“To get back at Josiah! Dick Potter blamed my husband for his wife’s poor judgment. Cara is the granddaughter. People heard Dick attack poor Josiah at that silly event. Anyone within hearing distance could tell that Dick was seriously deranged.”
"Why would Honora McAfee get involved?"
Mrs. Wentworth shook her head as though she was being bothered by a mosquito. "That business deal years ago. She blamed Josiah for her husband's stupidity."
Davidson and Fernandez exchanged looks.
“Since this is such a high-profile situation," said Fernandez, "we need to move carefully. We don't want to cause you any additional stress.”
"Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "You're right. I’ve been suffering enough. That’s it. You’ve proven your incompetence. Melinda? Call my public relations agency and have them prepare a release right away. Explain to them that the Senator was murdered. I want the whole world to know that my husband was a martyr—and that these people are doing nothing to catch his killers!"
Lou glanced at Davidson, who gave a tiny shake of his head. There was no way to argue with the woman. She was bound and determined to get all the media attention that she could.
"We need your help, Mrs. Wentworth,” said Fernandez. “The world has changed. People get off too easily. Your husband was a big believer in mandatory sentencing, so I'm sure you're aware of this problem. To put the killers away and keep them locked up, we need an air-tight case. To move forward, we will need to clear other people who have had access to your husband. Do you have people who come to the house regularly? More than once a week?”
Lou pulled out his notebook and posed his pen over a clean page. It was an obvious ploy, but he’d found that it often encouraged people to talk. In fact, he’d read about a study where college professors tended to lecture differently when their students took notes.
“Of course we have people who come to the house regularly,” said Mrs. Wentworth with a sniff. “This is an estate, not some dinky lot in a subdivision. We have grounds people who come weekly. LaTisha is here every day. There’s also Barton. He’s our personal trainer. He comes twice a week.”
“Could you read that back for me, Detective Murray?” asked Davidson.
Lou went over his notes, waiting patiently for Mrs. Wentworth to supply surnames.
“What about Mr. Coslow?” asked Fernandez, nodding toward the muscle man.
“Phillip lives here on the grounds in a small apartment over the garage. He’s like a son to me.”
“But he would have access to your husband on a daily basis, right?"
"I repeat: He is part of our family. You don't need to worry about Phillip."
When they finished, Davidson asked, “Is that it? Everyone who visited more than once a week? This is important. It will help us when we bring the responsible people to trial. Are you sure you haven't left anyone off the list?"
“There might be one more person,” said Jenny Beth Wentworth. “Yes, of course. There was that young man who was helping the Senator write his memoirs. Adrian. Adrian Green.”
CHAPTER 68
"Mrs. Wentworth, we'll need to talk to Mrs. Johnson and to Mr. Coslow for a few minutes," said Davidson. "Perhaps you have a couple of rooms we could borrow?"
"If you must," she said.
“One last question,” said Davidson, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Do you recognize any of the people in this photo? Besides your husband?”
He passed the picture to Mrs. Wentworth.
For a tick, Lou could have sworn that he saw the mask drop. He couldn’t be certain, because it happened too quickly.
“My, my,” she said, softening her tone. “Get me my reading glasses, Melinda.”
The younger woman dutifully left the room. No one spoke until she returned with the spectacles.
“Yes, that is my darling Josiah. As for those two other hoodlums, I have no idea who they are.” She continued to stare down at the picture. Lou thought he saw tears pool in her eyes, and he liked her better for it, because he thought she might be human after all.
“Is it possible that those are the children of friends?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Or a neighbor’s children?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, as she removed her glasses. “Anyone can see they’re nothing but white trash. Look how dirty they are! Where did you get this photo?”
“Do you know where it was taken?” Davidson ignored her question and persisted with his own.
“I have no idea,” she sank back in her chair. “This has become tedious. Do you have the vaguest concept of how many people Josiah and I have met over the course of his career? Do you realize how important my husband was? The places we visited? I couldn’t even begin to remember all of them. Why are you bothering me with this?”
