by Betty Webb
“Why so interested in the gun?”
“Since you were asking me what kind of trouble I got into as a teenager, here it is. I shot someone.”
“You what?!”
Ignoring my reaction, Lila continued. “It was back in high school, and there was this big guy, Jake, one of the seniors. I was just a freshman, fourteen years old and small for my age. One day in the lunchroom Jake asked me out and I said no, because I’d heard some nasty stories about him. I didn’t tell him that, just gave some vague excuse that I was too busy. Jake didn’t like that. Before, he’d only picked on guys, especially the shorter ones, but then he started in on me. He’d follow me home after school, even though he didn’t live in our neighborhood. He’d grab me and tell me what he was going to do if he ever caught me alone. Then he started hanging out around my house, throwing rocks at the windows. Mom said I must have done something to make him mad, but when I told her what had happened, she just kept on blaming me, saying that every girl needs to learn how to say ‘no’ nicely.”
She paused for breath. “Then he started leaving dead things on the porch. It started with lizards, then a snake, then a little…”
Not wanting to hear about more dead things, I raised my hand. “Don’t tell me. I get the picture.”
“That’s when I…Well, I got my mother’s gun.”
“Your mom owned a gun?”
“It belonged to my grandfather. A .38 revolver. She kept it in a lockbox with some ammunition and jewelry, but I’d seen her open it and knew where she kept the key. The next day after the dead ki…”
“I said don’t tell me!”
“Sorry. Anyway, after I saw the…the dead thing I went into my mother’s bedroom, got the gun, loaded it—I’d seen how to do it on TV—and put it in my backpack. After school Jake started following me like he always did, telling me he was going to do to me what he did to the ki…uh, the dead thing. Before leaving school I’d gone into the girls’ restroom and hidden the gun in my loose leaf binder. I was carrying it in my arms when he grabbed me, so I took it out and shot him.”
When I finally replied, I hated the quaver in my voice. “How seriously was Jake hurt?”
“He almost lost his arm. The one he grabbed me with.”
“What happened afterwards?”
“I spent some time in juvie.”
“Oh, no!”
“Think your boyfriend found out about that?”
As soon as I left the jail I called Albert Grissom.
“Lila Conyers is in big trouble, isn’t she?”
“Like I said earlier, deep doo-doo. But I enjoy a challenge.”
“Did she tell you what happened when she was fourteen?”
“Kids always know where the guns are, which is why I believe in stricter gun control laws. These days people could keep an entire armory in their garages and no one would blink an…”
When my stepfather got started on gun control he could talk all day, so I interrupted him. “How are you going to defend her?”
“You know I can’t discuss the case with you.”
I was about to hang up when I remembered something. “Uh, Al?”
“What is it, Teddy?” He sounded suspicious, as well he should.
“There was an older woman in the cell next to Lila. She had a big bruise on her face.”
“Shot and killed her husband during a domestic dispute last night, which proves my point about the need for gun con—”
“Is there anything you can do for her?”
He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, he said, “You know, there are times I wish I’d never met your mother. Not many, you understand, but it does happen. And it’s always at times like this.”
“Please?”
A resigned sigh. “Oh, Teddy. You know I can’t say no to Caro’s only child.”
That evening Maureen swam up to the Merilee for the first time since Booth’s murder. The otter must have finally recovered from the grudge she’d held against me for taking away her new toy because her furry little face looked up at me with a sweetly pleading expression when I leaned over the rail.
“Maureen want herring?”
Her body English answered yes, yes, yes.
I had prepared for her eventual visit by stocking up, so I went down into the cabin and took a small herring from the refrigerator. When I tossed it to her, she caught it in her paws, took a bite, then flipped her tail at me as if to say thank you, and swam away.
Too bad humans aren’t so easy to please.
