Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  Ross nodded, then his face crumbled with the onset of tears. He hid behind his hand as he cried silently. Mike touched Madeline on the arm, signaling toward the door with his eyes. Madeline shook her head and returned her focus to Ross.

  “I’m sorry,” Ross said, regaining his composure. “I just never expected to lose her this way.” He sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed his eyes. “I had it in my head she’d live until she was ninety-six. That’s what I always said to her…”

  Ross got up and went to stare out the window. Madeline could sense there was something he wanted to discuss with her besides his mother’s death. She was merely a casual acquaintance; he surely had many close friends or confidants he could turn to in this time of grief.

  “She was very proud of you,” Madeline said, hoping it didn’t sound as trite to him as it did to her own ears.

  “Thank you,” Ross replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled, hands in his pockets, then turned to face his visitors.

  “How is Cherie doing?” Madeline asked gently.

  Ross let out a strained sigh. “She’s sedated.”

  Madeline nodded. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Ross sighed again, his eyes lifting toward the dark wood paneled ceiling. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to pull himself together. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said as he eased himself back into the chair. Madeline let a few beats pass before coming to his aid.

  “I’ve contacted everyone who was working the party to confirm that it’s been canceled.”

  A slight groan escaped Ross, as if the termination of Cherie’s party was small consolation. “Thank you for that,” he said as an afterthought. His gaze wandered for a bit before his thoughts caught up with him. “Has everything been settled up?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Philippe, the caterer, will speak to Helen about arrangements for the food.”

  “Fine.”

  Silence fell over the room again. Why did he ask to see me? Madeline wondered. In the interest of time, she decided to lay her cards out. “Are you aware that your mother engaged my services as a private investigator?” The look on Ross’s face confirmed what she had suspected.

  “No. Why? When was this?”

  “Three days ago. She approached me because some of her jewels had gone missing.”

  “Which jewels?” Ross asked, his eyes fixed on Madeline’s. She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope containing the photos Vivian had given her and handed it over. Ross flipped through them quickly, then took another, longer look at each of the three photos of his mother, decades younger and clearly full of happiness.

  “These were her favorites. My father had the daisy brooch made for her,” he said, turning the photo toward Madeline, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “That’s what she told me. She said she didn’t want to keep them locked up in the safe because she enjoyed looking at them so much.” Ross huffed, a smile of recognition curling the corner of his mouth for a moment. But the fond memory quickly faded. He sank back into the chair, doing his best to control his emotions.

  Mike and Madeline shifted uncomfortably, wondering if it was time to make their exit. Before they could decide, Ross seemed to snap out of his painful reverie. When he turned to face them, he seemed calmer and more alert. He looked directly at Madeline, as if something she’d said had belatedly registered.

  “I don’t understand—why would my mother hire you to find her jewelry? Aren’t you the event coordinator?”

  “Actually, Mike and I are partners in a private detective agency.” Ross looked even more confused than before. “At the time Cherie hired me to arrange her party, I was still doing my three years of apprenticeship with a local private investigator. Now Mike and I have our own company and I’m phasing out of event planning.” As of this minute, Madeline thought to herself.

  “Are the police aware of the robbery?” Ross asked.

  “Yes. I told Detective Slovitch everything last night.”

  “Are you positive the jewels are actually missing?” he asked, his manner suddenly skeptical.

  “I searched every inch of her rooms, with her present. She said she had double checked the safe, just to make sure she hadn’t absentmindedly put them back.”

  “Did you check the safe?”

  “No,” Madeline replied. With a purposeful set to his jaw, Ross got up and went over to a large oil painting above an antique sideboard. He swung the painting back on its hinges to reveal three wall safes.

  With his hand poised in front of the keypad on the right, Ross paused and looked upward, as if he were trying to recall the code. He shifted his body to shield his movements and punched in a sequence of numbers. A muffled mechanical sound was heard as the lock released and the door opened.

  Ross took out a long box similar to a safety deposit box at a bank. He set it on the sideboard. He took out various jewelry cases and laid them side by side, then methodically searched all of them. When he repeated the process, Madeline knew he hadn’t found Vivian’s special pieces. He stood back, hands on his hips, clearly upset.

  “I take it you didn’t find them,” Madeline said, startling Ross back to the present.

  “No, they’re not here,” he said, turning around to face her and Mike. His hand rested at his chin as he tried to absorb this new element in his mother’s demise. Inspiration flashed in his eyes and he turned back to his mother’s valuables and carefully returned them to the safe.

  Without a word to his onlookers, he opened the safe on the far left. He hastily searched through the assorted contents. Unsatisfied, he poured everything out on the sideboard, spreading it all out with a wide sweep of his hand.

  “Damn!” he muttered softly. His movements became almost frantic as he dropped everything back in the box haphazardly and returned it to its slot. He repeated the process with the safe in the middle while Madeline and Mike became increasingly more apprehensive. Ross not finding his mother’s favorite jewelry was like losing her all over again.

