by Nancy Martin
In the car, I mused about Tottie Boarman, the secret altruist. What else had I been wrong about?
Chapter 18
At midnight when I got home, there were four blinks on my answering machine. One message was from Hadley—“Call me, kitten! We’ll have some eggnog!” Another from the tax man, one hang-up and one from Rawlins.
I phoned Hadley and left a message on his voice mail. He was out partying at someone else’s expense, I was sure.
My nephew sounded surprisingly hesitant in his recorded message. “Uh, Aunt Nora? I need to come see you soon. Can you call me?”
It was too late to phone Libby’s house, so I went to bed and lay awake for a long time. I tried to plan my next move, but my hand kept drifting to the other pillow and I ended up dreaming fitfully about Michael.
Early in the morning, Thomasina Silk arrived with a horse trailer marked with the hunt club logo, so I left my half-eaten toast, put on my parka and went outside into the wind. Barking madly, Spike ran circles around Thomasina’s truck until it rumbled to a stop near the barn. I didn’t hear any of the telltale signs that usually accompanied Emma’s horse when he was confined to a trailer—enraged neighs, thunderous kicks and cursing human beings.
Diminutive Thomasina, dressed in breeches and a Polartec vest, climbed down from her truck, all business. “I brought Emma’s jumper,” she reported, adjusting her gloves. “Have you started training that puppy yet?”
“Oh yes.” I snapped my fingers authoritatively. “Spike!”
The dog ran over and discovered that because Thomasina was so small he could almost sniff her crotch. He made a valiant effort.
Humiliated, I grabbed him. “Thanks for bringing Mr. Twinkles, Thomasina. I know Emma will be relieved that he’s home.”
Thomasina obviously thought I was beneath contempt because she told me to stay out of the way while she set about unloading Mr. Twinkles herself. The usually rambunctious horse came down the ramp as obediently as a child who’d been promised ice cream. In my arms, Spike barked joyously to see his favorite subject of torture. Mr. Twinkles behaved himself, but when Thomasina wasn’t looking, he flashed a kick in Spike’s direction.
When Mr. Twinkles was safely in his paddock, I approached Thomasina. “I know you’ve competed against Emma for years. You must have gotten to know her pretty well.”
Thomasina shoved her gloves into the pocket of her warm vest. “Sure, we’ve had our moments.”
“She helped at your barn after your accident, if I recall.”
I had her full attention then. “Yes. Emma kept my horses in good shape. I’d have sold off most of them if she hadn’t continued their training.”
“She’s in trouble now.”
Thomasina eyed me coldly. “I like Emma. And maybe I owe her a favor or two. But her life is over if she killed Rush Strawcutter, Nora, and I can’t do anything about that.”
“She didn’t kill Rush,” I said firmly. “All we need is some proof.”
Thomasina flushed, but she didn’t bend. “Well, good luck,” she said shortly.
Thomasina departed without another word, and I felt bitterly disappointed. “People can be jerks,” I said to Spike.
While Spike and Mr. Twinkles took turns chasing each other around the paddock, I got a rake out of the barn and began collecting some of the leaves that had scattered across the lawn. The skiff of snow had melted and the work was cold, but I was glad to have something useful to do with my hands while I thought about what to do next.
Rush Strawcutter had not been murdered because he was blackmailing people. That much I now knew was true.
But a lot of other people had been terrorized by the blackmailer. Claudine Paltron, for one, had assumed her extortionist was Rush Strawcutter. Maybe others had, too. And one of them preferred to kill him than give him money.
Tottie Boarman wasn’t the son of a bitch I thought he was. But could he have murdered his own son for an insurance policy that might make him solvent again? Or might Kitty Keough have done the killing on behalf of her wealthy boyfriend?
Could Claudine have whacked her former lover with a polo mallet? Or more likely, could she have sent her doltish boyfriend to do the deed?
