by Susie Gayle
“I want to talk to Lindsay,” I tell Sarah, “but I don’t want to do it with Max here. He might take it the wrong way.”
Sarah looks at me sharply in surprise. “Will, you don’t think it was her, do you?”
I shrug. “She stands to gain the entirety of their parents’ estate, doesn’t she? And you’ve seen the things I’ve seen. It’s always about the money.”
“It’s usually about the money,” she corrects.
“…Right. Is there any way to get Max out of our hair, even if only briefly?”
Sarah thinks for a moment. “I have an idea.” She heads into the dining room, clears her throat, and announces, “Boy, I am famished! Is anyone else hungry?”
“Now that you mention it,” Max admits, “I haven’t eaten much today.”
“Too bad we don’t have much in the house,” Sarah says casually. “I suppose I can run out and grab something…”
Max stands and buttons the top button of his suit jacket. “Please, allow me,” he says.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—”
He chuckles. “If anyone is imposing, Sarah, it’s us. Let me do this and repay your kindness.”
Melinda stands quickly. “I’ll go too. I know the town fairly well by now. I can show you a few places.”
“That would be lovely. Thank you, Melinda.” He holds his elbow out and she takes it, and the two of them head for the door. “We’ll be back shortly.”
Behind them, I grimace. Dennis makes a yuck face. Sarah turns, satisfied. “How’s that?”
“Perfect, as always.”
In the living room, I gently shake Lindsay, who’s curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over her and the cat beside her. “Lindsay?”
Her eyes snap open and she sits up suddenly, startling Basket, who jumps down and scurries toward the laundry room. She looks around, wide-eyed, her pink hair matted on one side of her head.
She looks at me in a way that doesn’t feel like she’s looking at me. “Oh. It wasn’t a dream.”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“That’s… disappointing.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Mm-hmm.”
A few minutes later we direct Lindsay to have a seat at the head of the dining room table with Sarah on one side, me on the other, and coffee in front of her. She wraps both hands around the mug and sips it gently. Dennis leans against the door frame leading to the kitchen.
“Lindsay,” Sarah says softly, “We just want to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them honestly, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything we’re asking you; we just want the truth.”
“Okay,” she says again. Sarah nods to me.
“Lindsay,” I begin, “do you remember going for pizza with Dennis?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But you forgot your purse, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Then what happened?”
“I went back to the pet shop.”
“Right away?”
“No… there was a dog.”
I exchange a glance with Sarah. “I’m sorry?”
“A dog.” She stares into the coffee. “A man was walking an Irish wolfhound. They’re my favorite. I stopped to pet him. I talked to the man.”
“For how long?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “A few minutes.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“Then I went back to the pet shop. Went inside, and saw…”
“Saw what?” I press her.
“Will,” Sarah says sharply. I look over at her and she shakes her head, no. “That’s when I found her.”
“She was there?” I ask. I try to replay the memory back in my head, but all I can remember is doing chest compressions on Adam.
“You don’t remember?”
“No. I was trying to revive… I mean, I was doing CPR.”
“After Sammy called 911,” Sarah tells me, “he called me right away. I didn’t even get in my car; I just sprinted the four blocks. When I came into the shop, Lindsay was standing just inside the door, just watching you. I grabbed her and I pulled her outside. I called Dennis, and Patty showed up about a minute later.”
“Oh.” I guess I really had lost track of my surroundings while I was attempting to resuscitate him.
“I think that’s about enough for now,” Sarah says, more to me than to Lindsay. “Would you like to go back to the couch?”
“Mm-hmm,” Lindsay says. She stands, takes her coffee, and leaves the dining room.
Once she’s out of earshot, Sarah half-whispers to me, “Look at her. She can barely answer questions. You really think she could have done this?”
“What if it’s an act?” I ask her.
Sarah’s mouth falls open a little. “Will, I’m not even sure she knows where she is right now!”
“Sarah, we’ve seen stranger things. She watched her mother go through all this for four years. There’s no way for us to prove or disprove the story about the dog, so as far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t change anything.”
She shakes her head at me in dismay. “I know that you’re pretty good at this, but sometimes I can’t help but think that being an investigator makes you lose sight of humanity.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that when you’re used to seeing the worst in some people, you start to assume the worst about everyone else.”
“Hey, let’s not forget that a man was killed today,” I shoot back, “in our shop. I just want to find out what happened.”
Sarah rubs her temples and sighs. “Okay. Let’s just relax a minute here; no need for things to get heated. The only reason you’re thinking it could have been Lindsay is because she’d inherit the estate, is that right?”
“Right.”
“But we don’t even know what the estate comprised—if it was a strong enough motivation for murder. Maybe we can talk to Max and find out just what they were dealing with.”
