Murder at Royale Court
Page 16
Riley asked, “Have winners been announced?”
Handleman grinned. “Best in show went to the Duesenberg. A Phaeton, dove gray and black.”
“I’ve heard that term,” I said, “but what’s a Phaeton?” I was hungry, and the pasta was tangy and really hit the spot.
“An expensive touring car. Large enough for a family and all their luggage. This one’s a particularly nice restoration with an original polished nickel radiator shell.”
I pictured the winning car, with its sparkly, wire-spoke wheels and a matching, arch-topped trunk centered at the back. “A bit decadent, wouldn’t you say? Gatsby-esque?”
Handleman laughed. “My dear, all luxury cars are decadent. That’s the whole idea.”
“I’m glad your car won,” I told him. “Congratulations.”
“Would that it were,” he said, smiling.
My view from the pavilion was of a pair of small ponds. Between them, on a slowly revolving turntable in the middle of the pasture, was a black roadster, polished to perfection.
“There’s the car I’d like.” I pointed. “What is it?”
Handleman turned to see what I was looking at. “The Ferrari.” He turned back. “Excellent choice. A local car. Belongs to a podiatrist, I believe. Did you pick a favorite, Riley?”
They talked about a short maroon Stutz that had looked out of proportion to my eye but both of them liked it. I looked around at the crowd and saw a BRATS bus—which stood for Baldwin Rural Area Transportation System—leaving the entry area, heading back to town. People were still arriving at the show but traffic was heavier in the homeward direction now. The temperature was dropping and the western sky had darkened slightly.
The food was good, but I was interested in a little sleuthing. How could I steer the conversation around to Devon Wheat? I wanted to find out if Handleman knew the financial advisor, and why he’d left Wheat’s name and phone number in the Sudoku book. None of my business, of course, since I wasn’t getting involved, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.
The conversation at my table was still about the Baker Electric. “It was marketed as a woman’s car because it didn’t have to be cranked,” Handleman said and glanced at me.
“Was cranking all that difficult? Not that I ever tried it, but I’ve seen it in movies.”
Handleman made a cranking motion. “Difficult and dangerous. If you forgot to retard the spark, the engine might backfire and break your arm. What did you think of the Steamer?”
I shook my head. “That was the one with a rounded nose? Not my favorite. Maybe because it made me think about cleaning carpets.”
“What would you say the fuel was?”
Riley chuckled and I looked at him. He didn’t say a word, but I was tipped off to consider my answer.
“Well, steam, I suppose.” I laughed. “But it needed something to heat the water, didn’t it? Gasoline?”
Handleman chuckled, too. “Kerosene, more often. You’d be surprised how many people assume steam is a fuel.”
“You were hoping to laugh at me again? I think you did enough of that last night.” I pouted but made it clear there were no hard feelings. Handleman still looked a little embarrassed.
“I hope you didn’t mind too much. You actually did very well with the identifications. You’d have won if that bell had rubber feet.”
I thought about telling him my history with Travis but decided against it. He already looked embarrassed.
The breeze picked up noticeably and one of the fabric panels fluttered toward us. I pulled my cardigan up around my neck.
Handleman looked toward the concours area. “Maybe I should get back to the cars. I left someone doing double duty while I came for sustenance.”
“You’re staying through the weekend, aren’t you? And going to the gala tomorrow night? We have a ticket for you at the Harbor Village table if you don’t have other duties.”
He seemed surprised. “Why, I’d be most appreciative, Cleo. I understood my suite was for the duration of the lectures, and since they’re over, I thought I should look for another place tonight.”
“I don’t think the suite is booked again until Thanksgiving.” I got out my phone to call Patti, right in front of him. “I’ll ask her to be sure housekeeping gets to the guest suite before they leave for the weekend.” But I couldn’t get a good phone connection there in the pavilion. “I’ll try again later.” And if I didn’t reach her in time, Handleman might just have to use towels that had been on the floor all day.
I followed him as we departed. He led the way down the steps and offered me his hand once he was on solid ground. Riley was right behind me.
“Did you say why you were looking for me this morning? Or have I forgotten already?”
“I wanted to tell you about my neighbor receiving an invitation to join a consortium that’s purchasing a Bugatti Royale. I wondered if it’s legitimate.”
I watched closely to see Handleman’s reaction. His eyes grew wide and he took a half step backward.
“Is this true? A Royale? Interesting, yes, indeed. Is your neighbor a wealthy person? Who made the offer?”
Authentic surprise? I thought so, but he was a showman.
“There’s no name on the invitation but she thinks she got it from the Grand Hotel. She owns the Royale Knit Shop and thinks the people at the hotel confused the name of her shop with the name of the car.”
He frowned, eyes narrowed in thought. “And they gave her the invitation by mistake? The Royale Knit Shop, you said? Located in Royale Court?”
“Exactly.” I nodded, squinting.
The wind was picking up even more. Little bits of grass and grit swirled around us. We stepped to one side of the path, out of the light foot traffic, to continue our conversation. The pavilion was almost empty and only a few people went up and down the steps now, stragglers like my group. Personally, I was ready to join the line for the shuttle. I kept glancing that way in case we needed to hurry to catch a ride home.
