“Mom, put that away and listen to reason. I have not agreed to anything.”
“This is the most reasonable thing to do.” Vi typed rapidly.
“Daddy, tell her this is a terrible idea.”
“I have to agree with your mother, Liss. And while you’re at it, you may as well search Charlie’s effects for any information he collected on the family.”
Distracted from what her mother was doing, Liss stared at him. “You think he’d been keeping tabs on you? On all of us?”
“If he made me his heir, then he obviously knew I was still alive. He was in Margaret’s apartment. That suggests he knew where she lived before he came north. And he went to the house. Your house. If he didn’t know you lived there, he couldn’t have been much of a detective.”
“If he was such a hotshot investigator, he should also have known you and Mom were here. Why didn’t he just come out to Ledge Lake and talk to you? He was in town at least a couple of days before he died, but he didn’t make contact with anyone in the family.”
“Maybe he was leery of the reception he’d get.” Mac gave a short, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t say this in that state trooper’s hearing, but honestly? If Charlie had shown up out of the blue and didn’t have a good excuse for pretending to be dead all these years, I might well have hauled off and slugged him for what he put us through back then. My God! When I think of how our parents grieved, it breaks my heart. What kind of man does that to his mother and father?”
“Liss will find out. The plane reservations are already made,” Vi added when her daughter once again tried to argue. “Your flight out of Portland leaves at noon on Thursday.”
Liss looked to Dan for support, only to be confronted with a crooked smile. “Be grateful for small favors,” he said. “Vi could have booked you on a plane leaving tomorrow, and at some ungodly hour of the morning, too. Given that passengers are supposed to check in two hours early, and it takes longer than that to drive to the airport from Moosetookalook, you should consider yourself lucky.”
Her glare lacked ferocity. Deep down, Liss did want to go to Florida and ask questions. She just didn’t want to admit that out loud.
“Fine. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle. But you two”—she jabbed a finger at her mother and father—“are going to have to take over at the Emporium and handle any crisis that comes up with March Madness.”
“I’m sure your father will manage splendidly.” Vi’s smile was insufferably smug. “But, as it happens, I’m going with you to Florida. I made the reservations for both of us.”
Chapter Seven
I hate to sweat, Liss thought as she and her mother approached the lawyer’s office in downtown Garden Park, Florida. Despite having the air conditioner turned up full blast in the car they’d rented at the airport, she was dripping by the time they reached the premises of Everley and Kellogg and were greeted by Mark Everley himself.
It was only slightly less humid inside the legal firm’s conference room, although it, too, was air-conditioned. March in Florida. Liss couldn’t understand why so many people wanted to come here at this time of year. It was hot—the temperature outdoors had to be at least eighty degrees and the sun had already gone down—and sticky. As dismal as mud season could be at home, she found herself missing the dirty snow and the slush. At least a person could breathe.
“Thank you for staying so late for us,” Vi said.
“Not at all. Not at all. How was your flight?” The lawyer didn’t seem to mind the humidity, even though he was packing an extra forty or fifty pounds, most of it around the middle. He smiled benignly at Liss’s mother.
“Let’s just say traveling used to be a lot more fun than it is these days.”
“I hear you.” Chuckling in a jovial manner, Everley waved the two women toward a half-dozen chairs clustered around a conference table.
Although her mother sat down at once, Liss gravitated toward the window unit, hoping a direct blast of cold air would succeed in cooling her down. Through the glass above it, she had an uninspiring view of the pink stucco wall of the building next door.
“We should be able to clear up all this business in short order,” the lawyer said. “Charlie left a simple will, and if you have your husband’s power of attorney—”
Vi produced it.
“Excellent. Now, the estate is healthy, but not large enough that it has to go through probate in this state. The fact that Charlie was murdered complicates things a bit, but there’s no reason you can’t have the keys to his house and stay there while you’re here.”
“What about his office?” Liss asked when he’d handed them over to her mother.
“He didn’t have one. He didn’t think it was worth the expense when he could work just as well from home. He usually met his clients at their houses or places of business or in a restaurant, and he had two mail drop addresses.”
Frugal? Liss wondered. Or stingy? Her uncle had saved the cost of renting space and hiring someone to answer the phone and handle paperwork by doing everything himself. So did she, but running the Emporium was much less complicated than the sort of investigative work a private detective handled.
“Isn’t that a bit unusual?” Vi asked.
Everley shrugged. “Charlie was a loner. To tell you the truth, I don’t think he liked to rely on anyone else. Anyway, everything he left behind should be at the house. What you do with it is up to you.”
“What about the mail drops?”
Liss’s curiosity was piqued by their existence. Had Charlie been trying to hide his real address? The idea that some old enemy might have been looking for him appealed to her. She’d be thrilled to find an alternate suspect or two to present to Detective Cussler.
Everley provided the addresses and produced the necessary keys. “Neither of them is far from where he lived. You can easily check them in the morning, even close them if you want, but be sure you leave a forwarding address in case something hasn’t been delivered yet.”
