Miz Scarlet and the Acrimonious Attorney

by Sara M. Barton

  “The police thought the killer came back to search Mr. Grimshaw’s body for a safety deposit key, but nothing turned up during their search. It was all stashed in the Dominican Republic? He must have been very concerned about that.”

  Judging from what I overheard, the late C. Philip Grimshaw found out that his wife had, with the help of a man impersonating him, placed the missing money in a safety deposit box down in a bank in Santa Domingo. By showing his passport, he was able to convince the banker that he was indeed the owner of the box.

  “So, he changed the safety deposit box and got a new key. Did that prevent Margarita from regaining access to the contents stored inside?”

  Kenny listened attentively while Paul Dubinsky explained. It seemed like the senior partner from Martin, Dubinsky, and Moore was relieved to finally have someone trustworthy to talk to about his problem. The junior partner’s murder surely terrified him.

  “Grimshaw had discovered what she was doing. I see. So, the repeated trips to the Dominican Republic involved contacting other banks down there and getting his hands on the cash and other valuables she was stashing down there? How many other banks had safety deposit boxes rented in his name? Six? One for every victim?”

  I sat up quickly, wondering if I heard Kenny correctly. Margarita planned to leave Grimshaw holding the bag on a blackmail scheme that had six victims?

  “So, Grimshaw wasn’t being blackmailed himself. He was supposed to be the patsy?”

  If that wasn’t a motive for murder, what was? All the rotten things I had thought about the acrimonious attorney suddenly flashed through my mind. He had taken some big risks to help Paul Dubinsky deal with a blackmailer. Why would either man expect that murder was part of the plan? Except that logic dictated that it must have been. How else could Margarita and the unknown man believe they could get away with all that money? If there were six victims, they were probably bleeding each one of them dry. How much money were we looking for?

  “Oh, dear,” I mumbled. “What if the victims blamed Grimshaw for the blackmail? Any one of the six could have murdered him.”

  Kenny started to hush me, but he stopped himself suddenly. “Paul, do you know who the other five victims are? Of course, I understand confidentiality. I’m not suggesting that you violate that. But you do know them?”

  By now, my heart rate was up. I could feel that thump-thump-thump inside my chest. Had one of the victims acted out of desperation? Maybe that’s why I was now being stalked.

  In the next seat over, Kenny fidgeted. It was all he could do to wait until Dubinsky was done before he asked a very important question.

  “Did Grimshaw leave the blackmail materials down in the Dominican Republic, or did he bring everything back to Connecticut?”

  Maybe the killer was trying to recover the evidence of his dirty, little secret. That would explain why he came back to the parking garage, wouldn’t it? But it didn’t explain why he came after me.

  “Philip did? That was very decent of him.”

  When he hung up a minute later, Kenny sat motionless. His long fingers gripped the steering wheel while he stared out through the windshield. I followed his gaze to the stone wall thirty feet away. Had he just spotted the killer lurking in the bougainvillea? I waited tensely, wondering if I should be prepared to duck. At last he cleared his throat.

  “Well, that was an eye-opener,” he told me. “In all my life, I have never heard of anyone doing something that courageous.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Grimshaw got all of the victims out from under the blackmail. He went down to the Caribbean to retrieve the contents of the safety deposit boxes where Margarita and her friend stashed the evidence they used to blackmail people. He didn’t want to compromise anyone, just in case he got caught coming or going through Customs with the goods. That’s why he made so many trips. He tracked down four of the victims, one by one, and delivered the packets to each person. He watched them destroy all of the material. And then he left, promising them it was all over.”

  “And is it?”

  “I don’t know. I hope it is, but I just don’t know,” he admitted, picking up his coffee cup. “There was one victim that Grimshaw didn’t contact. I wonder who it is.”

  “It must be awful to be blackmailed. I can’t imagine the panic and stress the victims must feel.”

  “And the rage,” he added.

  “And the relief when it was over.”

