“We need to talk,” I said. I wriggled out from beneath his arms and started up the stairs. I’d gotten better at climbing them with my crutches over the past week or two, but I was still slow. I could feel the intensity of Duncan’s gaze behind me as I went and wished I had let him go first.
“Mack,” Duncan said when I reached the landing at the top of the stairs, “hold on.”
I stopped where I was and turned to face him.
“What the hell is going on?” he said. “Has something happened to someone that I don’t know about? Is it something about the letter writer?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s none of those things, though I do have an update for you. I need to talk to you about us, about our relationship.”
“Oh,” he said with a tone of resignation. “Is this about Mal? Have you finally decided to toss me over for him?”
“This has nothing to do with Mal.” No sooner had the words left my lips then I started to wonder if they were true. “Let’s go sit down in the kitchen. I could use a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”
“Sure,” Duncan said, sounding worried.
He followed me into the kitchen and sat at the table while I went about setting up the coffeepot. As I busied myself with the coffee, I filled him in on our visit to the Pabst Mansion and what we had found there. Once I had the coffee set up and brewing, I hobbled into my father’s office, got the note that had been the latest clue, and brought it out to him.
He read it and then said, “I agree with your interpretation. The museum seems like the logical choice. When are you going?”
“Mal and I are going first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he said, pushing the letter aside. “Now tell me what’s really on your mind. What do we need to discuss about our relationship?”
I braced myself and then went into it. “I’ve asked you before to tell me what happened with your previous relationship. You told me you were left at the altar, but you’ve never elaborated beyond that.”
“It’s not something I’m all that comfortable talking about. And I’m not sure why it matters. It’s in the past.”
“Is it?” I posed. “What is the current status of that relationship?”
He looked back at me, his eyes narrowing. “There isn’t one,” he said.
I stared at him, disappointed and a little disbelieving that he wouldn’t mention the encounter from earlier or at least mention something about the current status of his relationship with the woman he once wanted to marry. I debated playing this out a little longer, giving him a chance to either come clean or hang himself some more, but decided that I wasn’t in a game-playing mood.
“I saw you yesterday when Mal and I were returning from the Pabst Mansion tour. You were standing outside of a restaurant.” I paused, waiting to see if he would catch on to where I was going with this line of discussion.
His eyes grew wide, and his expression morphed into one of dawning understanding. “Oh, okay. You saw me with her, didn’t you? Is that what this is about?”
“I saw you with some woman. I don’t know for sure who she was, but the two of you certainly looked quite chummy.” I was working hard to keep the irritation and frustration I felt from coming through in my voice. I didn’t want to dig myself a hole too deep to climb out of on the off chance that he had some reasonable, acceptable explanation.
“Somehow, I get the feeling you know more than you’re letting on,” he said carefully. “Let me guess . . . Cora helped?”
I shrugged, but I might as well have admitted to it. Duncan knew Cora’s abilities better than most, and he was also familiar with her insatiable curiosity, particularly where I was concerned.
“Okay,” Duncan said, leaning back in his chair. “Let me explain some things to you. To start off, Courtney Metcalfe is the woman I was engaged to, the one who stood me up at the altar, though technically I never made it to the altar. She called me the morning of our wedding, an hour before it was supposed to take place, and said she couldn’t go through with it. I believe I’ve mentioned something about this to you before.”
“You told me you were jilted at the altar, but you never went into the specifics. And somehow you never mentioned the name of your fiancée, or the fact that she comes to Milwaukee regularly, or the fact that you are apparently still seeing her. And if the kiss the two of you shared yesterday is any indication, I’d say your relationship is on pretty decent terms.” I paused and shook my head in dismay. “You didn’t feel the need to tell me you’re still seeing your ex-fiancée or that the two of you are still quite chummy?”
I heard the sarcasm and bitterness in my voice, the acerbic tone that was my desperate attempt to cover up the hurt I was feeling.
“I haven’t been seeing Courtney,” Duncan said, and his voice tasted like rich milk chocolate. Nothing about it made me think he was lying. “Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen her since our wedding day.” He paused, made a rueful face, and let out a mirthless laugh. “Technically, since I didn’t see her on our wedding day, yesterday was the first time I’ve seen her since the day before our wedding day.”
I didn’t know if he, like me, was trying to hide his pain, but if he was, he was failing miserably at it. Clearly this jilting had left a scar, although the term wound seemed a better metaphor since it obviously wasn’t healed. I could not only hear the pain in his voice, I could taste it in the bitterness of the chocolate flavor it triggered.
“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?” I said.
