“You don’t like me much, do you?” he asked.
Understatement falling on deaf ears. Look out below. “Call it instinct,” I said, wondering if he knew that his stitch of a wife was a killer, too.
“If you’ve decided that you don’t want to give me your business, Madeira, I’ll take the car back and send you over the state line to my competition in Rhode Island.”
“Is that where the well is? Or is it on your Groton property?”
He stood like I was the scary one. “What the hell are you talking about? You need to get a grip, Ms. Cutler.”
I did. I got a grip on my shoulder bag, until Gary Goodwin rolled his wheelchair over. “I sense some animosity, here. Let’s not make a scene, McDowell. Ms. Cutler, help an old man. Come, push my chair out into the fresh air while you wait for your car.”
I’d need two hands to do that, and I didn’t want to let go of my purse. When I thought I’d have to say no, Natalie Hayward came over. “Can I help, Ms. Cutler?” she asked as she got behind Goodwin’s chair and started pushing him toward the door.
Okay, Goodwin had been in the guesthouse with Vinney and Lolique that night, and what I didn’t know about him bothered me more than what I knew. But he didn’t have a lot of choices in life, because he was stuck in that chair.
“Coming?” Natalie asked.
I checked the clock on the wall. Ten minutes till Werner arrived.
Since the police were on their way, I figured I could chance it. “A short walk,” I said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” McDowell called after us.
“You wouldn’t think so,” I said beneath my breath as I walked beside Goodwin’s chair.
He chuckled. “You hate the bastard as much as I do, don’t you?”
“That transparent, am I?”
“You’re utterly transparent, Ms. Cutler, in a challenging sort of way.”
What did that mean?
“We have some wildflowers behind the addition. Natalie, go around by the side of the building. It’s gorgeous back there in the fall.”
“Mr. Goodwin,” I cautioned, “I don’t think you want to be gone too long this morning.”
“Why’s that, eh?”
I smiled. “I know nothing.”
“You certainly don’t,” Lolique said, waiting for us as we rounded the building.
She held a small gun in her hand, and Natalie didn’t blink or miss a step when she saw it.
I hesitated. “Mr. Goodwin?”
“Ms. Cutler,” he said. “You disappoint me. I thought you were such a quick study. Natalie Hayward has been in my employ since this branch of the dealership opened. She keeps me abreast of current events.”
“He pays very well,” Natalie said. “Very, very well.”
“You’re his mole?” I said. “Wait! You pushed me and pretended to save me?”
Their silence spoke volumes. With the gun, Lolique indicated my path toward the woods. “Keep going,” she said. “Don’t stop now.”
That’s when I saw it across the field on the outskirts of the woods: an old-fashioned wishing-type well, where I knew that wishes were useless. “Are you going to throw me in there, too?” I asked, the past becoming clearer when I noticed his tigereye ring.
Lolique had been right. I was a duped dope.
She chuckled. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t throw Isobel in there. She died before I was born.”
“But you’re the woman who was seen sneaking in and out of the playhouse, aren’t you?”
Lolique scoffed. “No, that was my mother, before the locals caught on to her presence and she accepted the role they handed her as Sampson’s sister. She’d moved in with him, again.”
“Without bothering to break off her affair with me,” Goodwin said.
“Poor you,” I said, tongue-in-cheek to Gary. “And what about you, Natalie? Why?”
“True, I hated Isobel,” Natalie said. “Daddy’s little girl, keeping watch, so no one could get close to him.”
I’d taken sewing lessons from this woman! “You had a thing for Isobel’s father?”
“What if I did? I didn’t kill anyone.”
Goodwin chuckled. “Natalie would have helped if she could have cozied up to the old man, but she didn’t know what I planned. She’s been my most loyal helper.”
“Thanks loads, Dad,” Lolique snapped.
“Natalie’s not as loyal as you think,” I told Goodwin. “She’s a gossip. Told me the first day about your accident, about how badly you wanted the dealership. She’s not loyal at all.”
