by Diana Miller
“She contributed to all of those?”
“And more,” Trey said. “Max told me she’s gone through every cent Harold left her. She’s living on her social security.”
“Would Max really have let her lose her house?”
“Probably,” Trey said. “But he’d have made sure she had a place to stay, paid rent for an apartment, or bought her a condo. He might even have bought her house from the bank and let her stay there. He wouldn’t want her to be homeless. Just unable to make contributions she couldn’t afford.”
“Anyone else?”
“Cecilia showed up a couple of days early for Easter,” he said. “She seemed agitated. She had a long meeting with Max, and when it was over she was even more agitated.”
“She asked him for money?”
“I don’t know. I do know that Max was really upset by her most recent divorce and afraid she was turning into her mother. Max also told me that Jeremy asked for money, although not why he wanted it. Probably had some hot investment opportunity. Max turned him down.”
“What about Seth?”
“I know the money he’s inheriting will help him advance his career,” Trey said. “And he’s no doubt still furious that Max refused to force the director of Dark Fire to hire him as an assistant last year.
“Not that any of them would have killed Max,” he added quickly. “And I’m sure Max would have helped anyone who became truly desperate. I got more from Max alive than dead, in case you suspect me.”
“All you get from the trust is a year’s salary as severance pay. At your insistence,” Lexie said. “Max wanted to give you much more. Why did you turn it down?”
“I inherited some family money, and Max has paid me very well, so I’ve saved quite a bit. I don’t need more money.” Trey looked rueful. “What I do need is family. My wife died four years ago, and we never had kids. I consider Max’s grandkids my family, and I didn’t want to risk ruining my relationship with them because they resented how much I got from the trust. Especially when I’d never spend it anyway.”
“Will you be looking for another job?”
He shook his head. “I think I’ll retire. I’m sixty-three, and after working with Max, any other job would be a major letdown.”
“Do you know what family secrets Max was concerned might be uncovered?”
“Other than what you already know, I haven’t got a clue.” Trey steepled his fingers. “I’m sure you’ve considered the possibility that when Max arranged to send you the letter, he was trying to create one last great drama, making sure if he died, someone would suspect it was murder.”
Lexie nodded. “Can you think of anything else that might be relevant?” she asked.
Trey considered that for a moment, and then shook his head. “If I do, I’ll let you know. It’s hard for me to believe anyone in the family killed Max. But if one of them did, I want the killer punished.”
Lexie got to her feet. “I’d appreciate it. I’d also appreciate it if you’d keep my identity quiet.”
“Absolutely,” Trey said. “Are you married?”
“Divorced. Why?”
“Because it just occurred to me that Max might have had another reason for wanting you to work with Ben on this. He could have been trying to match up his favorite grandson with Jessica’s niece.”
Lexie rolled her eyes. “If so, it’s a good thing he was such a successful writer. Because he’d never have made it as a matchmaker.”
# # #
When Lexie walked into the parlor for sherry hour that evening, everyone except for Ben and Trey was already there. “Have you seen Ben?” she asked Cecilia. “I knocked on his door before I came down, but he didn’t answer.” She’d also been watching out the window for his return. Much as she’d prefer to avoid him until their kiss was a distant memory, she needed to talk to him about what she’d learned from Trey.
“I don’t think he’s back from work yet,” Cecilia said.
Jeremy draped an arm around Lexie’s shoulders. “So you’re on your own? Lucky for me.”
Lexie deftly extricated herself from Jeremy’s arm. “How was boating?”
“Terrific. You’ll have to join me tomorrow.”
“Do you remember when Grandfather took Dylan and Seth out sailing and convinced them that the lake was haunted and they needed to clap the entire trip to keep the ghosts from tipping over their boat?” Cecilia asked.
Jeremy chuckled. “Grandfather had the special effects crew working on the movie version of one of his books rig up some dry ice specters,” he explained to Lexie. “Scared those two to death.”
“Attention, everyone. Attention.” Muriel was standing in front of the fireplace, waving her hands. She’d traded her habit for a deep purple caftan and silver turban. Seth was busily snapping pictures. “Later tonight I will be holding a séance. My dear brother has tried to speak to us. We need to listen.”
“That was the result of the combination of Dylan and alcohol,” Jeremy said. “Grandfather had nothing to do with it.”
“Some of us aren’t quite as narrow-minded as you seem to be, Jeremy.” As Muriel waved her hands again, Lexie counted a total of six rings and three bracelets, all gold and studded with jewels.
“Why not do an exorcism?” Jeremy asked. “That way he won’t bother anyone else.”
“It would be unseemly to banish Maxwell from his own house, especially if he wants to tell us something. I have a special bond with him, you know,” Muriel said. “Just before Easter, I predicted he would die soon. A couple of months later, he was dead.”
Jeremy snorted. “He was eighty-seven. Predicting he’d die soon was a pretty safe bet.”
Muriel ignored him. “The séance will be held in the living room at nine tonight, and all believers are welcome to attend,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare myself. Please eat dinner without me.”
“Well, I’m not a believer, but I’ll go if you will, Lexie,” Cecilia said.
