Murder Most Persuasive

by Tracy Kiely

  The boys, who were only typical examples of poor parenting, ignored her and continued their game, the point of which seemed to be to zoom around the yard coming as close as possible to knocking one of the guests into the pool. They hadn’t succeeded yet, but the night was still early.

  As I looked around, I realized that the group assembled today was almost identical to the group that assembled all those years ago for the Fourth of July. I just hoped that this time nothing untoward happened.

  I can be really naïve sometimes.

  Aunt Winnie, Ann, and I focused on keeping drinks refreshed and the hors d’oeuvres coming. Peter opted to man the grill, saying it was by far the safest place to be. The biggest surprise of the evening (so far) went to Reggie. She showed up with none other than Donny Mancuso. While he was wearing a light blue oxford shirt instead of a too-tight work polo, he still managed to give the impression of a midway transformation from Bruce Banner into the Hulk. Reggie, clinging to his massive arm, looked more like a Barbie doll than ever. Well, the kind of Barbie that would result if Mattel ever decided to create a line of sultry brunette dolls wearing a lusty come-hither expression.

  “Hello, everyone!” Reggie called out when they arrived. “I’m sure you all remember Donny.”

  We all did and various greetings were offered. Reggie smiled up at him. “Donny’s been an absolute dear the past few days. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

  Well, that was something to chew on, I thought. What exactly had old Donny been doing to help? Or was it something that Donny had done years ago—namely, get rid of Michael? Donny gave no indication. He merely smiled and said hello and kept his arm out for Reggie.

  Bonnie and Julian, thankfully having changed out of their unsuitable cruise wear, now wandered from guest to guest, never staying too long with any one person. Bonnie wore a slinky white dress, while Julian had opted for a cream linen suit. Bonnie carried Scarlett with her like she was an accessory. At various intervals, Bonnie would talk about her “dear Marty” and then let out a little melancholy sigh. With a sad shake of her blond head, she’d then give Julian a significant glance and murmur about his having been taken “too soon.” Julian would nod sympathetically and stroke her hand. Not surprisingly, the tension they left in their wake was palpable, and I began to wish that one of the Things would push one of them into the pool.

  After a while Bonnie and Julian sat down—alone—at the table. Bonnie sipped from a martini glass while Julian stared at the pool, idly smoking his foul-smelling European cigarette. Although most of the other guests stood nearby, no one seemed inclined to join them. Thing One and Thing Two continued to zoom about, blissfully ignoring Frances’s empty threats to “take you two home right now!” As I circulated with the cheese tray, cautiously staying out of the twins’ path, Bonnie glanced up at me. “Well, great balls of fire, don’t you look serious!” she chirped. Her gaze moving to Frances and Aunt Winnie, she added, “Why the long faces?”

  Aunt Winnie rolled her eyes in annoyance before answering. “Let’s see, Bonnie. Where should I start?” She pretended to ponder the question. “Well, one reason might be that we are gathered here today to pay tribute to my dear departed brother. As it’s been only a little more than a week since his funeral, some of us might still be mourning his passing.” She deliberately paused to glance meaningfully first at Bonnie’s white dress and then at Julian. A faint stain of crimson appeared on Bonnie’s tanned cheeks. Aunt Winnie went on. “A second reason might be that during your absence, the family has been thrust into a rather unpleasant murder investigation involving someone who was once very close to many of us.” Aunt Winnie sat down in one of the empty seats at the table and assumed an exaggerated attitude of naïveté. Clasping her hands in her lap and opening her green eyes very wide, she said, “So, gee, now that I think about it, I guess some of us might not be in a celebratory mood today.”

  Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. I don’t know what, if anything, she was going to say because it was Julian who spoke. “So true. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths,’” he began and then soulfully continued, “‘The valiant never taste of death but once.’” He looked around expecting us to be impressed by his quotation. We weren’t. “Words from the great Sir Walter Raleigh,” he added.

  “Actually, they’re words from the great William Shakespeare,” said Ann.