“Yeah,” Duncan snapped back. “Feelings of annoyance and resentment. And relief.” He started to say something more, but then seemed to think better of it. He snapped his mouth shut, raked a hand through his hair, and sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Look,” he said, “I haven’t been totally honest with you. I’m not lying when I say that up until yesterday I haven’t seen or spoken to Courtney since the day before our wedding. I’ve forgiven her for what she did—in fact, I’m somewhat grateful to her for saving us from a marriage that clearly would have failed, given what I know now—but I haven’t forgotten what she did. The anger I feel today is as acute as it was eight months ago when it first happened, and I’ve had no desire to see or speak to Courtney since that day.” He paused, shifted in his seat, and then looked away. “She, however, has made many attempts to talk to and see me over the past few months. She started calling me back in July, and since then I’ve had countless phone messages from her, but I haven’t spoken to her, nor have I returned any of her calls. She’s apologized for what she did, claiming she got stage fright at the last minute and feared we were making a big mistake. Turns out, she was right, but she no longer seems to see it that way. She has begged me to give her another chance and swears that marrying me is what she wants.”
He paused and finally looked at me. “But it’s not what I want, Mack. I have no feelings for her anymore other than resentment. I don’t trust her, and I’ve seen a side of her that I never saw before the wedding. It’s enough to keep me from going back. More than enough,” he emphasized, his eyes wide.
Silence settled between us, and I studied Duncan’s face, trying to determine if he was being honest with me, even though the flavor of his voice told me he was.
After a while Duncan, reached over and took my hand in his. “My feelings for you are real and genuine, Mack, but I’m sure you can understand that I’m a little gun-shy at this point. I’m not in any hurry to jump into another commitment like that. I want to take things slower, make sure I know the person I’m with. Really know her.”
“I understand that,” I said. “But if that’s true, then why did you see Courtney and kiss her the way you did?”
Duncan sighed heavily. “First of all, I had no idea Courtney was going to be there. I had a message left for me at work to meet a woman at that restaurant regarding some information on a case I’m working. When I got there, Courtney met me inside. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence, but then I realized she
had set the whole thing up. I started to leave, but she begged me to stay and hear her out. I didn’t want to make a scene inside the restaurant, so I agreed to give her ten minutes. We sat at the bar—I refused to get a table—and I listened as she told me how she’d made this huge mistake by not showing up for the wedding, but at the time she was so paralyzed with fear and doubt that she couldn’t make herself do it. She swears she loves me and wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And then she begged me to give her another chance. Basically, it’s the same crap she’s been saying in all the voice mails she’s been leaving me over the past few months.”
He paused, and I sensed he was waiting for a response from me. I didn’t give him one. I simply sat in silence, staring at him, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, he did.
“I explained to her that I wasn’t interested in rekindling our relationship. She kept insisting that what we had was worth fighting for, and that we should give it another chance. She offered to take things slow, feel it out, see where we ended up.”
He paused, raking a hand through his hair, his expression pained. “I have no interest in doing that with her,” he said. “I have no interest in being with her anymore. And I told her that. When I got up to leave, she followed me outside and kept insisting that I was lying to myself and to her. She told me she knew the heat and the love between us was still there. And then, in an apparent attempt to prove it, she grabbed me in a big bear hug and kissed me.”
He paused, looking abashed. After a quick glance at me, he bowed his head and said in a low voice, “I confess that for a second or two it seemed so familiar, so normal, that I kissed her back. But it was purely a reflex, and as soon as I realized it, I pushed her away. I thought she’d be angry, but instead she just smiled at me and said she wasn’t going to give up. I told her she was wasting her time and needed to move on.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s the whole story. The reason I didn’t tell you she was calling me was because it was irrelevant. I had no intention of returning her calls and assumed she would just give up.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Apparently, I underestimated her tenacity.”
I nodded slowly, digesting his explanation. I wasn’t done grilling him yet. “I thought for some reason that your ex-fiancée lived in Chicago,” I said. “I don’t remember if you told me that or if it was an assumption I made. But now Cora tells me Courtney has a house here in Milwaukee and that she spends a fair amount of time here. Were you aware of that?”
Duncan nodded. “I was, but again it seemed irrelevant.”
“So you didn’t feel it was relevant to let me know that your ex-fiancée was calling you regularly, begging you to take her back, and spending a fair amount of time here in Milwaukee?”
Duncan let his head roll back, and he stared at the ceiling, his arms still folded over his chest. “As far as I was concerned, it was nothing more than a nuisance.” He raised his head and looked at me. “My relationship with her is over and done with. I found out some things about her after the whole wedding fiasco, and I assure you I have no interest in rekindling that relationship. I’m sorry if you feel I was being deceptive somehow, but honestly, to me it’s a nonissue.”
“I see,” I said, nodding slowly. “Tell me something, would you feel slighted if I told you that my ex-boyfriend is hounding me to get back together?”
“Is he?” Duncan asked, frowning.
I smiled at him. “No, he’s not, but I can tell from your expression and the tone in your voice that the idea bothers you. So can you understand why your situation bothers me?”
“I suppose so,” Duncan said resignedly. “Sorry.”
“Thank you.” We shared a relieved smile. “I’m curious, does Courtney know about me?”
He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It’s not like we talk regularly or anything. Like I said, all the talking has been on her end.” He paused, and his brows drew down into a frown. “Although . . .”
