“You didn’t need to go to the post office in Hamilton,” Tom said. “We have plenty of stamps here, and Adam makes a post office run every day.”
“I was picking up a package in general delivery,” I explained.
“I wouldn’t think that you’ve been here long enough to get mail,” Claudia said.
“I haven’t been,” I said. “The package was not for me.”
I hadn’t been certain how to raise the topic of the envelope addressed to Fairy Fay and wasn’t sure if it should be brought up in front of Tom’s family and guests. I hesitated. He deserved to learn about it privately, rather than in front of so many witnesses.
“It was sent to Alicia, Tom,” I said, “but I think it’s something we should discuss privately. It can wait for another time when you’re not entertaining.”
“For Alicia?” Tom said. “Can’t imagine what she sent away for. Probably another mystery book. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” He slapped his knees and rose from his chair. “There’s no time like the present. I’m sure our guests won’t mind if we desert them for a few minutes. Shall we go in the library?”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. These grown-ups can entertain themselves for a few minutes. Can’t you?” he said, looking around.
“Go ahead,” Godfrey said. “I’ve got some questions for the inspector.”
I glanced at George. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he said.
As Tom led me across the breezeway toward the library, I heard Claudia say, “So, Daisy, tell us what bargains you found in Hamilton today.”
“Yes, Daisy,” Margo jumped in. “I was sorry not to be able to join you and Madeline, but we can go together another time.”
“I would rather hear about your case, Inspector,” Godfrey’s voice said.
Tom opened the door to his library and flipped on the lights. “So what’s this big secret you have for me, Jessica?” he said heartily.
“I picked up this package today, Tom.” I pulled the padded envelope out of my shoulder bag and handed it to him.
He squinted at it. “It’s not even addressed to Alicia,” he said as he sank into one of the couches flanking the fireplace. “Sit down.” He waved me into the sofa across from his and pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. “How do you know it’s for Alicia? Who’s this Fairy Fay? I never heard of anyone by that name.”
I groped around my bag for Alicia’s book. “Alicia left a note in her book,” I said, finally putting my hand on the slim volume.
“She did?”
“Yes.” I leaned over to show him what she’d written inside the back cover.
He let the envelope fall into his lap and took the book from me, frowning down at the message. “Looks like her handwriting,” he said. “You mean you figured out that she sent herself a package from this scribble?”
“Yes.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“That’s what I do, Tom. Mysteries are how I make a living.”
“I thought you wrote mystery novels,” he said. “I didn’t realize you actually worked real mysteries out in your head.” I sensed that he was becoming uneasy.
“Was she really reading this crap?” He tossed Alicia’s book on the table between us and leaned back to look at the envelope again. I picked it up and returned it to my bag.
“So what’s this?” he said, tapping a finger on the padded envelope.
“Why don’t you open it up and see?” I suggested.
“Do you know what’s in it?”
“Alicia didn’t leave me that information,” I said evasively. “Do you know who sent it to her?”
He looked at the return address and grunted, then turned the envelope over and pulled the tab to open it. I watched as he removed the plastic sleeve and fingered through the papers inside. His brows went up and he glanced at me. “These are the papers that I’ve been looking for.”
“You must be happy to have them back, Tom.”
“I am,” he said, “very happy.”
He didn’t look happy, however, and I wondered what the evidence of his wrongdoing would prompt him to say and do next.
He stood and tucked the envelope under his arm. “Unless you have anything more to show me, I think we should rejoin the others.”
“Why do you think Alicia would send those papers to herself?” I asked. “She went out of her way to make certain no one would know the package was coming in, even to the extent of using a fictitious name.”
“I think she wanted to give them to me as a gift,” he replied, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “My birthday is coming up. Yes! Alicia must have known I was looking for these and asked someone to send them to her. She said she had a surprise for me. What a loving, wonderful girl to arrange to get these papers for me. You didn’t know her, of course, but she was a real pixie, full of pranks, but she could be sweet as well. I’ll always remember her that way.”
“Who do you think sent them to her?”
“I have no idea.”
“I think I do, Tom.”
His face turned hard.
“You once had a law clerk you fired, as I understand it.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From Adam. Don’t you remember? We talked about it the day after Alicia was killed.”
“Adam should know better than to discuss my private business.” He glared at me.
“Nevertheless, the clerk’s name was Barry Lovick, wasn’t it?”
“What the hell are you driving at, Jessica?”
“Look at the return address on the envelope, Tom. It says B.L. Barry Lovick.”
“So what?”
“Isn’t Barry Lovick Lillian Jamison’s son by her first marriage?”
“I don’t see what that has to do—”
“There’s obviously more to your ongoing battle with your neighbors than the architecture and positioning of Stephen’s studio.”
“I’ve heard enough from you, Jessica,” he said. “You have a vivid imagination. You’re coloring the truth here. I should have known better than to invite a writer of murder mysteries as a guest.”
