The Fatal Fortune

by Castle, Jayne

  “I think the best way to handle this is the straightforward approach,” he finally said. “I could pretend to be an insurance salesman or something, but I think that would be a waste of time.”

  “Do you think anyone’s at home?” Guinevere peered at the cottage windows.

  “I think so. Let’s go.” He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open Guinevere’s door.

  The brisk breeze off the sea caught her neatly bound hair as she stepped out of the Buick, sending wispy little tendrils fluttering around her face. Guinevere automatically put up one hand to keep the hair out of her eyes as she followed Zac to the front door.

  It took three knocks before anyone answered. The woman who reluctantly opened the door appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties and resembled Francine Bates. She wore her blond-tinted hair in a short, curling bob, and looked at Zac with suspicious eyes.

  “Yes? What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

  “We’re here to see Francine Bates. Please tell her it’s important and that we won’t be leaving until we’ve talked to her.”

  “She’s not here.” The woman tried to close the door but found its progress impeded by the presence of Zac’s foot. “Now, look here, mister—”

  “Justis is the name. Zachariah Justis. My friend here is Guinevere Jones. Francine knows her.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I’ve told you my sister isn’t home!” The woman looked desperately at Guinevere, as if hoping she would find the woman less implacable than the man. “Please, I’m telling you she isn’t here. I haven’t seen her in ages. She lives in Seattle.”

  Guinevere sensed the near hysteria in her voice and moved closer, smiling gently. “It’s all right, Miss Bates. I only want to talk to your sister. It’s very, very important. We’ve been trying to find her for several days. Please help us.”

  “What’s going on here?” the woman demanded shrilly. “I tell you, I’ve had it with all this nonsense. I can’t take any more. Now, get out of here and don’t come back, do you hear me?”

  Guinevere sensed Zac was about to move forward aggressively. She put her hand on his arm and spoke again soothingly to the woman. “Please, Miss Bates. We must talk to her. A great deal depends on what she can tell us about Madame Zoltana.”

  The older woman opened her mouth to protest once more, but her words were cut off by another voice. Francine Bates appeared behind her sister, her face drawn and tense. She looked at Guinevere, ignoring Zac.

  “It’s all right, Denise. I knew that sooner or later someone would find me,” she said wearily. “Let them in. I’ll talk to them.”

  There was a moment of silent tension as the four people regarded one another, and then Denise opened the door to admit Zac and Guinevere. She stood stiffly aside as they entered.

  “Sit down,” Francine said quietly. “Denise, would you fix us all some tea?”

  Denise hesitated, her eyes on her sister. Then she turned and marched into the kitchen.

  Guinevere glanced around at the comfortable old cottage, with its old-fashioned, slightly shabby furniture and the amateurish seascapes on the walls. She sank into the depths of the sofa, and Zac sat down beside her. Francine sat across from them, still looking only at Guinevere.

  “You’ve found me,” Francine said finally. “What do you want?”

  It was Zac who responded, hard, his voice dark. “Some answers.”

  Francine nodded to herself. “Yes, I guess you do. I wish I had all of them.”

  Guinevere leaned forward. “Francine, tell me. Were you Madame Zoltana’s inside woman at Gage and Watson? Was it you who told her who I was and gave her the kind of information she needed to impress her clients?”

  Francine’s mouth tightened. Her hands clenched in her lap. “It seemed harmless at first,” she finally whispered. “Just a game. Everyone got a kick out of it.”

  “And Madame Zoltana split the twenty dollar fees with you?” Zac asked, hazarding a guess.

  Francine flashed him a quick glance and nodded. “I realized it was getting to be more than a clever little game, but somehow I couldn’t stop it. Zoltana seemed to have certain people hooked. She kept making them return, and the fees she charged got higher. But people like Sally and Ruth seemed to want to go back to her.”

  “How did you meet her?” Guinevere asked kindly.

  Francine sighed. “By accident. I went to her myself one day for a psychic reading. I was just curious, you understand. I don’t really believe in that stuff. But she was good. Very clever. I was intrigued. When it was over, she suggested I tell some of my friends at work. She said she would give me a finder’s fee for every new client I sent to her. I didn’t see anything wrong with that, so I agreed. I got a fee even if someone else made the appointment for a new client, the way Ruth did with you.”

  Zac shifted slightly on the old sofa. “But things got more complicated, right? The next thing you knew, she was asking you for information about the clients before she gave them their sessions.”

  Francine looked at him helplessly. “She just wanted to know a few details here and there. Said it would make the sessions more entertaining for the people.” Francine bit her lip. “She also said she would give me a larger percentage of the fee. I shouldn’t have done it. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But somehow it was all so easy, and I needed the money, and I didn’t think I was really hurting anyone, and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at her twisting hands.

  “Where is Madame Zoltana, Francine?” Zac asked.

  “I don’t know.” The response was barely audible. She didn’t look up.

  “Yes, you do,” Zac insisted.

  “No! I swear I don’t know.” Francine’s head lifted. Her eyes held a look of desperation.

