Murder Most Persuasive tkm-3

by Tracy Kiely

  Turning back to me, she said, “Come on, get changed. I’m driving.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but then thought better. I couldn’t change her mind even if I wanted to—and trust me, I wanted to. With a sigh, I went and changed, thinking that like Anne Elliot I had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill-judging claims of a sister; but so it must be.

  I bet Jane Austen had a Kit in her family, too.

  * * *

  While Ann normally lived alone in a quaint two-bedroom house in Bethesda, she had been staying at Uncle Marty’s house in Georgetown. Ann had been required to make this temporary move because even though the family had hired a nurse for Uncle Marty (the infamous Mata Hari aka Rona Bjornstad), there were still gaps, gaps that Bonnie on her best day couldn’t fill. On her best day, Bonnie couldn’t keep a plastic houseplant alive. Now that Uncle Marty had died, Ann was still needed at the house. The task of organizing and distributing the many items Uncle Marty had willed to various friends and family had been left to Ann. Ann, of course, did all this with her usual grace and continued to stay at the house and commute to her job. Several years ago she received her doctorate in English literature from Cambridge and now worked at the Folger Shakespeare Theatre in D.C.

  Kit had to park a few blocks from the house, as parking in Georgetown is always a nightmare, and we walked in silence to the house. I was still annoyed at her for barging uninvited into Ann’s crisis and frustrated at myself for not stopping her. At least I didn’t tell her that I was spending the night, which was the only reason Kit hadn’t stashed a change of clothes and a toothbrush into her tote like I had.

  The night was cool, and after a minute Kit said, “This weather has been really unbelievable this week. So warm, but I think that’s all about to end.” I should mention that Washingtonians are convinced that their weather is like no other and spend inordinate amounts of time discussing it. While the past week had been lovely and, as such, much discussed, it had also been the last bloom of summer. Signs of fall were inescapable. From the earlier sunsets to the leaves on the trees that were now tinged with gold and red, it was clear that the warmth of the summer was giving way to the dying time of year.

  Within minutes we turned onto Uncle Marty’s street, which was lined with both ancient trees and elegant homes, most of the latter dating from the early 1800s. Each of the Georgian façades boasted perfectly proportioned dormers and brightly painted paneled doors, flanked by flattened columns and topped with filigree fanlights. The houses faced the street, with little to no front yard. However, the backyards were the real jewels of the neighborhood. Unexpectedly large gardens, pools, and well-tended lawns were nestled behind the high fences that kept both neighbors and pedestrians at bay.

  Soon we were in front of Uncle Marty’s three-story house. We made our way up the curved brick staircase. I had scarcely touched the bell when Ann flung open the door. She was still wearing the black sheath she’d worn to the funeral, although she was in her bare feet. Her normally rosy complexion was pale and her auburn curls hung in disheveled lank tendrils around her face.

  The greeting she had planned died on her lips at the sight of Kit standing on her front steps with me. Through some eye twitching, I tried to convey that Kit’s presence was not my idea. I’m not sure if I got that exact point across. She may have just thought I’d developed a nervous facial tic since lunch. After a startled blink, Ann recovered, merely saying, “Oh, Kit. You’ve come as well. Thank you.”

  Hearing this, Kit, of course, shot me one of her standard I-told-you-so looks, before saying, “Well, of course I came, silly! Where else would I be? You’re family!”

  I shot Ann an apologetic look while she stood aside and politely waved us into the house.

  I love Uncle Marty’s house. It has an effortless kind of charm that I knew from my own decorating attempts was anything but effortless. Mahogany wood floors run through the main level of the house, although most of those are covered with thick Oriental rugs in various muted hues. To my left was the dining room, where an antique Waterford chandelier hung from the ornate tray ceiling. The gilded mirror atop the stone fireplace sent the glittering light from the delicate crystals dancing on the white paneled walls. To my right was the living room, where Ann now led us.

