“Do you think the cops know about the sale? Is that why they questioned him so long Thursday night?”
Ann stared, then leaped out of the chair, eyes brimming with tears. She took a step to the couch and hugged me. “Oh, Cleo, I knew you’d figure it out. Now, tell me how we’re going to get out of this mess.”
I stayed a few minutes longer, trying to remember something I’d wanted to ask Ann. I never did, but she wound up telling me about her niece Prissy. I learned that Prissy and her family lived in one of the old bay houses we’d passed driving to the Grand Hotel.
“It was our summer house, growing up, but it’s winterized now. Still drafty and costs a fortune to heat. But there’s a glassed-in porch all across the back, with the prettiest views of the sunset, and manatees under the pier in the summer. Evie and I lived there until a few years ago.”
“Alligators?”
“Are there alligators there?” She rolled her eyes. “Lord, yes. Go out at night with a flashlight if you want to know how many. Eyes shining everywhere.”
“And where does Evie live now?”
“We built granny pods at the front of the lot a few years ago and let Prissy and Michael take the house. Evie still lives in her pod, but I decided I wanted a little more social life, so I moved to Harbor Village. Delaying senility, I hope.”
“You’re still going strong.”
Ann gave me a grim little smile. “To tell the truth, I think Evie and I will outlast Usher. You saw how he was yesterday. He needs help.”
“You said he’s seen a therapist?”
She nodded. “It’s sad, in a way. The therapist told him he was emotionally unstable and that was just the excuse he needed. Never went back.”
“Prissy has children?”
“Three. I don’t want to cut them off, but I don’t know how I’ll deal with their mother now.”
“How do you know she knew what Usher was doing?”
“She came over last night. Matter-of-fact, just like nothing had happened. Asked if I was all right. Pretended she’d tried to get Usher to tell me.”
“And he did tell you?”
She nodded. “Said he can’t run Royale Court without Evie and me.”
“That’s probably true.”
“I know. He can’t even steal without help.”
Ann’s apartment was right next to mine, so you’d think we would’ve seen or heard anyone who came to my porch. But we didn’t, and when I got home, three copies of the Sunday newspaper were on the love seat. My carryout box of bread pudding was on top of them, still cold from someone’s refrigerator. Riley’s, I supposed, since the box was in his car the last time I saw it. I took it to my refrigerator.
I was out of my routine after the busy week and breakfasts with Ann for three days, but somehow my kitchen had gotten messy. I tidied up, Swiffered the floor, then dusted the bedroom and started a load of laundry before I sat down at the computer.
I refolded Ann’s newspaper, flattened it on the scanner/printer, and scanned in my photograph with Handleman. Then I emailed it to Yolanda in the Houston office and to Stephanie. The instant I hit send, I thought how humiliated I was going to be if Handleman turned out to be a murderer. He’d seemed perfectly legitimate last night, with all his talk about an automotive museum for Alabama, but I should’ve waited a few days before sending the photo. Let the cops finish their investigations.
Vickie Wiltshire called a minute later and I had to search for the phone. “Did I wake you?”
“I wish.”
“You going to be home today? I’ll come by if you are.”
I told her how to find my apartment and wondered what she was up to. Digging for info on Handleman and his wife, I decided, but I didn’t know anything else to tell her.
I was changing laundry from washer to dryer when someone knocked at the door. But it wasn’t Vickie.
“I’m not coming in.” Ann handed me the green folder. “I wanted you to keep this, just in case. And I couldn’t remember if I told you about somebody getting in the knit shop Thursday night.”
“Wednesday night, you mean.”
“No. Thursday. The night after Devon. We’ve never had any security problems before, nothing but kids drinking or making out, and now a murder and a prowler in two days. It’s an unkind coincidence. I guess it was kids, larking around. They didn’t even take the bait money.”
Bait money sounded like something she left out for a thief to find. I wondered if she kept larger sums in the shop, too. Maybe it wasn’t too big a risk, with her brother living on the premises.
“What did the cops say about the prowler?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t tell them yet. I’m going to help Carla with lunch and then go by Publix and to Evie’s and make her some soup. You want anything?”
I told her I’d done my shopping the day before.
Ann hadn’t been gone five minutes when there was another knock at the door. I thought it was Ann again, that she’d forgotten something.
It was Usher, looking disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. There was no doubt he’d had something to drink this time. I pulled the front door closed and stood on the porch with him, appreciative for all the windows I could see.
“I’m looking for my sister.” He bent to peer around me, into the living room. “Is she hiding out over here?”
“She just left for the dining room. Want me to give her a message when I see her?”
“Well…” He cast a long look at the love seat. “I guess I could tell you. If you’ve got time.”
We sat on the porch for the next hour. It was warmer than it had been for Ann’s early visit, and Usher didn’t cry, but he pretty much told his life story. All I had to do was nod occasionally. Two marriages and two babies before the love of his life decided she was lesbian and he was gay and, who knew, he probably was, or maybe bi.
I’d heard it all before, lots of times, from friends and students and clients, so it didn’t shock me. Not the way Nita’s comments about sex had. Did I have some unresolved feelings about Riley? Was I worried about what our children would think? Afraid we’d be unhappy?
