She was already halfway up the stairs. "You don't know how happy I am to see you," she was babbling. "All day I've been trying—"
Twee turned in a quick, panicked move and lumbered toward her bedroom door.
"Twee, wait. Please, I have to talk to you." Finny reached the door just as it was swinging shut and she slammed her shoulder against its solid oak surface. "Twee," she said breathlessly, pressing for all she was worth to widen the narrow sliver of space between the latch bolt and the strike plate on the jamb. "Twee, stop it." She could hear Twee's ragged breathing on the other side of the door, and for a moment, she battled the hysterical impulse to laugh.
"Dammit, Twee. Stop it right now!" Finny gained purchase by digging the toes of her shoes into the sculpted hallway carpeting. She took a half step, and then another, pushing steadily with arms that sawing and hammering had strengthened over the last year.
The matching pressure on the other side of the door suddenly gave way and Finny catapulted into the room, coming up hard against the footboard of the bed, her shins taking the sharp edge of the hard wood.
"Ow!" Finny bent to rub her shins, then cast a quick look over one shoulder to find Twee.
The older woman stood, back against the wall, her eyes closed, a tired, defeated look on her lined face. She'd aged ten years since Finny had seen her Sunday night.
Finny straightened as Twee moved, then relaxed as she came to the side of the bed and sat down heavily. "Twee, I—" she stopped at Twee's upraised hand.
"I'm tired." Twee shook off her pink leather mules and shifted her weight onto the bed. "Why are you here?"
Finny eased round the rosewood footboard, perching on the edge of the mattress as Twee pulled the flowered top-sheet and mauve bedspread over her legs. "I've got to talk to you," she said quietly. "You've caused quite a ruckus, you know."
"For whom?" Twee asked coolly. "You? I understand that you've been making something of a nuisance of yourself."
"Now, just a damned minute—"
"Senora Garrett?" Bianca was at the doorway, half in, half out of the room, trepidation on her face. "You are all right?"
Twee's lined features softened for an instant. "Yes, dear. I'm fine. Miss Aletter won't be staying long."
"I—uh, I called Senor Bartholomew." Bianca's gaze lightly glanced off Finny, then skittered past her back to Twee. "He says he is coming."
"Thank you, Bianca." Twee turned to look at Finny. "You probably won't want to stay. I understand MacKenzie threw you out of his office yesterday."
Finny fought the shards of distance that Twee was putting between them. The measured words, and the cold punctiliousness of her manner, had put them, ludicrously, into a familiar, social setting: the Lady of the Manor reproves an importunate acquaintance.
Finny stiffened. "Then he can throw me out of here. I'm not leaving until you've answered some questions."
"I told you I'm tired." With regal disdain, Twee reached for the bedside lamp and switched off the light.
Finny stood up and in two steps was next to the bedside table. She snapped on the light, her forearm knocking over the framed photograph beside the lamp.
Twee lurched upward with an inarticulate cry and snatched up the fallen picture. She cradled it against her chest, dislike radiating from her. "Go away and leave me alone."
"Cut the bullshit," Finny said calmly. "I'm not in the mood to be insulted. I want to know what's going on."
"Not now, Finny." Twee's voice was incongruously frail, coming from such a big woman. "I'm not up to talking now."
"Tough." Finny plumped herself down onto the bed and an invisible cloud of lavender scent engulfed her. She stared stubbornly at Twee. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, and I'm not leaving until you've done it."
Twee looked as forthcoming as a rock, her eyes closed once more, her lips pressed tightly together.
Dammit, Bartholomew would be here in minutes, Finny thought desperately. "Why the confession, Twee?" she said remorselessly. "Who're you trying to protect?"
Twee's eyes opened at that. "I'm not protecting anyone. I killed William Sarandon." Her lips quivered, then firmed. "And I'd do it again."
"You couldn't have. I was with you at about the only time you could've done it." She let out a frustrated sigh. "All right, then, if you insist, tell me the details, Twee. And tell me why." She watched as the older woman lay silent, her breathing jerky, her gaze evading Finny's. What if I'm wrong, her mind asked helpfully. I have been known to be wrong.
