by Diana Miller
She owed it to Max.
# # #
The last thing Ben wanted was spend time with Olivia, but when she’d asked to stay at Nevermore, he couldn’t say no. The nicest place in town—the Lakeview Inn—had the same standards and amenities as a Super 8. Olivia wasn’t the Super 8 type.
He hauled two suitcases heavier than Lexie’s plus a garment bag up the front stairs and into the foyer, where he and Olivia were met by Igor.
“I’m Ben’s wife,” Olivia told Igor. “Please take my things to his room.”
Igor was staring at her with his mouth open, even though that probably violated the code of butlering. Olivia had that effect on most men.
“She’s my ex-wife,” Ben said, setting her suitcases on the floor. “Take her things to one of the vacant rooms.”
Igor managed to shift his attention to Ben. “The room next to yours is vacant,” he said.
“Lexie’s room?” Ben asked.
Igor nodded. “She left.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“She did not say.”
“The room next to Ben’s would be perfect,” Olivia said.
“Would that be satisfactory, Mr. Gallagher?”
So Lexie had concluded he was guilty, maybe even thought he’d been using her to give himself an alibi. She thought he was capable of killing his grandfather, the person he loved more than anyone in the world, for some cash. He hadn’t thought that between his grandfather’s death and his own arrest he could feel any worse, but that had done it.
Ben realized Igor was looking at him, waiting for an answer to his question. He let out a long breath. “Put Olivia in the room next to mine.”
# # #
“My God, Catherine. How could you let yourself get involved in Max Windsor’s murder? And when everyone already thought he was dead, for heaven’s sake.”
Catherine frowned at her cell phone. She’d come out of the bathroom after showering and blow-drying her hair to find it ringing and stupidly answered without first checking who was calling. “I’m not involved in Max’s murder, Mother,” she said, plopping down on the bed. “I happened to be at his place, at his request, when he was murdered.”
“You could have at least told me about it yesterday,” Elizabeth Barrington said. “Bitsy Davenport saw you on the news this morning and called me. It was humiliating to have to admit I knew nothing about it.”
“I’ve been a little busy, Mother.”
“You should never be too busy to call your mother,” Elizabeth said. “They reported that you were with that mechanic who killed Max, and you both discovered the body at around six in the morning. What were you doing with him that early?”
“We were going sailing, Mother. Ben didn’t murder Max. Ben’s his grandson.”
“It doesn’t mean he isn’t a murderer. I mean, what do you expect of a mechanic? He probably saw the chance to inherit all that money and was willing to do whatever it took to get it.”
Her mother’s words sparked her temper, but years of practice helped Catherine keep her voice level. “That’s unfair, Mother. You don’t even know him.”
“He’s a mechanic. What more is there to know?” Elizabeth sighed. “I blame myself for your lapses in judgment. I should never have allowed you to spend time with my sister when you were young and impressionable.”
“Aunt Jessica was a wonderful woman, Mother.”
“My sister was an embarrassment to her family and a terrible role model for a young girl. Max Windsor wasn’t any better, and I don’t care how much money he made. He wasn’t one of us. I want you out of there.”
Catherine’s fingers fisted around the bedspread. “Just because you’re a snob doesn’t mean I am.” The words shot out. “Max was a great man, and I’m not leaving until his real murderer is identified. I owe it to him and to Aunt Jessica, who was the best role model I could have had.”
“I don’t think—”
“And I wasn’t just with Ben because we were going sailing,” Catherine continued. “I’d spent the night with him. You know what? Mechanics are a lot better in bed than surgeons from good families.” Then she hung up.
So she’d just violated a whole lot of rules, including 1 and 2—be polite no matter what, and always respect your elders, which was shorthand for “your mother is always right.” She’d probably be disowned.
She might as well find out if she was also out of a job. It was the first item on today’s To Do list anyway.
“Why would you be?” Melissa Carter asked. Melissa was one of her best friends and also a fellow partner at Whitney and Benson.
“According to my mother, I’ve scandalized the family. I can’t imagine the senior partners are any happier about what’s happened.”
“Guess again,” Melissa said. “Haven’t you checked your e-mail?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Because you’ll find a copy of the statement the firm issued this morning. They’re using your actions to show how dedicated our attorneys are to carrying out our clients’ wishes.”
“Maybe that will placate my mother,” Catherine said. “She was appalled I found Max’s body and was with the prime suspect. I’m sure she was even more appalled when I told her I was there with Ben because I’d spent the night with him.”
“You slept with the guy who killed Max?”
“He didn’t do it,” Catherine said. “Although to be honest, Mother seemed more concerned that he’s a mechanic than a possible murderer. She also said some nasty things about Max and Aunt Jessica. So I laid into her about being a snob, then hung up on her.”
“Good for you.”
Now that Catherine’s anger had faded, it had been replaced by guilt. “I need to call her back and apologize,” she said, adding that to the bottom of her To Do list. “I shouldn’t have talked to my mother like that.”
“It’s about time you did, and I don’t care how many damn rules you violated,” Melissa said. “You can’t please her no matter what you do, and trying to just drives you crazy.”
