“Good night, darling. You looked wonderful.” Mummy pecked Steffie on the cheek and sent her on her way, leaving soon herself with a faint wave in the direction of the catering staff.
Scott brought the last tray of the coffee things.
“This is it. The van’s loaded. After we finish washing these up, we’re all set to head back to the kitchen.”
Faith protested. “It’s getting late. Go now, and take Niki with you. Her car is there. It won’t take me long to do these.” Julian’s fragile Royal Crown Derby had to be washed by hand, as did the silver and glassware.
“Are you sure?” Niki asked. She’d been up since six, going from preparations at work to her class and back.
“Absolutely. You young things need more sleep than us overthirtys,” Faith assured her. “Tricia, you can follow the van in your car. I’ll probably be home before you, since you still have to unload everything.”
“Overthirtys? Since when have you taken to graybearding, boss? What’s going on?” Niki’s brow creased in concern. Faith almost never mentioned her age, except extremely obliquely.
“Nothing. This is one wedding I’m eager to put behind us, that’s all. I feel as if we’ve been living and breathing Stephanie Bullock’s big day for the last ten years.”
“It does feel that way,” Niki said, relieved. “All right, we’ll go.”
Faith heard the van pull away, then Tricia’s car.
Julian walked into the kitchen. “I thought they’d never leave.”
“Me neither,” Faith said. “The dishes can wait.” Back in the library, Julian poured Faith a snifter of brandy and motioned toward the leather couch.
Then he picked up the phone, dialed, and said, “I know what you’ve been up to and I’m not going to keep my mouth shut anymore.” He hung up immediately.
“Now we wait,” Faith said, sipping the brandy, feeling it hit her stomach like a fireball.
“Now we wait,” Julian said. “But it shouldn’t be long. That was the car phone.”
Five minutes went by, then ten. Everything they’d had to say to each other had already been said and they sat in silence together. Faith tried some more of her brandy and it went down more easily. She had the odd sensation of being at a wake. In a way, it was.
A car in the drive, then the front door opened and slammed shut. Hurried footsteps down the hall.
Courtney was in the doorway.
“What are you trying to pull, Julian? And what are you doing here!” She was furious and took a step into the room.
Faith rose from the couch and walked to the drinks tray. “Why don’t you sit down? We have a few things to discuss with you.”
When they’d heard the car in the drive, Julian had pushed the button on a cassette recorder disguised as a morocco leather–bound copy of War and Peace. Courtney looked confused. “Is it about tomorrow? I thought . . .” She sat down and accepted a drink.
“No, it’s not about tomorrow.” Julian moved behind his desk, sat down also, and nudged Tol-stoy closer to his ex-wife. “Sadly, if I said I was sorry to do this to you, I’d be lying, and there’s been quite enough of that. In a nutshell, ‘Mummy’ won’t be attending Steffie’s wedding.”
“Are you insane!” shrieked Courtney. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s in extremely bad taste.”
“So is blackmail and framing me for a murder.
Not to mention the heinous act itself. Then there’s theft and a string of assorted charges. The blackmail, I could live with—as you well know. You’ve been doing it for years, but murder, old thing. A bit much, even for you.”
“You started it all!” Courtney flung the words back at him. She refilled her glass. “You were the one who found George, and he was damn useful to you in the early days. You wouldn’t be where you are now without him—or me and my family’s connections.”
“Alas, I’ll never know, will I?” Julian seemed genuinely regretful, and Faith wondered how he was going to bring this drawing room drama to a close.
“The whole thing is rather funny.” Courtney began to laugh a bit hysterically. “I knew you’d bought things from George you shouldn’t and used it to my advantage; then stupid Stackpole turned around and did the same thing to me when I bought from him.”
“You were buying from him?” Faith asked.
This was what they had suspected, but she wanted to get it on the record.
“He had a marvelous eye. Julian had turned pious and wasn’t buying from him, so I figured, Why shouldn’t I? My clients deserve the best, no matter the source. George got greedy, though. Or stupid. Blackmailing moi, can you imagine?” Faith could. Easily.