  “Dubinsky said he was so thrilled when Grimshaw gave him the compromising videos, he wanted to reward him with a junior partnership. But Grimshaw said he felt compelled to do for the others what he did for Dubinsky. That made Grimshaw a real prince in Dubinsky’s eyes.”

  “I wonder if everyone else felt that way, Kenny. Could one of them have believed that he or she was still on the hook, exchanging one blackmailer for another?”

  “Expecting Grimshaw to take over? It’s possible, except for two things.”

  “Oh?”

  “Almost every one of them offered Grimshaw a reward for his kindness. He turned them all down. And you’re not going to believe this, Scarlet. Grimshaw also returned almost all the money he found in the safety deposit boxes.”

  “The victims got their money back?”

  “They did.”

  “Wow, he really was a prince.” I was surprised that I had been so wrong about Grimacing Grimshaw. It goes to show you that you don’t always know the secrets people keep. “No wonder he was almost bankrupt. He must have used his own money to pay for everything.”

  “He didn’t want to take money from Dubinsky, to prevent anyone figuring out he was a blackmail victim.”

  “But didn’t Margarita and the fishing crew know that Grimshaw worked for Martin, Dubinsky, and Moore?”

  “Sure, it was no secret. It probably made him attractive as the patsy.”

  “Couldn’t they have put two and two together and realized he was investigating them?”

  “Maybe that’s why he made such a point of being a prickly porcupine, to keep people from guessing his real motives. It worked with you, didn’t it?”

  “It did.” My sigh was heavily tinged by hindsight “He irritated the crap out of me. Where is the missing tournament money now, Kenny?”

  “Dubinsky didn’t know. He said that Grimshaw planned to use it for expenses once the case wrapped up, to pay for all the travel he did.”

  “Hmm....Where do you suppose he would have stashed it if he still had it?”

  “God only knows. Given Grimshaw’s penchant for secrets and his careful nature, it could be just about anywhere. All I know is that he wouldn’t do what his wife and her accomplice did with their ill-gotten gains.”

  “That’s understandable, honey. It would be too easy for them to impersonate him and steal it. I wonder who Grimshaw would have trusted. Could his own lawyer hold the keys to his safety deposit boxes?”

  “We’ll have to wait until we get back to Connecticut to find out.”

  We exchanged the vandalized rental car for another one when we got to Miami. Kenny gave the clerk the contact information for the deputy who wrote up the report. It took another ten minutes to fill out the paperwork before we were able to get back on the road.

  Just after eleven, we arrived in Surfside, a pleasant enclave that encompassed not much more than a mile on the outskirts of the city. Margarita Grimshaw lived in an oceanfront mid-rise on Collins Avenue. Kenny parked the new rental car on 93rd Street and we walked half a block to the entrance of the building.

  The sleek, minimally-furnished lobby was expansive. The low-ceilinged, wide open space was decorated in mirrors, silver metal, and white marble, dotted with contemporary leather seating and a smattering of tropical plants.

  “We check in over there,” I told Kenny, raising my good arm to point at the distant concierge sign that hung over a chrome-encrusted desk.

  A pleasant young woman glanced up as we approached and greeted us with a smile. “Can I help you?” />
  Kenny pulled out his credentials and flashed them at her. “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Grimshaw.”

  “Grimshaw?”

  “Yes, Margarita Grimshaw.”

  “Oh, Margie. I think she just went out to the pool with her brother. At least that’s who I think she said the man is. Would you like me to page her?”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d just as soon speak to her out there. It will only take me a minute or two. Scarlet, why don’t you have a seat and wait for me while I talk to Mrs. Grimshaw?” He gave me a quick wink and I realized he was trying to convince the concierge to let him wander out there on his own. “I won’t be long, honey.”

  “Take your time, sweetheart,” I told him cheerfully as I sent him on his way. Returning my gaze to the concierge, I smiled warmly and I pointed over to the corner near the elevators. “Would you mind if I sat over there?”

