Accused

by Lisa Scottoline

“Please?” Mary couldn’t believe that she had just become a partner, but she still had to ask her father’s permission to make a business phone call. “The call’s about to connect, I swear, I’ll be one second.”

  “THEN I’LL HOLD THE WHEEL.” Her father plunked a hammy hand on the steering wheel. “YOU TALK.”

  “Thank you.” Mary held the phone to her ear, but there was no answer and it went to voicemail. She was about to leave a message, but a mechanical voice came on saying that the mailbox was full. She pressed End Call in frustration.

  “YOU OKAY?” her father asked, his hand on the wheel.

  “No answer. Thanks for the help, Pop.” Mary slipped the BlackBerry back into her pocket, as her father relaxed back in his seat with a sigh. She remembered that Alasdair didn’t text, so she’d have to go to Plan B. “Okay, now I have to tell you guys the plan.”

  “WHAT PLAN?”

  “That’s what I’m going to tell you, Pop. What we’re going to do after we get the bees.” Mary checked the windblown Tonys in the backseat. “Pigeon Tony, can you hear me?”

  “Che?”

  “WHAT?”

  “Huh?” said Tony-From-Down-The-Block.

  “Wasn’t that the rest stop, Mare?” Feet asked, pointing out the window.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Mary pressed the buzzer at the gate, her heart pounding. She’d called Alasdair again from the post office, but he hadn’t picked up, so she didn’t know what she was in for, and it worried her. She’d been with Judy the last time she’d been at the Gardners’ farm, but her only hope for today was her father. Otherwise she felt like the harried mother to the superannuated children fighting in the backseat, as well as the six thousand live bees buzzing angrily in the trunk. Pigeon Tony had been surprisingly adept at retrieving them while everybody else stood aside, but Mary knew the big test was yet to come, which was getting past John Gardner, making contact with Alasdair, and installing the bees without being stung to death or, worse, getting arrested and thrown in a jail cell with three Tonys and one toilet.

  Feet squinted up at the Houyhnhnm Farm sign behind his Mr. Potatohead glasses. “Is that even a word, Mare? Hownym Farm? Hunyim Farm? How do you say that word?”

  Tony-From-Down-The-Block snorted. “You pronounce it heinie, like the beer. It’s Heinie Farm.”

  “THIS IS SO SWANKY, HONEY! WHERE’S THE HOUSE?”

  “Over to the right, wait’ll you see.” Mary waited for the response to the buzzer and told herself to remain calm. She’d have to deal with whatever happened on her own. The farm seemed sunny, quiet, and still, but she couldn’t see anything through the ivy climbing the gate. “Pop, can you imagine growing up here?”

  “NO. I DON’T THINK THE KID IS CRAZY. I LIKED HER.”

  “Me, too.” Mary had told him a little about the case on the way over, omitting the part about the police.

  “I’D GO CRAZY IF I LIVED OUT HERE, TOO! IT’S TOO QUIET.”

  “I could get used to it.”

  “NAH, YOU’RE TOO ANTSY TO LIKE IT OUT HERE, AND ANTHONY WOULD HATE IT.”

  “That’s true.” Mary realized that she hadn’t spoken to Anthony or gotten a text from him this morning, though they usually exchanged one after they were both at work. “Tonight is Elvira’s birthday party. You guys are going to be there, right?”

  “SURE.” Her father patted her arm again. “DON’T WORRY, HONEY. EVERYTHING’S GONNA BE ALL RIGHT.”

  “Thanks, Pop.” Mary would never get too old to take comfort in those words, and she sensed that her father knew exactly what she was worried about, and it wasn’t only getting past the gate. She was about to press the buzzer again when her BlackBerry rang. “Hold on a sec.”

  “IT’S OKAY, WE’RE STOPPED.”

  Mary cranked up the window in case anyone in the house was listening, slipped a hand into her pocket, and pulled out her phone. The screen read Lou Jacobs, and she pressed Answer. “Hi, Lou, what’s up?”

  “Mary, here’s a news flash. Tim Gage was definitely at the party the night Fiona was murdered.”

  “How do you know?” Mary said, astonished. “Did you use the guest lists?”

  “No, long story short, I went on Gage’s Facebook page and saw some photos of a car he’s mighty proud of, a vintage Jag, an XKE, the maroon. I figured if he went to the party, he had to drive there, and that’s not the kind of car people forget, especially not a parking valet.”

