by Iris Kincaid
“When I was blind, I thought all my options were over—no career, no way of taking care of myself—and I also thought that Byron was going to take care of me for the rest of my life. But I should never have wanted that. I see things a lot more clearly now, for quite a few different reasons.”
“I know you won’t believe anything positive coming from me, but I really mean it—your being able to see now, that’s pretty terrific. It really is. I can’t imagine. I know that you don’t have the money that you should. But at least you have the chance to start all over and stand on your own two feet.”
“How about you?” Gillian asked.
“Me? Like I said, new guy, same old story.”
“What if it could be different?”
“How could it possibly be?”
“First things first. You do realize that you and I are both murder suspects? I think even Cara Brody is on the suspect list. Because we were all seeing him. And we all had reason to be angry at him. I guess that’s a possible reason for murder. But who really benefited from Byron’s death? Who had the most to gain?”
“You’re talking about Keith, aren’t you?”
“Didn’t you ever think it was strange, Byron leaving him all that money? For that matter, didn’t you find it peculiar to find out that Byron had a will at all? He was young. He was completely full of himself. Dying had to be the last thing on his mind. Maybe young, healthy people ought to take precautions and have wills, but ninety-five percent of them don’t.”
“So, why do you think he wrote it?”
“He didn’t. It was a forgery.”
Gillian had returned to the library and put her x-ray reading powers to good use. She painlessly read three industry manuals on forgery detection. Everyone who had attended the reading of Byron’s will had been able to ask for a copy. And the will simply wasn’t passing the smell test.
“Forgery is one thing. The big question is whether he killed Byron so that he could help himself to the money. You want to make a new start? To start living right? You can start right here. I need your help. We need a confession, and you’re probably the only person in Oyster Cove who could get it.”
Simone paused, unsure what to do. “I could be shooting myself in the foot here. What if he is guilty? Then he goes away, and my meal ticket goes away. Then what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll help you to figure it out.”
A rare expression of pure hopefulness settled on Simone’s features. “What do you want me to do?”
*****
Officer Riley entered the breakroom with a big smile on his face and tapped Finn Cochran on the shoulder, who was talking to another officer. “There’s a young lady out front who is looking for Bad Cop. That would be you.”
“Hey, not so loud. Everyone’s gonna wonder what I did to deserve becoming Bad Cop.”
He walked out to the front desk knowing there was absolutely no way of predicting what Gillian would lay on him next. What he wasn’t expecting in a million years was the sight of Gillian Swann and Simone Valentine waiting companionably next to one another. Witchcraft, maybe?
“How would you like to arrest someone today?” Gillian asked.
Finn smiled. “That is my all-time favorite thing. Why don’t you ladies come into my office?”
*****
No one likes to be judged. Not even criminals. But it’s a great consolation to them to believe that their behavior is no worse than anyone else’s. That’s why Simone had to do her best to impress upon Keith Nettle that she had engaged in activities far worse than he had and that he could speak freely to her.
They were at one of the posher seafood restaurants on the boardwalk, and it was sparsely attended—no fear of being overheard by anyone. The wire that Simone was wearing could never have been detected by the unsuspecting eye.
“You know, I was looking over that copy of Byron’s will yesterday. The one the lawyer left with us. I gotta give you props. Great signature.”
“What–what do you mean?”
“I mean, you nailed it. I’ve seen his signature plenty. You did a great job. And I should know. I thought I was good, but I made a few slip-ups. I did two years for that forgery in Pennsylvania. Well . . . that and extortion.”
Keith looked amazed “You could tell just by looking at it? How, if it was so close?”
“The Rs and the N. Don’t worry. No one’s on to you. I was sorta kicking myself for not thinking of it first.”
“Now be honest. You would have just spent it shopping, wouldn’t you? I’ve got big investment plans for that money. And you know how generous I can be. So, you actually did some jail time?”
“Only two years, thank God. That was a relief. If that judge had known everything that I actually did, I would have wound up on death row.”
“Death row! That’s only for killers. Are you saying that—”
“I’m saying that sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. You know that. You know how to make the hard calls. That will wasn’t going to do you any good while Byron was alive. You had to get him out of the picture first, and as I well know, that’s the tricky part. Axe in the head. You’re a no-nonsense kind of guy. Not squeamish.”
Keith leapt to his feet. “You think that I killed Byron? I didn’t kill Byron. I didn’t write out the will until after he was dead. Are you insane? I mean, sure, I was mad at him. But, come on!”
That was all the cops needed to hear. They hauled Keith away, while Simone stayed to finish her lobster.
Sixty minutes later, Keith Nettle was sitting in an interrogation room, next to his public defender, hoping for a plea bargain. Simone had returned home, job well done. Gillian lingered at the police station. After hearing Keith’s wire, she had to conclude that he wasn’t the killer. Then who was?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gillian had never actually seen a killer close up. But if you hang around police stations, it’s bound to happen sooner or later. This killer was being led in chains out of his holding cell and out into an armored vehicle, to be transferred to the state pen. He caught Gillian’s eye and gave her an evil wink.
