Laughing Heirs (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery)

by Michael Monhollon

  He nodded.

  “You said you had something for me?”

  “Oh. Yes. It’s right here.” He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and took out a manila folder. From that he extracted a single sheet of paper. He handed it across.

  The heading at the top of the document was Marriage License, and it began, Virginia, City of Richmond, to wit: To any person licensed to celebrate marriages... “Nathan Robert Walsh and Macy Gail Buck,” I read. The license was issued by the circuit court clerk in Richmond.

  “It’s a certified copy,” Rodney said, “which is probably overkill, but I was coming downtown anyway. That way it’s admissible into evidence if you ever need it.”

  “They were married.” I looked up. “Nathan and his uncle’s therapist.”

  “I don’t think so. No marriage certificate was ever filed.”

  “But they were going to be married.”

  “It looks like it.”

  “So there was no reason for Macy to run off with Robert’s gold, even if she had the opportunity. She was going to share in a third of it anyway.”

  “What? What gold?”

  Rodney didn’t know anything about Robert’s disappearing assets. I filled him in.

  “When did he start emptying his accounts, did you say?”

  “A couple months ago, evidently.”

  “And he was converting everything to gold?”

  I tilted my head, shrugged. “That’s what they seem to think.”

  “Maybe the romance was going sour on her.”

  I said, “Be a good way to get back at a no-good boyfriend, I guess. Haul his inheritance out through the garage door and disappear with it. Before it would do her any good, though, she’d have to sell it.”

  “Yes.”

  “She could keep it in her closet or underneath a floor board and sell a little at a time.”

  Rodney straightened in his chair. “On the other hand, maybe the romance was going along fine, but Robert looked likely to live another ten or twelve years. Maybe that’s too long to wait before cashing in.”

  “So she talked Robert into going across the street for a little water therapy, and she drowned him in the hot tub. Now you sound like me.”

  “Sound like you how?”

  “Suspecting evil of everyone. Carly showed you the kitchen, I suppose?”

  “Yes, I saw the kitchen.”

  “The three-burner Bunn coffeemaker? Did she offer you coffee?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Let me get you a cup of coffee.” Rodney Burns was a big coffee aficionado. I left him in my office. All three burners were on, and all the carafes had coffee in them, though each was below half. The orange-handled carafe held the decaf. The two black-handled carafes held regular, but of different strengths. The label pasted on one handle said “4 SCOOPS” and the one on the other said “6 SCOOPS.” According to Carly, the labels had resolved a raging debate the previous fall about the proper strength for coffee. The 4-Scoop tenants complained that the 6-scoop coffee was harsh and grainy. The 6-scoop tenants derided the 4-scoop coffee as brown water. Each had felt no compunction about pouring coffee of the improper strength down the sink and making fresh.

  I sniffed at each of the carafes. Rodney, I thought, would fit in with the 6-scoop coffee drinkers, but the 6-scoop coffee smelled a little burned. I was making a fresh pot when Rodney joined me.

  “Great Value coffee,” he said, seeing the can.

  “I know. Not up to your usual standards.”

  He picked up the can. “It just says coffee.”

  “What should it say?”

  “It should say 100% Arabica, or at a minimum 100% Columbian, which would rule out that awful Vietnamese Robusta.” He chewed at his lip while I poured in the water, his thin mustache looking like a light brown caterpillar trying to crawl into his mouth. Fresh coffee started draining into the carafe.

  “I may be able do all of you some good,” he said. “I’ll talk to Carly.”

  “They go through a lot of coffee around here. I doubt you’ll talk her into anything fancy.”

  “A good cup of coffee doesn’t have to be fancy,” he said with dignity. “Or more than marginally more expensive.”

  “It’s good to see a man with a mission.” The carafe was already half full. I switched it out with the 4-scoop carafe while I poured, then switched them back. I handed Rodney the Styrofoam cup.

  “Some of them have their own mugs,” I said, nodding at the peg-board.

  Rodney sipped his coffee, and the caterpillar on his upper lip spasmed briefly. “I can definitely do you some good,” he said.

  We sipped our coffee, and Rodney examined the coffee mugs on the pegboard with their various jokes and logos. I thought his Edgar Allan Poe mug would fit right in.

  He left, but I called him back a couple hours later, just before lunch. “So what are you thinking?” I asked him. “Will you be moving downtown at the end of the month?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really looked at anything else.”

  “Time is passing.”

  “It always does.” He sighed.

  “Listen. Do you have a cell number for Macy Buck?”

  “No. I can get it.” I heard the clicking of a keyboard.

  “So where can you get great tasting coffee for the price of Great Value?”

  “I didn’t say great tasting. I think you could improve the taste by fifty percent, though, with maybe only a ten percent bump in price.”

  I wondered how you quantified taste sufficiently to calculate a percentage.

  “Do you think Carly would accept a ten percent increase in the price of her coffee?”

  “Maybe. You ought to present the idea to her before you sign your lease. That’s the moment when your ideas will seem most attractive. How do you know how much Great Value costs, anyway? Did you stop by Walmart?” I didn’t think there was one between my office and Rodney’s.