“I should be able to. My brothers and my sister can.”
“You’re not like them, and your mother should accept you for who you are. But you’ve never given her a chance to because she doesn’t know what you’re really like. You do exactly what she wants you to, including marrying a man you didn’t really love.”
“I loved Neil.”
“I was there, Catherine,” Melissa said. “You were more upset about your mother’s reaction to the whole cheating and divorce thing than about the fact that Neil cheated on you. He was too stuffy and arrogant for the real you, the one who likes Jimmy Choos and writing romance novels. And who couldn’t care less whether someone’s ancestors came over on the Mayflower or even what someone does for a living.”
Melissa was wrong—she had loved Neil, but Catherine wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. “Actually Ben isn’t just an auto mechanic,” she admitted. “He’s got an MBA from Harvard and used to be a Wall Street investment banker. I didn’t tell Mother that because I was mad, which is petty.”
“You can tell her the truth at your wedding.”
“I’m not marrying him, for heaven’s sake. We just had a casual fling.”
“You don’t do casual flings.”
“He’s getting back with his ex anyway,” Catherine said. “She flew to his rescue when he was arrested.”
“Too bad,” Melissa said. “He looks hot. But I still want you to promise you won’t even think of apologizing to your mother.”
“I don’t know …”
“Do you honestly want to apologize for defending auto mechanics and your aunt?”
Catherine was silent for a moment. Melissa had a point. And it wasn’t as if an apology would change much. Her mother’s memory for slights made elephants look forgetful. She crossed the last item off her To Do list. “You’re right. I promise.”
The next item had seemed like a good idea when she’d written her To Do list last night,
but now she was reconsidering. He probably wouldn’t be any more unpleasant than her mother, but if she offended him, his retaliation wouldn’t be limited to icy stares and pained silences at family gatherings. He’d liked her, but that was when he’d thought she was an exotic dancer.
But she needed to check out everything if she was going to identify Max’s killer. Maybe he hadn’t heard she was a lawyer. She punched in the phone number and held her breath.
CHAPTER 16
J.P. picked up the phone on the first ring. “I hear you’re really a lawyer,” he said.
She grimaced. “I apologize for misleading you.”
“Yeah, well, normally people who lie to me end up having a few problems. But you got a good excuse since you worked for Max Windsor. Lawyers got to keep stuff confidential.”
“I appreciate your understanding,” Lexie said. “I assume you’ve heard that Max was shot and Ben was arrested.”
“Yep. I thought people only died twice on soap operas,” J.P. said. “Wife number two was a big fan of the soaps. You need money to bail Ben out of jail?”
“He’s already out,” Lexie said. “I called because I’m looking for information. I assume you have someone watching Dylan, since you found out about the fight at the street dance. I was wondering if that person noticed anyone outside Nevermore the night Max was killed.”
“Are you sure you aren’t asking whether maybe my spy found out Max was alive, and I had him deep-sixed myself?” J.P. asked. “If he ain’t dead, I don’t get my money.”
Lexie opened her mouth to deny it, and then closed it again. She was sick of lying. “Okay, I’ll admit that crossed my mind.”
He chuckled. “Like I told you before, you got balls. The short answer is I didn’t know Max was alive ’cause I got no one watching Dylan. I don’t got enough men to do that. I heard about the fight ’cause one of my guys has a sister who lives in Lakeview.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll ask around, see if I can find out anything,” J.P. said.
“I appreciate it.”
“I gotta tell you, I don’t like lawyers. Then again, I’ve never known one what could pass for an exotic dancer.”
“Thanks.” At least Lexie thought it was a compliment.
“I also got a word of warning for you,” J.P. said. “From what I heard, it don’t look like whoever hit Max Windsor was a professional. That’s bad news, because a professional ain’t gonna worry much about getting caught. He’ll know he did everything right and won’t be. But someone else might hear you’re nosing around and panic. So be careful.”
Lexie hung up the phone, the muscles in the back of her neck even tenser than before she’d called J.P. She’d never considered that the murderer might decide she was a threat. She’d definitely be careful.
Items 3 and 4 on her list involved taking advantage of the small-town gossip network. Lexie went over to the closet and pulled out her navy silk suit, then reconsidered. People would be more comfortable talking to her if she didn’t look so much like a lawyer.
She glanced at the bag containing a skirt and tank top she’d impulsively bought the same time she’d gotten her sundress and silver sandals. She’d planned to return them—they were both solid colors, but red. Red was too flashy to be worn other than as an accent color.
Although it was going to be warm today, and she’d accomplish more if she was comfortable.
She took the skirt and tank top out of the bag.
Red actually was a flattering color for her, she thought as she observed herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and slipped on her brown sandals—wearing the silver ones during the day would be too much of a stretch. Then she headed to Lee’s Market.
The store was nearly deserted, and Ruth was working at the front register. “I apologize for thinking you were an exotic dancer,” she said when she spotted Lexie. From her cool expression and tone, she was uncomfortable about her misconception.
