“Yes. Has to have been a shock to him, regardless. And not so much Oscar, but Lawrence going away like that. He was a first-class fool to confess. Everyone knows he wouldn’t have it in him to do something like that. Still, I’d like to shake the hand of the person that really did,” Edith proclaimed. “My brother was the worst kind of miserable snake.” She didn’t often let her feelings get the better of her, but Edith was nearing the end of her rope. “You know we have to get him out of there. Lawrence can’t make it in prison. We have to find out who really did it.”
Giselle felt her hand jerk involuntarily. Coffee slopped out of the cup onto the table. She quickly rose to get a towel. Edith caught a glimpse of her face before she turned away. It had contorted to fear. Had she done it? Was she fearful for herself? Or for someone else?
“How is that possible? To find a keel-er! Mon Dieu!” Giselle gulped as she returned to the table. Her accent had deepened. It happened when a person reverted back to their basic instincts, their core feelings. That fact was not lost on Edith. “The police consider the case closed,” Giselle quavered.
“They do. I don’t.” Edith growled. “I’ve had enough. The boy needs his father.” She drained her coffee, stomped over to the counter and clattered the cup down next to the sink.
“What will you do?” Giselle countered with a worried voice.
Edith paused. She toyed with the ever-present pearls around her neck. “Don’t know. Don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.” Then she marched from the room.
Giselle looked back at the window. The rain was still pouring down, but its invisible protective wall that she had always felt was gone.
#
“Where’s the money?”
Johnson looked up from the report that he held at arms length in front of him, in spite of his reading glasses, and squinted at his partner. “Huh? Whaddya mean?”
“I mean, who inherited? Who got Oscar Bernstein’s money? And where is it? Invested?” Nick asked.
Johnson dropped the report on the desk and started flipping through the file.
“I don’t remember anything about money. He was rich for sure, but the whole thing wasn’t about that. It seemed to focus on the kid. Did he or didn’t he do it, could he even stand trial…” Nick rambled.
“Ah, here it is!” Johnson was ignoring his partner. “Copy of the will, or the juicy parts anyway. Hmm,” he trailed off as he read.
“Care to share it?” Nick asked after several moments.
Johnson glanced at him. “Oh. Yeah. Says that the son got half of it. Other half went to the sister, Edith. Except for this part, which is interesting. He gave a hundred grand to that housekeeper, but if she took it, he would have ‘a letter in the hands of my attorneys delivered to my son immediately.’ If she declined the money, the letter would be ‘retained by the attorneys for a period of one year, then destroyed’.”
“That’s weird,” Nick remarked.
“Very weird. Can he make a condition like that?” Johnson asked.
Nick was thinking back to his law-school days. He came from a family of lawyers and had earned his Juris Doctorate but never pursued the career. He’d only studied law to appease his family. Nick had put in many hours hovering over books filled with cases. He tried to remember if anything he’d encountered would shed light on such a strange bequest. “From what I remember in law school, there are only three conditions placed on a bequest that aren’t allowed: marriage, divorce, or a change of religion.”
“So you can’t leave a million bucks to someone only if they divorce their spouse, for example,” Johnson said.
“Correct. But conditions are tricky because who’s really going to enforce them? In this case, though, the lawyers would probably be paid from his estate for the year that they held the letter. If they held it. Does the file say if the housekeeper… what was her name?”
Johnson shuffled through the file again. “Giselle. Giselle Guerrette.”
“Does it say if Ms. Guerrette took the money?” Nick continued.
Johnson looked through the papers once again and shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t say.”
“Huh. Gimme that. I might be able to give that law firm a call,” Nick said, catching the file as Johnson slid it across the desk toward him. “Let’s see…” he found the name of Oscar Bernstein’s attorney then looked up the number and pulled out his cell phone. Johnson eased his large bulk back into the decrepit metal swivel chair and laced his fingers together over his belly. He looked down at it and sighed. The diet hadn’t been working as quickly as he’d hoped. He reached down to his waist and pulled the pedometer off his belt, looked at it, and swore softly. He leaned forward, stood with a groan, replaced the pedometer and began walking in circles around the desk.