Chapter Eight
Autopsy completed, the medical examiner released Professor Stuart Booth’s body in time for a Sunday morning burial in the Betancourt family plot. Aster Edwina had allowed me time off to attend both the funeral and the après-funeral reception. As I stared across the big hole in the ground, I noticed that although Harper Betancourt-Booth was dressed in deep black, she wasn’t crying. No one else was, either.
The non-denominational minister, who obviously knew nothing about the dead man, spent far too long extolling his nonexistent virtues, then mercifully shut up and let the casket be lowered. Afterwards, the sparse crowd trooped back to the Betancourts’ place for a brunch buffet.
The walled Betancourt compound—comprised of four houses, several garages, a horse barn, and numerous other outbuildings—perched atop the steep hill in the most expensive part of Gunn Landing’s Old Town. Harper and Stuart Booth had been given the smallest house to live in, but the reception took place at Harper’s parents’ mansion, a twenty-something-room pseudo Gothic stone pile that rivaled the gloom and grandeur of even Gunn Castle. As a child I had never cared for the house, imagining it inhabited by Dracula and his blood-drinking minions, but now I simply found it pretentious. Too many cars were already parked inside the matching stone-walled compound, forcing me to park my rattletrap pickup truck at Mother’s house and hike the rest of the way up in the three-inch heels I’d been foolish enough to put on that morning. Once I reached the compound, I was confronted by an armed security guard who demanded to see my ID before letting me through the iron gate where more of his brethren roamed, most accompanied by Rottweilers.
Cranmore, the Betancourts’ aged English butler, showed better manners as he ushered me inside. “Such a sad occasion, Miss Bentley.”
Since it’s never appropriate to tell the truth at a funeral, I agreed.
Given the gloominess of the house’s exterior, the décor inside would come as a surprise to anyone entering for the first time. The recent generation of Betancourts had replaced the original Jacobian furnishings with Chippendale and switched the old black-burgundy-and-gold color scheme to a more welcoming butternut and azure. The only thing that ruined the décor—to my mind, at least—was the profusion of hunting trophies scattered throughout the house. The heads of dead animals were everywhere, including the large salon where the reception was being held.
Trying hard to ignore the glass eyes of the elephant, Sumatran tiger, and African lion peering down at me from the salon’s walls, I found the Betancourts and told them how sorry I was. Then I made a beeline for the groaning board, where a feast fit for starving kings was laid out.
On the way, I checked out the star-studded crowd. Among those paying their respects were my mother, dressed in a Donatella Versace little black dress; several gazillionaires; two state senators; the publisher of the San Sebastian Journal; the president of Betancourt College; a passel of judges, some of them even honest…
And my boss, Aster Edwina Gunn.
For a brief moment I hid behind old school friend Frasier Morgan, who was now a mid-level exec at Prime Pacific Oil, the Betancourts’ company.
“Who are you hiding from, Teddy?” he whispered.
“My boss.”
Frasier grinned. With his dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and marathon runner’s build, he should have been handsome, but Mother Nature, enjoying one of her private jokes, had not only bestowed on him the round-cheeked face of a baby, but also a rosacea-caused red nose.
If he’d had white hair, a beard, and been fatter, he would have looked like Santa Claus. Still, he had been able to snag a wife, although the marriage ended months ago.
“Oh, Aster Edwina’s not that bad,” he said.
“Try working for her.”
He snorted a laugh, then forced his babyface into a more serious expression. “Need a lift home? I’d be glad to oblige.”
“Not necessary, but thanks. My truck’s parked at my mother’s place.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Aster Edwina follow one of the senators into the Betancourts’ double-doored study. One of them probably wanted to get a million bucks or so from the other.
“The coast is clear,” Frasier whispered. “But my offer still stands.”
“Rain check.” I said, and slipped away to the long buffet. While helping myself to the canapés, Caro sidled up to me. “The casket was a bit over-much, don’t you think? All that brass.”
“He wasn’t a subtle man, Mother, so he would have liked it.”
“You know I don’t like it when you call me ‘Mother.’”
“To rephrase, then, he probably would have liked that brassy casket, Caro.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Theodora.”
I popped another pâté-smeared cracker into my mouth and mushed, “Sorry.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Sorry again.” I swallowed.
“Did you hear that Miles made Harper move out of the little house?”
“The place she shared with Booth? Where is she supposed to live now?”
“Here. At least until the next sucker shows up with a wedding ring.”
Most people take it for granted that the children of great fortunes lead lives of great freedom, but that isn’t always true. Especially not in Harper Betancourt’s case. One time, when she’d had too much wine at a mutual friend’s wedding reception, she had blurted out a confession. All her pretty trinkets—the sports cars, the jewelry, the black American Express card—had been bestowed upon her with the caveat that she would do whatever her father ordered her to do and when to do it. If not, all those pretty trinkets would disappear.
“I don’t envy her,” I told Caro.
My mother shocked me by saying, “She could certainly use a little of your independent spirit.”
Then she walked away to speak the Betancourts.
Smiling to myself, I pushed through a gathering of black-suited pall bearers to the shrimp platter to celebrate those rare words of maternal admiration. I was still eating when Lex Yarnell approached. Used to seeing him in his park ranger uniform, I almost didn’t recognize him in his black suit.
“I didn’t know you knew the Betancourts,” I said, before realizing how that might be taken. Lex’s family came from the other side of the tracks.
He didn’t miss my clumsy inference. “I used to date Harper before her parents broke us up—you know how she’s always been under her father’s thumb. He’s not real thrilled I’m here today, either. You know, trailer trash.” Seeing my wince, he added, “At least it’s a double-wide.”
Despite my embarrassment, I had to laugh. “So how’s Harper holding up? She seemed fine when I saw her earlier.”
“That’s because she never loved Booth in the first place. Her dad told her to marry him, so she did, leaving me in the lurch.”
Before I could respond to his wowser of a comment, he asked, “Why didn’t you call Amberlyn? Not that there’s any reason to now, with Lila’s arrest.”
I took a couple of deep breaths. “I didn’t call because Joe told me to stay out of it.”
“But you visited Lila Conyers in jail.”
Word sure travels fast in San Sebastian County.
“And I haven’t heard the last of it since.”
Lex’s frown marred his handsome face. “That’s funny, and I don’t mean funny hah-hah. I never pegged you for a woman who’d let her boyfriend tell her what to do. Or not do.”
“You don’t understand. Joe doesn’t tell me…”
“I understand more than you realize.” Looking deeply unhappy, Lex drifted away.
I spent the next few minutes guilt-eating. Somewhere around my tenth shrimp, Harper herself wandered over. The new widow’s demeanor proved the truth of Lex’s bald statement. Her blue eyes held no hint of tears.
“Nice spread, hmm?” She waved a diamond-encrusted hand at the long table. “We used that new caterer over in Carmel.”
“La Pièce de Résistance? Caro used them for her last party. You and Stuart were there, I seem to remember.”
“I love your mother’s house. It’s so tiny and cute.”
Tiny? Cute? For an eleven-room—not counting the kitchen and six baths—antiques-stuffed mansion on a shaded hillside overlooking the Pacific? Only a Betancourt could make such an outrageous statement.
I let the insult slide. “I’m so sorry about Stuart.”
“You’ve already told me, Teddy. Twice. Once at the cemetery, and again when you first arrived at the house.”
“Well, I’m still sorry. I’m sure Stuart’s students are grieving, too. I’ve seen several of them here.”
“All females, you’ll notice. And blond.”
Harper wasn’t making conversation easy, but the Betancourts had always been like that. When your hide is insulated by your daddy’s mega-millions, you’re free to say whatever pops into your head—at least to anyone other than the check-writer.
“Stuart did have a way with women.”
“He ever make a play for you, Teddy?”
I almost choked on a shrimp. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Before we got married, I mean. Obviously you weren’t his type, not with your fuzzy red hair and freckles, the bump on your nose, and the fact that you often smell of manure. Which you do now, as a matter of fact. Showers broke again at the zoo? Anyway, Stu only went for good looks, but then you never know what a man is thinking, do you? Sometimes they like to ‘slum it,’ as they say. Anyway, Daddy took care of writing the prenup. Part of it said that the minute Stuart started fooling around with his students again he’d be out on his ear with no alimony. So let me tell you, he cleaned up his act post haste. Daddy says men like Stuart need a firm hand. By the way, you never answered my question.”
Surprised I could still speak after that insulting speech, I swallowed the rest of the shrimp and stuttered, “Ah, ah, what question was that?”
“Did Stuart ever make moves on you?”
“No. It was probably the bump-on-the-nose thing.”
“You really ought to have it done.” Smirking, she walked away.
Not caring that I might have trouble getting into my zoo uniform the next morning, I left the shrimp platter and returned to the pâté. It didn’t make me feel any better, but it was delicious. I was still eating when I heard a familiar voice.
“Skip breakfast this morning?”
Joe. Dressed in civvies and looking gorgeous. My heart went bumpety-bump.
“I didn’t see you come in.”
“You were too busy feeding your face.” But he smiled.
I stopped eating and smiled back. “I’m so sorry about the other night.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
He touched my cheek, making my heart go bumpety-bump again.
The sweet moment ended when he followed up with, “Looks like the strings you pulled the other day paid off.”
“Strings? What are you talking about?”
“Your stepfather managed to get Lila Conyers released on bail this morning.”
“Al did that? But…but wasn’t her bail set at a million dollars or something like that?”
“Somewhat short of a million, but yeah, pretty steep. So she’s out. At least she has to wear an ankle bracelet and can’t leave San Sebastian County.”
I thought for a moment. While wearing an ankle bracelet, Lila wouldn’t be able to work, either, because what day care center wanted an accused murderer on their payroll? But
maybe they were broad-minded. Whatever, I decided to whip up a big casserole and take it over to Lila’s houseboat, along with the bottle of 1973 Gunn Vineyards Merlot I’d been saving for a special occasion. Getting sprung from the San Sebastian County Jail certainly fit that description.
Since Joe appeared to be in a good mood despite his prisoner’s release, I took a chance and asked, “Did you guys ever find the murder weapon? Was it a handgun? A rifle?”
All good humor left his face. “Oh, Teddy…”
“To get a conviction you’d need to trace it to Lila, right?”
“Stay out of it, Teddy.” When he walked away he looked more sad than angry.
A movement to my left showed Miles Stephenson Betancourt IV heading toward me. The CEO of Prime Pacific Oil looked chipper for a man who had just returned from his son-in-law’s funeral.
“Nice seeing you again, Teddy.” Miles was handsome in the sleek way some wealthy men are, with a five-hundred-dollar haircut and a bespoke Brioni Vanquish suit. He had always been light on the charm, though.
“Nice seeing you, too,” I lied. After all, this man was responsible for every dead animal “decorating” the Betancourt walls. “So sorry it has to be at such a sad occasion.”
“Sad, my ass. The man was a slug.”
So much for not speaking ill of the dead.
“I was just talking to your beautiful mother. What’s this I hear about you being engaged to the sheriff? Given your aristocratic background and the old Bentley family money, I would have thought you could do better.”
When I finished grinding my teeth, I turned on my three-inch heels and got the hell out of there.
As I wobbled downhill to my truck, I hauled my cell out of my third-hand Michael Kors handbag and called Amberlyn Lofland, Lex Yarnell’s ex-girlfriend. She picked up on the second ring.
“It’s Teddy Bentley. We met a couple of years ago at Lex’s place. He told me you wanted to talk.”
“Oh! Gee!” Her voice was high, almost childlike. “Now that there’s been an arrest, it may not be necessary.”
Now that there’s been an arrest? Had Amberlyn feared she might be questioned about Stuart Booth’s murder? Curiouser and curiouser.