Faith persisted. “It wasn’t just that you were buying from him, though, was it? The two of you had a good thing going. How much did you pay James Green and his buddies to break into the houses? And who taught them the ins and outs of collecting antiques?”
“My, aren’t we the clever one,” Courtney purred, and crossed her shapely legs. “George’s flunkies were getting sloppy. Some old lady was in one of the houses they thought was empty, and she died. Terribly inconvenient.”
Faith shoved her hands down hard on either side of the couch cushion to keep herself from leaping up and tearing Courtney’s face off. Sarah Winslow’s death—an inconvenience. She willed herself to stay calm and keep asking questions.
The hubris of the woman was beyond belief.
“Clever, yet not clever enough.” Courtney continued her litany of self-aggrandizement. “You thought it was Julian. I really didn’t have to put your worthless sideboard drawer in the barn. He was your villain, clearly. But I knew you would need something substantial to show to the police—voilà, the drawer.” She took a deep drink and chortled. “That story about cleaning the oven. No decent caterer would ever consider using that antique! I’d planned for you to find the drawer tonight, telling you where to put the trash, but you made it all much more convenient.
I knew you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to poke around in the barn, Miss Snoopy Nose.” Faith filed away this wildly unflattering remark for future consideration. At the moment, there was a more important task to complete. They had to get as much incriminating evidence on the tape as possible. She gritted her teeth and asked another question. Miss Snoopy Nose, so be it.
“So, George definitely knew too much about your activities. You decided to get rid of him and cast the blame on Julian.”
“It worked perfectly. You were becoming a problem, too. George was all for doing you, but I explained we couldn’t until after the wedding. It would have been extremely difficult to find a good caterer at this late date.”
Faith felt faint and thanked heaven for her cooking skills.
“We thought we would just scare you instead.
George was really looking forward to getting rid of you, though. I’m afraid I had to deny him that pleasure. We arranged to meet at the Fieldings’
place in New Hampshire and fake a break-in.
That way, there would be no question of giving any of your things back. I can tell you George took particular offense at your activities in that direction. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, he kept raving.”
Faith stopped herself from spitting out, Not if you’ve stolen the goods!
Courtney was completely at ease. Clearly neither her ex-husband nor her caterer struck her as posing much threat. Her total aplomb was making Faith nervous. Surely, they had enough evidence on the tape for the police now—the crucial pieces of the puzzle they lacked when they’d concocted this plan yesterday were all in place. Julian had been adamant about deflecting all suspicion from himself. He wasn’t that much of a Boy Scout, he’d told Faith bluntly. This was the only way to catch a thief—and murderess.
“George was becoming such a liability—and a bore. In his cups most of the time. Such dreadful scenes at auctions and shows. Nobody wanted anything to do with him. His days as a picker have been over for a long time. Most of his inventory was coming from the
burglaries, and frankly, when he told me he was hitting Aleford, I was surprised. Lincoln and Concord, all right. But what does anyone in Aleford have except their great-grandmother’s chipped Limoges?” Ludicrously, Faith felt called upon to defend the desirability of her adopted home as a target for larceny.
“And Nan Howell, how does she fit in?” Faith hurriedly asked instead—the last question they’d scripted.
“Nan? That frumpy dealer out in Byford? I have no idea, unless George was selling her my rejects, but then, he was selling them to everyone, and a lot of the dealers knew George’s, shall we say, suspect reputation.”
Courtney stood up and stretched. “Now, this has been an amusing little interval, but we all have a great deal to do tomorrow, and I’m going home. I suggest you do the same, Mrs. Fairchild. We wouldn’t want any blunders.”
Julian took a cell phone from the pocket of his dinner jacket. “The blunders have all been yours.
You’re not going home—now, or in the future.” He started to flip the phone open, then stopped, slowly putting it down on the desktop. Courtney had slipped a volume from the shelf directly behind her as she stretched, removing the gun con-cealed within—the gun now aimed at her ex-husband’s heart.