  A ragged sob ripped the silence as he clumsily tried to stuff what appeared to be Cherie’s jewels back in her private box. Frustrated and overcome with heartache, Ross swept everything to the floor.

  “This can’t be happening!” he yelled. “This cannot be happening.”

  Watching his agony was more than Mike and Madeline could bear. They both stood, faces drawn with worry and compassion as Ross wept openly. They averted their eyes and moved toward the doorway.

  “Don’t go!” Ross pleaded with such force, it stopped them in their tracks. “No, don’t go…I need you to find out who took her things.” He approached them, staggering like a drunk, desperation etched into his features. He stopped just short of where they stood and used the back of a chair for support. He sniffed deeply and roughly wiped at his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart like this…”

  “It’s perfectly okay. We understand what you’re going through,” Madeline said, laying her hand on his arm. Ross grabbed it with his and held it. He looked into her eyes and her relative calm seemed to reassure him. After a few shaky breaths, he pulled himself together. He patted Madeline’s hand and shot an embarrassed but grateful look at Mike, then ponderously made his way to the liquor cabinet.

  He poured a highball glass half-full and took two large swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to face the P.I.s. He lifted his glass in an invitation to join him. Mike and Madeline both politely declined.

  Ross nursed his drink in private, then downed what was left. He let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. Composed, he turned back to his guests.

  “You said my mother hi
red you three days ago?”

  “That’s right,” Madeline replied.

  “And you haven’t figured out who stole her jewelry?”

  “No.”

  Ross signaled for them to be seated. After Madeline had settled herself, she gave Ross the particulars of her assignment.

  “Your mother wanted this handled a certain way—very discreetly. She balked at the idea of reporting the theft to the police. Instead, she wanted me to do a background check on her companion. I got the distinct impression she suspected Teresa had taken her things to sell them. I know she really wanted her keepsakes returned, but she told me straight out that if I had found solid proof Teresa had taken and sold them, she would not turn her over to the police.”

  “Why not?” Ross demanded. “Was she afraid of retribution?”

  “No, I think she valued the girl’s company over the jewels. They seemed to have a very sweet relationship, very respectful of one another. Teresa doted on her with genuine affection.”

  “You say that, yet you think she stole some very valuable, cherished gifts from my father,” Ross said, his tone challenging.

  “I had not come to that conclusion yet. But ultimately, it was your mother’s call. When I informed her that the girl’s Social Security number was bogus and her address didn’t exist, she became philosophical instead of vengeful. She wanted me to continue on with the background check, dig up as much as I could on Teresa’s real identity and her past. I gathered from that she was willing to keep the girl on, but she wanted to know the truth about her. Maybe she held on to the hope that she could get the jewels back and still keep her friendship with Teresa.”

  After listening to this assessment, Ross got up to pour another drink. He kept his own counsel as he drank, looking out at the gardens in front of the house. It was one of the few vistas that hadn’t been altered by Cherie’s vision of a “legacy garden.”

  “So…” Ross said, tuning back to the conversation. “What have you found out about this girl, Teresa…?”

  “I’ve had two phone interviews with previous employers, though they weren’t able to shed much light on her past. They both thought she was heaven-sent, appearing in their lives just as their respective parents needed a companion-slash-caregiver. I’ve got two more contacts to follow up on,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off as she realized how much time had been wasted on Cherie’s party when Vivian’s problems were much more pressing. She also knew that technically her case had been terminated by Vivian’s death.

  “Ross, legally, I’m no longer employed to investigate this matter. I can give you a full written report and you can do with it whatever you choose.”

  Ross looked down into his glass thoughtfully for a moment. “So, this is just a formality, really…if I want you to continue your background check on the girl or locate the missing jewels, you’ll need me to sign a new contract giving you the authorization to do so. Do I have that right?”

  “Essentially, yes,” Madeline said.

  “Okay, let’s do it this way—I want you to find out everything you can about this girl’s background. If in the course of your investigation you happen to find mother’s jewelry, then great. But I’ve got sources I can put specifically on the gem search, people who are pros at this kind of thing.”

  Ross didn’t seem aware of the slight and Madeline and Mike took it in stride. Ross had accurately pegged them as being neophytes. Madeline took out her iPad and went to work on the contract.

  “Ross, how about we amend our duties to include our own investigation into who killed your mother?”

  Though Madeline had used her most diplomatic tone, there was a harshness and finality to her words. Ross reacted as though he’d just taken a punch in the gut. He drained what was left in his glass to steady his trembling hands. When he had regained his composure, he nodded his consent.

  “If you give me an email address, I can send this to you and you can sign it right away. Then we won’t have to intrude on your privacy again,” Madeline said, as she typed the pertinent information into the form fields of her P.I. app.