“What?” I asked after several seconds of silence.
“She did ask me if I had something going with that redheaded bartender she saw in the news. I told her no. I didn’t want her to start harassing you.”
I bit my lip and debated asking my next question, knowing I was stepping into potentially sensitive territory. After giving it some thought, I decided to push onward, feeling it was time to fully clear the air.
“There’s something else about Courtney I’d like to discuss with you, and while it might seem a bit outlandish, don’t dismiss the idea outright. Give it serious consideration.”
“Okay,” Duncan said with a nod.
“Cora tells me that Courtney comes from a fairly wealthy family.”
“She does.”
“It makes me wonder if she and Suzanne Collier might have crossed paths, particularly if Courtney is spending a lot of time here in Milwaukee. Remember how we were questioning why you, specifically, were mentioned in the letters?”
I could tell from Duncan’s expression that he knew where I was headed. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I can’t see Courtney doing anything like that. Yes, she surprised me with her behavior and actions, and I admit I don’t know her as well as I thought I did, but I think I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t kill someone.”
He might be convinced, but I was still on the fence. And I was sick and tired of being a marionette for whoever was pulling all the strings. Clay’s words earlier about it being time to go on the offensive came back to me. Maybe he was right.
“I’ve decided it’s time to try to put an end to this letter writer one way or the other,” I told him. “I’m tired of being yanked around and manipulated by whoever is behind this. So I think I’m going to force the issue and tell the members of the Capone Club the truth about the letters.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I am,” I said. “It’s time for me to take charge of my own destiny, and I should let everyone else do so, too.”
“You realize some of them might be angry with you.”
“Yes, but I hope they’ll understand that I did what I thought was best at the time.”
“Some will understand, some may not.”
“And there’s a new wrinkle I should tell you about.” I then filled him in on my encounter with Whitney, and the revelation about her use of Opium perfume. “I have Cora looking into Whitney’s connections to the university and how many places her path crosses with Suzanne Collier.”
“So now you’re thinking Whitney and Suzanne might be working together?” There was a high note of skepticism in his voice.
“Maybe,” I said with some hesitation. “Though, to be honest, I’m more inclined to think it’s one or the other.”
“You sound like you have bones to pick with wealthy women,” Duncan said. “First, you’re pairing Courtney with Suzanne, and now Whitney? Why not consider that it’s all three of them conspiring together?”
He made it all sound utterly ridiculous, which I supposed it probably was. But the tone in his voice, the one that made me feel like some rank amateur, irked me.
“If they are working together,” he went on, “I’m thinking they had to make arrangements for someone else to do the dirty work. At least part of it. I don’t think any of them has the necessary size or strength to have inflicted the sort of wounds we found on Lewis Carmichael.”
“That’s assuming the wounds were inflicted with fists,” I said. “What if they were wielding a weapon of some sort? Do you know what was used to beat Lewis?”
He sighed, and then nodded wearily. “It wasn’t fists. The ME said it looked like some sort of object was used, something flat and heavy. But I still don’t think any of the women would have had the strength to do something like that.”
“Well, any one of them or the group of them certainly have the wherewithal financially to hire a hit man,” I said, trying to keep the defensiveness out
of my voice. “So I don’t think we can rule them out, either.”
Duncan leaned forward, uncrossing his arms and running his hands down his thighs. “It doesn’t matter unless we can find some sort of concrete evidence that points to them. And so far, we’re out of luck in that regard. And that means we have to continue to play the game. Are you sure you want to bring the whole Capone Club in on it?”
I nodded. It felt right to do it now, whereas it hadn’t before. “I’m mulling over an idea, a plan I have to maybe push the letter writer’s buttons and force things.”
“Not sure that’s a wise idea,” Duncan said.
“I don’t care if it’s wise or not. I’m tired of being held hostage and having my friends’ lives put in danger.”
“What, exactly, are you planning to do?” Duncan asked. He didn’t look happy.
“I don’t have all the specifics figured out yet, but I’ll run it by you once I do. In the meantime, it will be business as usual. Mal and I are going to the museum tomorrow, and hopefully, we’ll return here with the next clue.”
“Speaking of Mal, where is he?”
“He’s off working on a project for me.” I told Duncan about my idea regarding the elevator.
“An expensive but useful improvement,” he said. “Mal will enjoy working on it. I think he misses the construction life more than he’s willing to admit.”
Another heavy silence settled between us, and after a bit Duncan cocked his head to one side and said, “Are we okay, Mack?”
I gave him a wan smile. “I honestly don’t know. I’m not thrilled with the fact that you didn’t tell me about any of this stuff with Courtney. I’ve been honest and upfront with you when it comes to Mal.”
“I know, and all I can do is say I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better in the future, okay?”
I nodded and smiled at him. “Let’s move on,” I said. “Because there’s something else I need to tell you about. I had a meeting earlier with Clay Sanders, and he invited a couple of other guests along who had a proposal for me.”
A Toast to Murder Page 11