"You never knew Herbert, did you?" Twee's lips curved in a soft, sweet smile. "He was the dearest man."
"No, I never met him."
Twee's grip on the photograph tightened. "I met him when I was twenty-nine years old." A coy, flirtatious expression flitted across her strong features. "My mother, my aunts—they'd all given up on me." Her green eyes darkened with memories. "I was taller than most of the men in our set, and as graceful as newborn foal." Her mouth drooped. "One by one, all my friends got engaged, then married."
Finny put her hand over Twee's knuckles, clutching the edge of the bedding. Twee turned toward her, her eyes full of tears. "Herbert was five-foot-seven, and he didn't look like much. He'd just come back from the war, and, except for a small inheritance from an uncle, he was on his own."
She dashed the tears from one cheek. "He had something, though, something I'd never found in anybody else. He believed in himself... and he believed in me."
Finny waited for more, but Twee was in the past, her face slack with the memories that moved behind her eyes. "He sounds like a wonderful man," Finny said carefully.
"He was." Twee's voice was dreamy. "Half a head shorter than I, and he hadn't been tutored in the social graces, but he—" Twee's eyes met Finny's. "He made me laugh, and he made me feel small and feminine." One of her hands moved in a vague motion. "He was special, he was a gift. I wanted to give him the world, but I couldn't even have his child." The tears tracked down Twee's cheeks again, and this time she ignored them. "I would have done anything for Herbert." Her face hardened. "Anything."
Finny drew in a breath to speak, but Twee was already going on. "Herbert made money because he trusted his instincts and was wise about the risks he took. But then William Sarandon came up short on capital for his grand new scheme. Skiing would be the industry of the future, he said, and Herbert knew he was right. And William was such a good friend..." Her voice trailed off. "When the whole thing failed, Herbert lost his sense of... sureness. And without that, he simply couldn't go on."
Finny felt the scratchiness of tears in her own eyes. "So you felt that you owed Sarandon—"
Twee clutched at Finny's hand. "I promised Herbert, when he was dying, I promised him. 'He's a destroyer,' Herbert said, over and over. And I promised him that I would get William. Somehow, someday, I would kill him for Herbert." Twee's anxious gaze lifted to Finny's eyes. "I promised. After everything Herbert did for me, how could I do anything less?"
Finny took a deep breath. "Why so long, Twee?" She produced a smile at the lack of understanding on the older woman's face. "Herbert died years ago. Why did you wait so long?"
Twee looked at her blankly, and then finally spoke. "I-I was afraid," she said feebly. "Just scared to do it."
"But you stopped being scared the night of my party?" Finny stared into the clouded green eyes. "After all these years you decided to really kill him?"
"What is going on here?"
Finny spun around. MacKenzie Bartholomew took up most of the doorway, and he was vibrating with anger. "What are you doing here?" he demanded as he strode toward the bed. Despite the hour and the weight of his rage, he was crisp and bandbox fresh down to the knife-sharp crease of his pinstriped trousers. "How dare you force your way into this house?"
Finny pushed herself stiffly off the bed and stood her ground. "I needed to talk to Twee. Forcing my way in was the only way I could manage it."
"I'll see that you're charged with trespassing," Bartholomew raged
. "This is a flagrant case of—"
"Stuff it." Finny turned back to Twee. "Get some sleep," she said gently. "You didn't let Herbert down." Before Bartholomew could explode again, she moved toward the door. "We'll talk again, Twee."
She was at the top of the stairs when Bartholomew caught up with her. "I'll have you know that I'm calling the police." His voice was low and deadly. "If I have to, I'll get a restraining order against you. And if you try to contact Twee again in any way, I'll do more than that."
Finny met the ferocity of his gaze blandly. "In your ear, counselor." She walked down the stairs and out the front door.
Chapter 11
"...filed today, seven prisoners in the Adams County Jail bringing suit against the state, citing overcrowded conditions at the facility. Adams County Commissioner Lydell Wolman refused comment. State Senator Miriam Jarvis renewed her drive to subcontract prisons out to private firms. 'Too much of the state's overdrawn resources are being diverted into housing criminals. I appeal to my colleagues in the legislature to look again at the vital role private enterprise can assume in solving this problem.'"