And Gussie. Had she been more furious to learn Rush was having an affair with Emma or to suspect that Rush would need to dip into the Strawcutter fortune to pay his blackmailer?
And I could not ignore Emma’s belief that she had heard Tim Naftzinger’s voice on the morning of the murder.
I heard a car in the driveway.
I went around the house and saw Hadley Pinkham’s classic MG evade the potholes and roll to a stop by the backdoor. He climbed out, looking dapper, and swept his arm wide to indicate the blue tarp, the sagging fences and Spike rolling in fresh horse manure.
“My dear kitten, are you vowing to never go hungry again? This place looks ready for the carpetbaggers!”
I leaned on my rake and waited until he picked his way across the muddy lawn to me. “Is that what you’re here for, Hadley? To take my plantation for the back taxes?”
“Of course not, kitten. I have my own derelict shanty to maintain. I got your message and came as soon as humanly possible. Good morning.” He bent to kiss my cheek, but his scarf blew between our faces and prevented it. “How lovely you look working al fresco this morning. So this is how you keep your figure.”
“Why don’t you take a picture?”
He laughed handsomely. “Well, I like to think I’m even more photogenic, but after you comb your hair, perhaps—”
“Did you bring your camera?”
“You know I’m missing the photography gene. My forebears all had the eye, of course, but I am sadly—”
“You can cut the act, Hadley. I know all about your talent behind a lens.”
He put his hands into the pockets of his great coat and regarded me with an oblique sort of smile. “Talent?”
“I expected more, actually, despite your claim you’re no good with gadgets. To be truthful, I’m surprised your photographs are so ordinary.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m more than angry, Hadley. Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I’ve survived,” he said lightly. He leaned against the fence and gazed at the ruined roof of my house. “Looks as if I’m doing better than you are.”
“At least I’m not screwing my friends to do it.”
“Screwing? What an indelicate word, especially from you. Kitten, I didn’t pick on anyone who couldn’t afford my rates.”
I suppressed the tremor of anger that shook my whole body. “What about me, Hadley? Does it look as if I have an extra ten grand lying around?”
“I thought you were ready to sell the grange and come back to the city where you belong, suitably enriched by the profits and willing to share a little. If you called a realtor right now, you could be moving your four-poster into a lovely condo by nightfall, and you know it. I even gave you a little extra time to consider the matter.”
“I made my own decisions long ago, thank you.”
Spike had heard something in my voice and came over. Silent, he crouched at my feet, his beady eyes fixed on Hadley’s face.
“You’re a rat, Hadley.”
He said, “Can I help it if I have expensive tastes?”
“You could have gotten a job.”
He laughed brightly. “Good heavens, remember who you’re talking to. Can you see me waiting tables? Filing returned library books? Suggesting wines at Sabu? I’m suited for no useful work at all.”
“But you’re perfectly suited to extortion?”
“Another harsh word! Is this the result of hanging around with the criminal element? Because it’s not attractive—”
“You are the criminal element, Hadley. And don’t you dare compare your idea of civilized behavior to Michael Abruzzo.”
“Oh, Lord, you’re not going to start quoting bad romantic novels next, are you?”
“I think you’d better s
tart quoting the fifth amendment,” I said. “Because you’re going to need it.”
“Do you think so?” he asked archly. “I don’t. I don’t believe you’ll find a shred of evidence against me. Nothing that will convince judge or jury, at least. I chose a crime that’s very difficult to prove, you see. I’m cleverer than you think. I didn’t stoop to murder.”
“Yes, you did. You were the cause of Rush’s death.”
He waved his hand to dismiss the accusation. “Impossible to prove.”
“The only thing I haven’t figured out yet is why you blackmailed Tottie. What secret did you discover about him?”
He tried to look surprised. “You haven’t learned yet? Then you’re not the detective I thought you were.”
“Tell me now. Why did Tottie feel he needed to pay for your silence?”
