The Antique House Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  “I’ll run over and save some seats.” Vanessa pecked her brother’s cheek. “See you two in a few.”

  Charley cleared space on the work counter in the storeroom and unrolled the Phase Two rendering. Dmitri examined it with interest.

  “Thirteen million dollars, eh?”

  “Pretty powerful motivation.” Charley recalled Holland’s frightened reaction to those same words. More than frightened, she realized. The woman had been terrified. “I think I know why Holland flipped out when I told her about the theft of the sales records. I can’t prove it yet, but my gut tells me she didn’t know about Phase Two before that morning. Based on her behavior, she’d just received her copy of these plans, perhaps only minutes before I arrived. That’s how she discovered what Jamie has been doing. Then I showed up and announced there was a link between Mulbridge House and Calvin’s death.”

  Dmitri nodded. “A one-two punch.”

  “Exactly. First she’s slapped in the face with proof that her brother’s been plotting behind her back. A few minutes later I show up with the happy news that his little side deal paints him as a prime suspect.” Charley’s satisfaction at figuring out part of the puzzle was dampened by a cold anger. “The great and powerful Holland Mulbridge is deathly afraid her little brother is an accomplice to murder.”

  “And is he, do you think?”

  “Somebody planted that bloody golf club to implicate Benjy,” she reminded him.

  “I see where Holland might act to protect her brother. But why would Jamie do it,” he asked, “if he and Benjy are friends?”

  Charley shook her head. “They’re not friends, they’re business associates. Benjy was just contract muscle. What if Jamie realized he didn’t need Benjy anymore? It would be time to throw him under the bus, especially if he found out about the Purple Tang. The last thing a rich corporate land baron needs is to be associated with a killer, not to mention a drug dealer.”

  “Really starting to hate this guy,” Dmitri muttered. “Where the hell is he?”

  “The question of the hour.” Charley pulled out her cellphone and frowned. Still no return call from Sean. She speed-dialed a different number, placing it on speaker.

  “The land is owned by Sunspear LLC,” Frankie began the moment she answered. “They bought it two years ago from the estate of a Richard Gallagher, deceased. Sunspear is a shell corporation, probably formed to hide the real owners’ identity. I googled it and got zero hits.”

  “Two years ago?” Charley exclaimed. “Augusta wasn’t even dead yet, and already her son was plotting. What about permits? Did you find any requests?”

  “Did I ever. Do you know what an easement is?”

  Charley and Dmitri exchanged glances. “No idea.”

  Frankie replied, “I didn’t either, so I called John. I know what you said,” she put in quickly, “but I think my own husband is safe enough. His firm’s done some real estate law, and he knows about this stuff. Anyway, an easement is a right-of-way, where one property owner gives permission to another owner to use part of his land without actually selling it. Like, when someone establishes a community shortcut across their backyard or field or whatever for the neighbors to safely access a city-owned pond or park. Local governments help themselves to easements when they put in cell towers or new sidewalks and streets.”

  Charley nodded. “Easement, right-of-way, got it. What I don’t get is why we care.”

  “You’re about to.” Frankie’s voice was tight with excitement. “Think. What do you need to build houses?”

  There was a puzzled silence. Finally Dmitri ventured, “A hammer?”

  Frankie sighed theatrically. “I mean, what does a piece of land need before you can put a habitable dwelling on it?” Silence again. “Utilities, people. A house has to be hooked up to gas, electric, and water. Phones are overland or wireless these days, but that other stuff? It all runs underground through big pipes that connect to the bigger pipes of a city’s main system. Without that connection, you can’t build. And that’s why nobody ever built anything on the Gallagher property. It’s—”

  “A land island,” Charley finished, light beginning to dawn. “Those utility pipes run underground. Even I get that you can’t tunnel under Houk Stream. It’s a watercourse.”

  “Plus, it’s public parkland. John says nobody can run utilities or anything private through parkland, so that rules out access through Hills and Dales Park, too.”

  “If it’s so untouchable, how come Richard Gallagher bought it?” Dmitri asked.