Lexie had even less desire to attend a séance than she did to make another trip to Walt’s, but she was supposed to believe in ghosts.
And maybe someone would let something slip during the séance. Something that would enable her to identify Max’s murderer and head back to Philadelphia tomorrow.
She didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm. “Of course I’ll be there. I can’t wait!”
CHAPTER 9
Whatever their reasons, every family member had decided to show up at Muriel’s séance, Lexie noted as she walked into the packed living room just before nine. Correction—everyone except Ben. He was no doubt stuck at work, helping yet another beautiful, sexy woman needing emergency muffler repair.
The heavy burgundy velvet drapes were drawn, blocking out every bit of dusk, and only the sconces on either side of the fireplace were lit. Muriel was sitting in a dining room chair that had been positioned in front of the fireplace, her eyes closed, her hands clasped together on her lap. Seth had already started taking pictures—documenting his eccentric Great-Aunt Muriel for his sons, no doubt.
“Trey and Ben are both lucky they’re busy tonight,” Cecilia said as Lexie joined her on the black leather couch.
Before Lexie could respond, Muriel spoke. “Everyone be still.” She opened her eyes, stood, and turned toward the fireplace mantel, her purple caftan flowing around her. Lexie winced as she lit an incense burner only inches from the sacred Maltese falcon statue.
Muriel returned to her chair. “I’m about to contact my dear brother.” She raised her hands out in front of her. “I summon the spirit of Maxwell Windsor,” she singsonged. “Maxwell, if you’re here, give me a sign.”
Silence. Muriel waved her hands, her jewelry glittering and flashing in the spotlight. “Maxwell, please give me a sign that you want to talk to us. You’ve tried before.”
“Maybe he’d answer if you called him Max,” Jeremy said from a chair the same black leather as the sofa. “He hated Maxwell.”
“Shus
h,” Muriel said. “Maxwell, we want to understand what you’re concerned about. Max, please.”
The house groaned. Lexie caught a whiff of incense.
“Told you he preferred Max,” Jeremy said.
“Be still. So you are here, Max,” Muriel said. “We know you’ve appeared to Dylan. Please tell us what you want.”
The house groaned louder, like a perfectly cued movie sound effect.
“Max, we’re your family. Speak through me, or speak through another who is here.”
The house groaned a third time, even louder, then the wind whooshed. The incense odor was strong. The hairs rose on the back of Lexie’s neck.
“Max, speak to us. Please.”
But even though Muriel eventually got to her feet and paced and gestured like a television evangelist while begging Max to speak, he never said a word through anyone. After fifteen minutes, Muriel lowered her waving hands and planted them on her ample hips, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Max, would it hurt you to do what I wanted just once? You always were obstinate, even when we were kids. I know you think you run everything since you’re seven years older than me and this is your house, but you’re dead, for God’s sake. I’m trying to help you. Come on, Max, talk to me.”
Silence, not even a groan from the house.
“If you don’t want my help, then tough,” Muriel said. “The séance is over.”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Cecilia said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Lexie said.
By eleven-thirty they’d finished a bottle of wine and decided to go to bed. Ben still hadn’t made it home, and Lexie was annoyed. Not because she cared that he was with some other woman. But because she and Ben were supposed to be partners. How could they be partners when he wasn’t around for her to give him valuable information?
“Everyone, come here. I have a message from Maxwell.”
Lexie and Cecilia raced up the stairs, then down the hallway. Muriel was standing just outside her open bedroom door. She was still wearing the purple caftan.
Muriel waited until everyone had gathered around her before speaking again. “I was trying to sleep when Maxwell’s ghost woke me up!” Unlike Dylan, she seemed more excited than terrified by the encounter.
“Maxwell told me he doesn’t do séances. That’s why he waited until I was alone to come to me. He was standing at the end of my bed. He even motioned for me to take out my earplugs before he talked to me.”
“I’m sure it was just a dream,” Cecilia said, patting her aunt’s arm. “The séance probably triggered it. Don’t be upset.”
Muriel raised her double chins. “I’m not a bit upset,” she said, taking a couple of steps away from Cecilia. “I tried to summon my brother to the séance, so why would I be upset he finally appeared to me? Maxwell said he wasn’t in purgatory, but he couldn’t go to heaven or be reincarnated until he found out who murdered him.”
“Grandfather claimed he was murdered?” Cecilia asked.
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in it, since he’s obviously confused,” Muriel said, waving a disparaging hand. She’d at least taken off her jewelry before going to bed. “He didn’t even know whether he was scheduled to go to heaven or to come back to earth as some animal.”
“What else did he tell you?” Dylan asked.
“Nothing important. But he appeared to me. He really did.”
“Of course he did, Aunt Muriel,” Seth said. “Let’s go down to the parlor and get you a little sherry so you’ll sleep.”
“I’d prefer a little Jack Daniel’s,” Muriel said, allowing Seth to lead her to the stairs.
“Where’s Ben?” Jeremy asked.
“He must still be at work,” Lexie said, since Jeremy was looking at her.
Jeremy checked his watch. “At eleven-thirty?”
Lexie yawned. “If the excitement’s over, I’m going to bed.”
