With that in mind, she tried to view the room she disliked with fresh eyes. But nothing had changed. Sydney saw Martha’s stamp on every item: furniture and possessions not bought for appropriateness or simple beauty but for their cost and pretentiousness.
So what did that tell her?
That Martha Lord was greedy and liked to put on airs... not that these facts made her a murderer. Sydney had no idea of whether or not Martha was capable of concocting an elaborate scheme to get her brother out of the way for his money... or of hiring and coaching an imposter who would seduce a vulnerable stranger and set her up for a fall.
A chill shot through Sydney as the phrasing reminded her of her own close call with death the night before last; she quickly checked the balcony doors to make sure they were locked. Even though she couldn’t be manipulated again, she didn’t want any nasty surprises.
With the room secured, she started with the mirrored dresser. She tried not to think about the man she’d known as Kenneth, a man she’d been convinced she loved, one who might have seduced her to her death on that balcony.
Would the police have found a suicide note along with her and the real Kenneth Lord’s bodies?
She concentrated on her search. The glass-covered top held nothing but the finest creams and lotions and perfumes. A quilted satin and velvet box cradled expensive costume jewelry and a few smaller pieces of real gold set with gems. The drawers overflowed with luxurious lingerie and designer accessories. Having occasionally shopped on
Rodeo Drive herself, Sydney recognized the labels. Martha certainly had a taste for the extravagant. Extravagant enough to need her brother’s money? she wondered again. While the woman had put up a good front playing the grief-stricken sister earlier, Sydney hadn’t felt any genuine emotion coming from her. And she’d noticed Martha hadn’t once touched her brother’s body.
Making sure everything was neatly in place, Sydney slid the last drawer closed.
She decided to check the desk next. The only understated expensive piece of furniture in the room, the desk was actually a spindly-legged writing table with a row of pigeon-holes in the back, a single drawer in front. There was nothing understated about the jewel-encrusted gold clock on its surface – it’s hands indicated the hour was twelve-nineteen – nor about the mother-of-pearl and gold pen, which lay across heavy cream-colored stationary emblazoned with Martha’s name in gold letters.
Noting the faint indentations in the top sheet of paper made Sydney curious.
When she picked it up, the fancy pen rolled off the paper and onto the desk’s surface. Carefully, she picked up the pen and set it back exactly as she’d found it in case Martha had a photographic memory. No need to let the other woman know they had been snooping or suspected her.
Whatever Martha had last written had pressed through to the layer of paper in her hand. Before she could figure out how to tell what that might have been, she heard the Porsche pull up in the drive.
“Damn!”
Hoping Benno had heard, as well, she leaped for the light switch, threw the room into darkness and exited before Martha could catch her playing detective. Folding and stuffing the piece of paper into a pocket, she hurried across the landing and was just coming down the stairs when Martha entered the house.
“What are you still doing here?” Martha demanded, though she wasn’t looking at Sydney.
Benno stood at the liquor cabinet where he casually poured himself a drink. “Having a nightcap. Want something?”
“I want you to leave.” The expression she turned from him to Sydney was cold. “And you, I expect you to be out of my house first thing tomorrow. I still don’t understand why you weren’t arrested.”
”The police didn’t find any evidence to implicate Sydney,” Benno said. “And she doesn’t have a clear-cut motive. How about you?”
For a moment, Martha went speechless. Then she sputtered, “K-Kenneth was my b-brother.”
“And we all know how much you loved him, don’t we?”
Martha bristled. “Get out. Now.”
Benno looked questioningly at Sydney.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
“You’ll be?” Martha muttered, truly sounding worried. She rushed for the staircase. “I’m the one who has reason to be afraid. Just don’t try anything, Sydney, or you’ll be sorry.”
“What does that mean?” Benno asked. “Do you have a gun?”
Martha almost tripped, then caught herself. She sped up the steps without looking back in their direction.
“Do you think she does?” Sydney asked, suddenly wondering if she weren’t being stupid to stay in the same house with Martha for even a single night. If she the motels were filled to capacity, she could sleep in her car. “I didn’t have time to check everything.”
“Neither did I. And now we can’t do anything without raising her suspicions. Knowing Martha, she’d call the police and demand they arrest us for attempted theft.”
“Given the circumstances, she might succeed.”
“I guess we’ll have to call it a night,” Benno said. “I don’t think you have any real reason to worry about Martha doing you harm, though I expect you to make sure you’re safely locked in your own room when I leave.”
Remembering the paper in her pocket, Sydney dug it out. “Don’t leave yet.” She looked around. “I need a pencil.”
“On the coffee table.”
She hurried to the couch where she smoothed the paper out on the wooden surface. She used the graphite edge of the pencil to lightly color in the written area.
“What are you doing?” Benno asked.
“Finding out what Martha wanted to tell someone,” Sydney whispered. “Look,” she said, as the indentations turned into a message which was faint but clear against the smudged graphite.
She tilted the paper to the light so they could read it:
Meet me at midnight.
M.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“IF ONLY WE COULD figure out which night Martha sent the note,” Benno said as he turned onto Three Capes Loop and headed for the beach town of Oceanside the next morning.
