by Mary Kennedy
“Something was going on at Mayfair House,” she said lowering her voice. “I could never persuade Mr. Morgan of that, he only believed what he wanted to believe. But I know what I saw and what I suspected. There was a man with a beard….”
“Maggie,” Vera Mae said pointedly. “Your phone.”
I grabbed my phone out of my purse and scrolled down to the photo of Gavin Benson, the wine dealer. “Is this the man?”
“That’s him!” she said excitedly. “Larry never introduced me, so I didn’t even know his name. All his visits were in the evening, and I was usually heading home for the day. But one time I forgot my house key at the mansion and I had to go back. I saw Larry and the man with the beard loading some boxes into an SUV parked in the rear of the house, by the garden. They didn’t see me, and I went into the house as quickly as I could and got out of there.”
“Do you think they were stealing from the mansion?” I asked.
Consuela nodded. “That’s what I thought at first. But the next day, I couldn’t find anything missing. At least not in the public rooms on the first floor or the bedrooms upstairs. I know every inch of that house. Nothing had been touched.”
I was silent for a moment, pondering this. “What about the speakeasy?” I asked. “Did you clean it the next day?”
“Something else happened that was very strange,” Consuela said. “That same week, Larry gave me orders to never go down to the speakeasy. I told him it was going to be filthy but he didn’t care. I read that they included the speakeasy as part of the scavenger hunt that night, and I feel embarrassed. People will think I was a terrible housekeeper.”
“Consuela,” Vera Mae asked, “did you know there was a room beyond the speakeasy? A room connected to the speakeasy. A secret room?”
“A secret room?” Consuela’s eyes widened. “No, never!” she frowned. “But one day I was cleaning the speakeasy, and I thought I heard noises coming from somewhere in the basement. They seemed to be coming from behind the wall. I told myself I was imagining things.”
“You may not have been imagining things,” Vera Mae said. “Did you hear voices?”
“No, it was more like a scraping sound. As if someone was moving something. Maybe boxes or furniture.”
Boxes! Probably wine boxes. “Who was in the house at the time?” I asked.
“Mr. Morgan, but he wasn’t feeling well and was upstairs in bed. And Larry was somewhere on the grounds, but not inside the house.” She grasped her forearms with her hands. “It gives me chills just to think of it.” She seemed to hesitate, her fingers wrapping tightly around her glass of iced tea. “There’s one more thing,” she said. “I don’t know what to make of it, and I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Please, go on,” I urged her. “You won’t get in trouble.”
“Mr. Towner had an office at the mansion. Mr. Morgan told him to use a back bedroom for his papers and designs. He used to spend a few hours a week there.” She took a quick swig of her tea. “Mr. Towner was very careless with bank statements and bills. One day I found some checks made out to him from the Preservation Committee. They were shoved in a drawer with a bunch of papers.” Her eyes widened. “All the checks had bounced.”
Vera Mae and I exchanged a look. “Bounced?”
Consuela nodded. “They had insufficient funds stamped on them in big letters. I knew they might be important so I reminded Mr. Towner about them and he thanked me. I put them under a paperweight on his desk so he would be sure to take care of it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he ever did anything about it and now he’s dead.” She hesitated, twisting a silver bracelet on her wrist. “Do you think this has anything to do with the murder? I don’t want to get in any trouble.”
“You won’t get in trouble, Consuela. We’ll notify the police and they’ll probably want to interview you.” She nodded and scribbled her home phone number on a napkin.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we thanked Consuela for her time and were back on the road, heading to the station.
“Cutting it close, Maggie,” Vera Mae reminded me. My show was going live in forty-five minutes. Usually I liked to have some time to myself before the show, to take a deep breath and read about the guest and the topic. This time it didn’t matter; I could probably answer all the questions myself, I thought grumpily.
“Maybe Dr. Pollifax will be more entertaining this time,” Vera Mae said, sensing my dark mood.
“Hah! Don’t count on it,” I countered.
I scurried past Irina who was chatting with Dr. Pollifax in the reception area. He always seems to come to life when Irina is around, probably because she’s drop dead gorgeous with thick blonde hair, perfectly chiseled features and a terrific figure.