  Frankie replied, “My question, too. John ran a quick title search. The Gallagher family’s owned that parcel since the 1890s, long before any of the parks existed. Then they moved away, and I guess the family just hung on to it. I’ll bet they jumped at Sunspear’s offer to buy.”

  “So, an easement?” Charley prompted.

  “Right. Are you looking at a map? There’s only one spot where the Gallagher land island isn’t completely cut off, and that’s—”

  “Mulbridge House.” And all at once Charley saw it, the whole brilliant, underhanded scheme. “Sunspear LLC requested an easement for utilities from the Mulbridge family?”

  “Correct. Permission was granted by Jameson Mulbridge, Jr., about two months after Augusta Mulbridge’s death.”

  “So Jamie’s behind it after all,” Dmitri marveled. “You were right, Charley.”

  “Who approved it?” Charley asked eagerly, again recalling Sean’s suspicions. “Can you tell?”

  “Sorry, girlfriend,” Frankie said. “All I’ve got is a dated time stamp with some squiggly initials.”

  Charley traced her fingers over the map, remembering her race through those empty woods, the sound of rushing water. “Jamie Mulbridge formed Sunspear LLC and bought that property, probably for a song because it was essentially useless. Now he’s got a huge parcel he can finally cash in on. But if the Planning Commission denies the petition to develop the Mulbridge land, or if SOAP proves their claim to the estate—”

  “In the case of SOAP being declared the rightful owners, that easement is null and void,” Frankie confirmed. “But either way, the current easement only gives Sunspear underground right-of-way. There’s nowhere for them to run a road or street out of the Gallagher property—”

  “Unless they can connect to the new street from Phase One,” Charley continued.

  “Meaning his parcel would still be worthless,” Dmitri concluded. “Motivation, indeed.”

  “Stop,” Charley said as a thought struck. “If the city is balking at fourteen houses, they’re never going to approve a plan for fifty-eight, easement or no easement.”

  “And that’s the final turd in this steaming pile.” Frankie sounded angry. “You’ve got to slog through, like, seventeen pages of legal jargon, but since I used parcel ID numbers to look all this up, I spotted it. The Mulbridges’ petition to develop includes the other property. Not by name, of course. Someone tucked in the extra parcel ID number, and nobody’s ever noticed. I don’t know when that was done, but the current version is online right now, and that’s the version going to a vote today.”

  Charley and Dmitri stared at the phone. “You’re not serious.”

  “As a heart attack. Showering,” Frankie announced. “Meet you over there, and you’d better save me a seat.”

  “Will do.” Charley ended the call as her mind raced through the possibilities. “All I can figure is that Augusta refused to let anyone touch her land while she was alive. The minute she died, Jamie got busy behind Holland’s back and granted permission for the easement to Sunspear—basically, he gave permission to himself. Then, again acting on behalf of the Mulbridge family, he amended the petition to include the extra parcel ID number.”

  “And when the vote passes…” Dmitri whistled. “Serious land grab. Is this guy some kind of evil real estate genius?”

  “I guess so.” Charley frowned. Again she felt the niggle that had poked at her subconscious ever since she’d start
ed learning about Jameson Mulbridge. Before she could explore the source of her disquiet, a movement caused her to turn around. “Afiya? Hi, what’s—”

  Afiya stood motionless in the doorway, hands held palm out at shoulder height, her expression unreadable. “I figured walking home alone in broad daylight would be safe enough.” Her mouth tightened. “Guess I was wrong.”

  She stepped forward into the storeroom. Close behind her stood an attractive young man of perhaps eighteen, slender, about five foot eight, with brown hair razored short on the sides but left long on top and combed over in a smooth sweep. He wore tight white jeans, a white T-shirt, and a blue-and-gold Oakwood Lumberjacks jacket. His thin, pretty face was drawn with fatigue. Deep shadows bagged under soulful brown eyes that stared at Charley with desperation. The boy seemed fragile and lost, despite the small pistol he held against Afiya’s side in a shaking grip.

  Dmitri started forward, but Charley stayed him with a gentle touch, her gaze never leaving the boy.

  “Corey Reynolds, I presume?” she asked calmly.

  He blinked in surprise. “You know who I am?”

