by Kelly Rey
"So maybe she used a private jet."
"Oh, sure," I said. "I don't know how I missed it. She must have had it parked out back next to limousine and the yacht."
"You're judging again," Maizy said. "Keep an open mind. How many old women have died with a million dollars in a jelly jar in the fridge behind the Lactaid and gross white bread?"
I gave her a look. "I told you, I don't like whole grains."
"I didn't mean that personally," she said. "But it's interesting that you went there."
"Wait a minute," I said. "The wedding was over by 9:30. She disappeared after the food fight right afterwards. The airport is a twenty-minute drive. And Chicago is less than a two-hour flight. Which would have put her there at midnight, no matter if she flew commercial or sprouted wings."
"True," Maizy said. "Except what if the fashion show wasn't on Saturday, but on Sunday, and she flew out Saturday night? Did she actually say it was held on Saturday night? Because that would be a big fat lie."
I couldn't remember. And I wasn't risking hypnosis again. "Better make the call," I told her.
Maizy did an internet search, whipped out another cell phone from her hoodie, and punched in the number. "I just bought more minutes," she told me. Like I wasn't used to Maizy owning more cell phones than AT&T. A second later, she said, "I'd like to speak to whoever handles orders from the Fire and Ice show." Pause. "Yes, I know it's over." Pause. "Not interested." Pause. "Seriously, not interested." Pause. "Will you get off it? God."
I nudged her. "Take it easy."
She covered the phone. "Like I'd buy an $8,000 bra and panty set."
I nodded my agreement. No way I'd do that, either. Unless the panties were made of cashmere and the bra came with preinstalled cleavage. Hm.
"Any wiggle room on that price?" I whispered.
Maizy didn't hear me. She was back on the phone. "This is Angelica from Dolman Personal Shopping," she said. "Bitsy Dolman hasn't received her order from this year's show, and she has a client waiting for it." Another pause. "Don't ask me. I don't know what she ordered. I'm just supposed to find out what happened to the shipment. I'll hold, but only if you don't assault me with Muzak."
I poked her in the ribs. "Don't be rude."
"I think I'm being incredibly tolerant under the circumstances," she said. "Have you ever heard Muzak?"
Yeah, alright, she had a point.
About thirty seconds later, she sat up straighter. "What do you mean, she wasn't there this year? She's been going for fifteen years." She listened for a few seconds. "Yes, I know the show's only been held for nine. That's my point. Bitsy's ahead of the curve." She listened for a few more seconds and hung up. "She didn't go."
Big surprise. "What'd they say?" I asked. "Why not?"
"They don't know," Maizy said. "She just dropped out of sight about six months ago."
"Maybe we ought to revisit Bitsy," I said.
"While we're at it," Maizy said, "we ought to find out more about Dusty. I might like her, but I didn't hear any alibi back there. Just a lot of 'should've kept that date with Mortimer Moneybags and his magic Cessna'."
"Agreed," I said. "But wouldn't the killer had to have known about the hidden hallway to stay out of sight till everyone left?"
Maizy rolled her eyes. "Let me ask you something. Did you know where in the house I was while you were snarfing dinner?"
"No," I said. "And I've been meaning to talk to you about that."
"My point," Maizy said, ignoring me, "is it's a big house. Lots of hidey-holes." She pushed hair out of her eyes. "It was a good thought, though. You're getting better at this."
"It sure doesn't feel that way," I said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Friday night, I came awake with a start and realized the phone was ringing. I grabbed it before it disturbed Ashley, who was snoozing comfortably on top of my head. "What?"
"So there I was tonight," Sybil said, as if we'd been chatting away for hours, "a grieving widow in the house that was rightfully mine, and what do you suppose happened?"
"Can't this wait till morning?" I asked, yawning. Outside, a light rain was falling. It was 2:15 a.m. "How did you get my number?"
"Abigail and Alston happened," she went on, ignoring me. "They seem to think the house is theirs now."
"Yeah," I said. "I noticed that."
There was a beat of silence. "You talked to them?"