  “But you’re afraid,” Zac went on ruthlessly. “You disappeared a day or two after Zoltana did. Why?”

  “Because I don’t know what happened to her! Don’t you understand? I’m afraid that whatever happened to her might happen to me. If anyone guessed that I worked with her . . .”

  “What makes you think anything did happen to her?” Zac demanded.

  Francine shook her head again. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. I went to her place that evening after Guinevere had her appointment, just like I always do, to collect my share of the week’s fees. But she wasn’t there. I tried her again later that night, and she still wasn’t there. I began to get worried. Zoltana never went out at night, you see. She was home most of the time, in fact. Every time I saw her, she was cooped up in that dark house with all the drapes pulled and the smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife. She told me once she couldn’t stand being out at night because it made her nervous. I teased her about being afraid of ghosts or something, and she just looked at me and said it was the truth. I believed her. You see, I—I got to know her a little during the months I was sending clients to her. Once in a while, she talked to me when I went to get my cut. I think I’m probably the only one she ever did talk to about anything personal. She was a very odd woman in a lot of ways. Sometimes I got the impression she really did think she had a few of those psychic powers she pretended to have.”

  The woman’s fear was a tangible thing. Guinevere could feel it emanating from her in waves. “Francine, what is it? Do you think one of Zoltana’s clients got angry enough to do something drastic? Who would do such a thing? I’ve seen the ones she really victimized. They were people such as Sally Evenson and Ruth what’s-her-name at Gage and Watson. Zoltana knew what she was doing. She picked on the fragile people, the ones who wouldn’t fight back. From what I can tell, Zoltana was a shrewd operator. She wouldn’t have tried to run her scam on someone who might have retaliated.”

  Francine sucked in her breath and reached for a hanky just as Denise returned with
the tea tray. Francine stared at the teapot, gathering her self-control.

  “I think she had something else going on besides the psychic sessions,” Francine said after a long moment.

  Zac pounced. “What makes you think that?”

  “Something she said a couple of times. I once asked her if she was really making much of a living off the psychic sessions, and she told me it was enough to get by on but that she had a . . . a pension plan for her old age.”

  “A pension plan?” Guinevere stared at Francine’s troubled face.

  “She used to say that every time she looked into her bowl, she saw a comfortable future for herself. I couldn’t figure out what she was talking about, so one night I asked her. She just said she had something big going on the side. Something that was making a lot more money for her than the piddling little psychic sessions, and that in another couple of years she was going to have enough to retire and move to Arizona.”

  “All right, Francine,” Zac said flatly, “what do you think she had going on the side?”

  Denise spoke up before her sister could respond. “Franny, no, don’t say anything. I think you should keep quiet about this.”

  Francine gave her a bleak glance. “Why, Denise? If they found me, someone else could, too. What good does keeping silent do? We can’t stay locked up in this house forever.”

  Denise closed her eyes and sat back in her chair.

  “Well?” Zac prompted with a ruthlessness that made Guinevere wince. The man had no subtlety, but he got answers.

  “I think,” Francine said slowly, “that Zoltana was blackmailing someone.”

  Guinevere frowned. “All her little scams could be called blackmail.”

  “No, not those little twenty – and thirty-dollar psychic sessions she conned people into. I mean real blackmail. Thousands of dollars. I think she had someone important on the hook and that person finally figured out who was doing it.”

  “And you think that same someone killed her? You think she’s dead?” Zac concluded.

  Francine nodded miserably. “I’m afraid that if he or she ever finds out I was working with Zoltana, I’ll be next. Whoever it is will assume I know whatever it is that Zoltana knew.”

  “But you don’t,” Guinevere said.

  “No. If I did, I’d know whom I had to fear, wouldn’t I? As it is, I’m living in terror of almost everyone. It’s very hard to live that way, Gwen. The truth is, I was almost glad to see you standing out there on the porch a few minutes ago. I knew you must have come about Zoltana, and I didn’t think you could be the one she was blackmailing.”

  “Why not?”

  Francine shrugged. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think the killer would look like you.” She swung her weary gaze to Zac. “Him, maybe, but not you.”

  “Zac is investigating Madame Zoltana’s disappearance,” Guinevere said firmly. “He’s not interested in killing her.”

  “Yet—at any rate,” Zac added laconically. “Francine, what would you say if I told you we have some reason to think Zoltana is still alive?”

  Francine looked startled. “You do?”

  “Since she disappeared, two different people have received blackmail threats. Not penny-ante stuff, but real threats.”

  “I don’t understand,” Francine said in confusion. “I’ve been so convinced that she must have been killed, I can hardly believe she’s alive.”

  “We don’t know if she is or not. There’s another possibility,” Zac went on, ignoring Guinevere’s questioning glance. “You might be right. Whomever she was blackmailing might have killed her and then decided to use her files to continue fleecing her victims. He or she might not have been able to resist the easy pickings. One thing’s for certain, the price of Zoltana’s silence has risen considerably. One threat said the payoff would be a thousand dollars.”

  “Good lord,” Francine whispered. “I don’t understand this. I just don’t understand.”

