Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  ‘Is that what you think happened to her?’ Gibson held his hands up in surrender. ‘I’m not the one trying to keep the truth hidden any more.’

  That thought pleased him greatly. Gibson was once more the centre of a tangled web of lies and death.

  ‘Susan may’ve died because of my secrets — but who’d be hurt by them now?’ Gibson smirked. ‘My guess is it would have to be the NTA.’

  This was a nightmare …

  Then I remembered the last time I saw Susan. She’d been sitting in the Collection Room with Earl’s damned trophies all around her.

  That thought jarred.

  Floyd Nugent had said that Susan was going to donate the whole collection to the Hope Foundation.

  I studied Gibson with disgust. ‘What happened to the Redbud desk and the code book?’ I demanded.

  ‘I never got hold of either of them.’

  ‘But Floyd Nugent sent the gang to get the code book the night they killed Earl —’

  Gibson waved his hand dismissively. ‘Curtis had moved the desk — I don’t know where. The gang had to escape before they found it.’

  ‘But what about Susan Curtis? She’d promised to donate it to the Hope Foundation.’

  Gibson shook his head. ‘When Earl Curtis went missing Susan went into a jealous rage. She assumed he’d run off with a girlfriend so she stripped Ceiba House of everything her husband prized … and, of course, the Redbud desk. She had it all dumped like rubbish by the side of the road in some slum in East LA. She told Nugent she never wanted to see any of it ever again … Of course everything disappeared like smoke, so I never got the desk.’ He sighed. ‘Or the code book.’

  That wasn’t true. ‘Last week the Collection Room was almost exactly the same as it’d been in 1939.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right.’ He wasn’t ruffled in the slightest. ‘For some reason, I have no idea why, Susan Curtis spent decades searching for every piece.’ He shrugged. ‘She had more than enough time and money … Anyway, much more money than I had left after the government was finished with me.’

  Gibson crouched forward, his faded blue orbs gleaming with acquisitiveness. ‘But one thing I do know is that she found the Redbud desk. I’ve been sending my agent to try and buy it from her for years.’ He tapped one imperious finger on his leg. ‘Many a time I’ve been tempted to steal it, it’s rightfully mine, you know, and now that she’s dead I’ll finally get it back.’

  ‘So you did kill Susan!’

  ‘Now why would I do that, girl … after waiting all these years?’

  He was too smug to be lying.

  ‘Her doctor promised me she’d be dead soon. I’m not going anywhere, so why would I interfere with natural justice?’

  I wanted to howl!

  All these decades had passed and Gibson was still hanging over the Curtis family like a leech ready to drop.

  ‘That pardon,’ I said coolly, ‘was it just for treason?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Gibson, pleased with himself. ‘It was for Earl Curtis as well.’ He was convinced he’d beaten me.

  I opened my bag and drew out a photocopy of the list of rape victims I’d brought back with me. The original was safe.

  ‘Does this look familiar, Charles?’ I flipped it across to him.

  He fumbled to catch it.

  He pulled on his reading glasses — then gazed at me in horror.

  ‘That’s right, Charles. I know there’s at least one murder victim on that list … and I’m guessing there are probably more.’

  He knew exactly where I was going.

  ‘There’s no statutory limitation on murder, Charles. That’s your handwriting … isn’t it?’

  His eyes said ‘yes’.

  ‘You’re going to die in jail, Charles — I’ll make sure of it.’

  51

  CEIBA HOUSE

  I drove my hire car back down the Pacific Coast Highway to Santa Monica and hunched stiffly on a bench under the palm trees in the beachside park. The orange-pink sunset fought it out with the coming twilight and lost; the sky darkened and the lights of passing ships glittered on the horizon.

  What an almighty mess.

  Had Susan really been murdered to stifle the investigation into Earl’s death and the stale line of crumbs that led to Charles Gibson’s traitorous conspiracy? Would the NTA really kill to stop everyone from knowing their technology came from a Nazi scientist with too many secrets to hide?

  This was almost too big for me to take in.

  I crunched another four painkillers, grimaced at the gritty bitterness but swallowed anyway. Who could I talk to about this?