They hadn’t given up speculating about the damned thing. Sydney swore Martha had been elsewhere the previous two midnights. Had she returned from the rendevous while they’d been conducting their search? Or had the meeting been set up for the night before that, when Kenneth had died? Rather after Sydney had the dream? The police had not yet confirmed the time of Kenneth’s death. Sydney claimed Martha had come home around one that night. She was certain of the time because she’d checked the clock when he’d returned her call from the pub.
“If only we knew who Martha sent the message to.” Sidney sighed. “She would avoid identifying the person. The way she’s been hanging onto Officer Brickman... wouldn’t it be ironic if the two of them were having secret trysts and she’s been with the ‘law’ instead of breaking it.”
“Martha with Brickman?” Benno couldn’t fathom that one, but he never had been able to figure out why Poppy had married the man, either. Mick Brickman must hold some mysterious power over women. “And what about our imposter. Maybe she was meeting him.”
“I don’t know. I only hope we’re about to find out.”
Almost forty miles south of Stone Beach, they passed Cape Meares, the first of three state parks with world-class seascape views. Not that Benno would enjoy them. He was worrying that someone might have seen them leave town. He hoped not. He wanted to have some answers and Sydney back to the Lord house before anyone missed her. Her bags were packed and she had already reserved a room at a local motel.
“Did you by any chance use up the milk?” Sydney asked, the change of topic startling him.
“Milk?”
“You know, the stuff I warmed up and drank the first evening.”
“No. I’m not a milk drinker myself.”
“Someone did. Or threw away half a carton. It was gone when I went to fix myself another glass the next n
ight.”
Recognizing the speculation in her tone, Benno flashed her a glance. “What are you getting at?”
“I’ve been thinking about your assuming I’d taken sedatives or sleeping pills. I hadn’t. No one could have drugged the milk in the glass because it was never out of sight, but what if someone drugged the carton, then got rid of the evidence?”
“Someone who knew about your night time habit?”
“Kenneth... the imposter... did.”
Benno hadn’t considered the possibility that someone else had drugged her. Why should he have? But now he had to admit the idea had some merit if his speculation about her being a pawn had been correct.
“That would account for your being so confused and unsteady.”
“And for that overwhelming feeling of unreality.”
Benno hoped they were going to get some answers, and soon, as they entered the breezy hamlet of Oceanside.
“We took pictures here after...” Sydney’s voice trailed off.
She was staring out at the ocean toward Three Arch Rocks National Wildlife Refuge, home to a large sea lion community. The rocks were also swarming with seabirds – gulls, cormorants, puffins and guillemots.
“If only I had those photographs,” she murmured. “How did he get hold of them?”
Figuring she meant the imposter, Benno didn’t respond. He had his own speculations about the photograph switch. Donald Norridge was Parnell Anderson’s second cousin.
Benno was withholding the information from Sydney. He didn’t feel comfortable dredging up the past, not unless he found some reason to believe Kenneth was murdered for it. Meanwhile, he had to keep an open mind. He wasn’t absolutely certain about Sydney’s credibility. For as much as he wanted to believe her, he still had his doubts.
“Turn up ahead,” she told him.
She guided him to a modest house set back from town on a gravel road in the midst of a stand of Sitka spruce and western red cedar. The undergrowth was a tangle of salal and pacific waxmyrtle with clumps of wildflowers where the sun streamed in. The place looked comfortable if well-weathered and in need of repair as were many of the wooden structures along the coast.
The first thing Sydney said when she left the car was, “The sign is gone. There was a sign over the mailbox – ‘Thomas Suchet, Justice of the Peace.’”
Benno heard the panic in her voice, saw it in her eyes as she turned her stricken gaze to him. Despite his self-warnings to be cautious, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He sensed her apprehension subside a bit, yet she clasped his hand like a lifeline when they stopped before the door. A small tag on the mailbox identified the occupant as T. Suchet. That was encouraging, Benno thought as he knocked.
When no immediate answer came, he could feel the anxiety well in Sydney once more.
“Oh, God... no sign... he’s probably not even here.”
Positive he heard movement inside, Benno knocked again, louder this time. “Anyone home?” he called.
“Yeah, yeah, coming.”
The thin, stooped man who opened the door was elderly and grizzled. Suspenders over a white v-neck t-shirt held up a pair of trousers that had seen better days. He took in his visitors and Benno caught the flicker of recognition in his watery hazel eyes before he slipped on wire-rimmed glasses.
“What can I do for you folks?” he asked pleasantly.
”Let us in,” Benno said smoothly. “So we can talk in private.”
“I don’t think so.”
Suchet tried to slam the door in their faces, but Benno held out a staying hand that stopped him.
“Talk to us. Please, this is important.”
A moment’s indecision. The man shifted his gaze back to Sydney, then grunted. He turned his back on them and shuffled to an arm chair in the narrow living room.
“You do remember me, don’t you, Mr. Suchet?” Sydney asked as he sat.
“I remember. You two aren’t going to give me grief, are you?” He ran a hand through his mussed hair. “I don’t need the law on my back. I live a nice, quiet life here.”