  “I have a computer,” he said with some dignity. “And, as it happens, Macy Buck’s cell number is on the screen.” He read it to me.”

  “Thanks, Rodney. I owe you.”

  “It will be on your bill.”

  With that unsettling thought, I hung up. I was continuing to devote resources to the case with little prospect of getting paid. Fortunately, most of the resources were my own time, and it wasn’t like I had clients lining up to pay for that. I called Macy.

  Macy met me for lunch at the West Broad Street Road Cafe, a combination cafe and gift shop on, as you might suspect, West Broad Street Road. It always struck me as strange that West Broad is identified as both a street and a road. You’d think there’d be a story to explain it, but if there is, I’ve never heard it.

  The cafe is part restaurant and part gift shop. In addition to homemade soups, sandwiches, and pasta salads, it sells bracelets, gift cards, placards that say things like “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and “Eat Drink & Be Merry” in ornate lettering. I don’t think it’s a requirement that you have two X chromosomes to get in, but on the other hand, the one time I’d been there the only male I saw was in the company of a woman.

  Macy was already seated, sipping iced tea from a Mason jar with a handle, when I slid into the seat opposite her. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re not late. My last appointment wasn’t far from here, so when I finished I came on.” She was a petite little thing, wearing crisp, navy scrubs that might have been starched and ironed. No ring on her left hand. “I’m glad you called. I was hoping to talk to you.”

  My eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know you knew me.”

  “I understand you were at Robert’s house yesterday when they opened the safe.”

  I nodded. “I guess you heard about it from Nathan.”

  “Why from Nathan?”

  “Aren’t you…I’m sorry, he mentioned a fiancé, and for some reason…are the two of you not engaged?”

  She ran a hand back through her fine, blonde hair. “Nathan has a big
mouth,” she said.

  “I guess you were keeping a low profile. Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

  “You were there on Whitney’s behalf.”

  “It was a momentous occasion for everybody. Whitney was there with her boyfriend. Jared was there with his lawyer. I’m surprised you weren’t there with Nathan.”

  “Somebody has to work.”

  “Everyone may have to. You should have seen the reaction when they opened the safe and found it empty. It was like a bomb went off.”

  “Whitney was close to her uncle,” Macy said. “Closer than either of his nephews.”

  “Whitney has a good heart.”

  “So close she knew there was a key to the safe and where it was.”

  “Actually, I understood she’d seen the key, but didn’t know what it was for until we found the keyhole yesterday.”

  “Until you found the keyhole.”

  “Ah.” She suspected Whitney and me of complicity in making off with Robert’s assets. “I guess it does look suspicious.”

  The waitress came by for our drink orders. When she left, I picked up the brown paper bag that had the day’s menu printed on it. Macy pulled hers toward her, but her eyes were on me.

  “What’s good?” I said. “I’ve only been here once.”

  “They say all the sandwiches are good. I like the pasta sampler.”

  She waited until the waitress had come back with our drinks and we’d placed our orders before trying a more direct approach.

  “So,” she said.

  “So,” I agreed.

  “Do you know what was in that safe and where it is now?”

  “Macy.” I gave her what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Whitney is not the executor of the estate, nor is she the sole beneficiary. If she and I had made off with her uncle’s proof sets or his stamp collection or his bearer bonds, it would be theft, pure and simple.”

  “You didn’t mention gold,” she said.

  “What?”

  “When Robert died, there were pamphlets from Lear Capital and Rosland Capital and a couple of other precious metals companies on his desk.”

  “I think they mentioned that.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry. Gold, silver, platinum. Gem stones, maybe.”

  She was looking at me hard. Our food came, Macy’s pasta sampler and my soup and half-a-sandwich. I sat back to give the waitress room to put it down. When she was gone, I picked up my sandwich and said, “I understood you were the one especially close to Robert, always conferring about supplements and holistic remedies for various old-person complaints.”

  She took a bite of her pasta and put her fork down. “We were close, but something happened just after the first of the year. He got really angry at Jared and started being just erratic.”

  “Angry at you, too?”

  “Sometimes. Angry, suspicious…I began to think he was headed for full blown paranoia.”

  “Could it have been dementia of some sort?”

  “It came in spells. Sometimes he’d be just a normal old man. At others, he wouldn’t know Adam from Eve.” She took another bite of her pasta.

  “You ever do water therapy with him in Jared’s pool or hot tub?”

  She put her fork down carefully. “That’s a lie.”

  “I was asking a question, not making an assertion.”

  “Jared told you that, didn’t he?”

  “Jared? Actually, what he’s said is that Robert never used his pool or hot tub.”

  “Yes, he’s pointing the finger at me just in case he needs a little CYA.”

  “Why would he need to cover his—” I checked my language. An old lady at the next table had her eyes on me. “—you know.”

  “Because he invited Robert over to use his hot tub.” She put another forkful of pasta in her mouth.

  “He did?”

  “There’s no other reason Robert would have been over there. Jared got him into the hot tub and made sure he didn’t get out.”

