The Devil You Know (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 15)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  I hesitated. “You mean, right now?”

  “Sure, why not? Follow me and I’ll give you the tour.”

  A few minutes later, we were in the basement, and it occurred to me that Carter must still be listening. He had installed a hidden audio device somewhere down here.

  Brett guided me over to the wine cellar door and opened it. A cool rush of air hit me in the face as we walked inside.

  “Let me guess, this room’s temperature is set at exactly fifty-five degrees.”

  He seemed impressed. “Sounds like you know your stuff.”

  The bottles were arranged on copper tubes in such a way that you could see all the labels clearly. And there must have been hundreds of them. At a quick glance, I could tell these were expensive labels, not the two for ten bucks kind I buy at Trader Joe’s. “Are you sure George won’t mind that we’re doing this?”

  “Relax. He’s totally cool with it. Why don’t you pick one out?”

  “No, I don’t dare. You’d better do it.”

  Brett sauntered around, taking his time perusing the labels. Finally he chose one and held it up for me to inspect. “Here’s a cabernet from 2007. Wanna give this a try?”

  “Sure.” I wrapped my arms around myself and began rubbing. Damn it was cold, but I loved being in the presence of fine wines.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “Let’s head upstairs. I’ll start a fire in the library and we can enjoy this bottle together.”

  The way he said it, sounded like we were about to have a romantic evening together. No matter how innocent his intentions were, I had to believe his wife would not approve.

  Chapter 11

  True to his word, Brett made a fire in the library while I sat on the leather couch listening to him talk about himself and his auditions. Then he opened the bottle of cab and poured us each a glass.

  When he finally joined me on the couch, I noticed he sat closer than was necessary. “You know,” he said to me. “You have nice features. I kinda dig the glasses but have you ever considered getting contacts?”

  Wow, this guy had some nerve. I didn’t know if I should be flattered or insulted. “Um, I guess I never really thought about it. I’m used to the glasses.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Really? Because they seem way too big for your head. Did you have someone help you pick them out ’cos, I gotta say, they don’t do you justice.”

  I laughed. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I manage just fine.”

  “Here, let me see them. Maybe I can adjust them better so they don’t keep sliding down your nose.”

  I swatted his hand away, playfully. “I’m fine. Why are you so worried about my glasses, anyway?” I kept my tone lighthearted yet firm.

  He seemed a little hurt. “I’m just trying to help, that’s all.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  He tilted his head and regarded me with a bemused grin that made me uncomfortable. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out small plastic baggie. “Hey, do you ever smoke?”

  I assumed it was pot. “No thanks, marijuana disagrees with me.”

  “Really? That's too bad. It totally helps me relax. But if you're not into it, I won't bother. It's no fun smoking alone.”

  When he returned the baggie to his pocket, I decided it was time to get down to business.

  “Look,” I said. “Can I confide something to you?”

  He straightened and gave me a wide eyed stare. “Sure. What is it?”

  “It’s about my mom. Don’t you think it’s odd that she just happened to have a fatal accident right after she and George announced their engagement?”

  When he noticed the serious look on my face, he seemed genuinely baffled. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “Why would I joke around about my mother’s death?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just so out of the blue. What are you trying to say, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of George’s kids decided that my mother stood in the way of their inheritance. Maybe they didn’t appreciate that.”

  Brett swallowed hard. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. Are you accusing someone of actually killing your mother? I mean, that’s insane. It was an accident.”

  I said nothing for a few long seconds. “How can you be so sure it was or wasn’t an accident? Did you see her fall down the stairs?”

  “Well, no. I was sleeping when it happened.”

  “Then how do you know for certain?”

  He seemed flustered. “Well, I mean, I guess I don’t. But who would do something like that? Nobody in this family would do something so evil. At least not on purpose.”

  “What about Miles or Sue-Ann?” I said. “They’re struggling financially. Maybe one of them…”

  “Who told you that they're struggling?”

  “George.”

  Clearly at a loss for words, he raked a hand through his hair. “Doesn't make sense. Why would anyone risk killing your mother? Certainly George wasn’t going to leave his entire fortune to her. There's plenty to go around for everyone.”

  “How do you know for sure what George is leaving everyone in his will? Did he tell you himself?”

  Brett paused and seemed to chew on that for a moment. “No, but Olivia assures me that George is splitting everything between his kids. Even if we had to divide the estate three ways with your mother …” He stopped himself and looked away toward the crackling of the fire.

  I found it interesting how Brett considered himself as one of the heirs to George’s fortune. Sure, he was married to George’s daughter, but he must also be aware that Olivia had a history of short marriages. And yet, he seemed pretty confident that he’d be around long enough to collect on her father’s inheritance. For all I knew, Brett could have been the one who pushed Josephine down the stairs. People have killed for lesser reasons.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I’m way off base, here. I feel awful for even mentioning my suspicions to you. Please don’t say anything to the others.”