“I was there, was it two days ago? Yes, Wednesday,” Handleman volunteered. “I didn’t notice a knit shop, but I might’ve overlooked it. I went to meet with a local financial advisor.”
“Devon Wheat?” Riley asked.
Handleman turned toward him with a smile. “You know him?”
Riley and I looked at each other. If Handleman was fibbing, he had a talent for it.
“I hope he wasn’t a friend of yours.” Riley made it a question.
“Why? Is something wrong with him?”
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” I wrapped my arms around my middle for warmth.
“Murdered,” Riley added.
Handleman’s hand went to his heart, but he just looked surprised, not like he had a pain.
I could see the entrance gate and recognized Mary Montgomery walking our way. I gave her a little wave. She was looking right at us but didn’t wave back. Maybe she was too far away to see me, but I got a bad feeling.
“Anybody call a cop?” I asked.
Handleman followed my gaze but he wouldn’t know her. Riley swiveled around to look over his shoulder.
“Murdered, you said?” Handleman refocused on our conversation.
“Maybe we’d better sit down again.” I turned, pulling my sweater tighter and buttoning it all the way up. We went back up the steps, sat at the first table, and filled Handleman in on the details of Devon Wheat’s death.
“Cleo and Nita Bergen found the body,” Riley said, after I’d given the big picture.
He nodded. “I know Mrs. Bergen. They invited me for tea after the photo session. Nice apartment.”
I veered away from murder like a flash. “It was professionally decorated, with their age and lifestyle in mind. I saw it on my first visit to Fairhope and decided immediately I wanted to live at Harbor Village.”
“If you met him, you know more than I do. He was strangled Wednesday night. Nita and I found his body yesterday morning.”
He frowned and shook his head, showing the proper gravitas. “It must’ve been a shock.”
I agreed. “But I didn’t know him. That would’ve made it worse.”
“Mr. Handleman?” Mary Montgomery and a uniformed officer stood right beside me.
Handleman looked at her inquiringly and got to his feet.
Montgomery introduced herself.
“We were just talking about Devon Wheat,” I said.
She favored Handleman with her usual stare. “I understand you were looking for Mr. Wheat Wednesday. I’d like to hear about that.”
Handleman waved her to a seat and stood to hold the chair, but she hesitated.
“We’re about to leave.” Riley nudged me.
I got up slowly and retrieved my bag and the concours program, stalling to hear Handleman’s reply. “I visit brokerage houses wherever I go, informing them about automotive investment fraud. It’s easy to miss the independents, but Mr. McKenzie referred me to Devon Wheat. Unfortunately, I missed him.”
Travis? That sounded wrong. Why would Travis know Devon Wheat? I wanted to hear more but Riley was pacing between our table and the steps.
“There’s a shuttle heading this way.” I hesitated and he added, “We’ve got an appointment tonight.”
“I got a message to call you.” Montgomery looked at me abruptly. “What did you want?”
I couldn’t talk about the Sudoku book in front of Handleman. I didn’t want him to know I’d confiscated it.
“Ready?” Riley was already at the top of the steps.
“Umm, nothing important, I guess. I’ve forgotten.”
She was staring at me, eyes narrowed. “Okay.”
I looked at Handleman. “I’ll see you at the gala.”
He gave a half bow and I fled.
On the walk to the bus, Riley asked thoughtfully, “Where were Wheat’s pants?”
“What?”
“You said he was wearing biking shorts, but he wouldn’t have worn them to the office. If he changed for a bike ride, maybe he left his wallet in his pants and then surprised someone going after it.”
I nodded. It was a reasonable possibility, I supposed—not a deliberate murder, just a robbery gone wrong. But like Jim, I knew zebras when I heard them.
Chapter 12
On Friday afternoons the office staff usually began slipping away about four, but there appeared to be a full house when I got back from the car show.
The shuttle bus was another cute BRATS bus. It looked like an old-fashioned trolley car, maroon with brass trim and big windows, and it dropped off two dozen passengers in the Harbor Village parking lot.
Riley walked to the lobby with me. Not that he had much choice. I took his hand as I came down the bus steps and continued to hang on to his arm once I was on flat ground.
“I want to know what you think of Handleman,” I told him. “I didn’t think we should talk about it on the bus.”
“Nice guy.” Riley shrugged.
The automatic door swept open and warm air rushed out to meet us.
“That feels so good.” I gave an involuntary shiver.
Something else was rushing toward us, too.
“Why are the cops calling you?” Patti demanded, eyes wide and worried as she skidded to a stop. “Two calls from Lieutenant Montgomery and Chief Boozer. And you didn’t answer your phone. I called at least half a dozen times. I’ve been so worried about you! Has something happened?”
“No.” I took my phone out and examined it. “Everything looks okay.” I had some voice mails, I saw, but didn’t attend to them.
Riley watched over my shoulder as I probed the phone, and he explained to Patti at the same time. “Service was spotty down there.” He gave her a one-armed hug. “Horses never complain when their phones don’t work, have you noticed? They’re like that. Do you think the coffee’s still drinkable this late? We need warming up.”
