Murder Most Persuasive tkm-3

by Tracy Kiely

  “Thanks, Kit, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, the least I can do is bring over some dinners for you. You’ve got enough to worry about without adding cooking into the mix.” With a smile she added, “No pun intended.”

  I suddenly felt like a jerk. Kit meant well, she really did. She was just one of those annoying souls who always manage to put a foot in it.

  Ann nodded. “That would be great, Kit. Thanks. I really appreciate your coming over tonight. It’s nice to know you guys are here for me when I need you.”

  “Of course we are!” replied Kit. “You should know that by now! That’s what family is for!” Giving Ann a big hug, she turned to me. “Are you ready?”

  With a fair amount of dread, I said, “Oh, uh, actually, I’m going to stay here tonight. I brought a change of clothes. I’ll leave for work from here in the morning. I thought I’d help Ann tonight.”

  Kit looked like I’d slapped her, and for a second I saw a hurt little girl in front of me. I felt horrible. Kit had always had a hard time making friends. Kit didn’t try to help people because they needed her help. Kit tried to help people so she could feel better about herself. When her offers of help were refused—even politely refused—Kit took it as a personal affront.

  “Kit…” I began.

  “Nope, it’s fine. I’ll just see you tomorrow,” she said with artificial briskness, but I heard the catch in her voice. My heart sank.

  “Kit—”

  She cut me off. “I’ll be sure to bring over some meals tomorrow, Ann,” she said. “Lord knows, if you let Elizabeth do the cooking, all you’ll end up eating is spaghetti!” Still laughing at her little joke, she left.

  I sighed. Same old Kit.

  * * *

  Ann turned to me. “Would you like some tea?”

  “If by ‘tea’ you mean Chardonnay, then yes,” I said, following her to the kitchen. Scarlett scampered along beside me. Located in the back of the house, the kitchen was a large modern room with stainless-steel appliances, white cabinets, and white marble countertops. During the day, the back windows provided a view of the landscaped backyard and pool below.

  I sat on one of the yellow cushioned stools at the counter, while Ann pulled out a chilled bottle from the refrigerator. Scarlett settled at my feet.

  “How are you really?” I asked.

  “About how you’d expect,” she replied, getting down two glasses from the cabinet. “You know what my feelings about Michael were, but to know that he’s dead, and not only dead but dead and buried under the pool we all swam in…” She broke off with a low moan of disgust and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “You can’t think about it like that,” I said briskly, getting up and easing her into my chair. “You’ll only make yourself sick. None of you knew that then.”

  Her head in her hands, she said, “Someone knew.”

  Fitting the corkscrew over the neck of the bottle, I pushed down the lever and pulled out the cork. Pouring us each a glass, I slid Ann’s across the counter to her.

  Cradling the glass in her hands, her head low, she said, “Thanks, Elizabeth. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, it’s a fair comment. You’re right. Someone did know.”

  Ann raised her head, her gaze direct. “I’m scared. Michael wasn’t a nice man. He hurt a lot of people. He hurt people in my family.”

  I nodded. I didn’t say what we were both thinking, that Michael had also hurt Ann. As I remembered the detail, my hands gripped my glass with unnecessary strength. Out of precaution, I put it down.

  “Ann?” I asked. “When did the pool go in?”

  “Eight years ago last July. Two months before what would have been Michael and Reggie’s wedding. They were going to have the reception at the house and Reggie wanted a pool. Not to swim in, of course. She just wanted to float candles and flowers in the water. She thought it would look pretty.”

  “She always was a mini-Martha, wasn’t she?” I said with a laugh.

  Ann nodded in agreement. “That she was. And of course, Dad denied her nothing. He absolutely doted on her. She was so much like him.” She took a sip of wine. “Anyway, the pool went in right around the time that Reggie broke it off with Michael. Right around the time he disappeared.” She paused. “Obviously.”

  “That was right after your dad’s Fourth of July party, right?”

  Ann closed her eyes and nodded. “Yup, right after that horrible night.”

  I took a sip of my wine, unsure if I should continue. “Ann?” She looked up. I took a deep breath. “Did you ever tell anybody what happened at the party?”

  Ann gave a rueful twist of her mouth. “You mean, did I ever tell anybody that Michael tried to rape me?”

  I nodded.

  “No.” She stared at the glass in her hands. “No. I never did. You’re the only one who knows. I don’t know why I never said anything.” She put the glass down and twisted a lock of hair around her finger and continued. “Maybe it was because right after that, Reggie said she’d ended things with him. God, I was so relieved when she told me that. I honestly don’t know if she would have believed me if I had told her. Then Dad discovered that the money was gone and that Michael took it.”

  “And then Michael was gone,” I added.

  She nodded. “And then Michael was gone. Except now it appears that he wasn’t. Not in the way we all thought, anyway.” Propping her elbows on the counter, she rested her head in her hands. “What are the police going to think when they hear all this?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

  Neither of us said anything else, drinking our wine in silence. After a few minutes, however, I said, “Ann?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “If Michael’s dead, what happened to the money?”

  Chapter 6

  Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what difficulties of any individual of that family may be.