  “Educated guess.” Charley took a measured step toward him. He raised the gun.

  “Stay back,” he warned, voice as unsteady as his hand. Afiya tensed. “Hands up, both of you!”

  “Charley!” Dmitri hissed. “Been here, done this, do not want to do it again!”

  Charley slowly raised her hands in the air. She noted that, at six foot two and wearing high-heeled boots, Afiya stood a good eight inches taller than Corey. This gave her an idea.

  “Corey,” she began, “you came to me for help, right?” When he said nothing, she stared meaningfully at Afiya. “We should face our problems head-on, don’t you think?” Keeping her hands up, Charley stuck her elbows out to the sides.

  Afiya took the hint. She shot her left elbow straight back like a machine piston. Because of her superior height, she connected solidly with Corey’s face. He dropped the gun and clutched his nose, which began leaking blood.

  Charley picked up the pistol. “And I will help you, sweetie, but not at gunpoint.” She handed the weapon to Dmitri. “The safety’s on, by the way.”

  At that, the boy burst into tears.

  Chapter 20

  Corey Reynolds huddled in her office chair, a wad of tissues pressed to his nose, his posture bowed as though he carried the weight of the world on his slender shoulders. While Afiya prepared coffee and Dmitri rolled his eyes meaningfully at the clock, Charley sat close beside the boy and spoke in low, soothing tones.

  “Things must seem pretty desperate right now,” she said softly, “but I’ve got connections with the police. I will try to help you.”

  Corey attempted a watery smile. “Zach Martin said you were cool. That’s why I came here.”

  “With a gun?” Dmitri held out a mug with ill-concealed hostility. “Not exactly a good opening line, Romeo.”

  Charley quelled him with a look. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Corey. Tell us about the Purple Tang.”

  Corey tossed the tissues into the trash, avoiding eye contact. “There was…this guy in the neighborhood.”

  “We know Benjy Wycoff is the K-Man.” She smiled at his shocked expression. “I expect you heard about the shooting this morning?”

  “It’s why I came back!” He gripped the mug. “My mom was home. She could have been killed! I tried to see her before coming here, but there’s about fifty cops all over the place.”

  “I’ll make sure you get to see her,” Charley promised. “So, Benjy lived next door. You two were friends?”

  Corey snorted. “Not hardly. He’d be out back getting high or whatever, and sometimes he’d invite me over. We’d smoke a joint and he’d pretty much do all the talking, telling stories about stuff he’d done, and how stupid the cops were. I thought he was this amazing badass, like Jesse James or Dillinger.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I am such an idiot.”

  “You were a child,” Afiya murmured, and even Dmitri nodded in sympathy.

  Corey set his coffee aside, untasted. “About a year and a half ago, out of the blue, he says I seem like a smart guy. He asks me if I want to make some serious bank. Nothing gross, nothing too physical. I’ve been thinking about college next year, and I figure, why not?” He shifted. “He took me out to Mulbridge House and showed me the garage. The place was abandoned. He told me his plan and—I started recruiting. I mostly tapped the losers, kids desperate to belong to something. It was easy. K-Man told me what to do and say, and I did it.” He hung his head. “Those kids? They respected me, and that felt amazing, but I knew it was wrong. I didn’t care. I’m just a low-life drug dealer, and now I’m going to end up in prison. My mom…I’m all she has left.”

  Charley’s heart went out to this fatherless boy who was desperate for a man in his life to look up to. Bad luck had dropped the wrong role model in his path, a tragedy that she knew was all too common these days. “Is that why you ran away?”

  “No. That is, I have been thinking about getting out of the Tang, but you don’t just walk away from the K-Man.” Corey’s voice was heavy with resignation. “Sunday night he came into our house and dragged me out of bed. He made me help him break into a bunch of places. I was too scared to say no; he was acting so weird. We’d get in, but then it was just mostly him tossing stuff around. He’d tell me to grab anything light or small. I didn’t want to, but he was totally freaking out. Talking crazy.”

  Charley sat up. “Talking? Can you tell me what he said?”

