Bright Eyes

by Catherine Anderson

  She nodded. “It’s strange, actually, because Detective Monroe told me there were no papers found on the desk.” She shrugged. “I figured they were unimportant and one of the investigating officers moved them or something.”

  A cold feeling inched up Zeke’s spine. “Did you look closely at them?”

  “No, not really. Right after I noticed them, I saw Grandma Devereaux’s goblets.”

  Those damned goblets again. “Think, Natalie. It may be extremely important. Did you notice anything about those papers?”

  Her dark brows pinched together in a frown. “It was a contract of some kind. I remember thinking at the time that I couldn’t care less about Robert’s business dealings anymore, and then I saw the crystal. I got so upset then that I never looked at the papers again.”

  “But Monroe claims the contract wasn’t there?”

  Her gaze clung to his. “You think that’s it, don’t you? That something in that contract identified the killer.”

  Zeke’s heart was pounding in double time. “I think it’s highly possible that you saw his name on that contract and didn’t register it.”

  When Zeke got Detective Monroe on the line a few minutes later, the policeman was less than friendly. Zeke got straight to the point.

  “There were no papers lying on Patterson’s desk,” Monroe insisted after Zeke explained. “I was one of the first people on the scene, and I took meticulous notes. No contract, Coulter. If it had been there, I would have seen it.”

  “That doesn’t rule out the possibility that it was there when Natalie went into the study.”

  “What do you surmise, that it developed feet and walked away?”

  Zeke made a mental note to get this man fired before this was over. “No, I surmise that someone removed it from the desk. On her way out, Natalie heard a door latch click somewhere in the house. The killer may have still been inside.”

  “It’s an interesting theory, Mr. Coulter, but I’m the detective handling this case. Why don’t you just relax and let me do my job?”

  “Because, as far as I can see, you’re not doing it,” Zeke replied. “That woman—Patterson’s girlfriend. She says Robert got a phone call and sent her away to go shopping for a few hours. Patterson obviously meant to meet with someone. He and that someone chitchatted in the study over a few glasses of wine. They could have been discussing a business deal.”

  “Yes—or it may have been a meeting between exes to discuss the sale of a certain farm.”

  Zeke’s blood ran cold. In that moment, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the police were concentrating almost solely on Natalie being the killer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Later that afternoon when Zeke and Natalie went to see Grace Patterson, she served high tea. The woman fascinated Zeke. Over his lifetime, he’d known a few wealthy people, most recently and inarguably the wealthiest, the Kendrick family. But he’d never met anyone so ostentatious as Robert’s mother. She reminded him of a character onstage, the props around her carefully selected and arranged to convey her queenly importance.

  When she greeted them at the door, she was dressed in a black tunic and pants made of soft, silky stuff that flowed around her when she moved. With her pale complexion and blond hair, the effect was stunning, which he suspected had been her aim. Women of her social standing always dressed to make a statement, he supposed, even in mourning. To finish off the outfit, she wore low black heels with feathers across the insteps. Slippers, he guessed, because no one in her right mind would wear shoes like that outside.

  She led them into a beautiful room to the right of the entry hall that sported a collection of what appeared to be priceless antiques. Near the fireplace, refreshments awaited them on a tea table encircled by four wing-back chairs. He wasn’t surprised when Grace sat down first. Someone of royal lineage couldn’t be expected to remain standing while lesser beings were seated.

  “Please, join me,” she said with just enough warmth to seem sincere, but with enough coolness to convey that their visit was an inconvenience.

  Natalie, still in great discomfort from the accident, sank gratefully onto a cushion. Zeke was almost afraid to settle his considerable weight onto the chair beside her. His luck, he’d bust the damned thing. As he lowered himself gingerly onto the seat, he took in the amazing assortment of small cakes, cookies, and bite-sized sandwiches arranged on flowery, gilt-edged platters. They’d come to talk, not eat a meal.

