“What makes you think Stefan didn’t do the pounding? He’s aggressive, too.”
“Not like Peter. According to Heather’s mom, Allison, Stefan’s wife mellowed him, and when she died, he got into a confrontational funk that didn’t go away until Carly came along all these years later. Allison didn’t know about Carly, of course, but she definitely noticed the difference in him. That’s why Stefan seemed to be calmer, warmer, nicer in the last few months.”
“This is all sounding pretty touchy-feely, Joz. Fluffy. Like you’re trying to tie up a pretty package. A dedicated son protecting a much-loved father. Please. Facts are facts. Stefan confessed to pushing Jason, to watching him fall, and to leaving him, a gravely injured man, while he tootled off to the library. Does that sound ‘warmer’ and ‘nicer’ to you? It sure doesn’t to me. It sounds pretty darn callous.”
“I know.” I looked out the window into Maine. A ragged line of wispy clouds hung low over the river. To a sailor, it would look like fog. I turned back to Wes. “I suspect Stefan’s warmer side was largely lost in his anxiety about money. But in terms of Stefan—if you’d heard him, Wes, you’d understand. We knew that there were multiple blows because we were privy to the ME’s imaging, but he didn’t. The police never released the report, remember? You told me it was all hush-hush. When Ellis asked if he hit Jason after he was down, Stefan looked at him like he was speaking in tongues. It wasn’t an act, Wes. Stefan didn’t have a clue what Ellis was talking about.”
Wes shrugged. “I’m not convinced, but whatever.” He extracted his notebook, flipped to a fresh page, and made a note. “Let’s say you’re right. Peter saw Jason and went postal. Why did he kill Milner?”
“Because Milner was going to testify against his dad. Stefan was reconciled—faux noble, if you ask me, but that’s a separate conversation. Stefan was confident that Ana wouldn’t press charges, so he could take the high road, admit his wrongdoing, and announce that he was ready to accept the consequences.” I scrunched up my nose as if a distasteful odor enveloped me. “To me, it seems pretty self-serving. Regardless, Peter knew about Milner’s testimony because Stefan confided in him—he called Peter right after he made the appointment to see Milner.” I held up a hand to stop Wes from interrupting. “Stefan didn’t admit it, but it’s the only explanation. Ellis will check Stefan’s phone logs and confirm it.” I waved it aside. “In any event, Peter was afraid there would be a domino effect, that if Milner testified that his dad hired him to appraise the Fabergé egg, Stefan would be found out as a liar and would therefore become a viable suspect in Jason’s murder. You know how it goes. If you lie about one thing, everything you say is suspect. Stefan’s insistence that Jason died as a result of an accidental fall, if and when it came to pass that he had to acknowledge his role in Jason’s death, would no longer be credible.” I shrugged. “He was protecting his dad. Family above all.” I sipped some martini, watching Wes write in his notebook. “Was Marty right? About the rock.”
“Oh, yeah. Bang on.”
“I knew it. Experts are rarely wrong.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
I grinned. “Probably not.”
“Except you. You’re never wrong.”
I flipped a palm and spoke in a haughty tone. “But of course, my dear. That goes without saying.”
He chuckled. “Now that we’ve put that puppy to bed … why do you think Peter attacked you?”
I sighed and looked aside. “I told Ana about snow globes and mineral oil, and she told Peter. He knew right away what it meant, and he knew that I knew, even if the significance hadn’t yet occurred to me. He thought that my expertise was the only thing between his dad and clear sailing. With me out of the way, he was certain no one would ever think of it again, especially not the police with six thousand two hundred and twelve other things to worry about.”
“None of this would have happened if Stefan had just washed his pants and shined his shoes in the first place. Why didn’t he?”
“He would have. Remember that he got chased out of Ana’s house the first night he was in town because Jason got killed. No one takes dirty clothes to a hotel. I’m sure he would have cleaned up everything as soon as they got home.” I shrugged. “Plus, it probably never occurred to him that there was any big deal. He thought he’d covered his tracks way better than he did. He didn’t expect anyone to connect him with the fake egg.”
“Same with the cowboy hat, right? He should have chucked it.”
“And he would have, if he’d had a glimmer of a hint of a thought that we were closing in on him. That news story had to have rattled him to his core.”
“So why didn’t he throw it away?” Wes asked.
“By the time Stefan saw the paper, Timothy’s crew was setting up at Ana’s. I guarantee he would have tossed it as soon as he thought it was safe.”
“I don’t know … if Peter was determined to help him, he should have done the cleanup then and there, right? I mean, why not just pop the pants in the washer and grab a sponge for the shoes?”
“Same issue. There were people all around, and he didn’t want to be connected to a cover-up. He thought he could get in and out of Ana’s house and never be noticed. If I hadn’t seen him, he would have pulled it off, too.”
“And he tried to kill you because you understood the importance of the mineral oil spill. That still seems like a huge stretch to me. Attacking you seems like swatting at a fly with a sledge hammer.”
“Peter is a fool. By the time he attacked me, he’d lost all perspective. He’d brutalized Jason’s corpse and killed Milner in cold blood. In his warped view, I was his new enemy.”