“I appreciated the invitation, Tom, and I’m sorry if what I’m saying is upsetting you. The truth is—and as a judge you should respect the truth—the truth is that Barry Lovick had been bringing the papers in that envelope home with him, important papers, papers you didn’t want anyone else to see—and that’s why you fired him. That is the truth, isn’t it, Tom?”
He said nothing.
“And he sent those same papers to Alicia here in Bermuda. The question is, Tom, why did he do that? What did Alicia intend to do with them? It would seem to me to be a strange birthday gift, as you suggested.”
“I don’t intend to discuss this any further. You have no idea what’s in this envelope and I don’t plan on sharing these papers with you.” He abruptly turned, opened the door, and stormed from the room.
I followed.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Claudia said when Tom and I returned to the sitting room.
Margo studied Tom’s face. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
“Perfectly fine,” he said, striding to the fireplace where Stephen had stationed himself again.
“What was that all about?” Stephen asked.
“Nothing,” Tom said. “Nothing at all. Jessica thought she had something really special, perhaps something that I would be upset about, but of course, I’m not. Have a drink, Jessica, and we’ll celebrate your soaring imagination. Adam, pour Jessica a cordial.”
Adam jumped up to follow Tom’s direction.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t want anything. I’m fine as I am.” I sat next to George.
Tom pulled some papers from the envelope and held them up. “Jessica was worried these may have been important. But you see, they’re really not. Not important at all,” he said as he started dropping them into th
e fireplace. The fire had burned down to embers, but the papers caught immediately and the flames flared up, lighting the room. “See how important they are, Jessica?” Tom said, feeding more of the papers into the fire.
“But, Tom, maybe you’ll need them later,” Margo said. “Are you sure you want to burn them?”
“I don’t need them. I don’t want them,” Tom said, continuing to add more fuel to the fire.
I purposely avoided looking at George, certain he was thinking the same thing I was. It was fortunate that we’d photocopied all of Tom’s documents. Tom thought he was destroying the evidence that could not only end his career, but very possibly send him to jail. He may not have even considered the broader implication that his fortune, however it was accumulated, would be taken away not just from him, but from his family as well.
I knew that Bermuda was sensitive about being used as an off-shore repository of illegal funds. Its reputation as a leading international finance and business center relies on the transparency and honesty of transactions that take place here. When the Bermudian authorities examined the papers, they were likely to share them with the FBI. But it was also probable that they would act on them first, confiscating not just Tom’s bank accounts, but his property as well. I wondered how that would sit with the two women vying for his attention, Margo and Claudia.
“As long as you’ve got the flames up, we should throw another log on there,” Stephen said, pulling a piece of wood from a basket next to the hearth.
“Put it in,” Tom directed. “I want to burn the rest of these.”
George found my hand on the sofa and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry you feel it necessary to burn those papers,” I said to Tom, “considering that Alicia was killed because of them.”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “She was killed by the Jack the Ripper killer. Everyone knows that,” he said, looking around the room, which had gotten very quiet. “Isn’t that right?”
“No, that isn’t right,” I said.
“Are you accusing me, Jessica?” Tom roared. “How dare you? To even think that I would be capable of brutally murdering a beloved member of my family is—it’s—it’s outrageous. That poor innocent girl was slashed to death by a madman with a knife. I don’t own any knives, and if I did, I wouldn’t even know how to use one.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” I said. “I’ve heard you say that you’re an admirer of Teddy Roosevelt, and Madeline has said that your New Jersey home is filled with hunting trophies. It’s a rare hunter who doesn’t know how to use a knife.”
“Claudia was the one who walked out of here with knives that night,” Stephen said, pointing at his former stepmother. “And you hated Alicia. You always hated her,” he said coldly.
“She was not the most lovable child,” Claudia replied calmly. “But I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t waste my time.”
“Don’t talk about Alicia that way,” Tom yelled.
“That’s right. Defend her again,” Claudia snapped. “She was the one who broke our marriage apart. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, you did when you sent her away,” Madeline cried out. “You convinced Tom to send her to that terrible school. It broke her spirit. She was miserable there.”
“She would have been miserable anywhere,” Claudia bit back. “She had to have her way all the time, and all of you kowtowed to her like she was Queen of the May. Well, she wasn’t my queen and I wasn’t about to let her rule the roost. I got rid of her and all of you loved it. Admit it. It was so quiet without her, so peaceful, no fights, no screaming.”
“You drove her insane by sending her to that school,” Stephen said. “She said it was like being in prison. She showed me the bruises.”
“She just tried her bullying tactics on someone who wasn’t about to cave in,” Claudia said. “If she’d given it half a chance, she could have done well there. But no, not Queen Alicia. She needed her freedom, freedom to drive everyone else crazy.”
“She tried to kill herself,” Madeline shouted. “That’s how much she hated it. And it was your fault.”
“It was not my fault. It was hers,” Claudia replied. “She was manipulating you and you were all taken in by her theatrics.”