  “No, of course not; please make yourself at home.”

  Determined to kill time with as much grace as possible, I settled myself on the red leather settee positioned between mirrored pillars and gingerly reached out to pick up a copy of People Magazine from the glass table in front of me. I stifled a gasp as the wave of pain hit, but I managed to hold onto the January issue. Clutching the magazine on my lap, I did a one-handed flip through the gossip pages, hoping that my shoulder would forgive me eventually.

  Curiosity got the better of me as I tried to amuse myself in Kenny’s absence. The news that Margarita Grimshaw’s nickname was Margie was unexpected. It lacked a certain level of sophistication that caught me off-guard and spoiled my preconceived notions about her. Ever since I had learned of her existence, I assumed she was a seductive Latina beauty, with exotic looks and a killer figure. Wasn’t that how she managed to seduce Grimshaw? When I caught my first glimpse of her through the glass wall that overlooked the pool, I did a double-take. “Ay caramba!”

  Barely five feet tall, she was built like a fire hydrant and looked like she could bench press a hundred pounds. Dressed in a vivid chartreuse romper, she stood defiantly with her hands on her hips, facing off against the man from Mercer Security. Her light brown hair, lopped off in a demented version of a pixie cut, had tips that were bleached and spiked by so much hair gel that looked like she’d been struck by 240 volts of electricity.

  When she suddenly threw her head back and laughed animatedly at something Kenny said, he made a point of stepping away from her. Was he worried that she would attack him? Ho-ho-ho. Tint her green and you’d swear you were looking at the Jolly Green Giant on crack. Definitely not your mama’s Niblets.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Our little Margie kept at it, moving closer and closer to him, even as he ignored her antics. But when she brazenly reached out and poked him in the chest with her index finger, I could see him struggling to control his reaction. That just seemed to excite her. She glanced around, as if she hoped to find an audience for her performance, and gave herself away.

  Kenny must have realized that his interview was going south. He shook his head, closed his pocket notebook, and walked back towards the lobby. She continued her rant, shouting at his retreating back. Any sane person could see there was nothing charming about Margie Grimshaw. That was one belligerent woman.

  “Thank you for showing us why you’re suspect number one,” I mumbled under my breath. “Now lead us to the evidence.”

  So intrigued was I, I nearly missed the man who came out of the elevator and made his way over to the glass wall.

  Dressed in a short-sleeved navy shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts, the stranger stood there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on Kenny. Even though I only saw his back, I thought there was something oddly familiar about him. Where had I seen him before? And then it hit me. He bore a striking resemblance to C. Philip Grimshaw.

  “Holy mother of pearl!” That came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I was totally stunned. Quickly realizing the error of my ways, I ducked behind one of the mirrored pillars and shoved the copy of People Magazine in front of my face, pretending I was reading about the recent Matt Lauer scandal. On the off-chance that the stranger standing at the glass wall was my attacker, I didn’t want to be recognized.

  The startled concierge stood up, concerned that I was in need of assistance. I twisted in my seat.

  “Sorry,” I called out softly, holding up the magazine. “Shocking about this Matt Lauer thing.”

  “I think so too,” she answered me. “The man’s a real pig, isn’t he?”

  “Oink, oink!” I responded, earning a laugh from her.

  Despite the momentary distraction of my faux pas, Grimshaw’s doppelganger had eyes only for Kenny. I jumped up from the settee and scurried across the lobby. Pulling out my cell phone, I sent a text. You have a watcher. Meet me outside ASAP.

  Moving away from the glass wall, the stranger walked over toward the elevators and pretended to press the button as Kenny re-entered the lobby. Even in profile, he bore a striking resemblance to the late lawyer.

  A moment later, my cell phone pinged. I’ll meet you in the parking lot on the corner of 93rd and Harding.