"In other news—"
Finny switched off the radio and dropped her handbag onto the kitchen counter. Her shoulders slumped. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of one hand while the other tugged open the refrigerator door. A six-pack of Coors long necks sat on the first shelf like a treasure waiting for discovery. "There is a God," she muttered. She pulled out one bottle and grabbed the dishtowel hanging from the door handle to twist off the cap. Then the first icy swallow was making its way down her throat.
God, she was tired. She felt as though she'd been run over by a truck. Driven, no doubt, by the outraged scions of the upper crust she'd managed to offend today. Twee would probably be at the wheel.
Finny wandered through the swinging door into the foyer. The mail was scattered under the slot in the door. When she bent to retrieve it, a dust baby shifted slyly at the movement of the air.
She took the clutch of envelopes with her into the living room, tossing the mail onto the round coffee table, putting the beer beside it, moving on to the bank of shelves. The message light on the answering machine glowed like a lit cigarette. Finny pushed the playback button.
There were the usual hiccups from people who called but didn't talk. Corinne wanted her to call. Then a musical, modulated voice: "Miss Aletter, it's Les Trethalwyn here. I'd very much appreciate a return call."
Finny jotted down the number given in lilting tones and reached for the phone.
The number was busy. Par for the course. She rewound the message tape and settled down with the mail, flicking through it like a Las Vegas dealer. Water bill, Public Service bill, junk, junk, a letter from her mother. Wouldn't beat a flush.
Hell, it wouldn't beat a pair. Finny leaned back into the sofa. She hadn't had so many people mad at her since the old days at Lakin & Fulton. But that had just been cutthroat competition. The stuff she was dealing with now had a lot more emotion. She didn't have to be too sensitive to recognize that the hackles she'd raised today among Cuffy, Kit, and MacKenzie Bartholomew were sharp and potentially dangerous. All Bartholomew could do was throw legal jargon at her, but if there was a sliver of a chance that Kit and/or Cuffy had killed William Sarandon, then she probably ought to watch her back.
The irony was that in spite of the waves she'd made, she still didn't know much more than when she'd started. She still thought Twee was lying through her teeth. She might have wanted to kill Sarandon to keep her promise to dear old Herbert, but she'd been about as believable as Richard Nixon when she said she'd done it. And there was still the time element...
Congratulations, Finny said to herself. You've reinforced your original theory, but you're as close to figuring out who did kill Sarandon as the Broncos are to a Super Bowl win.
Taking out her frustrations on a blameless haddock fillet had resulted in a dinner entree, but no breakthroughs. Her mother had always called fish brain food, so maybe she'd get a moment of revelation after dinner. Sounded like a new liqueur: Moment of Revelation, for that special time with that special person. Finny sprinkled more lemon pepper into the cream sauce with a grimace. For that special time when the missing piece to the puzzle is just an agonizing moment away.
Barelli ambled in after seven with his jacket draped over one shoulder, tie loosened and cockeyed. His tumbled hair was damp from the sweat glistening on his face. "Twee's out and her lawyer has her."
Finny continued pushing the fillets around in their pan. "Yeah, I know. I saw her."
"You're kidding. How'd you manage it?"
"Moral purity." Finny turned off the burner.
Barelli had plopped into a chair, extending his legs and resting his head against the wicker back. "Where'd you get that?"
"Target had a sale." She got out plates and flatware. "Didn't help much."
"So what did she say?" He crossed one ankle over the other. "I take it from the way you're acting Twee didn't recant her confession."
"On the contrary." Finny tossed napkins onto the table. "She got all choked up telling me how she promised Herbert on his deathbed that she'd kill Sarandon for him. Maybe she thinks she did kill him, but I still don't believe her. Dammit, Chris, I feel as though I've stepped into the Twilight Zone."
He was watching her quizzically. "That's an interesting name for it."
