A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set

by Adele M Cooper

  “You’re letting the creepy old mansion and the thundering, pounding rain and lightning get to you,” he said.

  “No, the mansion isn’t creepy. It’s rather nice. A few of our suspects might be creepy but not the mansion. The mansion could make Architectural Digest.”

  “Which, from what we’ve been told, would have delighted Mamie Woodruff. She could be pictured sitting in her tea and history room with British royalty around her. That would have made her day or her year for that matter,” Clay said.

  April eased down into a chair and she sighed. “Do you know what we did not ask Mel junior?”

  “Whether there are any illegitimate children in the family?”

  She sipped her wine. “Oh, yes. There’s another train of inquiry. ‘By the way Mel, did the other, older Mel have any illegitimate children, and would they happen to be anyplace nearby? Are they angry about not getting any of senior Mel’s ample funds? And by the way, are there any survivors of the people your father stole from, stole their land, their homes, their futures? Keep track of them?’ What a family.”

  “Anyway, what did we miss asking Mel?”

  “Why it’s called the Fordham Project?”

  “That is a good question. Tomorrow we will have to ask him. I imagine there’s a simple explanation.”

  April lifted her feet onto a footstool and leaned back in the chair. “This has got me depressed. That Fordham Project is tragic. All those families dispossessed. At least one suicide.”

  “Didn’t Woodruff himself quote the line, ‘Behind every great fortune there’s a crime?”

  “There’s more than one crime behind the Woodruff fortune,” April said. “I never cozied up to that old man. He was polite and never said anything close to being vulgar or crude, but I never wanted to get acquainted with him.” She took another long drink from her glass and chuckled. “I remember a line by one commentator I like. He is an excellent political analyst and a great book and movie critic. He wrote once ‘I have met a few Kennedys in my life. I have never wanted to extend the acquaintance with any of them.’”

  Clay laughed. “And you feel the same way about the Woodruffs?”

  “Yes.” She held up the wine glass. “Frankly, what I told Evans about us conferring is actually true. Sorry, I’m not in the mood tonight; the case is really taking a toll on me.”

  “That’s fine. To be honest, neither am I. Let’s don’t forget this is an official job. We’re getting paid for it.”

  “You have a suspect yet?”

  “No, no evidence points toward anyone. Off the top of my head, I might point the finger at the last remaining man of the little Sea Oak cadre of crooks, Jed Markatt.”

  “Why him? You don’t like ugly people?”

  “As good a reason as any. Besides I have a feeling his ugly exterior is simply a reflection of his ugly interior of a soul. I’m guessing if Mel revealed any secrets, some of those ugly illegalities would involve Jed and maybe he’s not ready for all those truths to come out; although he doesn’t look like he’s long for this world either. Most of the people who know the truth about him are dead. Maybe he wants to keep a good reputation until he shuffles off this mortal soil.”

  “I don’t have good feelings about him either,” April said, “but the guy wheezes most of the time and walks with a cane, and needs to. I doubt he had the strength to plunge a good-sized dagger in Mel Woodruff’s chest. If he had, it would have taken him thirty minutes to exit the room.”

  Clay nodded, drank some wine, and raised his glass. “What you said is true; this is excellent wine. I’ll say this for the mansion, it has a great wine cellar, and the Woodruffs have excellent taste in wine.”

  “Told you so,” said April

  “I’m not really a wine guy. It took me a while to appreciate it. Did I ever mention I have a slight case of insomnia?”

  “No, but I guessed it’s because you occasionally get up and walk around at two in the morning. Being a keen investigative reporter and a part-time private investigator, I figured you must have a sleeping problem.”

  “No wonder you got your private detective’s license renewed. You’re good.”

  “I bet you tell that to all the girls.”

  “Only those I share a glass of wine with who are named April.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re somewhat discriminatory.”

