He sat down at the breakfast table. “You got a better theory on who shot him?”
“Not yet, but I know what I’m missing—the truth about the victim. It’s always about the victim.”
“You mean Otto?”
“No, Annie, the game’s victim. He modeled the other characters in his game on real people. Who was the model for the young woman who fell overboard?” When Granddad shrugged, she said, “I’ve got one candidate. Cheyenne told me Otto had a younger sister who died when he was in his twenties. I’d like to know how she died.”
Granddad stroked his chin. “Otto was closing in on sixty. That means his sister died thirty or more years ago . . . in the dark ages before every little thing got posted on the Internet. You won’t find out much about her online unless her death was unusual.”
“I won’t dig up anything without knowing her name and when she died.” Granddad might be able to help with that. Val sat down across from him. “You didn’t get a chance to visit with Cheyenne today. You can try again tomorrow and do some snooping at her house.” Assuming he could face the widow without betraying that he suspected her of adultery and conspiracy to murder.
His eyes lit up. “What kind of snooping?”
“Her dining table is covered with photos of Otto when he was younger. I saw one of him with his sister when she was a baby. There must be other pictures of her. Turn them over to see if there’s a date or her name on the back.”
“I could try pumping Cheyenne for information, but she wasn’t even alive thirty years ago. Wife number one might know more about his sister.”
Val gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll visit Stacy tomorrow. I want to talk to her anyway. In the game she morphed from a possible blackmailer into a Pinkerton detective. Did those roles have anything to do with the woman she really is? Why did Otto invite her?”
Granddad shrugged. “She came off smelling sweet. Maybe Otto wanted to patch things up with her, especially if he suspected his new wife of cheating. Do you know where Stacy lives?”
Val nodded. “She’s staying with Trey in the place where he’s house-sitting. The address she gave the Coast Guard officer was 312 Belleview Avenue. Louisa and Damian are at 301 Belleview Avenue.”
“The corner house. Ritzy neighborhood. The even-numbered houses backing to the river are the prized ones. The houses on the other side are newer and on smaller lots.”
The Browns had bought a house on the most expensive street in town, but they lived on the wrong side of it. That might explain why Louisa’s prominent neighbors were less friendly than she’d hoped.
* * *
At three o’clock on Wednesday, Val walked along Belleview Avenue. The two-story frame house where Trey was staying had one-story additions on both sides and a covered porch across the front.
She climbed up two steps to the porch and rang the bell, setting off loud barking.
Trey opened the door. His jeans had holes. He hadn’t shaved in days, probably since Saturday night, when he’d looked neat in a tuxedo and ponytail. Now his hair was loose and needed combing.
He held a chocolate Labrador retriever by the collar. The dog, tail wagging furiously, was apparently happy to see Val, but Trey eyed her as if she were selling magazine subscriptions. “H’lo.”
“Hi, Trey. I was hoping to talk to your mother.”
“She’s gone to the supermarket.” He glanced at Val’s plastic-wrapped plate of macaroons and oatmeal cookies. “If you’d like to come in and wait, she should be back soon.”
Cookies opened doors.
“Thank you.” Val went inside. “Cute dog. Yours?”
Trey shook his head. “I’m the house sitter and the dog sitter.”
Val patted the dog on the head with one hand, and held the cookie plate aloft with the other. “Is there someplace I can set the cookies down so the dog won’t eat them?”
Trey led her into a spacious kitchen, probably an addition to the back of the house. He pointed to the table by the bay window. “You can put the cookies there. Gretel knows the table is off-limits for her.” He gave Gretel two dog treats.
Val crossed the state-of-the-art kitchen to the eating area. The gleaming pots and pans hanging above the granite counter looked as if no one had ever used them on the stove. But the counter had crumbs on it. The sink contained a dirty dish, a greasy frying pan, and a carafe half-filled with coffee. If she needed a house sitter, she wouldn’t hire Trey.
Val turned away from the unappetizing sight and looked out the bay window. The river sparkled in the sunshine. “Nice view.”
Trey watched her take the plastic wrap off the plate of cookies. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
He brought a glass of water and a glass of milk to the table. At Val’s suggestion, he sat down and helped himself to the cookies.
“My condolences on the death of your stepfather,” she said.
Trey finished chewing a macaroon before responding. “Ex-stepfather. He hasn’t been part of my life for the last six years, so I won’t miss him.”
Val assumed he was exaggerating. “He asked you to a special dinner, and you went.”
“First time I’d heard from him in years. I wouldn’t have gone except he promised to make a big donation to the Protect the Bay Fund. I guess I can ask his widow for it. Not right away, of course. I’ll wait a while before I approach her, but I won’t let it go. I’m shameless when it comes to that cause.” He gave her a boyish smile.
Val felt herself warming to him. Why had he acted like such a jerk on the boat? “I couldn’t help noticing that you weren’t happy at Otto’s dinner.”
“Otto invited me to the party and demanded I wear a tux he rented for me. He did not order me to be happy. My happiness was never his priority.” Trey gulped some milk. “When my mother was married to him, we spent vacations and every weekend on his sailboat, unless it rained. He belittled me because I got seasick and insisted that more time on the water would cure me.”
Val winced. “Not fun.”
“No. For years, starting when I was eight, family time meant upchucking. When I turned thirteen, I refused to get on his boat again. Otto and Mom argued about it. I went from being the boy who ruined vacations to the one who caused strife in the family.”
Prone to seasickness, yet he’d shown no sign of it when the yacht was heaving and rolling. “You handled the rough water well on Saturday night.”
“I had a scopolamine patch here.” He touched behind his ear, as she’d seen him do on the yacht. “I tried the patch a few years ago. Going on boats isn’t a big problem anymore.” He refilled his milk glass and returned to the table. “Otto and I had our differences. That doesn’t mean I wanted him dead, but I was glad to hear about the bullet wound.”
Huh? “Why?”
“Because no one can blame his death on the pilot. Before Otto’s body turned up with a bullet hole, people thought he fell overboard in the squall. The Coast Guard seemed to fault Jerome for not controlling the yacht.”
Val wondered why Trey cared. If he’d drugged Jerome, he might feel guilty about the pilot being blamed for Otto’s death. Could she nudge him into admitting what he’d done? “Jerome is still in hot water. Even if he isn’t blamed for Otto’s death, the rumor that he was on drugs will hang over him. He’ll have trouble getting a piloting job.”
Trey raked his hair and looked out the window but said nothing.
Not ready to confess? Val decided to apply a bit more pressure. “I heard a theory that Otto might have discovered Jerome under the influence of drugs, and Jerome killed him to silence him.”
Trey hit the table with his fist like a judge with a gavel. “No way. When I went up to the bridge, he was barely conscious. He was in no condition to shoot straight.”
“Because he was under the influence of drugs, which won’t count in his favor. How soon after Otto went outside did you go up to the bridge?”
“A minute or so later. First I stop
ped at the head and then went up to the bridge.”
He’d had enough time to shoot Otto and push him overboard. Val made eye contact with Trey. “Did you see Otto on the deck?”
Trey returned her steady look. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t kill him. And I don’t believe Jerome did either.” The dog barked and shot out of the room. “My mother’s back. I’ll help her with the groceries.”
Trey left and returned in half a minute with two canvas bags of groceries. “I’m going to take Gretel for a walk. Mom will be right in.” As he left the room, his mother entered with another canvas bag.
Val stood up. “Hi, Stacy. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in.”
“Not at all.” Stacy filled an electric kettle with water. “I’m going to make myself tea. Would you like a cup?” She put her grocery bag on the counter near the built-in fridge.
“I’d love one.” As Val watched her move yogurt and tofu from the bag to the refrigerator, she was struck by wife one’s resemblance to wife two—both tall and lean, both with long, blondish-brown hair. In twenty years, Cheyenne would resemble Stacy, with smile lines and a hint of crow’s feet. “Do you often stay where Trey is house-sitting?”
“No. I’d planned to spend only Saturday night here so I wouldn’t have to drive home after Otto’s dinner party. But after what happened, Trey needed support, though he’d never admit it.” Stacy took lettuce from her grocery bag. “For eight years, more than a third of Trey’s life, Otto was his father. Like most young men, Trey keeps his emotions bottled up. But it will hit him soon that the only father he ever knew is gone.”
Trey’s mother was probably right about his delayed reaction. “It’s great that your job allows you to take time off to be with him.”
“I’m writing a book while I’m on sabbatical from teaching at the University of Maryland. I picked up some clothes, my computer, and my notes so I could work from here. And Trey doesn’t mind having someone around to cook for him.” She grimaced at the sink with the dirty dishes. “Or to clean up when he cooks for himself.”
“My grandfather feels the same way about me. What’s your book about?”
“Teaching science to young children. I give lectures on that subject and decided to rework the material into a book.” Stacy poured boiling water into a teapot. “But you didn’t come here with your cookies to talk about that.”
Val had planned to work up to the subject of Otto, but a direct approach might work better with the no-nonsense Stacy. “I hoped you could tell me how Otto’s sister died.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Otto’s mystery game intrigued me. I found a Titanic dinner mystery online that probably inspired his. He changed the characters so that they resembled his guests in age and marital status. That made sense, but he also changed the victim from a Titanic crew member to a female passenger. When I heard he had a sister who died young, I wondered if she might have been the model for Annie.”
Stacy studied Val as if trying to read her mind. “Good guess. Otto’s half sister, Andrea, was a sophomore in college when she died. She went to a party at an off-campus apartment. The students were drinking, some of them doing drugs. There was an accident that killed Andrea.”
Val shuddered. How awful to send a child to college and lose her forever. “Her family must have been devastated. Was it a car accident?”
Stacy took cups to the table and gazed at the river through the bay window. “The party Andrea attended spilled over onto the balcony. She sat on the railing, lost her balance, and fell to her death.”
“Wow!” Val hadn’t expected such an obvious similarity between Otto’s sister and the victim in his mystery. “Andrea and Annie both fell off a railing.”
“Yes, but Annie fell into imaginary water, and Andrea hit real concrete.” Stacy turned away from the window. “Andrea was ten years younger than Otto. He felt protective of her. He blamed himself for not being a bigger part of her life, talking to her on the phone more often, visiting her at college. I doubt any of that could have prevented her death.”
Val wondered if the railing was the only similarity between Andrea’s and Annie’s deaths. “Did Otto ever suggest someone might have been responsible for his sister’s accident?” As his script suggested about Annie.
Stacy brought the tea to the table and sat down. “What happened to Andrea isn’t unusual on campuses. A student falls down the stairs while under the influence, or dies of alcohol poisoning, or ODs on drugs. It’s hard for a grieving family to accept the senseless death of someone so young.”
Not an answer to the question Val had asked, but she took Stacy’s evasive response as a yes. She sat down across from Stacy. “Where did Andrea go to school?”
“Virginia Tech. Five hours away from Washington, D.C., where Otto was working long hours.”
“How old was she when she died?”
Stacy poured tea into the cups. “Nineteen.”
“Could something have happened recently that made Otto think about her death after such a long time?”
“Her death haunted him for the rest of his life. When I met him, fifteen years later, one of the first personal things he told me was about Andrea’s death.”
Val stirred sugar into her tea and switched to a less grim topic of conversation. “Where did you meet Otto?”
“I was on Antiques Roadshow. He saw the show and tracked me down because he wanted to buy what I’d gotten appraised on the show. Can you guess what?”
“Something to do with the Titanic?”
Stacy nodded. “My great-grandmother was a Titanic survivor. She was in third class, coming to visit her older sister, who’d traveled to America a few years earlier and married an American. After Great-Granny survived the Titanic, she wouldn’t get on another boat . . . ever.”
Val reached for a macaroon. “Understandable.”
