Lady Octavia blinked. “What?”
“I just decided,” Della said. “I’m a changed woman. I’ve been moved by love and marriage and loss.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’ll get your child support,” Della said to the countess. She was, to my surprise, calm and steady as she continued, “Like my beloved Deets, up in heaven, my own father was a good man who looked after his own no matter how they came into his life. It didn’t always work out, but he was a good man who never ran from responsibility.” She patted her lacey chest. “And that’s what kind of baby daddy I’m going to be. Even though I’m not technically the daddy.” She shrugged. “I’ve got all of his money now, so I’ll act on his behalf.”
Across the table, Brandon yelled, “What?"
The other family members talked frantically amongst themselves. One woman began crying.
Logan rapped his knuckles on the boardroom table. “This is exactly why we don’t do these things anymore,” he said. “Would everyone please be seated again?”
The people who were standing found their seats again. The metal caster wheels of the chairs squeaked as everyone rolled in as close to Logan as they could get. A bewildered Lady Octavia turned to hug Della like a long-lost friend.
“We girls have to stick together,” Della was saying. “I’ll take care of you, sweet baby mamma. I need to squeeze those little cherubs if they’re the last bit of my Deets left in the world.”
“Hey,” said Drake, who’d been relatively quiet through the drama. “What about me? And Brandon? We’re also Dieter’s little cherubs.”
Della rolled her eyes. “You’re both gross and old. Like, over forty. You two need to get a life. That’s exactly why your father did up a new will.” She reached one arm out across the table in a theatrical gesture, as though casting a spell. “Trust me, boys. This hurts me more than it hurts you. As of right now, you’re evicted from the mansion.” She waved her hand again. “Poof!”
Brandon reached for a coffee mug. His knuckles were white as he gripped it tightly. The mug abruptly broke in his hand, causing everyone in the room to shriek.
Drake cuffed his brother on the temple and yelled, “Walk it off!”
Brandon growled back. “Walk where?”
“It’s just an expression,” Drake said. “Calm down.”
Brandon extracted the shards of coffee mug from his hand and glowered at Della. “You’re not evicting us,” he said.
“I am,” she said. “I don’t trust either of you.”
“What did we ever do?” asked Drake.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But you’re both shifty. That’s why your father didn’t invite you to the wedding. He thought you’d try to talk him out of it.”
Drake laughed. “Sweetheart, there was no wedding. You’re bluffing. And even if there was, we’ll have it annulled.”
A wicked smile crept across Brandon’s face. “That’s right,” he said. “Dad was going senile. He didn’t know what he was doing. Don’t get used to using the last name of Koenig, because it’s not yours. Nothing is yours.”
“You can fight me all you want,” she said. “Send your correspondence to the mansion, where I’ll be living as of tomorrow. I’m sure you know the address.”
“We’re not leaving,” Drake said.
“Yes, you are,” Della said.
Logan chimed in, “I’m afraid it’s true, sirs. After this meeting, you’ll be escorted back to gather your personal items and only your personal items. You’d better not help yourselves to so much as a silver spoon.”
The family side of the boardroom erupted in panic and anger. Sweet little Dharma Lake caught my attention and wheeled her chair around to be next to mine.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
“Most of it,” I said. “How are you feeling these days?”
“Great,” she said. “My memory’s back to normal, and I feel healthy.” She glanced over at her relatives, who were wailing and gnashing their teeth.
“Sorry about all of this,” I said.
“Look at those fools,” she said. “Uncle Dieter was never going to give them a cent. It was all going to charity, you know. That was the most recent will, before he married Della. Nobody else knew except for me, because he trusted me. I guess he changed his mind when he fell in love.”
“Charity? So, it was never supposed to go to his sons?”
“He thought the money would ruin them,” she said. “He worried that it had ruined him, but then he found love, and he had hope again.”
“You think he loved her? He barely knew her.”
“That’s the power of love. I always told him he would find love again, and I told Della the same. And then I personally invited her to the mansion for one of his parties, and I had her sing his favorite songs.”
I whispered, “You sly matchmaker. Better not let the Koenigs and hyphen-Koenigs find out you were the one behind all this.”
Dharma’s eyes twinkled. “It’s our little secret.”
“Now, hold onto your hat, because things are about to get intense.”
I glanced over at Kyle, who gave me the nod to go ahead and start flinging accusations.
Logan was handing out photocopies of Dieter’s handwritten will to the family. “The witnesses to both the marriage and the holographic will have provided sworn statements, on video,” he said. “If any of you are planning to contest the will, you may wish to use a different tactic than going after the witnesses, because I’ve got them, to use a not-so-legal term, totally locked down.”
The family grumbled and roared that they would contest the will, win in court, burn down Logan’s house, roast him on a spit over the coals of his burned-down house, and finally pick their teeth with his bones. Not in those exact words, but that was the gist.
The crying woman started for the door.
“Not so fast!” I yelled.
At the sound of my voice, everyone went quiet. Most of them had probably forgotten I was even there.
“You can’t leave yet,” I said. “We’re just getting started. With all due respect to Mr. Sanderson, the reading of the will was simply the warm-up act. Grab a seat, rich folks, because we’re about to unveil a murderer.”