"Cute." Finny returned to the stove to dish up the food. "I feel like the guy who invests in bottled oxygen: he knows he's paid a lot of money to buy in but he doesn't have much to show for it. I've got a ton of great motives now, but not one shred of proof."
Barelli's grin was mocking. "So tell me what else you found out."
A half hour later their stomachs were full and Finny was still beating up on herself. "As far as the others are concerned, I guess I could've camped in Cuffy's living room till she told me about Kit, or I could've bugged Kit some more, but I can't figure out how you lean on people like that."
"Come on, you're talking like you blew it. You didn't. Did you really expect everybody to lay it all out for you as soon as you started asking questions? I'm here to tell you: it ain't that easy."
Finny crumpled her napkin. "I know that. I guess I'm at the point of questioning my basic assumptions. I go off half-cocked, convinced that Twee's innocent, and then I come up against these people who think I'm out to lunch. And to top it off, Twee pulls out the stops to convince me she's a murderer. Shakes me up."
"Welcome to the NFL." Barelli took his plate over to the counter. "Looks to me as if you got several nuggets. One, you're convinced Twee's lying. Two, the atmosphere's definitely thick between Landauer and the Sarandon girl. You just don't have all the information yet. Three, if you got the feeling that something's off-center with the maid, then there has to be a reason. Maybe she has something to hide." The background swoosh of water was cut off at his sharp turn of the faucet handle. "As for Abigail Hunter, I know where to go the next time I have to deal with the high and the mighty."
"You're not exactly her favorite person." Finny wiped the sweat off her forehead, pushing the damp spikes of her bangs back. "I thought I'd hunt down Ty Engelman tomorrow and see what that gets me."
"Engelman. Huh, I don't remember which one he is."
"He was with Paige Dexter the night of the party—or at least that's the impression I got," Finny added slowly. "I was talking to Ty when Paige came up and practically pushed me out of his range."
"You know him?"
"He worked at Templeton Associates about seven years ago. I went out with him a couple of times."
Barelli's eyelids were at half-mast, but he was watching her with interest. "No kidding. You didn't say anything about it the other night."
"I had other things on my mind." Finny scratched absently around the perimeter of a mosquito bite on her hand. "Cuffy said that he and Paige are sleeping together."
"How cozy."
"I figured it'd be worthwhile to talk to h
im, if only to get to Paige. But otherwise, I'm not quite sure what to do next."
Barelli shrugged. "Do what we all do: punt."
The ring of the telephone sliced through the quiet, and he picked it up before it could ring again. "Barelli. Oh, hi, Monica."
Finny got up from the table and pushed through the swinging door to the dining room. Good manners were harder to get rid of than cellulite. Somewhere along the line she'd picked up rule number 483: one doesn't listen in on the conversations between one's lover and his ex-wife. One goes into the living room and acts like an unconcerned adult. She caught herself punching the pillows into shape against the back of the sofa and amended the rule: one tries to act like an adult.
She was ripping open her mother's letter when Barelli brought the wineglasses and bottle and set them on the table.
Finny looked at him.
His smile was casual, but his gaze glanced off hers like a ricocheting bullet. "I need to go out for a while, but I thought we could have a drink first."
A peace offering. That meant Monica needed him to do something for her, and he was going to do it. "What's up?"
"Oh, one of the fence posts rotted out at the bottom and the dog keeps getting out of the yard."
"Quite an emergency." Finny leaned over to get the wine bottle and fill up her glass. She didn't pour the wine for Barelli.
"What's wrong?"
He had a wary look on his face and that made Finny even madder. She didn't like the way she felt when Monica called, and she didn't like Barelli knowing it and trying to work around her.
"Finny." He was leaning back into the sofa, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "Come on, talk to me."
"What." Irritably.
"Do you remember what we said when I moved in?"
"Love means taking turns cleaning the bathroom?"
"Dammit, Finny." He bit off what he was going to say and took a deep breath. "The stuff about honesty and how that was the only way we were ever going to have anything worth—"
"Okay, okay. I remember."
"So what's the deal? You're upset about Monica's call, right?"
Obstacle Course Page 9