I agreed. “But let me call Mary Montgomery first.”
“I need to talk with you.” Patti tapped me with a finger. “I’ll get coffee but do not disappear.” She headed for the dining room.
Riley and I went to my office.
“Mary put me on the spot, asking what I’d called her about. I couldn’t talk in front of Handleman.” I punched in the number, listened to her voice mail message, and then told her when she’d be able to reach me during the evening. I put the phone down and told Riley about the two items I had in a Ziploc bag.
He grinned but there was a wary expression in his eyes. “You knew Handleman had contacted Devon Wheat even before he told us? Nice to know how devious you are.”
I’d never thought of myself as devious. It didn’t sound quite nice. “Naturally I was going to listen to him, to get his side of the story. I still don’t know if he actually met Devon Wheat.”
“But you let him tell his version so you could compare it to what you already knew.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad. Does it?”
He grinned and zipped his lips.
Patti brought a tray with coffee and sweetener and little cups of half-and-half plus napkins and chocolate chip cookies. “This is to make up for what I have to tell you.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, wondering what had gone off the tracks since noon.
“Do I need to leave?” Riley poured cream into his cup.
“No. I don’t care who hears it.” She stirred sweetener into her coffee and took her usual chair in front of my desk. “It’s about Todd Barnwell. Has Emily talked to you?”
“I’ve barely seen her all week. What’s up?”
“I’m just going to come right out and say it.” Patti took a sip of coffee and made a face like she didn’t like the taste. “Todd Barnwell’s broke. I’ve been lending him money for months, but I can’t keep doing it, and it wasn’t enough anyway. Emily says I’m crazy. She says the association fees haven’t been paid since Mr. Barnwell died and it’s four thousand dollars already and automatically goes to collection if he doesn’t do something soon. And she thinks he won’t pay me back. I told her that’s not an option.”
She spoke all in a gush, ran out of breath, and then glanced out the window behind me. She jumped up, sloshing coffee onto her hand, and grabbed for a napkin. “Good grief. Here he comes already. I told him four thirty.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s four thirty, almost. Who’s coming?” I looked out and didn’t see anybody. It was getting dark.
She brushed cookie crumbs off the table into her hand and dumped them into the trash can. “I told Todd he has to talk to you, to see if you have any ideas. He’s been here twice already, which shows he’s getting worried. You want me to tell him to come back next week?”
I looked at Riley. “You’re the banker. Why don’t you advise him?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“He’s a kid.” Patti sounded irritated. “Just talk to him, okay? I’ll get him.”
Riley watched her go. “Is this a typical job for a social worker? First you’re collecting evidence in a homicide case, interviewing a suspect who doesn’t know he’s a suspect, and now calming your staff and counseling a kid about finances?”
I waved my cookie at him. “Social work is not for sissies. But I try to eat a few pastries between problems.” I glanced through the unopened mail. “At least there were no bodies today. Todd’s the kid who played Handleman’s game last night.”
Riley frowned, checked his watch, and paced back to the corner with his coffee.
Todd Barnwell came in doing his slouc
hy strut, leather jacket squeaking and upper lip lifted on one side in a little sneer. Riley rolled his eyes.
“Come in, Mr. Barnwell,” I greeted him formally.
Riley stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Todd, I’m Riley Meddors.”
Todd had expected a private meeting, I guessed. The sneer went away immediately, replaced by a look of wariness.
“Come in and join us, Patti,” I said. “Todd, Mr. Meddors is a banker and a friend of mine. He’s agreed to listen to your situation and advise me. I understand you’re in a financial bind.” I sounded like a family court judge. All I needed was a black robe and gavel. I stacked half a dozen letters together, put them on the desk, and gave him my full attention.
“I’ve got four million dollars,” Todd Barnwell boasted, setting me straight. He slumped in the chair and stuck his feet out, consuming all the real estate he could. “It’s just tied up in a trust right now.”
“And what do you propose doing about it?” Riley swung a chair around and sat, forcing Todd to turn his head as he looked from me to Riley.
The kid shrugged, slumped a little more, and gave Riley a cautious look. “Get a lawyer, I guess. Bust the trust.”
I laced my fingers together and rested my chin, and Riley took charge.
“And how much does a lawyer cost?” Riley asked.
Todd grunted and shrugged. “I dunno. A lot, probably.”
“Would you say your grandfather was a stupid man?”
His head jerked up. “No. He was a smart man. He made a lotta money.”
“Maybe somebody left it to him. Inheritance, I mean.”
“No. He worked. He worked his whole life. He was a PE. A Professional Engineer, if you don’t know. He built garment plants in Mississippi and Mexico and saved all his money. Invested it with a VP at Merrill Lynch in Atlanta. Their headquarters.”
“Yeah, they’re all VPs over there. Why do you suppose your grandfather didn’t just give you the money outright when he died? Or even before.”
Todd shrugged and aimed a smug little grin at the office carpet. “I guess he figured I’d waste it. But how much smarter am I going to be in four years?”