“With Clete for a father they had a world-class teacher in that art form. I don’t know how much Big Daddy turns his on and off—maybe that’s a second-generation refinement. Last night it’s hard to say, if he was really tanked.”
“I’m inclined to think Clete does most of his ranting for effect.”
“He does not appear to have great faith in you.”
“Well, this is only the fifth murder I’ve been on in twenty years, and three of the others a cretin could’ve figured out who did it. Maybe he’s right, maybe I have reached my level of incompetence.”
“Do you know me well enough now, you can retire that accidental sheriff bit?”
Baxter grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Nonetheless, here we’ve got a six-day-old murder, and the lead investigator has only a generic idea why it happened, a glut of potential suspects, and nobody to seriously pounce on.”
“You’ve given up on Skip and Johnny?”
“I wasn’t pinning my hopes on either of them to start with. But since we tracked down that key I’ve had to scratch them along with the rest of Etlingers’ hired help. They couldn’t have paid the freight.”
“You do plan to explain?”
“The key you gave me is for a post office box in Poestenkill. It’s been registered to a Mr. Brown for two-plus years now. There was just one piece of mail in it—a broker’s monthly transaction report, dated August 6. This is a different broker from his other accounts, by the way.
“Ryan opened the account shortly before leaving Watertown. With $20,000. He put the entire sum in a tax-exempt mutual fund, with instructions to plow back the dividends. There were no further deposits until late May of this year, when $5,000 was added. Late June and July, same thing. The deposits arrived as teller’s checks from AlBank. We’ve established that at least one of them was paid for in cash.”
“I’ll lay you odds the original twenty thou never showed up on Ryan’s tax return or on his employer’s books. Any more than the amounts from this year would have.”
“Why do you keep supposing I make sucker bets? When I checked with the president of Ryan’s last firm in Watertown, he got much too agitated not to understand what I was asking about. So, yeah, that was almost surely a blackmail payoff. Like this new fifteen thou will be. And whatever records Ryan kept to substantiate his threat, it seems our killers got their hands on them before they made a move.”
“Yeah, but … Weren’t they taking a chance going ahead and killing him with the August report not accounted for?”
“As it turns out, yes, but they had no reason to expect an August report. All along he’d been getting them semiannually—in early January and again in July. A letter that came with the report in the box acknowledges his request to go monthly, presumably because of the new deposit pattern.”
“So they must be figuring they have till January to do something about the account.”
“Even longer—there’d be no reason it couldn’t sit there safely for a while. Assuming they lifted the earlier reports from that packet, they’ve got his post office address—it’s on the report form. It’s an April-to-April box rental year in Poestenkill. They could find out by phone and renew by teller’s check.”
“If I were them,” I said, “I’d take my time about it. Rent Mr. Brown a box somewhere else and send the broker a change of address. Unless I was hot to clean out the account, I’d just add another box to my stable of rentals every year or two and let the reports accumulate.”
“The broker has frozen the account and will flag any posthumous instructions. A balance that high might tempt our killers to try for the money, but I’m going with the premise they’ll follow something like your strategy. And as long as they stay away from the boxes they’ll be safe enough.” Suddenly, he looked so belligerent I felt an alarm go off. “Not that I could effectively keep watch on that Poestenkill box for very long, anyhow. It isn’t even in my jurisdiction.”
“Does ‘going with the premise’ imply a course of action?”
He sighed. “I’ve told the media about the account.”
“Including how it came to be discovered?”
“Nothing about cat burglars, no. Just its existence, the new monthly deposits. But Val—”
“The people who are really interested won’t be looking for any cat.”
“Actually, they found one, or so Rodney called to tell me yesterday morning. With a request for my understanding that any further ‘unsettling’ publicity could be very damaging to them, and since there was no crime, no damage, etc. But if a nervous killer or two wants to make a short list, you figure to top it. Val, I’m sorry. This was the only move I could see to maybe open something up.”
“Did you ask me to go snooping at the Garden Center?”
“I wouldn’t have gotten that key if you hadn’t,” he said glumly.
“Well, it’s every bit as much in my interest as yours to find the killers. Besides, why would they come after me now? The damage is already done.”
“I wonder. It bothers me that, looking at their biggest landscaping job ever—a breakthrough contract, according to you—the Etlingers would get rid of the man most competent to oversee the crew doing the installing. Did they try to stiff you, too?”
“Not as vigorously. What they offered Skip was so insulting he had no choice but to leave. They wanted me to take a cut—but not such a huge one. I told them unless we came to terms I found acceptable I’d let it be known officially that my landscape architect’s license was no longer guaranteeing the contract. They’d used it without my permission in the first place, to win the bid.”
“This would have made problems for them?”
“There was that potential, especially on the public parts of the financing. They may also have caved because Willem stomped a lot.”
“So they went with what they hoped was the lesser evil? But I wonder. Maybe there was some reason beyond it looking believable to set you up as Ryan’s killer? Maybe somebody really does want you out of the way.”
“Why?”
“They’re afraid you’ll find out whatever Ryan found out?”