  “Neither do we,” Zac informed her, “but we’re going to find some answers. That’s why we’re here.” He pulled a notepad out of his jacket pocket. “Let’s run through everything again, Francine, step by step. I want you to try to remember every conversation you had with Zoltana concerning her ‘pension plan.’”

  Denise shuddered and looked at her sister. “What’s going to happen?”

  “Whoever has decided to go into blackmail in a big way is going to find that it doesn’t always pay,” Zac said softly. “He or she has already made one serious mistake.”

  “What’s that?” Francine asked urgently.

  “Whoever it is tried to blackmail Gwen,” Zac explained calmly. “That’s the end of the line.” His ballpoint pen clicked. “Now, tell me again about Zoltana looking into her own future.”

  Guinevere sat back and watched Zac lead Francine Bates through a detailed history of her association with Madame Zoltana. It took almost an hour, and Zac had the blunt techniques of an inquisitor. At the end of the hour poor Francine Bates was exhausted. When Zac finally closed his little book with a snap, the older woman looked at him anxiously.

  “What should I do now?”

  “Stay out of sight while I see what I can do back in Seattle. We know the envelopes containing the new blackmail threats were mailed in the city, so chances are whoever’s behind them, whether it’s Zoltana or someone else, is still in town. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.”

  “But, Mr. Justis, I’m frightened,” Francine said as Zac got to his feet.

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you started helping Zoltana con people like Sally Evenson,” he remarked, taking Guinevere’s arm and heading toward the door. He didn’t wait for a response. He pushed open the door, got Guinevere outside, and let the screen slam shut behind them.

  “You were rather hard on her, Zac,” Guinevere said quietly as they walked to the car.

  “No, I wasn’t. You’ve seen me when I come down hard on people, Gwen. I treated Francine Bates with kid gloves, and you know it.”

  Everything was relative, Guinevere decided as she slipped into the front seat of the Buick. She had seen Zac pin a man against a wall by the throat while he asked his questions. Compared to that, she supposed it could be said that Zac hadn’t been hard on Francine Bates.

  “Do you think she’s safe here?”

  “I don’t know,” Zac admitted as he put the car in gear. “But I can’t protect her and she’s not willing to go to the police, so there’s not much anyone can do except try to find out what happened to Zoltana. That’s the only way to put a stop to this mess.”

  “What do we do next?”

  “Eat. It’s almost noon.”

  “Be serious, Zac.”

  “I am serious. I’ve got a taste for razor clams, and this is supposed to be a good place to find them. Let’s go find a restaurant.”

  There was something about his voice that alerted her. “You’re on the edge of Deep Think,” she accused.

  “Deep Think?”

  “You know, when you turn off the outside world and go someplace inside your head and think. You always do it when you’re getting near the turning point in a case. Before you do, tell me what you think happened to Zoltana. Do you believe she might have been killed?”

  “It’s a possibility. If Francine’s right about there being a major blackmail victim somewhere in the picture, someone who was shelling out thousands of dollars for Zoltana’s silence, then, yes, it’s a possibility.”

  “And that same someone might have discovered her client files and decided to try to get what he or she could out of them.” Guinevere thought about it. “Whoever it was had to know I was starting to ask questions.”

  “True. Which suggests that if someone else is involved, he or she is probably associated with Gage and Watson.”r />
  “Or knows Sally Evenson. Sally might have said more than she should have, if someone pumped her carefully enough. She’s very sweet, but not the most sophisticated thinker in the world.”

  “She was afraid of Madame Zoltana. Do you think she might have killed her, Gwen?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Anyone can kill, given the right set of circumstances,” Zac said.

  “You have a very low view of human nature.”

  “I have a realistic view of it.”

  Guinevere turned the matter over in her mind. “I suppose Sally might have been capable of murder if she was sufficiently frightened. But I don’t see her figuring out how to get rid of the body or how to open the safe. Furthermore, I don’t think she’d try to blackmail Zoltana’s clients. It just isn’t in her to be that organized and ruthless, Zac. Murder in the heat of fear and anger, possibly. But not cold-blooded blackmail later.”

  “Okay, who does that leave?”

  Guinevere ran through the list of people who had gone to Madame Zoltana. “There’s Ruth. But she’s a lot like Sally. Then there’s Mary, who’s much tougher. One or two others. But Zac, why assume Zoltana’s dead? Those last blackmail threats came from her typewriter, don’t forget.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. But if someone killed her, it would make sense for the killer to make it look as if Zoltana was still behind the blackmail attempts. It would be simple enough to slip back into Zoltana’s house and use the typewriter.”

  The razor clams were perfectly fried and accompanied by huge, chunky fries. Guinevere and Zac ate their fill in a rustic little café down by the water’s edge, and afterward they drove back to Seattle.

  Zac moved in and out of what Guinevere termed Deep Think during most of the long drive home. He would surface long enough to ask her a question or two and then grow silent again, driving without a word for long stretches of time. By the time they reached Seattle he had almost ceased communicating altogether. Guinevere waited patiently for the results, but none were forthcoming.