Normally, Gillian would have turned away from the odious sight of a heartless killer. But she was transfixed by the large internal dark mass that had almost entirely spread to every corner of his body. Was it cancer? If so, he was a pretty hard guy to feel sorry for. No one could survive a tumor that size, much less be walking around so energetically. But there was no time to figure it out. Officer Cochran had pulled some strings, and she was being allowed to listen in on Keith’s interrogation.
“Byron claimed to be some kind of investment genius. He said he had special insider information on this company, and if I put $50,000 on it, then it would turn into a million in fewer than five years. Hah! It turned into a million pieces of crap. I lost every dime. That was everything. It was all I had. He owed me for selling me a bill of goods and giving me that bad tip. Then come to find out, he didn’t even invest in that company himself! Can you believe that? So, yeah, he owed me.”
“You took a lot more than $50,000 from his estate. That’s quite a return on your investment,” the prosecutor inquired.
Keith shrugged sheepishly. “I think he would’ve wanted me to have it. We were pretty tight.”
Outside the room, Gillian was approached by Mr. Samson, the same lawyer who had led the reading of Byron’s will.
“In the absence of a real will, the victim’s estate would go entirely to his next of kin, his mother. But I am aware, Ms. Swann, that his cash resources were a direct result of questionable activities and that you’d be well within your rights to contest the award. Call me with your decision?”
Gillian slowly shook her head. As much as Byron had taken from her, it had been clear that his mother had suffered the longest and the most. Byron had taken away her retirement security. It just felt right to let her have it.
“That won’t be necessary. Tell Mrs. Curtiss I wish her the very best.”
The lawyer was dumbfounded. “I certainly will, Ms. Swann.”
As Gillian turned to exit the department, she saw her banker, Mr. Dillard, inside one of the offices and decided to wait for him. She hoped that the dark mass that she had detected in him earlier had not turned into something serious.
He finally came out, spotted her, and approached looking rather apologetic. “Ms. Swann. I hope you know that I would never deliberately try to cause any problems for you or your family. But they had some questions about your cousin, Abigail Clarke. She made some rather graphic threats toward Byron Curtiss in my presence, and I had to give an accurate accounting. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, of course you needed to tell the truth. I would never have advised you otherwise. Abby is pretty excitable. She was just upset on my behalf.” Gillian was distracted by the dark mass that was still inside her banker. Only now, it seemed four times as large.
“Mr. Dillard. Are you feeling well? Were you at the hospital recently? I hope everything is okay.”
“Thank you. Everything is perfect. My doctor did call me in for an exam. She was rather insistent on it. But I am in a state of perfect health. Now, I must hurry. It’s my wife’s birthday, and I think she’s going to love her present. Thank goodness the engraver just got it back to me, and then we’re going to have a wonderful dinner.”
It was a lovely present. In fact, it was spectacular, as Gillian could clearly see through his coat pocket and through the packaging. It was a miniature of a yacht, entirely covered with sapphires and diamonds, with a nice touch of genuine emerald trim. There were indeed fresh initials engraved on the bottom, PSGM. That didn’t seem right. Gillian remembered her name—Margaret Susan Parrish. Those weren’t the right initials. P S G M. P S G M. Those initials. On a yacht. Peggy Sue Got Married. And now, Gillian knew exactly whom Peggy Sue got married to. She was all but certain that her banker had murdered Byron Curtiss.
*****
Finn Cochran’s life had never been so complicated. He couldn’t possibly go to his superiors with the information that Gillian just told him. It sounded far-fetched, even to him.
“You think that your banker is a killer because he bought a yacht? Maybe his family is rich.”
“The family he grew up in was close to poor. The man makes $45,000 a year, and he recently purchased an $200,000 boat. Not to mention, a $20,000 pendant for his wife. He drives a beat up old car in front of his employees, but away from prying eyes, they are living pretty large.
I think that he had some kind of arrangement with Byron and that they were both taking my money. He did the same thing at Café Au Lait with the head cashier who works there. He gave her a lot of hush money, and together, they took as much of the profits as they pleased.”
“You know that for sure? ’Cause that’s something that we can look into.”
Gillian had given her word to Cara that she wouldn’t turn her in and she was going to stick with it. Of course, Cara was responsible for her own actions, but Byron had drawn her into his influence. Like Simone, maybe she deserved a chance to straighten her life out.
“Never mind that. I’m just telling you that this was Byron’s pattern. Just like he had a partner at the café, he also had one at the bank. Together, they had full access to my money. But then we broke up, and I took him off my power of attorney. And then he was killed. There’s a connection.”
“And this black mass of evil inside him?”
“Just like that killer that you transferred out of here earlier today. It’s something that manifested, grew in them after they had killed someone. I thought it was a tumor. That would’ve made them weak and sick. But they were strong, both of them.”
“That is a theory that you will never see me putting in the police report. No witchy stuff. Not unless I want a psych evaluation.”