Nick was now talking with the lawyer. He looked up at Johnson and mouthed, “Do you mind?” Johnson just pointed to his pedometer and kept walking. When Nick got off the phone he said, “Okay, that’s annoying. You need to sit.” Johnson complied, and Nick continued. “Bottom line, she didn’t take the money, and they still have the letter.”
Johnson stood and started circling again, although this time with a brighter expression. “Now that’s interesting!” he remarked. “What could make a housekeeper turn down a big sum of money like that? Must be some big secret, eh?” He continued pacing.
“Okay, you have to stop. You’re making me dizzy,” Nick said. “We can’t speculate on what’s in the letter. Could be anything, but it has to be some kind of dirt on the housekeeper that she wouldn’t want Lawrence Bellamy to find out about.”
“I’d call that a loose end that needs to be tied up,” Johnson said. “I knew there was more to this case. It was closed way too fast after Bellamy confessed.”
“I agree,” Nick responded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That I could use a cup of coffee and about six cinnamon bear claws?” Johnson muttered.
Nick chuckled. “Sorry on the bear claws, but I can do the coffee. C’mon. You can get more steps counted on that thing.”
Johnson slung on his jacket and followed Nick out the door.
#
Dulcie closed her laptop. “Done!” she announced out loud to the empty room. She had been emailing and coordinating details for the Outsider Art exhibit all morning and felt exhausted. “How about a walk. Fresh air, that’s what I need,” she murmured, more quietly this time.
“Back in a while – just a quick walk!” she called out to Rachel as she passed her desk. “Need anything?”
“Nothing you could get on a quick walk, or even a long one for that matter. But thanks for offering,” Rachel quipped without looking up.
Dulcie laughed as she stepped out into the chilly fall air, and quickly reached into her pocket for her leather gloves. One fell on the brick sidewalk and she leaned down to pick it up. As she straightened, she found herself gazing across the street at Nicholas Black and Adam Johnson. She felt her heart thud, just once. Odd. She thought she’d been able to get over any ridiculous sort of crush she might have had on the detective.
Both men looked over at the same time as if reading her thoughts. Dulcie felt herself blush and was glad that they were all the way across the street. They stepped off the sidewalk and crossed over to her.
“Before you make any accusations, I just want you to know that I have not been doing any sort of private investigating on my own,” Dulcie said as soon as they were within earshot. She looked down at her hands as she pulled on her gloves, hoping her cheeks had returned to a normal color. “I’ve been crazy busy with the new exhibit,” she added.
“We wouldn’t make any accusation of the kind,” Nick reassured.
“Yes, we would,” Johnson corrected. Nick shot him a menacing look. “We’re getting coffee. Wanna join us?” Johnson asked, changing the subject.
“I would. Thanks,” Dulcie answered. “I just came out to clear my head.”
“Mind if we fill it up again with the latest puzzle
?” asked Nick.
“Nope. Go right ahead,” she replied.
“First of all, we can discuss this whole Oscar Bernstein case pretty openly since it’s already been closed,” Nick said. “So tell us what you think of this. Oscar Bernstein left $100,000 to his housekeeper, but if she took it, a certain letter would be delivered to Lawrence Bellamy.”
Dulcie’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s strange,” she commented. “So, did she take it?”
“She did not,” Johnson replied.
“Well it begs the question: what’s in the letter? Does anyone know where it is?” Dulcie asked.
“Yes. It’s with his lawyer. Oscar’s lawyer.”
“Now I’ll ask the obvious question: has anyone read it yet?” Dulcie wondered.
Johnson and Nick exchanged glances. “No, not yet,” Nick said. “We just learned about it. But we were speculating on what Oscar Bernstein might have known about his housekeeper that would cause her to turn down that kind of money. What could he have written to Lawrence Bellamy?”