  The afternoon sun was hot as I made my way down the sidewalk. I ducked under a palm tree to escape it. Surfside seemed like an idyllic beach burg, without the hustle and bustle of Miami. Too bad we didn’t have more time to look around, but there was a killer waiting to be caught.

  Kenny was as good as his word. Just moments after I arrived at the appointed meeting place, he trotted down the street from the opposite direction.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Grimshaw has a doppelganger. He was very interested in you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was. It’s almost freaky to see him.”

  “Do you think he’s actually related?”

  “No. There are a few things that are off, Kenny, but I can definitely see more than a passing resemblance. He’s about the same height and weight. His hair is cut the same way. And he’s wearing glasses that are a similar style to Grimshaw’s. But those glasses are really just props, aren’t they?”

  “True,” he nodded approvingly. “But people are more likely to remember those details.”

  “What did you find out from Margie?”

  “I told her I was investigating Grimshaw’s murder. Instead of being curious about my progress on the case, she told me she doesn’t have to answer any of my questions, and if I don’t like that response, I should take it up with her lawyer. She also insists that Grimshaw’s nephew did the killing.”

  “How did she find out about that so quickly?” I wanted to know.

  “One of the Hartford cops probably reached out to the widow, wanting to reassure her that they found her husband’s killer.”

  “So, she thinks she’s off the hook.” I glanced up at that handsome face, letting my gaze linger. My heart felt full as he smiled at me. Come on, Scarlet. You’re supposed to be catching a killer. Focus. “Is that why she got so aggressive with you?”

  “You saw that?”

  “It was hard to miss that little scene by the pool. I thought she was going to clobber you, honey.”

  “So did I,” he confessed.

  “What got her so lathered up?”

  “I mentioned that there was a lot of money missing and the cops would love to know where it is. She told me the Hartford cops don’t have jurisdiction down here. She blew me off like she didn’t have a worry in the world.”

  “Why would she care about jurisdiction if she loved her husband?” And then it hit me. I put my hand on his arm. “Is it possible that Margie and her boyfriend still think the money’s safe and sound down in Santa Domingo?”

  “Oh!” A sly little smile formed on his lips. “This is why I love you, babe.”

  “I knew there had to be a reason,” I grinned, clasping his hand in mine. “It’s a good one.”

  And then reality set in. What would happen when Margie and her accomplice realized that Grimshaw had c
leaned out those safety deposit boxes?

  “We have to solve this case right away, Kenny. Otherwise, we’re looking at a hell-in-a-hand-basket scenario. Those unidentified victims could all be in grave danger.”

  “They could indeed. And we can’t warn them if we don’t know who they are.”

  “Grimshaw didn’t share the information with Dubinsky?”

  “He says not, Scarlet, but I have my doubts. If I were Grimshaw, I would have hired Dubinsky to be the attorney of record for the victims, or at the very least, the go-to guy, just in case they ran into trouble.”

  “That sounds reasonable to me, sweetheart. If Grimshaw went to all that trouble to go down to the Dominican Republic to reclaim the extorted money, he surely would have wanted to make sure the blackmailers couldn’t come back later and start the game all over again.”

  “I agree. There would have to be some kind of built-in fail-safe. We just have to figure out what it is.”

  “Kenny, the man who kidnapped me last night...do you think it’s possible it was Margie’s friend?”

  “Is it possible? Yes. Is it probable? I’m not sure.” He linked his arm with mine as we walked back to the car. “I feel like I’m missing something, Miz Scarlet. How do we know who’s involved in this scheme to blackmail? If we guess wrongly, someone could get killed.”

  “What do you propose we do, Kenny? We can’t afford to lose any time on this. Every minute we waste gives Margie and her accomplice more time to wreak havoc with some very vulnerable people. I think we really need to know what Dubinsky knows about Grimshaw.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to tell us over the phone, Scarlet.”

  “Can you blame him?” I took a deep breath. “There’s only one thing for us to do.”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I think we need to....”

  “Please don’t say it,” he begged me, knowing full well I would.