“I wish I could think of some alternatives.” I considered what I knew about the murdered man. “If Theo didn’t kill him, who did? Who hated him enough to bash his head in? We need to find out everything we can about him. He must have made enemies, Flynn. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
“It’s not always that kind of sex. Maybe he screwed one of his business partners,” said Flynn.
“Brilliant idea,” I said, grabbing Flynn’s arm. “Can you find out about Cutler Mead’s business?”
Flynn was an investment banker with Sisson & Watkins, a long established Atlanta-based group with a solid portfolio of clients. S&W would have the databases and the contacts to find out information about any business with Atlanta connections.
“Sure. Routine sniffing around disguised as due diligence. All in a day’s work.”
“I’d be grateful. So will Theo.”
“I’ll start in the morning.” He threw back the last of his bourbon and gathered me in a crushing hug. “I’m leaving, and you need to try to get some sleep. Call you tomorrow.”
5
The Morning After
I was standing at the kitchen island counting scoops of coffee beans into the grinder when I heard Theo emerge from the guest room the next morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I’d given up and started making coffee before the sun rose. This was not my first pot. I clicked the machine to “on” and sat down on one of the barstools, swivelling to face Theo. She was barefoot, her coral painted toes gripping the hardwood floor. Her face was haggard and her eyes barely open, the lids so swollen I guessed she’d cried even more after I’d left her.
“How ‘bout some coffee?”
“Thanks.”
She cradled the big mug between her hands. “What’s all this stuff?” she asked, gesturing at the counter littered with pages of yellow legal paper covered with notes.
I took it as a good sign that she was making an effort to converse. “You need a criminal lawyer. Somebody to go with you who knows the ropes, when you talk to the police.”
“I know you’re right, but doesn’t having a lawyer look like I’m guilty?”
She had a point, but I remembered my previous experience. An ambitious cop intent on an arrest could easily confuse a suspect into self-incrimination. “It’s just for your protection, Hon. There are all sorts of procedural complications that you may want some advice about.” I left it at that.
Theo gave a soft moan of resignation.
“Flynn came over last night after you went to bed,” I said. “He asked Don to send me names of the best criminal lawyers. That’s what all these notes are about.”
“That was good of Flynn.” She stood in her bare feet, sipping the coffee.
I waited to see if she would say more.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and cleared her throat. Her light soprano voice had a scratch in it. “I keep going over it, to see what I missed. I feel like I’m in a movie, watching myself and Cutler, and it just keeps repeating again and again.”
I moved off the stool toward her. “Hon, you’re in shock. It’s going to take a while for you to absorb what happened.”
“I don’t think I have the luxury of waiting till it sinks in, but I don’t know what I can do.”
“You mean, what we can do. You’re not alone here.”
The wan smile she gave me nearly broke my heart. I saw some light there. It looked like Theo might be facing the situation. That was a victory not to be dismissed. I seized on the faint hint that her shock was beginning to recede.
“Tell me about Cutler.”
She swallowed some of her coffee but didn’t respond.
“Hon, I need to know about him, so that I can help. Talk to me about what he was like, what you remember about him, his business, anything you can think of.”
She stared down into her coffee cup like she was looking for a message. Then she gave a little sigh and sat down on the sofa.
“I was so lonely after George died.”
Not helpful, but I had to let her get to it in her own way.
“I think I slept 20 hours a day, and the rest of the time I watched TV. Went to the doctor. He gave me some anti-depressants, but they just made me gain weight. That didn’t exactly help my mood, so I quit them. People were nice. They invited me to small parties, dinner, whatever. I made myself go sometimes, but I just felt like a fifth wheel. Cutler was at a few of those events, and he seemed to go out of his way to speak with me. He was easy to talk to, and before I knew it, I was laughing with him. That’s big—being able to laugh with someone.”
I understood. I remembered how devastated she’d been when George died. Over the last few months she had seemed more like her old self. I should have realized there was a man behind her improved moods.
“I knew he had a reputation for carrying on with women,” Theo said, “even though he was married. You know me well enough to know that didn’t bother me—or scare me off. We were well suited in many ways. He had an appetite,” she broke off for a minute, then raised her chin and continued. “So do I.”
I didn’t move a muscle, willing her to keep going until she said something useful.
“He had a lot of confidence. He never expected to be turned down, if you know what I mean.”
I kept my face neutral, even though I wanted to show the distaste I was feeling at Theo’s description of the man she’d fallen for.
“I never saw anything of that sort,” Theo continued, “although I heard he’d had his face slapped at a late-night reception after one of the golf tournaments at the Island Club. One of the women said he groped her.”
The coffee and the conversation were making my stomach churn. Cutler must have gone beyond the smooch and tickle that were tolerated by women at these affairs. Most of them knew how to handle a drunk with roving hands, and those episodes were invariably kept quiet—except for gossip among one’s own set.
“Do you think there might have been others—who weren’t able to stop him?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I find it hard to believe.”
