“But if all this could be cleared up. If I can figure out who killed Nadine and Blaine and what was going on at the Perry Island Care Center, it would take the pressure off him.”
“That’s true.”
Susan was glad Shannon agreed rather than asking her just how she was going to perform this particular series of miracles.
TWENTY-NINE
SUSAN HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO FIND HERSELF A GUEST IN A home as prestigious as Woodwinds. She had a lovely home of her own and she had friends with homes even larger and more elegant, but Woodwinds was extraordinary. She loved houses and was thrilled to be here-despite the company.
The dinner Shannon had cooked last night was delicious and, amazingly enough, the entire family had enjoyed it seated in the dining room with the twins nearby happily hanging in their mechanical swings. Chrissy and Stephen had finally finished opening their gifts as Susan and Jed enjoyed an after-dinner brandy while examining the many advances in baby equipment, toys, and clothing since their own children were young. After walking the dogs, everyone went to bed early. Susan had slept well. If the twins cried, she hadn’t heard them. When Jed had snored, she had ignored him.
At seven this morning, Donald Baines called and asked her to meet him at his mother’s home. He claimed to need her help with something there. Not the most detailed explanation, but it was an invitation she couldn’t resist.
So she found herself, a couple hours later, walking up wide and deep marble steps to the forged iron doors of Woodwinds. If there was a bell, it was hidden in the pattern of waves, fish, shells, stars, and moons decorating the entrance. Feeling a bit like a fool, she knocked on the metal, but the resulting sound couldn’t possibly alert anyone to her presence.
Despite this, Donald appeared almost immediately, smiling like the most genial host. “Susan, I’m so glad you could make it.” He held out his hands and she had no choice but to offer hers in return.
“I’m glad to be here. I’ve always been curious about this house,” she said. “It’s practically a legend in this part of Connecticut.”
He smiled. “It is, isn’t it? Mother and I have always loved it and I know how much you enjoy looking around homes like this one, so…” He held the door and waved Susan into the foyer.
Her mouth fell open. It was a mouth-dropping space. A mosaic marble floor abutted marble slab walls that connected to a frescoed dome three stories overhead. The only place she had ever seen that was even slightly similar to this was the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. “I had heard about this but, to tell the truth, it’s more amazing than I imagined.”
“It’s been in Architectural Digest twice, House and Garden three times, and the New York Times six times. As well as Elle Décor and a few other publications.”
“Wow.” She had no idea what else to say.
Her brief reaction seemed to be all that was needed. “Would you like to see the rest of it?”
“Sure, I’d love to.” She wondered what was going on. If he had invited her here as a prospective buyer, he was going to be disappointed. Jed had a good job and they were financially comfortable, but there was no way they could afford a home like this one even if they were in the market for a new place, which they weren’t. And if Donald had invited her here to talk about the murders, he was certainly going about it in an extraordinarily roundabout manner.
On the other hand, what an opportunity-a private tour of Woodwinds by its new owner.
Donald happily pointed out the frescoes on the dome and the mosaic on the floor. “Shells, fish, and waves fashioned from Italian tiles beneath our feet and stars, planets, and clouds above us painted on the roof by one of the premier artists of the time.”
“Incredible,” Susan said honestly.
“But once you leave the foyer, the musical themes begin,” Donald continued.
Their shoes clattered on the hard surface as Susan followed her host across the foyer and down a few steps into another, larger room.
“This is the living room,” he explained, barely slowing down as their feet sank into dense wool carpets laid across walnut parquet floors.
Susan had only a few minutes to note the rich apricot-linen upholstered couches set up beneath massive abstract oil paintings and the fireplace fashioned from what appeared to be real jade over which hung a dozen or so brass and woodwind instruments before they were in another room. This, apparently, was the famous music room. The enormous room dwarfed the twin Steinway grand pianos that stood in the middle of the floor. Many different exotic woods had been fashioned into musical notations and then inlaid in the chestnut floor. A treble clef had been painted all around the room near the ceiling and, Susan assumed, someone sitting at one of the pianos could play the tune permanently on display there by spinning in a circle.
“Do you play?” Susan asked.
Donald looked at her for a moment as though he didn’t understand the question.
“The piano.” She pointed. “Do you play the piano?”
“Good Lord, no. I’ve never had time for that sort of thing. I believe Mother planned to hire pianists when she entertained.”
Susan decided not to ask if he had similar plans. Donald was walking out of the room. She scurried after him and found herself in a large sunroom shaped like a crescent, floor-to-ceiling windows on all outside walls. The room was furnished with white-painted antique wicker. Cushions were covered with pink-and-white striped cotton. Old, rambling geraniums dotted the room placed on mismatched plant stands and tables. The effect was feminine and charming. Susan would have been happy to bring a favorite book, stretch out on one of the wicker chaise lounges, and spend the afternoon.
But apparently Donald felt that more than two minutes spent in any room was about a minute too much. He spun on his heel and headed back in the direction they had come, turning when they arrived in the foyer and starting off in another direction.
