Over Maya Dead Body

by Sandra Orchard

  “Great, thank you.” Oddly, I didn’t feel the elation I’d expected. Pinning a smuggling charge on Marianne’s son, on top of what she’d already been through this week, gave me little satisfaction. I shook my head. “I really wanted to believe Carly’s adamant defense of her brother this afternoon wasn’t an act.”

  “I suppose there’s a remote chance that she honestly didn’t know what her brother was into. At least not until she heard Ben’s story.”

  My heart hitched. “If that’s true, then Carly could be our killer’s next target.” Then again, it was more palatable than the alternative. I texted Moore, but recalling Nate’s suspicions of him, I hesitated clicking SEND. Then again . . . his response could be telling.

  Still no sign of her, he texted back.

  I expected him to hand off the search now that we’d confirmed Charlie was dealing in antiquities, but he wasn’t ready to dismiss his intel on a drug connection. A reasonable enough explanation.

  Isaak gathered up the printouts and tapped them into a neat stack. “Let’s talk to Devin.”

  We carefully wrapped the vase, labeled it for evidence, and checked it into the PD’s evidence room until we could arrange for its transport to the FBI’s Boston headquarters. By the time we reached the interrogation room where Devin had been deposited, the room was empty. We stopped a passing officer. “Where’s the suspect who was being held in this room?”

  “Transported to lockup. Too drunk to question, the detective said.”

  I thanked him for the update but inwardly fumed. I didn’t disagree Devin might’ve been too sloshed, but the detective should’ve at least consulted us first. I believed Devin’s story that he acted out of jealousy, but if he’d dated Carly for any length of time, he might know a thing or two about Charlie’s apparent sideline business.

  Isaak glanced at his watch. “We’re going to need search warrants for the architect firm, for Frank’s and Carly’s homes, and for whatever else they own or rent—car, boat, storage locker. But I’ll have an easier time convincing the judge once your expert confirms the vase’s authenticity.”

  “Two people are already dead and Carly is missing or gone to ground. Take your pick. From where I’m standing, whether it’s genuine or not, someone didn’t want us connecting it and who knows how many more pieces to him.”

  “Or her.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, we could stop by Marianne Delmar’s and see what she has to say about her son’s alleged activities and her daughter’s possible involvement. If she grants us permission to search the house, it’ll save us the red tape.”

  I exhaled a reluctant sigh. The poor woman had already had a brutal enough day.

  As we reached the lobby, Tanner strode in carrying a bag of Chinese takeout. “Finished already? I figured you could use some supper.”

  The food smelled fantastic.

  “I ate before the memorial service,” Isaak said.

  “We’re heading to Marianne’s to question her about Charlie,” I added even though I was salivating like a Pavlov dog.

  “I can help Serena with that,” Tanner said to Isaak. “You’re supposed to be on vacation here, aren’t you? I’m sure your family would appreciate having you back.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they would. But if you two want to question Marianne, I’ll pay Frank Dale a visit.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I concurred, practically tasting the moo goo gai pan already. “I’ll update you on what we learn.”

  Isaak gave a casual salute and strode out.

  Tanner handed me the take-out bag. “Leave the Land Rover here and you can eat while I drive.”

  I was too famished to argue. As he wound through Oak Bluffs’ residential streets, I gobbled the food, mmm-ing over the yummy taste, between telling him about the vase and Charlie’s fingerprints on the package.

  “So I guess I was wrong about the Fenton Vase picture found in Jack’s pocket being a plant to misdirect investigators.”

  “Frank mentioned that Carly printed some Mayan pictures for him. Frank had assumed they were for a design he was working on, but maybe it was to show the feds what Charlie had allegedly mailed. Or maybe to show Marianne.”

  “And if Carly knew what her brother mailed to the office, she could’ve been the one who set off the alarm bells.”

  “For Marianne’s sake, I hope not.”

