The Antique House Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  At the sound of his sister’s voice, he dropped the controller and bounded to his feet. He rushed into Charley’s personal space without touching her, but his face was so close to hers, she had to use all her self-control to hold her ground.

  “Are you a friend of Holly’s?” he asked, and he smiled the beautiful, sunny, lopsided smile Charley remembered from the photos she’d seen of Jamie taken over the span of years. He reminded her of nothing so much as a big, happy dog as he jiggled and bounced, taking her in from head to toe, clearly delighted.

  “What’s your name? I’m Jamie but Holly calls me Bug. Do you like PlayStation? This hotel doesn’t have many games, but Blackhole is pretty good. Holly’s going to a meeting but I get to order room service. Do you like ice cream? I think you’re pretty. You have hair like autumn leaves. When Holly gets back we’re going to the movies! Would you like to come along? Holly, can she come?” He turned to his sister with such unconditional love and trust that Charley felt her eyes pricking.

  “I’m Charley,” she said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. A movie sounds like fun, but I’m afraid I have to go to the meeting with Holly.”

  “That’s okay.” Jamie gifted her with another smile and flopped back on the bed, retrieving his controller and getting back to the business at hand. Holland closed the door and led the way back to the sitting area.

  “You see how he is,” she said hopelessly. “If someone he trusted told him to sign a paper, he would sign, then forget about it. And believe me, I’ve asked him every way I can think of. He honestly has no idea what I’m talking about.”

  Charley did see. “Who would he trust? Besides you,” she added, although she no longer believed Holland was behind the land scheme, knew she’d never do anything to put her brother at risk.

  Holland bit her lip. “I just don’t know enough about his Miami friends. Cecil claims ignorance, but right now, after letting Jamie get on a plane, that weasel should be fearing for his job.”

  Charley rubbed her forehead. She figured that, though Holland was guilty of greed and poor judgment, that was about it. But if neither she nor Jamie were the brains behind the Sunspear deal, who was? It had to be someone who knew Jamie—or knew of him, someone who knew about Gallagher’s Island, someone who, unlike Benjy, was smart enough to set up a shell corporation. She was struck by a sudden thought.

  “What if it’s not one of his Miami friends? What if whoever’s behind this doesn’t live in Florida at all? What if they live here?”

  “What do you mean?” Holland asked.

  Charley wished yet again that Sean had trusted her with a few more details about what he suspected. She recalled his words: Something doesn’t add up. “I’m not sure. But a friend of mine thinks someone in local government is involved. Could Jamie know someone like that?” She searched her memory, recalling Sean’s story about being recruited for the Planning Commission at the last minute. Had that been coincidence, or part of a larger scheme? “Keith Pitzer sits on the City Council. Do you know him? Could he have contacted your brother?”

  “I’ve heard the name.” Holland lifted her hands and let them fall. “Jamie wouldn’t have to know them personally. If she or he seemed official, that might’ve been enough to trick Jamie into signing those papers. But as I said—”

  “You know nothing. Got it.” Charley stood.

  “What are you going to do?” Holland asked in alarm. “Are you going to tell the Planning Commission about Phase Two?”

  And the old Holland was back, Charley thought in disgust. Still obsessed with getting her precious approval and preserving her reputation. “What do you think?” She turned to go. “I’d wish you luck at the meeting, but that would be dishonest.”

  She returned to her car and pulled out her cellphone. Finger hovering over the speed dial, she hesitated.

  She should call Marc now. Tell him what she’d learned, and trust him to handle it. She’d already lied to him twice, and look where that had gotten her. Marc had exacted a promise from her to back off from the Prescott case, and she’d broken that promise, possibly costing her their relationship. Maybe she could make up for that now.

  Still she hesitated. What, exactly, had she learned? Phase Two and Sunspear—none of it had anything to do with Calvin’s case, at least not directly. Tell Marc, she thought. Let him decide. He could use the information when he arrested and questioned Benjy, just in case Calvin’s killer was reluctant to reveal who’d hired him. On the other hand, Marc had made it clear he wasn’t interested in chasing any more of her theories without proof. And the only proof she had of anything was that roll of plans for Oak Bridge Estates, Phase Two.

