“I know you poured some of the coffee down the sink. It’s okay. I think the stuff I made was maybe too strong.”
“Then fresh coffee and pancakes coming up.”
About an hour later, when Jeremy had consumed even more pancakes than Christine thought a guy of his size could possibly hold, they loaded into her rental car and headed out.
“Hey, look at the sky!” Jeremy exclaimed.
Christine was so used to looking at a low gray sky she hadn’t paid any attention to it this morning. But a glance upward through the windshield showed her a beautiful day of powder blue tinged with pink and yellow where the sun was breaking through. Maybe it was a good omen, Christine thought. Maybe only shock had made Ames strike out at her yesterday. Maybe during the night Ames had time to calm down, to realize how brutal and unjust he’d been to insinuate she’d had anything to do with Patricia’s death.
Her hope was short-lived. After dropping off Jeremy at the store with more warnings not to lose the back door key, she drove to the Prince home. Wilma Archer’s car sat in the driveway. Good, Christine thought. If Ames was still being unreasonable, Wilma could arbitrate. She had a way with Ames no one else could equal.
Christine rang the doorbell. Wilma opened the door and promptly threw her plump arms around Christine. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you stopped by. Isn’t this just the worst thing? I can’t believe it! Patricia seemed like one of those women who would live to be a hundred. And some people are saying her death wasn’t an accident! I’m telling you, I just don’t know how much more poor Ames can take.”
Through the whole spiel, Wilma patted Christine’s back with such force Christine was certain she’d have a bruise tomorrow. She drew back and looked at Wilma. Her eyes were dry and unswollen. Not even she had been able to work up tears for Patricia, even though Christine knew the woman genuinely regretted the death of Ames’s wife. The second wife, the second death. And this only three years after the disappearance, the certain murder, of Ames’s only child. Wilma was right. It did seem like too much for one man to endure.
Before Christine had a chance to say anything, though, Ames walked out of his study. He stopped and stared at her, his gaze cold.
“Ames,” she said gently, pulling away from Wilma and heading toward him. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry—”
He held out his arm, the palm of his hand raised in the traditional stop signal. “Don’t come any closer. And don’t spout any false sympathy for Patricia. You have repaid my kindness to you and your brother with treachery. I don’t forgive that kind of thing. Not ever. You are no longer welcome in this house. Or in the store, for that matter. I never want to see you again.”
“Ames!” Wilma gasped. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This is Christine!”
“I know exactly what I’m saying and to whom. Get out of my house, Christine. Now!”
With that he turned, walked stiffly back into his study, and slammed the door.
2
Michael Winter walked up to the double doors of the Prince home and rang the bell. In a moment a plump, flustered-looking woman opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of his uniform. “Oh lord! What now?” she almost wailed.
How great to be greeted this way half the time, Michael thought. But then, not many people welcomed the sight of a cop at the door. “I’m Deputy Michael Winter,” he said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Prince.”
“He’s too upset. You’ll have to come back.”
She started to shut the door, but Michael stepped forward. He remembered this woman from the jewelry store. “Mrs. Archer, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Ma’am, I’m sure Mr. Prince is upset and I’m sorry to intrude at such a time, but I just have a couple of questions for him.” He gave her his half-winning, half-pathetic smile. “If I don’t ask the questions now, the sheriff will keep sending me back until I get answers. Or maybe he’ll even come himself.” Winter had already been told Ames Prince couldn’t stand Sheriff Teague. “I sure don’t want Mr. Prince harassed at a time like this. So please ask if he’ll see me for a few minutes and I’ll be out of his hair as soon as possible.”
She hesitated, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, all right. I guess there’s nothing else to do. Come on in.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I sure appreciate this.” Michael stepped into the entrance hall and saw Christine Ireland. She stood rigidly, as if she were trying to control trembling, and her face was parchment pale. “Hello, Miss Ireland.”
“Deputy,” she answered in a shaky voice. “I was just leaving, but I need to talk to you later today if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
“Does this have something to do with Patricia’s death?” Wilma asked.
