Gone But Knot Forgotten

by Mary Marks

  “Thanks again for being there for me last night.”

  “I’d say anytime, girlfriend, except I’d be lying. I promised Ray I’d lay low for a while. See you next Tuesday for quilting.”

  My pulse sped as I dialed Henry Oliver’s phone number. I gave him Abernathy’s address and told him to meet me there at two. I hung up quickly before he could start in on me, but my hands were shaking anyway. The sooner I could be rid of the bully, the better.

  I let Arthur out in the backyard for a potty break around the time the first raindrops started to fall. Given the prolonged drought in California, we welcomed any amount of moisture. I only wished the rain hadn’t appeared on a day I planned to be driving around LA. Traffic would crawl. Before I let Arthur back into the house, I dried off his fur and muddy paws with an old towel. He licked my face.

  I left a voice mail for Isabel. Then I called Grimaldi, the boat captain who threatened Nathan Oliver.

  A woman’s voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

  I introduced myself as Harriet’s executor. “I’d like to speak to Nico Grimaldi.”

  “You’re too late.”

  “I’m sorry? Is there somewhere I can reach him?”

  “My dad passed away last week.”

  Oh no. Grimaldi was dead? “I’m so sorry.”

  The woman’s voice caught in her throat. “Why did you want to talk to him?”

  What could I say? Do you know if your father killed Nathan Oliver? “An old debt.”

  “Did he owe you money?”

  “The other way around. I’m trying to determine if Mrs. Oliver might have owed him some money. For the loss of his boat.” I hated to lie to her this way, but I didn’t want to add to her grief.

  “That’s news to me. I thought they settled years ago.”

  What? Harriet settled with Grimaldi? Abernathy must have known. Why didn’t he say something?

  “Can you tell me more?”

  “Not much. Around thirteen years ago, my father received a large amount of money from Mrs. Oliver. He spoke so highly of her. He said aside from my mother, she was the kindest woman he knew. He named his new boat Harriet’s Heart after her.”

  Thirteen years ago. Around the same time Nathan disappeared. Could Harriet have paid Grimaldi to kill Nathan? I pushed that thought away. “Do you know if they had any further contact?”

  “No, I don’t think so. At least my father never spoke about it.”

  “Would your mother know?”

  “My mother died when I was two. My dad and I have been alone for twenty years. Now he’s gone too.” She started to cry.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  After I hung up, I realized I never asked for her name.

  So Harriet paid the boat captain. After our meeting with Henry Oliver, I’d ask Abernathy why he led me to suspect Grimaldi could have killed Nathan but never bothered to mention the large sum of money Harriet paid the boat captain around the time of Nathan’s disappearance.

  My stomach growled. I had skipped breakfast, and lunch was still an hour away. Thank goodness God invented brunch. I removed some leftover vindaloo and a packet of rice from the freezer and stuck them in the microwave. In five minutes I spooned hot chicken in a spicy gravy over the steaming rice. Not the usual egg-and-bagel brunch fare, but it worked for me, especially on a cold morning.

  With my tummy in a happier place, I settled in my sewing room to create more wedges for Quincy’s quilt. When making a quilt, I liked to stack several layers of fabric and use a rotary cutter and thick acrylic ruler to mass-produce the individual pieces. Working with curves required more careful handling, so I used my fabric scissors to cut each piece separately.

  I finished making all forty-eight yellow wedges for the first ring and arranged them in a circle, moving the different prints around until I found a pleasing balance. I looked at my watch, nearly time to leave for Abernathy’s office. I tried Isabel’s number again and finally reached her. “I caught Harriet’s killer last night.”

  “You caught him? How? Who killed her?”

  “Emmet Wish, the insurance agent. He wanted to steal some valuable books. When Harriet confronted him, he killed her.” I told Isabel about the trap we set for Wish and how he shot at us.

  Isabel coughed. “Good grief. You sure do take chances. But good for you.”

  “We need to talk about Harriet and Nathan.”

  She took a drag of a cigarette. “You don’t want to go there.”