  —Emma

  Ann’s brows knit together. “I don’t know. I imagine it’s still sitting in whatever bank he dumped it. Why? Do you think we could get it back?”

  “I don’t know what your options are legally if you ever find it. I guess what I really meant was, could Michael have had an accomplice? Someone from the company, maybe?”

  Ann leaned back, considering my question. “I never thought about that. Do you mean that whoever he was working with could have double-crossed him and killed him?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  Ann mulled this over. “I just can’t think of who would have done that.” She sighed. “But then, I was surprised to find out that Michael had stolen the money in the first place. Guess I’m not the best judge of character on that count. But I’m sure I can call Scott and get hold of the company records from back then and check who was working. I should probably talk to Miles, too; I bet he’d have some insight.”

  “Oh, good idea,” I said.

  Miles Carswell was Uncle Marty’s old partner and good friend. They had run the business together almost from the beginning. A few years back, Miles had left the construction business and started his own landscaping company. He and Uncle Marty had stayed close, continuing to work together, referring clients to one another, and doing joint projects.

  “I saw him and Laura at the funeral,” I said, “but I didn’t get a chance to talk to them. How are they doing?”

  “They’re fine. Laura’s been wonderful, calling me all the time to see how we’re doing. I wanted them to come with us to the luncheon, but Bonnie insisted that it only be family.” She sighed. “It’s ridiculous, of course, because honestly Miles is like an honorary uncle and Laura … well, for Pete’s sake, she was Mother’s best friend in college!”

  Over the years, Laura had served as a kind of godmother to the girls, trying to fill the void left by their mother. She loved them all but perhaps was closest to Ann. Probably because of all the girls, Ann most resembled her mother.

  “Why d
o you think Bonnie didn’t want them there?” I asked.

  “She’s never gotten along with Laura,” said Ann. “I think she feels that Laura judges her and compares her to Mother—which is probably true.”

  “And Miles?”

  “That’s harder to explain,” said Ann, with a tip of her head. “But honestly, I think that Bonnie liked Miles; you should have seen how she’d flirt with him. It was embarrassing. If you ask me, one of the reasons that Miles left to start up his own company was so he wouldn’t have to deal with Bonnie chasing after him all the time.”

  “You never told me any of this!”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’m right—it’s only a hunch. But after Miles married Laura, Bonnie seemed to find fault with both of them. It sure sounded like jealousy to me.”

  “This is fascinating! I never thought of Bonnie as lusting after anyone, least of all Miles!”

  “Yeah, well, I think it came as something of a surprise to Miles, too.”

  “Do you think your dad ever noticed?”

  Ann shrugged. “Who knows? You know what he was like.”

  I nodded. Uncle Marty loved his business and his kids—in that order. I doubt if Bonnie was even in the top ten. Half of the time he ignored Bonnie; the other half he mocked her. Once the kids were grown, Bonnie was no longer necessary to Marty’s plan. As a faithful Catholic—at least to the rules, if not the intent—divorce was not an option for Marty. He simply ignored her. I wondered if Marty would have cared if she’d run off. Probably if it were with anybody other than Miles, he wouldn’t have.

  “Well, I think it’s a good idea to call him tomorrow and see if he can help by remembering any disgruntled employees from back then.”

  “And then what do we do?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting that we do anything. I just thought that it might be worthwhile passing that information on to the police.”

  “Meaning that we should do everything we can to point the police to the idea of an accomplice, someone outside the family,” she said.

  I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “Something like that. I don’t think the police are going to ignore the family or the effect that Michael had on everyone. I just think it might be a good idea to give them more than one option.”

  Ann stared back at me, her eyes worried. “I’ll call Scott and Miles first thing in the morning and then see if I can’t get those records.”

  * * *

  Up in my room, I called Peter. I ended up with his voice mail so I left him a brief message to call me when he had a chance. I didn’t go into the details of my day. I couldn’t begin to fathom how I would even phrase that message: Hey, Peter, it’s me. Funny thing happened today. Remember that guy Michael who embezzled all that money from Uncle Marty? Well, he was just found dead and buried under the old family pool. Anyway, hope all is well with you. Give me a call when you have a sec. Love ya!

  My call to Aunt Winnie was more successful. She answered on the second ring, and her surprise at hearing from me so soon gave way to stunned silence as I launched into my tale. When I finished, she said, “I always thought Michael was a little shit. I see that I wasn’t alone in that sentiment.”

  “Any idea on who that might have been?”

  “No. Both Marty and Reggie were besotted with him. I tried to warn Marty when I realized he was grooming Michael to take over the company, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Nothing unusual there.”

  “I was wondering if Michael might have had a partner in the embezzlement scheme.”

  “And you think that person double-crossed him and killed him?” she asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s not out of the realm of possibilities, that’s for sure. What bothers me is that he was put under the pool. That’s a little too close to home. And speaking of home, how is it there? How’s Bonnie been?”

  “Well, she’s still leaving for her spa retreat as planned. No surprise there. Considering she planned a trip for the day after Uncle Marty’s funeral, I don’t think anyone expected that a little thing like Michael’s body being discovered on the old property would deter her from her trip.”