“Who said it was something that Oscar wrote?” Dulcie asked. “Maybe it was a letter that she had written to someone and Oscar had managed to get hold of it, or maybe someone else wrote a letter implicating someone for something.”
Johnson nodded. “Good point. But we can’t exactly march in to the lawyer’s office and demand to read it. This is where the case being closed works against us. We have no reason to ask for it. We certainly couldn’t get any kind of search warrant.”
As they entered the coffee shop a man at the counter turned around holding a steaming mug. He looked at Dulcie and smiled. It was a slightly intimate smile. Nick recognized him instantly. It was the man he had seen Dulcie with before.
“Dulcie!” he exclaimed. “What a pleasure. I was just thinking about you!”
‘I’m sure you were,’ Nick thought.
“Raymond,” Dulcie replied trying to keep her voice in a businesslike tone. “I’m glad to run into you. I’ve just put together the details this morning of filming Xander. I’ll send you all of the information.”
“Wonderful! I’m looking forward to our little project,” he said. As he did he looked at the other two men curiously. They were obviously with Dulcie.
“Oh, let me introduce my friends,” Dulcie said quickly. Nick felt himself cringing at the word friend. “These are Detectives Nicholas Black and Adam Johnson of the Portland Police.”
They shook hands as Raymond annoyingly teased, “Dulcie, I hope you aren’t in some kind of trouble!”
Nick stepped forward. “Not at all. Dulcie has worked with us before on some cases involving artworks. Her insight has been invaluable,” he added.
Now Raymond remembered him. The man he had seen on the street looking at Dulcie through the window. ‘Interesting,’ thought Raymond. ‘Clearly he’s carrying a torch. The question is, does Dulcie also?’
Dulcie turned to Nick and Johnson. “This is Dr. Raymond Armand. He’s the psychologist who has worked with Xander Bellamy. I’m putting together a mini-documentary on Xander for the new exhibit, and Raymond has been kind enough to help.”
‘I’ll bet he has,’ thought Nick.
“You see,” Raymond interjected, “Xander is such a unique case and with my opportunity to work with him at length as a psychologist, I can provide the greatest access to fully understanding the way his mind works. Well,” he chuckled in his ever-present self-deprecating manner, “As much as anyone can really know how his mind works.”
Johnson stared at him for a moment, then cleared his throat. “That’s great. Excuse me, I’ll get us coffee,” he muttered to Nick as he moved quickly toward the counter. “To go,” he added over his shoulder, remembering that Raymond would obviously be finding a table.
Nick blinked several times. He hadn’t anticipated such a level of arrogance from someone that Dulcie seemed to know so well. “Are you currently his doctor?” he asked.
“No, not at this point. The family feels that he is doing fine now after my extensive work with him. I’m very happy to consult on Dulcie’s project,” he touched Dulcie’s arm for a moment, “and to see Xander again. He has such a wonderful talent.”
Nick did not like Dr. Raymond Armand. Nick had always trusted his instincts, relying heavily on first impressions. As a detective it was a crucial part of his work. The first time he had seen Dr. Armand, through the window at this very coffee shop, he had not liked him. Did Dulcie? Nick glanced over at her.
She quickly spoke. “Xander is amazing. I’m looking forward to seeing him again. Ah, here’s Adam with our coffee,” she quickly took the cup that he handed her. “I must get back to the museum. Did you gentlemen have any other questions for me? I’d be happy to walk back with you,” she said.
Nick knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes, I have another matter I’d like to get your opinion on.” He turned to Raymond and shook his hand briefly. “Good to meet you,” he said, then turned away. Johnson grunted the same to Raymond and headed for the door.
“As I said, I’ll send you the information on the shoot,” Dulcie repeated to Raymond. He smiled cloyingly in reply.
They were no more than twenty feet from the door when Nick blurted out, “Doctor? He considers himself a doctor?”
Dulcie didn’t like Dr. Raymond Armand, but she also did not appreciate Nick’s manner. “He is a doctor,” she contended.
“Not in that sense!” Nick replied. “Not a medical doctor. He’s not a psychiatrist, right? He’s a psychologist.”