“I think I’ll stay up to make sure Ben makes it home before one,” Jeremy said. “It would be a pity if he lost out on his share of the inheritance because he decided to”—he paused long enough to give Lexie a significant glance—“work all night long.”
“Ben wouldn’t do that.” Cecilia smiled tightly. “He’s not like you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. See you at breakfast, Lexie.”
# # #
Jeremy was the only person eating breakfast when Lexie walked into the dining room the next morning. “You’ll be happy to know Ben made it home at a quarter to one,” he announced. “However, he’s already gone into work again, which means you have time to go boating with me.”
“Actually, I don’t. I’m going to see Ben at work.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You might not be real happy to discover what he’s working on.”
“I’ll risk it.”
After a quick cup of coffee and half a scone, Lexie strode out of the house.
“How’s it hanging, Lexie?”
The speaker was a man with thinning dark brown hair and the build, beefy neck, and paunch of a former football player a few decades out of playing condition. He was leaning against a white Cadillac with Ontario plates parked in the circular driveway. Lexie had never seen him before in her life.
“Excuse me, but have we met?” she asked.
“No, but I’ve heard all about you,” he said, walking toward her. He was wearing khakis, a tight scarlet polo shirt, and white loafers. “I like a woman with balls. And my fourth wife was an exotic dancer.”
Lexie blinked at the non sequitur as the man extended his hand. He wore a pinky ring with a diamond nearly as large as the rock sported by her mother’s best friend, Bitsy Davenport, and exuded a mixture of toughness, spicy cologne, and breath mints. “The name’s Jack Pierre Jackson,” he said. “J-A-C-K, not Jacques. My mom was from Quebec, but my dad put his foot down on my first name. You can call me J.P.”
“Are you here visiting one of the family?” Lexie asked.
“I’m here checking on my investment.”
“You invested in Nevermore?” Surely she’d have heard.
“Hell, no. I’m talking about Dylan Windsor. He owed a friend of mine from Vegas money, and I bought the debt. Since I was in the area, I’m checking whether he’s fucked up getting his inheritance.”
She should have guessed. “So far he hasn’t.”
“Happy to hear it, especially since I paid nearly face value for the thing. Not including interest, of course.”
“Does he owe you a lot?”
“Enough that I’d like to get repaid. Even if I have to break a few bones to do it.”
Lexie’s heart hit a speed bump, and her eyes widened.
J.P. grinned, holding up his hand. “I was kidding. I don’t work that way.”
He certainly hadn’t sounded as if he were kidding. If she were smart, she’d say good-bye and leave. On the other hand, this was her chance to find out more about Dylan’s motive, and he was high on her suspect list. Surely she was safe in broad daylight.
Lexie cleared her throat and plunged. “I hope you won’t find this question impolite, but are you with the Mafia?”
J.P. spit on the lush grass that edged the sidewalk, just missing one loafer. “Don’t I wish. But the fucking Americans don’t give us Canadians no respect, and the Canadian families think you gotta live in Montreal or Toronto to be worth anything. Which is a bunch of shit. I mean, I might be in Thunder Bay, but I ain’t no amateur, let me tell you. I’ve whacked more guys than any of their soldiers.” He raised his hand again. “Not no more, of course. My fifth wife’s got a soft heart and made me quit. And I never whacked anyone except in self-defense. I wouldn’t want you to think badly of me.”
“I don’t,” Lexie said, shaking her head for emphasis. She wasn’t about to offend a man who bragged about whacking people for any reason, even self-defense.
“So because everyone’s so damned prejudiced, I’m stuck dealing with dea
dbeats like Dylan Windsor with only a half dozen guys to help me out.”
“Maybe you should sue for discrimination.”
J.P. chuckled. “Beautiful and got a sense of humor. You really do remind me of my fourth wife.”
“Do you want to talk to Dylan?” Lexie asked, changing the subject before he remembered the things he didn’t like about his fourth wife. She was an ex, after all.
“I wanna make sure he understands he better not blow his chance at getting some of his grandfather’s money.” He glanced at an enormous gold watch. “If you could give him the message, I’d appreciate it. I’m running late.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“I’d also consider it a personal favor if you’d do whatever you can to make sure he don’t fuck up.”
Just what she needed, being held responsible for an alcoholic gambler. She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not that close to Dylan.”
“Don’t worry that I’ll blame you if he screws up, ’cause I won’t,” J.P. said, obviously noticing her discomfiture. “But if you do have the chance to help me, I’d consider it a favor, like I said. I don’t forget nobody what does me a favor.”
“I’ll try. Is it all right if I deliver your message to Dylan later today?” Lexie asked. “He’s still asleep, and I need to see Ben.”
“No problem. And tell Ben he’s a lucky man.” J.P. winked. “I can tell you’re a hell of a woman, and having been married five times, I’m somewhat of an authority on women.”
“I appreciate the support. It’s been nice meeting you, J.P.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Lexie.”
Lexie leaned against Nevermore’s cool stone façade to support her weak knees as she watched J.P. get into his Cadillac and drive off. When she’d first arrived at Nevermore, she’d thought she’d slid into a version of Wonderland. She’d been half-joking.
She’d been right.