Goodwin whipped around to look at Natalie, now looking daggers at me. If only I could make the three of them duke it out and forget about me.
“And your daughter, Mr. Goodwin. You must be so proud.”
“My stepdaughter,” he said.
“Thanks again. Okay, so Sampson was my biological father. Rich as God. And my stupid-ass stepbrother goes and kills him before he can change his will in my favor. He paid, though. Keep pushing, Natalie.”
“So that’s why you killed Vinney, Lolique? Revenge?”
“What an amazing hypothesis,” she said.
“Not a hypothesis. Vinney ratted you out. He called Eve and gave you up with his last breath.” I was lying of course, but she didn’t know that. “And as for Sampson’s money, you may still get it, now that the truth about his divorce to your mother is out. I’m sure there’ll be something left after the IRS takes their share. Years’ worth of back taxes, I hear.”
She stopped walking and stood still as a snake about to strike. I so wish she’d point that gun in another direction.
I had to break her, though. “You see, your father was selling his corner lot because he had to. You and your mother climbed out from beneath your respective rocks to finesse a man headed to prison for tax evasion.”
Lolique gave a feral hiss through her teeth, and I felt fear and fury radiating off her in waves, small consolation since we were getting closer to the well, too close. “You killed Vinney for nothing, except, hey, maybe you’ll inherit your father’s debt, anyway?”
“Vinney was a son of a bitch. He was supposed to pin that second fire, the one we planned, on my husband by planting his sweater with the bones. Does he do that? No. He kills my father to start an unplanned fire, sic the law on us, and ruin my chances to inherit Sampson’s and McDowell’s fortunes. Two fortunes! Vinney deserved to die.”
“So you killed him.”
She raised her head with pride. “So I killed him.”
“Vinney was a good son,” Goodwin said almost to himself, and I understood suddenly his stay on the psych ward, as if he lived in a different world than the rest of us. He looked up at me, but I’m not sure he saw me. “Vinney took the bones out of your building for me.”
I remembered Dante’s story of the night the bones were brought to my building . . . Goodwin brought them. Dante taunted him, and he left so shaken he had a car accident, and ended up in a wheel chair in a psych ward. Puzzle pieces were falling into place like clockwork toys, click, click, click.
Goodwin’s face changed and he radiated hate. “Why the hell did you go and buy that old shack?”
My heart beat like a drum, and my hands were so sweaty it was getting hard to keep a grasp on my bag.
My connection to Isobel grew strong, and her fate fell into place. “You put Isobel here when this was an empty lot, didn’t you? Before construction here was a glimmer in Zachary Goodwin’s eye.”
“I should have put her husband here with her,” Goodwin said. “While I was dropping her here, McDowell was having drinks with her father, outlining the brilliance of building a second dealership on this very piece of land. I’d thought it was smart to put her on land that her old man owned. But the old man and McDowell, they planned to build here in secret. Kept projected ledgers. No one knew. Not even Isobel. She told me that she thought her husband was embezzling.”
Click. Another puzzle piece fell into place.
>
The closer we got to the well, the harder my heart pumped, the more slippery my hands became. I could barely keep a grasp on my bag. But if I moved it, everyone would know how heavy it was.
I wanted to use it, but I had three targets. One with a gun.
I’d keep Goodwin talking and wait for my best shot, because the more he talked, the slower we walked.
Werner should be at the dealership by now. Would he look for me?
“Why did you kill Isobel, Mr. Goodwin?”
“For the dealership, dammit. I’m blood. Her father said it would be mine when he died.”
“Why isn’t it yours, then?”
Five feet from the well.
“McDowell became his right hand, his expansion idea put him in favor, and his grief at Isobel’s loss appeared to match her father’s. Then, when Isobel goes missing, the old man has a stroke, and who takes him in? McDowell.”