“I’m sure Miss Ireland would rather not go into it now, Mrs. Archer,” Michael said, although his curiosity was running wild. Christine looked awful and she had something to tell him she didn’t want to say in this house. “I’ll drop by your place later on this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
“That would be fine.” Christine turned to Wilma Archer. “I’ll talk to you soon, Wilma.”
“Honey, I don’t think you should run off this way. Ames is just ruffled. He’ll settle down in a little while, and you don’t need to be driving, as upset as you are. Come in the kitchen and have a cup of tea before you leave.”
“I think I need more than tea to calm me down. Besides, I’ve been asked by the master of the house to leave. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.” She looked at Michael. “See you later, Deputy Winter.”
“Yes. Later.” Michael touched his hat as she fled past him and out the front door. Wilma Archer looked at him helplessly. “Trouble here?” he asked lightly.
“Yes. With Ames. He’s being . . .” She floundered. “He’s being a complete jackass.” Michael almost burst out laughing at her language. “I’m sorry for him, but I could just smack him at the same time. He’s a very difficult man. So are my sons. Robert—Streak, everyone calls him—in one way, but then, he’s had a hard go of it, the war and all, and the other one thinks he’s a Rockefeller or something, the way he throws money around. Oh, listen to me. I’m just babbling. I do that when I get flustered.”
“I think we all do, ma’am.”
“You’re very polite. More than I can say for some people in this house.” She glared at a closed door. “I’ll tell Ames you’re here, but don’t expect him to be cordial.”
“I won’t, ma’am. I’ll just be grateful if he’ll see me.”
“Oh, he’ll see you,” Wilma Archer said with determination, “or he’ll have me to deal with. Grief or no grief, I’ve had just about enough of his nonsense for one day.”
Michael stood in the entrance hall. Wilma Archer went into a room and closed a door behind her. After a few moments, he heard raised voices. Prince was putting up a fight about seeing him. He’d probably have to make another trip back here, dammit. Or suggest that Prince might prefer to be questioned at the station. The guy had to know he couldn’t get out of this, but he could make it difficult.
Michael was just planning his next method of approach when Wilma Archer opened the door and said tightly, “Mr. Prince will see you now, Deputy.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes snapped. Michael smothered a smile, knowing Ames Prince had just been put down a peg by this feisty woman.
Prince sat behind a massive desk looking as if he were carved out of stone. His gaunt face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot, and he held his hands tightly together, perhaps to stop them from trembling. He looked at Michael challengingly.
“Hello, Mr. Prince,” Michael said easily. “You took off on us yesterday.” Ames continued to stare at him. “You know you should have stayed around for questioning.”
“Why? I wasn’t present when my wife . . . died.”
“Let’s not play games.” Michael sat down on a leather chair opposite Ames’s desk although he’d not been invited to sit. “I don’t need to tell you the polic
e had questions for you.”
“I was upset, naturally. I went for a drive.”
“I see.” Michael withdrew a notebook from his pocket. “And where were you at the time of your wife’s death?”
“I don’t know the precise time of my wife’s death.”
Michael gave him a hard look. “I asked you not to play games. As a lawyer, you know it’s not in your best interest. According to your receptionist, you stopped in the office around ten A.M, checked your mail, left within fifteen minutes, and did not return. I saw you here a little before two in the afternoon. Where were you in the meantime?”
Ames glowered at him for a moment, then sighed. “Oh, what does it matter? I was at my wife’s mother’s apartment.”
Michael looked at him steadily. “Patricia’s mother lives in Florida.”
“My first wife. Eve. Her mother lives in Charleston. I knew she would be upset about the body that was dragged out of the river. She would jump to the conclusion that it was definitely Dara. I wanted to calm her, to reassure her that we have every reason to believe Dara is still alive.”
“Sir, that body was found days ago. Why did you wait until yesterday to visit Dara’s grandmother?”