  “That first night he didn’t make much sense. Something about money, who gives the orders, and this better be worth it, stuff like that. He did say once how stupid his aunt Millie was, and SOAP. It’s this group she belongs to. Aunt Millie was always nice to me, giving me cookies after school when my mom was at work.” Corey’s fond smile faded. “She’s scared of K-Man, too.”

  “Millie must have known Benjy was up to something illegal, even if she didn’t know the details,” Charley murmured.

  Corey took a deep breath, as if determined to get through the worst of it. “The next night he showed up and made me do it again. It was always the same thing: breaking in and tossing stuff around. This time he told me we were searching for papers hidden in an old book. What papers? I asked. Legal papers, he said, that’s all you need to know. But how will I know if I found them unless I know what they are? He said they were the last will and testament of Augusta Mulbridge. Tuesday at school, when I heard about the murder…” Corey swallowed hard. “I knew, man, I knew he’d killed Mr. Prescott, the guy who ran that big sale last week. Aunt Millie told me once that someday Mulbridge House would belong to SOAP. She said that’s why she kept all that crap in her house, for when they turned it into a museum.”

  Charley’s heart squeezed with pity at the enormity of Millie’s delusion. Then she felt a stab of worry. Millie had fled this morning after the shooting. She was old, frightened, and on foot. Where on earth could she be?

  Dmitri had been leaning against the wall tapping on his cellphone. Now he glanced up sharply. “Why the hell didn’t you call the police, kid? Your hero’s a murderer.”

  “I was going to, I swear!” Corey pleaded. “Just as soon as I could get away. After the third house that second night, K-Man just sort of gave up, you know? We were in his truck. He swore and punched the steering wheel, and then he got really quiet, and he told me…” Corey’s voice wobbled. “He said he needed to get rid of something, something that had to stay gone, and did I know a place? I said I didn’t, because I had a feeling whatever it was had something to do with killing Mr. P. He was quiet some more, and then he called somebody and said they had to meet, like, right then. I’m pretty sure the other guy told him no, because K-Man said, ‘You don’t help me, you can kiss your fancy payday goodbye.’ ”

  “Who did he call?” Charley asked urgently. “Was it Jamie Mulbridge?”

  “No, it wasn’t. Whoever it was said something else, then
K-Man said, ‘This whole mess is Mulbridge’s fault. Your retard better not screw up this deal. I’ve got more to lose than either of you.’ After that he dropped me off and told me to keep my mouth shut, or he’d have a chat with my mom.” Corey’s jaw set. “I figured she’d be safer if I was out of the picture, so the next morning I took off. I’ve been staying with friends in Columbus.”

  “Your retard?” Charley exclaimed. “He called Jamie…” Her voice trailed away as that niggle finally worked itself loose and exploded into revelation.

  She recalled Millie’s sad intonation of “poor lamb” as she described the young Jamie. She contemplated his completion of prep school two years late, his failure to graduate from college, the meaningless job title at a satellite corporate office—no doubt arranged for him by his sister—the lack of anything substantive or mention of any newsworthy accomplishments about him on the corporate website, the public drunkenness, the cover-ups of erratic behavior. She’d viewed it all as the classic portrait of a spoiled child of privilege.

  But when she focused on the precious few available photos she’d managed to find, each one showing Jamie’s odd stares and lopsided smiles, and then added in Benjy’s cruel remark, she understood at last what had bothered her from the beginning.

  Dmitri frowned as his phone chimed with an incoming text. “Vanessa and Frankie saved us seats, but we have to go now, Charley. The natives are seriously restless, and they don’t think they can hold them off much longer.”

  “I know. I just—” Charley’s gaze moved from the forlorn young man beside her to the plans on her work counter. Did this new revelation about Jamie really change anything? Benjy’s phone call more or less proved that at least one more person was involved. And while he might have…issues, Jamie was the one who’d granted that easement. He had to be part of Sunspear LLC. The Planning Commission needed to know the truth before they voted. And what should she do about Corey?

  She considered calling Marc, but decided to wait. They didn’t have time right now for detailed explanations. If he even took her call, she thought dismally. But when they did speak, if she wanted to redeem herself with him, she needed all the facts. She had to talk to Holland.