  “Okay.” Mary felt intrigued. It was an angle she never would have thought of.

  “The top-of-the-line valet company in the city is Burgerhof, so I figured that’s who the Gardner Group used. I printed a picture of the car and Gage, went over to Burgerhof, and started asking around. Bottom line, one of the valets remembers the car and the kid.”

  “You’re a genius!” Mary’s heart soared. Allegra had been right. “How does the valet remember, from six years ago?”

  “Mostly the car. Like I said, it’s a classic. Once-in-a-lifetime. You’re not a car person, are you?”

  Mary eyed the Buick. “No.”

  “Also it didn’t hurt that Gage tipped a hundred-dollar bill to leave the car out front because he said he wouldn’t be long.”

  “And he came about the time of the murder?”

  “Yes, and left right before. The valet said, not ten minutes later, they found the body and all hell broke loose. And according to the valet, Gage left the party upset. Buzzed, too.”

  Mary’s thoughts raced ahead. “Did the valet see any blood on Tim, or any cuts or other injuries?”

  “I asked him, but he said no. It’s possible that Gage hid his hand in his pocket, if that’s what got cut. It usually is.”

  “But the valet gave him the keys even though he was buzzed?”

  “Yes, it happens, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.”

  Mary got only half of Lou’s references, but loved them anyway. “Did the police interview the valets or the company, when they got there, or even later?”

  “No.”

  “Did the valet call the cops and tell them about Gage, after it came to light there was a murder that night?”

  “No, why would he?”

  “He might think it was strange that on the night of a murder, Gage came out upset, then a body was found.”

  Lou snorted. “Mare, the cops arrested Stall at the scene. They weren’t lookin’ for anybody else, nobody was, and I’m sure the valet didn’t relate the two at all. Plus he was a young kid at the time. What do you expect, Columbo?”

  “Good point, thanks. See you back at the office.”

  “You okay? You need me?”

  “No thanks.” Mary pressed End and put the phone away, her sense of purpose renewed. Gage was looking more like a viable suspect, if only because he’d lied about being at the party.

  “GOOD NEWS?”

  “Thank God.” Mary rolled down the car window and pressed the buzzer again. “This is Mary DiNunzio, here to deliver Allegra’s bees, at her request. I have my father and some friends with me who will help install them. May I come in?” There was no reply, but suddenly the gates parted and swung wide open, and Mary took heart.

  “Maybe we caught a break,” she said, hoping against hope that John wasn’t home, which was why she hadn’t called to say she was coming. She hit the gas and drove through the gate, bracing herself for battle. It was a surprise attack, DiNunzio-style, an ’86 Buick full of cranky bees and even crankier senior citizens.

  “SO FAR, SO GOOD, HONEY.”

  “Wow!” Feet looked out the window, his round brown eyes popping. “The gate opens all by itself!”

  “Don’t be ignorant.” Tony-From-Down-The-Block ran a liver-spotted hand over his orange hair. “It’s automatic, like the Acme.”

  “Gentlemen, play nice or I’ll turn this car around.” Mary pulled into the driveway, parked, and cut the ignition. The Buick’s massive engine rattled into silence, but no one came running with lawyers or handcuffs. “Okay, everybody out of the pool. If we g
et started, it will be harder to throw us out.”

  “HERE GOES NUTHIN.’” Her father eased himself from the seat, and Mary got out of the car, went around the back, and opened the trunk, recoiling from the large wooden box which had two screened sides. It was labeled LIVE BEES for people who didn’t believe their eyes, since the bees were clearly visible through the screen, buzzing angrily and swarming frantic inside the box. Mary had never been this close to so many creepy-crawlies.

  “Pigeon Tony?” she called out, nervous. “Please. Hurry.”

  “Si, si, Maria.” Pigeon Tony scurried over with his bag, vaguely bandy-legged, gesturing her aside. “You no worry, I do alla, I take care alla.”

  “IS THAT THE MOM?”

  “Pop, please, shh.” Mary looked over the trunk lid to see Jane Gardner striding toward them, slim and curvy in a pink Pulitzer sundress, next to a wiry middle-aged man in a white polo shirt and tan britches, who fit the description of Alasdair that Lou had given her.