“So we’re back to whether he’s crazy-crazy or just nuts? Which do you think it is??”
“I think he’s crazy like a shark—territorial, aggressive, heartless, and indiscriminate.”
“Good point—sometimes things are just what they seem to be. Peter’s crazy aggressive, and sure enough, he’s a killer.” He made a note. “You don’t think Stefan confided in him, asked him for help?”
“God, no. Stefan did everything he could to keep the truth from both Peter and Ana. Peter figured it out on his own. First, if he’d had any intimation that his dad was involved, he never would have told the police how certain he was that the Fabregé egg was intact at Christmas. It was only later, when he started thinking about it, that he realized that, realistically, no one but his dad could have pulled off the switch. A dinner guest? Please. Once Peter realized that it had to be his dad, he kept close tabs on him, maybe checking his phone calls on that disposable cell, perhaps following him. When Stefan called him after he met with Drake, well, that confirmed everything.”
“Do you think Ana’s just an innocent victim in all this?”
“It looks that way.”
“But you’re not sure. How come?”
I looked out over the river for a moment. “It’s hard to tell what’s real with her.”
“Like she’s acting all the time?”
“Or that she’s simply chameleon-like. I can’t tell.”
Ty walked in, filling the doorway with his tall, well-built presence. He wore khakis and a collared blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He spotted me in the corner and smiled, drawing me to him as if he were magnetized. I smiled back, sending out some magnetism of my own.
“Wes,” he said, extending his hand for a shake. “Good to see you.”
Wes stood, and the two men shook. “Hey, Ty. Any news from on high you want to share?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Wes swallowed the last of his coffee. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait!” I said. “Did you pop the question?”
Wes grinned. “Maggie said yes.”
I squealed and clapped.
“Way to go,” Ty said, offering his hand for a low five.
Wes laughed and slapped it.
“Any plans yet?” I asked.
“That’s why I have t
o go. We’re having dinner at Maggie’s folks’ house. Her mom is pretty excited.”
“Oh, Wes. I’m so pleased.”
“Me, too,” he said, grinning as broadly as I’d ever seen, and made for the door.
* * *
“Will Peter confess?” Ty asked.
He used his fork to scrape the last frosting-coated crumbs from the plate. This time we’d shared Maurice’s chocolate tower. He took my hand in his and squeezed a little, a love-squeeze.
“No.” I squeezed back. “What do you think will happen?”
“They’ll make him a deal. His dad walks if he cops to Milner.”
I shook my head. “He’ll think his dad will walk regardless. Ana won’t press charges about the theft, and there’s nothing to suggest that Jason’s death didn’t happen exactly as he says it did.” I used my finger to pick up one last crumb. “This is like the best dessert ever.”
“Except for Ana’s Fabergé egg cake.”
“True. If you were still police chief, would you have played it the same as Ellis?”
“Probably.” He grinned. “What do you think of being on camera?”
“Embarrassing. Silly. Fun.”
“I bet you’re terrific.”
“I’m not even close to terrific. I’m shy and awkward.”
“You’re not shy. You’re reserved. You’re not awkward. You’re genuine.”
I shook my head, discomforted, as always, in the face of praise. “Thanks. I’m doing my best, that’s for sure.”
Ty looked down at the dessert plate. It looked spic-and-span. “Maybe we should have gotten two.”
“I can’t imagine why we didn’t. Thankfully, it’s not too late to remedy our mistake.”
“An astute observation,” he said and signaled our waiter.
* * *
Heather stopped by Thursday morning at nine. She looked the same. Her skin was still pale, but not paler. Her black hair was still held off her face, this time by a bubble-gum pink plastic headband. She’d moved her engagement ring to her right hand. She wore a long-sleeved black wrap dress with a pink and black blazer and knee-high boots. She asked to talk to me for a moment, and with some trepidation, I agreed and led the way upstairs.
Her mood was different from before, more subdued.
“I want to apologize for my behavior when I was at your place. I was out of control.”
“Apology accepted, although none is due. Grief is tricky.”
“Thanks for understanding.” She looked around. “I came up for Peter’s arraignment. Are you going?”
“No.”
“Even though one of the charges involves you? Attempted murder?”
“I’ve had enough of Peter. I hope I never see him again.”
“I’ve said that a lot of times over the years. I hope today is the last time I see him, ever.”
“Why did you come?”
“To let him know I know what he did.”
“Did they charge him with something related to Jason?”
“Murder. Jason was still alive when he began pounding his head on the stones.”
I shook my head. “That’s horrible—just horrific. Peter is an awful man.”
“So was Jason.”
I gawked.
“I know, I know,” she said. “It’s unseemly to speak ill of the dead, but it’s true. I’ve just begun to find out how horrible he was. I bought into his caveat emptor routine until I started hearing individual investors’ stories, how they trusted him, how he laughed at their losses, how he called them fools.” She smoothed her dress over her thighs. “He sheltered me from it all. Doug, the new CEO, doesn’t. Some lawyer is starting a class-action lawsuit. The firm may go under.” She shrugged. “Maybe it should.” She stood up. “I’m not like Jason. That’s one reason I wanted to see you. I didn’t want you to think I was.”