  Other than Honeycutt, there was no one.

  I’d have to find my own answers.

  Was the NTA behind Susan’s death or just one obsessed fanatic acting on their own? One overzealous, ex-military operative dedicated to keeping the NTA up and running …

  Brigham.

  He had Honeycutt in his power. He obviously believed he could control or discredit me. Could Brigham have killed Susan to eliminate the driving force behind the investigation?

  I drummed my nails on the wooden bench. There was only one way to find out. I wasn’t that far from Ceiba House. I could call by and talk to the house staff, check the crime scene. Find out if anyone actually saw her pull the trigger …

  See if murder was a real possibility.

  I stalked back to the car.

  There was no time to waste. If it was Brigham, then Honeycutt could be in real danger. He’d be one less witness to worry about.

  I floored the rental to Beverly Hills and parked across the road from Ceiba House.

  The lights were on but when I talked to the housekeeper through the security speaker I couldn’t convince her to let me in the gates. She said there was no one else at home and could I please call again next Tuesday when a member of the family would be here to speak with me.

  I pulled out my phactor and rang Shelby.

  ‘Bloom here.’ It was a crisp, professional reply.

  ‘Shelby, it’s Kannon Dupree again.’

  Silence.

  ‘How can I help you, Kannon?’

  This time he sounded hollow. Empty. The meeting with that goon from Teen Scream, about how Susan’s death could possibly affect the show, must’ve blown away whatever spirit he had left.

  ‘I need to continue the investigation in the present time, Shelby.’

  Silence.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘I think Susan’s death could be related to Earl’s murder and I need to get inside Ceiba House. I’m here now but Mrs Hutch won’t let me in.’

  ‘Goddamned Earl, he was never anything but trouble.’ He sighed, too worn down by grief to really take in what I was saying. ‘I’ll be right over.’

  ‘No, Shelby, don’t. I’m not sure the answers are actually here. If I find anything I’ll call you. Just phone the housekeeper for me, please. I need to get in — and I need her cooperation.’

  He agreed to ring Mrs Hutch for me and I managed to persuade him not to charge straight over.

  I waited a few minutes then the housekeeper’s voice crackled through the speaker. ‘Are you still there, Miss Dupree?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The gates swung inwards.

  At the front door the housekeeper ushered me inside. ‘My apologies, Miss Dupree. Mr Bloom said to give you every assistance. I’m very sorry about before but —’

  ‘Don’t worry, you were just doing your job.’

  ‘You see, we had the police here all last night — and then again today. And I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. There’s no one here but me, you see, and —’

  ‘That’s fine. But I need you to tell me what happened to Mrs Curtis.’

  ‘Yes of course, Miss Dupree.’ Her voice had become shaky at the thought of going through it one more time. ‘It happened last night at 8.12 pm.’

  ‘Exactly?’

  ‘That’s my best estimate.’

 
; The police questioning must’ve honed her version of events.

  ‘Mr Bloom had been here for dinner. He comes over every second night when he’s in town … has done for years. He left just before seven o’clock … Mrs Curtis always eats early, you see.’

  ‘Where were you when Susan died?’

  ‘Mrs Curtis was in the Collection Room when I heard the shot. I’d been sitting in the kitchen. I was eating my evening meal — I always wait until after Mrs Curtis has had hers, of course. I thought she was in there reading. That’s what she usually does …’

  The housekeeper gave a hopeless gesture and said tearfully, ‘But she must’ve been getting ready to take her own life.’

  I patted her arm.

  ‘They kept asking me why Mrs Curtis would do it. I have no answers, miss. She was old and the pain must’ve been too much.’ She stopped, her eyes blinded by tears.

  ‘I’m sorry to ask you to go through this all again, Mrs Hutch, but was there anyone else at home? Was anyone close by when the shot was fired?’

  ‘Hannah, Mrs Curtis’ nurse, was upstairs preparing her bedroom. Mrs Curtis is normally in bed by 8.30 pm. And it takes a little time to get everything just right. Mrs Curtis has her requirements, you know … Katy, the cook, was in the kitchen with me. That’s the time we discuss the arrangements for the next day. The menu, what groceries she needs —’

  ‘Okay, thank you … So that’s you, Hannah and Katy. Was there anyone else here?’