“If you search his house, his office, his boat, I know that you’ll find some kind of evidence.”
“There is not the slightest chance of getting a warrant on this man. Especially based on evidence coming from you. Ms. Swann. They’re not going to take your word on any of this. Because you’re actually still our top suspect. No one can get past how you knew about the body. Your alibi about walking in the forest all night stinks to high heaven. There’s one guy here who sings Patsy Cline’s Walkin’ After Midnight every time your name comes up. No one believes you. In fact . . .”
“What? What is it?” Gillian could see that Officer Cochran was really torn up about something.
“Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to say.” Finn said, glancing over at a corner office.
Gillian followed the direction of his eyes. Behind closed doors, two officers were filling out a form on their computer screen. It was a warrant for her arrest. Gillian looked back at Finn frantically. “They’re going to arrest me?”
He nodded grimly. There was nothing he could do to stop it. All the while, he was becoming more and more convinced that Gillian was innocent.
“How much time do I have?”
“Not much.”
*****
Vaughn and Abby had convened in Gillian’s living room. She was going to need all the help she could get. Even though they didn’t know anything about her special way of knowing information, they were inclined to believe that she knew what she was talking about.
“So, they won’t even search his property?” Abby asked. “How are we going to prove that he’s guilty?”
“If your banker is guilty of this, he’s probably guilty of a lot of things. He stole from one customer, and there were probably a lot more. Elderly customers are really vulnerable to this kind of thing,” Vaughn noted.
“What if he was engaged in some other kind of wrongdoing?” Gillian mused. “Something we could record the evidence on, take it to the police, and get the search warrant on that? Then, when they search, they’re sure to find some evidence of the murder.”
“How are we going to catch him doing something wrong?” Abby asked.
“Entrapment,” Vaughn suggested.
“I think they used to call it a sting,” Gillian said. This could work. This could really work.
But the police had moved a lot faster than she had anticipated. Their cars had just pulled up in front of the house. This was a disaster. She needed time to prove that Dillard was the killer. She was never going to be able to do this behind bars. She walked to the front window and looked out.
“They’re here. The police are here,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “But I need time. I need time to do this.”
After a split-second, Abby jumped up and ran for the door. “Let me talk to them,” she said. “You stay in here.”
She went outside and walked straight over to the four police officers who had come to arrest Gillian.
“Maybe you could go out the back,” Vaughn said anxiously. “I could tell them that you are upstairs and would give you an extra minute take to get away.”
Oh, no. She was turning everyone she knew into accomplices. But before she could decide whether to make a break for it, she could see something happening out in the front yard that was almost incomprehensible. Abby was being put in handcuffs.
Gillian and Vaughn hurried out. “What’s going on?” Gillian demanded. “What you doing to her?”
Finn Cochran gave Gillian the strangest look. “We’re taking Abigail Clarke into custody, Ms. Swann. She has confessed to the murder of Byron Curtiss.”
*****
Gillian paced distractedly around her house, beside herself in torment over what had just happened. She had said that she needed more time and Abby had just given it to her. But this was a terrible risk that Abby never should have had to make. What if Gillian wasn’t able to prove that Dillard was the killer? Abby was going to have a written confession on record!
Vaughn had followed the police cars to the station to watch after Abby and be her legal representation. Apparently, he had been pre-law for two years before he switched over to advertisin
g.
Gillian stumbled into Abby’s bedroom, looking for . . . she didn’t know what. On Abby’s bedroom nightstand, there was a framed photo. It was two toddler girls hugging one another with pure, unadulterated joy and attachment. It was Gillian and Abby. Destined to be friends. Gillian stifled a sob.
*****
When Simone found Gillian at her front doorstep, this time, she was neither surprised nor alarmed.
“I hear that Keith sang like a canary. I did good, huh?”
“You sure did.” Gillian nodded appreciatively. “How would you like to do a little more good?”
It was oddly satisfying to be on the right side of the law. Simone was intrigued.
*****
The elderly curmudgeon of the library, Mr. Leave Me Alone, was not difficult to find. Gillian saw him grimace as she approached, and he prepared to tell her to back off.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, sir. But I really need your assistance.”
That was not what the old man was expecting. He had anticipated fending off another unwelcome offer of help, another person trying to make him feel like a charity case.
“And I’ll be able to pay you, course,” Gillian added.
The old man raised an eyebrow. This was starting to be interesting.
“I’m Gillian Swann.”
“Woodward. Mickey Woodward.”
*****
In the bank lobby, Albert Dillard introduced himself to the flirtatious young blonde and the spacey old man in a wheelchair who accompanied her.
“Mr. Dillard. I’m hoping you can help me and my grandfather. We’re switching his account over from First National. I have power of attorney over my grandfather’s assets, and I had sort of a special relationship with one of the bankers over at First National. But he died, poor thing. And there was no one else over at that bank whom I really felt comfortable doing business with. Could we have a word in your office?”
“Of course. And your grandfather? Will he be joining us?”
Simone laughed. “Makes no never mind. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on around him anymore.”