  Brett seemed slightly relieved. “No worries. It's a stressful time, so I understand.”

  Of course, I was counting on the fact that Brett would tell Olivia. How could he resist? And then Olivia would tell her brother Miles. Miles would tell his wife Sue-Ann and, pretty soon, the whole family would know that I suspected foul play was involved in Josephine’s death. Little did he know, it was all part of the plan to uncover the truth.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Tell me more about your acting career.”

  He chuckled. “You mean the lack, thereof?”

  “I thought you were the lead actor in a Broadway show? That sounds impressive to me.”

  Brett shrugged like it was nothing to be impressed about. “Since we’re being honest with one another, I should probably confess that I’m not really the lead in a play. I’m a stand-in, just in case the real actor gets sick or hurts himself.”

  “Oh.” I wracked my brain for something to say that would make him feel better. “Do you get paid for being a stand-in?”

  “I’m afraid not. But I keep plugging away, hoping for my big break. I know it will happen someday.”

  “I think you have the right attitude. Show business is not for the faint of heart, I hear.”

  He smiled at me. “Nope. You need thick skin and a will to succeed.”

  We killed the bottle of wine as he continued to talk about his life. He told me he was an only child, raised by a single mom in a one room apartment in the Bronx. His father had skipped out when he was only thirteen and died a year later in a car accident. He also talked about his various jobs over the past twenty years. He’d done everything from waiting tables to selling vacuum cleaners.

  By eleven o’clock, I could barely keep my eyes open. “I need to get some sleep. I don’t want to be too hung over for my mom’s memorial tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t you head upstairs to bed and I’ll clean up down here. I’m not th
at tired, yet.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  “Thanks for the wine. And the conversation. Again, I’m sorry about all that talk before about my mom. I feel ashamed that I even brought it up.”

  “No worries,” he said. “I understand completely.

  When I got up to my bedroom, I made sure to engage the dead-bolt on the door like George had suggested. Better to be safe than sorry.

  After performing my nightly beauty ritual, I slipped into pajamas and went to bed.

  Chapter 12

  The cell phone alarm woke me up at seven the next morning. I spent a half an hour getting ready for my fake mother’s memorial service. In fact, I wore the same exact outfit that I’d worn to my real mother’s funeral; a simple black dress with low-heeled pumps. I didn’t bother with make-up. I figured it’d get smeared while I pretended to wipe away the imaginary tears.

  There was a text from Carter, wishing me luck at the service.

  By the time I got downstairs for a cup of coffee, it was almost eight o’clock. A continental breakfast had been spread out with muffins and croissants. Miles and Sue Ann were already eating at the island. They were both dressed in the requisite black attire one would expect for a memorial service. Sue-Ann’s blonde hair looked like it had been teased into submission. I could smell the hairspray from ten feet away. Her low cut dress showed ample cleavage, which I found to be in poor taste for a funeral setting. Miles, on the other hand, wore a sophisticated navy blue tie and gold cufflinks with an expensive looking suit. He could’ve passed for a lawyer. No one would ever suspect that he and his family were on the brink of bankruptcy.

  “Good morning, Tina,” Miles said, making an effort to be friendly even though his drawn face wore the remnants of sleep deprivation.

  “Good morning.” I helped myself to the coffee on the counter and remained standing. “Have you seen your father yet?”

  “No, not yet,” Miles said. “I knocked on his bedroom door but he must've been in the shower. I’m worried about him. This has been a stressful time, and with his health issues …” He stared into his mug with a sigh of frustration.

  “I am saddened by the news about your father,” I said. “But remember, there’s always hope. Medicine advances every day and your father strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn’t give up.”

  He lifted his head slightly and our eyes met. “I suppose, but it sounds like there isn’t much time. I wish he’d told us sooner so I could help do research.”

  Sue-Ann sipped her coffee and picked at a muffin as if she wasn’t all that interested in the conversation. Perhaps she wasn’t upset about her father-in-law’s declining health. I wondered if she was already counting their share of the inheritance.

  Miles’ cell phone began to ring. He checked the caller ID and said, “Please excuse me ladies, I need to take this.” He disappeared into the hallway, muttering into the phone as he went.

  With her husband gone, Sue-Ann downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. “I should go check on my daughter and make sure she’s getting ready. Do you have any kids, Tina?”

  I was about to say that I had a son in college, but caught myself. “No, I don’t. Never been married either.”

  “Well,” she said. “I suppose there must be a lot of positives to that lifestyle. You have the freedom to go wherever you want.”

  “It’s true,” I said. “But sometimes I think I’d like to settle down and have a close family like yours.”

  She made a vague gesture, as if ‘close’ wasn’t exactly the right word to describe the family she married into. “Well, like I said, I should go check on Sasha.”

  After Sue-Ann left, I drank my coffee and scarfed down a muffin. I had assumed Lucita was around here somewhere, but I hadn’t seen her yet. I glanced out the window toward the driveway and noticed the green Nissan that had to be hers.