“No police,” Benno bargained, “If you cooperate.”
“How do you know me, Mr. Suchet?” Sydney asked.
“Huh?”
“I want you to explain how we met.”
“You know perfectly well–”
”But I don’t,” Benno said, giving Sydney credit for having her wits about her. Rather than prompting the man with what she wanted everyone to believe, she was letting Suchet come up with the explanation.
The elderly man was silent for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. “I met the young lady last week when I married her,” Suchet stated.
So that was the truth, Benno thought with relief. “To whom?”
“Some guy named Kenneth Lord.”
Sydney’s drawn breath was audible. She went practically limp with relief. Benno gave her an encouraging look before turning back to Suchet.
“Who was the man?” Benno asked.
“I just told you.”
“I mean his real name. He wasn’t Kenneth Lord.”
Suchet seemed neither surprised nor unnerved by the information. “Maybe not, but he didn’t give me no other name.”
He sounded as if he were telling the truth.
“So I am married to a man whose name I don’t even know,” Sydney said faintly.
Benno narrowed his gaze menacingly and loomed over the thin man. “Is she?”
Uncertainty flickered in the eyes behind the thick lenses. Suchet licked his lips. “Uh, not exactly.”
“What?”
“I’m not a justice of the peace any more. It’s been some years actually.” His frightened gaze met Benno’s. “I, uh, am no longer empowered to marry anyone. You’re not going to call the police on me, are you?”
Benno realized the old guy was afraid and seemed harmless for the most part. He figured they’d get the truth out of him with a little prompting.
“Depends,” he said.
“Look, I didn’t mean no harm. I thought of it like an acting job.”
“So you were hired to perform the ceremony. Why you?”
“Kenneth Lord or whatever his name is heard about me from someone in town. He came to me a few days before the wedding and asked me if I’d like to make a couple hundred bucks. I’m not a rich man. I didn’t see the harm,” he reiterated, worrying the arm of the chair with fingers that trembled.
“You didn’t see any harm in letting me think I was married?” Sydney indignantly demanded. “Didn’t you realize that man might have meant me harm?”
Shaking now, Suchet couldn’t meet her eyes. “I kind of felt sorry for you. I did. But I needed the money. And I thought it was some kind of joke.”
Benno wasn’t convinced of that, no matter how contrite the elderly man seemed now. Thomas Suchet had known performing the fake marriage was wrong, but he’d been tempted by the money. A couple of hundred bucks to ruin another person’s life – the idea boggled Benno’s mind.
Pulling a business card from his wallet, he held it out. “Here’s my number. If you remember anything else – or if you see the man who hired you around town – call me.” He couldn’t help adding, “You need money, I’ve got it. No joke.”
Suchet took the card but didn’t look up. Shame ripe in his voice, he said, “I don’t want your money. If I remember anything, I’ll call.”
Every last doubt about Sydney’s innocence burned away, Benno grasped her elbow and propelled her through the door. He didn’t speak as he led her to the car.
His mind was spinning.
Sydney set up. Kenneth dead. What was the motive?
Sydney suspected Martha was after her brother’s money, but then she didn’t know all the facts. She didn’t know about Parnell Anderson and his sick hatred.
But he knew. Parnell could have been waiting all those years for an opportunity to exact the revenge he’d sworn to get. Several months before, first Kenneth, then he had
given Parnell the opportunity by moving back to the small community where they’d all grown up.
And now Kenneth was dead.
And, if his suspicions were correct, Sydney wasn’t the only one in trouble.
SYDNEY’S SENSE OF RELIEF practically made her bones melt as she lay her head back against the bucket seat. Suddenly the beauty of the day with its blue sky, white clouds and brilliant yellow sun struck her. She took a deep breath of fresh air lightly scented by the nearby ocean.
“Do you think we should stop in town and call the police, tell them about Suchet?” she asked as they backtracked the gravel road.
“Let’s wait until we see what else we find. You’re not even supposed to have left town, remember?”
“True. And maybe we won’t have to involve him,” she said. “Although I don’t know why I should feel sorry for the man.”
“I don’t either. If he hadn’t played along–”
”My fake Kenneth would have found someone else to do the job,” Sydney stated.
They were both thoughtful until Benno turned the car back on the road to town.
“By the way, who witnessed the wedding?” he asked. “Maybe we can get more information from them.”
“I don’t think either witness would know more than Suchet since he provided them. One was an elderly friend of his named Agnes who played the piano – she was hard of hearing. The other was a ditzy young woman named Tippy who cleans house for him.”
“Hm, not promising leads. So much for that idea.”
Sydney was resentful that she was plagued by dreams and visions and intuition when she didn’t want to be but couldn’t even use her “gifts” to prove her own innocence.
“I know he’s alive,” she said. “There must be some way we can find him.”
Benno sounded a little odd when he suggested, “We could check out the place you two were staying before you got married.”
“We weren’t exactly staying together.”
Sydney grew hot with embarrassment. She felt bad enough that Benno knew a con man had tricked her into marrying him, but having to admit how successful he’d been in seducing her was something she didn’t want to think about, no less talk about. At least not with Benno.
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