Chapter 5
Val was ten years older than Suzette and didn’t have a last will and testament. Why would a woman in her early twenties make a will? Either she had valuables to dispose of or she expected to die soon . . . or both. Val had skipped over the academic and financial records in Suzette’s folder, but the will was just too tempting to ignore. She flipped the cover sheet over.
The document contained the usual terminology about being of sound mind. Suzette named her second cousin, Sandy Sechrest, as her executor and the person who would inherit all of her possessions. Ms. Sechrest would handle the arrangements for a cremation to be paid from Suzette’s funds. Any money left over after that would be split between her cousin and the children’s literacy charity named in the will. Under no circumstances were any of her assets to go to her mother, Wanda Cripps of Cumberland, Maryland.
Val was pretty sure Suzette didn’t have a lot of money. A glance at the financial records confirmed that she’d had a rather modest balance in her accounts and paid little income tax. She could, of course, have funds squirreled away somewhere.
Val called the chief, told him about the will, and gave him the mother’s name. “Did the hotel already give you that information?”
“No, the emergency contact on file was the cousin, Sandy Sechrest. No mention of the mother, but legally she is the next of kin, and I have to get in touch with her. She’s the right person to identify her daughter.”
Even though the daughter had wanted nothing to do with her. “Will the mother have to come here to identify Suzette?”
“Cumberland’s in western Maryland, about three hours from here. She can make the trip if she wants. Or we’ll arrange for her to go to a police station near her home and identify her daughter from a photo. The body won’t be released, of course, until after the medical examiner has done his job.”
“Once you’ve talked to Suzette’s mother and have the legal identification, would you let me know? I’d like to contact her cousin about picking up Suzette’s things.”
The chief agreed.
Val then went back to searching for a photo. She found one in a box of costume jewelry on the closet shelf. Suzette’s hair was shorter and curled under. She stood by a slightly older young woman.
Val took the picture and the will to the study to scan and photocopy them. She’d just finished when Granddad came into the study. She showed him the will.
He read the short document. “Funny how people are about their wills. Most folks want to be fair and divide things up evenly. Some of them favor whoever’s been good to them. And a few write grudge wills to settle scores.” He handed the will back to Val. “No lawyer had anything to do with this will, or it would have been ten or fifteen pages longer.”
“It’s signed, witnessed, and notarized with a raised seal. I’m going to ask Althea if the will is legal.” Val’s friend and tennis teammate practiced family law. “I don’t want to get in the middle of any controversy if Suzette’s mother shows up here to claim her things.”
“Once you know the will is valid, get the cousin here fast to pick up the stuff. Then it’s her headache. Did you find a picture of Suzette?”
Val took the photo off the scanner bed and showed it to him. “Even though it was taken a few years ago, it looks like her.”
“To us it does, because we’ve seen a lot of her. But someone who saw her once probably wouldn’t recognize her from this picture.”
Val snapped her fingers as a solution to that problem occurred to her. “We’ll consult the family photo doctor.” Her cousin Monique, a professional photographer, had aged the headshots of young men when Val had needed them for an informal photo lineup. “I’ll ask Monique to make Suzette look older in the picture, change her hairstyle, and cut out the other woman.”
“I hope she can do it fast. I’d like to show folks a photo before their memories of last night fade and—” He broke off. “I just thought of something. Ask Monique to age the other woman in the photo too.”
“Why?”
“Maybe Suzette went out to celebrate with her after the costume contest.” Granddad pointed to the woman next to Suzette in the photo. “She could be the cousin who inherits everything. Follow the money.”
Everything probably amounted to very little in this case, but Val didn’t bother saying that. Better that Granddad try to solve a puzzle than sit around despondent. She checked her watch. Already ten fifteen. “I’ve got to get to the café. I’ll e-mail Monique the photo before I leave.”
* * *
At ten thirty Val parked at the Bayport Racket and Fitness Club and headed into the Cool Down Café alcove. Half the tables had customers sitting at them.
“Thanks for covering for me here this morning,” she said to Tanisha Johnson, who’d opened the café and served the early customers. A college student home for the weekend, Tanisha was the daughter of Val’s lawyer friend, Althea.
“No problem. We had a lot of coffee drinkers and bagel eaters between nine and ten, but it’s been calm since then. I put the casseroles in the oven around ten fifteen.”
“Good. They’ll be ready when the brunch crowd comes in.” Val expected business to pick up then. “When are you going back to Swarthmore?”
“My ride leaves at five from the outlet mall in Queenstown. Mom and I are going out to lunch and then we’ll do some shopping there before I leave. She’s picking me up here at eleven.”
“Oh, good. I have a quick question for her.” Val had brought a copy of Suzette’s will with her, hoping to see Althea.
“The guy sitting alone at the corner table is waiting to talk to you about catering.”
Val glanced at the broad-shouldered man with his head in a book. “Thanks.” She reached into the drawer behind the counter for a copy of her catering menu and crossed the café to the table where he was sitting.
Before she could introduce herself, the man looked up, a lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. “Hi, Val.”
