He looks like a dragon.
“I’m mixing my metaphors.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Burr said. “I’m representing Murdoch Halverson on the murder charge.”
“Things must be tough since you got booted out of Fisher and Allen.”
“I resigned.”
Worthy stubbed out his Pall Mall and lit a third.
Burr was damned if he was going to let Lionel Worthy get the better of him. Worthy was a fiery litigator. He was plenty smart, and anything he lacked in brains he made up for in bravado. Burr had beaten him every time they had met in court, and Worthy hadn’t forgotten.
“Lionel, were you on Fujimo? With Jimmy?” Burr said, hoping against hope there was another Lionel.
“Great name,” Lionel said, inhaling.
His hopes dashed, “Your relationship with him must have gone beyond professional.”
Worthy exhaled.
“It seems like your client had some money issues,” Burr said.
Still no response.
“I hear he owed everybody and his brother. I suppose that includes you.”
Worthy’s face turned from heart attack red to fire-engine red.
That did it.
“Look here, Lafayette, I represented Jimmy Lyons when he was alive. Now I represent the estate of Jimmy Lyons. His affairs are private.”
“Come on, Lionel. Do you want me to order up your deposition?”
“These matters are subject to attorney-client privilege.” Worthy waved his hand with the cigarette at Burr. Ashes flew everywhere.
“Your client is dead, and privilege does not extend to strangling with Christmas tree lights.”
“Nonsense.” Worthy pulled at one of his bushy eyebrows with his nonsmoking hand.
Burr knew the privilege survived death, but he wasn’t sure that Lionel did. “I’m just trying to find out who might have wanted Jimmy dead. And it seems like Fujimo was full of them.”
This should do it.
“Including you.”
Worthy turned from fire engine red to cherry red. “Get out. Get out right now. Now that you’re nobody, I don’t have to sit here and take your arrogant bullshit. Especially in my own office.”
“Relax, Lionel. I’ve got a client. You’ve got a dead client.”
“Just because somebody owes somebody doesn’t mean you kill them.”
“The crew was at The Pink Pony after the race, including you. And you all had a room at the Chippewa.”
“How do you know that?”
“You guys were all drunk. Things happen.”
“Just because somebody owes somebody money doesn’t mean you kill them,” Lionel said again. He turned a shade of red Burr had never seen before.
“If not the crew, then how about Jane?”
“No.”
“Does she know what Fujimo means?”
“I don’t know what she knows, but he was her meal ticket.”
“What about the life insurance?”
“Don’t you think life insurance is a bit pedestrian?” Worthy said. “From where I sit, this wasn’t about money. And my money is on Murdo.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t about money.”
“I think Anne and Jimmy were a little too chummy and Murdo didn’t like it.” Worthy lit a cigarette off the one he was smoking.
“That’s the motive du jour.”
Worthy looked at both cigarettes. He crushed them out in the ashtray, stood up walked around his desk. “And then Murdo did this.” He reached down for Burr’s tie and then wrapped it around his neck like a string of lights.
* * *
Burr snatched the parking ticket off the windshield of the Jeep, stuck it on the windshield of the Lincoln Town Car parked in front of him and drove off.
They made the last ferry, a small, slowish boat run by the Star Line. The two weary travelers slid into bed just before midnight.
* * *
Burr found Jacob the next morning. “I’m told there’s a trico hatch coming off the Carp River. A big hatch.”
“There is?”
“And the brookies are rising for it. They’re coming off late morning.” This was perfect for Burr, who other than duck hunting, despised getting up early.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Jacob was hooked.
“When can we go?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow would be great.”
There’s just one thing.”
“One thing?”
“A favor actually.”
“Which is?”
“I need some research done.”
“That’s what I do.”
“Perfect. In Detroit. At the City-County Building.”
Jacob didn’t say a word. Burr counted to himself. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven … he had never made it past seven. Then …
“What is it this time?”
* * *
Burr tracked down Eve in the hollyhocks, tall, milky green stalks with flowers from top to bottom. Blooms the size of half dollars. The same kaleidoscope pattern on each flower, with different patterns and different colors on each stalk. Eve, on her knees, looked up at him. She had a smudge of dirt on her nose. “Don’t even start.”
“Start?”
“You are so transparent.”
“Me?”
“Tell me what you want me to do and what you have to offer.”
She has my number.
“It would be much easier if you could just pay me,” she said.
Burr bent down and wiped the smudge off her nose.
* * *
Burr and Jacob, fly rods and waders in hand, along with Zeke, took the ferry to Mackinaw City. They crossed the Mackinac Bridge, which scared Jacob to death, to the U.P., then on to the Carp River. The tricos hatched. The brook trout were ravenous. Jacob was in heaven, and now he owed Burr.
The morning after the fishing adventure, Burr and Jacob waited for the ferry.
“You know how I hate the City-County Building.”