  Feet punched up his glasses. “Wow! She’s a looker.”

  “I’ll say.” Tony-From-Down-The-Block was about to relight his soggy cigar stub, but he slid it back into his shirt pocket, where it made an attractive stain.

  “Guys, stay here and say nothing.” Mary walked forward to meet them, waving hello in a friendly way. “Hello, sorry to bother you. I’m just bringing Allegra’s bees.”

  “Hello, Mary,” Jane called back, her tone formal, but not hostile. “Unfortunately, my husband is in the city today. It’s too bad that you didn’t let us know you were coming.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know myself, until very late last night.” Mary didn’t mention that she’d seen Allegra, so she could keep the emotional temperature under the boiling point. She gestured at her father and The Tonys, hoping that would set a peaceful tone and avoid another round of driveway litigation. “This is my father, Matty DiNunzio, and his friends Tony Pensiera, Tony LoMonaco, and Tony Lucia.”

  “They’re all named Tony?”

  “Yes, makes it easy to remember.” Mary could tell that Jane wanted to ask, are you serious, but was too polite.

  Tony-From-Down-The-Block stepped forward, picked up Jane’s hand, bent over stiffly, and kissed it with a flourish. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Jane. Thank you for having us to your very beautiful home and lovely grounds.”

  “Oh. My.” Jane withdrew her hand with a half smile.

  “Excuse me.” Mary stepped in front of him, mortified. She turned to Alasdair, extending a hand, as if she had no idea who he was and only half-cared. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Alasdair Leahy. I’m the property manager here.” Alasdair nodded, shaking her hand. He spoke with a cool accent, and his bright blue eyes flashed with a wryness indigenous to the British. His unruly blond hair was thinning to a soft gray, and his nose oddly flattened, as if it had been broken. He was built like a former jockey, five feet of sinew and swagger. “Pleased to meet you, Mary.”

  “You, too.” Mary cued Pigeon Tony like a jittery stage manager, and he came forward with the boxes of bees, carrying them as matter-of-factly as canned soda. “His nickname is Pigeon Tony because he races pigeons, but he also knows a lot about bees. He’d be happy to install them in the hives, which shouldn’t take too long, then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Alasdair can do that himself,” Jane said, her smile fading, but Alasdair hesitated, looking from Mary to Jane.

  “Truly, Jane, I could use the help. I’ve only seen Allegra do it once, and it can be dangerous.”

  “Ecco!” Pigeon Tony yelped, spotting the beehives across the pasture. “Andiamo, alla, go!” He took off bandy-legged with the box, in his own little Pigeon Tony world.

  “Excuse me, sir, Tony, wait!” Jane turned to go after him, but Mary waved her off.

  “I got it, he doesn’t speak English. But can Alasdair come with us and get Pigeon Tony a beekeeper’s outfit? I wouldn’t want him to get stung.”

  Suddenly, from the driveway, Feet called out, “Miss, is there a bathroom I can use? We were in the car a long, long time.”

  “I COULD USE A REST STOP, TOO,” her father chimed in. “IF YA DON’T MIND.”

  “Oh, um, certainly.” Jane stopped in her tracks, caught betwixt and between the two groups, and it couldn’t have gone any better if Mary had planned it, so she exploited the situation.

  “Jane,” Mary called over her shoulder, “would you please take my father and the others to the house and let them use the bathroom? I’d appreciate it so much.” She headed after Alasdair and Pigeon Tony. “I’ll go down with Pigeon Tony and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

  “Why, yes, okay, sure.” Jane gestured, confused, to Alasdair, who was already in motion. “Alasdair, take him down and give him Allegra’s gear? You know where her smoker is, don’t you?”

  “Surely, Jane.” Alasdair caught up with Mary, falling into step with her and looking over with a sly smile. “Well done.”

  “Thanks,” Mary said, sensing a secret weapon.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mary and Alasdair stood a safe distance away from the hives, but only Mary was wearing the beekeeper’s jumpsuit, gloves, and veil, because she wasn’t taking any chances. It fit like a white burqa and felt hot and clammy inside, but she wasn’t a lawyer for nothing. They both watched while Pigeon Tony smoked the screened box with the buzzing bees using Allegra’s smoker, which looked like a tin funnel tacked onto some kind of bellows-type hand pump. It emitted a faint grayish smoke that smelled funny, but Pigeon Tony didn’t appear to notice, humming to himself and wearing nothing for protection except his red bandanna tied around his bald head.

