Not always, he wasn’t. But Emma held her tongue. Death had a strange effect on some, and maybe blocking out the less than pleasant memories was Jordan’s way of coping, because anything else made her feel guilty.
Because she had something to do with Tony’s death?
If Sean didn’t kill Tony, then Emma had to consider Jordan as a suspect, no matter how heartbroken she appeared. Jordan might be a very good actress. Jordan might stand to inherit some money—maybe a lot— from Tony’s estate. Jordan might have secretly resented the way he treated her and had finally snapped.
“I can see he meant a lot to you. How did you and Tony meet?” Emma asked.
With a sigh, Jordan sank onto one of the white leather couches in the great room and gestured to Emma to take a seat. “We met at a boat show in San Diego. I was a rep at one of the stands, and he was shopping for a new boat. It was love at first sight.” She sighed again, growing quite misty eyed. “That was just over a year ago. A few months later, Tony brought me here to Shamrock Lake. He’d been living in Wineglass Bay, but he wanted to move out of there. He wanted a new house for us, something unique, so he bought this piece of land and had this house built. He paid extra to get it built in time, and he spent so much effort getting every detail right.” The tears welled up again but didn’t quite spill over. “Only the best for you, he used to say to me.”
“I didn’t realize this house belongs to you.”
Faint spots highlighted Jordan’s sculpted cheekbones. “It will be mine as soon as his estate passes probate.” She lifted her head higher. “When we moved in here, Tony told me he’d make sure I get the house. I’d always have a roof over my head, he said. And he hinted I’d get more, but I never pressed him on the details.”
“Oh.” Emma wasn’t sure if she was meant to congratulate Jordan. “That’s good.” To be honest, she was surprised by the news because Tony had never struck her as a particularly generous person. But then again, perhaps he had no other family to bequeath his riches to and no wish to give his wealth to charity.
Jordan made a face. “Yes, but I’m not looking forward to Pamela finding out.”
“Who’s Pamela?”
“Tony’s ex-wife. They have a son, Kyle.” Jordan swept her hair over one shoulder, her hands not quite steady. “You know, I’d only been in Greenville a month when Pamela stopped me in Main Street and called me a gold-digging tramp.”
Emma couldn’t help gasping. “That’s very aggressive.”
“She’s an aggressive woman.” The frown deepened on Jordan’s face. “She’s always been mad at Tony because she thinks he bilked her out of millions in the divorce settlement, and she’s not very subtle about showing her feelings.” Jordan shivered delicately. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little scared of Pamela.”
“I never knew about Pamela or Kyle,” Emma confessed.
“Then count yourself lucky. I didn’t realize they still lived on Shamrock Lake until Tony had already started this house, otherwise I might have persuaded him to move somewhere else.”
“They live here in Greenville?”
“No, thank goodness. Pamela has a house on Fisher Island. Kyle is a student at Lakeside College. He’s twenty-five and the way he parties all year round, it doesn’t look like he’ll be graduating any time soon. Tony’s been paying his tuition and supporting him all these years. It’s not like he neglected his obligations.”
Obligations. Was that all Kyle had meant to Tony? It didn’t sound like father and son had been all that close. From Jordan’s description, Kyle sounded like a typical spoiled college frat boy.
“Pamela has always been jealous of me.” Jordan was getting worked up again, but this time she was angry rather than sad. She grabbed a soft pillow and squeezed it as if it were Pamela’s head. “She even had the nerve to call me yesterday and tell me I had no business organizing Tony’s funeral. Can you believe it? I called Tony’s lawyer, and he assured me that I had every right.” Once more she dabbed her handkerchief at her eyes. “When they—they finished the autopsy yesterday, I called the undertakers straight away to collect…Tony.” Hauling in a breath, she straightened her shoulders. “And I’m going to make sure he has the best send off he could have wished for. The funeral will be next Tuesday at St John’s, with refreshments afterward here.”
Emma took out her notebook in preparation. “How many people do you expect?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe eighty to a hundred? I suppose I can’t turn away people I haven’t invited.”