  ‘You mean Mr Troy?’ She didn’t bother to hide her disdain. ‘No, he was out. He’s not at home most nights and this was no different. I believe he was … clubbing.’

  Thank God Troy wasn’t home.

  ‘And who found her?’

  ‘Me. I rushed straight in, of course.’

  ‘Can you show me the Collection Room?’

  She tensed at the thought of going back in there, but nodded.

  We stood at the doorway gazing in; there was police tape across it barring entrance. The room looked exactly the same as before, only now there were thick red-brown stains across Judith’s bronze feet and the carpet around the base of the statue.

  Mrs Hutch carefully kept her gaze away from the stains.

  ‘Did the police check for any sign of forced entry?’

  I’d seen Otis get in the French doors at the back without any difficulty, so it should’ve been easy to come in, shoot Susan, and get out again unseen.

  Mrs Hutch blinked at the question. ‘The doors were unlocked, miss. Mrs Curtis loved the scent of the jasmine so they were open.’

  That settled that. My theory that she’d been murdered was at least feasible.

  ‘What did you see when you ran in?’

  ‘Mrs Curtis had fallen sideways onto the carpet, next to that bronze statue. Her wheelchair was overturned and lying across her poor legs …’ The housekeeper gulped. ‘The gun was on the carpet next to her.’

  ‘The gun … Whose was it? Do they know?’

  ‘It was Mrs Curtis’. No doubt about that. She’s had it ever since I’ve worked here. Mrs Curtis cleaned it and loaded it herself. She even went to the practice range twice a year. She refused to budge without it.’

  The housekeeper shook her head. ‘No, what I mean is Mrs Curtis always kept it with her when she was in Ceiba House. Mrs Curtis didn’t take it with her when she was away from home.’

  That was weird. ‘You’re saying Mrs Curtis only carried the gun when she was here at Ceiba House?’

  ‘Yes, I know it sounds strange but Mrs Curtis said she had too many precious things in this old house … She said that she was afraid of burglars. Mr Bloom and others were uncomfortable with it and tried to convince her to get rid of it. But she was the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met.’

  That it was Susan’s own gun didn’t mean a thing. A child could’ve wrestled it away from her, let alone a determined intruder.

  A light flickering out in the Mayan sculpture garden caught my eye.

  Mrs Hutch followed my eye-line. ‘Oh, that’s just the boy.’ Her lip curled.

  ‘Troy is still here? I thought Shelby Bloom was going to take him home.’

  Mrs Hutch nodded. ‘Mr Bloom will pick him up later … When he’s finished his last business meeting.’

  ‘But why is Troy outside?’

  ‘Rude, stubborn boy!’ she spat. ‘You’d think with Mrs Curtis dead he’d at least —’

  She stopped at the expression on my face.

  She said mulishly, ‘He won’t come in the house. He’s been sitting out there all day.’

  ‘And you left him out there … all alone?’ I tried to keep the judgement out of my voice but failed.

  Mrs Hutch’s face twisted into an ugly mix of old jealousy and new grief. ‘Well!’ she harrumphed. ‘If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  She spun on her offended heel and marched off.

  I let her go — she’d told me enough.

  Susan had been murdered.

  I checked my watch; the next flight back to San Francisco would leave in forty minutes.

  I had a date with Brigham.

  But the flickering light worried me. What was Troy doing out there in the dark with a naked flame?

  Troy was outside in the dark … feeding a bonfire.

  He was surrounded by the Mayan gods of death and destruction that Frank Lloyd Wright had so carefully wrought. But even with all the bared teeth and mangled corpses, after Matz’s little visitation they just reminded me of oversized garden gnomes.

  But the real Mayan altar next to Troy — the priest kneeling on his hands and knees and howling at the sky … now he scared me.

  The priest’s bony back held an economy-sized can of lighter fluid, matches and a brown-paper-wrapped bottle. From the size and shape of the bottle Troy had graduated from beer to hard liquor.