“It’s a loose end. I don’t like loose ends,” said Davidson, with a tight smile. “I want them tied up. That way I can turn my full attention to justice for your husband.”
“Is this your only copy?” She fingered the picture, running a perfectly manicured nail along the deckle edge.
“It’s the only copy I have,” said Davidson.
"Did this come from that woman's store?" Mrs. Wentworth's mouth turned down in a moue of disgust.
“I can't tell you where I got it," said Davidson.
“If it's that important, leave it with me. Josiah’s sister, Donna, will be here tomorrow. I’ll ask her to look at it. She might know who one of these boys is.”
Davidson hesitated. “It’s my only copy and—”
“Then you’ll have to trust me with it." With a smile, Mrs. Wentworth palmed the photograph.
CHAPTER 69
Lou went into the kitchen with Davidson. Fernandez was diverted to the lanai where he would interview Phillip Coslow.
"Can I help you?" LaTisha held a dishrag in front of her. Silver polish in a plastic tub released a faint whiff of rotten eggs. On the marble island stood a stack of tarnished bowls and serving utensils two feet high. A large candleholder was covered halfway up the stem with pink paste. On the counter was a bowl with batter in it. The tantalizing scent of vanilla mixed incongruously with the nasty smell of silver polish.
"Mrs. Johnson, I need to talk to you for a minute about the visitors you had on Saturday. Mind if I take a chair?" asked Davidson.
"Go on," she said. "Would you like some iced tea? Either of you? Mrs. Wentworth made it this morning. She makes the best iced tea in the world. I don't know how she does it. I have blueberry muffins in the oven."
"Please," said Davidson. "The tea sounds great. I don't think we'll be here long enough for the muffins."
"Me, too," added Lou, pulling up a chair next to his boss.
As LaTisha bustled about, Davidson asked, "How had the Senator been feeling lately?"
"Weak as a kitten. Puking. Seemed to get worse every day."
"How long had that been going on?"
She paused and did a mental calculation. "Shortly after Mrs. Wentworth came back from New York City. I remember because she was celebrating, and he was feeling poorly."
"What was she celebrating?" Davidson asked, taking a sip of tea. The scent of the blueberries was beginning to fill the small space, drowning out the scent of the silver polish. Lou's mouth began to water.
"Getting a New York publisher interested in a book about the Senator. She said it was going to make him go down in history."
"I see," Davidson nodded. "I guess it would at that. We asked Mrs. Wentworth for a list of people who stop by regularly. She told us that Phillip lives here, you come in to help, there's a personal trainer, and grounds crew. She also told us that Adrian Green was stopping by all the time to help the Senator with the book. Does that list sound about right to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you think of anyone else?"
"No, sir."
"If you do, please call me," said Davidson, reaching into his pocket for one of his cards. "Did Honora and Cara call before t
hey showed up? Did Dick Potter?"
"Yes, Honora called and asked me if the missus was home. Dick just showed up on the front step. He's like that."
"Did you see any of them get near the Senator's food or drink?"
"I saw Miss Delgatto pick up his glass, but she only did that because the missus told her to."
"How about Dick?"
She shook her head. "He wasn't here but a minute when the missus found out and told him to leave."
Davidson waited, knowing the silence would prompt the woman to keep talking.
LaTisha added, "But then, I was in and out of the lanai, so it wasn't like I was watching everyone every minute neither."
"How long have you known Honora McAfee?"
"Most of my life."
"Mrs. Wentworth says that there was an issue between her husband and the Senator."
"Uh-huh. That's true." LaTisha wiped pink paste off the bottom of the candlestick.
"Can you tell me about it?"
LaTisha went over to the kitchen door, did a quick scan, and came back. In a low voice she said, "It was when EveLynn was young, and they knew that child wasn't right. They needed money to see a specialist. Mr. McAfee had all his money tied up in his appliance store. The Senator said he'd loan him money. Mr. McAfee was so upset about his daughter that he didn't read the paperwork carefully. He sold the entire business to the Senator for pennies."