“Tony’s made all the headlines. I think it’s inevitable you’ll get some rubberneckers at the service, and some of them will definitely come here, too.”
“Yes. In fact, someone turned up yesterday with a casserole. Can you believe it?” Jordan shook her head. “A little old lady. Faye Seymour.”
Of course Faye wouldn’t miss an opportunity to gather more information. “I know Faye. She’s just trying to be neighborly,” she said diplomatically.
“Actually, I was quite touched.” Jordan smiled briefly. “So, let’s cater for a hundred to a hundred and twenty. I don’t want people thinking Tony was stingy. Now, about the food…”
Jordan wanted hot and cold canapés, and not ordinary cheese puffs or spring rolls, but wasabi shrimp, salmon mousse, and stuffed mushrooms. She wanted petit fours, five kinds of coffee and tea, and masses of flowers everywhere. She wanted a large chocolate mud cake decorated with an edible icing picture of Tony. She wanted a live band to play some of Tony’s favorite tunes—this was to be a celebration of his life not a mourning— and she wanted several enlarged pictures of him mounted in frames and displayed in the great room where the reception would be held.
Emma couldn’t help wondering why Jordan felt the need for such a public display of grief. Perhaps she was simply a generous heart and wanted to smooth over Tony’s less than perfect public image. Or perhaps she felt it was expected of her. Either way, Jordan had a very good motive for wanting Tony out of the way, seeing as she was about to inherit an expensive house and maybe more.
They moved to the study so that Jordan could download the photos she wanted enlarged and mounted as well as a photo for the cake. As she sat at the computer, she took out her handkerchief and fastidiously dusted the keyboard.
“I really must get a new cleaner. The college students I’ve had are so slipshod. Look at the dust around here.” She gestured at a side table that held several handsome wooden boxes, and then pointed at a display cabinet opposite the desk. “I think they may even have taken a few things from Tony’s collection, though I can’t be certain. There might be a couple of pieces missing, but I’m not sure because I don’t often come in here, and Tony did sell some of them on occasion.”
Moving to the cabinet, Emma cast her gaze over the contents. “Wow. Lego?” The top shelves held dozens of minifigures as well as ships and buildings.
“It was his way of relaxing.” A small, fond smile touched Jordan’s lips. “He collected all sorts of things.”
“Are any of these worth stealing?”
“According to Tony, some collections are worth hundreds of dollars, but individually, probably less, I’m guessing.”
“But still a temptation,” Emma murmured. A hard-up college student might know the value of Lego minifigures, and with so many in the cabinet, he or she might assume the theft would go unnoticed for a while. And selling one or two on the sly would be an easy way of topping up a low cleaner’s wage.
“We used to have a very reliable housekeeper, but she had an accident, and since then I haven’t found a good replacement.” Jordan sighed as she tapped on the keyboard. “Oh, here we go.”
Jordan’s lips began to quiver as she flipped through photos of Tony on the screen.
“If only I’d been home that night,” she wailed, breaking down again. “I might have saved my Tony.”
“You were away?” It was a question that had been nagging at Emma. Tony had been killed sometime between six pm and eight pm
, but his body had only been discovered the following morning, by Jordan. Where had Jordan been all that time?
Jordan nodded, sniffing back her sobs. “Yeah. Girls’ night out in La Quinta. I stayed over at Tammy’s place. I drove back early the next morning and found the garage door open, which was a bit strange. I parked my car inside the garage. When I got out, I saw Tony. He was lying between his Porsche and his SUV. At first I thought he’d fainted or had a stroke, but then I saw the blood. He was lying on his stomach, and the back of his head was all messy.” She rubbed her arms, shivering but not distraught, and Emma thought she must have repeated this account to the police several times already, and so the impact was lessened, though the shock still lingered.
“And the wrench? Was that near Tony?”