  “I sure do. Especially since you told Detective Farkas Harriet killed her husband. I want to know what happened. I also want to know why you have Harriet’s canary diamond cocktail ring, the one matching her necklace.”

  “First of all, I never said Harriet killed Nathan. I let the detective believe what he wanted to. Second, Harriet gave me the ring.”

  “When? Why would she give you such an expensive piece of jewelry?”

  “About thirteen years ago, right after Nathan disappeared, she wanted to thank me for helping her through such a difficult time. I never asked her for a thing. She knew I admired the ring and insisted I take it. You know how generous she was.”

  I did, but things were beginning to look bad for Harriet. Did the three of them—Harriet, Isabel, and Grimaldi—kill Nathan?

  “It seems like Harriet had a fit of generosity right after Nathan’s murder. First to Grimaldi, then to you. You either talk to me, or I’m going to the police with what I know.”

  She coughed again. “Fine. Come by this evening.”

  An hour later, I sat in Abernathy’s office at a large conference table. Dark rainclouds melted into the brooding Pacific Ocean. Henry Oliver wouldn’t show up for another ten minutes. I told Abernathy about Emmet Wish and the shooting in Harriet’s house last night.

  Abernathy’s face turned ashen. “I had no idea you were so foolhardy. You could’ve been killed, but I’m glad Harriet’s killer is behind bars.”

  “I’m a little worried. The detective threatened to charge us with assault and kidnapping.”

  “The police probably wanted to scare you. They know the DA would never bring charges. Wish showed up willingly, and he pulled the gun on you.”

  His cell phone chimed and he flipped it open. “Bring him in.”

  Two minutes later Nina, the assistant, walked in with a tall, dark-haired man in his late forties wearing an expensive suit with a very unattractive scowl on his face.

  Abernathy met him at the door and briefly shook his hand. “Mr. Oliver? I’m Deacon Abernathy, attorney for the estate of Harriet Oliver.” He turned toward the table. “And this is the executor, Mrs. Martha Rose.”

  Oliver looked past Abernathy’s shoulder and sized me up. I remained seated, maintaining eye contact with him. Oliver merely nodded down his arrogant nose. Abernathy escorted him to a chair on the opposite side of the table; then the attorney took a position next to me. “Mr. Oliver, I’ll get right to the point. Neither you nor your sister were named as heirs or beneficiaries of Mrs. Oliver’s estate. Neither of you, therefore, has a claim to any of Mrs. Oliver’s property or possessions.”

  Oliver darkened and twisted forward in his chair.

  Abernathy held up a silencing hand. “You are here solely at the sufferance of Mrs. Rose, who—despite your rude and threatening behavior toward her—wishes to extend to you the courtesy of an explanation of your legal standing. So, if you have any questions about your rights in this matter, you will address them to me. If not, this meeting is over.”

  I knew right away Abernathy had taken the wrong tack. Henry Oliver would only view the word “no” as a challenge. Oliver pushed his shoulders back. “Mrs. Oliver possessed some items belonging to me and my sister, things that have been in my family for generations. They weren’t Harriet’s to give away or sell to strangers, and I mean to have them back.”

  The belligerent tone in his voice hung heavily in the air.

  Abernathy merely folded his hands on the table. “Unfortunately for
you, the law says otherwise.”

  I put my hand on the attorney’s arm, and he bent down. I whispered in his ear, “Ask him what he wants.”

  Abernathy cleared his throat. “Mrs. Rose is a fair person.”

  Oliver’s eyes slid in my direction. I returned a steady gaze and hoped he didn’t see the vein throbbing in my neck.

  “Despite your shoddy behavior, she’s agreed to entertain any reasonable requests. She wants to know exactly what you want from Mrs. Oliver’s estate.”

  Henry Oliver took a list out of his breast pocket and slid it across the table with fingernails that were shiny and perfectly shaped, the kind of man who always looked clean and effortlessly put together. He wanted everything. Even some of the antique wooden toys.

  Abernathy looked at me and I slowly shook my head and took a deep breath, and said, “Mr. Oliver, I cannot possibly give away millions of dollars from Harriet’s estate. In my opinion, those valuable items should be in a place where they can be properly conserved, like the National Archives or the National Library. Especially the Declaration Quilt. It’s nearly priceless but has seriously deteriorated. The quilt needs to be properly conserved. It’s a national treasure.”