“Why would Max tell us? What good reason could we give him to need to know that? I can’t say that I’m investigating Adam’s death; not only am I not supposed to be, but he’s an attorney.”
“Then I’m fresh out of ideas,” Sarah says.
I think for a moment. There is one other possible option. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to do it, but it would probably be the easiest way to find out for sure whether or not money was a motivation here.
“Let me make a call.”
CHAPTER 13
* * *
I head outside to our deck in the backyard, letting the two boys, Rowdy and Spark, out with me. I watch them chase each other at top speed around the yard for a few minutes before I make the call.
It rings twice before she answers. “Hello, Will.”
“Hi, Georgia. Do you have a minute?”
“I do; you caught me at a good time. But considering the way we left things, I’m assuming this is not a social call.”
Georgia Strauss is a county judge that lives here in Seaview Rock. Back when I first got my license to be a private investigator, she hired me on for a few seemingly random cases involving dog-napping and scones (again, long story) that turned out to actually be some sort of atonement for some transgressions she was tangentially involved in a couple of decades ago. Make sense? Good.
When I found out that Georgia was basically using me to make up for her past, I cut ties with her. I told her that she didn’t owe me anything, and in return she didn’t get to use me anymore.
“You’re right; this isn’t a social call,” I tell her. “I need information.”
“Hmm. And what do I get in return for this information?”
“I… suppose I would owe you a favor.” Everything that Georgia had me do for her did seem to be on the side of good, but all the same, I really hate owing favors.
She’s quiet for a moment, no doubt thinking it over, an
d then she says, “Okay, Will. I’ll bank a favor from you in return for one. What do you need?”
“When someone dies without a will, there’s an even split between the beneficiaries, right?” I ask.
“You’re talking about intestacy. The distribution of the estate would depend on the living relatives—usually spouse and children first, then parents, if surviving, and so on to next of kin.”
“Okay. A, uh, friend of mine’s mother passed away last year; father was already dead. She had two kids.”
“Then the estate would likely be split half and half among them.”
“Now, they named someone else the, uh, what do you call it…”
“Administrator?” she offers.
“Right, that.”
“In intestacy, the administrator acts as the executor of a will. They’ll file the death certificates with the appropriate places, take an inventory of the estate, and eventually draw up a beneficiary agreement that basically outlines who gets what.”
“In my friend’s case, they named their uncle the administrator. He’s an attorney in Bridgeton, and he told me that he filed the beneficiary agreement two days ago. Bridgeton is in the same county, so it’s within your jurisdiction, right?”
“Where is this going, Will?”
“I’d like to see that agreement.”
She’s silent for a short while. “If it’s actually been filed, I should be able to do that without much difficulty. I’ll need a name.”
“Barker, with a b as in boy. I don’t have a first name.”
“Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you, Georgia.”
She hangs up without another word. Man, I really hate owing favors.
I head back inside to find Sarah on the phone as well, frowning in confusion. “Yes, thank you,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell her.” She hangs up and tells me, “That was the police.”
“Why would the police call you?”
“Not me; that’s Mom’s phone. She left it behind when she went out with Max. Apparently she reported her pearl necklace stolen earlier; do you know anything about that?”
“Um… she might have mentioned it to me in passing.”
“I wonder why she didn’t tell me,” Sarah muses.
Maybe because she’s using the pearls as a cover-up for a horrible deed? “I couldn’t really say. Maybe it didn’t seem like that big of a deal compared to the, you know, murder.”
“No, Mom loved those pearls. She wears them everywhere. God, I can’t believe I didn’t even notice that she didn’t have them on.”
I hold my breath as I dig into my pocket for the errant pearl. I hold out my palm and show it to her. “Sarah… I found this near Adam’s body.”
She picks it up and rolls it between her fingers. “Why didn’t you show me this earlier?”
“Probably for the same reason I didn’t tell the police. I guess I don’t want to believe it.”
She blinks at me. “So, what, you found a pearl near the body and you assume that it must belong to my mother? Like no one else on the planet can own pearls?” She drops the pearl back into my open palm.
“Sarah, she was MIA the whole time everything was happening. She claims her pearls were stolen, but there’s no proof. She reported it to the police, but she didn’t bother to tell you. And let’s not forget that the last time I saw her, she threatened to try to ruin me—”
“I cannot believe you, Will. My mother?”
“Just look at facts—”
“I don’t need to look at facts! I know what my mother is capable of, and murder isn’t one of them!” she practically shouts.
“Please, just hear me out.”
“No. First you accuse the nearly catatonic girl on our couch who just lost her brother, and now you think it could have been my mom? Jeez, Will! I really think you need to reassess your priorities. I thought they were friends and family and our life together. I don’t think I like who you’re turning into.”
“Sarah, just wait…”
“I need some air.” She grabs her purse and her keys and she leaves, making sure to slam the door on her way out.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
I turn, frustrated, back from the foyer and jump a little. Lindsay stands in my way to get to the kitchen.