“We need to know what, if any, litigation is pending against the late Mr. Lyons. My guess is the patent case is probably in the Eastern District of the Federal District Court. The rest of it is probably in Wayne County Circuit Court, but you’re going to have to check Oakland and Macomb, too.”
“Damn it.”
“I didn’t hear a word when you caught those brookies.”
“They were beautiful.”
“You do have a nice presentation, the way you lay the fly on the river.”
“Why thank you, Burr,” Jacob said, always a sucker for piscatorial flattery.
“Give the deckhand this ticket when you land. The valet will bring you that God-awful Corvair.”
“It’s a Peugeot, and all the windows work.”
“And take these.” Burr passed Jacob two pills.
“I don’t take speed,” Jacob said.
“They’re Dramamine.”
Jacob swallowed both pills.
* * *
Four days later, the mailman walked up to the porch and handed Burr a fat, eight-by-eleven manila envelope. Zeke, sound asleep at Burr’s feet, woke up just enough to growl.
“I can sign for it,” Burr said.
“Not unless you’re Eve McGinty.”
Eve appeared from somewhere in the garden with a different smudge on a different part of her nose. She signed for the package. Burr reached for it, but Eve pulled it out of his reach. She tore off the end of the envelope and slid the contents into her hand.
“May I see them?” Burr said.
“Not until we review our agreement.”
“Our agreeme
nt?” Burr said, knowing full well what the agreement was.
“These pictures are in exchange for one eight-by-twenty perennial garden at 1644 Hillcrest Avenue, East Lansing, Michigan, including compost, mulch and the cultivars of my choice.”
“Cultivars?”
“Plants,” Eve said. “Five hundred now. The balance due on completion.”
“If I’d known how it easy it was going to be for you to get these pictures, I never would have agreed,” Burr said.
“The deal was pictures. We didn’t bargain over the degree of difficulty.” Eve and her pictures stepped down the steps to the garden.
“You can’t put a garden in until spring.”
“Au contraire. Fall is perfect.”
I don’t have five hundred.
Eve came back up the steps. She pulled out a folded check from the front pocket of her jeans. “Sign here. You have just enough.”
* * *
Burr sat on the deck behind the Chippewa, the harbor in front of him, the Arnold Line dock to his right, and in between, the door where Murdo supposedly made his escape. A Labatt and the envelope with Eve’s pictures in front of him.
Carole sat across from him. She wore a sleeveless emerald top, black slacks and flats. Burr thought she looked terrific.
“I see you’re with one of your two constant companions. Where’s the other?” she said.
“Two?”
Carole pointed at his beer. “Where’s Zeke?”
“He had other plans.” Burr drank from his first companion. “I was supposed to meet Karen Vander Voort.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Where’s Karen?”
“I’m afraid she quit.”
That’s just ducky.
“Really? When?”
“A week or so ago. Everybody on the island quits. It’s just a matter of when.”
Carole motioned for the waitress and ordered ice water.
“No Fu Manchu?”
“I’m working.” She smiled at him. “All the help is seasonal. They all leave sooner or later.”
I might have wasted the money on Eve’s pictures.
“Were you here that night?”
“I always work when the racers come in. The tips are great.”
“Was there anything out of the ordinary?”
“Other than the drunken sailors? But that’s not out of the ordinary.”
“Did you know Jimmy Lyons?”
“Not until I found him strangled by the Christmas lights.” Carole’s water arrived.
“Did you know anyone at his table?”
“I wish I’d had that table. He was throwing money around like there was no tomorrow.”
“Did you see anything unusual?”
“Well, there was the Christmas tree which ended up on the bar. And all that underwear. You were there. What do you remember?”
“I’m a little bit fuzzy.”
“Except for the pony?”
Who’s interviewing who?
“The one with the flat chest and the black hair started it.”
“That’s Murdo’s wife. Did you notice anything at their table? Any arguing or fighting?”
“Not really. There were all kinds of people coming and going.”
“If I showed you some pictures, do you think you would recognize anyone?”
“Maybe.”
Burr opened up the envelope and spread the pictures on the table. Murdo, Anne, Jimmy and Jane. Jimmy’s crew. Buehler, the one who lost the protest.
How could Eve have possibly gotten all these pictures in four days?
Burr pointed at the crew plus Buehler. “Do you remember if any of these guys were there?”
Carole studied the pictures. “Not really. Maybe this one. I remember the cigar.” She pointed at the cigar-smoking Buehler. “I think he was yelling at Jimmy, but Jimmy didn’t seem to care.”
“Anyone else?”
“Him,” she said, pointing at Murdo’s picture.
So far, this hasn’t been worth the bike ride.
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know. The place was packed.”
“Were yours on the tree?”
I probably shouldn’t have said that.
She didn’t seem to care. “I shouldn’t have, but a guy at one of my tables bet me a hundred bucks I wouldn’t do it.”
“Which ones were they?”
She smiled at him. “The little pink ones.”
