Deadly Payoff

by Valerie Hansen

  “No one was. But that’s getting ahead of my story.”

  Winnie paused as Sonya entered and placed the tea tray on the low table beside the settee. It was all Delia could do to hold her questions until the maid had finished and left the room.

  “Go on,” Delia said, reaching for a delicate sandwich and a napkin. “What happened after that? I want to know everything.”

  “It was dreadful,” Winnie said. “Barbara managed to get Alannah calmed down a bit, then took her upstairs to the powder room so she could speak with her in private. In the meantime, your father was calling his lawyers about getting a restraining order.”

  “That’s not a big surprise.”

  “No, it isn’t. While he was busy doing that, Peg decided to check on Howard. She said she wanted to make sure the awful commotion hadn’t awakened him. He was resting comfortably so she came back to finish her meal in the kitchen with Sonya.”

  “Could Alannah have done something to Grandfather?”

  “It is possible, I suppose. Barbara left her alone for a few minutes to go speak with one of the servants about needing fresh fingertip towels. When she went back into the powder room, Alannah wasn’t there. She’d apparently decided to leave quietly and had used the back stairs, although no one saw her go.”

  “Could she have sneaked up to Grandfather’s room without being noticed?”

  “Nobody can see how, given the limited amount of time, although nothing is impossible I suppose. After Barbara came down and told your father Alannah was missing, we all went out to the front porch and saw her car racing away. He was so upset he refused to eat another bite. He and Barbara left shortly after that to go back to the office.”

  “And Grandfather was ill when Sonya took him his tea a little while later?”

  “Yes. The poor woman was frantic. She buzzed the kitchen and told Peg to come up right away. The rest, you know.”

  Delia shook her head as she mulled over the confusing story. “I still don’t see why it couldn’t have been accidental. Grandfather is always so confused.”

  “Yes, but he can’t just snap his fingers and make prescription medicine appear out of thin air, although if he could, that might explain those tablets that were found in the library after your Aunt Genie’s unfortunate end.”

  “Those were supposed to be his, weren’t they? Wasn’t that why the police suspected him?”

  “Originally. Now, there’s more to it than that.”

  “I don’t believe this. What else can there possibly be?” Delia asked incredulously.

  “Well, remember that detective Bianca hired shortly after my birthday? His death is being questioned, too.” She sighed. “I know it was only a few months ago, but it seems like an eternity since then.”

  “Bianca’s detective? You mean Garrett McGraw? I thought the investigation into his crash was completed. Wasn’t the thug who kidnapped Mick’s daughter implicated in the crime?

  “So, we’d thought. But the police now suspect he might have been framed and that the real murderer is still out there. Bianca was very upset when she heard the probe was ongoing, as you can imagine, especially after the toxicologists found high levels of Xanax and alcohol in McGraw’s system.” Winnie shuddered.

  “A tranquilizer?”

  “An antidepressant, I believe. Mick told Portia that Xanax can be lethal when mixed with alcohol.”

  “Poor Bianca. I imagine she feels awful.”

  “Yes. I’m thankful she’s in Boston, away from all these terrible goings-on. And I’ll be even happier when you’re on your way back to Hawaii.” She smiled wistfully. “Although I shall miss you. Terribly.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” Delia said, patting the older woman’s hands.

  “So, tell me about your adventure. When you called, you told Miranda you were going on to Chicago, I believe.”

  “Yes. Shaun and I caught up to Erik Evans in upstate New York. He was ransacking Aunt Genie’s condominium.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m thankful you had Shaun with you.”

  “I admit he was handy, although I did have to help him a little.” She couldn’t help grinning as she remembered that encounter. “We actually worked pretty well together.”

  “My, my.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t look at me like that, Aunt Winnie. There was nothing personal about it. We just seemed to balance each other out, that’s all, especially when it came to questioning people.”

  “What did you find out in Chicago? Did you go to the same hospital Bianca and Leo visited?”

  “Yes. And it was every bit as depressing as Bianca had said. But I had the added advantage of knowing what had happened to Aunt Genie. You should have seen the reaction I got when I mentioned her name! That Dr. Brooks almost keeled over. I’d have felt sorrier for him if he hadn’t been responsible for keeping Mother prisoner.”

  Winnie frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would he be so upset about Genie?”

  “Because he’d been having a fling with her for years. I think that’s why he was able to ignore medical ethics and his guilty conscience for so long. When we told him Genie was gone for good, he confessed everything.”

  “Oh, my. Does he know where Trudy went?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Delia sighed and shook her head. “But I did manage to come away with one clue. Have you ever heard of Cymbeline Corporation?”

  “Cymbeline? You mean like Shakespeare’s play?”

  “Yes. It’s spelled exactly the same way. Aunt Genie had been drawing on a Cymbeline Corporation account to pay Mother’s hospital bills.”

  “How odd.”

  “I agree. That’s why, tomorrow, I’m going to pay a call on Eleanor and Stanley. I want to watch their faces when I bring it up.”

  “You think they’re involved?”

  “I don’t know,” Delia said firmly, “but I’m sure going to find out.”

  “You’re not going to face them all by yourself?”