All faces turned toward me. I reached for my coffee so I could wet my dry mouth and buy a few seconds to reconfigure my strategy.
I really wished I’d planned ahead to sneak some whiskey into my coffee.
Chapter 40
"Dieter Koenig’s death was no accident,” I said. “It was a homicide, carefully planned and executed.”
Everyone in the room inhaled at once, the vacuum causing a breeze that moved my hair.
Della tugged on my elbow and hissed, “Sit down, Stormy. You’re ruining everything.”
I pulled my arm away and shot her a stern look. Behind her black lace veil, her eyes narrowed and her red lips scrunched.
“Don’t you worry, Della,” I said. “You’ll get everything you deserve.”
Lady Octavia muttered something in Danish under her breath. It sounded like either a prayer or a curse. By the look on her face, it had been directed at me. Definitely a curse.
“You, too, your highness,” I said. “You’ll get what you deserve.”
She whipped back her blond hair, her petite nostrils flaring over lips as tightly scrunched as Della’s.
Next to her at the table was Logan, who looked like he was about to give birth to kittens. During our relaxing three-day weekend together, I’d kinda-sorta forgotten to inform him of the whole plan. I tried to beam an apology from my eyes to his before turning to the others.
Brandon yanked his glasses off and began cleaning them again.
Drake scowled at me and demanded, “What is the point of this three-ring circus? We are all grieving our beloved family member.”
“And your loyal staff member,” I said. “Or have you forgotten about Tim Barber so quickly?”
Drake said, “Tim Ba
rber was a disturbed individual. I can only pray that he’s finally found his peace.”
“What happened to Mr. Barber was a tragedy,” I said. “But at least he had one great weekend in the lap of luxury, right?”
The room filled with confused murmurs. I heard one person ask another who I thought I was. Another answered, “She’s the girl who found the body.”
“But I’m not,” I said. “I’m not the girl who found the body. The housekeeper, Erica Garcia, was the one who found Dieter dead in the pool, bleeding from a head wound.”
The room got quiet again.
I continued, “Mr. Sanderson and I arrived at the scene of the crime a few minutes later. We also witnessed the killer fleeing the scene.”
“You saw the handyman,” Brandon said. “Everybody knows about that already. Why are you putting us through this anguish?”
“But I didn’t see the handyman,” I answered. “I saw his clothes. He wore loose-fitting layers and a big hat.”
All eyes were on me.
I nodded at Logan. “Isn’t that right? All you saw was clothes and the back of him.”
Logan replied, “I chased after the guy, but he was too quick, and then suddenly he disappeared. I thought he’d slipped into a maintenance shed, so I looked in there, but the shed was empty.”
I announced, “The shed was empty because the killer disappeared down a trapdoor.” By the look on his face, this was news to Logan.
“Trapdoor?”
I continued, “You see, the Koenig Estate has many secrets, and one of them is an underground fallout shelter, built decades ago. The family has kept it, either as a panic room or just a curiosity. I can’t really comment on the motivation for keeping a scary underground bachelor apartment. It reminds me of how kings from days gone by kept a dungeon to imprison people who caused trouble.” I turned to look directly at Lady Octavia. “What do you think of that?”
Her trembling hand flew to her mouth. “He... They... A dungeon?”
“We’ll come back to you,” I said to the countess. I turned back to face Dieter’s relatives. “I bet you’re all wondering who was in Tim Barber’s clothes that day, and where Tim Barber really was.”
A few people nodded.
I pointed to the ceiling. “Tim Barber was in the air, flying back to Misty Falls in the Koenigs’ private jet. That’s why he asked for the weekend off work. He must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven when Brandon or Drake asked him to secretly travel to New York to visit Lady Octavia. He had no idea he was being set up to take the fall for a murder. And even that was just a backup plan, in case the police didn’t rule Dieter’s death an accident.”
The white-haired man yelled, “Preposterous!”
His wife elbowed him. “Shut up, Alex. You have nothing to do with this.” She turned and gave him a beady-eyed look. “Or do you?”
He crossed his arms and took his wife’s advice to shut up.
I turned to Lady Octavia. “Did you enjoy entertaining the Koenig family’s handyman in New York?”
Her face blanched.
“Don’t say a word!” yelled her young lawyer, returning from the washroom and scrambling to sit next to her. “My client has no comment,” he said.
“Not even one word?” I asked. “How about one name? How about you tell us which brother was the one flying the plane? Which one met with you in New York? We’d all like to know, because it means the other brother was back here in Oregon, wearing Tim Barber’s clothes and killing Dieter Koenig.”
I heard spines crackle and joints pop as everyone whipped their heads to stare at the brothers.
Drake began to smile and slowly clap. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re all enjoying the show!” He kept clapping. “Around these parts, Miss Stormy Day is becoming quite the legend. I’d feel sorry for her if she weren’t so adorable. The poor girl imagines murders everywhere she goes.” His clapping slowed as he glanced around at his family. “Whatever you do, don’t have her over for dinner. I imagine someone will be poisoned or strangled before the dessert course.”