That’s not why I’m here. Unfortunately.
“Can you find out if these guys actually checked in?”
“No.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
She picked up her water but set it back down. “I’ve known the owner for years. He’s doing his best to keep the Pony as far away from this as possible.”
Burr’s second beer showed up. “How about if you get me the reservation list from Fujimo and I’ll buy you dinner tonight at the Iroquois?”
“Do you think I’m that cheap?”
“There’s nothing cheap about the Iroquois.” He took a drink from his beer. “I can get the list if I have to. This will keep the hotel out of it.”
Carole scrunched her pointy noise. “Show me a Fu Manchu.”
This threw Burr for a loop, largely because he had no idea how to do it. He stared down at his glass. There wasn’t nearly enough foam to make a mustache.
Carole reached over and picked up his Labatt. She buried her upper lip in the beer then set the glass back down. “Like this.” A perfect Fu Manchu dripped from her upper lip and around the corners of her mouth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Burr swung on the swing. A carriage stopped in front of Windward. Jacob climbed out and walked up to Burr, a suitcase in one hand, a fat, brown accordion file in the other. He collapsed in a chair next to Burr.
“How’d you make out?” Burr said.
“Let me catch my breath.”
He only walked fifty feet.
“If you must know, I was terribly seasick and the stench from this island makes it worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ll be getting the bill for my ride up the hill.”
Burr nodded.
“Do you have charges with everyone on this island?”
Everyone I can.
Jacob set the file on his lap and creased the crease in his beige slacks between his thumb and forefinger. “Keep that cur away from me,” he said, pointing at the always napping Zeke.
Cur. That’s the second time this month.
“What’d you find?”
Jacob sat the file upright on his lap. “The late Mr. Lyons had legal issues that went far beyond the litigation with Murdo.”
“Really.”
Jacob twirled one of his steel-wool curls.
Not a good sign.
“The copying cost me a fortune. Not to mention the gas.”
“Corvairs get great mileage.”
“Peugeot,” Jacob said. “It’s a Peugeot.”
“You should drive an American car.”
“Do you want to know what I found or argue about how poorly made American cars are?” Jacob re-creased his crease. “It seems that the deceased had lawsuits in almost every jurisdiction and venue in southeast Michigan.”
“Such as?”
“A company called Apex Heat Treat has filed a breach of contract suit against New Method Screw Machine in Wayne County Circuit Court.”
“And who might they be?”
“The plaintiff’s registered agent is Otto Gunther. The defendant is James Lyons’ company.”
“Is that so?”
“In Macomb County, Dickie Gold is suing New Method Screw Machine on a promissory note.”<
br />
“Dickie?”
“Then there’s Murdo’s patent infringement suit in the federal district court. In Oakland County, some guy named Benny Fishman is suing Lyons for, of all things, not paying for a suit.”
“A suit?”
“A three-piece suit, with two pairs of pants. Tropical wool. Grey herringbone. Also, five ties, a belt, two handkerchiefs, and a pair of Italian loafers.”
“Jimmy had good taste in clothes. Is that all of them?”
“Not quite. Also, a complaint for divorce.”
Burr stopped swinging. “Was Jimmy the plaintiff?”
“Yes.” Jacob twirled the curl again. “But it was never served.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways. He was murdered before it could be served.” Jacob looked at Burr but didn’t say anything.
Here it comes.
“These matters are unbecoming for an appellate lawyer.”
“Who are Jimmy’s lawyers?”
“One lawyer,” Jacob said, twirling. “Lionel Worthy.”
* * *
Burr found Eve among her perennials. Eve, hands on hips, menaced him with her clippers. “I’m sure it’s right where you left it.” Burr followed her into the library where she handed him the envelope with the pictures. She started back to the garden.
“Follow me.” He led her to Jacob, still recovering on the porch, and spread the pictures on the table next to the porch swing. Then he opened Jacob’s file and slid the pleadings under the pictures.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve matched the crew of the Fujimo, minus the ringers, with their lawsuits.”
“What’s a ringer?” Jacob said.
Burr ignored him.
“And here’s Jimmy’s lawyer.” He pointed at the lion look alike, Lionel Worthy.
“Lawyers are often friends of their clients,” Jacob said.
“True enough, but the Port Huron-Mackinac is the best race in America. Why invite your enemies?” Burr straightened Worthy’s picture. “All of these men are suing Jimmy, but they’re all on the crew.”
The wind stirred, spinning the pictures around and blowing them off the porch. They fluttered into Eve’s garden.
* * *
The wind died down Saturday night and Lake Huron turned into a parking lot. Burr switched to the quarter-ounce spinnaker sheets and had one of the crew hold out the lee side of the chute with a whisker pole. They heard bells, horns and whistles all around them all night long, but they couldn’t see a thing. The sun burned off the fog by nine Sunday morning. When the fog lifted, there were at least two dozen boats around Scaramouche.
The Pink Pony Page 11
