Twisted at the Root--A Jane Lawless Mystery

by Ellen Hart

  “Give my best to Peter,” he called as she was on her way out.

  36

  Jane had tried not to dwell on what Julia was doing or why she hadn’t texted or called. Sometimes Julia was simply like that. Reserved. Silent. It wasn’t a personality trait Jane would ever get used to, and yet Julia did have a right to her privacy, even in a committed relationship, and even if it was difficult at times for Jane to live with. The thought that Julia would be home soon, that they would be back in each other’s arms, was more than enough to keep her spirits high.

  Nursing a brandy as she sat in her den, gazing up at the bulletin board with all the notes and photos she’d tacked up in the last few days, it occurred to her that when she’d first put Eli’s name up there, it had been as a favor to her brother, not because she thought he had anything to do with Gideon’s murder. “Odd,” she whispered. Mouse raised his head and looked at her. Gimlet, with her hearing impairment, continued to snore.

  As she was walking through the foyer a while later, an idea she’d been nursing finally came into focus. The sound of loud banging on the door stopped her. “Who the hell?” she whispered as Mouse charged in from the living room, followed by Gimlet. She looked through the peephole. “It’s Peter,” she said, smiling down at the pups.

  As soon as Peter came in, he was engulfed by wagging tails and hello kisses, but instead of engaging with them, as he usually did, he brushed them away.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his face flushed with rage.

  She’d expected a hug. “What are you talking about?”

  “Kit. You went to see her mother to get the dirt on her. That is so low.”

  Jane had rarely seen him this angry. “It’s part of the investigation.”

  “Kit’s mother called her, told her everything you said. Why did you tell that awful woman Kit was a murderer?”

  “Excuse me? I never said anything like that.”

  “So everyone lies but you, huh? Jane, the purveyor of all truth.”

  “I’m telling you I never said that. You really believe I go around announcing someone’s guilt before I have the actual proof?”

  “So you admit it. You have no proof.” He stomped into the living room, then whirled around. “Kit is really fragile right now. Her husband is abusing her. The gallery he owns has serious financial problems. And you pile on. I came here to tell you to stop. No more harassment.”

  “I’m not harassing anyone,” said Jane. “Kit’s mother agreed to a short interview. I asked some general questions. I wanted to get a feel for what Kit was like when she was younger. Did you know she got married shortly after high school?”

  That stopped him. “What?” He turned away, threw himself down on the couch. “Why can’t you leave it alone?”

  Jane sat down on the rocking chair and began to rock. “I ended up feeling kind of sorry for her. If you’ve never seen that house, it’s tiny. And growing up without a father—”

  “You’ve got everything so mixed up. Her parents are divorced, but her dad has always been a big part of her life. Still is.”

  Jane was confused. “Her mother said she didn’t know who the father was. That it could have been a couple of guys. If she didn’t know, how could Kit?”

  “That’s absurd. I’m telling you she talks about him all the time. In fact, while we were out last night, he called.”

  Something was off. “You … went out with her last night?”

  “She’s a friend. Yeah. Friends do that.”

  Not what she wanted to hear. “And you heard them talking?”

  “I wasn’t more than a few feet away. For your information, he lives in Arizona. He’s remarried. She was hoping he’d stop here on his way to New York. Jane, Kit’s mother is full of it. Always has been. That’s why Kit cut her off years ago, why she never sees her.”

  “But she does see her,” said Jane. “Not as often as she used to, but they’re in touch. Her mom had a framed photo of herself and Kit at Kit’s wedding to John Henry. In fact, she had an entire album of wedding photos.”

  Peter’s glower said it all. It was finally beginning to penetrate, possibly for the first time, that Kit might have lied to him. If she’d lied about her mother, and lied about a nonexistent father, what else had she lied about?

  Looking uncertain, Peter said, “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  “Did she send you over here to tell me to back off?”

  “No,” he said, though his voice was less firm. For a long moment, he seemed to turn inward, his eyes lowered.

  “I’m not your enemy,” she said softly, hoping he was still listening. “I want the same thing you do. We both want the truth.”

  He offered a somewhat robotic nod.

  “Will you look at me?”

  Reluctantly, his eyes rose to hers.

  “I want you to listen and not react, okay? I need to tell you something. The information I’ve been gathering on the Chenoweths suggests that Gideon’s murder may be part of a larger pattern. I texted you about Harper’s homicide, that the police believed strongly that Eli—or someone in his family—was responsible.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She held up her hand. “You remember George Krochak, right? Marlo Wise’s husband? I talked to him a couple of days ago. Turns out, he knew about the tote bag in Gideon’s condo. I know you know about that because Cordelia told you. It’s a long story, but the bottom line is, he was finally able to locate it. And because he was curious and didn’t realize who he was dealing with, he drove to the gallery on Saturday morning. I know this because he texted me his destination. What I don’t know is who he met with. His car was found a few hours later at the bottom of a steep hill. He was severely injured, but thankfully, he’s alive. He’s unconscious, so I have no idea if he has any memory of what happened to him. What I’m telling you is: Someone at the gallery is responsible. For Gideon. For George. Possibly even for Harper. I can’t prove it. Not yet. But I’m close. Will you help me understand all this, Peter? You’ve talked to Kit a lot since you’ve been back. You know things I don’t, specifically about the night Gideon died. Would you be willing to take a few minutes and go through it with me?” Cordelia had already debriefed her on what Peter had told her. Now she needed to hear it from him.

