by Rickie Blair
He gripped the steering wheel and tried to calm his labored breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. His head nodded toward the wheel. He jerked back, snapping his eyes open, and reached for the coffee in the cup holder. He paused and then pulled his hand back. Lack of sleep was catching up with him, but more coffee would only aggravate his already queasy stomach. He drummed his fingers on the wheel again. This was futile. Even if he was correct about Fulton’s fraud the news would come out next week, after Ruby and Leta had returned home. There was no need to rush off to Southampton like a demented Don Quixote. At the next corner he would turn left, return the Fiesta to the garage, and go home and get some rest.
The cars ahead moved up and Hari followed, flicking on his left turn signal. On his right, the flashing lights of a tow truck moved off and a police officer waved traffic into the cleared lane. With a synchronized lurch, the vehicles around him made for the opening. On impulse, Hari flicked off his turn signal and swerved with them. If he went home, he was more likely to worry than sleep, so he might as well continue to Southampton. But it wasn’t paranoia. He simply deserved a rest. Once he had assured himself that Leta and Ruby were fine, he would take a refreshing hike along the shore and maybe even check into a bed and breakfast.
Whistling a few bars from Carmen’s Habanera, he cleared the bridge and headed north.
But an hour later, the nerves had returned. A refreshing hike along the shore? What was he thinking? Two people were dead and two were missing, Leta and Ruby were incommunicado, and Fulton was almost certainly a criminal. Hari jammed his foot on the accelerator, and the Fiesta shot ahead. The car raced along the highway, veering from lane to lane.
A siren blared behind him, and Hari checked the rearview mirror. Then he glanced at the speedometer and winced. He tapped the brakes and pulled over to the shoulder.
The traffic cop stared impassively through his sunglasses’ mirrored lenses while Hari tried to explain his haste. He had uncovered a huge fraud, and a woman in Jersey City was dead, and his partner wasn’t answering her phone … Hari’s words tumbled out.
When he stopped for breath, the officer gripped the window frame with one hand and leaned in.
“You’re worried about your girlfriend because she’s spending the weekend with a billionaire?” He appraised the Fiesta’s duct-taped window. “If I were you, I’d be worried, too.” He handed Hari a hefty speeding ticket and slapped the car roof. “Get moving.”
With his stomach churning, Hari merged back into traffic and headed north. At least the cop hadn’t asked to check the glove box.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Stonehaven’s guests were sitting down to lunch under the terrace’s grapevine-covered pergola when a taxi crunched over the gravel of the front drive. A door opened and shut and the cab drove away.
“I wonder who that is?” Helen Fulton said, dropping her linen napkin on the table as she stood and turned to the front of the house. A blonde woman in a flowery sundress came around the corner and waved.
“Leta!” Helen walked over and gave her a hug. She turned to the other guests. “Everybody, this is Leta Vaughn, Raymond’s assistant and my right-hand girl.”
Leta smiled at the guests and then leaned her head close to her host.
“Helen, do you mind?” she whispered, gesturing at the house. “It was a long trip and I’d like to freshen up.”
“Of course, hon. Come back out when you’re ready. I’ll get Carly to set another place.”
Leta turned back to the table and waved at Ruby.
“Olivia, come in the house and we can catch up.”
Ruby followed Leta into the air-conditioned kitchen and the terrace door closed behind them.
“What are you doing here?” Ruby asked.
“Fulton called me. He said he needed my help. I got the impression he’s having trouble convincing you to hand over your fifty million.” Leta giggled. “Is that true?”
“I may have been a little reticent. But it’s not as if I can write him a check, is it?” Ruby said, her gaze sweeping the kitchen for Carly. They were alone. She made a face. “I think I’m in over my head here.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not a trace. I found an office on the third floor, but nothing useful.”
Leta looked puzzled.
“An office?”
“Yeah, in that little cupola thing. Helluva view. Do you think he goes up there to watch porn?”