  Tanner parked at the curb opposite Marianne’s house and I gobbled faster. The living room light was on and the shadow of an occupant was visible behind the drapes. “No hurry,” Tanner said. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  I shoveled the last few forkfuls into my mouth, then stuffed the carton back in the bag. “That was good. Thank you.”

  “Hey, don’t forget the fortune cookie. It’s in the bag.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Ah, c’mon. Don’t you want to know what your fortune is?”

  “You don’t actually believe in them?”

  He grinned. “They’re fun.”

  I pulled the plastic-wrapped cookie out of the bag and pressed it into his hand. “The fun’s all yours.”

  “If you insist. I’m not afraid to embrace my future.” He ripped the plastic, cracked open the cookie, and silently read the little slip of paper inside, then popped the cookie into his mouth.

  “What did it say?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

  I plucked the slip of paper from his fingers, not trusting the laughter in his eyes.

  Romance will soon blossom.

  30

  “We’d better get started on the interview,” I blurted, climbing out of Tanner’s rental. Back in St. Louis, I’d have immediately tossed a teasing comeback about his cookie’s fortune. I mean, the man was married to the FBI. We’d been like-minded in that regard. But something about the way his eyes had softened as he watched me read the fortune made me think maybe he hoped it would come true. With me.

  And I didn’t know what to do with that.

  The flutter in my heart was an uncomfortable cross between excited anticipation and full-out panic. How could I be equally intrigued by the idea of a romance with Tanner and of one with Nate? In the middle of an investigation, no less!

  “Hey, isn’t that Moore?” Tanner pointed to a dark sedan parked two houses down on the other side of the street.

  I squinted at the windshield. “I think you’re right.”

  Moore lowered his window as we approached.

  “Switch-hitting again, I see,” he said to me and chuckled, then turned his attention to Tanner. “How’s the arm?”

  “Not bad. I guess Serena forgot to loop you in that this has shaped up to be an antiquity smuggling case after all?”

  “Sure, but we still have a reliable source that puts Charlie at a known drug lord’s house, and I want to talk to Carly about what she knows.”

  Tanner nodded. “Fair enough. We’re headed in to question her mother.”

  “Hey,” I said to Moore as Tanner started back across the street. “I heard you had a run-in with a deer the other night.”

  “Yeah, I grazed her hind end. But she ran off into the woods, so hopefully she survived. How’d you hear about that?”

  “A friend had mechanical trouble on his rental from the same dealer.”

  “Ah.”

  As I rejoined Tanner on the other side of the street, he said, “You believe him?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t hesitate a second and held my gaze through the entire explanation. I don’t think he’s dirty.”

  “And the fact he looks like a movie star doesn’t have anything to do with your conclusions?”

  “Right, because actors are sooo innocent.” I glanced over my shoulder at Moore’s car pulling away from the curb and waved.

  “Just checking.” Tanner knocked on Marianne’s door. After the third knock she finally answered.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour,” I said, “but I’m sure Carly’s told you about
Ben’s allegations.”

  “No. What are you talking about?” Marianne’s brow furrowed, although from the way she shrunk back an instant later, I suspected she’d guessed what the allegations were.

  “May we come in? We think you might be able to help us pinpoint the person responsible for Charlie’s death.” That was the big question mark in my mind, because as good as Carly looked for Charlie’s accomplice, I hoped for her mother’s sake she didn’t kill him to save her own hide.

  Marianne hesitated.

  “You may be surprised what clues you’ve picked up that you aren’t even aware of,” Tanner said, maneuvering us inside before she could object.

  We declined her offer of coffee and joined her in the front room. Flower arrangements decked every spare table and shelf. But the colorful blossoms and cloying fragrance only seemed to deepen the oppressive sense of gloom in the house. I shook off the thought and focused on the task at hand.

  “Marianne, did Jack express concerns about Charlie smuggling antiquities into the country?”

  Her face paled and she slumped into a chair. “It’s not true.”