I dragged my attention back to the moment and listened to Usher until the tale became redundant. Then I asked questions to move him along, skipping right past the warping of his psyche to ask if he’d been drinking and driving this morning—he said no—and how he’d gone about selling Royale Court. “Did you contact the business broker, or did he find you? He didn’t ask you about the other owners? How long did it take him to find a buyer?”
He was making the little smacking sound again, punctuating sentences. “I found the buyer myself and took him to the broker, who didn’t do a damn thing but talk.” Smack. “Then Devon decided we should cut the broker out of the deal, to save himself the commission, but that guy wouldn’t even give him a break. He was still handling all the business stuff and making it work, even though Devon was pretty much broke.” Smack. “Just imagine…broke and buying million-dollar properties. The two of them figured out how to make it work. I just said whatever and left it to them.” Smack.
“What do you know about Devon’s death?” I was pretty sure he’d claim ignorance, regardless of the facts, but he didn’t.
Usher stared at me. “You’re thinking about Irene.”
That threw me off. I wasn’t thinking of her and saw no connection between Irene and Devon’s death. But I did want to know what had happened to her. That was the question I’d intended to ask Ann and forgotten.
“Tell me about her.”
He sighed and slid down, resting his head against the back of the love seat and gazing off into space. There was a long pause before he spoke again, but when he did, the smacking was gone. “She hanged herself. Accidentally.” Tears welled in his eyes but he blinked them away. “We were building the new shop on de la Mare, putting
the apartment upstairs so I could get away from that nuthouse at the bay.”
There was bitterness in his voice. After a moment, he went on.
“Irene and I were sitting up on the second-floor framing one evening, after the crew left. She started climbing down but slipped, somehow, and fell. She had this necklace, a big chain thing, looped twice around her neck and it caught on something. Tightened up with her dangling in the air. No way for me to get to her.” He paused with tears sparkling on his cheeks. “That’s the gods’ own truth.”
“I am so sorry.” I resisted the impulse to put my arms around him. “It must’ve been tough for you. How long ago?”
He seemed to be living in the past. “She was my favorite, you know. Olivia was closer in age, but she was always the ice queen. Irene was fun. But her neck snapped. I heard it. They say that wasn’t likely, but I know what I heard. The fire truck got her down. I’ve never talked about it before, you know.”
“A terrible accident. And it happened where you live now?”
Usher nodded and drew a ragged breath. It was a tragedy Shakespeare might’ve composed. His problems ran quite the gamut, I realized, from grief to anxiety, depression, trauma, substance abuse—how would he ever find a counselor with such a range of competencies?
“Southern Gothic. And now Devon Wheat gets strangled fifty feet away. I can’t wait to be rid of that gee-dee place. I’m going to call the broker first thing tomorrow and tell him to find another buyer immediately. I wish he worked Sundays. I’d call him right now.”
I’m usually pretty nondirective as a counselor, so my answer surprised me. “Most people use cell phones now. He’d probably answer today, wherever he is.”
It surprised Usher, too. “I didn’t think about that. I’ll call him when I get home.”
“Before you go…” I was thinking half a second ahead of talking. “Were you in Ann’s shop Thursday night?”
“Thursday? Absolutely not. Did she say I was?”
“No. She said somebody was, but she’s not concerned about it.”
He shook his head. “Not me. I have zero business in a knit shop, day or night.” He reflected for a moment. “You want the truth? It’s a long story.”
“Sure.”
He drew a deep breath and launched into a new story, seeming to enjoy talking now that he’d gotten the hang of it. “I walk around town sometimes and check on things. Wednesday night it was about ten, and Devon’s bike was in the alley behind the Bistro.” He looked at me. “I thought it’d be fun to ride, but it was too tall and had all those gears. I thought somebody was hiding it from him and went to leave him a note, telling him where it was. But he was dead.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a minute.
We sat in silence. Usher didn’t seem especially distressed. He slid lower in his seat, pushing the cushions out of position.
I thought about the scene he was creating. I wouldn’t go into a bathroom I believed to be occupied; would he? Had the bathroom door been open when he got there? Or had he moved the body?
I asked, “The bathroom door was open?”
“I closed it so Evie wouldn’t find him. But she did anyway.”
I nodded. He’d wanted Ann to find the body. But it didn’t seem to have bothered Evie much.
“Did you leave the building through Lilliput, too?” I thought about the missing security camera.
He shook his head. “No. I went through the knit shop. That’s when I saw the camera was gone. They’re trail cameras, not connected to anything, but I had to take the other ones down.”
He pushed himself upright and continued talking while he wiggled around, getting comfortable again. “The camera in front of the knit shop was the only one that ever worked and it wasn’t dependable. Went out all the time, I never figured out why. But Wednesday night it was gone.” Smack. He was getting wound up. “Whoever strangled Devon took it to keep us from seeing him. Ergo, it’s somebody we know. But with no camera, who are the cops going to suspect? I’m the one who lives there. I’m the one who knows which camera works. And it’s me who just set off World War Three with my sisters. No way they’ll suspect anyone else. So, I took the other ones down, too.”
