by Jessica Beck
From what little I knew of Curtis, I doubted that most sincerely.
“How so?” Moose asked.
I noticed that Tristan’s smile wasn’t nearly as bright for my grandfather as it had been for me. “We both loved life and tried to get the most of it in the end.”
“I know that your uncle had the means to indulge any whim he might have had, but what about you, Tristan?”
“Pardon me?” he asked Moose. His tone was one of astonishment, as though it was impossible for him to imagine someone prying into his life so personally.
“He wants to know how much money you have,” I supplied. I smiled at him this time, but I made certain that there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in it. The quicker he realized that he couldn’t charm me, the better it was for our investigation.
“I’m comfortable,” Tristan said.
“Me, too. The temperature is just right,” Moose said. “Don’t change the subject. Have you relied on money from your family all of your life?”
“I won’t answer that,” Tristan said petulantly.
Moose shrugged, and as he scribbled into his notebook, he said aloud, “Tristan Wellborne, most likely broke and living off relatives.”
“I resent that,” Tristan said.
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I can’t imagine not working for a living myself.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m a very successful artist known in many corners of the art world.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “Which corners are those?”
“Watercolor and oil abstracts are currently my specialty,” he said.
“Interesting,” I said. “Have you ever been accepted into any juried shows? Which societies do you belong to? Who have you studied under?” I’d had a customer at the diner a few months before, a jovial heavyset older woman who came in with paint splattered on her hands and clothes during every visit. It turned out that she was a traveling artist on retreat, and we’d had some fascinating conversations while she’d been in town. It was only after she left Jasper Fork that I’d looked her up online and found that she was famous in her field.
Tristan waved a hand dismissively in the air. “None of that really matters. What counts is the fire of inspiration, the execution of brush to canvas, and imagination. I’m ahead of my time.”
“I’m sure that you are,” I said. I had a hunch that Tristan would have been lucky to be able to afford his paints with his income as an artist, let alone support himself. “Still, it’s a tough way to make a living.”
“I’ll admit that I’ve had patrons from time to time,” he said. “People who truly appreciate fine art.”
“Do you happen to be related to any of them?” I asked.
“I won’t answer that,” Tristan said.
“That sounds like a yes to me,” Moose said as he scribbled more into his notebook.
“Where were you when your uncle was murdered?” I asked him. “We don’t need the police to supply a time of death, since I saw it happen myself.”
“I was in my studio painting, as a matter of fact.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” I asked.
“Of course not. When I’m entertaining my muse, I don’t allow anyone to disturb me. It’s a commune with the spirits.”
“Sure,” Moose said. “So that’s a big no, right?”
Tristan stood. “I’ve indulged this farce long enough. I’m leaving.”
He stood there glaring at each of us in turn, as though he was defying us to try to stop him. I didn’t have any interest in doing that at all. Frankly, the man was giving me a headache.
“One last thing,” Moose asked before the artist left.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“If you didn’t kill your uncle, who do you think did?”
Before he answered, Tristan got the most wicked grin on his face that I’d ever seen in my life. “You’ll have to ask Sarah that.”
“Your sister?” I asked. Was he really throwing his own family member under the bus?
“She’s the only Sarah I know who had a beef with my uncle. All I know is that they were fighting about money a few days ago, and today he’s dead. What do you think?”
“I think we’d like to speak with her next,” I said. “Send her in on your way out.”
“I’d be delighted to,” he said, and then Tristan left us, being sure to leave the door wide open after he walked out.
I whispered to my grandfather, “Can you believe this guy?”
“He’s a prince among men, isn’t he?” Moose asked with a wicked little grin of his own. “That doesn’t make him a killer, though.”
“I’m starting to feel really sorry for Curtis,” I said.
Moose looked around. “I’m not there yet myself. Sure, he had a screwed-up family, but who doesn’t? At least he had all of that money to comfort him.”
“Do you think that we’re messed up?” I asked my grandfather.
“No, not us. We’re the exception to the rule. Our family has always been perfectly normal. Don’t you agree?”
I had to laugh. Leave it to Moose to make me smile at a time like that, but I’d meant what I’d said. Curtis deserved better, and I had to wonder if having money offered him any solace in the end.
Sarah walked in, or floated, if I were to describe it more vividly. She looked frail in her wispy dress, and I wondered for a moment if she had the strength to kill her uncle. Then I realized that if the placement of that metal stake was just right, it wouldn’t take an impossible amount of strength to do it.
“So, we hear that you were fighting with your uncle about money just before he died,” Moose said. That was my grandfather, jumping right into the fray. Sometimes I wondered about his direct approach, but not now. Sarah’s smile was extinguished quickly as her face contorted. “My brother is a liar and a thief,” she said. “If he tells you that it’s raining outside, I wouldn’t reach for an umbrella if I were you. Did he say that I was fighting with Uncle Curtis?”
