Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  “Kitzi, it’s not something I want to talk about. It’s . . . well . . . it just is.” He didn’t seem happy with me, but I wasn’t the one who wanted him to remarry a not-very-nice gold digger with claws longer than my cat’s. “I’d better run.”

  “No,” I said. “Give me just five minutes. I have to tell you what’s happening—”

  “I can’t. Not now. Maybe later.” And with that he took off toward his car at a lope. I hadn’t even gotten to tell him about Houston’s bid to take over the Manse.

  I could feel myself getting angry. Stephen was adorable, but that cuter-than-thou appearance didn’t hold up for long in the grown-up world. If he couldn’t find a job, Stephen could at least focus long enough to be of some help to me. He knew the entire family, and he cared about the Manse. Not as much as I did, but his incentive would be Mother—he did love her.

  I walked back into the house wishing I had a wand that I could wave to make everything the way I wanted it. I might even use it to smack a few people around. On the driveway near the front door was a rather nondescript white car. That would be Sergeant Granger’s, which meant it was time to talk to him about Andrew’s death.

  My anger was giving way to sorrow. No matter what I thought of Andrew, he was young with a major portion of his life still in front of him. And there was Tess, younger than I was, in her hospital room. There was so much to lose in life. It didn’t seem right or fair.

  In the dark hallway I stopped and leaned against the wall. Sometimes things are just hard. I put my hands over my face. The stupid house could go—I would gladly give it away if someone would find a cure for ovarian cancer now, soon enough to save Tess. She had looked so terrible. So weak, and just not herself. I felt like someone had thrown a javelin through my heart and I wanted to cry to wash out the pain, but no tears would come.

  Maybe I didn’t have anything to cry about. I was healthy; I would survive. It was Tess and others like her who should be crying, but they were the brave ones. I pressed on my eyes with the palms of my hands until I saw spots. Sometimes life just pissed me off.

  I felt hands on my shoulders and I opened my eyes in surprise. Nate was watching me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi, yourself. Are you okay?”

  “Oh sure.” I let out a long breath. “Nothing but a few little bumps on the road of life. Isn’t that what the poets say to expect?”

  “That and they like to talk about rain. Into each life a little must fall.”

  I straightened up. “That’s probably in the forecast since I seem to have black clouds following me around.”

  He smiled and kissed me lightly on the nose. After a pause he said, “Now I have to give you bad news. Sergeant Granger wants to talk with you.”

  “More fun,” I said.

  “When your interview is finished, how about if I buy you a drink? Or some dessert?”

  “Either,” I said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the kitchen.

  As we walked through the doorway together, Lauren looked up from the sink and blushed. “Oh.” She looked embarrassed, but then she’s young. She said, “I’m sorry. I was going to clean up . . .”

  “It’s okay. Never apologize for doing someone else’s work,” I said.

  “I’ll help,” Nate offered. To me he added, “You’d better go see the sergeant. Do you want to take anything with you?”

  “Cyanide?” I asked.

  “I was thinking more of tea or coffee, or maybe a glass of wine.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Oh, I did offer the sergeant some food earlier.”

  “Beth took him some.”

  “Then I’m on my way.”

  The sergeant was in the small downstairs office, a tape recorder in his hand. It’s a room of navy and oak, dominated by the huge antique desk that had been my grandfather’s. Dwayne Granger wasn’t exactly sitting behind it; he was at the side, using it to hold one of my Mexican trays with his bowl of soup and a plate of crackers. The bowl was almost empty. He also had a pen and a notebook.

  Beth was sitting on a loveseat across from Granger and they were both smiling. When Beth saw me her expression changed to concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Bad day and it caught up with me.”

  Beth nodded and patted my arm. “I’m sorry.” Then she turned to the sergeant. “Go easy on her, okay?”

  He raised his eyebrows. Beth left the room, and I had to wonder what I’d missed. That wasn’t a remark I’d expect from Beth to a police officer.

  “Ms. Camden, would you be seated?” he began.

  Once before I’d had to give a formal interview to the police, only then I was holding things back to cover up for Beth’s daughter Shannan. This time I was ready to tell the detective anything and everything he wanted to know. I was even going to tell him things he wasn’t expecting.

  First he asked if I minded the tape recorder, which I didn’t. Then he wanted my full name and address. Next he read me my rights, which surprised the hell out of me.

  “Am I a suspect?” I asked.

  He smiled and did a small wave in the air. “Primarily I’m asking for information to help us find the person or persons who killed Andrew Lynch; however, you still have the same rights under the law. You don’t have to speak to me without an attorney present.” I suspected that was something he’d said many times before.

  “No thanks. My attorney, Howard Voelkman, is probably asleep in front of the TV set about this time, and we wouldn’t want to disturb him. He wouldn’t be near as comfortable sleeping in a chair here.”

  Granger smiled. “First,” he said, “I have to ask you not to mention any details of the crime scene to anyone.”

  “Like the fact that he was found in the Dumpster?”

  He nodded.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” He checked the tape recorder, then said, “Did you know Andrew Lynch?”