He paused, anxiety giving way to dejection.
He’d succeeded in convincing me. I asked him, “Nobody else knows how many cameras were in Royale Court?”
Usher slid down again, leaned his head against the love seat, and looked at the ceiling. “Are you kidding? Even Ann wouldn’t know. I got a box from Lilliput and put the cameras in it, but wouldn’t you know? Evie found it immediately and gave it to Ann, and she gave it to the gee-dee cops. Didn’t even consider what that might do to me.”
He was indignant at the turn of fate, and I felt a need to confess my role in turning the cameras over to the cops.
“I thought it was a good idea, Usher, to give the cameras up before the cops asked for them. Ann told me they didn’t work.”
He shrugged. “Well, one did, but that one was gone.” Smack. “Do you agree the murderer took it?”
“That seems likely, if you didn’t. Somebody thought he’d been detected and wanted to destroy the evidence.”
He nodded. “That’s precisely what I think. If we find the camera, we find the murderer. But think about this. What if he hacked it somehow and put me on there? Can they do that? I think so. What if he hid it to make it look like I’d done it?”
“Did you find it?”
Usher shook his head. “I haven’t looked. I’m terrified I will find it. Afraid it’ll incriminate me. I don’t know where it is and I don’t want to know. I hope nobody ever sees it again.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
He looked at me and grinned. “I have an excellent imagination. I scare myself.”
“That’s not necessarily bad. It helps sometimes, to anticipate the future.”
I dredged up an old therapy technique and had him practice a few statements to use when he talked with his sisters. “It’s smart to be prepared, in case the situation is upsetting and throws you off balance.”
I asked questions and he practiced. He was thinking proactively when he lined up a buyer for the shop. He was anticipating the day when Royale Court would be a burden to all of them. He hadn’t actually consummated the sale and wouldn’t until everyone was ready.
“And that’s the gods’ own truth,” he said emphatically, persuading me if not himself. But his voice became calmer, more natural, as he practiced.
“I have some photographs I’d like you to look at before you go, Usher.”
The look in his eyes shifted to alarm. “Pictures of me?”
“No, no. Photographs my assistant made this week. I’m wondering if you’ll recognize people, if they’ve been around Royale Court in recent days. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get them.”
“Sure.”
He’d be glad to look at Patti’s photographs. But I had a problem.
The photographs were on the computer in my apartment, and I was reluctant to be in there alone with Usher. Whatever story he was telling, and believing, Usher Slump was still high on my list of murder suspects.
I remembered distinctly the way he had crushed a Mountain Dew can, and Usher Slump wasn’t the only one with a good imagination.
Chapter 17
I put on my most innocent expression and looked around, wondering if any of the windows I could see from my porch had people looking out.
Ann was over at the big house, I knew. It was Sunday, so Harvey and Lynne from the next apartment would be at the Unitarian Fellowship a couple of blocks away, singing folk songs. Gloria was with her family most weekends—that took care of the four apartments closest to mine. Across the fence, I could see portions of six or eight houses, but was anyone at home? And were they looking out, ready to rush to my rescue if things took a bad turn?
&n
bsp; In the other direction was Riley’s building, with two apartments on the ground floor and two upstairs. I didn’t even know if the upstairs units were occupied.
Maybe I should just ask Usher to come back later?
“Yoo-hoo!”
I swiveled around and looked toward the sound.
Vickie Wiltshire was striding up the wide sidewalk from the garages, wearing a beige cape and a pair of suede ankle boots with high heels. She carried a newspaper and a rust-colored briefcase, and I’d never been so glad to see anybody.
“Are you receiving?” she called.
“Come join us, Vickie.” I went to open the screen door for her. “You know Usher Slump, I’m sure.”
Usher asked, “Are you here for therapy, too? I’ll give you the patient’s chair. I’m about to go.” But he didn’t get up.
“Not yet.” I tapped his arm. “I want you to look at those photographs. It won’t take long. Come inside, Vickie, and wait while we finish up our discussion. Five minutes.”
I put her in the living room, got my laptop off the desk, and went back to the porch.
Vickie opened the door immediately. “What’s your Wi-Fi password?”
I told her and she disappeared inside.
“This won’t take long,” I promised Usher, sitting beside him and balancing the laptop. He watched as I called up photos from the Handleman lectures. “Just point out anybody you’ve seen in Royale Court in the last week or so.”
“Day or night? It’s different crowds, you know. Shoppers in the day, dog walkers and neighborhood people in the evening. And kids, but not so bad as in the summer. Skateboards mostly.”
“Any time of day.”
I displayed several photographs at one time and turned the screen toward him. The photos weren’t quite large enough for viewing, but that didn’t deter Usher.
“This little jerk,” he said, right off the bat. He was looking at the bottom row and pointing to Todd Barnwell. “Who is he?”
I told him and he nodded.
“Yeah. Devon had Boudreau’s girls feeding him half the time. They run a tab for Todd and Devon pays. Not out of his own pocket, I’m sure. The little jerk never appreciated anything, always complaining and arguing. He used to come in with an old man, but I think he must’ve died. Quit coming, anyway.”
Murder at Royale Court Page 24