“I don’t know about that, but I know that’s not Fulton’s office. It’s Helen’s. I’ve been up there, helping her with opera society stuff.”
“Where is his office, then?”
“I don’t know, because I’ve never been in it. But there must be one, because we send him stuff from Manhattan when he’s here.”
“So if his office is not on the third floor, or the second floor, or the main floor, that leaves—”
“The basement.”
Ruby nodded. “Or the beach house.”
“You’ve been to the beach house?” Leta stared at her.
“I don’t even know where it is. But I saw renovation plans for it on Mrs. Fulton’s computer.”
“Well, I have been there, with Helen, and there’s no office in it.”
Ruby looked through the windows at the luncheon on the terrace, where Dave had uncorked another bottle and was pouring wine into the other guests’ glasses.
“The birders are heading out this afternoon on another field trip. I’ll beg off and check out the basement once they’re gone. I’m not sure I could take any more warblers anyway.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m afraid it is. Fulton told me to shadow you.”
“Shadow me? That sounds ominous.” Ruby giggled. “Should I be worried?”
“No, he just wants me to talk up the Castlebar Fund. And besides, if someone sees us in the basement, I can say I’m taking you on a tour.”
“Of the basement?”
“It’s not a normal basement, believe me.” Leta rolled her eyes. “It has a full sauna, a walk-in freezer, even servants’ quarters, although nobody uses them. The wine cellar alone is bigger than a bungalow. There’s plenty to see. I’ll get the keys from Helen.”
“Good plan. Let’s do it right after lunch.” Ruby sighed and glanced at the Sub-Zero fridge. “I think we’re having lobster again.”
* * *
Ruby watched as Leta twisted a key in the lock and opened the door onto a darkened room. Cool air—cooler even than the basement’s air-conditioned hallway—flowed out around them. She flipped a switch outside the door and hanging lights snapped on, illuminating rows of shelves that extended to the ceiling. The shelves were lined with ceramic cylinders, each containing a bottle.
“Wow.” Ruby’s eyebrows rose. “This is some wine cellar. You weren’t kidding.”
“I know, right?”
Ruby ran her hand over the nearest shelf, peering at the labels, many of which were obscured by dust.
“My ex-husband would have loved this. He’s a real oenophile. Well, used to be. Not too much wine where he is now.” She glanced back at Leta, who stood in the doorway. “Can I take a closer look?”
“Sure.”
Ruby wandered up and down the rows, occasionally pulling out a bottle to read the label. Many were rare vintages. Even by a conservative estimate, Fulton’s collection was worth a million or more. Her foot caught on something and she glanced down at a tangled woolen blanket under her feet. When she picked it up, a porcelain mug fell out and shattered on the stone floor. Ruby clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m so sorry. I should have left it alone.” She looked around for a broom. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Leave it.”
“It will only take a minute—”
“No, let’s get out of here.”
“But—”
“Come on.” Leta was already in the hall, next to the light
switch. Ruby followed her out and closed the door, which locked behind her. Leta was several yards down the corridor.
“Wait till you see this,” she called over her shoulder.
Ruby hurried after her until she heard a faint slapping sound. She looked down at her Birkenstocks and grimaced. The china shards from the broken mug had damaged one sole. She balanced on one foot while she slipped off the clog to examine it. Footsteps echoed behind her.
Ruby clapped the shoe to her chest and whirled around.
“Who’s there?” she called, her heart thumping.
The hall behind her was empty. She tilted her head, straining to hear over the air conditioning that whooshed through the vents.
“Hey, are you coming?”
Ruby swiveled and looked up the hall.
Leta had stuck her head out a door. “C’mon,” she called.
With a puzzled glance over her shoulder at the empty corridor, Ruby slipped her clog on and then followed Leta into a large storage room with a rectangular depression, thirty feet long and eight feet deep, in the floor. The edges were tiled and there was a drain at one end.