  Julian blinked, then gave her an oily smile. “But of course, my dear. If you say so. Far be it from me to contradict someone as lovely as yourself.”

  Oh, puke. I glanced at Ann. Her mouth curled in irritation. Through gritted teeth she added, “Julius Caesar, Act 2, scene 2.”

  Julian smiled brightly. “But of course it is, my dear. Shakespeare wrote some wonderful tragedies, did he not? And speaking of tragedies, this business with that young fellow Michael is quite tragic. However, I understand that in the end, it was discovered that he was not, shall we say, a gentleman.”

  “Amen to that,” sniffed Bonnie.

  “But do the police really believe that a family as illustrious as yours could be involved in such a sordid crime?” asked Julian after taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

  “That’s exactly what I say,” said Bonnie. “It’s preposterous. I’ve never heard of such bad taste.”

  “I didn’t realize that ‘illustrious’ families, as you call them, are immune from baser human instincts,” snapped Aunt Winnie.

  Ann sighed. “Bonnie, the fact remains that Michael was found on our property. From what the police have been able to piece together, he was either killed at the party or the next day. That puts us all in an uncomfortable spotlight.”

  “Well, fiddle-dee-dee,” Bonnie persisted. “We all loved him—we didn’t know then that he was embezzling! Everyone loved him … well, except for Scott, of course.”

  What? I looked over to see Scott’s reaction to this, but he’d gone inside. Frances, however, was here so I saw her reaction. Her body went rigid. “What do you mean, except for Scott?”

  Bonnie looked up at Frances with innocent eyes. “Well, they fought, of course. Don’t you remember? Michael and Scott got into a terrible fight at the party.”

  Frances kept her eyes trained on Bonnie. “You must be mistaken, Bonnie. There was no fight. Why on earth would Scott fight with Michael?”

  Bonnie shook her head like a stubborn child. “No, they were fighting. It was about the business.” I glanced at Frances. Her face was devoid of color, her cheeks were almost white, and her lips were pressed into a hard, thin beige line. Bonnie continued with her tale. “Michael was taunting Scott. He was saying that Marty wouldn’t have picked Scott to take over the business under any circumstances. Michael said something to the effect that he was better than Scott and everyone knew it. Scott was pretty angry.”

  Frances said nothing. Fury radiated from her.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame Scott for arguing with him,” Bonnie said. “I mean, Michael was being nasty. It’s just that…” She trailed off as if unsure what to say.

  It’s just what? I wondered. That it could look bad? That Scott was pretty drunk and clearly angry? That Scott has either blanked out the fight or is lying about it? None were particularly attractive options.

  Frances’s eyes narrowed and she leaned toward Bonnie. “That never happened,” she said, tapping out each syllable on the tabletop with her finger for emphasis.

  “Frances, what are you saying?” Bonnie asked.

  “I think it’s pretty clear what I am saying. I don’t know what you think you remember from that night, but Scott and I came upstairs together. I was with him all night and there was no fight with Michael. You are mistaken.”

  A chill settled over me as Bonnie protested this. “But Frances, that’s simply not true. You can’t lie about this. It’ll only make it worse.”

  “Do not tell me what to do,” she said. “And if you repeat that ridiculous story to anyone, you could ruin everything Scott and I have worked for. I
won’t let you do that.”

  Over the years, the family had joked about Frances’s resemblance to Lady Macbeth where Scott’s career was concerned. Never had it been more apparent than now.

  “What’s going on here?” asked a voice. It was Scott. He was standing in the doorway, staring at Frances in confusion.

  Frances whirled around. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Bonnie and I were just having a disagreement. But it’s fine now.”

  “A disagreement about what?” he asked.

  “Bonnie claims to have heard you and Michael fighting at Dad’s Fourth of July party,” she said. “I merely told her that she is mistaken and … encouraged her not to repeat the story.”

  Scott’s brows drew together. He glanced doubtfully at Bonnie. “You heard me fight with Michael?”

