The Silver Anniversary Murder

by Lee Harris

  “I’m not sure, but not before we lived here. It’s just that it’s so much money and it’s all in cash.” She opened the case and pulled out a rubber-banded stack of bills. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the denomination, but I could see that they weren’t new bills.

  “There are a hundred in each batch and they’re hundred-dollar bills. I didn’t really count, but there could be a million dollars here.” She looked at me. “A million dollars, Chris. Is it likely that my father’s mother had that kind of money?”

  The amount shocked me. People keep saying a million dollars isn’t what it used to be, but for me it’s so much money I can barely conceive of it, especially in one place— and most especially in the same room that I was sitting in.

  “Ariana, I don’t know what’s likely any more than I know what’s true. I know there are people who accumulate large amounts of money in their lifetime. Maybe your grandmother was one of them.”

  “But what if she wasn’t? What if this is stolen money? What if my parents did something awful and this is the result? There isn’t a word in any of the letters they’ve written me about why someone was after them. Why?”

  “I can’t answer that. But let me say this: You knew them and you loved them. You’re a good judge of character. You knew I could be trusted, and you were right. Unless you learn something definite that tells you the money was acquired illegally, I think you should act as though it’s yours. But I think the worst thing you can do is make public what you’ve found. The person who murdered your parents is still out there, and if he hears that the money has turned up, he may come after you.”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. He may want me dead, too.” She got up and closed the curtains, as though the person in question might have arrived just after we did and had been spying on us. When she came back, she said, “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to bury this again, just the way it was. We can get those bricks back in place, can’t we?”

  “Sure. It may be a bit uneven but we can put some lawn furniture over it. No one will be able to tell. Besides, it’s your house. No one’s coming back to it till you decide to rent it.”

  She took one pack of bills out and dropped it in her shoulder bag. Then she asked me to help her rebury the suitcase. We went out together.

  The suitcase, wrapped in its torn plastic container, slipped easily into the hole. We brushed soil over it till it was concealed, then replaced the hard plastic cover. More earth followed and then we reset the bricks, filling the gaps between them with earth. We decided to return to the hardware store, pick up some mortar, and finish the job. But even the way we left it, it looked good.

  By afternoon, we had completed the job, set a heavy table and a heavy umbrella stand over the bricks. We hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and we were both starving. We closed up the house, making sure every door was locked, and drove back downtown to find a place to eat. I was very conscious that in Ariana’s straw handbag was ten thousand dollars in cash.

  13

  We ate lunch, drove back to the hotel, and sat in our room to discuss our next move. I let Ariana know that if she didn’t want me along, I would fly home; otherwise, I could continue on to whatever place she had in mind. It seemed to me that answers to many of our questions might be found in Portland, but I wanted her to make the suggestion first.

  “This isn’t what I expected,” she began.

  It hadn’t been what I expected either. It was as far from that as I could imagine. “What did you think you would find?”

  “An explanation, a letter that said, Here’s what the problem is, here’s what you should do. Something like that. All of a sudden, I think my parents stole a huge amount of money, and the thought is making me sick.”

  “That’s too simple an answer,” I said, although I, too, now feared the Brinkers might have been felons.

  “I’ve spoken to two lawyers who knew my parents only superficially. I need to find someone who really knew them. An old friend, a relative. What do you think of starting in Portland and going on from there?”

  “I think Portland is a good place to start.”

  “I’d like to look over this list of Portland phone numbers. And I’d better make reservations. We can leave in the morning.”

  “That’ll be fine. While you’re doing that, let me find out what the nearest church is where I can go to mass tonight.”

  “Oh.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

  “No problem.” I took my card key and went downstairs. The young woman at the desk was Catholic and knew a church that had an evening mass. She wrote down the name and address and told me how to drive there. I thanked her and went back upstairs. Ariana was just getting off the phone.

  “Did you find one?” she asked.

  “Yes. I can drive there in ten minutes.”

  “I’d like to come with you,” Ariana said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  I had time to call Jack and explain some of what had happened and where we were going.

  “Any buried treasure in Madison?” he asked, surprising me.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” I had not wanted to say anything about it in front of Ariana.

  “You think they robbed a bank?”

  “It’s all old.”

  “And you can’t talk freely.”

  “Right.”

  “Told you to take a shovel.”

  “I thought you were kidding.”

  “Lieutenants never kid. They can’t afford it.”

  The mass was very pleasing. A group of children sang hymns, their voices sweet and cheerful. Ariana enjoyed it, too. She had told me on the drive over that she was not much of a churchgoer, nor had her parents been, but as she had attended some Catholic schools, the mass brought back happy memories.

  We had a good dinner in the hotel. I noticed that Ariana touched her bag reassuringly now and then. It makes a difference when the contents include ten thousand dollars.