  Like the dining room, it too had a tray ceiling and a stone fireplace, atop of which was another large gilded mirror. The innate sophistication of the room had been tempered with the simple blue-and-white décor, largely inspired by the Wedgwood plaques set in the fireplace’s mantel. Kit and I sat on the ivory brocade couch and looked expectantly at Ann.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, seemingly now reluctant to discuss the reason for our visit.

  “I’m fine,” said Kit, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now tell me, what exactly happened? Elizabeth wasn’t very clear on the details.”

  My blood pressure jumped a few notches and my stomach tightened. Leave it to Kit to make it sound like I hadn’t gotten the details accurately. I had. Annoyed that she had pushed herself unwanted into the situation, I simply had refused to give her anything other than the barest information. I was childish, perhaps, but not inaccurate.

  With a brief glance in my direction, Ann sighed and sank into one of the matching blue club chairs opposite the couch, her posture one of weary resignation.

  “Well,” Ann began, her voice low, “as you know, Father sold the house in St. Michaels a few weeks ago. The family that moved in decided that they wanted to expand the pool. They began construction this week and yesterday they found…” Ann paused. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “They found a body. It was decomposed, of course, but apparently there was ID on it. According to the police, the ID belongs to Michael Barrow. Obviously, they believe that the body is Michael. I guess they’re going to check dental records for confirmation, but for now that’s the assumption.”

  “I see,” said Kit in a matter-of-fact tone. “And has his next of kin been notified?”

  I stifled a groan. Kit was so excited to be a part of this tragedy that she was trying to appear more knowledgeable than she was, throwing around absurd pseudolegal terms like “next of kin.” Next she’d be spouting off about the “alleged murder.” Kit watches a lot of CSI.

  Ann shook her head. “As far as I know, Michael had no family. His parents died years ago, before we ever met him. I believe he was an only child.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Kit said quickly. “I’d forgotten that. I remember now. So I gather that the police are treating this as an alleged murder investigation, correct?”

  Told you.

  “I … uh…” Ann’s face crumpled a bit at Kit’s question. I couldn’t blame her. If Michael had been “allegedly” murdered, as Kit put it, there were many people in the Reynolds family who would have to answer some very tough questions.

  A noise on the stairs diverted our attention. It was Bonnie. For once, her entrance was a welcome distraction. Scarlett, her little Pomeranian dog, bounded excitedly into the room ahead of her. There used to be another dog, aptly named Rhett, but just as aptly, he ran away. Nobody blamed him.

  “Oh, hello, my dears,” she said when she saw us. Unlike Ann, Bonnie had obviously had time to change out of her funereal garb. Although she was still wearing black, she no longer appeared as Vivien Leigh’s understudy from Gone with the Wind. Instead she was wearing a rather chic outfit consisting of lightweight wool trousers and a snug turtleneck. It not only hugged her curves but also emphasized her slimness. At sixty, Bonnie still had a great figure and wasn’t shy about showing that off.

  Kit and I both stood and hugged her while Scarlett jumped on our calves. “I thought I heard the doorbell ring,” Bonnie continued. “Have you come to see me off?” Although I was used to Bonnie’s flakiness, it still took me by surprise how quickly she could switch gears. Just this morning she was inconsolable with grief over Uncle Marty’s death. Now she was all preoccupation over her impending trip.
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br />   Ann’s jaw clenched in annoyance. “They’re here because I called them, Bonnie. I told them about the discovery at the house. You remember? The body?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bonnie replied, crinkling her nose in distaste. “Nasty business. Poor Michael. If it is Michael. Though I can’t imagine it isn’t. After all, they found his wallet. I mean, if it wasn’t Michael, I’d imagine that he’d have come looking for his wallet long before this.”

  “Yes, well, thank you for clearing that up for us,” said Ann. I glanced at Ann in some surprise. Normally, she wasn’t so openly rude to Bonnie. However, seeing the lines of worry clustered around her hazel eyes, I couldn’t really blame her. After all, she’d had more than her fair share of stress today. This morning, she buried her father; this evening, she was dealing with a potential homicide investigation.

