Mixed Up With Murder

by Susan C. Shea

  Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. The town receded behind us and we were in the verdant countryside, skimming along under a roof of trees in full leaf, with occasional wooden fences popping up to mark the edges of private land. He turned onto a smaller road and in the twilight I saw the sign for the inn he must have meant. In another moment, the lights of a stately old colonial mansion shone at us and we were in a graveled parking lot.

  Brennan was right. There were only six or seven other people in the bar area of the restaurant and the atmosphere was quietly elegant, with reproductions of horse and dog paintings adorning dark mauve walls, lit by brass sconce lamps. The waitress didn’t blink when I ordered chamomile tea, although Brennan fussed a little. “Sure I can’t tempt you with a very old whiskey?” he said. “They have quite a selection here.” I didn’t tell him that one very old whiskey and I’d fall asleep with my head on the table. I was sure the distinguished president of Lynthorpe College would not be pleased if that happened.

  Brennan didn’t seem in any hurry to get to whatever the real reason for our meeting was, telling me instead about the history of the building we were in, a Revolutionary War house and stone barn that had been used by American soldiers on their way to battle. There were trees in the courtyard, he said, almost as old as the country. At any other time, I would have been excited to learn that, would have insisted on going out to pat their ancient bark and take a few cell phone pictures. All I wanted to do now was get this over with, go to sleep, and catch a plane as soon as possible to go home. Finally, when I couldn’t stand the chatter any longer, I spoke up.

  “It’s been a long couple of days, Dr. Brennan. What can I tell you that will ease any concerns you have?”

  “Rory, please,” he said in the false-hearty voice that was beginning to grate on me. The waitress delivered a double whiskey for him and a steaming pot of tea for me, and then retreated to the other side of the large room.

  “I do appreciate your need to keep details of the crime itself to talks with the police, so I’ll try not to put you in an awkward position. My only concern here is that Vince’s name not be dragged into anything. Not only because of the gift, Danielle, but because he’s an alumnus and a member of our board and because, well, frankly, it will cause anxiety enough among the parents and the students that a violent death occurred on the campus.” He took a few sips of his drink, and looked at the amber liquid rather than me as he said, “It would create a circus atmosphere if Vince’s name and reputation were in any way attached to the, ah, the proceedings.”

  My only excuse was bottled up stress, that and the picture of Gabby’s hand curled slightly as it lay there in the open doorway. I felt heat flame into my face, my ears were hot, and my hands shook. “You’ve forgotten that Lynthorpe is already in the middle of what you call the proceedings, President Brennan,” I said, my voice sounding brittle to my own ears. “Another of your alums, much more recent and a lot less financially endowed, was shot to death in a room in one of your buildings yesterday, a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. I expect there will be enough anxiety to go around when the word gets out.” My voice broke, and I grabbed my spoon and began stirring the tea like crazy, which made no sense since there was nothing in it.

  “Of course,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply Gabriela’s death was somehow less important. I am devastated about it, truly. She was an exceptional graduate, bright, upbeat, curious.” He sighed. “This wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry. I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak after my outburst. He finished his drink in a single gulp, signaled the waitress for the check and we walked back to the car in silence.

  My mind had begun to wander when, halfway back on the tree-lined road, he made a sudden right turn and started up a long hill illuminated only by the car’s headlights. There were no lights of houses, even far off, and I tensed. Where was he taking me?

  Near the top of the long rise, he pulled the car into a dirt space by the side of the road and turned off the engine, but kept the headlights on. I looked over at him.

  “Since you were so curious when you asked us about that day, I thought you might like to see the golf course,” Brennan said, swiveling toward me. “This is close to where Larry must have had his heart attack. Look, over there—that dark spot is the water.”

  I could barely make out a darker patch thirty yards away through some trees and beyond what must have been the mowed grass of the course. Even that was hard to see until the clouds parted enough for the moon to cast its cool light on the scenery.

  “Are you a golfer, Danielle?”

  “No.”

  “I love the game, although this job doesn’t leave much time for relaxation. When I’m out here, I’m usually trying to convince someone to do something that will benefit Lynthorpe and am not paying near enough attention to my swing.” He glanced at me and grinned ruefully, his fingers drumming softly on the steering wheel. He made no move to start the car.

  I told myself to breathe deeply. Charlie’s warnings about not talking to anyone about the crime scene were repeating madly in my brain.

  “Look, this is a mess. Vince called me yesterday right before I called you.” Brennan’s tone had changed. We were definitely talking business and he sounded angry. “He says he might have to pull his gift, and even resign from the board if we can’t settle this donation business quickly. He’s beginning to wonder if we really want his money. And, as if that isn’t enough of a concern, the fact that the press is quick to find fault with him is bothering him. He’s afraid of gossip if his name is erroneously linked to trouble, as it might be if the fact that Larry and Gabriela were working on something related to him became public.”

  “Have you thought that there might be some truth to the idea?” I said, looking into the darkness. “The police haven’t told me much, but I’ve heard enough to think they haven’t decided for sure that Larry Saylor’s death was an accident. Certainly, no one can claim Gabby’s was anything other than deliberate. What else links the two?”