“And earning a doctorate isn’t difficult? Is that what you’re implying?” Dulcie knew exactly what he meant. Why was she arguing this point?
“That’s not at all what I mean. You have a doctorate. I know it takes a huge amount of work, not to mention dedicating a chunk of your lifetime. It’s just that he seems to pass himself off as something that he’s not,” Nick trailed off.
“I disagree,” Dulcie argued. The conversation paused for several moments.
Finally, Nick broke the silence. “I’ve got some things to do back at the station. You heading back?” he asked Johnson pointedly.
“Yeah, but I need to walk a little more,” he pointed to the pedometer on his belt. “You head back. I’ll see the lady back to her door, then meet you at the office.”
“Good,” Nick replied. “Good to see you again, Dulcie,” he added somewhat stiffly. She smiled quickly at him but turned away.
As she continued with Johnson up the street he said, “You know exactly what he meant.”
She sighed. “Yes, I do,” she admitted.
“And don’t forget, he went to law school. He has a doctorate, too.”
Dulcie had forgotten. Now she felt foolish. It had been a stupid point to argue, especially since she basically agreed with Nick. Raymond did try to cast himself as something more than he was. It was annoying.
“You ever gonna forgive him?” Johnson asked quietly.
Dulcie was thoughtful as they walked along. “I know it’s been quite a while now, but I felt like a fool. I felt like he betrayed me,” Johnson started to speak but she cut him off. “I know, I know! He didn’t. Not really. But it just felt like that.” She knew that she sounded like a silly teenager.
“Maybe you could just start over,” Johnson suggested. For all his gruff manner, he had a fatherly side that he could adopt when required.
Dulcie nodded. They reached the front door of the museum, and Johnson opened it for her. “Just think about it,” he said. “Nick has his heart in the right place. He’s a good person. Not many like him these days. ‘Cept me, of course.”
Now Dulcie laughed. “Thank you, Adam. I needed to hear that about Nick. You’re right. I’ll try – to start over, that is. And thanks for the coffee.”
“Any time,” he replied and closed the door behind her.
Adam Johnson returned to the police station. “Just gave her a talkin’ to. Reminded her you’ve got a doctorate, too.”
Nick looked up fro
m his computer. “Johnson! Look, don’t…”
Johnson raised his beefy hand to stop Nick’s rapidly increasing volume. “You’ve been through hell and back already. Not sayin’ it wasn’t partly your fault, but the past is the past. Can’t change it, can’t go back. Only thing that counts is today. Besides, I’m not allowed to put in a good word for my buddy? You need all the help you can get.”
Nick shook his head trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile. Maybe Johnson was right. Maybe he did need some help. But right now, he wanted to focus. Something was niggling him about the Oscar Bernstein case. “You know, I’d like to meet this incarcerated gentleman. Seems that everyone speaks highly of him, and everyone thinks he’s lying. I want to see what he’s like.”
Johnson attempted to look at his watch. He moved his arm straight out as far as he could and squinted at it. “Dammit. I need a bigger watch,” he swore under his breath.
“It’s four o’clock. What you need are better reading glasses,” said Nick.
“I need no such thing! My eyes are fine. Not gettin’ any worse, I’m sure,” Johnson protested.
“Yeah, and I’m the Pope,” muttered Nick. “Is it still visiting hours at the jail?”
“Yep” Johnson chirped.
“Wanna take a field trip?” Nick asked, closing his laptop and standing up.
“Sure! Should be fun!”
Nick shot Johnson a look that indicated he felt his partner had an odd definition of fun. They wove their way around the desks and out to Nick’s car.
Nick drove. He always drove. Generally it took Johnson a good five minutes to clear out things from the front seat of his car. It was never messy or dirty, just cluttered with a constantly revolving mass of papers, junk mail, and empty coffee cups. As they reached the building and got out of the car, Johnson said, “Wait a second. Why are we seeing him?”
“Do we need a reason?” asked Nick.
A Mind Within Page 9