  “Well, I don’t see why you’re so upset, Annabel,” Bonnie said. “He was a thief. And a common thief at that. No one here is mourning his passing.”

  I wondered if Michael had been an uncommon thief it would be a different story. Would Bonnie have mourned him then? But what exactly was an uncommon thief? All that came to mind was Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. I considered the matter. While I normally don’t agree with Bonnie, I had to admit she might be right about this one. If I had a John Robie in my life, I’d probably mourn his passing.

  Bonnie continued on. “The only one I can see being upset by this news is Reggie. After all, it was Reggie who was engaged to Michael.”

  “Didn’t she break it off with him, though?” asked Kit, as she bent down to pet Scarlett, who, in turn, helpfully presented her belly. “A few months before the wedding?”

  Ann nodded. “She broke it off and…”

  “And then Michael disappeared,” finished Bonnie. “But I guess he didn’t, did he? You don’t suppose he killed himself because Reggie broke it off with him, do you?”

  Although Bonnie’s lack of a filter between thoughts and speech was no secret, it still managed to catch you by surprise from time to time. Ann briefly closed her eyes before answering. “No, Bonnie. I don’t think that Michael killed himself and then buried himself under the pool’s foundation.”

  “Well,” Bonnie said with a slight shrug of her shoulders, “when you put it that way, I suppose it doesn’t work. Well, don’t worry yourselves about it, my dears. That’s what the police are paid to find out. I’ve no doubt that they can handle our little mystery. Like I always say, we can worry about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.” Shooting us a bright smile, she moved for the doorway. Scarlett paused, as if torn between staying with us and following her mistress. Just like her namesake, she opted for the decision that would suit her best: she sat down with us. Heading for the curved staircase that led upstairs, Bonnie paused and turned back to us. “Do you think you should mention Marty’s death to the police? Do you think there could be a connection?”

  “No, Bonnie,” Ann said firmly. “I don’t.”

  Bonnie looked unconvinced but said, “All right. Well, I’ve got to finish packing. Now remember, Ann, I’ll be gone one week. I’ve left all the instructions for Scarlett on the hall table. Take good care of her; you know how delicate she is.” We all looked at Scarlett, who was busy cleaning herself with great abandon. “When I get back, we can have that party for Marty. Why don’t you check the club and see if it’s available?” Almost as an afterthought, she called over her shoulder, “And just think! By then, this whole thing might be solved!”

  Ann winced at Bonnie’s words. “That’s just what I’m afraid of,” she whispered. Scarlett stopped cleaning herself long enough to look up and bark.

  Chapter 5

  The old well-established grievance of duty against will, parent against child.

  —Sense and Sensibility

  “So she’s just going to leave? Now?” asked Kit in amused disbelief.

  “It would appear so,” said Ann, her face resigned. “Although, when I stop to think about it, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Sensitivity isn’t exactly Bonnie’s strongest quality. But I’m fine. Actually, it will be easier if she’s not here. There’s so much I have to do before I can go back to my own place.”

  “What do you need to do? Can I help with anything?” I asked.

  “That would be great, thanks. I’ve got to sort through Father’s papers, catalog everything, and then distribute the various items that he left in his will. There’s an oil painting upstairs that Frances was always fond of. I know Father wanted her to have that. There are also a few china figurines that were set aside for Reggie.” She paused as Scarlett jumped at her knees. “And, of course, I’ve got to take care of Scarlett here.” Her lip sneered ever so slightly as she said this. Not that I blamed her. Scarlett is a pint-sized diva.

  “Speaking of Reggie,” said Kit, “I gather you haven’t told her yet.”

  Ann shook her head. “No. I’ll have to, and soon, but I don’t seem to have the mental capacity tonight to figure out exactly what I’m going to say.”

  “How do you think she’ll take it?” Kit asked with ghoulish interest.

  Ann’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “She’ll be upset, of course. To what extent, I can’t say.”