Moose shrugged. “I’d rather not reveal our sources of information,” he said. “That way you can feel confident about what you tell us.”
“Shout it from the rooftop if you’d like. I don’t care. Tristan was a little leech, and when Uncle Curtis finally cut him off, I thought he was going to go for the man’s throat right there on the spot.”
It appeared that these siblings were also bloodthirsty rivals. This was going to be interesting.
“Does that mean that Curtis was his art patron, his angel, so to speak?” I asked.
“My uncle supported him financially for years until it became clear that my brother’s sole talent was getting money from him.”
“You don’t care for your brother’s art then?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No one, and I mean no one, calls what Tristan does art. I’m certain that a child could do better, an untalented one at that. Sure, I indulge him by posing for him from time to time, but I know that it’s all just a colossal waste of time.”
“Would you mind elaborating on the fight you had with Curtis?” Moose asked.
“There’s really nothing much to tell,” Sarah said.
“Then it won’t take long,” I replied. “We’ve got time.”
She thought about denying our request, but finally Sarah shook her head and spoke. “I asked him for a loan, okay? It wasn’t much, and I knew that he could easily afford it, but he turned me down cold. I got angry, and I told him so.”
“How much are we talking about here?” I asked.
“Twenty thousand measly dollars,” she said. “Can you imagine? I would have paid him back at the end of the month when my stipend came through from my trust, but he wouldn’t do it.”
“Did he give you a reason why he said no?” I asked.
She looked as though she were about to stamp her foot before she spoke. “He told me that I needed to learn to budget my expenses better. I’m living as frugally as I can, but twenty thousand dollars a month just
doesn’t seem to last until I get more.”
I couldn’t help myself; I laughed long and hard, and Moose caught the fever and began to chuckle himself.
“What’s so funny?” Sarah asked belligerently.
“You poor thing,” I said. “I know people who would kill for that kind of money.”
Moose followed that statement up with a question. “Would you, Sarah?”
“What? No, of course not. My trust has nothing to do with my uncle. It was set up by my grandfather. Tristan gets the same amount, and he always runs out of money before I do.”
“Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“How can you not know?” Moose asked. “It was today!”
“Don’t yell at me,” she said in a hurt voice that I was certain worked on many men.
Just not my grandfather.
“Where were you, Sarah?”
“Well, I wasn’t anywhere near your diner, that’s for sure,” she said. “I was tied up somewhere else.”
“I’m afraid that we’re going to need something more concrete than that,” I told her.
“I’m sorry, but right now, that’s all that I care to say.”
“You’re not being very cooperative; you know that, don’t you?” Moose asked her.
“I just lost someone I loved dearly. Answering your questions isn’t a priority for me after the horror of losing my uncle.” She started to cry then, big crocodile tears that I didn’t buy for one second. “It’s too painful for me. I can’t go on.” Sarah rushed out of the room, and I was certain that we’d just seen a performance instead of a display of her true emotions.
“What did you just say to my niece?” Charlotte asked us both twenty seconds later. “She ran out of here in tears. I won’t have you disturbing my family in this tragic time, do you understand me?”
“We have to find the truth,” I said.
“For a biography that no one is ever going to read?” the matron asked sharply.
“We’re not doing this for anyone but your brother,” Moose said. “Profit is not our motive here.”
“Then you fit right in with the rest of my family. I’m the only one left with any sense of responsibility for the money our ancestors acquired. Curtis was a solid businessman for many years, but I’m afraid that his illness tainted his ability to focus on what was important.”
“And what would that be?” I asked.
“Our bloodline, of course,” she said.
“So, who do you think might have killed him?” Moose asked her.
“Why do you believe that I have any idea of who that might be?” she asked.
“Because I’ve watched you assess those around you as though you were weighing them on your very own set of scales, and I have a hunch that they’ve all come up short in your eyes.”
It was fascinating. I could see her considering her options as she tried to decide how to react. To my surprise, her response was a slight smile. “Remind me never to play poker with you. Yes, I admit that I have given it a great deal of thought.”
“Have you come up with any conclusions?” Moose asked her.
“I don’t trust Crane. Actually, I never really have.”
“Has he done anything to earn your suspicion besides not being related directly to you?” Moose asked.
“That’s a fair question,” Charlotte said, “but I don’t have an answer, at least not yet. I’ll find the truth though; you can trust me on that.”
“Were you and your brother close?” I asked her. I hoped that they’d at least had a better relationship than the next generation appeared to have had with him.
“We were, once upon a time,” she said, “but his illness finally drove us apart. He changed in more ways than I can describe. Things that were once important to him became nothing in his eyes, while he became odder and odder. I suppose you know about those ridiculous plastic pickles he loved to give out.”
“I thought they were charming,” I said, and it was true. It had made Curtis stand out, something that was nearly always good in my mind.
“It was an embarrassment,” she said abruptly. “Our family has owned many businesses over the years, gradually building up into an empire. Certainly our people sold pickles a long time ago, but we’ve grown into a huge corporation.”