  I perched on an upholstered armchair opposite her. “Which part? That he spoke to you? Or that Charlie was involved in something illegal?”

  She bowed her head. “Jack talked to me. I was horrified he could believe such lies about my son. He wouldn’t tell me who told him.” Marianne twisted the facial tissue she held in her hand as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Charlie was a good boy.”

  “I know you want to believe that, but we have fingerprint evidence corroborating the allegations.”

  Marianne vigorously shook her head.

  “We suspect whoever Charlie was working with silenced both him and Jack,” Tanner interjected.

  “No! The police said Jack fell down the steps. That it was an accident.”

  I steeled myself against the squeeze in my chest. Because my agent side was clanging all kinds of alarm bells. She sounded as if she had a much more personal reason for not wanting to believe he was the victim of foul play. Did Marianne honestly find it more comforting to believe Jack’s death was an accident?

  I couldn’t. It was too senseless. Not that his death at the hand of a criminal he was trying to bring to justice wasn’t senseless too, but at least it was heroic.

  “Can you tell us who Charlie spent time with when he was home?” Tanner asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s lived on his own for years.”

  “Were you surprised Charlie could afford to buy his own place?”

  Her eyes widened. Clearly she hadn’t questioned her son’s financial status. “He doesn’t waste his money. He hasn’t had a girlfriend that I know of in a while.”

  Still, a place like Charlie’s on Martha’s Vineyard, even with low interest rates, would’ve been a stretch. My brother couldn’t have managed it, and he did the same kind of work as Charlie. “How about old friends from school?” I asked. “From the neighborhood? Did he keep in touch with any of them?”

  “He used to hang out with the boy next door. Carly would know better than me who he spent time with back then. The kids didn’t usually bring their friends home.”

  “Did Charlie know Frank?”

  “Jack’s partner? Sure. After Jack and I started dating, Charlie would sometimes pick his sister up from work and bring her out to Quansoo Beach.”

  I nodded. This time of year anyone could use the beach, but come summer, access was restricted to residents and their friends—a perk of knowing the right people.

  “Charlie and Carly were close then.”

  Marianne inhaled sharply.

  “I’m not implying Carly was involved in whatever Char—”

  “It’s Joe,” Marianne blurted.

  “Pardon me?” I exchanged a glance with Tanner, who seemed equally thrown.

  “Charlie was working for Joe.”

  “The estate sale guy?”

  “Yes.”

  We pushed her for details but Marianne pressed her fisted hand to her mouth and muffled a sob. “Talk to Joe.”

  31

  Joe didn’t seem surprised to see us back at his gingerbread cottage. He invited us to sit in the front room.

  “Was Charlie working for you?” I asked Joe as soon as everyone had taken a seat.

  “Marianne tell you that?”

  “Yes.”

  He contemplated that a moment. “Like I told you earlier, all my purchases and sales are above board.”

  “Was Charlie working for you?” I repeated more insistently.

  “No. Never. And despite what Carly claimed, she wasn’t either when they arrested her.”

  What? I refrained from blurting the thought aloud, but he must’ve noticed my surprise. “What was she arrested for?” And how on earth had I missed an arrest in her background check? The charges must’ve been dropped. Expunged.

  “Antiquities smuggling.”

  My breath hitched.

  “Marianne neglected to tell you that? That’s what she came to see me about this afternoon. Pleaded with me not to speak of it.”

  This afternoon? I looked at Tanner. Was Joe saying what it sounded like he was saying?

  “What changed your mind?” Tanner asked.

  I leaned forward, remembering the needle in Joe’s throat. If it’d been Marianne’s doing, he would’ve exposed her then and there. Wouldn’t he?

  “I figure if she sent you here,” Joe said, “she’s decided punishing Charlie’s killer is more important than protecting Carly.”

  My heart pounded. Carly killed Jack? Was that what Joe was saying? “What do you mean by protecting Carly?”