  When we returned to our room, we looked at the list of Portland phone numbers I had made, and Ariana began to call them. Although I heard only her side of the conversations, I could judge what the responses were. Some were women whose married name was Brinker but they had never heard of her father. One man apparently tried hard to fit a memory to the name of her father but didn’t succeed. She mentioned her grandmother, Adelaide Brinker, several times, with no luck. Twice she got off the phone and said, “Answering machine,” and moved on to the next listing.

  “My parents have died,” I heard her say after she dialed the next number. “I’m looking for family. They never told me much about where they came from except that it was Portland.”

  The person at the other end spoke at some length, and Ariana said she would call back in a day or two, after she arrived in the city.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  “This one’s a possibility. Her husband’s on a business trip but he should be back soon. I guess a lot of people have moved to Portland in the last few years. Many of these people came from somewhere else.”

  “So I’ve heard. It’s supposed to be a nice place to live, but it rains a lot.”

  “My mother said that. She said she’d learned early always to have an umbrella handy.” Ariana looked nostalgic. “Why didn’t she tell me her maiden name?”

  “Because she didn’t want you to trace her.”

  “I guess that must be so.”

  “Have you finished the list?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Keep at it. I’m going downstairs. I’ll be back in a while.”

  There were phones in the lobby where you could sit, and I took one of those and called Jack. “I can talk now,” I said when I reached him.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “There’s a lot of money buried behind the house in Madison,” I said. “A lot.”

  “And you think they stole it.”

  �
�I’m beginning to think that’s what all this is about.

  They stole the money, buried it under the patio behind the house, and came back to check on it when tenants weren’t in the house.”

  “They rented it with money buried outside?”

  “You’d never know where. And we put most of it back and replaced the bricks and put a heavy umbrella stand and an outdoor table over it. We’re the only ones who know.”

  “Good luck,” my skeptical husband said.

  I told him our plans and said I’d call as soon as we got to Portland. “I’ll suggest we look at birth certificates,” I said. “And marriage licenses. She has the date of their marriage and the husband’s last name. That should help. If we can find her mother’s maiden name, it may give us another area to check.”

  “You want me to get in touch with the Portland police and see if Brinker has a record?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can’t do it till Monday, so don’t forget to call. Don’t forget to call anyway. The men in your life miss you.”

  “Good. I miss them, too.”

  “Before you go, how much money are we talking about? What’s a lot to you is pocket change to some people. Five, six, or seven figures?”

  I did some quick thinking as I don’t measure large sums of money in my everyday life. “Seven.”

  “That’s a felony.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  With plane changes we arrived in Portland in the afternoon on Sunday, landing in the rain. Ariana had made a hotel reservation and we took a taxi there. When we were dry and had unpacked our toiletries, she found a map of the city and a phone book and started to plan our Monday schedule, figuring out where she might find birth certificates and marriage licenses. She would try the licenses first to see if she could learn her mother’s maiden name.

  Then we looked through the residential phone book for Brinkers. My list turned out to be fairly complete, so she called back the woman whose husband was on a business trip. Apparently he had just returned home.

  “Yes, yes,” Ariana said after going through her opening story. “That could be my father. When was the last time you saw him?” She smiled and made notes on the hotel pad, nodding as she listened. “So we could be cousins,” she said. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Just a minute.” She looked away from the phone. “Chris, could we meet this man for dinner or after?”

  “Only in a public place,” I said. I wasn’t going to some man’s house escorted by a twenty-three-year-old.

  When she turned back to the phone, it occurred to me that I didn’t even want this person knowing where we were staying. She wrote an address on the pad and told him we’d meet him there.

  “This is a restaurant that has good fresh salmon,” she said to me after she had hung up. “We can get there by taxi.”

  “And let’s make sure we take a taxi home, Ariana. I don’t want to get into a car with a stranger, even if you’re sure he’s your cousin.”

  “You’re right. I have to keep my enthusiasm down. I’m glad you’re with me. But I have to tell you. He called my mother Aunt Elaine. That was her name, Chris. He knew her. He really knew her.”

  The restaurant specialized in seafood and featured salmon from the Willamette River. I found myself feeling pleased that this opportunity had presented itself to us. I was three thousand miles from home, in a place I had never considered visiting, and I was about to eat the freshest salmon of my life. Happily, it’s a favorite food of mine, which made it even more of a treat.

  As we entered the wood-paneled restaurant, a man sitting at a table with a woman stood and came toward us. “Ariana?” he asked, offering his hand. “I’m Nick Brinker.”

  Ariana was glowing. She introduced us and we went to the table where we met his wife, Jessie, a woman in her thirties and apparently thrilled to meet her husband’s kin.

  “I’ve always wondered where Nick hid the Brinkers,” she said. “Please sit down and order a drink.”

  They were both at least ten years older than Ariana, and as I listened to the initial conversation, Nick gave the ages of his parents and grandmother.

  “Adelaide!” Ariana said. “I used to talk to her on the phone when I was a child.”

  “She died a long time ago—ten years, maybe fifteen.”