“It seems to me I’ve exited all areas that could possibly be dangerous to poke around in. Either I’ve already discovered whatever they’re worried about, or I’m not likely to. And if I knew, why wouldn’t I have told you by now?”
“You’re trying to protect somebody you care about, possibly?”
“Willem, I assume you mean. I can’t take him seriously as a suspect.”
“Maybe you’re trying to save his career? Or protect him from his relatives?”
“I’ve often enough thought somebody should. Don’t alibis eliminate anyone?”
“Except for Willem, they were all accounted for. The burden’s on me to prove otherwise, and I don’t see any way of doing that. These aren’t people I can lean on very hard. They’re polite as can be, but the moment I leave they call for leverage—of which they’ve got plenty. Clete’s started making noises about having the DA appoint a special investigator. By announcing Ryan’s secret account I’ve made their territory less comfortable. Also yours, though—which is why I’d be happier if you could clear out of here for a week or so.”
“I don’t see how. Jake and I are looking to wrap up a contract down in Plattesville tomorrow. That we’ll need to procure a whole bunch of materials in the next week or so. And at this point, I can’t leave Mariah’s garden alone for more than a couple of days. If all goes well, I’m off to Cape Cod with my family next Thursday, so that’ll have to do. Don’t worry about it. You did make the right move.”
“I’ve arranged for a night patrol along your road every half hour.” He handed me a business card with a number written in ink on the back. “Anything comes up during the intervals, call them, they can get here pretty fast. I’d also like you to let us know when you’re coming home from work— one of our cars will trail you in, see that everything’s okay.”
“Thanks, but that’s excessive. Not to men
tion unworkable. The night patrol, fine, but days I’ll be in and out a lot. The escort service would just make it look like I’ve got some reason to need protection. Roxy will let me know if anything’s off.”
• • •
I was a few minutes late getting my call in to the camp store, enough for Alex to have stalked off if he’d been by himself, probably. Fortunately his more patient brother and sister had come along this time. My strategy was to ask lots of questions and cheerfully short-answer theirs. I wasn’t guilty of any outright lies, unless you count the cheerfulness, and I guess things went all right, though its unlikely anybody hung up with a warm feeling. Despite her abilities in that vein, Vicky’s never been able to teach me how to make this magic.
CHAPTER 14
The rain continued into Thursday morning—wonderful for Mariah’s plants—and with the ground so well soaked, putting in the paths and edging the next couple of days would go more easily. It was supposed to stay coolish, too, always a blessing for the heavy work. Things should be substantially finished before I went to the Cape.
I got to Jake’s around 9:30 and we spent about half an hour finalizing our proposal, then headed south. For the occasion he was wearing the newest-looking plaid shirt I’d ever seen on him, and pants with hardly any spots. I’d reluctantly decided to wear a skirt again, a different one, with a white peasant blouse that hadn’t been in style for fifteen years, at least. We looked like we were on our way to a hoedown.
As we turned into the Cutlers’ driveway, my uneasiness about potential second thoughts came rushing back. Would we return to square one? The quick and easy answer turned out to be no. They’d used their second batch of mulling-over time to come up with an imposing list of questions, but these all started from the assumption that the project was a go. I’m a sucker for intelligent questions about my work. An hour or so into things, I upgraded my projection that the Cutlers would be tolerable clients—I was looking forward to working with them.
We had to have lunch to celebrate, one of those artistic-looking, screamingly healthful spreads with lots of veggies and some or other Mideastern grain. Jake grimly got down most of his one and only helping. I let myself be talked into seconds, halfway liking this sort of stuff, though not to the point of asking for recipes. There was wine, naturally, two glasses of which noticeably improved Jake’s spirits. I’m up for a glass of white if sociability demands, as opposed to coffee, which you’d have to force down my throat. For dessert Janet brought out Bavarian cream, a tasty concoction even if the closest thing to cream in it, she proudly assured us, was skim milk. “So why don’t you call it Bavarian skim milk?” Jake inquired sourly. Janet declined to discuss the merits of the idea.
As we were finishing up, Sam mentioned that they’d been at Hudson Heights a couple of weekends previously, playing in a mixed foursome. “You’ve spent a lot of time there this summer, right? Do you have any idea when they’re going to have the last nine holes ready? I thought it was supposed to be the beginning of this month.”
“I believe they’re shooting for mid-September now. That’s not too bad a delay, as these things go.”
“You mustn’t have any money in it.”
I couldn’t help chuckling, thinking of the grief Mariah would give me over that. “It’s not my type of investment. How about you?”
“I passed, too. Back when they were putting the funding together, a couple of clients asked me to take a look at it. Your district attorney was organizing an investment group good for ten percent ownership. He didn’t have much trouble filling it, apparently, though neither of my people bought in.”
“On your advice?”
“I generally don’t tell clients go for this or steer clear of that. What I do is give them as much as I can of the picture, pointing out the pluses and minuses. Hudson Heights could turn out to be a good proposition, though not any time soon. And the longer it takes to get things up and running, the further into the future you’ll need to look. To establish that course, obviously they’ve got to have all eighteen holes playable. And to attract out-of-area golfers—this is too expensive an operation to make it just on locals—the inn needs to be operational. That building did not look like it could possibly be ready for a mid-September opening.”