“Over there next to Julian, Mrs. Fairchild—and throw the phone on the couch. Now!” Courtney commanded.
“Terribly sorry. I’d forgotten about that one. I removed all the others,” Julian said, stricken.
With a passing thought to the usefulness of trompe l’oeil and that it was the first time she’d been in a house armed to the patina, Faith did as Courtney asked, watching the woman pick up the phone and slip it in her purse.
Their plan had failed. Dismally and disastrously.
“Out into the barn. Quickly.”
Faith stumbled on one of the flagstones in the path and Courtney gave her a sharp poke in the back with the barrel of the gun. The intensity of the thrust dispelled any lingering hopes Faith had that Courtney was going to leave them alive.
Julian was in front. Maybe he could tackle Courtney as they entered the barn, but with the gun now firmly pressed against her spine, Faith despaired of any action at all that could cause Courtney to pull the trigger. Julian might make it, but Faith wouldn’t. She wondered if this was crossing his mind, too.
And Faith was no match for Courtney on her own. The woman was in great shape, equal to Faith, the gun tipping the balance far, far in her favor.
They entered the barn, animals to the slaughter. Faith saw images of headless chickens running around, squealing pigs. She gagged—the brandy she’d imbibed leaving a taste of bile in her mouth now.
Courtney motioned to a pile of rope. “Tie her up—and I’ll be watching, so no granny knots. Be snappy about it.”
While Julian efficiently bound Faith, Courtney unleashed the full force of her anger at the caterer, appropriately garbed in her work clothes of black-and-white-checked chef’s trousers, white jacket, and black rosette at the neck, her own touch.
“What the Wentworths will think, I have no idea, but I’m sure they’ll see it through. Poor Stephanie. All her dreams, spoiled by you—and you!” Courtney directed her wrath now at Julian.
“Why am I surprised? Of course you would sabotage her wedding, just as you did every single thing I ever asked you to do for your only child.
School in Switzerland was out, too expensive, so she had to settle for Miss Porter’s. And all those horses. She didn’t want to ride one, but she did want to own one—what was so terrible about that? You could have arranged it!” Years of grievances and slights spewed forth.
When Julian was done, she told him imperiously, “Now sit in that chair, well away from Mrs.
Fairchild.” The woman must be ambidextrous, Faith realized. She was securing Julian to the chair with the practiced hand of one who tied drapery swags and chair coverings for a living, while keeping him under cover.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Julian commented dryly.
“Oh, but I will. You still have your—what used to be our—little Cessna at Hanscom Field. I know, because I keep checking in case I ever need it. I gave you my keys back, but not the duplicates.
They’re still on my ring. I will definitely get away with this. Very far away. Tonight.” She frowned peevishly. “So much traveling recently. Well, I’ll catch up on my sleep—somewhere, and wouldn’t you like to know?” It was like one of the mean girls on the playground, and Faith half-expected Courtney to finish the sentence with
“Nah-nah-nah-nah-na!”
“I don’t even have to make this look like an accident or a suicide pact, simply a plain, straight-forward process of elimination.” She laughed.
The woman was completely and totally mad.
“There’s no need to kill us. We won’t be able to get to the police until you’re gone. There’s a full tank of gas in the plane. I’ll even call ahead and tell them to get it ready for you.”
“But I want to kill you. You’ve totally destroyed my life! I can’t even go to my own precious daughter’s wedding tomorrow!”
“What!” came a howl from the doorway.
“You’re not coming to my wedding!”
It was Stephanie, with Binky at her heels. She stopped short in horror as the details of the scene became clear.
“Why can’t I have normal parents like everybody else—alcoholics, cokeheads, spouse swappers? Unless this is very kinky and very tacky sex—I mean, the help . . .”
Unlike his bride, Binky hadn’t paused. He’d calmly grabbed Courtney, efficiently wrenching the gun from her hand as Stephanie whined. He had his future mother-in-law pinned before his intended had finished her last sentence.
“Hand me some of that rope, darling, so I can tie your mother up. I think we’ll leave everyone as they are until the police arrive and we get this sorted out. Go in the house and call them, please.” His voice rang with unmistakable authority. It was Bancroft, not Binky.
“Are you out of your mind!” Stephanie cried.
“It’s my wedding day tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten. We don’t want people to think anything’s wrong, and the police are bound to make a big deal out of this. I’m getting the shoes I left behind and we’re out of here—all of us!”
“It is a big deal, Stephanie,” Faith implored.
“Your mother has been involved in a ring of house burglaries, buying and selling stolen goods. She murdered her partner, George Stackpole, and maybe George’s girlfriend, Gloria, too.” Damn, she’d forgotten to get that on the tape.
“And she was indirectly responsible for the death of a dear friend of mine!” While she was reciting this litany of crimes, she was well aware that Stephanie was probably thinking of something else—like whether she’d be featured in the
“Vows” section of the New York Times.
But Bancroft’s eyebrows shot up. A few crooked branches on the family tree were par for the course, but this sounded like the last stages of Dutch elm disease.
“I don’t care,” Stephanie pouted. “I’m sure Mummy had a very good reason for everything she did. Now, Binky, untie everybody and let’s all leave. I’m going to have bags the size of steamer trunks under my eyes tomorrow!”
It was the first time Faith had ever heard Stephanie make a joke, but this was no joking matter.
“We’re talking about murder! Two, maybe three! And blackmail, and theft!” Faith exclaimed in desperation. She appealed to Bancroft, who had blanched but, thankfully, not moved the gun—which was squarely pointed at Courtney.
“There’s a cell phone in Courtney’s purse. Please call the state police and ask for Detective Lieutenant John Dunne. He knows all about the case.
Please!”
“Are you going to believe the ravings of this woman, Bancroft? If so, I’m very, very disappointed in you. You’re not the man I thought you were!”
Was it possible that Courtney still thought she could pull this off? Winging her way to South America within
the hour? Faith didn’t want to say anything about the tape in the library.
Stephanie was liable to destroy it in the interest, self-interest, of maintaining face.
“Not the man I thought you were, either,” Julian said admiringly. “I think this could be the start of a long and beautiful friendship, although why you’re marrying my spoiled-rotten daughter eludes me.”
“Daddy!” Stephanie started to move toward her mother with the clear intent of releasing her.
“No, Steph, stay where you are.” Bancroft inched forward, picked up the purse, and got the phone out. He called the number Faith recited by heart and then dialed 911 for the Concord police to get some reinforcements right away.
While they waited, he addressed Julian’s question. “She’s beautiful, smarter than she appears, and, as for the rest, definitely educable. Good in bed, too, but you probably don’t want to hear that, sir.” He smiled.
“Au contraire. Hat’s off to you. Very important in a marriage. Never had it myself.”
Courtney didn’t bother to say a word, but the look she gave Julian was so poisonous, Faith was amazed the man didn’t fall to the ground frothing.
Within minutes, there were flashing blue lights, sirens, cops everywhere. Here we go again, Faith thought, so tired, she could barely give her name.
Soon after, John Dunne strode into the middle of the melee and, seeing Faith tied up, immediately ordered her released. “I thought you’d like me this way, out of commission,” she said as she tried to restore circulation to her arms and legs. Securing loads of furniture had made Julian extremely proficient at bondage. Dunne frowned. “Not when the bad guys do it, and I assume that’s what’s going on here. Not that keeping you out of commission hasn’t crossed my mind in the past, but no, I’m not happy. I have the feeling I will be, though. This all connects to the Stackpole murder, right?”
“Right. I have something for you to listen to.
Courtney Cabot Bullock’s confession of Stackpole’s murder—and a variety of other misdeeds.” The police were untying Courtney, and when she heard this, she lunged for Faith. “You whore!
Body in the Bookcase ff-9 Page 24