  Mary called to him, “Pigeon Tony, you sure you don’t want to wear the outfit?”

  “No!”

  “Why not? We have another one.”

  “I no like!”

  “How about the veil? The hat? It will protect your head.”

  “No, grazie, Maria!”

  Mary let it go and looked over, eyeing Alasdair through the black grid of the veil. “So you were the one who wrote the note about where Allegra was?”

  “Yes.” Alasdair frowned slightly, his deep crow’s-feet wrinkling. “You’ll keep that to yourself, won’t you?”

  “Of course. Why did you do it?”

  “I’d like not to say more than necessary.” Alasdair bit a parched lower lip. “My loyalty is to the family and will forever be. Particularly to Jane, who’s elevated me to this position. I was her barn manger and now run this place. Lots of people would have hired somebody over my head when the former man left, but not her. I’m well-paid, and my wife and I live rent-free behind the cottage, in a carriage house. You must understand that.”

  “I do.” Mary noticed that Pigeon Tony was setting the smoker down, so she assumed the bees were calm, if they hadn’t taken up cigarettes.

  “I decided to help you because I’ve known Allegra her entire life, before Fiona’s murder and after, and she isn’t quite as ill as her father thinks. I overheard you and the other lawyer on your previous visit, and I know you’re acting in her best interests.” Alasdair meet her gaze directly. “Do you think you can get her out of Churchill? She hardly needs residential care.”

  “Not yet, but let me ask you a question or two about Fiona and her murder. That’s what Allegra hired me to do.” Mary needed to get to the point, because she didn’t know how much time they’d have before everyone returned. In the meantime, Pigeon Tony took an old pair of pliers from his wrinkled sack, went back to the screened box, and turned it around on top of the empty hive, which still looked to Mary like a nightstand. “Alasdair, do you remember Fiona’s boyfriend, named Tim Gage?”

  “Of course. Tim and Fiona were going steady.”

  “Was he here often?”

  “All the time. He was besotted with her, as anybody would be.” Alasdair’s tone softened, almost paternally. “Fiona was a lovely girl, and a lovely rider. I’ve never seen anybody with s
uch a natural manner around horses.” Alasdair gestured at Pigeon Tony. “Like your friend, over there. It’s his calm demeanor that makes the bees calm. Tony has a very easy way of going, as did Fiona. Allegra has it too.”

  “Fiona broke up with Tim. Do you know why?” Mary saw Pigeon Tony begin to pry off the front of the wood frame with the pliers, and it cracked as if he were breaking it off, so she took a step back, in case the bees were pissed.

  “No, I don’t know why they split. But I know he wasn’t happy about it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He used to call her afterwards, on her mobile. We’d be on a trail ride, cooling the horses out, and he would call and call. When she answered, it always made her nervous, and she told me once that he said the meanest things to her. I told her not to take his calls, and after a while she stopped, but the calls kept coming.”

  “I’ve learned that Tim was at the party the night that Fiona was murdered, that he left upset and had been drinking. Did you know any of that?”

  “No, not at all.” Alasdair frowned, which turned his eyes narrow and flinty. “How do you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter. But you didn’t see Tim at the party?”

  “No, not at all. I know that he was expressly not invited. Fiona didn’t want him there.”

  “Was she afraid of him?” Mary was dying to know the answer, but got distracted by Pigeon Tony, who was holding the screen on the box aside so the bees could get out. She jumped back, reflexively putting up her hands in the heavy gloves. “Pigeon Tony, you gonna let them out? Just like that?”

  Alasdair edged away. “Not much warning, eh?”

  Pigeon Tony didn’t reply except to smile happily, as bees swarmed from the opening and flew in all directions, buzzing around the box and setting the air vibrating with their loud droning and collective beating of their wings. The ones who weren’t flying clung to the screen, walked all over the hive, or landed on Pigeon Tony’s arms, shirt, even his cheek.

  “My God!” Mary gasped, afraid for him, but he seemed completely unworried.

  “Quite a sight.” Alasdair’s eyes widened. “He could get badly stung, if he’s not careful.”