“He didn’t pay, actually. That briefcase he left in the square? It was empty. He told me to take his dirty laundry and—well, it was another crude expression, so I won’t use it. I managed to get the briefcase despite Kitty Keough’s interference—she didn’t remove it from the park, by the way, but was merely checking to see if Tottie had followed my orders. When I got the case home, I was very disappointed. It seems Tottie would rather have the truth come out than pay me the pittance I requested.”
“What was the truth?”
“That he was Rushton Strawcutter’s natural father.”
Spike looked anxiously up at my face.
More calmly than I thought I could manage, I said, “How did you know?”
“An old auntie of mine was one of Tottie’s girl-friends back in the stone age. She knew there was an illegitimate child floating around, and I asked her to gossip amongst her ancient friends until she learned the truth. It wasn’t hard. Surely you were near the truth yourself.”
“I can’t believe you’re so heartless.”
“I figured if Tottie was crazy enough to loan huge sums of money to a child he never knew, he could spare a few thousand for me.”
“And instead of paying you? Do you think Tottie might have attacked Rush in a rage? For—”
“Honestly, kitten, I couldn’t care less who murdered Rushie. He couldn’t come up with the cash to pay me, so I sent the photos of him necking with your sexy sibling to Gussie. And who knew what a hot button philandering was for her? I received my first installment from her last night. Even now that her husband is dead, she wants to keep his affair with Emma quiet.”
The triumph on his face was too much for me. My hands were tight on the rake handle. It took all of my self-control not to swing it at his head. Spike began to growl very softly.
He continued. “I figured you had started to guess I was behind my little money letters. So I thought I might offer you a deal.”
“Little money letters? Is that how you make blackmail sound well-bred?”
“Do you want to know why I didn’t pressure you to pay me? I have an offer.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
He looked at me frankly. “We could be partners, Nora.”
For a second, I thought I might be physically ill. “You are despicable.”
“Think of all the secrets you know. You’re even more connected than I am! With your insider knowledge and my willingness to exploit it, we could—”
“Shall I call the police to kick you off my property,” I said far more calmly than I felt, “or will you go peacefully?”
He regarded me again, and we communicated our farewells in that moment.
He said, “I’m sorry you feel this way. Maybe if you think it over—”
“I don’t need to think. I am no longer your friend, Hadley.”
“Nora—”
“I’m going to see the FBI today, anyway. Shall I tell them about you?”
“I will make your life miserable”—he cocked an eyebrow at me—“if you tell the FBI or anyone else what I’ve been doing. I could make the lives of your family and friends miserable, too. I guess that’s what counts with you, isn’t it? See? I know what strings to tug.”
“Go away,” I said.
He shrugged.
We both heard another vehicle enter the driveway. Libby’s minivan rounded the side of the house.
Hadley tightened his scarf and sauntered attractively toward his car. Spike followed, hugging the ground like a lion stalking prey. Hadley got into the car and started the engine. Spike began to bark at him.
I called Spike, but he didn’t listen.
Hadley put the car in gear and revved the engine.
“No,” I said. “Spike!”
Hadley’s car jerked and swung hard toward the dog. By then I had dropped the rake and started to run. Spike leaped to escape, but he was too small and the car too fast.
I heard him yelp, and then a bloodcurdling howl. Hadley swerved back onto the driveway and accelerated, narrowly missing the minivan.
I reached Spike and fell to my knees. He thrashed on the ground, his jaws snapping convulsively. I put both hands on him, and he immediately bit me. His teeth punctured the muscle of my hand just below my thumb, and then he rolled his eyes up to me for help. He hung on to my hand, and I let him.
An instant later, Rawlins was beside me on the ground. “Aunt Nora, Aunt Nora!”
I was cursing and soothing at the same time, talking to little Spike and trying to hold him still.
Rawlins ripped off his coat. “Here,” he said. “Wrap him up in this. We’ll take him to the vet.”
I managed to ease Spike onto the nylon jacket, but he cried and yipped with every move. He began to pant, and I knew he was dying.