  Since the memorial didn’t start until ten o’clock, I had some time to kill. I left the kitchen and wandered into the library. The ashes from last night’s fire were still simmering in the fireplace and I wondered how long Brett had stayed up after I’d gone to bed.

  “How did you sleep last night?” At the sound of George’s voice, I turned around to find him walking towards me, his dark suit neatly pressed and his hair combed back with gel. He looked quite dashing, but his sad eyes made me realize how much he must be hurting inside.

  “I slept fine,” I said. “The bed was very comfortable. How are you… coping?”

  “As well as can be expected. Although, Jeremy has just informed me that my sister is not feeling well this morning. I’m afraid she will not be joining us for the memorial.”

  Yeah, right. I decided not to tell George the truth. It would only serve to hurt his feelings. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She has an upset stomach, apparently. Between you and me, I know better. She just doesn’t feel like going.”

  “Are you upset?”

  “Not really. I expected she might pull a stunt like this. If you haven’t already figured it out, Margaret can be quite selfish.”

  “Hey, at least she flew here to spend time with you this weekend. She could’ve made an excuse not to come at all.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” George came closer and put a hand on my shoulder. He lowered his voice and said, “Has there been any talk?”

  “Not yet. Carter will let me know if he hears anything.”

  He nodded and I could sense his impatience.

  “I shared a bottle of wine with Brett last night.”

  George tilted his head with interest. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I could be wrong, but I got a funny feeling from him, like he might have been flirting with me. Not sure what to make of that but, anyway, I told him that I suspected someone of killing Josephine.”

  “How did he react to that?”

  “He seemed shocked. He's probably mentioned it to Olivia by now.”

  “Once Olivia knows, then everyone will know. My daughter was never good at keeping things inside. As you witnessed last night, she can be a bit melodramatic.”

  “By the way, I need to tell you something that happened yesterday. Lucita begged me not to tell you but I think you should know.”

  “What is it?”

  “I walked into the kitchen yesterday afternoon and she was on the floor. She told me she was feeling a little lightheaded. I wanted to call for help, but she assured me that everything was fine. She was afraid you’d find out and be upset with her.”

  “Why would I be upset with her? I’m concerned, of course.”

  “She said something about having low blood sugar. Do you know anything about that?”

  George narrowed his eyes. “She’s never mentioned that to me. Maybe she needs to take a few days off. I’ll speak with her when we get back from the memorial this afternoon. Speaking of…” He checked his watch. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes. I hope everyone will be ready on time.”

  Chapter 13

  At 9:45, George’s family converged in the foyer just as the limo came to pick us up.

  “Where are Aunt Margaret and Jeremy?” Olivia asked. “Has someone checked on them?”

  “Margaret is not feeling well,” George said. “She’s decided not to go.”

  Olivia blinked rapidly. “Are you serious? What’s her excuse?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” George said. “She’s not going. And maybe it’s for the best.”

  The seven of us piled into the limo and nothing more was said until we arrived at the country club five minutes later.

  We were ushered into a small but luxurious room with flower bouquets lined up along the floor. I counted eight round tables with eight chairs each, which meant that approximately fifty to sixty people were expected to attend. How many of those people were close to Josephine? How many were attending just out of respect for George?

  At the front of the room, a framed photo of Josephine sat ato
p a podium. Her smiling face a sad reminder of why we were here to begin with.

  Two wait staff dressed in black flitted around the room, filling water glasses and making sure each place setting looked perfect.

  George didn’t say much as his family seated themselves at the closest table. He turned to me and gave me a hug. “I hope you are satisfied with these arrangements.”

  “It's beautiful. I couldn’t have done any better myself.”

  A tear slid down his cheek but he paid it no mind. “I’m glad you can be here, Tina. I know you’ve traveled a long way.”

  “My mother and I may not have been close, but I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

  He slowly walked to the podium and stared at Josephine’s face. He kissed his finger, then touched the glass. “I’ll miss you, my love,” he whispered. “But I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  For whatever reason, that single display of affection for his late fiancé made my heart swell with sadness. Next thing I knew, tears were running down my face. The tears were not so much for Josephine, but because I’d grown fond of George. I prayed that he’d beat the brain cancer, but it also occurred to me that maybe he didn’t want to beat it. Maybe he wanted to leave this world and be with Josephine again.

  ***

  The service was short and sweet and only thirty-two people attended. George stood in front of the group and told a few amusing stories about Josephine. One of Josephine’s church friends also stood up and related a memorable experience from their past. None of George’s kids bothered to say anything, not that I expected them to. I figured at least one of them might say something nice, just to appease George.

  I wondered if any of the guests expected me to stand up and say something. George had asked me not to which was just as well.

  A wonderful brunch was served: mimosas, omelets, fresh fruit and sliced ham. I observed George’s family, hoping to pick up on some kind of sign of guilt or self-conscious behavior. There was nothing that stood out to me as being a red flag.