  “When Carly was in college, customs caught her smuggling a Mayan statue out of Mexico after spring break. She’d worked the previous summer for me and claimed I’d asked her to smuggle it into the country.

  “She was lying, of course. And the police figured that out quick enough. They never found anything illegal in my entire stock. Not that that stopped Marianne from blaming me for corrupting her daughter.” He shook his head. “The truth is, she probably blamed herself more than anything. She fell apart after her second husband died. Didn’t give Carly the parenting she needed when it mattered most.”

  I exchanged a glance with Tanner, trying to decide if I bought Joe’s story. Marianne didn’t act as if she thought Joe killed Charlie, but she’d seemed to think Joe should know who did.

  “In a way, the arrest was the wake-up call that turned Marianne’s life around. She managed to get the charges dismissed and cautioned Carly and her brother to never mention them to a soul. Since detectives from the mainland investigated the allegations against me, no one here heard about them, and I was as happy as Marianne to keep it that way. Allegations like that don’t exactly build customer confidence.”

  “So when Jack confided in Marianne about his suspicions of Charlie, Marianne feared Carly had gone back to her old ways?” I surmised.

  “Not at all. She figured I’d recruited Charlie. Didn’t believe my denials.”

  “Then why didn’t she report you?”

  “Like I said, she didn’t want to risk Carly’s history being dredged up.”

  “So stabbing you with the needle was her revenge?”

  He stroked the back of his fingers over the puncture site. “It truly was an accident. She lashed out at me, but she didn’t know what she was doing.”

  Even so . . . awfully big of him to not press charges. Then again, I suppose that would only open his business up to the wrong kind of publicity.

  “Marianne thinks you know who killed Charlie,” Tanner interjected. “Do you?”

  “Haven’t a clue. There are plenty of folks on the island rich enough to hire a personal antiquities shopper. The kid had a great cover for the job.”

  “Anyone in particular come to mind? Someone who collects Mayan antiquities?” I asked.

  He picked up a notepad from his end table and jotted a name and number on it. “He’s
the biggest art dealer on the island. He may be able to point you in the right direction.”

  I glanced at the name—a dead end Isaak had already tried to milk. Dealers were notoriously protective of their clients’ identities. Then again, the dealer could be the mastermind behind the whole operation. Hopefully, the search warrants would turn up a connection.

  “What about Carly?” Tanner asked. “You think she could’ve been working with her brother?”

  Joe shrugged. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms since she hung me out to dry.”

  We thanked Joe for his time and retreated to Tanner’s rental, where I put in a call to Isaak and put it on speakerphone.

  “I don’t know what to think about Frank,” Isaak said. “He admitted to asking Joe to place the ad on eBay for the Egyptian amulet.”

  “He was Joe’s client?”

  “Yup. Claimed it was the first time he’d ever done anything like that, but said he changed his mind when he saw you and Nate waiting at the tabernacle. Figured it was a sting.”

  “Huh, so Nate had called that one right.”

  “Frank insisted, though, that as far as he was concerned his collection was legit. Even showed me his grandfather’s will with an itemized list of every piece.”

  “But you didn’t believe him?”

  “No, I did. He gave me a tour of the house, told me about each piece, but I also counted at least six pictures of Marianne in the house.”

  “What kind of pictures?” Tanner asked.

  “Innocent-enough looking ones in isolation. One of Marianne and Carly at a customer appreciation event. One of her and Jack on his boat. One of her serving Frank cake at a surprise birthday party Jack threw for him. One of her at the beach, turning back to the camera and laughing with Jack walking ahead in the distance.”

  “Okay, we get the idea. He’s obsessed with her.”

  “Yeah, but his alibi for the night Jack was killed checks out.”

  “He’s not obsessed. He’s in love,” I corrected. “You can see it in how he looks at her.”

  Tanner choked on a laugh. “Oh, you can, can you?”

  I shot him an irritated look. “Yes. You can,” I insisted.