“But the brunt of your fortune still started making and selling pickles, right?” I asked. It had been a point of pride with Curtis about his humble beginnings, and I hated seeing his sister trash the image.
“It hardly matters at this point,” she said. “I must ask you both to restrain yourselves from asking such personal questions while you’re guests here. It’s unseemly.”
“Maybe it is,” I said, “but it was what Curtis wanted. Just because it makes you uncomfortable is not enough reason for us to stop.”
“Must I remind you that you both are here at my discretion?” she asked.
“Actually, Jeffrey is the one who has control of the estate right now,” Moose said. “I’ll bet that was a real surprise for you all.”
“It just shows you how much my brother had slipped in the last year of his life. I’m afraid that Jeffrey is in it well over his head.”
“Then we’ll be here to help him if he needs it,” I said.
“So then, you are on his side in all of this,” she said curtly.
“As a matter of fact, the only reason that we’re here is because of Curtis,” I answered. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
“So be it,” she said as there was a knock on the door.
Before Moose or I could answer, Charlotte called out, “Enter.”
Humphries walked in. “Dinner is being served in the grand dining hall.”
“We’ll be there shortly,” she said, and Humphries backpedaled out of the room quickly. Before Charlotte would allow us to leave, she turned to my grandfather and me. “This conversation about how you two are treating my family isn’t over.”
“Maybe not, but it’s at least going to be postponed. That snack wasn’t enough to hold me. I’m starving.”
“Then follow me,” she said.
Charlotte led the way, with Moose following close behind, and me taking up the rear. As we walked toward the grand dining room, I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Curtis, despite the opulent surroundings. Everyone, with the exception of Jeffrey, had just accused someone else in his inner circle of murder, and I had to wonder if we pushed Jeffrey hard enough, he’d supply a favorite as well.
All in all, it wasn’t a very auspicious exit for such a fine man.
Chapter 7
We didn’t fill much of the expansive table once we were all seated, but I was happy to see that everyone was present and accounted for, including Jeffrey. He looked as though he felt out of place sitting at the table with the family, something that was reinforced when he spoke. “Charlotte, as I said before, I’d be happy to eat in the kitchen. It’s what I’m used to.”
“Nonsense,” the matriarch said. “My brother elevated your position from chauffeur to executor. I’m afraid that there’s no going back now. You will dine with us, as is due your new position.”
“For goodness sake, Aunt Charlotte, if he’s more comfortable eating with the help, then let the poor man go,” Tristan said. I knew that he wasn’t saying it to help Jeffrey, but to satisfy his own desire to have the past order preserved at the table.
“I simply will not allow it,” Charlotte said. The withering glare she gave Tristan would have been enough to melt a lesser man, but it just bounced right off of him. “Let’s speak of it no more.”
The china and stemware were all very elegant, but the first thing I noticed was the small brass bell beside Charlotte’s plate. I couldn’t believe it when she actually picked it up and rang it. Sure enough, one of the servers came out of the kitchen carrying a heavily laden tray of shrimp cocktail and assorted fruit cups. She knew without asking what each member of the family w
anted, and Jeffrey was no surprise to her either, since she winked at him discreetly as she placed a fruit cup in front of him without asking. Moose and I were another matter, though. My grandfather chose the shrimp while I chose the fruit. My allergy to seafood made the choice an easy one.
I took my first bite, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find the blueberry delicious. There was no doubt that this family spared no expense when it came to pampering themselves. I had to wonder if that had been the case when Curtis had been in residence, but it was certainly that way now.
Charlotte took a dainty bite of her shrimp, and then she addressed my grandfather and me. “We ordinarily don’t have cocktails with our evening meal, but if it’s your practice, we’ll be more than happy to provide you with whatever you’d like.”
“Thank you, but water is fine with me,” I said.
“Do you have any single malt whisky on hand?” Moose asked. I knew that he rarely drank at home, so his request surprised me.
“Certainly,” she said, and the bell was rung again. Moose requested his drink neat, and soon the brunette server named Margo showed up with a small glass of amber liquid. My grandfather studied it in the light, took a deep breath as he swirled it in the glass, and then he took a small sip. The smile that spread across his face made me wish that I’d asked for one as well, but it was too late now.
“Is it to your taste?” Charlotte asked him.
“It’s perfect,” Moose said. “I’d propose a toast to Curtis’s memory, but it’s bad luck to salute someone with just water.” He stood, raised his glass dramatically, and then my grandfather said, “To Curtis Trane, one of the better men that I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”
After he drank, my grandfather sat back down. I’d looked around the table as Moose made the sentimental gesture, and I saw a smile from Jeffrey, but the others were clearly unimpressed.
Soon enough, the appetizer was replaced by cold vichyssoise soup.
“Cook is off his game tonight,” Sarah said after she took a small sip of the soup.