Chapter VI
I decided to take advantage of the early hour and sneak off to the store to do my bookkeeping. It turned out that we had made more money that one day than in the month of June. At that rate the shelves would be empty by Friday.
I rearranged stock, putting the benefit calendars up front and moving every paperback in the place onto the empty mystery rack. I rang the book distributor five times, and was finally promised a delivery on Wednesday. Then I scurried to a supermarket across town to lay in a supply of Jay-style bland groceries and went home.
Nothing much happened the rest of the day. Jay reported that he had interrogated D'Angelo and Miguel. The Peltzes had informed him they were flying to San Francisco for the reading of the will. They had seemed taken aback when he said, "Ah, yes, Davis and Wong," but that was a minor triumph in a day of frustration.
I didn't open the store until ten Mondays, so I had a leisurely hour after Jay left. I washed clothes. As I was about to go to the store my mother called.
"They're holding a memorial service for Dai Thursday at the Episcopal cathedral in San Francisco. I'm flying out for it."
"What about West Virginia?"
"I traded a week with Jordis Pembroke." Pembroke was another poet who did the workshop circuit. "I want you to be there, Lark, and I'm going back to Monte with you."
That knocked the wind out. "Uh, what about the store? It's a one bedroom apartment! I haven't cleaned the refrigerator!"
"If I were a sensitive person I'd say you didn't want me to come."
"Now, Ma..."
"I'll take a room at that place your father stayed in last year--what's it called?"
"The Eagle Cap Lodge," I said gloomily. "Shall I make a reservation for you? You could sleep on my bed, I suppose, and Jay and I could sleep on the couch."
"I thought Jay had a house of his own."
"He does, but it's a fifty minute drive from the courthouse. He'll be on this case all hours of the day and night, and I don't see why he should have to waste his time driving back and forth." Besides, I liked having him around.
"Eagle Cap for me," Ma said. "You might as well rent me a car. An automatic. I have to confer with this D'Angelo person."
We hung up. I leapt down the back stairs, into my non-automatic Toyota and onto the streets, gears grinding. I was ten minutes late opening, and the first "customer" was a tabloid reporter.
Ginger showed up, red-eyed, at twelve fifteen.
"Are you okay?"
"Dennis took his mother to San Francisco for a whole week. He got leave, and they caught the morning plane at Weed."
"That's too bad, Ginge. Awful for Dennis."
She gave me a watery grin. "You said it."
The place was aswarm with browsers, one or two of them looking at books instead of at the freak who had bumped off a poet with puree of larkspur to publicize her bookstore. Ginger and I worked. Hard.
At three Janey Huff burst in, pop-eyed with excitement. "Have you heard the news?"
Every browser in the place leaned our direction.
I pointed to the back room. "I'll be with you in a minute."
She blushed and scooted around the counter and into my sanctum. It was ten minutes before I could join her.
"What news?"
She laid down my copy of The Collected Poems of E. David Llewellyn. "He was pretty good, wasn't he?"
"Janey!"
"Okay, okay. Lydia heard it on the radio. Miguel took off this morning in the Mercedes and hasn't returned to the lodge. That's pretty conclusive, isn't it?"
My impulse was to call Jay. "Are you sure?"
"Turn on the local station. It's almost time for a newsbreak."
After a heartrending Loretta Lynn ballad and three ads, the d.j. confirmed that "a major suspect in the murder of poet David Llewellyn has disappeared. An All Points Bulletin has been issued for the arrest of Miguel Montez. Montez, Llewellyn's chauffeur, was last seen wearing jeans and a white, short-sleeved shirt. He is Hispanic, of medium height, slender, and twenty-three years old. The missing vehicle is a pearl-gray Mercedes 580 SL, California license number..." The d.j. read the number and instructed his listeners to contact the sheriff's office if they had seen Miguel or the car. His voice modulated. "And now for Conway Twitty..."
I turned the radio off, feeling sick. Jay had trusted Miguel against his better judgment. He had to be catching all kinds of flack from the sheriff and the press.