  That, combined with the can and the matches, meant trouble.

  Serious trouble.

  Especially when I studied the bonfire …

  It was constructed from newspapers, fast food wrappers and the remains of three antique dining room chairs. The matching table was already broken up behind him, ready to join the rest of the sacrifice in ashy oblivion.

  ‘What are you doing out here, Troy?’ I asked gently.

  He didn’t look up and he didn’t answer — just kept feeding the flames.

  I squatted gingerly next to him and, grunting with pain, half rolled down into crossed legs. I tried to sit upright but it hurt too much and I had to lean back on my hands instead. Everything had stiffened: arms, legs, back … Bending in the middle didn’t help my ribs either.

  ‘Troy, why don’t we go inside? I bet you haven’t eaten and —’

  ‘Can’t.’ Troy was dirty, drunk and stank of sweat, lighter fluid and booze. ‘Yesterday Suzie told me why she’d never been able to care for any of us. Why my mom and grandma never made it.’

  Oh God … and then Susan died, gunned down in this ghoulish mausoleum.

  Troy wiped a dirty forearm across his tears. ‘Suzie said she’d been in and out of hospitals for crazy people while Justine … and then my mom … were growing up. Suzie said she thought it was her fault that Earl died — because she’d promised to give that old desk to his murderer.’

  My jaw gaped open.

  Susan already knew about Gibson?

  ‘Wait a minute, Troy, that doesn’t make any sense … if Susan knew who killed Earl she would’ve gone straight to the police.’

  ‘Suzie said she didn’t have any proof. Nothing. Just what a man who sold old furniture and stuff told her the year after Earl went missing.’

  ‘Bonifacio Neves.’ It had to be Earl’s sleazy antique dealer.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged and wiped his face again. ‘Suzie didn’t say his name. Suzie said she couldn’t find any real evidence and then the furniture man died in World War II.’

  ‘But still, if Susan had told me I could’ve —’

  He shook his head. ‘Suzie sa
id the day she saw that tattoo on Earl’s body she went a little crazy again. That she realised she had been wrong all along about who killed her husband. Suzie said it broke her heart that she’d wasted all those years waiting to trap the wrong man. That’s why Suzie wanted you to find out who really did it.’

  That bloody tattoo!

  ‘What did you say about a trap? Are you talking about the gun Susan carried with her?’

  ‘Yeah. Suzie used it to guard that old desk. She believed that one day the murderer would come here to steal it. She said it was the bait in her trap and she was going to shoot him.’

  I sighed. Ceiba bloody haunted House.

  ‘I don’t understand, Troy. Okay, Susan didn’t tell me about this suspect she’d been trying to trap because of the tattoo, but she told me a lot of things that just weren’t true —’

  ‘Yeah.’ Troy’s face became old with grief. ‘She told me about Earl too. Stuff she believed — but I don’t think it was right.’ He tossed an antique table leg on the bonfire to distract himself. ‘I don’t think she was able to live with the guilt — or the waiting.’

  So Susan had given me her fantasy version of the last week of Earl’s life. The one where they were still together.

  My phactor burst into life. I checked and it was Constan. ‘Sorry, Troy, I have to take this.’

  I crawled away and answered. ‘Constan, has Honeycutt come out of surgery yet? Because he could be in danger —’

  ‘Kannon, shut up and listen to me! Two San Francisco police detectives were just here looking for you.’

  I sat down with a jolt and then moaned in pain. ‘The police?’

  ‘Somebody called Charles Gibson was murdered this afternoon and they think you did it.’

  ‘Gibson was murdered! What … why …?’

  ‘His housekeeper identified you as the last person to see him. She said you lied to get in. Were you there, Kannon? Were you?’

  ‘Yeah, but Gibson was alive when I left, Constan … Why would the police be so convinced I did it?’

  ‘Kannon, they know about your investigation. Brigham told them you came back obsessed with getting Gibson. That you had delusions about his involvement in the Curtis case.’

  I gaped into the darkness. ‘What … so they think I killed him for revenge?’