  She checked the time: three forty-six. She punched one on her speed dial, mentally rehearsing how to explain everything without making Marc even angrier. It rang three times, then went to voicemail. She stared at her phone. If he were on a call, it wouldn’t have rung at all. Three rings could only mean that he’d seen who was calling and declined to answer. It was the first time Marc had ever refused to take her call.

  “You’ve blown it, Carpenter,” she whispered, feeling like she’d aged ten years. “Nice going.”

  She leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, forcing herself to keep it together; there’d be time for a meltdown later. After a long moment she sat up, took a deep breath, and dialed again. When the operator answered, she demanded to be put through to whatever room the Planning Commission was gathering in prior to the meeting in the main council chambers. She heard a click, a snatch of elevator music, and then the line was ringing. The voice that answered had her sagging with relief.

  “Sean! Thank heaven I reached you. Didn’t you get my message?”

  “Charley? No, I didn’t. What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  She gripped her cellphone. “Listen to me. There’s something you must know before the commission votes. A shell corporation called Sunspear secretly bought all that empty wooded land next to Mulbridge House. I don’t know who’s behind it, but they used Jamie Mulbridge to get an easement for utilities. Somehow they inserted the parcel ID number for that land into the Mulbridge petition. If the Planning Commission votes to approve Holland’s plan, you’ll also be approving another forty-four houses.”

  Silence. Then, sharply: “Damn it, Charley!” Sean’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You promised me you’d— Hang on.” After a few moments, he said, “Okay, I can speak freely. Now, who told you about this? Who else knows what you’ve been doing? Have you talked to Jamie Mulbridge?”

  “I did, but he doesn’t understand or remember what he signed. I’ve got a copy of the engineering plan. Forty-four homes dumping onto Runnymede Road? You can’t believe that’s good for the community.” More silence. “Sean? Are you still there? The commission needs to know about—”

  “I thought I told you to steer clear of all this!” Sean’s voice was low and ragged. “Did you think I was kidding?”

  “But I don’t know what ‘all this’ even is!” Charley protested. “If someone’s threatening you, once we go public with these records, whoever’s behind it won’t be a threat anymore, right?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand,” she begged. “Sean, I know you’re scared, but you can stop them. I’ll be with you, and we’ll tell Marc everything. But right now you need to get the others to veto the plan, or at least table it based on this information. You’ve still got”—she glanced at the clock—“four minutes.”

  “I’ve got time,” Sean replied softly, and then his voice grew stronger. “The chair pushed back the meeting by thirty minutes, and it’s lucky he did. Here’s the thing, Red. I’ve been swimming through this sea of paperwork, and I think I found that proof I was looking for. With what you’ve just told me, I know what’s really going on.”

  “What do you mean?” Charley exclaimed. “What did you find?”

  “Corruption,” he said flatly, “and not just at the city level. I didn’t want to
believe it, but it’s the only explanation.”

  “You know who’s manipulating Jamie?” Charley remembered asking Frankie to research who had approved that easement. “Who’s corrupt? Is it Keith Pitzer?”

  “I can’t explain over the phone, but it’s big, Red. It’s bigger than a few extra houses. And I finally know how to prove it. But we have to get over there and see for ourselves, and we have to go now.”

  “Go? Where are we going?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

  “Mulbridge House.” Sean’s voice became urgent. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t trust anyone in this building. Hell, I’m not sure I trust anyone, period. Except you. I trust you, Charley Carpenter. Will you meet me there? Right now? We can get the proof and still make it back in time to stop this farce of a vote.”

  She barely hesitated. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 23

  When she swung around the final curve in the white gravel driveway, the first thing Charley noticed was the absence of the Crohn Brothers’ trucks. They couldn’t possibly have finished their salvage work already, could they? The man she’d met this morning had made it sound as if they’d be working around the clock.