  “Yes, well, her going might not be a surprise, but it still makes me want to smash my forehead on the table. Or better yet, smash her forehead on the table,” said Aunt Winnie. “How’s Ann holding up?”

  “Pretty well. You know Ann. She’s the kind of person the rest of us want to be when we grow up. She’s had so much dumped on her and yet she still manages to keep it all together.”

  “Still, I’m glad that you can be there to help her. I imagine she’s going to need all the help she can get over the next few days.”

  “I’m happy to stay here and do whatever I can,” I said with what I hoped was the proper measure of humbleness.

  Of course, Aunt Winnie saw right through that. “Oh, please,” she said with a snort. “I know you want to help Ann, but let’s be honest! You jumped at the excuse not to have to stay with Kit!”

  “Well, I don’t know about ‘jumped’…” I began.

  “Skipped, bounced, hopped. Whatever verb you prefer, you did it. I know it and you know it.”

  “Yeah, well, if you had to deal with Kit, Pauly, and the Jungle Room, you’d have done it, too,” I muttered defensively.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong! I’m not judging you—far from it. Just be aware that Kit probably knows it, too. Be nice. You know how she can get.”

  “Better than anyone,” I said. “But you’re right. I’ll try to be nice.”

  “Good girl.”

  We talked a little more, and I hung up after promising to keep her posted on the case. Curling up onto my side, I thought about what Aunt Winnie had said about Kit. I made a sleepy resolution to be nicer.

  Sleepy resolutions, I’ve found, are always the easiest.

  * * *

  Although I awoke as I had for the last few weeks—to the tinny clanging of my cell phone’s alarm, this morning there was a marked difference. Gone was the sensation that I was in the middle of some safari gone terribly wrong. No monkeys swung above me, no elephants sat before me, no hippos peered out at me. And the ceiling! It was a glorious, crisp, sensible white; nary a blue-black tongue in sight.

  Really, it’s the little things in life that give you the most joy.

  I rolled over and languidly stretched in the queen-size bed. I was in Uncle Marty’s guest bedroom: a bright, airy room that faced the back of the house. I walked to the window and pulled back the white linen drape. It was another perfect autumnal day. Azure skies, crisp leaves, and cool air greeted me. All that was missing to make it perfect was Peter. And a cup of hot coffee.

  I couldn’t have Peter, but at least I could have the coffee. Throwing on my robe and favorite (and only) well-worn bunny slippers, I headed down to the kitchen to start the coffee. Halfway down the stairs, I was greeted by the rich aroma of a pot already brewing. In the kitchen, I found Ann, up, showered, and busily bustling around. Scarlett was up as well and happily eating from her bowl. Actually, I should say she was happily eating from her Waterford bowl. I guess if my day started with breakfast out of a Waterford dish, I’d be happy, too.

  “Morning!” Ann said. “Coffee’s ready. I know you’re not a morning person. Can I speak, or do I have to wait until you’ve had a cup?” She didn’t wait for an answer and broke into a stream of questions. “Can I get you something to eat? We’ve got bagels, English muffins, and toast. How’d you sleep? Would you prefer a fruit salad? What’s your pleasure? You take your coffee with cream and sugar right?”

  “Uhh … good morning?” I said slowly. I knew something was up but, unfortunately, I did need my coffee before I could figure it out. “Don’t worry about me, I can get my breakfast,” I said, making my way to the breadbox. I picked out a poppy seed bagel and plopped it in the toaster. Ann hovered anxiously nearby. I wondered if she had mistakenly taken Bonnie’s medication.

  “Did you by chance take Bonnie’s medicati
on this morning?” I asked.

  “No, why?”

  “You’re very chatty. And busy. And chatty. Speaking of Bonnie, is she up?”

  “No. She usually doesn’t arise before ten. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please. But Ann, honestly, I can get all of this. You don’t need to wait on me.”

  Ann ignored me, pouring a large amount of steaming coffee into a blue-and-white polka-dotted ceramic mug. Handing it to me, she said, “Cream? Sugar?”

  I took the cup. “Enough already! You keep spoiling me like this and I’ll never leave. I’ll be like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner.”

  “Somehow I can’t picture you as an annoying guest.”

  “You haven’t had my spaghetti yet,” I reminded her, adding a liberal dose of both cream and sugar to my coffee, before taking a much-needed sip. The bagel popped up from the toaster and Ann rushed to get it.

  “Ann! Please. I can get this! You don’t need to wait on me.” She put the bagel on a plate and handed it to me. It was then that I saw the worry in her face and belatedly remembered that, like me, Ann gets chatty when she’s nervous. Taking the plate, I said, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I got a call from the police this morning,” she said, wringing her hands. “Homicide. They want to send someone out here later today to get a statement or something. They want to talk with all of the family.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s not too surprising. I mean, we knew that the police were going to treat this like a murder investigation. It’s only natural that they would want to interview the family.”

  “I know. I’m just scared.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be just fine,” I said confidently. “Did you get a chance to call Miles yet?”

  “Yes, he and Laura were horrified to hear about Michael. They said they’d come over later.”

  “That’s good. You can talk to him about past employees then. In the meantime, call Scott and see if you can get those employment records.”