The dining room and kitchen were on this side of the house and Susan did everything but grab her host and wrestle him to the floor in her attempt to spend some time examining these rooms. The formal dining room was large enough to seat sixteen around the chestnut table placed there. The kitchen was equally large and twice as fascinating.
It appeared to have been furnished the year the house was built and, except for updating a few appliances and adding two microwave ovens, it had changed little since that time. Brick-colored sheet linoleum covered the floor and a well-worn butcher block took the place of more modern countertops. Gleaming white-and-black tiles covered the walls. Milk glass lamps hanging from the ceiling provided illumination and curtains fashioned from black-and-white check kettle cloth covered the windows. Susan loved it, but a quick glance was all she was allowed before she was whisked away again for the rest of Donald’s tour.
They hurried back to the foyer and up the circular stairway to the bedrooms. It wasn’t until they had dashed through the fourth bedroom and connecting bath at record speed that Susan realized Donald was looking for something-or someone. The first hint that it might be the latter came when she realized he was spending as much time looking out the windows as glancing through the rooms. And he seemed unusually interested in showing her the size of the various closets.
“Beautiful pool,” Susan commented, walking up to Donald and looking out the window down onto a large patio. “Guitar shaped?”
“Violin shaped,” he corrected her. “Now the bedrooms on the other side of the hallway look out over the Sound.”
Susan followed him as he dashed across the wide hallway and straight to the window.
The view was magnificent. The Sound was calm and almost navy blue in the morning light. Spring was coming and patches of pale chartreuse green dotted the land to the east. “ Long Island?” Susan nodded to the thin strip of green.
“Perry,” Donald replied, glancing up at the scene before them before returning his attention to the driveway in front of the house.
“ Perry Island? That’s Perry Island?”
“That’s
what I said, isn’t it?”
Susan decided there was no reason to point out that his one-word answer might be open to misinterpretation. “I’m surprised to see it. I’m not really familiar with this part of the coast.”
Donald was still staring down at the driveway, a puzzled expression on his face.
“How many other bedrooms are there?” Susan asked when he seemed to forget that the tour still had many more rooms to go.
“Two more bedrooms on this floor. And there are lots of rooms for servants and such upstairs.”
Susan was curious to discover what “and such” might indicate, but she didn’t know how to ask.
“The third floor is closed up. If you’re interested, why don’t you look at the rest of the bedrooms here? I need to go downstairs and make a call on my cell phone.”
“Great.” It made no sense that he would get better reception on his phone on a lower level, but, thrilled to finally be allowed to snoop in peace, she decided not to mention this fact. “I’ll be down as soon as I look around, okay?”
“Sure. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to rush,” he said and started down the hallway toward the stairs.
Susan frowned. Donald was acting very strangely. He hadn’t even mentioned why he had asked her to meet him at Woodwinds. If he didn’t come to the point soon, she decided, opening the door to the next bedroom, she would claim a prior engagement and leave. Just as soon as she looked around here.
She had come to the master bedroom and, she realized looking around, it seemed to be pretty much the only bedroom occupied at present. It was sensational. Susan walked around slowly, examining the inglenook around the fireplace, the huge walk-in closet, the updated bathroom with a Jacuzzi as well as a small sauna. But the most remarkable feature of the corner room was the view. Susan sat down on the large window seat and looked out. She could see the complete western coast of Perry Island now, north to south. In fact, the Perry Island Care Center was directly across from the spot where she was sitting.
And, of course, all the pieces fell in place. For a moment, she remained still, thinking, then she heard footsteps in the hallway and realized that staying where she was could be the stupidest-and last-thing she ever did. The footsteps were coming closer and Susan knew she had to keep Donald from suspecting that she was interested in anything other than Woodwinds.
“This must have been your mother’s bedroom,” she said, getting up from the seat and moving toward the middle of the room. She had no idea how she was going to get past him as long as he stood between her and the door.
“Yes, Mother loved this room,” he said.
“And will you move in here now that your mother is dead? Into this room, I mean?”
“I don’t plan to live here, if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“Oh, you’re going to put Woodwinds back on the market?” Susan edged an inch or two toward the doorway, but Donald stood his ground.
“No, I’m going to develop it. And I’m going to develop the land you were staring at across the Sound, and I’m going to be owner of the most profitable multiuse development in Connecticut.”
“That’s nice… uh, this has all been interesting, but I have to go,” Susan said.
“It’s been less than interesting for me, but I can assure you that you are not going to go, so you may as well stop inching toward the door. I may have only begun my new exercise regime, but I’m stronger than most women I’ve met. You included.”
“You… You’re a murderer,” Susan said, trying to hide the panic she felt.
“No, I’m not. That is,” he added with a nasty smile, “not yet.”
“Not ever.” The voice came from the hallway and Donald swung around as Brett Fortesque entered the room, gun drawn.
Susan’s first thought was that after all the murders they had investigated together-or perhaps simultaneously was the more accurate word-she had never seen Brett with a gun in his hand. The sight, under these circumstances, brought her considerable relief.