"Of course," I said. "I'm a detective." Why did it sound better when Maizy said it? "Abigail seems pretty anxious to have the will probated. Does she know something you don't?"
"I didn't marry him for his money," Sybil said. "If that's what you're asking."
I'm sure it hadn't soured the deal.
"Am I right in thinking Abigail controls the household?" I asked.
Sybil snorted. "Don't most women?"
I wouldn't know about that. But I was pleased to learn that my instincts were dead on. Now the question was what to do about them. I couldn't forget Abigail's hostility, or their little drama at the pharmacy. And they might have had a rich brother, but it didn't seem that Oxnard had shared the wealth. Instead, he'd put them even farther from the easy life by marrying Sybil. I wondered if he'd cut them off entirely, and if he had, had Sybil put him up to it?
"Abby talked to the police," she was saying.
I sat up against the pillows, causing Ashley to wake up and jump off the bed with a little Mrrreww of protest. "What?"
"She's trying to convince them I killed Oxie. Nothing would make her happier than to see me in jail."
"Why would she do that?"
Her tone was withering. "People get railroaded all the time. It's not that hard to do when you have money behind your name."
I didn't think Abigail Thorpe had much of anything behind her name, but maybe the name was enough. And the desire for revenge.
But Abigail Thorpe wasn't the only suspect. Just the oldest one.
"Speaking of money," I said, "what can you tell me about Bitsy Dolman?"
Sybil snorted. "Those two things don't belong in the same sentence."
Yeah, I'd figured out that much.
"Bitsy's best years were about two decades ago," Sybil said. "She ran through her money and lost her looks. If Oxie hadn't insisted, that woman wouldn't have been within a mile of my wedding."
"But why did Oxie insist?" I asked. "She seemed so different from the other guests."
"My husband had a very warm heart," she said. "He said they were childhood friends or some such nonsense."
Her sentimentality was staggering.
"Bitsy Dolman isn't important," Sybil said. "You need to do something about Abigail Thorpe. Can't you threaten her with a slander suit or something?"
"Do you really want to sue your sister-in-law?" I asked. "When she just lost her brother?"
"I just lost my husband," she snapped. "Does she care about my feelings?"
I sighed. "I'll talk to Howard about it. Where can I get ahold of you?"
"I'll find you," she said, and hung up.
Now why did that sound like a threat?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Maizy showed up at 4:45 on Monday, just as a deposition was breaking up in the conference room, and slouched into the chair behind the empty desk to wait for five.
"How was school?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "Same old. I'm just putting in my time to satisfy the man."
"Who's the man?" Missy asked.
"Her father," I said.
A minute later, Eunice staggered into the room with pale cheeks and glazed eyes. I hadn't seen her all day, and I hadn't missed much. Brown and beige, air of quiet desperation. Pretty standard for Eunice.
"Is that what it's like?" She fanned herself with her legal pad. The page was full of doodles "That was pure hell. All that bickering and outright lying. And that was only the lawyers." She shuddered.
"Welcome to the wonderful world of the law," I told her. "I can't imagine why you wanted to be part of it."
"But
since you did," Missy said, "might as well enjoy the benefits."
"Are there any?" Eunice asked.
Missy nodded. "Bakery goods. Have a leftover doughnut."
"I knew I wouldn't be any good at this," Eunice moaned. "I can't even keep my office right. Howard told me I had to get it in order by the end of the week." She glanced around for a place to sit, and saw Maizy. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," Maizy said cheerfully. "How goes the ambulance chasing?"
Eunice let out a tortured sigh. "Not so good. Everyone's been obeying stop signs and yellow lights lately."
"Bummer," Maizy said. "Don't worry, sooner or later there'll be a cleanup in aisle five and someone will slip and fall in it."
Eunice considered it. "That's a good point. Thanks."
"No thanks necessary," Maizy said. "It's what I do."
"Last call for doughnuts." Missy waved the plate around. "Guaranteed to ease your suffering."
Eunice snatched two of them.
"Want to do a mock summation?" I asked her. "Might help you de-stress."