  Clay scratched his forehead. “You know, I wonder…if Woodruff was going to confess to various crimes such as stealing in the Fordham matter…I wonder if that would open the family to lawsuits. We’re a litigation-happy society. Everybody sues everybody these days. He would be admitting to a crime, which cost twenty or so families a great deal of money. Total that up, add in what the land would be worth today, toss in punitive costs…how much are you talking. Fifty million? A hundred million? More?”

  “Yes…yes. Clay, I hadn’t thought of that. Wouldn’t he be opening the family up to legal jeopardy? Not just opening them up but practically giving away the court case. He admitted guilt.”

  “But even so, I’m not sure the case would be open and shut. The family could claim he was old and his memory was fading. I’m not sure of the legal question. We would have to check with an attorney, but it could put the family in a shaky legal position and an even shakier ethical position. If a family didn’t want to lose money…”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Clay shrugged. “But I don’t think that narrows down the suspect list. If we ask which member of the Woodruff family is that greedy, the answer would be, ‘All of them.’”

  “Yes, that’s true enough.”

  7

  Clay, in chatting with attorney J. Richard Gould, had agreed to an early morning Nintendo Wii tennis match. When not writing legal briefs, Gould enjoyed batting a tennis ball around. On the wide-screen television set, a tennis player smashed a serve into his opponent’s court. Using his “racquet” Clay blasted the serve back but the ball just flew over the line.

  “Shucks,” he said.

  Gould yelled with glee. He made a fist and slammed the air with it. “I have played tennis for forty years, Clay. I even like Wii tennis. I warned you I was good.”

  “So you are. But go ahead and try that serve again.”

  “I will.”

  Gould’s Wii counterpart wore a white tennis shirt and dark pants. On the screen he flipped the ball and hammered a serve. The ball sped toward Clay’s court but hit the line.

  “Shucks,” Gould said.

  His white-shirted player flipped the ball up again. A smack echoed through the room as he made a Nadal swing, and the ball was a blur as it zoomed across the net. Clay’s player wore a blue tennis shirt and pants. His brown hair waved in the artificial wind blowing on the Wii tennis court. He whipped his racquet around and pounded the serve. It zipped back across the net and bounced in the corner of Gould’s court. The attorney backhanded the ball but it slammed into the net.

  “Good return,” Gould said, “but I’m still only three points from victory.”

  “Three points can be forever in tennis,” Clay said. “By the way, Dick, what are you doing here?”

  “Playing Wii tennis with you.”

  Clay smiled. “Yes, but I mean why were you called out here. Was Woodruff thinking of changing his will or something else?”

  “Be ready.”

  Gould served and the ball bounced on the corner of Clay’s court. Clay smacked it back, but it caught the tape and was knocked back into his court.

  “Only two points needed for a victory.”

  “If what you are doing or changing had a connection to his murder, you should tell me. If it’s linked to a murder it’s not confidential.”

  “Get ready,” Gould said.

  Clay blistered the serve and it shot back over the net. Gould knocked it but it was a weak return. The blue-shirted player rushed up to the ball and knocked a winner.

  “Now I’m the one close to winning. Only two more points and it’s my game.”


  Gould took a deep breath and hit the pause button on the game. “I suppose I should answer your question. You’ve worked for a couple of attorneys I know, and they told me if I ever needed a detective, I should hire you.”

  “Glad I have a good reputation,” Clay said.

  “Two years ago Royston Endicott told me over lunch that he was very impressed with your work. I wrote your name down in case I ever needed your service. I haven’t yet…until now.”

  “Maybe I can impress you too.”

  “I came out to finish a project for Melvin. It’s not confidential; in fact, it will be made public shortly.” Gould sighed. “I don’t think this has anything to do with his murder. You are familiar with what is called the Fordham Project?”

  “To a degree, yes.”

  “I knew Melvin Woodruff for fifty years, and think I can say we were friends. Melvin did not have a reputation as a sensitive man and he wasn’t. He could play rough…usually ethically…but rough. But the Fordham Project weighed on his soul for years. Most people want to have a good image of themselves. So did Melvin. He felt he had done many, many good things for the city of Sea Oak, and he did. But the Fordham Project grated on him. He couldn’t square the good image he had of himself with stealing land and homes of people.”