  “I’ve known him for a couple of years,” I said. “Let’s see, about two—ever since he went to work with my cousin Houston Webber.”

  “And what was your relationship with Mr. Lynch?”

  “Mostly I didn’t have one, and I preferred it that way.”

  “Oh? Why was that?”

  “Because Andrew and my cousin had an investment company, and Andrew was always trying to get me to let them invest some of my money. I have always believed that relatives and money don’t mix, and that’s even true of the business partners of relatives.”

  “But personally you liked Mr. Lynch?”

  Now that was a rotten question. I could lie and say “sure,” but that just seemed silly. I straightened up in my chair. “Actually, I didn’t care all that much for him. He was pushy, and he was always trying to sell me something.” I thought about it. “It wasn’t that I disliked him, but he annoyed me.”

  The sergeant nodded in acceptance. “Okay. When was the last time you saw him?”

  I told him about our very brief conversation the night before at the party.

  “Did you see him with anyone else?” he asked.

  I thought about it, started to say no, and changed my mind. “Yes, I did. He was with an elderly couple.” I corrected myself. “Perhaps elderly is the wrong term. They were in their late sixties or early seventies. Is that elderly?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “Have you ever seen them before? Do you know who they were?”

  “No. I thought the woman looked familiar, but not . . .” I was struggling to remember. “Maybe I’ve seen her at the bank or the grocery store or something like that, but I can’t place where. I’m pretty sure she’s not someone I’ve ever talked to. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Would you recognize her name?”

  “I’m not sure I’d recognize her face.”

  He let that go and pulled out a list of the guests. It was a copy, and together we went through every name. Did I know them? Did they know Andrew? What time did they arriv
e and what time did they leave?

  I knew about twenty of the people, and many of those were artisans who were setting up their booths. “Can’t Charles help place them?” I asked. “The guard who was watching the tent?”

  “I’ve already spoken to him; most of the vendors were gone by the time Andrew Lynch was killed.”

  “What time was that?” I asked.

  He smiled. “We aren’t releasing that information just yet.”

  “But he was killed here; I mean, in this neighborhood. At the neighbor’s. Is that right?”

  “That’s close.”

  We continued down the list, one by one. I told him that my mother had been escorted to the gatehouse by my brother around eight thirty or nine at my insistence. She’d been pale with exhaustion, and I knew she’d leave if Stephen suggested it. He came back to the party, but I couldn’t say when he left for the night.

  Beth and I had gone upstairs around eleven, and we had locked up the house, so everyone had been gone by then. I knew what time Nate Wright had driven off, and I could tell him about Bruce and Delphine Burnett’s departure.

  Houston and Rebecca had arrived about seven thirty, and I’d seen them at various times during the evening, but I couldn’t say when they’d left. I did realize that I’d seen Houston at the end of the party. It was close to ten, but Rebecca hadn’t been with him, and there weren’t that many people at the Manse except the volunteers who were clearing the last of the refreshments.

  Then he asked, “Do you know if any of these people had a reason to be angry with Andrew Lynch?”

  That morning Bruce had said Andrew needed killing, but then Bruce had also said he hadn’t done it. My cousin Houston certainly wouldn’t be pleased with Andrew if he knew about Andrew’s plan to move out and start his own business. It would be especially bad if Andrew was taking some of Houston’s clients, but I didn’t know any of that for sure.

  Lauren might or might not be telling the truth about her relationship with Andrew. They could have dated, and he could have dumped her.

  Even my brother had done some investing with Andrew, and I hadn’t heard how that turned out. If that was part of the reason, besides rampant spending, that Stephen was broke, he might be very upset with Andrew.

  “You know,” I said after thinking it through, “I didn’t know Andrew very well, and I’m sure it wouldn’t help for me to guess at his relationships.”

  “Different generations. Makes sense.”

  I thought I detected a touch of condescension, but I was annoyed with him and that always colors how I hear things. The problem was that he hadn’t given me an opportunity to tell him about the candlestick.

  “You know, there is something—”

  He cut me off. “Tell me about the lights in the parking area.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” I said. “We have a security company that checks them. Because of its size my mother was always concerned that the Manse would be a target for thieves, so that’s just one of the security measures she had installed. Of course, we have an alarm system, too. I’m sure you’ve already talked to the company.”

  “This afternoon,” he said.

  “Good. Which reminds me, I need to report a crime. It completely got past me, because it was so busy today. And then with the murder . . .” He didn’t look terribly interested; in fact, he continued flipping through papers in front of him. “So here’s the thing,” I went on. “A pair of brass candlesticks was stolen.”

  His head came up. “Stolen from here? Are you sure they were taken yesterday?”

  “Not just yesterday, but last night.” Now that I had his attention I explained that Beth and I had moved them yesterday evening less than an hour before the party started, and they had not been here this morning.

  “You’re positive?”

  I didn’t roll my eyes, or say “duh” like my grand-daughter, Shelby, but it did cross my mind. “Yes, of course, I’m sure.”

  “Would you describe them?”