  She steered toward the west end of the house and spotted Sean’s rusty Honda parked at an angle across the bluestones. Scraps of yellow crime scene tape still dangled from the garage doors, fluttering forlornly in a chill wind. As she climbed out of her car, she heard someone shout her name. Favoring her injured ankle, she hobbled around to the front of the house. One of the heavy wooden doors stood open a few inches.

  “Upstairs!” he called faintly. “Hurry, Red. Jesus, from here I can see—you aren’t going to believe—”

  Charley stepped inside, blinking to adjust her eyes to the sudden gloom. The salvage crew obviously wasn’t finished. Where were they? she wondered as she took in the chaos. A half dozen porcelain sinks and toilets had been left lying haphazardly on their sides, incongruous in the still elegant entry hall. Pipes sprouting from their insides had been cut free, leaving sharp edges that would shred her slacks, not to mention the flesh beneath.

  “Sean!” she shouted, stepping cautiously around a stack of copper piping banded together with blue cloth straps. “Where are you?”

  “Up here! I think…” His voice became muffled. “…proof we need!”

  Charley limped up the stairs, using the banister for support. As she emerged onto the gallery, she recalled her first trip to Mulbridge House, dodging around piles of junk headed for the auction block. One final time, she thought, this grand old lady was being violated for profit.

  She started down the hall. “Sean?” Sections of baseboard and crown molding had been ripped free, revealing crumbling plaster and wooden laths stained dark with mold. All the gorgeous carved doors had been removed from their hinges and stacked, awaiting removal. Cardboard boxes lined the walls. Dim afternoon light filtered in dusty rectangles across the hall, providing just enough illumination to pick a careful path. “Sean?” Charley paused, peering into the gloom. “Where are you?”

  A bloodcurdling scream tore the stillness. Charley gasped. That was Sean’s voice, coming from the Blue Room, at the end of the hall. She scrambled around salvage and burst through the doorless doorway.

  She glanced wildly around for her friend, but except for the cast-iron radiator still in place against one wall, the room was completely barren. Alarm bells began ringing inside her head, but far too late, and as she turned to flee, her bad ankle gave way. She stumbled to one knee, and something heavy struck her behind her right ear. Stars danced across her field of vision. A rushing sound filled her ears as darkness descended.

  She came to with a jerk, total awareness slamming instantly and painfully into her throbbing head. She groaned, cursing herself for a fool. For reasons she was just beginning to comprehend, Sean Ambrose had lured her to Mulbridge House and then hit her over the head. A man she thought she knew, an old friend she’d trusted, had been lying to her from the beginning. Bastard.

  She was lying on her side. Opening her eyes, she saw the cast-iron radiator she’d seen a few minutes—hours? days?—earlier. As she struggled to sit up, she discovered that her wrists were tied together with thin brown twine. The twine had been looped many times around and then threaded through the radiator in a complex design. She tugged and twisted at her bonds, but she was held fast.

  She heard splashing and smelled gasoline. Craning around, she saw Sean pouring liquid from a plastic jug in a thin stream along the baseboard near the doorway. He glanced up.

  “Awake, are we? That’s too bad, Red. This isn’t going to be pleasant. My fault entirely. I thought I’d hit you hard enough to put you out. But not too hard.” His blue eyes met hers before sliding away. “When they find your body, I need them to believe it was an accidental death, and a cracked skull might raise too many questions. That twine, for example. It should burn away nicely. I’ve got Cub Scouts to thank for my knot skills.” He stepped over to her, and she shrank against the wall. When he started sprinkling her with gasoline, she screamed and kicked at his feet. He jumped out of reach. “You are one extraordinary woman, you know that, Red? Oh, the fun we could’ve had.”

  Charley furiously wiped gasoline from her face with her sleeve. “Damn you, Sean! Why are you doing this?”

  Sean set the gas can down and checked his watch. “Gonna have to make this quick. A real shame, because I have so enjoyed our little chats.” He folded his arms and regarded her steadily. “I need the money. I owe some rather unpleasant gentlemen a substantial sum, and their patience is wearing thin.”

  “You need the money?!” Charley gasped, outraged. “Calvin is dead! And you, you’ve been following me around, getting me to talk about the case, pretending to be afraid, and the whole time you were lying through your teeth!”