“Frankly, I didn’t think of it. I was too shaken. Besides, the woman is an invalid and doesn’t watch much television or read the newspapers. But you can’t keep bad news a secret for too long. One of her friends would tell her, or perhaps the woman who lives with and takes care of her. So I decided I needed to check on her for myself.”
“Instead of just calling.”
“I thought a personal visit would be more effective. She is Dara’s grandmother, after all. Not some distant relative.”
“I see.” Michael looked at the notebook he routinely withdrew from his pocket whether he intended to make notes or not. “It takes around an hour to get to Charleston from here. An hour’s drive back accounts for two hours. You spent only an hour with Dara’s grandmother?”
“Yes. She’s in very bad shape. Tires easily. I didn’t want to tax her strength.”
“I would like to have her name and address.”
“I will not have you badgering her, Deputy.”
“I don’t intend to badger her, Mr. Prince. I just have to verify your presence at her apartment. You know I do. It won’t take more than five minutes.”
Ames Prince drew another deep breath. When he let it out, he looked smaller, almost shrunken behind his big desk. He gave the woman’s name, address, and phone number. “And after this, I expect to be left alone,” he said firmly.
“Believe me, sir, I’d like to leave things at this, but I can’t. I have to ask you for the notes you received presumably from Dara.”
“What!” Ames exploded.
“For fingerprints, sir. I know you’ve never had them fingerprinted.”
“Ah, Christine’s work again. She just can’t stop chattering to you, can she, Deputy? Tell me, has she lured you into a romantic involvement?”
The door to the study flew open and Wilma Archer stepped in, her face red with fury. “Ames Prince, you stop that kind of talk right this minute! Christine is a wonderful girl. I cannot—I will not—allow you to keep slandering her!”
“Wilma, this is none of your concern—”
“Be quiet, Ames.” Michael watched in amazement as Ames Prince blinked at her, then shut his mouth. “If the deputy needs those letters, you give them to him. He’s the police, for heaven’s sake. He’s trying to help you!”
“He is not trying to help me. He is trying to prove my daughter has been dead for three years.”
“And maybe she has been!” Wilma’s face crumpled. “Maybe she has been, but if so, isn’t it better to know?”
Ames looked at his thin hands folded on top of his desk. “No, Wilma, it is not better.”
“Give him the letters.”
“I don’t have them.”
Michael could see that Wilma was both exhausted and crushed. He immediately stepped back into the fray she’d taken up on his behalf. “Mr. Prince, the letters are very important. If your daughter’s fingerprints are on them, we know she did send them to you.”
“Who else would send them?”
“Someone who wanted you to think she’d simply run away and short-circuit a murder investigation.”
“I don’t have the letters.”
“Mr. Prince, I don’t like to threaten you, but you know I can easily get a search warrant for them.”
“They do not exist any longer.” Ames’s voice was flat, completely absent of emotion. “Now, I believe we are finished here, unless you plan to charge me with something, in which case I will of course retain counsel. Understood?”
“You’ll have to take that up with Sheriff Teague,” Michael said coolly. “But the sheriff will want to know what happened to those letters. You say they don’t exist anymore. If you destroyed them recently to keep them from the police, that’s obstruction of justice.
“I do not need you to lecture me on the law, young man.”
“Also, I’m sure the sheriff will be as curious as I am about why you were so reluctant to reveal your movements yesterday at the time of your wife’s death and why you vanished for hours after her body was found. Makes you sound guilty, you know?”
“And your obvious baiting of me makes you sound clumsy and stupid, Deputy.” Ames looked down at a sheaf of papers on his desk. “We are through here. I’m certain you can find your way out.”
“Yes, sir. I’m certainly not too stupid and clumsy to find the front door.” Michael rose and added casually, “And by the way, I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell how distressed you are about your wife’s death by the fact that you haven’t asked me a single question about how the investigation is going.” Ames’s gaze shot up and Michael nodded solemnly. “Good-bye for now, Mr. Prince.”