  “Frankly, I think you’re jumping to conclusions.” I could feel him staring hard at me, but I kept my eyes on the darkness of the pond. “Until I hear otherwise, Larry died of natural causes, quite possibly a heart attack from what the police are saying, while out here on his own. And, sad to say, but in these times, Gabriela’s killer could be a random nut case off the street. It happens, you know.”

  “If Larry was part of your foursome, why didn’t at least one of you go to check up on him when he didn’t return to the club house?” I said.

  “I’m not sure I appreciate that.” Brennan’s tone was sharp. “Coe and I drove to the club together and it was natural for us to leave after our second drink. We both needed to get back. Vince left then too, since Larry had his own car. There’s no mystery here. There was no reason to wait around.”

  The dark car was silent for a moment, the only sound the ticking of the powerful engine as it cooled. The explanation was logical on the surface, but I was remembering the tension in Brennan’s office when I brought up the subject of the golf game. “Did you see Vince’s car leave the club?”

  “You told me you weren’t a detective, Danielle, but I think you may have underestimated your professional curiosity. In fact, I’d say you’re hinting that Lynthorpe’s most generous donor had a hand in Larry’s death.” I jerked in surprise as his fingers tapped the hand I had rested on my bag.

  “No,” I said, wishing I hadn’t done my thinking out loud. The idea had suddenly materialized in my head and there was no way I wanted to discuss it with Brennan. Charlie, yes, but not here and definitely not now. Margoletti would be furious, perhaps even publicly humiliated, if his alma mater turned down his offer because someone had found out he couldn’t make good on some part of his pledge, if that was what Saylor had discovered. Could he have gone back, perhaps even driving up to this spot, to argue his case with Saylor, but lost his temper when the college’
s vice president stuck to his position?

  Brennan leaned toward me far enough that his shoulder touched mine. I began to blather. “The project they were working on is the only thing I know about either of them, but the police haven’t hinted that they’re looking at Vince as a suspect. Have they talked to him or asked you about it?”

  Brennan twisted his torso to turn and face me and there was another long pause. He looked more muscular here at close quarters than he had in his office, his shoulders filling up the car window behind him. I wanted this conversation to be over.

  “Certainly not,” he said, “and I haven’t volunteered anything since I think it’s irrelevant to either of the investigations.”

  It didn’t look or smell like coincidence to me. I knew he wouldn’t want to hear me say that, and wondered if it might be hazardous to my health in this dark, isolated spot to admit it. We sat there for a moment. A small animal popped out of the woods and scampered through the headlight beams into the cover of some bushes. Brennan’s body was too close to mine, and I wanted badly to go home, or at least back to the safety of the hotel room. I was clenching my jaw so hard my teeth hurt.

  “Is there a particular reason you wanted me to see this place?” I said, keeping my voice level.

  “I thought it might ease any concerns you have. The fire department took this route to get to Larry fast. The club manager told me he gave them the directions when he called 911. No one else would think of this as a way to access the course. Even in the daytime, you can hardly see it through the trees.”

  He leaned farther toward me and pointed at the course. Was that meant to forestall my thinking that Margoletti could have waylaid Saylor by this route if he came up here by car? Was the president of the college threatening me, implying that no one would be likely to hear if I yelled? What did he want from me? Or rather, what did Margoletti want, since I had a hunch this whole meeting was his doing?

  “I am curious,” Brennan said, a little too offhandedly, the fine old whiskey slightly scenting his breath. “Did the police mention any speculations about what happened, anything other than a heart attack?”

  “Not to me,” I said.

  “Did they say they found any signs someone had driven up here, where we are, I mean?”

  “Not to me, but why would they?”

  “I suppose they came up here and checked the scene.”

  If it weren’t beyond ridiculous, I’d think he was worried his own tire prints were up here. “I have no idea.”

  “This would make a good lovers’ lane, I’ll bet.” He chuckled, deep and insincere. “Running a college, you’d think I would know about every place in town that students visit.”

  Really? That sounded a little weird to me. Did the college president troll dark places at night checking up on his students? What kind of person was Rory Brennan?

  “If Larry didn’t stagger into the pond while having a heart attack,” he said, “it could have been someone in the woods, a hiker or even a homeless person hoping to get some money from the last golfer through that afternoon.”

  His scenarios seemed improbable. This wasn’t the likeliest place to find a homeless person. As for robbery, it would be like someone deciding the best place to catch a fish was in the golf course pond. Not hardly.

  “They didn’t discuss his death with me in any detail.” I said again. “In fact, I wasn’t specific about why I was meeting with Gabby and the detective didn’t seem interested. I remember you wanted to keep the gift under wraps until you announced it, but I wonder if that’s possible now. Shouldn’t you brief the chief or the detective, even if you do it in confidence?” And then I wouldn’t have to do it behind your back, I added to myself.

  “No, at least not right now. If I think it’s relevant later, I’ll share everything they need to know, but, as you said, they don’t seem interested.”