“No problem. Why wouldn’t you believe it, when Ben confirmed it?” Lexie gave her a warm smile.
It didn’t thaw Ruth. “I heard you’re still here because you want to make sure the cops prove Ben’s guilty.” Her words were as hard and cold as ice chips.
“I don’t think Ben’s guilty,” Lexie said. “I’m trying to find out the truth so that whoever’s guilty doesn’t inherit from the trust. And because I want Max’s murderer punished.”
“Because you’re a lawyer, and he paid your law firm a whole lot of money.”
“Because I liked Max a lot,” Lexie said. “And because my Aunt Jessica loved him, and I loved her.”
Ruth studied her with narrowed eyes for a moment. Then her features relaxed, and she grinned, shaking her head. “Well, I’ll be. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, but you’ve got her eyes. Your aunt was a real nice lady. I was a big fan of her books. More my type than Max’s are, to tell the truth.”
“That’s why I’m trying to find the real murderer,” Lexie said. “Not that I don’t have faith in your police—”
Ruth’s snort interrupted her. “Our police couldn’t find their way out of one of these things,” she said, waving a tan-and-blue grocery bag. “I’ve known Ben a long time, and he would never have hurt his grandfather.”
“Do you know anyone in town who might have hated Max?” Lexie asked. “I’ve assumed he was killed for a share of the trust, but maybe it’s something completely different. Someone with a vendetta against him. Or maybe someone thought Max used him in a book and resented it.”
“I can’t think of anyone offhand, but I’ll ask around,” Ruth said. “I don’t know much about the family, other than Ben and Muriel. Muriel’s having money problems.”
“I’ve heard.”
“When her husband was alive they were good members of Zion Lutheran,” Ruth said. “Now she’s into everything, Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, even that yoga and Buddhist stuff. She gives money to all of them, even though she can’t afford it. Maybe because she’s got a guilty conscience.”
“Why would she feel guilty?”
Ruth leaned toward Lexie and lowered her voice. “Muriel came home from a Circle meeting at church one afternoon and found her husband dead of a heart attack. The thing is, she didn’t call an ambulance until four thirty. But when Harold had his attack, he fell on his watch, and it stopped at three forty-five, like in one of those mystery stories. According to a neighbor, Muriel got home just after three. She said she didn’t go into the house when she got home but instead walked around the neighborhood for more than an hour, said that her Circle meeting gave her lots of stuff to think about. But no one saw her walking, and people kind of wondered if she was in the house when Harold had his attack and let him die. Not that anyone would much blame her, since he wasn’t the nicest man. But it could be the reason for all those contributions of hers.”
And if Muriel had let her husband die, would it have been that much more of a stretch to kill her brother?
“Hi, Lexie. I mean Catherine.”
Lexie started as Seth stepped out of the aisle beside the checkout and greeted her.
“Lexie’s fine,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He followed her out the automatic glass door. “I saw you come in and thought I’d try to talk to you. Since you aren’t staying at Nevermore anymore.”
“About your grandfather’s murder?” Lexie asked.
“Actually I wanted to talk about your aunt.”
“Why?”
“Because she was such an important part of Grandfather’s life. And no one seems to know much about their relationship.”
“To be honest, I don’t know much about their relationship,” Lexie said. “I never saw them together. Not even when I was an adult and my mother couldn’t forbid it anymore, which is kind of sad.” She’d never thought of that before, but now that she had, she regretted it.
“Your mother disapproved of their relationship?” Se
th asked.
“Look, I don’t know much, and I’m kind of busy today. Sorry.”
She hated to be rude to anyone and especially to one of the trust beneficiaries, but helping Seth document family memories for his kids wasn’t her problem. Finding Max’s killer was.
She headed for The Clothes Garden.
# # #
Lexie had gone to The Clothes Garden on the assumption the clerks probably heard a lot of gossip. She was right, but unfortunately she didn’t learn anything helpful there. She did pick up more clothes, including a pair of red fabric and straw sandals that coordinated nicely with her current outfit. She put on the sandals, and then stopped at Dairy Queen for a burger and fries before heading to Walt’s.
At just after noon, Walt’s had a half dozen customers—all male—sitting at a couple of the tables. They stared at Lexie when she walked in, but she ignored them, going directly to the bar. “I’ll have a glass of white wine,” she told Walt. She usually didn’t drink before five, but she thought she should order something.
“All we got is white zinfandel,” Walt said.
“Perfect.” Lexie detested white zinfandel, but no way was she risking getting plastered on one of Walt’s concoctions.
“I heard you’re really a lawyer,” Walt said as he poured her rose-colored wine.
She nodded. “I’m trying to find out who killed Max since I don’t think Ben did. I assume you know a lot of what goes on in Lakeview.”
“You got that right.” Walt winked. “Including things people would rather I forgot. But I don’t know anything about who might have killed Max.”
“What are you doing here?”
Lexie turned to see Dylan walking up to the bar. “If you mean in Lakeview, the trustee wants me to stick around a while, so I’m staying at the Lakeview Inn,” she said. “I’m in Walt’s because I wanted to ask a few questions. How about you?”