  “I suppose,” he said gruffly.

  She ran to her study and grabbed her notebook and a pen. Once back in the living room, she asked her brother to go through his understanding of what happened that night, giving, as accurately as possible, the time when things occurred. As he began to speak, she only took notes when he said something she hadn’t heard before.

  Gideon, The day of:

  Eli drove to condo after gallery meeting,

  which ended around five.

  Used lobby phone to call Gideon.

  Waited in lobby, but came home in 45.

  Kit told him to go back.

  Kit called Peter/ask Rashad for dinner

  Needed more time.

  Eli returned to condo, but more cold

  feet. Left. Home. Heroin.

  No time on this.

  Kit saw no blood on his clothing.

  Eli said Gideon had blown him off.

  Was embarrassed so didn’t want to talk

  about it.

  ***Peter admitted he wouldn’t have been

  with Rashad that night if Eli hadn’t asked.

  (Seems worried about that.)

  “Great,” said Jane, scratching her last note. “Okay, now tell me what time you and Rashad called it a night?”

  “Around eight. Can’t be more specific. How come you’re so interested in the timing?”

  “Because it tells us something important.”

  “Like what?”

  “I was reading over Rashad’s testimony at the trial again last night. He said that he was done with work at five thirty and usually got home around six. Gideon had what he called golden hours. He left around six in the morning, made
it to work by six thirty. The hours between six thirty and nine in the morning and between five thirty and seven in the evening were the most productive times of his day because fewer people were around to interrupt him. He protected those hours, Peter. Rashad said that in the years they were together, the only instance he remembered of Gideon getting home early was when he had the flu. He had a temperature and came home, stayed out for three days.”

  “So?”

  “Why would Eli say he’d scheduled a meeting with Gideon that night at five thirty? Gideon was never home then. If he wanted to see Gideon at that time of day, he would have gone to his law office. And that way he wouldn’t have needed you to keep Rashad away from the condo.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “None of this was about a meeting with Gideon, Peter. It was all about Rashad, getting him out of the way so Eli could enter the condo without anyone being around.”

  Peter’s expression darkened. “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure. My guess is he was planning to rob them. Did he have financial problems?”

  “He always had financial problems.”

  She let her theory sit between them, without saying more. She could tell her words had penetrated, but she could also see that he was fighting them. Taking a different tack, she asked, “Does Kit have any theories on who might have murdered Gideon?”

  “Sure, Rashad,” said Peter. “But,” he added, “in kicking it around, she said Eli might be a possibility. She thought John Henry was too old.”

  “What about Kit herself? Is she off the table for some reason?”

  “She realizes that if you’re right and the gallery is at the center of it, that she would be one of the logical suspects. She just thinks you’re wrong.”

  “I’m sure she does,” said Jane, closing her notebook.

  “Look, when it comes to Kit, you’re way off base to think she was part of it. If Eli was Gideon’s killer, she knows nothing. Only what Eli told her.”

  He was beginning to get angry again.

  “Peter, please. I realize there’s been some friction between us. If it’s something I’ve done, then tell me what it is and let me make amends. But for now, I hope you’ll allow me to ask a favor. These friends of yours—Eli, Kit, John Henry—they could be dangerous. If there’s any way you can limit your time with them, or end it all together—”

  “Not happening,” he said coldly.

  “Okay.” She placed a hand on top of the notebook. “Then, all I can do is ask you to be careful.”

  He looked up, squinted at her. “You and Cordelia don’t have much confidence in me, do you?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really?” He pushed off the couch and stomped back into the front hall.

  “Peter,” she called. “Let’s not leave it like this. How much longer will you be in town?”

  He slammed the door on his way out.

  37

  The following morning, Jane was at the Lyme House talking to her executive chef when Cordelia barged into the kitchen. Excusing herself, Jane nodded for Cordelia to follow her down the back stairs. She passed her office and headed for the pub, where she knew a fresh pot of coffee was on the warming plate behind the bar. “Want a cup?” she asked, ducking under the bar flap. She grabbed a couple of mugs.

  “I could use a hit,” said Cordelia, dithering over which table suited her mood.

  “You’re up kind of early,” said Jane, setting the mugs on a table and then pulling out a chair. The pub didn’t open until eleven, so they had the entire place to themselves for the next twenty minutes.

  “I’ve been on a mission. I came to make my official report.” She opened her extra-large sack purse and removed a tablet. Switching it on, she brought up a photo and handed it to Jane. “I googled the gallery last night and found a bunch of images. See anything interesting in that one?”

  Jane sipped her coffee as she examined the picture. “What am I supposed to see?”