CHAPTER 16
1
Christine Ireland opened the door holding a glass of wine. “Come in, Deputy Winter. I’m watching a movie and having white wine. It’s a lovely way to wind down from a distressing morning.”
“I thought I was going to be Michael, not Deputy,” he said, looking at her closely. Either this was not her first glass of wine or she’d been crying. Possibly both.
“Yes. I remember. When other people aren’t lurking around and we can be informal. Michael. Do you know your name is of Hebrew origin? It means ‘who is like God.’ ”
“Then I was inaptly named. I’m not like God. In fact, my mother named me after the character of Michael Corleone in The Godfather.”
“A Mafioso?”
“Yeah. I believe she thought his good looks redeemed the character from all wrongdoings.”
“A policeman named after a Mafia godfather.”
Michael shrugged. “What’s in a name, anyway? May I come in?”
She bowed slightly at the waist. “Entré.” He stepped inside and she waved her glass at him. “I know you’re on duty and can’t join me in a glass of wine. How about coffee? Or a soft drink? Hot chocolate? I love hot chocolate.”
“Maybe we should both have coffee.”
“No caffeine for me. But I’ll make coffee for you.”
“Never mind. I only want ice water. I’ll get it,” Michael said. “I see you’re watching a movie. What is it?”
“The English Patient.” Christine thumped down on the couch and her voice wavered. “I love this movie. Have you ever seen it?”
“Parts of it.” Actually, he had sat mesmerized through it three times, but he didn’t want her to think he was a romantic sap. “Great scenery.”
“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” she quavered. “It’s just so damned beautiful.”
Oh boy, Michael thought as he put ice in a glass and poured spring water over it. Miss Pulled-Together, Handle-Any-Situation Christine Ireland was not only heartbroken but also looped. He walked back into the living room. The movie played on a surround-sound DVD system with the volume turned loud. Christine made no move to
turn it down, and he hated to ask her to, because she seemed so involved in the movie.
“Are you sure you only want ice water?” she asked loudly. “I have some cookies. Store-bought. I’m not great with the baking.”
“I’m not hungry anyway.”
“Don’t tell me. Ames served you a lovely lunch.”
Michael laughed. “Ames told me I seemed clumsy and stupid.”
“Wow. He’s not generally so blunt. Or wrong.”
“Thanks.”
Both living room chairs were loaded with books. “I thought I’d rearrange the bookshelves. I pulled out all of them, then lost interest in the job,” Christine said. “You can sit on the couch with Rhi and me.”
The cat huddled on Christine’s lap, watching him with huge golden eyes as her mistress stroked her with long, gentle fingers. He figured she would spring away when he sat down, but Rhiannon held steady, as if protecting her mistress. Christine rubbed gently under the cat’s triangular chin. “Want to tell me what went on at Ames’s house earlier with you?” Michael asked.
“He called me treacherous. Then he fired me.”
“He fired you! From the store?”
“Where else?”
“He’s right. I do sound stupid.” Michael gulped icy water. “Christine, he’s a mess. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“I’m not sure whether he does or not.” She never took her eyes from the television. “And I don’t care if he’s completely rational or not. My immediate concern is that I’m out of a job.”
Michael worded the next question carefully. “I know you bought this house not too long ago. Are you in . . . well, it’s none of my business, but are you in financial straits?”
“No, I’m fine. My parents left us very secure. We can coast for a while. I’m not worried about money. And I’m not even devastated over my job. It was okay, although managing someone else’s store didn’t set me ablaze with excitement. But I am devastated about Jeremy’s job. I’m not sure if Ames was firing him, too, but even if he wasn’t, Jeremy would never stay without me at the store. It would be a point of honor with him. He’s fiercely loyal to me even if sometimes he blabs information I’d rather he kept to himself. Anyway, he’ll just be emotionally flattened. You don’t know what working at Prince Jewelry has meant to him. He seems so much happier and more confident than he did a year ago.” Her incredible aqua eyes filled with tears. “And I ruined it for him.”
If She Should Die Page 26