  “She thinks she did, Scott,” Frances said. “But she’s wrong. You were with me all night. I will swear to that in court if I have to.”

  “Frances, just stop for a minute.” Scott held up a large hand. Turning back to Bonnie, he said, “Bonnie, I don’t have any memory of fighting with Michael, but considering that I was drinking back then that’s not too surprising. Sadly, there are a lot of evenings I don’t remember. What did you hear?” Scott’s face held an expression of sincere befuddlement. If he did remember the fight with Michael, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

  Finally, Bonnie said, “You and Michael were on the patio at the end of the night. Michael was saying terrible things to you about his being chosen over you to run the company. You were pretty angry.”

  Scott’s forehead bunched in concentration as he tried to search his brain for the memory. Eventually he shook his head in defeat. “I vaguely remember talking to him, but that’s all. I didn’t like him—well, to be perfectly blunt, I thought he was an asshole. But I don’t remember the fight.”

  “That’s because it didn’t happen,” interjected Frances. “If I remember correctly, Bonnie, you were drinking wine that night. I wasn’t, because I was still nursing the twins. Who’s to say that you didn’t imagine it, dream it, or that your memory is just faulty?”

  “Frances! This is absurd. I am not making this up and I certainly wasn’t drunk. I saw them fighting and overheard what they said. I’m not saying it means anything; it’s just a simple statement of fact,” Bonnie cried.

  “A fact that is wrong. Scott came upstairs with me that night. He was never alone with Michael.”

  “Frances, that’s not true,” said Scott. “You did go up before me. I did sit outside with Michael and talk. I do remember that much.”

  Frances smiled—not very nicely—and said, “No, Scott. You are forgetting that I was there when you talked to Michael. And then we went to bed. Together. You were with me for the rest of the night. You had been drinking too much, which was why I insisted that you go to bed.”

  Suddenly Scott looked down at his right hand in remembrance. “My hand,” he said quietly. Looking up at Frances, he repeated, “My hand. The next morning there was a cut on it. You told me that I cut it on a glass I dropped. Is that true?”

  Frances flushed slightly but gave a curt nod. “Of course it’s true. You dropped a glass in the bathroom. You cut yourself when you tried to clean it up.”

  No one spoke. Scott looked from Frances to Bonnie, clearly upset and confused. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here,” Scott said. “I don’t remember fighting with Michael—that’s the truth. But I don’t see how Bonnie has any reason to lie about it either. However, no matter what happened, I can’t believe that I could have been involved in Michael’s disappearance.”

  “That’s because you weren’t,” Frances said firmly. Turning to Bonnie, she said, “And if anyone else suggests otherwise, they are not only wrong but skating on very thin ice.”

  The rest of us stood very still. My mind was racing. Obviously Frances was lying to cover for Scott. The question was, was she lying because she knew Scott hadn’t done anything, or because she knew he had? No one spoke for a minute, all of us lost in the same unspoken thought. As Lady Macbeth might opine, Scott was too full of the milk of human kindness to kill Michael. Conversely, Frances would be the type to screw her courage to the sticking place and do the dirty deed.

  Rather than dredging up additional pithy Shakespeare quotes (you’re welcome), I focused on a new thought: in giving Scott a solid alibi for that night, she was also giving herself one. That thought triggered a far-flung memory, but before I could catch it, it faded away.

  “What do you take me for?” Bonnie now asked Frances with a faint smile. “I’m not going to mention it to the police. But even if I did, I don’t see what the harm would be. So what if Scott fought with Michael? I don’t how see how that affects the family.”

  “It’s a problem because his body was buried underneath the pool’s foundation, Bonnie! And construction on the pool began the day after the Fourth of July party, on the fifth,” Ann added unnecessarily. But then again, maybe it was necessary; after all, she was talking to Bonnie. “Michael had to have been buried a day or so after the party.”