“She wrote a letter to her younger sister back in Europe to explain why she was never crossing the ocean again. The letter was filled with details about the night the ship sank. When the younger sister came here for a visit after the first World War, she gave the letter back to Great-Granny.”
“That sounds like something you’d want to keep, to show your grandchildren. Do you still have the letter, or did you sell it?”
Stacy went motionless with the cup of tea halfway to her mouth. “I sold it.”
Val waited for her to say more, but Stacy just sipped her tea. Time for another guess. “Did you sell the letter to Otto?”
“In a way. When I told Otto I wanted a divorce, he said he’d like to keep the letter. I refused, of course. I planned to sell the letter to pay for Trey’s college education. Otto offered to do that if I gave up the letter. So I did. Trey graduated last year from an excellent and expensive liberal arts college, and Otto paid for all of it.”
“It must have bothered you to lose a piece of your family history.” It would have bothered Val.
“Yes, but I nearly got it back. Now that Otto’s dead, I’ve lost my chance. When I turned down his invitation to dinner on the yacht, he said, What would it take to get you to say yes? I told him my great-grandmother’s letter. I thought he’d laugh at me, but he agreed. That’s why I went to his dinner.”
Val’s jaw slackened with surprise. Otto’s biggest bribe yet. “He must have wanted you there badly. Do you know why?”
Stacy plucked a macaroon from the cookie plate and chewed two bites thoroughly before responding. “I can guess. He’d recently acquired a luxury yacht and a beautiful young wife. He hoped I’d be jealous.”
Even for Stacy, who deliberated before saying anything, the delay before answering Val’s question had been exceptionally long. Sign of a lie? As a scientist and educator, she gathered facts, analyzed them, and taught her students to do the same. She probably didn’t make things up as a rule, so she had to think about it beforehand. Val couldn’t imagine what Stacy was hiding. “What do you think happened to Otto?”
“I thought you’d never ask,�
�� Stacy said. “He committed suicide. He took care of his father, who had early-onset Alzheimer’s. Otto told me he’d kill himself if he found out he had the same disease. He must have gotten tested and discovered he had signs of it. That would explain his early retirement. He took matters into his own hands while he still could.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
“There’s no point unless the autopsy shows that he had the disease. I’ll wait for that.”
Did Otto tip off Stacy about his plans, or was she only guessing? “You left the saloon shortly after Otto went out on deck. Did he tell you then that he was going to kill himself?”
“No.” Stacy looked at Val over the top of her cup. “You were in the room when I said I didn’t see him.”
True, but she could have simply answered Val’s question by saying, I didn’t see him. Instead, she’d chosen her words carefully. “If he intended to commit suicide, why did he go to the trouble of creating a mystery game for his guests to play?”
“It diverted our attention. When he left the table, he told us to read our scripts for the next scene, his way of making sure he’d be alone outside and no one would stop him from killing himself. That’s the practical reason, but I think Otto had another reason.”
“What was it?”
Stacy poured more tea into her cup. “You’ve been asking me a lot of questions. Now I’ve got one for you. If you knew exactly when you would die, how would you spend your last hours on this earth?”
Val hesitated, as her hostess had several times, to give herself time to think. She pointed to the plate of sweets on the table. “I’d bake a batch of cookies, probably chocolate chip, and invite my family and friends to share them with me.” She envisioned the gathering. After only a year here, she had more friends to invite from Bayport than from New York, where she’d spent ten years. “On my final day, I’d do the same thing I enjoyed throughout my life. I’m guessing most people would.”
“I believe Otto did exactly that. He loved being on the water and he was crazy about the Titanic. He enjoyed entertaining eclectic groups of people for dinner, a mix of old friends and new ones. Otto often planned some kind of game, a scavenger hunt or trivia over cocktails.” Stacy stirred her tea. “On Saturday night he indulged all his passions at once. The yacht, the Titanic dinner, the guests, the game. He wrapped them all into a grand finale and then left this world with a bang, not a whimper.”
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