  “Well, obviously!” Kit gushed. “No, what I mean is, why exactly did Reggie break it off? I could never figure that out. At that point, Michael was still Mr. Perfect. No one knew about the embezzling yet. Uncle Marty loved him—I mean, wasn’t he grooming Michael to take over the business?”

  Ann nodded, almost as if the movement caused her pain. “I believe he was, yes,” she replied in a near whisper.

  “And you all loved him, right?” Kit asked.

  Only a fool couldn’t see that this was a subject that Ann didn’t want to discuss, but Kit nevertheless pressed ahead with her investigation. As horrible as it may sound, I have to admit that sometimes I wished that my mom would come to me and tell me that Kit wasn’t really my sister, that she found her in a wicker basket on the front porch. Hell, I’d even be okay if my mom told me that I was the result of a sordid affair. Even then, we’d only be half sisters, and I could soothe myself with the knowledge that we were not produced by the same gene pool.

  “It was after Michael’s disappearance that Uncle Marty turned to Scott as a successor, wasn’t it?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “Yes,” said Ann. “Frances had always wanted Scott to take over the business anyway. She felt that since he’d been in the family and at the company longest, it was only fair. I don’t think Scott cared as much about it as she did.”

  “Well, she’s always been the more intense of the two about Scott’s career,” I said.

  “So, why do you think that Reggie broke it off?” Kit interrupted, reverting back to her line of questioning.

  “She didn’t think it would work,” Ann replied. “She didn’t go into the details with me.”

  “Do you think she was still in love with him? I mean, sometimes couples get into fights and say things they don’t mean, especially right before their wedding. It can get pretty stressful. I know Paul and I had a couple of doozies.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. All Reggie said was that she told Michael she didn’t want to marry him. She seemed pretty certain about it.”

  “Right.” Kit nodded her head as if this proved her point. “But Michael disappeared right after that. I just wondered if she regretted her decision.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ann. “After all, it was right after he disappeared that Father discovered that the money was missing.”

  “Do you think Reggie could have known about the money?” asked Kit, her voice a conspiring whisper. “Do you think that’s why she broke it off?”

  While Ann’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, my patience snapped. “Kit! Of course Reggie didn’t know that Michael was embezzling from Uncle Marty! Use your head. She would have said something!”

  Kit swung to face me, her eyes narrowed in anger. I knew I
’d pay for my outburst later, but right now I didn’t care. She was making the situation worse. Granted it was unintentional, but nevertheless I had to get her to stop.

  “I’m only asking a question,” she retorted. “I wasn’t implying anything and, besides, I imagine that it’s a question that the police are going to ask as well.”

  “You are not the police,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Kit gave a shrill laugh. “Oh, I get it. You think you’re the only one in this family who can ask questions about a murder?”

  I took a deep breath. “No, Kit. That’s not what I’m saying. The police don’t know Reggie, but we do! Can you really see her not telling Uncle Marty if she knew Michael had embezzled the money?”

  Kit shrugged. “I’m not saying she knew. All I’m saying is that love can do funny things to people sometimes.”

  Mercifully, her cell phone rang just then, putting an end to the conversation, at least for now.

  “Paul?” Kit said into the receiver. “What’s the problem? Well, I can’t right now. I’m busy.” Holding one finger up to us as a signal to wait, she shifted her body away from us. “Paul, it’s not that hard. Just get him some of his trains, that’ll settle him down. What? They’re downstairs in the bin.” Pause. “No, the other bin. I don’t know! Get him Thomas, Gordon, and Percy. No, Gordon is the long blue one; Henry is the green one. No, that’s James. For goodness’ sake, Paul, it’s not that difficult!” Long pause. “All right. Fine. Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll be there soon. Bye.” With an irritated click, she snapped the cell phone shut. Turning back to us, she said, “I have to go. Pauly’s not feeling well. Ann, I’m really sorry about all of this. Please let me know what I can do. I mean it.”