I couldn’t help but wonder. There could have been others—women he’d refused to take “no” from. Those women or their husbands would have a motive to smash Cutler’s head in.
I set aside thoughts about the man’s womanizing to search for any other motive. “Did he talk about what business deals he was involved in?”
“A little. He was thinking of buying some land in Cobb County, outside the perimeter. He thought that was the direction Atlanta was growing. I don’t know who was involved in that, though.”
I made another mental note to pass that along to Flynn for him to investigate.
“Talk me through everything that went on after you left here yesterday. Maybe you saw or heard something that you weren’t aware of.”
Her eyes slid sideways. “Everything?”
“You can skip over the details in the bedroom.”
She bit her lip. “Good. I met him at Marigold’s, you know, the restaurant over in Atkins Park.”
The Atkins Park neighborhood was an older upscale residential area with several intimate restaurants. Marigold’s was quiet, with plenty of nooks where tables for two were tucked away. A good place for a rendezvous, unlike one of the faddish Buckhead bistros where Cutler Mead would have been likely to run into someone he knew. Apparently the man had some sense of discretion, or maybe he didn’t want to embarrass his wife or the current mistress.
“Why didn’t he pick you up?” I asked.
“He would have. I just wanted to have my car with me.”
Made sense. She’d have the freedom to leave if she wanted to, and it was slightly less compromising. I needed to revise my idea that Theo was a victim of Cutler Mead’s predations. This was not the first time Theo played footsie under the table wit
h a married man. That reminded me, I needed to see if I could unearth some info about what kind of marriage Cutler had. I added that to my list.
“What happened at lunch?”
“Nothing.”
I sighed. “Try again. What’d you order?”
“Oh. I had the fish special. I think it was grouper.”
“Pardon me, Theo. You live on the coast and you come to Atlanta and order fish?”
“Salad can get stuck in your teeth. Most meat you need both a knife and fork. Fish is easy to eat with just a fork. You don’t have to struggle with it so you can still talk. And you have your other hand free, in case you want to reach across the table for something.”
Or someone. The way her mind worked was an education. “Go on.”
“Cutler had a burger. We talked. Flirted. He asked me if I wanted dessert.”
She stopped and wrinkled her brow. “I just remembered. I was looking at the dessert menu and Cutler sneaked a look at his Rolex. Kind of casually pulled up his French cuff and glanced down. He saw me watching him and started a full court press, telling me how sexy I was and all. I figured he was in a hurry to get back to his place and….” She colored up, her cheeks bright pink. “But now that I think about it—I think he was checking the time because he was planning to meet someone later.”
I felt some excitement. Here was something to go on. “You need to tell this to the police, Theo. They should make an effort to figure out who Cutler could have been meeting.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you last night. They’ve got you covered in blood at the scene. Why would they look for someone else?”
Theo’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her nose was running again.
“Don’t, Theo. That won’t help us.”
I tapped the toes of my flip flops on the barstool footrest, trying to drum my brain into gear.
“There were two used coffee cups in the study, and you only drink coffee in the morning. If he poured a cup for someone on a Sunday afternoon, who would that likely have been?”
“Maybe somebody he was doing business with?”
“On a Sunday?”
“Sure. He usually drove to Atlanta for business meetings during the week, but he told me once that he’d meet people whenever it was convenient for them, if it got the deal done.”
“Okay. That’s good information. Who else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Another woman—or his wife?”
She made a moue of distaste. “Highly doubtful. That would be rude, and Cutler’s manners were impeccable.”
I personally doubted the flawless purity of Cutler Mead’s manners, but I kept my opinion to myself. “Did his wife know about you?”
“Why’re you asking that?”
“Because, Theo, 90% of the time, murder victims get done in by their spouses.”
Theo sniffed. “I don’t know if she’d heard about Cutler and me.”
“Do you know her?”
“I met her once. She hardly ever came to Sea Island. Prefers Atlanta. She’s one of those Buckhead Bettys who go out to lunch almost every day.”
Buckhead Bettys was a term applied to the women living in the poshest neighborhood of Atlanta. Tennis-playing former debutantes, charity-ball-giving members of that scene were an imbedded part of Atlanta society. That didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t smart and accomplished. Fate had dealt them a life unfettered by financial worries—assuming their husbands hadn’t become over-extended in Atlanta’s late 1990’s boom town atmosphere. In many ways the Bettys were a throwback to the 1950’s, expected to stay home and not work—not because they were cooking meals and taking care of children. These days those tasks were left to household help and nannies. Buckhead Bettys did not work outside the home because to do so would advertise that their husband didn’t make enough money.
“We need to interview her.”
Theo shook her head. “Not we. You’ll have to talk to her without me. For obvious reasons.”
