarf. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she was wearing just the right amount of make-up.

  “You look great,” Deena said as Estelle closed the door and put on her seatbelt.

  She blushed. “Thanks. I’m so glad you called last night. I have to tell you what happened.”

  Deena turned the car around in the grass and drove out to the main road for the twenty-minute drive to Russell’s house. “So spill it,” she said once she was on the road.

  “After you said you were going to call Russell, he was all I could think about. I tried to picture myself with Blake, but I just couldn’t do it. Then I started crying.” She reached into her purse for tissue. “I think it was the first time I really cried for my mother since she died.”

  “Are you okay now?” She tried to glance at Estelle and still keep her eyes on the road.

  “Yes. Dear, sweet Irene heard me blubbering and came to sit with me for almost an hour. I told her how lonely I was without Mother. She cried a little, too.” Estelle dabbed at her eyes. “I told her about my uncle and how hurt I was that Mother never told me the truth. She seemed worried when I said we were going to see him today. She wanted me to ask Blake to go with us. Insisted, really. But I told her how awkward that would be for you, and she dropped it.”

  “You’re right. It would have been.”

  “It’s funny that I have lived in the same house with Irene all these years but have never had a meaningful conversation with her until now. For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t an only child. Like I had a sister.” That started the waterworks flowing.

  Deena waited for her to calm down to ask the all-important question. She held her breath and squeezed the steering wheel in anticipation. “So, what are you going to do about Blake?”

  “I’m going to tell him it’s over between us. I am in love with Russell. I just hope he feels the same way about me.”

  Relief washed over Deena. She knew things were not settled between them, but at least Estelle wasn’t going to break his heart, and that was what she cared about most. When they stopped in front of Russell’s house, Deena saw Estelle’s face blush. “Is this the first time you’ve been here?”

  “Yes,” Estelle whispered, staring out the window.

&
nbsp; Deena wasn’t sure if Estelle was reacting to what she saw or how she felt. Obviously, Russell did not live in a mansion, but his small house was well-maintained and neat. If his lack of wealth was a deal-breaker for Estelle, she could just go back to Blake-what’s-his-name, Deena thought, her heart beginning to sink. “You can wait here, I guess.”

  “Absolutely not! I want to meet Maggie.” Estelle took off her seatbelt and hurried to the front door. Her soft knock brought on a loud bark from the dog waiting on the other side.

  Russell opened the door, and Deena followed Estelle inside.

  Thanks goodness he cleaned up, Deena thought. The place looked pretty nice. She even thought she smelled a spice candle burning.

  Estelle kneeled down to pet Maggie who was busy smelling her clothes. “I’ll bet she smells Clover.”

  “You’re probably right.” Russell held out his hand to help Estelle up. They stayed clasped together as he walked her to the back door to let Maggie out and show Estelle the back of his property. They were still holding hands when they returned, and he walked her through the rest of the house.

  Deena realized she had worried for nothing. She thought about the early days of her relationship with Gary and how just holding his hand sent sparks of electricity up and down her body. For a moment, she envied the “new love” feeling the two shared.

  “Are you ready to go?” Russell asked Deena.

  “Sure. You’re not bringing…um…any of your little friends, are you?” She nodded toward the middle bedroom where Russell kept his gun safe and collection of firearms.

  “No, not today.” He grinned sheepishly at his sister.

  Deena was relieved. The last time he brought a gun on one of their capers, she had worried they would be arrested. Contrary to the stereotype that all Texans walked around packing heat and that the state was filled with pistol-packin’ grannies, Deena was not alone in her desire to steer clear of guns.