"Are you kidding? If I hear any more legalese today, my head may explode." She ate a chocolate frosted in three bites. "It sure isn't like Boston Legal around here," she said.
"Nothing's ever what it seems to be at first," I agreed, glancing at Maizy.
"That's the glorious mystery of life," Maizy said.
"Well, there's no mystery to what I'm doing tonight." Eunice had polished off both doughnuts and was scouting for a third. "I've got a date with an aspirin bottle and a heating pad."
"You ought to try meditation," Maizy told her. "Better than pharmaceuticals. Find your center. Listen to the silence."
I could have used a little more silence out of her.
"Is she for real?" Missy asked me.
"I'm as real as it gets," Maizy said.
"Meditation," Eunice said thoughtfully. "You don't have to talk when you meditate, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "Not unless you meditate in front of the Supreme Court."
The door was closing behind me when I heard Eunice crash to the floor in a dead faint.
* * *
"Sybil Thorpe called me," I told Maizy.
We were at the Lincoln Diner, our favorite of the fifty South Jersey diners along a ten-mile stretch of highway. The Linc was a throwback to simpler if less aesthetic times: red vinyl booths equipped with little jukeboxes, wall-length Formica countertop with swivel stool seating, ginormous bakery case stocked with cakes and cookies on steroids, heavy laminated eight-page menu.
"She was pretty upset," I went on. "She said Abigail's trying to implicate her in Oxnard's death, and she wants me to put a stop to it."
"So the finger pointing has begun," she said. "It was only a matter of time with that much money at stake." She fished an ice cube out of her water glass and popped it in her mouth. "You find that will yet?"
I shook my head. "I'm beginning to think Howard didn't draft the original."
"Maybe not," she said. "Maybe Oxnard used one of those do-it-yourself legal forms websites. If we could check out his computer, I could find out for sure."
We waited until the waitress delivered our dinners. Salmon for Maizy with roasted vegetables. A burger and fries for me. I pretended I didn't notice her nose wrinkling when she saw my plate.
I sampled a fry. Much better than roasted carrots. Better still with a pool of ketchup. I emptied half the bottle onto my plate. "I didn't even see a computer in the mansion," I said.
"Maybe you were distracted by hormones. I hear that can happen in menopause." She slid the Polaroid of Rod Rockstone across the table. "What were you doing with this, anyway?"
"I am not menopausal, Maizy." I snatched it up and stuffed it in my bag. "And the question is what were you doing with it."
"Research." Maizy ate a carrot. "Brody Amherst has a long way to go. He doesn't even have chest hair."
I didn't want to think about Brody Amherst and his chest hair. "Oxnard must have kept his computer in the office Dusty mentioned," I said.
"Way ahead of you," Maizy said. "My friend Herbie Hairston's cousin Moe works for the custodial company that cleans the offices in that building every night. Moe agreed to let us in around nine o'clock. For fifty bucks, he'll even take a half hour lunch break."
"I don't have fifty bucks," I said. "Will he take a fifteen-minute break for twenty?"
"Don't worry about it," Maizy said. "I've got it covered. I'm loaded. I did Honest Aaron a favor."
My eyes narrowed. "What kind of favor?"
"Nothing like that," Maizy said. "His wife took an earlier flight home to try to catch him with his girlfriend. Lucky for him, I'd just brought back the Bentley, so I covered for him. He gave me a hundred bucks to be Bambi's best friend."
"A hundred bucks?" I repeated. "Does Bambi need another friend?"
"Bambi's got all she needs," Maizy said. "In every respect. Except she's got some windows open upstairs, if you know what I mean."
At the moment I was feeling a little drafty myself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Moe was a surprisingly average looking twenty-something with a lean, muscled build and a narrow ponytail that hung below his shoulder blades. He hustled us across the lobby to the elevators. "Third floor, west corner," he told us. "It's unlocked. Knock yourself out. I myself feel the need for a beverage."
Maizy passed him some bills. "You rock, dude."
Moe nodded without expression. "I know," he said, and disappeared down the hall.