Of course she was right, but I wasn’t ready to confront Mrs. Mead. I decided to put that one off for now. Anyway, Mrs. Mead was going to be busy planning the funeral or memorial service for her husband. “We need to be doing something,” I said. “I wish we could go back to Cutler’s house. If they’ve removed the crime scene tape, we could look around.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I had second thoughts. Mike Bristol wouldn’t hesitate to arrest us for interfering with a crime scene—assuming the house was still marked off limits.
“You must be kidding. I can’t go back there.” Theo’s voice rose higher with each word.
“You might remember something that would give us a lead, something that the police might not pay attention to.” I suddenly realized there was a flaw in my plan. “But I don’t know how we’d get in.”
Theo looked down at her feet. There was something she wasn’t telling me. “What is it?” I asked.
“I’ve still got a key,” she said.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Did you tell the police that?”
“They didn’t ask.”
“You want to find out who did this to Cutler, don’t you?”
She looked at me like a trapped animal, but she nodded, slowly.
“All right then,” I said. “Let’s go tonight. I’d rather not take a chance that the neighbors or the mailman would see us and call the cops. You drive.”
6
Return to Cutler’s
I spent the rest of the day trying to come up with possible motives for Cutler Mead’s murder, but as a practical matter, I didn’t know enough to even speculate. We needed to identify people who could fill in the picture of the man. Other than his wife and whatever Flynn could dig up about Cutler’s business, the only hope was to find a lead at his house.
The afternoon and early evening crawled by, until I felt it was dark enough for Theo and me to leave. I was regretting my decision to let Theo drive as she gingerly backed her Mercedes out of the parking space and crept out of the deck. Theo was a nervous driver, and she whistled when she drove. The tuneless whistling bore into my brain. I spoke to interrupt the warbling.
“Don’t get on the connector. The traffic’s miserable. Take Piedmont out.”
We drove up Piedmont, cut over Roswell Road and made the left onto Blackland, weaving around the exclusive neighborhood in silence until we turned onto Cutler’s street. She passed his house and took a right at the corner, then another right before she pulled over to park the Mercedes in a narrow lane that acted as a service alley behind the upscale homes.
She clearly knew this way in. Maybe all of Cutler’s mistresses used the back door. We walked toward a pair of handsome iron gates set into a brick wall surrounding the backyard. To encourage Theo, I acted like I sneaked into dead men’s houses every day. The truth was the hair on my neck was standing up and saying, What the heck are you doing, Ann Audrey Pickering? It was too late to turn back now, but I was so nervous the band of my bra was soaked through.
We slipped through the unlocked gates and followed the flagstone walk past azaleas banked around the swimming pool. Its underwater lights glowed. The effect was either inviting or creepy. I couldn’t decide. The pool’s surface was immaculate, not a leaf or blossom floated on the water, despite the overgrown foliage crowding the pool deck.
We tiptoed across the patio and up the terrace to the back door. We were on the other side of the big windows in the great room at the center of the house. Theo produced her key, and we were inside the dark house in seconds. I pulled out my flashlight and lit her way down the hall and the wing that led to the study. There had been no sign of the police outside the house, and the yellow crime scene tape was gone from the double doors of the room where Cutler died.
Theo stalled
at the threshold of her former lover’s study.
I walked around her and circled Cutler’s desk in order to reach the frames arranged in the bookshelves. I avoided stepping on the rug where his body had lain, the way old people won’t walk on top of a grave.
“What’re you looking for?” Theo said.
“I don’t know. Something to give us a line of investigation—identify people we could talk to. We’ve got to start somewhere.” When I’d started snooping on my husband, I’d known some of his clients, and they’d told me things. I was hoping we could get some information about Cutler from people who knew him—maybe the people in the photos that decorated the bookshelves.
Theo tiptoed into the room.
“See if you recognize anyone,” I ordered, handing her an eight by ten picture. I was deliberately brusque, to shock her into action. She took the picture, and we began to work our way around the room, scrutinizing the photos under the flashlight until Theo halted to pick up one of the silver frames.
“These guys are familiar,” she said, pointing at the group. “That’s Drew Littlefield, Cutler’s lawyer. And that guy in the madras pants — can you believe they wear those in public?— is Tom Boxer. He’s a veterinarian and owns one of those doggy day spas.”
I put in my two cents. “The guy holding the beer is Scot Raybourn. I’ve seen him in the Atlanta Journal. His tech company sponsored one of the charity runs for something this year. But who’s the fifth guy, the shifty looking one?”
“That’d be me, I ‘magine.” The overhead lights in the study were flicked on.
I whirled around, heart pounding. The man’s voice had been amused, but his eyes weren’t. Theo dropped the frame, and it bounced on the thick carpet, landing face down. She and I backed against the bookcases as he advanced on bare feet. That explained why we hadn’t heard him behind us. He loomed over us so that I had to tilt my head to look into his eyes. They were an unusual shade, almost yellow, and high cheekbones stood out above the bristly chin. His body was runner lean, but plenty of muscle showed under the white tee shirt. An odor of paint thinner, or maybe years of booze, hung around him.
Whipped Cream and Piano Wire Page 4