  As Grace poured tea with practiced precision, she said, “It’s lovely to have you come, Natalie, but I must confess to some puzzlement. On the phone, you mentioned wanting to ask me some questions?”

  Natalie accepted the cup and saucer that Grace offered her. Holding the saucer in her left hand, she settled back on the chair, using her right hand to sip from the dainty little cup. She seemed to feel more relaxed in these surroundings than he did.

  “The children and I were in a serious car accident yesterday, Grace.”

  Robert’s mother almost spilled her tea. “Oh, dear God,” she gasped. “Chad. Is he all right?”

  Anger put a glint in Natalie’s eyes. “His ribs are badly bruised, but he’s fine otherwise. You do have two grandchildren. Aren’t you equally concerned about Rosie?”

  Grace’s cheeks went pink as suddenly as they’d gone pale. “Of course. How is she?”

  “She got a nasty bump on the head,” Natalie replied. “Fortunately, it doesn’t appear that she has a concussion.”

  “Thank goodness.” Grace returned her cup to its saucer without clinking the china. “I’m delighted to hear that they’re both okay.”

  Zeke couldn’t fit his finger through the handle of his cup. Instead he had to grasp it between his thumb and forefinger. “Actually, Mrs. Patterson, Natalie misspoke. The wreck wasn’t an accident.”

  Grace’s blue eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that someone tried to kill Natalie yesterday. By chance, the kids were in the car with her when it happened.”

  “Dear God,” Grace whispered.

  Natalie looked so drained that Zeke took it from there, telling Grace the story from start to finish. “We believe that the name of your son’s murderer was on that contract, Mrs. Patterson, and that he believes Natalie may have seen it. Rather than risk exposure, we think he’s trying to shut Natalie up before she remembers what she saw and goes to the police.”

  Grace began plucking nervously at the voluminous sleeves of her tunic, and then, with such suddenness she clinked the china, she set her cup on the table, pushed to her feet, and walked over to a secretary against one wall. When she returned to her chair, she carried a fifth of scotch. She poured a generous measure into her teacup, and then slid the bottle toward Zeke.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I have to drive.”

  Zeke sneaked a glance at Natalie. Her expression told him more clearly than words that she’d never seen her ex-mother-in-law in such a state. The woman drained her cup in four gulps and poured herself another measure of scotch.

  The first infusion of alcohol seemed to calm her a bit. She relaxed against the padded backrest of her chair to consume the second dose more slowly. “No one knows more about Robert’s business dealings than I,” she said shakily. “If someone is trying to kill Natalie, isn’t there a strong possibility that he’ll come after me as well?”

  Until that moment, Zeke had been trying his damnedest to like this woman. Now disgust burned at the back of his throat like acid. She wasn’t worried about Natalie or her grandchildren, only about herself. He gave her a long, measuring look, decided that the more frightened she was, the more useful she might be, and said, “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. He may come after you.”

  She took another swig of whiskey. “I kept telling Robert to clean up his act. Do you think he would listen? Now he’s dead, and I may be next.” She sent Zeke a panicked look. “What am I going to do, hire round-the-clock protection? Where does one find a bodyguard?”


  People like Natalie had volunteers to protect her, Zeke thought. Someone like Grace Patterson had to pay for that kind of loyalty. “A security company might be a good place to start,” he said, not convinced the woman was even in danger. “If they can’t help you, maybe they’ll know someone who can.”

  Grace started up from her chair. Zeke stopped her with, “First things first. Getting protection is a stopgap measure, Mrs. Patterson. You can’t live in fear for an extended period of time.” When she started to get up again, Zeke quickly added, “Even the best of protectors will relax his guard sooner or later. If the killer wants you out of the way, he’ll wait for his chance, and eventually, he may breach your security.”

  Zeke waited for her to sit back. Then he went on. “The first and most important thing we need to do is give the police more to work with. As long as your son’s killer is at large, you’ll be in grave danger, and so will Natalie and her children.”

  Her eyes huge and imploring, Grace shakily asked, “What do you need to know?”