Until she realized Brett wasn’t the only armed person nearby. Sophie Kincaid was standing right behind him and she, too, was armed.
“Sophie, where the hell have you been?” Donald said, obviously furious. “I’ve been waiting for you for damn near half an hour!”
It was no way to talk to a lady, but even Susan was shocked when Sophie pulled the trigger and shot Donald Baines in the chest.
THIRTY
“ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG.”
“Donald is neither good nor young, and he is going to live.”
“Would you like some more champagne?”
“I would love some more champagne.” Susan offered her glass for her husband to fill.
“Mother, we don’t drink alcoholic beverages in front of the babies!” Chrissy protested, apparently shocked by her family’s behavior.
“Then perhaps you and Shannon should take them up to their nursery, honey, because your mother and I and our guests are planning on opening another bottle,” Jed said gently.
“I… well, we’ll do just that.” Chrissy gathered her daughter to her breast as if to protect her from the sight of her grandparents’ corruption and left the room.
Shannon picked up Ethan and started to leave, too. “I’d better take this little guy up as well.”
“Once the babies are asleep, you could come back down and join us,” Susan said.
Shannon smiled. “I might do that. I’m really curious to know what happened today,” she added as she left the room.
“As are we,” Kathleen spoke up.
Her husband and Jed nodded their agreement.
“Brett knows more than I do and he’s going to be here in a bit,” Susan said.
“Well, we have lots of champagne,” Jed said. “And I’d like to thank Brett for saving your life.”
“I’m not sure Sophie would have shot me-”
Jerry held up his hands. “Susan, I know you’re going to think I’m dense and I swear that I hang on my wife’s every word so I thought I’d been keeping up with your investigation into your neighbor’s death, but, damn it, I can’t remember anyone named Sophie.” He glanced over at the pile of canines sprawled in front of the fireplace. “Unless she’s one of Clue’s new friends.”
“The mastiffs are named Rock and Roll,” Kathleen informed her husband.
“And Sophie is Sophie Kincaid. She was one of Donald and Nadine’s neighbors before they moved to Hancock. She was also involved with Donald romantically… well, sexually. She didn’t strike me as a very romantic person to tell you the truth.” Susan paused to sip from her flute. “She was involved in his business as well as his personal life.”
“She worked for him? What did she do?” Kathleen asked.
“Paid killer?” Jerry suggested.
“I don’t think she was paid for anything she did. Not directly at least,” Susan added, remembering Sophie’s reference to gifts. “And she didn’t have an official job, but she looked for properties for Donald to develop and, I suspect, one of the ways she benefited was by ending up with a premier property in those developments.”
“So she had something do with Donald’s Perry Island project?” Jed asked.
“No, she didn’t. And I think that’s the reason she came to Woodwinds with a gun. After all, she had killed Blaine Baines. She probably thought she should benefit from her death at least as much as her son planned to do.”
“You’ve lost me,” Kathleen admitted.
“Me too, but we’ve been married so long that I’m used to it,” Jed said.
Jerry just reached for the champagne, refilled his flute, and sat back to listen.
“Donald and his mother-” Susan began.
“You are starting at the beginning, aren’t you?” Jed asked.
“Yes. So stop interrupting and I’ll explain.
“As I was saying, Donald and his mother were in the same business-real estate. For Blaine it was a case of being in the right place at the right time.
She started out selling homes on Perry Island in the winter and tapping into the lucrative rental market in the summer. Not that Perry Island is the Hamptons, but real estate has been an excellent investment for the past three decades and that’s how long Blaine ’s been involved. She’s probably made a very, very nice income and certainly has become one of the largest real estate agents in Connecticut. She was smart, hardworking, and ambitious, and her business expanded from Perry Island to some of the most expensive suburbs in the country.”
“And Donald followed in her footsteps,” Kathleen added.
“As much as she allowed him to,” Susan said. “At least that’s my guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, think about it. Donald always worked in a branch office in an area not quite as prestigious as where his mother’s office was located. She kept the best properties, the most expensive properties, the most profitable properties for herself.”
“That must have been hard on him,” Jerry said.
“Emasculating,” his wife suggested.
“Probably both, but Donald is his mother’s son and he figured out a way to get some of the big money for himself. He kept selling houses, but he also began developing properties-buying up big chunks of land, subdividing, and then building lots of homes. He did it in the town he lived in before this and he was going to do it again on Perry Island.”
“By shutting down the nursing home and building there, right?” Kathleen asked.
“Yes, but Blaine had her own plan for Perry Island,” Susan said. “She was going to build matching developments on either side of the Sound, one where P.I.C.C. is located and one where Woodwinds is now. Which is where the problems began that led to all the murders. You see, Donald had his own plans for the same properties.”
“So they were in competition,” Jed said.
“I don’t think they were at the beginning. I think they were in agreement when it came to shutting down P.I.C.C. and developing that plot of land. They probably both bear the guilt for the deaths out there.”
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