  Sooner or later, the connection between Saylor’s and Gabby’s death was going to be front-page news in this little town, and nothing the president or the big shot alumnus could do would be enough to keep the police from investigating. If Rory Brennan wasn’t going to, then I intended to tell Detective Kirby what they had been researching the next time we met. With luck, my consulting job would be done by the time it became public, and I would be back in San Francisco. I might complain about the crime there when it kept me from spending time with my own green-eyed detective, but two mysterious deaths in the same week in a small college town was a full-on crime wave here. I wanted out.

  A pause and then a slight straightening of his back, and Brennan said, “Best not to talk about college matters, especially confidential ones, right?” Wrong, but there was no way I was going to argue here and now. “Let’s leave police business to the police, shall we?”

  I seconded that and hoped we were done, but the president had one more agenda item. “Coe tells me he’s concerned that there are too many copies of the Margoletti research materials unaccounted for. He recommends having you turn over your files, and work from a more manageable set of papers that his office can give you.”

  I sat in silence, not sure how to respond. In truth, there were a lot of apparently duplicative papers, at least a few of which might have sparked a murder. But who would decide which ones I needed? I left it that I’d check in with the dean and we’d straighten it out.

  Brennan turned back to the wheel, seemingly satisfied. He started the engine and spun us back onto the road. He seemed to have come to a decision about this annoying woman who was a potential threat to the biggest deal he was likely to make in his career. “You understand my concerns. I’m trying to keep a donor happy, make sure we don’t lose the gift, and keep Lynthorpe’s name away from bad news. The last thing I want is to have Vince think twice about this gift and start selling parts of it in the hot market for contemporary paintings I read about in the newspapers. You realize the delicacy of these donor relationships as well as anyone could. That’s really all I wanted to reassure myself about.”

  Gabby wasn’t even a postscript in his reading of the trouble Lynthorpe might be in. I was silent as he shifted the car into a high, whining gear and we sped down the twisting road back to the main avenue. I asked if I could set up a meeting the next day to present a verbal draft of my report to him as the last step before handing in the formal version, and he agreed enthusiastically. A few minutes later he dropped me off in front of the hotel with an overly cheerful wave. As he turned out of the driveway, I shivered, wondering who Rory Brennan really was.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Rumors aren’t good enough.” We were meeting in Brennan’s office again. I had a hunch he spent most of his waking hours sitting in his high-backed leather chair, listening to problems from everyone connected with this little school. Of course, my snippy inner voice pointed out, still wary after that spooky car ride with the man, he may have created half the problems.

  I was uneasy sitting there, remembering how threatened I had felt. But that had been in the dark with no one around. Today, sun streamed in his window and the sound of voices in his outer office made last night seem almost like a fantasy. Brennan didn’t mention our aborted drink at the inn, although he listened to my verbal report with a deepening frown, alternately staring at me and at the branches of a tree outside his windows. The coffee he had offered was cold in the mug beside me when I finished describing the stories that touched, but apparently didn’t harm, Margoletti seriously in the business world. “No one who makes as much money as he has or who is involved in legal wrangling as often as he is can avoid people’s envy,” Brennan said, playing with a pen on his desk.

  “I agree, but it’s enough to merit some further review, don’t you think?” I said after ticking off the reports of ethical lapses and the side issue of the discrepancies on the two lists of artworks being given to Lynthorpe.

  “Not in my mind.” He shook his head. “Look, Silicon Valley is paved with lawyers, all looking out for their clients. Everyone out there is a little paranoid. Th
e stakes are huge and it doesn’t surprise me one bit that people feel their ideas have been stolen. I’ll bet stories like that pop up every day.”

  “Perhaps, but magazines have lawyers too, and they aren’t going to publish stories hostile to someone as powerful as Margoletti unless they feel they’re on pretty safe ground. Your vice president and Gabby had pulled up media coverage that pointed to some possibly unethical business practices.”

  “I know about Larry’s clippings. Believe me, he went over them with me in great detail. I wasn’t convinced then and I’m not convinced now that this constitutes proof that an alumnus of Lynthorpe College, a member of its board of trustees, a brilliant lawyer and venture capitalist, and an art collector of taste and means, is too crooked to give Lynthorpe the largest gift in our history.” Brennan dropped his chin and looked at me through his eyebrows.

  What, I wondered, did “too crooked” mean? Was there a “just right” crooked? Was a little crooked okay when twenty million dollars and an eye-popping art collection were at stake? Did Margoletti wield so much power even here, three thousand miles from his Silicon Valley fiefdom, that the president of the college would look the other way even if there was something fishy about the proposed gift?

  “I agree that there’s nothing firm here.” I had told him Ethan’s story without naming names, but Brennan dismissed it as partisan sniping. “Do you think hiring a private investigator might be a good idea?”

  “I thought investigating is what you were doing for us,” Brennan said, and there was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice.

  “Not exactly. I’m looking at the ways to ensure that this wonderful gift doesn’t have a public relations downside for Lynthorpe, that you and the board won’t be criticized later for accepting a donation that might be tainted in some way, or might not even come through. I only have the public documents that Larry Saylor and Gabby have been able to find. For a deeper look, if it were the Devor, we might approach our own attorney to ask her to contract with a private—”