Another intriguing possibility, Liss thought. Wouldn’t it be nice if Charlie had mailed a letter to himself, one that contained answers to all our questions? She smiled at her own fancy. Obviously, she’d read too many mystery novels.
“Just to be clear,” Vi said, “you don’t have any problem with our taking some of Charlie’s personal possessions back home with us? Things like photos and letters and papers?”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t do anything you like with whatever he left behind.” Everley hesitated before asking, “Is there something in particular you’re hoping to find?”
Instead of answering, Liss posed a question of her own. “How well did you know your client, Mr. Everley?”
“Charlie and I started doing business together back when he first set up as a private detective. That’s some ten years now. Won’t you sit down, Ms. Ruskin?” She was still hogging the air conditioner.
Realizing that the lawyer wasn’t about to take a seat until she did, Liss slipped into the chair he held out for her. The leather cushion immediately glued itself to the backs of her legs. She could feel its grip right through the lightweight cotton slacks she wore. If she stayed in one position too long, she might never be able to break free.
Fortunately, it took less than an hour for the lawyer to go through all the details of Charlie’s will. As they’d already been told, he’d left everything to his brother. The only other beneficiaries were two charities.
“He made a bequest of a thousand dollars to an organization devoted to helping disabled veterans and another in the same amount to our local animal shelter.”
“Did he have a pet?” Liss asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“Partner?”
“No.”
“How about a close friend?” Vi asked.
Everley shook his head. “Charlie MacCrimmon was the epitome of the lone wolf.”
“A wife or ex-wife? Children?”
“He never married, Ms. Ruskin.
He used to say he’d never met a woman willing to put up with him.” Everley’s brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “But surely you already knew that.”
“Mr. Everley,” Liss said, “until his body was identified, we all thought he died some fifty years ago in Vietnam.”
“Well, if that isn’t one for the books. The way Charlie talked about his family, I just assumed he kept in touch.”
“Kept tabs, maybe, but he never made contact. Are you saying he mentioned me?”
“Well, sure. Not often, you understand, but when I was drawing up the will, he told me all about how his brother and his wife had recently moved back to their old hometown in Maine, and how their daughter—that would be you, I assume—was already living there with her husband and had been for some time.”
“Did Charlie mention Margaret?” Vi asked.
“His sister? Sure. He debated splitting his estate between her and your husband, but in the end he decided to just leave everything to one person. Easier that way, he said. Less fuss.”
Noting the sadness that had come into the lawyer’s eyes when he talked about drawing up Charlie’s will, Liss leaned closer, watching his face as she asked her next question. “Mom and Dad only returned to Moosetookalook last summer. Did Charlie have an earlier will?”
“If he did, I wasn’t the one who drew it up. Of course, he had a good reason for making this one when he did.” As a sudden thought crossed his mind, he sent her an appalled look. “You do know he was diagnosed with terminal cancer?”
“Only because it showed up in the autopsy. I take it he confided in you?”
“He didn’t share much,” Everley said. “Just that he probably wouldn’t live much longer. I assumed making his will was part and parcel of setting his affairs in order.”
“We don’t have any details about his condition, either. Do you happen to know his doctor’s name?”
“Sorry. No.”
“Can you think of anyone, besides yourself, in whom he might have confided?”
Everley shook his head.
“How about lady friends?” Vi asked. “The Charlie MacCrimmon I remember was a handsome devil. He might never have married, but I’ll bet he got around.”
A self-conscious chuckle answered her. “He did have an eye for the ladies, and they looked right back, but if there was anyone special, he never told me about her, and he definitely didn’t leave anything to any such individual in his will. As you already know, his brother scooped the pot.”
Liss left the lawyer’s office feeling that in some ways she knew less now than she had when they arrived.
“I sure hope we find some answers at Charlie’s house,” she said as they buckled their seat belts and once again turned the air in the car all the way up to gale force wind.
“I wonder if something happened to him when he was in the military to make him so secretive and solitary,” Vi mused. “He certainly never struck me as being that way as a teenager.”
Liss considered her mother’s suggestion while she consulted the map Everley had drawn for them. As a theory it made sense. MIA translated easily into POW, and wartime experiences had altered the personalities of more than one combat vet, even the ones who hadn’t fought in such an unpopular war. As she eased out of the parking space, she wondered how many secrets Charlie had been keeping . . . and if one of them had gotten him killed.
* * *
Charlie MacCrimmon’s house turned out to be a small, one-story bungalow on a quiet street. It had been painted an odd color somewhere between pink and beige. A nearby streetlight guided Liss into the small carport attached to it.
The interior had the stale, musty smell of a place that had been uninhabited for a while. To Liss’s relief, the air-conditioning unit in the window worked and soon made conditions bearable, if not exactly comfortable. She stripped down to her camisole and changed into shorts before foraging in the kitchen cabinets and the freezer compartment of an ancient refrigerator for something to eat. The appliance rattled and clanked, but appeared to have kept running during Charlie’s absence. He’d left behind sufficient provisions to see them through supper and breakfast the next morning.