"Did Honora hold a grudge against the Senator?"
LaTisha turned sad eyes on him. "Wouldn't you?"
CHAPTER 70
Davidson and Lou thanked LaTisha for her time and moved to the hallway, where Fernandez and Joliffe were waiting. An impatient Melinda stood behind the two men. Wearing a scowl, she tapped her pencil against a clipboard held to her chest like a shield.
"I shall escort you out of the house," she said, in an oh-so-prissy voice. "I certainly hope this matter will be concluded soon. Mrs. Wentworth is incredibly busy, answering condolence calls and planning the ceremony. She really doesn't have time for this. A new book on the Senator will be coming out this fall, and the publisher is already scheduling interviews."
"That's odd," said Davidson. "I was under the impression she wants her husband's murderer to come to justice."
"Of course she does," said Melinda with a frosty glare. "But that's your job, not hers."
She slammed the front door behind them.
The men walked to their cars. Joliffe gave them a nod of farewell and climbed into his cruiser. George Fernandez said to Davidson, “My office? See you there.”
Since he was parked behind the captain, he pulled out first.
Davidson had just thrown the car into reverse when LaTisha came running out the back door and waving furiously. Davidson rolled down his window.
"I brought you some of those muffins," she called out, as she hurried down the crushed stone path.
When she was even with the car, she handed Davidson a small container. She also put one hand on the door. It was a signal: Don’t leave yet.
"I couldn't talk in there, but there's more you should know." Her eyes were narrow with concern.
"Not long before Mrs. Wentworth went to New York, the Senator had started drinking again. A lot. He was calling people on the phone. Asking them about ‘his boys.’ Mrs. Wentworth came home from a big to-do at the club and overheard him. My, oh, my, but she was angry!"
LaTisha took a deep breath. "She asked me what he’d been doing all day. I told her straight that he had been making phone calls. Then she up and found the Senator sitting in that office. He was on the computer, looking at…at pictures. Dirty pictures. She slammed the door behind her, but I could hear her screaming at her husband. She told him, 'All these years I've been covering up for you!' Then she warned him to keep his mouth shut. She said, 'I'm not having you ruin your legacy!' and such like. It was terrible. I thought for sure she’d have a heart attack."
"Any idea what he was making calls about?" asked Davidson. He held up a muffin so that anyone watching from the house would think he was talking about the baked good.
"I know he had regrets. One time after he’d been drinking, he told me he'd been a sinner. I told him that was between him and the Lord, and that I didn't want to hear about it," she said, quickly. “Right after shouting match, Mrs. Wentworth made him watch while she poured out all his booze. She started keeping a real close eye on the Senator. You’d think he’d get to feeling better after a while without all that drinking, once he got it out of his system. But he didn’t. He began doing poorly a couple of weeks or so later."
CHAPTER 71
“What do you think about all that?” asked Davidson, as they drove away from the Wentworths’ house.
“I think we’ve found our motive for killing the Senator,” said Lou. “Whatever he was doing, it must have been unbecoming.”
“His wife sure is invested in his reputation.”
Lou shrugged. “What else does she have? They are childless. Living on an island full of millionaires. He’s losing his marbles. She’s losing her looks.”
Davidson turned the police cruiser onto Gomez. "That leaves her as the caretaker of his legacy. Can you believe that she began planning a press conference the moment we told her the news that he’d been poisoned?"
“I’ve heard of spin, but that was ridiculous,” Lou agreed. “Notifying her public relations agency? Saying her husband was a martyr? Am I missing something here?”
"What's that line from MacBeth?" asked Davidson. "'I fear she doth protest too much'? If I thought my spouse had been poisoned, I wouldn't have wasted time worrying about the media.”
"No kidding," said Lou. “Did you really give her the only copy you had of that photo? I thought you gave it to the lab.”
“Yes,” said Davidson. “I had Valerie Blaze scan the photo and make a print of it, and then I gave the original to the lab. She's pretty good with techie stuff like that.”