If he’d gotten her name from a previous client or her business card, he’d have probably introduced himself. She must have met him, but he didn’t have a memorable face. It was pleasant enough, though, and slightly familiar. “Hi. My assistant said you asked about catering. Just so we’re on the same page, my business is catering small in-home dinner parties. I don’t do large events like weddings.”
“I’m not planning a wedding.” He looked intently at her. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
She did now . . . by his voice rather than his face, which looked far better than it had last night. “Of course, I do.” But she’d never expected him to hire her as a caterer. She sat down across from him at the bistro table. “How’s your day been going, Bram?” Would he say he’d had a fine day and pretend he hadn’t run across a dead woman?
“Not well. But it’s looking up now.” He flashed her a friendly smile. “My mother and I enjoyed the crêpes you left. We could taste the butter.”
She could taste it now as he buttered her up. He wanted something from her, and she wanted something from him too—a detailed account of what he’d seen this morning on the peninsula road. If she came right out and asked for that, she’d have to explain how she knew he’d been there. She couldn’t do that without revealing the identity of the victim, which the chief had told her to keep to herself.
Val could, however, take a roundabout route to the subject of Suzette. “I was surprised you chose Moaning Myrtle as the costume prizewinner last night.”
He folded his arms and sat back in the chair. “Who would you have chosen?”
Apparently, he preferred talking about the costume contest to focusing on the woman who resembled the one he’d found dead. “Morgan le Fay told a fascinating story about how the character evolved through the centuries.”
“But she exceeded her time by a lot, so I eliminated her. And her costume wasn’t much anyway.”
Val agreed. Morgan could have worn the black cloak as a wrap for a party or evening event
. “The zombie had a really unique costume.”
“Once he stripped off his outer layer. He spent a lot of money on that fop outfit he wore underneath it.”
Val glanced at Bram’s plaid sport shirt and black jeans. Definitely not a fop. “Why did you choose Moaning Myrtle as the winner?”
“She was creative. She didn’t buy her costume, she put it together with drugstore props and household items. And it had a meaning for her. Her explanation for wearing a maid’s uniform tied the costume to a real social problem.”
Val approved of his reasons for giving Moaning Myrtle the prize. He hadn’t bestowed a gift certificate on a guy with money to throw away on a costume. Instead, Bram gave it to a woman he figured had less cash to spare. He didn’t know she also had a voracious appetite for books and wanted desperately to win that certificate. Val’s eyes welled with tears.
Bram stared at her. “Are you okay?”
She blinked rapidly. “Just something in my eye.”
“What hours do you work here?”
A question out of the blue. “From eight to two weekdays, shorter hours on weekends.”
“So your evenings are free.”
Coming from any other man, those words might precede a suggestion to spend time together. She didn’t expect to hear that from Bram. “Not all evenings.”
“Because you cater dinner parties too. Do you ever create meals built around a theme?”
“Uh-huh. I’ve done a colonial dinner, a last dinner on the Titanic, and a French meal for a book club reading a mystery set in Paris.”
Bram’s hazel eyes lit up as if he’d just looked into his Halloween treat bag and found it full of his favorite candy. “Super. My mother’s setting up lots of book clubs. She’s got people who want dinners related to the books they’re discussing. One group reads books set in foreign countries and would like food from whatever country they’re reading about. Another club wants what people ate in the historical period their books cover. It sounds as if you don’t mind doing the research to cater meals like that.”
“I enjoy researching food, but custom meals require more of my time.”
“It’s a great opportunity for you. The clubs meet once a month. You’ll have regular clients instead of looking for and working with new ones.”
“Most of my clients choose food from my catering menu.” She passed a menu across the table at him. “You’re asking me to come up with unique menus and test different recipes all the time. So the prices would be higher than what you see on my standard menu.”
He waved away her concerns. “We’ll also have groups that are happy with dishes from your regular menu, as long as you vary what you serve each time. Since you’ll be catering at the bookshop a number of times each month, I hope you’ll give my mother a discount.”
Though Val enjoyed the challenge of themed dinners, she wouldn’t sell herself short. “I set prices that are fair to my clients and allow me to make a small profit. Your goal is to increase book sales. You can tack whatever percentage you want onto my prices.” And good luck finding another caterer who’d make custom dinners for small groups.
He folded her menu and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll talk it over with my mother and get back to you.”
“Your mother told me you’re visiting from California. How long are you planning to stay in Bayport?”
“Not sure yet. I just sold the company I started in Silicon Valley. I’ll probably head back there when I come across a promising idea for another start-up. For the time being, I’m living on the second floor of the Title Wave.”
“You and Isis?”
“Yes. The cat prefers the bookshop to my mother’s place and so do I. Mom moved to Bayport two months ago, but most of her stuff is still in boxes on the floor. She’s been too busy setting up the shop to unpack. Isis likes a little more room to roam.” He stood up. “While I’m here, I’m going to check out a short-term membership in the club here. It’s the only exercise facility around.”