“I heard you arguing,” she says softly. “You think I could have done this?”
“Lindsay…”
“Good.”
“…What?”
“I said, good. You should.” She stares at the floor instead of looking at me, her pink hair still matted, altogether looking and sounding a bit creepy.
“What do you mean, Lindsay?” I ask slowly. “And where’s Dennis?”
“Dennis is fine.” She looks up at me, meeting my gaze, unblinking. “Come, I want to talk to you.” She turns and walks back into the living room.
For a moment, I consider arming myself. But I do have at least six inches and probably sixty pounds on her, so I take my chances and follow her into the living room, joining her on (the opposite side of) the sofa.
“Okay, let’s talk,” I tell her. “What do you want to talk about?”
She gently strokes Basket, who has returned to the couch, along his spine as she speaks. “I’ve heard almost everything you’ve all said. Everyone thinks I’m out of my mind, but I’m not. People grieve in different ways. My family, we’ve experienced a lot of loss, but we don’t shed a lot of tears. I know you didn’t know Adam well, but even you could see how enthusiastic and full of life he was, even after all he’d been through. That was his way; this is mine.”
“Lindsay,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back around, “why did you tell me that it’s good I think it could have been you?”
“Because that tells me how seriously you’re taking this.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’re making decisions with your head, not your heart. It’s logical that I might be to blame, and you recognize that. On the other hand, you can’t blame Sarah for getting upset; I can tell she’s a very compassionate woman.”
“You got that right.”
“But that means that she’s apt to make decisions the opposite way, with her heart. There’s nothing wrong with that; it just means that as long as the two of you can understand the way the other works, you’ll be able to offer each other a different perspective, one that you might not see yourself.”
“Lindsay, that’s pretty wise for someone that I thought had lost her mind.”
She actually smiles a little, albeit a sad one.
“Just to be clear though,” I continue, “and not to sound callous, but… did you kill your brother?”
“No, Will. I didn’t. I loved Adam dearly.”
I take the pearl out of my pocket and show it to her. “Does this mean anything at all to you?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Suddenly both dogs bound into the living room, followed shortly by Dennis. “Hey, sorry. I stepped out for a bit with the pups. Did I hear a door slam a few minutes ago?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Your sister left for a little while because I think that your mom might have killed Adam.”
His eyes bug so far they threaten to fall out. “Oh,” he says quietly. “I see.”
“Sit with Lindsay. I need a minute.”
I step outside myself and try to call Sarah. It goes to voicemail. “Hey. Listen, I’m sorry… but I need to do what I believe is right, even if we don’t agree. And even if it’s something that doesn’t seem right to you. It’s…” I trail off, feeling like an idiot. A voicemail is not the way to do this.
I hit the button to delete my message and hang up. As I’m standing there, admiring the blooming wildflowers in our yard and wondering exactly what I’m going to do, my phone rings. I look down, hoping to see Sarah’s name. It’s not.
“Hi Georgia.”
“My,
my, Will,” she says. “Just what have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“I’m not sure yet. Did you get the agreement already? That was quick.”
“It only took two phone calls and an email. I’m looking at it now, and you should be too. Can you get in front of a computer?”
“Sure, give me a minute.” I head inside and straight upstairs to the third bedroom that we converted into a small home office. I log into my email account on the desktop and see a new message from Georgia Strauss. I click to view the attached document.
“Whoa. This thing is like sixty pages.”
“And it’s only the first half,” Georgia tells me.
“What? Why is it so long?”
“Well, it seems that the Widow Barker didn’t leave a lot of money to her children, but she did leave quite a few assets. She was something of a pack rat, it seems. Aside from the house, she left around four thousand books, seven hundred and some-odd keepsakes, and a collection of nearly eight thousand vinyl records.”
“Good grief,” I mutter as I scroll through page after page of appraisals. “And every single item was catalogued and evaluated?” No wonder it took Max eight months to get this done for Adam and Lindsay. “What’s the total value of the estate?”
“Are you sitting down?” she asks. “Two million, three hundred forty thousand.”
I let out a long breath. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. Seems like the Barkers collected several very rare and valuable items over the years—possibly without even knowing what they were worth. It happens more often than you’d think.”
More than two and a quarter million dollars. Unreal. Now I find myself facing another moral dilemma: do I take Lindsay at her word that she didn’t have anything to do with her brother’s death? Or did the color of money get in her eyes?
“There’s one other thing, Will,” Georgia says. “This agreement was indeed filed two days ago, but it hasn’t been signed by any of the parties.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it could mean two things. The first is that the beneficiaries read it, didn’t like what they saw, and are appealing. Based on how painstakingly thorough it is, I’d say that’s unlikely. The other possibility is that they haven’t yet seen it.”