“Oh, you have to hear this, Maggie, it’s amazing,” she said, trying to flag me down as I made tracks to my office. “Dr. Pollifax is telling me all about the oat fever. It can be very bad this time of year.”
“Hay fever, Irina, hay fever,” Dr. Pollifax said, his smile dropping a little. He looked up hopefully at me but I had no intention of interrupting my flight plan. Back to the office and a quick text to Rafe and Nick to see what they’d uncovered. And to share what Maybelle had told us about seeing Lily Towner at the mansion that night. That was sure to be a bombshell.
“Oh yes, the hay fever,” Irina said in her enchanting voice. “I must concentrate on that. Sometimes my English is not so perfect,” she added.
“I think your English is wonderful,” Dr. Pollifax said, giving her an appreciative smile as she poured him another cup of coffee. He was clearly smitten with Irina and didn’t realize his feelings weren’t reciprocated.
“Have to get ready for the show, see you in the studio,” I called out in my cheeriest voice.
Dr. Pollifax frowned at me. “Well, all right, but I brought some fascinating studies on allergens,” he said, waving a folder at me. “I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to discuss them.
“I’ll take that,” Vera Mae said, zipping past and grabbing the folder. “Maggie can study it while she gets ready to go on the air.”
“Nice save,” I whispered as we dashed down the corridor. “You text Nick and I’ll text Rafe,” I said, falling into my office chair. “Wait a minute,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Rafe wants me to call him.”
“Hmm, sounds important.” Vera Mae punched in some numbers. “I’ll find out the latest from Nick.”
I wandered out into the hall to talk to Rafe and tried to ignore Dr. Pollifax who was fuming in the reception area. I could see him pacing back and forth, looking at his watch, obviously eager to have his fifteen minutes of fame. Well, he can darn well wait.
Rafe’s voice spilled over the line, husky and appealing as ever, sending my pulse into a little flutter. “Maggie, I think we have a break in the case,” he said. I could hear the squeak of his desk chair, and pictured him swiveling around to have more privacy as we talked. “The CSIs found something interesting in the cellar of Mayfair House.”
“In the speakeasy?” I kept my voice low and ducked my head. Big Jim was barreling down the hall toward me and I didn’t want any distractions.
“They found a ledger behind the bar,” Rafe went on. “It was tucked away in a spot that was almost impossible to find. Underneath the floor grate. It lists a huge collection of pricey wines—”
“The Mayfair House wine collection!” I interrupted. I was buzzing with excitement. Somehow Larry Ackerman and Gavin Benson were involved in stealing wine from the mansion, I’d felt it in my bones. I wasn’t sure how the theft fit in with Greg Towner’s murder, but I was sure there had to be a connection.
“The ledger lists wines going back over a hundred years.” He paused. “And it looks like someone’s been helping themselves to the wines; quite a few are missing. Vintage bottles that could bring in thousands of dollars each at an auction.”
Rafe always says to follow the money. Maybe this was the key to the case. “Is there any
thing in the ledger that indicates the wines were sold?”
“There are some dates scribbled next to the missing bottles,” Rafe said. “But no indication of where they ended up. Right now we’re tracking down a connection between Gavin Benson, who we know is shady, with Larry Ackerman, the household manager.”
I quickly told Rafe that Consuela had seen two men lifting boxes into an SUV one night behind the mansion. One was Larry Ackerman and the other fit the description of Gavin Benson. And her hunch that someone was in the secret room one day, moving boxes. Of course, she didn’t know there was a secret room but she described the noises as coming from “behind the wall.”
“Can you get a search warrant for Gavin Benson’s wine shop?” I asked.
“That’s the next thing on the agenda,” Rafe said.
“I have some other news, too,” I said. I told him about Maybelle spotting Lily Towner at Mayfair House the night of the murder.”
“We’ll have to interview her again,” Rafe said. I heard a giant squeak from his swivel chair, which probably meant he was jumping to his feet. “This could be a game changer. Gotta run, Maggie.”