His brother laughed.
A few people tittered nervously.
Della tugged at my sleeve and asked, “Do you want me to slap a confession out of them?”
“That’s not a bad idea, Della. Thank you for your generous offer.” Loud enough for everyone to hear, I added, “No confession is necessary. The police lab has the work clothes that were hanging in the shed, and they’re testing for DNA. It’s going to match one of the brothers, and, as a bonus, we’ll also find out which brother is the one who fathered those cute babies the countess gave birth to.”
Lady Octavia said, “Dieter is the father! He’s the father.”
Her lawyer clapped his hand over her mouth to quiet her.
I gave Lady Octavia a woman-to-woman, no-bull-please stare. “You and I both know Dieter’s not the father. He’s been sterile for years.”
Della cried out, “What?"
I explained to all the shocked faces, “Lady Octavia got pregnant by one of the brothers, and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to screw his brother out of a share of the inheritance by passing the child off as his father’s. He’s the one who started the rumor about the countess leaving Dieter’s bedroom.”
Across the table, Dierdre Van Voss-Koenig said, “But what about genetic testing? Wouldn’t they be able to tell who the father was?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “If the alleged father’s blood was degraded, say, by him already being dead, the labs would have run a test that wouldn’t disprove someone who was the grandfather as being the father. I could get into the details, but it would really slow things down, and Claudette from the forensics lab explains it better than I do.”
Brandon banged his fists on the table. “Enough of this travesty! We’ve had enough. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers, and I’m suing everyone in this room.”
I held up my hand. “Humor me just one more minute,” I said, and I turned to Lady Octavia. “It’s all up to you,” I said softly. “Tell us which brother was in New York. It won’t prove which one of them killed poor Tim Barber and made it look like a suicide, but at least we’ll know who killed Dieter.”
She leaned in toward her lawyer and whispered something in his ear.
“My client has no comment,” he reported.
I sighed and bowed my head in defeat. “I guess the show’s over for now. We’ll wait and get the tests from the crime lab, then the police will coordinate with the NYPD and get security camera footage from one of the places where the Koenig brothers’ credit cards were used, and we’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.” I cast one more sad look at the countess. “It’s just a shame we have to wait and drag it all out.”
“No comment,” said the lawyer.
“Well, I hope you’re cheap,” I said to the lawyer. “Because your client won’t be getting a dime from the estate, even if you can buy off expert witnesses to present the grandfather as the father to some gullible jury. And that’s because Dieter Koenig never fathered anyone. The boys he raised and treated as sons were fathered by a man of similar height and coloring.”
Ignoring her lawyer’s instructions, Lady Octavia demanded, “Who? Who is their father?”
“We tested your baby’s soother,” I said. “I can’t name the father, but I can tell you that Dieter Koenig is not the grandfather of your babies. But someone else is.”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
“The handyman,” I said. “Good ol’ Tim Barber is the father of Drake and Brandon.”
Brandon shouted, “No! Shut up! Someone, make her stop talking!”
Drake quieted his brother with a look. “Don’t encourage her,” he said. “Don’t react.”
I continued, “I hear Tim and the late Mrs. Koenig were an item back in the day. I guess they maintained their... bond, even after she got married.”
Brandon’s face reddened. Even Drake was showing signs of stress, with sweat running
down the sides of his face.
Dierdre Van Voss-Koenig shouted, “I knew it! I knew it all along! I saw the way she looked at Tim when she thought nobody was watching! The nerve of her, passing off another man’s offspring as Dieter’s.” She turned to her husband. “That’s it. We’re going to the gravestone today to spit on her grave.”
The whole family erupted in outrage and accusations.
“No comment,” said Lady Octavia’s lawyer. “We’re leaving.”
“Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice from the door to the boardroom. “Excuse me. I’m very sorry, but it’s an emergency.”
We all turned to look at Corine, the receptionist. Her face was as red as the beet smoothies I’d seen her ingest during her cleanses.
“I must speak to the countess in private,” Corine said.
The countess jumped to her feet and pushed her way out of the room, her lawyer right at her heels, pleading, “Please, Tavi, don’t say a word!”
Corine, visibly shaking, spoke to the countess in the hallway. We couldn’t hear her, but we could see all three people clearly through the glass walls.
After receiving the news from a red-faced Corine, the countess swooned as though fainting. Her lawyer caught her, righted her, and then fainted himself. He dropped like a bag of laundry, right there in the hallway. Corine shrieked and knelt over him.
The countess walked toward the glass in slow motion, her face contorted with emotion.
“MURDERER!” she screamed, loud enough for us to hear clearly. “There’s blood on your hands, Brandon! All of their blood. First you killed your father, then you killed your other father, and now you’ve killed me! I’m as good as dead, Brandon! I will see you put in prison, and I will see you in hell!”
Brandon jumped up and tried to get out of the boardroom, but there were too many people in the way. His own family shifted into a wall to block his exit. He stepped up onto his chair and ran across the boardroom table. Lady Octavia was still screaming about him being a killer, a destroyer, and a bunch of things in Danish.
Death of a Modern King Page 21