Serves you right, I wanted to say. Had McDowell been sincere, at least about Isobel? I wondered way too late.
“Why did you move Isobel’s bones in the first place?” I asked him. “Why not leave her in the well?”
“This was about to become a car lot. I couldn’t hide a body this close to a construction crew, then the public.”
“Why did you bring them to my building, then?” I was stalling but he hadn’t figured that out yet. I was surprised that he couldn’t smell my fear.
“It was a morgue,” he shouted, “full of body drawers. I didn’t think I’d live to see the place fall down. You messed with me by buying it. I’ve killed once, I can kill again.” Hate laced his last words.
An icy fear ran down my spine.
“Why did you keep the quilt until you moved Isobel from the well to my place?”
“She made the quilt from my aunt’s clothes and my aunt was good to me.”
“But you killed her daughter.”
“So now they’re together.” He raised a hand like he’d done them a favor. Psycho.
“The night I brought Isobel to your place—” He shook his head. “I had the accident that put me in this chair.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s called karma.”
He tried to backhand me, but I stepped from his reach. “Do you want me to sic my ghost friend on you again?” I asked. “Too bad I can’t get him to trip you down the stairs in your chair this time.”
Goodwin roared like a wounded bear. It would be to my advantage if he lost it altogether. He might be less careful, though his two bodyguards looked on with quiet amusement. They wouldn’t let me get away with anything.
“Lolique, why did you call Isobel ‘Saint Belle’ the night we had drinks?”
“The old goat worshipped her, and he was guilt ridden because they’d quarreled the day she went missing. He still calls her name in his sleep, the schlub.”
Isobel and McDowell had been having a simple quarrel in my cape-wearing vision. I’d called that one wrong.
Two feet from the well.
I did some fancy footwork around the chair to confuse them all, back to front, a not-so-happy dance.
Lolique homed in with her gun, but she was so focused on me, she tripped over a clump of grass, and fell.
I ducked behind Natalie as the gun went off.
Natalie fell. Had she caught the bullet?
Lolique scrambled around in the grass. She must have dropped the gun.
While she looked, I slipped my hand in my pocket and pushed the single-digit speed dial for Werner, covering the sound by shoving Gary’s chair into the stone base of the well.
He screamed in pain as Lolique scrabbled to her feet.
As she came our way, her attention on Goodwin screaming, I swung my bag and knocked her down. But the bag was so heavy, it flew from my slippery hands and landed in the well.
Lolique rose and came straight for me, and I realized how strong hate and greed could be.
“Where’s the gun?” Goodwin yelled. “Kill her now!”
“You’re stupid, Goodwin,” I yelled, ducking Lolique’s clawing charge. “The police are taking down Isobel’s portrait right now. You were home free.”
“No!” Gary howled like a madman and caught my attention.
Lolique caught me off guard and tackled me. I ended up balanced on the edge of the well, like I’d seesawed on the edge of the upper-floor railing to see the portrait.
Lolique laughed in my face and shoved me backward with both hands.
Like Isobel, I was falling.
Forty-three
It is the unseen, unforgettable, ultimate accessory of fashion that heralds your arrival and prolongs your departure.
—COCO CHANEL
I smelled chocolate.
The light was bright, the tunnel narrow, and on the other side, someone called my name.
I opened my eyes. “Who knew that God would look like the Wiener.”
God growled, and then he got touchy-feely and ran his hands over my arms and legs, my head and back. “Anything broken?” he asked.
“Everything.” It didn’t smell like chocolate anymore. It smelled musty and damp. It smelled of decay. The dirt around me had bugs in it, lots of them, and . . . bones. Small bones.
“Can I just say that you took ten years off my life? By rights, you should be dead,” Werner said, and I could feel his hand trembling against my arm. “Smart of you to throw down a bean bag chair first.”
“I landed on my bag?”
“Well, it’s not a purple marshmallow.”
