by Jan Burke
“Did you believe him?”
Brennan considered this for a time, then frowned. “Gerald’s insistence didn’t matter—Gwendolyn wanted the marriage. As for Gerald, I believe that while he has always wanted money, money itself is not what motivates him. He enjoys controlling others. He enjoyed it on that occasion.” The frown deepened. “Gerald is, I’m afraid, someone your father worried over.”
“In what way?” Travis asked.
“I don’t know, exactly, but I do know your father had given your mother something that was supposed to ensure that Gerald never bothered the two of you. When I asked him why on earth Gerald would bother you, he merely said that Gerald was always very fond of Gwendolyn. I took that to mean that Gerald might resent you and your mother, on Gwendolyn’s behalf.”
“Do you know what it was Arthur gave Briana?” I asked.
“No, he was very evasive on that subject.”
“I’m sorry to say that whatever kept Gerald away must no longer exist,” Travis said. “Did Gerald come after Dad for money after Gwendolyn’s death?”
“No, your father and his brother were estranged. Gerald was not the only person who could not accept your father’s bigamy, and Gerald’s own regard for Gwendolyn perhaps made him more prejudiced than most. But Arthur loved Gerald—make no mistake about that. Gerald had raised him and was the last remaining member of his family; he spoke many times of the sacrifices Gerald had made for him. Not that having someone make sacrifices for you is all that it’s cracked up to be. Gerald was overbearing in those days.”
For a moment he was lost in thought, then said, “By the time I first met Arthur, when he was sixteen, he wanted nothing more than independence. It was clear to me that he was genuinely attached to Gwendolyn. No matter how hard I questioned him, he wouldn’t deny to me that he wanted to marry her, but over time I grew certain that the marriage was almost entirely Gerald’s idea. I even suspected Arthur had received a beating from Gerald over the matter, but could prove nothing. Arthur would never utter a word against his brother.
“Gwendolyn—well, perhaps Gwendolyn felt she had no other chance. And I think she, in her own way, saw an opportunity to help Arthur.”
“How so?” I asked.
She helped him to free himself from Gerald. She explicitly instructed me to do all I could to enable Arthur to get away from the DeMont farm every now and then. And although she never spoke of it specifically, she certainly turned a blind eye to his absences from home.“
“You think she knew about us?” Travis asked.
“I’m not certain, of course, but I think not. Your father wasn’t careless of her feelings. But even before she married him, she told me that Arthur was never, under any circumstances, to be spied upon. She said he had spent too many years under Gerald’s watchful eye, and now deserved an opportunity to get into any sort of mischief he pleased.”
“Leda seemed to think Gwendolyn would stand up for Arthur sooner than she would defend herself.”
“Definitely,” Brennan said. “But Arthur also protected her. Unlike him, she longed for that sort of protection. She disliked business matters; he thrived on them. She wanted to remain a recluse; he was sociable. She hated to leave that farm, he was glad to travel. She liked his company, but I believe she would have been unhappy with a man who was constantly under what she certainly thought of as her roof. Arthur preserved rather than destroyed that private world of hers. She knew he attended to the matters that her various fears would have caused to have been neglected. And so on the whole, I believe she was perfectly content with the marriage.”
“How did he start his own business?” I asked.
“With a loan, which he very quickly repaid.”
“A loan from the DeMont fortune?”
“No. There were virtually no liquid assets in the DeMont holdings by the time Arthur turned eighteen.”
“Nothing that could have been borrowed against?”
“Oh, certainly. There was the farm itself, a few other properties. But Arthur never would have borrowed against the DeMont farm.”
“So who loaned it to him?” Travis asked.
Mr. Brennan colored slightly, then said, “I did.”
Travis grinned. “Why, Mr. Brennan, it seems I’m much more indebted to you than I imagined.”
“Oh, no, Travis. Not at all. The reverse is true. Given access to information, your father was the shrewdest investor I ever met. He was very generous to me over the years. I have no hesitation in telling you he was my favorite client.”
“He made his money in the stock market?” I asked.
“Eventually, yes—that and other investments. At first, though, he concentrated a tremendous amount of effort in his own business. He did very well with it, took the profits in hand and promptly doubled them. I was very impressed, until I saw that he was just getting warmed up.”
“Mr. Brennan,” I said, “during the time of the initial investigation of Gwendolyn’s murder, Robert said he had contacted her to obtain money. He said she had agreed to give him a check. I know she loaned him money on previous occasions, but was that still going on by the time she died?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “As little as she liked business, Gwendolyn was aware by that time that the DeMont fortune had in truth become the Spanning fortune, with, as I say, only the lands themselves untouched. The fields on the farm were planted because Arthur paid to have them planted. He never refused her anything she wished to purchase for herself, but he was so angry with the DeMonts for taking advantage of her, he did forbid any further expenditure on them.”
They talked a little longer, Mr. Brennan apologizing for not having any of the papers he wanted to go over with Travis. “They are in my office. Can you come by there tomorrow?”
We agreed to stop by. I excused myself to go outside while they worked on the will. “It’s chilly out there,” Brennan said. “Wouldn’t you rather wait in my library, or some other room?”
“Irene loves fresh mountain air,” Travis said.
“This may take awhile,” Brennan said. “Would you like directions to the town?”
“No, Travis is right. The outdoors will be entertaining enough.”
“Then let me lend you a sweater,” he said.
I was grateful for the sweater, but more grateful for the fresh air, the time to think. I found Mary’s temporary address and phone number in my jeans pocket, and thought of calling her. I couldn’t get a strong-enough signal, though, and gave up. Tired, I went to lie down in the van, thinking of Brennan’s offer of directions before I dozed off.
I awoke to see three strangers entering the house.
I made a mad dash for the front door, coming in on their heels, but not tackling anyone when I saw that I was the most threatening individual present.
“Don’t worry,” Travis said, knowing exactly what had caused me to rush inside. “These are Mr. Brennan’s neighbors. One is a notary. The other two will witness the will.”
They stared at my bruised face, then turned to Travis, and asked him how he hurt his hand.
Mr. Brennan had already made photocopies of the unsigned will. He gave one of these to Travis, saying, “Perhaps I should keep the only signed copy in my safe for tonight. I can give it to you in Las Piernas if you want to keep it in your own safe-deposit box.”
That was agreeable to Travis.
He offered to have us stay overnight, but Travis declined the offer. “We need to get back to Las Piernas,” he said.
I thanked him and returned the sweater. He seemed reluctant to see Travis leave. “I hope you know you should call on me any time—and you need not have the excuse of business. I always enjoy seeing you.”
I was searching the pockets of the jeans I had worn the day before when Travis came back to the van. I had just found what I was looking for when he said, “I didn’t think you’d want to stay up here tonight.”
“You’re right. Thanks. I do want to go back downhill, but not because
of my phobias.”
“You’re over your mountain phobia already?”
“Sorry, no—progress made, but no cure.” I started the van, and pulled away. “That wasn’t what I meant. I had a chance to do some thinking while I was outside, and now I’d like to get back to talk something over with Rachel.”
“What?”
“First, take a look at this.”
He turned the passenger reading lamp on and said, “This was what you got out of your jeans pocket?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank God I haven’t had a chance to wash them.”
32
“What is it?”
“The little slip of paper Deeny gave me when we were at the trailer park. An address on Reagan Street in Los Alamitos. A house owned by Gerald. I’ll bet he doesn’t know Deeny gave this to us.”
“And I’ll bet he wouldn’t be happy to know she did,” he said. “I had forgotten all about this. We made her think we needed to see Gerald on some important business matter, and she gave us this address.” He stared at it for a moment, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, probably nothing,” he said.
“Go ahead,” I said, “maybe you’re thinking the same thing I did. That it was an odd way to tell us where he was. You’re wondering if Deeny can read.”
“I couldn’t possibly tell that from one scrap of paper,” he said.
“No one is asking you to make a professional assessment here,” I said, concentrating on the road again. “I just wondered about it. When someone gives you an address, they usually write down both the house number and the name of the street. She did something unusual. Maybe because she didn’t know how to write it.”
“Or maybe for some other reason,” Travis said.
I thought back to our visit to their home. “There was a book inside the trailer,” I said, “but maybe Gerald was reading it.”
“Or maybe no one was,” he said. “My dad used to do that. Put a bookmark in a book and carry it around with him. Part of the ongoing fake-out.” He handed the paper back to me and added, “My dad used to do this, too. Just write the numbers. Pretend he was in a big hurry, couldn’t write out the rest.”
“Whether she can read or not, I’m betting there’s an El Camino stashed there.”
“A what?”
I told him what I had seen when I studied the photos.
“And if it’s at this address?”
“We’ll consult Rachel on that. The police can probably tell if anyone has hauled explosives in that car.”
He started looking through the photos again.
“One other thing,” I said, “I can understand why your uncle didn’t ask about my face being bruised. Unfortunately, not everyone will ask a woman where she got her bruises—they may be thinking, ”Leave that husband before he kills you, honey,“ but not many people will comment aloud. Brennan and his neighbors didn’t ask, several other people didn’t ask. But you—have we met up with anyone who didn’t ask or comment about your hand?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Just Gerald.”
“Right. And since the prenuptial agreement only covered a fortune that no longer exists, who stands in line to inherit if you and your mother are out of the way?”
“Before this new will, Gerald.”
“If he has worked long enough in construction,” I said, “he probably knows where he can get access to explosives.”
After taking some time to think about all of this, he asked, “What should we do?”
“First, call Rachel. Talk to her about all of this, and tell her we’re on our way to her place.”
“I don’t think this is such a hot idea,” I said.
“Let’s just see if we can find that car,” Rachel said. “We don’t need to touch it—but if it’s there, we call the police, tell them to bring dogs trained in locating explosives. You can bet they’ll be traces of it in the El Camino.”
“I don’t know—” I said, feeling more cautious than usual.
“You have some dark clothes in that trunk of yours?” she asked Travis, ignoring me.
“Yes,” he answered, excited by the prospect of taking some action. “I might even have a dark T-shirt that will fit Irene.”
She told us to change into the darkest clothes we could find; she had already done the same. In fact, she was shamelessly outfitted as though she were a burglar.
“You don’t want to come along,” she said to me, “fine. Stay here.”
I let myself be swept along, even as I heard that inner voice say, Watch where you’re going!
Rachel tried to make up for snapping at me by giving me a long-handled flashlight. I tried not to think about it being just like one I used to keep in the Karmann Ghia. I was putting D-cell batteries in it when Travis came into Rachel’s living room, shirt unbuttoned and frustration written all over his face. One-handed dressing. I’d been there once myself.
“You managed the pants,” I said, before he spoke. “Shirts with buttons are a nuisance. Let me help.”
“It didn’t give me this much trouble in the store,” he said.
“That was earlier in the day.”
He was quiet as I worked on the buttons. He thanked me, then paced while I finished putting the flashlight together. I supposed he was working himself up over the evening’s adventures, but I decided talking about it wouldn’t make him any calmer.
“Take a left here,” I said. Throughout the drive to Los Alamitos, that type of phrase had been the extent of our conversation. Now that we were off the main boulevards, the streets we drove on were deserted. Rachel was driving—Frank’s Volvo—and slowed to look at addresses. She pulled over to the curb.
“It’s not in this block,” I said.
“Before we get there, once again let’s go over what we’re going to do. Travis, you’ll watch from the car. Any sign of trouble—if you see Gerald or Deeny, or even their cars—start the car. We’ll be listening for it. Don’t unlock the doors until we’re close to the car. Use your cell phone in case there’s real trouble—you just stay inside the car and call the police.”
I thought he might protest that he wanted to take a more active role, but he simply said, “All right.”
“The other thing you need to do is to watch for a signal from Irene. If she flashes her flashlight twice, start the car and if she flashes it three times, call nine-one-one.”
“Since we’re breaking and entering,” I asked, “what is he supposed to tell them?”
Travis laughed.
“Actually,” Rachel said, “that will do fine. Travis, tell them there’s a burglary in progress.”
“I hope none of the neighbors make the same call before he does,” I said.
“You could have stayed home,” she said.
Too late now. “Where do you want me posted?”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there. You’ll be outside the building, watching for anyone approaching on foot.”
“What if they’re already at the house?” I asked.
“Not sure. Depends on the setup.”
“Do you two have weapons?” Travis asked.
“Yes, we’re armed,” Rachel said, not betraying herself by giving me any meaningful looks. While I knew she carried a gun, I wondered what besides my Swiss Army knife and a big flashlight counted as my weapons.
She pulled back onto the street again. There was an odd mix of buildings on the street; a church, small houses, a few duplexes, some light-manufacturing companies and other businesses. We crossed over railroad tracks that used to run through Papa DeMont’s sugar beet farm, passing a lumberyard.
The house Gerald Spanning had purchased was the only residence on its block. There was a new post office across the street, an abandoned foundry on one corner. There were several vacant lots between the house and the foundry.
The house was completely dark, its exterior illuminated by a street lamp. There were no cars parked in the narrow, unpaved drivewa
y, which led to a pair of old-fashioned, carriage-style garage doors. The garage was separated from the house by a short, cracked and weed-choked walkway. A low, rusted and bowed chain-link fence gaped open near one corner of the front yard it enclosed. The lawn had been mowed, but the flower beds were dry and empty. The dark paint on the house and garage was peeling. One of the screens on a front window was torn. If he was fixing the place up, Gerald was working on the interior first.