  At four o’clock that afternoon, Zeke had the dubious pleasure of visiting Detective Monroe’s office again. The plump, aging cop looked no happier to see Zeke than Zeke was to be there. They settled at opposite sides of the gray metal desk, glaring at each other like opponents in a death match. Zeke tossed a paper onto the blotter.

  “I visited with Robert Patterson’s mother this afternoon. She gave me a list of individuals who had reason to want her son dead. Most of them are iffy—dumped girlfriends, a few businessmen he gave the shaft, that sort of thing. But the young man at the top of the list bears looking at. Robert Patterson cheated him out of more than four million dollars.”

  Monroe unfolded the paper, looked at the name, and said, “Keep talking.”

  “Stan Ragnor, thirtyish, a real estate broker with a surveying degree who works under his own shingle. He’s a sharp young man with a nose for developable land. A year ago, he found Robert Patterson a large piece of prime development property just outside Crystal Falls, a hundred acres zoned for rural residential, a minimum of ten acres per parcel.”

  “I know what rural residential means, and he’s not sounding like a killer yet.” Monroe tossed down the paper. “Get to the point.”

  “Ragnor is an eager beaver. Went back to college in his early twenties to get the surveying degree, worked for a while in the field down in California, and then moved back to Oregon, determined to make a go of it here. He fell on the idea of selling real estate, quickly realized his expertise lay in development, finally struck out on his own, and was champing at the bit to make his first fortune when he met Patterson. Unfortunately for him, he was still wet behind the ears when it came to business negotiations and thought a man’s word still counted for something.”

  “How does this tie him to the murder?”

  “Just hear me out. Ragnor had done his research and discovered that the city of Crystal Falls and the county have a joint twenty-year development plan to accommodate urban sprawl. In certain areas within a ten-mile radius of the city limits, they will allow land presently zoned rural residential to be rezoned to RS, residential standard density. Ragnor went door-to-door, trying to convince the landowners in one of those areas to list their ten-acre parcels with him. All totaled, he secured over a hundred contiguous acres, a veritable gold mine. Then he did all the necessary legwork to be sure sewer systems, access streets, and traffic studies wouldn’t throw a wrench in the fan blades for a subdivision. When he had a bulletproof package, he presented it to Robert Patterson, one of the biggest developers in town.”

  “Go on,” Monroe said, showing a little more interest now.

  Zeke sat forward on the chair. “In deals like this, a real estate broker can make a killing if he handles it right. When Ragnor presented the deal to Patterson, he asked for an exclusive, three-percent listing agreement on all the lots as well as on all the houses that would one day be built on them. It was a great offer to Patterson, roughly a fifty-percent cut in Realtor fees, and it was equally lucrative for Ragnor. Figure it out. On average, you can go with five lots per acre, and they sell from ninety to a hundred grand a crack. Ragnor stood to make over a million on the lot sales alone, plus a lowball figure of three million on the homes, which would go for at least two hundred grand each, more likely four, raising his take to six million.”

  Monroe whistled. “The boy stood to make a bundle.”

  “Exactly. In return, he agreed to walk the development project through for Patterson with the city, meeting with engineers and city planners. Ragnor found the pieces of land, negotiated to get the owners to sell, and then worked his ass off to put the deal together, trusting Patterson to keep his word and treat him right when the land was subdivided. In the end, Patterson cut him out of the deal.”

  Monroe raised his eyebrows. “Sounds to me as if Ragnor is one stupid son of a bitch. No one does business without a contract nowadays.”