  Oliver glared at me. “That’s not up to you to decide.”

  I ignored him. “I sympathize with your desire to keep the other family heirlooms. I’d feel the same way if they were mine. As a matter of fact, I’ve already set aside some of the items on your list. They’re packed, crated, and ready to return to your family.”

  Oliver seemed to relax a little as I made tick marks on his list with my pen. I handed the list to Abernathy, who slid it back across the table.

  “These are the items you may take, but I can’t just give them to you. The law says I must sell them at fair market value.”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaws. “Outrageous.”

  I nodded. “It does suck.”

  Abernathy stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Let us know what you decide. If you’re serious about buying the items Mrs. Rose has set aside for you, we’ll provide you with a fair market evaluation.”

  After Oliver had stormed out of the office, I turned to Abernathy. “I spoke to Nico Grimaldi’s daughter this morning. He died last week.”

  Abernathy looked surprised. “Too bad. I didn’t like the idea of you going to see him, anyway.”

  “You didn’t tell me everything about Grimaldi. You revealed he had a reason to kill Nathan. Yet, you failed to tell me Harriet gave him a large amount of money around the time Nathan disappeared. What were you hiding?”

  “I was protecting Harriet and Grimaldi. When I gave you his contact information, I didn’t know he’d died. Otherwise, I might have said something then.”

  “Tell me now. Why did she give him money?”

  “Harriet felt ashamed of what Nathan had done to the man. She compensated Grimaldi for the loss of his charter boat business. When you discovered Nathan’s body in his own backyard, I knew the police would assume Harriet killed him. If they knew she’d given Grimaldi a large sum of money soon after Nathan’s murder, they’d misconstrue it as a payoff and arrest the unfortunate man.”

  I’d been right. Harriet didn’t pay the boat captain to kill her husband. She gave Grimaldi money as an act of restitution. I rose to leave. “So who do you think killed Nathan?”

  Abernathy squeezed the corners of his eyes. “I have no idea.”

  I rode the elevators to the parking garage. As soon as I stepped out, someone walked out of the shadows toward me. “Mrs. Rose? A word.”

  It was Henry Oliver, and he was pointing a gun straight at me.

  CHAPTER 34

  Oliver grabbed my right arm and shoved the gun into my side. “Walk to the white Mercedes and get in the passenger seat. I’m prepared to shoot if you try to run away.”

  I froze while trying to overcome the muddled and frightening pictures in my head. When I didn’t move, he tightened his grip on my arm.

  Pain shot through my tender muscles. “Ow! You’re hurting me.”

  He pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. As he moved around the car to the driver’s side, I tried to escape, but Oliver had remotely locked my door. Before I could unlock it, he slid into the driver’s seat and pointed a gun at me.

  My heart raced, and my mouth went dry. “Where are we going?”

  Oliver’s jaw clenched tightly. He started the engine. “Where do you think?”

  Of course there could be only one place he’d want to take me. Should I tell him Harriet’s house would be crawling with police and the forensics team from the shooting the night before? Nah. I’d let him find out for himself.

  Predictably, the rain slowed traffic to a crawl. As we sat stuck in the intersection of Sepulveda and Wilshire, my cell phone rang. An LAPD number showed on caller ID. Farkas.

  “Give me your phone.” Oliver held out his hand.

  I surreptitiously pressed the Answer icon. “The books are hidden in a secret room. If you kill me, you’ll never get inside.” I could only hope Farkas heard me and realized I was in trouble.

  Oliver grabbed the phone and threw it out the window. “Don’t underestimate me, Mrs. Rose.” As he spoke, he turned toward me slightly and his jacket fell open. A heavily carved gold watch peeked out of the top of his vest pocket. A ruby glinted on the end of the winding stem. Suddenly, all the pieces fell horribly into place.

  “That’s the Benjamin Franklin watch.” I pointed to the timepiece.

  Oliver said nothing.

  “You were the one who took the watch from Harriet’s bedroom. She never would have allowed you up there. It was you. You killed Harriet!”

  “Shut up.”

  I started to see the overall pattern. Wedge by wedge, like the yellow ring on Quincy’s quilt, all the pieces fell into place. Emmet Wish told the truth. Harriet was already dead when he broke into her house.

  Words began tumbling out of my mouth. “You were determined to get the books and the quilt and all the family heirlooms back, but Harriet refused to give them up or tell you where she’d hid them.”

  “I had asked her several times since Nathan’s death for certain things. She kept putting me off. Finally, on my last visit, she confessed to her scheme. She intended to sell them and build a monument to her son’s memory.”

  “So you strangled her in a rage.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the importance of heritage. People without pedigree never do. I’ll never permit the Oliver legacy to be sold to strangers.” He glared at me. “One way or another, I’ll get what I want.”

  Not if the police and the SID unit are still at Harriet’s house.

  I could only pray Farkas understood what I tried to tell him and waited for us at last night’s crime scene.

  Oliver turned the steering wheel sharply and I realized we were already on Bundy Drive, about one minute away from Harriet’s house. Soon my ordeal would be over and Henry Oliver would be arrested for Harriet’s murder.

  He pulled into Harriet’s empty circular driveway. The police and SID team were gone. I was alone with a killer.

  My whole world had shrunk down to the inside of this small Mercedes. While we were driving, I hadn’t noticed the rain had stopped. I hadn’t noticed the street signs passing the windows. I had focused on unraveling the mystery of Harriet’s death. Now I must focus on surviving. As long as I didn’t leave the car, I’d be safe. If I entered Harriet’s house and opened the secret room, my life would be over.

  We were hidden from the street and from the neighbors by the trees and privacy hedges ringing her large property. Every house in this luxury neighborhood sat discreetly behind landscaping designed for total privacy. Whatever happened from this point on would happen without witnesses.

  Oliver came round and yanked open the passenger door. He pointed the gun and regarded me with cold, dark eyes. “Get out.”

  I stayed put. The car was safety. The car was life. He grabbed
my arm and pulled me out. My knees were so weak I could hardly stand. He stuck the gun in my back. “Move.”

  For once I made my weight work for me. I slid to the ground. “No!”

  Oliver waved the gun. “Get up or I’ll kill you.”

  The rainwater puddle on the driveway soaked the seat of my trousers, and the hard cement chilled my flesh. “You can’t kill me. You need me alive to get in the room.”

  Oliver cursed, then stepped behind me and bent forward. He put his hands under my armpits and tried to lift me. I went as limp as I could, creating a dead weight. He still held the gun in his right hand. The barrel pointed away from me. I reached up under my arm. I grabbed the barrel with both hands and jerked it forward. Oliver struggled to maintain his balance. The gun slipped out of his hand and into mine, firing toward the driveway with a loud pop.

  Would the neighbors hear the gunshot and call the police?

  “Son of a—” Oliver kicked my shoulder.

  “Stop it!” I turned and fired the gun in his direction. The bullet went wild, but he stopped kicking long enough for me to aim at his chest.

  Oliver stared down at the gun pointing toward his heart and stopped moving.

  I had to figure out a way to stand up. “Back up and keep going until you reach the front door steps.”

  “You won’t shoot me.” Oliver’s lip curled.

  “You’re dead wrong. I shot someone several months ago and I’ll shoot you now if I have to.” Last spring I had defended myself against a killer who came after me with a knife.

  “You’re making a huge mistake.” He backed up.

  “Put your hands on your head and turn around.”

  “I’m not—” I aimed near his feet and fired again. The third blast. Where were the neighbors? Wasn’t anyone at least curious?

  My body began to hurt, and I felt very cranky. Oliver’s hands flew to his head and he faced the house.

  “Maybe we can work something out.” Oliver’s voice became smooth and friendly.

  “There’s nothing to work out. Now get on your knees and count to twenty out loud.”

  While he counted, I got on all fours, grabbed the car door handle, and hoisted myself up to a standing position. I leaned against the Mercedes for support and kept the gun trained on Oliver. He reached twenty and stopped.