Maizy and I rode the elevator up to the third floor, bypassed a cluster of cubicles, and found the office in the west corner. Pretty standard issue as far as offices went. Heavy furniture, filing cabinet, a couple of abstract paintings on the wall. And a monster 34-inch computer monitor sitting on the desk, with the tower tucked into its own cubicle underneath.
"Sweet," Maizy said, heading for it. "It's already running. That's never a good idea. You never know who could access the system." She pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves and sat down. "This shouldn't take long. He did half the work for me already."
I stayed right where I was. There was nothing I could do but get in her way. "I can't imagine he'd do his own will, with all his money," I said.
"Rich people are like that," Maizy said while she worked. "Cheap. Why don't you see if you can find anything in the filing cabinet. Here." She handed me a pair of gloves.
The filing cabinet had two drawers but needed three. Both were crammed with manila files and mailing envelopes and DVDs. Like in his home office, Oxnard had had everything carefully labeled, making it easy to find the one featuring Dusty Rose.
My lip curled on its own accord. I felt dirty just looking at it. I kind of liked Dusty, and she'd been treated horribly. It took a second to remember she might have gotten her revenge by killing Oxnard. I slipped the DVD into my handbag. I couldn't do anything about what might be online or in anyone else's hands, but I could make sure no one saw that particular copy.
Next I turned my attention to the files. Papers regarding the sale of No Flows and investments Oxnard had made and money he'd lost. A lot of money he'd lost. Either Oxnard had been a serious shopaholic or Herman Kantz wasn't much of a financial adviser.
A smallish manila envelope had been tucked between folders, unlabeled and unsealed, practically begging me to take a peek. It was full of photographs of Sybil and Herman Kantz. Outside the Philly Art Museum, the Academy of Music, on the town, in formal dress and casual. Hand in hand. Sybil smiling up at him like an enraptured teenager. Herman kissing her.
I sat back on my heels. "Maize."
"Huh?"
"Check these out."
I held up the photo of Sybil and Herman in a lip-lock on Penn's Landing with the Delaware River seething in green-brown ripples behind them.
Maizy snatched it from me. "Sybil was doing nicky-nack with the financial adviser?"
It made sense. "Sybil introduced Oxnard to Herman," I said. "I bet they set this all up
. Marry Oxnard, get her hands on his money, and bump him off so she and Herman could live happily ever after."
"She could've just waited," Maizy said. "Not like he was going to live much longer."
"We don't know that," I said. "He could have been one of those people you see on the news celebrating their 103rd birthday."
"You mean he wasn't there yet?" Maizy asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Are you finding anything on the computer?"
"Online poker and porn sites. I think this was Oxnard's equivalent of a man-cave."
My eyes fell on a file. "Except." I pulled it from the drawer and flipped it open.
Maizy peeked over my shoulder. "Is that his will?"
I nodded while I scanned it, skipping the boilerplate and heading to the specific bequests. Abby was set to inherit the bulk of his estate. Alston would receive a token amount, which I knew was designed to forestall a potential challenge to the entire will. And Bitsy Dolman was the beneficiary of a cool half a million dollars.
"They really were old friends," Maizy said.
No mention of Sybil. "This had to be the old will," I said. "Before the revisions."
"He did it himself, didn't he?" Maizy said. "There's no lawyer's name on there."
"There's software for that," I said. "But he must have wanted advice about changing it, so he asked Howard to do it."
"Have you been able to find that?" Maizy asked. "Seems like it could be important."
That would be my first job back at the office. Oxnard would never be able to sign a new will, of course, but it might have answers we needed. I folded it up and stuck it in my handbag next to the DVD, ignoring that creepy stealing-from-a-dead-guy sensation.
The elevator dinged announcing Moe's return, followed by his whistling approach in our direction. He stopped at the doorway, staring. "You're still here."
"Chill," Maizy told him. "I'm out of money."
We brushed past him, headed for the elevator.
"Come back anytime," he called after us. "I can do fifteen minutes for ten bucks or ten for five."
"We should've waited for the sale," Maizy said.