  “I’m not here to discuss smart business tactics, Monroe. I’m here to tell you about a young man who trusted Robert Patterson and got the shaft in a very big way.” Zeke thought of Natalie and all the years she’d remained in her marriage, believing she might save it. Robert Patterson had been a master at manipulation. “Patterson knew how to string people along. He told Ragnor that he wouldn’t sign a listing agreement on lots and houses that didn’t yet exist. He kept putting Ragnor off, working him like a dog in the meantime, promising that he’d happily sign on the dotted line when the time was right. Ragnor stood to make megabucks, so he continued to work long hours for over a year to make everything fly. When the city finally dropped the gavel, giving the go-ahead for a huge subdivision, Patterson let Ragnor do even more legwork. According to Grace Patterson, there are countless angles that must be handled in a project that size, and Ragnor did it all, only to have Patterson laugh at him when it was all said and done, telling him that there was no way a two-bit Realtor was going to make almost as much money on the deal as he was. He went to another Realtor, offered one percent, and the guy leaped at it. After all his hard work, all Ragnor got out of the deal was an initial three percent when Patterson bought the original parcels.”

  Monroe picked up the piece of paper again and studied the name. “I’ll check him out.”

  Zeke nodded. “Do better than that, Monroe. Put him under a magnifying glass. Talk to Grace Patterson yourself. She heard Ragnor threaten her son’s life. I’m telling you, Natalie didn’t do this. The longer you focus on her, the longer it will be before you solve this case.”

  Natalie had just turned off the downstairs lights to head upstairs for bed when the phone rang. It was almost eleven, and she couldn’t imagine who would be calling so late. She flipped the living room lamp back on and ran to the kitchen.

  When she answered the phone on the fourth ring, a woman asked for Natalie Patterson.

  “This is she,” Natalie replied.

  “Are you the owner of the Blue Parrot?”

  After the events of yesterday, Natalie felt uncomfortable answering that question until she knew more about the caller. “With whom am I speaking?”

  “This is Nancy Steingold with Iron Clad Security. I’m calling to notify you that the security alarm at your business has just gone off. The police are on their way there now.”

  “The alarm at my supper club has gone off?” In all the time Natalie had owned the business, this had never happened.

  “You’ll probably want to be there to speak with the police and reset the alarm when they’re finished checking things out.” Ms. Steingold paused and then said, “Most times, these are false alarms. Something goes haywire—a motion detector or a faulty door latch that jiggles in the wind and breaks the magnetic field.”

  Natalie had no motion detectors inside the club. Because of the cost, she’d gone with a basic perimeter system that went off only when a door or window was forced open. “Thank you for notifying me.”

  “No problem. I hope it turns out that everything is fine.�
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  After breaking the connection, Natalie ran to her father’s bedroom. “Pop?” She tapped on the door, then opened it and flipped on the overhead light. “The security alarm at the club just went off. I need to go to town.”

  Pete swung up to sit on the edge of his bed. He wore oversized white cotton pajamas with burgundy stripes. He reached for his pants. “You should call Zeke and tell him we’re going in. He may want to go with us.”

  “He’s probably at the supply store. He goes in every night to do books, I think.”

  “Then call him there and see if he’ll meet us at the club.” Pete shook out his pants. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  Natalie didn’t like the sound of it, either.

  “Is there any money there?” Pete asked.

  “I always pull down the tills and make a night deposit at the bank on the way home. There’s only start-up cash in each till, around three hundred total, and I always keep both tills in the safe when I’m closed.”

  Pete huffed. “What would a thief take, then, bottles of booze and frozen food? Unless it’s kids, that doesn’t make sense. Call Zeke. Tell him we’ll be leaving in about five minutes.”

  Natalie closed the door and hurried toward the kitchen. Naomi appeared on the upstairs landing as she passed through the living room. “What’s going on?”

  “The alarm at the club went off.” Natalie continued into the kitchen, flipped the lights back on, and grabbed the phone book to look up the number of Zeke’s store.

  An hour later, Zeke and Natalie stood just inside the front entrance of the Blue Parrot. Zeke glared at the doors as if they could be intimidated into providing answers. The police had just left, and they were as bewildered as Natalie and Zeke. No false alarm, this. The front doors of the club had been forced open. The puzzling part was that they’d been forced open from the inside.

  Natalie stared at the marks on the interior surfaces of the wood. “This makes no sense. I’ve heard of people breaking into a building, but I’ve never heard of anyone breaking out.”