Finally, an opening to the subject Val wanted to bring up. She walked him to the club’s reception area. “Doesn’t biking give you enough exercise?” She anticipated his answer. He hadn’t developed his shoulder muscles and biceps riding a bike.
He looked puzzled for a moment. “Ah, you noticed the bicycle at the Title Wave. I like to bike, but it isn’t a full workout.”
“When do you find the time to bike with all the work at the bookshop?”
He hesitated. “I usually go out early in the morning, before the shop opens. Good seeing you, Val. We’ll talk again.” He turned to the manager behind the reception desk.
Having stumbled on a few bodies herself, Val couldn’t blame Bram for not mentioning what must have been a disturbing bike ride this morning. She hadn’t heard what she’d hoped from him, but the prospect of catering regularly at the bookshop intrigued her.
She went back into the café alcove. Tanisha had set the ingredients for smoothies on the counter, ready to go into the blender if anyone ordered them. Val checked that the breakfast casseroles were done and took them out of the oven.
Tanisha’s mother strolled into the café at exactly eleven. The slender African-American woman resembled her namesake, tennis champion Althea Gibson.
Val took her aside. “I want to show you a one-page will, which I think was written without help from a lawyer. I’d like to know if there’s any question about its legality. Should I make an appointment to consult with you on it?”
“Don’t be silly. I won’t charge you for looking at a page. I owe you more than that after the way you helped my nephew when he was wrongly accused.”
Althea skimmed the photocopy Val gave her. “Assuming the original has an embossed notary seal, the signatures check out, and a more recent will doesn’t turn up, it’s a valid legal document. The mother could contest the will if she has proof that the heir exerted undue influence on the daughter to draw up this will. Are we talking about a fortune here?”
“I doubt it.” Though anything was possible. The occasional millionaire chose to live frugally.
Althea said nothing for a moment, possibly waiting for more details about the source of the will. Then she said, “If you have other questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll keep it confidential.”
“Thank you.”
As Val served brunch, she thought about Bram. Though he’d tried to negotiate low prices for her services, she’d warmed to him this morning, and not just because he was better looking than she’d expected. She liked his reasons for awarding Suzette the gift certificate. He’d also led the applause after Suzette’s remarks last night about the hard life of maids.
What was the story behind those remarks? Perhaps Suzette had once worked as a maid or befriended one at the Harbor Inn, someone who’d lent her the tunic. Suzette’s sympathy for a friend who worked hard and was underpaid could explain her comments during the costume contest. A visit to the Harbor Inn might solve the mystery of the gray tunic. But Val couldn’t just walk up to the reception desk and ask to talk to a maid or two. She’d need a cover story to get her past the lobby and onto a floor where the maids would be working.
By closing time at the café, she had a plan. She’d need Bethany’s help to execute it.
Chapter 6
Val called Bethany and told her about the hit-and-run. “Granddad thinks Suzette was evading someone following her home from the Harbor Inn. She might have made friends with a maid there and confided in her. I’d like to talk to that maid. Would you go to the inn with me and pretend to look for a wedding reception venue?” She then explained the cover story the two of them would use at the Harbor Inn.
Bethany hesitated. “I’ll go along with it, but I don’t want to be the one planning a wedding. Why not you?”
“Because I need to slip out of the bridal suite while you’re looking at it and find someone cleaning a room. The only other way I can get near the maids is to pay for a room, and I don’t wa
nt to throw away my money.”
“Can’t you just act like you’re a guest and walk around until you find a maid?”
Val had already discarded that idea. “In lots of hotels you need a room keycard to use the elevator or the stairs to a guest floor. I could hang around the elevator until a guest comes along with a keycard, but if someone on the staff notices me and I can’t prove I’m registered, a security guard will perp-walk me to the exit.”
“How about we say a friend just got engaged, and we’re scouting out places for her wedding reception?”
“That’ll work. You can take photos to show our engaged friend while I roam around. But we need to get there before the maids quit for the day. I’m leaving the club now, and I want to stop by the house before going to the inn.”
“You want me to pick you up there?”
Val could easily walk to the inn from the house, but arriving with Bethany fit their story better. “Okay. See you in half an hour.”
Val hung up and drove home. Granddad wasn’t there. Just as well. She didn’t want to take the time to explain where she was going and why. She went up to Suzette’s room for the gray tunic. She folded it and put it in a clear plastic bag. Then she made room for it in her shoulder bag by removing her hairbrush, a notebook, and the wad of gasoline and supermarket receipts she’d accumulated.
* * *
Bethany picked Val up and drove to the inn, which sat on land that jutted into the river. They parked in the lot between the wings of the V-shaped four-story building.
“Looks like both wings have rooms facing the waterfront. Not a great view from the rooms on this side.” Bethany pointed at the windows overlooking the parking lot.
“I’m sure they charge less for them.”
They walked under the awning at the juncture of the two wings. The modest lobby had two groupings of sofas and easy chairs surrounded by large potted plants. The long line of people standing in front of the reception desk destroyed any illusion of a gracious living room.
Crypt Suzette Page 5