  And so I did. Size, color, ornamentation. All I couldn’t tell him was the weight, but that didn’t matter much. He could weigh the one he had in his evidence closet or whatever they call it. At least now he knew where the murder weapon had come from.

  “You said two are missing?”

  “Two.”

  “And were they valuable?”

  “Well, they were my grandmother’s, so I assume so.” I hadn’t thought about that.

  When we finished with all his questions, I walked him out of the small office. “Is there anyone else you need to talk to?”

  “Who else is here?” He flipped through his notebook. “My mother, but I bet she’s gone back to the gatehouse. Beth Fairfield, and Lauren, Andrew’s assistant.”

  “I spoke to Lauren, I mean Miss Kestler, earlier today. She was at his office last night.”

  “Also,” I said, “the guard, Charles, and Nate Wright.”

  “He’s on the list, isn’t he? He was at the party.”

  “For about half an hour,” I said. “He left early.”

  “I’d like a minute of his time. Could you send him here?” He gestured toward the office.

  “Not a problem.” Somewhere in the background a phone was ringing, and I hurried off to answer it.

  Ten

  “Did Dwayne leave?” Beth asked.

  This time I raised an eyebrow. Beth looked wonderful, her skin rosy and her eyes twinkling like Santa’s. My, my. “No . . . Dwayne is still here. He’s in Grandfather’s office and he wants to talk to Nate.”

  “I’ll get Nate. You get the telephone. It’s Rebecca.”

  She went in one direction, I went in the other, toward the old wall phone in the kitchen. “Hello?”

  “Kitzi, I can’t believe what’s going on!” Rebecca’s voice was high, her words rushed. “Andrew was murdered. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”

  “It’s just too horrible, and Houston is still at the police station. He’s been there for hours. I’m terrified that he’s is going to be arrested. And then his mother keeps calling me every twenty minutes; she’s practically in hysterics.”

  Rebecca used to be a first-grade teacher who could corral twenty-five six-year-olds without ever raising her voice. I’d seen her in action at two school events; she was the poised one who could catch a marauding child with one hand and fend off a demanding parent with the other.

  Before she and Houston married, my mother and my aunt Miranda took Rebecca to lunch. I had liked Rebecca right away, so I showed up halfway through the meal in case someone needed to pick up the pieces and like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, try to put them together again. I found the three of them having a wonderful time telling stories about Houston. All charming stories, of course. When it was time for dessert they ordered two different ones and shared like college roommates.

  Rebecca had handled children, the family elders, and even cancer with a grace that I could only admire. It rattled me that she was so upset over Houston’s absence.

  “Rebecca,” I said, “I talked with one of the detectives just a minute ago. He’s here at the house, and he’s doing what looks like a normal and very thorough investigation. Houston is not going to be arrested.”

  “But he hasn’t come home and he doesn’t answer his cell phone. When I talked to him earlier he said he couldn’t leave.” She took a long shuddering breath. “Kitzi, this whole day is like a nightmare.”

  “I know it is, but it’s going to turn out fine. Trust me on that, okay? Look, why don’t I come over there and keep you company? I can be there in ten minutes—”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Thanks anyway, but I’m fine.” She did sound somewhat calmer. “My concern is Houston. Don’t you know someone who could get Houston away from the police station? Miranda said she asked you to help and you refused. Did you?”

  “Oh, brother, of course not.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Problem is that I don’t know any
one to call except the detective who’s here now. I’ll just go talk with him. Right away. And, here’s something you need to know: by law Houston can walk out of his interview anytime he wants to. They can’t keep him unless they charge him. Or he can at least have an attorney join him. Important thing is, they can’t keep Houston unless they charge him.”

  “But I can’t get a hold of him to tell him that.” Her voice was rising again.

  “I can, and I will.”

  “Oh, God, Kitzi, I wouldn’t ask, but that stupid chemo just wiped me out. I don’t have the strength to get up and do battle.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I said. “And you don’t have to. After I talk to the detective I’ll call Aunt Miranda—”

  “No, I’ll do that. As long as she knows you’re helping she’ll calm down.”

  “Good. Tell her I’m talking to the police this very moment. Then you take a sleeping pill and go to bed. Houston will be there to wake you up.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea; I hate taking drugs.”

  Here was a woman who’d had poison in the form of chemotherapy pumped into her body and she was afraid to take anything to make her feel better.

  “Rebecca, that’s just nuts. If it were me I’d be on Valium IVs.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Sure I would. And I’d certainly take a sleeping pill. If you don’t have any, I’ll send something of Mother’s. It will be herbal and you might grow a beard, but you’ll sleep.”

  Her laugh was shaky. “Oh, Kitzi, thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Now I have one question: did you go home before Houston last night?”

  I could hear a crinkle on the phone. “Yes, I was tired. Houston asked Judy O’Bannon, the OCO president, to bring me home. She even waited here with me until I was ready for bed.”

  “And why didn’t Houston take you home?”

  “Does it matter?” There was a touch of defensiveness. “Don’t tell me you have doubts about him, too?”

  “Rebecca, I do not believe that he had anything to do with Andrew’s death. However, I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew why he didn’t leave at the same time as you.”