  “You said something about that at the funeral. Robert wasn’t home when you came by to do his therapy, and you heard splashing over in Jared’s backyard. Was it splashing, you think, or just the jets in the hot tub?”

  “It wasn’t jets. And I heard voices, too. Jared was back there.”

  “I don’t think you mentioned voices at the funeral.”

  “How could I? Jared was standing right there. I’d have been accusing him to his face.”

  “Have you told the police this story? There’re a couple of detectives who might be interested.”

  “Who?”

  I gave her Jordan’s name. “His partner is Ray Hernandez. You could talk to either of them.”

  “Thanks.” But her tone was grudging. Somehow, despite picking at her food, she had nearly finished her pasta. “I don’t think I understand why you asked me to lunch.”

  “You should have asked me.”

  “Why should I have asked you?”

  “It gives you the chance to pump me about Robert’s assets and to spread the tale of the suspicious circumstances surrounding his death.”

  “But I didn’t ask you.”

  “No.”

  “So what are you after?”

  “Maybe the same thing you are. As you say, there seems to be a rather large estate that’s gone missing.”

  “Have you talked to your client, her and her sweet boyfriend?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t let that phony niceness fool you. They’re perfectly capable of…” She broke off. “Suppose Robert drowned in his own bathtub, and they found him there? What’s to keep them from carrying him across the street and dumping him in Jared’s hot tub? They maybe implicate Jared, and if he actually got convicted of killing his uncle…You see where this is going, don’t you?”

  I'd heard the same speculation from Jared with her in the starring role.

  “He couldn’t inherit. You’re a lawyer, don’t you see?”

  “I thought it was Jared’s voice you heard in the backyard.”

  “A male voice. It could have been Brian’s.”

  “Or Robert’s himself?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Whitney’s no bigger than you are, and Brian’s no bigger than average. It’s hard to see the two of them carrying a body across the street in broad daylight.”

  She gave me a withering look. “They back a car up to Robert’s garage, load him up, drive across to Jared’s driveway and carry him in through the back gate.”

  “I guess both driveways are pretty sheltered,” I said. “You're better off sticking with Jared, though. Moving the body wouldn’t cost Whitney her inheritance.”

  “You think I’m making it all up.”

  “Hardly matters now, does it? The estate’s gone. Even if Jared were convicted and Nathan and Whitney split the estate, fifty percent more of nothing is still not very much.” I smiled as I picked up the check.

  “Do you really not know anything about the missing money?”

  I stood. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

  “Your client does,” Macy said. “Count on it.”

  I don’t know why I picked up the check. This case was already costing me more than it was earning me in fees, at least on a cash flow basis. Of course, as Macy had pointed out, I had been the one to ask her to lunch.

  I followed her out and watched her get into an orange Honda Element, a small, boxy vehicle that seemed appropriate for an in-home therapist. She started it and drove past me without waving. I didn’t think we’d be doing any sleepovers.

  I took a breath, then swung into my own car. It was early afternoon, so I headed back downtown, but after a half-mile or so, I circled the block and headed toward home. I had a dog there waiting for me. Technically, I guess he was waiting for me at Dr. McDermott’s home rather than my own, but the point was, if I went home, I could go running with Deeks. That beat the heck out of playing spider solit
aire on the computer while waiting for another client to walk through the door.

  Chapter 7

  So I got home about two-thirty that Friday afternoon and went on a two-mile run with my dog. Actually, I went on a two-mile run. Deeks probably ran twice that, dashing off on his little puppy legs to check out all the sights and smells apparent only to those whose eyes and nose traveled a few inches above the ground. If I worried about whether anyone seeing Deeks in daylight would object that my control of him was not immediate enough to satisfy the dictates of the leash law, I needn’t have. Everyone was at work or school, and the streets were empty. An advantage to running in daylight was that it was not as cold as it was going to be after the sun went down—cold, but not that cold.

  We got back, and I showered and walked with Deeks across the street to visit Dr. McDermott. He seemed pleased and a little surprised to see me.

  “Are you going to leave Deacon with me this evening?”

  I shook my head. “Taking him over to Paul’s.”

  “You don’t do that very often.”

  “No. I usually make Paul come here.” I followed him into the kitchen.

  “I was going to make myself a hot buttered rum a little later, but I’ll have it now, if you’d like one.”

  I moved my head equivocally.

  “No?”

  “Oh, I’d like one. I only burned off 200 calories or so just now, though, and Paul is fixing me dinner.”

  “Say no more.”

  I took a seat at the table and frowned at the back half of a shoe sitting next to one of the table legs. “Did Deeks chew up one of your Topsiders?”

  “Two of them. The first one’s disappeared completely, and that’s what’s left of the second.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “No need to be. Labs need to chew, and that was just an old pair I used as slippers as I shuffled about the house. They fascinated Deacon from the first time he came over here.”

  “Some interesting smells, I guess.”

  He smiled. “Evidently. Once, when I was taking him out to potty, I was barefoot, and I could hardly get the door closed for Deacon running back inside for another sniff at those Topsiders, which were sitting just inside. I had to pick them up and carry them out with us before he’d go.”