I thought of the secret room Maddie found, and the letter it held. Now, with Alicia’s denial, the very provenance of the house was in question.
There was more than one secret about this dollhouse.
“I forgot to tell you about that, Gerry,” Henry said, pausing in the consumption of a tart covered with blueberries and strawberries. “There was a mix-up about the house. I’ll explain later.” He waved his hands, mixing up the air. More like a cover-up, and I was grateful.
I felt the need to bring this meeting to a focus. No time to fret about the proper wording. “Ms. Rockwell, do you—”
“Alicia, please.”
I was glad Maddie wasn’t present. She might be inclined to think that it was okay for grown-ups to consistently interrupt as long as they were wealthy and/or successful professionals.
“Alicia, do you have an uncle on your mother’s side?”
Without hesitation, which would have given me hope, Alicia shook her head. “No uncles on either side. My mother did have a brother, but he died when I was a child.”
So now I was dealing with a ghost.
It seemed rude and ignorant to ask if she were sure about her family tree. I followed up for the sake of politeness. “That must have been hard on the family. What happened to him?”
“He was in a car accident. I was only about two years old, so I barely remember Uncle Caleb. He was a couple of years older than Mother. Adam was five, so he has a little more recollection of him. Mother kept a photo of him on the piano for a while, then eventually it disappeared.”
The three of us simultaneously took sips of our drinks. It wasn’t clear to me whether condolences for a deceased uncle were appropriate decades later.
Alicia broke the silence. “My own living brother is useless at the moment. Adam has just been sued for divorce and frankly, that seems to matter to him more than our mother’s death.”
“I’m sorry to hear all this,” I said.
Alicia nodded, slightly teary again, and checked her watch. “I’m due at the studio, so I’ll be off. I’m assuming you’ll do what you do best, Geraldine. I’ve already taken the liberty of informing all the family and household staff that they should cooperate with you one hundred-and-ten percent.” She handed me a card. “Please, call me directly if you need anything, anything at all.”
I needed everything. I needed to know about Varena’s personal assistant, Laura Overbee; her research assistant, Paige Taggart; her financial advisor, Charles Quentin. I still hadn’t met Adam. What about the Mildred Swingle reference? And there was still the Corazón Cruz mystery.
But Alicia was gone, as quickly as her mother had left me yesterday. Hopefully, she wouldn’t come to the same end before I could catch her again.
—
“How do you think that went?” Henry asked, once we were alone again at the table.
I shot him a look. How could he even ask? “I’ve never been so unprepared for a meeting.” I ran through the list of questions I’d just reviewed mentally.
“I was going to say ‘very well.’ I hope you’re not sorry I suggested coming here. Maybe we should have hidden out and practiced interview techniques until lunch time.”
I waved away his apologetic look. “No, no. It’s just as well that it’s over. I probably would have stewed all morning and wouldn’t have done any better. The answer to the brother question would have been the same. Plus, we have a new question.”
“Who sent the dollhouse?” Henry said.
“I feel like I’ve taken two steps backwards. And now Alicia is counting on me. I have to find a way to meet the other people in Varena’s life.”
“Are you thinking they’re all suspects?”
“No, not exactly. But I do need to find out what each one would gain from Varena’s death, what conflicts there might have been in the family and household, where everyone was at the time—” I thought fleetingly of mentioning that it would be good to find out if the Rockwell Estate had a butler.
“So, they’re all suspects,” Henry said.
I grimaced. “I guess so.”
I raised my cup to finish off my cappuccino and looked beyond the next grouping of tables, at the counter. Where the barista was handing over a tall iced drink to a stiff-looking young woman with clothes too formal for a morning in a bakery. Could it be?
I poked Henry. “Coming here was the best idea you’ve had. The lady in the tweed jacket?”—Henry sneaked a look—“That’s Laura Overbee.”
“The now-unemployed personal assistant?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way.
We barely returned our expressions to normal before Ms. Overbee looked our way and gave a discreet wave. She picked up some napkins and marched over to our table. I caught a whiff of rosewater cologne.
“Mrs. Porter, isn’t it? What a surprise.”
I doubted it.
Henry stood and introduced himself. “Please join us,” he said, pulling out the chair Alicia had abandoned moments ago.
“I’m glad to run into you, Mrs. Porter. I wanted to apologize for being so short with you yesterday,” Ms. Overbee said. “You know, it was such an upsetting time for all of us.” She fanned herself with a floppy Cabane en Rondins napkin. “You can’t imagine the drama. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”
“Think nothing of it,” I said.
“Poor Varena,” she said. “I feel so awful.”
My assessment of her sincerity might have been clouded by the sting of her treatment of me yesterday, but, again, I doubted it. I noticed that under her jacket she wore yet another sweater set, this one pale green. It might have been the one thing about her that I related to—having a standard outfit, almost a uniform, to eliminate wardrobe stress and decision-making before coffee.
“How is everyone doing?” I asked.
Henry gave me a grin. “Why don’t I get you another coffee?” he said, and left for the counter.
“Well, things are upside down, of course,” Ms. Overbee said. She shuddered and took a long pull on what was probably the advertised special drink today—strawberry frappuccino. “It was quite a shock. I mean, Varena was old, but to go that way…everyone was in a state yesterday. Especially Paige, of course.”
It hadn’t dawned on me to ask Skip or Alicia who had discovered Varena’s body. It seemed I’d just found out.
“Paige Taggart was the one who—?”
Ms. Overbee nodded solemnly. “She’s crushed with guilt, too.” Ms. Overbee put aside her drink and leaned in, chummy and secretive. “She and Varena had been so at odds lately.”
“Is that right?” I asked, also leaning toward her, in a do-tell kind of way.
Henry was back. I thanked him for the fresh cappuccino but avoided his eyes, knowing I’d burst into laughter if we connected.
Ms. Overbee was in a telling mood. “Well, Paige has always wanted more credit than she was getting. Let’s face it, Varena had lost it as far as her writing was concerned. She had no trouble coming up with new ideas, but it’s another thing to turn an idea into a two-hundred-fifty-page novel and keep up the pace publishers demand these days.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this. I wanted to maintain the image I had of Varena Young as a creative and energetic woman, not a has-been, too old to back up her own name. But Ms. Overbee had an agenda and I needed to pay attention.
“Are you saying that Paige actually wrote the novels?”
Ms. Overbee raised her eyebrows, pushed her chin out, and shrugged her shoulders suggestively. She pointed at me, as if declaring me the winner in a guessing game. Where was the rigid assistant-not-servant of yesterday? Apparently Varena’s death had set her free.
“All Paige got was an acknowledgment, her name buried in a list of other resource people at the beginning of the books. She was not a happy worker, let me tell you.”
“Did Paige and Varena argue in front of you?” I asked.
“Constantly.”
“That must have made for an u
npleasant work environment,” Henry said, giving Ms. Overbee a sympathetic look.
“Beyond unpleasant.” Ms. Overbee rolled her eyes. “Varena insisted that it was her fan base that sold books, her name, not Paige’s, and Paige’s name on a book would mean nothing.”
I wondered whether those were Varena’s sentiments or Ms. Overbee’s. If they were Varena’s feelings, I doubted she’d have expressed them with a screwed-up face, as Laura did.
“I don’t know much about the publishing industry, but I’m sure you do. Do you think Paige had a point?” I asked. “If she actually wrote the books, shouldn’t she receive credit?”
“I suppose if I were in her shoes, I’d feel more than a little frustrated, leaving the lap of luxury on the Heights every night for a dorm room.” Ms. Overbee rolled her eyes. “A flowery comforter doesn’t hide the fact that all you have is a bunk bed and a plywood-and-cinderblock bookcase.”
I wished I knew how Laura’s lifestyle compared—did she have an expensive duvet-and-dust-ruffle set and a Chippendale case for her books?
Laura hadn’t finished her rant against Paige. “If you ask me, Varena hired her more because of her interest in miniatures than any particular literary talent. I’m the one who’s been around awhile, managing Varena’s fans, and believe me, their devotion was to the Varena Young. They certainly would not accept some college-student wannabe.”
“So Paige wanted credit as co-author?” I asked, still trying to fathom what the disagreement was about between Paige and Varena.
“Well, preferably her own contract, of course, but Paige would have settled for a with.” Our turn for raised eyebrows. “Like ‘by Varena Young with Paige Taggart.’ Then she could eventually get her own deals when Varena retired.”
“Or died,” I said, surprising myself.
“Or died,” Ms. Overbee said, and took another long pink sip.
Act One had ended. Ms. Overbee had established Paige Taggart as a suspect in Varena Young’s murder. Her performance was almost good enough for me to eliminate Paige then and there, but I tried to keep an open mind.
The three of us took deep breaths and sat back.
To start Act Two, I brought up an item from my own agenda. “I wonder if you could help with another matter, Ms. Overbee?”
She waved her hands, as if trying to clap but missing the mark. “Call me Laura, please.”
I loved being on a first-name basis with a host of people who lived and worked on Robert Todd Heights. “I have some questions about Corazón Cruz,” I said.
“The former housekeeper.” Laura seemed unruffled, which surprised me. I’d hoped there was some controversy to exploit in their relationship.
“Yes. First, how long was she with the family?”
Laura pursed her lips and rocked her head from side to side. Making an estimate. “Not very long. About three months, I’d say. The household manager who’d been with Varena forever died last summer. If it’s really important, I can check the records and get back to you.”
Cooperation above and beyond. Stunning for a woman who tried hard to close the door in my face less than twenty-four hours ago. I was impressed by Alicia Rockwell’s reach. I wondered if Laura Overbee was jockeying for a way to be kept on at the estate. As Alicia’s assistant? I guessed the whole question of who would live or work there, if anyone, was up for grabs.
“And Corazón was let go because…?”
“Beats me. All I know is that Charles sent her packing without a word to the rest of us.”
“He could do that?”
“He does it all the time. No one asks if he has the right. We all just assumed Varena put him in charge. Most of the time, the decisions haven’t had much effect on the rest of us anyway.”
“He fired Corazón after Varena’s body was found?”
Henry had disappeared again. I wished we’d had time to strategize about the two French log cabin interviews. I hoped he didn’t think I wanted him gone from the table.
“Yes.” Laura answered my question emphatically. “I know for a fact that Charles immediately offered her a handsome severance package and a one-way ticket to Mexico.”
“Did that seem strange to anyone?”
“Not more than usual. Charles has some strange ways.”
“Had he been at the estate all afternoon?”
“He’d arrived early, around three-thirty, for a dinner meeting. Varena often did that. She’d combine things, arranging a lunch or dinner with one or all of us.”
“Were you invited to last evening’s dinner?”
“No. Just Charles. I was all packed to leave for the day when…”
I was struck by Laura’s tearing up. It seemed to stem from genuine sorrow this time and I chided myself for thinking ill of her.
I put my hand on her arm, hoping I’d wiped all the sugar granules from my morning bun off my fingers. “I’m sorry to upset you all over again, Laura.” I spotted Henry at the newspaper rack in a corner and waved him over. “We’re leaving now anyway. You take a minute to feel better.”
“Thanks, Geraldine. It really is a shock.”
“I know.”
She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me. “Give me a call, okay? If you have any more questions or anything.” I took it and filed it in my purse next to Alicia Rockwell’s card.
I was feeling more and more like an investigator.
—
I wondered if it would look silly if I were to take out my notebook and pen and write while I walked to my car. I wanted desperately to jot down important phrases from this morning’s meetings before I forgot them. I recited a few to myself. Uncle Caleb died many years ago. Paige found Varena’s body. Alicia knows of no dollhouse delivery. Laura blames Paige, is really upset. Charles is in charge, fired Corazón. Adam distracted by divorce.
“Should we stay around awhile and see who happens to drop in next?” Henry asked.
“Thanks, but if I eat one more French pastry or sip another fancy espresso drink, I won’t be able to get the seat belt around me.” I buckled myself into my car on the passenger side, glad I didn’t have to shift my concentration to driving.
My mind then took its usual wild trip, free associating. I thought of my chubby friend Linda’s woeful complaint that I could eat a dozen French pastries a day and not gain an ounce, while all she had to do was look into the tubs of ice cream at Sadie’s and she’d feel her stomach expand.
We’d never tested her theory, but it was true that I had the skinny gene and had passed it not to my son, Richard, but to Maddie.
Maddie, who still owed me an explanation about her parents’ phone call, I remembered.
This day’s work had hardly begun. It was a good thing I’d had a hearty breakfast.
Chapter 10
As Henry drove north on Springfield Boulevard toward my Eichler neighborhood, I strained to get a glimpse of Joshua Speed Woods to our left. I was hoping for a fall palette, but it was well past prime time for autumn colors, which even at their peak were dim here in the lowlands south of San Francisco. Things were better at higher altitudes, where there were spots that could pass for fall, but it had been a while since I’d visited any of those locations. Not for want of Henry’s attempts to drag me away from Lincoln Point, but there was always a crafts show, a tutoring schedule, a volunteer shift at the library, a commitment to take care of Maddie—something to keep me home.
And now a murder to investigate.
Henry maneuvered expertly around the construction site at the Gettysburg-Springfield intersection.
“Do you think Laura Overbee followed Alicia? Or me?” I asked.
“She certainly came with an agenda.”
I nodded. “To throw suspicion on Paige.”
“Remember, Alicia admitted she’d already told the staff she was going to hire you.”
“Don’t say hire. I don’t think I’ve ever been”—I stumbled—“well, hired, sight-unseen before. Certainly not to do anything like police work.
”
“Your reputation precedes you. It’s conceivable that Laura Overbee followed you and then saw Alicia and decided she’d like to get in on the action at an early stage of your investigation.”
“Don’t say my investigation,” I said, poking the driver. “It makes me even more nervous that one of the suspects is following me, though I know nothing that should worry anyone.”
“You have enviable skills,” Henry said.
“How’s this for a skilled investigation? I just realized I didn’t even ask Laura about Varena’s brother, dead or alive, or if she had a forwarding address for Corazón. She, or Charles, must know where to send a final check, don’t you think?” I covered my eyes, as unhappy as if I’d just gotten word of my students’ poor SAT results. “I’m not good at ad hoc anything.”
“You have Laura’s card, and Alicia’s. I know you. You’ll sit down and get all organized with a list of questions for each of them and before you know it, you’ll have an aha moment and figure out who killed your friend.”
I liked it that Henry was so confident of my skills.
One of us had to be.
To prove Henry’s point I took out my cell phone. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s time to get organized.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean right now.”
“Since you’re such a willing chauffeur, I might as well do something useful from this seat. I’m going to call my neighbors and see if anyone was around when the dollhouse was delivered.”
“Wouldn’t they have called you if they saw something like that?
“A dollhouse arriving at my front door? No one would blink an eye.”
“What was I thinking?”
I needed to work out the timeline before I made the calls. I reviewed Monday’s events out loud, so I could have Henry’s input.
“I left my house about two-thirty yesterday to go to a three o’clock meeting at the estate.”
“It’s hard to believe it all started such a short time ago,” Henry said, echoing my own thought.
Mix-up in Miniature Page 10