  “That would fit. Tell me about her.”

  “She was just a great old gal. Jessie never knew her, of course. Granddad, who I don’t remember very well, made a lot of money in the fishing industry. Not just catching salmon, but the rest of it too—cleaning, packing, shipping it off around the country.”

  “What happened to the business?” I asked.

  “Granddad died suddenly. I mean like that.” He snapped his fingers. “One minute he was alive, the next he was lying dead on the floor. Heart attack. I was a kid. All I knew was one day he was gone. They never told me how it happened till I was older.”

  The drinks come and the menus with them, and we paused in our conversation although I could see how eager Ariana was to get back to it. Finally, with the waitress gone with our orders, Ariana sipped her drink and looked at Nick.

  “Please tell me what you remember of my parents.”

  “Let’s see.” He drank, put the glass down, and stared across the room. “They were part of my life when I was little. We visited them, and they came to us—not all that often, I don’t think, but I knew we were related. And I remember when you were born.”

  “You do?”

  “I remember hearing I had a new cousin, and we went to your house and brought presents. I remember everything was pink.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well, that’s the funny thing. I can’t remember the next time I saw you.”

  “You mean you can’t picture the visit or you never saw her again?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I was a kid, maybe twelve or fourteen, and I didn’t think much about babies, but I think it’s possible I never saw any of them again.”

  “But why?” Ariana asked. “Did your parents and my parents have a fight or something?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. They could have. I really can’t tell you.”

  She looked so disappointed, my heart ached. “Do you have brothers or sisters?” I asked him.

  “One sister. She’s younger. If I don’t remember, she won’t. But you know, it’s possible my mother still remembers.”

  “Your mother’s alive?” Ariana said.

  “She’s alive but she isn’t well. She’s in a nursing home. She had a stroke last year and she’s not going to recover. Her memory was affected.”

  “Do you think we could see her?”

  “I don’t know why not. I’ll call them in the morning and set it up. How’s tomorrow afternoon?”

  Ariana looked at me, as though I were making the plans. “Sure,” I said.

  “Let’s try, OK?” Ariana said.

  Nick nodded. “I’ll call you as soon as I know. If you’re not there, I’ll leave a message.”

  That was the most important thing that came out of our dinner. Somewhere between the salmon and dessert, Ariana asked if Nick knew her family had lived in San Diego, and he said no. That was the end of conversation about his family except that he told us his own daughter was in kindergarten now, and he pulled out pictures to prove it.

  “What became of the fishing business?” I asked him during a lull.

  “When Granddad died, I was too young to run it and my dad couldn’t. I don’t really know how they worked it out, but the business got sold and the money went to Grandma. When she died, it went to her children.”

  “Which would be your father and my father,” Ariana said.

  “Right. And my father’s share ended up with Mom, but the nursing home and all the medical expenses have eaten up most of it. Which is OK with me. Mom deserves the best care in the world.”

  I wanted to know how much money we were talking about, but I couldn’t ask. It was quite believable that Nick’s mother’s care was
very expensive.

  In the end, I had come to believe and trust Nick Brinker and was almost ready to accept a ride to the hotel. However, he said he was sorry he couldn’t drive us, but he lived in the opposite direction and the babysitter was waiting. Tomorrow was a school day. So we ordered a taxi, which came in less than five minutes, and went back to the hotel.

  “What do you think?” Ariana asked excitedly when we were in our room.

  “I think he’s your cousin. His memories fit in with the facts that we know. I hope his mother can add to it, although she may not be able to.”

  “That was my father’s share of the inheritance that we found in Madison,” she said. “They didn’t steal it. They didn’t take it away from anyone. They got it legally from my grandmother and they put it away for me.”

  “It looks like it,” I agreed.

  “Well, tomorrow I’ll try to find out what my mother’s maiden name was and see where that leads us. We’ll have a busy day.”

  14

  She was right about Monday being busy. Nick called after breakfast while we were putting the finishing touches on ourselves to say we could visit his mother at two-thirty. She liked to rest or even nap awhile after lunch so two-thirty would be perfect. He suggested we take a taxi to the home, the address of which he dictated to Ariana.

  “That sounds good,” I said when she relayed the message to me. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to play the part of the skeptic and go over there myself this morning to make sure the person we’re going to see is actually there.”

  “You could call,” Ariana said.

  “I don’t know who I’d be talking to. Why don’t I do that and you look into birth and marriage certificates?”

  “OK.” She looked disappointed, but I wanted to play this safe. As genuine as Nick had appeared to both of us, he could have arranged with someone to answer the phone and give us the answers he wanted us to hear. I had to keep reminding myself that two people had been murdered and we could not exclude the family as perpetrators.

  We took separate taxis from the hotel, having agreed to meet in the room by noon. My taxi drove away from the center of the city and stopped, finally, outside an institutional building that someone had tried to make appear “friendly,” in the common parlance. I got out near the front door and went inside to the reception desk.