“Come on,” said Rawlins.
My nephew hauled me up by my elbow and bundled me into the front seat of the minivan. I cradled Spike, still letting him hang on to my hand with his teeth. There was blood on Rawlins’s jacket, but I didn’t know who it had come from.
Rawlins spun the minivan in a tight circle and thumped over the potholes. In a minute, we were speeding on the road, heading south. Rawlins drove fast, grimly clutching the steering wheel. I murmured to Spike, but the puppy’s eyes had begun to glaze and his breathing was shallow and pained.
We arrived at the vet’s office in a spray of gravel. I climbed out with Spike in my arms and ran to the door. I’d been to the vet once before for Spike’s shots, and I knew my way inside. Rawlins burst in ahead of me, calling for help. The nursing staff rushed out from behind their counter and took Spike from me. He held on to my hand until they pulled him loose. I heard him yip weakly as they rushed through a set of swinging doors.
Rawlins held me in the waiting room, pulling me to a windowed corner. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he kept saying. “Spike will be fine. Don’t worry.”
But Spike wasn’t fine, and I knew it.
A mother and young daughter watched us from the waiting room chairs. The mother held a cardboard cat carrier on her lap, and a kitten mewed inside the box. The little girl looked at me with her face ready to crumple into tears of sympathy. A wave of sickening blackness washed over me. I put my head between my knees.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Rawlins said, patting my back.
I sat up finally. “It’s not okay, Rawlins. Hadley did it on purpose. Did you see? He deliberately ran over an innocent puppy!”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even stop.”
The chief nurse came out and told us the veterinarian was with Spike and doing his best. But I could see by her expression she was doubtful my dog would live. And there was an accusatory gleam in her eye, too, telling me I could have avoided hurting Spike if he’d been on a leash or better trained. She gave me an ice bag for my hand.
I sat down unsteadily and applied the ice to my bleeding hand. Rawlins sat beside me and awkwardly patted my arm.
At last my mind began to focus. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and cleared my throat. “What are you doing driving around on a school day? Have you been expelled again?”
“No.” He looke
d at his lap. He had various bits of jewelry pierced through his lip, eyebrow, nose and ears. The little girl sitting a few feet away was fascinated. But for all his effort to look like a dangerous man, Rawlins still had soft hands and gangly legs and slumped teenager’s shoulders. He said, “I had to talk to you.”
“Well, thanks for bringing us here. If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I mean it, Rawlins. If you hadn’t—”
“Hey, I feel like a shit already, okay? Just leave it alone.”
I turned my attention to Rawlins at last and realized he was gnawing on his fingernails as if they were his last meal. “What’s the matter?”
He shook his head.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is it your mother?”
“No, she’s fine. If you think it’s okay for her to be dating this weird doctor guy.”
“Is she still seeing him?”
“Who knows? I hardly ever go home anymore.”
“Rawlins—”
“Look, I got to get this off my chest,” he burst out. “Plus she says she’ll kill me if I don’t tell you, so here goes.”
“What in the world . . . ?”
“I admit I haven’t always been smart, but really, I didn’t think it was such a big deal. Mick went with me and made me tell Mom, but then she went ballistic and everything got—”
I had no idea what he was talking about. “What does Michael have to do with anything?”
He sighed. “Here’s the thing. I have this friend. And he gave me something to keep for him. So I kept it. But Mick noticed I had it, and—”
“Just what exactly are we discussing?”
“A gun,” Rawlins said. “I had a gun.”
I stared at him.
“I had this gun,” he went on, “when I went to the airport to pick up Mick from Paris. We put his gear in the trunk, and he found my friend’s gun in the—”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying Michael took a gun away from you?”
“I know I shouldn’t have had it.” Rawlins looked miserable. “But it was only supposed to be for a couple of days, see? But Mick took it and said I had to tell my mom, and she said I had to tell you, so—”