They were just polishing off a not-half-bad frozen pizza, washed down with an excellent red wine, when someone began rattling the doorknob and calling Charlie’s name.
“Hey, sweetie,” the slightly slurred female voice continued. “I know you’re in there. I can see the lights. Let me in, will ya? I gotta use the can.”
Liss’s face wore a broad grin as she got up from the kitchen table and headed toward the door.
“Are you sure about this?” Vi whispered.
“Whoever she is, I doubt she’s any threat to us, and she sounds like she just might know Uncle Charlie really, really well.”
A woman lurched into the room, moving so fast that Liss got only a fleeting impression of her appearance before she disappeared into Charlie’s bathroom.
“Oh, my,” Vi murmured. “Maybe you should have left the chain on the door.” She had her cell phone out, prepared to call for help if the mysterious stranger turned out to be a mean drunk, or a crazy person, or both.
The walls in Charlie’s house were as thin as paper. Way too thin, in Liss’s opinion. At length, the sound of a flush was followed by water running into a sink. A moment later, the bathroom door opened and the woman stepped out. She blinked at them with bloodshot eyes and frowned.
“Who the hell are you?” Her alcohol-scented breath made Liss’s nose wrinkle. “Where’s Charlie?”
Long hair, dyed bright red, hung in tangles, only partially covering the expanse of cleavage showing above her chartreuse halter. Snug cutoff jeans completed the outfit. Liss put her age closer to sixty than forty, but it was hard to tell. She’d applied her makeup generously and with some skill, but the wrinkled skin at her neck and on the backs of her hands was a dead giveaway.
Clichés sprang readily into Liss’s mind: She was no spring chicken. She’d been around the block a few times. She’d . . . Liss cut short that train of thought.
“We were about to ask you that same question,” she told the stranger. “The ‘who the hell are you?’ part. As it happens, we have a key to this house. Clearly, you did not.”
For a few seconds the woman blinked at them like a demented owl. Then she flung back her head and started to laugh. The sound was so filled with genuine amusement that Liss was forced to reevaluate her first impression of their visitor.
The redhead was gasping for breath by the time she wound down to a few stray giggles. “Don’t tell me Charlie’s got himself a new girl. Which one of you is it, eh? Which one of you was stupid enough to fall for his promises?”
“I think you’d better sit down.” Vi indicated the chair next to her. She’d already pocketed her cell phone. “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”
Instead of accepting the invitation, the woman crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What’s going on here? Where’s Charlie?”
Hearing the anxious note in her voice, Liss gentled her own. “I’m sorry, but we’re here because Charlie MacCrimmon is dead. He was my uncle,” she added. “My name is Liss MacCrimmon Ruskin and this is my mother, Violet MacCrimmon.”
The woman stared at them with a closed expression, as if she was attempting to come to grips with what she’d just heard. Liss’s blunt announcement seemed to have sobered her up, but now she was wary of them.
“Would you like a drink of water?” Vi asked. “I’m sure this is upsetting for you. You obviously knew my brother-in-law well.”
With jerky movements the woman turned away from them to rummage in a nearby overhead cabinet. That she knew right where to find glasses and a bottle of Scotch was more proof, had they needed any, that she felt free to make herself at home in Charlie’s house. Liss waited until she’d poured a double shot and downed it before she took another crack at getting answers from their guest.
“Do you hav
e a name?”
The question provoked a short bark of laughter. “Doesn’t everybody?”
Liss fought a smile. “Pretty much,” she agreed, “but we don’t know what yours is.”
The empty glass landed with a thump on the counter. “It’s Rita Lubin. Charlie and I were friends.”
“Good friends?”
Rita shrugged. “I thought so. I never heard him mention that he had a niece, though, or a sister-in-law.”
“How about a brother? A sister? A hometown in Maine?”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t one to talk about personal stuff, or about his past.” She replenished her drink and took a healthy swig.
“How about his present? Do you know if he was worried about anything lately?”
Despite the whiskey, and the likelihood that she’d had more than one drink before she arrived at Charlie’s house, Rita caught the inference. “How, exactly, did Charlie die?”
“He was murdered,” Liss admitted. “He went back to Maine, to the town where he grew up, and someone killed him.”
Rita changed her mind about taking the chair Vi had pulled out for her. A stunned look on her face, she dropped into it as if all the starch had gone out of her.
“I thought . . . I knew he was sick. I saw all the pills he was taking. I figured there was something he wasn’t telling me. If you’d said he was rushed to a hospital and died during surgery or something, it wouldn’t have surprised me at all. But murdered? You’re sure?”
“I’m certain.” Liss’s voice was grim. “But you’re right about his health. He was dying of cancer.”
“He never told me it was that bad.” Rita’s eyes grew moist, but no tears trickled out.
“Did he ever give any indication that he thought someone might be out to harm him?”
She gave a negative shake of her head and started to sniffle.
“Did you see much of him these last few weeks?”
She shrugged. “Some. It’s not like we were joined at the hip.” She thought for a moment. “I did notice that he was kind of preoccupied, but I didn’t bug him about it.”
A View to a Kilt Page 10