“I understand. What a situation.” I walked her out. “Have you decided what you’re going to do next?”
“Move. I need a fresh start, new people, new things. I like to hike. I like the cold. I want a real change. I’m thinking Boise. I’ve applied for a job as a research assistant at a consulting firm there.”
“It’s supposed to be beautiful.”
“We’ll see. Lots of things are supposed to be something they’re not.”
I thanked her for stopping by and watched as she walked slowly across the parking lot.
If you change your environment, do you change? I wondered. Or does who you are follow you forever, like your shadow? Had Heather really not known what Jason was up to? Or had she merely looked the other way? No one consorting with evil is innocent. My dad used to quote the Irish statesman Edmund Burke: “All it takes for evil to succeed is for a few good men to do nothing.” From where I sat, Heather was a silent partner in Jason’s machinations, and I wasn’t sure which was worse—to openly try to trick people or to stand by and do nothing.
* * *
Timothy wedged me into his otherwise packed Friday afternoon shooting schedule, and my approval of Gretchen’s cake went perfectly. Knocking on the garage/kitchen door, I felt as awkward as I had when I’d placed the order, but seeing the cake changed everything.
“Would you look at this!” I exclaimed, forgetting a camera was recording my every word. I gleefully pointed out each delicate detail. I was excited, astonished, and thrilled.
“You’re fabulous!” Timothy told me, giving me a butterfly kiss and whispering that we’d talk more on Sunday, after Gretchen’s shower. “More than fabulous!”
I felt a little glowy as I drove home. There is no substitute for affirmation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The shower was called for one thirty that Sunday, with Gretchen and Jack due to arrive at two, but Timothy needed access beginning at nine, so Ty and I started decorating at seven. We were in the River View Room at the Rocky Point Café, a popular bistro known for its eggs Benedict and salads. Timothy had marked off positions for cameras and light poles, so we were working around his big masking-tape X’s.
We hung Japanese lanterns, positioned the dozen palm trees I’d rented, distributed the leis and place cards at every seat, placed the orchid centerpieces on every table, and set up the 10' × 7' backdrop of a sunset off Waikiki.
That was the photographer’s idea. He’d take photos of everyone, both candids throughout the event and posed shots in front of the backdrop, and use the best to put together an online photo album. I planned to give the backdrop to Gretchen and Jack after the party. If I knew Gretchen, it would be on permanent display in their den.
I’d hired a three-piece band from Boston to play Hawaiian tunes, and we had a low riser brought in and placed kitty-corner near the window so they could be visible yet out of the way. A cocktail table festooned with orchid garlands was set aside for Ana’s cake. I’d placed a six-foot-long table, also festooned with orchid garlands, next to it for presents.
I stretched and looked around, assessing what we missed.
“It doesn’t hurt to stretch,” I said.
“That’s good. Your bruises still look bad, though.”
I lifted my skirt to examine my thigh. The worst of the bruises had faded to yellowish purple. I poked it a little. “It’s still tender.”
“Another week and you’ll be as good as new.”
“I think we’re done. Want some coffee?”
We were standing by the window sipping coffee and admiring the view when Jack stopped in. It was ten to nine.
“Wow,” Jack said, looking around. “This place looks great. Gretchen is going to be knocked out.”
“I hope so,” I said. “You don’t think she has any idea?”
“Not a clue.”
“Where does she think you are now?”
“Getting bagels.” He grinned. “We’re having a light breakfast because we’re coming here for brunch with my folks.” He winked. “We have a two o’clock reservation.”
* * *
I was uncharacterist
ically anxious. I wanted everything to go perfectly, and I didn’t see how it could. It was five minutes till two, and all thirty-two of us were standing around in silent anticipation. The door was closed. All I could think of was what might go wrong. Gretchen was familiar with the restaurant, which meant she knew this was a private room. When the hostess led them here, she’d know something was up. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it until now. She might see someone she knew in the restaurant, or Jack’s parents might, someone who would invite them to join their table, and how could Jack navigate around that without giving everything away? What if there was an accident on the highway and they were delayed for hours?
The door opened and we all yelled “Surprise!” and Gretchen screamed and threw up her arms and burst into tears and everyone applauded.
It was perfect.
“I can’t believe you pulled this off!” Gretchen told me at the end, hugging me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She hugged me again and whispered, “You’re like a sister to me. Thank you.”
My eyes filled and I closed them, aware that Timothy’s unerring instinct for drama would ensure he got the shot.
“I feel the same,” I whispered back. “Lucky us.”
* * *
Wes and Maggie held hands the whole time.
I went to chat with them as Maggie was shrugging into her camel-hair coat. “I can’t believe I haven’t had a minute to say hello. Before you leave, may I see your ring?”
She held up her left hand with unabashed delight.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Thanks,” Maggie said, patting Wes’s arm. “I love it.”
Gretchen came running up to say good-bye, to thank them for coming, to thank them for the oh-so-cute swaddling blanket.
Wes leaned in toward my ear and whispered, “Did you hear what Ana did?”
Blood Rubies Page 30