“Wait, one more thing,” I said, feeling like Columbo. “We talked to a maid who found some bounced checks made out to Greg Towner. It looks like the Preservation Committee was stiffing him.”
“Really? It could be nothing, but we’ll look into it.”
I signed off quickly, as Vera Mae waved to me, pantomiming that we would be live in five minutes.
* * *
I’d like to say that Dr. Pollifax managed to be entertaining but that would be a lie. He jumped into a long, boring monologue about the mysteries of allergens and I barely had the energy to interrupt him. I couldn’t even go to the phone lines because they were dead. One mention of Dr. Pollifax and I bet half my listeners changed the channel. As Vera Mae once said, “That guy could put a crack addict to sleep.”
I let my mind roll downstream, thinking about the suspects in Greg Towner’s murder and where things stood. I decided to set up a last-minute meeting at my place tonight to keep everyone up to date. So much had happened in the past few hours, my mind was reeling but I forced myself to slow down and take a long, hard look at the possibilities.
We were down to a handful of possible suspects. Roger Nelson had a grudge against Greg Towner for breaking his daughter’s heart, but did it really rise to the level of murderous rage? It was hard to imagine.
Larry Ackerman and Gavin Benson were probably thieves and I wondered if they thought Greg was going to blow the whistle on them. Was it significant that his body was found in the secret storeroom? Why would he leave the party and go down there? Shari, his fiancé, said someone texted him or called him during the party. That same person must have asked to meet him and they must have made it sound urgent. Maybe that “someone” was Larry Ackerman.
Lily Towner was a wild card. She wasn’t even in the mix until Maybelle’s revelation. Of course, the Cypress Grove Police PD would have to interview Maybelle and verify the sighting. But if Maybelle was correct, this would change everything. Why did Lily go to the mansion that night? And was she the person Molly Sanders was talking to when she said, “I can’t believe you showed up tonight?”
Molly Sanders may have lied to us when she claimed she said those words to a kitchen worker. I had no idea why she did this, unless it was to protect Lily Towner. Maybe she felt sorry for her or maybe they were friends.
Shari Phillips was the person closest to the victim and she was at the mansion that night. I still couldn’t think of why Shari would want to murder Greg; they appeared to be madly in love. My mind leapfrogged to another possibility.
Could it be a revenge murder? Maybe Shari Phillips had an ex-husband or boyfriend who was jealous of Greg Towner and wanted him out of the picture for good? I’d take that up tonight with Nick and Lola, but so far there was nothing to suggest she had a jilted lover in her background.
Suddenly Dr. Pollifax’s droning voice slammed into my brain and I was yanked back to the present.
“One of the most interesting things about allergens,” Dr. Pollifax was saying, “is that they are actually antigens that produce an abnormally vigorous immune response to fight off a perceived threat that would otherwise be harmless.”
He appeared to be waiting for me to say something. “Fascinating,” I murmured. “I didn’t know that.” I should have been paying more attention so I could make a halfway sensible comment.
I glanced at the phone lines. No help there, they were still dead. I glanced at the window in the production room where Vera Mae was miming falling asleep from boredom and tumbling off her chair. Luckily, Dr. Pollifax’s back was to the window, so he missed the charade.
I managed not to laugh, and cobbled together a vague question on food allergies in pets. I thought that would stump the good doctor, but it seems he had quite a bit to say on the subject, too much in fact.
Finally, the hour-long show was over and I touched base with Vera Mae. As usual, she was way ahead of me. “I texted Nick, Rafe, and Lola,” she said. “We’ll be at your place at six tonight to compare notes.”
“How did you know I was going to do that?” Vera Mae amazes me. She’s so much in tune with me, it’s scary.
“I read your mind, hon. I’m psychic,” she said teasingly.
“You’re the best!” I grinned at her and made a hurried exit from the studio.
CHAPTER TEN
After feeding Pugsley and taking him for a quick walk, I decided to order Chinese take-out for dinner. It was a lovely evening and I threw open the doors to the patio, letting in the soft, jasmine-scented air. I was disappointed to see a text message from Rafe. He’d be working late and wouldn’t be able to join us. I’d just put out a plate of cheese and crackers and was pouring iced tea when Vera Mae arrived, followed by Lola.