"That means the rest of us are off the hook," Janey was saying. "Doesn't it?"
"Not necessarily. Maybe Miguel thought they'd take away his green card and panicked."
Janey snorted. "I'll bet he panicked. He killed Dai and decided he'd better head back to Mexico before he was arrested. It's as plain as the nose on your face."
"It's not plain. He didn't have a motive."
"Come on, Lark. Lover's quarrel?"
I wasn't liking Janey very much. "The Peltzes..."
"Pooh. Even Ted Peltz wouldn't be stupid enough to kill Dai while he was waiting trial on another charge. Dad says it's an open and shut case."
"But the larkspur--where did Miguel get the poison?"
Janey shrugged. "It's a common plant. He could have swiped a stalk of it from the Peltzes' garden."
"And stewed it in Domingo's kitchen while Domingo was preparing a banquet? I don't buy it."
"If Miguel's not guilty why did he run?"
"Maybe he saw the killer in the act and got scared."
"Lark, I'm swamped out here!" Ginger, near tears.
"I've got to go back to work. Nice seeing you, Janey."
"I thought you'd be relieved." Janey got up and preceded me into chaos. She was pouting.
At some point in the melee I called Avis and the Eagle Cap Lodge. I also called Annie, who promised to work half-time the next two days, full-time Thursday and Friday. Ginger and I got rid of the last customer at nine-fifteen and were out the back at nine-thirty. An enterprising reporter caught me as I was sneaking into my car, and I gave him no-comment until the engine turned over. Surprisingly, I made it into my apartment without being trapped a second time.
Jay showed up at ten looking frazzled but wired.
I eyed him sympathetically. "Beer or food?"
"Beer. I got in touch with the lawyer, Lark."
I poured. "Good. What's with the will?"
"You're not going to believe this." He took his glass into the living room and stood near the window, scowling down at the street. "Jesus, I still don't believe it."
I sat on the couch. "Believe what? He left it all to the Symphony?"
"Llewellyn left the bulk of his estate to his natural son."
"Not to Angharad?" I started to laugh. "I'll bet Ted is fit to be tied."
"Aren't you curious about the son?"
"Who?"
"Dennis Fromm."
"What!" I slopped beer on my hand and set the glass down. "You've got to be kidding! Dennis?"
"That's what the man said."
"Oh, gosh, Ginger will wig out." I suppose I babbled for awhile, repeating myself. I was shocked. Pleasantly at first. Dennis was a sweet guy. "He probably feels as if he's won the lottery."
"Do you think so?"
I tried to do a total recall for Jay of the conversation I'd had with Dennis at the lodge. I came close. "Surely he didn't know Llewellyn was his father."
Jay had set his beer down on the wide Victorian windowsill and was rubbing his forehead. "You think not? How sure are you?"
I considered. "Darned sure. He was worried about Denise, but I could swear all he felt about Llewellyn was mild annoyance."
Jay said somberly, "Write it down. Your impressions could be important."
"Why...oh, God, the will gives Dennis a motive for killing his father."
"About fourteen million bucks worth of motive. Llewellyn owned half a block of downtown San Francisco."
"My God."
"If you think Dennis was in the dark about his paternity, that s
hoves the suspicion onto Denise."
"She did collapse when she heard Llewellyn was dead." I ran my hand through my hair. "But I thought you said she was an unlikely suspect." I told him about Janey's visit to the store.
"I wish," he said savagely, "that the fourth estate was not so damned quick to make judgments. They've tried, condemned, and hanged the kid already."
"And strung you up by the thumbs."
"That, too."
"Was it bad?"
"My ass is grass. Even Kev gave me a hard time." His nose wrinkled. "And the sheriff trotted me out to make a statement to the press."
"The bastard! He's quick enough to take credit...all those press conferences he gave last year...you won the election for him!" I was spluttering.
Jay shrugged. "He's a politician. I goofed, Lark. I just hope I didn't goof as badly as I think I did."
"What do you mean?"
"Miguel was keeping something back, something that was eating at him." He shrugged again. "Time will tell, as they say."
"You're awfully philosophical."
He took another large swallow. "Not philosophical. Confused. The will threw me for a loop. I was trying to rearrange my thinking when Kev barged in with the news about Miguel. We posted the APB and drove out to question Domingo. The Peltzes were gone by then."
"To hear the will read?"
He gave a brief grin. "Are they in for a surprise. The lawyer said he'd be reading it tomorrow in his office. Mrs. Peltz gets a small annuity and the cabin. Access road, no land."
"Good for Llewellyn."
"I'm sorry for her. Peltz will give her hell."
"I suppose so, though he probably spoiled her chances when he got himself arrested."
"No, the lawyer said the will is two years old. I wonder why the old guy didn't warn Dennis. It's crazy to leave that kind of money to a..."
"A woolly lamb?"
"Something like that. Dennis is not exactly a high powered intellect."
"He's just naive and inexperienced."
"Naive, inexperienced, and thirty-eight years old," Jay said wryly.
"Wasn't Denise named in the will?"
"No."
"That says something."
"It says Llewellyn didn't trust her with money."
"But she's shrewd about money."
"According to Dennis?"
"Oh." The buzzer went off. "Food?"
He heaved a sigh. "I had a Danish sometime around eleven, and I've been on the go since."
We were too hungry to talk. We polished off the fettuccini (with a nice mild Alfredo sauce), bread, salad, and a thawed cheesecake, and then we talked.
There was more exclamation (me) and information (Jay) about the will. The lawyer had not read it to him, merely described it, but Jay had made him detail any provision that mentioned the guests and servants at the lodge. The Huff Press was down for $250,000 to use in seeking grants for its publication of new poets and another quarter of a million for new equipment, and Llewellyn had forgiven two hefty loans. Domingo would get a handsome pension, and a codicil added $25,000 for Miguel.
"Not a lot."
"He could support his family for ten years on that in Baja."
"I suppose so." A depressing thought.
The provision that made me sit up (we were in bed by then) was the establishment of a non-profit Foundation to run a writers' colony. Llewellyn had left the lodge, the lake, and the land around it, plus a generous cash endowment, to Siskiyou Summit--that was the name he had chosen for his Foundation--and he had specified that Winton D'Angelo was to serve a ten year term as its first director.
The Foundation board was to include Llewellyn's accountant, his lawyer, and three poets "of national stature." I wondered if Ma had got word of the Foundation--from D'Angelo? from the lawyer? It was right up her alley.
I mentioned my suspicions to Jay, along with an account of Ma's phone call. "I'll bet ten bucks she's lobbying to be named to the board."
He pulled me back down beside him. "Why not? She's a logical choice."
"Yes, but she'd be out here every summer! Maternal surveillance!"
He laughed.
"Maybe Ma hired Miguel to poison Llewellyn." I pinched his bare arm. "Have you looked into that?"
"No, and I'm not going to. Miguel didn't poison his boss."
"Then why did he run?"
"I'm more worried about how he managed to slip a pearl gray Mercedes out of town. It's not exactly inconspicuous."
"Out of town?"
"He told Domingo he was going into town to gas up and have the oil changed. Cowan was on duty near the Peltzes' access road, and Miguel even waved at him. The kid drove the car to the Chevron station on Grand, did what he said he was going to do, and took off. The station attendant thought he headed west on Grand but isn't sure. That's as far as we can trace Miguel. We did a helicopter search, and the county cars have been poking down every back lane and log skid. The highway patrol didn't come up with anything either. Maybe some citizen will call in tomorrow with more information. Until then we're completely at sea."
"He probably got on I-5 and headed south."
"No." Jay was stroking my back with happy results. I purred. "Somebody would have spotted him at that patch of construction north of Weed."
"Where it's down to one lane both ways?" I rubbed against him.
"That's the spot,"
"Mmm-mmh," I murmured, distracted. "That's the spot," and we forgot about Miguel.
Jay was gone before I woke up the next morning. I dimly remembered the telephone ringing. I got up, showered, and ate breakfast to the country and western twang of the local radio station. The news break revealed no further developments in the disappearance of Miguel Montez.