“Is that—”
“An indoor pool?” Leta nodded. “The Fultons never finished it, but the sauna’s ready to go.” She pointed to a large wooden door.
Ruby unlatched the door and pulled it open, releasing an intoxicating rush of cedar. She whistled.
“There’s room for fifteen people in here, even lying down. This basement is like the Roman Senate.”
Leta walked over and patted a huge metal door with a large handle.
“They didn’t have walk-in freezers in Rome. This one’s big enough to store whole beef carcasses.”
Ruby walked over and stood behind her.
“Do you think they have any in there right now? I don’t think I can eat any more lobster.”
“Probably not. Helen never uses this unless they’re hosting a huge event. But let’s look.” Leta pushed the handle down with both hands and heaved open the door. Frigid air rushed out, raising goosebumps on their arms. Leta stepped into the freezer, but halted so abruptly that Ruby ran into her.
“Sorry. I should have been paying more attention.”
Leta stood shock still with a hand clamped over her mouth. Ruby followed her gaze and gasped.
A man lay on his side on the floor along the freezer’s back wall, facing away from them. Ruby walked over and bent to touch his shoulder. His flesh was cold and unyielding and she jerked back with a shudder, shaking out her chilled hand. Using both hands, she heaved him over onto his back. His frozen body hit the floor with a thud.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “This is Gregory Keller.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Leta stared in horror at Keller’s body, then whirled and ran out of the freezer. “I’ll get Fulton,” she called over her shoulder, sprinting along the corridor that led to the kitchen stairs.
Ruby gaped at Keller’s vacant frost-encrusted face and eyelashes. Then she pivoted and raced after Leta.
In the kitchen, Leta paused at the door to the terrace to look out. Fulton sat at the head of the table, a half-filled wine glass at his elbow, listening to a woman on his left who was gesturing with both hands. The grape leaves over the pergola fluttered in the breeze, casting flickering shadows on his face.
Leta pushed open the door and walked onto the terrace. Ruby watched through the window as Leta walked up to Fulton and leaned down to whisper in his ear. His eyes widened, but his smile never faltered. He stood up, dropped his linen napkin on the table, spoke briefly to the woman on his left, then followed Leta across the lawn and through the kitchen door. She closed it behind them.
Fulton stopped short when he saw the look on Ruby’s face.
“What’s going on?”
Ruby pointed to the basement door.
“Gregory Keller. He’s in your freezer.”
He stared at her.
“How do you know Gregory Keller, Olivia?”
Ruby’s stomach dropped.
“I … I don’t. Leta told me who he was. But he’s in your freezer, and he’s dead.”
Fulton turned to Leta.
“Is this true?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Show me.”
Fulton’s eyes glittered darkly, and Ruby took a step back. For a moment she wished she were in the basement with Keller. Anywhere but here, with a man who looked as if he wanted to kill someone himself.
They trudged downstairs and stopped outside the freezer. Fulton went in first. He bent to examine Keller, clenching his lips so tightly that his cheeks rippled. Fulton rose to brush past the two women and into the corridor. As he strode along the hall, he pulled a keychain from his pocket. He stopped and inserted a key into a lock, pushed open the door and walked in, followed by Leta.
Ruby stopped at the entrance to gape at the desk, computers, and filing cabinets within. She had found Fulton’s home office. For all the good it would do.
Fulton walked behind the desk and unlocked it, then opened a drawer and pulled out a handgun. After placing it on the desk, he reached in again for a magazine, picked up the gun and loaded it.
Ruby cleared her throat, eyeing the weapon.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?”
Ignoring her, Fulton turned to Leta.
“He’s here, isn’t he?”
“How would I know?”
“He’s your pal, isn’t he?”
“You know that’s not true.”
In the doorway, Ruby cleared her throat again.
“Why aren’t we calling the police?”
Fulton looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“Why are you here?”