  “You make it sound like such an achievement, Red. All I had to do was dump garbage on my own car, and presto! Instant victim, instantly beyond suspicion.”

  Sean flashed his brilliant smile, and Charley saw again a row of uniformed boys with smiles that seemed familiar. Sean Ambrose, she realized with a sickening jolt, was the boy in the middle, sitting next to Jamie Mulbridge as Benjy Wycoff scowled from the end of the row. She’d known that all three boys were in the same class, two years ahead of her. In a district the size of Oakwood, of course they’d known one another. Sean himself had told her so. She simply hadn’t connected the dots. And with that another piece of the puzzle slid into place.

  “You orchestrated the Sunspear deal with Jamie. You’re the connection!” she exclaimed. “It seemed so improbable that Jamie and Benjy had remained in contact, because of course, they hadn’t. But you did, with both of them. Does Millie know? Of course she’d remember you from Cub Scouts.” And suddenly she recalled Millie’s comment about “Benjy’s friend.” That friend was Sean, not Pamela, Charley thought in dismay. She’d leapt to the wrong conclusion, and then Benjy had shown up and driven it clean from her mind.

  “Good old Aunt Millie.” Sean clucked his tongue. “After your visit, she started asking far too many questions. Annoying, but easily remedied.”

  “You—hurt Millie?” Charley felt sick.

  “Killed her, actually. Wycoff, too—not that either of them is much of a loss.” Sean’s tone was flippant, but he avoided meeting her eye. “The plan was simple. Pop into town just long enough to shepherd our little deal through the approval process, then head back to Florida and count my money—after I settled my gambling debts, of course. If only Wycoff hadn’t panicked and killed that old guy. Talk about a fiasco. Imagine my further dismay when I discovered he was dealing drugs out of that garage.” He shook his head. “He and the Reynolds kid spent most of that night and the next breaking into houses, looking for that ever-loving missing will, with a bloody golf club riding around in the back of his truck. What an idiot,” he murmured with something like real regret. “Naturally, as his lawyer I was duty-bound to protect my client. I got h
im to hand over the club and strongly suggested he cease and desist with the robberies. It should have been obvious that finding anything that way was a million-to-one shot. I love to gamble, but even I don’t play odds that long.”

  “You planted that golf club, not Holland,” she said faintly.

  “I followed her to the DCC with the idea of slipping it into the trunk of her car. Unfortunately, Empress Holland hires cars with a driver instead of renting like everyone else.” He shrugged. “So I improvised. I didn’t know how much the police knew, but you were hot on the trail. It was only a matter of time before you figured out Wycoff was the killer, and I could not afford to have him taken into custody and questioned. I decided to point the finger at him before I took him out of play.”

  She scowled. “And when he chased me? Was that on your orders as well?”

  “I did arrange to meet him that morning, but only so I could kill him and leave his body in the woods. The cops would assume his death was Tang-related.” He wagged a finger. “Not my fault you got there first. You almost had me right then, popping out of the trees and scaring me out of a year’s growth. I darned near confessed all.”

  “You helped Jamie dodge Cecil Frye so you’d have a rich gambling buddy to party with.” Her gut twisted as Holland’s words echoed: It’s not that Jamie’s stupid. He just…doesn’t have a clue. And that makes him vulnerable. “Will you kill him, too?”

  “Nah. He might be mental, but he can sign his name just fine. I need Jameson Mulbridge, Jr., to pull off this deal. But I don’t need you. Bro’s before ho’s, Red.”

  Charley’s mind was spinning as the entire case came into final, deadly focus. “When Augusta died last year, Millie asked her nephew for help finding the will. Benjy poked around a little, but when he set off the alarm system the second time, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk. In the process, he discovered the garage wasn’t alarmed. That’s when he hatched his plans for the Purple Tang. Meanwhile, you’d already formed Sunspear, with Jamie as front man. He signed everything you put in front of him. You used Sunspear to buy Gallagher’s Island. Growing up here, of course you knew about that empty land.”