  Cordelia offered her best Cheshire cat smile. “Look up at the corners of the room. I saw them right away.”

  Jane didn’t have her reading glasses with her, so she enlarged the photo and squinted.

  “The security cameras,” said Cordelia, too impatient to wait. “The gallery has a security system. Which means they have a record of who comes and goes. George would be on last Saturday’s recording.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Cordelia tapped her head. “Creative types have lots more gray cells.”

  “Do they?” Jane handed the tablet back. “Only problem is, we have no access to their hard drive and no way to get it. We don’t even know where the server is. It could be off-site.”

  “Don’t they use tapes anymore?”

  “Maybe a few gas stations still do.”

  Cordelia harrumphed. “Back to my mission. I went to the gallery this morning to see how many cameras there are and where they’re placed.”

  “You did what? Did anyone see you?”

  “Some woman named Anna.”

  “Did she think you were casing the place?”

  “Oh, I suppose,” said Cordelia, patting her finger waves. “But I gave her a story, told her I was opening a business myself and needed some ideas on security.”

  “Uh huh,” said Jane, groaning internally. “Were any of the Chenoweths around?”

  “John Henry flitted through. I don’t think he saw me. But even if he did, he doesn’t know me from Jay Gatsby.”

  “In keeping with your flapper idiom.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, where were the cameras?”

  “Four in each of the showroom corners, one pointed at the front door and one pointed at the reception desk. Fourteen in all. You’d think it was Fort Knox.”

  “Cameras aren’t that expensive.” And then it hit her. “Cameras,” she whispered.

  “You’re beginning to repeat yourself, dearheart. Not a good sign.”

  “No, not the cameras at the gallery. I’m talking about the security cameras in the lobby of the Finnmark building. Peter said Eli waited around the lobby for forty-five minutes. If he was really there, the cameras would show it. And that’s something we might actually have access to. Since it was a crime scene, it’s possible they were handed over to my father during discovery.”

  “Then get on the horn and call him,” said Cordelia, her eyes lighting up.

  Jane checked her watch. “He’s in court. I’ll text him.” She opened the cover on her cell phone and tapped a quick message. “You up for a little security camera sleuthing with me? Four eyes would be better than two.”

  “I’m your woman.” She sniffed the air. “Do I smell baking pretzels?”

  “They’re making them ahead for when the pub opens.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s an extra one lying around somewhere, lonely and unloved?”

  Jane called up to the kitchen and asked for a runner to bring one down. It was the least she could do after Cordelia had sparked a new lead.

  “They won’t forget the mustard, will they? Or the onion-bacon marmalade?”

  Jane assured her they wouldn’t. “You know, Cordelia, you really are kind of amazing.”

  Cordelia fluttered her eyes. “I know.”

  Jane felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. “This should be Julia with information on her flight.”

  “When is she coming home?”

  “Today, I hope,” said Jane. She would have preferred a phone call, but this was a text. Reading through it quickly, her heart sank.

  “What?” said Cordelia.

  “She’s flying to Chicago.”

  “Do you have a welcome-home party planned?”

  “Champagne. And I had one of the pastry chefs make a small version of the apricot cake she loves so much.”

  “You’re a good girlfriend.” Cordelia kept looking over at the doorway, eager for the pretzel to arrive. “Did she say what’s going on in Chicago?
”

  “No.”

  “Not a great communicator. Maybe you should buy her some Ronald Reagan tapes to go with the cake and champagne.”

  “What a stellar idea.” She was surprised by how upset she was.

  “I mean, if the cake will spoil before she gets back, Janey, I could always come over and help you eat it—and drink the champagne. And then, when Julia gets back, you could have, oh I don’t know, something like Jiffy Pop popcorn and beer?”

  Jane didn’t want to talk about it. She was glad when the pretzel arrived and the subject was dropped.

  * * *

  Eli felt like a man staring into a void. Except the void, in this instance, was his father’s computer.

  His eyes darted away from the screen when he heard the back door open. He’d been sitting in his dad’s den for the past few minutes. There were hundreds of files on his system, most of them filled with photos of artwork and gallery projects. Number 3113 was a file inside another file inside a third. It was well-hidden. He never would have found it if Kit hadn’t tipped him off.

  Eli assumed he could take an early lunch and nobody would be the wiser. What he hadn’t counted on was that his father or Kit would do the same. He leaned back in the chair and waited to see who would appear. When his dad walked past the door, Eli tensed.

  Backing up, his dad asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I just came home to change my shirt, Eli. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting with Mark Gaither at one, and I need to grab some lunch first.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  Pulling off his bow tie and unbuttoning his top button, John Henry stood by the door and waited.

  “Come over here,” said Eli, rolling his chair to the side. “I want to show you something.”

  “Oh, all right. But we have to make this quick.” John Henry continued unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed to the desk. Staring at the screen, he said, “What the—”

  “Maybe you’d like to explain about that.”

  John Henry’s gaze traveled from the screen to Eli. “I have no idea how—” He scrolled through more of the photos. “Lord in heaven. You can’t think—”