“What a day,” Vera Mae said, dropping into a chair. “Maggie, I meant to tell you that Cyrus stopped by to say you did a great job with Dr. Pollifax.”
“Oh lordy,” I said, “does that mean we have to have him back on the show?”
“’Fraid so, hon.” She kicked off her shoes and poured some iced tea just as Nick knocked on the door.
“I’ve got some news,” he said excitedly when I waved him in. “Beer?” he asked, looking at the plate of cheese and crackers.
“In the fridge,” I told him. I waited while he opened a can and took a long swallow.
“Well, out with it, Nick,” Vera Mae said, practically quivering with impatience. “We have news, too, but I have the feeling yours is something major.”
“It is,” he said, dropping into a chair, still clutching his beer. “One of my friends in the Cypress Grove PD told me they found Greg Towner’s appointment book.”
“I didn’t even know they were looking for it,” Vera Mae piped up.
“They weren’t.” Nick bent down to pet Pugsley who had his eye on the cheese tray. “Well, not exactly. They got a search warrant for his house and found it in his desk.”
“Why is it important?” Lola asked.
“It turns out that Greg had scheduled a meeting the morning after the Mayfair House party. No one at his firm recognizes the name, and Shari Phillips didn’t know who it was either. So it might not be relevant.” He leaned back and munched on some crackers. “He was meeting with someone named Fiona PC.”
“Fiona PC,” Lola repeated. “Anyone have any idea who she is?” she asked just as the take-out arrived.
I tipped the delivery guy, put the steaming containers on the counter, and encouraged everyone to dig in. “Fiona is a fairly unusual name, so at least we have a chance of tracking it down.”
“It sounds vaguely British,” Lola said.
“Fiona,” Vera Mae mused, dishing out Veggie Lo Mein on her plate. “Why does that name sound familiar? Have we come across a Fiona recently, Maggie?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Vera Mae is like a dog with a bone when she’s ho
t on the trail of a clue. “I brought my notes with me,” she said, digging into a woven satchel she carries instead of a briefcase.
We were silent, stumped. We went over a few other clues we’d uncovered. Nick had learned that the entire contents of the estate, along with Morgan’s other assets, all went to the Preservation Committee. No wonder the two daughters looked so unhappy at the Mayfair House event. They’d been cut out completely from their father’s fortune.
“I think we can eliminate the Morgan sisters as suspects, right?” I asked.
“Definitely,” Lola answered. “And I don’t think Roger Nelson had anything to do with Greg’s death. He may have been upset with him for breaking his daughter’s heart, but he’s just not the type to commit murder.”
“Agreed,” Nick offered.
“Oh, and you can eliminate Gavin Benson,” Mom added. “I talked to Edgar and he said Gavin was a vendor at a big wine and cheese event in Miami that night and never left the party.”
“What about Lily Towner?” Lola asked. I told everyone about Maybelle Church’s claim that she spotted her in the back garden of Mayfair House the night of the murder.
“Any chance she was mistaken?” Nick asked.
“Rafe is going to interview her again. It’s possible Maybelle was wrong,” I admitted. “It seems strange that no one else saw Lily Towner at the party. According to Maybelle, she must have only stayed for a few minutes, but she would have stood out like a sore thumb.”
“I think tongues would be wagging if Greg’s wife showed up,” Lola said. “Even if it was just for a few minutes, people would talk.”
“I think you’re right,” I agreed. “That means we’re left with Larry Ackerman and Gavin Benson and the wine heist,” I added. “With Larry as the actual killer.”
“Suspected wine heist,” Nick reminded me. “Rafe told me about the ledger they found but it’s going to take a while to go through the whole collection in the storeroom and see what’s there and what’s missing. Some of it might just be mislabeled and some of the bottles were so old, the wine might have turned and the bottles were destroyed.” He chewed for a few moments. “Of course, it’s possible that Larry and Gavin really were stealing wine from the mansion and Greg caught on and threatened to expose them. Larry confronted him in the speakeasy and killed him. That’s the best theory we have so far.”