Ruby swallowed hard. Leta stepped between them and held out a hand.
“This is Olivia Walters, Mr. Fulton. She wants to invest her inheritance in the Castlebar Fund, remember?”
He glowered at Ruby, his eyes still dark.
“Mr. Fulton, you’ve had a terrible shock,” Leta said. “You’re not thinking straight. Olivia is right, we should call the police.”
Ruby jumped as someone chuckled in the hall behind her.
“Yeah, by all means, call the police.”
She turned, slowly, with her heart in her mouth. The young man who had threatened her in the kitchen leaned against the doorframe, a baseball cap jammed backward on his head.
He pointed a handgun at Fulton.
“Put that gun down, old man, before you hurt yourself.”
Chapter Fifty
With a one-handed spin of the steering wheel, Hari turned the Fiesta onto the driveway, bumped over a few ruts, and lurched to a halt outside Stonehaven’s front door. He jumped out and raced to the entrance. When no one answered his pounding, he ran around the side of the house, looking for another door.
He stopped short once he cleared the corner. A dozen men and women sat around a harvest table under a vine-draped pergola, laughing and drinking wine. A man waved at Hari.
“Over here. Pull up a chair.”
Hari walked to the table and nodded at the smiling faces. Nothing wrong here. Benjamin’s paranoia had finally rubbed off on him.
A silver-haired woman stood and extended a hand.
“Hello. I’m Helen Fulton. And you are?”
“Hari Bhatt.” He shook her hand, trying to remember the name Ruby had dreamed up. Was it Olive? Ollie? No, it sounded like … Olga? He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Leta Vaughn.”
“Sit down. I’m sure she’ll be right back.” Smiling, Helen steered him to an empty chair and poured him a glass of wine.
Hari sat, sipping his wine, and gazed at the ocean. The breeze that ruffled the grape leaves over their heads also tickled the whitecaps on the gray-blue expanse. The Zinfandel was pleasant, though he would have preferred a beer, and the table was laden with platters of seafood and antipasti. The couple on his left chatted about a recent Broadway adaptation of The Seagull.
For the first time in hours, he relaxed.
One of the women turned to Helen.
“Is Raymond coming back?”
“In a moment or two. I think they went down to his office.”
Choking on a mouthful of wine, Hari placed his glass on the table. Raymond Fulton, his quarry, was in the house. And what did Mrs. Fulton mean by they? He cleared his throat.
“Is that where Leta went?”
“I assume so. She and Olivia went into the house about fifteen minutes ago.”
“His office?” Chuckling, one of the men pointed a finger at Mrs. Fulton. “I thought there was no business at Stonehaven, Helen.”
She made a face.
“You know how Raymond is. I do my best, but…” Helen tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “That’s why I put his office in the basement when we built this place, so he wouldn’t be tempted to spend too much time there.” She turned to Hari. “You’re not the first person today to come looking for Raymond and Leta.”
He turned his head sharply. “Oh?”
“A young man was here earlier, dressed rather informally. Sweat pants and a baseball cap.” Several guests snickered. “He was dropping off documents or something for Raymond.” Helen held out a platter with a smile. “Can I interest you in some lobster salad, Hari?”
Sweat pants and a baseball cap? He pushed back his chair.
“Thank you, maybe later. I think I’ll look in on Leta. Is the office…?” He gestured at the house.
“In the basement,” Helen said. “Go through that door, down the stairs on the left, then take the corridor on the right.”
Hari walked through the terrace door and into the kitchen, closing the door behind him, and headed for the stairs. He reached under his polo shirt and took Leta’s gun from his waistband. Holding the Glock in his right hand, he crept down the stairs.
Chapter Fifty-One
Fulton put his gun on the desk and raised his hands.
Oakes sauntered into the room, brushing up against Ruby with a leer, and leaned against a chair facing the desk. He motioned at Leta to move closer to Fulton and covered them both with the gun.