“I’d guess next spring.”
“The point is the money’s still mostly flowing out, not in. And this isn’t Florida or South Carolina. You can only count on a six-, seven-month playing season.”
“Well, there’s the cross-country skiing. They plan to really go into that.”
“With serious expectations of making a profit? A hundred miles farther north, where you can count on snow cover, this would be a workable proposition. Janet and I cross-country ski. The last several winters we’ve been able to get out what, dear, maybe three, four times on the average around here? Oh, it sounds great; you’ve got the terrain, you’ve got facilities that won’t need much adapting. But you’ve also got to pay up front for a bunch of equipment that’ll be unmarketable long before it wears out. Some years they may do a decent business; some, they’ll take a bath. Nobody’s yet found a way to put together a consistently reliable year-round resort in this area.”
“So then how do you figure an investment’s ever going to be profitable? The individual houses?”
“Including those in the package would have made things a lot more interesting. Almost everywhere today your oversized, overpriced housing is both popular and profitable as hell. That part of the project, though, Donnelly Construction kept for itself. No, when I said Hudson Heights could turn a good long-term profit, I meant as a tour-quality golf course and resort, which is how it was pitched. They may bring it off. It’s a beautiful, well-designed course, going by the part that’s open now. Certainly challenging. And you can’t knock the scenery.”
“It’s starting to look a lot better up around the clubhouse,” Janet put in. “That’s such a … strong building. Gorgeous views of the Hudson while you eat, but from the outside it certainly did need softening. That’s the area you were working in, right?”
“Mm-hum. It was a design challenge even for Willem Etlinger, but he loves to work on a large scale and he’s truly gifted.”
“It couldn’t hurt, either, that Clete Donnelly happens to be his father-in-law,” Sam said dryly.
“That’s the popular wisdom. It didn’t necessarily help. Not too many men would find Clete the father-in-law of their dreams. Or want to hand him a judgment call.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “What’s the man like? One hears stories.”
Jake beat me to it. “Clete Donnelly is a law unto himself— and as many other people as he can bully into going along. Ask Val to tell you how come she and Willem needed to order my plants through a middleman.”
“Jake, we don’t want to overdose these people on our quaint local ways,” I said, grinning. “Let’s just say Clete’s flamboyant. He’s better at concepts than at carry-through, but he has good people for that—at least when it comes to housing construction, which is what he’s concentrated on until now.”
“So one question would be, does he have the support staff for anything as complex as Hudson Heights? It is not reassuring that he’s kept for himself the element most likely to be profitable. Or how closemouthed he was—presumably still is—on details of the operation. The prospectus only reads well if you don’t have an inquisitive mind. I don’t know. Hudson Heights is a neat concept. Well-connected politically, too— the county perks are extremely generous, and they got a hefty economic development grant from the state. To invest in it, though, I’d want a better way to evaluate the prospects and more access to what’s going on with my money.”
While we were indoors the weather had both brightened and warmed up, so afterwards we went out into the yard and spent close to two more hours fine-tuning. As soon as we were in the Bronco, Jake announced: “I’m game for the Wayside Diner and some real food.”
I laughed. “It isn’t much of a detour. You can tell
it’s their brains that do the working.”
“Overtime,” he grumbled.
• • •
It was closing on 6:30 when I got back to the village. I made straight for the Price Chopper parking lot—I hadn’t grocery-shopped in over a week, and it was starting to show. So was I, apparently. I merited a number of stares and one comment, from somewhere behind me in the produce aisle, of “Look—there’s that woman.”
At home I put the groceries away and sauntered back to the bedroom to check my answering machine. Nobody had wanted me all day until, by her announcement, Mariah called at ten minutes after four. She’d left a curious message: “Something we were talking about got me to wondering. I’ve been doing some truly dreary research, but I do believe it’s paid off. I’m not sure how it all fits in. We need to discuss. I’ll be home the rest of the day—come over when you can.”
Her voice sounded, well, not excited, exactly, since Mariah considered that bad form. Involved, certainly. Dreary research—that must’ve been what she was up to in Albany. I wondered what I’d said that had got her into it. Well, I’d change into something more comfortable, drive on over, and find out.
I parked out front, beyond the wall, the only vehicle there. Unlike the two side gates, the front one, which faces east, can be opened electronically from inside the house. I pushed the buzzer. When there was no response after a couple of minutes I tried again, holding the button down longer. She still didn’t buzz me in.
Retracing my steps, I headed on around toward the south gate, the one I had a key for. I was starting to feel uneasy. Though Mariah liked to think of herself as a free spirit, she was more a creature of routine than she would ever admit. There were her four to six P.M. receiving hours, rarely deviated from. The long weekends of parties. She didn’t usually go out nights earlier in the week, and besides, she’d specifically said she’d be home. Of course she could be in the shower or, in the garden. Or really where else?
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