“Smart move,” Lou said. He rolled down the windows to let in the breeze off the Intracoastal. The car soon filled with the smell of the many life forms that thrived at the edge of the water. There was a hint of decay, overridden by the fresh fragrance of rebirth. Pine, tar, brine, and a floral scent all combined in a way unique to the beach.
Davidson pointed the car south, driving deeper into the island, back into the tangle of asphalt roads that rimmed the golf course. Signage suggested these quiet buildings with white clapboard siding were offices, not homes. When they reached a low, broad building labeled Office of Public Safety, Davidson turned off the engine. "This is George’s office.”
When they entered the building, Fernandez was waiting to take them to his office. On the way, he spoke to the receptionist, an officer in uniform. “Get those bags we’re holding, will you?”
As they sat down, Davidson explained to Lou, "They have a concierge trash and recycling service here for residents. The last pick-ups are on Wednesday. George and I decided they should bag up everything from the Wentworths’ house and save it for our crime scene investigators since we have a lab, and they don’t here on the island."
"What’s the thinking?" Lou asked both men.
"Whoever killed Josiah Wentworth planned his murder carefully,” said Fernandez. “We know that the old man was poisoned over a long stretch. The first thing we teach our staff here on Jupiter Island is to keep their mouths shut. 'You see nothing, and you say nothing.' Many of our residents are high-profile executives. A handful of celebrities. Retired CEOs. They move here for privacy. Can you imagine having your trash hauler spill all your secrets? No way. So Davidson and I figured that the killer would think it was safe to toss empty bottles of antifreeze into the trash or recycling. He or she might have depended on our code of silence for protection."
"What about Mrs. Wentworth's accusations?" Lou asked. “I can’t see Cara, Dick, or Honora as our doer.”
"It looks to me like none of the three has had ongoing access to the Senator. Is that how you see it, George?” Davidson turn
ed to the Director.
Fernandez nodded. “I can run a check through our security cameras. See if their vehicles have been on the island, but I’m not sure it’s worth the bother. We have a list of suspects from Mrs. Wentworth. People who had re-occurring contact with the Senator. Those are the names we need to concentrate on. We’re looking for a person with ongoing access over a period of at least a month. The only one of the three who stopped by the Wentworth house regularly was Mrs. Honora McAfee.”
On their way back to the Stuart Police Department, Davidson said to Lou, “I want you to talk to Dick Potter. Ask him what Coslow was doing when he arrived. Find out what he knows about the Wentworths. Especially back when they were all young. Ask him about their relationship with Honora McAfee, and any grudge she might have.”
“I’m on it,” said Lou.
CHAPTER 72
Hand-sanding is tedious work, but sadly, most of our pieces need that sort of personal attention. I put a lot of effort into two pieces, pausing only when customers drifted in. My hands and shoulders began to ache, even as the day seemed to drag on and on.
My cell phone vibrated at five minutes before closing time. Thinking it was Tommy, I answered right away.
“How about going to dinner with me tonight?” asked Adrian Green. “I rented a nice set of wheels, and all I need is a lovely lady to share them with me. I thought you’d enjoy a nice ride to West Palm. We can drive with the top down and enjoy this rare day of sunshine.”
I couldn’t believe my sudden popularity. First roses from Jason, dinner with Davidson, and now this. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a standing tradition that I eat dinner on Sundays with my grandfather. Can I have a rain check?”
“Are you sure that the old man can’t fend for himself? Just this once?”
“Sorry. We have an urgent matter we need to discuss,” I said. “It can’t wait.”
Actually, it had waited, almost too long. I’d been putting off looking for a document regarding Tommy’s tuition. I wasn’t sure that Poppy could help me, but he’d volunteered to go through the boxes of my dad’s paperwork with me. Two sets of eyes would move the process along faster. Given how personal the papers might be, I didn’t want to involve anyone else but family in my search.
Second Chance at Life Page 23