“She spent two years in a hospital,” Tom said, “treatment that I paid for. I’d hardly call that caving.”
“Clearly it wasn’t enough.”
“What did Alicia say to you on the night she was killed, Tom?” I asked, hoping to focus the discussion on her death, not on her life.
“What do you mean? I didn’t talk to her that night.”
“You just told me in the library that she’d said she had a surprise for you. Did she tease you about it? Did she hint at what it was, threaten you?”
“She did that to all of us,” Madeline said. “She said that she was going to get us in trouble; we’d be living on skid row, begging her for mercy. She said she had proof that was going to blow us all out of the water. Yes, that’s the way she put it. I was so mad that I told her if she tried it, I would kill her.” Madeline looked at Tom. “I did. I said that. But I didn’t. I didn’t kill her.” She started to cry. “She just made me so mad.”
“We know you didn’t kill her,” Stephen put in. “I told her to shut up, too. I told her any pain she inflicted on us was going to come back to bite her. She said she didn’t care. She was just ranting.” He shook his head. “I don’t think the hospital helped. If anything, it made her worse. Or maybe we weren’t used to it anymore. It was probably typical Alicia. She always had some grandiose plan.”
“But, Tom, you knew it was different this time, didn’t you?” I said. “You knew what she was talking about and that it wasn’t an idle threat. The papers you just burned would have burned you if they’d been seen by the wrong people. Isn’t that so? Alicia was trying to blackmail you.”
“And just why would she do that, Miss Mystery Writer?” Tom said with a curl of his lip.
“You would know better than I, but revenge sounds like a good motive,” I said. “She was angry at you for letting Claudia send her away, for putting her in a strict, regimented school, an unyielding, unsympathetic environment where she wasn’t free to do as she pleased. And when she fought back in every way she knew how, even to the point of attempting suicide, she succeeded in breaking up the marriage, didn’t she?”
“She certainly did,” Claudia put in. “I always thought it was a sham, that pretend suicide attempt.”
“The doctors at the mental hospital thought it was real enough,” Madeline said.
“She should have gotten an Academy Award for that performance,” Claudia replied.
“You never loved her,” Tom said to Claudia.
“She never even liked her,” Stephen added.
Claudia sighed, but didn’t respond.
“At least she got you out of her life,” Madeline said.
“Not quite,” I said, drawing their attention again. “Even when Claudia was no longer Alicia’s stepmother, she still was able to thwart Alicia’s plans, convincing you, Tom, to renege on your promise of an apartment in New York. She was still after that apartment, wasn’t she? And she knew what she needed to get it from you.”
“Her throat was slashed,” Tom ground out. “Good God, does anybody here think I’d be capable of slashing anyone’s throat, especially my own flesh and blood? It’s barbaric.”
“I didn’t say you slashed Alicia’s throat, Tom.”
There was an especially violent crack of thunder that punctuated my last statement. It was as if the weather was providing commentary on this sad family scene, reminding them of the price an arrogant young woman had paid for her obstinacy and selfishness. A brilliant, jagged flash of lightning illuminated the room like a giant strobe.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-six
Margo screamed.
“Get a flashlight,” someone yelled.
The only light in the
room came from the flickering flame in the fireplace.
I took out a small flashlight the size of a pen, which I always carry, and turned it on.
“Call the power company,” Claudia said.
And then, as abruptly as the lights had gone out, they came to life again.
Stephen laughed nervously. “That didn’t last long,” he said.
Norlene came from the kitchen carrying a large flashlight. “I thought you might need this. But thank goodness, the lights are back on,” she said.
I looked around the room. “Where’s Adam?” I asked.
“He just left,” Norlene said.
“Did you see where he went?” I asked.
“He ran into the kitchen and grabbed the keys to the boat,” the cook replied.
“He has to be stopped,” I said to George.
“He can’t take the boat out in this weather,” Stephen said.
George pulled out his cell phone and went to a corner of the room to place a call. I heard him say, “His name is Adam Wyse. He works for Judge Thomas Betterton here in Tucker’s Town. Notify the Marine Unit. Try the dock area here. He might be attempting to leave using a boat that belongs to the judge.”
I gazed around at those gathered by the fireplace, their faces somber. The dinner party had turned out not to be a festive occasion after all. I counted heads. Someone else was missing.
“Where’s Tom?” I asked.
There were shrugs all around.
A flurry of conversation ensued.
“He said he didn’t feel well,” Madeline said.
“I think he went upstairs. I’ll go find him,” Stephen said and left the room.
“I hope Tom’s all right,” Margo said, a worried expression on her face.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, dear,” Daisy said and patted Margo’s hand.
“Adam’s a fool if he thinks he can take a boat out on a night like this,” Claudia commented. “And just where does he think he can go?”
“Hope this bloody storm doesn’t knock out the lights again,” Godfrey said as he poured himself a cordial from the tray. “Anyone else?” he asked.
Trouble at High Tide Page 21