  “No,” Delia said, her tone softening as she thought of Shaun. “I won’t be alone.”

  TWELVE

  Shaun arrived at the Coastal Inn just before three the following afternoon. He wasn’t supposed to meet Delia there until three-thirty but he didn’t want to be late.

  The inn was the kind of upscale, pricey place he’d have imagined any relatives of the Blanchards would choose so he wasn’t surprised when Delia had told him her maternal grandparents were staying there. He could certainly understand why they wouldn’t want to be housed at Blanchard manor, instead. If ever there was a place with a stifling, morbid atmosphere, the Blanchard estate was it.

  The Coastal Inn wasn’t so bad in comparison, Shaun thought, climbing out of his work truck, straightening his brown corduroy blazer over his black turtleneck and starting to circle the Victorian structure in preparation for meeting Delia. He’d gone to the rear where employees parked and deliveries were made rather than chance being asked to move his well-used vehicle because it didn’t fit the posh image the inn wanted to create for its guests.

  There had been a time, long ago, when he’d wished he could take Delia to the Coastal Inn for a fancy meal but he’d abandoned that dream when he’d found out what it would have cost. On the wages he’d been making in those days he’d have been lucky to be able to afford one dessert and two forks!

  Since then, having a lot of discretionary money had ceased to be as important to him. Delia was right about one thing in that regard. Her family’s wealth had not brought them happiness.

  He climbed the curving front stairs of the inn and sauntered along the covered porch that graced its front and sides. The aroma of salt air, warmed by afternoon sun, was mixed with the sweetness of roses and honeysuckle twining up a trellis at the east end.

  Shaun paused and shaded his eyes. He had to admit that the sea view from the porch was magnificent—almost as grand as the land and seascape from the grounds of Blanchard manor. He recalled being impressed the few times he’d strolled there with Delia.


  She’d been eager and energetic in those days. Young. Full of mischief. When she’d led him closer to the edge of the bluff he’d naturally kept hold of her hand.

  “Don’t get so close,” Shaun recalled warning her as he’d tried to pull her back.

  Delia had giggled and danced away, teasing. “Scaredy cat. What are you afraid of?”

  Losing you, Shaun had thought. He’d said something macho instead. “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t think you should be fooling around so close to the edge, that’s all. It might give way.”

  “Don’t worry,” she had replied. “I’m not ready to go to heaven quite yet.” She had sobered. “Although I would like to see my mother again.”

  Shaun smiled as he pictured her sweet face and stared off into the distance, daydreaming. Maybe she would get the chance to actually see her mother soon. If there was anything he could do to help her, he’d give it his best. Delia and Trudy deserved to be reunited, to get to know each other again.

  He’d be willing to literally trade years of his life if he thought it would bring his own mother back. She and his dad had had a very special relationship; a rare and precious understanding that had often let them communicate without words.

  Though his mother had regularly taken Shaun with her to Sunday school she had never preached to his dad. Yet, once she was gone, it was as if her spirit had finally drawn Ian into church and given him comfort there.

  That kind of restful assurance was one thing Shaun had never understood. To him, church was a reminder of his sins, of his failures, and he didn’t see any reason to put himself through that kind of gut-wrenching trauma at all, let alone do it on a weekly basis.

  The warm sun on his face caused him to squint, made his eyes water. He knuckled away the moisture. Dwelling in the past was idiotic. Wishing wouldn’t bring his mother back and it couldn’t change the result of the accident that had cost him so many of his army buddies, either.

  Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to fall back on what he’d learned at his mother’s side and say a little prayer once in a while. Like maybe now.

  With his back to the inn and its guests he leaned against one of the carved porch columns, faced the ocean below the bluff and closed his eyes.

  Lord, it’s been a long time, he prayed silently. I don’t know what to ask or how to go about this but please help Delia. Help me to take care of her. To do and say the right things. To be there for her.

  Overwhelmed with emotion, Shaun brushed at his eyes as he scanned the approach to the inn. A little, scratched, compact car had just pulled up to the valet parking attendant and stopped.

  She was here.

  Delia looked at the covered porch of the Coastal Inn. Her breath caught. Shaun! He’d come, just as she’d asked. After the gruff way he’d sounded when she’d phoned to give him the details, she hadn’t been positive he’d actually show up for the meeting.

  There was no way she could have stifled her joy if she’d wanted to. Grinning as if she were about to meet her best friend, which was exactly what she was about to do, she smoothed the hem of her short-sleeved, teal sweater over her softly draped navy skirt, slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and started up the stairs.

  Shaun waited at the top and held out his hand.

  Delia took it, gladly. “I’m so nervous. How do I look?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Thank you. You’re not so bad, yourself. That’s a nice jacket.”

  “It was the fanciest thing I had. I hope it’s good enough for this place. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  Delia laughed quietly as Shaun held the door for her. “I usually go to restaurants that barely require shoes, so don’t worry about me. Besides, I think you look great.”

  “Thanks.”

  She led the way to the front desk and smiled a greeting at the clerk. “Good afternoon. Will you please tell Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Hall that Delia Blanchard is here. They’re expecting me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Hall told me you’d be arriving. He said to ask you to go on up. Room 212. It’s on your right at the top of the stairs.”

  Delia turned to Shaun. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  “I’m right with you,” he said, taking her arm.

  “Guess it’s too late to chicken out, huh?”

  “You can do this. We can do this.”

  “I know. I just hate conflict. If I accuse them of being behind Cymbeline Corporation and they’re not, we’re all going to feel awful.” She let Shaun shepherd her up the sweeping staircase.

  “If I were them and people were doing all they could to find my missing daughter, I’d be grateful no matter what.”

  “Thanks.” Delia gazed at him, marveling at how much stronger she felt with him at her side. The butterflies in her stomach were still fluttering like mad but they were no longer threatening to escape and bring her meager lunch along for the ride.

  They paused at the door of room 212. “Well, this is it,” she said, raising her hand to knock.

  Before she could, the door was jerked open and Eleanor greeted her with a tight hug that left her breathless.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Delia said.

  Eleanor’s green eyes misted. “Oh, my dear. You have no idea how glad we are that you called. Aren’t we, Stanley?”

  “Delighted,” he called from inside the suite. “Don’t make the poor girl stand out there, Eleanor. Invite her in.”

  The older woman eyed Shaun as she stepped back and gestured with a sweep of her arm. “Please, do come in. Both of you.”

  “Eleanor, Stanley, this is my…friend, Shaun Murphy,” Delia said, smiling nervously as they entered. “He went with me to Chicago while we checked on Mother’s past and I thought…”

  “Of course, of course,” the older man said. He extended his hand and pumped Shaun’s in magnanimous greeting. “We’re glad to have you both. Eleanor’s been pacing all morning, waiting for your visit. Now maybe she’ll settle down before she wears a path in the carpet and the hotel charges me to replace it.”

  Delia studied Shaun’s expression, hoping to judge his reaction to her grandparents by what she observed. He removed all doubt when he smiled and said, “I like this branch of your family, Delia.”

  She had to admit that she did, too. That was why it was so hard to imagine them being a party to holding her mother prisoner.

  “I had tea sent up,” Eleanor said, gracefully seating herself on the tufted, brocade Victorian sofa. “I hope you don’t mind not going down to the dining room. I thought we could get better acquainted if we had a bit of privacy.”

  “I agree,” Delia replied. She took a chair opposite her grandmother but perched on the edge as if ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

  “Shall I pour?” Eleanor asked.

  Delia waved her hand and noticed that it was trembling. “Please. Nothing for me. I—I need to talk to you and I’ve been so nervous I couldn’t possibly eat a thing.”

  “Now that is surprising,” Shaun quipped. He stood beside her chair and gently touched her shoulder. “Sorry. Go on. Tell them what we learned. It’ll be okay.”

  The calming effect of his voice, of his touch, helped Delia relate the disturbing details of their encounter with Erik Evans and their subsequent visit to Westside Medical Retreat.

  Eleanor dabbed at her eyes as she listened and when Delia spoke about Genie’s relationship with the doctor she nodded soberly.

  “My Genie was always wild,” the older woman said. “We never could understand why she defied us the way she did.”

  “She had set up a method of payment for my mother’s care that has me puzzled,” Delia told her. “I—we—thought perhaps you two could shed some light on it.” She paused to see if either of her grandparents was going to speak before she went on to ask, “Have you ever heard of Cymbeline Corporation?”

  Stanley had been staring out the window and rocking back on forth on his heels and the balls of his feet
while he listened. Now, his bushy gray brows knit and he crossed to the sofa to join his wife. “Cymbeline? You mean like the Bard’s work?”

  “Yes. It was spelled exactly the same. I thought perhaps, since your press was well-known for printing famous literature and Imogen is part of that play’s cast, you might have financed Genie that way. You know—because she was named after that character?”

  Eleanor’s voice was reedy. “You think we had something to do with Trudy’s hospitalization?” She reached for her husband’s hand.

  “You are her parents,” Shaun said cautiously.

  “Yes, but we would never…” Stanley stopped and cleared his throat. “I take that back. There was a time when we tried to get Genie psychiatric help but she refused to listen to us or to her doctors. If she was connected with this Cymbeline outfit she did it on her own. It had nothing to do with us.”

  “I believe you,” Delia said. “I’m sorry. You can see why I had to ask. I don’t really know you and I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Well, now you do,” Shaun said, giving her shoulder a pat before stepping away. “I believe them, too. In a way, it’s too bad. Now we may never know where that money came from.”

  Eleanor had begun to weep so Delia knelt at her feet and took her hand. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s just…so…awful.” Eleanor held a handkerchief to her mouth and struggled to speak between sobs.

  Stanley agreed by quoting Edgar in King Lear. “Yes. ‘Let’s just tell the truth. This happened. This is sad.’ The sister who needed the care kept the healthy one prisoner. If only we’d known. Maybe we could have done something. Intervened. Made Genie tell us the truth.”

  “I don’t understand why my mother never took us to see you,” Delia said. “I mean, there were years before she and Father split up that we could have gotten to know you. Why would she act as if you didn’t exist?”

  Stanley cleared his throat again, more noisily this time. “You don’t know?”