  “I guess I need to write you a check…” Ross said, hands in his pockets, as the reality of what he was now engaged in hit home.

  “I have your mother’s retainer. I haven’t had a chance to calculate the amount of hours spent on this case so far, but I’m sure there’s still enough in the trust account to cover several days of investigation.”

  Ross nodded imperceptibly before wandering over to stare out the window again. Madeline and Mike locked eyes and read each other’s thoughts. What they both silently agreed on was this was going to be a tough case. They would need to use every bit of their cunning and know-how—and maybe a little “beyond the grave” help from Burt Latham—to sort this one out. But as sad and unsavory as the job might be, they were thrilled to have a crack at it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  It took only a few more minutes to get the paperwork finalized. Ross already seemed more like his normal self. Madeline understood from personal experience that people accustomed to being in charge functioned better in dire situations when they were able to take action.

  “Thanks,” Ross said, shaking both P.I.’s hands as he walked with them toward the door.

  “We’ll do everything we can to locate the girl and get to the bottom of her story,” Mike said. Ross stopped abruptly as he took in what Mike had just said.

  “Your mother apparently asked Helen to drive Teresa home last night. After leading Helen on a wild goose chase to Isla Vista, the girl jumped out of the car and disappeared into the darkness,” Madeline informed him.

  “Why the hell would she do something like that?” Ross demanded angrily.

  “According to Helen, she fired the girl on the drive out to I.V.” Ross closed his eyes as if that would shut out this disturbing news. “I believe Helen did it out of a sense of loyalty to you,” Madeline suggested. “She said you had a problem with an undocumented worker on your payroll before.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ. So now we have no idea who or where this girl is.”

  “Not at this time,” Mike said. “But we’ll find her.” Madeline looked at him askance. First rule of the P.I. business: never make claims you can’t guarantee. She smiled tightly to hide her irritation. At least Ross seemed somewhat comforted by this pledge.

  “Oh, one more thing before we go,” Madeline said, bringing them all to a halt again. “It would help our investigation tremendously if we could get a copy of any insurance riders you had for the missing items. Your mother told me you put her valuables under your policy when she moved in here. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Ross said, his glance straying as he tried to recall the details. “I’ll call my agent. I should alert them of their disappearance anyway,” he said, walking to his desk to make a note to himself.

  As he did so, all three became aware of several vehicles coming up the gravel drive. Even through the thick walls, the muffled sound of car doors closing and voices conferring could be heard. Ross ushered his visitors down the hallway just as Helen approached the front door from the other side of the house. She opened the door as Ross, Madeline and Mike came to a halt in the foyer.

  “How can I help you?” Helen asked, all business as she regarded the crowd of police personnel gathered on the front steps. Madeline recognized several of them from last night and other previous encounters with law enforcement. Detective Eames was leading the brigade followed by two detectives with the sheriff’s department, Loman and Pulaski. Eames flashed his badge in one hand and held up a piece of paper in the other.

  “We have a warrant to search this property, including the house, the grounds and any other structures on the grounds,” he said.

  “Does this have to happen now?” Helen asked indignantly. “The house is in mourning, as you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we do know. But it’s our
job to solve this case, which is why we have to expand our search before any evidence can be removed or destroyed,” Detective Eames said, standing aside to let the uniformed police in.

  “My wife is under doctor’s care and is sedated right now. I do not want her disturbed,” Ross said, stepping forward to block the invasion. “Can’t this be done later?” he demanded to know.

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Alexander. You have our sympathies for your loss, but I’m sure you can appreciate that we need to catch whoever did this to your mother,” Detective Eames said, guiding Ross out of the doorway so the others could pass.

  “I really resent this intrusion into our privacy,” Ross countered, his tone hard and unyielding. “What exactly are you looking for? Who signed that warrant?” he demanded. Eames handed the document to him. Ross smirked and handed it back. He took his cell phone from his pocket, his agitation growing as Eames pointed the team of investigators in various directions.

  “Judge Haskell happens to be an old friend of mine,” Ross informed the detective as he scrolled through his contacts. “I’m sure he would be appalled at this gross lack of consideration in our time of grief.” He found Lawrence Haskell’s cell phone number and placed the call.

  Detective Slovitch brought up the rear of the procession that seemed to Madeline to be a dozen-strong. He gave the others an inquiring look, as if to ask what the holdup was. Eames shrugged, his eyes shifting to Ross.

  “Larry? Ross Alexander.” Ross regarded the detectives as he paused to receive condolences from the judge. “Thank you. It has been a huge loss.” The detectives shifted uncomfortably as Ross lorded his influence over them. “Actually, there is something you could do…”

  Ross turned toward his study as he conferred with the judge. Apparently the conversation hit a snag, for Ross’s body language signaled a change in his former confidence. He lowered his voice as he moved further away from the foyer. Slovitch and Eames exchanged knowing glances and Slovitch headed for the staircase.