“I didn’t see the wrench at all. The police found it later under the SUV.” She pulled out a fresh handkerchief from a pocket and carefully dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t believe Sean McCluskey would do such a terrible thing. He was always nice to me when I brought my car to his workshop. Just shows you, doesn’t it? You never know who could be a killer.”
Chapter Eight
An hour and a half later, the meeting was over. Jordan had spent a long time choosing photos of Tony including the one she wanted for the cake, and then she went through an extensive list of Tony’s favorite music. Finally, she downloaded the photos and music onto a memory stick, which she gave to Emma. She also gave Emma a document containing the funeral service booklet and instructed her to have a hundred and fifty copies printed.
Emma’s mind was busy with all the tasks to be done in the four days before the funeral. High on the list of priorities would be finding the right band that could project a suitable atmosphere—uplifting but not too festive. She didn’t know a lot of bands in the area, so this might be a challenge.
As she walked toward her car, she noted the triple garage leading off the sweeping driveway, and her thoughts returned to the murder. One of the garage doors was open, and before she had second thoughts, she walked into the garage.
Inside, were three cars—Jordan’s red Miata, Tony’s yellow Porsche, and his black Cadillac SUV. The garage was large, well lit, and clean. She walked over and stopped between the Porsche and SUV. So this was where the murder had taken place. She paused and waited to be assailed by a sinister atmosphere, but all she could detect was a faint whiff of motor oil. There were no chalk outlines, no police markers, not even a stain on the concrete floor. If there’d been blood, someone had mopped it up. The cars were spotless, too. She assumed they would have been dusted for fingerprints, but someone had washed off all traces.
A door at one end of the garage looked like it led into the house. Just outside the garage was a row of oleander shrubs forming a hedge that separated the driveway from the garden. Given the door and the hedge, it would be quite possible for someone to either come in through the house or hide behind the oleanders and ambush Tony in this garage. Tony wasn’t a particularly tall man, and he was of average build. According to Jordan’s description of the scene, he’d been attacked from behind, so his assailant could have been female. Jordan could have heard the argument between Sean and Tony. She could have waited in the house until Tony was alone, sneaked into the garage, hit him over the head, then gotten into her car and driven off to La Quinta. She had mentioned taking her car to Sean’s workshop in the past, so she’d had the opportunity to steal one of his wrenches.
Emma frowned at the concrete floor. It made her uncomfortable to suspect Jordan, especially as she was turning out to be a good client, but if Sean was innocent, then someone else had to be guilty.
“Hey, you!” A gruff voice startled her out of her reverie.
She faltered back a step as an angry-looking man in rough worker’s clothes stomped toward her. Suddenly the garage seemed far too empty and isolated. The man blocked her path, and her heart began to knock against her ribs.
“This is private property!” The man loomed closer. “What are you doing snooping around here?”
There was something familiar about the man’s bristling moustache. Emma squinted more closely at the man threatening her.
“You’re Mateo Crespo, aren’t you?” she said, quickly recovering her composure. “I’m Emma Cassidy. My father and I visited you the night before last to talk about your son, Daniel.”
The man paused, but the suspicious scowl remained. “Why did you follow me to my work?”
“You work for Tony Barnet?” She spoke without thinking, then realized what she’d said. “I mean—”
“Yes, I was Mr. Barnet’s gardener and caretaker, and now I work for Miss Jordan.” His shoulders stiffened. “Did you come here to make more trouble for me?”
“No, no, of course not! I didn’t even know you worked here. I came because Jordan asked me to. I’m organizing the reception for Mr. Barnet’s funeral next Tuesday.”
Mateo’s gaze remained cold and critical. “But you made everyone sick at Mr. Barnet’s housewarming party.”
“That food poisoning is still under investigation.” She huffed out a breath. “Anyway, I’m here on legitimate business. I’m not ‘snooping’ around.” Although she was searching for clues, she had to admit.
Mateo didn’t buy her story either. “But why are you here in the garage? Did you think there would be a lot of blood? Tuh!” He made a scornful sound. “I cleaned everything up. There’s nothing to see.”