“You bet it’s not. My bruises are probably shaped like eggs.” I gasped, remembering. “I hope you didn’t take down the portrait.”
Werner chuckled. “We’re having a conversation in the bottom of a well, Madeira.”
“So . . . you’re not God?”
“I’m not a wiener, either.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“You’ve probably got a concussion. It doesn’t count. McDowell was more concerned about you being out here with Goodwin than about my plan to take down the portrait.”
“Goodwin killed Isobel and threw her down here,” I said, “not McDowell. Vinney was abetting his handicapped stepfather, the murderer, by removing the evidence of Goodwin’s crime from my building.”
“I know. And Vinney killed Sampson to set the fire as a diversion, like you said. Goodwin and Lolique are up there confessing.”
“Singing like canaries?”
“You watch too many old cop shoes, Mad.”
“Enough to know that these small bones might belong to Isobel. Goodwin was sloppy when he moved the bones out of here.” I hurt when I moved but I picked up the ones I could reach and slipped them into Werner’s shirt pocket. “Take good care of Isobel.”
“Leave it to you to keep trying to solve a crime when everything seems hopeless.”
“Me? Solve a crime? Don’t let Tunney hear you say that.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. We’re in a well, Mad. Weren’t you dreaming and talking in your sleep about a well the night of the fire?” Werner asked. “You remember, before I took you home?”
“I can never seem to remember my dreams,” I said to evade the question.
Werner looked as if he didn’t quite believe me.
“What about Natalie?” I asked to change the subject. “She worked for Goodwin and had a thing for Isobel’s father, but I don’t think she was an accessory to murder.”
“We’ll talk to her if she survives. She’s already on her way to the hospital, which is where you’re going.” Werner fingered my bag. “What did you put in here?”
“Madeira?” my father called from the top of the well.
“I’m okay, Dad,” I called, grabbing my head. “Ouch. I have a really bad headache, though.”
I heard sirens. “What’d you do, Lytton, call the cops on me?”
“That’s your ride. I’m going to go up now to make room for the rescue team down here.”
“Oh good. I don’t think I can climb that ricket
y ladder.”
I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew, I was strapped to a kind of cradle while being pulled up the well shaft. I wished that Isobel might have had the same chance.
As I was placed in the ambulance, my father and Aunt Fiona stood beside me. They both had tears in their eyes.
“Don’t cry,” I said. “We caught Isobel’s killer.”
That’s the last I remembered until I woke in the hospital with Werner standing at the foot of my bed and McDowell standing beside it.
“What day is it?” I asked.
“One day before your opening. And you’ll be there,” Werner said, “on crutches.”
“Figures. A ball, and I won’t be able to dance.”
“Be positive. You’re going to your grand opening, not your funeral.”
“I’m positive that you’re right.”
“I usually am,” Werner said with a wink.
McDowell cleared his throat. “Thank you for allowing Isobel to rest, Madeira. I’ve needed closure for a long time.”
“No wonder you got angry every time I mentioned her. But why did you run that night Eve and I took Lolique home, then lie about working?”
“I wasn’t calling the police on you. I told you to get out.”
I touched my head. “You what?”
“I yelled, ‘Get out, Mad!’ ”
“From our vantage point in the underbrush, Eve and I could hear crickets, crackling leaves, an owl hooting, and you telling your unwanted guests to get out.”
“But I said your name.”
“Yeah, and I thought you were ‘mad’ as in furious, but thank you for telling us to get out. Nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“I called the police on the people you saw in my guesthouse. I couldn’t pin anything on them, but I knew they were crooked. Even my so-called wife.” He scoffed. “I should never have married her, but she was so full of life, such a great actress—as in she pretended to care for me—Hell, I thought someone young and fun would cheer me up. Help me recover from my grief over losing Isobel. I’m a foolish old man.”
I touched his hand. “You loved Isobel. ’Nuff said.”
Larcency and Lace Page 20