  “So how much was his self image worth to him?”

  “You sound a bit cynical, Clay.”

  “Skeptical perhaps. From what I hear of Melvin Woodruff, he wasn’t given to self-reflection. “

  “As his friend of more than fifty years, I assure you sometimes he was. Not often, true; but, sometimes. I came out because he wanted this project finalized before he died. He made about one hundred ten million from his sale of the Daily News. I came out to put the final legal touches on a sixty million fund…half the proceeds from the sale…to compensate the relatives of people hurt in the Fordham Project. He wanted to repay the men and women who suffered losses. He authorized my firm to find the ancestors and give them a just settlement.”

  Clay inhaled, sounding like a vacuum cleaner sucking in dirty air.

  “That’s…that’s…”

  “Surprising?” Gould said.

  “A little more than that. It’s akin to being dropped into another dimension.”

  “Melvin was capable of surprises in his life.”

  “And in his death,” Clay said.

  “Melvin knew he was fading. I came out to have him sign the official papers creating the trust fund. He trusted my firm to fulfill his wish. He knew he wouldn’t live long enough to see it. He had struggled with this decision for a long time and finally decided to create the trust. He knew doing so would practically be admitting that he and his friends… committed crimes many decades ago. He knew his reputation would suffer, but even so he decided to go ahead with it.”

  “He told April he wanted to do one more interview and he said he would reveal some secrets. That must have been what he was talking about.”

  Gould nodded. “It probably was. He signed the papers several hours before he died. The decision was not easy for him. He could have kept ignoring the past but he didn’t. After he signed the papers he asked if I thought he did the right thing. Melvin never asked for much advice, except maybe from Mamie when she was alive. I told him yes, I thought what he was doing was honorable…and I thought it was the perfect way to end his life.”

  “Has it caused any…consternation among the family? His estate is now worth sixty million less.”

  “I don’t think there’s been much serious grumbling. There is still a great deal of money to be spread around. Melvin’s three sons and one daughter won’t have to go to the food bank for lunch.”

  “No, but some rich people always think they need a little more and don’t want to give out what they have. Melvin hung tightly onto a dollar. He didn’t let many get away from him.”

  “That’s very true but Melvin was dying and he knew it. Death has a way of changing your mind about a few things. Some of those things are even more important than money. I don’t know anything about Mel’s religious views. All I know is he attended church most of his life. But sometimes that doesn’t tell you a lot. Maybe he just felt he wouldn’t rest in peace if he had not made a type of repentance.”

  “None of the children objected.”

  Gould chuckled. “If anyone did I don’t know about it, but all that means is if a son objected Mel didn’t tell me. I don’t think Clementine would be upset. She has never been greedy and is a very generous woman. I think she would have applauded the move. I can’t see the three sons raising much of a ruckus. Both Mel junior and Stephen have plenty of money. Wade has more than enough to take care of his sexy wife so he shouldn’t complain.

  “Isn’t there another factor here? Take the money off the table. I’m sure when this news is released there will be a flowery statement not admitting any guilt but, basically, Woodruff is admitting he did commit crimes and bankrupted people due to his greed. The family will be left with that legacy.”

  Gould cleared his throat and coughed. The Wii tennis game had not been played in the sun but, even so, sweat broke out on his face and forehead. He grabbed tissue from a box on a small table and mopped his brow. “I had a brief discussion about that with Mel. He recognized it and was saddened his family would have to bear the responsibility when he was in his grave. But other families have persevered with nasty things in their past without too much problem. Think of the Kennedys. I don’t think any fifteen-year-old Kennedy would change families because the patriarch and a few of his sons were, to put it mildly, not saints.”

  “I imagine money makes up for a lot,” Clay said.