Don’t let his belligerence get under her skin, she ordered herself. “So you worked for Mr. Barnet a long time? He was a good employer?”
Dark color seeped into his cheeks. “A lot of people are unemployed these days. I was lucky to get this job.”
So, not exactly a ringing endorsement, then. But then she recalled that Mateo had to work long hours to pay for his wife’s medication and that Daniel was missing school in order to nurse his recuperating mother, and she felt bad for the Crespos.
“I’m sure Jordan will want you to stay on,” Emma said.
Mateo jutted out his chin, rejecting her attempt at friendliness.
Emma decided to risk another question. “So did you hear Mr. Barnet and Sean arguing here in the garage?”
“No.”
“No?” Was it another staff member who’d overheard the argument?
“They weren’t arguing here. They were out there.” He gestured to the driveway outside. “Where Mr. McCluskey parked his truck.”
“Right. And where were you?”
Mateo fingered his moustache. “Why do you want to know?”
“Er, just interested.”
“You think I wasn’t doing my job, is that it?” A threatening noise rumbled in his throat. “I was trimming that hedge.” He jabbed a finger at the oleander shrubs just outside. “But when them two started yelling, I moved to another job on the other side of the house. I don’t need to get involved in their fights. But I was still working, so don’t you go spreading lies about me to Miss Jordan.”
“What?” Emma shook her head in bewilderment. “I would never do something like that.”
The man’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Okay,” he dubiously replied.
Maybe she could ask him one more question. “So you didn’t hear Sean McCluskey leaving?”
Mateo shook his head. “I worked on the far side of the house until five. Then I locked up the tools in the shed and went home. I never went near this garage.”
From the housewarming party Emma knew of the separate service lane that Mateo would have used. He wouldn’t have gone past this garage, wouldn’t have noticed whether Sean was still there or not.
“Thank you, Mr. Crespo. You’ve been a big help.” She edged past him, anxious to get away from the garage and Mateo’s brooding presence.
“Miss Cassidy!” he barked out just as she was climbing into her car.
Her nerves jerked. She rolled down her window. “Yes?”
“Tell your father to stop interfering with my son.”
“Interferi
ng?” She couldn’t help gasping. “What exactly are you implying?”
“He told Daniel he would drop off some schoolwork for him to do at home.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“It isn’t.” Once more Mateo’s face darkened. “I don’t need your father sticking his nose into my business. Tell him to stay away.”
“For goodness sakes, he’s only trying to help!” From the relative safety of her car, Emma’s patience began to fray.
“We don’t want his help.” Mateo marched away, his heavy work boots clomping on the driveway.
Emma glared indignantly at his retreating back before she started the car and drove off. If it wasn’t for his sick wife, she would have liked to include Mateo in her list of suspects. He could have returned to the garage and killed Tony before leaving for home. But he didn’t seem to have any motive. Tony might have been a tough boss, but Mateo appeared relieved to have a job and unnecessarily anxious about losing it. No, the gardener didn’t seem to be guilty of anything except being surly, stubborn, and ungrateful.
***
As Emma headed back to Greenville, she wondered about Madison and her non-appearance at Sean’s court appearance yesterday. The turn off to Wineglass Bay where the Whites lived was just ahead of her, and she made a snap decision to check in on Madison.
Five minutes later, she arrived at the Whites’ mansion. Madison’s sparkly blue Mini Cooper sat on the driveway, indicating that she must be at home. Emma climbed out of her car and breathed in the fresh air. Low stone walls marked the boundary between driveway and garden. Beyond them, a timber pergola supported a wisteria, its abundant mauve blooms perfuming the air with a light bouquet.
Drawn to the flowers, Emma walked over to the pergola and plucked a spray of blooms from the climber. As she held the flowers to her nose, a blur of movement in the garden beyond caught her attention. A slender woman in a bright yellow sundress darted through the bushes some distance away. She had her back to Emma, but the long, shiny fall of brown hair was instantly recognizable as Madison’s.
Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) Page 8