  “But we’d all left the house by then and we didn’t go back…” Bonnie abruptly stopped. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, something clicked. She’d remembered the fight with Uncle Marty and her self-imposed exile to St. Michaels. Honestly, you couldn’t ask for a more obvious example of someone Remembering Something Important than the procession of expressions that moved across Bonnie’s face. First her brows pulled together in deep concentration. Then they cleared, leading the way to a widening of the eyes. This was followed by lips forming a small “o.” Finally, her eyes narrowed, first into an angry slant and then shifting into more of a sly gaze. Yes, people, Bonnie knew something! The question was (as was usually the question with matters concerning Bonnie’s intellect): exactly what did she know?

  “Bonnie?” I asked. “What is it? Have you remembered something?”

  She did not answer right away. Finally she said, “No, but I just remembered that I went back out to the house after the party. I was there for a day or so. I must have been there when…” She fell silent, pressing a delicate hand to her mouth in apparent anguish. She turned large blue eyes to Julian. “Why, to think that I might have been there when he was killed! Oh, how terrible! Just to think that I might have been killed, too, if I’d seen anything! Why, it makes me almost dizzy!”

  Julian extended his perfectly manicured hand to hers and made soft noises, which I gathered were supposed to soothe the distraught Bonnie. I don’t know what it did for her; all it did for me was set my teeth on edge. Finally he murmured, “You poor, poor dear. How much more can a person take? It’s quite unbelievable. But you’re safe now.”

  Bonnie granted him a misty smile. “But still, if I had seen something, how different things might be now. There’d be none of this confusion and uncertainty. The police would know who the killer was and we’d be fine. Oh, I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself. It’s going to take a lot, I can tell you that. I feel as if I’ve let everyone down! But most of all I feel as if I’ve let down my poor Marty!”

  Aunt Winnie studied Bonnie, a curious expression on her face. “Bonnie, what the hell are you talking about? If you didn’t see anything while you were at the house, then you didn’t see anything. However, if you did, then you need to tell the police.”

  Bonnie shook her blond head vigorously. “But that’s just the problem. I didn’t see anything. And I feel just terrible about it because I should have.”

  “There’s no use regretting the past, my dear,” said Julian. “What matters now is the future. And I can see from your aura that your future is bright. As I promised you earlier, I’m going to help you make sure of it.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that, may I ask?” asked Laura. Miles stood next to her, his face etched with disgust. Although the twins were playing a game of tag around his legs, I doubted this was the reason for his dour expression.

  Julian turned her
way. Again, he appeared to try to look modest. Again, he failed. To be fair, it is hard to appear modest while ensconced from head to toe in expensive and deliberately wrinkled linen and smoking a preposterously tiny cigarette. “I don’t know if Bonnie mentioned to you that I am something of a whiz with investments,” he said. “I am going to make sure that your charming mother—”

  “Stepmother,” interjected Reggie.

  “Charming stepmother,” Julian amended with a discreet nod, “is set for life. She shall never want for money or my friendship.” Taking Bonnie’s hand in his, he bestowed it with a small kiss.

  Behind me someone gagged. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Aunt Winnie has a distinctive gag.

  “Speaking of this plan for investment,” said Reggie, “there are a few things I think that we need to discuss. First and foremost, exactly what money are you investing? There’s a rather large sum from the sale of the house on St. Michaels that is due to us. Some of us are counting on that income.”

  Bonnie waved aside Reggie’s words. “Darling, you don’t need to worry about that. I was going to surprise you with this later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

  “Surprise us with what?” Reggie asked, her voice hard.

  “With your present. Julian is going to invest it all for us—everything! He promises that he can practically double it, maybe even triple it! Isn’t that too marvelous?”

  From the horrified faces around me, it was clear that “marvelous” wasn’t their word of choice. But before the inevitable explosion of anger and disbelief erupted, there was another explosion of sorts—a tremendous splash.

  We all looked to the pool to see Miles sputtering in the water. His glasses were askew and his blue blazer and khaki trousers were completely soaked. On the ledge in front of him, grinning evilly like twin Damiens, stood Thing One and Thing Two.

  CHAPTER 22

  We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured.