Murder at Royale Court

by G. P. Gardner

  Patti cringed.

  “Tell me what?” Montgomery insisted.

  I waited and pointed to Patti. Montgomery gave her one of the stares.

  “Well, there’s this man staying here.” Patti clamped her elbows against her sides and cowered. “There’s just something scary about him. Cleo refuses to see it.”

  I shook my head. “No, Patti. He’s a perfectly nice man.” I looked at Montgomery. “She’s talking about our speaker, Reg Handleman. He’s from Indiana and doesn’t know anybody in town unless they’re connected with the car show.”

  “And Mr. Levine,” Patti reminded me.

  I agreed. “Well, yes. He knows Charlie Levine. They’ve been friends since high school.” I didn’t mention that the friendship seemed to have frayed a bit this week. “Handleman’s thinking about moving here.”

  Patti gave a little gasp and stared at me. “Here? Tell me you’re joking.”

  Montgomery must see a lot of foolishness in her line of work. She didn’t react to the drama. “Thank you, Patti. We’ll talk with everybody connected to Wheat in the next few days. You remember how long we spent last summer investigating a suspicious death. We’ll look at everybody.” She signaled an end to the conversation by sitting up straight, as if she were about to depart. “You’re not going to the car show?”

  Patti look puzzled. “Not going? Because of that man, you mean? I can avoid him if Cleo will just give us the morning off.” She gave me her brightest, most wheedling smile and slid off the table.

  “Why don’t you drive the bus and take a group?”

  She laughed. “And park where, here?”

  “The shuttle service is going to pick up here,” I said.

  The lieutenant snickered at the idea of leaving from here and parking here. “Makes me think of the Atlanta airport, for some reason.”

  After Patti left, Montgomery had a question. “She’s still freaking out about that speaker guy?”

  “It’s partly your fault,” I pointed out.

  Montgomery grinned. “Why’s that? What’d I do?”

  “She took an instant dislike to him when he arrived and you told her to pay attention to her intuition. Patti’s a drama queen but I’m going to talk with her in case there’s more to it than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a subconscious racial animus. Handleman looks white but thinks of himself as black. He thinks because Patti’s Southern, she senses his ethnic background and dislikes him. Foolishness on both sides.”

  “She never says anything about race to me.”

  “You wouldn’t notice if she did.”

  “Oh, I’d notice all right. I just wouldn’t say anything. I need to ask you about this morning. You’re sure the knit shop was unlocked when you got there? Ms. Bergen says it was.”

  “Ms. Bergen’s right, no doubt about it. Did the murderer go out that way? Nobody was there to see, I guess.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Do you have anything else to tell me?”

  “You said Wheat died about eight last night? Ann was here at the lecture then. Where was Usher Slump?”

  She snorted. “Says he was at home. What else you got?”

  I reminded Montgomery I’d never been to the knit shop before. “I wouldn’t know if something was unusual. I didn’t really notice the towel. Did it belong in the bathroom? Or did the murderer bring it with him?”

  “Wheat’s, probably. Lots of bike riders wear towels around their necks. To wipe up perspiration.”

  “If someone walked into the bathroom, why didn’t he fight? Or run? Maybe it was a romantic meeting. And how do you explain his position on the floor, like he’d fallen over backward?”

  Her mouth turned down even more. “Ask me something I can answer. Help me practice for the press.”

  “So…” I took her literally, but composing a direct question wasn’t easy. “Where was he killed, Lieutenant?”

  She answered in television interview mode. “The crime scene includes the financial planner’s office, a storage room, and the room where the body was discovered. The rest of Royale Court has been reopened for business.” She switched back to her normal voice. “I’ve got to go. I have an interview in a few minutes.” She didn’t get up.

  “Where was the victim’s bicycle, Officer Montgomery?”

  “It’s Lieutenant. And we haven’t found it.”

  “You mean the murderer left on a bicycle? Only in Fairhope.”

  “We had a bank robber on a bicycle once.” She bent her knees and rested her hands on the chair arms, about to push up.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Before my day, but it happened. Anything else you want to tell me? No one in the courtyard when you arrived?”

  “Not that I remember. The body was cold and you said he’d been dead for—what? Eight or ten hours? Whoever did it was long gone.”

  She stood and gazed out the window. I did the same. The eastern sky was already dusky and Harbor Village’s five-globed street lamps had switched on automatically, creating a pleasant scene. It was late and I needed to get going.

  Montgomery was still chatty. “We may know more after the autopsy. You going to the car show?”

  “I guess so. And to tell you the truth, I’m just about sick of cars.”

  “You and me both.”

  Patti was still at her desk after I’d gathered up my stuff and locked the office. Probably hanging around because Stewart was there. I stopped and leaned against her desk, even though I had no time to spare. I got right to the point. “Handleman thinks you dislike him because he’s black.”

  She was gathering up her things to leave but stopped and gave me a blank look. “I didn’t say he’s black. I said he looks like a caveman.”

  “You said Neanderthal. But that’s not likely, since black people aren’t related to Neanderthals.”

  “Are you kidding me? That man is really black?”

  “Says he is. Says he’d like to move down here, but he’s worried about his wife being accepted.”

  She twisted her eyebrows and got a fierce frown on her face. “Really? Well, that’s just sad. She must be darker than he is. Do they have children?” She stood and reached for the little turtles, lifting them off the driftwood and dropping them carefully into the desk drawer.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t ask about children. They’d be grown by now, anyway.”

  “I hope so. Can you imagine a baby with eyes like his? Poor thing. So, who is related to Neanderthals? And how do you know?”

  “DNA. What do the turtles say about tomorrow?”

  “They won’t say until tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t sound very psychic, Patti. Anybody can predict once the future gets here.”

  * * * *

  Riley’s apartment was on the ground floor of the building next to mine. I was five minutes late and he was standing outside, leaning against a post looking like some unshaven cool dude as I rounded the corner.

  He stood up straight and removed his hands from his pockets. “I wasn’t sure you’d know which apartment was mine.” “I didn’t. I was going to knock on doors until I found you.”

  He pushed the door open and stepped back, and I walked in.

  “The banker in his lair,” I joked.

  The apartment smelled new, even though he’d lived there a couple of years. The walls were white and the carpet dark khaki with a geometric pattern woven in. The leather couch was long and sleek with a tufted back, and the matching recliner looked like it had been lifted right out of a private jet or some expensive sports car. They shared a big corner table and a large lamp that cast a soft glow.

  “Wow,” I said, softly. “Nice.”

  It was a serene, elegant apartment that gave away nothing about its occupant except that he had good taste. There w
as an oversized TV on a low black cabinet and a black desk against the wall, nothing on it but a thin aluminum laptop and a mushroom-shaped lamp that gave super-white light. Nothing personal anywhere except a few books and a copy of The Economist.

  “No blanket or pillow for napping,” I pointed out. “And I thought you didn’t use computers.” He’d known very little about them a few months ago, when I first went to him for help in interpreting Harbor Health Care’s financial statements.

  “You convinced me I needed one. Now, if you’re ready for dinner—” He waved toward the dining table, already set with thick white dishes. The place mats were dark wooden slats. “I knew you liked Andree’s, so I got them to make sandwiches.” He dimmed the lights. “Cabernet?”

  “Lovely.”

  It was my second chicken salad sandwich of the day, but I didn’t tell Riley. We had potato salad and pickle spears to go with the sandwiches and lemon bars for dessert.

  Most people choose a pleasant topic for dinner conversation. We talked about murder. I told him about finding the body, dressed in bicycling attire and oddly positioned on the floor, and progressed to Montgomery’s visit to the office. “She came to tell me he was strangled.”

  He was quiet for a moment before giving a little shrug and shake of the head. “Tough.”

  “She was actually chatty for a change. I don’t suppose you have any idea who would’ve killed him, or why.”

  He didn’t answer right away. “The spouse is usually the first choice, but with a strangling, I might rule out women. Maybe he had a boyfriend? Or somebody with a grudge against him? Strangulation takes real strength. Or rage. Road rage, maybe—you said he rides a bicycle? A lot of people dislike them.”

  “A yellow one, and it’s missing.”

  His brows went up. “Odd. But I’d check out his clients first. See if he was cheating anyone. Remember Bernie Madoff?”

  “He made up phony statements, didn’t he? Showing people how much money they were making, when they’d actually lost everything.”

  “He’d taken everything. And people still loved him, until they learned they’d been swindled. How many clients did Wheat have?”

  I didn’t know. “Patti says Todd Barnwell was angry with him about a trust account.”

  “Who’s Todd Barnwell?” he asked.

  I skipped to Jim Bergen’s hypothesis. “Maybe he was killed in his office and moved to the bathroom. But why?”

  “Carried? Dragged? Was he a big guy? Athletic?”

  “About my size.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sorry you had to find him, but I’m glad Nita wasn’t there alone.”

  “Nita’s stronger than she looks.”

  Riley smiled. “That’s not saying much.”

  We’d finished the food and were sipping the last of our wine when he glanced at his watch and changed the subject.

  “I didn’t tell you the whole story about my trip.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. His sleeves were pushed up and his arms were covered in brown hair that looked velvety.

  “We had two family weddings. Joel’s you know about, but Diane got married, too.”

  “I thought she was already married.”

  He shook his head. “She and Abby are longtime companions, but marriage wasn’t a possibility until recently.”

  Abby? “I see. And you attended. That’s really nice. Lots of men wouldn’t do that.”

  He took my hand and held it, absently. “They’re happy together. And I spent a few days with everyone. It meant something to my sons. And to me, too. Diane and I had a couple of long talks. I even learned a few things about myself.”

  “And what was that?” I smiled at him. There’d always been a playful chemistry between Riley and me, egged on by Nita’s hints and suggestions, but a serious conversation in private was a new experience. I didn’t know much about his career, not even which bank he’d worked for. I eased my hand away from his and leaned back, looking at him more attentively. He’d put on reading glasses while we ate and now he looked at me over their tops, chin down, a fetching pose. The ribbing of a black T-shirt showed at his throat. Self-possessed was the word that came to mind. I smiled back.

  “Diane says I should dust off my assets, such as they are, and get back in the game.”

  “And that means—?”

  He gave me a lingering look. “Cleo, I’d like for you to…I guess the expression is, to be more involved in my life.”

  “Riley, be careful,” I kidded, even though half my brain was already screeching an alarm. “A girl might think you’re proposing or something.”

  He smiled and fiddled with his empty glass, then suddenly looked at me. “Is that what you want? A proposal? And here I’ve been taking you for a modern woman. A feminist, even.”

  I grinned in spite of growing discomfort. Was he serious? No. He was smiling, relaxed, and teasing, the old banker testing his negotiating skills.

  “You had a happy marriage.” He had a sweet expression. “You know it can be done.”

  What did that mean? I fanned myself with my napkin. “You’re giving me a heart attack, Riley.” My hands were shaking. And just as I decided it wasn’t a joke, or not entirely, he laughed, stood up, and began gathering our dishes. I blinked in surprise.

  “Let’s talk about it later. Right now, we’re running late. Ready to learn about investment-grade automobiles?”

  I’d asked for it, but I felt disappointment at the abrupt change of topic. We cleared the table in silence, except for a moment in the kitchen when he hummed to himself. Both of us wanted out of there, I was sure.

  “Let’s leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of them later.”

  I grabbed my shoulder bag from the floor, but he didn’t open the door when I got there. Instead, he paused for a moment, then put his arms around me and gave me the kind of kiss I’d forgotten existed.

  It started tentatively and, with just a little encouragement on my part, escalated. My knees went weak, and a tingle crawled up my spine. I closed my eyes and smelled his soap, felt his warmth, his arms, his body against mine. Even when it ended, I could think of nothing else.

  He rested his forehead against mine for a couple of seconds, allowing me to get some oxygen in, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and resonant. “I adjusted to your ex-husband showing up all the time, but that single taxer buzzing around when I got back? That was a kick in the rear.”

  He kissed my temple. “I’m not going to push you, but I’ll be here when you decide.”

  The self-possessed look came back, softened with a slight smile. He flipped the apartment lights off and opened the door.

  Surprise! The rest of the world was still there.

  I rushed out to meet it.

  The moon was almost full behind thin, broken clouds as we walked to the big house. I still felt a little shaky and my pulse was too rapid, as though my personal power system had reversed polarity a few times in recent minutes.

  “What’s a type forty investment?” I asked finally, halfway to the big house and hoping to sound natural, to drown out the oh-my-god chorus that cranked up in my head whenever I was stressed.

  “A four-oh-one-K? You know what that is.”

  “I’m trying to understand something Patti said. Just wondered if I was overlooking something.”

  “Don’t overlook this night.” He caught my hand and held it. “The moon’s almost full.”

  And we were almost late. A few people were still moving through the lobby, on their way to the ballroom. The sound coming from that direction was a loud and steady hum, like a fruit tree full of bees.

  Stewart came through the lobby with a couple of chairs from the dining room and gave us a knowing glance. Were we giving off some signal? Pheromones, perhaps?

  “Full house again,” Stewart said. “I
told you. You should’ve sold tickets.”

  We followed him into the garden and entered the ballroom through the side door.

  A cluster of people stood at the front, chatting with the speaker, and another group crowded around the beverage table at the back, but half the audience was already seated. Carla was placing stacks of plaid paper napkins on a second refreshment table, this one filled with pastries and fruit trays. I went to speak to her and to look over the wares. She wasn’t letting anybody sneak a taste yet. The platters were still under wraps.

  I asked, “Are you glad this night work is about over?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been so much fun.” She moved one of the plates to the front and gave it a quarter turn. “That’s why we like having you here, Cleo. We never know what’ll happen next.” She laughed and moved back against the wall, standing guard over the desserts.

  Fun! Not the word I’d choose for this week.

  I scanned the room and saw Patti come in from the lobby. She had skipped the first two lectures, but here she was tonight, carrying a little tray with a bottle of water and a glass of ice. She went straight to Handleman and placed the tray in front of him and they chatted animatedly, as if colluding on something. She even took off her glasses and held them out at a distance. Describing her many eyewear options, I supposed. The next time I looked, he had a goofy smile on his face and she was sitting on the first row, turned around to chat with Jim and Nita Bergen.

  At that point, I shared Carla’s outlook. What would happen next?

  Handleman donned the microphone headset and counted off a test, and I spotted Riley. He waved. With mixed feelings, part apprehension, part anticipation, I wormed my way around the straggling members of the audience to sit beside him.

  Chapter 7

  Reg Handleman began his third and final performance by projecting the image of a silver elephant standing on its rear legs, its trunk lifted high in the air. “If everybody will take a seat now, we’ll get started. Do we have enough chairs?”

  As I took the seat beside Riley, he gave me a sly look and a smile.

  How long did it take people to notice you had a new person in your life? And what did I even know about this man beside me, beyond the fact he smelled good? Oh-my-god, the chorus whispered. I looked away, forced my hands to give up the death grip they’d locked into, and checked out the audience.