I opened the store at ten, reminding myself that Ginger did not know Dennis was the heir to fourteen million dollars and to keep my mouth shut. I did that so well she thought I was mad at her. I explained that I was worried about Miguel.
"Worried about him?"
"About his disappearance. It made Jay look bad with the sheriff."
"Oh." She accepted that. We were too busy to carry on a discussion. Around three the phone rang. I was waiting on a customer who seemed to be a customer. She wanted a copy of The Secret Garden for her granddaughter. Ginger answered the phone.
I had waited on three more people before I noticed Ginger was missing. I rang up the last sale and ducked into the back room.
She was sitting at the desk, staring at the telephone.
"Hey, snap out of it."
She lifted her dazed brown eyes to me. "That was Dennis. He said old Llewellyn was his father and that he just inherited millions of dollars."
I tried to project astonishment. I am not a good liar.
"You knew!"
"Well, Jay talked to the attorney yesterday. But he said I couldn't tell anybody. Congratulations, I think."
"I'm scared."
"How was Dennis?"
"He sounded..." She screwed up her face. "He sounded lost." She started to cry. "It's not fair. The filthy old bastard. Why did he have to do that to Dennis? He could have told him."
I handed her the box of tissues on the desk. "It is strange."
Ginger hiccupped. "Dennis is going to be rich, and he won't want me anymore."
I assured her Dennis had good taste and was as faithful as a collie.
"But Denise hates me."
"Drive a stake through her heart."
She hiccupped again. "I'm being silly, aren't I? Gosh, Lark, what am I going to do?"
"Wipe your eyes, check your makeup, and come out front. It sounds like a riot out there. I need you." I dashed back to the cash register.
Ginger finally gathered herself together. Around five, things slacked off. I sent her out for hamburgers, waited on a lone hiker who wanted a map of the Rogue Valley, and was tidying the paperback racks when the phone rang again. I answered, dragging it around to the front counter.
It was Lydia. She gossiped
a bit about the will. Apparently the lawyer had called the Huffs and explained their legacy. Lydia was deeply touched. She had also heard about the writers' colony. D'Angelo had called her from San Francisco.
"Did he say anything about the Peltzes?" I asked in the first pause.
Lydia chuckled. "I feel sorry for Angharad, God knows, but it is funny. They're planning to sue. But my dear, only think--Denise and Dai. How strange." My own word bouncing back at me.
"I don't think Dennis knew he was Llewellyn's son."
"Really? That's hard to believe. Denise is not exactly close-mouthed." There was a thoughtful pause. "Of course things were different forty years ago--about gays, I mean. Dai never did proclaim his sexual preference. But everybody knew. Denise didn't want Dennis to know his father was, er, queer."
That was an interesting thought. Jay had been assuming it was Llewellyn who had refused to acknowledge Dennis. Maybe Denise would not allow him to claim her son. I could imagine Denise being that melodramatic--and that egotistical. If she had not known to begin with, it would have offended her sense of womanliness to realize that her lover preferred men. Perhaps Dennis's ignorance was her revenge.
"...a quiet little family dinner," Lydia was saying. "Tomorrow, sixish. Bill and I are flying south next morning for the memorial service. Can you come?"
"Who did you say would be there?" I watched a middle aged couple in matching tee shirts and slacks enter the store.
"Win, Bill and I, and Janey. And yourself." She did not invite Jay.
"I'd have to hire a replacement at the store. Uh, thanks, Lydia. I have a customer. Can I get back to you?"
"Surely, my dear."
Between customers I toyed with the invitation. I also remembered I was supposed to reserve a plane ticket for myself for Thursday, so I called the commuter line. Ginger came back with my burger, having eaten hers in peace. I ate and fed some data into the inventory program and brooded some more. Finally I called Lydia and said yes. She sounded ecstatic.
Jay came in a little earlier that night. I told him I was having dinner with the Huffs the next evening, and he said he'd probably survive. I kicked him under the table and said I would keep my ears open for dramatic revelations. He said fat chance. We ate.
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