  “Yes, indeed.” Gould opened his mouth then closed it. He looked agitated and wiped his face again with another tissue.

  “Were you going to stay something, Dick?”

  Gould nodded. “None of the family, that I know of, objected to Melvin’s plan due to the money. Melvin did mention to me, once in passing, that Wade vigorously objected because of the stain, which would be on the family. He said it would blacken the family’s name. Wade became rather animated, Melvin said. He had never seen his son so angry. But that didn’t matter; it would not have mattered if Mel junior and Stephen became angry. Mel had made up his mind. He had made up his mind on this and he wasn’t going to change. All the family was going to have to live with it.”

  “I’m sort of glad to see he came clean at the end. I know the families he cheated will be happy too. Think you can find them?”

  Gould stuck a cigarette in a green cigarette holder then stuck it in his mouth. He lit the tobacco and a scent of menthol flowed through the room.

  “We have hired a firm to do just that. Representatives are optimistic the ancestors can be found and the remuneration can be paid.”

  Gould took another puff on his cigarette. “Want to ponder that for a while or shall we get back to the game?”

  “Let’s get back to the game. But you shouldn’t smoke. It will not only hurt your lungs it will hurt your tennis.”

  “That’s what my doctor tells me. My wife also wants me to quit. Smoking, not tennis. I smoke very moderately.”

  “Then maybe you’ll still be alive for many more tennis games. But…just one more question. I assume Jed Markatt was a part of that scheme. If Woodruff is, in effect, confessing, doesn’t that implicate Markatt too?”

  “Probably but the statute of limitations have long run out, and he can’t be prosecuted. He may not like the knowledge becoming public, but he’s in no danger of prosecution. But he may not be as peaceful facing death as Melvin was. When Melvin signed the papers, he smiled at me. He was content and serene at what he had done.”

  After he had won two out of the three sets they played, Clay walked down a carpeted corridor of the Woodruff mansion. He listened as rain patted the room. The wind and rain had slackened. The wind no longer howled like an invading army of savages; the rain no longer sounded like bullets ripping into the roof and walls of the house.
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  He looked out a window and up into the sky. The clouds were no long black and rolling. They had been tamed into gray and were still losing color. By tonight the storm would pass.

  He walked into the history room and grinned at all the pirates and royalty. Perhaps an accurate picture of the late Melvin Woodruff would show him with a cutlass and a black patch. His buccaneering days were not as flamboyant as his ancestors, but he took his share of booty and treasure. He was a modern day pirate who stole with a pen. Stole legally, but at least near the end of his life, he tried to make up for some of the wrongs he had done.

  Clay frowned. Maybe someone did object to the sixty million decision by Woodruff. It would be ironic if the one decent thing he did in life was the motive for his murder

  He turned and walked toward the dining room. He was hungry, and was sure the servants would have breakfast on the table. Later in the morning he and April would interview Jed Markatt. He didn’t want to face ugly Jed on an empty stomach.

  “So, Ms. Longmont, have you found the murderer of my father yet,” Stephen Woodruff said as he moved his black knight on the chessboard.

  April had agreed to play a game of chess while questioning the second Woodruff son, who felt about chess the way Clay felt about baseball.

  “Not yet. Clay and I are working on it,” April said. She studied his move. Her opponent was a skilled player and had participated in a few regional tournaments. She had challenged her computer and had lost twenty-five straight games until she had eked out a win. However, in the last ten contests, she had six wins and four losses; but she didn’t see how the moving the knight helped her opponent. She switched to the other side of the board and slid her bishop several spaces ahead.

  “There’s no forensics here, so we can’t test the dagger for fingerprints. That’s a disadvantage.”

  His eyes scanned the board and he furrowed his brow as if he didn’t like any of his moves. Finally, he eased a pawn forward.

  “True, but the murderer could well have wiped any prints from the weapon,” April said. She saw a possible opening to take one of his bishops. She picked up her rook to place him in an attack position.